PoV:
1. Rachel (Out Lunar Hare!)
2. Nemesis (Our Lion King of Havana!)
3. Anthony (Rachel’s Boyfriend!)
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In the split-second Rachel fell to the wet and muddy earth, her mind accelerated, the momentary shock quickly passing; there had been times where she’d considered sound could shoot her in the foot, especially once learning about Fiona and the possibility of her gaining vocal magic, the thought had crossed her mind when learning more about the Fairy, despite their allegiance.
However, of all people, she hadn’t expected the weakness to be exploited by Relica, and then for her to teleport away after seemingly catching her in checkmate? It didn’t make sense; yes, the Sorceress was intelligent, in her own twisted way, and figuring she’d have something up her sleeve was fine, yet this—this wasn’t her style.
Manipulation of others? Sure, the Sorceress loved to twist people around her little finger, but running instead of gloating over her victory—no, her instincts told her something was wrong.
Rachel couldn’t even blink as she struck the ground, yet instead of using the Skill Points she’d saved up for situations like this or the other option available to her, she remained on the dirty asphalt, welcoming the paralysis to listen to what would come next.
Mara’s melody lingered in a set distance, resonating around the woman even when she closed her mouth, likely an ability that gave her the chance to lace multiple effects, yet instead of adding a second, she backed away from the kidnappers. “Ugh … My mind is…”
“A stubborn one,” Miora cooed, and the Siren grunted after the tyrant tugged on something that sounded like a chain, forcing the woman to stumble forward.
“Mmgm … I won’t be a slave!” she choked, coughing a few times.
“You can’t escape my grasp, my little note; soon, only my favor is what you’ll seek … He-he-he, yes, you may struggle on when I’m not using you, but give it time—the pain sinking into your veins and the hunger in your belly or thirst on your tongue will bring you to heel.”
A disappointing sigh passed through Relica’s lips while observing them. “Aww, don’t be too rough on her, Miora—we need her, and I don’t want to see another broken toy after all the work I did to get…”
“What are you doing?” Alan snarled, rising to his feet and drawing everyone’s gaze; even the drunk man drawing pieces of art on the table seemed to sober up a little at the warlord’s tone. “Everything went so smoothly,” he growled. “She’s paralyzed, her team hasn’t zeroed in on her location yet because of my puppet, and no other person aware of the situation was in position to make a move! Rachel should have been under my control!”
Miora’s cold voice returned after the thrill of capturing Mara passed. “My control, Alan … And as much as I despise this man, Relica—mmgm, for once, I agree with him. Why did we leave the Lunar Hare when I could have another capable servant?”
“It’s not too late,” Alan grunted. “She’s still statused; go back and take her if she’s as dangerous as you implied, Relica. She’s the perfect pawn; I put you into that position to take her with this woman!”
“My, my, my,” Relica mumbled, and Rachel could tell she was trying to constrain her anger while shaking her head, “have neither of you been listening to me at … Román?”
With the exception of Mara, still struggling with something around her neck, their attention moved to the Champion Mage Demi that crafted the barrier surrounding the warlord’s district. “Please, Relica, could you tell us why you strayed from the plan—is it really enough that she cannot listen to us?”
The drunk man shifted on the sofa, giggling to himself while using crayons to draw on a stack of papers; Alan seemed to be keeping him placated with whatever he wanted to keep his gaming board. “He-he—hic—it’s been forever since I could do art…”
His laughter caused an agitated groan from Alan as he dropped back into his seat, vocal direction showing him facing the drunk. “Hmm … No, I can work with this—even if you messed things up—and I suppose I should have expected you’d prioritize your own life over the potential benefits.”
Relica sniffed. “I’m not going to underestimate Rachel’s ingenuity and adaptability; I’ve seen too many examples in such a short time to think it’s merely luck … And might I add, that is a rather unsightly thing you’ve created, Jose,” she grumbled, likely staring at the man’s crayon drawing.
Alan’s composure returned, rubbing his chin and looking at his board. “She’s still paralyzed … Which means she’s listening to us right now … Perhaps your instincts were on point, Relica … a tad disgruntled, but overall, she’s calm. Hmm … Some plans need to be altered.”
He snatched a paper off the table and began to write instructions again, a chuckle in his throat. “Let’s keep this going, Rachel … Relica is afraid of you, so show me why.”
“Humph, I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of her.”
“Then why did we run, Friend?” Miora asked, yanking on the chain again and forcing Mara forward, and after a few grunts of pain, she refreshed her siren song. “Continue to struggle, and you’ll only fracture your mind—heh-he, but I can still use you like my little pet here.”
“Gara-maga … I wuuh, lob-b-b-b…” Mumbled the man she’d used to hold her umbrella.
Mara hissed, and to Rachel’s surprise, a wave of color bloomed in her mind, giving her the clearest image of the area she’d ever had from sound; it was as if she were actually there.
The Siren stifled a scream, falling to her knees and holding her head soon after, but with the lingering note, Rachel had seen everything in crystal clarity.
“What did she try to do?” Alan asked, glaring at the woman.
The beautiful green-haired Mythickin was on her knees, damp from the short stay under the stormy sky when muted; her forehead was creased with pain, and around her throat was a black spiked collar with a ghostly chain that extended to Miora’s tight fist.
Not soon after, Rachel saw every muscle fiber in the woman’s abdomen, and sweat appeared on her skin as her blood was accelerated; the Legend was forcing her body to use resources, dehydrating her, and given the usual mythology surrounding sirens, she assumed she functioned off a similar ocean pool as Selvaria.
However, her mind centered on one thing in the colorful mirage feeding into her brain; what appeared to be a large chess board sat on a table in front of Alan. Instead of the normal game she was accustomed to, this one had a holographic display of the city with various key players across it.
She memorized everyone in the short few seconds Mara had given her, and another important bit of information came from the vision—a few of Jose’s pictures were of her—a crude drawing of her ripping the Siren’s collar off and both of them killing the two women. He was already working on another that showed her getting up, but one crucial detail was missing—something she’d never ordinarily consider.
“How should I know?” Relica sighed. “Anyways, hello, Rachel! I hope you’re not getting those adorable ears and tail too dirty. What would Anthony say if he caught you lying in the dirt and mud, hmm? I don’t think he likes weak women. Right?”
Weak attempt, Relica … Hold on, Mara; I hear your cry for help, and I owe you now.
Air locked in Rachel’s stunned lungs, she glared at the dirt in front of her; staying calm and taking the risk had paid off in more ways than one.
Relica had been right to be cautious of her; there were a few options to handle the Siren’s song—even if she didn’t like parts of its appearance—in the end, no points used meant more options later.
Her casual skirt and blouse illuminated with Nia’s colors before transforming into a black, skin-tight belly shorts and lace-up corset that molded with her movements like liquid; Devil’s Ward II instantly activated, freeing her of the hypnotic song.
Rising to her feet, Rachel held up her hand, black fingerless glove enclosing them as her fingernails were painted blood red with a cursed devilish poison; on instinct, they grew into shimmering claws before returning to normal.
Fishnet tights birthed from her toes to weave up her feet, shins, and thighs; she’d studied the outfit extensively the previous day, and, although it wasn’t her style, she could appreciate the detail.
Threads of Hadesfire braided her hair to reveal the open lace back of the corset and tattooed devil wings that rose out of Nia’s demonic bunny sign to spread across her shoulder blades, a tiered pentagram tracing down her spine.
At the same time, she forced its passive to activate; vein-like crimson liquid flowed out of the illuminated emblem, and she flexed the ripped devil wings that stretched to either side of the alleyway. At their current level, she couldn’t fly with them, but they could slow her descent.
They faded into a ruby mist, going on cooldown for the next two minutes since she was already touching ground, and electricity sparked around her throat for demonic wording to burn a choker into her skin that radiated powerful Hadesfire to, ironically, prevent choking.
The devil’s script burned under the skin on her forearm into a complicated symbol as another formed on the outside of her left bicep.
If only this were it… she internally mused, and tightened her fist around the obsidian leather shaft that formed out of flames, laced with shimmering red images of the infernal language; Hadesfire leaked out of the end to wrap around her arm to form the whip.
To complete the outfit, her hair, tail, and ears dyed night black, with the pink, four-leaf clover sections of her eyes following the shade as an ebony masquerade mask enclosed her upper face, activating Lesser Devil Sight IV.
Shifting her hips to the side while smirking at the whip, Rachel shook her head. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the mask and whip giving the dominatrix look, this wouldn’t be that bad.
She glanced down at the tight lace exposing a line from her bust to her belly; deciding it was time to pull the trigger, she used her authority over Nia while the girl slept to combine her combat outfit with this Set—all of her Skills would be reset because of the combination, but considering what she gained, it was worth it to link the outfits.
Naturally, since Lesser Black Demon’s Touch was made of far superior material, her combat outfit couldn’t keep its appearance, being replaced by these pieces, though Nia’s Less Is More ability could still be used to a great extent given the areas of exposed skin. If she were being honest, it would be a decent club outfit if she was into that scene. As a battle outfit? Meh, it worked.
Tapping her demon-toe boots against the ground, she watched all filth vanish in the invisible cloak of heat radiating off her figure; it was only a minor passive protection that kept the rain and other elements at bay.
Her Ice, Fire, Curse, and Water Resistances skyrocketed, but the attire could be devastated by the Holy Attribute, which was a weakness Nia gained when she wore this outfit, yet if in motion, she gained Lesser Hadesfire Cloak VI, which came with the Selective Target III passive to mitigate most of its effects against things she didn’t want to harm.
Against people she didn’t want to hurt, it would only feel like they were in a hot shower, while inanimate objects were less resistant. The Hadesfire couldn’t be compared to the active version she gained when channeling Yseress, but it didn’t sear her spirit, considering it was the outfit producing it and not herself, which was a plus.
A shame you two are asleep when I chose to link the outfits, she snickered, knowing her two internal companions would likely be sad.
“What is that?!” Alan asked, getting to his feet. “Immune to mental manipulation and movement impairing effects—where did she get that gear?”
“Mmh-he-he-he,” Relica giggled. “What did I say? That girl has a devil’s mind—oh, you naughty girl, Rachel! What deals did you make in Camagüey … Are you working with Wolfgang, I wonder?”
Alan folded his arms across his chest as Rachel’s ears moved left and right, tracking every place he had units; she couldn’t find two, and both were supposedly positioned on top of the stadium where Nemesis was finishing up his massacre.
Having a full scope of his key players now, Rachel dashed back to Vasishtha to use his radio, black flames and crimson electricity surrounding her; it would be slightly faster to go to Maria by distance, but trying to calm them down and the jokes was actually a net negative overall.
Her pulled-back black-furred ears caught things much easier and her speed increased by a decent margin since the Hadesfire negated the dying hurricane’s wind resistance entirely. The rain didn’t touch her as she jumped across roofs, leaving demonic hoof prints in the tile like a silent ghost’s passing—normal physics didn’t operate against her while wrapped in the fire.
The items she wore had an eerie description when asked; devils had flayed Lesser Black Demons alive, using their hide as a medium to craft the outfit. Then again, considering what she’d learned about the hierarchy in Hades, Devils were high-class and Demons low-class playthings of the upper echelon.
Nia’s wardrobe didn’t give all clothing equal reign with her abilities that weren’t connected to her primary Set; her base outfit’s Set Effect needed to be absorbed into or eat the attributes of another Set.
Quality of material made a massive difference, and considering her previous Battle Gear was of lower material value, this overrode it, meaning, this was her new permanent Battle Outfit. Then again, she wasn’t sure which her mother would rather see—the previous extremely revealing option or the devil look—but without a doubt, this would keep her safer.
Outlined images of peoples’ spirits lit like torches in the buildings she passed, and out of everything these items gave her, there was one more negative; a ramping curse flooded her bloodstream—Devil’s Heart—chilling her mind and drawing out the darkness within her breast that dampened Lunar Pride’s presence.
The winds of misfortune were heavily pressed against her passage in time, but Rachel smiled despite the ominous sensation; she loved the needles running down her spine when the odds were stacked against her.
Vasishtha contacted Maria and Scarlet about her sudden action, which had the girl jumping over the city looking for her, but given her limited range of sight compared to Rachel’s ears, she managed to avoid her.
Her tongue slid over her full, now rose-colored lips as she saw the jogging men, trying to follow her path since they didn’t know what to do. Silent as a phantom in her cloak, Rachel hopped down from a building to land in front of the men, Hadesfire cloak dispersing.
The Legend noticed her the moment she’d jumped, which was pretty impressive. “Radio,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
“Woah … You okay, Rach?” Vasishtha asked, clearly taken aback, but expectedly, he reached into his bag and tossed the item to her.
“Perfect … Scarlet, do you hear me?”
“R-Rachel? I—Vasishtha said you just took off—what happened?”
She turned to the northwest, lips pulling in and to the right a tad as she allowed herself to be absorbed by the flow of Misfortune; examining it while influenced by Hades provided insights somehow impossible when not connected to the energy, even if only by proxy from the outfit’s Set Effect. “Interesting…”
“Yo, girl, what are ya talkin’ about?” Maria cut in. “We were gettin’ to the spot, and then you just go runnin’ off—what’s up?”
Fiona’s wings flapped to quickly get closer to the radio. “Yeah, what’s changed?”
“A lot … It’s time for war, girls.”
Selvaria’s tail slapped against the wall she sat next to, cracking a chunk off and making Ohan sigh. “Me, too?!”
“Yup … Fiona, Benedict, Isabel, Edelira, Grace, and Scarlet—northwest border—an army is gathering; they have a giant monster that sounds like a Hydra by what people are saying about it. The main guy is basically just a meathead with a ton of strength; he drinks the Hydra’s poison.”
“Cool, and pretty crazy,” Scarlet mumbled, “but what about you?”
“We all have our tasks, and yours is to keep the army distracted for Tom to get some of his stealth OPs units in place for what we planned earlier. Are they ready, Tom?”
“They’re ready,” he said, “but we haven’t negotiated with Noah yet. I assume that’s where you’re going?”
“Yes…”
“What about me?” Selvaria jumped in, tail wagging now. “Ohan and I are going to the northeast—I get to break the wall and be the big monster?”
“He-he, yes, Selvaria,” Rachel chuckled. “Maria will be coming to back you up—Ohan, protect her because there are a lot of mind-controlled people in that area.”
“I can do that,” Ohan returned, “but what kind of threats are we facing?”
“In a second. Scarlet…”
“Mhm!”
“I have a special extraction mission for you—a man’s sister needs to be taken to safety—she’s with a group of Hexers … You can’t miss her; grab the woman, and have Benedict and the twins escort her to the stadium to take shelter.”
Fiona forced a chuckle. “Eh—I assume I’m on apocalypse duty?”
“You are the most flashy,” Rachel mused, “and be as destructive as you can; Scarlet is on rescue duty, evacuating the area where all of Salvador’s men are. Most of them are fairly cowardly; act like a rival warlord that will take them under your wing, and they’ll flip sides.”
“One on one combat with the beefy guy?” Fiona snickered. “That’s pretty mean, Rachel—I’m like the dude’s worst nightmare if all he can do is throw punches.”
“Heh, I never said it would be hard; are you fine acting the villain?”
“I can make a great villain!”
“Pfft, he-he-he.”
“Why are you laughing, Maria? I can! I can totally pull off the evil warlord.”
“Mhm … It’s not one of those anime, girl; these guys are probably killers.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t pee their pants at a car-sized fireball hanging over their heads.”
“He-he, she’s got a point,” Grace laughed. “So, I’m taking out the Hydra?”
Rachel hummed. “Maybe … I heard you recently got your hands on Anti-Magic bullets. Correct?”
“Well, yeah … Tom had them made from some military contracts or something. I’ve never used them, though.”
“I know how they work from the explanation Tom had with the crafter yesterday; you have the sharpest eyes—look for anyone wearing a magical black chain or an invisible puppet hanging over them and destroy it—Fiona will keep you in the air. Oh, and Scarlet, bring that woman to Grace before leaving—just to be sure.”
Sounding a little overwhelmed by her mission, Scarlet cleared her throat, and Luka’s expression tightened with anxiety as she went on. “Umm, o-okay…”
Maria hissed. “Yeah, those puppet things are freaky—can you even see them?”
Scarlet answered. “Mhm! We were talking about it while watching you destroy them; both Grace and I can see them.”
“I get you, Scarlet,” Maria mumbled, “but Grace, too?”
“Lesser Magic Eye II, baby!” Grace cheered. “Eh … yeah, that being said, I can do that, but I only have like eighty bullets … How many are we talking?”
“I can’t say … Can you chain-shot them to hit multiple targets?”
“If … I don’t plan on shooting anything too far apart, I can, and trying to use my bullet recovery Skill, I could extend it to like … between one-twenty and one-thirty? I won’t be much help with anything big, though; it takes a lot of alcohol for me to do that many high-precision skill shots.”
“Fiona will handle the bulk of it. I…”
She paused, ears flicking to the stadium, and screams soon erupted through the stands, another dose of misfortune flooding her way. No … that shouldn’t be right … This should bring trouble to one of the northern warlords. Why … oh … crap.
A smile lifted her lips as she thought on the looming clouds swirling above her head, lightning practically dancing around her by the calamity cycling. There’s another manipulator in the mix because Alan didn’t craft this wave.
“Rachel?” Tom asked.
“We’re speeding things up. Scarlet, take Maria to Selvaria now and get into position; I’m sure you’ll be able to find the army when you get back to take Fiona’s group. Tom, center the Army on keeping the peace to the northeast and dump your Magical Dispel units in the areas Maria scouted out.”
She sucked in her lower lip for a moment, tasting the salt on them as a savage lion’s roar vibrated from her brain to her bones, cutting past the storm to be heard throughout the city.
“Selvaria, go Godzilla-mode and get to the tallest building inside those walls with Maria to free Mara—Relica and her friend captured the Mythickin Siren—Maria can dispel any status effects and give you guys support. There is a teleportation user with the dark-skinned Legend; don’t let her put a collar around your throat.”
“Yes!” Selvaria cheered. “Best job!”
“Don’t gotta remind me who this tramp is,” Maria grunted. “We’ll be careful.”
She felt the unnatural aura was meant to bring attention to the king of beasts from atop the stadium. “Hurry, and Tom, be prepared to negotiate with Noah.”
“What about you?” Scarlet hesitantly questioned, taking the Unicorn to her team. “Don’t tell me that roar … Are you going to…”
“Don’t worry about me,” Rachel chuckled, anticipation flooding her veins. “You just teleport around and save people so Fiona can go all out. I need to go.”
Tossing the radio to the Legend next to her, she grinned. “Vasishtha, take Luka to Noah—pick him up and run. Nemesis is coming for your head.”
Vasishtha’s eyebrows pulled together. “Eh—me—what did I do to the big cat?” His face turned white. “Oh, no … Was one of the women I slept with his wife? They all told me they were single; I swear!”
“Don’t be worried about that—I’m going to see if I can calm him down, but keep your eyes sharp … Someone’s going to come after Noah next, and I don’t know where they are.”
Vasishtha rolled around his neck, dropped his table umbrella, and picked up Luka. “Got it!”
“W-What about my sister?” Luka winced as the pouring rain fell over him. “Is—Is she being controlled?”
“I said I’d save her,” Rachel whispered. “Get going, Vash.”
“Sorry, lil dude, but we need to get on the movin’!” Vasishtha chuckled, running at a respectable speed to what Rachel expected.
* * *
Lights filled the stadium; mud and water falling around Nemesis as he held up the last struggling Demi from the northeast by the head, raising him higher for the audience. Shouts for his blood filled the stadium, crying for retribution for what this group had done to three of the Beastkin contenders that had previously taken them on.
Only sparking embers flashed out of the man’s fingers, mana utterly spent as the veins on his neck bulged, smashing his fist against Nemesis’ wrist to no avail; most of his clothing was once again utterly destroyed—it happened every time he entered the ring.
He caught the charred corpses and severed limbs of the female and two male Beastkin who had been made a spectacle by the confident three Magi Champions.
A hyperventilating woman struggled at his feet as he held her down with his weight, trembling eyes fixated on the lacerated man he held above her; his blood mixed with the rain, dropping onto her face.
The claws on his toes eased out, sinking into her breast and forcing her trembling lips open to taste the rustic liquid from the man.
“P-Please—ack—stop—I’m sorry … I—he made me—we were p-paid to…” she gagged as he put pressure on her chest, forcing the air out of her lungs.
Next to her were a dark-skinned Magi woman’s dead eyes, fixated on her healer, gashes across the wind-user’s face and chest—at least, the upper half of her body was beside the breathless healer—the rest laid two meters away.
“I asked if you could heal her?” Nemesis coldly asked. “You seemed to be fairly competent, but you just stood there in shock … And you step into my arena? Pathetic.”
His fingers flexed, crushing the man’s skull and sending brain matter, bone, and blood raining down on the horrified woman; after a good fifteen seconds to let her tremble, lungs fighting against his weight to be filled, he rolled his foot to the side—cracking ribs, and her screams were drowned out by the crowd, crying for vengeance for their beloved Beastkin upstart contenders.
“Try to heal yourself,” he grunted, really not feeling it but knowing his subjects wanted blood. “Go on.”
Her chest heaved, trembling fingers hovering over her side, but there was no longer any mana left for her to utilize at this point. Soon after, she took her last breath, snot, brains, blood, half torn-off hair across her bruised face, staring up at the heavens for help.
Nemesis stood in the mud and gore, vision drifted to study the battlefield; dozens of corpses littered the stadium from the matches that occurred. There were a lot of challengers from the northwest today.
A rueful smile touched his lips as he heard someone approaching, making his ears twitch a tad. “Heh, what could bring you out into what you’d call a sausage fest?”
Ana sniffed, wearing her boots to wade through the mud; Jaume stood beside her, roped into holding her umbrella, he assumed—not that there weren’t two other women beside them to combine their own to fight the stormy weather.
“I was going to wait, but you took forever! Ugh … I hate this gore and guts and sweat smell … It’s somehow worse in the rain.”
Kicking the bodies to send them tumbling away, he smirked. “Better?”
“Hardly…”
Jaume cleared his throat. “Umm, no, but Mara said something to Ana that has us both concerned. Did the two of you conspire to bring that United States military Lunar Hare in for dinner?”
Nemesis began using the rain to clean the blood and brain off of his fur, giving a short shrug as the crowd mumbled and talked to themselves about the fight; there hadn’t been an announcer for this one since he had to rush to the bathroom.
“No, I didn’t conspire; Mara simply wanted to ask her over to talk about some things. She’s interesting.”
“That is what concerns me,” Ana muttered, eyeing him suspiciously. “We both know you’re not the type to get wound up by a woman—as unusual as that is for a man…” she grimaced at the corpses of the two women. “Ahem … Anyway, what…”
Nemesis’ fur stood on end as danger cascaded through his skin; glowing yellow eyes darting to the left as a glint shone through the storm, he saw a streak of white—an arrow. He dove forward, fingers barely missing the tail—he was so much slower than he should have been—mid-sentence, the illuminated tip passed through the umbrella and plunged into Ana’s chest.
Carried off her feet, Ana struck the shoulder of the woman standing next to her; he watched in slow motion as a bright light erupted through every vein, and before she touched the ground, he knew she was dead.
Stumbling to catch his balance, he darted back in the slowly stilling atmosphere as realization struck the crowd from the massive display showing their group. Dropping to her side, he watched the energy arrow fade, but one scent put a quiver through his frame.
The man … Vasishtha … Why would Rachel’s man kill Ana?
“Ana!” Jaume cried, falling to her side with the stunned and stumbling women. “What … Nemesis…”
“Take care of her,” Nemesis returned, knowing it was hopeless after seeing the effects.
Wind bombarded his ears as he launched forward and jumped up the stands, and power flooded his legs; he leaped to the rafters to punch a hole through and reach outside. Crawling through, he scanned for scents, using all fours to rush to the spot he’d seen the assassin.
He came to a halt when confirming the scent. Rachel’s man killed Ana … Was it all a trick? No, but why…
His tail and ears flicked with agitation as he barely heard the women and Jaume’s emotional voices below.
“N-No, Ana, but … but she can come back, right?”
“Yes, isn’t she called the Phoenix? She can…”
“No,” Jaume whispered, and after studying the seared mark that had destroyed much of the dress front, he shook his head. “Whatever it was—no, Ana doesn’t have that kind of power—she put everything into healing others … She’s not a Phoenix, it’s,” he took a deep breath, “it’s just what people called her.”
“No … she can’t be gone … She can’t be … She was going to heal my husband’s … She was such a good person…”
“Why…”
Nemesis’ fingers curled into fists as the wind and screaming crowd drowned out their voices. If I had done something about these curses … Was Rachel warning me about it for this, or was it a taunt … I need to know why…
A golden aura wrapped around his body, breaking all restraints on him as he activated Pride of the King VI. Nemesis’ natural defenses returned to normal before multiplying by three, and he shrugged off the curses, now immune to such things, and his offensive stats increased by fifty percent. Ana was under my protection … Vasishtha, and whoever helped him kill her will suffer.
* * *
The shifting fog swirled into unsettling patterns as Anthony pressed forward, Jaenona followed in silence behind him; he knew these paths like the back of his hand since the beach was one of his favorite places as a kid to escape his overbearing mother—although, this place was a twisted visage of his memories.
Tingles prickled his forearm as his eyes wandered to the path—no longer was there concrete or stone—the ground twitched, a fleshy mass of muscle that liquified, crept forward, and solidified again.
Various sections bubbled and released a haze of gray that mixed into the mist, but instinctually, he knew there was no turning back. A realization came once reaching the stairs; there was a purpose for him being here, and he needed to recall why, yet maddeningly, it remained just out of reach of his thoughts.
A shiver ran through his bones as a hiss of wind or some otherworldly being passed above, and various shapes took form only so close to be masked by the haze; still, he felt the need to press forward.
After an unknown period of time, Anthony cleared his throat, glancing back to see the serene smile on Jaenona’s partially hidden face; only a quarter of the stone remained, hiding an eye.
Strangely, he wasn’t that panicked now, and he figured it was something she was doing to him. “What’s out there?”
Jaenona’s cosmic gaze shimmered while scanning the quivering masses in the void. “The Lost … The Broken … seeking home, yet you are a specter, slipping through their fingers as you pursue the call they long to hear.”
Tucking his bottom lip under his teeth, Anthony breathed in and eased it out. After her explanation, the clicks, eerie screams, and whispers became melancholy and heart-wrenching. “Is there nothing I can do if I have the map to guide them?”
The woman’s somber expression tilted to the left, a piteous tone moving her voice. “Unfortunately, these brothers and sisters have been taken by the Fallen One’s Bane … If they were to find you … the madness would take hold.”
Anthony slowed, peering into the veil. “Who is this Fallen One?”
“I do not know myself … It is a pained scar burned into my soul,” she whispered, flaking stone fingers rising to press against her hidden breast. “One such as I require a vessel to escape these cursed lands … I can hear the lingering whispers of The Sinking Deep surrounding you,” she smiled, eye closing in solace. “My prayers to enter the secrets of ages past … the Dream I wish to experience once again.”
Swallowing the sticky saliva in his throat, Anthony realized she meant he was her vessel. “What happens when we get to the shore?”
Jaenona shook her head. “I do apologize, Anthony, but I can only cut a path as you direct—I do not question—I have faith in the melody of your Dream. We pass through time and space, twisting in the weave to slip between the fissures of war and carnage long past … An enemy creeps forward in the shadows…”
Hugging himself as a sudden chill passed over him, Anthony slowed to see a large shadow hover just beyond reach before retreating as Jaenona’s gaze centered on it. “Should we … stay here?” he shuddered.
“No need to be concerned,” she reassured, filling his core with warmth and security with her smile. “We are slipping back into the fold, and a lingering army brushed against us … Their capricious response was inevitable once realizing their folly in approaching my aberration to their Existence … Sadly, their loss was great.”
Anthony’s focus went to the rumbling stone falling away from her hair and the black fog shrouding the rest of her naked figure; however, for a moment, he saw the harrowing, void-like entity he’d come to realize this lovely illusion was. “Hmm … We should go.”
It was irrational—insane—to calmly continue knowing this thing was using him as a car, yet his heart became tranquil with the knowledge. An inevitability filled him that pulled him to the sea; answers awaited him.
However, a strange scene soon opened up as the fog parted a tad to reveal several paths, and one had two people inside—a devil and a teenage rabbit girl. The way blocked by the rifts, Anthony stopped, eyebrows pulling in to shift between the destinations; each was of something he recognized, except for the two girls.
“What…”
Jaenona halted beside him, hands held behind her back. “Passages your subconscious was drawn to for safety … What will you do?”
Her questioning gaze tightened his mouth; the demonic woman hidden in a pocket of shadow from the searching girl was burned and sickly, yet a smile was on her face.
In the next instance, a shimmering candy cane appeared out of nowhere for the two to take, making the girl squeal with delight; even more unusual was a third that floated through the rip to him, and upon grasping it, an exotic woman with long ears flashed across his mind.
He pulled courage from the item, fixating on the image, and upon bringing it to his lips, he recalled a thrilling sensation that returned a kiss before it slipped away. Blinking, he looked up to see the tears in space closing.
Anthony caught the nervous look on Jaenona’s face as she waited for his decision, and without knowing why, he tightened his grip and walked around the lifeline when the others faded—a promise returned in the short exchange—his commitment to someone just beyond remembrance, yet he knew what he needed to do.
I have to rescue someone … She’s at the shore.
Pressing forward, he stepped onto gravelly sand, causing the fog to part and reveal two people, an elderly man, and a teenage cheetah girl; both were unconscious.
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