Take Up the Cross – Chapter 105: Duel of Dark vs. Darker

Swords stab upward, raking across the bodies littering the ground and spilling fresh gore. A new addition to their numbers slowly rises from the grave of shadows beneath them. Quite far from its point of disappearance, this confident sneak relishes the chosen battlefield.

 

(Corpses are like flowers to me, Adris~. Old places of long decay are often the only bouquets to mask my own scent in.)

 

Keeping low to the ground as she flops forward like a lizard, Still studies the man up on the rise of the fallen that’s still observing his weepy swordmaiden. She’s stuck in a death match with the Castillo caster and that womb-spawned guardian. The haunting fog that clings to the lands has the same disturbing scent as that born of Adris’ strange spell device, but it’s useful for avoiding joining that match.

 

(Thirty-some feet before we dance. So much further for any other potential partners to cut in before I cut you~.)

 

 

 

His fatal mistake is a man’s universal conceit, that every unique facet of himself needs to stand proud.

All males hope for a woman to be held in awe of who they are.

 

(The way you look at others is unwholesome; but, I’ll admit that…)

 

That special vision that defies logic is something of a similar nature to her own; yet, instead of sussing out the heated proof of living entities with their delicious shades of red, his sees to something much more integral and submerged into the core of being.

Such a deep dive into another is both embarrassing and exhilarating, especially thinking that she’s being swam within by a man with such possessive thoughts. It feels like the truth beneath her mesh is nakedly exposed to whet his appetite.

 

(… nobody else dares to stalk me with hunger like that, nor desires to. Never, ever could I have expected the need to demonstrate those assets…)

 

The blackness of death that exudes from Still is only a source of fascination as his almond-shaped eyes narrow or widen to accept more about her concealed nature. No other men save slayers could harden at her cold touch, and none of them cultivate half the suavity she laments tickles her fancy.

 

(“Truth-seeing eyes” like a diviner’s or fortune teller’s? No, no need to wonder. Eventually, he’ll tell me with a bragging whisper, eager for me to stroke his ego, too~.)

 

 

 

Those eyes are blind to her, now, even as hers are waking up.

As she creeps through the cut down soldiers around her, it becomes a truly unique moment of revulsion, growing as she’s trapped among their stacked bodies.

That impossible female ravager’s destruction is thick upon the field, oppressing Still’s confidence with every shake of the earth. A sea of lotus blossoms blooming around provoke both hunger and dread within this hunting ground.

 

(Every movement she makes is so sharp that I might cut my eyes on them.)

 

Just like the blind sight of the cultist which sought to mesmerize, the lingering malignancy of this imagined place was much muted earlier. Despite firm self-belief, each missing or mangled face frozen in shock of death that is turned to Still, revealing bleached bone or blackened muscle, brings a short pause in her advance.

 

 

 

A battlefield isn’t a place she’s been before. Not in any chain of memories.

The only memory of a mass slaughter would be…

 

(Well, some die well, some die horribly, right, Adris?)

 

 

 

Trying to laugh at her stolen wisdom, Still pokes the head that grins at her with half of a skull face showing. Scorched teeth turn to the dirt’s embrace. Rather than joking, Still feels like rising immediately to pounce. Impetus born of some unknown need courses through her, urging her to only look upon his radiant face.

 

(If asked if I can beat her, I must say…?)

 

 

 

“‘… seeing with sight masked by revelation, unleashed by…!’

Side! FROM THE SIDE, you meat puppet!”

 

The evil sage can’t complete her chant before she must save her own skin by hopping backward, compelling her slave to jump into the embrace of the devil which has them cornered.

 

“HAAAAAAH!”

That devil’s watery sword of false azure has a weight that can blast apart a human with a single touch, yet the meat slave remains unfazed.

“HUT!”

Each swing she delivers with the raw, untaught brilliance of her brutal swordplay results in a swell of phantasmal sea escaping when Kaskin’s anti-sorcery saber adds the minutest guiding tap while swaying out of its path.

Despite being two against one, with caster and swordsman against lone warrior, the swordmaiden’s cunning is just like the steel-clad mutt’s. Serras’ dancing form flits to hang low before the peacockatrice, as the sage fails to aim a forming configuration of errant glyphs moaning around her.

“Don’t let that bitch concentrate! ‘… unleashed by your almighty gift, Harbinger of Unseen Stars…!’”

 

(“No teamwork, no victory”… is it? At least that blowhard is smart enough to see a path to survival~.)

 

Sounding like someone close by when she speaks of working together, Still resolves to show her companion her assessment of him.

 

Fifteen or so feet are left.

The closer she is, the shorter the pounce and the deader the prey.

 

 

 

(Your pawn bothers me a bit, just a bit; but, you don’t, Adris.)

 

 

 

A field of corpses are spread wide with sliced pieces, leaving even more of a stench where they’re squashed flat or charred to a smoking crisp. That horrible murderer is the one who earned this fixation of concern Still feels upon returning to the real world from the safety of shadows.

Whispers in an unknown language sound like chanting, carrying only one name held from recognition at the edge of her mind; yet, the name is filling up her thoughts. Every body with a face hidden by a light wrapping might reveal to show her own shocked mask if she reached down!

 

(Her presence is a mountain upon my soul, pressing down and squeezing out hope!)

 

No matter how weepy, there’s no falsity to the way the land is murdered by this black-haired woman’s wrath. When she steps forward and another blade emission screeches to carve out, Still abandons future mockery out of superstitious concern.

 

(… Maybe… that fake was…)

 

Witnessing it through the transparency of hanging curtains, it’d been much easier to rationalize a victory while protected from the sensory violence of the real world.

Now, primal concerns flash warnings that a lifeless soul can usually ignore. As if Serras will soon become a final scarlet seal on Still’s long-unfilled tomb, that imagined fate leaves the sneak eager to jump forward and destroy the source of the woman’s garden-filling presence.

 

(A darkspring has a darker source, and you always love to call forth darkness to your command, Adris!

Please, deny that you are the true source of her inexhaustible reservoir.)

 

 

 

This close to him, the unusual drag upon her flowing toward him lays bare his own true nature.

Serras’ demonic outward torrent perfectly matches the intensity of the collapsing sink in the earth that Adris has become. A subtle pull upon Still’s existence and the murderous emotions that animate her willingly pull off in part, floating away toward the prey.

That energetic particle silently absorbs into a man who never fights solely by himself, but only ever goads others into doing his work. Like a jester, he will leap around and fling gifts while avoiding harm, striving to keep that charming smile even when his eyes fill with danger-seeking delight.

 

(You’re only an enabler, not the instrument of your own victory! We’re only the next tools, is that it!?)

 

A nightmare he’s incarnated into wears the same type of lamellar armor made of coppery plates with an unusual sheen. Form-fitting ceramic now rounds out the veneer of protection, making his slovenly-worn robe beneath seem comical.

He swaggers like a soldier of fortune, but it’s a terrible farce to one in the know.

 

(Hurling a strong magical spear, maybe, but I bet it’s just a trick weapon you’ve never bothered to master!)

 

Unlike Still and her hard-trained bladework, even if her lack of real talent leaves her grip on them too stiff, Adris only counts a mongrel’s polearm as his real bludgeon.

 

(And you threw away your spear, leaving it to rot in a pile over there. Such misfortune.)

 

He always has other armaments, though.

Ave’s insane luck, Neesiette’s fringe brilliance, and…

 

Twin short-swords coat minute oil upon the ground as they rub. Still would click her tongue if she was allowed to, for she’s become his prop just the same.

 

(No, I’m his personal weapon. A partner, a “trump up the sleeve” he loves to fondle as egotistical reinforcement…)

 

But with his back exposed to her as he gazes serenely at his approaching win, Still is left shaking with “laughter” for a moment. Unlike this Serras’ pure dominance, the air flowing toward Adris carries an inverse scent.

In defiance of its ravenous, but silent, hunger, she forms the perfect image of this man and boy’s limits.

 

(Honing an ability to its final state is brilliant, but for it to claim fealty of others by granting them power regretfully earns you the title of coward. You even feel submissive, stinking of the same smell as when you’re around her!)

 

The cross he plays with during his stage performances is just some prop he picked up along the way, no doubt. Useful enough to fool even that chatty ghoul researcher, he’s seemingly disposed of it the moment it was no longer needed.

 

 

 

Adris fehl Dain is the real source of their strange benefits, a fact Still solidifies on.

 

 

 

Crafting some great show from a cobbled-together number of magical tools and artifacts, he’s been suffusing environmental magical energy into his chosen cadre. From their adulation and obedience, he reaps his unrequested rewards.

 

(They’re all so impressed, but it’s a well-known ability! [Mastermind] or [Overlord], two slayers I’ve sniffed out use these Talents to accomplish the same!)

 

It’s all so easy to explain how Adris fehl Dain functions!

Whether he’s truly from another world or if it’s some fever dream concocted by him, it matters not.

After all…

 

(It didn’t matter to me what the truth was. Even if you couldn’t survive alone, I didn’t mind keeping you.)

 

Wind whips through after this thought, smelling of a distant woodsy scent.

 

(Your keenness of mind is valuable enough, even if you run dry of this “gift” you keeping heaping upon us. We’ve plenty of… “history” by now.)

 

That history is as heated as the diffuse heart of his stalker.

 

(The moment you reunite with a former tool, you think you’re “free” of us? Of me?)

 

 

 

After everything they’ve shared, all because he pressed so hard upon her…

All because he forcefully wore her down…!

 

(If you think I’m letting my investment get away, please, let us discuss this folly more intimately.)

 

 

 

A single strike around his armor will punk this weakling without the Vigor to stand against death. No matter how many strange tools he’s hoarded, true sorcery and a cache of comparable goods prove no threat exists.

 

(Aaahhh, a little humiliation will make you handsomer~!)

 

 

 

Nothing about this man is dangerous.

Though lithe and agile, true humanity can’t beat a girl that can walk on walls. He doesn’t radiate the state of perfect certainty or unnatural predation that Serras has reached as a living fear.

 

(You’re just a born manipulator and liar. The “fear of succumbing to the machinations of another”, probably?)

 

Almost no distance is left as she readies to ruin his fun.

 

Once you truly understand a nightmare, it can no longer frighten you.

 

(A dedicated showman with a case of serious narcissism and delusions of grandeur has gotten warped by a cursed existence clinging to him. I warned you not to treat “darkness” lightly, but you went and got “taken” by it.)

 

 

 

Any of the other foes he’s faced would’ve defeated him in a moment if they’d simply committed, instead of allowing the man’s bizarre presence bring them undue pause.

If Still had simply stabbed him at the overlook, a thought that sometimes roils in her mind, he’d never have…

 

(Watching you squirm in agony or pleasure? Either is a treat for me!)

 

Her hyping thoughts overcome the growing trepidation gripping her, the inner calmness she focuses upon distorting intentionally as she lets inhumanity bolster fighting prowess.

Rising from the floor without a sound, slowly whipping up as if she’s a boneless, slinking cobra, she can’t help but feel sultry as his doom arrives.

 

(I want to get along, you know? I make conciliatory gestures… and sometimes you nibble on them, but mostly you just gnaw on my butt.)

 

The next time she mounts him, she’s going to bully his dick with tightness he’s never dreamt of. Give him satisfaction that will leave him begging for mercy.

 

(No strength of your own. No victory but through us.

YOU TASTE SO GOOD, BUT IT’S LIKE KISSING A SVELTE LEMON WHEN YOU PRIVATELY SMIRK AFTERWARD.)

 

Violence alone will satisfy this hunger.

Stopping at one cut will be hard!

A bombshell body during normal times stretches out like a ghoul, with two long, black teeth ready to stab down into soft flesh.

 

(Understand how small you are in comparison to a real risk taker!)

 

The harsh betrayal after their pact, where he forced this honest sneak to embrace a mad scheme of “equality”, sends her into small convulsions as she drinks deeply of that error in his thinking.

Distorting thoughts worsen with a shudder through Still’s body, as a deeper need breaks free and grants vitality!

 

 

 

(Adris fehl Dain, YOU ONLY WON IN THAT HALL BECAUSE I LET YOU—!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fresh aromatic grasses spring up from steam that bursts up from nowhere!

They prick at Still’s feet, with brush slapping her sides when tension whips the branches upward from the floor. A purity that carries no divinity overwhelms Still’s many senses as she wobbles.

Everything around her has a cloying, suffocating stench of elvish fancy, the same nauseating perfume that mirrors a wimp’s rich treasure trove. All of those never-ending, one-sided chats about legendary forests echo through Still’s mind in Ave’s overly sweet voice!

 

(No, no, not now, you stupid girl!?)

 

The bodies and mists that once obscured an assassin’s approach dissolve into shining green leaves and bright petals as the flat world thrusts upward.

It destroys her moment, left stuck watching the great elms grow rapidly, blocking out the sky with their canopy. Plopped upon a stone roof of a dome-shaped out-building, the tumult of the ground falling away grants no easy escape from the hunt’s interruption.

 

As Still turns back to her target with her swords still pointing true, that man’s head turns slowly and with absolute smoothness.

 

Confident and inviting, Adris smiles just a bit wider, while energetically raising an upturned hand toward Still.

 

And then curls it three times without a care.

 

 

 

A hair trigger snaps, turning Still into a jumping missile.

The tremor of doubt vibrating widely when she takes in his posture and blank response resolves her blades to thrust forward from high and low.

No longer seeking a mere nick, she aims to pierce throat and kidney all at once as feet become inches.

 

A defenseless man pushes both arms forward against his “rescuer”.

Still silently begs for it to be in fear, as her flame-bladed pokers twist in; but…

 

 

 

Both arms rotate outward and diagonally the moment his wristguards contact them.

Sparks scrape off, lighting his amiable face and piercing red eyes up. The forceful deflection sends the over-eager assassin’s arms in the same direction as he motions, surrendering her mid-line to his whims.

 

Adris doesn’t even bother with a breath as he leans in.

His beating heart changes not a single bit, despite the rapid movements he commits to.

 

(The fu—?)

 

Dropping while shifting his right leg forward, a debonair fraud’s motions seem almost like a strike artist’s as his open palm blurs—

 

 

 

(GAAACK!?!?)

 

Because all blunt blows provoke laughter rather than pain, she’s never bothered to avoid them before now.

 

Every spot of her roars into total agony, before she realizes she’s flipping over and skidding on her face.

No fist has ever rippled through her entire body like this one.

 

The ground brings her to a stop before sliding off the roof, with her hands still mercifully gripping her twin blades. Landing in tall, orange grasses that smell of sparkling lavender, and blacking out momentarily from the lingering shock and throbbing abuse, Still quivers like a newborn goat after winning back her sense of up and down.

 

(What… what was…)

 

Somehow, the distance has magically returned to ten feet, despite her being close enough to stab him a moment ago?

 

(Just… just a trick.)

 

She remembers the goal she dropped, pointing dangerously at the man who viciously whips his arm.

 

(Just a… lying…!)

 

A whirring sound from Adris’ waist makes her shake her head to knock her brain back into balance.

 

 

 

Still kicks off again, leaning forward while elongating a bit.

There’s different emotions firing through her soul, now.

 

(Always a danger to me and my profitable plans! You’re the biggest threat of all, aren’t you!?)

 

Especially when she notices a translucent filament glinting in the night air. Toward a box at this bragging coward’s hip, it continues to spool with amazing tension flowing down the taut line.

 

(Fishing… reel…? Ah…?

Ah, ah! Ahhhh!)

 

 

 

With a flick of her wrist and arm, one blade vanishes while folding up.

Rather than acting to save him, it looks an awful lot like attempted murder when she swings that arm around and unleashes numerous black sparrows to soar.

 

(… Die just a bit for me~!)

 

They fly toward Adris while shrieking, almost there as he spins.

 

Its length whips around as the man strikes and sways from the birds flying by.

Two fowl that would’ve nicked neck and foot arc off his twirling spear, while a couple more spark off of his darkly glinting lamellar armor.

 

(PER~FECT~!)

 

The sorcery which condemns maliciousness is only mildly denatured by base metal! It erupts, sending a righteous avenger’s anger flaring out with black-and-blue streams of sorcery…!

 

(YOU’RE MINE— AHHH!?)

 

This almighty spell weaves over the coppery metal, only for the sheen upon it to spark like a fire that oil spills into. Streams of malice divert straight into the ground at his feet instead of aiming for his heart.

Whispers of delirious vengeance snuff out with a gasp of shock as they soak the earth.

 

(Not right… they…

Oh?)

 

 

 

What’s also not right is the sudden sharp point that’s about to spike through her mask, aimed for where her left eye would be.

 

An instinctive dip sees Still’s cowl earn a new hole through it, instead, before the blurring spear is shanked toward her hip.

That unfortunate hip twists inhumanly, keeping her forward dash with an awkward splaying posture as an impossible third jab aims for her heart.

 

(HAAAH!)

 

A clumsy mid-guard sweep knocks the spearpoint to graze Still’s shoulder instead. Fire shoots through her senses when the rainbow metal contacts the flesh beneath mesh, a pain coursing through that rips at her stable mind.

Black and red sprays behind her as she ends up skyward.

 

(THAT HURTS SO MUCH!!!

But, you lose!)

 

This desperate leap is all Still can think to do after receiving three spear jabs in less than a second.

Though he wears a chestplate, vanity leaves Adris’ face and upper neck open from above. It’s naked to the downward pointing blades which continue to forget their original mission.

 

Menaced as he is, the foreign-looking warrior still doesn’t drop his grin.

 

 

 

Not even when he drops low and then thrusts his foot upward to plow through Still’s face.

An action that would’ve drawn derision from this sneak before now, because she fears no solid blow, freezes her proverbial breathing. Inches from being smashed in, she contorts in mid-air to let it sweep past her neck. The heel almost brushes, the toes facing away from her.

 

(My curse might only work once per moon, but it doesn’t matter. NOW YOU’RE MINE, YOU HORNY MONKEY!)

 

With this airborne kick, he’s sealed his fate.

No contortions can alter destiny as she sets to collide with him. With such close contact, she can wrap her thick thighs around, close her stickers past his armor, and then—

 

 

 

The butt of Adris’ spear touches the ground,

and then, everything inverts.

 

(What?)

 

Something pulls on Still’s neck, leaving the sky in the wrong direction without her equilibrium sloshing with a discernible change.

She slams into the fragrant forest carpet and old concrete.

Puffballs spray up into the air and float between the two airborne freakshows.

 

(Why…?)

 

 

 

The source of her question is above her, now, with blazing starlight shining from his spearhead. Both hands are prepared to drive it down, all of his weight committed as his legs flip up.

More than just the body of an acrobat, Still can identify a practiced murderer’s finesse in the whimsical fluidity. Especially with how unchanged his countenance is, still confidently grinning like he’s about to squash a bug.

 

Though not nearly as devastating as his puppet’s fancy Talents, whatever Adris calls forth fractures the starlight forming at his tip…

 

 

---

 

 

—One man had a simple theory.

Taking with him a hundred swords, he also gathered a hundred menials who stood upon the parade grounds in a circle.

Each sword was thrust into the packed dirt, aimed toward a man in file.

 

“Though my hands may hold only one long blade…”

 

Exuding great martial presence without so much as twitching his eyebrows, the man with a long, gray beard and rippling muscles dropped into a strange stance, his fists pointed at the earth as his legs split wide.

 

“… my spirit may move a hundred!!!”

 

The burst of air and earth when he dropped his fists into the ground condemned every man present,

 

but him,

 

to hold a blade each for their master buried within their chests as they collapsed, pierced through the heart, with a hundred dying before the energies he cast out drew them toward…!—

 

 

---

 

 

“[Shij’uan Zhivang’e.]”

Lightly named, his strike fills Still’s sight with apocalyptic streaking light.

 

(Was he…?)

 

That man she now has questions about drops like a fearsome meteor, sending Still’s heart wild as the point approaches in the slowed time of perceived inevitable doom. The blinding redness around her body reflects a growing inescapability.

 

(Were you… no, are you…?)

 

Anger overcomes the man’s terrifying presence, though, seeping from the labyrinthine forest!

 

Something grabs Still’s ankles.

Then rips her from the ground, dragged horizontally as her murderer misses.

 

(You’re not just…?)

 

 

 

Shining blades burst from the impact, carving in every direction with a nasty spherical drawback after.

Everything at the center of his spearpoint’s entry is churned and cut up like kibble fit for dogs.

 

A true assassin’s skill of victory is wasted on the dome covered by wild brushes. The arched roof caves in when the center is scooped out, leading to Adris’ departure from the stage into a plume of dust below.

 

 

 

(You’re not… just… a lying, swaggering schemer… partner?)

 

 

 

That poignant thought is an existential blow far more potent than the wide elm she is slammed into. No pain registers as her body molds to the rough bark.

 

(He punched me. And had… zero hesitation about… to me…?)

 

Despite common sense being abundant for Still, his lackadaisical attitude toward her existence and wellbeing burns deep inside.

 

As if she expected he couldn’t possibly hurt her.

And even if he could, that he wouldn’t… want…

 

(… Am I too…?)

 

But, the indignity of being someone else’s toy wakes her up to a greater threat before she can nail down what went wrong with her thoughts.

 

(Attach—what…?)

 

Curled around the tree briefly, Still peeks over her back to see green vines wrapped around her ankles. Those vines soon gain tension once more, preparing to rip her off the tree she’s lodged against.

 

(I see, if an elf-like snake is my doom, then elvish forests are, too…?)

 

Still curls in flight, slicing through the vines seeking to pummel a moss-covered building with her sexy body.

 

(AHH, RIGHT, SHIT, I FORGOT—

OOOH!)

 

Tasting freedom with a somersault across Avenalliah’s promised land made manifest, juking from and slicing away more whipping assailants as she falls, the witch recalls old lore that completely slipped her mind until now.

 

(Elves and their forests hate undead most of all!

This whole time… I’VE BEEN PREPARING TO WALK INTO A DEATH TRAP WITH THAT GIRL AS MY EXECUTIONER!?)

 

For what seems like an eternity, she continues to drop. Still finally crashes through branches that deposit her upon the trunk of the gargantuan tree rising toward the canopy overhead.

A dwarf version of the Tree of Life within the Castillo gardens, this guardian of the deep woods groans as she slides to a stop.

 

(“Living trees”. All manner of magical and mundane plants with fantastical, deathly abilities…)

 

Already, she’s spotted numerous brightly colored dangers amidst the foliage. Though not sentient, these innately-crafting magical plants can quickly overwhelm her with enchantments and charms.

 

 

 

But the flora aren’t as hazardous as the branch-obliterating visage of a scarlet dragon that halves a great limb above. Ripping through its core while shrieking, the manifestation then winds down the trunk and carves a trough into its bark.

Birds call out with terror as they flee the cracking, dropping limb. Still takes heed of their idea, hiding within a groove as a rain of splinters and burning chunks bounce down.

 

“Failing in the task at hand, what a plan, a plan gone wrong the moment it’s agreed upon!?”

 

With a weightless bounce, a robed mystic and her bodyguard touch down in front of Still. The magic bubble they stand within bursts with a resounding pop just as Still lifts her blades. She reminds the glaring woman of the danger of cornering someone.

 

(… Never did he say he was a true warrior… He was hiding it…?)

 

Even with this threat near, Still’s mind is stuck on the cruelty of a boy’s concealed nature. Bragging always about his plots and plans while drunk, in this state of glibness Adris hadn’t mentioned a spear at all. Nor the ugly, but highly practical skill in wielding it.

 

“If the apprentice is this vapid, I feel sorry for your mentor, no matter where the fault of it lies…” That huffed insult breaks Still from her obsession.

 

(YOU WHAT? Everything is her fault, to begin with…)

 

The next instant threatens violence as the incensed sneak steps forward. Kaskin’s doppelganger eagerly swings his saber, matching his movements with Still’s.

 

“Silent buffoons, both of you!” Stepping to their sides, the sage hisses while pointing above. “What time have you for this, when doom descends!?”

 

 

 

From the heights of the great tree they stand upon,

absolute death touches down with a crunch and snapping shrieks.

 

Some duplicitous sorcery transfers all lethal momentum from her dive to the wooden shards that burst out, impacting on the mystic’s conjured shell and disintegrating.

Rising to glare at them, the robed horror chambers butcher’s blade high and pointed at them.

 

“Alright, alright, we’re here, we’re here!” As if to resist, the sage shrilly screams at Still. “Is this not the time!? Will you not act!?”

 

(Why are you begging me to do something…? Far too fearsome this thing is, teacher…

But not as fearsome as…)

 

All cringe back with the waves of thick, vibrating air radiating from their hunter, the missing response surrendering to this hum. They then shiver when the milky scarlet begins to waft again. Its electrifying touch allows for no mistake.

 

(We’re about to lose.)

 

This wasn’t Still’s intentions, as she crouches behind useful shields.

A single strike on Adris was all that was needed to take his blood.

The pure calculation that he wouldn’t, couldn’t resist…

 

 

 

(He’s only a human! A human who has no touch of grace or gift, save feeding others!?)

 

 

 

“HAAAAAAAAAH!”

Serras explodes forth with unnatural brutality, becoming a burning comet as the trunk is sliced through by the remnants of what she can conjure but not control.

 

“GOOD MISTRESS, PRESERVE US!”

A cowardly woman screams for the wrong savior while her puppet wrinkles his brow in consternation, his sword ready as his master interposes her sight-warping tome between face and fear.

 

(If he’s so empty… then how… how can he…!?)

 

 

 

The thought that comes is a contradiction.

If he’s weak and incapable, while this foreign woman is absolutely lethal, then…

 

(Wait—!? Why… would she… obey him to begin with?)

 

Why would a giant obey an ant?

 

(… Is it possible… he’s as dangerous as this one is…?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Right, right, this is what confidence earns!”

 

(You!?)

 

Still’s form becomes momentarily weightless, pulled up by thick curtains. Two different patterns boldly present as they surge like wraiths from the sneak’s own shadow!

 

The first whips to intercede before the charging monster, showing an energetic, slender dog with black, feathery fur that’s swimming through the leaves of a forest bed…

 

When the curtain parts, this same creature stumbles out of its portal into the too-bright night, yelping as it hangs its tongue outside and pants.

 

“Nnngh!? Woof!”

 

Presented before the three doomed to die, its cuddly nature as it cries in shock is comical when compared to the sea-blue club raised to squash it thinner than parchment.

Soulful eyes stare up in confusion as it tilts its head.

 

“Ni-ni-nightmare…”

 

The sage’s quavering voice names the dog as such, despite its cuteness.

One reason might be that its fluffy legs, ticking forward on the trunk with a single claw on the ends of its many feet, don’t move like a dog’s…

… But, rather, like the centipede’s legs that they resemble underneath the pelt of fur laid over the top of its long self.

 

“wOoF.”

 

Rearing back like a snake, this long terrier with dozens of legs reveals its tummy.

Its head flops against its back, the neck too loose as the dog slobbers its tongue around.

 

Just like the tongue, its talon-tipped feet fling spittle as they clack against each other like teeth.

 

([Wriggly Dog]…!?

No, go away…!)

 

A dread born of endless nights of terror resurges as she falls on her butt.

For the endless orbs of red that are hidden in the maw of its underside spare a few to stare at Still as its body happily wriggles about like its name.

 

Happy to be reunited with her.

This river of eyes widens and shines.

 

 

 

“Ugh!?”

“HOOOOOOOOONGH!”

This cute, abhorrent, and purely devilish pup springs toward Serras.

Its many clamping legs lock upon her sword and mutes its rainbow energies.

From deep within its impossible depths, slobbering, daggerlike tongues begin to lap at the metal. The sheen upon it licks off instantly!

 

When slobber meets azure, the sea winding up the blade sprays out with pressure sufficient to flay a man. The loss of control wastes the raging ocean as Serras’ arms whip the insect-like dog to-and-fro.

 

“Have I not told you, Once-Apprentice?”

A voice speaks from every direction, but comes only from within Still’s own mind.

“Did I not name them [Identical Gemini]? For them to be this, they must be equal, yet opposites!”

 

(That was their “contradiction”, so what does it truly mean? If they’re identical but opposite…?)

 

“rOoOf?!”

Serras becomes a thrashing creature, desperately slamming the Wriggly Dog into the tree trunk so rapidly that its body blurs.

“NNNN, HYAH!”

Like a top she winds about, until the centripetal force launches the abomination afar.

“AWOOOOO!?”

 

With her sword freed, yet also melting in her own hands, Serras rage redirects to Still.

When the monster’s milky aura winds up her body, it gathers at the fracturing blade…

 

“YAH!?”

To start spilling out from the cracks without an ounce of control!

As if the river’s sides have burst, the contents spill out upon the shore!

 

 

 

“No longer dreadful rainbow of the same intensity, all confidence melting away.”

The evil woman keeps speaking to Still, sharing an understanding of this ploy and the greater plan.

 

(Is this fake master trying to weaken her?)

 

Another curtain, one of a yellow-tan cat that stands on two limbs, its mane lackluster and mangy, and its eyes tired and paranoid, quickly hangs proudly before the swordmaiden before she can recover her ambitions.

 

“More shadows!?” The mystic screams while cracking open her tome. Her consternation is born of the darkness which slips from Serras’ body, to stalk forward with murderous intent. “Old witch, deal with this too and I’ll deal with her!”

 

(A lot of belief for a madwoman…)

 

Knowing she should act, even if just to stab this woman in the back, Still wants to advance against threats.

But, something paralyzes her. Weighs down her thoughts.

 

Something is stalking her.

This is what her heart says, and she never ignores such an intuition.

 

This stalker’s name is on the tip of her tongue as the witch’s curtain parts for the next creature to step out.

 

 

 

As though something is terribly wrong about it, this cowardly lion’s gait is both demeaning and concerning. Its paws are held before it, clamped together as it shivers. Hunched over as it is, the hump in its back is like a jutting cairn.

Its hind legs have the same bone structure as a true lion, but as it stands like a cat walking on two feet, leaving the humorous imbalance as it totters about appealing to children.

 

That is, if those same kids could overlook how the muscles underneath the sickly furred hide weren’t out of alignment to its physiology. Its hairs also are matted in many spots, lacking not only the luster of a prideful savannah king, but also a sense of being alive.

 

“Wo huih sh’are vi!”

The berserk woman finally speaks intelligibly, yet still not understood. Her ruined blade cracks as she swings it, the corrosion from earlier rendering it almost unusable.

 

 

 

Every shadow duplicate screams in unison, before they dart forward to chop.

 

“GYAAAAH!?”

The lion responds with absolute bravery, jumping back with tears coming to its eyes which point in different directions.

Waving its paws around wildly, it still seems unwilling or unable to flee from the murderous horde which finalizes its ghostly envelopment.

 

(Ugh… it’s, useless, though… because… it’s…)

 

 

 

Those wildly waving paws reveal unerring deadliness when they strike the first shadow.

Bestial limbs inflict massive damage…

 

([Shabby Lion] is worst when it lets you corner it…)

 

“grrroooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooo!?”

 

Claws of raw diamond, two long carving blades, slice out the ends of its paws and cut through the shadow like butter.

When it ceases to hunch, its limber, long body lacks the constraints of a lion’s limitations with how it strikes more like a rotating simian.

 

Masterful blade talent cannot overcome the pure fury of a maddened animal that doesn’t even slow long enough to breathe with its constant bawling.

 

“Guuuh!? Ugh…”

 

Nothing remains intact as the warrioress stumbles back.

Hand to her breasts, this Serras appears winded for the first time as she hunches over in turn.

 

“uuuuuh, lEaVe Me AlOnE!”

Around what’s left of the shadows, the once animated lion crumples to the ground. Reaching out, he drags up their pieces which don’t evaporate.

Picking up an entire arm, he lifts it greedily to his snout.

 

 

 

Which opens slowly, but doesn’t bother to cease making space.

Still crying in fright while crablike mandibles fold out of his open throat, the most outwardly cowardly creature Still has ever known starts to feast.

 

“jUsT …” Munching as it pleads, it whines in an increasing shrillness. “… gO aWaY… pOoR mE!? sO wReTcHeD, tHiS fLaVoR!?”

Pieces disappear down its gullet, snipped away by the pinching teeth.

With each vanishing morsel…

 

“UGH!?”

The woman who birthed these shadows that normally fade shudders in pain as the fake lion continues to chew.

Still wonders if these phantoms will ever return to her.

 

(He’ll eat you out of house and dreams…)

 

The lion’s hide it wears has no relationship to the truth beneath.

Whatever you value is what he longs to eat if allowed to, then blame you for hurting him with its flavor.

 

(Though unwilling to confront others, anyone who tries to harm him will be split open. The woman that could play house with these atrocities is the real monster, not me…)

 

 

 

“KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!”

That very monster chooses now to cackle, her jolly laugh stealing away the bright light from above.

“Confidence is the thickest barrier! It preserves us from needing to see beyond our assumptions.”

 

Hidden away from sight, it matters not how distant she is, for a witch’s poison still spreads.

 

(From damaging her focusing tool to harming her sorcery directly, this is the “honor” of one who masters the Craft…)

 

Leaves, brown and covered in slime, fall around Still.

The trunk of the once-proud, grand tree is also becoming slick. An unseen disease advances with fearsome sureness.

 

This ancient wood groans in pain as the world darkens more.

Its taunt brings a chiding remark within Still’s mind.

“‘The elves won’t like this’!? BAH! They’re the worst of all fey: curious like children, but too unwilling to climb into the cake to be baked!”

 

While a murderer is temporarily forestalled, the forest continues the previous assault.

This attack upon its heartwood is too much for its inhabitants to ignore!

 

Great tanglers ascend the sides of the tree, balls of hate that grasp out and seek to crush. Flowering beauties point their blossoms, spewing long columns of thick mists that have dangerous colors of pink and orange.

They’re joined by all of the animals great and small, for even gold-coated squirrels have shining green eyes as they hiss and rush toward Still from all directions.

 

(The forest can’t be too bad if it knows to kill her…)

 

 

 

“‘Fear not the will of the Beyond, for that will is my will; and, through my will, yours will be mine!’”

 

Pages turn as voices rave.

The shining eyes of the sage are a different color than the angry forest critters possessed by hatred.

Behind her, a great obelisk juts up sharply from the tree trunk.

 

(She’s going to ensnare—!)

 

Still’s swords are too slow to neck her, though, before…

 

“[Thralldom!]”

 

 

 

The sightless eye at the top of the obelisk bursts out to sweep through her foes when the sage lifts hands high.

 

(Nothing happened to me? That old hag…!)

 

Though within its effect, Still pats her head and finds no change as the legions quake.

Those struck by its grandeur briefly arc viridescent with electricity radiating from their heads. Plants that animated shiver as the rest do, before all calmly lock attention on the caster.

 

“Now, now, little ones: who is the true threat?”

 

At the smug question, these legions turn and charge.

Hundreds of animals race to be the first to claim blood.

 

(That fake sistered up with this insane Servant of Greed!)

 

“HAAH!?”

 

Even with a ruined blade that crumbles as she swings it, this living nightmare carves through the gathered critters that try to climb upon her and press down with their mass. Blood of non-sentient beings coats the dying tree’s trunk, with their limited protection from harm draining to produce the scene of a meat shop as their organs and bits flop about.

 

The juggernaut is gnawed upon by the masses, such that even the mighty might be nibbled to death.

 

“Right! That’s a second at least, at least, so: hey you!”

{… Me?}

 

Unsure as yet of her own thoughts, Still is pressed by former enemies who wish to chat.

Former, in that there seems to be a conspiracy brewing.

 

“That Granny of Malice gave you a task, didn’t she? Stab that boy-turned-man until the nightmare passes!” Insistent with her tone, the Castillo sage all-but-confirms a plot exists. When Still remains unmoving, the woman sighs with a hand to her cowl. “So, was your plan to have him obliterate you, or was that incompetence merely the prelude? Speak up, speak up!”

{Shut up.}

A dismissive gesture with a rude finger sends the sage into a fit.

“HAH!? Do you know who you are pointing that at!?”

 

(No plan of hers is one I ascribe to… even if it’s…)

 

Against an enemy that…

 

(Wait. Wait, where is…?)

 

 

 

In the aftermath of her near defeat, Still realizes that she’s never been keeping an eye on Adris?

A shiver races through her at that, distracting her from Kaskin’s duplicate as he snarls and lunges forward with his saber flicking.

 

(Ah?)

 

The brief idea of being allies was a tempting balm that masked the evil in the man’s lone eye in view. Anger only inches beneath the surface, preserved for Still this whole time, breaks free of its bonds to sneak an attack when indecision takes her.

 

(“Men are always guided by their lusts”…)

 

The tip of his lust streaks far faster than she can avoid, his deftness the sole quality he can brag about.

In the end…

 

(Do lose again because I worried about something stupid?)

 

 

 

Steel clatters instead of flesh parting.

Sparks of contact brighten the confusing scene of three bodies vying for supremacy.

Still rolls herself into a sideways tumble, catching the eyes of her true attacker as Kaskin’s saber completes its interception.

 

Red eyes are serene even now.

Though he aimed straight for the core of Still’s existence, as if he now mystery remains about her, she can’t explain why he would choose her.

 

(A missing presence. Not even a taste of life…)

 

With his attack deflected by an erstwhile enemy, Adris’ assassination shifts into escape. He sweeps his spear toward the peacockatrice duelist with one arm, while his free hand reaches into a jade-embroidered bag at his waist. Clumsy by trained standards, this sweep is easily hopped as Kaskin drops into a lunging riposte.

 

(Wrong move!)

 

Still dives off of a raised bump in the trunk, sheltering behind it as the glittering orange dust Adris scatters in Kaskin’s face begins to scream.

 

 

 

“NGGAAAH!?”

Merciless fire that burns with a purple hue sucks up the air. It pops and spreads, leaving someone crying out in agony.

Still climbs back over the bump while dodging lingering flames. Two vials that spring into her palm shatter when she pelts the immolated body of her savior. He hisses and sizzles, his birdlike appendages smelling of overcooked poultry as Still kneels while searching the smoky haze for the one responsible.

 

(I can’t follow him?)

 

“There, there!”

But another can, for the tome-toting mystic hops back and points at the moving pile of vermin that continually reforms around a slicing blade.

Approaching it, a familiar man reaches for a box at his waist.

 

 

 

“Do not allow them to return to each other’s side, Once-Apprentice!”

This order without guile is slick with something approaching concern. For the first time, a fake master displays the rarest of her moods: worry.

 

 

 

(How, though?)

 

Still’s paralysis refuses to abate; no, it grows worse at the thought of entering this spearman’s reach.

Blades shiver at the concept of racing to duel once more.

 

(What movements would win over him?)

 

It’s not as if she was toying with him! During their first meeting, she quickly overcame the inhibition to cause him harm, even if it required believing that he was her equal.

Prepared to mutilate him if necessary to “teach him a lesson”, now, she is…?

 

Now… who learned a lesson?

 

“Oh, what a wonderful time to comprehend a flaw as old as your apprenticeship.”

Droll in tone, the evil woman’s knowing condescension continues on as the world seems to slow.

 

(I was trained well… right? He doesn’t even seem like his butt has ever felt a teacher’s rapping hand…)

 

The way he moved with his spear was free of form or guidance.

It felt more like watching a cat hunting and pouncing, or a bird swooping and plucking up an earthworm.

It wasn’t beautiful, or executed with repetitive immersion.

Still’s style, even if applied to a weapon of different length and with very little aptitude, retains the immutable soul of her instructor’s teachings.

 

(… He’s never been trained to use that spear…)

 

 

 

That spear’s point is more frightening than any artistic rebuke from her instructor’s rapier. The very idea that she must stare down its length again, to try and avoid its impalement, is…

… It’s…?

 

“This, my dear, is the difference between instruction and experience. That man has never needed to be trained, for he has no talent to develop. In place of talent and instruction, he has been nurtured by misfortune and violence to become a bird of prey.”

 

(I have both of those sufficient to drown in! Why are we dissimilar!?)

 

The lack of answer for that is what paralyzes her.

A monster like this Serras exists in a separate category from Still, for she is talented beyond mortal capacity. It is purely logical for her to win.

 

Adris is not a mythical creature, though.

He’s a man with tricks and a spear.

A human man that can destroy her at his leisure, despite not being a revenant avenger like Still is…

 

(Why did I lose?)

 

“My, you still don’t comprehend? Observation is only half of the tools required for understanding. Just as important is…”

 

(Is what…?)

 

The forthcoming answer feels dangerous.

It reeks of rot in her brain.

 

Only now does Still grasp where her fake master is now and how she can speak to Still.

 

(You’re in my shadow?)

 

“… introspection, girl, is the other half of the equation. You cannot defeat this man because you are afraid of Adris fehl Dain, more so than the just fear of me or my pets.”

 

A haunting specter speaks a terrible insult without Still being able to stop her.

It denies all of her efforts, when alive and even after.

 

(… I’ve… I can…)

 

“Not once have you fought him, when others have and have lost. Without confronting these growing doubts, why wouldn’t they ferment to produce a wonderful poison~? Isn’t this the first lesson of the Craft: ‘emotion is the poison which prevails before the vile blade can even touch’?”

 

(… I always knew I could beat him…

so why would I… try to…?)

 

 

 

Still shivers with this depressing revelation dug up from the darkest place within her, wanting to find a lonely corner to hide in like Ave constantly looks for.

A girl without life, brought back to this world to punish an immortal evil from the ancient past, is…?

 

(But… I made him…!)

 

… is worried about a boy who is constantly near death?

One who succumbs to the nightmares he cultivates the moment an old flame rekindles?

 

“I always hated you, Once-Apprentice, precisely because your heart was too strong to accept my love, while also being too weak to claim love for itself.”

 

(Die. ABSOLUTELY DIE.)

 

“Kekeke! In due time, I assure you!

Now that you’ve been exposed, however, as having confidence ill suited to your truth…?”

 

Playful in cruelty, the older woman spikes Still’s heart with the worst insinuation.

 

(“Exposed”…? Are you… suggestin’ that I’m…?)

([… But I can’t beat him… No duel was ever as frightening as… this man who can throw off emotion to… want to kill someone he must’ve fallen for…?)

 

That is the heart of her trepidation, the path to understanding it.

 

({… KILL HIM THEN. LIKE ALL OTHER MEN, HE MUST…!})

 

Thoughts diverge at the worst possible moment for a girl in trouble. Without working together and tied closely, these chains of memories will fragment and fight like unpleasant sisters as they unwind.

 

When the chains break completely, what they secure will never halt in its pursuit.

 

 

 

About this same time,

a haunting melody strikes up, with striking percussion beginning to punctuate its unearthly intent.

 

Forced to listen to it, Still struggles to overcome this “fear” which oppresses. With each note, that terror conflicts with growing heartache.

Each emotion felt within this dark forest, surrounded by beings inimicable to her life and sense of purpose, pushes Still further into a corner.

 

The worst place to back up a rabid rat.

 

 

 

(A COWARD…? ARE YOU… CALLIN’ ME…)

 

Rather than let the chains break, one winds up tighter!

Tight enough to strangle the others to death if it becomes needed!

 

(… A FUCKIN’ COWARD, HUUUUUUH!?

I’ll kill you.

I’ll kill them.

I’ll kill HIM, if that’s what it takes…)

 

“That emboldened resolve still misses the point, though…”

 

 

 

Time advances past a crawl, ticking again as Still blurs past the mumbling sage who fervently reads turning pages.

“‘Power unwavering and unlimited, drawn from…’ Hey!? Mad, mad have you gone!?” Kneeling behind a doused Kaskin, she’s abruptly left crying out. “You’re supposed to anchor me in safety—!?”

 

(You cower! I’m… not afraid of this bastard!)

 

That bastard pulls out a six-sided charm from a box containing others. Along his spear’s shaft he rubs it with slender fingers until his touch produces visible current that runs up his arm.

 

This electrified stick thins the herd with each slap, oh-so-careful not to further agitate the woman buried within.

 

No longer will he look at Still, even after she steels the hunger within her.

That one-sided, overwhelming need to kill her was both a source of terror and also…

 

(LOOK AT ME.)

 

If he has brutish electricity, then she has a lady’s toxins!

From her hands flows quick fluids. They coat the blades like a splash of viscera when she flicks them horizontally, leaving a trail in the air as she scythes forward.

 

([… Too naked! No guile! He’ll see through…!])

 

The advice of one chain of memories is ignored as the binding strand burns red hot.

It sucks at the sea of red stars that Still’s sight usually tries to ignore, growing hungrier.

 

STRONGER.

 

(Like him… give into the flow…)

 

There’s little flourish as Still’s agile limbs stab and even hack.

Gone are the overly cautious feints or goading invitations!

Less like a vixen, Still feels that a bobcat has possessed her.

 

A twirling spear veers off her thrusts as the sorcerous poison protects against electrification, before the butt is driven into her stomach as a reward.

 

([It hurts!?])

 

The thoughts of a more proper female turn from the pain delivered by the mysterious energies of the strike. Nerves dulled by undeath still feel with absolute crispness Adris’ martial touch.

 

(SO FUCKIN’ WHAT!?)

 

She whips her sword with an arm losing all bone in it!

 

(Eat the pain!)

 

Fluid as a stream, no surprise registers at this curving sneak attack when Adris sweeps his armored forearm into its path.

 

(Faster!)

 

He’s only human, proved when he can barely keep up with his block!

No human, save through Talents, can survive the adaptations she’s mastered!

 

With each jealous stab a potential coup de grace, this seedy man takes Still’s former place in their conflict. Desperate finally to obtain the range advantage, he fends with half thrusts and even cunning kicks to make space.

They dance in the span of seconds since she’s jumped in, circling the pile of forest meat like a vicious wolverine pursuing a frustrated acrobat that failed to feed her. Every shocking nick and bodily impact brings shudders to Still, but…

 

(I’m faster than you were thinkin’, huh!?)

 

A nimble slice at the weakpoint of his leg’s ceramic protector sees him finally escape for safety without a shred of confidence.

Still nearly tumbles forward from pain as the hunger rush edges off…

 

(Run away!)

 

Dozens of feet from Serras is where Adris adopts a forward guard, aiming his spearpoint at Still.

 

(Yes! Like that, just like that…!

DON’T YOU DARE STOP LOOKING AT ME.)

 

Overly zealous, she invades straight into his weapon’s perfect range.

Where spear trumps sword in every possible outcome, Still accepts death if a single miscalculation strikes.

 

 

 

(I ONLY NEED ONE DROP OF YOUR BLOOD!)

 

 

 

His hand dips into a pouch instead, and out comes glittering orange dust!

 

(Not impressed!)

 

She flips in mid-run, using her foot to fling a bottle containing grayish Chernine within.

It flies into Adris’ powder as the shining explosion puffs like perfume toward her.

 

Astounding heat sucks in the burning dust instead of air, leaving balls of fire and collapsing ice linking by their mixing reaction. Through the choppy conflagration Still flips, victory imminent as Adris stares mutely up at her.

 

And simply extends an arm, with a clicking sound springing from underneath his bracer.

 

(What is…)

 

Shards of gleaming metal dissect the air, missing Still by inches as something yanks on her leg. An intricate launcher glimpsed beneath evaded all notice, despite Still’s constant awareness.

 

(How can he hide everything from me!?)

 

“HYAAH!”

 

A ringing saber duels with a spear as she turns, the shocking touches grounding out on the glyphs of the blade’s fuller.

Kaskin’s rescue becomes a joint assault when the spinning peacockatrice flings Still at their enemy. She clashes both swords to force the spearman to plant his feet, completing her flight to land behind Adris.

 

(Che, this rapist? No choice, huh…?)

 

“… ‘manifest as form unknowable to the unenlightened, as you who dwelt in death’…”

 

Together for now, Still silently assents to their team up with a nod as the sage who commands Kaskin drones louder. A great wave of power floods the tree’s trunk, matching the growing sensation of some entity scratching at the back of Still’s mind.

 

(She’s going critical, too!)

 

Still hopes that this scratching presence can overcome the scarlet aura cutting through the bodies of the forest herd. With Adris being directly imperiled, the entity underneath grows ever wilder as her furred and feathered assailants simply vanish into steaming smoke!

 

Without grasping quite how he manages, Still contends with the the foreign warrior shifting between front and back opponent. Instinctive spearplay fends off Kaskin’s expert saber, while kicks to Still’s arms and the threat of him putting the spear’s end through her face keep the sneak from his back.

The three resemble a choreographed festival melee. Adris paradoxically gains momentum as his free flow of movements grows in duration.

 

(JUST ONE DROP! GIVE IT UP, YOU CHEAT!)

 

A thirst for more than a drop fires Still’s catlike reflexes.

As he increases in fluidity, she believes less and less in restrictions, feeling like she can do the same so long if she wasn’t human…

 

Humans, after all, can’t whip their arms around each other or twist one-hundred-and-eighty degrees in place when turned by a spear’s impact.

Still starts to forget that she is such a fragile creature…

 

 

 

Kaskin’s technique fires as Still lines up, his blade booming with crushing noise as it curls upward from below.

“[Banish Blade]!”

 

(Just like when he knocked my—!)

 

With a great bang, Adris’ spear spins skyward.

His arms are almost taken with it, leaving his centerline briefly naked for Kaskin to gore as the peacockatrice swishes in for the kill.

 

Though lacking the capacity to speak, this fop in ruined pretty clothes retains an innate understanding of battle flow far better than Still’s.

 

Still swoops in silently from Adris’ back, certain of the joint strike gifted to her!

 

(NOW.)

 

 

 

Until a foot plants a piece of unfolding metal on the tip of the saber.

Ungainly and like a stork, Adris turns on one leg while his enemy gasps in shock of the bewitched sheet of steel wrapping up the lethal weapon and bringing it to the floor with a clang.

 

(Bullshit!)

 

Even if Adris forestalls Kaskin, he’s got nothing to save himself from a sneak!

Only a stupid, naked hand, scything in…?

 

 

 

That hand strikes one short sword before flitting to the next, careening both wide!

An undefined edge of sharpness radiates from these knife-hand impacts, scattering the poison that would normally stick to his skin!

 

(How many fuckin’ tricks do you got!?)

 

Bent over like a Castillo dandy, his swift arm goes chop, chop, chop, until the sharpness he called forth snaps. Finally returning to two feet, Adris dashes Still’s followup when he grabs his falling spear from above and almost thrusts it through her stomach.

 

(I’ve got some tricks left over too, even if those damn birds took most of them, you—!)

 

Thinking of which to use, Adris preempts her once again by lifting a foot and stamping it sharply. A bangle tied around that ankle, looking like silver bells attached to woven reeds, jangles with a cryptic melody as Still just manages to leap back by instinctual fear of the sound.

 

 

 

The space where Adris stands thickens, before air starts flowing toward the heavens.

Sickly weeds growing from the tree point skyward as Kaskin’s feet leave the ground.

 

“NNNNNNH!?”

 

Still struggling to remove Adris’ vexing wrap, the peacockatrice “falls” up suddenly while hanging onto the saber. He tumbles as he does so, helpless as if the earth has rejected his right to stand upon it!

 

(Fuckin’ divines, you control gravity!?)

 

Despite all of these various high-tier sorceries and pseudo-magics, Adris still reveals no sense of presence! Whipping around his spear, the man leans into his next charge without a care in the world.

 

 

 

Until a creak loud enough to drown out their struggle echoes within the forest.

 

Both fighters dare to search out its source, mutely witnessing a great, black-iron double door slowly opening far overhead.

 

Locked in space above the floating robed mystic, this newest addition respects no stable reality as the glyphs engraved into it morph into bizarre new features that instill something worse than horror.

Even Shabby Lion joins in to stare, its body beneath its false hide quivering.

 

 

 

“[Realm of Mysteries!]”

 

Festering darkness reaches through into this elvish world.

Tendrils of what cannot be allowed to exist, they plow into the whirling red winds that rise at a butchering woman’s behest.

 

“AAAH, finally, finally! We can end this farce of a battle! Hahahaha!”

 

 

 

Without subtlety, the mystic starts hooting at the show of conflicting spells, confident in the struggle as a wounded Serras’ is revealed by the storm to be bit upon everywhere.

Brutalized animals that are caught up circle and survive intact long enough flow toward the periphery, to be stolen away by the tendrils. When grasped by them, the howling wretches dissolve into ichor willingly and join the mass!

 

 

 

While the confrontation takes a mortifying turn, the music surrounding them grows sharper. The flute tickles Still’s thoughts, sharing a wisdom about her “ally” above.

 

(Ah, yeah, isn’t this… mystic pretty fuckin’ worryin’ if you let her go unstabbed?)

 

Still can’t help but shiver with the world-changing feeling of these squirming tentacles reaching through the gateway called forth. There’s a palpable danger in how everything they touch discolors and morphs, without regard for living or inanimate. The dying tree groans with more fright as it’s licked by these invaders.

 

Only the whirling storm of Serras’ pseudo sorcery opposes it, and…

 

(How long until she starts winnin’ with that power?)

 

Like a flower whose blossom is revealing a goddess, petals of scarlet rush out when Serras ramps up the spin of her exotic dance.

They carve through the tendrils, causing them to combust and collapse. The fireworks display of meeting produces a willing confrontation, as the sage’s otherworldly helpers push toward the center of Serras’ hurricane.

 

“Ho, this is something she devised wholly for herself, without want of an intermediary. How noxiously beautiful~.” The witch hums approvingly in Still’s mind, finding appreciation at the wrong time. Even without her sword, whose broken pieces swirl within the tumult of her unleashed spell, this woman defies the plan of Still’s former master. “Others always trample on a grandmother’s gentle intentions! It seems this will only resolve with… improvisation.”

 

(What sort of—!? Fuck!?)

 

Straight toward this whirlwind is where Still’s prey tries to suddenly flee.

As Adris nears, the outward-racing whirlwind expands in intensity to match the subtle whirlpool of quintessence falling into Adris!

 

(If they bump together, we’re done…!)

 

“I wonder if you’ll ever see truth if you consider them to be apart?” Idle musings crack Still’s concentration, even as she needs it most to stop him.

 

(Shut up!)

 

“My Once-Apprentice believes she’s now the master, but doesn’t find her own Maleficarum’s contents legible because her brain has curdled. The lady fond of blades foolishly looks for a duel from a child soldier, then considers it improper when he gives the only challenge he knows of…”

 

Adris’s body creaks, bending forward before he bounces just like an insect.

Becoming a flicking flea darting at impossible speed, he narrowly enters the red current as dirks are uselessly carried away behind him!

 

(SHUT UP AND DO SOMETHIN’, YOU EVIL—!)

 

 

 

A curtain lifts up behind the woman at the heart of the storm, showing a gargantuan man clad in metallic plates bolted to his flesh. Weeping blood from the innumerable wounds beneath, this faceless golem of flesh and tin mashes men with his fists while standing within a village of dancing, carefree townsfolk.

 

(… that golem was called… [Heartless Tin].)

 

As the curtain parts, Adris’ spear plunges into its darkness at high speed.

 

 

 

The man rockets out of the storm trailing his own blood, given lift by the enormous arm thicker than a bull’s body which fists into him. Into the distance he flies, though Still can’t easily follow with the storm’s sudden increase in severity.

In response to Adris’ pain, the scarlet lotuses fill the entire forest in view!

 

Her master’s golem’s plates creak and slide back as it curls its arm, the only thing capable of exiting the curtain, to wrap around and shield a figure which slides past it from its shadow gate.

 

“You finally show up, late as planned maybe!?”

The sage’s tendrils slam harder into the lotus torrent as she whines. Accepting their dissolution so that the enemy might succumb, they gain additional leverage by sticking to the tree.

“Worry not, star cultist, our pact stands to end equally well.”

 

(Finally gonna use your poison…?)

 

Still longs to see how she’ll accomplish the impossible, for the poison was one that fermented within a place far from this ruined paradise. Replaced by Ave’s insane wonderland, the old woman that must cross dimensions to win seems like she’s just…

 

“Stalling!

That’s what you’re doing…!”

 

As the mystic gravitates closer to her great iron doors opened toward the unnatural far realms of Zennia, her voice grows tremulous. The power she channels jumps from the pages of her bound book, acting as if it is in control instead.

Still’s magical knowledge questions whether anyone, even herself, could call forth what this sage has and remain remotely sane.

“… Stalling, because… that mesh-covered girl is the cause of all of this!”

 

(Oh, she has gone nuts.)

 

As Still pulls out divine parchments to slap onto her worn body, Still ponders the idiocy of that accusation. But, it starts to make more warped sense to the Castillo servant as her screaming becomes more unbearable.

“Something like you pops up to protect her at the same time as this boy going mad and transfiguring into a nightmare form!? Two nightmares in the same place, working together!? And I’m to think this outcome was unplotted?

Hardly right, fairly wrong!”

“What nonsense brews in your teapot, bunny?”

 

The man of tin grabs onto the beaten Serras, smothering her head as the woman’s scarlet conjuration folds back in to savage its arm. Only moments exist before either Serras overwhelms the golem or the mystic’s tendrils devour them both.

 

(FINISH HER OFF, YOU CRAZY OLD BAG!)

 

Still’s solution should be palatable to everyone, or so she thinks as she hits the ground. The uncontrolled outflow washing over her has already sapped too much of her unholy vitality, that delicious juice that keeps her forever youthful.

 

“That’s it! This… this undead thing is the real culprit, isn’t she!?”

More tendrils overflow from the cracking door between reality, the space it occupies visibly bending to the breaking point as the mystic requests ever more support.

 

“She brought the darkness to the Castillo! This boy, who is now a grown man, is obviously her agent!”

 

 

 

(I FUCKIN’ WISH HE’D CALM DOWN AND BE THAT, YA’KNOW!?)

 

 

 

“Hmmm, contacted something that’s given your mind indigestion?”

“Don’t dare deny the undeniable!” Her singsong voice vanishes as she hugs herself in mid air. “You’re all… working together! With the… Pillars of Zenith, traitors to the Alchemaster’s plans! AHaHAhHAhaHA!”

Pink eyes glow beneath her hood, leaving the woman curling up like a child and quite strange in behavior. “It all makes seeeeeense!? No wonder you wanted me to protect her so you could show up!”

 

Rather than attacking Serras, the sage points her finger at Still!

The tendrils that are reborn after bursting squirm around, then launch to claim the sneak!

 

(I’m not the—!)

 

The tin golem releases its prey to swat above. Its curtain flies away from its owner, weaving around as the mighty palm cleaves through the rushing fluids spilling through its fingers.

 

“She’s not only keeping you here as a false life, but will also be your anchor for returning to life for real, riiiiight!?”

“Such logic might be led back to sanity, if only you could anchor yourself to such a happy place…”

Rather than engage in further banter, the Witch of Bane simply slinks up behind the kneeling swordmaiden freed from bondage.

Black dress fluttering and tearing with the impossible tearing she must withstand, when the scarlet nightmare slowly rises to glare from behind a torn cloth veil, there is no duplicity to the witch’s imposing standoff.

 

Like a mother challenged by an angry daughter, this fake master lifts her chin, daring Serras to slap her…

 

(… You need to… get away…!)

 

Still rises, despite the tide.

Starting forward brings a tinge from behind, though.

 

A buzzing sensation she is intimate with.

One that warns of ambush.

 

(Adris…!?)

 

“— NUURK!?”

 

 

 

The saber, inches from Still’s mask, cuts its travel painfully short.

No doubt summoned by magical message, this birdman, who once threw away his own personal vendetta, now tried to complete it.

Almost there, having his moment stolen at the last second, Kaskin can only spill Vigor profusely from both his mouth and the hole where his heart was.

 

“You… you can’t… possibly…

… refuse me… after…”

 

(Just because I didn’t want yah, you have to show me…?)

 

“… seeing that… I am not…

 

… unworthy…”

 

Still only stares in stiff shock while the false man finds his voice; but, she need not bother with a reply when his admittedly charming face goes still.

He falls onto it, so that another can vault over his corpse with a spear left lodged into it.

 

(Not… not good…)

 

Though his armor bears a huge dent in it, this roguish man with a sheepish grin just shrugs nonchalantly when Still steps back.

Even with his hands up, open to reveal no weapon, she can’t find her thoughts.

 

It’s too chilling, her blood moving too fast because of it, when this Adris she thought she knew so well is revealed again as a dauntless killer.

One just as hazardous as the murderess he cultivates.

 

(He’s… gonna… what is he gonna do!?)

 

Still can’t find the time to stab him with how closely she inspects every part of him.

Because she finds far too many enticing openings, while guessing that every last one is a trap made solely for her.

 

As he bats his eyes while closing slowly, she’s unnerved, yet enticed, when he reaches up to her covered face…

 

(How am I gonna… save you if I have to kill…?)

 

 

 

The thought of saving him mixes with the narcotic effect of his openly inviting hand.

Even if she hates him deeply for his many insults, there’s just as many confusing desires that arise from each one.

 

Some sort of haziness gathers to steal her strength, drowning out the chaos surrounding these two and their private—

 

 

 

“You choose to lose, simply because you pine for both him and yourself to be humans.”

A surly tone has come to the hag, disappointment immeasurable in her voice.

 

(Isn’t he…? AH!?)

 

 

 

The assertion opens her eyes at the last moment, just as his gentle hand aims for her stomach.

Once more, this man knows where the most important part of Still is!

 

A man who doesn’t need a spear to kill smiles handsomely as he trips her with a leg sweep before she can add distance to her backward juke!

Still cannot buck him off, either, when his falling mount gives him a frightening advantage over a woman who knows only pain when a man leads.

 

No surprises she can draw out will arrive quickly enough to defeat his drawn-back knife hand before its glinting point drops.

 

(Why did I…?)

 

The girl can only look blankly toward her mentor for an answer, mutely wondering how she could’ve fallen for such a naked…?

 

 

 

That mentor is in an identical situation, her arms crossed imperiously as Serras squats with both hands. Muscles tense as the spellweaver from another world prepares to thrust the storm she winds tightly around her arms.

 

“Deception. That is your vice, a self-placed curse, and his only true power, you worthless chi—!”

 

Both hands mimics Adris’ when they bore through her master’s spine and heart, silencing the woman’s ageless commentary.

 

 

 

(NO! MOTHER!?)

 

 

 

Green blood coats both killer and storm, before it vaporizes.

Those clinking coins hiding her face break free to join the winds as a hand drills through the veil, glinting as they take to the sky.

 

Only an explosion of black-and-blue clouds survives contact with Serras’ disruptive arms, quickly diffusing into the scarlet storm.

Filling it…

 

“… BAHAHAHAHA!” Laughing loudly above the din, the Castillo mystic loses focus on her spell briefly. “HERSELF, HERSELF SHE DID IN!? So polite, the witches of distant past were, to off themselves and save others the trouble!? AHAHAHA!”

The tendrils that lack a minder launch back at the strongest food they find, drilling back into Serras’ storm to devour her.

 

A vermilion storm has vanished, though, left only as sunless mire ripped from the ground to churn in the air…!

 

“UGH!?”

 

The storm carves out wildly, then completely loses its circular cohesion when Serras grips her head in pain!

What’s left of her master, an evil memory that nobody can shake, lives on in the thick miasma which spreads with Serras’ help!

 

It clings to the great, dying tree, refusing to leave!

Spreads into the sky!

 

Requiring that all breathe it in, it’s no wonder what the cause is when wildlife begins to plummet from the canopy above by the hundreds.

 

(… Master…)

 

 

 

Still can’t understand the plan, though.

Even as the poison she recognizes continues to infest everything, even surrounding the girl as her lifeless body refuses it, Still cannot fathom such an action like…

 

(How can someone as evil as you die for another’s sake?)

 

 

 

“GGGAAHH!?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!?”

 

The venom called [Veritas] reaches full potency immediately, such that not even those from another world could hope to be inoculated against it.

 

Funerary robes evaporate from the berserk swordmaiden, revealing tanned skin that also quickly blows away. Her black hair bleaches free of black to become nothing but a carpet of pink lotuses.

Every false implication of humanity is ripped off.

 

Beneath human flesh…

 

(Oh Zaarin… they’re not…?)

 

 

 

… a constellation of stars floats within a dark galaxy, revealing that it is all that’s true about Serras’ body.

Those stars pulsate, with the largest rising to the surface of the boundary that is her shape. Only this silhouette of a human marks where the lie once was believed by others.

 

 

 

Her arm coats with slimy scales, waters ripping around it as it thrashes on the ground.

The torso pales to a bluish tint. Shadows scrape like beggars as they near, seeking audience with great reverence.

Feet turn to green ice, cracking the bark as it frosts and desiccates, refusing to ever thaw!

 

Half of her upper torso sprouts lotus blossoms which quickly spread by falling free of her, like a tree during fall that has decided to replace the entire forest with its progeny…

 

 

 

“JIA’VE, ADRIIIISSSSS!?”

 

The pain must be unbearable, for her shrill cry rises about the whirring being born from every bloom gathering below.

 

Angry, fist-sized red locusts erupt from the tree’s insides where the lotuses take root, burrowing their way to the surface with biting mouths. They swarm immediately, becoming hundreds strong as the parasitic lotuses climb the tree without stopping.

 

“What is thiiiiiiis!? Destroy them!”

Floating higher, the sage directs her tendrils at the glowing locusts which seek out fresh meat.

But when they swat, the beasts only neatly cling to these dissolving appendages.

 

And start feasting upon them and their summoner’s identity obscuring robe.

 

“MADNESS!? ABSOLUTE MADNEEEEESS!?

HELP! HEEEEELP!”

 

 

 

Still flees the onslaught, crawling on hands and knees while shaking.

Though she wasn’t afraid of this Serras before, upon witnessing her devolve into a…

 

 

 

(They’re not humans taken by nightmares, they’re nightmares masquerading as humans!)

 

 

 

Something is terribly familiar about this heart-stopping revelation, leaving Still darkly hypocritical and stunned by that thought.

Especially when she lifts her head, taking in the change to the creature towering above her.

 

“… Ahn’te, Serras…?”

 

 

 

Like his swordmaiden, he no longer possesses visible skin.

He’s even shed his enchanted armor, leaving only chitin beneath which links to a blazing rainbow star tainted by tar-like blackness.

That, and feathers of whitish red.

 

Without worrying if he’s a man or a bird, the feathers of a phoenix bestow upon him a false radiance that surges an impetus of ending starvation through Still.

It feels both secular and sensual, begging her to leap upon him, even as his true nature being revealed otherwise melts her thoughts.

 

(More than just the blood and taste, you really are the real thing?)

 

Sickle blades lift for inspection, with insect-like ligaments that snap together leaving his knees and elbows backwards. No matter how expressionless he normally acts, the way Adris flinches reveals his true feelings about his essential nature.

 

A lean gauntness exists where only a litheness once exhibited, an avian allure that makes him a rooster. No longer allowed to hide as a human, he finally has a presence which speaks to Still’s insides.

 

(This is my fuckin’ partner…? This thing… I believed in…!?)

 

 

 

Always sure that he was only a tenth as strong as he portrayed, Still could live with good humor at his various incongruities and wrongs.

 

But, now, she only wants to flee forever.

To leave everyone else to rot in their own deaths, forsake her pact made with the Gravemonger, and find a calm place to let this disturbing world bleach from her thoughts.

 

 

 

(The whole time, he was foolin’ me.

I bit eagerly onto… the greatest lie…)

 

 

 

Numerous shining darknesses cling to him, as well, warring with the rainbow which comes from within. They resist the currents with sentient wills separate from the constellation of stars.

Rough metal bands cover a leather bracer, radiating a surge of manly, impenetrable fortitude as it firmly strangles his arm. Adris rears back and moans at its reaction, his face beginning to darken with the blackness rising from his body.

 

That blackness meets his half-face mask that has never once been taken off, despite Still trying many times.

When it does so, the mask shatters everything around it rather than be forced to break itself.

 

 

 

(This is your…)

 

Whatever Adris fehl Dain truly is, Still can’t claim to comprehend;

but, he must be that thing without having a face to call his own.

 

 

 

Once the false mask that was his countenance shatters upon the tree’s trunk after falling, only a void without features remains under the half-face mask that glows with obsidian sharpness.

His sickle hands raise slowly and shakily, scratching lightly at the nothingness as he finally seems to register a woman before him, staring curiously at what horrifies her.

 

 

 

“Ah…?

… AHHHHHH!?”

Exposed as he is, he can only scream and join in with Serras’ howling.

 

 

 

With the lie exposed…

… the true nightmare hidden beneath the fake one must rule.

 

Their mutual horror transforms the elvish homeland into a barren forest of death, ruled overhead by a glaring, circular black hole.

A black moon stares down with joy, one that is never permitted to shine upon Zennia except when nightmares come out to frolic.

 

 

 

Locusts, millions of them, try to swarm over Still’s body.

But burst into white flames, for parchments stuck to her erupt one-by-one to shine outward!

 

(GYAAAH!? I hate you, Ave! And Zsinj! You’re supposed to love everyone!?)

 

Each parchment erupting pains her fragile depths! A holy gift of protection is also a curse.

 

For a moment within this dark space, she alone is the surviving witness for the truth of [Identical Gemini] as the nightmare finally takes form for real.

 

 

 

(… I kinda hoped…)

 

A hidden wish is dashed the moment it’s discovered.

Now that she’s entered into this treacherous night…

 

(… that he wasn’t like me.)

 

“Like me” has horrible implications.

The unspoken revelation of the truth causes her mesh to begin fraying.

 

What’s squirming beneath wonders if she shouldn’t just join him, since he seems to be so thrilled to be unmasked?

If she has to endure this collapsing world by herself after learning the truth, then she’ll be destroyed by her following admission.

 

(I’m… I’m afraid of you…

… you’re… not only smart, but also… strong…)

 

 

 

Despite admitting that to herself in a way which should seal her fate, Adris instead writhes where he stands instead of completing his fear and killing Still.

Pain shoots through him and keeping him locked in place, for boots of white rabbit fur scream silently in outrage. Their red, shining gems like eyes leer at Still.

 

They reproach her.

They demand release.

 

They absolutely refuse to allow their wearer to succumb to another, for it defies the order of nature!

 

(“He belongs to me”?)

 

As the currents of darkness rip at Still’s thoughts, another intrudes on them…

 

 

 

“You always asked what the truth of the Craft was, in purest essence. Why I could brew up with ease what you always left stinking of shit, kekeke.”

 

Within Still’s mind, something like a memory plays out.

A scene she has no memory of, one in which Still kneels before her reclining mentor in a lavish, filthy room filled with hoarded objects, is so clear but also grainy as it comes to life.

Her master cuffs the girl upon the head, unsettling her witchy hat and forcing Still to slowly adjust it.

“It is an answer meant to be discovered, not given!” Sighing in agony, her mentor then rubs the girl’s mask. “… but, alas, you are not my true apprentice, for never once have you tried to off me, after all!”

 

(Was I supposed to…?)

 

“Of course! That’s the true test of succession: how long you’re willing to put up with dearest mother!”

 

(… I never wanted to be you, though…)

 

“… Of course, such a disappointment! Ah, but am I also not at fault, for I could never bring myself to bother with obtaining a new tadpole. Even after you went and ruined your fa-bu-lous skin… hahhh…”

Taking on a familiar tone, the woman prepares to pass on a secret that Still has longed to grasp when she leans in closer, with shocking familiarity…

“So, dwell on this and let it guide your perception…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Still…

… help me…”

 

This faceless man leans in, speaking Castilian once more as his mask shines.

It interrupts Still’s reverie, bringing her back to “reality” prematurely.

 

Unable to walk forward due angry boots, he can only loom overhead with his sickle-hands reaching in toward her neck.

 

“… don’t…

b-b-betray… me…

too…”

 

A deep despair instead betrays his own feelings.

 

The sneak finally understands the nature of Adris’ parting with the woman that cries out for him.

No quantity or quality of duplicity can achieve the honesty in his whispered plea.

 

“… I can’t live…

… without…

… you.”

 

(Adris…)

 

 

 

Still’s head is struck once more, with a witch groaning before coughing.

When her fit ends, the evil teacher speaks with a low tone.

 

“Ignore him!

… If you can claim to be confident, then I admit that I have never been. For we live in a world gone mad, child. To have confidence within such a design would be surrendering to its madness; to believe that we can determine right and wrong with its insanity as a compass and its duplicity as destination is… bizarre.

Therefore, the secret to the Craft as I found it was thus:

 

‘Nothing you truly feel can be called wrong; and, that which is believed to be just shall succeed in this world; therefore, every emotion you wield justly shall prevail over others who do not hold true to their feelings.’”

 

(That’s… it…?)

 

Such an incredible assertion is the truth Still has been seeking in both life and death?

The reason she has… so many failures…?

 

“Sophistry is better than reality on Zennia! Denying oneself with the false ‘light of truth’ is the only eternal death, for we are all reborn children of immortal Pothos above!”

 

That moon seen through the broken window whispers louder, offering subtle hints now that Still perks her ears toward it.

 

“YES! THAT’S IT, BRAT!

REMEMBER: IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU PLOP INTO THE BREW, SO LONG AS A WRETCHED CHILD BELIEVES THE RITUAL TO BE MORE VALID THAN THE FAKE WORLD SHE LANGUISHES IN.

… Of course, you must also not leave alive a single peon who calls your methods false!”

 

(I just have to…?)

 

“CAST OFF THEIR ARBITRARY CHAINS CALLED ‘RULES’ AND LASH OUT WITH YOUR HATRED! KEKEKEKE!!!

… Only when you can believe in your doubtful feelings before all others’ will you be fit to thread with my needle…”

 

An infectious laugh and a somber flute join together in harmony for this moment as the scene swirls into a melange like a tea cup with cream being added to it.

 

 

 

Still’s hand reaches for Adris’, only moments from touching.

Once again, as her unlife approaches its end, she finds she’s falling for…

 

 

 

(Right, yeah, he’s just… ALWAYS LIKE THIS!)

 

 

 

His chitinous scythes are sharp when he betrays her!

In but an instant, the one blocking her blade is joined by the second to shear it in half.

The pieces fly into the whirring swarm as Still finds no room to flee!

 

A man…

 

 

 

(My first and biggest mistake: YOU’RE NOT A MAN!)

 

The monster known as Adris fehl Dain is bizarrely fast.

Its strikes seem to come from opposite directions halfway through its swings, accompanied by the air itself blowing differently.

 

With only a single sword and a long dirk to contend with it, Still duels this abomination. The tornado of locusts around them refuse to land or aid with Still’s parchments intact, awaiting with great curiosity the conclusion of the dance.

 

If the waltz concludes like usual, Still will be split into three pieces in its next rush.

 

 

 

(That’s not gonna happen, y’know Adris. It’s okay that you’re not human, to me, because…)

 

 

 

IT HAS TO BE OKAY,

BECAUSE STILL’S BODY CEASES TO BE THE SHAPELY FIGURE OF AN OLDER GIRL.

 

Instead, she becomes able to move like an unrestrainable river, one filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty sediment.

 

 

 

( ‘CUZ I AIN’T HUMAN EITHER, YA’KNOW!? )

 

 

 

Everything slips away other than the emotions that give sorcery reality, as Still ceases to think of herself as a pathetic human.

Chief among those…

 

 

 

(You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at anyone other than me when I want yah to!?)

 

If Adris has two scythes, then Still just has to have a hundred swords all at once?

The naked jealousy of a woman who doesn’t need a man can make the impossible real!

 

Women can do anything, including the impossible!

 

Whirring from outside is drowned by the switchy beat of fluid slices!

The space before Still is gently filled with inviting slashing, a flurry without ceasing coaxing Adris to either enter her embrace or show some enticing spirit of its own!

 

(I can’t get naked by myself, Adris! Only whores hoist up their skirts when a man is there to do it for ‘em…!)

 

Like some BUG READY TO BE SQUASHED, it finally jumps around like a flea. A fencer would blush at how it weaves and ducks around the slicing currents of Still’s never-ending slashes.

 

 

 

(That’s it: I GOTTA FEEL YOUR EFFORT IF YOU WANNA FUCK ME!)

 

 

 

Realizing it’ll be cornered eventually and tossed into bed for kisses, it throws out its sickles, detaching them and letting them fly!

They carve around Still’s loving arms, then instantly change vectors!

 

(Yah never let me drink my fill of you when I REALLY need it…!)

[… DROWN…]

 

Still’s body twists to the floor, going almost totally flat before slinking from her prone state to mount him. A hunger for that DELICIOUS STUFF IN ITS VEINS AND ARTERIES AND ELSEWHERE is what makes Still slaver for it!

 

An extending arm aims to caress Adris’ neck, but the unbeddable creature does the most bizarre thing.

Erupting into flames, only spinning ashes are left that circle within their dueling stage.

 

(HMMM!?)

 

Though ashes, her partner for the long night is still alive!

 

Flames finally erupt behind her, with sickles falling as they reform!

Her back is exposed, naked to its attempt to push her over and claim her!

 

(AHAHAHAHA! GOT YOUUUU!)

[… DROWN WITH ME…]

 

 

 

Still tips forward, letting her legs lift and move like arms to wrestle with it!

Top and bottom seemingly invert with seamless agility as dirks poking from her feet clash with the sickles.

 

A black, four-limbed spider ticks around while stabbing, desperate to wrap up the prey in a sharp web.

 

(I’m not human, Adris, REMEMBER!?)

[DROWN WITH ME! ALL OF YOU… WILL DROWN!]

 

Not content to be a spider, she hops into the air in one last effort!

Making her arms and legs like the tendrils from the door of mysteries outside, all four poke and prod at once!

 

(… I’ll rape…

kIlL… yOu AlL!)

[DROOOOWN!]

 

Conscious thought is vanishing as she entirely ceases to resemble a human.

Only a porcelain mask with a slasher smile remains as her fixation, uniting sensual desire that blurs with a need to murder.

 

(… eVeRyOnE… wIlL dIe…!

… EsPeCiAlLy YoU… iNsIdE mE…!)

 

Scythes clash against the impossible strikes, Adris’ experience and senses keeping up, keeping its chastity intact…!

 

(… bE mInE,

oNlY mInE!

lOvE nOtHiNg, No OnE eLsE!)

 

[(… THEN, TOGETHER, WE’LL DROWN THAT GOLDEN BI—!)]

 

 

 

A single nick on its face is like an orgasmic touch of lovers at mutual climax.

 

Before she feels like “Still” is about to vanish, a girl tastes the deliciousness of reaving vitality from another. The spray of its essence is so beautiful that something snaps back into place.

 

(uM…

… rApE hIM…?

nO, hUmAn!?)

 

The airborne dervish collapses on her fat butt, cradling the dirk which is slick with rainbow droplets.

 

(… OOH, HUMAN!

… I swear, please, I’m a human!)

 

No longer swirling about like a stream, her body of course matches her memory of the wonderfully fulfilled, gluttonous noble life that provided her best assets.

Everything feels normal, she swears!

 

(Got… GOT YOUUUUUUU, ADRIS!)

 

 

 

In an orgiastic revelry, Still prances headlong into the tornado of insects that burst into white flames if they touch her.

Footsteps from behind and a bright, red and black shadow in her otherworldly sight show that the demon she bled is chasing her for seconds with its fullest need.

 

(YOU KNEW! THAT I HAD A PLAN!

YOU’VE… YOU’RE AFRAID OF MEEEEEE!)

 

 

 

This whole night, Adris refused to intervene!

Always waiting for something!

And, when it finally intervened…!

 

 

 

(The only person it… no, he’s been trying to gild is me! Ahahaha! Adris is afraid of me~!)

 

Drunk still on her mind degenerating, Still emerges into the “safe zone” where tendrils of inky blackness and swirling purple grime make a last stand against the forest-filling swarms of red locusts.

 

“… BACK! KEEEP THEEEM BAAAAACK!”

 

Nearly naked now, the floating sage above continues to slam her tome against locusts that make it past her squirming defenses. Most of her robe has been eaten, revealing her creamy rabbit fur along her legs and arms, as well as a fluffy tail and long ears that have locusts hanging from them.

Only her thigh-high boots hide a bit of her womanly, if not slovenly thick, body that uselessly twists around to avoid being nibbled further at.

 

“EEIIII! … OH, YOU!”

 

The two women make eye contact.

Both recognize the importance of this meeting, since a man made of a black galaxy and stars, as well as shining dark items, bursts behind her right after, but…

 

 

 

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU LITTLE TRAMP!”

 

All of the tendrils obey this rabbit’s silent mental command, aiming toward Still and disregarding defense.

Pink eyes shine without reason remaining.

 

“FACE THE END OF EXISTENCE!”

 

(YOU FIRST!)

 

 

 

Still just jukes to her right, allowing those tendrils to impact on the man that cuts through where she was standing.

“GUURGH…!? MWAHHH!?”

 

These tendrils are swiftly chopped through as the man begins to smoke while swimming in stuff from beyond the waking world.

A moment later, the locusts converge on to chew through the mass assaulting him.

 

 

 

(It’s over…)

 

With all enemies busy, Still pulls out her secret weapon.

Her dearest treasure.

The ultimate failsafe against a boy who reeks of darkness, “obtained” from a trusted source by nimble fingers.

 

 

 

A blank, unnamed folio unfurls into her hand.

 

(For you to make me use this, blame yourself, Adris.)

 

People scream and yell and curse outside of Still’s little bubble, but that no longer matters.

The flute playing tickles her ear, sharing its belief in her forthcoming ritual as well as offering subtle hints.

 

(Oh? Excellent idea. I’m about to own you forever, partner~.)

 

Quickly, she rubs the knife along the folio while feeling giddy.

The rainbow droplets deposit on it, staining the parchment with imaginary colors that form an image of a person as a name also stretches across its top.

That giddiness she feels flies away with shock.

 

([Ruinous Star]? That’s not your original contradiction, right!?)

 

And the image is wrong, too.

It portrays the Adris of now, one with no face and visions of horrible stars within him.

As Still observes in despair, another figure tries to paint itself into the image. Slowly but surely, a woman covered by lotuses is being added at the back of this evil thing.

They lock hands and sickles, facing degeneration into monsters together.

 

 

 

(WRONG! YOU DON’T GET TO ESCAPE INTO BEING A MONSTER IF I CAN’T!)

 

 

 

But how to stop this is unknown to Still.

If she applies the final ingredient as is, what’s registered upon the folio will be this godforsaken abomination.

 

Adris fehl Dain will never…

 

 

 

“… Still? Hear and attend to this tool!”

 

Above the fray, Still makes out a bell-like voice crying out.

The flute’s playing fluctuates in time with these words, leaving Still sure of the source of transmission.

 

(Neesiette!?)

“Be that not obvious? Obey closely, for time remaining diminishes!

Forsake one’s ambitions of ownership, no matter how intended!”

(… Ahh, I have no idea what you’re~—?)

“Dissemble not! Terribly clear one’s ambitions be at most times to this tool!”

(… Would it really be so bad to reign him in? After all: you’re the one he endangers the most…)

 

With this as the perfect opportunity, Still can cast off her fear of Adris long enough to fantasize about trapping him with this folio.

To make him become her bed, a place for her to rest, as a naive doll is eternally cared for…

 

“STILL!”

 

That named girl startles when Neesiette screams.

Emotion Still has never felt in the doll’s voice is sufficient to cause the folio to fluctuate briefly.

 

“Care existing even a bit, a fraction of a thing called nobility or love, claim this one could within one’s dissolute heart…!”

(Those words sound pretty mean, Neesiette?)

 

This girl has never spoken to Still this way, either. Abandoning simple logic for an insult, Neesiette’s supplication is…

 

 

 

“Saving one called Adris fehl Dain in actuality, and not just dissembling with words… such an accomplishment this… this tool begs of one named Still, whom be considered…

…

… a friend, by this tool.”

 

 

 

(Huh?)

 

Still’s mind is blank as she pulls out the vial of fresh blood taken from her partner days earlier.

In place of her dreams of ownership, Still suddenly can’t picture how she’d make use of him if he always had to listen to her?

 

(… Are you stupid? I know you aren’t, Neesiette. Of course I’m going to save him. Don’t talk to me again until after I do.)

“Still!? Sure of oneself then, confidence rediscovered, one—!?”

(EVERYONE SHUT UP ABOUT CONFIDENCE, BY ZAARIN! And get out of my head…!)

“Oh? Possessing one does—?”

 

Using mental sorcery, Still blanks the chatty automaton from her mind.

Instead, she looks up at the threat who is currently swimming within the otherworldy tendrils, aiming for the rabbit sage above.

 

(… I need… something else to substitute for him that is also him, then?)

 

One of the nightmare tools that cling on will have to suffice. Unlike the stars within, these dark tools reek like the half-mask Adris fondly makes his emblem.

 

(Which one is strong enough to be both a substitute and victor, though?)

 

That secret must be revealed, with Still only able to choose after hearing what is said above.

 

 

 

“… BAH!”

“HIIIEEEEE!”

The faceless Adris reaches from his tendril transit that’s finally frozen from the locusts devouring it, desperate to slice through the bunny sage who keeps swinging her tome at him.

Her faltering concentration allows no further weapon!

“… Uhh… YOU? IT’S YOU!?”

“W-W-What!?”

“YOU’RE THAT STUPID… FUCKING, FAT ASS RABBIT!”

“Yes!? I am a lagomorph!? … What do you mean fat!?”

 

Such intense anger that brings a halt to the chimeric Adris hardly explains itself to Still, for these two foes didn’t meet before this night and he has been an uncaring nightmare for her worst deeds.

 

(Yet this bimbo returns your working brain, and not me!?)

 

“Wait? That voice…? I recognize… You’re…!”

Who he is dawns on the crazed sage’s face, which frowns and then scrunches up cutely.

“… THAT MASK IS THE SAME!? YOU’RE THAT FUCKING GHOUL’S KID!”

“CASTILLO TRASH! EVERYTHING… EVERYTHING WRONG IS BECAUSE OF BITCHES LIKE YOU!”

“AAAHHH!”

The sage finally smashes him in the face with her tome as he nears her, prompting only another roar of disgust from Adris.

“… GACK!?”

“You’re why I was forced to leave the Castillo! BE DESTROYED FOR MY GLORY!”

 

White hairs start to sprout from Adris’ starlike body as his anger peaks.

When they do, skin reforms bit by bit!

 

“YOU… LITTLE… BREEDING SOW…”

As he growls, red eyes open within his faceless void. An unfathomable anger stimulates his uncertain body to change!

“UMMM!? Who…!?”

In turn, the terrified woman blushes deeply with snot dripping from her nose as she mewls.

 

(It’s the boots!)

 

From the boots, fur spreads onto his legs.

Bare muscles form most deliciously, thick and firm as they try to spread. The feathers that were previously there fall off, floating until they burn up.

 

(That’s it, they’re the strong key! What darkness is those boots, though!?)

 

Only left moments to understand this hidden darkness, Still wonders if she’d be better off stabbing the folio with a dirk to free herself from the fear beating between her ears.

 

 

 

Until…

“KUKUKUKU…”

 

 

 

Noise like scritching sheets grows into obnoxious laughter.

From Adris’ thrashing rabbit boots, a shadow drops off to flow freely on the bark.

 

It races for Still with a quickness that defies her defense from it!

 

(You have another thing clinging to you…!?)

 

 

 

A black wimple hangs over the folio as the screeching static in the air knits into solid form.

The ragged cloak attached to it spreads over the ground, muffling the multitude of voices which chatter from within.

 

Still’ dread of discovering who those voices belong to matches with her hatred of how she resonates with this…

 

(Undead specter?)

 

A vibrating arm of pale white, moving with a jerking, ghostly presence, plants its finger upon the folio.

And hastily draws out a name using glyphs that Still cannot read but feels nauseated to understand.

 

The instant she comprehends the name, the image of the folio morphs.

Serras vanishes from Adris’ back into a burst of locusts.

Above Adris starts to shine a black moon. The Castillo in all of its glory builds brick by brick behind him, yet he only growls at its intrusion.

 

In place of an unholy amalgamation stands a tall, imposing demi-human elder, clutching his head in pain as long bunny ears with nicks in them wave.

Horns like short antlers curl up around his crown, naming him as a king that radiates raw sensuality…

 

([Lord of Predation]…?)

 

Such an ominous name…

 

(Yeah, okay. That… works…?)

 

Rather than distrust this obviously duplicitous being of death before her, Still empties the vial of delicious lifeblood onto the folio. Then, promptly collapses to her side as the girl in the wimple dissolves into a storm of gibbering voices.

 

(Ugh!? It’s… draining me, too…!?)

 

Within Still’s special sight, the vitality of existence within her body and Adris’ links through the folio as screeching beams of red!

Something permanent changes!

 

 

 

“HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!”

“HEEEEEEELP!? What… what IS THIS GUY!?”

 

Explosions ring out as locusts plop to the ground by the thousands.

They crumble up into gray dust that’s picked up by the shining black tornado which roars around Adris’ obscuring body as it changes.

 

 

 

In the last possible moment before he was lost, an emotion takes root in his heart that leaves Still arching in pleasure.

 

(Ummm! Even if… you go wild, I still win, this time… you… lusty bastard…)

 

For the first time since she “awoke”, Still has the unbearable urge to return to sleep.

She rests within the dead elvish forest, soaking in the perpetual rot of her master’s poison.

 

(… If I can fake being a human… so can you again, partner…)

 

 

 

Still hopes that, perhaps, she’ll remember to suggest some solutions in a way that doesn’t…

… insist that she cares either way about what happens to him…

 

 

---

 

Characters:

 

Glossary:

Chapter 104         Table of Contents          Chapter 106