Chapter 120: In Which Trains Come To Life And Attack Us
The train pulled up, and everyone dismounted, stepping out onto the platform. "Welcome to Demuri Estate," Cal declared with an air of annoyance.
"Estate? I thought we were going to a town?" Grace questioned, jumping down after him. The rest of the team followed.
"This is a town. The Demuri family owns so much land that they established their own township," Calvin grumbled.
"Ah yes, the Demuris. One of the oldest and wealthiest families in Fiore. You remember the guest from the second day of the Grand Magic Games?" Sarph questioned.
"Not really," Tyria admitted.
"Lady Akari Demuri. She's . . part of . ." Everyone paused, feeling a sudden surge of a foreign magic power in the vicinity. The six wizards all turned, immediately realising that the source of the magic power was the only other person on the platform.
She was tall, with hair styled upwards into a fan shape, predominantly dark green with streaks of harsh, unforgiving purple shot through it. A summery red dress, adorned with streaks of black pixels, draped her body, and she looked down, avoiding the wizards' gaze as though she were intruding on a private moment.
". . That is her we sense, right?" Pierce questioned.
"That's weird," Erik frowned, tilting his head. "I can't hear her thoughts. All I'm getting is a . . buzzing,"
The woman in question looked up as they spoke, seeming almost surprised. Her face was round and supple, with brown eyes that had flecks of red in them. Her lips were pale, and her gaze seemed empty as she eyed them with a blank expression. "Oh. You must be who they sent. Are you here for me?"
"Depends. Are you a Miss Servhardt?" Sarph questioned.
She laughed, a hollow sound that held no amusement. "You mean Nino? No, no. You could call me by her name, but it wouldn't be accurate,"
"Then who are you?" Tyria questioned.
"If you so desire, you could call me Entropy. Or perhaps The Mother of Mischief might be to your taste. Or think of something else, if you so choose. What right have I to tell you what to do?" the now-identified Entropy shrugged dispassionately.
"Sounds like a dark wizard's moniker," Erik was immediately on guard. The Phoenixes nodded in agreement, while Cal just seemed confused.
"A dark wizard? Me? Hardly. They're all about taking life and freedom away. I, though, give such things freely,"
The group paused. Her words were nice, but her empty tone had them on edge. There was something fundamentally wrong about this Entropy person.
"Observe," Suddenly, Entropy's hand glowed with red light.
"Wha - wait!" Sarph commanded, but it came a moment too late; the red-clad woman pressed her glowing hand to the wall of the train that had not yet left the station.
"What did you just do?" Pierce urgently demanded as a great heaving noise came from an unknown source.
"I gave the gift of life to that which had none. I only wish there was someone who could do the same to me," For a second, Entropy looked downcast and turned away. "But you all enjoy your new friend. I have other places to be anyway. Ta-ta!"
"Wait, don't leave yet!" Pierce shouted, but Grace tapped him. "Um, Pierce, we have a bigger problem . . literally,"
"What do you mean?" Pierce asked, realising that everyone behind him was turning around. Frowning, he followed suit.
The front carriage of the train had twisted Ike a massive, wooden snake, lifting the engine off the tracks and turning the boiler to face them. Pierce paled, noticing that the cowcatcher and the undercarriage had split from the boiler with sharp protrusions that looked a lot like teeth, and the rounded front of the boiler had sprouted a massive, angry red eyeball.
"Did that crazy lady turn the train into a monster?" Tyria asked in mounting dread.
"What the . ." Erik moaned in disbelief.
The train's mouth split open wide and it raised its head, a shrill, high-pitched whistle of a roar echoing through the station. And then it lunged, jaws open wide to devour the six wizards.
Everyone scattered, Sarph taking off, Grace vanishing into reality, and Pierce, Tyria and Erik taking cover inside the station. Cal, though, stood his ground. "Metalmake: Rod!" he invoked, producing a massive iron bar that he wedged into the jaws of the oncoming train. The animated machine's eyes went wide as it choked on the sudden obstruction.
"Take this!" Cal shouted, punching the monster right in its eye. The train reared backwards, surging upwards to get out of range, and glowering down at them. It worked it's jaw furiously, crushing and splintering the rod, before swallowing with an audible gulp. A happy belch of steam shot out of its funnel.
"Is there anyone else on board?" Pierce questioned.
"No, this is the end of the line. I saw the driver get off," Tyria explained, moving to join Cal.
"Good, then we don't have to hold back. Tyria, Cal, Erik, keep it distracted! Sarph, cut those couplings! Me and Grace will look for weak spots!" Pierce rapidly commanded.
The train whistled furiously, before lunging again. Erik leapt at it from the side and body-slammed it off-balance, causing the head to carve a hole into the platform. "Poison Dragon's Fang Thrust!" he declared, punching the side of the boiler, which dented. The Poison Dragon Slayer frowned. "How am I supposed to poison a train?"
"TechType: Drill!" The train shrieked and reared away as Tyria's spinning bits gouged a hole into the underside of its jaw. Lashing the carriages that made up its length, it pulled away from the platform and shook the rear carriage menacingly, before slamming it down towards Tyria and Cal.
"That looks useful!" Cal grinned, seeing Tyria's magic, before mimicking her and casting; "TechType: Drill!" Tyria blinked, watching in surprise as Cal's arms merged and transformed in a way identical to hers - and the younger boy promptly collapsed under the weight. "OHMYGODTHISISHEAVY!" he panicked.
"How are you -" Tyria hastily brought up her drill again to intercept the attacking carriage, and the train screeched in fear, withdrawing just before it could gain a fresh hole.
Pierce, riding Raya, swooped in, bathing the train in flame, but the fire washed over the magicallised wood and metal without touching it. "Crap . . we need a new strategy! What's the weakness of a train?!" Raya weaved to avoid a blast of steam from the engine's funnel.
Sarph, his wings glowing, suddenly swooped in and struck at the coupling that connected the rear carriage to the rest of the train, answering, "The connections!" But «Tenshi Meiyo» just bounced off ineffectually. "What the -" he spluttered as Erik passed him, clinging to the side of the train. "You can't just cut through magic metal," the younger man growled, before punching the glass window. It shattered, and he crawled inside. "You gotta target the weaker spots. Poison Dragon's Roar!" he raged, unleashing a torrent of dirty liquid on the inside of the train. The creature screamed, a harsh, metallised noise, and frantically lashed its snake-like length to throw the two off. Sarph took wing, and Erik slid down the thrashing floor of the carriage to reach the door, which he kicked open and emerged into the next carriage. "Grace!" he shouted.
Hearing the location of her blood brother and using it as a reference point for a spatial distortion, Grace leapt out of the ceiling and joined Erik, landing in a seat. "What's the plan?" she questioned.
"Take it apart from the inside," Erik grinned ferally, and Grace matched his expression, throwing herself into the air and spreading her arms like wings. "Reality Dragon's . ."
"Poison Dragon's . ."
"Corrosive World!" both roared in unison, Grace spreading distortions in reality throughout the train, before both Dragon Slayers roared in unison, the twinned attacks enhancing each other, Grace's magic breaking down Erik's poison and reconstituting it as the fragmented space scattered the result all over the inside and outside of the train; a potent, magic-devouring acid.
Spinning, the younger sibling grabbed her brother, tore open a rift in reality and threw them both through it, landing on the platform with Tyria and Cal. The four watched, as did Sarph, Pierce and Raya above, as the train shrieked in despair, the greyed acid eating into its body and leaving everything it touched blackened and lifeless. "Was that a Unison Raid?" Sarph questioned, amazed.
Pierce winced as the train's whistle blew a long, mournful death-rattle, before the unfortunate creature curled up and was still. "That was . ." he started.
"Awesome!" Grace beamed, throwing a palm up and high-giving Erik. "Hell yeah it was," the redhead smiled back at her.
"Horrible," The end of Pierce's sentence went almost unheard by the rest of his group over the celebrations. And the only one who did hear it briefly raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Alright, alright. The victory party can wait. We need to go after that woman, Entropy. And we also need to find this Servhardt woman," Sarph declared.
"And rendezvous with Boomer," Tyria added, and the knight nodded. "That too,"
"Then let's go," Erik and Pierce declared simultaneously. They both exchanged glances, a small chuckle escaping Pierce's lips while Erik looked irritated.
"Jinx!" Grace giggled.
-[CoT]-
"I really hope that didn't set the tone for this entire adventure," Pierce grumbled as they left the station, a haunted look still on his face. "Because that is quite possibly the most ridiculous fight I've ever taken part in,"
"Aren't you forgetting the time you fought your father on top of a runaway caravan?" Sarph pointed out.
"Or the time we duelled an assassin across dimensions?" Grace questioned.
"No. Fighting a train trumps them both," Pierce deadpanned.
"So stuff like this happens a lot around here," Erik assumed.
"I suppose I shouldn't forget the time I rode a phoenix into battle against a man on a flying snake," Pierce added with a wry grin.
"Oh ha ha," his new teammate rolled his eyes.
"Hey, Cal? How did you copy my spell?" Tyria questioned.
"It's my magic, Mimic. I can copy any spell I observe or bring to mind," Cal explained.
Everyone paused, staring at him in surprise. "Seriously?" Grace gasped. "That sounds like an incredibly powerful magic," Sarph agreed,
"Well, sort of . . my memory's not that great, and I need to bring to mind every little detail to mimic a spell. All the little things are easy to forget . . a lot of the time I can only do it if someone's just used the spell right in front of me," the brown-haired blacksmith admitted, looking bashful.
"Still, that's cool!" Grace endorsed.
"I suppose it is," Cal agreed, and, with a flicker of bent space, Grace was suddenly hanging from mid-air before him. "Can you copy my spatial distortions?"
Cal squinted, and, looking closely, Grace noticed that, for a second, a red magic circle manifested over his eye. Then he threw up an arm and sent the air ripping, before casually stepping through the rippling air and vanishing. Grace let herself fall to the ground as Cal emerged in front of the group, and grinned, looking proud of himself. "Hey, that's handy!"
Suddenly Grace was in front of him again, grinning. "I know, right?"
"Great, now there's two of them," Tyria jokingly complained.
Soon, the group reached the town. "So, that Lady Demuri person from the Grand Magic Games? Were you saying she owns this town or something?" Tyria asked.
Sarph nodded confirmation. "The Demuris are an ancient household of nobility. They're very powerful politically. This entire town's part of their estate, and most everyone here is their vassal. From what I've heard, the taxes are -"
"Hey, everyone!" Boomer pulled up beside them in his car, the Sonic Boom's engine purring like a well-fed cat. Sarph briefly grumbled at being interrupted again.
"So, I found out where that Servhardt woman we're looking for lives," the short boy cut to the chase.
"You did?" Pierce nodded approvingly.
"We're looking for a Nino E. Servhardt. Apparently she used to be a handmaiden to some local noblewoman's daughter, but got fired. Something about stealing this antique hairpin. She's been making ends meet as a janitor in a local private school since, and living in the staff dorms," Boomer nodded. "It's just out of town,"
"And here I thought I was the research guy," Sarph dryly admitted. "Good work,"
"Well? We gonna head over there or what?" Erik questioned.
"It's a good place to start. Besides, I've been wondering for a while what schools in Fiore are like. If a Fiorean college is called a guild, then what do Fioreans call a college?" Tyria mused.
-[CoT]-
"I was expecting so much more," the Electrian witch admitted, disappointed.
Upon arriving at Armand Academy, they found themselves outside a stately red building, which looked aged and weathered. The grounds were well-kept, the building well-maintained, and the entire place presented the purest picture of high society. "This place is nothing like the College. Where's the life? The colourful lights? The students practising magic on the sports grounds?"
Boomer looked to the left and saw a couple of boys playing what looked like tennis, but with tiny, long-handled racquets and some kind of rounded dart instead of a ball. "Don't look to your left," he advised. They had left the Sonic Boom at the gate and proceeded on foot.
Upon entering the foyer of the main building, they were waylaid by a butler. "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, regarding them with dismissive suspicion.
Pierce, in the lead as usual, suddenly felt self-conscious about his appearance, patting some wrinkles out of his orange jacket and navy blue pants. "We're looking for a Ms. Servhardt. We're guild wizards on a job, and she's our only lead. Do you know where she is?"
The butler quirked an eyebrow. "Certainly. Follow me," he declared, striding past them and back outside. Frowning a bit, the wizards followed him, and he led them around the side of the Academy, towards the back, eventually reaching a side door that was much smaller and less ornate than the main one. "Enter through here. It's the servants' door,"
Pierce frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Take the first left, and follow the corridor until you reach the fifth door on the right. Ms. Servhardt's quarters are there, and she should be there," the butler explained, ignoring his question.
"Ah, well thank you," Pierce nodded magnanimously.
"Don't thank him," Erik growled. Suddenly the butler was pressed against the wall, an irritated Poison Dragon Slayer glaring him down. "You might not know this, but I have pretty good hearing. I can even hear someone's thoughts. So I've been privy to every silent insult you just threw against my friends, and I don't much care for people who call us filth,"
"Erik, stop," Pierce commanded,
"But-"
Pierce fixed him with his best 'I-am-dominant-alpha-you-will-submit-to-me' look. Typically reserved for defiant beasts, but occasionally useful for humans. And it worked, Erik releasing the butler, who frantically scrambled away.
"He took us around the back like this because he didn't want us tracking filth through the building," Erik growled.
"Look. Erik. This is part of being a guild wizard. Sometimes, when we go on jobs, they end up being for people who are only hiring us as a last resort. Who'd rather not associate with us. They're jerks, sure, but we have to maintain a reputation as professionals,"
"Why?" Cal interrupted, and everyone looked at him. "I've heard a lot about Phoenix's Eye. I thought you were big time, big deal types who don't take crap from anyone?"
"We don't," Pierce confirmed. "But we also don't alienate prospective future customers. You think that guy's going to want to hire us in the future?"
"I wouldn't work for him anyway," Erik snorted.
"Would you work for him if you were broke and starving and had no other chance of income?" the Tamer questioned.
"Doesn't dignity count for anything?" the Dragon Slayer retorted.
"Of course it does. But you have to take care of yourself too," Pierce argued back.
"Enough. We're wasting time," Sarph interrupted, pushing through them and entering the building. "Let's go meet Servhardt,"
Erik frowned at his friend, who nodded and followed the knight. 'Pierce . . something's different about you. You're not the same as you were all those years ago. What happened?' Frowning for a second, he focused his hearing, trying to tune in on Pierce's head.
'He doesn't get it. It's not like we can just do whatever we want with no consequences. We have to do it right, stay alive and safe. We can't afford to be reckless,' The man raised a surprised eyebrow. What had gotten into Pierce to make him so worried about protecting everyone?
Finding the door they had been pointed to, Sarph knocked. "Excuse me? Is there a Nino Servhardt in here?" he questioned.
No response.
Frowning, the blond tried the handle, and was surprised to find it unlocked. He swung the door open and peered inside. "Hello?"
Again, there was no response. "I can hear someone breathing," Erik pointed out. "No thoughts, though. She might be asleep,"
Sarph strode inside, quickly followed by the rest of the group. The living space was small, a door on the side leading into a bathroom, which Sarph confirmed was empty, and a single bed and wardrobe in a room barely large enough to fit the furniture. The bed was occupied, a large shape beneath the covers. Sarph frowned, everyone crowding behind him to get a look. "Is that her?" Pierce asked, looking at Cal. The blankets were covering the face of the bed's occupant. "How should I know? I don't know what this Servhardt girl looks like," Cal replied.
Suddenly, Erik heard a deep and identifiably masculine voice from under the covers; 'They fell for it,'
"Everyone out! Now!" he shouted, lifting Grace in both hands and making to leave the room - only for pink gas to billow in through the doorway. He only needed one whiff to know they had a problem. "Sleeping gas!"
The man in the bed sat up, throwing the covers off, and raising what looked like a gigantic harpoon. He was tall, muscled and square-jawed, with beady eyes that promised death visible through the gas mask that was covering his face. "Nobody move," he growled. And in the moment of hesitation, the sleeping gas rolled into the room and enveloped the lot of them. Erik and Grace, being closest to the door, were first to collapse, their enhanced senses of smell working against them. It overtook Tyria and Boomer, Cal following a moment later. Pierce Requipped his flute, ready to fight, and breathed in deeply, trying to hold his breath, but accidentally inhaled gas in the process and went down. Sarph kept his jaw shut tight as the knockout gas filled the room, locking eyes with the unknown assailant.
The man levelled his weapon at Sarph, the massive spike at the end of the harpoon-looking machine glinting. "Strictly speaking, I don't really need you alive," he spoke through the circular mouthpiece of the mask.
The armoured man reached for his sword with his left hand
And the weapon discharged, launching the massive spike forwards. Sarph couldn't dodge, the assault was too fast, and the harpoon went straight through his left shoulder. Blood and torn flesh splattered across the wall.
Sarph gasped in pain. Immediately, he bit together again, but it was too late, and the world turned blurry. He had inhaled the gas.
The man watched, content, as his spike retracted, letting Sarph collapse to the ground, his left arm a bloody mess. "Hope he wasn't that former student the big guy said might be coming," the man frowned. He'd been warned that one of the people in the group was a former student of the boss, and he was to be harmed as little as possible. "But all the same, that was satisfying,"
As the gas started to disperse, he pulled out a communication lacrima and dialled a number. "Hello? Big guy? It's Mister Thick here,"
"Do you have him?" the dry, rasping voice of the swordsman who had stolen the Blind Sun echoed through the phone.
"Maybe. I got a group here, five male, two female. Don't know if one of them's your boy,"
"He is my enemy, nothing more," the other end of the line growled.
"Well, whatever. Want me to just bring the lot of 'em?"
"Yes. Hostages are always useful,"
"You gots it, boss. See you at the rendezvous point," Mister Thick flipped the phone shut and inspected his captives. "Arright. Let's get cracking,"
-[CoT]-
Meanwhile, palace life was proving enjoyable for Pierce Kynigós. The campaign of misinformation about the Dragons of Fiore seemed to be effective so far, as he was constantly receiving questions about the secret Dragon breeding programme.
Luckily, Toma had instructed him on how to handle the questions. "Just say whatever comes into your head. Half of the questions will be honest curiosity, just as many will be spies seeking information on behalf of other countries. But if you constantly lie and contradict yourself and everyone else about the details, we'll tie their intelligence in knots. The spies will waste time and resources looking for dragon farms that don't exist, and our enemies won't know if we have two dragons or two hundred,"
"Callous. I like it," the hunter had replied.
"Consider that your first lesson in politics," Toma had assured him.
Kynigós chuckled, recalling the conversation. He'd learned, alright. Politics was about information. About making your enemy think that trying to oppose you is pointless. The easiest victory is one where the enemy gives up before even attacking.
And the upshot of his lesson was that Zena had free reign of the palace. The King was trusting the rumour mill to exaggerate Zena's size and threat capacity. To aid in the deception and satisfy his protective instincts, Kynigós was near-constantly keeping an eye on Zena, but had not discarded his old coat. The fact that, were anyone to ask, he could honestly admit it was stained with dragon blood, helped solidify the image that he was doing his best to give off - that of some kind of half-crazed foreign dragon tamer.
As he watched Zena jump around the ballroom, twitching her wings and trying to suspend herself in the air, heavy footsteps echoed behind him. "Arcadios?" he guessed.
"No," an unknown voice interrupted.
Like lightning, Kynigós span, drew and cocked his gun, and had it pressed to the newcomer's forehead. "Sneaking up on me is a very bad idea," he hissed. He expected the newcomer to be an unfortunate servant, who would likely scream, run away and spread stories of the terrifying dragon hunter.
Instead, the man smiled from under his black hood. "I see you're as dangerous as the rumours suggest. And volatile, too,"
"Volatile," Kynigós paused, lowering his weapon. "I like that," The word reminded him of a volcano on the verge of eruption. He enjoyed the comparison.
"My name is Kama. Have you heard of me?"
Kynigós' brow wrinkled. "Kama . . oh. You're the leader of those Hungry Wolf Knights I've heard so much about,"
"Indeed," the man nodded. He was missing his scythes and face mask. "So you know who we are?"
"Yeah. You're the executioners,"
"Precisely. And, in my humble opinion, you are exactly the sort of man who would be perfectly suited to join our group,"
Kynigós blinked. "Join you?"
"We're not different people. I enjoy a good hunt as much as you," Kama bowed his head respectfully.
"I've heard about your methods. You like to release prisoners sentenced to death into the caves beneath the city and hunt them down for sport," The blond's brow furrowed.
"Yes,"
A fist like stone swung towards his cheek. Kama barely bandaged to block it, catching Kynigós' hand in his. But then the Dragon Slayer's fingers glowed with orange light and Kama hastily released his fist, already feeling the magic swelling in it.
"You make me sick," Kynigós spat. "A true hunter respects his prey. A hunt is a battle of wills, pitting your best against your target's. But people like you and your little gang? You're not hunters. You're just sanctioned murderers with extra steps. There's no honour in hunting someone who's weak and starving. And you want me to join your pathetic little murder games? If I ever see you in those caves, it will be as an enemy,"
Kama's smile twitched and drooped, transforming into a grimace. "I make you sick? How dare you speak to me like that, you filthy sinner! In spite of all your crimes, I made you an unthinkably generous offer, and you have the gall to not only turn me down but insult me? You should be grovelling at my feet, begging forgiveness for your sins!"
Kynigós gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. "I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. Now. You have five seconds to get out of my sight, or we'll see if Zena likes human flesh as much as her mother does," So far as he knew, Zena's mother Kixezen had never eaten a human, but this guy didn't need to know that.
Kama winced, glancing past Kynigós at the clumsy dragonet. "Likes . . flesh?"
Kynigós chuckled and raised his prosthetic left arm. "You do realise I didn't just cut off my arm because I felt like it," Actually, he did; he'd been stung in the hand by a lethal scorpion. Sacrificing the arm was his only way to survive. But apparently this palace was all about maintaining an image, and if people wanted to believe his arm had been chewed off by a dragon, he wouldn't contest it.
"Um . . I just remembered I have to . . um . . it's been nice meeting you properly goodbye,"
Kynigós chuckled as the man dashed away. Perhaps he'd gotten too strong. Or maybe all the tough wizards were out in the guilds. Either way, every knight or warrior he'd met in this place so far was a pushover. But that didn't matter, it wasn't as though he'd come here to fight.
No, he was here for his sister. Who was struggling with flight. Kynigós frowned as he watched her faceplant into the ground again. It was a shame Zena had no one to teach her. Hmm. There had to be something he could do to help.
Maybe the King could get in contact with a specialist. Was dracology a thing?
A/N
A/N
Jeez. I did not consider how hard it would be to write around Erik's 'I can hear your thoughts' shtick. Entropy was not supposed to be immune to his power, but if he heard what she was thinking it would have literally given away the whole plot. And I need my twists, damnit.
Oh, also. I like to imagine Entropy as having a mild British accent. Make of that what you will. Peace!