Peace Offering
It was an odd invitation that Battler had no choice but to accept.
He was sitting in the smoking room facing Beatrice. She didn't address or acknowledge him. Whenever he attempted to speak with her, one of the named Seven Stakes from the last game skewered through him. And although his pain was red hot, and he tumbled face-first to the floor, Beatrice revived him without sparing him a glance.
She was pouring over a chessboard. Every so often, she pinched a piece and placed it elsewhere. Most times, she shook her head and retracted her move. But there were rare moments of clarity when her eyes lit up, and the corners of her lips raised as she allowed her piece to claim a new square.
When she finished her turn, she rotated the chessboard. She examined the white pieces. Six pawns had already been removed. Battler knew they represented his family and the servants, frowning to himself. Even during her preparations, she slaughtered his loved ones without a care in the world, amused when she had crushed the pawns that outlived their roles in her sadistic killing game.
Battler took a breath. Beatrice lifted her gaze, her hands hovering over the board. Out of the corner of his right eye, he noticed a girl with curly, beige hair leering at him. Glancing to his left, he found the girl, who had stabbed Jessica in the back, with a grin on her face, tempting him to speak. It was her turn to stab him, after all.
Battler bit his tongue and relented. It was better to think than risk another mortal injury. As if sensing his apprehension, Beatrice shrugged and turned the chessboard around. He wondered if she was doing that deliberately as a means to mock what Kyrie had instilled in him, her manner of consideration his only weapon against the witch.
He thought back to her summons. He had just regained his humanity after serving as what she had called her furniture. Memories of how she berated and fed him to goats still haunted him. He repressed a shudder, remembering the warm saliva coating his body and how easily his skin and muscles tore like hunks of soft cheese when jagged teeth sunk into his flesh. Shaking his head, Battler pushed those nightmares to the back of his mind. She had tormented him with brutality no human could inflict, but he would never admit she had won.
She did not give him a personal letter. She simply assembled him. Before he understood what happened, he had appeared before her in a fit of golden butterflies. She had ordered him to sit across from her to keep her company while she worked on the third game.
"I believe watching you squirm, racking your brain while trying to figure out my incomprehensible moves, will be an even better motivator to get this game completed," she had explained, her terms as malicious as the sneer on her face.
Battler had cursed her. He tried to refuse her wish, but the girls had denied him an opportunity to leave. Satan and Asmodeus gouged through him again and again until he relented. Beatrice, meanwhile, had laughed until all the air had been stripped from her lungs.
That had happened an hour ago. In that time, Battler mulled over the last two games. He came to a few meaningful conclusions, as meaningful as he hoped they could be in a witch's game. But as Beatrice set her pieces all across the board and devoured her opponents, Battler stewed in frustration and confusion, unable to make more connections.
Abruptly, Beatrice jumped to her feet, startling Battler. She gripped her hips and arched her back, groaning until her spine popped. She sighed, leaning forward before fixing her posture. Clapping her hands together, she announced, "Time for a break!"
"Yay! Finally!" Asmodeus cheered. She bounced in place, her long pigtails swaying. "What will we have, Beatrice-sama?"
Satan quietly applauded. "Excellent work on your game so far, Beatrice-sama. It's an honor to watch your showmanship."
Beatrice chuckled. "Oh, Satan, you know how I love being flattered."
Asmodeus and Satan hurried to their mistress' side. They spoke in amiable tones, completely out of place with the tension that had just filled the room. Battler sputtered, stumbling to his feet, unable to hold back his shout as Beatrice cloaked the chessboard, dismissing it from their sight.
They stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Satan furrowed her brows, and Asmodeus huffed, crossing her arms. Beatrice raised her hand, calming them. She cast a smile at Battler, snickering through her teeth.
"Now, now, what is it about this arrangement that you dislike, Ushiromiya Baaattler? Can't women gather together and discuss what to eat on their cheat days?" she sneered, her pipe appearing in her open palm. She aimed it at the center of the table. In the blink of an eye, silverware and fine cloth covered the once blank counter. As Battler gasped, she asked, "Are you going to interrupt me when I set the table? It's rude. Perhaps your mother forgot to teach you table manners."
Battler gritted down on his molars. "Forget that! What the hell are you scheming? First, you dragged me here out of nowhere. Then, you let these girls stab me to death whenever I tried to talk. And now, you're talking about food?"
Satan jabbed her finger at Battler's nose. "Silence, worm! You were interrupting her precious contemplation by the putrid nonsense spilling out of your mouth."
Asmodeus bobbed her head up and down. "Exactly! Don't you know you're not supposed to talk when someone is thinking? It's downright uncivilized."
"As I said, no table manners," Beatrice scoffed, clicking her tongue. Her servants giggled in a pitch that made Battler's ears ring. With a hum, she tapped her pipe to her cheek. "Back to the matter at hand. I'm thinking we should have something simple, yet filling. That way, I can have my sugar fix and go back to writing the game before Battler whines up a storm worse than the typhoon."
Heat colored his cheeks scarlet. He narrowed his eyes on Beatrice, insults ready to leap off his tongue. Her composure unnerved him. The way she carried herself, tall and proud, able to strike him down with mere words, was like an imperialistic queen. It was as if she saw herself standing on a mountaintop, forcing him to climb to the summit, but every time attempt he made to inch closer, she caused an avalanche and sent him tumbling to his doom.
Smoke blew from the tip of her pipe as she aimed it at the table. Heavy, gray smog hovered around them. Satan and Asmodeus hardly seemed to mind, but Battler coughed into his fist, Beatrice jeering that he wouldn't be able to handle a single cigar.
"Now, let's partake in something sweet. A fruity delight, a mouthwatering treat. Crimson strawberries and smooth buttercream," she crooned in a voice like velvet.
The smoke congealed and formed a sphere. It pressed onto the table, then fanned out as if deflating. When the smog cleared, Battler repressed his recoil. Magical tricks lacking in bloodshed had him on edge, and he chastised himself for his apprehension.
On a silver platter was a cake. Fuschia-colored buttercream was spread across it. A quartet of strawberries sat in the center. Its presentation was surprisingly simple, deceivingly so, and Battler wondered if she had laced it with poison.
"A strawberry shortcake?" he murmured only to wince when Beatrice's servants burst into laughter. "Hey, hey! What's the deal with you two?"
Beatrice's eyes widened. "Are you that uncultured? This is clearly a strawberry cake," she said, selecting a stainless steel pastry cutter off a napkin. She cut out a slice of the pastry and set it on her plate. The interior of the cake was vanilla with sliced strawberries inserted between a layer of creamy frosting. She cocked her head, Asmodeus and Satan stifling their giggling. "Did no one ever teach you about the differences in cakes? Shouldn't you have learned that when you were a child? Or are you really that incompetent?"
As she handed the cutter to Satan, who eagerly sliced a piece for herself, Battler fumed. The tips of his ears burned. He couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been mocking him. Every word was fastened with malicious intentions. Riddles, jeering, cackling, her cruelty was directed at him with gale-force winds knocking him off his feet. His fists shook, and he forced out his words through the spaces in his gritted teeth. "Watch your mouth. I'll wipe that smug look off your face one day."
Asmodeus couldn't stop snickering at him even when she carved out an awkwardly sized piece. Setting her cake on her plate, she licked her lips and said, "Don't insult Beatrice-sama in front of us. I know just how warm and hard your chest was when I pierced it, and I'll gladly do it again on my master's command."
His nostrils flared. "Yeah, well, I'm ready for you this time, witch's furniture! Try it again, you-!"
But it was Beatrice who silenced him. He watched as she took her seat and tossed her pipe aside, her familiar tool vanishing into fluttering golden butterflies. She squared her back and straightened her shoulders, making herself comfortable. At her sides, Satan and Asmodeus took their places and pressed their hands together. All at once, they expressed their gratitude for their food, and Battler winced when they shot him varying looks. Satan scowled and crossed her arms. Asmodeus twirled a lock of her hair and pouted. Beatrice smirked.
"When you're given food, you should profess your thanks," the witch remarked.
"I haven't been given any-"
"That is obviously yours, Battler," she interjected, gesturing at the lone slice of cake. She pinched her fork and dug it into the strawberry topping her cake. "And before you say something irritably dull, I'll show you that it isn't poisoned."
Battler gawked. He couldn't stop his jaw from hanging. He searched for any signs of deception. A deeper dimple in her grin, a glint in her eye, a hint of a laugh in her throat, but he found none.
When Beatrice popped the strawberry in her mouth, she immediately groaned and clapped her hand to her cheek. "It's delectable! Satan, Asmodeus, Battler, try it, try it! Dig in!"
Battler blinked, frozen. Her voice was like a child's. She immediately shoved another helping into her mouth. Bits of frosting coated her ruby lips, and she sighed, Battler hearing her heels clicking rhythmically on the tiles.
"These strawberries are perfectly ripe! I think regular strawberries are ruined for me forever now!" Asmodeus exclaimed, bouncing in her seat. "Beelze-nee is missing out! She'll be more envious than Levia-nee!"
"Knowing that gourmand, she'd probably open her maw wide enough to shove in the entire cake," Satan replied, a dreamy smile crossing her face as she swallowed.
Beatrice laughed, tossing her head back. "Too true! The sin of gluttony is her specialty."
As they chatted, Battler almost saw them as regular women. If he envisioned a cafe around them, they'd be perfectly in place as customers. They gossiped and giggled without a care in the world, Beatrice beaming as she cracked a joke at the expense of the sister who represented gluttony. Before him, as she wrapped her lips around the fork and grinned into her bite, he might have mistaken her for a person.
But they weren't normal. They were cold-hearted killers. They had said so themselves during the last game. With Jessica and Kanon trapped, prey prostrated before predators, Asmodeus and Satan had laughed as they gouged through them. Disallowing Kanon the right to a peaceful afterlife, Beatrice had sneered at him and used his corpse as a tool for the murders of Kumasawa and Nanjo.
With a toothy grin, Beatrice gestured for him to sit. "Come on, Battler! It's meant to be eaten! Join us!"
His arm moved faster than his brain. He snatched the platter and flung it across the smoking room. It clattered upon impact, echoing with enough force to make Satan and Asmodeus yelp. Asmodeus hugged herself, and Satan swapped her surprise for fury, screaming at him for insulting their master.
"What lady? All I see is a witch trying to trick me! Like hell am I gonna gobble up some slop created by her! Not when she killed my family in two merciless games!" Battler bellowed.
Satan's jaw tensed, her knuckles cracking as she clenched her fists. "How dare you? She extended her kindness to you, you lowly human! Grovel for clemency! Or I'll make you wish you had remained Beatrice-sama's furniture!"
Tired of Satan, Battler glared at Beatrice, but what he saw wasn't what he expected. He anticipated the same wrath crossing her features. As Asmodeus tended to Beatrice like a lady-in-waiting, rubbing her shoulder, his chest panged. He took a step backward, Satan advancing with her arm raised, a luminescent blade glowing a dull violet, but he didn't care about her impending threat.
Beatrice dug her fingernails into her chest. Her gaze shifted to the cake slice smeared on the floor. It was like an ugly blotch of color on a pure white canvas. Rising to her feet, Beatrice waved her hand, and his food disappeared, once again, in a flutter of golden butterflies.
"If you didn't want it, then you should've said something much sooner. What a waste of hospitality," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
"I mean-" Battler swallowed, and he snorted, hardening himself to her somberness. "You sprung this on me. Don't blame me for rejecting you after you fed me to the goats."
Asmodeus bristled. "That was them! This is now!"
"I won't get over her wickedness! Not when she's tormented my family! A piece of cake won't smooth over what she's done!"
His voice boomed. Asmodeus covered her ears, grimacing. Satan shuddered so violently that he thought she would have lashed out at any second. But Beatrice stood like a statue, her face a blank mask. She lowered her shoulders and grabbed the napkin with a hand that Battler could have sworn shook. Wiping the frosting off her mouth, Beatrice closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, gaining back color in her cheeks.
And then, her smirk split across her face like a snake showing off its venomous fangs. She puffed out her chest as she howled, the sound drilling into his brain. "Baaattler! No need to be so ignorant. It is a witch's courtesy to offer their weak opponent a reprieve to bolster their spirits. That way, she can thoroughly enjoy their crushing defeat!" she exclaimed, throwing out her arms. "You should be thankful that I, Beatrice, only gave you one slice! I could've made you devour cake after cake until your belly ruptured like Rudolf and Kyrie's guts did all over their thighs! Oh, unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing, then I wouldn't have hesitated to feed you until you burst when you were so compliant as my furniture!"
The sweets stuffed in their entrails flashed in his mind. Saccharine, acrid, and rustic smells hit his nostrils. The still, slacked carcasses of his father and stepmother haunted him, their deaths too malicious for words. Tears stung in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision, meshing the witch's colors together in a brutal collage. Her manic, feverish words disgusted him, his roar welling up in his throat. And Asmodeus and Satan joined her merriment, laughing at the top of their lungs, continuing even as he screamed for them to stop.
"Yeah, sure, enough! I tire of you," Beatrice sneered. "The next time I welcome you to my chamber, bring your best behavior."
Still grinning, she snapped her fingers. Battler roared her name, reaching out to grab her throat, but her servants shot forward. Satan's blade speared through his chest. Blood splashed on her face, and she twisted her blade, snapping through his ribcage. Pain rushed through him. He wailed, only to be silenced when Asmodeus' stake stabbed through his forehead and punctured a hole through his brain.
He fell, Beatrice's smile dimming, as his life faded from him.
When she revived him, Beatrice banished him until it was time for the third game, not that he cared. Battler preferred languishing in oblivion rather than spending a second with a monster such as her. While he waited in solitude, he had time to think through the murders committed according to the epitaph. As he examined the chessboard she provided to entertain him, he only grew more determined to snuff out the existence of the Golden Witch who promised him and the Ushiromiyas eternal suffering.