7am
Gusion groaned as he woke up, the first rays of the sun beginning to break out over the horizon.
A sharp object prodded him in the side and he rolled over, immediately flinching as the light filtering in through the window left afterimages on his retinas.
"Wake up, kiddo," Helcurt lazily spoke, himself stretched out beside him. Gusion propped himself up on his right arm, using his free hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight as he surveyed their surroundings. "The badminton court?"
The memories of last night began to resurface as Gusion let his head fall back down on the ground.
After battling with Lesley and spilling out all the information he knew, they'd run back to the court, leaving Lesley behind.
"Aw, dammit," he cursed. "Do you think she saw Cecilion's corpse?"
Helcurt yawned. "It's too early in the morning to start on your romantic bullcrap. Leave me alone."
"Helcurt."
Helcurt was apparently having none of it, and clamped his paws over his ears. "Of all the people I chose to be friends with, did it have to be you?"
"C'mon, help me out here-"
"I'm staying with you to help you kill Dyrroth, not set you up with your best friend."
"Well, this could be relevant-"
"That's not why you're asking and we both know it."
Gusion pushed himself back against the wall in a sitting position. "Right, fine then, if you're so straight-to-the-point, what do we do next?"
"We let me sleep-"
"Didn't you say Shadowbringers don't need sleep?"
"Just because I don't need it doesn't mean I don't like it, moron. It's like you humans and burgers."
"Right, then, after letting you sleep?"
"We kill the rest of the spies."
Gusion blinked. "That was a joke, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"You-you think we can kill them?"
Helcurt stretched his front legs out, oddly relaxed for someone discussing murder. "Why not?"
"Zhask's one of them, that's why not!"
"It's just Zhask."
Gusion actually laughed. "Just Zhask?"
The Kastiyan had single-handedly conquered the Vonetis Islands and annexed the entirety of the Cadia Riverlands in just under a month. They described him as a monster beyond comparison, as the harbinger of doom and destruction, with Yin calling him the Grim Reaper's teacher.
Gusion had believed him to be overhyped until he saw him fight Hayabusa, Lancelot, Brody, Gatotkaca, and Ruby at the same time while protecting an injured Hanzo. Gusion had passed out halfway through the fight and when he woke up, Gatotkaca, Brody, and Ruby were dead while Hayabusa's legs were broken, with Lancelot being put into surgery after Zhask cracked his ribs until they pierced his lungs.
Helcurt seemed to read his thoughts. "Yeah, I know, Zhask was dangerous on the battlefield, but here's the thing-that was five years ago. Zhask's been kept out of the action, and Yve surely wouldn't have contacted Zhask. Which means that Zhask was inactive for those five years. Between the two of us, we can take an aged, washed-up military general. Hell, I'm willing to bet that even that little kid-your girlfriend's little brother-Harley, yeah, even he could probably take Zhask."
Gusion snorted at the mental image of Harley going up against Zhask, who was about thrice his size. "You know what, we've got nothing to lose at this point. Might as well take them down with us."
"That's the spirit." Helcurt yawned and curled up into a ball, similar to a cat, if said cat had a poison-tipped tail and a tongue as sharp as its claws. Light snores began to sound, and Gusion reclined back on the wall.
Eight hours earlier
Lancelot pulled up outside the house which he'd given Gusion the keys to, five years before, when the little boy had first set foot at the Land of Dawn.
He pushed open the door of the car, stumbling out, before running inside and shoving open the door.
Lesley stood there, hunched over and shivering, gun in hand, her gaze fixated on the bat-infested corpse in front of them. When Lancelot pushed through the door, she immediately spun around, pointing the barrel straight at Lancelot's chest, who raised his hands in surrender.
"Don't move," Lesley said, her voice slightly quivering.
"It's me," Lancelot said.
"Oh." Lesley lowered the gun, and inhaled deeply. She squared her shoulders, and suddenly she looked how she normally did-back in control, with a fierce stare at everyone and anyone not close to her.
"What-How did you find this-" Lancelot waved his hand at whatever remained of Cecilion.
"The enchantment went out," Lesley muttered, tapping her feet. "I came here to check it out, and, well…"
"Right," Lancelot nodded, taking out his phone. He tapped the contact labelled 'Moniyan Palace' and held it to his year.
A female voice spoke back to him. "Tigreal is incapacitated. Whatever it is can wait."
"Hello? Hello!" Lancelot tried to get a word in, but the call went dead.
"Great," he looked back up at Lesley, who had her own phone out.
"Hey, Fanny?" she spoke, and Lancelot waited. "Yeah, I heard. Is he fine?" Lesley noticed Lancelot staring and made a gesture of holding something.
Lancelot squinted at her.
Lesley rolled her eyes and placed the phone on speaker. "-don't know what's happening to him," Fanny was saying in a voice that conveyed her worry. "He's not responding, and Rafaela said his mind's shutting down. We tried to call Natalia, but," Fanny heaved a sob. "She's not answering. We traced her phone signal to Highway 51, and we sent Alucard to pick her up. Rafaela's stabilised Tigreal for the time being, but-" Fanny's voice trailed off.
"Right, I'll visit, but in the meantime, we have other problems," Lesley spoke. "Tigreal assigned Cecilion to guard Gusion's house, and Cecilion's dead right now."
"Oh, what the hell?" Fanny snarled. "Everyone's dropping like flies right now." She drew in a deep breath. "Carmilla's going to be inconsolable."
"Damn," Lesley swore, slapping a palm to her forehead. "Who's going to tell her?"
"Sure as hell isn't going to be me."
"Well, then, who's in charge then?"
"You know who it is," Fanny replied.
"Wait, the princess?"
"Yeah. Silvanna's taking command. I'll tell her about Cecilion."
Dyrroth's head split the bushes as he stared into Gusion's house, where Lesley and Lancelot stood.
He tiptoed through the grass, vaulting over the fence, and came face to face with a ward meant to stop him.
Dyrroth simply smiled and tapped the hieroglyph on the ground, and the ward collapsed soundlessly. Dyrroth stepped through and the hieroglyph brightened as the ward flared up again.
He'd given a vial of Abyssal blood to Cecilion, who had designed the security wards around Lesley's house. It meant that the wards could only keep out basic creeps and monsters, but not those of the Abyss.
Careful not to alert anyone to his presence, he pushed the window gently, and unsurprisingly, it proved to be locked.
Dyrroth resisted the destructive urge to break the window. Control, he mentally told himself. Subtlety was key here.
He looked around, trying to find another opening. Lesley had left her house about half an hour ago, and Dyrroth had waited to see if she would return. Gusion and Helcurt had run away, but for some reason, Lesley had remained there.
Now he needed to get into her house.
Dyrroth stepped back, and for a moment considered scaling the wall, but didn't think he could.
The screech of tires reached his ears and Dyrroth, startled, scrambled behind the wall of the house, pressing himself against it.
The car pulled over to a stop outside Gusion's house and a familiar figure got out of the car. Lancelot, he remembered. Gusion and Lesley's close friend.
Lancelot seemed to be in a hurry and pushed open the door to Gusion's house, entering it.
Dyrroth exhaled, relieved, before he looked to his side.
There was a vent there, embedded in the wall.
"Ain't I a lucky lil' killer," Dyrroth whistled to himself, and prised the vent open.
About three seconds later, Dyrroth pulled the vent back into place, before crawling through the vent.
After approximately a minute of crawling through in a straight line, he reached a joint going up.
Dyrroth thought for a moment before shoving his razors into the wall like a grappling hook, moving up further and further until he found another vent.
He kicked it out of the way and swung his legs through-a decision he would come to regret as his legs met air.
Dyrroth fell out the vent, clumsily landing on the toilet seat, which was luckily closed, and slipped off it, tumbling onto the floor and definitely alerting his quarry.
Harley Vance bolted upright in his bed, his heart rate accelerating as he heard a definitely male voice swear furiously from the bathroom right next to his bedroom.
Worse still, he recognised the voice from two nights ago. Dyrroth.
He rolled off the bed and surveyed the room for a hiding place.
Dyrroth stepped out of the bathroom, looking around the room.
"Harley," he called in a singsong voice, dragging out the last syllable. "Come on out, and this doesn't have to be so difficult!"
He crept closer to the empty bed.
"Where are you, little Harley?"
Dyrroth swiftly dropped to the floor, his eyes scanning the space under the bed.
Empty.
Harley watched Dyrroth stand up, his inhuman face twisted in an angry snarl, as he glared around the room.
"Kiddo!" he called. "If you can come out faster, I can take you, and then we can get out faster. I promise that I won't kill you!"
Harley shrunk behind the cupboard, and a thought struck him.
Where the hell was Lesley?
Lesley was at Gusion's house.
"How long do we stay here?" she asked Lancelot, who shrugged his shoulders. Silvanna had told them to stay there until someone else could take the body.
For some reason, there was an uneasy feeling festering in her gut, and she wanted to get home as fast as possible.
Dyrroth looked around the room.
Where on earth was the kid?
He checked the floor for footprints, and smiled.
The light at the entrance of the room forced the cupboard to cast a shadow, and Dyrroth could just vaguely make out a silhouette of a little person hiding behind it.
He smiled.
Harley pressed himself up against the back of the cupboard, breathing faster as the footsteps began sounding louder and louder.
No, please, God, no. I can't die like this.
The footsteps became deafening and Harley saw a shadow, standing next to the cupboard.
And then they stopped.
Dyrroth stopped walking and allowed himself a moment to relish his victory.
He yanked the cupboard back, letting it clatter onto the floor and reached for Harley's shirt, and found nothing.
Gone. It was as if the little mage had vanished into thin air.
Dyrroth ran a hand through his hair and stomped on the floor, swearing loudly.
He couldn't have teleported anywhere without being seen. Where did he-oh.
He bent down on one knee and punched through the back of the cupboard, and a frantic yell sounded as Dyrroth's fingers clamped around the back of the collar of Harley's shirt.
Dyrroth pulled the little midget out, completely wrecking the cupboard, and the boy struggled.
"Let me go!" he shouted indignantly.
"Harley Vance," Dyrroth snarled, and Harley kicked out, his feet barely reaching Dyrroth. "Aren't you fifteen? How are you so short?"
Harley screamed. "Lesley! LESLEY!"
"Shut up," Dyrroth snarled, and slammed the heel of his palm into Harley's chin, hitting the cluster of nerves connected to the spinal cord.
Harley's head snapped back, his struggles ceasing as if a switch was flipped in the midget wizard's brain as he relaxed almost immediately in Dyrroth's grip.
"Shh," Dyrroth said, hoisting the now unconscious boy over his shoulder and running a hand through Harley's hair in a comforting motion as his voice, now slurred and much more silent, continued murmuring for help, though probably more out of instinct than actually being aware of the dire situation he was in.
Six and a half hours later, 6:53am
Lesley stumbled home, yawning widely as she lugged her rifle behind her.
Cecilion's corpse was cleared by the Moniyan soldiers that had accompanied a harried Alucard, who looked as tired as both Lesley and Lancelot.
Lesley didn't tell them about Gusion, instead maintaining that she had investigated upon seeing the enchantment dispel, and had found the house deserted with the destroyed corpse.
If Alucard had picked up on Lesley's lies, he didn't show it. "God, I have to tell Carmilla," he had moaned after finishing interrogating the duo, rubbing his temples.
Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder. "You might want to wear body armour. She just might lose control of her magic." This statement did not serve to help Alucard, who buried his face in his hands.
Lancelot had finally agreed to accompany the demon hunter to visit Carmilla. "Only after we get a few hours sleep."
"Good idea," Alucard had agreed. "Can I crash at your place?"
The both of them had left in Lancelot's car.
Lesley stepped into the house and the churning feeling in her gut that had been making her uneasy the entire night began to intensify.
She walked up the stairs and moved to go to her room, until she saw the light filtering through the bottom of Harley's room.
"Right," she muttered to herself, recalling that she hadn't switched off the light the previous night, and it appeared that her little brother had forgotten it again.
Lesley pushed the door and it was surprisingly locked.
Frowning, she gently knocked on the door. "Harley?"
There was no response.
"HARLEY!" she yelled this time, knocking repeatedly. No answer.
She slammed the door with her shoulder twice, before ramming the butt of her gun into the door like a battering ram.
Once. Twice. The door shook. On the third strike, the door's middle shattered, and Lesley hit it a few more times until the entire door gave way.
The room showed nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as she had left it the previous day. Harley was sleeping, having pulled the covers completely over his head.
Yet something was out of place. Something set Lesley off, and she wandered over to the bed. She pulled the blanket off, and sucked in a sharp breath.
She had previously thought it was Harley, but Harley's football had been placed where his head would have been with a pillow as the body.
Lesley dropped the rifle as her heart began to pound. "HARLEY!" she shouted, looking around, her mind whispering frantic assurances. Maybe he's just pranking you, maybe he's in the toilet.
Or maybe he's in danger.
Lesley stepped out of the room, sprinting across to her room. "It's not funny anymore, Harley," she spoke. Only her own voice echoed back to her, the fear in it blatant. "Come here, Harley."
Any moment now, any moment now that he'd jump out from some corner with the biggest smile on his face, a mirthful laugh accompanying his dramatic bow. "Fooled you, Lesley! You're not as fearless as I thought you were!"
He didn't.
Lesley moved back into Harley's room, trying to see where he could have hidden. It was then that she noticed a blue slip of paper-it had camouflaged against the backdrop of Harley's blanket, but it had apparently been dislodged when Lesley had yanked back the quilt.
She snatched the paper off the floor and squinted at the chicken-scrawl handwriting. A phone number was written there.
Lesley flicked her own one out, and with trembling fingers, dialled the numbers.
It rang once, then twice, then the first few bars of a familiar song reached Lesley's ears. "I'm So Sorry" by Imagine Dragons was playing from somewhere in the house.
She turned to face the direction in which the music was coming from, and realised that it was coming from the bathroom.
Lesley pushed the door of the bathroom open, and saw that the vent above the toilet seat was open.
Inside the open vent, a phone was ringing, the rock song blaring at full volume.
She leapt onto the closed toilet seat and snatched the phone from the vent, declining the call. Lesley flicked the screen upwards, and came face to face with the screen asking for a password.
She turned the blue paper in her hand. It simply read, "666."
Lesley nervously keyed in the password, and she was met with the Recents screen on the Phone app.
Her heartbeat pounded relentlessly in her own ears as she pressed the number of the last caller.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
The call was picked up.
Lesley waited for the other person to say something.
Dead silence from the other end.
"Hello?" she asked in a quaking tone, and the uncertainty in her voice embarrassed even herself.
Still no reply.
"Hello?" she tried again, in an attempt at a firmer tone.
The lack of sound infused fear into her veins.
"Hello?" A final question.
"Lesley, Lesley. What have you done?"
"Dyrroth." Whatever words she had to say caught in her throat as the slimy voice that invaded her nightmares laughed from the other end.
"I'm sure that by now you would have noticed that your beloved baby brother is gone."
That sentence sent a volatile mixture of anger and fear spinning through her veins. "What did you do to him?" she hissed, vitriol lacing her every word.
Dyrroth, on the other hand, seemed as calm as could be. "To who?"
"You know who."
"Voldemort?"
Lesley swore. "DON'T PLAY GAMES WITH ME, DYRROTH! YOU KNOW WHO I MEAN!"
"Anger will only result in negative consequences, Lesley." There was a hard edge now interspersed with the mirthful tone in his voice.
Lesley heaved a deep breath. "What did you do to Harley?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage.
"Oh, Harley," Dyrroth remarked. "He's fine, for the time being."
"Let him go."
"Aw, so soon? Come on, Lesley. You're no fun."
"Dyrroth."
"I'm not liking that tone of voice, Lesley. I think you're forgetting who's in charge here."
Lesley's grip on the phone tightened. "What do you want?"
"I want a lot of things. I want this war to be over soon, I want to be ruler of the Moniyan Empire, I want your head on a pike. Speaking of the ruler of the Moniyan Empire, how's Tigreal?"
Lesley nearly fired off an angry retort, but held her tongue. "Stable."
"Have they found the mind magic part?"
"Yes."
"Did they try to bring in Natalia?"
"Yes."
Dyrroth laughed. "Oh, how amazing this is. All my plans are coming together swimmingly."
"You haven't achieved anything, Dyrroth. Tigreal isn't dead, and someone else is taking charge."
"Oh, right, the Moniyan Princess, Her Royal Highness." There was an exaggerated flourish in his tone. "Her Majesty, Princess Silvanna. Has she done anything yet?"
Lesley let her self control slip. "No."
"Ooh, is that-is that possibly anger in your tone? No, it can't be, can it? I mean, seeing that I have your brother and all? Definitely no, because you're going to be very respectful for the entirety of this call, am I right? Or maybe do you need to hear the screams of little Harley Vance to keep you under control?"
"Don't hurt him, Dyrroth," Lesley pleaded, fear and worry intermingled in her tone. "Please."
"That's the attitude I should be hearing for the rest of this call. Now see, the thing is that when all my plans are coming together, there's still a few loose threads that need to be tied up. You can't leave them hanging, you see, because the entire design might unravel, and we can't have that, can we?"
"So I thought, why not use the loose threads against each other? No need to do the dirty work, and I am a prince. The Prince of the Abyss."
"Wasn't your mother an assassin, Lesley?"
The question was quite out of the blue, and it caught Lesley off guard for a second. "Yes. Yes, she was an assassin."
The gleeful tone in Dyrroth's voice was gone, replaced by a forceful undercurrent. "So let's test how much of her blood is running through your veins, shall we? I'll give you a target, and within two days, I want them dead."
Lesley's head spun for a second. "Yeah," she said, her voice sounding distant, then she snapped back to reality. "Right. Target."
"If you don't kill him within the deadline, for every fifteen minutes that passes, each toe of Harley's will be thrown into the fire. After two and a half hours, the next to go will be his fingers, and then I'll pack his head into a box and send it to you." Dyrroth's acidic snarl resonated in Lesley's head.
Lesley stumbled back. This is for Harley. "Who should I kill?"
"Your target is Gusion Paxley."
Lesley's blood ran cold. "What?"
"Gusion." Dyrroth was in his element-arrogance oozed through every word of his, and the manic energy in his tone was palpable. "You're going to kill your best friend. Make a decision-friend or family? Gusion or Harley?"
Lesley blinked. "Dyrroth-"
Dyrroth cut her off. "It isn't a choice. There shouldn't be any doubt about it. I will cut the call at 7am. Today's a Sunday, isn't it? If by 7am on Tuesday, Gusion isn't dead, then there will be consequences. Not for me, but for you and your little brother."
"I-"
"If the next words out of your mouth aren't something to the tune of 'Yes, I will kill Gusion by Tuesday,' then whatever follows next will be unpleasant for you and worse for your brother." Dyrroth's sick enthusiasm dripped off his every word. "Maybe I'll broadcast how loud he can scream."
Lesley's heart turned to ice. "I'll do it."
"Attagirl." Lesley felt a cold, wrinkled, wretched hand close in a vice grip over her heart. "7am, Tuesday. There'll be a funeral that day-depending on your choice, it'll be either your best friend or your brother. Oh, and the moment you tell anyone about this-do I even need to elaborate."
Lesley remained silent.
"Oh, what, you've gone silent, have you? Where's that anger, Lesley? Where is it?"
"Please stop, Dyrroth, let him go."
"You're begging now? No, no, Lesley, I've made up my mind, and won't it be so satisfying to see Gusion's face when he realises that death is coming for him in your form?" Dyrroth lowered his voice. "Oh, and by the way-if you succeed, I'll tell you what Duke Vance said on his last night, in his final moments."
Lesley's head spun. "Dyrroth? DYRROTH!"
The line had gone dead.
Lesley stumbled, the phone falling from her hand as it hit the floor with a clatter.
You have to kill Gusion Paxley.
Gusion or Harley?
I'll tell you what Duke Vance said last night, in his final moments.
The words bounced about Lesley's head, rocking her world, spinning her out.
Maybe I'll broadcast how loud he can scream.
If you don't kill him within the deadline, for every fifteen minutes that passes, each toe of Harley's will be thrown into the fire.
Friend or family?
No, no, Lesley, I've made up my mind, and won't it be so satisfying to see Gusion's face when he realises that death is coming for him in your form?
The sleeplessness, stress, fear, panic, and nervous anticipation all came at once and hit Lesley like a sledgehammer between the eyes, and the world swirled in a dizzying blur of colours as her eyes rolled up and the ground hit her on the head, just as dawn broke.
