Ethan paused at the base of the stairs for only a moment. He took in the sight of the room for the last and hopefully final time. If he never had to see this bloodletting room again, it would still be too soon.

The bodies of the fallen Moroaice littered the floor, lying broken and bloody. Their mouths were twisted open in unheard roars of anguish. The voids of their sunken eye sockets bore into Ethan's very soul. Ethan allowed his gaze to drift from each of the deceased servants in turn, until finally settling on what was once Zoria.

Ethan was never one for words. He spat curses out like a sailor; he didn't have a poetic eulogy for the woman. Hell – he barely knew anything about her other than her name. It was hardly his place to say some final words for her, or for any of the departed servants.

All Ethan could do was gulp down the slightest lump in his throat, and promise – to himself, to them, to whatever sadistic god was out there – that all their deaths would not be for nothing. With that, Ethan pressed onward.

His jeans, socks, and shoes were sopping wet with blood and wine, and they produce ungodly squelches with each step he took up the stairs. As if his hyperactive nerves weren't bad enough, the chill of the dungeon was adding to his trembling frame as his wet clothes clung tirelessly to his body. And this time, he didn't have Bela to wrap herself around him and banish the bitter cold.

In his colder, lonelier nights, when not a soul could lay eyes on him, Ethan thought back to the night they spent tangled in each other's arms. The thought – the memorized sensation – of Bela's arms around him were enough to warm him, and beat away the loneliness. He could curl into a tighter ball and drift back to sleep, pretending Bela was behind him with her cheeky remark of, "So… little spoon?"

Ethan winced to himself, and had the slightest urge to smack his head on the side of the stairwell.

Now, all Ethan could do to keep himself warm was move his limbs as animatedly as possible as he raced up the steps. Being an asshole to Bela effectively locked her out of the equation for the foreseeable future.

Once Ethan reached the upper level of the dungeon, he braced himself once more. He cycled through his breathing, relying on the steady count of his inhales and exhales to be his constant. As he eased his nerves and evened out his breath, he allowed the clarity to make its home in his mind. It allowed him to take stock of his inventory and reevaluate the task at hand with an even head.

Ethan wasn't expecting much good to come out of the last three bullets in his pistol, which remained safely hidden inside his hoodie's pocket. Hence, it remained there with the safety on, as there was no use to be had in running around with it in hand.

Visibility was far more important so he could evade any Moroaice along the way. Ethan cradled the wine in his left hand, and clutched his flashlight in his right.

Taking a breath, Ethan bolted forward in a run as his wet clothes and shoes slushed and splashed with each stride.

Ethan was back on the main path in moments, and things were seemingly clear. Orienting himself the right way, Ethan continued running as fast as his now shaking legs and tired lungs could let him.

The path was as unlit and unnervingly dark as expected. But no ghouls accosted him, despite the racket he was making, and the fact he smelled of blood and wine alike. Just the same, Ethan kept his guard up. At any given moment, a Moroaică may spring from the darkness to meet him. His eyes scanned the inky shadows around him, and his flashlight lit the path and his immediate surroundings. Ethan was ready to propel himself to the side at a moment's notice in case a ghoul jumped at him. His best course of action would be to dodge and keep sprinting like lives counted on it – and they very well did.

In time, the flickering light of a sconce became visible, signaling Ethan's approach to the dungeon's exit. As Ethan pounded the stone floor with his damp shoes, he considered yet again the possibility of turning to Bela for help.

He'd done nothing to earn her help. Hell – he'd done everything to not deserve it. All he had to go on was the goodness and humanity she had deep down inside her.

In full sprint, Ethan arrived at the chamber, with the stairs to the left, and Bela's room to the right.

He had to skid to a stop, nearly toppling onto the floor in the process, just to stare at the obstruction in front of Bela's door. Countless sacks of flour piled high in front of the door, from floor to ceiling. In front of the pile was Ethan's clock, and on the floor, words were messily spelled out in flour.

Tick-Tock

Cassandra was insane.

Absolutely bat-shit insane.

Ethan looked the pile of sacks up and down. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find the right curse to mutter out in his state of mild awe. Ultimately, no sound came out, and Ethan was left to stare at Cassandra's deranged handiwork in stunned silence. The effort Cassandra had gone through to lay these sacks out could have been commendable, if it weren't so damn crazy.

Bela could tear the barricade down in moments – but it would probably slow her down just the same. Given the material Cassandra used, Ethan could guess it was meant to double as an attempt at soundproofing. It kept Bela from hearing the commotion he was causing elsewhere.

Hell, if Ethan discharged one of the few remaining bullets he had left, Bela may not even hear it. This wall of flour effectively took the possibility of getting Bela's help completely off the table. Ethan had already kept that in mind the moment this twisted game started – but actually seeing the visual confirmation in the form of the flour barricade was another thing.

He was on his own.

Ethan spared his clock a final glance. The time didn't tell him much, considering he'd been rushing too much to check the clock before he left. Though Ethan did have an idea he spent far too much time in the sub-level of the dungeon. His little rampage certainly didn't help.

Rather than waste more time brooding over Cassandra's nonexistent mental health, Ethan made for the stairs. He took the steps up two at a time, but began to slow his pace as he neared the door at the top. If his shitty luck would hold up, Cassandra was at the top of the stairs, about to kick the door open in his face. His joints were still aching from the last tumble down the stairs, and Ethan wasn't keen on a repeat so soon – or at all, really.

Ethan reached the top of the landing, bracing himself for impact, shielding his face and body with the arm that wasn't carrying the wine bottle. When the door didn't swing open for another few seconds, Ethan tried the handled – unlocked – and then pushed on.

To Ethan's relief, the door came open with no resistance. The storeroom and the kitchen alike were void of any servants. A peek out the windows revealed the sun had yet to rise. It was as Cassandra had said – the castle had not yet roused to life and bustling activity.

Ethan navigated out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He spared his and Bela's handiwork on the door only a glimpse before pushing into the open space of the main hall. The castle looked different at this hour. Only a handful of light sources were lit. Fireplaces here and there provided warmth and light, having been lit the previous night. The wood had by and large burned away to cinder and ash since, leaving few logs to crackle and snap in the heat.

The castle was overall dimmer and quieter at this hour, which was to be expected. It was almost peaceful. Serene, even. The tranquility of the main floors of the castle didn't give the slightest hint of the atrocities committed down below. You would never have guessed that people were slaughtered by the dozen in the castle's bowels.

Not to waste a single minute longer, Ethan began crossing the hall, still keeping his eyes peeled and his ears open. The grand staircase spiraling up to the second floor was his next stop – from there, he could work on locating the wine room and then bugging out before things got any worse. As Ethan padded across the grand hall, he was aware of just how loud his slopping footsteps were – but the distinctive rush of Cassandra's flies was louder.

Instinctively, Ethan tucked into a ball, protecting the wine, and rolled to his left. Cassandra materialized into her human form as she came crashing down hard, landing with a bellyflop where Ethan had been a split second ago. The clatter of her sickle echoed off the walls as it slid away from her.

Ethan landed from the roll on one knee, bottle safely in hand. He allowed himself a moment to grin in pride, watching Cassandra – the Dimitrescu family's confident, celebrated hunter – peel herself off the floor from her faceplant.

Her fiery eyes turned his way, and there was a guttural snarl at the back of her throat. Yet in spite of the apparent anger, there was that flicker of enjoyment in Cassandra's eyes – like she was getting her kick out of this, faceplant or not.

After every encounter with Cassandra so far, that was the constant. Each time, without fail, Cassandra had that look about her, that sick enjoyment she was getting from provoking reactions out of him. She was after the thrill like a junkie was after their next fix. Except Cassandra's fix was his rage, despair, and terror. She was feeding off of all the emotions her hunt evoked in him, just as much as she literally fed from his blood.

Ethan knew then that the biggest middle finger he could give Cassandra was to not play the intrinsic part of her game. He'd play by the rules, sure – take the wine upstairs, retreat back to the cell, all of that. But he was no longer going to supply her with the satisfaction of riling his emotions up, as long as he could help it. He was well aware that his emotions were continually getting the better of him as of late. Not that he could be blamed, given the circumstances – but still. He had to reel it in and keep his head cool. About time Cassandra learned he was no harmless prey ready for slaughter.

Cassandra's body tensed, like a coil ready to spring. Ethan took that as his cue to roll once more. He evaded Cassandra's next lurching swarm of flies, popping back to his feet with ease. Cassandra reformed in shape, skidding across the floor on all fours – probably thanks to all the bloody wine Ethan was tracking everywhere.

Ethan found himself breathing heavily from the sudden exertion, but that didn't stop him from grinning at Cassandra – perhaps a little too cocky for his own good.

"What's a matter? Can't keep up with a man-thing like me anymore?"

That glint of excitement shone through Cassandra's growl as she violently waved her arms in the effort to get the wine and blood off her hands. The tension set into her shoulders before she lurched forward once more. Ethan took a wide step to the side, expecting another tackle. Instead, she reformed standing in front of him, with her stance squared and ready.

Ethan felt he deserved that for gloating rather than running for the stairs.

Before Ethan could blink, the wind was knocked out of him. He found himself on the floor, staring up at the chandelier on the ceiling as the bottle of Sanguis Virginis began rolling away. Cassandra wasted no time from sweeping his leg to darting atop him in a full mount.

"I can keep up just fine, you pathetic wretch."

Cassandra's teeth tore at his neck, and once more, no amount of squirming or pushing would get him out of this one. The stinging, burning pain of the wound was dulled. Ethan chalked it up to the adrenaline in his system. Maybe another part of it was the fact his mangled, gnawed arm from earlier hurt far more than Cassandra's bite.

The game was rigged. With Cassandra's interference, there was no way he was depositing the bottle upstairs in time for the half-hour deadline. Ethan hadn't expected a fair fight from Cassandra either way. Whining about it wouldn't get him anywhere either. You couldn't win them all, and you certainly didn't tend to win against mutant bug-girls in their own domain. At this rate, the best Ethan could do was rob her of the satisfaction of the win. Cassandra could hurt him all she wanted, but he'd still make her feel it was a hollow victory.

Cassandra tugged once at the wound as she gulped his blood down – as if trying to elicit a reaction out of him. Ethan only winced, making it a point not to grunt or cry in pain. Cassandra could choke on his silence.

All the fucked-up things he'd endured since the Baker House brought one good thing to his life – an inordinate well of pain tolerance. After losing limbs, getting impaled, clawed, bitten, peppered with shrapnel, smacked around – a little neck bite didn't count for shit. Cassandra had nothing on Jack's shovel, Marguerite's swarms of bugs, or Lucas' games.

Ethan would have taunted her – if not for the fact it would waste even more time.

With another tug at his skin, Cassandra pulled back to sit tall. Ethan glared up at her as she licked her bloody lips and smiled at him.

In a sing-song voice that made his skin crawl, Cassandra chided him, giving a light pat to the side of his face, "You're running out of tiiiiime."

Ethan smacked her hand away, and his teeth dug into his lower lip as he drew the words out, "Fffffuck. Off."

Cassandra laughed in lieu of a reply as the insects circled overhead. Her form flickered and shifted as the swarm of flies gathered together before darting off.

"Fucking psycho," Ethan muttered under his breath as he got back on his feet. While it was entirely possible Cassandra was fucking with him, Ethan didn't doubt that he was cutting it close. He scooped up the discarded bottle of Sanguis Virginis; he didn't spare a glance to the silhouette of wine his clothes left on the floor. Ethan took the carpeted steps two at a time as he unscrewed the disinfectant's cover with one hand. He arrived at the second floor and haphazardly splashed the disinfectant onto his neck, emptying the entire bottle. For good measure, and just to be an asshole, he smashed the bottle on the floor as he looked this way and that to locate the wine room.

The carpeted hallway led left and right. This corridor, just like the rest of the castle, were a sight to behold. The architecture, the minute details of all the wooden accents – they were out of this world.

Not that Ethan had the time to admire the scenery.

Luck was on Ethan's side for once when he found a door straight ahead. It was clearly labeled Wine Room, complete with a brass sculpt of a wine bottle, a goblet, and grapes.

All the sculpt was missing were the bodies hanging from the ceiling, or a miscellany of bloodletting tools.

Ethan pushed into the room and took stock of his surroundings with haste. A small table occupied the carpeted center of the room with a few chairs, while several wine racks hung from the walls – notably none of them being Sanguis Virginis. Extra seating and standing tables filled the room as well, while a couple of casks were tucked into the different corners of the space.

On the right side of the room, an ornate sculpt of the Dimitrescu House crest was lit up by a number of candles. Joining it was what looked like a fancy wine stand. With little other obvious place to deposit the bottle, Ethan wasted no time crossing the room. He soiled the carpet with each step of his wine-drenched shoes. The bottle was set in place on the wine stand, which immediately depressed like a switch. It sunk down below and out of sight, allowing two wooden panels to slide out and replace the top of the platform.

A mechanical click rang out, and the wooden section of the wall revealed itself to be a door. The gears audibly turned as the door began to raise up.

"What the –" Ethan cut himself off with a shake of the head. He muttered under his breath as he peered at the passage into the secret room within, "Yeah, of course the vampire bug-people have secret doors."

A lone lantern lit the brick-walled room, which housed old shelves, counters, and more wine. To the right, a candelabra gave light to another aged shelf. A red crumpled table liner covered the shelf, atop which sat an ornate dark wooden strongbox.

Cassandra had said he would get something valuable for his efforts. Whatever it was, it was probably in there.

Or, it was booby-trapped, and would spray him with poison, or blast him with shrapnel. If this was anything like Lucas Baker's games, the music would play, and he'd wind up peppered with rusted nails. Maybe a few of the classic mold monsters from the Baker House would make their reappearance any moment too.

It could go either way, really.

Ethan's curiosity got the better of him, and he put a hand on the strongbox, which was unlocked. He took a precautionary step back and shielded his face with an arm as he popped the lid open. When no mini explosion ruptured his eardrums and no hail of shrapnel tore at Ethan's face, he finally peeked within. The strongbox was lined with padding, not unlike a jewelry box. Ethan's heart stopped at the sight of the contents.

His hands were quaking yet again as he reached for the simple bracelet, rose gold in color (of course), and with a nameplate reading Rosemary.

Whatever clarity of mind and well-honed survivor instincts Ethan had took that moment to flee. The tension in his legs, ready to send him dodging this way or that, eased. The slightest shrug his rigid shoulders had locked themselves in – to protect his neck – deflated. The constant, nagging urge to constantly check his flanks and rear was absent. He only had eyes for Rose's bracelet.

Mia had gotten it for Rose when they celebrated her turning six months old. Rose had been wearing it the night she was taken.

Ethan's breathing grew shallow and rapid – struggling to take in air to feed his brain, which was going a mile a minute. He turned the bracelet over in his trembling hands, inspecting it for any sort of damage or vandalism. He found none. It was as pristine as he'd last seen it – glinting in the moonlight as Chris took her away.

The fact it wasn't covered in blood, or anything equally sinister, was a relief. It was, in a way, more tangible proof of Rose's presence in the castle. Cassandra and her sisters had no way of leaving the castle with this weather. The only way Cassandra could've gotten her hands on this bracelet was if Rose was here.

It told him nothing definitive of Rose's condition and health. The fact everyone was so goddamn uppity about it was driving Ethan up the wall – but if Bela's secondhand reports were to believed, then Tatyana and Lady Dimitrescu were caring for Rose.

Ethan still couldn't fully believe it until he saw Rose with his own two eyes. Until then, everything was hearsay, out of the mouths of man-eating monsters and the people that served them.

Truth was that Bela was still his best shot at seeing Rose in the flesh again. Trying to navigate to the castle matriarch's bedroom alone would undoubtedly end with a sickle to his legs – Cassandra was probably waiting to jump him the moment he got out of the wine room. Ethan had no illusions that Cassandra had left allowance for him to win this game. Right now, it was a matter of surviving long enough – and with enough limbs intact – to get back to his cell. He could build things back up with Bela from there.

There was still no telling how much she hated his guts after last night, but Ethan wasn't feeling too confident with how things stood. His frustration and anger had reached a tipping point, and Bela was the unfortunate receptacle for it all. After today's revelations – that Bela had been pulling overtime to patrol the dungeons, and that Cassandra went the extra mile to prevent Bela's interference – well, he was a rude idiot, and Bela was still the kindest jailer he could've asked for. He had to rebuild that bridge with her, no matter the cost, even if he had to pay for it with his premium blood.

It had to be done for Rose's sake, and for the simple fact that Bela deserved the apology, and more.

Ethan pocketed the bracelet and exited the secret room. He made a beeline for the door, in the hopes he could at least put some distance in before Cassandra accosted him.

That fire within him, sparking from his heart and then roaring loud and angry in his chest – it was building back up. His hands began to quake with a contained fury hearing the metallic clink of the bracelet in his pocket – knowing that Cassandra had the audacity to bring his daughter into her twisted games.

She could fuck with him all she damn wanted – but it was over Ethan's dead body that he'd let her lay a finger on Rose.

Ethan swung the door open and nearly jumped back in surprise to see Cassandra grinning at him.

"You're out of ti-"

His fist found Cassandra's nose before she got the whole sentence out. The brunette took an uneven step back from the sudden impact. She blinked the surprise from her eyes before baring her teeth in a growl.

"You insolent man. You will-"

Ethan's left fist came swinging forward, this time missing Cassandra's chin by barely an inch. She took another staggered pace backward to avoid the blow, giving Ethan the time to advance.

"How the fuck did you get that bracelet?" Ethan spat out as he stepped forward.

The rage was burning bright within Ethan. It began to cloud his judgment and filled him with the violent impulse to strangle Cassandra. All he could imagine was her sinister grin as she leered over his daughter to take the bracelet. It had him throwing all caution to the wind as he marched right up towards Cassandra, who backed away with slow, measured steps.

His fists balled tight at his sides as he demanded, "Well?!"

"I got it from little Rose, of course." Cassandra tilted her head to the side, her sneer replaced by a smile. "What better way to get daddy to come out and play?"

Ethan swallowed hard. His heart thundered in his chest and his muscles tensed in anticipation.

Cassandra let out a breathy laughed as she asked, "How does it feel knowing you'll never see her again?"

"You fucking bitch!"

In Ethan's rage, he was sloppy. The fist he swung in a wide arc was telegraphed and easy for Cassandra to see coming – a stark contrast to the sucker punch he decked her with.

Cassandra blocked the haymaker and threw a hook right into Ethan's gut, thoroughly knocking the wind out of him. The force of the blow was unconscionable – like being hit by a sledgehammer rather than a fist. Ethan doubled over, a hand pressed to his midsection. Cassandra took that time to laugh at his sorry state, and that was all it took for Ethan to charge forward once more.

His hands dug into her robes in tight fistfuls as he staggered forward and towards the railing. Cassandra let out a soft grunt as her back knocked into the handrail – but with her inhuman strength, it was more likely that she'd allowed Ethan to push her that way. This was all part of her plan.

With a tight scowl, Ethan snarled, "If you laid a single fucking finger on her head-"

The grin Cassandra wore only split wider, as she asked, "What – what are you going to do?"

Ethan sent his elbow careening to her face – but Cassandra was faster, easily intercepting the strike with her arm. Her free hand then found the front of his torn clothes, and she heaved.

Ethan's stomach felt as though it had been left behind as his body sailed in an arc over Cassandra's head and off the second floor.

Wood splintered and ceramic tableware shattered beneath Ethan as he hit the ground hard enough for his vision to flicker. He held onto consciousness in spite of the splitting pain radiating from his entire back. When he took air in as a sharp, shuddering inhale, his chest cried out in protest.

That was at least one broken rib.

Ethan winced hard, pressing a hand to the tender meat of his ribcage. It was going to be a massive liability when he tried fleeing back to his cell – or more realistically, standing his ground here in the main hall, until Cassandra finally lopped one of his arms off.

This was an uphill battle. Cassandra's inhuman strength and speed made this fight massively one sided.

Trying to fight her would end no differently than if he just continued lying on the ground like the broken man he was. There was no point to it.

Get up. Get the fuck up, Ethan. We're not done here.

Once more, Ethan was cursed to hear the low growl of Chris Redfield's voice in his head. As Ethan blinked the stars from his vision, he could just make out Chris' stocky silhouette. Instead of the grand, noble hall of the Dimitrescu Castle, they were back in the training yard. The sun beat down on them as sweat pooled at Ethan's brow, and blood trickled down from his split lip. The familiar ache stabbed at Ethan's midsection as he found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

Cuts close. Bones heal. Get the fuck up. We're not done.

Ethan blinked again, and gone was the earthy smell of the training pen. The only light shining down on him was the great hall's chandelier. Chris wasn't here to chide him as he beat him down.

With a grunt, Ethan sat up, cringing hard as his midsection lit up with pain.

The entirety of the Baker House was an uphill battle. That hadn't stopped him then.

Through the ringing of Ethan's ears, he could vaguely make out the fluttering beat of wings, signaling Cassandra's descent. He hissed under his breath as he got up on one knee.

His anger was his Achilles' Heel – especially when it involved his family. Being thrown over the second-floor balcony had a way of resetting one's current mindset. Going into a rage and swinging for the fences would get him nowhere. He needed to stay collected and level-headed.

The odds didn't matter. They could stack as high as the sky itself, but as long as he got back up and continued fighting, he could still overcome those odds. The only time those odds would overcome him would be when he gave up.

Ethan drew on that same well of tenacity and willpower that got him through Louisiana. The well which Chris dug all the deeper through the years they spent training together.

Quitting wasn't an option. It just wasn't.

Ethan stood tall on his feet, stepping over the wreckage of the table and tea set he'd landed on. He stretched to one side, biting his tongue over the piercing pain in his chest. With each second that passed, the ache began to dull in the slightest as the adrenaline pumped in his veins.

It was just a broken rib. Ethan had been through worse.

Cassandra materialized a short distance away, and as always, had a taunt ready on her lips. "Aww, did you hurt yourself?"

There was no outrunning to be done, especially now that he was right where Cassandra wanted him. His only option was to stand and fight. She could poke and prod all she wanted to try and piss him off. Ethan would deny her any satisfaction from this game. She wasn't getting a single scowl sent her way. Cassandra would regret ever letting him out of his cage.

Ethan stood in the center of the hall, hands up in a ready stance. With a lopsided smile, he answered, "Been meaning to stretch out my back. Thanks for that."

He watched and waited as the amusement fell from Cassandra's face. Charging in would only get his ass stomped. Ethan bid his time and observed Cassandra's every micromovement. When her shoulders tensed, Ethan found his cue.

Tucking into a ball and rolling to the side saved Ethan from Cassandra's initial tackle. Ethan stumbled back onto his shaky legs, doing his best to ignore the growing pain in his chest. Cassandra reformed, catching herself before she crashed into the nearby sofa. She placed a hand on it to steady herself as she glared at Ethan.

"That trick's getting old." It was Ethan's turn to talk shit. He glanced at the flies swirling over her head as he spat out, "You're pathetic, you know that?"

Cassandra bared her teeth, and the tension set back into her shoulders.

This time, Ethan dropped right to the ground, catching himself on his hands as the rush of flies passed overhead. Ethan sprang back to his feet – or more realistically, shambled up. The stabbing ache in his ribs would be bearable if not for all the physical exertion. The adrenaline could only keep it at bay for so long.

There was the thought to pull the gun from his hoodie pocket and put it to use. Ethan refrained, as there was likely little it would do. The closest window was a fair distance away as well, and shooting it open probably wouldn't accomplish anything.

Turning around, Ethan caught sight of Cassandra reforming a distance away, catching herself before she could topple over from the momentum.

Ethan kept a keen eye on Cassandra as he took slow, cautious steps until he stood to the side of an armchair. Cassandra's posture was tense – but not in the way that telegraphed her next lunge. Her tell was different. Ethan figured that she probably never needed to worry about giving her next move away, because up until him, her prey went down without a fight.

All those poor souls Cassandra butchered probably had no idea what they were up against. They couldn't fight back effectively. Ethan was getting a hang of Cassandra's tells and ticks by now. And Ethan wasn't going down until Cassandra took his head clean off his shoulders.

He waved a hand in gesture to the bugs circling Cassandra as he goaded her, grinning wide, "Only reason you can keep up with me is those fucking bugs of yours."

Cassandra's chest rose and fell as the anger brewed within her clear as day. Ethan saw his cue and tugged the armchair close as he then darted to the side. Cassandra's path was interrupted as she shot forward. She materialized in time to ram into the chair, knocking the wind out of her.

To add insult to injury, Ethan grabbed Cassandra's hood in a tight fistful and tugged down, sending her toppling over the chair. She turned over once, landing flat on her back with a grimace.

Ethan put more space between them with long strides. He gave a sharp cackle at her expense and taunted, "You think you're so fucking big and bad? I bet you without those powers, you're nothing."

Cassandra scrambled up to her feet, shoving the furniture to the side as she regained her bearings. Her face was flushed red in frustration, and her teeth were gritted together.

It appeared being hotheaded was something he and Cassandra had in common. Being pissed off made her messy. It was getting easier to dodge her charges, despite the mounting pain from his ribs.

Cassandra's swarm of flies barreled forward once more, and Ethan took a wide step to the side with ease. He turned to face her as she reformed halfway across the hall.

Ethan threw another barb, "You're nothing, Cassandra – you're a goddamn disappointment. Give me a fair fight and I'll put you in the fucking ground."

"Be quiet!" Cassandra growled. Any enjoyment she previously had from her damned game was void from her face.

She lunged forward as a writhing mass of flies, and Ethan barely had time to take a quick sidestep. She abruptly landed within striking range, rather than trying to tackle him to no avail. Ethan's eyes immediately went to Cassandra's hood, which swayed from the sudden halt in momentum. Cassandra cocked a fist back, and Ethan moved on instinct.

Her fist came shooting forward, and Ethan lunged to her side, avoiding the punch. In one swift movement, Ethan yanked Cassandra's hood down over her eyes and swung his leg. His foot crashed into Cassandra's ankles and sent her falling to the ground, as she was already off-balance from the punch.

Ethan grinned like an idiot watching Cassandra get up from her arms and knees. In the same mocking tone Cassandra had used on him, he drawled with sarcasm, "Aww, did you trip?"

With bloody murder in her eyes, Cassandra purposefully tugged her hood down where it wouldn't get in the way – for now. When Cassandra got back in range, scowling and all but hissing at him, Ethan threw the first jab. Cassandra weaved with ease and delivered a counter right into Ethan's face.

His head snapped back from the impact. Instantaneously, his breathing was hampered by blood assaulting his nostrils. Cassandra's punch had at least ruptured some vessels in there. Ethan had to take a second to regain his footing. He snorted once and spat blood on the floor – as if it wasn't dirty enough from the bloody wine he was tracking.

In spite of the blood trickling down his face, he smiled as the metallic taste seeped into his mouth. Anything to take the fun away from Cassandra's game. What better way to throw the sadist off by appearing to enjoy it? Not to mention the fact he was getting a kick out of outmaneuvering Cassandra for the most part.

It reminded Ethan of sparring with BSAA's newbies – particularly those who were as hotheaded as they were strong. You could dance around them all day since you could see their attacks coming from a mile away. Things got hairy when they actually landed a hit, because then you were in trouble.

"What? That's the best you got?" Ethan's voice was nasally as all hell, and undoubtedly as far as can be from intimidating.

"Far from it!"

Ethan reeled his head back to avoid Cassandra's left hook, which, judging by the rush of air it brought with it, carried the weight of a freight train. Ethan brought his fist up in an uppercut to interrupt her rhythm of blows before it could start. His knuckles smashed into her jaw, enough to illicit a grunt from Cassandra, but nothing more.

It wasn't really much of a surprise that his fists did nothing more than annoy Cassandra. But it was still satisfying to be able to catch her off guard, supernatural bug powers and all.

Ethan kept light on his feet, even as his body was feeling heavier by the moment as all the activity was catching up to him. He forced Cassandra to keep facing him as he circled around her, changing directions every so often as he weaved away from her fists. Cassandra's dress was working against her – slowing her down and preventing her from keeping pace.

At this point, considering she nearly broke his nose with a single punch, blocking Cassandra's strikes was clearly a bad idea. Evasion was key.

Cassandra took quick steps forward throwing straights and hooks his way, only for Ethan to bob and weave just out of her reach. The longer Ethan kept out of her clutches, the angrier she was getting. Cassandra pulled her left fist back for a punch and then swung. Ethan stepped to her side and came in hard, twisting and generating power by putting his hips into the movement.

His fist dug into her sternum once in a powerful blow – something that would knock the air out of a normal person and send them reeling. Out of Cassandra, all Ethan got was a slight grunt. But, as Ethan still had the momentum, he followed up, swinging his right elbow at her, crashing it into the back of her head. It was another knockout blow reduced to a light strike.

Still, it got Cassandra to stumble a single step forward, making it easier for Ethan to slip behind her. And as her foot came down hard to catch her weight, a sharp snap reverberated throughout the main hall. It took Ethan a moment to realize she'd broken a heel.

Ethan capitalized on the momentary distraction. Even if they were engaged in hand to hand, Cassandra's strength and physical durability skewed the odds heavily in her favor. The knife Ethan tugged free from its sheathe was likely going to do little to even the odds.

At this point, actually harming Cassandra was going to be impossible – there were no nearby windows to shoot out to flood the room with cold air. The best he could do was send a message – strike Cassandra right in her cocky, prideful heart – show her that he wasn't the harmless prey she thought he was. His teeth were as sharp as hers, and it wasn't by dumb luck that he'd survived this long.

Ethan swung the knife across Cassandra's back once. Rather than draw blood, her very form shifted to allow the knife to pass harmlessly through. But, Ethan was in full swing now, and he barely had time to register how the colony of flies reacted to his blade.

The momentum carried him forward, and he grabbed the back of Cassandra's lowered hood by the nape of her neck. Muscle memory had Ethan tugging Cassandra – still off balance – closer to him, and he stomped down on her dress for good measure to pin her in place. After the initial slash, he brought the knife back in a mad flurry of shallow, rapid stabs to the side of her neck that should have torn her skin wide open if she were halfway human.

After the sixth quick, shallow stab, Ethan's blade refused to come free – the swarm of flies locked it in place. Ethan registered the problem in time to push off, releasing her dress. The knife didn't seem to so much as phase Cassandra as she craned her head to look back at him. She had only loathing in her piercing yellow eyes – none of the sick joy from earlier, now that Ethan was refusing to play her game and get angry or desperate. Before he could blink, Cassandra swung her fist back at him.

Ethan felt his lights go out for a split second, and he found himself sprawled on the ground. He had to blink tears out of his left eye, which was rapidly swelling up. Cassandra leisurely removed the knife from her neck without second thought.

"You," Cassandra hissed out as she mounted him, "Are not a man. You are a slippery worm."

The knife raised high, poised for his shoulder. As it came crashing down, Ethan rolled partially onto his right side.

A sharp bang rang out the great hall as Ethan fired his pistol through the pocket of his hoodie. The bullet tore a hole through the fabric and passed right through Cassandra's midsection. A vase shattered somewhere out of sight.

The surprise was clear as day on Cassandra's face – even though the bullet itself had done nothing at all.

Ethan – black eye, bloody nose, and all – grinned victoriously at her when he was back to lying flat on the ground.

There was no hurting Cassandra, yes. But there was the point he was continuously proving throughout this fight. Even while pinned like an overturned turtle, he could take Cassandra by surprise.

"I told you, but you won't listen," Ethan laughed – a nasally, sickly sound as blood continued trickling down his face. "You're nothing."

Cassandra had no witty retort on her – only a furious curl of her lip as she discarded the knife and seized his right arm, forcibly tugging his hand out of his pocket. Ethan didn't bother squeezing another round out into her torso. The message was delivered, and Cassandra wasn't worth the extra bullet. The LEMI was twisted from his grip and swung across his face.

The pain came across him as a sharp flash. His cheek tingled with heat as blood oozed from the fresh cut.

Cassandra then flicked her wrist, ejecting the magazine far from reach. She tugged back on the slide, unchambering the last round before setting the gun down and pushing it out of reach. She took hold of Ethan's right hand in an iron grip, and in her other hand, a sickle materialized.

"You're a handful, aren't you?" Cassandra hissed. "Let's see how much trouble you are without that hand."

It wasn't the first limb Ethan would lose, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. He couldn't so much as budge from underneath Cassandra. All he could do was rob her of any smidge of satisfaction she could get from her torment. He would give Cassandra no anger, no fear – he would only challenge her and put her down. She could take her sweet time slicing him up – at least Rose was safe while this psychopath was preoccupied with him.

"Yeah?" Ethan bared his bloody teeth. "Fuck around and find out, see how bad I can mess you up without that hand!"

The sickle shook in Cassandra's grip with barely contained rage. "You impertinent swine. Maybe I should cut your tongue out first."

"Maybe you shouldn't have been talking so much shit if you can't take the heat, huh?" Ethan gave her a wry grin, even if he risked getting his teeth punched in.

Cassandra released Ethan's hand, choosing instead to grip his face – to prepare his tongue for slicing out, no doubt. "I will savor this."

"Savor your hollow victory?" Ethan spat out.

Cassandra's lip curled in rage, and her sickle raised high in the air.

The sound of fluttering wings filled the hall, and Cassandra was barely able to turn her head in its direction.

The weight atop Ethan's body was removed faster than he could process it.

By the time he could crane his head to the side, he saw Cassandra rolling on the ground, wincing hard from the tumble. Her sickle clattered to the ground halfway across the room.

Towering above Cassandra was Bela.

By God, she was a sight for sore eyes.

The relief trickled throughout Ethan's system, like a douse for the adrenaline that had been burning prior. His muscles untensed, and Ethan allowed his head to lazily fall to the floor. All the aches and pains his body had been suppressing were starting to come back with a vengeance. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, to give himself a brief reprieve.

Bela didn't despise him enough to leave him in Cassandra's clutches – so that was a good sign. Perhaps not all hope was lost.

The sound of movement right to his side was what got Ethan to open his eyes, even if he was content to lie there in silence for longer.

Bela was crouched down next to him.

Ethan could have kissed Bela for her impeccable timing, if only he could so much as sit up to reach her.

Bela's eyes were wide with concern as they ran over him. His face was bruised, battered, and absolutely plastered with blood – and only some of it was his own. There were countless rips in his clothing, both big and small; blood splattered his neckline and collar, and there was a wide tear from the sword that had crashed into his side. His jeans and shoes were still damp with blood and wine alike. Bela took the sight of him all in, brows pitched together in worry.

She reached her hand out, settling it on the side of his bruised face. Ethan leaned into her palm, finding that indescribable solace in her touch.

"Hey." It was all Ethan managed to rumble out.

The chandelier cast a familiar warm halo of light around Bela's blonde head as she took stock of his injuries. His angel of mercy was at it again.

Bela drew her thumb across his cheek, wiping the stray blood off – even if it was a futile effort. With a gulp, Bela gave the smallest of smiles. "Hey."

The apology was on the tip of Ethan's tongue. But, Bela didn't give him the chance to get it out. She was on her feet and whirling around within moments to face Cassandra. His cheek felt cold where Bela's hand had been moments ago.

Bela's voice was sharper than any of Cassandra's blades as she demanded, "What have you done?!"

Cassandra glowered up at her sister all while getting back up to her feet and dusting herself off. She dripped with sarcasm as she huffed, "Great. You're here."

"I told you to keep your claws off of him or play nice." Bela gestured to Ethan as she reproached, "This is not playing nice."

"If I wasn't playing nice, the man-thing would be in far worse shape," Cassandra came to a stop in front of Bela, glowering over her shoulder to meet Ethan's gaze.

Even as he lied limp on the ground, Ethan rolled his eyes and scoffed back, "You could barely fucking keep up, and I don't have any bug powers."

"You little –"

"Cassandra!" Bela stepped to the side to prevent her sister's advance.

The brunette turned her unamused glare to Bela. "You always do this, sister. You always ruin the hunt."

"And I always have to remind you, sister," Bela glared right back, "That I am merely ensuring Ethan lives long enough to act as a sustainable source of blood."

Cassandra rolled her eyes and scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at Bela, "Are you sure you aren't just jealous that I'm trying to spend quality time with your precious man-creature? With," Cassandra's lip curled, and she spat his name out like it was a curse, "With your precious Ethan."

With Bela's back to Ethan, he couldn't quite get a read on her expression. The lack of a response and the tense body language was enough of a tell that she was silently fuming.

"You are, aren't you?" Cassandra laughed. "You're jealous of me playing with your man-thing! Are you scared I'll break him?"

Bela's measured tone reminded Ethan of how she'd spoken to him in the face of his raging and ranting. "I most certainly am not. I am simply trying to keep this man alive – it is what Mother Miranda wanted."

"Alive, Bela," Cassandra repeated, "Not with all his limbs attached and his skin in one piece."

Cassandra's sneer grew as she added, "Not pampered, fed, and cared for like a puppy."

"Watch it," Bela's tone grew sharp with warning.

"Did Mother tell you to baby him like that? Are those Mother Miranda's orders?" Cassandra pursed her lips and shrugged as if she gave it serious thought. "I do not recall such orders."

"I keep telling you, Cass –"

"Don't call me that."

"– I am simply trying to keep his exquisite blood untainted. That is despite your best efforts to the contrary."

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, piercing yellow eyes digging into Bela, before they made their occasional glance Ethan's way.

In the recesses of Ethan's memory, he could just make out Bela's voice.

I am not your friend. I am not your protector.

Bela remained where she was, interposed between Ethan and her sister. It was already a lot for Ethan to take in that Bela had planned their walks in such a way that they avoided Cassandra. It simply boggled his mind to know Bela went the extra ten miles and patrolled the dungeons while he was sound asleep, just to make sure Cassandra wouldn't pay him a visit.

I am not here to save you from my sisters.

The tension was set into Bela's small but strong frame, ready to pounce. She had moved fast when she tackled Cassandra – faster than he'd seen even Cassandra move. Ethan didn't doubt Bela's ferocity. In their brief scuffle in the dining room, Bela was a whirlwind. He didn't have the chance to catch any of her tells before she charged, unlike Cassandra. Ethan was glad that, at least against Cassandra, Bela was on his side. One wrong move from Cassandra, and Bela would knock her across the room.

You are my prey.

Bela was all that stood between him and losing a hand again. It was strange how the times changed. Yet at the same time, in the day-to-day of things, maybe it wasn't surprising at all. Each meal and cup of coffee they bonded over had led to where they were now in this very moment.

Though prey hardly captured what he was to Bela these days. He was Bela's puppy, if anything. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud to Bela, Cassandra, or anyone else, ever.

He owed Bela an apology, and far, far more.

"Why are you so attached to that man, Bela?" Cassandra tilted her head to one side, genuine frustration and curiosity seeping into her expression.

Ethan wasn't too sure how Bela planned to answer that. Perhaps Bela felt the same, as she appeared to opt out of answering it altogether.

"Listen to me carefully, sister," Bela began. Her voice was colder than ice, and she barely spoke above a whisper, "From now on, you do not put a single finger on his head, unless I am present."

Just as Bela ignored Cassandra's question, the brunette did the same to her sister's command, "What is so remarkable about him? Aside from his blood, he is so painfully ordinary."

Bela made it a point to continue unperturbed, "You may have his blood while I am around, but nothing more."

The anger simmering within Cassandra had been completely replaced by this newfound confusion. Her game appeared long forgotten as she asked, "What happened to you, sister? I miss the old Bela – the one from years ago who spilled more blood than I ever did."

Ethan watched the exchange with interest. It was hard to imagine Bela giving Cassandra a run for her money in the bloodlust department. Aside from the sickle to the leg and her initial enthusiasm in his man-blood – well, Bela was by and large levelheaded. Even looking back to the first time he was shoved into that cell, Bela was nothing but professional in her approach to taking his blood.

"Those days are long over, Cassandra. You know that."

Cassandra stared at Bela long and hard before turning her eyes to Ethan. She spoke to Bela, even as she kept her eyes trained on him, "Why are you so protective over this man?"

Bela was still as a board, refusing to budge or acknowledge the question. Cassandra on the other hand, continued ogling Ethan – as if trying to find answers etched on his face. It was unnerving, as Cassandra's scrutinous eyes always were.

Then, a lightbulb appeared to go on above the brunette's head. The apparent astonishment shifted to a look of… concern, to Ethan's surprise. Cassandra gave a small shake of her head, "Bela… no."

"Cassandra." Bela's cool voice was heavy with a silent threat.

"Sister, please," Cassandra urged, "Just because he –"

Bela cut her off, sharp as a whip, "Fuck off."

Like flipping a switch, all traces of concern and care left Cassandra's features. Her dark brows raised high up in astonishment as she sputtered out, "What? What did you just say to me?"

Another voice joined the fray, but only to utter out a loud, scandalized, "Ooooooh!"

Ethan turned his head to the source on the second floor – Daniela perched on the railing with legs crossed. She had a hand over her mouth, looking just as taken aback as Cassandra.

All they were missing now was the big lady, and then they could call it a day.

"Since when did you talk like that?" Cassandra frowned at Bela and took a step forward – quite close now. "Have you been spending too much time with the man-thing and his foul mouth?"

"The man-thing has a name!" Bela pushed Cassandra back to put ground between them.

"Yes – a name that only you care about! But that is all that matters, right? That big sister Bela gets what she wants," For good measure, Cassandra turned her head towards the second floor and added, "And little baby Daniela can get a bite in too – but not me! Who cares about what Cassandra wants?!"

It was Cassandra's turn to push Bela backward. She regained her footing quickly and snapped, "Keep your hands off me!"

"Or what?" Cassandra scoffed, "Will you ask your man-thing to help you?"

The voice that cut in was louder and carried far more power to it than any of the Dimitrescu sisters.

"Enough!"

Lady Dimitrescu stood at the top of the stairs, looking notably unkempt, especially compared to her usual self. With heavy but poised steps, she began to descend the grand staircase.

Her dark hair was pulled into a bun – but not meticulously styled and groomed as it was underneath the large hat he'd seen her with before. This was the messy sort of bun you tied your hair in to keep it from your face upon waking. Lending to the fresh-out-of-bed look were dark circles prominently etched underneath her eyes, and her face void of its usual thick makeup.

In place of her large, long sleeved white dress, the Lady wore a sizeable white bathrobe over what looked like a black nightgown. Ethan couldn't help but pay extra attention to the bunny slippers she wore – far larger than the biggest pair of boots Ethan had ever seen.

The tall woman's face was twisted in displeasure as she tugged the bathrobe tighter over her person, then placed her hands on her hips.

"Well?! What is the meaning of this?!" A pause, and her nose scrunched up. The Lady then added, "And why does the man-thing smell like wine?"

When the silence wasn't broken by any of the sisters – and frankly, Ethan was aching from one too many wounds to give a damn – he spoke up and waved a hand, "Hey, been meaning to say thanks for the accommodations. Food's great. Entertainment's kinda shit though."

Lady Dimitrescu's glare went his way, and her lip curled further in disgust. Rather than hold the woman's gaze, Ethan looked the sisters' way – especially considering they were awfully quiet.

In a turn of events, Bela was standing behind Ethan, who was still sprawled out on the floor. Cassandra was taking her place behind Bela – and both of the sisters appeared to be doing their best to look as small and unnoticeable as possible. Daniela was similarly no longer sitting on the railing. Now she was instead crouching behind it and peeking through the bars, eyes flickering across the scene.

Gone were the hot emotions and flaring tempers. Their mother's arrival had apparently turned them into frightened children.

Lady Dimitrescu must have one hell of a mean streak to have that effect.

Eventually, it was Bela who got a hold of her nerves first. She stepped to the side to prevent Cassandra from taking cover behind her. Ethan didn't miss how Bela still positioned herself in such a way that she was the closest to him.

"Cassandra sent the man on a wild chase and has been tormenting him, even after I told her to leave him be." Bela gave her abridged side.

"Bela," Cassandra shot a side-eyed glare at her sister, "Refuses to share her catch with the rest of us!"

"Only because you would spoil it for the rest of us in a heartbeat!"

"Better than you keeping him in that hole where we can't have him!"

Lady Dimitrescu's shrill, powerful voice cut in once more, "Enough!"

When the sisters quieted down, she turned her simmering gaze to the eldest sibling, "Bela, I told you to share that man with your sisters! You are the eldest and supposed to set an example for your sisters! We share in this family. We do not squabble and lay hands on one another over a pathetic man-thing!"

Bela averted her eyes and kept her hands clasped in front of her. Cassandra, on the other hand, turned to face Bela, and spread her arms to gloat, "Ha!"

"Cassandra!" Lady Dimitrescu stopped her before she could go on, "You are to respect your older sister! It is not a secret to anyone here that you like to get your hands filthy. They never last long under your charge, and Mother Miranda wants him alive! Do you wish to bring the wrath of Mother Miranda unto our home?"

The middle sister in question bowed her head in the face of the reprimanding. The brief pause gave Bela the chance to whisper back, "Ha."

Lady Dimitrescu took a moment to send her narrowed eyes Ethan's way, and then around the hall. With a deep breath, she spoke through clenched teeth, "You had the man go into the storeroom, did you not?"

The various puddles of wine scattered through the great hall and the second floor must have given it away.

Cassandra winced as she admitted, "I may have asked him to grab a bottle for you, mother."

The castle matriarch grimaced as she took note of Ethan's appearance once more. She pointed a finger at Cassandra and warned, "If he damaged any of our stock –"

The conditional was cut short as Lady Dimitrescu took in a big breath to recollect herself. "Our stock aside… I was saying, you are sisters! You are not supposed to be fighting! Especially not fighting over some pathetic, wretched man-thing!"

Ethan protested, "Oh, come on. I'm right here."

"Silence!" Lady Dimitrescu bellowed. "Bela, Cassandra, this is your squabble, and I expect you to clean up this mess!" She gestured out with her long arms towards the main hall's state, "Look at what you've done to our castle!"

Ethan glanced at the table he broke with his back. "If, uh, we're being technical about it, this is Cassandra and I's mess. More of her mess, really."

Lady Dimitrescu took a heavy step forward, teeth bared Ethan's way. "Do you dare tell me how to discipline my children?" Her head swayed to one side as she gave a humorless laugh, "The father who cannot look after his own daughter is telling me what to do with mine. Will wonders never cease?"

Ethan found the strength to peel himself off the floor, even as the stabbing sensation of his broken rib – or ribs – intensified with every fraction of movement. All he managed was to sit up and bark out, "Hey, fuck you, lady! At least my daughter isn't a fucking psychopath like this one is!"

Cassandra swatted away the finger Ethan was pointing at her.

"That's enough out of you!" Lady Dimitrescu yelled and flexed her fingers. Massive claws sprang free from her hand with a metallic ring. The inordinately long claws were enough to stun Ethan into silence, even if he was far out of her reach. It was good to know now, and not while within striking range, that the big bitch had claws that were as long as Ethan was tall.

That must be the mean streak that kept her daughters in line.

Once more Lady Dimitrescu called out, "Bela! Cassandra!"

In unison, the sisters replied, "Yes, mother?"

"Clean up this mess, and any other mess he may have left in the storeroom. No more hunts. No more games. If you want to play with the man-thing, do so in your own rooms." The authority boomed in her voice, even if she was no longer yelling. "Am I clear?"

The sisters gave the same affirmation, "Yes, mother."

"Good." With a roll of the head, Lady Dimitrescu looked to the side – to where Daniela was trying not to be seen. "Daniela!"

On cue, the redhead stood at attention and nodded sharply enough to lower her hood. "Yes, mother?"

Lady Dimitrescu spared Ethan a glance as she decreed, "Seeing as you're the only one who hasn't completely lost their mind, you can keep the man-thing for the rest of the day."

Ethan's heart skipped a beat, and he looked from Daniela, to Bela, to their mother in unease.

Daniela clapped her hands together in glee as she squealed out, "Thank you, mother!"

Bela was first to protest, "But mother!'

"No buts!" Lady Dimitrescu snapped, "You may get him back tomorrow. Maybe by then you will remember how to share the man-thing with your sisters."

Bela and Ethan held each other's gaze for a moment. As the briefest seconds ticked by, the worry eased out of Bela's face for the most part. She gave Ethan the slightest reassuring smile, quelling his own unease. Quietly, she nodded. "Yes, mother."

Daniela may not be as outwardly violent as Cassandra, but it was still alarming being thrust from one sister to the next, and with Bela unable to interfere. So, Ethan protested, for what little it was worth.

"Hey – don't I get a say in this?"

Ethan was woefully ignored as Lady Dimitrescu then nodded towards Daniela, "Darling, take this wretch out of my sight."

Daniela's smile was sickly sweet. "Gladly, mother."

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Be sure to hit those fave and follow buttons, and drop me a review to let me know what you thought. As always, I love hearing from you guys, whether it's your raw reactions to the chapter, or your theories of what's to come.

When I envisioned Ethan and Cassandra's confrontations, I always thought that the RE7/8 Meta of blocking everything with Ethan's arms wouldn't cut it. That's especially considering how strong I've been portraying the sisters. That's why I rationalized that the only way Ethan can put up a fight is going full Dark Souls mode and spamming roll every chance he can get. As long as he can evade, that means he doesn't get hit, since each hit from Cass is a potential knockout. It's horribly one sided as well, since Cass is nigh invincible, but it doesn't stop Ethan from fighting.

Then when things get up close and personal, Ethan's playing dirty by using Cass' wardrobe against her for as long as he can, and evading all of her strikes by staying one step ahead. As always, Ethan functions best when he's not raging and fuming. It doesn't help that Cass isn't used to her prey fighting back. She's probably decades rusty when it comes to fighting square with an opponent that fights back. But alas, the few hits Cass does land is all it takes to floor Ethan. So, I hope you guys liked my portrayal of what Ethan and Cass' showdown would look like in the absence of any cold air.

Bela also arrives just in the nick of time, as does the rest of her family. What fun shall Daniela have with Ethan, I wonder? You'll find out in a couple chapters. Next chapter is slated to be a Bela chapter, so look out for that! I don't wanna commit just yet when I'm dropping that chapter, if it'll be a week, two weeks, or somewhere in between. I'll keep you guys posted in my replies later on.

Until then, I hope you fellas enjoyed the latest chapter, stay safe out there, and I'll see you all soon. Cheers!