The Little Boy continually kept looking up into the sky, somehow surprised with himself that he managed to last this long in the same position, in the same place, looking at the same sight. Like a statue. Though he hates looking at blue skies, he strangely felt at peace doing so. He wondered what was so fun about it before, but he could see the odd intrigue of simply watching clouds drift by, assuming shapes in every second. It was a sunny day, yet the bright ball of fire in the sky didn't seem to give him any kind of discomfort like it usually did. It's warm instead of blistering, comforting instead of detestable.
Then he felt someone come close, indicated by the sound of bare feet stepping across the grassy fields he sat on coming closer to him. Though wishing to know the person, he stayed still, not inclined to start the social conventions.
When he was certain that the person is right behind him, he leaned his head back to look upside-down while keeping himself supported with his hands on the soft grass behind him. He was eye to eye with a pair of dark purple orbs, long locks of white hair and a compassionate mien. Her frame donned by a black dress swayed on the gentle breeze along with her locks. She was a very beautiful girl, he could admit.
The girl knelt down behind him slowly and carefully, the sheer fragility of her appearance as well as her movements captivating him, keeping her eyes fixed on his as she placed both hands on his temples and gave a very gentle kiss to his forehead.
He never left her side afterwards.
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
"Puck, how is he?"
"As always, Lia, one heartbeat every few minutes and the slowest breathing I've ever seen in my life. Nothing's changed."
"What about his mana?"
"Same thing. He's still full since Betty and I gave him some days ago."
"What about curses?"
"Lia….."
"….I'm sorry…it's just….it's been so long…"
"Three days, yeah….humans ought to be dead of thirst at that point but in his case when I checked….it's like he still can go for more, like a day hasn't even passed for him. He sure gave his whole body a real overhaul before coming here."
Despite the impressed tone of the Spirit's words, Emilia wasn't sharing his thoughts. Turning a concerned eye to the pale man lying on the large bed, he perfectly casted the image of death, as if he had died bleeding to death after losing his lower extremities. His body's cold, his chest's barely rising and his heartbeat nonexistent.
The half-elf only had the word of Beatrice and Puck to think otherwise that Emurdol is still alive. Her trust in them was shaky, but she held onto hope. Her friend can't die that easily. If he survived an open stomach, surely he can survive whatever he went through when he entered the witchbeast forest, though he had little to no wounds after coming out of it in a stretcher carried by skeletons.
"Is there anything I can do?" She asked.
"Nothing, Lia. Nothing." Puck shook his head, "I don't think any of us in this mansion could even do anything for him. If there's even anybody who could help him, it might as well be his Mother. She would know what to do."
"But where is she?"
"From what I've heard from Roswaal: she took his cloak, kept her weapons and just disappeared, telling him that he needs to wake up before she comes back or there will be consequences."
Emilia turned a worried eye to her guardian, "Consequences?"
Puck met her look determinedly, "We will wake him up, Lia, and no matter what, I will protect you. But for now…." He turned to face Emurdol's sleeping form again, an afterimage of the ordeal he suffered through frozen on his mien. Exhaustion and pain. "…let's leave him be. Our talking isn't gonna wake him up anytime."
"Okay…" She turned one last look at him before she has to go. He was once bloody and littered with grime, some even absorbed in his silver hair that it became black from drying. It took meticulous effort to return his hair into good condition, and the blood splatters that covered him all over formerly were washed away, leaving his unnaturally unscarred body neat and clean in its pale glory, don once again in sleep robes. His hands were together above his waist, his left hand atop the still-armored right hand that clutched on to the glowing bone wand in a literal death grip. There was no safe way of removing it unless they risked getting mutilated by the Spirits inside for even brushing their finger against it.
It looked so familiar to Emilia. It felt as if everything was repeating itself. He did a great service to her, only to suffer a heavy loss in the process. That hand was locked and dead when he was in a bed like this the first time, and now it's the same thing despite being no longer made out of flesh.
She heard from Ram that he turned into somebody different, that within the vessel of flesh was not her friend but—
"Lia?"
"Eep!" Emilia jolted from the sudden voice next to her ears before she composed herself, giving one more glance to Emurdol, "Sorry…just thinking about…something…."
It was certain that Puck knew what she was talking about, but thankfully, he didn't mention it aloud and instead followed after her to the door.
Closing the portal behind them, they were now face to face with Rem who stood beside the doorway, having stood there since the pair entered early in the morning. The bags on her eyes had been a growing concern alongside the comatose person inside. Everyday, since Emurdol's collapse, she would be there, awaiting for either Puck or Emilia to tell her of his condition. The maid's performance was deteriorating, everyone could see it, her usual professional exterior and perfect conduct as a servant of the Roswaal manor crumbling away to reveal an anxious girl being riddled by her guilt. It had to be the lack of proper sleep as well.
She secretly wished to be the one taking care of Emurdol, but Ram figured her out easily and told her of the risks if she was ever allowed to. The man still carried a grudge against her and if seen upon miraculously waking up, he would not hesitate in ending her life. She was told of the situation where an entity named Viandegroc had overtaken his body, carrying out actions on the behalf of the vessel's owner. Thought a different personality, he was a threat either way, and Ram will not allow it.
Rem's only option was to wait on Puck and Emilia to tell her of how are things. The recent days left her disappointed and worried, and now….
"How is Ser Emurdol?" She asked softly, her brow knitted. Wrinkles were starting to grow from there.
Emilia shook her head, "Still nothing, Rem."
Rem gripped her apron tightly once again, feeling the pit of her stomach fall even further.
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
Viandegroc stood grouchily in the nothingness, waiting for his expected company to arrive. If there had been a way to describe the realm he is in, deep within the wand that contained a small but still expansive world where ethereal beings congregated, none could hold any form of justice to the chaos it represented. Memories, specialties, possessions, premonitions, imaginations, dreams, desires, emotions, thoughts, grudges, regrets, glories—all manifested in cheap forms of emulation, jumbled up together to the point that they lost the hope of being specified from the rest.
It is once called as the Room, but as it began to host even more individuals besides himself, it is now notably called as the Court.
Being the occupant of this place for more than 7 years, everything around him became as relevant or bizarre as a field of grass. Even if the sudden memory of his untimely death were to happen all around him, he would have forgotten that it existed.
Just when he was about to sit on a chair, created from the memory of sitting along other Priests while studying the Ideology of the Serpent, a boisterous voice boomed from all over, "Ah! The Mighty King has returned from his rounds with some news to bear! I would have my slaves prepare for us a feast if I had still worn the crown on my head!"
Turning a dry glance to the speaker, he replied to the Mighty King, "Good luck keeping your slaves from poisoning the food if that were to happen, not that it would bother me."
Rowdy laughter erupted all around him as the Mighty King gripped his massive forearms tightly. Viandegroc pursed his lips. As always, he's the loudest even for a dead man. "Haha! Agh! The boy's poison might have affected me but it did not kill me, didn't it? If even the boy's poisons cannot kill someone as Mighty as me, then my slaves do not deserve my blessings for using such measly substances to end my Life!"
"It does not change the fact that you turned your back on him while he was still alive, giving him the chance to hit you where you are most vulnerable while you were in a monologue." He snapped, just hoping that this realm could work with him and shut this big fool up. He is not interested in looking over the glories happening all around him, chapters of the Mighty King's Life before his defeat in the hands of Emurdol.
"HA! HA!" The Mighty King did not seem to be bothered at the reminder of being killed in the most humiliating way possible for a ruler like him, throwing his head back again before flashing a large smile from his lion-like face. "So long as my Mighty skills are not outdone by him, I am satisfied."
"Hmph." Viandegroc huffed at such words. He may have been the greatest warrior in the living world, capable of using anything as a weapon, outdoing Emurdol and even Mother in a clash of blades and bones, but that specialty was an exploitable factor. What could not be killed with weapons eventually lead to the Mighty King's fall from grace. "You're still a bastard. Brother hasn't forgotten what you did to the children." He still shared Emurdol's animosity towards him.
"What's done is done, boy." The revelry in his voice suddenly disappeared, solemn as he conjured the throne he once sat on in his living life behind him and slumped on it, "I lived the life I wished."
Viandegroc eyed him doubtfully, but decided not to argue. Dealing with men who have pride bigger than their own heads tends to make things slow, even in a place where time doesn't even know what to do with itself.
"Yes…..Let's see how much he squeals once he faces the nothingness waiting for him…."
This time, another voice chimed from all around, indicating the arrival of the second guest. In contrast to the Mighty King's boisterous demeanor, this one was low, relaxed, and glazed with seductive honey. It carried the magic to sooth the nerves of any ear who hears it, entrancing them to the source. Whether it be man or woman, they cannot resist it.
What this sultry voice's owner did not expect when she beckoned Emurdol to her chambers was a man free of fleshly desires and burning with the drive to rip her to pieces and reconstruct her bountiful body to massacre her lair's occupants before destroying it.
That was the Marchioness, formerly known among the locals as the Bitch Queen. And he was not surprised for the soft hands to start roaming all over his emulated body from behind, triggering every button with the expertise of a courtesan as well as the typical grab on his groin. Viandegroc never so much as batted an eyelash at the advances, even when the woman ran her tongue on his neck all the way to his ear.
"Welcome back." He greeted dryly, needlessly wiping the saliva trailing down his cheek. "Did you discover something useful?"
"At least I discovered something….." She replied, his earlobe in her mouth, her voice carrying the undertone of boredom amidst the effortless seduction. "….Satella has taken the boy to somewhere but I lost track."
"Good enough."
Marchioness sighed tiredly, releasing her hold on Viandegroc and flopping on a chamber bed conjured in-between him and the Mighty King, designed just like the one from her base of operations that was once deep underground. As always she isn't wearing any clothing, exposing the body that got every man and woman into a fit of sinful desire. If she didn't bother to have anything put on, even when she was fighting neck to neck with Emurdol before getting killed, she won't bother either on this side of life where customs of the living world are meaningless.
Her chronic tendency to be seen in all her glory no matter where she goes has been carried over as well, arcing her back and tracing her hands all over her delectable parts. It isn't something deliberate in order to lure a person into her web, it's something she developed in her corrupt lifetime. A habit.
None of the men were entranced by it. One born from the Order who are above fleshly desires, and the other too proud to even fall for someone like her. For as long as they know her, they only see a woman doing something that is no different than twirling her hair.
"I'm bored…."
Viandegroc said nothing, used to the same phrase every time she is reminded of no longer being alive.
The Mighty King barely noticed her breathy whine that was practically and literally an invitation, deeming it too above his concerns.
And then they share a silence that the living world couldn't match, saying nothing and doing particularly nothing besides being idle. The Mighty King slouched on his throne, resting his head on his fist as his elbow rested on the armrest. The Marchioness lounged in a way that made her curves apparent, running her fingers up and down her alluringly along her thigh. Viandegroc stood with his arms crossed, still wearing the same grouchy face.
After a certain time where it felt like hours, Viandegroc finally asked, "Where the hell is that charlatan?"
"I left him to retrace Satella's tracks for us….." The Marchioness rolled over to her front, her right hand gripping the sheets a bit tightly as her face expressed an ecstasy that did not even happen. The mere action itself would have been enough to heat up a young man's blood. "….if the mopey bastard is not here too, then he's still searching…."
Irritation flashed throughout the world as Viandegroc kneaded his forehead.
The Mighty King thumped his free fist on the other armrest, "Those Sods dare to make us wait?"
"We can start without them." Viandegroc asserted, annoyance spilling out of his voice before he turned to the Marchioness, "What have you got for us?"
"It is something interesting….." Raising her upper body up, hips lying flat on the bed as she curved her limber back, giving emphasis to her chest, she told everything in a low tone, "…Satella's helping him recover—"
Viandegroc growled and the Mighty King's scowl became even more pronounced.
"—I must say…she's veeeery gentle….." Her head slowly began swaying side to side, her red locks swaying magnificently in a speed that wasn't normal, "….she's not being too forward nor being too forceful…..she's giving him the gentlest touches….a simple handhold….a warm embrace….a listening ear to his troubles—"
"The Whore is seducing the boy!" Thundered the Mighty King, slamming his fist on his throne's armrest. "With him in such an unguarded state, what do you think she would do to him!?"
"You are assuming too quickly." Viandegroc sneered, having the same opinion as well but fought against it. Priests of the Serpent aren't the types to get into conclusions quickly, and he's making that clear by being sensible. "We've seen it explicitly with Mama. There are two entities that comprises who we are dealing with."
"The girl named Satella…..and the Witch of Envy…." The Marchioness's head leaned 90 degrees to the side, her mien wearing the slightest hint of a scowl. A seductive scowl, never revealing the smallest trace of her displeasure. "….an atrocious combination….."
"Then why have you not done anything!?" The Mighty King shot up to his feet, glowering over the Marchioness. "It took much of my Mighty power to hold her back when the Whore arrived at the worst possible time, what do you think might happen when she comes back!?"
"You better have a way of specifying who you are referring to as a 'Whore' among the two entities, Your Majesty." Viandegroc pointed out dryly. "Until she's finished, sit. Roaring your trust issues on the Benefactor has no practical use except reflecting your opinion."
"As to why I haven't done anything….." The Marchioness's breathing began to quicken. What should be the paced breathing of irritation is instead replaced with the wanting heaves of lust. She turned to face the still-standing Mighty King, betraying no annoyance with her low purr, "….do you think the boy even wishes to be brought back to the Living World, especially after what he's been through out there?"
Viandegroc scowled at the point she's making. The Mighty King, however, wasn't willing to back down, "Are you daft, Thot!? You're risking him being taken away by that—"
Spinal columns suddenly began emerging all over the world, slithering through everywhere and filling the chaotic void of the Court with the ivory of Viandegroc's creations. "If you say 'Whore' again, I swear to the Dragon—"
Weapons of the throwing variety from throwing knives to spears flew out of the Mighty King's grasp, striking every skeletal tentacle existent and reducing them into dust from the sheer force of impact. "Or what?" He challenged, haughtily looking down on Viandegroc, "Are you challenging the Mighty King, you disgrace of a Newt!?"
The dark world was practically illuminated with the powerful glow of Viandegroc's green eyes, conjuring even more spinal columns of immense size to existence in the realm, scrambling the images everywhere with representations of his hatred. "What did you call me…!?"
"Newt or Disgrace? Which would you like the Mighty King to prefer?" The Mighty King wielded only a small sword, practically a knife in his large right hand. A blatant sign that he viewed his opponent barely above the threat of a chicken. "Or would you appreciate being referred to as the failure of your Order's efforts to cultivate a worthy adversary for me?"
Pale skin now burned red from sheer anger, the realm now filled with nothing but gigantic spinal columns. The Mighty King did not even change his weapon for something appropriate to the setting, still carrying a domineering look on his face while rolling the tiny sword on his fingers, "You bastard!"
Before he could make an attempt to defend the Order of the Serpent's honor, green smoke came, pouring in from everywhere. It enshrouded everything, reducing his line of sight to barely an inch away from his eyes, not even his arms could be seen.
"You dare interfere with my—GUHAGH!"
What had struck the Mighty King amidst his indignant rant had struck Viandegroc as well, striking him clean across the face with enough force to spin him around before hitting the ground. He never saw it coming, no one could, even if their eyes were wide and alert for any incoming attack. Not even Emurdol and Mother together managed to dodge these unseen attacks when they squared off against the creator of this spellcraft.
The Smoky Bull, created from the smoking pipe held in the Marchioness's delicate fingers. Visible gas turned into solid matter, capable of assuming any shape, from weapons to living things, and still be capable of causing absolute harm as if they were the actual product. Its intoxicating scent could even calm a hardened warrior to the floor, making them susceptible to her influence or incapable of defending against her strikes. Being caught in a cloud is already a death sentence, the fate of being crushed or simply torn to pieces awaiting those caught in its grasp. A punch to the face was nothing short of the mercy she was capable of giving.
She lied on her side, supporting her head with the back of her hand as one eye lazily looked over her handiwork while her other hand held on to her pipe, the green smoke escaping from her inviting lips as she chided them, never betraying her annoyed mood with her sultry voice, "Do not to exhaust the supply just because Moman isn't here…." She swayed her pipe downwards slightly and the men's heads smashed to the floors, pushed down in accordance to her will, but the two made no pained grunts to save face from being outdone by her once again. "…..if you two have calmed down, I would like to continue with my report…."
The dense smoke faded away, revealing the Court that conveyed her annoyance and the two men who were rising to their feet, holding certain parts of their heads. Viandegroc said nothing and gestured her to continue, rubbing his forehead and wondered why it hurts so much even though he has no physical body to speak of. The Mighty King grumbled, making no motion to rub the stinging sensation off his face and simply sat back on his throne, crossing his massive arms. Still too high and mighty to even show pain.
"As I were saying…I'm willing to give Satella a chance to do something we cannot do for the boy…..and that is to comfort him when Moman isn't here to do that….." Flicking her pipe away, she rolled to lie on her back again. "…..We have all committed crimes against humanity and him….even if he is here with us, how could he accept our presence so easily despite the years we've spent together with him…..? We were once scum…..and still are….."
"What stops him from rejecting Envy?" Viandegroc asked quickly before the Mighty King could ask the same thing, not wanting to hear the word 'whore' again.
"He doesn't know who she is…..and he's receptive to kindness, even from strangers….." When her eyes became half-lidded, a troubled look became apparent her face. Not a trace of effortless seduction present, just genuine concern. "….without our influence to harden his heart, he's completely vulnerable."
"I don't see that as a good thing." Viandegroc pointed out, noting her expressions.
"….I don't either….I took the time to know Satella better behind Moman's back after we confronted her…."
Now she had the full attention of the two men.
"….she refused to give away anything in regards to his Curse, but her unfounded 'love' for him is true and genuine…." She paused, closing her eyes to remember it. "….love of the sweetest forms….she implored that we support him as much as we can, no matter the grievance we once had towards him nor he us…..she is knowing of the sufferings that come with his Curse…the boy would break if he finds out, as you have said before….she does not wish to see him suffer from it…"
The scowl deepened on the Mighty King's lion-like face, still distrustful. A Soul cannot lie, but the three of them are fully aware that Satella, the Witch of Envy is not dead. She was in no way a fully-fledged soul, and she will have the likelihood to lie.
Viandegroc maintained a leveled expression despite these possibilities, gesturing her to continue.
"….the Witch of Envy I worry about…" In the briefest instant, innumerable veins bulged out of the Marchioness's delicate skin and a terrifying glower on her heart-shaped face before it disappeared, bringing back the Seductress of the East, leaving the impression that it could have been a hallucination, but these men knew better. "….she is obsessed…soooo much like me….she thinks so much of her love for him and her entitlement to him that she does not care about what he thinks….she is in love with a concept….."
"You are saying that the boy cannot defend against her?" The Mighty King asked.
"…..we can't be too safe…." She gripped the sheets even tighter, burying her face into it. Whether to hide the demon overtaking her beautiful features or the despair on her face, no one can be sure. But she clearly detested the idea of losing Emurdol. "….he's my only lifeline from the Hell waiting for me…."
The Mighty King started, his expression guarded, "Eternal suffering in the Burning Hells…."
"….or the Pit of the Dragon's stomach that will send you into the nothingness." Viandegroc finished, his expression the same way.
The three cannot deny the way they lived. They have done horrible things, even enjoyed it, including the others who aren't present at the moment, and as soon as they are separated from their flesh, their souls taken to the compartment that is Emurdol's Soul Wand, they realized the wasted existence they managed in the Living World. They regretted it. The loss of material and fleshly importance pushed them over the edge.
Humbled. Broken. Time made them lose their old ways, and every action Emurdol took in his life that they witnessed, felt and experienced all at once, they were influenced out of their former selves. Now they are merely fractured representations of what they used to be, halfheartedly emulating their past lives just to pass the time.
There was an oath Emurdol made when his Final Service in Pandemonium was accomplished. If he was able to return to the Order of the Serpent or if he Went Home and his Mother along with him, he would negotiate with the Dragon to give them a second chance of life. A chance for them to see what it means to have a meaningful life.
Emurdol justified it by being curious, wondering what kind of people they would become if they were above their vices. An experimentation that would benefit the Order of the Serpent in their pursuit for knowledge for human complexity. A selfish venture, he emphasized, not a selfless gesture as he was not one to act on a whim of conscience for scum like them.
They believed him, but after living through Emurdol's lifetime inside his wand, familiarizing his mindset to the point that they figured out how he thinks, they knew a deeper meaning behind his so-called curiosity.
They would rather have a second life without their former glories instead of the unknown waiting for them when Emurdol finally passes on and destroys the wand, relinquishing them to their fate.
Now the Curse of the Witch complicated that future. If they want to have any chance of their rebirth to happen, they must do everything in their power to keep him safe and his mental state intact, taking after the same role as his Mother.
Viandegroc brought himself out of his ruminations and turned to the Mighty King, "Your turn. What news do you bring?"
There was a firm grimace on his lion-like face. Not a single hint of boisterousness and boastful pride. Viandegroc frowned, this was the second time he's seen the giant man wore such an expression since being an inhabitant of the Court. "In the midst of a bewildering domain, I met another Witch."
Viandegroc stiffened, the Marchioness turned to look at him. The Mighty King looked over them both before specifying the Witch in question, "Greed."
Viandegroc looked into space with a grimace and intoned, "Seven sins…."
"….Seven Witches…." Marchioness finished. "…..this world is bizarrely similar to Pandemonium…."
The Mighty King continued, "The legends of their existence are true, and apparently, none of them have passed on as we should have."
A dangerous glint reflected from Viandegroc's eyes.
Noticing his demeanor but deeming it above his concerns, the Mighty King continued, "Along with her, the other Sins are suffering a situation not unlike ours, unable to depart to the Afterlife."
The Marchioness turned her eyes to Viandegroc for a moment to notice his unfriendly demeanor and asked in his stead, "What is stopping them?"
"From what I could gather, she is the host of a Trial of some kind, anchoring her soul to the Living Realm. And since she kept the Souls of the other Sins with her, so do they." His fiery eyes of orange hardened, "Interestingly….Greed is defined by the want for knowledge. All knowledge. Being mortal, however, is an impediment to such a thing….so she once sought eternal life, she says…." His voice grew cold near the end, indicating his spite.
A dark growl escaped out of Viandegroc, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His face had turned red from rage as well, the glow of his eyes comparable to a bonfire.
A glower crossed over the Mighty King's features, "Even the Mighty King would wish for his time to pass once his goals are accomplished, but her? Hmph! Only the lowest of my subjects would even think of being immortal. Stupidity, I'd say."
"A blasphemy." Viandegroc snapped, "She is rejecting the Natural Order of Things. All things die and nourish the living. If she does not wish to contribute for the life she's given, she deserves to be damned in the pit of the Dragon's gut!"
"But we don't have the authority to enforce your beliefs, do we? Moman isn't here…." The Marchioness pointed out.
The Mighty King barely had any inclination to acknowledge whatever Viandegroc was saying, continuing where he left off. "From her power, they continue to exist as shells of their former selves just like we are. On another thing, Greed harbors great animosity for the Whore, regardless of which."
"Oy…."
"How have you known such things….?"
"A certain Sin other than Greed has been graced by my presence." The Mighty King puffed up his chest beneath his massive crossed arms, "Sloth. I've spoken to Sloth. As indolent as she is, she made sense of what is going on with everything to me….But I refuse to accept that the Whore thinks of the boy's wellbeing, despite her assurances."
The Marchioness relaxed considerably, flopping on her back on the bed without any motion to seduce, and failing tremendously. "If she thinks the same way as I do, then I think it is best we only interfere once Envy shows herself….once the Valet has found her again, that is…"
"Were you sure she wasn't lying?"
"No one can lie to the Mighty King." He emphasized strongly, managing to make it sound like a boast and a factual statement at the same time. "And even if Sloth were to lie, she must have the willingness to do so before me. And I saw none. She has realized the futility of such an action in front of me."
"Or she could just be too lazy to lie…." The Marchioness mumbled, which the Mighty King either didn't hear or ignored. "And what of Greed…? How did it escalate for you from speaking with her to Sloth…?"
There was a pleased smile morphing onto his features, the example of pure smugness, "In our talk, she is greatly curious about me and my origins, as well as our world. My refusal is, as you would expect, natural as someone like her isn't worthy of my wisdom and knowledge. She happened to be adamant, and so, she attempted negotiations…..and lied to me."
…..
…..…..
…..…..…..
It was several moments that lasted for all three Souls to remain still like statues before being mobile once more. Viandegroc smiled wryly, a small chuckle escaping him. The Marchioness brought her index finger to her lips, lightly biting on it to hide her amusement.
There has been a notable thing about the Mighty King in his living life, and it is his explosive temper that arises whenever a lie is said in front of him, no matter how small. It was something he equally matched with the Order of the Serpent, incapable of lying and able to see through lies, but his reactions to them are larger than life. Not even a Priest of the Serpent could ever hope to be a match against him.
One could only wonder how Greed managed to hold off a raging King armed with every weapon he ever wielded in his living life, from a wooden fork to the Great Axe that iconized his rule.
The Mighty King verbalized their suspicions, "I have granted Greed the privilege to be punished by me for her insolence and forced her into making a stalemate to save her own skin despite her immense power."
Viandegroc decided to take a shot at it, "Stalemate being she threw you out of her domain."
"Ha! As if anyone could shut out the Mighty King!" He vehemently objected, "She called Sloth to me as an appeasement and disappeared."
"Ah, I see." He figured that made sense. It only questions how he was now outside of it. Did he leave of his own volition or was he suddenly kicked out of it while being distracted by Sloth? He decided not to mention it aloud, it will only lead to useless arguments. "How did you even wander into her domain?"
"With nothing but my divine fortune."
Shamelessly using the word divine as an adjective regarding yourself in front of a Priest of the Serpent, it's practically suicide. If there had been other Priests present, there would be an endless debate over that claim. However, Viandegroc knew the futility of such a thing. The Mighty King is as stubborn as a mountain, immovable unless struck by a falling star. That is by killing him or shoving reality into his face, but how can you be a falling star if he's already dead and incapable of reason over honor as a Soul?
He shook his head over the denied option, "Then would you be so kind as to show us the way there again?"
"Oh, that would not be necessary. This humble servant has done the task for His Majesty."
The silky smooth voice carrying the undertone of great politeness and respect they have expected to hear has finally arrived. He knelt there on one knee, head deeply bowed and a hand to his chest, a dignified form of prostration before the Mighty King without any sign of his arrival until he spoke.
The Mighty King was pleased at his display, putting his hands together in a clap, "And our worthy Servant arrives."
Marchioness looked very far up, her head hanging upside down from her neck as she eyed invitingly at the latecomer, her voice now a moan for the success of the task she left him. "Ah, Valet. How nice of you to come back…."
"Oh please, do not praise such a small thing." He told, elegantly rising to his feet and hid his hands behind him as he faced the Marchioness respectfully. "Had I brought the Master here, it would have been worthy of praise."
Viandegroc's brow twitched over his reflex but held it down, quickly heading straight to the point, "Well, what are we waiting for?" He urged, walking over to the Marchioness's bed and kneeling over its occupant.
"I shall allow you to take the lead." The Mighty King relaxed on his throne, barely moving as 4 flexible legs of steel started growing beneath it and began treading onwards behind the Valet's walking form, courtesy of the latter's magic.
"It would be an honor, even if this lowly servant would not be able to meet your standards."
Encircling his arms around the Marchioness's slender waist, he pulled the taller woman back to her feet, eliciting a lustful moan out of her from the mere motion as her back remained arched and curved till she was perfectly upright, which she took the chance to hug Viandegroc's face into her bare well-endowed chest.
He barely batted an eye at such close proximity, his arms hanging beside him. "You're welcome." He told, his voice muffled.
She showed her appreciation further by tightening her grip around his head and pressing her waist against him for a dozen seconds, even making slow but breathy moans before parting, pulling him along by the hand as she went to follow the Valet.
Viandegroc pulled his hand off her slender grip. He knew this place first before she figured out how to navigate it on her own instead of having him teach her so he doesn't need her help.
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
"A refreshing feeling, isn't it? It is right that I had been the first to be here and relive the pleasures of being alive before you all."
No one made a reply. No one could ask if he had suffered any effects of being brought back to the feeling of being alive after so long. The only ones with the gall to do so were currently occupied, the Marchioness and Viandegroc overwhelmed by their reintegration to flesh for the very first time since their demise, especially the latter. He may have borrowed Emurdol's vessel, but it pales in comparison to the one he had before his death. To be one with his own body once again….it was beyond words for him.
The Court in the Wand was a mere counterfeit to reality. Tangible things from sensations to colors, merely nothing but fabrications created from every individual Soul's memories. What the Mighty King knew about the feeling of grass on his hands and feet, it did not apply to Viandegroc and the Marchioness, who spent almost their whole lifetimes deep underground. They would not know how it feels even if they conjured grass in front of them. What the two knew of the color red, it does not apply to the Valet who splattered blood on his hands under the sun. The Priest and the Seductress lived in darkness, away from the Outside World, knowing only the lightless color of lifeblood running down their hands.
The feeling of air on their lungs. The heat of the sun on their skin. The feeling of grass. The feeling of their hearts beating. The wind blowing through their hairs. The feeling of being made of flesh, blood and bones. The feeling of being existent. The pure feeling of being alive…
It was a paradox. They were dead, Souls, nothing more than reflections of their former selves upon their demise under Emurdol's hand, and yet within this place, the domain of the Witch, they never felt more alive. This serene land of grass, hills, sky and wind perfectly emulated Life itself.
It took nearly 5 hours for the two of them to orient themselves properly. Only the Valet and the Mighty King were the only ones who didn't suffer the effects, likely from having experiencing it firsthand before they did and have gone ahead to find their quarry. The last person to be complete was the Marchioness, for multiple reasons….
"If you dare stimulate yourself, woman…" Viandegroc growled, watching as her fingers were slowly inching to her nether regions. "….when you said that you wanted to see Satella and Brother—"
"But it's been so loooong….!" She whined, far even more expressive and genuine with her suggestive voice and movements. She was already biting her finger to restrain herself from reaching the breaking point of her self-control. "….please…allow me just a few more….even you had a moment of revelry when you borrowed the boy's body…..!"
"Because Mama told me to." He pointed out, trying not to get distracted by his own voice vibrating from his throat. It's completely different to what he kept hearing in the Realm, and the act of talking itself felt completely alien. "If you do not focus, I will make you relive the death Brother has given you!"
The memory of that time made her halt immediately, mentally and physically. Emurdol did not show any mercy when he killed her, made her experience every lick of agony her body was capable of feeling, and he made sure that she lived as long as possible with Mother force-feeding her every healing elixir he had in hand. The potions heal wounds but they are completely incapable of curing poisons brewed in the hands of a Priest of the Serpent.
She never remembered how she gratefully died. Whether she suffocated from her vomit or the bitter healing liquid shoved down her throat, or from the shock of the pain, she doesn't want to know.
If she was forced through that hell again, in a state where she is already dead and incapable of dying in general, in the hands of another Priest of the Serpent who was capable of making the same poison through his memories, what would happen to her?
She shook her head to brush out the trauma filling her head, her fiery red hair swishing in waves before she gently rose to her feet, feeling the wind brush past her slender form and basking in the forgotten feeling. She let out a deep sigh, signifying her focused mentality.
"You should get dressed too." Viandegroc told offhandedly, brushing his hands across the sleeves of the robes he wore before his death, relishing the feeling of fabric on his virgin hands and skin. "Satella would rather see you with more modesty than that ring of yours could manage."
The Marchioness huffed before she brought her ornate pipe to her lips, taking a deep pull before blowing out a massive green cloud of intoxicating vapor, spreading out to the air before it moved to surround her naked body, providing her the same amount of privacy a bath towel would. Dark blue eyes turned to the Priest for confirmation.
He shrugged, "Good enough." Moving his chin-length hair of silver away from his youthful face, he began walking onwards to the three people located atop the hill, one among them the last and final guest who did not arrive to the meeting of the Court. He eyed the person's back, "I was wondering where he's been, so he was here the whole time."
Red locks flying behind her magnificently from the cool breeze, the green cloud around her form barely fazed by it, the Marchioness followed after him. "At least he held the duty of vigil before anyone of us had….."
With the Marchioness now beside him, Viandegroc turned to realize for the very first time in death that he only reached her breasts in regards to height. It was a common characteristic for Priests of the Serpent to be tall, even at their 14th turn like him, but the woman's height is just ridiculous.
When she noticed him looking, he met her eyes for a slight moment before facing forward once more. Instead of questioning it, she remarked a certain detail, "Compared to the boy, you are as young as you look….."
It was true. Unlike Emurdol, who was cursed to live his life appearing as if he were at his senior years due to the adversities he suffered hardening his features, Viandegroc purely carried the image of a young man. A young man who is yet to suffer the trials that await him as a Priest of the Serpent, where he will roam the world for knowledge and truth, cull the lands of false Necromagi and hellspawn that crossed his path, and eventually find his place in the world, all while suffering the disgust and rejection of Above-Worlders. He carried all the childlike features: clear and unblemished pale skin that nearly matched a corpse, green eyes bright with energy, a small nose yet to suffer the elements, and a smooth brow.
Time in the wand, however, matured his mind, and watching Emurdol's passage in life shaped his mentality in more ways than one. "Our appearances hardly matter anymore, does it? We have passed on from the Life Before to here. You heard what he said, we are nothing but shells of our former selves. Unchanging and static for our being no longer living."
It was a disheartening thing to hear but the Marchioness wasn't one to look at the dark side of things too often, "But it is a nostalgic thing, yeeeesss…?"
Viandegroc said nothing, but he was inclined to believe that she had a point. He missed being alive, and he regretted being a wasteful existence when he reflected on why he died.
As soon as they were reaching the trio, walking up the rising slope of the hill they were on, the first to turn around and greet them was the ever helpful Valet, "Ah. Good of you both to finally join us. Things have been rather calming that we need not interfere with what is going on."
"Good to hear." Viandegroc replied, looking over the man in his whole form.
He was tall, equal of height to the Marchioness. His back was straight, his poise impeccably graceful and his voice never failed to maintain its silky smooth intonation. Whatever build he had in life, it was obscured completely by dark brown robes that crossed a mantle and a monk's robes together. Whatever he had to show for skin was nearly nil, for his hands were covered with tight-fitting leather gloves and his feet fashioned with pointy boots. A hood was drawn over his head and eyes, with a wide-brimmed hat to top it off, hiding everything from the nose up in obscurity. His face was pale, nearly equal to Viandegroc's own, but his visible skin was riddled with lines of scars. A result of the knife that continually ran all over his face whenever his mood is sour.
The Valet interpreted his prolonged stare for something else, "If you have an order for me, do not hold back to tell this humble servant. I shall do so with all my diligence."
"Then I'll have you answer my question." He pointed to the fifth person, "He was here the whole time?"
"Ah, yes. After His Majesty, he has been the first to find this place before I had." Viandegroc's brow rose in interest at that. "He volunteered to watch over the Master and Satella before having me report the location to the three of you."
The first to die under Emurdol's hand outside the Underground City, and yet the first to make the most sensible action among the five of them. Viandegroc could not be more impressed, considering how he was utterly ruined by the one he was holding vigil over before his death.
He smirked lightly, walking over the squat-sitting young man and ruffled his silky brown hair. "Impressive work."
"Mm." That was the only reply given, keeping his eyes trained on the pair that seemed to be having a pleasant time on another separate hill.
Compared to the five of them, the Jester still hasn't come to terms with his death despite the years. Viandegroc wondered if it came with being a psychopath in life, burdened by guilt and self-reproach as a Soul. He would have been a Hollow, screaming and moaning his lamentations and regrets in the living world as an apparition of dark emotions if he wasn't imprisoned in the wand.
The man himself was dressed in a noble's garb, clean and prim, consisting of the brightest colors. His facial features indicated his well-off origins, fair and handsome, fresh into his young adult years, but it was dulled by the detached look on his dark eyes. The collar of his fine attire was raised up, covering his entire neck. It seemed the place where Emurdol struck him down still stung to this day. Compared to all of them, he was particularly unique. Despite his twisted ways in his living life, he was the closest among five of them to be human. The rest, including Viandegroc himself are just pure anomalies.
The Priest turned his eyes to where the noble transfixed his eyes on, another grassy hill, where a certain white-haired woman with elven ears was found kneeling. And next to her was a Little Boy of pale skin and silver locks, asleep with his head on her lap while Satella whispered sweet nothings to his ear and stroked his hair.
It was not Emurdol.
Viandegroc sighed in relief, "He's okay."
"I still don't trust her." A gruff voice said lowly, the Mighty King sat on his throne while the head of his Great Axe sat in-between his feet with both his hands resting on the pommel of the handle. He clearly looked ready to intervene and break the moment between the two silver-haired individuals. The only thing stopping him were the consequences of forcing an emotionally-vulnerable little boy back into the world that broke him apart. "But as of now, my concerns lie elsewhere."
"Which is?"
"Look to the side…." The Marchioness waved her pipe to the right.
He did, and what Viandegroc saw made his body stiffen greatly, his hands curling over a knife that wasn't there. Now that he noticed it, everybody's forms were as stiff as he is, still as statues, the muscles beneath their flesh coiled tightly in preparation, even the Valet whose body language indicated nothing but caution. What for, he could only guess what.
"Is that—"
"Yes." The Mighty King answered, his tone low and cautious. The reason for his Great Axe's presence was now fully realized.
"Has she—"
"No. Under my watchful eye, she will not."
"Good." Still fixing his eyes on the sight, he then moved around the throne and began walking down the hill, intending to confront this monstrosity.
"Do you plan to attend the occasion…?" The Marchioness asked, half-lidded eyes of dark blue fixed on the Priest's back.
"I would wreck it if I am not entertained properly." He snapped, his green eyes blazing bright inside his sockets and his hair beginning to float. Auras of green were now permeating out of his hands, which he hid behind his back.
"Then you might need a date…." The alluring smell of her vapors reached his nose before the woman caught up beside him, her pipe firmly held in her right hand while her other is likely placed below her large bosom behind the green cloud. "If you would have me…."
Viandegroc said nothing, knowing very well that her state of mind is not at all calm. If she's not calm, she's not fit to talk to anybody she didn't like. Her role as his 'date' is basically standing in the background, readying her Smoky Bull in case something suspicious happens.
Now that he realized it, he's actually not qualified to win in a fight if it ever happens. Compared to possessing Emurdol's body, his only arsenal is the creation of tentacle-like spinal columns that do not seem to end and nothing else. His ability with the knife is also lacking. The Marchioness's presence might serve as a precaution. Her combat abilities are one of the most lethal among the five of them, second to the Mighty King with the axe.
His stride was unhurried, keeping his glowing hands behind him. The Marchioness maintained the image of composure and lax, occasionally taking small pulls from her pipe and blowing out the green smoke to be taken away by the constant breeze. No conversation, no sound except for the rustles of the grass as they walked and the puff of smoke. A phenomena was beginning to fill their minds. It was preceded by the stiff air around them…..
And at the right distance, they finally see her.
Viandegroc nearly mistook the woman for another Priest of the Serpent, perfectly matching the skin and locks of pure white, born from natural genetics, lack of sunlight exposure and constant dwelling in necromantic magics. Her clothes were of pure black, with traces of lighter shades, making her physical features become even more prominent. Another comparison to the Order. Her black pupils, however, set her apart from the similarities, as his people have brighter colors in their sockets than that. Her eyes carried curiosity, something the Order could match, but the desire and hunger behind it now made her completely distinct. The phenomena filling their minds was nothing but caution. The pressure of her presence is an unsettling thing itself, sending aftershocks of self-preservation to Viandegroc's mind that he never knew to have in his living life.
He doesn't know this woman, but he now has a perfect idea thanks to several clues from the Mighty King's report and the look in her eyes.
Long white hair swaying in the wind with enough magnificence to match the Marchioness, a black tome in her grasp, and her beautiful face expressing a polite smile of greetings, the woman began, "Though you are uninvited and have intruded, having guests with special bodily makeup like you two over are actually a first for me." She dipped into a curtsy, her free hand taking the hem of her skirt and bowing lightly. "Welcome to my domain. My name is Echidna."
In perfect unison, Viandegroc recited the moniker along with her.
"The Witch of Greed."
"The Witch of Greed."
Echidna's smile widened further.
His scowl deepened.
Marchioness let out a long puff of smoke.
"I can sense trepidation and caution from the both of you. I can find that understandable, but if you both sit down and join the Witches' Tea Party, I would be more than happy to answer any questions you have to pacify that."
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
The upper half of a skull in her left front hand, hollowed out and filled with water, Mother walked on with an unhurried pace back to her temporary lair deep within the ground. The excavation was barely any trouble or effort, thanks to the capable hands of her soldiers. Without the barriers of exhaustion, sustenance, and flesh, it took merely a whole day for the hole in the earth to become a decent hideout.
But given the circumstances for its creation, it might as well be a cruel prison.
Walking past the guarded zone where prowlers of supreme makeup hid from sight and were ordered to kill anybody who weren't her son or herself, through the untamed vegetation of the witchbeast forest without spilling the contents of her ivory cup, she finally reached the opening to the earth found before the biggest tree….and there were signs of someone alive having passed through it.
In her sudden rise of hostility, she crushed the skull in her hand to literal dust, the contained water spilling through her steel fingers. There was a drop of 20 meters before one's feet could reach the ground within. There weren't any walls of dirt adjacent to the opening, making it impossible to escape unless one could jump high enough. And her prisoner does not have the ability to be moving anywhere in her condition.
Which can only means that someone has broken in. Someone who managed to break through the squadron of warriors she had spread out everywhere as sentries…someone who knew where her Prisoner is taken….it cannot be her son. She would have noticed his presence otherwise.
Which can only mean it's somebody associated with her prisoner, coming to the rescue. From what she could see, the intruder is still inside.
Sickles and krises drawn out, she crossed her arms close to herself and jumped down the circular opening, sinking into the imperceptible darkness and landing silently against the dirt. A ceiling of earth that should have caved in was instead held up tenaciously by supports and beams of ivory design. It would have been similar to being in the inside of a ribcage, with curving white pillars pressing against the walls and a massive spinal column lining the middle at the top. It wouldn't have been possible without her son's mana-restoring robes to supply her mana-deficient form.
But she wasn't regarding the structure, her attention was on the bone fragments scattered all over the dirt floors. There should be 10 skeletons waiting for her as soon as she went down, and here is what's left of them. What's more is that they seem to have been cut down with a blade instead of being bashed with a blunt weapon, which is a feat in of itself. They cannot be defeated so easily, especially in the darkness where most mortals have no advantage of.
Whoever is capable of surviving even 10 of the Queen of Ivory's soldiers is automatically proven to be formidable and must be met with caution. It could have been a mage who knew how to dispel the algorithm keeping the souls in her skeletons inside but they would have been intact piles of bones otherwise.
Weapons at the ready, she broke into a sprint, silent in her every step as the darkness surrounding her, not once stepping on any bone fragments to give away her presence. In this murky darkness, only the dead and those with impressive senses are capable of traversing through without a torch. An environment the Order of the Serpent would gather to. A place her prisoner had no hope of escaping from unless she's really lucky, after forcing herself to stand through the agony the Toxin was giving her.
She had originally planned to torture the guilty one once the excavation was finished, but with her son's blood now coursing through her prisoner's body, making her suffer the elements were no longer applicable. Not even infection through open wounds and deprivation of care. But that gave opportunities to a very simple but long-lasting punishment. Painful, and violating the bodily systems in more ways than one the greater the distance was between her son and the prisoner.
And she chose the furthest location possible where the pain would be more than unbearable. Not too far that it kills the guilty one from the shock, but not too close that it made the pain bearable. Mother made sure she was given water, only a cupful and no more every single day. It's no fault of hers if the prisoner spilled too many of her precious liquid to the floor for writhing in pain too much.
What else could someone who put her son through so much deserved?
Three days of suffering are not enough compensation for her son's voice, sacrifices, disappearance and despair. Whoever dares to obstruct the proceedings deserves nothing more than the end of her blades, and it's going to happen to the intruder in this cave.
The cries and moans of pain were getting nearer as she neared the end of the cave, where she had dumped her prisoner in another pot hole. Some other times it was the wails of a crying child, most times it was begging, begging to be killed and be set free of her agony. It was a pitiful thing to hear, enough to strike the sympathies of anyone who could hear it. Even more for how she was put there. She was given no bed nor blanket. She's left to lie on the dirty ground and be tormented from the chilling and humid air with what little warmth her little dress could do to fight against it.
Cruelty that only the worst of humans could do. But Mother was not alive, no longer classified as a human anymore, she cared for nobody's wellbeing but her son's, and her fury is still fresh in her Soul. The things she do, all purely out of the wrath for her only family. It will know no bounds.
"My goodness….you are a sorry sight, aren't you, Meili?"
Mother knows that voice, so she slowed down.
"Look at you, sick and weak, dumped in a hole with your excrements, tears, snot and drool running down your face, and your entire body covered all over with black veins because of that bite on your arm—were you playing around the job again?"
A glow of light was there, a torch held by the owner of this familiar voice. It illuminated the dirt, the walls held back by giant ribs as well as the giant spinal column on the ceiling. It illuminated two living entities, one standing and the other down on the ground inside a depressed area close to the end of the cave.
Mother approached silently, weapons at the ready.
"This brings back the time when I found you on the forest, doesn't it? Except this time, you are seriously in need of my hel—"
Words were cut short. The slender hand that was reaching out to pull the little girl out of the hole was severed, a clean cut at the elbow. Before the intruder's mind could realize what just happened, her other arm was sliced clean off the shoulder, the held torch dropping to the ground with the dismembered hand still holding it. Two deep stabs from the back came afterwards, the point of the krises piercing through the spine and protruding out of her abdomen before she was lifted off the ground.
Before the sensation of pain could reach her mind, her head was already lopped off from her body, landing on the dirt floors with a light thud, the long braid trailing behind it.
Without ceremony, Mother flung the body to the side from her krises. Her prisoner's moans and cries were cut short from the sudden violence in front of her, bloodshot eyes wide at her abrupt arrival and finally being able to see her captor, illuminated by the dropped torch at Mother's feet. Three days spent in darkness, eyesight deprived of use while her entire body suffered unimaginable pain left her mind running in what is happening to her, now she is graced with merely a skull leering back at her, blue pinpoints filling the void of the sockets while the rest of the body is nowhere to be seen, except for the krises and sickles held at the side, held by four metallic claws with the latter weapon almost invisible in the darkness.
Her prisoner, the Seventh Child, the culprit of the witchbeast ruckus at the village, the girl the intruder had referred to as 'Meili', looked completely horrible. She once was pure, beautiful and fragile when her son found her there in the clearing, asking to be rescued in her cursed state. Now she's the opposite of it all since her capture; she's ruined, grimy and broken. Her hair's in disarray along with her braid, some of her blue locks sticking to her sweaty forehead and temples. Her blue dress was tattered, dirty and the front splattered with her vomit. Her skin, white as snow but now heavily marred with her son's blood running through her veins, staining them black and bulging through her flesh. Her legs are the only places with visible injuries. One ankle seemed to be crushed, the other leg had a long laceration running from the calf to the back of the knee. With no proper latrine nearby and her mobility impaired in more ways than one, her excrements freely flowed down her legs whenever it arrived.
A truly pitiful sight.
Mother's jaw made a biting snap, making the girl flinch and immediately, the agony in her body slipped past her distracted mind and attacked her once again, sending her back into the moaning and crying mess she had been these three days; it's still not enough. More suffering. She needs to pay.
With her foot raised up, the torch on the ground is stomped, taking the light away and sending Meili back to the devouring darkness, leaving her clueless as to what's happening to herself. Physical torment is one thing, psychological torment is another, carrying more significant impact to the mind. Let her imagination be the death of her.
Then Mother felt the hostility and the life permeate behind her.
In a flash of light that illuminated the darkness in a brief instant, sparks erupted from a collision between krises protecting the neck and the kukri coming to swipe at it. The image of the assassin back at that loot house pouncing at Mother's neck with a crazed expression as her head and two arms were now reconnected back to her torso.
Elsa had come back to life. Mother won't care how, she'll just kill her over and over again if she has to. See if she could stand the variety of ways she can kill a person. Can a living woman keep up against perpetual motion only the Dead are capable of?
"I see you're without your wearer there. Where is the Handsome?" Came a question out of the imperceptible darkness, Elsa's voice containing an absurd mix of honey and venom. "His bowels and I have a meeting to—"
A sharp ring silenced all notions of conversation, courtesy of a sickle slicing through the air to behead the woman once more, only to be blocked by the purple blade, causing another eruption of sparks that created a flash of light in the artificial cavern.
Reaper of Ivory and Steel. The Bowel Hunter. Women of lethal skill, mistresses of life-ending capability, one for souls and the other for bowels, zipping all over the cave in absurd speeds it wasn't possible to see them in any kind of tangible form except two black blurs whenever they collide together and illuminate the place with sparks of light.
In the midst of Meili's agony, she never took her eyes away from the only source of light that was the ensuing violence between ivory and steel against flesh.
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
Ram woke up groggily as the sun shone through the windows, landing on her beautiful features. Groaning softly, she turned away from the bright morning and yawned magnificently, rubbing the sand off her eyes. Once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she looked over her room once more.
Expectedly seeing no one, she sighed.
"….Rem might not dress Ram today…." She assumed, and she knew why. She moved to the dresser, talking out her maid outfit and doing her daily rituals without Rem's helping.
Her little sister has been developing insomnia since the Pale One was brought to the Mansion to recuperate, and the cause is no other than the guilt eating away at her heart. This was a lot worse compared to the time when they were brought to this mansion after the massacre of the Demon Village. It was destroying her performance and health. Her poise remained unchanged but her demeanor was more silent than ever, even when Ram spoke to her. Either a single word or a mechanical drone. She was practically lifeless when she performed her regular duties, blue eyes seeing nothing and every movement done automatically instead of with diligence. When it was night time, she took more rounds than necessary around the mansion. It took Ram's personal intervention to confront her about this behavior before she finally took a restful sleep due to crying herself to sleep on her shoulders.
It had been quite the talk between the both of them. Rem broke down and wept over how she was responsible for everything that happened to Emurdol, how she even hid it from Lady Emilia. Ram figured the reason why the Great Spirit even hid the truth from his daughter when he could have read it from her little sister's mind was for the intention of keeping her calm as well. If the half-elf knew about the whole context behind why the Pale One ran away and decided to cull the forest all by himself, she could only wonder.
A scowl crossed Ram's features, adjusting the headdress that accompanied her outfit before looking over herself on the mirror. Without her little sister at her side to applaud her wonderful form, she only took a second to see a prim and proper maid standing in front of her before she turned towards the door and left her room.
Perhaps it is time to give her little sister a well-deserved day of rest. No duties, no work. Just a time for her mind to settle down. Rem would definitely refuse as she would see it as troubling her elder sister and the others if her duties are neglected just for her own convenience, but Ram will be firm when it comes to that. Too much stress is not something she will accept poisoning her sister.
Without the need to knock, she opened the door to Rem's room and entered the minimally-decorated quarters. Seeing her well-rested form on the bed, looking like an angel compared to the mess she was last night—
Ram's eyes widened instantly, her entire form freezing very still.
…..
…..…..
…..…..…..
Rem's chest wasn't rising, and her skin was paler than before, enough to match the Pale One in a healthy state.
Horror attacked Ram's heart, her mind overriding over the possible meanings these had but she refused to acknowledge them.
No….no…..no!
She hurried over and reached the bedside, her hands on Rem's shoulders and shaking her, none too gently. "Rem. Rem! Wake up!" She wasn't waking up. No matter how hard she shook her, her little sister wasn't fluttering her eyes open. There was no squeak or moan of protest. No crease of the brow due to discomfort. Nothing. Her fears began to heighten, rising further and further, her breathing racing along with her heart, the sweat on her brow worsening.
This cannot be true. This cannot be true. It cannot be true. No. Nononononono…..
Her grip on her shoulders shaking, she slowly brought her ear to Rem's chest, her hesitation to be quick about it an indication of her fearing the worst. Her heart pounded in her ears, the world seeming to fall all around her, the sun from the window's making a mockery of what's happening, the quiet of the morning now a sound more horrifying than anything she ever experienced.
Quiet. Too quiet. It's too quiet. Must not be quiet. It should not be quiet.
She listened, her ear pressed tightly against Rem's chest, hoping to dispel the Quiet with her little sister's heartbeat.
And her entire world fell into black, for silence now ruled her life. It is Quiet now, for the last of her own life is now taken from her.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~
"….have I been impolite?" Echidna asked innocently after watching Viandegroc storm out of her domain, puzzled that the Priest suddenly stood up from his chair and angrily left when she thought she had a good momentum going between them in their conversation.
"Hmph..." The last guest of the Witch's Tea Party huffed a puff of green smoke from her nose, "….you annoy him, Greed…." The Marchioness pointed out, her voice a dull purr.
"Truly? I thought I have done my best to be a gracious and charming hostess…"
"He is a Priest of the Serpent, and putting on airs instead of being upfront about who you are aren't something you should do in front of his kind…..." The Marchioness took a long pull from her pipe, taking a moment to savor the sensation in her lungs as well as her body before blowing out a cloud above the table, morphing it into a skull. "….as a fellow Soul who no longer has the right to pretend, I share his feelings…you annoy me, Greed…"
"But I have been upfront." Echidna insisted, "I am a Wicked Witch after all, it is within my nature to be mysterious."
Half-lidded eyes of dark blue turned to face the black orbs resting on the sockets of the Witch of Greed. The hunger and desire for knowledge in them never left, insatiable and driven, not even before they even properly greeted each other. The Marchioness greatly detested the look, "…and now, you're lying to me….no wonder His Majesty attacked you…."
The Witch was about to make a rebuttal, then her eyes furrowed in question when a sudden change arrived on the seductress: the Marchioness's eyes were wide.
….
…..
…..
Silence.
Dead silence.
Deafening silence.
Dreadful silence.
Unbearable silence.
…
…..
A cold grimace that intermingled with horror rested on the Marchioness's face, all her natural glamour completely nonexistent. She was fully animated in her shock. The pipe fell from her hands, and her fingers trembled. "…something's wrong."
The fields of grass and the blowing winds were halted, as if time had literally stopped. There was a surge of wariness filling every member of the Court's hearts. A sensation of danger. A wave of self-preservation. It is as if their lives were in danger, even though they are already dead. It was an old and forgotten phenomena. They could only trace it to only one moment in their life.
And that moment was the time when Emurdol now became the one in control, having full advantage over them in their final confrontation, and the mere possibility of death now a conceivable outcome.
"Sally?" Echidna tilted her head at the alarm on the woman's face. "What is wrong?"
And then, they felt it.
Sally's head snapped to look behind her. Lucifer shot up from his throne, swatting it aside to look at what's happening behind it. William's robes swished wildly from his sharp twirl to face what's behind him. Bartholomew nearly fell on his side to look at what it was.
The Little Boy turned a grim look in the same direction, Satella wearing a concerned face for his change of demeanor.
For a moment, the Silence droned on…..
….and in the next, the Little Boy was now gone, along with the others.
The fields of grass rolled and the winds blew as if nothing unusual has happened. The only indication of the oddity that occurred were the confused look on the Witch of Greed's face and the worry clouding over Satella's.