Chapter 8: Bloodsoaked Dawn
The night was no longer quiet.
Cynthia had not completely Awakened. But she had reached her limit. Tears slipping down her face and her body losing all semblance of control, she had pounced, tearing into Dante. His lightning-fast reflexes were no match for Cynthia's claws. They had mutated; mutated into horrific bladed appendages that reminded Galatea of the sharp metal ornaments worn by nobility of old. Dante had slid back, his forearms bleeding profusely. His eyes flashed as he barely rolled out of Cynthia's way. Without a word, he began to tap into his full strength.
Any more and he would have underestimated her.
Dante roared, his body distorting. Light blasted upwards from the sundered ground. As the smoke cleared from his body, his Awakened countenance was revealed.
His true form was not much larger, although his fists had transformed into giant maces, spikes protruding menacingly from the spheres of hardened matter. His eyes glowed a deep red, his head resembling that of a bird of prey. He still stood on two legs, but his clothes had burst from his released compression, rendering his taut, muscular body completely naked. He stared at Cynthia, red mist issuing from his beaked mouth. He lunged, slashing at her. Jagged teeth protruding from her mouth and eyes wild with hatred and fear and despair, Cynthia raised her claws to meet his attack –
"CYNTHIA, NO!" roared Galatea. "YOU CAN'T CONTROL THIS ANYMORE!"She glanced back as she head the banging of doors. Her eyes widened, but this time with a slight surge of hope. "Miria! Clare! You took your time," she snapped. "Hurry. Give me a hand here!" The eight Ghosts had rushed out of the inn door to aid their comrades. But not even Miria was prepared to witness Cynthia in the throes of Awakening. Miria glanced at Tabitha, and the two quickly moved to restrain Cynthia. They held her back with their swords as Clare, Deneve and Helen launched themselves at Dante, who turned and swung his arm. It elongated, and his mace-hand hurtled towards Deneve. It smashed into her raised sword and flung her several yards away. She smashed into a building and it collapsed on her.
"You'll pay for that!" snarled Helen, her eyes turning yellow. Her arm elongated and shot towards Dante in a curved trajectory. Dante responded by swinging his mace again, but was stopped by Clare, who had intercepted his other hand with her Windcutter technique. They traded blows briefly, before breaking away.
"No matter," said Dante quietly. "I will Awaken every single one of you." He lunged, and swung his fists at Clare. Clare stopped one of them, but the other had struck from behind, and she felt her back crumple under the force of his mace. She coughed blood and collapsed, sprawling along the ground. Dante raised his two fists to give the finishing blow, but Helen blocked him by pushing him aside with a rough shoulder barge. Clare struggled back up and thrust at Dante again. He was about to defend against her stab when it suddenly became a Windcutter, slicing aside his arm. He leaped back, preparing to regenerate, but Helen had anticipated his defensive strategy, and her drill sword punctured his chest even as he futilely attempted to block Clare's Swift-Sword from slashing apart his abdomen.
How could this have happened to me...? he mused absently to himself.
Dante's body was now sundered from the combined attacks of Helen and Clare. He had managed to combat them one-on-one, but he had never expected to be lethally wounded in two places by two attackers.
As Clare severed his last mace and Helen drilled apart his spine, his body began to revert back to his human form. His face was matted with blood and his upper body severed of arms and organs. He staggered forward. His eyes glazed over, his voice bitter. "So this is where… it ends," he muttered, as he fell before Clare. He slammed into the ground and moved no more.
Dante, one of the last Awakened Ones of the old world, had passed away.
"Get out of here if you want to live, Raphaela," commanded Galatea, struggling back up. "Forget the Organization. Forget the Army. You've got your own life to save."
"I will not go back on my word," said Raphaela. "But – " she paused, slightly hesitant. "I will allow you to put an end to your comrade's misery."
Galatea nodded, looking at Cynthia. She began to move forward."Thanks for your help," she said, passing Miria and Tabitha, who were covered in her own blood. "We barely made it through. I'll take it from here," she added.
"Are you sure?" asked Miria, who had pointed her sword at the shrieking Cynthia, her face barely recognizable. "Surely you need our help."
"I said, I will take it from here. I will bring Cynthia back to us."
Miria glanced at her, and nodded.
"Be careful," said the Phantom warrior, as she beckoned the others to follow her back into the inn. Helen rushed to help Deneve whilst Clare wordlessly followed Miria's orders. As the others backed away, Galatea took Cynthia in her arms. Her face softened, and she began to struggle against Cynthia's Yoki. Her own Yoki surged, as she prepared to save her junior from the final stage of Awakening.
"Cynthia," she murmured.
"My beloved…"
*
As she came to her senses, Cynthia stared at Galatea, beads of sweat rolling down her face. Her wild eyes wandered, and her gaze fell upon Raphaela, who stared at her in silent awe. She glanced past the former Number Five, and caught sight of the silent corpse of Dante. Although somehow he had died a violent death, it seemed his expression was mysteriously one of peace. But that was only a guess. She raised her tear-soaked gaze upwards, meeting Galatea's warm countenance. "Welcome back, kitten," said the blind woman, embracing her.
What… what happened to me…?
"Oh, Galatea…" Cynthia clutched at her, pressing her face against Galatea's bloody chest. "What did I do…?"
"You scared me, that's what happened." The blind Galatea scowled down at Cynthia, helping her up with some difficulty. She clenched her teeth at the pain that still shot through her stomach and thighs. "We're going back inside. You need rest."
"But – "
"No buts," said Galatea sternly, as she carried Cynthia up and towards the door to the shaken inn. "You're going to recuperate. And that's final."
"So… is it over now?" mumbled Cynthia, glancing at Raphaela, who remained silent, her head bowed towards the ground.
"It is. Don't speak. I'll tell you everything that happened when we're inside. I'll be back for you," she added to Raphaela. "We need to talk. We… all need to talk." Her voice was serious. "If you think anything in this fiasco's been settled, you're dreadfully wrong. Meet me here in the morning. I've told you before, this is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves. We have a greater threat to bring down."
Raphaela remained silent, avoiding the gaze of her commissioned target.
*
Deep in her cave, Riful closed her eyes. Dante's Yoki had faded rapidly away, and before she could even grasp his last gasp of an aura, it had also slipped from her consciousness, dissipating as if it had remained in the world longer than it should have.
Now, all she had was Dauf.
Dante had fought well.
She pouted. "Stupid…"
She slipped off her chair, smoothing down her pink dress.
It was time to go.
"Do I have to do everything for you?"
*
News of the recent defeat had reached the frontlines.
In the mountainous hall which served as the Grand General's stronghold during his stay in the Continent, ambassador Baudelio's voice rung out shrilly, almost like as if he had been personally spurned by a lover. But this recent situation had gone far beyond that of a personal insult. "Raphaela has been defeated," he reported, kneeling before the Grand General. "And one of the Awakened Ones has made their move, only to meet death at the hands of those damned spectres as well." He paused, gnashing his teeth. "Is there no one who can remove these obstacles to our final victory against the Dragon Kin?"
Silence. The Grand General himself remained quiet, tapping his chin leisurely as he pondered solutions in his head. His soft, gentle face was troubled, and his full, thick lips had curled in dissatisfaction. He brushed back his black bangs. As his dark grey and royal purple garments glimmered in the brief sunlight, his golden eyes also flashed. "Very well," he said eventually, gesturing outwards with his hand. "Here are my orders. Take seven armies to reinforce the remaining scouts in Darene. I doubt the spectres will remain in the city for much longer. Therefore, we shall give chase."
Baudelio stopped in his tracks, unsure if he heard correctly. Seven armies?! "Seven armies, Your Eminence? Led by whom?" he breathed.
"Not by Lord Claudius, of course," laughed the Grand General. "I have… placed the Western Gate Marshal out of commission for the time being. Instead, I have selected seven of my most capable commanders to move against Darene. Seven thousand men, led by seven warriors whom I believe can match… no, surpass… the power of the Ghosts. These seven are my Pacifying Generals, the greatest force of suppression I have been able to muster without compromising our defences against the Dragons." He waved his hand. "Please enter, Lord David, my Northern Gate Marshal." A tall, well-built man with long blond hair longer and copper eyes entered the hall from one of the many entrances past the mountain catacombs. Characteristic of the Army leaders, he wore a cloak underneath a suit of plate metal. At his side was a trenchant bastard sword. He positioned himself before the Grand General, bowing slightly while eyeing Baudelio with disdain.
The Grand General smiled as he noticed David's scorn. "Southern Gate Marshal Lord Frederick, and Eastern Gate Marshal Lord Antonius. You may also enter." Two large men, as if in calculated tandem, made their way into the hall together. They did not wear cloaks, but they were heavily armoured, in a similar manner to David, but Frederick's short hair was a mop of brown while Antonius had jet black hair like that of the Grand General. Frederick had a longsword sheathed by his side, whilst Antonius wielded a giant polearm. They moved to stand beside the Northern Gate Marshal. An air of rivalry was palpable amongst them.
Nevertheless, together, the three generals kneeled before the man on the throne.
The Grand General nodded approvingly. "The Marshals have gathered as part of my campaign. Now, to summon the remaining four Pacifying Generals."
"Who might they be, Your Eminence?" asked Baudelio somewhat anxiously.
His superior smiled. "You'll find my selection… most intriguing."
He clapped his hands once. "Lady Alicia. Lady Beth. Please step forward." At his command, two young women, clad entirely in black, moved forward from the shadows and stood before the Grand General. They were blonde and fair, but their eyes were completely devoid of any emotion, any warmth. They were truly mindless, only able to obey the orders of the Organization or the Grand General. Although the three Marshals dwarfed them, the men still eyed them with caution. But the Grand General was unafraid. "Welcome, sisters," he said, his voice warm. "I trust you have eaten generously?"
Baudelio's eyes widened. The Black Ones?! Has His Eminence gone this far?! he thought wildly.
The Grand General continued, "I truly do apologize for delaying your transfer to the Isles of the Dragons. For now, we face a truly formidable foe within this very Continent, and I require your aid. The real war will have to wait. So, please endure this. It will be over very soon."
Alicia and Beth nodded, silent.
The Grand General smiled. "And last but not least…
"Lord Isley and Lady Priscilla. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Baudelio suppressed the overpowering urge to flee the chamber as a tall, blond man emerged from the shadows, his hand on the shoulder of a small, chocolate-haired girl. The man called Isley, who was cloaked in blue and grey, bowed before the Grand General. "I trust your integrity, Lord Carmelo. Ever since the Northern Campaign, I have recognized your most wise hand in the events that directed the acts of the Organization. But after this last service, I expect my boon. Your end of the bargain most certainly shall be kept, lest I…"
"Yes," affirmed the Grand General. "Once the Organization has replicated the success of Alicia, this Continent will be of no use to me. Neither will we hunt or confront your kind any longer. Instead, this Continent will be reduced," he smiled, "to your banquet table. I do hope your lovely consort will enjoy my most generous offer," he added, nodding at Priscilla, who gazed blankly at the ceiling. "This world will only know peace once we remove these so-called 'Ghosts' along with the Dragon Kin. After this, Awakened Beings will no longer be synonymous with evil. With the sacrifice of this Continent, the memory of all this pain, all this bloodshed… will simply fade away.
"Commanders!" At the Grand General's raised voice, the Pacifying Generals rose, and stood at attention before him. He spread his arms. "This day, we stand at the dawn of a new world. One that shall require sacrifice. One that shall not have struggled in vain. One that shall be free from the threat of the Dragons."
"Yes, Your Eminence, Lord Carmelo," boomed the congregation of Generals.
He paused. "As the Awakened Being failed in his task, it is my reluctant duty to announce: it is your turn to try," he chuckled, "and Awaken our fine ladies to perfection. And should you fail…" he smiled, his voice and composure completely serene.
"I will personally lead my Jackal Guard to the plains of Darene, for a final confrontation with the Ghosts."