Chapter 11:
A Glimpse Behind the Curtains
The Undercity.
The one part of Hartcroft that was always conveniently forgotten to exist by the residents of the City of Mages. A damp spiderweb of labyrinthine passes, halls and arenas shrouded in darkness day in and day out. It was the one place in the city's proud history that the ones aware of it wanted to forget. The dumping ground for just about every single failed experiment created since Hartcroft's founding ended up there sooner or later. It wasn't just deadliness or shame that had made the mages of the city seal off that underground part of their kingdom. The age old catacombs were, if nothing else, a remainder of all their failures as wielders of the Gift.
But on that fateful night, the serpentine alleys of the subterranean city were anything but silent and dark. As the echoes of metal clashing against metal reverberated off the mossy walls again and again, so did constant flashes of sparks illuminate the forgotten tombs. As alien to the Undercity as it was to them, two men were currently engaged in a struggle of life and death. Although, even in this gathering place for freakshows and Frankensteins, rarely could one find anyone as strange as the two battlers.
The one wielding the katana was a young man of seemingly Japanese origin. His once white shirt was so ripped and tattered it could barely cling onto his body anymore. His damp raven-black hair clung to his face and obscured his eyes, not that it seemed to matter to him, if one was to judge by his stoic expression. The man's face was a mask of calmness and detachment completely inappropriate for such a strange situation.
His opponent's face on the other hand, was literally obscured by a red, always smiling mask. Only the lone eyes glistening through the single slit on the mask showed that it was a person and not some kind of automaton doing the fighting. Everything about the man seemed out of order. His mask and jester's hat clashed harshly with the priest's frock he wore, albeit they did compliment the ridiculous puffy red sleeves taking the place of the cloth's ordinary ones. The man's weapon seemed to be the strangest thing about him by far- a mix between a cross and a double guillotine, a madman's weapon seemingly designed to be just as much a threat to its wielder as it was to any enemy.
Trading blows back and forth, the two strange men danced around the corridors of the forgotten kingdom of darkness. Neither seemed to tire or show any intention to change the pace. Both of them had apparently reached the silent agreement to just fight on and on and on, at least until one of them faltered. Eventually, as the tiny corridors they battled through turned into wide underground streets and the streets turned into spacious halls, the duelists ended up at the edge of an arena. Perhaps once used as the sight of many a gladiatorial battle between not-so-willing creatures, now it was nothing but a perfectly round chasm gaping even further into the darkness.
Without hesitation, the joker-priest lunged into the pit, only to be followed by his opponent almost immediately. Because, true to his usual polite and proper self, Shinosuke felt obliged to finish the battle. He had started it in the first place after all, and although they were now far from where they had begun, the young man knew it would be a show of bad manners to call it off merely because his opponent was acting nonsensically.
The swordsman landed somewhat shakily due to his lack of proper vision. The pitch black darkness made it hard to navigate even for one possessing eyes like his. Shinosuke was frankly amused how his opponent could see where he was going with merely a single eye, much less one that was apparently completely normal. Still, not being concentrated during a fight could also be considered rude so the young man just politely fulfilled his role and once again lunged at the jester-priest.
Alas, his masked opponent dodged deftly yet again. Shinosuke attempted to follow him into the narrow corridor but found himself repelled by some kind of a force-field barring the entryway. Squinting, the swordsman finally noticed the two black keys embed into some sort of focusing circle positioned right at the doorway. Without saying even a word, the jester drew out another black key. Shinosuke prepared to dodge or swat it away- apparently the force-field worked only on his side- but the signature Executor weapon just flew passed him and into the darkness.
Judging by the loud clang, what Shinosuke heard was perhaps another black key getting swatted away somewhere on the far side of the arena. And when one took into consideration the combination of slithering and hissing sounds that followed, along with the pair of glistening white-purplish diamond-shaped eyes currently drilling a hole through him, the answer was somewhat easy to guess.
"That is your other teammate, correct?" plainly asked Shinosuke and turned to the jester-priest. "Gideon was it? I see that killing the holder of the Scripture responsible for keeping his Egg in check hasn't particularly… helped him suppressing its influence."
The beast that had once been human growled from behind the veil of the darkness. But even through it, Shinosuke could see the glistening scales that covered the monstrosity's whole body, much akin to black diamonds. Its clawed hands dug deeply into the cold hard ground with each of its predatory steps. From the waist down the legs had merged into a single meters-long tail, as thick as a tree trunk. Like those of a shark, three rows of sharp teeth were currently smiling viciously at Shinosuke.
Or maybe the beast just had too many and couldn't keep its mouth shut, concluded the swordsman.
Only the eyes had remained unchanged. As deadly as ever, the Mystic Eyes of Petrification-the Cybele- were a constant feature of those who had a shard of the Twelfth's soul- an Egg- buried inside of them. The Cybele was the inescapable mark of the Dead Apostle Ancestor who had claimed himself to be the Basilisk of Akasha- the one who had once though he could surpass the immortality of the man who had turned him into a vampire in the first place.
But that was neither here not there.
"A shame really," eventually answered the jester, yanking Shinosuke out of deep thought. "A sinner he may have been, just like all of us, but he willfully came to the Church to ask for help. And look at him now," the Burier said and shook his head. "Needless to say, by now you must have realized why I was so easy to find. And that his barrier is meant to keep not you, but him out. Let's say that it was tough… persuading him to come down here in the first place."
"I hate him," dispassionately announced Shinosuke, trying hard not to stare into the beast's eyes. What few glimpses he had caught had cost him the movement of his legs already. "I hate how he had to scurry to others stronger than himself to contain what was inside him. He didn't try to become stronger to fight it, didn't even accept being his own warden!" the swordsman gripped tightly his sword, his voice growing bitter and bitter. "And yet, I can relate somehow. To the pain eating you from the inside, the tiny whispers in your head, the rush of tasting blood for the first time… that inherent desire to just kill, kill and kill again and again and AGAIN!"
The shout reverberated off the cavern's walls, mixing with the echo of the beast's threatening hisses. Mirrored eyes finally meeting each other, Shinosuke pointed his katana at the circling beast.
"This technique I reserve for only the strongest! But as a kindred soul I'll show it to you just this once, understood?"
Whether the monstrous vampire-snake understood or not, the swordsman couldn't tell. It just opened its detachable jaws widely and lunged towards its prey, finally tired of waiting for it to make the first move. Defiant, Shinosuke held its gaze as the petrification climbed upwards from his waste. Now that his opponent was so close Shinosuke could easily estimate that the shortest of its fangs were easily as long as his fingers.
If the man had to summarize the monster's capabilities with one single word, that word would have been…' irrelevant'.
One single, seemingly ordinary horizontal slash- and before the katana had even finished its arc, the beast had crumpled into the ground into a single sorry heap. Blood oozed from its still gaping maw and its now motionless eyes. With voice barely kept from shaking, the Burier jester asked:
"What on Earth is that sword made from? Nothing should be able to cut through that skin of his. Nothing!"
"It's not the sword," calmly replied Shinosuke and wiped his now bloodied blade on the remains of his shirt. "It's the technique."
"But still-" began the Burier, trying to protest what his eyes had witnessed.
"You're not wrong actually," cut him off the swordsman. "Nothing can cut through that skin, I know as much. What I did was 'go around' the hide, metaphorically, and strike what was directly behind it."
"But that's-"
"Multi-dimensional refraction phenomenon or something," replied Shinosuke and shrugged nonchalantly. "A mage that witnessed me use it made up a big deal of it before I killed him. He used a lot of big words but from what I could gather, this technique of mine allows me to cut through dimensions. But doesn't having that Egg keep me connected to Akasha either way? That's where the Twelfth's soul really is, right? I think that's how I'm able to do it but I don't see what's the big deal about-"
But this time it was Shinosuke who got rather rudely cut off. With deadly precision the jester's cross-scythe whizzed past him, once again only the young man's reflexes saving his life. Barely a second later he was forced to jump back yet again to dodge another swipe by the Burier, this time armed with three black keys clutched in each hand. The swordsman was forced to use his sword to swat away two of them chucked directly at him, only for the next two to send him flying backwards as they erupted in flames on contact.
Shinosuke concluded that the first two black keys had been ordinary ones on purpose- they were meant to force him to take the second pair head on as well. Having learned his lessons, he dodged the third pair completely… only to end up completely immobile as they pinned his shadow to the ground and him as well by proxy.
"So it was the second pair of black keys that were meant to fool me?" asked the young man, more surprised than actually distressed. "Or rather, they were meant to both make me dodge the third and light up a fire for me to have a shadow, right?"
"You would be correct in that assumption," replied the Burier jester as he picked up his scythe. "Not that it matters to you now anyway. As yet another demonspawn being sent back to the pits of Hell, what are your last words, sinner?"
"My last words?" asked Shinosuke almost absent-mindedly, as if his life wasn't about to be snuffed out as easily as a lone candle facing the autumn wind. "I don't think I get the right to have any, considering how easily I was defeated. And by such cheap tricks, too! A shame really, Mister Burier. No offense meant, but I think I am normally far out of your league, as good a battler as you are."
"Vanity," announced the Burier and pulled back the scythe, preparing to lop off his opponent's head in a single swing. "Definitely my favorite sin. I should have been dead a dozen times already- but you insisted on trying to win without fighting seriously. Your pride prevents you from dedicating yourself to any fight. With that technique of yours, you should have killed me the moment we crossed blades."
"Still, would you fulfill a dying man's last wish?" asked the swordsman and beamed an innocent smile, rendered somewhat ineffective considering how blood-splattered he was. "Can you at least kill me with my own sword?"
"And get caught by the reflection of your eyes on the blade when I try picking it up?" shot back the Burier and laughed out loud. "I don't think so, kid."
"Well, I guess it was worth a shot," said Shinosuke as passionlessly as ever and shrugged.
The jester-priest swung his signature weapon in a wide arc. The gurgle of a dying man echoed into the cavern as the spray of blood painted the fire-illuminated ground in red. Shinosuke could only blink at the pitch black tendril jutting out from his shadow and currently piercing the Burier's neck. Another shadow tendril had pierced the scythe's handle, stopping its momentum just in time.
"What the-" gurgled the jester-priest, voicing Shinosuke's own thoughts. The third tendril nailed him straight through the lone visible eye, jutting out bloody on the other side of his head. And as the shadow tendrils melted into thin air, Shinosuke's would-be killer crumpled onto the cold ground like a puppet with cut off strings.
"My, my, that sure was close, wasn't it?" suddenly announced a female voice as parts of Shinosuke's shadow detached themselves and slithered off. Combining and sprouting upwards, like some parody of a blossoming flower, the shadows morphed into the shape of a woman. The image was almost transparent- it was like seeing her reflection in a foggy mirror. Leaning forward, as if just to show off the cleavage of her barely buttoned up shirt, the blonde bore her blue eyes into his and smiled mischievously.
"Nia Smith, pleased to meet you. But you can just call me 'gorgeous'," introduced herself the newcomer and winked playfully. She gave off the vibe of a child stuck in a woman's body… if one was willing to ignore how easily she shrugged off killing another person so quickly. Not that Shinosuke was anyone to judge, but…
After several seconds of staring at the newcomer and blinking rapidly, all the swordsman could come up with was a nonsensical jumble of a 'how' and a 'why'. Or at least that's how the mumbling coming from his throat sounded.
"Oh, the confusion is understandable, don't worry," said the blonde and waved him off with a laugh. "You see, I've been keeping tabs on the more important players in this oh-so-interesting War," announced the woman and began circling the swordsman like pray, hands behind her back. "Getting so much precious information aside, I wanted to find, let's say, the deadliest participant and assign him a rather special task. And since you fit that description and I happen to have what you want, I think we can get along just splendidly and do ourselves a favor by helping each other out."
"I sincerely doubt you know what it is that I wa-"
"To die, of course!" quipped the blonde and leaned dangerously close to his face, the smirk on her lips widening. "That's what you agreed on with Lord El-Melloi, wasn't it, sweetie? You do him a favor by removing a few Buriers from the picture and then he puts an end to that miserable existence of yours. That's what you've been doing this whole time, wasn't it? Running around the world, searching the whole time for someone capable of killing that animal you have become."
Shinosuke could only stare silently at those icy blue eyes as the newcomer continued ripping his motives apart.
"But you just can't find the one strong enough, can you? That thing inside of you prevents you from taking your own life or just letting someone kill you. So the only way out is to find an opponent so much stronger than you that they can kill you despite all your abilities. Even unconsciously, you still hold back. That's what this 'vanity' of yours really is, right? You may feel ashamed by it but you were glad that you were going to die, here and now, despite falling victim to trickery and not real power."
No response came from the swordsman. Nia stepped back and pouted, hands on her hips.
"Aww, does my knowledge shock you so much? Consider yourself fortunate, dear, I doubt there's anyone else in this city who has witnessed by magecraft. How could I gather all that precious info if everyone was suspicious of their own shadows? But, just for you, this is a very special show of good faith."
"Since you apparently know me so well you must also be aware that I won't break off my previous agreement," finally replied Shinosuke, voice as cold as ice.
"Sure, sure, but there's no need for that!" waved him off Nia and let out a girly laugh. "I'm merely asking you to just take a momentary break from your task. If anything, the chance of finding death facing the one I'm sending you up against is infinitely higher than against any of the Buriers or our dearest Lord El-Melloi. And if you do manage- by some miracle or another- to come out alive of this ordeal, you can just proceed as usual and hope someone else would be strong enough to finish you off, now that I have denied you this easy death. I doubt that thing inside of you would let you hold back so much more now, would it?" asked the blonde and leered at Shinosuke's chest, as if she could see the monster hidden inside.
"Are you real?" eventually asked the swordsman.
"If you are asking whether I'm here in person, then no, I am not," replied the blonde. Her lithe hand gestured as if to cup his cheek only for the shadow to go straight through him like a ghost. "Much too dangerous, considering you are probably pretty pissed at me right now. Plus, how can I otherwise look in your pretty eyes and not end up a gorgeous, yet very unmoving statue?"
The fire was beginning to die out, the image of the blonde fading out along with the shadows. Finally breaking the heavy silence, the swordsman asked:
"Then who it is you want me to kill or die trying?"
Nia answered just before she faded out along with the shadows, her giggle lingering into the damp and lonely darkness.
"Merely the King of Nightmares, dear. I want you to kill Albus Grimaldi."
Instead of the all-permeating darkness that had engulfed her mere moments before, it was the familiar sight of her office which greeted Nia upon opening her cerulean eyes. The sharp intake of air, the slight shiver running through her spine as her mind got used to the thought of having a corporeal body again- it always felt so surreal. It was perhaps the one aspect of her magecraft that would always seem so unfamiliar to her- the sensation of both being a human and a proverbial ghost.
A tired sigh escaped the woman's lips as she ran a hand through her waist-length hair. The lone light of the desk lamp ended up reflected off the cascading strands, the tiny flickers mirrored themselves onto the surface of the panoramic window behind Nia. Only the artificial lights of the city permeated through the veil of the night, ending up distorted by the torrential rain. As soundproof as the room was, the low and constant hum of the music blaring downstairs at the 'Arkham' still somehow made it through. It was reassuring in a way. Hearing that jumbled seemingly never-ending bass reminded her she was at home more than anything.
More because of habit than anything else, the blonde twirled again and again on that favorite swiveling chair of hers. The uncharacteristic look of boredom on her face seemed so different than her usual bubbly, mischievously smirking self that Nia was pretty sure even Glen would be genuinely surprised if he saw her at that moment. When that fake smile had really become her true face, Nia couldn't help but wonder.
With the signature screech of straining springs, the chair groaned when its owner steadied herself. Flashes of blue danced across the gloomy sky behind her, giving life to the writhing shadows in the room. As thunder roared somewhere outside, Nia slumped onto her desk with crossed hands below her chin and threw a blank look at the lone photo adorning her rather clustered desk.
Her own face was now hidden by the shadows but the one she was gleefully hugging from behind was clearly visible. Alas, although their crimson hair was the same disturbing shade of blood and their green eyes possessed the same eerie green hue, Glen wasn't the one she wanted to be on that photo. No matter how closely related they were, the Grimaldi she had watched over during all those years had grown up to be as different from his brother as night was from the day.
Where Corbin's smiles could always assure her that everything would end up okay, Glen's signature smirks reminded her of cold indifference. The older Grimaldi's eyes had sparkled with life, unable to wait until they could witness something new and unfamiliar, while the younger one's eyes were like the emerald embers of a fire dying out for years on end. Hot and cold, sweet and sour, the Grimaldi boys had ended up twisted reflections of each other.
Corbin had entrusted her with a broken child all those years ago, making her promise she would help him do what Corbin never had- escape the millennia old legacy of his family. To be completely honest, Nia had hated the little brat with a burning passion at first. It was sickening to watch how the boy already dead inside would get to live another day while the one she really wanted to survive withered away with every minute. Flesh and prana withering out one day after the other- his very body draining its own life away until he finally succumbed to the inevitable.
There was a reason there were no rogue Grimaldi after all- and Corbin hadn't had a Crest inside of him to keep the curse from eating him away.
And so Nia had ended up alone, caring for a legacy that wasn't even hers. It had been painful having to take care for the one she deemed responsible for her lover's death. Long ago she had indeed dreamed of raising a child with the Grimaldi blood in his veins but she had been forced to make do with Glen. At first Nia had been as lost as the newly free Grimaldi- her sole thoughts had focused on rejoining Corbin in death.
But a promise was a promise- and so she had made up the bubbly façade and the mischievous smile, the mask which was her only way to deal with being forced to look the little kid in the eyes. Her hatred had been disguised as practical jokes and never-ending pranks, her playful teasing had been her sole outlet capable of hurting Glen even just a little while she could still keep her promise to his older brother.
As the years went by Nia's feelings had taken a sudden turnabout. Glen had somehow grown stronger despite the treacherous heart devouring him from the inside out, his resolve had only strengthened, prompting him to clutch onto each and every chance of living to see another day. Coupled with how much he had resembled a younger Corbin back then, Nia's thoughts had changed from hating to hoping to learn to love the growing Grimaldi. They were feelings born of madness, but the blonde had persuaded herself again and again that maybe, just maybe, she could mold Glen into another Corbin. Another chance for her to see, touch and taste the love of her life.
But just like every crazy dream that one had ended up rather abruptly, too. Only once had she stolen his lips, but their coldness, so akin to that of a corpse, had only served to cement the fact that Glen would never be Corbin. And then, after another year or two, Nia had caught herself forgetting. Her memories of her savior had muddled and twisted, had ended up slipping through her fingers like sand. Suddenly the sole remainder she had of Corbin had ended up being his only legacy.
And as she had realized how Glen had somehow ended up being part of her live for so many years more than his brother, she had also found herself accepting the boy as himself. The teasing had never stopped but had become sincere, the smiles were faked no more. She could never see the one she had loved so much in Glen anymore but, in his own strange way, the younger Grimaldi had grown on her. He felt more like family than hers had ever been. Deep inside, the blonde hoped that the boy felt at least a bit the same.
So many years ago, it had been Corbin Grimaldi who had saved the one once called Lavinia Aylesburry from living the life of a porcelain doll, a tool meant to continue the centuries-long legacy of her family. He had been the first one to put a sincere smile on that blank face, he had been the one to give her the strength to severe the chains that had held her back. And, with his dying words, he had made her promise that she would give his brother the strength he had once given her.
The strength to break those poisoned, centuries-old chains.
It had taken nearly a decade, but the rogue Aylesburry could finally admit to herself that it was more than just a promise that made her help her adoptive little brother. The Juliet of Shadows, for better or for worse, had found reasons to live despite the death of her Romeo.
Breaking apart the heavy silence, the energetic jingle of her cell phone yanked Nia back into reality. The blonde shook her head, glanced at the caller's ID and, after taking a deep breath, finally answered.
"Why, hello, Mr. Kane," cheerfully announced Hartcroft's infamous informant, a mischievous smile once again playing on her lips. "Is there any particular reason you're calling me at this late hour or are you just lonely? You have to at least take me out to dinner first, y'know! And here I thought a man of the cloth would at least be more subtle."
"You told me to call you," eventually came the positively unamused answer from the other side of the line. "And I suggest you get to the point immediately because my tolerance for childish jokes is running rather low tonight."
"Aww, you're such a spoilsport!" chastised Nia, absent-mindedly twirling a strand of her hair. "Well, if that's what you want… as a show of good faith, I have decided to bestow you with some rare million dollar knowledge! Dealing business with you so far has been a pleasure so I think one teensy freebie won't be out of place."
"I'm listening," replied Kane, failing to hide the fact how suspicious he was of such generous offers.
"As a Burier I think you will recognize the potential of this info. A little bird just told me that none other than Albus Grimaldi himself is in town- and he just happens to be hunted by perhaps the deadliest Master of all seven participating in this War. Do you think you'd be interested in buying any information concerning the location of their battle when it starts? I'm offering you front row tickets, y'know!"
"You just said the information is free," reminded her the Burier in his usual even voice.
"Of course it is!" agreed the blonde and chuckled. "Telling you there is going to be a fight between two of the most dangerous men in Hartcroft is free. The location of their match, however, may prove to be a bit more… costly. But, just imagine, having a chance to take out both of them out when they are tired and unsuspecting! A golden opportunity, no?"
After half a minute or so, a tired sigh was heard from the other end of the line.
"What's the number of the bank account this time?"
Rodents and insects and creatures one could hardly pinpoint what they were anymore, all of them fled before the nearing flicker of the flashlight. The steady steps of a lone man echoed inside the spacious caverns of the Undercity as The Cyrus ventured further and further into the darkness, seemingly unconcerned by the creatures leering at him from every dark corner. The echo of the catchy tune currently being whistled by the strangely-dressed Burier resonated within the walls of the subterranean kingdom.
Eventually the melody was cut short. The Cyrus had finally reached his destination- a deep pit stretching right in front of him, having served as a battling arena mere hours ago. A single jump later he was at its bottom, the flashlight in his hand darting left and right in search of his objective. The black carcass of what had once been Gideon, scales glistening under the ray of light, was naturally the first thing he found. No wound was clearly visible and yet there was still blood dripping slowly from the creature's mouth and eyes.
The Cyrus let out a sharp whistle of admiration at the skill of his teammate's killer as he nudged the corpse with his foot.
"Sure did a number on you, eh, pal?" asked rhetorically the Burier and ran a hand through his disheveled blond hair. "Well, at least it saves me time from having to off you myself, right? We gotta look on the bright side, pal, right?" almost shouted the man and let out a hearty laugh.
Removing his ever-present eye-obscuring sunglasses, The Cyrus gave one last glance at the glazed over eyes of his former teammate. Cybele met Cybele as the blonde's purplish-white eyes reflected the light of the flashlight. Mirroring those of the carcass, pitch black scales covered the Burier's hand from the elbow down, ending up in sharp, curved claws. Digging into Gideon's chest with some difficulty, The Cyrus eventually retrieved what he had come looking for- a small oval black stone, only a lone light pulsing from its insides showing any signs of life.
The Egg of the Twelfth was down his throat in single gulp. Having done his job, The Cyrus once again hid his eyes from the world behind the reflective sunglasses. With a cheerful wave of goodbye, the blonde was on his way to the nearest exit, not even bothering to look at the corpse of his other teammate.
"Well, back to pretending I'm a harmless idiot, I guess," said The Cyrus to himself with a dejected shrug.