Commoners were dangerous! They were insanely dangerous! Why did they let one into the school? A school is supposed to be a safe place, why did they allow this ridiculously dangerous commoner into it?!

This was his lament. The battle should have been ridiculously in his favor. He towered over her like a tree, eyes level with the middle of the clock on the far wall. She didn't care. She had twirled into the air, swords burning with fire and blood, and had slammed both into his face, which exploded. She had ripped at his legs with relentless slashes of such precise grace it was like she was dancing in a cloud of fire and blood, driving him to his knees, where she had tearing at him with both blades like she was at a ballet recital. She had snapped her weapons together and used it to shoot a beam of fire and blood at him. She had used a strange weapon to that had felt like someone had slammed a battering ram into his knee, making him fall, followed by more of the aforementioned ballet of fire and blood.

He tried to call his Dark Magic. Dark Magic affected emotions, memories and to some degree the mind, but it could not affect what was not there. Memories could be altered or suppressed so it could be recalled, but they could not be destroyed nor created from nothing. Since this was a place of the mind, he didn't need to touch her to affect her with his Dark Magic, only exert his will. He had reached out, searching for fear, uncertainty, nervousness, anything that would erode her will. All he found was hate and rage. He tried to alter her memories, but events were too recent. He tried to disorient her, but a will like iron pressed through, and no matter how hard he tried, all he got for his trouble were indirect hits that burned like fire.

To his horror, he realized he was shrinking. With every strike, every cleave, every explosion of her hand weapon, every absurd beam, darkness flew from him like blood from a wound, covering the floors, the walls and the woman, who seemed to drink it in like dry sand, as he grew smaller and smaller. He tried to lash at her with his giant fists. He missed every time as she seemed to glide across the wooden floor like a leaf in the wind, punished as her blades tore at his hand and arms. He tried kicking and stomping at her, but there was little effect, and he found himself being driven to his knees as ankles were torn, his knees taking the full brunt of her bodily slamming into them and cleaving them with her combined weapon, making him fall, and his head being slashed repeatedly soon followed as he desperately tried to roll, to move, to protect himself. He had tried picking up the racks of candles and dropping them on her, throwing them at her, kicking them at her and swinging them at her. She'd barely taken the time to reduce them to so much wax and kindling before tearing at him like a pair of possessed scissors. He'd desperately thrown his entire body at her, hoping to catch her, only for her to evade him like he'd sent her a message of his intentions, followed by a twirling leap that ended in pain.

He had tried to run, rushing for the doors, desperate to put this demon behind him, only to find his way blocked by fog and pain at his back as she punished his cowardice. He tried to dig his way through the floors, ripping out boards with frantic panic and diving into the hole, only to find himself falling down from the ceiling and back into that chamber, where the monster of fire and blood waited, her arms crossed as she lunged at him, bisecting his body.

He tried to fall to his knees as they reformed, tried to beg for mercy, to make it stop, anything!

Her right hand slammed into his chest, ripping through the dark flesh as if it were paper. Darkness that was blood, blood that was darkness erupted in a shower. She had long since stopped looking like a woman, only darkness given human form. They stood eye to eye now. Her grip tightened in his chest as he felt her grasp something important. No, no, no, please, don't…!

Almost gently, she pulled him towards her, her left hand cradling him almost gently. Her words were a soft breath against his ear. "Though you had cause for vengeance… you shouldn't have hurt the boy," she whispered.

As his knees buckled, she let his body droop… and ripped her hand out of his chest. There was another hand clutched in it, a small hand desperately holding on. A small arm followed the hand as he continued to fall to the floor.

Rafael Walt, covered in darkness like gore, was ripped from his body. His every bond, his every fetter and link to the boy was torn as the woman took him away. He howled in desperation, feeling the void in his body as he lost his strength, his only connection to the world of the living. "No!" he roared. "My revenge!"

"You are obviously too incompetent to accomplish anything," the woman said coldly, holding the form of the child close to her chest. Tenderly, she wiped away the darkness covering him. "I will see to it he has his vengeance on those who destroyed his happiness. That his mother's wish is fulfilled. Die knowing that someone will accomplish what you couldn't."

For a moment, he wavered as he thought of this woman with THE WOMAN in her sights. His skin, a mere shell of shadows over emptiness, not of the dark void but simply of air, deflated.

He felt a hand rest on his head.

"Begone," she commanded, and eldritch light bloomed in her hand. "His vengeance starts with you, murderer."

He closed his eyes as the light washed the darkness away.

Cursed Spirit of Vengeance, Wielder of Dark Magic

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Lady Maria Campbell of the Astral Clocktower

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PREY SLAUGHTERED

Maria lowered her hand as the last vestiges of who had tormented and used Rafael Walt so finally saw true death, wasting away to nothing. He looked at the sleeping boy in her arms. "It's over, Lord Head Clerk," she murmured. "You are free now. He can't hurt you anymore."

In her arms, the young Rafael Walt slept the sleep of the innocent.

Gently, clumsily, she called on her magic, drawing it to her hand. Eldritch power gathered there, and she touched his sleeping brow. His eyes fluttered awake, widening as they met her gaze, before he disappeared in her arms as he returned to the waking world.

Bathed in darkness, Maria looked about at the familiar, destroyed surroundings. She wondered, should she cross the threshold of those walls, would she find the flower garden? The research hall?

She shook her head at such foolishness and, out of habit, searched for her Rakuyo. Picking it up, she looked at it, smiling in bittersweet memory. Though she had cast it away, she was thankful it had come back to her hand in this last, lonely fight.

She remembered when she'd had it made, commissioned in secret from the smiths of Cainhurst. A fool girl's foolish dream, for her world to be bigger than one horizon, to live adventures instead of just reading of them. A little noble who'd wished to be a heroine.

"Thank you, my friend," she said, glad she had this chance to say this even in just a dream.

She gazed on it one last time, remembering every groove and curve. Taking hold of the short sword gently, she wrenched the halves apart.

And for the last time, she turned her blades upon herself.

This time, she did not miss her heart.

Nightmare Slain

A Katarina Interlude Sequence

"…"

"…"

"…"

"… come on Keith, keep your blood on the inside where it belongs! If anything happens to you, Lady Katarina will cry, and you don't want Lady Katarina to cry, do you?"

"Hey, Mary, I think they're done!"

"Huh? What was that Lady Katarina?"

"I think Rafael and Maria are done doing sword-y things to each other!"

"Sword-y things?"

"That's the official technical term! I'm a trained swordswoman, so I know how you're supposed to talk about sword-y things! Anyway, they're done. Look, they've gone and taken a nap!"

"…"

"Ah, I completely understand, I always want to take a nap too after sword practice. But master says I need to do cooldowns, and then Anne says I need to take a bath, so by the time it's all done I've missed my chance to take a nap…"

"Lady Katarina, this is our chance! Use your sword while they're down!"

"Eh? Why would I do that?"

"Lady Katarina, he tried to kill you!"

"Um, I don't really think so… anyway, Maria took care of it. Now that he's gotten it out of his system he'll finally be willing to talk to me!"

"Lady Katarina, he tried to kill you, the princes and Keith!"

"No, no, we've already talked about this. If he really wanted to kill anyone, he'd have done it after he used dark magic on them to make them sleep."

"I think he was a little busy, Lady Katarina."

"Don't they look cute together? It's a real sleep-cute, don't you think?"

"…(sigh)…"

"Ooh, ooh, they're waking up! Good morning you too! Had a nice nap? Ready to talk now?"

"Lady Katarina…? What was I…?"

"Lord Head Clerk, could you please take your hand off my face?"

"Huh? Ah! S-sorry! I… I had the strangest dream…"

"Dream?"

"Yes… a beautiful angel… holding me…"

"What an overactive imagination you possess, Lord Head Clerk. Is this what you do when you desert your post, fantasize about imaginary women in suspiciously hidden rooms?"

"N-no! Wait, what… AH! What have I done! Lady Claes, I'm so sorry!"

"Please, call me Katarina!"

"No, he will not."

"M-maria?"

"It would be most improper for commoners like us to refer to you like that, Lady Claes. Please do not allow yourself to fall to such sloppy habits. It is most unbecoming of a noble."

"Moh, Mar– Miss Campbell! You sound like my mother!"

"Who sounds like a fine and reasonable woman."

"H-hey, if you're going to be talking, can someone, maybe someone with rare and powerful Light Magic, take care of this hole in Keith's arm?"

"Ah! Keith, I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

"Dark Magic."

"Dark Magic. Ah, wait, how did you know it was Dark Magic, Miss Campbell?"

"I saw it in a dream."

"Eh? That doesn't make sense!"

"You of all people have no right to say that, Lady Katarina!"

Rakuyo
Hunter weapon wielded by Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower.

A trick sword originated in the same country as the Cainhurst Chikage, only this sword feeds not off blood, but instead demands great dexterity.

One day, when she needed it most, the blade returned to her side like a quiet, unfaltering friend. Perhaps its bearer had wished for just such a friend…