In Pursuit of Desires

by Takamura Rules

Victory...was boring. Despite everything he'd been through, Ren had a wanderlust to him. When Elizabeth approaches him with the veritable offer of a lifetime, he couldn't say no. Join Ren as he explores, fights, and steals his way across the Solistia region. Watch him as he makes new friends and rivals and discovers dark secrets. And just maybe...Take down a God or two. P5XOT2

13. -TO-

Happy New Year guys!

Just so you know, Osvald appears in this chapter, and he is non-verbal. Cue the Chellos. *In Pursuit of Revenge plays* I should mention the Sub-Chapter names are derived from a play on the characters' themes. They're all really good, go look them up!

Italics=Reading script

"Italics" =Thought

Thanks goes to Asdf0789 for reading over my work.

This chapter following the last one, really pushed my comfort zone. This chapter has various M themes in it as well. Including abuse, blood, murder, and unfortunately—animal death. Sorry in advance.

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Thronè-Price of Freedom.

Thronè leaped out of her bedroom window and her hand gripped the ledge of the roof. She grunted as she pulled herself up underneath the early morning hue.

She let out a huff before running across the rooftop and a clothesline. She jumped off the next roof but this time she let herself fall. Using dark magic to stall her descent she landed on a flagpole, then used it to bounce to a gutter's downspout and used it to climb down where she touched the ground next to Montraine's tavern.

Almost a week of practice made a world of difference for her skills. Father had relentlessly drilled her on the art of stealing and killing, and Mother, the mindset to achieve results, but that was out of necessity. She tolerated it on the best of days; and abhorred it on the worst.

Ren, she had found, was an impromptu teacher on freedom.

Free running, she discovered as it was called by the acrobats, proved to be far more interesting and entertaining. Perhaps, she was actually enjoying herself freely for one of the first times in her life.

Thronè wiped her hands on her dress as she opened the door to the tavern.

The moment she opened the door the bartender paused in polishing his counter and turned to her.

"Oh, it's you. Guess the kid was right, you did end up showing your face here again."

"You were expecting me?"

The bartender flashed her a disarming yet knowing smile. "More like Ren was. You've met him right, you should know he has an eye for people."

"Then you should know why I'm here," Thronè said as she stepped into the building and scanned the area. Given how early it was in the morning it should have been no surprise it was empty, but Thronè's instincts allowed her to tell that even the upper inn rooms were devoid of life. "Where's Ren?"

"Wow, not even a 'Hi I'm so and so, who are you?'"

Thronè gave him a pointed look but unlike most others, he didn't so much as flinch. In fact, he smiled at her and tipped his hat.

"Listen, I'm aware your part of the Blacksnakes," his grin became lopsided when Thronè's stare turned heated, and she covered her tattoos defensively. "I'm not going to turn you in. That'd bring more trouble than it's worth. Nah. Ren told me that if you ever needed aid, I was to help you."

"I assume he's not here then?"

"Nope," he replied, popping the P. "Ren left town the morning after you went back home."

Thronè inwardly facepalmed, the sign outside his shop did give that indication that night.

She must not have been able to control her face as the bartender gave her another friendly smile and a light chuckle. "You're stuck with old Gil and his trusty piano. He did leave this for you though, along with some meds. He neglected to fill me in about the meds, but I can put two an' two together."

Gil reached under the bar counter pulled out a worn hardcover book and held it out for her to take.

Thronè reached out hesitantly and took the book from Gil. "Arsenè Lupin, Gentleman Burglar by Maurice Leblanc" she read the title in her mind.

"It's pretty curious." Her eyes flicked back up to Gil. "According to Ren the book was in his native tongue but when he came to Solistia it translated itself. Gave it a read myself, and I have to say it's something."

"Thanks…." Thronè said, her voice a mix between uncertain and sardonic.

"Would you like some coffee while you sit and rest awhile?"

This wasn't how she expected this to go. In her mind, she'd envisioned that she could just come in, find Ren/Joker or whoever he decided to be that day, and have him show her more techniques. She never imagined sitting down and having coffee at a hole-in-the-wall bar in the middle of the slums.

Then again, judging by the look of the place, it wasn't as crappy as its location implied. A diamond in the rough seemed to be a more correct description.

"Not too shabby, huh," Gil commented as if reading her mind. "It's not exactly one of those fancy schmancy bed and breakfast places you see on Main Street but at least my customers aren't falling in holes anymore and walking on my pipes."

"It's…passable. Better than my own tenement from looks alone."

Gil huffed. "You could stay here if you needed."

"Don't need it, I'm happy where I'm at right now."

"Can't force you if you don't want to," Gil said with a shrug. "What brought you here in the first place?"

Thronè returned the gesture with one of her own. "To see Ren. To learn a bit more from him."

"Let it never be said he wasn't a lucky man."

The thief tilted her head curiously at the odd statement.

"The kid has a charm to him. Draws people to him like moths to a light apparently. I'm just jealous that a majority of them are beautiful young women."

The undertones weren't lost on her. First Pirro, now this Gil person. Why was everyone so interested in her love life all of a sudden?

"It's not like that," Thronè said exasperatedly as she sipped her coffee. "Relationships lead to children, and I have no intention of having a child be born into my situation."

"As a Blacksnake?"

"…. Yes." Thronè sighed tiredly as old information came back to her. "My mother was a Blacksnake from what I was told. Thus, my destiny was decided from birth. To be raised as the best assassin/thief the world has ever seen." Her tone was flat and monotonous, and she looked away from Gil, out the clerestory windows and into the rising daybreak. "I don't want any child of mine to live like I have to. For the cycle to continue. At least—involuntarily."

Gil ran his hand through his hair and underneath his hat. His face was somewhat perplexed. "Normally it's the sins of the father. In this case, it's the sins of the mother."

"Not exactly; Father is part of the Blacksnakes too."

"Lady, what type of messed up family do you come from?"

Thronè couldn't help but laugh. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself. Even more reason to not bring a child into this world."

Without her asking, Gil refilled her cup and produced some croissants for her to snack on.

"I can't say I blame you," he said. "It's probably not simple but have you ever thought about leaving?"

"No?" Thronè placed a half-eaten pastry on the plate. "That's not exactly right. I used to not think about leaving. I figured it was just my place in life. But lately…." Thronè trailed off as her thoughts wandered to Pirro and Ren's words and ideals.

"You've been wondering what it's like to be free—your own person."

Gil gave a small smile at Thronè's nod. "I know you'll figure a way out one day. It has to be there. There's always a way out. A way to follow your dream. That's what Ren taught me."

"Thanks." she said in a small voice. Outside the first chirping of the birds could be heard. "You know…. maybe one day I will take you up on that offer."

"What offer?"

"To stay here."

"A friend of Ren's is a friend of mine."

—X—

A wave of dark magic disguised the kick that nailed Donnie in the face. To his credit he didn't fly back like Thronè thought he would, instead, he sliced blindly in front of him. He whiffed and was then shocked when Thronè flipped behind him and kicked his legs out from under him.

Not allowing Donnie to get up, Thronè held her knife in his face. Seeing he was beaten, Donnie tapped the ground three times signaling his defeat.

"You're finished, Donnie."

"Maybe I should stick to tools."

"Combat is just as important as supporting abilities."

Off to the side of the warehouse, she heard a long drawn-out whistle.

"No wonder Father wants you as his successor. Poor Donnie here didn't even stand a chance."

"Shut up," Donnie said as he got to his feet assisted by Thronè. "I'm still better than you, Scaracci."

Thronè was in the warehouse where she had her duel with Joker. Pirro, Scaracci, and Donnie had joined her for a last-minute training session. She tried to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. After her talk with Joker on the roof the smell became more repugnant than ever.

"You wish." Scaracci waved him off and took the lighter from Pirro. "There's a reason you're the little brother out of the four of us," Scaracci said while lighting his cigarette and handing the lighter back to Pirro.

"Being the youngest doesn't mean I'm the weakest."

Pirro hummed in agreement. "Thronè is younger than both of us, yet you admit she's head and shoulders above us both."

Scaracci opened his mouth to rebuke but Thronè answered instead. "I think smacking the three of you around all afternoon speaks for itself."

Scaracci rubbed the boot imprint on his face with a frown. "Where'd you learn all that flippy bullshit anyway?" He questioned. "The week before last I could at least go five minutes before you started picking me apart."

"Yeah, it's just not fair. Your fundamentals are already the best I've seen but add unpredictability to it. It's unreal." Donnie groaned, fingering his now-matching boot print as it started to bruise up.

Pirro chuckled, having got off somewhat lighter with a couple of charred spots on his clothing. "She picked it up from her new lover."

"New lover?" Scaracci's face settled into a sultry smile. "And here I thought I'd finally be able to convince you to give me a hand or two." His perverted giggle made her sneer. She was half tempted to blast him with magic again.

"Give yourself a hand."

Pirro burst out laughing at her remark. Donnie joined in by making a rather vulgar sexual gesture.

"Scaracci, can you please try not to get yourself killed right now? We do have a mission later. Me and Donnie would rather not have to do your part too." Pirro said, though the lazy smirk he wore brought into question if he meant it.

"If I got rid of the both of you, me and Donnie could get things done so much faster."

"Amen to that," Donnie said, bowing in reverence.

A scowling Scaracci stood up from the wall. "Now that you've had your damn fun at my expense let go over the plan for later. I don't really feel like dying today."

Thronè rolled her eyes at Scaracci's petulant behavior. "Now he wants to work."

"You know he's always been that guy," Pirro said, dumping the ash from his cigarette. "If he wasn't my brother, I probably would have killed him already."

Pirro's voice had a dark undertone that Thronè wasn't sure she liked or not. She brushed it off as Scaracci kicked an overturned table back to standing and Donnie unfurled a map on it.

—X—

Thronè could practically feel the calluses forming on her hand as she gripped the edge of the roof, swinging her body right in front of the window that led to the attic. She easily made the leap from the next roof over using her magic.

The job they had to do was to steal a mark from a mansion in the upper area of the city. The Diamanté estate to be specific.

Normally she and the other Blacksnakes would have slipped through the front door, back door, or possibly a ground-level window. Thronè decided to put her new skills to the test. Scaracci called her a showoff, but she was confident this had a lesser chance of being detected.

Letting out a grunt, she pulled her body up to where she could now swing and land on the sloping roof next to the window. She then leaned over and jammed her knife underneath the panel, using it like a crowbar. After some effort, the latches on the inside popped and the window slid up.

Thronè smiled to herself as she silently slid into the attic. She waved her hand in front of her to disperse the dust and cobwebs that immediately settled on her.

The attic was exactly how she expected a rich person's attic to look. Dank and sour smelling, it was filled to the brim with faded, worn trunks and chests. Various furniture pieces and paintings sat with moth-eaten sheets covering them. Marble bust and statues served as spider's nests with the amount of webs attached to them. All together they gave the area a bizarre maze-like curio shop appearance.

Thronè half expected to find a crystal ball and some tarot cards as she maneuvered through the topmost level. Eventually, she came to the hatch that led to the mansion proper.

She got down to her knees and pressed an ear to the wooden door. She wasn't stupid enough to just go charging in. She'd leave that to Scaracci.

"—why are we on ambush duty?"

"Bodyguard duty. Not ambush duty."

"Same shit different name. We're here for one purpose—To kill the top four on Mother's behalf."

Thronè's eyes widened at the man's words, and she pressed her ear harder into the floor.

"Situations like this make me question if I truly want to move up, you know? Mother knows that any one of those four can take her place and kill her at any time. That's why she's taking the opportunity to cull them while she still can. Who's to say that won't happen to us if we manage to replace them?"

"Quit being a chicken shit bitch. If we die, we die. That's always been the way of the snake. The weak are culled out and the strong survive. If they didn't have enough sense to see the trap for what it is, then they deserve to die. Lord Diamanté has been Mother's affair for years for fuck's sake."

"I guess…you have a point. Life is fleeting, we need to take what we can."

"There you go. Even Thronè and Pirro will go down nice and easy if we ambush them. Then again, the constables are involved in this too. No way they make it out of this. I can't wait to have one of those top tenements for myself."

"Tenement? That's what you want out of this. I'd rather not kill Thronè—at least until we get the chance to enjoy her first."

Thronè's scowl deepened as the duo let out perverted giggling. Her knuckles were starting to turn white from how hard she was gripping her knife.

She waited until they moved away from the hatch and then slipped out unnoticed her boots making no noise as she touched the fancy carpet.

They didn't even see her coming as her knife claimed the first man's jugular. Bloody gurgling came from his mouth as he fell to the floor twitching, trying to hold onto whatever of his short life he had left.

The second man wasn't given time to react as piano wire found its way around his throat, garroting him. Thronè pulled on the wire and the man's body was forced to fold back to keep his neck from snapping.

"Just what were you planning to do with me again?" Thronè looked with dissatisfaction as the man's hand pitifully clawed at her arm, exposing both of their tattoos.

"That's right, you can't exactly talk right now. Let's go somewhere private, shall we? It's what you wanted right? To have one-on-one time with a pretty woman." she said with a false seductive voice and smile.

Thronè dragged the struggling choking man into a nearby room. His kicking was an utter non-factor against her strength.

She thought about questioning him but figured it was pointless since the place was likely crawling with other disguised Blacksnake members. She unceremoniously jerked the man's head to the side and with a sick crack his life was ended. His body went limp like a cut puppet after a few death twitches.

She then stuffed him in an armoire for someone else to find later. She went back out to the hall and retrieved the body of the other man, her nose wrinkling at the blood. Thankfully, it wasn't too bad as the knife kept most of it from spilling out via his wound. The carpet, being a gaudy red, helped too.

She cringed at the wet sounds of removing her knife from his throat and found herself grateful once it was finally free.

Once she finished reuniting the two in death, Thronè bolted for the sink in the adjoining bathroom. She spared no effort in washing her hands and knife to get rid of the smell of blood and death, even though she knew her hands would never truly come clean.

"Mother set us up. The mark we have to steal probably doesn't exist. Even if we manage to escape, she has an excuse to whip at least one of us to death." Thronè looked at her reflection, anger clear as day in her eyes before it was replaced by sudden worry. "What about Pirro, Scaracci, and Donnie? They're sitting ducks!"

Thronè rushed out of the room and to the railing overlooking the main hall. There was some sort of gala event going on down below. The others would have probably found a way in on the opposite wing by now. It would be suicide to try and pick her way through the crowd. She could see security detail wandering around, and if she looked closer, she could see the tips of tattoos.

Thinking fast she climbed the railing and jumped to a nearby chandelier. Before the swaying could attract any unwanted eyes, she scampered across and hopped to the next chandelier and then to the opposite landing that led to the East Wing.

Thronè leaned over the railing to scan the crowd hoping no one noticed. To her relief, the party kept going undisturbed.

"He was right…. people really don't tend to look up."

If the situation wasn't serious, she'd be tempted to laugh at how oblivious people could be.

She ran down the hallway making sure to lighten her footsteps. She found the three men near the room that held the main study; the room they were told the target was.

Pirro and Scaracci were on the lookout while Donnie tried to pick the lock to the room.

Pirro's eye widened as he caught sight of her and fully leaned out from behind the pillar he was using as cover.

"Thronè? I thought you were going up top to mess up the guard detail," he said in a hushed voice.

"I was," Thronè replied hurriedly as she slipped around to Pirro's flank. "Listen, Pirro, there's no time we need to—"

The soft pop and click of the lock were followed by the sound of Donnie tentatively testing the knob. Scaracci had a smug but proud smile as he looked back.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Thronè put the pieces together. The perfect moment for an ambush was the moment your target had successfully completed a task.

Her body moved by itself as Donnie opened the door. She tackled him to the ground and the sound of whistling arrows passed over their heads, embedded in the suit of armor behind them.

"Kill them!"

"Shit! Someone ratted us out!"

Dark magic collided against ice and lightning magic in a flash of distorted light. The resulting explosion sent Thronè and Donnie sliding backward.

She felt a rough pair of hands pull her to her feet. Thronè's instinct kicked in and she threw her knife, burying itself in the forehead of the constable who had his sword raised, ready to strike Pirro from behind.

"You saved my bacon."

"Mine too," Donnie said, scrambling to his feet and drawing his weapon.

Thronè tore the blade out of the man's head before he could fall and took his sword out of his hands when he did. "Don't thank me yet, we have to get out of here." She said notching the sword securely in her belt.

"Which is going to be harder to do the longer you jackasses just stand there!" Scaracci said, launching another wave of magic to keep law enforcement at bay.

"There they are!"

"Get them!"

"For once I agree with Scaracci. Let's move."

The two men nodded in confirmation to Thronè, and they took off leaving smoke bombs in their wake.

Right before Thronè left, however, something caught her eye in the office. A long cylindrical object sat on the desk in brown parcel wrapping. Her instincts screamed at her…. That was the mark they were supposed to steal. She couldn't leave without it.

Using the magic of Swift Step and erasing her presence, she used the confusion of the smoke bombs to her advantage and weaved through the various coughing-hacking guards unnoticed.

It would've been so easy to slit their throats and potentially clear the room—but she had no desire for the pungent smell of blood to fill both her nose and her thoughts. That and the image of a black-haired man flitting through her mind is what saved the guards that night. Thronè decided to keep her eye on the prize.

She made her way to the desk and picked up the parcel with gentle fingers. She soundlessly strapped it to her back, taking a moment as she felt the thrum of power even through the paper. Throwing another couple of smoke bombs laced with pepper for good measure, she opened the window just enough for her to slip out of and not let the smoke dissipate. The clink of the window closing was covered up by the sound of sneezing.

Meanwhile, the men weaved through the halls of the mansion and out the way the men had come in. Once they were out, Pirro lifted the nearest sewer cover and ushered them in. He raised a worried eyebrow when he finally realized that Thronè wasn't with them but then sighed in relief when she came jogging from around the front of the estate.

"Where were you?"

"No time." Thronè instantly replied as she went into the sewer. Above her, she heard Pirro make a small sound of dissatisfaction as he moved the heavy cover back in place.

Thronè had her reservations considering the Blacksnakes were after them. However, she didn't have time to voice her suspicions, the constables were the bigger threat right now.

They moved swiftly through the sewers, but they could never totally lose their pursuers. Eventually, they came to a clearing next to a wooden door etched in red symbols. Wordless, Donnie set to work trying to pick the lock. Thronè and Pirro each took one side of the clearing to look out for oncoming threats.

"Shit…. I'm not taking the rap for failing this." Scaracci said, hands on his knees trying to recover from his magic expenditure. "One of you three can go under Mother's whip for this one."

"That's what you're worried about right now?" Thronè rounded on him. "You should be more concerned that Mother set up this trap in order to kill us."

Pirro whipped his head around to stare at her. Donnie paused in his work. "You sure about that, Thronè? How did you come to that conclusion?"

"…. On the upper level, two members of our group were bragging about it. Then the security detail had our tattoos. Mother views us as a threat to her position so she wanted to get rid of us."

The poignant pause passed through the area while the other three processed the information. Finally, Scaracci decided to break the silence.

"And this changes things how?"

"Scar—"

"Shaddup Pirro. Quit trying to be the voice of reason for every little thing. I'm saying: Did you really expect anything different?" Scaracci waved his hands, gesturing to all of them in turn. "We're Blacksnakes after all. It's what we do. We don't hesitate to kill to get what we want…. Even if that means each other. Hell, I would do the same thing in her position."

Thronè couldn't exactly refute his position. It was how they were taught after all. Survival of the fittest.

"That doesn't make it right." She found herself saying surprising even her.

Scaracci took an aggressive step toward Thronè "Since when have we ever given a shit about what's right?"

The tension got to her and Thronè drew her dagger in defense, Scaracci doing the same.

"Perfect. If I kill you, maybe Mother will forgive failing the mission." Scaracci's voice turned low and dangerous. Thronè braced herself for him to strike.

Pirro tried to step in between the two. "Hey wait a sec—"

"There they are! Kill them!"

"Guess we've got company…" Donnie said, drawing his sword.

Pirro rolled his eyes and drew his own blade. "Gee, I hope they didn't find us from all the yelling we were doing." He sent a pointed look at Scaracci.

"Oh, fuck off!"

A group of four lightly armored guards came running into the clearing weapons drawn.

"Let's shelve this for later, we need to give our guest a warm welcome."

—X—

To call it a fight would be generous. Like the snakes they were, the four of them moved swiftly and accurately. Whenever a guard blocked the strike of one Blacksnake, the knife of another found itself in their side. They struck in the chinks for the armor, dispatching their foes before they knew what hit them.

"That was fun…." said Donnie as he shook the blood from his sword. Thronè struggled to keep her face blank and impassive.

Pirro turned to Donnie. "Hey, Donnie, can you get that door open so we can get outta here before another group of party crashers show up?"

Donnie sheathed his sword then turned to them while nervously scratching his head, trying to choose his words.

"I meant to tell you guys…but there's no point, that door won't open no matter what we do."

Under the stares of the other three, Donnie went over to the door and rubbed a hand along the symbols. He looked as if he half expected it to turn blazing hot at any second.

"This door has a dual lock. One physical, the other magical. The key in question probably has the counter-engraving to half the spells in addition to turning the tumblers. Adding to the confusion you need not one but two keys for this door, which is why I said a single key would only deactivate half of the spell."

"Speak Delstani, asshole."

Donnie rolled his eyes at Scaracci and groaned. "No keys, no open. Get zap-zap by big boom-boom magic if you force it."

"Was that so hard?"

"Go to Hell."

"You first."

Thronè had a sneaking suspicion on which keys fit in that lock.

…. She really hoped they weren't the keys she had in mind. If so, a world of questions would sit on her tongue while despair crushed her dreams. She fingered her choker uncomfortably as she eyed the dark tunnels further in.

"Save it, you guys. If we can't open the door, we go deeper into the sewer."

Without waiting for them to reply, Thronè dashed down the tunnel, the sound of footsteps behind her indicating they were following.

She stopped at a corner and peered around it. Thronè yanked her head back upon seeing two guards protecting an exit ladder.

"What do we got?" She heard Pirro whisper behind her.

"Two. One with a spear and the other with a sword. There's a ledge above I can take advantage of. It wraps around to where we are; they won't see me coming."

Scaracci tilted his head up and then looked at her confused.

"Really? How are you going to get to it? That ledge is at least 7 meters up." Scaracci's skeptical voice came next.

"Watch and learn."

Using a nearby pillar, Thronè kicked up between it and the wall. She then cast her magic to propel her in the direction of the ledge and grabbed it. When she pulled herself up, she looked down to see Donnie's amazed look and Scaracci's scowl.

She shot them a cheeky smile then crouched down and quickly but quietly dashed along the railing.

The "guards" were obviously two of their own. One had his snake tattoo on his neck that was only partially covered by the collar of his armor.

Thronè didn't know how complicit they were to Mother, so she decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. She leaped down from the ledge and kicked the first man in the head, sending him sailing into the wall unconscious. The moment she landed Thronè chopped the second man in the neck, and he crumpled like a tin can.

"Good work, Thronè. No wonder we call you 'The best in the nest'." Pirro wore a proud smile as he turned a corner.

"Fuckin' show off," Scaracci growled from behind him, hands in his pockets. "This way leads to Main Street, yeah?"

"It does, specifically at the grate at the corner that leads to the lower side," Donnie confirmed, trailing behind the two.

"Then we should split up once we exit," Thronè said. "Make sure we throw the guards off our trail."

"That would be the smart move." Pirro agreed. "We'll meet up back at the hideout later."

Donnie and Scaracci nodded. Thronè didn't necessarily like the look the latter gave her as he passed by and out to the street. She figured he still hadn't forgotten about their earlier confrontation.

"I'd keep an eye on him if I were you," Pirro said as if reading her thoughts. He pulled out his lighter and a cigarette.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." It was well known that Scaracci, while not as good in combat as Thronè and Pirro, had a nasty vindictive streak.

Pirro smirked as he took a drag of the cigarette and stuffed the lighter in his pocket. "He's probably jealous."

"You didn't exactly help by implying I was in a relationship." Thronè pointed out.

"That too. Anyways, things are starting to get dangerous, Thronè. Something big is about to happen, I can feel it. By the way, good job stealing the mark." he said, pointing at her back.

Pirro gave her a wave and disappeared down the tunnel and to the New Delsta streets himself.

Thronè waited for a minute or two and then followed suit. She immediately opted to take to the rooftops where she could take some time to process everything without the need to keep moving.

That's how she found herself sitting on top of a water tower, package in her hands.

For an indescribable reason, the parcel just…felt right in her hands. Just like Ren's weapons power coursed through the object, but it didn't whisper to Thronè to use it. No, instead it was almost controlling; there wasn't any consent involved. Dark emotion welled in her being. Her blood screamed at her. The urge to kill amplified itself. Also, the need to….to put out a fire?

She shook her head and strapped the package onto her back again and jumped off the water tower. Thankfully the urges lessened but they didn't stop, thrown to the back of her mind. Best to put whatever this was in Father's hands as soon as possible.

Speaking of, as much as it pained her to admit, Scaracci was right. Any accusations against Mother would be brushed off. She was utterly helpless short of killing the woman for her freedom. Based on her conversation with Pirro the other week, his mindset leaned towards that possibility, but Thronè wasn't quite so sure yet.

—X—

Thronè never felt so relieved as the moment she handed the mark over to Father. The urges finally stopped, and it felt like a hot spike had been removed from her head.

Her relief must have been clear on her face because Father gave a light but hollow laugh at her expression when he took the package and carefully placed it on his desk.

"Good job Thronè. I assume it was a lot to oversee judging by your face."

"Not at all."

"I always thought you were the one with the most potential."

"Thank you, Father."

Father rubbed his chin, the ever-present stubble making a rough scratching sound as he curiously appraised her.

"Why so short today, Thronè? Might there be anything I can do for you?"

"This collar is a bit tight. Lately, the tightness has been impeding my focus. Is there any way to loosen it?"

"You are my favorite…." Even though she didn't show it, her hope rose just a tad as she watched Father very clearly palm the key in his pocket. "…. But that is a request I cannot grant." He offered her a shrug. "Even if I wanted to, Mother holds the second key. As you know: both are needed to unlock the collar."

Thronè knew it was a long shot but after the door, she wanted to believe.

"Speaking of…Mother has need of you, I believe she wants to discuss the outcome of the mission."

Father then waved her away, signaling the end of the meeting. Before she closed the door to leave him, she could've sworn he looked like he aged ten years as he turned his focus to the parcel on the table.

As she left his office and went down the hall to the game parlor, she could hear Mother giving one of her quota rundowns where she went over who met their goal and who would get whipped for not making it.

"Ah, Thronè, how wonderful for you to join us." came Mother's booming voice the moment she walked in the room. Every Blacksnake turned to look at her and Thronè pushed down the urge to vanish into the shadows.

"Your teammate Scaracci told me something very interesting about today's mission that you failed…."

Thronè's sense of danger flared up. In the audience, she heard a stifled gasp and a muttered curse.

"He told me you and the team were ambushed tonight after you alerted the guard patrol in a botched attempt to have the rest of your crew killed."

Pirro had warned her something like this might happen. It was too late to do anything about it, however, running from Mother would make it worse.

"Come up to the post…. it's time for a punishment." Mother ended her sentence by flexing her whip.

Thronè had her face portray no emotion as two men came and grabbed her by the arms, brought her onstage, and tied her hands to the post.

She didn't even close her eyes as the first lash of the whip tore through the flesh of her back.

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack*

She heard the sound of her blood dropping from the whip as Mother took a pause in her beating. Thronè angled her head around and saw the woman run her hand across the weapon to clean it. Disturbingly, she then licked her hand and smiled cruelly.

"Don't—you—know—what—you've—cost—me—the group at large!" She fumed, emphasizing almost every word with a lash of her whip.

"You—wretched—whore! The client will no longer demand our services. Furthermore—the—guards—are—now—watching—us!"

Darkness started to creep into the edges of Thronè's vision as Mother kept ranting. She didn't know whether it was her body reaching its limit or the dark bubbling hatred welling up in her spirit. Before she was simply dispassionate every time she was whipped. But now…The desire to see her long-time abuser dead whispered to her.

"You're—just a—a bitch—who has—Sebastian's favor—learn your place—you filthy—street rat—bastard child!"

Blood started to splash onto the stage.

Briefly, her eyes flashed gold but with a single blink, it was gone, unnoticed to all except Pirro.

The white-haired man rushed onto the stage, fearing something bad.

"Wait!" Pirro yelled, sliding to a stop in front of Thronè. He struggled to keep his balance on the floor slick with blood as he threw his arms out wide in a protective fashion. When he thought, he was going to fall, another pair of hands steadied him. Pirro was surprised to see that Donnie had come up with him. His eyes were alight in confusion and fear.

"I…. I was the one who sold us out." Pirro said, bracing himself for what was to come next.

"It was me and him," Donnie added on, looking surprised the words had come from his mouth. "We thought that if Thronè and Scaracci happen to die, we could take their share of the pay…"

Pirro decided to hammer home the point before someone could point out how unsure Donnie sounded. "Yes, we planned it together. We'll take the punishment, not her, she's had enough."

Pirro willed himself not to flinch under Mother's gaze from the front and Thronè trying to stare a hole into his back.

After contemplating, Mother finally gave the duo one of her signature slasher smiles.

"Alright then…. Enjoy your punishment!"

The cigarette fell out of Pirro's mouth as her first strike caught both him and Donnie by the chest. He'd forgotten she infused her weapon with a combination of fire and wind magic to make each lash extra painful.

Donnie let out a howl at the next couple of impacts Mother made specifically for him.

Pirro kept his jaw clenched when Mother turned her wonton fury on him. His layers of clothing did nothing to help mitigate the force behind the whip.

The audience remained silent as the two men's blood joined Thronè's on the stage. Every so often Pirro could just make out Scaracci scowling in the crowd.

By the end of the session, a bruised, bloody, and wheezing Donnie was unashamedly leaning against him for support, Pirro's arm wrapped around his back. Pirro wondered how he himself had the strength to stand.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you!" Mother said addressing the crowd. "I don't care if you send each other to hell however which way you please, but the moment you start messing with business is the moment your life is forfeit. These three whelps should've been killed on the spot. The only thing saving their sorry lives is the fact we are currently running on a member shortage. As such we will be ending this meeting early so I can conduct business to address this issue elsewhere…"

Mother clapped her hands and like roaches the thieves, including Scaracci scattered as she hopped off the stage, the checkered tile cracking underneath her weight.

Pirro kept his eyes trained on the large woman until she passed through the door. He then turned to Thronè just as her body gave out and she collapsed to her knees. However, her eyes were still defiant.

"Great…all three of us are in bad shape and your frenemy isn't here to heal us for free this time." Pirro reached down and snaked his free arm around Thronè's back while she grabbed Donnie's arm that was already around him.

Thronè's mind went back to something Gil had said to her earlier.

"Hey, Pirro."

"Yeah?"

"Take us….to the tavern we went to. The barkeep will help."

Pirro stared at her for a moment and Thronè was afraid he'd question why, but instead, he nodded. He nudged Donnie a bit and together the three started the long, silent, painful trek to Montraine Tavern.

—X—

If she wasn't so hurt Thronè might've laughed at the look on Gil's face when the three of them came stumbling in. He at once adapted though and took them upstairs to a spare room.

Apparently, it wasn't exactly uncommon for hurt people to wander in choosing to drink alcohol to numb the pain since they couldn't afford a doctor or cleric. He just wasn't expecting it to be them.

"Hold still, Ren left these compress-like thingies behind, but it probably won't work if we don't clean the wounds first."

Thronè clamped her jaw shut as Gil swabbed the lash marks on her exposed back with a rag soaked in alcohol. Over on the other bed, Donnie had passed out having already been treated first at the insistence of the other two. Pirro sat on a chair near the door, smoking as usual.

The stinging pain of the alcohol was replaced by the sensation of something cool and heavy on her back.

"Man, I'm literally watching the wounds disappear. Even healing grapes doesn't work that fast." Gil said.

"All the better to go to work tomorrow…" Thronè said sarcastically.

"…. Life's never that simple, is it?"

Pirro shook his head, the ash from his cigarette falling to the floor. "Hardly ever. Thronè and I are used to this kind of stuff though; ain't our first rodeo. Donnie on the other hand…"

Gil lifted his hat and scratched his head as he stood back against the wall after setting some gauze next to Thronè. "Little brother, I get it. But this time must have been way worse if you couldn't shoulder it yourselves."

"It's not that we couldn't," Thronè croaked as she pushed herself up to her elbows. "I just…. had to get out of there. I couldn't be around the other Blacksnakes."

Pirro gave her a strange look she couldn't quite comprehend. It was eerily similar to the one he had when she requested to be taken here.

The unspoken implications reached the bartender as he walked to the door. "Stay here as long as you like," he said as he exited the room and softly closed the door. A couple of moments passed then Pirro decided to finally break through the silence.

"…. If you were free, do you know what you would want out of life now?"

Thronè shifted her body to stare at Pirro, the moonlight shining through the window combined with his white hair giving him an ethereal otherworldly appearance.

The clock ticked on the wall as the seconds passed while Thronè struggled to come up with an answer.

"I can't claim to know what exactly I would do. I do know that I don't want to be a thief anymore, I don't want to kill if I don't have to. I hate the smell of blood, Pirro. I don't want this life."

Pirro closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "You've changed. Two weeks ago, I don't think you would have cared if you lived or died."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that there's a life worth living, Thronè. A life outside of the Blacksnakes. If you want that life, you'll have to fight for it as Scaracci's shown us."

Thronè let out a sigh and shifted so she could sit on the edge of the bed. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of…" she said as she began to wrap herself in bandages.

"Scaracci?" He asked.

"More than that. Mother clearly set us up and Scaracci doesn't care. It's only a matter of time before one of them tries something again. It won't stop until either us or them are pushing up daisies." Thronè's eyes trailed over to the sleeping form of Donnie. "He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this."

"He's tougher than you'd think," Pirro replied. "Donnie has been through the same stuff we have. He is part of our circle for a reason. He's not just any egghead, he's a hard-boiled egghead."

Thronè couldn't help the smile or snort that came at Pirro's joke. "If he heard that, he'd try to kill you."

"And I'd show him why I'm the best around here."

"I don't remember you being called 'Best in The Nest'."

"Who says I won't beat you too? I've been training too."

The more she thought about it, the more the word brother applied to Pirro. Something she unknowingly came to value.

Perhaps… she wasn't exactly lying when she spoke to Ren.

—X—

The next day, Thronè found herself back in Father's office, plucking at the bandages around her chest absently as Father paced the room.

"It is a bit soon, but I need you to return to the Diamanté estate. This time your goal is to assassinate Lord Diamanté."

"Why?"

Father ran two fingers over his mustache. "I did my own investigation. Lord Diamanté conspired with one of our own to sabotage the mission—"

"It was Mother."

"—That someone is Scaracci, who is also your secondary target. He blamed you to save his own hide. Mother had to play along in order to avoid rousing his suspicions."

Thronè's hand involuntarily twitched at Father's reveal.

"He has fled to the Diamanté estate, where he plans to regroup with Lord Diamanté and together, they plan to flee town. After you eliminate them, you are to rendezvous with me in Winterbloom. From there, I have another assignment for you."

Thronè didn't react to his words.

"Do I make myself clear, Thronè?"

Thronè blinked and snapped to attention.

"Yes sir."

Her reactions didn't go unnoticed to Father who shook his head sadly.

"I know it must be a lot to take in, he was one of your close teammates, you would inevitably form a bond with him."

The man's eyes flashed cold steel sending a shiver down her back.

"Those bonds have to be cast aside for the sake of the group. Show no mercy—"

"—And leave no trace," Thronè finished.

"Good. I'll await your appearance in Winterbloom."

Thronè's head was spinning as she robotically left the office.

She had heard it herself that Mother had set them up. So how had he not discovered that? Was Scaracci also complicit in the scheme? That would explain why he was so quick to turn on her.

Then there was a deeper, darker thought whispering to her.

"Maybe Father wants me dead too…."

For some unknown reason, she couldn't shake the possibility of that outcome. She had to find Scaracci!

Thronè didn't even bother to check her speed as she raced out of the hideout, hurdling over flabbergasted members and patrons who happened to be in the way.

Using the rooftops, it didn't take her long to cross into the upper area of New Delsta.

Using magic to bolster her jump, she dropped into the yard of the estate, choosing to skip past the guard who only let courtesans through. She silently gave thanks to her abilities, her other choice for entry would be to dress like a prostitute and she wouldn't be caught dead in that get-up anymore.

She didn't bother going through the attic because she had to find Scaracci first. She rounded to the back and went in through the kitchen.

Security had of course—been upped since yesterday. Diamanté was rich after all. He could afford to overhaul his security in under a day.

Laser beams powered by lightning magic stones sat as a deterrent in certain areas, and guard dogs could be seen in the halls. Firewalls sealed off areas entirely. Curiously enough, no human guards could be found.

It was still child's play for Thronè to weave her way around the lightning and disable the fire. It pained her to do so, but she had to put the dogs down. She managed to make it as painless as possible; one strike each.

She made her way to the downstairs office from yesterday and tentatively tested the knob. Seeing it wasn't booby-trapped, she hesitantly pushed the door in.

*CLANG*

She deflected the knife that came flying at her head with her own. She then kicked away the warm body that came charging in after.

"Even wounded you're still as strong as ever, Thronè."

Donnie stood up from where he crashed against the desk.

Thronè's mouth was open in shock and awe. She didn't believe it…. She couldn't believe it.

"What? Cat's got your tongue? Or maybe you're wondering what I'm doing here?"

"W-Why? How?" She balked.

Donnie dusted himself off and brushed his bangs away from his eye.

"Father gave me a mission of course: To eliminate Diamanté and the traitor. That traitor of course being Pirro."

Thronè took a half step back in surprise but kept her knife raised.

"Th—That—That can't be right. Father told me the traitor was Scaracci, and I overheard myself that Mother was responsible for all this."

Donnie let out a laugh, it wasn't the joking kind, it was icy and fake. Thronè clenched her weapon in alarm.

"It's as I thought."

"What?"

"C'mon Thronè, we're both smarter than this charade and game of lies. Both Mother and Father are pitting us against each other." Donnie flicked his eyes downward, his hair falling over his left eye once more. "Quite shoddily I might add. Then again, I don't think anybody accounted for you entering through the attic and overhearing some mouthy lackies. The plan might've gone off without a hitch if that didn't happen."

"What plan?"

Thronè still did not want to believe it. She hoped she would blink her eyes and it would turn out to be some sort of sick dream.

"Thronè…" Donnie chastised like he would a small child. "The ambush was meant to make us suspicious of each other so we would have reason to believe we betrayed one another. We'd kill each other until only the strongest was left standing. It's called downsizing."

"Since we figured it out, there's no reason for us to fight," Thronè reasoned. "We'll grab Pirro and Scaracci, find a hideout, and think of a way to get out of this."

Donnie raised his blade. At the same time, Thronè's heart sank.

"It's too late for that, Thronè. Orders are orders."

*BOOM*

Donnie looked up at the ceiling with a sad expression. "It has already begun. Pirro and Scaracci are fighting on the balcony above us."

Without warning Donnie suddenly charged her and he brought his sword down on her knife.

"We don't want to keep the victor waiting now do we?!"

Thronè disengaged and dodged his next swipe. She leaped over him as he fired a burst of dark magic. He rushed to her and swung at her again, but he whiffed when she sidestepped.

He tried to use Surprise Attack, but it missed.

She kicked over the desk to block his magic.

"You're not taking me seriously dammit!" Donnie cried, slamming his sword on the ground in frustration.

"I don't want to kill you!" She yelled back. "This isn't like you Donnie! Why are you going through with this when you know it's wrong?!"

"Don't you think I know that? Imagine…. Imagine how I felt when I figured out that I'd have to kill the people I consider my older siblings. When I came from the orphanage you three basically raised me…"

Thronè took a shaky breath as Donnie's voice cracked and tears fell off his chin and to the floor.

"You three are basically all I know…." At this point, Donnie had started to sob openly. "But I don't…. I don't…. I DON'T WANT TO DIE, THRONÈ!"

Donnie wiped his eyes and then regripped his sword, trying to pull himself together. "I don't want to kill my big sister. I can't run…Just what the hell am I supposed to do?! I'm nowhere near strong enough to take on Mother and Father. This…This is my only way to live."

He hefted his sword and pointed in her direction; his resolve resolute.

Thronè closed her eyes. She could see the bygone days when the four of them were kids trying to prove their worth anyway they could. Donnie would always be tinkering with a new tool or gadget, Scaracci scaring away the older Blacksnake members. Pirro and Thronè constantly improving and honing their techniques. She heard a faint whisper in her mind.

She wasn't going to let Donnie die. She will find a way out of this.

Donnie choked in astonishment as the atmosphere suddenly changed. The shadows in the room started to curl, bend, and writhe like snakes—to Thronè. He watched in a strange mixture of pride, fascination, and horror as she opened her eyes. They were no longer her usual brownish violet. No. They were molten gold.

"I'm sorry Donnie, but I have to stop this—"

"—So, forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Donnie's jaw sent slack when he saw a second Thronè step out of the shadow of the first.

"Aeber's Reckoning? No…. this is different. Just what are you, Thronè?"

He didn't receive a reply as the first Thronè charged him, forcing him to bring up his blade in defense as they clashed, sparks flying when metal met metal.

Donnie realized too late that this allowed the second Thronè to slip to his unguarded back. He felt a harsh blow against his neck and a muttered apology as his consciousness faded to black.

Thronè let out a shaky breath as her double disappeared and finally allowed herself to feel emotion.

Anger at Mother and Father.

Sadness at being forced to fight Donnie.

Wonder over her newfound ability.

Tiredness from using said ability.

She couldn't dwell on it as took Donnie's sword for safe measure and exited the office leaving the unconscious Donnie behind.

The traps leading upstairs to the ballroom were already disabled. The dogs and monsters roaming the area had been slain.

Thronè had a foreboding feeling that settled in her stomach like a stone as she climbed the staircase. The second she reached the ballroom; a flash of lightning illuminated the area followed by booming thunder.

She opened the glass door to the balcony just in time to see Scaracci fall to the ground, face twisted in shock and eyes glazed over as death claimed him. Diamanté also lay dead close by.

"Why Pirro?!" Thronè yelled at Scaracci's killer who stood over him, face blank.

"Thronè." He said, turning to her, his knife still drawn and dripping with Scaracci's blood. "I knew you'd killed Donnie. He's just not a match for either of us."

"Answer my question!"

"You beat Donnie, I'm sure he figured out why and told you Thronè. We're killing each other to decide leadership. That's what the other night was about too."

"That's bullshit and you know it! If it was true, they wouldn't have commanded for all of our deaths."

Pirro shook his head sadly. "That's not how the Blacksnakes work. At the top, you're always on the lookout. If you're not strong, someone will kill you and take your place."

Thronè drew her own knife, now unsure if the person in front of her was really Pirro. "You're starting to sound like Scaracci."

"Maybe he was right. Our friendship wasn't meant to last. At some point, it would have come to this either way."

"…. Just who are you?"

Pirro lunged at her. "The man who'll kill you and obtain his freedom!"

In a repeat of before Thronè was forced to block. However, she spun and swiped at Pirro to get him off her. Unlike Donnie, Pirro would continue to press his advantage.

"Pirro, please don't do this." She begged.

For an instant, he hesitated.

"…. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

He rushed in and Thronè felt another heavy blow be brought down on her blade. She found herself caught off guard when the second knife slipped into her side.

Thronè blasted him in the face using a burst of dark magic sending him back.

She gripped the fresh wound on her side and spoke. "So, you're serious about this…"

"Very. Please, Thronè, don't insult me by holding back."

"I don't want to fight you."

"I told you yesterday, if you want freedom, then you have to fight for it. Scaracci knew that when he turned his blade on me, and so did Donnie when he faced you." Pirro's face was stained in sorrow, but his eyes showed steel.

Thronè steadied her stance instead of speaking. Another peal of thunder rang overhead and Pirro charged again with a knife in each hand.

With a speed she had never seen from the man, he jabbed five times in rapid succession.

She channeled magic into her legs and slipped to his side, punishing him with a slash to his oblique. A spurt of blood rewarded her counter.

"That's right Thronè, come at me using everything you got!" He cried, launching a kick at her.

Thronè effortlessly blocked it using her forearm and out of sheer habit sliced his Achilles. Pirro grunted as he twisted his body and slashed with his daggers. Thronè let one stab her in the shoulder, in turn, she grabbed his other hand and sliced the wrist.

With his remaining good hand, Pirro blindly swung, releasing dark magic in the process in a desperate attempt to create space.

Thronè backstepped so she wouldn't get sliced to bits. Pirro gasped and wheezed as his arm fell uselessly to his side.

"Pirro, we can still forget about this."

Thronè's plea was met by instant rejection.

"Stop talking to me Thronè! Just…. Shut up! I have…I have to go through with this!" Pirro's body started to spark with lightning magic. "I can still win this!"

"Lightning Speed!"

Thronè didn't have time to react as Pirro appeared in front of her. She felt a blow to her stomach and lightning magic coursed through her body, stunning her. She got careless thinking he was immobilized.

Pirro raised his remaining dagger over his head, ready to finish her. Her instinct screamed death, his blade overflowed with malice.

"This is the end, Thronè!"

No!

Thronè felt that strange power again—like she was in two places at once. Her double appeared behind Pirro and in that single moment, Thronè made an action she would second-guess for the rest of her life. She would never be able to tell if she did what did out of survival or anger.

In slow-motion horror she watched her sword run through Pirro's chest from two different angles. The warm sticky spray of blood that came from his mouth covered her face.

Her double disappeared again and Pirro fell into her arms, the sword still in his body. Together they fell to their knees as the rain finally began to pour from the heavens.

"No…. No… I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Pirro."

"Don't be…" He muttered over her shoulder. "It was either you and Donnie or me."

"…You knew I didn't kill him?"

Pirro coughed and Thronè felt wetness on her back. "I knew you wouldn't *cough* let him die. He doesn't deserve that."

Thronè pushed him away and grabbed his coat by the lapels. "And you don't you bastard?!"

Pirro summoned the nerve to smile at her. "My death is necessary, unlike his, Thronè."

"I don't understand."

"There's…to–too many eyes on us. If both of us sur–survived this encounter…Then Mother and Father would know something was wrong. No one would think twice if…if Donnie went missing."

Thronè's eyes widened as the implications sunk in. "You planned this from the beginning." She sniffed and let go of his coat, but gently cradled him in her arms. "But why go through all of this?"

Pirro closed his eyes and gave her another warm smile despite the cold rain. "Because out of all of us, you have the best chance of taking down Mother and Father. You can put an end to this Thronè. They…won't *cough* *cough* see it coming."

Pirro felt something wet fall on his face, and it didn't match the consistency of the rain.

"Don't cry…" The man opened his eyes and reached up to touch her cheek wiping her tears away. His vision grew hazy but there were still things he needed to say. "End the Blacksnakes Thronè. Claim your freedom. I know you can do it."

"We'll—we'll do it together. You deserve to be free as much as I do!"

Pirro knew it wasn't meant to be. He could feel it, the last grains of sand in his hourglass falling out. "You know I always wanted to start a family when I left the Blacksnakes. Thronè, when the time comes…. it's okay for you to be selfish. When you or Donnie start one—tell them…about…Uncle Pirro….and how he was…. the best damn thief you'd ever…. seen…."

Thronè clutched Pirro's body closer as he finally went still, and his arm fell away from her face limply. His face contorted then finally slackened at ease as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

For the first time in her life, she cried openly. She sobbed at the loss of her best friend and brother.

Her sadness quickly turned to anger.

At Mother and Father.

She wanted to kill them.

She had to kill them.

She would run and grab her freedom with her two bare hands if she had to.

—X—

Donnie had seldom reacted since he woke up in the spare room in Montraine's tavern. Not even when she recounted what had happened after she knocked him out. Thronè was starting to get worried. The book she had been reading while waiting for him to wake up, Arsenè Lupin, lay unfinished in her lap

Donnie inched back to sit up in the bed. It struck Thronè just how similar they looked. Of course, the same could be said for most members of the group, but she and Donnie favored each other more than normal. If he was two years older, he could reasonably be her twin, the single difference being which eye their hair fell over. Thronè's fell over her right eye, Donnie's over his left. Maybe they were twins for all she knew, there wasn't an official birth certificate for either of them.

"That bastard…" he finally whispered. "Scaracci had to die too because he called us out. It would've sent major red flags if he lived alongside us. In a way…. he died how he lived—drawing attention."

"Donnie—" she started but got cut off.

"You're going after Mother and Father." He finished. "Doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're pretty pissed at this."

"I am."

"When are you leaving?" he asked, turning up his gaze to her.

"Soonish. Gil offered us both honest jobs while we're here, so I plan to earn a little bit before I set off."

"That means I'll be the one staying here. I assume laying low?"

"Good job."

Thronè reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile. Donnie groaned and slapped her hand away.

"Don't patronize me, you have a dog to do that to."

"She's not here right now, so you're the next best thing."

"Great…" he said in a flat monotone.

Despite his struggling, she managed to pull him in for a hug.

"I may not show it a lot, but I love you, Donnie. I'm glad you're alive."

Donnie paused but then wrapped his arms around her. Thronè let it slide that she heard a sob as he pulled her tighter against himself.

Two targets, two paths and she was caught in the middle.

Father's sly cunning.

Mother's brute force.

They were extremes of one another, yet she would need to face both to earn her freedom. She needed to do this for both herself and Donnie.

She rested her head against Donnie's as another silent sob racked his body.

"Thank you, Thronè! Thank you so much!"

---

Osvald-The Shadow's Revenge

"Do you have any last words?"

"..."

The slam of the gavel rang out in the courthouse damning him to his fate and punishment.

"Harvey." The man thought to himself as the guards grabbed his arms and proceeded to haul him away. "The man who took everything from me…"

He gave a baleful glare to a red-bearded man in the crowd, hair obscured by a hood, a disgusting, pleased, self-satisfied smile on his face.

"...Shall die by my hand. This I swear."

…..

….

..

.

One thousand, eight hundred and seventy-eight days—and counting. That's how long he had survived in the prison. The ravages of time would never put out the fire that burned in his breast.

…..

….

..

.

The unforgiving frostbite nipped at every exposed part of flesh it could reach. A thin layer of frost settled on his glasses, impeding his vision. He could feel his hands grow numb as he held his pickaxe, but he couldn't afford to help himself….at least not yet.

"Prisoner number 186666! Pick up the pace or else you're going to the hole again! You're already on thin ice for biting another inmate's ear off."

Osvald's eyes briefly flicked over the top of his glasses and to the guard of his sector as he walked over to harass the offending prisoner. The moment his back was turned, both Osvald and the others in his block slowed down.

Osvald took the chance to warm his hands with a very minor chant less fire spell. Small wisps of steam curled off his fingers as regained feeling in them. He dared not do anything more advanced than the basics, lest the steam give away what he was doing. Besides, even if he wanted to use something stronger, the muzzle on his face supposedly would prevent that.

Supposedly.

They said the same about chant less magic, but survival facilitated invention. Again, the only reason he hadn't pushed chant less magic further was that it would draw too much attention to himself. In more ways than one it just served to make his imprisonment on Frigid Isle even harder.

Frigid Isle.

The Solistian prison in the far reaches of the Northern Sea housed the worst of the worst. It exists in Winterlands water but didn't sit under its jurisdiction thanks to its population. Every land except for Toto'haha sent their criminals they judged too foul to be redeemed. Heretics from the Crestlands and Wildlands to war criminals from Hinoeuma. Frigid Isle took them all without complaints.

To house societies' ne'er do wells a suitable prison was needed. Frigid Isle was best described as a stone fortress built on top of an icicle. Even if a prisoner were somehow able to make it out of the establishment, the icy winter sea awaited any poor fool without a proper plan to cross. The nearest continent was four days east—even on the largest ship.

Osvald wasn't any fool however, he had a plan, and he would execute it when the time was right. It was never a matter of "if" only "when". As long as the vengeance in his breast burned bright, he wouldn't let anything, or anyone stop him.

It was the least he could do for his late wife and daughter…

…And more than that bastard Harvey deserved.

Osvald cut his magic as soon as the guard landed his eighth strike on the offending inmate. They always stopped at eight, he didn't know why. Was it a way of honoring the eight main gods? Or was it a way to gauge the boundary of putting the inmate at risk of death (if the cold and labor didn't do it first)? Either way, Osvald didn't care, it just made it easy for him to grasp how much time he had.

The guard gave everyone a glance of contempt before checking his timepiece.

"Alright you lot, unfortunately, we can't work you all day, so head up to the mess hall for dinner."

Osvald made one last swing of his pickaxe, making sure to embed it into the concrete. He melded into the herd of inmates making their way back up to the prison.

They moved uniformly like a colony of penguins to conserve heat. Nobody spoke for fear of being pulled for a pre-meal beating. For Osvald, it was to his benefit. He hated small talk, and even if he wanted to, he was muzzled. No, he used this time to freely observe.

The guards.

The inmates.

The fixtures.

Osvald did his utmost best to commit it all to memory in the brief respites where didn't have to worry about someone watching the shiftiness of his eyes.

The moment he entered the mess hall the whispers floated to his ears.

"A pack of cigarettes says he gets soup and has to knock out two people before he gets what he wants."

"Put some postage on the guards taking him to the hole for a beating."

"If you asked me, that muzzle shouldn't have any gaps, that way we can watch him starve and freeze."

"Wish every stinkin' low-life scum got the same treatment as him."

He always abhorred this time of day since he came to prison. He always served as a source of entertainment among the others. Both guard and inmates alike watched with undisguised amusement as he painstakingly shoved bread, vegetable scraps, or on the rare occasion meat, in between the minuscule gaps in his muzzle. The nights he was forced to get soup usually led to bets being placed on whose ass Osvald was going to kick for their meal.

Fortunately, the meal for today was bread and potatoes. He did notice one prisoner was staring at him harder than usual.

"Emerald, I think his name was. He's known for being quite observant and amicable to most. His eyes and hands are quite shifty. Probably a thief. His hands move too much like he's flipping a dagger. Maybe he's figured out my intentions? Question for later. I would kill for a cup of coffee right now."

Osvald shelved the thought for later as he focused on consuming as much of his meal as possible. He had a feeling he was in for a rough night.

He went back to his cell early rather than pretending to mingle with the other prisoners. His cellmate wasn't back yet. Good. He'd be able to think in peace. He removed a brick behind his cot and pulled a square brown journal out of the dingy space behind the block. It wasn't unusual for inmates to write stuff down. They had a library after all. The contents of this journal, however, Osvald didn't want to be discovered in case of a random cell search.

He opened his journal, grabbed a pencil, and started to jot down his thoughts and observations.

It's been almost five years to the day since I've been sentenced here. One more week, one week at the minimum is all I need to set things in motion. Finding and killing Harvey won't be easy. The corruption runs deep. I witnessed that girl with the busboy cap and the loud voice attempting to coerce the judge during the trial. Her looks at him were too heated to only be a simple media member. Why? I don't know. Probably something to do with rigging the case for that kangaroo court they call a justice system. Either way, it's just another layer of Harvey's shit I have to wade through. I have to escape.

Escape.

Hmm.

If I were to escape from the main prison itself, the main issue would be secure passage to The Winterlands. Optimally, I would either commandeer the guard's ship or stow away. They receive a shipment of supplies every week. Stowing away in a barrel would be the safest option. In order to fight the guards, I'd need to obtain the key for the muzzle. Even then, the outer wall of the prison is lined with ballistae. No guarantee the alarm wouldn't sound.

That also brings up another point.

The key.

Warden Davids and his entourage usually have it on them. All three of them from what I've observed are susceptible to lightning-based attacks because of the metal rods they carry. Also, minuscule chinks exist in the armor they wear—perfect for a dagger to slip through. That Emerald fellow might prove handy. I need an accomplice. Using someone like him, I could probably obtain the key to let me freely use my magic. Or if it comes to a fight, I can stun them just long enough for him to take advantage.

Next, I'll need—

Osvald stopped writing as the air suddenly became heavy and his head started to briefly throb. He closed his journal with a snap, stashed it in his coat pocket, got up, and pressed his ear against a wall.

*jingle*

His ears picked up the faintest sounds of rustling chains. By the direction it came from, it was close by to his left.

He grabbed a tie for his hair and carefully left his cell, taking extra care the door was silent. Crouching down he quickly made his way to a nearby pillar and hid behind it. After the sound of chains, the sickly, windy wheezing came next. Static started to fill the edge of his vision. His pursuer was close. He ducked his head into cover just in time as a bloody figure with a sack on its head floated past him and phased through the wall of the prison. Its weapons glinted ominously in its slender hands as it did so.

Osvald gave a small huff of relief as the signature jangling of chains became fainter until they disappeared, taking the stench of death with it that always followed them around.

No matter how hard he scrutinized those ghastly beings who called themselves Reapers, he could not find a weakness. They weren't natural.

Then again, nothing about this phenomenon he stumbled into was.

Osvald tied his hair back, counted to twenty in his head, and then followed, avoiding the coffins littering the ground and opting to use the big wooden door.

The moment he stepped outside the cold became even more intense and the snow-covered ground was tinged with purple and black. A reflection of the sky that was the same color, a bright red moon hung in it.

When Osvald paused to scan his surroundings, a loud groan came from behind him. Hand shining, he whirled around and gripped the blue duck-like mask of the shadowy blob in the shape of a rock behind him.

The light magic attack was weak, but enough to turn the monster into ashes. Thankfully it didn't have any friends along with it.

Osvald ducked behind a snow drift as he could see The Reaper, now near the dining hall, turn his head in confusion before returning to its patrol route.

After making sure it was gone again, Osvald headed in the opposite direction, slipping into the guard's quarters without a sound. He squeezed his way between several coffins and to the filing cabinet where they kept the reports.

He figured when most people were faced with the supernatural, they would run or hide. Osvald's first thought was to explore and learn. He learned that ordinary people turned into coffins during this particular phenomenon. What separated him from the rest of the population, he didn't know, but he doubted he could answer those questions inside the prison—at least entirely.

What he could find is how far the guards' corruption ran.

Abuse on both prisoners and newer guards.

Murder.

Money laundering.

Fraud.

Sexual assault and harassment.

The crimes were endless and new ones were added every day. The staff even had the gall to keep track of it all as a sort of sick celebration. Probably because they thought no one would ever see the files. That was an advantage: this place offered no prying eyes to watch and hinder his research.

Today's misdeed was Warden Davis embezzling funds meant to go towards heating upgrades of all things. He had them wired. Something about that didn't smell right to Osvald.

The funds came from the guard headquarters in Canalbrine, Harborlands. The funds that weren't in Warden Davis's pocket were then sent to Montwise's university.

He jotted down more notes in his journal with the intent of submitting an "anonymous" tip that would get the place shut down.

Harvey was his main target, but he felt five years of wearing a muzzle deserved a little payback.

Once he finished writing down what he needed, he slipped out of the building and back into the courtyard, making sure to hide behind the well.

Osvald narrowed his eyes as he looked at the entrance gate from a distance. There was a second Reaper guarding it. There were only ever two of them at a time. The first never left that position, it's what prevented him from quite easily walking out the front door.

The second was the one he encountered earlier. It actively patrolled the prison. It attacked anything that got in its way. Both shadows and Osvald himself.

It proved to be almost unstoppable. Those strange weapons it wielded were capable of using both light and dark magic to mercilessly tear apart any of the masked beings it came across.

Osvald knew he wouldn't stand a chance in the face of overwhelming force. Even without the muzzle he still wasn't too sure of himself. It was best to avoid them both. If he was going to escape, it would have to be outside the scarlet moon events as he started calling them.

He weaved his way across the courtyard, making sure to stay out of sight of the stationary Reaper, and entered the library.

During the day, the interior already had an ominous feel to it. Lurking dark corners hid the inmates away from the prying eye of authority. When illicit exchanges weren't happening in person, they resorted to hiding things in books.

The scarlet moon warped it to the point it came out of a child's nightmare.

Puddles of purple and red pooled on the wooden floor. The very dimensions of the building expanded beyond belief. The floor stretched to the ceiling like a surrealist painting. Staircases that led to nowhere could be seen everywhere.

When he went deeper into the library, Osvald sometimes struggled to tell which way up and down were. Chairs were needlessly stacked on each other and scattered across the area. Every so often a shade or silhouette would appear in one, never moving. The ghostly lantern-like elemental monsters that roamed the halls only added to the atmosphere. Out-of-place monoliths also littered the place and Osvald found that if touched he would be warped to a place seemingly at random in the library.

Even his reflection was tainted. Golden eyes and a malicious smile stared back at him every time he dared to peer into one of the puddles. He made it a point to step in them whenever he came across them purely for the fact the image unnerved him.

He tried not to let it show, but this place among everything else, unnerved Osvald. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up whenever he entered the place. Yet it was his best source of information.

He flexed his shoulder, cracked his neck, and stepped forward. He had business to conduct.

The annoying part about the otherworldly library was that the selection changed upon every visit. It was only one book per section that was endlessly copied in some sort of sick joke. Today was about interestingly enough: The Reaper. It was written by a man named Shuji Ikutsuki.

Osvald plucked a book from the shelf and opened the cover. The ghastly black and white image of The Reaper actually writhed and squirmed in the page, as if threatening to jump out. Osvald was tempted to close the book in case it did but instead chose to flip the page. The font was handwritten instead of typewritten. The penmanship was quite fancy.

As I wander the boundary between distortion and reality, the unconscious and the wake, one monster (if it could be called that) remains a constant unfortunate presence in my life. I myself am powerless against them, so I must use my greatest weapon to survive—my mind!

I've had numerous opportunities to observe them from both up close and afar. I've escaped from them by the skin of my teeth and sometimes I've evaded them flawlessly. As such I've made the decision to leave a record on my various observations for if other poor souls find themselves in the same situation as me.

Perhaps this is atonement for what I've done after years or decades of thought in my unageing body pointing out the fallacies of what I truly desired, and the outcomes that in the end are fruitless to bring about.

Maybe I've simply gone crazy and want anything of substance to anchor my ailing mind.

Either way, I'm sure the information here will prove useful to whoever finds this book. You should be tickled ink to have your own personal Reaper survival guide.

The Reaper.

These monsters are usually the servants of calamity themselves from my observations. Formed from the spirits of murderers they haunt places of major distortion. Though rare, they can be called upon and controlled by a being of significant power such as a god, or someone whose powers are approaching God-like.

"Distortions?" Osvald internally questioned as he looked up to the floor. "What exactly causes them? If I know my myth and history, the gods are dead. So, who would have the power to summon them in the first place?"

Osvald flipped the page and kept reading.

They are attracted to those with strong willpower or those who have notably strong and impulsive shadows. Reapers view them as threats and outliers to those who intrude in a distorted area. Reapers are the white blood cells whose job is to control and contain diseases. Of course, this does not stop them from annihilating lesser shadows and monsters that happen to cross their paths. The spirit of the murder inside makes them oft restless for bloodshed, which is why they execute anything they find that moves.

The weapons they use are called Revolvers. These powerful weapons fire equally powerful projectiles. They can store up to six shots in their chambers. Reapers are adept in most kinds of magic; they store the energy from said magic in the chambers which they then fire off at an unsuspecting target with impunity.

Osvald thought back to the rare times he witnessed them turn a monster into Swiss cheese. Now it made a lot more sense. There wasn't a feasible way to resist everything, and the kitchen sink being thrown all at once. He absently swung a wave of weak fire to keep an ice elemental at bay before he continued reading.

Their defense is just as formidable as their offense. They possess no discernible weakness along with a high threshold for pain. Rather they enjoy pain. Pain gets them more excited. Accumulated damage will cause them to acknowledge an opponent and they will switch from using tier three spells to the rare tier four.

Let me tell you, being hit by Thunder Reign is quite a shocking experience! I still don't know how I survived that one.

"Tier four? Interesting. Conventional knowledge says there are only three tiers. It's it a tier unique to monsters, or can a human reach that potential as well? Best to make note of that for a future research topic after I'm finished with the One True Magic."

At his heart, Osvald was a magic scholar. The potential to push magic to its limits was something he'd dive headfirst into to prove and research. To not do so was akin to asking a fish not to swim.

The Reaper's lack of weakness also extends to ailments. They are immune to all enemy-inflicted ailments.

However, they do have one susceptibility. Reapers are vulnerable to external stimuli. In layman's terms—naturally occurring events that affect the population's perception.

For example, in a distortion based on an arid hot area, the Reaper may appear on fire, which drains its health as if it were poison. In a pollinated place, it may randomly fall asleep. Rain makes them more aggressive. In a tundra, they could freeze. Finally, in an area where there's an ample amount of death and disease, Reapers can ironically succumb to despair.

A million different ways to exploit this vulnerability came to Osvald's mind immediately, but his expectations were tempered upon reading the next passage.

The probability is rather low; roughly a one-in-ten chance I find. Not consistent enough to rely on. Well…unless it's raining, that's a universal behavioral effect. Run like hell if it starts raining or you'll be making a personal visit to the place quite sooner than you'd like.

"If I'm still in here when it rains, I could possibly lure the stationary one by using its aggressiveness to my advantage."

If by a miracle you defeat a Reaper…. I must say congratulations and tip my hat to you, good sir or ma'am. You have proven either strong enough to subdue a Reaper or very very very lucky. Remember to claim your reward before you go.

The Divine Pillar.

This ring makes you unable to dodge enemy attacks, but their attacks are now only half as effective. Useful in the right hands.

Oh, and don't forget to leave this information for the next unfortunate person to find themselves in a distortion.

Next, we'll cover Reaper battle tactics.

Osvald closed the book. It wouldn't really do him much good past that point considering he was muzzled. Battle was an afterthought for now.

He grabbed the top of a bookshelf and pulled himself up, just as the sound of chains drew near. He removed a sewer cover from the ceiling and using one hand, hoisted himself to the ladder. The moment his upper body crossed the threshold, gravity reversed itself allowing him to fall safely into cover. He managed to replace the cover right as the head of the reaper phased through the wall.

With practiced ease, he navigated the tunnels and before long he ended up in the bathhouse—The guard's bathhouse.

Under the scarlet moon, Osvald had the place all to himself. For some reason, the monsters and Reaper never showed up in the area. The only respite in the entire prison. He didn't complain about the boon he was able to take advantage of. It did pique his curiosity that the area occasionally flitted in a fashion comparable to a desert mirage. He would chalk it up to a trick of the steam, but given what his eyes had seen, he believed it unlikely. Yet another secret he lacked the means to unravel.

Being a man of swiftness and efficiency, it didn't take long until he safely sat in the open-air bath.

He sat against the wall of the bath and looked up at the warped purple night sky. Even his sigh of relief was muffled and awkward.

These "distortions" as the book called it was a rather recent development. One day about three years ago, he had been doing his daily herculean task of eating, he blinked and the next thing he knew he was surrounded by coffins. It had been quite jarring to say the least.

It wasn't hard to guess each coffin represented a person. The numbers and locations matched up too neatly to not be. He tried to pry the coffins open to steal the keys off one he knew was a guard but found he couldn't no matter what he tried.

That's when things got hairy. The noise he made attracted the Reaper. Just by being near that…. thing Osvald felt as if he was going to die. Only by a stroke of luck the Reaper didn't upturn the table he was hiding underneath like a child.

He spent the rest of the night hiding in various spots while looking for information. He didn't find out about the safe area until the third time the event happened.

…By the fifth time, he knew the Reaper's rotations and could roughly estimate how much time he had in each area.

…By the tenth, he could say he could survive with little to no issue.

However, he still had to be careful of random events, such as the time the entire area lost power, or when he randomly sank through the floor of the holding area and ended up in the prison store.

"The Reaper is obviously attracted to my location. Its patrol path doesn't make sense otherwise. Yet it can't exactly find me with as much accuracy as the book suggests. I like to think that I possess a strong will. Any man would after being unable to utter a coherent word for years. But a shadow…."

He instinctively stared down at his reflection in the bath water. Those same golden eyes stared back at him. Upon noticing his gaze, it gave a wicked smile he could see clearly due to the lack of a muzzle. It started to speak in a twisted version of his own voice.

"Well, well well, you finally allow me to speak. And it's only when you want answers. I had forgotten how pragmatic and severe we are." his shadow mocked with a sneer. He then swiveled his head, observing the area with disgust. "Let me start by saying that the moment we get this mask off, burning this prison in an inferno would be child's play. A magic circle here, a magic circle there, and the word 'frigit' will no longer apply to this place. After this place, wherever Harvey slithered off to is next. An eye for an eye I say."

His reflection leaned forward as if he could have his head breach the water's surface.

"Trust me. If you use my power, our magic can be pushed to its utmost limits. Once you get that mask off, you'll know how to use my power. You have this special place to thank for finally allowing me to use my voice to speak to you."

Osvald furrowed his brow as his intangible doppelgänger continued to speak.

"I know that face. Did I make that joke too soon? Are you perhaps envious of the fact I don't have a muzzle and you do? Or maybe…. You want to know what exactly I know about this predicament you find yourself in. I am you after all. You're a smart guy, you figured it out as soon as you read the book."

His reflection's eyes became uncannily sharp. "I am your shadow. Your true self. The side of you is normally hidden from even yourself but still there, unacknowledged. But unlike others who deny deny deny, you indulge in my existence. Your hatred guides you. Your goals themselves confirm you're aware of my existence. You do not reject your deepest desires."

His shadow then waved a hand in front of his face. "But enough of the needless prattle of me confirming things we already knew—we hate small talk. To answer your question…. It isn't my place to say. This place is a byproduct of someone meddling with the world we shadows are naturally born into. That's all I'll say on the matter. The rest you'll have to find out for yourself or…ourselves I suppose. Either way, it'll prove interesting."

Osvald blinked and his reflection went back to normal, his shadow gone. In the shadow's place, something new was welling in his breast.

"Very informative. It seems I got more than I bargained for." Osvald put a hand to his chest. "Shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and complain. I'll have to do more research into 'distortions' and 'shadows'. But I probably won't be here long enough to take advantage of the library here. I have a hunch this isn't the only place in Solistia this is happening. But all of this is a side objective. Finding and dealing with Harvey comes first. Then, I can peacefully indulge myself in the world's mysteries."

Osvald stood up from the bath and went back to the changing area. His time was running short if he had the estimate right. It wouldn't do to be caught in a guard-only area.

—X—

"Inmate number 02242023."

Osvald looked up from scrawling notes in his non-descript journal and at the guard banging his baton on the cell bars.

"Lights out in an hour."

Osvald lightly huffed as the guard walked away to continue his routine of warnings and harassment. He shook his head and returned to his current endeavor.

He had survived in prison for 1,879 days–and counting.

He wrote of his family. How his daughter would run up and hug his legs every time he stepped through the door after a long day of work. His wife would chastise him about working over but then relented with a kiss and told him dinner was ready. Life was boring, predictable, mundane, yet filling. He didn't know how good he had it.

The blaze of his house would forever be imprinted on the back of his eyelids until he brought the one that did it to justice.

He paused in his writing, realizing he had almost gone off on a tangent about his escape plans. That lone pause was enough for his cellmate to snatch the journal off his desk. He had been so enraptured he had neglected to register the sound of the door opening.

"Whatcha got there, Professor?" his cellmate said, waving the journal in his face trying to stir a reaction. "The little notebook that never leaves your hand–Don't mind me, I'm only going to borrow it for a bit."

The thief rifled through the pages occasionally pausing on diagrams and formulae he had made in years past. "Oh…I bet this little book must be worth quite a lot. I'm sure it'll fetch me a tidy pile of cigarettes." He then narrowed his eyes and tensed his shoulders "You're welcome to take it back though…But you'll have to fight me for it."

Osvald let out a low grunt. His cellmate was relatively new to the prison and hadn't exactly grasped how things worked yet. He straightened his spine and cracked his knuckles, his large shadow fell over the smaller man, consuming him completely. The man's eyes widened, and he took half a step, tucking the book under his shirt.

"If-If you want it back so badly come and take it!"

…..

….

..

.

Later when he woke up in the infirmary, he would recount that the last thing he remembered was the ominous glint coming off Osvald's glasses and the faint sparks of fire and smoke coming off his hand.

No one believed his claim of Osvald using magic until it was too late.

A week later Osvald and a second man named Emerald escaped, only his muzzle left behind near the well was found along with fresh tracks and scorch marks.

---

AN:

A bit of a lopsided chapter but eh that's the way the cookie crumbles. Nothing much changes with Osvald's chapters 1 and 2 compared to Thronè's

Fun Fact: Every move Pirro used was taken from the game. He was about to use his Intsta-Kill skill on Throne when she killed him. Pirro is only one of three bosses that have a straight-up insta-kill. The other two are Father and oddly enough Dolcinea. You have to playing really badly to see Dolcinea's but it's still there. (She casts Doom)

Donnie survived here—kinda. Hurray, this is an AU. For want of a nail to be specific. If Thronè hadn't met Ren, she would've gone through the back with others not realizing the ambush, leading to Donnie dying.

Osvald was an interesting challenge to write. I wasn't going to write his whole prison break, so I took an exploratory approach. Also, out of every story I've written so far, Osvald is the character that talks the least. Not just because of the muzzle, the man simply doesn't like talking. He'd remain silent if he could unless magic happens to be the topic of conversation.

Also, despite the way it reads. Osvald will NOT be a Phantom Thief. He just finds petty pleasure in knocking people down a peg because they got in the way of his revenge.

Building on that. No one but Ren will have a Persona. Shadows do exist in Octopath though. I have…. different plans for them. They're the latent powers/limit breaks as I've pretty much spelled out for you guys.

As always please fav follow and review! I love hearing from you guys!

P.S looking for a beta