Before London
Patchouli Knowledge yawned as she ambled down the hall that Remilia called her throne room. Cream coloured pillars and burgundy-curtained windows followed the crimson carpet down between the rose-pink walls. At the end sat a cloud-white chair. Before it stood the green gatekeeper, and upon it sat a scarlet devil.
"Sounds stupid." Remilia Scarlet declared.
Hong Meiling knitted her brow, looking hurt.
"What? Why? It could be fun!" Meiling protested.
Remilia sat with folded arms. "Training isn't fun, it's exhausting."
"Pshaw, we can make it fun!" Meiling persisted.
"You ask the impossible. Besides, it's still exhausting," Remilia countered.
"But mistress Remilia, you should be able to outlast me, your humble servant? I am but a mere youkai, whilst you…" Meiling said with a smile.
Remilia's red eyes flashed. "It's sweaty."
"Luckily, vampires don't sweat! Right?" Meiling pointed out.
"And! It's of no use to me. I already know how to fight," Remilia said firmly, her gaze lifting to look over Meiling's shoulder as they both heard the slow but purposeful shuffle of Patchouli's boots.
"We're out of rice pudding," The teenage witch raised her hand in greeting, coming to a halt and for a second swaying as she began to turn around and return to the library.
Then she realised both Meiling and Remilia were staring at her expectantly.
"...So, what's this about?" Patchouli asked.
Remilia indicated the gatekeeper with a wave. "Meiling here thinks we should train together, the three of us. Naturally, I told her it's pointless, she-"
"Ah. Categorically false," Patchouli cut in, her purple eyes meeting Remilia's annoyed glare with indifference, "Meiling's suggestion is far from pointless. If anything, widening your array of techniques will make you more versatile in a fight."
"Pbbbbt. My hands are enough," Remilia's words followed her childish raspberry, raising her hands to flaunt her sharpened nails.
"Me and Meiling together could defeat you," Patchouli said matter-of-factly.
"Eh? Now listen-" Meiling glanced back at Patchouli, but her words were drowned by a surprisingly deep chuckle from the throne.
"Bold words to hear coming from a pyjama-wearing potato. I beat you both before, and I have sundered armies with tooth and claw," Remilia purred.
"In the past, yes, but we've grown since then. You're so keen on quoting Meiling's 'Art of War', miss vampire-" Patchouli started.
Meiling piped up, "Now it wasn't me who wrote it, it was a general-"
Patchouli ignored her as she went on, "So hear a favourite of mine; 'if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.' Following that logic, we will smash you."
In the end, Patchouli and Meiling did win, and in doing so were caustically dubbed 'stupid, vacuous know-it-all oafs' before their mistress set to avoiding them for a full day. Things did not improve when Patchouli tried to educate Remilia in her typical tone-deaf manner. Combined with Remilia's pride, it resulted in the relationship between master and servant growing tepid.
It was Meiling's remarks about Flandre that made Remilia pause for thought.
"It'd be a cool thing to demonstrate to miss Flandre, don't you think?
And woe betide the enemy that might think to hurt miss Flandre, if her big sister was even more invincible than before..."
It took another day before Meiling was summoned once more to the throne room, where Patchouli casually lounged on the throne whilst Remilia stood there with a puffed out chest, a hand clutched around a dusty lance from the armoury and a chin that jutted out as though challenging Meiling to say something about it.
What got Meiling smiling ear to ear was the fact that Remilia was garbed in a chinese gi - coloured white with pink trim - and was wearing tai chi shoes, the same kind Meiling was wearing.
"I was bored." Remilia said petulantly before she tilted her head to indicate a second lance resting against one of the cream coloured pillars.
Meiling gratefully bowed her head towards Remilia before claiming her weapon. The vampire princess stuck her tongue out at Meiling as Patchouli's voice struggled past a cough.
"Ahem," The witch cleared her throat to recite the mantra, "Which is the sanguine metal?"
Remilia's mouth became a thin line, throwing Meiling a look of lazy, long-suffering camaraderie that didn't fool the gatekeeper for a second.
"Copper!" Remilia shouted, darting forward and swinging the spear like a club.
Meiling expertly parried the blow with the shaft between her hands, nodding approvingly at Remilia's attempt to surprise her. The vampire, affected, made the tiniest curtsy before she mimicked Meiling's stance.
"Good. What is blood?"
"Two parts water, one part metal!" Remilia repeated the magician's previous lesson, her cocksure grin pointed at her opponent. She sent excited jabs against and across Meiling's point, trying to wrong foot her.
But Meiling kept her cool, letting Remilia's qi - subdued and faint though it was - telegraph her movements. She indulged Remilia's excited attacks whilst Patchouli engaged her, knowing that as soon as she had speaking room they would learn spear drill.
Day 4, London
With a stab of will, Meiling sent a burst of qi down her legs as she sprang back with Sakuya in her arms.
The cobbles they'd been standing on a second ago disintegrated beneath the lion's paw.
"Hold on!" Meiling shouted, Sakuya's arms tightenling around her neck as the gatekeeper centred herself. She marshalled her life's energy, her qi coiling down her feet, preparing to move again.
Sakuya shut her eyes. The lion swung for them, its heavy paws leaving a low whistle in the air.
Meiling sprang forward and upward, her shoe cleared the grasping claws and landed on the solid triceps of the lion before kicking off again, soaring over the beast with the maid still in hand.
Already she could sense the mass of metal and sculpted muscle turning and swiping for her, its metal claws reaching out to touch her. Meiling braced for the red-hot pain, prayed it wouldn't catch a firm hold or shred her legs.
Remilia cannoned into the lion's flank, spoiling its aim and displacing it with such force that its head smashed into the wall in a spray of clay chips and clattering brick shards. The lion roared in fury as it turned on the retreating vampire, lunging at her even as the blood red chains lashed around its shoulders and feet.
Remilia flinched.
But the chains held. Anchor points on the wall snapped off and lines of her chains were stripped from the bricks in crumbling cascades of debris, but the chains held - just- grinding between the beast's teeth and against its arms.
It was now or never.
Her body was already capitalising on the opportunity, Remilia's wide-open eyes watching as her hand blasted forward.
The lion shook as the vampire's fingers tunnelled into its snout. Its nose folded inwards, the metal face warping up against its brow before it collapsed. As the living statue shuddered on the ground, Remilia raised her hand to finish it.
But she could see the shadows lengthen in the corner of her eye. Another lion was approaching. She made herself scarce.
The grounded lion - its face now an indent caged by its own teeth - sounded out a question as its brother caught up with it. The reply was an impetuous snort.
Left alone, the stunned lion with the warped face tried to free itself of its chains as the three remaining lions moved to finish the hunt.
Remilia ran hard to catch up with Meiling and Sakuya, crying out to Meiling, "Did you see that?! Did you see me hit it?!"
"I'm afraid not, mistresh," Meiling shouted through a bloody mouth to her, "We have two more gaining!"
Remilia risked a glance over her shoulder, seeing only one Landseer lion bounding through, its very passage dragging and ripping away window sills, loose bricks, washing lines and signage, the stones cracking under its hammer-like footfalls.
"I don't see them!" Remilia shouted as they rounded another corner, a bar of sunlight ahead marking a road before the next alley.
The parasol was gone, Remilia realised, lost in covering Meiling's manoeuvre. If she used her wings, Patchy's glamour would vanish. If she turned into a flock of bats, the sun would reach all of her. She'd be flying blind with the pain.
Her gatekeeper seemed to read her mind.
"Grab my waisht, mistresh Remilia!" Meiling shouted as she powered forward, her senses telling her an obstruction was coming, one they could use if they were just quick enough.
Remilia almost failed to keep pace, her sharp fingernails clutching at the fabric of Meiling's dress. Remilia didn't know what was going through her servant's head, but she had to grab her before they reached the main street. She snarled as she hurried faster, her hands managing to grab a fistful of the green dress.
They ran out into the street full of startled mundanes. Remilia shut her eyes, screaming through gritted teeth as the sun burnt her. Sakuya thought her heart might stop when she saw another of the metal lions clear the alleyway that had run parallel to them, already turning and pouncing to end this chase.
Meiling had sensed that same lion, and the one on her right, and the one behind her, all competing for the kill.
But her attention was on the horse drawn cart ahead, laden with planks.
There was no time for a warning. She'd left it until the last moment to force them to commit.
Like before, Meiling sent a spike of qi down her leading leg, stamped, and leapt.
She cleared the cart and soared across the road, her mistress in tow, the humans below them unable to believe what they were seeing. Remilia clung to her with both hands even as white-hot sunlight flashed across her face. She heard the impossibly loud roar of the lions before she was clear, the cool shade of the next alleyway allowing her to open her eyes.
The lion directly behind them had tried to emulate Meiling, its leap falling short and crushing the cart, its paws struggling to gain purchase on the shifting planks. The second lion that had been oncoming careened into the screaming horses, its claws killing one and maiming the other in a frenzy. The third had not fared any better, having pounced upon the same spot as the first. As the lions fought amongst themselves, the terrified driver threw himself from the cart as the onlookers cried out and scattered.
"I can't run like this!" Remilia sniffled behind Meiling.
"What?" Meiling said, glancing over, affording Sakuya a look.
Remilia was a pitiable sight. Burn scars riddled her face, neck and hands, and the way she favoured her left leg told both gatekeeper and maid that she'd broken something on the landing.
"Put me down," Sakuya decided, earning a look from Meiling before she pointed with her own chin to Remilia, "Carry the mistress, I can run."
Meiling obeyed.
"Can't run like this, it won't move..." Remilia mumbled to herself, experimentally pushing down on her right foot as Meiling crowded her.
They could hear the lions behind them fighting, gathering, searching for them in the main street.
"Not necessary, just find the bone-" Remilia said, all choked up, trying to hide the pain she was in from the sunburn.
"In just a moment," Meiling said soothingly, hoisting her up as she turned to the maid, "Miss Sakuya, we need shelter."
Sakuya's steely grey eyes read Meiling's as she nodded obediently.
And then she was gone. The maid had vanished in an eye blink.
"Eh?" Meiling sounded. She looked about herself, perplexed, but not for long; her senses told her the lions had found her. They had to run.
But where?
"Here!" Sakuya shouted from a nearby backstreet.
"Right, following!" Meiling shouted back, turning and running in her direction, carrying their mistress with her.
Once more, Sakuya disappeared into thin air.
She appeared again in a crowded passageway, only vanishing once Meiling saw her.
Meiling hurried from place to place, with Sakuya giving her just enough direction before hurrying to scout ahead. Their pursuers began to see their size turned against them, stymied by the tightness of the corridors Sakuya led them down and other times frustrated by Remilia's chains.
Eventually, the maid found them a reprieve in a cramped alleyway more akin to a warren. The buildings had been built on top of buildings, some held up by rotting supports and disused stalls. The thin and ragged inhabitants of the alley gave them a respectful distance, not at all keen to risk the wrath of a burnt girl in noblewoman's clothing and her two attendants.
"Fix my foot," Remilia muttered as Meiling set her down to remove her shoe. Sakuya kept a watchful eye on the inhabitants of the alley as Meiling obeyed, the Chinese gatekeeper helping her mistress down onto a rotted through bench. Remilia herself had the left side of her face scorched a glossy pink, the sight of it attracting spectators.
"Whatever power you have, it saved us," Meiling said.
Sakuya looked at Meiling, realising she was being addressed. A sad smile pulled at her mouth even as she recovered her breath. She made to respond, hesitating when she saw that Meiling's cheek was whole. Painted red, but no longer torn.
"You both have done well," Remilia said, assuming Sakuya's discomfort, "But tell me, how long will it be before the Lions get to us?"
Sakuya nodded, taking in another breath, "If they get permission from mister Barnes, they'll tear into this structure and kill you both, and anyone they can reach in here."
"A fox cannot fox without a coop." Remilia murmured, leaving Sakuya nonplussed. The princess caught the baffled look quickly enough, adding, "How far away is Whitechapel?"
"Two miles, maybe less." Sakuya hazarded, doing her best not to stare at the wound on Remilia's face.
"Two miles," Remilia chuckled, "How do you get a dragon spirit, a frail human and a vampire from one side of the city to the other in the middle of the day? We can't use the roads."
"It is as you said, mistress. In open ground they will run myself and Sakuya down," Meiling said firmly, "The only reprieve we have are closed up spaces, where their size and numbers will hurt them."
Sakuya could feel her head hurt even as she piped up, "That's where Barnes' people will excel."
"What? Barnes' people?" Remilia asked, exasperated.
"Humans, like myself. Reasonably well-armed. They excel in finding and taking people, skullduggery and the like," Sakuya explained, her hand grasping a low wall to steady herself.
"'Well-armed', bah!" Remilia snorted.
"We could use the people here as a distraction, my lady," Sakuya ventured.
"Nah," Remilia cut her off quickly, "That'd be boring."
Sakuya looked down at the mistress, then to Meiling. The Chinese girl gave her a shrug and a smile.
"Do you have anything else?" Remilia sighed up at the maid.
Sakuya's eyes went towards the sky as though appealing to some higher power, the brilliant sun closed off to them by awnings, uneven ledges, laundry lines, rickety overhanging compartments and choking smoke stacks.
Her silver eyes flashed. Smoke stacks.
Sakuya started, her knife suddenly in her hand and thrusting across a young boy who had dared approach them.
Startled, the boy fell back onto his rear end.
"Peace, Sakuya. The boy's human, I can't smell the taint of the infernal on him," Remilia said simply, "This siege won't last much longer, child. I suggest you get your parents inside."
The boy was not merely dirty. The dirt, the soot, the filth of the city had been ingrained into his skin, stained dark by it. His cheek bones were pronounced, his eyes sunken in. The rags he wore concealed his body, though it was plain to see he was gaunt with malnourishment.
He had a half-spent bottle raised up towards Remilia. The liquid within was the colour of cider, a gentle golden-yellow.
Meiling took the bottle, bowing her head to the boy as she passed it on to Remilia.
"Sakuya, read this?" Remilia asked.
"Linseed oil. For burns, if I recall," Sakuya said, looking at the boy's smile, "I think he means to give you this freely."
Remilia looked to Meiling for something, who looked meaningfully at the boy. The princess returned his gaze, making to give him back the bottle. "I will be alright, human, though-"
The boy gently insisted, mumbling quietly. Sakuya leaned in.
"His father was a metal worker. His injuries took him. This oil is indeed for that."
"Stop it. I'll be okay. You can sell this for more than I can use this," Remilia grated, the boy's eyes widening at her tone. Despite his unease, he kept on insisting, until Meiling took the bottle and thanked him graciously. As he went, Sakuya followed him.
Remilia stared at Meiling. "Give that back to him-"
"Mistress, have a care," Meiling sighed, "You'll only hurt his feelings if you-"
"That oil, he could sell for a meal! I'll heal over naturally, I won't be party to shortening his already pathetic lifespan-"
"Let him be useful," Meiling demanded.
Remilia blinked, looking up at her as though she was mad. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Meiling."
She scrunched up her eyes as Meiling applied a oil-soaked cloth to the burns. "I think you're beginning to," Meiling replied softly.
"Mistress, Meiling!" Sakuya returned to them, having followed the boy to ask a handful more questions, "His father worked at a compound up ahead. Lots of facilities, roofs, plenty of ways to reach the sewers, too."
Remilia groaned at the mention of sewers before giving Sakuya the nod to complete her report so they could plan.
When the lions realised they couldn't follow their quarry into the epicentre of the warren. Instead, they waited as subtly as they could, stalking the peripheral alleyways and side passages, their low growls and heavy footfalls dissuading investigation.
As they waited for Sergei, a group of Barnes' forerunners made their play for the ransom on the two foreigners. Some were sharply dressed bounty hunters, others were prole-soldiers armed with clubs and knives. Their leader - an American named Tilghman - was the first to venture into the alleyway, a sleek, wood-furnished Winchester repeater cradled in his arms.
He had expected this to be just another hunt through the multiple dwellings. He thought that they might have to throw a scare into the locals, turn a few places upside down, hurt people to get them to give the foreigners up.
Instead, he saw the princess standing demurely and alone in the middle of the squalid little courtyard. Her red eyes were all for him. Her skin was deathly pale. A chill raced down his spine-
Tilghman urgently flicked the repeater to his shoulder, his finger tensing on the trigger.
He might have laughed if he didn't feel so unsafe. Was this girl so threatening?
"Welcome, human," Remilia said, spreading her arms, "To your own personal crossroads. Go back the way you came and live.
Or press your luck on this unhallowed ground."
Tilghman stood, his nerves straining. This young girl was wanted for slighting Barnes, that was known, and she looked easy to take.
So why did he not dare approach her?
Her red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, her little smile daring him.
Smoke plumed from his barrel, the report howling after it.
He'd shot her squarely through the head, the shadows obscuring the wreckage as she seemed to sway.
"You idiot, you killed her!" He heard his comrade snarl as he was shunted against the wall. Tilghman made to round on him with a retort when one of the youngbloods spoke up.
"Killed who?"
They all stopped and followed his gaze, seeing nothing in the shadows. They advanced into the centre of the shadowy yard.
No dead girl. No blood. Nothing. Not even on close inspection.
"Spread out. Check the homes for whoever took the body." One thug ordered, and others moved to obey.
Tilghman felt it again, that awful shiver. "Tighten up, we shouldn't-"
That was all he managed to say before they heard the rotten crunch of a bone breaking, accompanied by a piteous wail. Someone screamed the man's name as Tilghman heard the staggered footfalls behind him. He turned in time to see one of his younger recruits turning and running down the alleyway-
Again, that flesh crawling feeling. He readied his rifle, shouting a wordless warning.
He was too late as a white blur flicked past the young man, streamers of red following the ghost's fingers. He led the shot and fired, but the ghost was gone, his only consolation the blood curdling screams of the lad. He still lived.
"Boy, come back! Everyone, close up!" Tilghman ordered.
The boy clumsily turned.
The spectre had taken his eyes. Red craters stared back at Tilghman, the boy's hands clawing for safety.
The sight took Tilghman's breath away.
A squeezed trigger and the boy was shot dead by another of the men.
"That was Claude, you fool!" Tilghman shouted, realising his voice was just one amongst several. Some clamoured for orders. Some suggested running. He could even hear one of them praying. Tilghman shook his head at the shamelessness.
How can you dare to pray, having done what we've all done?
"Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Tilghman screamed, his nerves fraying.
Everyone obeyed. Even the man with the broken leg restrained his noise to deep, huffing groans.
A pregnant silence settled over them.
"Duck..."
The group's weapons swivelled one way to follow the voice.
"Duck..."
One man shouted as he struck out at the cool breath on his neck. He hit nothing but air.
The henchmen remained in their huddle, ignoring the pained wailing of the hamstrung man.
The moment seemed to last forever. Tilghman wanted to climb out of his skin, the bloodlust was so palpable.
"Bat," The voice whispered.
Time seemed to slow for Tilghman. He turned and saw her, impossibly close to them, practically amongst them. His mouth began to open so he could shout a warning, but the change stopped him.
The dainty mouth on the pretty young girl opened, revealing teeth as sharp as daggers. Her relaxed, half-lidded gaze was replaced with the wide-eyed mania he'd seen in the eyes of prize fighters in a frenzy.
Or an animal exalting in a kill, he thought.
Fear conquered him.
He watched in mute horror as the vampire's fanged mouth crushed the neck of his comrade.
Pandemonium reigned.
The eight men - now brought down to seven and a half - were tight lipped professionals when it came to skullduggery and abduction. They could kill a man or snatch a woman, they had the means, the experience and the lack of moral fibre to do so.
But this mark was beyond them. It was a massacre. Their clubs didn't hurt her. Their blades shed no blood. Their bullets didn't kill her.
They couldn't even slow her down.
The American pulled the trigger again and again as tears streamed down his face. Click, click, click went the repeater as Remilia slowly walked up to him, the front of her black dress now heavy with the blood of Tilghman's men.
"You'll tell them what you saw, yes? Which direction I am headed?" Remilia asked, her eyes once more half closed, a small smile on her bloody lips. Her brow had been perforated by a bullet, the hole dark, bloodless and shrinking shut.
He stood there dumbly, his bottom lip wobbling. The only sound that could be heard was the broken-legged man's dying whimpers.
"I think you will. If you don't tell them, I'll find you," Remilia teased, "and you don't want that, right?"
He nodded numbly.
"It seems you understand," Remilia said, turning from him to regard the corpses. The rifleman silently wept, staring straight ahead, expecting death to turn and lash out at him at any moment. He heard the clink of chains, the sound of dead weight being dragged across wet cobbles.
"Holy God," Sergei managed as he stepped into the alleyway. It was like an abbatoir's backyard, the blood sheeting the cobbles. The lone survivor had been of little use, simply pointing at the bloody smears that led on towards the factories, idly whispering that 'she'd made a game of it.'
Sergei did his best to ignore the man's ravings, focusing instead on the bloody trail that the Lions would surely be following. If he moved in their wake, he could still collect Remilia's head, despite his men being so ill equipped.
"It's too obvious, don't you see?"
Sergei's youthful features darkened, a hand going to his brow. "What..."
"Why would they leave such obvious signs of their passing? The monster has utilised a distraction!"
"What would you have me do?" He'd murmur, waving off the haunted look one of his men gave him.
Lady Midday licked her lips as she leant down, easing the way her knees dug into Sergei's back. "Go to Whitechapel. Head them off, before they can take shelter in their den of devils. Let the lions have their rabbit and claim the real prize."
"Der'mo. You men, follow this trail," Sergei would indicate the bloodstains that led from the alleyway, "If it's the maid, take her. If it's anyone else, kill them. Okay, you, your men, with me," Sergei snapped, pointing out one of his lieutenants before hurrying away, to the northeast, at the noonwitch's behest.
She'd never steered him wrong before.
It was during shift change when the workers saw a small, hooded creature dragging a chain of bloody bodies into one of the many factories in the district. She paid them no heed. Instead, she'd idly counted the buildings she passed, as though directed to one in particular.
No-one dared approach her, and no-one dared stay when the four Lions appeared. The great statues stalked across the sunlit yard, ignoring the panicking of the humans.
Their quarry had gone to ground.
The first lion entered the musty dyeworks, its eyes scanning the interior of the wooden warehouse. It followed the bloody trail that led to the seven lifeless men whose necks were linked by chains, passing tubs of dye and various mounds of raw materials; earthy green lichen, juicy red berries, barrels of coal tar and piles of sea snail shells.
It heard a crunch of snail shells, turning in time to see Remilia launching herself from it towards the beast.
It slapped her out of the air. She landed hard, an explosive gasp driven from her lungs by the hard flooring.
The lion roared as it came on. Remilia hurried to her feet, her silver knife flashing up in a warding strike.
The blade warped and snapped against the lion's cheek, its claws ripping down her arm.
Her other hand swung in, her palm pounding on the lion's shoulder and denting the metal as it traded blows with her, its paw smashing against Remilia's head with enough force to crush a human's skull.
She backed as her vision rolled, her glamour falling away as she panicked to use her wings for distance. All the blood she'd imbibed from the thugs was spent now revitalising her body. The lion had reach over her. Mass, as well. If she closed the distance, it didn't bother to protect itself, and she'd only come off worse with another exchange.
Then the wooden walls of the warehouse collapsed as the lion's brothers answered the call, sunlight stabbed into the barn like blades, and Remilia wondered if she'd be able to survive this after all.
"Use the dye, for the love of-!" Patchouli shouted at the crystal ball as her hands hastily wrote out the dispatching marks on the conjuration scroll.
"We're here!" The three fairies rushed to Patchouli's desk, the pommel of the cargo they held over their heads swaying and splashing books onto the floor, further agitating the witch.
"This one had better be from the armoury," Patchouli snarled at them, "Or our mistress will be wroth with you."
"It is, it is!" Megane cried, the three fairies hesitating as Patchouli snatched the weapon from them, the heft of it reassuring even as it took her by surprise. She all but dropped the shaft onto the table before spell checking both the dispatching marks and the words of binding, checking again that both types were compatible.
"Hey," Penny sounded hurriedly, her wide eyes on the crystal ball, "Why isn't she using her spear?"
"'A skillful hawk does not show its claws'," Patchouli recalled Remilia's words as she double checked the etchings, "Good, this will do."
"Why aren't you using your magic?" Sandee asked.
"You already have your answer," Patchouli said distractedly, "And a personal message..." She hurriedly scrawled out a note in its centre before she rolled up the middle of the weapon's pole in the paper, clapped her hands and struck her desk, the magic circle flashing crimson.
Remilia leapt from perch to perch, from pillar to ingredient pile, but the four lions crushed through every obstacle, every stall, every tub of dye. Nothing stopped them except their own bodies, and there was little time to revel in any collision; whenever two lions crashed together, there were two more circling, pursuing, swiping to tear her out of the musty air.
She saw a point in time and space catch fire, the shield-of-eyes sigil that was her own heraldic symbol glowing like a pale beacon.
Something was coming.
She sped towards it, diving the sunbars and slipping the lions and their monstrous blows. At her touch, the sigil wrapped itself tight and lengthened into a solid, lengthening bar of light that fit snugly in her hand.
She knew what it was. For an instant, her lips drew back in a grin, her red eyes squinting as she read the glowing message that hung in the air.
Two parts water, one part metal.
Remilia felt a sixth sense urge her to turn. She turned, making to back as she drew the shaft of light to herself-
The kinetic power of the lion's paw pounded through the pole she held against her chest, sending her crashing through the planks of a dye tub.
The deep violet dye poured from the rent wood as one of the lions - the dent-faced one - stepped in, claws scything-
Dye sprayed up. A purple shape blasted up through the pool's surface and whirled down, cracking on the lion's brow.
The struck lion's legs gave out beneath it, its malformed head bowing as though in prayer.
The strengthened steel had parted the copper lion's crown and had ploughed on until stopping somewhere between its shoulders. With a disdainful twist and pull, the girl coated in purple dye dislodged the axe-head of her halberd from the dead statue's neck, turning on the rest of the pack.
The lions paused at the sight of her smile.
Before her advance, they backed, their role in the hunt suddenly confused.
"Your service as his cat's paws is at an end!" Remilia flourished the halberd, spotting the floor with purple.
The pack saw their opportunity, as one launching forward.
But Remilia was ready this time, leaping back, her halberd flicking out and seperating a paw from its arm.
The afflicted lion staggered, its brothers charging to regain the initiative, one they had taken with shock, monstrous size and numbers.
But Remilia was quick and she was strong. She was now armed with a weapon she was accustomed to that had the length to deny the lions their reach.
And she'd been reminded of who she was.
"Raise thy swords, you devils!" Remilia cackled as she darted in, the leading lion going after the feint only for the halberd to slice open its palm. Remilia danced and banked in the air deceptively far from her opponents, her polearm snicking and clipping at their claws, then their paws, then their arms. She taunted and provoked them as she landed and led them in amongst the dye tubs, her shoes taking her over the bloody wreath of thugs she'd carpeted the warehouse with. The lions followed, smashing hoops and planks and splashing each other and the floor with a vivid riot of colour in their attempts to smash the vampire.
A lion's groping paw managed to hook over her halberd, claws sending the weapon skittering under its rushing hind legs.
Remilia let it go. It had served its purpose. They had followed her into her trap.
"WARE, RED MAGIC!" Remilia bellowed as the lions made to finish the fight in their next plunging strikes.
A tremor throbbed through the air and the earth. The stifling, damp atmosphere within the warehouse grew dark, denying even the sunlight that poked through the perforated walls. The thick, syrupy dyes joined together with the blood of Barnes' fallen in a rushing, glowing torrent that curved around Remilia, the vibrant manmade pigments and tints of colour turning red. Redder than red.
The magic-laced mixture expanded suddenly. Violently. With bulleting speed, the droplets raced outwards in a bright wall of death, the intent behind them banging them through the wooden walls, into the stone floor, and drilling into the rushing lions.
All three of them died midcharge. They slipped back onto all fours, staggering and shuddering as their physical bodies registered the hundreds of narrow but deep wounds Remilia's magic had left in each of them. Their malevolent spirits struggled to remain cohesive, their limbs grinding to a halt-
And then they were still, the living statues made inert.
Remilia raised her fists in triumph. "Yeah, Patchy!" She screeched into the empty warehouse, all decorum lost in the face of victory.
The sound of the creaking roof jolted her out of her celebration. Her magic had overpenetrated walls already weakened by the Lions, the supporting wooden pillars now pock-marked with red gouges from her magic.
She hurried to grab her cloak so she could make her escape and her return to the Scarlet Devil Mansion.
"They've headed us off." Hong Meiling's jog slowed to a halt, just around the corner from the house.
"Your pardon?" Sakuya said alongside her.
"Five humans," Meiling explained, "Are waiting on the street where our house is."
"I see.
Will you avoid them?" Sakuya asked.
Meiling shook her head with a smile. "I'm the gatekeeper. I can't let them monopolise our comings and goings."
"And that's not just your pride talking?" Sakuya said.
Meiling snorted, looking her way. Her derisive attitude melted away when she saw the concern in Sakuya's face.
"Don't be worried for me, miss Sakuya. Just get inside the house whilst I see what it is they want." Meiling said with a blithe smile.
She walked around the corner along with Sakuya, seeing just five individuals hanging around the gate. No passers by, no civilians. Just five tight-lipped, broad shouldered men in long coats and flat caps.
To Meiling, the empty street spoke of the power the Barnes' held within Whitechapel.
"Ho-there!" She called. The five wearily turned to face her, their formation loosening.
As they spread out, she could see Sergei sitting against the gate. The realisation sent a lightning bolt up her spine. Six, not five.
How did I miss that?
One of the thugs looked over his shoulder and down to his boss. He gave him a wave forward, and their energy shifted.
Things were going to get kinetic, no matter what Meiling said.
She thought of mistress Remilia as she contemplated her own approach, as she watched the humans produce weapons. Meiling had taught Remilia how she fought with fist and lance - with varying degrees of success - and in turn, Remilia had made a mark of her own on Meiling and taught her how to win early, to win without fighting.
She sent a surge of qi down her legs, the sudden pressure cracking through the road, splitting rock and sending chips and fragments of cobblestone into the air.
That gave the humans pause, their pistols and clubs loosely gripped. Their spirits were unsteady.
Meiling rushed them.
"Shoot her!" Sergei called in exasperation.
One man had the sense to fire. The shot caught Meiling on the shoulder, punching through cloth and knocking her to the ground.
"No..." Sakuya breathed.
The gunman laughed in relief, his attention switching to the maid.
Meiling kicked back up to her feet, unbloodied, and resumed her reckless charge.
"Bugger me, she's still going!" One of the thugs exclaimed. The gunman raised his pistol, he shot and missed once, twice, struck again-
The Chinese girl spun away from the impact in a sparking shower of multicoloured light before continuing her sprint. The cobbles cracked and spat, the sound of her approach like rolling thunder.
Meiling reached the awestruck gunman, her fist powering into his ribcage and driving the breath from him. The others finally reacted.
Against the supernatural, the best defence was to have their weakness present - for example, silver for vampires. The next best thing a human had at their disposal was the 'meaning' behind their attacks, the will to confront the unknown and defeat it.
If Meiling had taught Remilia how she fought in close combat, the mistress had taught the gatekeeper how to rob adversaries of that will, how to rip hope from them, how to install herself as invincible in their minds and change one's own fate.
So Meiling turned her mind to the tiger, her fingers bent like claws as she rounded on the first thug to reach her. She saw the baton swing down on her.
Any other style would encourage defence or evasion. The tiger won quickly by attacking always, fighting through pain and trading blow for harrowing blow, its terrifying and relentless mindset all the deterrent needed.
The heel of her palm smashed into the assailant's head as the impact bruised her shoulder. Her nails broke skin and bruised meat as she raked his face.
Attack!
The stricken man backed hard with a cry when she caught his eye by chance, the baton swinging awkwardly as his comrade caught Meiling's cheek with a set of knuckle dusters.
Attack!
Her temper sparked as she brought her open palm to him in a tight uppercut, ripping away from his throat and leaving him gurgling for air. The recovering gunman fired behind her, missing her in the blur of limbs and bodies. Her foot came down with enough force to bounce his head off of the cobbles.
Attack!
The club wielder was back, swinging for Meiling's face, but the Chinese girl rushed in to catch his elbow on her nose, her palm charged with qi before it rocketed in against his floating rib so hard he buckled. She roared as she sent her gouging fingers into his throat.
The man folded, clutching for his traumatised trachea as she rolled him off of her leg.
To the maimed, her shout was a challenge.
They had no answer, meekly fleeing with cradled wounds, leaving the tiger to her lair.
"Kill her!" Sergei shouted to the two knifemen that remained.
She stepped suddenly to them. At the mere movement, the knifemen turned on their heels and ran, one of them tossing his knife.
"Pity's sake." Sergei muttered, lingering against the gate before he hoisted himself up by one of the iron bars.
Meiling watched him amble towards the broken bodies of his men, lowering to check for a pulse on one of them.
"Huh. Alive?" He asked.
"I am here to repel intruders with appropriate force," Meiling responded evenly.
Sergei winced, a hand going to his head.
"Excuse me, are you in pain?" Meiling asked awkwardly.
"Give the maid, or I will kill you. In God's name, I swear I will kill you," Sergei said simply, his tone turning caustic.
Meiling raised her 'claws'. "I don't have the authority to release her from service."
Sergei closed his eyes, a shudder passing through him as his shoulders loosened. His posture straightened. Meiling could sense her qi was no longer arrested. It wasn't flowing, it was rushing out, stimulated. The air began to warp and distort as though he was superheated.
Once more, Meiling saw the mad light in his eyes, and knew she was in more danger now than with the lions or Barnes' human helpers.
She rushed forward to meet his charge.
They exchanged blows, his fist pounding into her collarbone as her palm hammered his cheek, her nails slicing through skin.
She backed, an explosion of pain and heat racing through her chest as he followed her past her warding swipe, his hands slicing the air she had occupied.
She leapt back another few steps and switched styles, forsaking the frenzy of the tiger in favour of the snake's snapping strikes, one elbow packed tight to her body, her other hand closed into a beak, raised to answer Sergei's maddened rush.
She met his fist with her raised wrist, wheeling his arm down and away, the momentum turning him before her hardened fingers speared in for his neck.
Sergei winced for an instant, but he didn't stop or back, throwing a haymaker.
That should've stopped him!
Meiling coiled her arm in time to turn his arm aside, her closed fingers striking at his right eye, his ear, his neck again, but he kept throwing out wild, soul cutting blows, seemingly unphased.
No, that wasn't true. Something troubled him, some question that furrowed his brow, that dislodged the furious hatred he'd felt a moment ago.
His assault stopped, and Meiling found room to breathe.
"Your movements..." He murmured.
"Chinese martial arts!" Meiling declared.
Sergei's stance relaxed, a hand going to the back of his head. "Very controlled. Why do you not try to kill me?"
"I don't want to kill, neither do I need to," Meiling explained. Besides, she thought, you're as tough as old boots.
Sergei hesitated, as though listening in to something whispering in his ear. He smiled.
"Of course. You take your victims alive, that you might unleash the full weight of your depravities," He said, agitated, his slender grasp on the English language making the words sound borrowed, fed to him. It was making him stronger.
No, more dangerous, that would be more accurate.
Meiling loosened her stance, frowning. "Hey, is there someone else here?" She asked, noticing that Sakuya was standing still, watching. Go inside, Meiling mouthed to her.
"Maybe," Sergei's suspecting smile faded as he circled her.
"If they perhaps showed themselves and shared in your danger, they might be worth listening to.
Speak with me, instead," Meiling ventured, glancing once more to the maid. To her dismay, Sakuya hadn't budged.
Sergei looked stunned, seconds later wincing as though feeling something sharp in his ear. He opened his mouth, and for a second Meiling expected another slur about demons or foreigners.
"I do not speak English well," He admitted.
"That is fine," Meiling said with an honest smile as she narrowed her stance, hands following one another, "Neither do I."
For a second, it looked as though Sergei would take Meiling's invitation and settle things differently.
But then he cried out in pain. A howling summer breeze buffeted Meiling, sending her beret off of her head.
Sergei followed the storm wind to her, a clawing hand slicing up at Meiling's face. She leant away. He kept advancing, throwing tight hooks and punches that threw Meiling off balance, forcing her to back against the gate of the mansion. Cornered.
"I don't-" The thought spoken aloud was stopped by a blow to her gut that left the gate behind her clattering, I don't know how long I can hold on, miss Patchouli...
She couldn't oppose this feverish energy, not directly, and she couldn't stay hemmed in against the gate. She couldn't let him continue his assault unpunished, either.
She turned to the trapping hands of Wing Chun. She slipped Sergei's next hand whilst punching his jaw hard enough to strain his neck. He lashed out to kick, her knee meeting his thigh and fouling the strike.
He came on still, his other hand hooking in for Meiling's face. The blade of her hand checked his wrist as her other hand speared in against his neck again.
She made that her focus, one hand working jab after jab into that iron throat of his as her other hand guided his savage attacks away from her.
Agitated and coughing, he threw a straight punch. She gripped the travelling forearm and pulled hard over her shoulder, trapping his limp between the bars of the gate. She slipped under and clear of him, Sergei's own turn to face her arrested as his arm locked between the gate's bars.
She had a shot at his back now, one that she'd worked for. Unhurried, Sergei turned his arm to free himself as Meiling raised her knee and spun, reckoning a side-thrust kick would make a dent-
A hot wind blasted across her face as an invisible force struck her head, checking her breathing as her leg gave against the momentum.
She fell.
"Meiling!" Sakuya screamed, her expression aghast.
Invisible and inaudible to all but the spluttering Sergei, the noon wraith breathed out, the pole of her scythe spinning in her hands.
"A glancing blow? Goes to show how out of practice I am." Lady Midday chortled, spinning the scythe in her hand. Meiling was on her knees, struggling to breathe, her blue eyes hidden by her red hair and her red blood. Lady Midday snorted at the miserable sight. "My, can't you see me?"
At that remark, Meiling froze. The gatekeeper stopped searching, her gaze never rising from the ground, her breathing remaining belaboured but no longer erratic.
Lady Midday gripped her weapon tightly. "Hold still, foreign devil," Lady Midday said quietly as she raised the scythe high for the killing stroke, "This may take a couple of tries."
Sakuya dove in front of the wheezing Meiling.
"Don't! Please! I'll go with you!" Sakuya shouted.
Sergei began to turn. The hooded spirit that was the noon wraith shirked uncertainly, a spectral hand clutching at Sergei's shoulder. "Stop moving. I can do away with the China girl from this angle, just fine..."
Sergei didn't listen, far too intrigued with the servant girl's words.
"I'm sorry?" Sergei coughed.
"I'll come along! Just don't hurt her, please. Please..." The servant girl appealed.
Sergei shrugged his shoulders. "You... life is cheap, girl. What makes her different, this woman you've known for... a week, half?" He chanced.
"I can't see her. Turn around!" Lady Midday snarled. Sergei could feel the awkward weight of the scythe pushing on him, goading him to obey.
"I'm talking to you, girl," Sergei repeated, his head throbbing.
"Will you move?!" Lady Midday nagged. The servant girl didn't have an answer for him, her silver eyes defiant. Suddenly and savagely, he kicked the servant girl's shoulder, sending her sprawling past Meiling-
Who was ready, coiled low like a dragon. Her head bled heavily, one of her eyelids refused to open fully, but her blue eyes saw only Sergei.
Her eyes were only for her target.
With her knuckles crowned with a blazing ring of rainbow light, Meiling blasted forward.