The Mistress of the League moved at her own pace. This had been Valtr's experience ever since he'd met the grumpy girl on the other side of that door. Taylor did things as she saw fit, her priorities often a mystery to him. While she had done right by the remainder of the League and Valtr trusted her, it was still his prerogative to question.
"Was it worth the diversion?" he asked as they both stepped out of different alleyways in the dockyards. "We played our hand too early. The heroes would have cleaned up."
"Sophia would have been hurt," Taylor replied curtly, still partly in her hunter's attitude.
"And not long ago you were planning to torture and kill her after breaking the redhead's mind," he riposted.
"Things change," Taylor countered. "She's trying to be a better person. I'm not going to let her die until she proves that she can overcome her nature."
She did not address the possibility that Sophia might not do so, nor did Valtr press it. To Taylor, the ability to turn back was of paramount importance. She had come back from being blood-drunk and was still ensnared by the Dream, wherein so many hunters lost themselves. Even if she were not his superior, Valtr would never dare to crush a fellow hunter's hopes like that. Sometimes hope was the only thing keeping a hunter from losing himself to the moonlight-scented madness.
"Was she what inspired your little crow experiment?" Valtr asked, sliding to an adjacent subject.
"Yes and no." Taylor began walking toward the piers. "It's less personal, less important. If he works out, that's an advantage. A foe turned to friend–" At Valtr's raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "–or at least ally, and possibly being able to free more people. But it's just a theory, so I don't consider it a loss if it doesn't pan out." She changed the subject again to the reason they were active tonight. "She's making her move."
"If you insist on calling it a 'she' then yes, she was making her move. I can't guarantee that she will continue after your little stunt," Valtr sniped.
Taylor idly thumped him in the chest with the back of her hand. "We saw with Coil, eventually he couldn't hold it in. It started spilling out, even though she'd been slow and careful. With Lung, she – and I know it's a she, Valtr. Coil saying it only confirmed what I already suspected. With Lung, Flora–" The waters seemed to still as Taylor uttered the name, waves no longer gently lapping at the docks. "–worked quickly, clumsily. He won't be able to keep it in. You can smell it, the cocktail scent on the air. I know Mom can too. He's coming, if not tonight then soon. But it should be tonight."
"And it comes time for the grand experiment, then," Valtr smirked. That smirk remained, albeit growing more brittle, when Taylor's head snapped to lock eyes with him. Her cephalopod irises flexed, colors rippling between green and amber.
"What do you get from needling me right now?" she asked, scowling at her subordinate. He had no doubt that she could smell the chemicals in her mind's eye, the mercury scent as it was injected into the blood saint.
"I get to remind you that we're all fallible, Taylor." Valtr gave a half-hearted shrug, palms turned outward. "Not everything goes as we hope, and many of our greatest sins are born from good intentions. I don't want you to lose yourself in hope and self-assuredness. It, she, will most definitely take advantage."
Taylor rested a hand on her companion's shoulder, making him stagger under the sudden weight. "Valtr," she said softly. "I don't sleep. None of these recent successes could ever outweigh my fear of failure. I don't forget where I've been." She lightened her grip and patted him on the back. "Now get going. He's less likely to show up if two of us are here."
As Valtr began to walk away, he looked over his shoulder at Taylor who was proceeding further toward the piers. The tall young woman reached into her coat and withdrew a dark-red bottle, shattering it on the ground. Valtr broke into a sprint, wanting to outrun the scent before the blood cocktail tempted him to lap it all up. His teeth hurt, pushing further out of his gums at the very thought of such rich blood.
Clouds drifted to obscure the moon. Across the city, native Brocktonites began to shudder: something primal in them warned instinctively of bad tidings.
—
Henry and Miriam Veder sat on one side of the transport, Greg and Sophia on the other. Both pairs were flanked by PRT troopers. "So how did you and Greg really meet?" the family patriarch asked. "What aren't you telling us?"
Sophia barely resisted a peeved click of the tongue, though she did make sharp eye contact with the man. "What I said before is still all true. Goddamn, this is another reason we keep our identities secret: people start second-guessing everything. We were worried about Taylor, Taylor was worried about Emma, everything ended up working out. I've never been interested in Greg as Shadow Stalker."
"...So does that mean you're interested in me as Sophia?" Greg teased, trying to defuse the situation with some humor and realizing too late just what he'd been implying.
"Ssssshut the fuck up," Sophia hissed, thumping him in the chest with the back of her hand and looking away. Both of them had burning cheeks.
Despite the fear that had gripped them that night, Miriam couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up from her chest.
Henry relaxed slightly. Sophia was good at operational security but the girl couldn't hide her emotions in a sandstorm. Her nervous puppy-dog blush was enough to say that her attention on Greg was not of a professional nature. "...So," he addressed anyone who could answer his question, "will we be able to go home? That one cape got away: will we have to move to avoid further attacks?"
"Bloodmoon doesn't leave witnesses unless she wants to," Sophia replied before the troopers could field the question. "I guarantee that cape's already stone dead."
The trooper beside Miriam added his own two cents, his black and blank helmet digitally assisting his voice and keeping it from being muffled. "It's unlikely that you'll see a repeat attack after such a loss, but if you did, moving wouldn't really do anything. Presumably they targeted you for a reason and they'd continue to give chase. But we can discuss that at headquarters. With everything quiet after Wolf Day, we have a genuine chance to take down these Fallen who've come to Brockton Bay."
Henry was already beginning to calculate, but he asked the question that he figured was expected from him. "So we get to act as bait, then?"
"No, sir, I mean that the PRT can justify better protection for you as a result. For tonight, we're setting up a couple of rooms for you just in case the Fallen decide to come around and check what happened to their people."
Henry was about to reply when, as a collective, they all shivered.
"Did you feel that?" Sophia hissed sharply. She didn't know why she was whispering.
Greg nodded. "Yeah. It felt like…"
"Don't you fuckin' say it," she snapped, even though he'd already cut himself off.
The trooper beside Miriam clicked on his radio, calling to the driver. "Let's double-time it. I don't like the idea of being out in the open in a bad neighborhood."
(BREAK)
It took a long time to understand what exactly got Yharnamites so bonkers about this stuff. The blood cocktail, when I first smelled it, reeked. Now, the scent made my teeth itch. The Little Ones waited dutifully to clean up the spill once it was no longer necessary, the scent drifting on the wind.
I stood stock-still, waiting for the response. When the staggering footfalls reached my sensitive ears, I knew I had more time to wait. My hair drifted in the gentle coastal wind, and I rested a hand on Rakuyo's hilt. I didn't know if I would need my favorite weapon, imbued with essence and knowledge from Maria herself, but I wanted to have it just in case.
The enormous man rounded a corner, emerging from behind a warehouse. Lung had always been large: rumor held that he'd been smaller before his trigger event, but only the Japanese had a chance of knowing and the rumors were aggressively quashed in the aftermath of his takeover here in Brockton Bay. Now he was stretched even larger, but unnaturally so. While he wasn't hairy, his body was stretched like the maddened huntsmen who darkened Yharnam's streets.
I spared a moment to feel bad for the PRT recon drone that had been circling overhead: the pilot was about to have a very bad day.
"I wondered how long it would take you to show up, Kenta," I addressed the shell of a man, watching him stiffen. He was still shirtless, dragon mask askew, shoes nonexistent. "I'm not going to call you Lung: someone's pet doesn't get to name himself."
"You're the cause of all of this," he accused, jaw working stiffly. It was a combination of lack of use and the hinge being too loose to function.
"Of course she told you that," I snipped in return. "And you want to believe it, so you have someone else to blame. It's not her fault for hunting you, or yours for being too weak." I still didn't draw my weapon, condescending casually to him.
He snarled. The seven-foot stretched creature began to elongate and broaden further, anticipating conflict. "You must return to her. Then–"
"Then she'll let you go?" I smirked. "She keeps bargains like a faerie. Whatever you get out of this, it will destroy you." I theatrically sniffed the air. "Then again, you'd obey no matter what. Cowards are easy to control, and I can smell your fear everywhere."
He roared, the sound of an enraged man playing at being a monster, but I heard the ozone at the back of his throat. Kenta's eyes glowed red and I could smell the static of his hatred. He bounded toward me and I reciprocated. He had greater reach but my speed made his reach useless. I darted in and jarred him with a light tap to the face, cracking his mask before I gripped him by the left arm.
The flesh began to pulp and split under my grip as I braced my other hand against his ribcage, sending fractures through the bones therein. With a single sharp yank, I tore his arm from its socket and then the skin ripped, shearing his left arm from his body and tossing it aside. Much like with the blood cocktail, I ensured that the Little Ones would clean up that mess. I didn't want his tainted blood proliferating.
Kenta hit the ground like a skipping stone, bouncing slightly a few times before he got his legs under himself and stood. The red light of the moon blazed down over him as lightning crackled across his shimmering skin. He threw back his head and screamed, igniting. I'd seen footage of Lung fights before: the big man blazed like a bonfire, casting everything in a red-and-yellow hue. The fire that rose from Kenta was bluish, similar to the lightning that began to die down...or rather, the lightning was becoming the fire. A new experiment, a regenerating Darkbeast?
A fresh arm burst from his shoulder as his entire body began to sheathe itself in chrome scales. I grinned back, still not drawing my weapon. "Well, if you're getting dressed up…" I snapped my fingers and mist briefly enveloped my body. When it vanished, I was attired in the elegant garb of a Cainhurst knight. What better to wear to slay a dragon? A silk-and-velvet dress plummeted almost to the ground, sweeping up into a tight and frilled Edwardian collar. Over that was a sleeveless overcoat, black and embroidered with gold thread. Heavy gloves and riding boots, and a red cape over my left shoulder completed the ensemble. On my face was the polished burgonet of a Cainhurst soldier: I didn't understand how the metal was treated so that I could see through the faceplate, but I didn't question it.
"Come on then, beast," I provoked, and he obeyed.
Kenta lunged with a savage bellow, newly-sprouted claws tearing into the asphalt. Of course, I had already moved well aside, heading for the piers. The claws on his feet further tortured the ground, melting it back into tar from the residual heat as he gave chase. He continued to grow, but differently. He wasn't bulking up like normal Lung fights, nor was he becoming long and spindly like a Darkbeast. Instead he was elongating more like a serpent, his muzzle pushing forward nose-first.
I danced aside from another gout of blue flame, my feet finding purchase on the surface of the water. Among the Boat Graveyard, I was reminded of the wrecks surrounding the fishing hamlet and out into the distance. "Is this really all that you can do? What a joke. And here I thought you might at least be a worthwhile fight."
—
The degenerate dragon spewed another stream of flame, hot enough to instantly melt the wreckage and steam away the water. Bloodmoon leapt over the fire, then instead of stepping back onto the water she landed on a railing made from mist, beginning to grind down its length. Both Kenta and the PRT observers stared in utter befuddlement.
—
I didn't trust my ability to do what was needed in the real world. I needed someplace that bent to my will, and the best means to bring Kenta to my domain was a portal. But he wouldn't be so accommodating as to just step through one: I had to lure him. Thankfully the Little Ones were happy to help, appearing beneath me with their hands spread to let my shoes slide over their palms. I drew Evelyn and shot Kenta in the face, making him stagger. A verbal taunt would be too obvious, so I had to let my body language do the talking. I had to make him feel like I was showboating explicitly because I saw him as so little of a threat. He had to be utterly blind with rage.
And with the scream that tore free from his throat, undulating forward and taking flight without wings, I'd succeeded. The serpentine dragon's scales were beginning to break away, revealing tufts of silvery fur beneath. The face resolved itself into a lupine one, albeit still covered in scales.
I crouched to help reduce wind shear and juked my misty rail from side to side to avoid the wolf-dragon's ongoing assault. The red moon blazed down from overhead as his blue fire cast the water below in a sickly burgundy hue. My small human body slipped past ships while Kenta's slithering frame crashed through them, slowing him further.
Kenta began to gain once again, and the timing couldn't have been more perfect. My mist completed the circuit, closing the loop. Above us, the moon surged with the sickly yellow reflected in my eyes. I surprised him by turning and leaping at him, dodging the startled snap of his jaws and sinking my fingers into his neck. My cape opened into a silken wing and beat to help direct our descent.
To outside observers, we plummeted through the wide ring of mist and vanished. From Kenta's perspective, the world went from night to the perpetual dusk of the badlands. I rode his body down to the narrow mountain arena, crashing him into the broken tower.
Now we were in the Nightmare, which itself was part of me.
This was my domain, won by right of conquest. It bent to my will.
And I would bend him to my will in turn.