Book II: The King's Dilemma

Chapter 50

Percy looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at his hands. He looked back into the mirror.

Some nights, he couldn't sleep. On other nights, he slept until noon. On and off, and on and off.

When he couldn't sleep, it was because of the feeling in his veins, like he had just drank twenty pure pounds of caffeine.

This was one of those nights.

Recently, his semblance wasn't working either. Ah, that was right. Erebus had told him it was a side effect of being close to godhood or something like that.

That was a shame. All those sea-green wards were gone. He couldn't even make a simple dagger anymore.

It had been a few days since Blake and Sun had been attacked. Tomorrow was his coronation.

Suddenly feeling an ache in his head, Percy staggered and winced.

Well, he certainly looked fine. No… on closer inspection, and maybe he was being weird, but there were a few wrinkles here and there, and noticeable dark spots under his eyes right now that he was sure weren't there before.

Gods required more calories and nutrition, and he had been eating a ton, but even now, he felt hungry. Since ambrosia didn't exist to jump that gap, Percy had to resort to other means.

He grabbed his bottle. It was filled to the brim with the liquid stuff that Nao and his assistants fed him whenever he didn't hit his calorie minimum.

Everything was blurry when he drank. A side effect of his metabolism.

He looked in the mirror. He looked at the bottle. It was almost empty.

"I drank it all." He winced, feeling sick and pained and winded all at once. He could hardly form a coherent thought.

Percy almost lost his balance. He made himself stand. He stared at the bottle.

"Fuck, I drank it all." Percy staggered, nauseous. He cursed and clutched his stomach. He could feel himself falling away from the mirror, now. Falling away from the world, falling and running.

He stopped, lost, confused, and violently sick. Then he bent over and dropped the bottle and it shattered and he seemed to hit the ground slowly, taking forever to feel it rush up to smack him in the face.

"Fuck," he groaned. He was acting like a drunk, and drinking all of that liquid in the bottle certainly felt like it.

Just a few dozen seconds later, he felt like his entire body was burning up.

No, no, not before a big event. Not before the big coronation that he needed to be the centerpiece of.

With a will that he didn't know he still had, Percy dragged himself up using his grip on the counter. He looked into the mirror.

Everything looked like shit. No matter how much he ate, slept, and drank, he seemed to look like this. Of course, in the morning, everything was fine, somehow. But that was impossible.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

Yes, right now, he could see all the blood vessels and veins and even the golden ichor mixed with the crimson blood beneath his bronzed skin, which seemed to almost be translucent. He was gaunt, sickly—he looked like a monster straight out of Frankenstein.

But in the morning it would all be fine. He'd wake up looking like normal.

It didn't make any sense. Annoyed, he slammed his fist against the counter. The counter caved in.

"Huh?"

There was a loud, ringing noise against his ears, but his hand was numb. He flexed it; everything was still working, and he probably needed to get back to bed—

"…Percy…?"

A voice. Pyrrha's voice.

Had he woken her up? And what about the others, were they also up?

No, no. He couldn't let her see him—not right now. Not like this. If she saw him, if she did… he didn't want to think about that possibility.

He ducked back into the bathroom, but it was too late.

There she was. Rubbing her emerald green eyes. Her carmine hair was tousled, and it looked like a rat's nest. Her robes had slid off one of her right shoulders, pooling around her elbow. Her bosom was partially exposed. A sash cinched her waist.

Looking at her like this, even in the soft darkness of the room…

She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

She made him forget all about the bottle and that he looked like a monster. Suddenly, he wasn't sick anymore. His headache was gone as if it never happened.

Those eyes, soft and full of light. They had ensnared him again.

"Percy, what are you doing?"

"I was just using the restroom," he replied. "You should go back to sleep. It's a big day tomorrow. For all of us."

"I heard a loud noise," she insisted.

"I tripped. Sorry for being clumsy and waking you up," he laughed a bit.

"Percy, are you okay? Please, you need to tell me. Is it about Blake? Everyone's already moved in for a few days now and we amped up security, so there's no reason to be worried."

Just as he was about to respond, she reached out, her slender fingers brushing his cheek. It was a fleeting comfort, and it almost caused him to lean into her touch. But he flinched.

Right now, his back was facing the light, so she couldn't see his face completely. What if she happened to catch a glimpse of him? No, he, a monster, couldn't bask in her presence. He wouldn't.

"What's wrong?"

She must have noticed his apprehension. "Nothing's wrong." He denied her, selfishly hoping it was enough to turn her away. It wasn't.

"Percy, what's wrong? Please tell me, you know you can trust me," she posed the question again, this time with more urgency in her voice. Those green orbs seemed to panic, and she came onto him, her hands finding purchase in the folding, diaphanous fabric of his robes.

Her long, black lashes caught the light, in the same way that his breath caught in his throat as he watched her.

If she came any closer, he'd have to push her. He didn't want to push her.

"You don't trust me?" there was a small, nearly imperceptible crack in her voice. Again her pools of virescent green caught the luminescence of the bulb in such a beautiful way that he could not help but waver at the vulnerability they displayed. Her scent enraptured him, surrounding him, and pulling him in even further than he already was.

"N-No, it's not that…"

"Then what? We made a promise to each other, didn't we? Whatever it takes," she pushed against him again. This time, her robes fell off her other shoulder at the motion.

"We're partners, right?"

His back hit the wall. They were right next to the mirror and the sink, but Pyrrha did not recoil from his appearance.

"You're taking everything on yourself, again, aren't you?" her voice was accusatory, and it rose toward the end of her words. Her countenance was angry.

And she had every right to be angry. He had been keeping it from her. He had been lying by omission.

Percy moved to reply, but the words were caught in his throat—they refused to come out. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, waiting, watching calmly. She wasn't angry.

Yet, she didn't move. He didn't dare to move, either; he held his breath, counting four heartbeats, before exhaling for eight. His chest fell and rose in a quick rhythm as he forcefully regulated his breathing.

And how could he move away when she was in front of him?

She looked like an angel and felt like a dream, the way every touch and smell and breath and sensation was amplified whenever they were alone, together, like this.

In the lingering silence, he became keenly aware of her presence: the closeness of their bodies, her heat and warmth, the way that her short breaths tickled his face, the feeling of her slender fingers on his skin, the feeling of her scarlet tresses brushing against his neck, that sweet, cloying scent of hers that enraptured him, his body drawing ever so closer to her of its own accord. He was so near that he could lean forward and capture her lips in a kiss…

And the room suddenly felt warm and heated, and his throat suddenly felt parched, a tinge of red flaring in his cheeks—he swallowed and wet his lips. He broke eye contact and glanced to the side, into the mirror.

He wasn't a monster, not anymore. He looked fine. Normal. Everything looked normal.

The only telltale sign was the empty bottle on the counter, lying half-hazardly on its side.

And it was only then that he felt he could bear himself to her.

"Pyrrha… I—I'm sorry. I've made a mistake."

She released a small breath, barely louder than the others. The apprehension in her features vanished with his quiet confession. Soothingly, as though she were comforting a small child, her finger stroked the fabric, and he could feel it almost like a second skin.

"Then, will you tell me what happened?"

Her thumb swept from the corner of his mouth to his cheek. She was so close, so near, but didn't choose to close the distance; instead, she was still waiting there calmly. Patiently.

Stricken with an unexpected bashfulness under her emerald gaze, he took a keen interest in the tapering, undulating sweep of crimson hair that curtained the sides of her face. It was so smooth and silky… His face felt warm as he tried to gather his words.

"I've just had some… trouble, while I'm adjusting to godhood. I didn't want to bother you."

"What kind of trouble do you mean?" Again, she reached out with her hand, cupping his cheek. Her hand was cool to the touch.

"Well, Nao's been helping me with a lot of it, but since there's no ambrosia on Remnant, I need to eat upwards of ten thousand calories a day… it's just so exhausting."

Her gaze softened. "And that's what the bottle is for?"

She'd seen the bottle.

Percy gave a start, but she held him back against the wall. That motion caused his silken robes to slide off his shoulders, exposing his upper chest.

Pyrrha laughed, a light, lilting sound that caressed his ears. Her shoulders gently shook, up and down.

"Did I startle you?"

"I guess…" he grumbled.

"Do you know what goes into the bottle? Is it what's keeping you awake?"

"Well, I'm not sure. But every other night I can't sleep."

"You said Yoshimoto is the one who puts the… stuff into the bottle? And you don't know what goes into it?" A frown marred her face, and Pyrrha's intense gaze caused him to draw back.

"Y-Yeah, I guess…?" he trailed off, "She wouldn't hurt me, and I'm sure there's no poison in the bottle. The insomnia is because of myself. My own composition is changing."

"It wouldn't hurt to at least check, right?" Pyrrha suggested. "I mean, just ask about the flavor and how it's made. You can say that you want to see it. That way, she won't be suspicious."

She was right. If he asked Nao about the ingredients discreetly, it wouldn't arouse suspicion. Percy hadn't thought it necessary since he was sure there was no flavor or ingredient that disagreed with his stomach, let alone poison. What kind of poison gave rise to insomnia every two nights? That kind of thing didn't exist. No, those were surely the side effects of his ascension.

But it was best to agree with Pyrrha here. He didn't want to start a fight, and there was no harm in subtly checking with Nao.

"You know, you're really smart sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" she prodded, the corners of her lips upturned.

"Fine. Always."

"That's more like it," she leaned in to peck him on the lips. The action wasn't foreign in the slightest, yet the contact made his face flush all the same.

But his reaction only stirred the slumbering tigress within her, and she pressed her lips against his once more, this time with an even greater insistency. Her wandering hands slipped through the folds in his robes, making warm contact with his skin and caressing the contours of his torso. He gave a small gasp as her right hand crushed him to her, deepening the kiss. Her tongue was warm and insistent, and his lips parted, granting her entry as their bodies reacquainted themselves.

They broke the kiss in a sharp need of air, panting hard as their faces remained close, almost touching.

The smoky desire on her flushed face seemed to mirror what he felt at that same moment. Percy swallowed, his throat suddenly parched.

"…Do you… want to go to bed?" he asked tentatively.

She smiled. The silence was loud, but brief.

"Yes."

The affirmation was loud; apparently unable to wait much longer, Pyrrha grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe with a gentle, yet forceful motion, pulling him onto her and taking hold of him more firmly. Staggering in a half-stride, half-jog, they reached his bed.

His heart was ringing in his ears now, but he could almost hear hers, too. She must have been just as nervous as him.

Percy's heart pounded in his chest as Pyrrha pulled him closer, her warmth enveloping him like a cloak.

The softness of her silken robes contrasted with the intensity of her grip, and in that moment, he was acutely aware of everything—their breaths mingling in the quiet darkness, the way her hair brushed his cheek, and the lingering taste of her lips on his.

For a second, Percy hesitated, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts—even though he had been the one to vocalize what they had both been thinking earlier. The coronation was tomorrow, and although he loathed it, he had responsibilities, duties, and expectations weighing down on him like a mountain. But those things seemed distant, almost irrelevant now, as Pyrrha's fingers traced delicate patterns on his skin, grounding him in the present—right here, right now.

She looked up at him, her emerald eyes full of warmth and desire, but there was something else there, too—understanding. She had always known when to push and when to hold back, and that same intuition was in her gaze now, as though silently reassuring him that this was okay, that it wasn't wrong to want this, to need her, even with everything hanging in the balance.

He smiled down at her, gently brushing a stray lock of carmine hair from her face. His thumb lingered on her cheek, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin as he leaned down to press another kiss to her forehead. Pyrrha closed her eyes at the touch, her lips curling into a soft smile.

That lust came pooling back low in his stomach like a roaring tide, and Pyrrha pressed her body into his. The leverage caused him to fall on his back, and she pinned his body beneath her weight, the pleasant feeling wrapping all around him.

His hands roamed over her body, tracing the familiar lines of her waist, her hips, the curve of her back as their bodies fit effortlessly together.

Percy's breath caught as Pyrrha leaned in closer, her lips ghosting over his neck, her warmth enveloping him entirely. Every inch of him was aware of her—the scent of her hair, the way her breath danced along his skin, the heat radiating from her body. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.

The room was dark, the moonlight filtering through the window casting soft shadows across the bed, but none of that mattered. His world was her—her touch, her presence, her weight on him as she gently pressed against him, her robes sliding down further, baring more of her skin.

For a brief moment, Percy hesitated, caught between the responsibilities looming over him and the undeniable pull of the woman before him. But then her fingers found his, interlocking, and the tension in his chest loosened. Her touch was grounding, pulling him back into the moment, back to her.

With a soft sigh, he let go of everything else. His lips found hers again, and she responded with a hunger that matched his own. There was no more hesitation, no more holding back.

As they moved together, lost in each other, the world outside faded away. There was only the soft sound of their breaths mingling, the craving, lustful heat between them, and the quiet, tender understanding that passed through every touch.

When they finally settled, their bodies entwined, Percy felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in months. The weight of the world was still there, but in that moment, with Pyrrha resting against him, it felt a little lighter.

Tomorrow could wait.

-o-o-o-

The endless dao of the world could only be below his feet. The heavens above could be nothing but silent. He carried the dazzling Mandate of Heaven. Under his illuminating radiance, everything else became utterly dim and listless.

The crowd's excitement was palpable, zealous, even. Moriyama Kenji and his friends from Unit 7b buzzed in unbroken anticipation. The unofficial word was that Special Unit 7 was to be transferred to the incoming Chancellery division, specifically part of the Frumentarii, which would report them as well as their supervisor, Miss Irwys, directly to the Emperor himself! This news was incredibly exciting. Of course, this was only unofficial news, and Kenji did not know all of the details, but it would all come to light today.

"Announcing Lord and Majesty! Sovereign of the Boundless Seas, Ruler of the Celestial Skies, Monarch of Thunder, Bringer of Storms, and the Crown of the Kingdom of Mistral… His Divinity, Apollyon!"

The Emperor wore a festoon necklace, and elaborate robes, which, if it were not for his presence, would be dull and wholly unremarkable. No garments could properly attend to His Divinity.

All the organs of the Kingdom of Mistral appeared at the coronation.

The Seraphs of His Divinity stood on his left—all of their faces were veiled, and their bodies covered in cloth. Kenji was not familiar with many of their faces, except the Goddess of Victory. The Invincible Girl, Pyrrha Nikos, stood alone unmasked, nearest to Lord Apollyon.

The Swords of Mistral were on his right.

Miss Yoshimoto, the divine Pontifex Maximus of the Church of Apollyon, the Stinging Butterfly. She was the commoner who had risen to infamy just over one year ago. Displaying an assortment of combat skills, she had relentlessly defeated many opponents, including the previous Sword of Mistral, to seize the mantle and a spot amongst the kingdom's next generation of Swords.

Mister Liu, the brilliant prodigy, the pride and joy, the Prince of Mistral. If Crown Princes and Princesses still existed in this modern day and age, he would undoubtedly be the first in line. On more than one occasion, he had defended the kingdom, even though his tenure was just barely longer than Miss Yoshimoto's.

Miss Irwys, the bestial Colossus, the ever-reliable Defender of Mistral. The most experienced of the group, she had bested many challengers in her time, and despite her age, remained competent in her own right. Kenji was forever grateful to be under her tutelage.

As he raised his hand and the crowd finally grew quiet at his beckoning, he spoke.

"Dear citizens of Mistral. I commend you all for coming to this gathering…"

When he spoke, his words were culled with the choicest art, yet they flowed with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence. It mattered not what exact words he spoke, but the manner in which he affected the crowd—they were dancing to his expertful ministrations.

Kenji knew that, if the Emperor asked, he would die for him. Anyone would die for him. One man's life or death was but a small price to pay for the dominion that the Emperor sought to acquire and transmit over his foes.

Standing here, listening to the Emperor himself…

Kenji only feared the Goddess, not her creations.

-o-o-o-

Seated in his black leather spinning chair, James Ironwood stared at the hologram projecting above his metal desk.

He pushed away from the table and spun around in his chair to view the world below. He was alone, the city of Atlas spread out before him.

Recently, there had been strange surges of Grimm activity in Mantle. Even though he had the Ace-Ops and the Atlesian special operative units, it wouldn't be remiss to say that he felt vulnerable without Winter and the Polendina girl. They were his strongest soldiers now that the Winter Maiden was unable to fight due to her elderly age.

He was dealing with too many issues at once. He needed to keep an eye on Apollyon and protect Atlas and the Winter Maiden, Fría, at the same time. However, amidst the recently increased Grimm activity, his political position within the Atlas Council had weakened slightly, even if he still held two votes as the Headmaster of the Atlas Academy and the General of the Atlas Army. Those pompous members of the Council feared both the flight of refugees to Atlas from Mantle and the Grimm activity.

Now, he was carefully deliberating his options. The unexpected surges of Grimm had spread his thin forces even thinner.

Tomorrow was Perseus' coronation as the Emperor of Mistral, after which he would be able to recall Winter and the Polendina girl. Part of his mind said to recall them earlier so that he could command Winter to seize the maiden powers from Fria through the brute force method—murdering the maiden. As long as Fria had Winter in her last thoughts, the magic would pass to her, and the most effective, guaranteed way to do that was to kill her.

He knew she would do it if he asked her—she was that kind of good soldier. Then, he could suppress all traces of Grimm in Atlas immediately, and have a force of nature at his disposal.

He shook his head and gritted his teeth. That was the semblance talking.

Instead, he had decided to deploy his reserves into the edges of Mantle to quell the insurgents. This also happened to pacify the fears among the Atlas upper class and raise his popularity in Mantle.

The drawback was that, without any reserves, he would be hard-pressed to find any troops if there happened to be a sudden attack.

That was the gamble he had almost been obligated to take.

He needed to improve his standing. He was the only one who could save Atlas from peril.

Spinning back around in his leather chair, he turned to face the blue hologram again.

There were two holograms, actually—the one on the left was Mantle, and the one on the right was Atlas, which floated directly above it through the use of the Relic of Creation. The red dots represented clusters of Atlesian legions, which were evenly spread around Mantle. On Atlas, the number was far less, but air patrol continued to be present. They were spread around the perimeter of the southern, eastern, and western sides. If an attack were to come, it would almost certainly be from the southern side.

To the north were the mountains of Atlas, the highest mountain peaks on Remnant, which were considered impossible to scale. Less than ten huntsmen had ever done it. Beyond those mountains, on the ground was nothing but the desolate, icy tundra coupled with treacherous, violent sea waters.

That was why he wasn't worried about an attack from the north, and also why the Atlesian privileged bought their mansions and homes there. Atlas Academy was located there as well, which meant a steady supply of huntsmen to assist if need be.

However, right now, there were no active huntsmen patrolling the area.

He could only hope it was the right decision to spread his forces like this.

The die could not be returned once cast. That was a fact.

A soldier broke into the room, the door nearly coming off its hinges at the motion.

"Sir, there's been an attack at the northern end of Atlas! The SDC Banquet hosted near the Schnee Manor!"

Ironwood froze. Shock, denial, and anger all passed through his mind.

"What?!"

The soldier began repeating what he said hurriedly.

The northern end of Atlas should have been the safest, he was sure of it! The SDC was famous for their right screening along with Atlas' military personnel which prohibited any trespassers, so how were they able to infiltrate the SDC banquet?

"I know what you said!" Ironwood thundered, bolting upright from his seat as he slammed a fist onto the table. "Send all legions to the north with the Ace-Ops! Send word to Winter that she and Penny are to return at once!"

"Sir, yes sir!" the soldier hastily saluted and sprinted out of the room.

His gamble had failed. Fate played in the most unfair way. Salem had found out that Apollyon was gone from Atlas.

Somehow, some way, he needed to salvage this situation.

-o-o-o-

She saw her target from across the room, where the banquet was being held. Miss Aveline Caelis—cousin of Winter and Weiss Schnee, and Chief Operating Officer of the Schnee Dust Corporation.

Her beauty was astonishing, like a dream. Glass eyes, apple cheeks, full hips, delicate wrists; tonight, Miss Caelis paired them with a backless, ruby-red gown.

Her gaze had lingered on Miss Caelis for quite a while, and tonight would be their final engagement.

"Waiting for someone?"

Caelis looked up from the cushioned divan where she was seated, her bronze eyes shaded by delicate lashes and luscious black hair, which glimmered under the soft glow of the ballroom lights. She shook her head gently, causing the other woman to smile, her index finger resting on the lips.

"Then… may I have this dance?" she offered her right hand, sheathed in a black, lace opera glove. The woman extended her pale, left hand, encased in midnight lace, and their fingers clasped together as Caelis rose from her seat. She smelt of roses.

"I'm Aveline Caelis." The woman offered her a small smile.

"Miss Nightshade."

They began with a simple waltz, following the rhythm of the music. As she backpedaled, Caelis followed, the staccato rhythm of their stilettos echoing across the polished, wooden ballroom floor.

She twirled Caelis once, admiring the tantalizing shape of her body, and the black, gauze stockings which clung to her silky flesh.

She circled the black-haired woman, coming around her and placing her hands on the back of Caelis' gloves, trailing her fingers upward, until they came in contact with the flesh of her upper arms, and slender, pale shoulders.

She could see how her mere touch affected Caelis, feather-light yet searing with a gentle, blazing fire.

"Do you always mix business and pleasure, Miss Nightshade?"

"I always tend the two. I find that the lines blur, don't you think?" She caressed her partner's delicate chin.

"Oh, certainly."

Caelis whirled, locking hands with her, and they continued the dance.

In the ethereal glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass windows, the ballroom transformed into a realm of seductive allure. Soft strains of melodies echoed off the marble floors, mingling with the intoxicating scent of her dance partner.

"At this distance, you are incredibly enchanting," her partner breathed. She only smiled.

"I'm enchanting at all distances."

"That you are."

They stepped opposite one another, twisting and turning, and she began circling her partner, who obediently stayed in place. They connected hands again, swirling and pirouetting, each of their steps in rhythm. This time it was Caelis who twirled her; then, as they came apart, their hands remained together, the opposing hands displaying the palm.

As they danced, the space between them shrunk, the air thick with the blend of cloying, heady scents that only increased the pooling of desires low in the stomach.

She brought her lips to her partner's hand, pressing an elegant kiss to the midnight lace. She twirled the black-haired woman; her hand on the stocking-clad thigh, she moved forward, and Caelis backstepped, their paces once again in sync. Her grip on the woman's waist, she half-swiveled her, and the woman took a step forward.

Her trailing and lingering touches, gently clinging to Caelis' soft curves, stoked the fire that threatened to consume—a mixture of anticipation and lust.

With each tantalizing movement, the dance grew more intimate, more intense, until they were lost in a whirlwind of desire and danger. Their breath mingled in the air like a promise unspoken, their hearts beating in time with the rhythm of the night.

They faced each other again, their silken ankles tapping against each other as their left hands interlocked. Both of them whirled, and her right hand came around Caelis, placing it on her nude back, while her partner did the same. The subtle swell of their bosoms pressed against each other; tremors of ecstasy ran through Caelis' veins.

And as the music reached its crescendo, she seized her prey in a fierce embrace. The climax had her ruby lips descending upon the woman's with a hunger that knew no bounds. The aura was completely retracted. And as Aveline Caelis responded in turn…

She bit down.

Her jaws rent tissue, with ease. Immediately, it invaded her senses: that relishing, savory taste of succulent flesh and aura. Fear, mixed with desire and longing. The best concoction.

But, amidst the whirlwind of sensation, there arose a piercing scream, a cacophony of agony that shattered the air and assaulted eardrums.

Miss Caelis, now missing her entire lower jaw, let out a guttural shriek that reverberated throughout the ballroom. Sounds of shock and horror drew more pairs of eyes toward the scene, but she didn't care. The desirable blood dripped down Miss Caelis' throat and into her cleavage, leaving dark, alluring stains in its wake.

She licked it up. Flicking her wrist, her kindjal came out of its wrist sheath and into her hand; she placed the knife against her partner's throat. And like she had done a thousand times before, she made that pulling motion that silenced her dance partner, albeit with a slight tug.

Gradually, the light began fading from her partner's charming eyes.

Almost immediately, the guards drew their spears and guns; however, tentacles darted forth from the small of her back, capturing nearly the entire ballroom in her vicinity.

One escaped but was quickly wrapped up by her partner-in-crime, who had taken guard at the only exit in the room. Absinthe came inside the ballroom. The formerly-white walls were crimson; in fact, there was not a speck of white to be seen within the entire room.

"You were too messy, Discordia. Now we'll have to clean all this up." Discordia's fluorescent eyes flickered subtly, and she straightened herself, staring down at the archdeacon.

"Does Ørsted always allow his subordinates to be this unruly?" She placed the sharp edge of her kindjal against Absinthe's throat. The motion was performed smoothly, but so fast that the woman had no time to react.

Yes, there it was. That primal fear that had been poorly concealed the few days they had spent as colleagues. Finally, it was out in the open for her to sample.

"If you behave from now on, I'll tolerate you."

The archdeacon swallowed audibly. "Yes, I—"

She made the same pulling motion again with her kindjal. The head slid off, the blood flowing instead of spurting. It coated that delicate flesh, allowing the body to marinate and season in life's juices. Ørsted probably wouldn't mind.

Now this… this was a true banquet. Her Grimm tendrils spread like snakes across the room, writhing and contorting as they began to feed on the fresh human meat. A few minutes later, one of her subordinates came into the room and bowed. This one understood the hierarchy; she liked him.

"I wish to be diverted while you clear out the rest of this Schnee mansion."

Her subordinate lowered his eyes. "Yes, m'Lady."

"I'll be in my chambers," she said, feeling the insisting pulse in the pools of her lower midriff. "Bring me that one faunus girl we bought from Menagerie, the petite one. And my favorite from Vale. Drug them well. I don't feel like wrestling."

"Yes, m'Lady."

Yes, the one pretty boy with the lovely eyes. The one who looked so much like Apollyon.

Her dear Apollyon would have to be careful, indeed.

In this game, everyone lies.

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Next Chapter: November 15th

-thann