Close your eyes, may worries wane,
In velvet cloak, night's domain,
Drift to sleep, my precious one,
Paths ahead may weigh a ton,
Know my love may break your heart,
I dare not leave, dare not part,
But solemn truth’s grim to say,
Sometimes, to live, we must slay.
– Margaret Twice
Chapter 22 – Robe Dyed Red
The back alley lay draped in darkness. Only the flicker of Toki's fire gave the narrow street any visibility. The cobblestones underfoot were slick with dew from the underground humidity and reflected the firelight with an oily sheen. It was here and now that Toki hesitated, her breath catching like a snag at her recognition. The figure she had jumped appeared in a form too familiar to be a coincidence—Partridge.
"Partridge!? The hells are y—"
As if in response, an arrow sliced through the question. It found a home in her left shoulder, the impact wrenching a gasp from her lips. Blood welled up, painting a splash of vivid red onto her pale skin and staining her silks. But pain was a friend to Toki; it cleared the haze of surprise and spurred her into action.
With a snarl, her summoned [Lessons]—currently a swirling mass of darkness within her own shadow—struck true. Partridge's eyes widened, registering the imminent threat just as the claw collided with his chest applying a stack of [Request]. He became a ragdoll, flung across the alley and into the rough clay façade of the building opposite. He lay there crumpled and unmoving.
Toki's gaze swept the alleyway, searching for an advantage in the urban labyrinth. Three warriors emerged at the edge of her vision, moving with purpose towards her. They were clad in armor that seemed to absorb the scant light. At least it’s not adamant. Their features were both familiar and alien—perhaps residents of Alabaster Ring that she had brushed against in passing.
The closest was a balding and lumbering brute with arms like iron bands, holding a mace; the second, a lithe figure whose eyes were sharp, her right hand clutching an ornate spear; the third, a hulking silhouette that loomed behind, his presence alone overshadowing the other two—he held a longsword.
Her mind raced, conjuring scenarios as she backed into the mouth of a narrow side street, the shadow claw thrumming at her side. I can only hope they’re after me. If I stay, I'll risk them going after Edgar.
Toki's white hair fluttered like wisps of smoke as she braced herself. More arrows sliced through the air and with them the warriors charged, their footsteps thundering a hobbled beat.
Toki summoned a phalanx with [Lessons] to parry each of the arrows, but yielded a grimace on each impact. The archer, unseen but keenly felt, was familiar in his role as the playmaker, forcing her to commit to an unending defensive retreat.
Persistent bastard, she thought. The pain in her shoulder seared with every movement. She was lucky that the phalanx didn't pass the momentum onto her body.
The warriors, exploiting Toki's divided focus, advanced with a zeal that blurred the lines between fervor and frenzy. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she was made of gold, and they were gravediggers here for the spoils. Amidst the deflected arrows, materialized the fast female warrior, her silhouette a blur of motion, her pointy stick poised to strike.
The cold bite of steel kissed Toki's right thigh and another bloom of red unfurled upon her robes like a morbid flower. A sharp gasp escaped her—a sound she despised for its betrayal of weakness—and her right leg buckled beneath her.
Time stretched, each second a lifetime as the lithe warrior withdrew the spear, only for her comrade to lunge forward, a sword aimed with lethal intent at Toki's head. Instinct and adrenaline coalesced within Toki's muscles, her body reacting with a survivalist's grace. She pivoted on her left foot and used [Lessons] to intercept and parry the blade's trajectory by a hair’s margin.
"Nice try," Toki spat out, the words heavy with sarcasm, yet her eyes betrayed the flicker of fear that accompanied the brush with mortality. Her attackers circled her, wolves smelling blood, and Toki knew the gravity of her predicament. Injured and outnumbered, her defiance was a fragile shield against the violence that sought to claim her.
Toki's injuries limited her mobility and her breaths came in ragged gasps. [Lessons], an extension of her will, did its best to intercept the relentless volley of arrows, but it was a poor strategy. Toki lurched toward the refuge of a crumbling street corner, the alleyway's mouth offered a sliver of cover outside the archer’s range.
Her back pressed against the cold clay, Toki exhaled a shuddering breath. The fast warrior, charged forward, spear poised to pierce again, now glowing with mana and supported by three additional spectral spear points. For a moment Dutch Eternal's hungry eyes came to mind, but Toki shook it off. She was no longer hapless prey; [Lessons] surged forth like a tempest. 60% manadraw. Wide sweeping strikes forced the assailant back. To beat a fast foe, hit everywhere, and all at once.
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The female warrior's response was a snarl, lost in the whirlwind of dodges and parries.
Seizing a fleeting moment, Toki surged from her cover. The other warriors, emboldened by Toki’s preoccupation with the female warrior, closed in with the arrogance of those who have never tasted true battle. They learned quickly the folly of their hubris. A second and third [Lessons] lashed out, slashing out at the hulking warrior, leaving two with Toki. He gasped as the claws raked his armor, but they were only 10% manadraw each. They weren’t enough to subdue him. They still stacked up [Requests] healing Toki slightly.
The remaining warrior lunged, sword gleaming with the promise of violence. She met steel with Adamant—smashing through the blade as though it were made of brittle glass. Shards of metal sprayed like a shower of forge embers, extinguishing themselves upon the dirty cobblestones.
Toki sneered, her pain-fueled adrenaline lending strength to her swing. The warrior stumbled backward, weaponless and wide-eyed, a testament to the ferocity of a cornered beast fighting for survival. As fate would have it, his boot caught the edge of something concealed behind his foot—a [Binding of Tyndall] mote. He floundered, arms pinwheeling in a desperate bid for equilibrium that never came.
Time seemed to dilate around Toki, each heartbeat a funeral drum in her chest. A choice lay before her, as stark as the contrast between flame and shadow. She could extend mercy—a balm to soothe the gnawing doubts that plagued her—or deliver a deathblow. Grandmother would tell me, to hesitate was to invite death.
I’ll cry later, she thought, though the words were but a whisper lost amidst her own internal tumult. Toki swung the hammer. The weapon met skull with a sound akin to the fracturing of ancient wood. The man's end was abrupt, but she couldn’t linger.
[Killed a sentient born on Aris - title awarded, Murder Most Foul]
[Murder Most Foul: +5 luck]
[[Dearly Departed] has pilfered Dao of Sentience (3/500)]
Toki felt a sudden rush, an invigoration coursing through her blood, knitting flesh and sinew of her right thigh back together where moments before there was only rending pain. A macabre [Request] indeed, life siphoned from the extinguished to fuel the survivor.
The other warrior’s face twisted in horror and disbelief.
“Corey! No!!” He lunged towards his fallen comrade, a futile gesture, as he was being assaulted by multiple [Lessons] himself.
But Toki, now buoyed by stolen lifeforce, pulled back manadraw from the claw assailing the woman warrior. Like a dragon’s claw, Toki’s was also indifferent; a powerful [Lessons] slammed down onto the man and pierced the steel of the man's armor, knocking the man down.
The spearwoman hesitated at the metallic scent of blood mingling in the air. From the periphery, the archer emerged anew, his figure silhouetted by the moon's pale gaze. He shot his arrows again to thwart Toki’s advance.
“Get her!”
Toki pivoted, the motion fluid despite her injuries, now that her leg was recovering. She dodged one arrow, then pulled her [Lessons] back in a phalanx. With a grunt, she swung the hammer downward, shattering the still form of the impaled warrior beneath her—the sound of cracking ribs punctuating the night’s silence.
[Level up: Level 45]
[[Dearly Departed] has pilfered Dao of Sentience (7/500)]
"Fuckin’ retreat!" The words cut through the din.
It’s Three. It’s definitely Three.
The archer, recognizing the futility of his solitary battle, vanished into the folds of darkness.
As the spearwoman turned to flee, her silhouette reeked of desperation. Partridge intervened—he kicked the warrior toward Toki as she bumbled towards him, sealing the woman's fate. Toki's eyes, locked onto the spear woman's fearful gaze as she stumbled backwards. There was no time for words. Letting her live would be foolish. Grandmother would roil in her grave.
With a primal roar, Toki unleashed a final [Lessons]. 95% manadraw. It caught the woman while she fell, a blow that halted her roll and her escape. The warrior crumpled. Toki's hammer descended. A sickening crunch echoed through the alley, a requiem for the fallen.
[[Dearly Departed] has pilfered Dao of Sentience (10/500)]
Panting, Toki searched the shadows for Partridge, the man whose betrayal was as fresh as the blood that now painted her hands. A damning red. But he was gone. The archer, too, had retreated into the night, his arrows no longer a worry.
A shudder ran through Toki as she regarded her leg, where flesh knitted itself back together—a small mercy granted by [Request]ing from the dead. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the arrow lodged in her shoulder, her fingers slick with sweat and blood. With a grimace, she snapped the shaft. The arrow at least wasn’t enchanted.
"Shards damn it," she muttered, wincing as she worked the splintered remnant free. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the drum of her own heartbeat.
Blood welled anew, spilling down her arm in rivulets and covering her robe. Toki stared at the blood on her trembling hands, the scene before her a lesson on the cost of survival. The bodies of her adversaries lay strewn across the street.
Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she forced the tears that threatened to fall back into their ducts. There would be time for grief, for the softness of sorrow, but not here—not while Edgar was struggling, not while she was being hunted, and certainly not while that damn Three was most definitely scheming another trap for her.
Keep it together, she chided herself.
Toki straightened, her resolve a steel forged in these moments of grief. She cast one last glance at the desolate scene. With a heavy heart, she stepped away from the carnage and went to gather Edgar. While Three was retreating, this would be the best chance at escaping his entrapment.
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