The title was sweet on her lips, each syllable like sugar as it fell from her lips. Yes, Abigail Earhart, Crown Princess and the sole hope of the empire, such was her lady. The sweet taste of the title couldn’t be wrong.

And yet… her stomach churned more with each passing second. When the sweet-tasting words fell from her lips, her stomach lurched. There was a sour sensation rushing up her throat, her body rejecting the very notion implied by those words.

And why wouldn’t it? Alice Vritara was her Lady. It was Alice who provided a place for her brothers, it was Alice who kept them safe and allowed them to grow up while receiving an education. Gabriel had knocked on her door that one day and brought her over to his Lady, turning her into their Lady. To call anyone else her Lady…

The Crown Princess moved without regard for Teresa’s thoughts, her eyes seemingly not landing on her even as she turned to keep walking. The hallway was empty, a fluffy carpet draped across the entire floor.

But Teresa could hear the footsteps of the Crown Princess. A distinct clacking, high-heels tapping on stone, a steady rhythm. Her stomach rose with every clack, the sourness in her throat growing worse in tune with it.

And yet… She couldn’t stop her feet, couldn’t close her mouth.

“My La… Lady, Wait for me!”

The sourness left her throat and reached her mouth as her feet moved. The taste of acid reflux spread through her mouth, a few trails leaking from her lips as her body revolted against the disgust that was filling her.

And yet, she couldn’t stop her feet from moving.

She followed the clacking, the vague figure that strode forward. It was almost like instinct, an understanding that had long been ingrained into her body. The Crown Princess moved, and she had to follow. No… She wanted to follow, part of her wanted nothing more than to keep following the figure.

With each step she took, the taste of vomit in her mouth got worse, more and more of the acid reflux leaking from her lips. She forced her mouth to stay close, even as words tried to desperately spill out. Little by little, the liquid that dripped from her lips was dyed red as she started to chew on her own lips.

She wasn’t an animal, she was Teresa, a person. People were not beings controlled by their instincts, they would be no more than beasts if they allowed themselves to stoop to such a level.

Teresa could not allow herself to become a beast, could not allow herself to act on these instincts. She’d be betraying Alice if she did. The fifth tenet to being a good person, as taught to her by Gabriel, don’t bit the hand that feeds you. His definition of Good was a bit skewed, but that didn’t mean that all the tenets he spoke of were bad.

She swallowed the words, she swallowed the vomit, she swallowed the blood, she swallowed everything sweet that her lips tried to spill. But she couldn’t stop her feet. Partly because of the instincts she was trying to suppress and partly because of what this Crown Princess, this illusion or whatever it was, had said.

Save those below.

The words resonated inside her, lodged in her chest like an arrow. There wasn’t a kernel of doubt in her. There was someone below, someone they had to save. To save those children… Wasn’t that why Abigail had brought her here in the first place?

The Crown Princess, and Teresa by extension, eventually stopped in front of a seemingly random statue that seemed to have been carved out of the building itself, half of it melded into the wall. The Crown Princess moved, her hand flowing across the statue for a few moments, the sound of shifting stones grinding into Teresa’s ears. The Crown Princess stepped forward without hesitation, passing through both statue and wall.

For a moment, as the figure vanished, Teresa lurched forward and retched. The blood, the vomit, the sweet words, it all became a mess that fell from her lips and stained the carpet. She could still hear it, the clacking of high-heels on stone, the grinding of stone and gears as something moved.

But one of her hands was resting on the statue so she could feel it. There was nothing. No grinding, no shifting, no clacking. But she heard it, she felt it inside her. She knew it was there, felt confident in the fact that it should be there. So she retched. Emptied her insides to give vent to some of the fire and ice that was rising from the pit of her stomach, otherwise she felt that it would devour her whole and leave her unrecognizable.

Once she had freed up a bit more space inside her, given the sickening illness inside some peace, she let her hands trail across the statue. The Crown Princess had done it quickly, and Teresa hadn’t really been paying attention, but she was able to replicate the movements with ease.

She dug into the tiny little spots that you couldn’t see with the naked eye, the crevasses and buttons needed to activate the mechanism. And then, the sound of grinding gears and shifting stones dug into her ears again as the statue and wall split in half, revealing a set of descending stone stairs.

The clacking got louder as a rush of stale air came from the stairs, a hushed whisper sounding from right next to Teresa even though the figure of the Crown Princess was already about to disappear around a bend in the stairs.

“Come on, Teresa. We have to be quiet so that they don’t hear us, if we take them by surprise then they can’t get rid of the kids before we stop them.”

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

She knew it. She knew it in her bones. The clacking wasn’t that loud. The figure of the Crown Princess was sneaking around the corner, it couldn’t make such a loud sound. Nor would Abigail ever make such a loud sound in a situation like this, she was smarter than that.

And yet, each little clack sounded as if it would echo throughout the stairwell, as if it came from within Teresa’s own head.

She raised her feet and strode forward, slow and careful steps taking her down the somewhat dark stairwell. A stench accompanied the clacking, a familiar scent that slowly rose higher and higher. It was like gas for the fire inside her stomach, stoking the flames higher and higher. And yet, the ice only grew colder with each passing second, the nausea and sourness in her throat intensifying in tune.

The stench brushed against her face with every step she took, it enveloped her as she descended further, clung to her like dirt. Her heart was beating. Slowly and steadily at first, but with each step it seemed to grow in intensity.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

She felt… anger. The fire rose higher and higher, competing with the sickening ice until her insides were a mess of nausea and tangled wires. She got angrier with each step, sicker with each step.

She hadn’t even known about this secret space earlier, but part of her was whispering to her as she walked. She knew what this was, she knew what was down there. It whispered to her the same way the Crown Princess had, the same way her instincts were. She knew. She couldn’t, she shouldn’t, but she knew.

And then, she reached the end of the stairs.

A blank stone room, two pale white magical lights fastened to the walls. It was small, barely a handful of meters wide. There was a door on the other end, a narrow opening in the wall. The figure of the Crown Princess stood by the opening, looking at something right next to her.

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Abigail raised a finger to her mouth and shushed, gesturing with a wave before she stepped through the opening. Teresa’s feet carried her forward, quiet steps that went unheard as she passed through the opening.

Her breath was ragged, drawing in the nauseating stench. Her heart was thumping, the fire was threatening to melt all the ice.

Beyond the opening, another blank stone room. No, calling it blank wasn’t right, it was gray. Like the gray after a terrible storm, like the ashen gray skin of a decaying corpse, it was a dull gray that inspired sorrow and melancholy. The stone room was gray, the stench was gray, the air was gray.

It was larger than the first room, at least a few tens of meters wide this time. The left and right wall were empty, only a single table placed against the right wall to break up the monotony. The wall straight ahead was line with metal doors, iron bars to keep prisoners in. The gap between the bars was just wide enough that those inside could stick a finger out, just wide enough for those inside to see out and those outside to see in.

The stench came from here, from those cells. Men. Women. Children. They were stuffed in the cells without regard. She could barely see them because there wasn’t really any light in the cells, but part of her knew that all of them had a mark on their neck, a scar left by a needle forcefully pierced through the skin.

Slaves-to-be. Different from the ones above, these had yet to be branded with the proper slave-seals, receiving temporary ones until they were sold to the right bidder. Until then, until it was their time to go up on the podium, they would be kept here, controlled here. Broken here. A slave-seal was all well and good, but proper training would ensure that the product lasted longer so it was a necessary process.

There were six people in the room, guards and trainers. They weren’t slaves, they were slavers. Two were sleeping on blankets they had laid out, one was reading something at the table, the two others were currently chatting as they strode along the cell doors.

Teresa’s fingers twitched, the stench stoking flames as the ice struggled to keep up. She was angry. Every fiber of her being was revolting, partly against her own instincts and partly against what she was seeing here.

“It’s fine…”

The whisper hit her again. The figure of the Crown Princess stood a few steps to her side, seemingly crouched down behind something. She spoke to the empty air, to no one present. But Teresa knew that she was talking to her.

“It’s fine, you can do it as you want.”

Abigail’s words were akin to unleashing a shackled wolf. Teresa felt it inside her, like a chain unfurling as she was given the okay, the signal that she could unleash the fire, the rage. One of the two guards strolling along the cells seemed to spot her out of the corner of her eye, her steps halting sharply.

“Hey, there’s so…!”

But it was too late, her words cut short. Teresa’s hand was raised, her finger extended as she pointed straight at her. She felt the mana within her, she saw the diagram form behind her eyes. She had never seen the spell before, she had never heard the words before. And yet, they fell so easily from her lips.

“Uvaish’s Javal, Argan Hui Teran.” (Nature’s Poison, Fester And Control.)

Her mana scattered through the air as pale white spores, quickly scurrying down the throats and into the eyes of the two pacing guards. They got to let out a cough, but that was it.

The spores clung to them and used their lifeforce to grow, something akin to white fluff rapidly growing on their skin and out from their orifices. It grew and grew without restraint as it devoured their lifeforce, they hadn’t gotten to put up any defenses so they were helpless to stop it.

Their arms extended, but as the white fluff, a moss-like mushroom, grew out from their heads like branches, their arms fell down limply. Naturally, the third awake man saw this, he had sprung up the moment Teresa started to cast her spell. But the magic simply worked too fast, so as he was rushing at her, she could give the order.

“Kervas, Nergal Ka’e Kin.” (Slaves, Kill My Foes.)

The two people affected by the mushroom sprung into action, rushing forward. The man who charged at Teresa quickly spun, swinging a sword at the woman that was the first to reach him. His blade cut clean through her arm and dug into her chest, but she moved without regard, smashing her remaining fist into his face.

Teresa had simply given the order to kill, and as mindless servants, they could do only exactly as she ordered. So as the man was reeling from the punch, the second servant reached him and tackled him to the ground. He then proceeded to turn the man’s face into mush through repeated punches, never drawing the sword hanging at his waist.

Blood splattered every time he raised his fist, subdued grunts and groans giving way to sickening crunches. The female servant that had lost an arm was also taking part in the beating, kicking and stomping at every exposed body part she saw.

Warm blood hit Teresa’s face, but for a moment she couldn’t even tell if it was actually there or if it was just another part of her hallucinations. She looked at the cages ahead of her. One moment she saw corpses, both young and old in them, and in the next she saw those very same corpses huddled together in dejected fear, evidently still alive.

It was mixing together, like the fire and ice inside her, until she could no longer discern truth from fiction.

With all the noise made, the two sleeping guards naturally woke up. One looked a bit groggy, but the second one seemed to react quickly. She saw the situation and sprung into action. Teresa was blocking the entrance, so she moved the other way, towards the cell.

Teresa saw the cell she was heading towards, it held several children. Dead one moment yet alive the next, fearful one moment and blank the other. She didn’t know which one of them was the truth, but she knew which one she didn’t want to be the truth. So she cursed, blood dripping from her mouth as her finger moved again.

“Kervas. Nergal Hui Katek Nergal.” (Slaves, Kill And Bring Death.)

The two servants immediately stopped crushing the almost pureed corpse beneath them as they turned and sprang at the running lady. She managed to tear open the cell door and grab one of the children, a young girl, but the servants reached her as her fingers curled around the girl’s arm.

There was a scream, a young and terrified scream, as the girl was flung through the air. The slaver had grabbed onto her but was then pulled back by the servants, the violent force of their pull lifting the emaciated child into the air, dislocating her foot so that it slipped out of her chains. She was then quickly flung away as the slaver was forced to let go as the first few punches started to cave in her face.

Teresa rushed forward. It wasn’t due to the instincts in her body, it wasn’t due to the raging fire. No, a little cold part of her made her rush forward. That scream. That cold part of her was whispering that the scream was real, that this child was real. Real and alive.

The girl hit the ground hard before Teresa could catch her, rolling along the cold stone for a short second before Teresa caught up and scooped her up. She was cold in her hands. The hot blood that had splattered onto her felt like ice when she pressed the child against her.

The servants, who had quickly mangled the woman that tried to grab the girl, moved on to the remaining guard. He cut at them, but they remained unmoved as they bore down on him. Their hands and feet shattered as they beat him into a pulp, as they crushed bones and tore at flesh.

And once he was dead, they dragged both his body and the body of the woman over, presenting them to Teresa. After all, their master had said to Bring Death, so they brought it over to her. Blood still splattered from their wounds, gushing out from holes made by broken bones. Teresa wanted to shield the young child, but she only had her own body.

Looking past the two servants, she gazed back into the cells. Young and old, male and female, they were huddled together, trapped in their chains, terrified. Alive. The cold part whispered to her, they were alive.

“…We were too late…”

The figure of the Crown Princess spoke to the empty air again, begrudging their failure it seemed. But no, the cold part whispered. They were alive. She saw them. Breathing, struggling, surviving. They were alive.

They were huddled together where they could, the old protecting the young, shielding them. Once upon a time, she shielded her brothers in much the same way.

This is real, the cold part whispered to her. This is reality. They are alive, they are struggling. It whispered, it told her of the reality she lived in, of the truth in front of her. They were alive, but they needed to be saved.

Warm blood. Teresa felt it drip down her arms. The foot of the little girl, the one that had gotten dislocated. It had been torn out of the chains with such force that it had basically been skinned, her blood staining Teresa. She was also bleeding from the head after having hit the ground.

Not dead yet, but dying. The cold part whispered, spoke of the truth. Teresa’s eyes moved for a moment, landing on the figure of the Crown Princess. She looked sad, she cursed their failure as she knelt in front of the corpses that Teresa occasionally saw in the cells.

“My Lady…”

Her Lady. Not this one, not the one that rose with the flames. Her Lady, the cold one, the patch of ice nestled safely in the pit of her stomach. Her reality.

Teresa had huddled up with her brothers like that to keep them safe, keep them warm during the cold winters or to shield them from others when she managed to scrounge up some food for them. Her Lady had saved her from that, saved them from that. Her Lady had saved. Her Lady could save. Thus whispered the cold part to her. Thus she spoke.

“My Lady, My Lady and Lord will save you. So wait, please…”

Her body moved. She spun on her heels, ignoring the two mushroom-covered servants that had knelt down and were bashing their heads against the stone floor until their skulls cracked. They too were included in her foes, so in the end they had to bring death to themselves.

But Teresa didn’t even register them anymore. She ran up the stars and out of the stairwell, momentarily slipping in the vomit she had left behind earlier. But she just kept running after correcting her position, flashes of dark crimson threads still dancing in her vision as a fire-like whisper occasionally reached her ears to worsen what remained of her nausea.

Still, she just kept running. She had to get to her Lady.