2.21

The motel really is dying. The yellowing lights flicker, the rotting floorboards bend underfoot, and every crevice is littered in creeping mold and decay.

My shoulders heave, and my breath comes out in bursts. I try to focus.

Satanas tenses, its muscles bulging as it hauls its hulking body into motion, the horns covering its body shifting as its skin is stretched with the movement.

Its musculature is only vaguely similar to a human’s so it’s difficult to predict the creature’s exact movements.

Thankfully, it really likes to telegraph its attacks.

Satanas lunges, lashing out with a wild punch aimed straight at my head. I jump to the side, dodging the blow and trying to remain in close quarters even as its momentum carries it farther forward.

It stops earlier than I expect, slamming a heavy foot into the ground to halt its momentum, and swinging the other fist at me in a wide sweep.

I duck, and feel the wind whip against my hair as a veritable wall of muscle passes above my head.

I need an opening —

Satanas preserves its momentum further, carrying its arms around and up into a downwards slam, shattering floorboards and forcing me into a sloppy roll, struggling to regain my footing. I barely manage it in time to look up and see Satanas dragging both fists against the ground in a two-handed sweep, tearing the floor up around it.

No time to dodge. I solidify my stance, still kneeling, and hold up my tonfas.

The impact rocks my body, sending sparks of pain shooting up my arms and sending me skidding across the room, guard broken and bones shaking.

“You should give up,” I hear from behind me. “You’re only hurting yourself by continuing. I’d agree to a temporary ceasefire.”

Satanas advances, heavy footsteps shaking the ground.

I grit my teeth and use my power to quickly repair the lacerations I sustained from the attack.

Faust sighs. “…I don’t want to do this.”

Satanas pulls back a fist, face screwing into an empty expression of contempt.

I stand up.

“Just — don’t kill her.”

The fist descends.

There. Finally.

I drop the tonfa in my right hand, shifting into an offensive stance and pulling my arm back, level with my waist. Satanas’ arm closes in, and when it reaches within a couple feet of my body, I lash out, spending my third pressure booster.

A jet of steam bursts out, quickly blown away by the impact of our hands colliding, sending out a shockwave strong enough to shatter the bones in my right hand and send lacerations spiraling up my limbs. The pain of blocking Satanas’ earlier attack feels like nothing compared to the white-hot terror coursing through my entire arm.

Satanas itself isn’t doing much better. Spurts of black liquid appear in small lines along its arm, and its constant expression shatters slightly as its arm starts to go limp. Its mouth hangs open, and it moves to cradle the ruined arm.

I ignore it, making an about face and immediately breaking into a sprint towards Faust.

No time to make repairs. I ignore the shooting pains as my limp arm is jostled with every step.

Faust’s eyes widen, and he takes an instinctive step back.

He puts away that damn notebook, and pulls out a small box. From this distance, I can’t quite tell what it’s made of — but it looks ornate, a glossy black lined with polished gold. He flips it open and pulls something out.

A small, plastic keychain, dotted with spots of glitter and shiny plastic beads.

It’s Sera’s.

What — what is he doing?

Faust slips the box back into his coat pocket and closes his hand around the keychain.

His hand bursts into infernal flames, glimmering an unnatural ruby red and immediately flooding the room with the scent of sulfur and thick smoke. He crouches down, lightly touching the floor with the tips of his other hand, and a small sigil springs to life, burning with hellish fire around him.

“Come, Belphegor!”

A tiny, bulbous thing no larger than a small dog crawls out from behind the flames, spitting and gurgling.

“Exempt me from your influence and follow me for twenty spans!”

The flames snuff out, and when he opens his hand, a small cloud of ash drifts away.

My vision darkens, and I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I’m not sure what kind of face I might be making.

Vincent. You — fucker.

The next step I take falters — as soon as those flames disperse it’s like I can feel a physical weight pulling down on me, and a sickly aura emanating from that thing at his feet. Glancing behind me, it seems like Satanas is having trouble moving as well, even as it attempts to recover.

“Slow… down… sleepy… time…” The creature gurgles, stubby limbs scrabbling for purchase.

I stumble, boots landing heavily on the floor as I struggle for each step forwards.

“…You… you…”

My breath comes out in huffs. It’s getting harder to breathe.

“…You pathetic, flighty motherfucker! Is this what you’ve been doing for the past half a year?! Running around, spitting out one-liners and burning keepsakes?!”

I huff, dragging myself closer. Vincent seems spooked.

“Did you think you could just run off and squat in a house on the other side of the city for no reason?! Did you think nothing would happen?! Did —“

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My throat closes. I push through.

“Did you think no one would miss you?!”

Vincent takes a hesitant step back. “I’m not sure I —“

“Don’t you fucking dare run away again!”

He turns away.

I activate my power. I need to destroy Belphegor as soon as possible, but I’m out of pressure boosters in both legs, and it seems like the dampening effect is getting stronger the closer I get to it.

I just need enough for one good leap. Digging through the fat and shattered bones of my right arm, I consume a large portion of the stored energy to fuel a quicker change. Then, I convert everything that’s left to muscle, as dense as I can make it and specialized for exactly one movement.

Dropping my power, I reach forward with the bloated arm, cords of muscle snaking under my skin as my fingers grab hold of an uprooted floorboard and propel me closer to Belphegor in one smooth motion.

I lift my leg and use the last of my diminishing strength to stomp on the bulbous mass.

“No…!” It lets out a shriek and splatters against the wood floor.

All at once, I can move.

I hear a thump from behind me. I’m not the only one who can move again.

My brain kicks itself into overdrive. I need to get to Faust — I should incapacitate him as soon as possible, but I don’t know for sure that his constructs will disappear if I do. I don’t have the firepower to deal with Satanas if that isn’t the case.

How do I take out Faust and avoid Satanas at the same time?

I spread my arms, lower my stance, and charge, barreling into Faust and shattering the glass behind him, sending both of us flying out the fourth-story window.

There’s a building just a short distance away, separated by a slim alleyway. I cling tightly to Faust as I ignore his struggling and the burning pain in my right arm and turn us around so that I take the brunt of the fall. My back slams into the concrete rooftop and I manage to keep my composure enough to kick Faust away, sending him sprawling.

We both stagger to our feet. I clutch my remaining tonfa in my left hand, assuming a combat stance that allows me to shield my ruined arm.

Faust also prepares a stance. It’s sloppy, and primarily defensive, but it looks like he knows how to fight.

He’s not going to make the first move, so I will. I take a reckless step, lashing out in a quick jab using my tonfa. Faust pulls back, bracing with his forearms and deflecting the blow.

I pick up the pace, throwing out two more fast strikes, aiming at and around his face. He blocks effectively, as expected, pulling his arms up in a closed guard and rolling slightly to disperse some of the force. I try to press the advantage by aiming a stomp at his foot.

He reads me effectively, shifting his boot out of the way and trying to disengage.

I don’t let him. Flipping my tonfa around to use as a blunt weapon, I press his guard, aiming several additional strikes at his upper torso.

He remains defensive, pulling up his guard and attempting to roll with the attacks. I throw out a particularly vicious strike and push the advantage, leaning in next to him.

He forgets to guard his stomach. I push off the ground, slamming a knee into his gut and forcing him to reel backwards, stance forgotten.

Faust retches, trying to recover his composure. I relax my grip, dropping my remaining tonfa.

Again, he reaches into his coat and pulls out that box.

My resolve cracks.

“You’re just going to throw away everything that’s left of her? For what? What could your goofy fucking creatures possibly get you that’s worth this?!”

Faust’s expression is stricken. And then, it breaks into something resembling realization.

He speaks, almost a whisper.

“…You’re —”

I clench my one working hand. “Shut up!” I lash out, desperately.

Faust — Vincent — blocks easily. “You left! You locked yourself away in that house for weeks, and then when that wasn’t enough, you ran away!”

I throw another wild punch. Vincent’s defense starts to look haphazard.

“I needed you! I needed someone who understands how it feels!”

Another punch. My knuckles ache. Vincent’s head snaps back, and blood sprays. He’s not trying to defend himself anymore.

“And you wanna know the worst part?!” I raise my fist, hand shaking.

I hesitate. Vincent’s salt-and-pepper hair covers his eyes, and a thin trickle of crimson falls from under his nose.

The sun is bright, the sky is clear — stark shadows are cast at our feet, and the Westpoint skyline glitters on the horizon.

Tears I hadn’t noticed before now stream down my cheeks.

“…The worst part is, I get it. Because — because I’ve been doing the same thing.” I choke.

“But — I just —“

I take a breath.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

The wind whistles, tousling my hair. I hear an echoing thud from somewhere in the distance.

Vincent raises a hand to his face. He lightly touches his nose, and his fingers come away red.

He murmurs something.

“…I’m sorry.”

“That’s…!”

“However,” he interrupts. “This… I know what this looks like. And I know I owe you an explanation.”

Faust lifts his head, and his eyes glint with a sulfuric light. “You should realize how important this is. I can’t allow any more children to die in this city.”

He pops open the case, and removes a gilded necklace.

I flinch involuntarily. “Vincent —“

Faust discards the box, cradling that rose-gold plated necklace gingerly in his hand.

The stench of sulfur hits my nose.

Flickering crimson flames sprout up around him, climbing up his coat, drifting off in plumes from his shoulders and forming a pillar of vermilion fire around his hand.

Faust’s eyes pierce the stark daylight shadows with pinpricks of red.

The necklace starts to catch, the wind begins to pick up, and an enormous magic circle seems to spring to life around him. I’m forced to take a step back, shielding my face from the phantom heat.

“Everything is a bargain! A sacrifice! I’ve been deep in the city’s underbelly, I’ve seen the worst downtown has to offer! I know just how deep the roots of corruption spread!”

Faust sweeps a hand out to his side, throwing out a wave of sparks. His eyes take on a manic spark.

“It’s all the way to the top! Every inch of those shining, glittering towers is crawling with something despicable!”

He clutches at his face. “I’ll reach into the very heart of this city and grasp the source! I’ll pull every miserable worm kicking and screaming into the firelight! I’ll burn everything, just like they did to me!”

“For this, I’ll sacrifice anything that’s left!”

Faust raves, almost vibrating with energy and fire, a plume of red flame tall enough to surpass skyscrapers.

He speaks of bargains and sacrifice, and of having nothing left. He speaks as if I’m not standing right here.

Faust clutches the necklace in his fist. He speaks, and his voice echoes.

“Come, Luci —“

“They haven’t taken everything!” I call out, taking a step against the sulfuric pressure oozing from him.

The wind howls. Faust’s eyes focus on me.

I take another step.

“You still have —“

I grit my teeth.

“You still have me!”

Vincent’s manic expression falters.

The storm of ethereal heat calms, slightly.

Then, all at once, he tenses, eyes rolling back in his skull. The pillar of crimson fire snuffs out faster than it appeared, and Vincent collapses into a heap on the concrete roof.

One of Rook’s basic combat drones floats behind him, a small manipulator arm extended from its chassis and tipped with a mechanical syringe of some kind.

It… sedated him?

I stare at Vincent’s crumpled form.

The necklace lies dented on the ground next to him. The chain must have snapped in the scuffle.

I let myself drop to the floor, submitting to the medical drones’ on-site examination.