As I emerged from the swirling vortex of the portal, a zephyr laced with the sweet concoction of fruit, smoke, and blossoms greeted me. The narrow street, alive with the typical cacophony of a festival in full swing, seemed an unlikely battleground for otherworldly encounters. Yet there we were, amidst the revelry, tasked with a mission that could ignite chaos -literally- as it did in our last fiery debacle.
"Jim, are we certain this is the spot?" I inquired, eyeing the portal's closure with scepticism.
He grinned, adjusting his uniform with a flourish. "What's life without a little masquerade? I can't even remember the last time we were at a carnival."
"I do, five years ago in a coastal town. You wanted to celebrate the anniversary of the Great Revolution by having a little fun with the locals without these uniforms. And you've found that without it, you don't stand the slightest chance."
"Remember the blonde and her companion?" he teased, a twinkle in his eye.
I scoffed. "A victory hard-won through sheer persistence. But then again, I enjoyed watching you suffer."
"Then maybe you'll have the same fun now." he retorted, a challenge in his voice.
"If only the throng didn't suffocate," I muttered, the sea of bodies a vibrant barrier to our quest.
"Embrace the chaos, follow the rules, and leap at the first sign of our quarry," he instructed, gripping my hand firmly.
I wrenched away, my independence bristling. "Like I’m the one breaking rules. Try not to burn down the whole city."
Melding into the crowd, my white uniform stood out against the tapestry of colours yet was lost in the sheer volume of the festival-goers. Costumed creatures, leaping dancers, and curious onlookers filled the street to the brim, leaving no space for suspicion or solitude.
Elbows became my compass as I navigated the human maze, seeking a path unseen yet in plain sight. Progress was a slow dance, a mere shuffle of feet that eventually drove me to the refuge of an alleyway.
The city sprawled before me, a flat canvas devoid of vantage points. To discern an alien presence among this throng, proximity was key—assuming it bore a human guise. A detail I should've clarified with Damien before our paths separated.
Leaning against the chill of the building's facade, I lit a cigarette, the ember a fleeting warmth against the encroaching night. Damien's idea of 'fun' was proving to be a gruelling test of patience. A sense of foreboding gnawed at me—we were better together in this hunt.
The street's tableau shifted, the dancers' vibrant skirts giving way to an odder procession. At its heart, a woman crowned with fiery locks commanded the crowd's unwavering attention. Her bare form, a bold defiance of modesty, was a spectacle I observed with detached interest.
A quick glance, a swift turn of the head—her jubilant perch atop the shoulders of adoring men was a scene I chose not to linger on. The last wisps of smoke from my cigarette trailed behind as I set forth, determined to find our elusive target amidst the revelry. The odds of misjudgment were slim, but in this carnival of curiosities, anything was possible.
The tension in the air was palpable as I forced my way through the crowd, my focus fixed on the mysterious woman ahead. The plan was a nebulous thought, still forming amidst the chaos of this dance and drums. The men surrounding her were a formidable barrier, but I harboured hope they’d scatter like leaves in the wind once we broke free from the throng. They seemed more like farmers or miners perhaps, not soldiers.
The music died down, the dancers stopped their rehearsed movements. No one moved. A silent command had been issued, one that I had not heard, yet everyone obeyed. All eyes were on her—the woman with the fiery mane.
Her gaze locked onto me, the warmth atmosphere gone, replaced by a steely resolve of the being. “We only welcome those who seek joy,” she conveyed, her voice a siren’s call inside my mind, both alluring and chilling.
I stood my ground, hand resting on my sword’s hilt. “This land is not yours to welcome anyone into,” I retorted. According to our rules, I should offer her the option of a safe exit, but somehow I wasn't in the mood for it. And I didn't see Damien protesting.
Her reply slithered into my thoughts, “Isn’t this place just another playground? Hungry for laughter and screams alike… Don’t you crave the thrill?”
What kind of stupid question is this? I had a job there. I wasn’t supposed to have fun here, I had my duty. However dull and monotonous they may seem. And it didn't matter that i wa's always exactly the same. With the same ending. With blood on the blade and a glass in my hand.
I wanted to have fun, and dancing and music were tempting propositions. Alcohol was flowing there and the people around looked pretty. Some of them… I could easily spend a few hours there, enjoy the festivities and come back to my duties later. That's what Damien wanted as well, to have fun.
And who was going to stop me?
No one would know about it.
"You want the same thing," the voice in my head whispered. Do I long for the same as the people around?
No.
"By being here, you are breaking the rules set by Hallies' Heirs, the protectors of the Light. Your only option is to pack up and get out. Right now." Damien emerged from the crowd. He must have heard its thoughts as clearly as I did.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The creature dismounted from its human pedestal with a grace that belied its intentions. It faced Damien, scrutinising him with an intensity that felt almost tangible. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though it might acquiesce.
But then, its gaze shifted to me, and with it, the decision was made. A laugh, clear and mocking, rang out, shattering the silence, freezing the blood in the veins..
Swords drawn, Damien and I stood ready, though reluctance gnawed at me. This confrontation was not what we sought. The creature before us was a master of minds, and we were mere pawns in its game with two deadly weapons in hand.
The crowd parted, forming an arena for the impending clash. The creature’s acolytes fled—one brandishing a sabre, the other unarmed. Just as I hoped.
With a swift move, I disarmed the one with the sabre, sending both tumbling to the ground, stunned but alive. They would awaken with pounding headaches, a mercy for which Stephan would be grateful.
The clash of broken glass rang out as I faced Damien, my heart heavy with the burden of familial ties. "You're kidding, right?" I pleaded, hoping for a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. But the man before me was not the uncle I knew; his gaze was cold, his stance aggressive.
"Stop it, Jim!" I dodged his relentless assault, the air slicing where I had just stood. "You're supposed to protect me!" My voice broke, anger and desperation intertwining. He was relentless, uncaring.
In a desperate move, I discarded my sword, seizing the sabre. If I must defend myself, let it be with a weapon less personal, less lethal. What the fuck had happened to him?
The voice of the orange-haired woman echoed in my mind, taunting, "This is much more fun." She was the puppeteer, and we, her marionettes in this twisted performance.
"Stop this, damn it!" I knew Damien's every scar, I remembered every battle he had weathered. To add another record to his tapestry of wounds was unthinkable. "Damien, listen to me, you have to stop."
But he was a storm, relentless and unyielding. His technique was flawless, yet predictable. I knew his patterns, his lack of improvisation. It was my only hope.
"You're leaving me no choice," I admitted, the reality bitter on my tongue. His blade, a constant threat, danced dangerously close.
I dropped to the ground, targeting his legs—his one vulnerability. As he advanced, I struck, the sabre piercing the fabric of his uniform, avoiding the artery by a hair's breadth. "Sorry," I whispered, the word becoming hollow comfort to me.
His cry of pain was drowned out by that hideous laughter. I spun towards the sound, but she was a ghost, unseen. Damien, undeterred by his wound, faced me again. "Surrender, Damien. That's an order!" I couldn't bear to hurt him further.
The voice in my head mocked, "Aren't you having fun?"
"I'll have fun once you're gone," I growled under my breath. Damien moved unexpectedly, his approach off-kilter. He stumbled, and I rushed to catch him, our blades lowering in unison.
He pressed his sword hilt into my palm, a silent trust. "Left," he whispered, a covert cue.
I grasped his intentions and what he expected of me. Time was slipping away; I couldn’t afford to hesitate. With a swift motion, I redirected his sword with my right hand and shoved it back, the blade arcing through the air in a horizontal slash.
Blind to my surroundings, I operated solely on the trust I had in him, following his directives without question.
I feared I had missed my mark. The entity materialised only when it was too late to evade. My sword sliced through her neck effortlessly. Instinctively, I braced for a scream or a grunt, a gush of blood to follow. Instead, the figure before me collapsed, losing its shape in the process. What hit the ground was a discusting mass of flesh, devoid of skin or hair—a revolting sight.
I was thankful for my empty stomach.
The crowd erupted into motion, panic and chaos taking hold. “Andrea!” His voice cut through the tumult. His outstretched hand was the reason my uniform remained clean. “Are you alright?” he asked, oblivious to his own bleeding wound.
“I’m fine,” I replied, catching him as he staggered. I returned his sword, eager to rid myself of the weapon, and assisted him to a seated position.
“You missed,” he quipped, a weak attempt at humour. I removed my glove and applied pressure to his wound, which he tried to evade like a petulant child.
“Shut it or I'll stick my finger in the wound.” I threatened half-jokingly. “If I had killed you, you’d never let me forget it.” Not that I had any desire to end his life.
But it wouldn’t have been a problem for him. He had tried to kill me without a moment’s hesitation. Damn it.
“Princess?”
“You attacked me,” I said, my voice cold, unable to bring myself to tend to his wounds. He allowed himself to be controlled by something that didn't even have shape. “You confronted me with your fucking sword in hand, Jim.”
“We’re both still alive, so let’s leave it at that,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze. “We never have to speak of it again.”
“Vatte il an sarra?”
“We’ll need to provide some explanations,” he acknowledged, nodding toward the approaching men. Their emblem, unfamiliar to me, featured a bird set against a black field on light blue fabric. Yet, they recognized us, and with that recognition, events accelerated.
The mayor proved to be a cordial and appreciative host, albeit too lanky for my liking, his frame seemingly fragile enough to snap. Nevertheless, he was a man suited to his role.
He welcomed us into his home, where over dinner, we unravelled the essentials.
Our host recounted the days-long ordeal. He had attempted to intervene but was rebuffed, told that dissenters were unwelcome. Those who remained were compelled to partake in the festivities against their will. Left with no other choice, he sought help.
The conversation inevitably turned to the culprit. The creature hadn’t arrived uninvited; someone had summoned it. Opening a portal to another realm required not just knowledge but a significant reserve of power. Suspicion fell on a single individual capable of orchestrating such a feat through large-scale crystal smuggling—a mage named Teyber.
Amidst the lengthy discussion, a seemingly trivial detail caught my attention. The mayor mentioned it in passing, but to Damien and me, it was pivotal. A nearby city, as indicated by our host, lay outside the jurisdiction of our appointed governor. This small territory had slipped from our grasp unnoticed. Kuzsi, now an independent city, was no longer under our dominion.
Weary and disheartened by the day’s events and the harrowing final hours, I succumbed to sleep in the mayor’s guest room, which bore an unsettling resemblance to the dwellings of the South. Everything was elegantly shrouded in light colours, the huge windows let in the moonlight, and the soft pillows invited me to close my eyes and let myself fall asleep in their embrace. I'd much rather lie in Steven's arms, but if I was counting correctly, he was just having dinner, while it's already the middle of the night here.