As the shadow of Sumire’s scimitar fell over his face, Gorim began to quiver.
“What — what are you doing?” he stuttered, fumbling backwards. The shadow grew longer and larger as Sumire stepped forward, grinning maniacally. Momo hadn’t seen her smile like that since she was possessed by Roland. But only this time, it was not possession, but the pure, delicious pleasure of revenge written into her features.
Momo shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. She wasn’t exactly sure if this was what girlfriends were supposed to do—as in, encouraging their partners to exact bloody revenge in darkly lit dungeons, but she was new to this whole romantic relationship thing.
She was just going by what she’d seen, really. On television shows. In real life. She remembered people doing similar things in high school; her classmate Brad encouraged his girlfriend Julie to light their English teacher’s car on fire after she gave her an F on the term paper, and that seemed to go well enough—the car did explode, and did thousands of dollars in property damage—but her consequent juvie sentence was a little bit of a bummer.
The point was—Momo was still figuring out the details. It felt like driving a manual car. Only Sumire was the clutch, and Momo didn’t have her feet anywhere near the brake pedal.
Plus, she looks really hot like this. All pissed off.
Momo frowned.
Who made me this way?
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Sumire said, cupping Gorim’s face with the curve of her sword. “I was one of the rookies assigned to you back in Holy Knight training. Formation seven, legion three, group ten…”
“One of my rookies?” he gaped. “I… Your face. I remember you. That pirate girl. The one with the useless sister. Roland’s little pet. Of course you turned out to be a deserter.”
“Not a deserter,” she said, scowling. “A betrayer. An active opponent.”
She sliced the sword downward, and blood sprung from his cheek. He groaned aloud. Momo looked away, swallowing.
It’s for a good cause… It’s for a good cause…
“Agh!”
“Shut up.”
Another sharp slicing sound, and he screamed louder. It made Momo’s stomach turn.
“That was for caging my sister.” She swung again, blood splattering across the walls. “That was for putting me in that goddamn demonic mantle.” Another swing, and another jarring, horrific shriek. “And that one was for—agh—I don’t even need a reason!”
The guards looked at Momo with wide, questioning pupils. They were nervously twiddling their fingers, obviously uncomfortable with being present for all-out, no-excuses torture session. They were begging the question with their eyes—was she just going to stand around and watch this?
“Yes I am,” she mumbled aloud, realizing they hadn’t actually asked her the question.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
As much as Momo disagreed with violence on principle, she knew that this was more than Sumire taking out her anger on one man. If Jarva could really feel these cuts, then she was getting access to something she had only dreamed of for years in captivity—finally getting to return the favor to the one man who stood between her, her sister, and freedom.
“M–my king will have your head—” Gorim gurgled, blood dripping down his mouth.
“I’d love to see him try,” Sumire said, clenching her jaw and swinging again.
Momo swallowed, finally summoning the bravery to really look towards the scene. Gorim was absolutely doused in blood, looking like a genuine murder victim. Sumire was doused in half as much, her armor splattered with red. The man clearly possessed insane levels of Strength and Health in order to take those direct slashes and lose that much blood.
But anything more and he’d probably be a body bag.
“Okay, okay,” Momo said, stepping forward and putting her hand on Sumire’s forearm, stopping the blade. Sumire whipped her head around, startled out of her daze.
“Momo, just let me—a few more—”
“We’re not here to kill people, Mire,” Momo laughed nervously, eyes sliding to the gurgling mass of knight lying near-unconscious on the floor. “I think you probably got the job done. Jarva will definitely be feeling it over there on his island resort.”
“But…”
“Come on,” she said, pulling at the woman’s sleeve. “You deserve some rest. Guards, can you get Sumire back upstairs? I just need to see to a few more things myself. In… uh… private.”
Sumire reluctantly obeyed, giving Momo one last meaningful look before being led by the guards through the trap-laden corridors.
Taking a deep breath in, Momo kneeled at the foot of the groaning man.
“Look, dude,” she said quietly. “You and your tentacled overlord had that one coming. And if Jarva or—Gods, Kyros himself—is listening right now, I want you to hear me loud and clear. I’m not the meek little mouse you think I am. I’m not going to roll over and let you destroy everything Morgana’s worked for. I might not have been able to do that for my mom, or my grandma, or any number of underappreciated women running amok in my bloodline, but I’m going to do it for her. And you won’t stop me.”
She raised herself from the floor, adrenaline pumping through her. Still, the gruesome sight of Gorim made her stomach curl. That amount of pain—the kind of pain that would render you speechless—was too much for her to just stand around and gawk at, even if she did just deliver a whole speech about how ruthless she was now.
She was still, at the end of the day, Momo. Despite her many villainous class names, or her continually increasing body count, Momo she remained.
She pressed the palm of her hand to his back.
“[Soul First Aid],” she murmured, and healing light blossomed out of her fingertips.
—
After checking on Sumire and eating their weight in post-torture pizza, Momo returned to her bedroom, where Dusk was splayed out on her comforter, gnawing at fish bones.
“Gross,” Momo groaned, taking the bone and throwing it off the bed. Dusk hissed at her. “Don’t give me that attitude. You live in this castle rent free.”
Dusk stopped her grumbling, taking the fish bone in her mouth and hiding under Momo’s giant raised bed frame. The royal bedroom was like nothing Momo had ever slept in—it was like a five-star hotel penthouse with the stylistic choices of a bubbling swamp demon. Everything was green and black, earthy and deadly. It sported custom-made pillows embroidered with Morgana’s face, Morgana’s koi fish, Morgana’s… you get the picture. Lorvis had quite the obsession. Valerica only further validated it.
Momo settled on her leaf green comforter, resting her tired legs. She turned her attention to her bracelet. The one that allowed her to communicate with … what’s his face. Azgeroth? No. Azbero? Azrael. The third lich in Morgana’s circle of elites. The same guy who had allegedly gifted her the most deadly skill in her arsenal, and the one she had so-far refused to use. [Soul Cannibal].
With all that was going on, she hadn’t had the time to try calling him up again. But now with the message sent to Jarva in the form of burning scars across Gorim’s body—all she had was time. She could plan Morganium’s defenses, sure, but Sumire and Radu were far better at that than her. Ultimately, she knew that when Jarva arrived on their soil, it wasn’t going to be an army that made the difference. She was going to need a trump card. A secret weapon, something to rival whatever Jarva might bring.
“Bracelet,” she said, twisting the knob on the golden latch. She took a breath in. “Call Azrael.”