After scrutinizing Vaelen’s unconscious body, Michel slowly raised himself up straight. He carefully lowered his head and stared at his right, black glove-covered hand, from which dozens of ethereal-looking strings sprung out in the sky as though they were a puppet master’s threads, delicately manipulating numerous marionettes suspended above. With that same hand, he grasped all the threads together, and became like a spider pulling on its silken web, effortlessly lifting himself into the air as though the very fabric of reality bent to his will. Leaving Vaelen’s body behind, he soared into the overarching mist above; a sensation similar to ascending into the clouds.

As he flew higher, the pressure of the wind currents flying past him grew stronger and stronger. So much so that, from beneath his mask, he was forced to close his eyes. Fortunately for him, it only took seconds for that sensation to dissipate entirely; a feeling similar to one flying into the sky at rocket speed and suddenly finding themselves floating in space.

However, the place Michel found himself in was something far more… absurd than that. It was an endless horizon, and its surface was made of clouds. One could surely assume that Michel was now standing above the clouds, and was facing a glimpse of the sun’s transparency.

But, he was not alone. The strings that were attached to his palm were now facing backwards, like the tug of a kite caught in a sudden gust, hinting that Michel now found himself on the same level as the individuals that pulled him when he was below, standing right behind him.

Michel did not bother to turn around, for he already knew who the people were. He defeatedly fell on his knees, his billowing black coat unfurling around him. Following that, Michel could hear a single person’s footsteps approaching him, as one of the strings on his palm slowly moved forward, as though the tug of the kite went back to normal.

The person then revealed himself before Michel. He halted beside Michel and casted a pitiful gaze over his shoulder. The person was dressed in a black windbreaker robe that contrasted sharply against his silver hair and pale skin. It was indeed August of the Yraemonde family; the student who had been a part of the Inquisition alongside his fellows.

“…August…” Michel muttered, his gaze still fixated on the beautiful horizon view. “Go. You are now free.”

August’s lips curled up in a smile as he planted his palm against his face.

“You are absolutely crazy.”

Michel did not respond. This prompted August to calm down. He closed his eyes, still sporting a closed smile, and stepped his way into the horizon. Right then, the strings sprouting from Michel’s palm was seen connected to August’s back, presumably aligned to his chest. As August furthered the distance between them, the thread gradually tensed, and emitted creaking noises. It eventually broke as August faded in the distance.

As though commanded by August’s departure, two items floated towards Michel from a near distance; a quill and a weathered looking paper. It stopped right in front of Michel, and it began writing on itself, as if it was telepathically being guided. In the meantime, the dozens of strings latched onto Michel’s palm slowly pulled themselves forward, followed by footsteps of numerous people walking towards him from behind.

Yet, as soon as every one of them were about to pass him, Emon appeared behind them all. Dressed in his trademark attire; brown jacket over his white blouse, he spoke to Michel with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? Geister is waiting for us in the train.”

Michel closed his eyes, unable to see the dozens of ‘people’ passing him by and eventually dissipating in the horizon.

“…I’m ready.”

He then turned towards Emon, and opened his eyes. Emon swayed his gaze over Michel, looking at the backs of the ‘people’ about to disappear. With a bright smile, he turned around towards the other, darker side of the illuminated realm, and muttered,

“You sure are crazy.”

Michel passed him by, not answering Emon’s sentiment. Emon chuckled, and followed Michel deeper into the darker part of the realm.

***

[??? Minutes later: The Train, location: ???]

The Lady in Black sat on one of the side-benches in anticipation, folding her hands on her lap, her head slightly lowered. The train had a strong Victorian feel; its surrounding walls made of cleanly-polished wood, the seat cushions made of soft, crimson red velvet, tufted and bordered with brass studs that gleamed under the soft glow of the gas lamp overhead.

Suddenly, she smiled, having sensed the presences of the two Rebels. As soon as she turned her head to the right, her dark eyes reflected the figures of Emon and Michel, seated next to each other. Emon’s demeanor was substantially more ‘carefree’ than Michel’s. He rested his head on the window, his eyes gazing upon the ceiling above. Michel folded his legs, also seated with his interlocked hands above his lap.

The train then began to move. Whether or not a real person, let alone ‘who’ could possibly be the driver of a train carrying such significant figures, remained a total mystery. Besides, it did not seem to bother any of them, especially Emon, who began speaking in a rather taunting tone.

“What a shame, isn’t it? The Great Michel failing his sole goal could make an entire country shed tears because of how… out of character it is for him!”

Michel slightly turned his head towards him, his sharp eyes peering through his mask, fixated on Emon.

“Then why are you not crying right now?”

“I can’t be the one crying. You let yourself be consumed by your pride, and thus, had it become your downfall. I’m here to lead you through the right path you were destined to traverse.”

Geister then chimed in, aimlessly staring at the wooden ground with a closed smile on her face.

“But you’re not innocent either, Emon. You are also a very prideful man. Choosing to free your soul is some sort of pride in and of itself.”

“Even better!” Emon exclaimed, jumping off his seat and raising his arms in the air. “If I’m also a prideful man, then… Michel and I are both frail rebels who make each other realize their faults. It’s like an idiot trying to convince another idiot. A smart person can never win an argument against an imbecile after all, right?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“…That makes sense,” Geister responded, looking up at Emon. “I, for one, had never let myself be consumed by my pride. It would be hard for me to convince Michel because he is obviously less smarter than me when it comes to this.”

She then lowered her head, and began smiling once more. Her tone sounding soft.

“Perhaps it is why he is my Lord… because, much like you, Emon, I also guide him towards the proper direction.”

“Hm,” Emon sounded, rubbing his chin. “Makes me wonder if it was you who has been guiding him for all this time, within this specific world, to the point of tormenting the lost souls which he has now freed. If that is the case, then the most gruesome person to have ever existed could never be Michel. It would be you, Geisterpriesterin.”

Michel and the Lady in Black remained silent in response. The outside atmosphere changed drastically, too. It now seemed as though the train was moving through a beautiful, mountainous landscape, with the sun about to set. Emon silently stared at the moving view for several seconds before he began speaking once more.

“Besides, that would also mean that she made you tell me about the Rapid Decay Phenomenon, no? Care telling me why you decided to halt your words regarding that letter?”

“It is tied to the same reason why I had spoken of The Syndicate during our encounter with Zaccheus and Helvega. The world as they have known for all this time will soon turn into a dream they will never be able to escape. I will become the one standing right before them as they awaken, and my rebellion will be instilled in their hearts.”

He then raised his head, meeting Emon’s eyes.

“The same applies to you, Emon. Without me, you would have never experienced the absolute dream. Thanks to me, you’ve been given a purpose in the name of The Syndicate.”

…His answer was ambiguous. Too ambiguous one may say. However, Emon did not seek to pry. It seemed like he had already grown accustomed to Michel’s obvious cerebral approach to answering important questions. It was natural. Of course, Emon would have loved to know the exact reason behind Michel telling him about the RDP, or about Michel revealing The Syndicate to Helvega and Zaccheus without giving anything else. Michel was truly, a weird person. But none of it seemed to bother Emon. Perhaps it may have been because…

…he was now a rebel too.

But, would that mean the answers would never be given to him?

…

The train suddenly stopped.

Geister lifted her head, and acknowledged their arrival.

“Our time has come.”

“Let us go,” Michel said, leading the way outside.

They seemed to have arrived at the end of the mountainous landscape. A shore with a large body of sea stretching far into the distance, covered by the breathtaking sun-setting orange sky. Michel reached for the pocket of his black coat and fished out a message bottle that must have contained the paper that was being written on earlier. He looked at both Emon and Geister and threw the bottle into the sea.

He silently watched the bottle plummet in the water and slowly floating away. Emon took a stance next to him, the both of them wordlessly acknowledging the beautiful view like brothers. With his eyes still set on the view, Michel spoke to him.

“…Emon?”

“What is it?”

Michel turned towards him, and reached his hand out to him.

“Take my hand, and guide me through this treacherous path as you promised.”

Emon chuckled and turned towards him. He gave Michel a firm handshake, as the Lady in Black, with an eerie smile on her face, stood right in between them, appearing as death standing just a breath away from them both.

“Of course I will, you idiot,” Emon jested. “Did you really think my loss would be enough to take me down?”

“I chose you for a very good reason, Emon. I am certain you won’t let me down…”

As soon as Michel finished his sentence, Geister slowly lifted her right hand in the air, commanding two spirals made of black butterflies to appear. These two spirals then floated right behind the heads of Emon and Michel, and slowly morphed into black scythes.

Knowing what was about to happen, Emon gave Michel one last smile, and with a loud, and proud tone, he said to him,

“May The Gambit begin!”

And Michel responded. His tone prominently bittersweet, but washed over with pride and enthusiasm.

“May The Gambit begin…!”

Right as they finished their sentences, Geister closed her eyes, and bawled her right hand into a fist, forcing the black scythes to behead the two rebels, their heads slowly dangling in the air before falling onto the ground alongside the rest of their bodies.

After she committed the murders, she commanded a swarm of butterflies to appear and turn into a leash that slithered around the decapitated heads and split into two loops at the end, each securely cradling a decapitated head on each side. The leash strap stretched taut between them, suspending the heads of the rebels in balance as they were slowly being lifted upwards.

Now holding the two heads on a leash, wings made of black butterflies formed on the Lady’s back. As they finished materializing, she soared high into the air, and gazed upon the world below.

The place they were was indeed Deneve, but not a major city like Ventoria. It was most likely a northern city due to the mountains. Nevertheless, she was able to view ‘everything’, and ‘anything’ around her. She appeared as a supreme Goddess about to bring forth an age of complete darkness.

She did not bring darkness. She brought absolute and an unorthodox death.

With a tone so loud that it seemed out of character for her, she screamed as she lifted her left hand in the air,

“The Sanguine of the Black Swan!”

Responding to her command, the sky, clouds, and even the sun above melted with each other and turned into a singular whirlpool made of black butterflies. Not only that, but the seas and earths below, every puddle, every pond, every river, every sea, building, object, house, everything the world as she once knew it consisted of, melted, and was turned into a black-butterflied whirlpool.

She was now standing between the World Above and the World Below, made entirely of her own creation, surrounded by nothingness. Black tendrils began to form on her pale, smooth skin, growing like tenacious vines and even reaching her eyes. As the number of tendrils grew, she emitted grunting and gurgling noises like a possessed person. As soon as the tendrils fully covered her entire body and eyes, the two whirlpools exploded, and millions, if not billions of black butterflies scattered across the black canvas that had now become reality.

…No, that reality was now over.

She became the very last proof of that reality. However, she was nowhere to be found. It looked as though she performed a magic performance, downpouring existence with her second conjuration, and disappearing afterwards.

And with her departure, the black butterflies began to diminish, one by one.

After the last butterfly disappeared, nothing was left alive.

----------------------------------------

To the Children of Rudalia. The torment is now over, and in reference to The Child’s death, your dreams may end.

Aurora Jinton.

Helvega Jinton.

Miriam Cowright.

Dark Claire.

August Yraemonde.

Albert Yraemonde.

Madeline Yraemonde.

Emory Yraemonde.

Petronella Haemour.

Grace Haemour.

Jessamine Haemour.

Clint Haemour.

Bartholomew Haemour.

Vash Duncke.

Simeon Carley.

Eunice Wintermann.

----------------------------------------

…The Gambit has finally begun.