The projectile was small, to the point that it had been nearly invisible until the cracking glass gave it away. Even after striking the pane, it was going too fast to follow with the eye. Siloque was already pushing the two of them apart, her cry of alarm redundant, but the small lump of metal was on a collision course with her spine. For a second that hung a fraction longer than it should, the projectile slowed. It missed her spine, carving a deep gash in the graezen’s side instead.
The two women were thrown to either side by Siloque’s shove, Gren disappearing back into the shelves of books. Neither were behind anything that could really be considered protection, but Siloque was near her father’s abandoned chair. She crawled behind it, and Vera quickly followed, no further projectiles coming through the shattered window.
Despite the bright rays of midday, Vera expected the shadowy figures from Vladik’s office to appear. The people who moved towards the breached window did not cloak themselves in magical shadows, instead using head coverings to obscure their identities. They were dressed in varied sets of gear, the makeshift outfits at odds with the efficient movement of the group. Their assorted builds suggested the group was not racially homogeneous, the tallest being thrice the height of the shortest. As they spilled through the window, the figure at the center of their formation stepped forward to address the occupants of the archive’s atrium.
“Miss Prust, may I call you Siloque?” Without waiting for an answer, Clenum continued, “Siloque, you must know already that we will be taking the spawn of Sloth.”
Siloque started to inch backward towards her small crossbow still sitting by her tea.
“My employer does not wish for any ill will, but he has given me license to do whatever necessary to take the girl.” Vera’s focus was split between listening to his words and trying to apply pressure to the gash in the graezen’s side. The woman was not nearly as concerned about the wound as Vera considered reasonable despite her grimacing each time she moved.
“Just so we’re all on the same page,” started Siloque, pausing as a fresh wave of pain interrupted her. “Who is your boss?”
Rather than waiting for Clenum’s answer, Vera answered, “He’s Vladik’s butler.”
“Oh,” the graezen responded, still inching toward her crossbow. “I can totally take a butler.”
“I’m not a butler.”
“You acted very butler-like,” said Vera as she risked a peek over the chair. There were three people standing behind the lanky man. It was difficult to be certain, but she’d have sworn there had been more when they’d began running toward the window before she’d been behind the chair.
“I have an associate just across the street, shall I have him resume shooting? I need the spawn alive, but she doesn’t need to be whole.” The serious butler refused to engage.
“Based on the fact he paused at all, I’m willing to bet your associate’s rifle isn’t as reliable as advertised,” answered Siloque. “Otherwise, I suspect ‘the spawn’ and I would have a few more perforations.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Vera said grinning despite her fear, “Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Clenum sighed. “I would think you would be taking the situation at least seriously enough to not make juvenile jokes. I suppose this is what happens went I’m sent after a child.”
“I know,” agreed Siloque, a sliver of mirth in her voice, “Buttling is very hard.” A cacophony was growing in volume from the depths of the archive. Braulen had abandoned the care with which he’d previously navigated the maze of shelves.
“An attempt to stall, to await reinforcements?” Clenum asked rhetorically. “It certainly could’ve worked.”
The import of his words nagged at Vera and she reached out for her companion just as the graezen made the final leap for her crossbow. Leaving the cover of the chair did not immediately put the woman in any more danger, but it left her movements unobstructed in Clenum’s sight.
“Grab her,” Clenum said lazily, and there was a pricking sensation on Vera’s neck. Afraid to move her head with an unknown character at her back, Vera’s eyes moved back to the group to confirm this was a new figure.
“I’ve gotta say,” began Siloque, her crossbow frozen, having only been half raised. “You’re one hell of a butler.” A flicker of exasperation crossed Clenum’s placid face.
“The time for stalling is over Miss Prust. We will take our leave.” He turned to address the figure with a knife at Vera’s throat. “Come on, the spawn of Wrath is responding more quickly than we anticipated.” The man holding the blade was shorter than Vera, but when he shoved her forward from behind the chair, it was with a controlled force. It was neither resistible nor did it force him to remove the blade at her neck.
Vera had not received the training she’s hoped to receive from her fellow spawn, and was not confident in any result as she pushed out with her soul. There was no cage that restricted its expansion, leaving her initially exhilarated. However, it also didn’t do anything.
“I do hope we won’t harbor any resentments towards one another,” said Clenum to Siloque as Vera and her handler reached the group.
“Feels pretty likely I might harbor a few,” replied Siloque. “The city won’t just look the other way for something this extreme.”
There was something resisting Vera’s pulsing of her soul. It wasn’t a cage or the ubiquitous ether of the projected realm, which left her pulses sliding off it like a greased squid.
“We’ll see,” said Clenum, responding to Siloque’s assertion. “I tend to believe the sir’s enterprises will ensure their discretion, but if not, other avenues are available.” The group was now retreating towards the window. The figure who’d been in the window of the music hall arrived on the street, a rifle with a long crack down the barrel in one hand.
Vera tried to shape the magic that was intertwined with her soul, rather than simple pulse it out. The process was reminiscent of controlled a numbed limb and she only succeeded in shaping the metaphysical ball into a metaphysical egg.
The cacophony was growing louder and Vera didn’t understand how the redheaded demon hadn’t already reached them. It wasn’t a large archive, and he was not exactly being careful.
If what she had pushed against was a greased squid, attempting to shape the magic of her soul was like trying to catch the grease itself. So instead, she smacked it. It wasn’t the best plan, and that became clear as Vera’s legs gave out beneath her. The knife wielder cursed as he was forced to catch her, moving the knife away from her neck. Everything sped up from there.
Clenum called for one of the others in the group to help the knife wielder handle Vera, but Siloque buried a spine in the woman’s neck before she could reach them. Vera no longer being in immediate danger, she was reloading her crossbow even as the two remaining empty-handed crew members drew weapons.
The city of Graezhold was not so advanced that it was out of the question entirely, but the appearance of a mace, still shocked Vera. It was held by the largest of the crew, a golemoid species based on the grinding of stone when it moved. The other figure, drew a simple sword.
Siloque had reloaded and released her next bolt at the man holding Vera. He held up the arm that had been keeping the blade at Vera’s neck and the spine skidded off a metal vambrace. Vera’s legs had recovered from their bout of weakness, but she’d remained limp until he’d lifted that arm. She leapt away but the man’s reflexes were fast. He grabbed at her left arm as she moved, arresting her meager motion.
Clenum did not engage with any of the fighting, instead focusing his gaze on the shelves. Siloque had little means to engage the approaching figures in melee, and decided to fight while retreating into the shelves. She could no longer aid Vera with her own fight, more concerned with avoiding getting cornered by the fighters.
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Vera turned back to the man who’d grabbed her arm. Attempting to empower her arm, she haphazardly squished the bundle of magic at her core and threw a punch. The man raised a palm to catch, a languid motion. Vera’s meager strength posed little threat, but his arm crumpled before the demoness’s fist. As astonished as her opponent, she failed to follow through on her punch, the blow softening significantly.
“We must be going,” said Clenum.
“We have to wait for Gertie and Blaus,” responded Vera’s current captor.
“No, they will keep the graezen arbalist busy. The will extract once we are clear.” He shrugged. “Or they won’t.” He turned away from the shelves long enough to gauge the smaller battle between Vera and the man. “Will you be needing assistance, or do you think you can manage one girl?”
“That girl is getting a tad weary being talked about,” muttered Vera as she delivered a weak kick to the man’s leg. Each strike was accompanied by her squishing her soul like a water skin. The effects were mixed at best.
“She’s doing something with her hits,” said her opponent, his knee bending in reaction to Vera’s kick. “Makes my muscles go soft for a second. If I just grab her, the same thing happens.”
Vera was not trained to fight and had quickly been restrained after her first punch, but a few squeezes of her soul had loosened the arms holding her. If Braulen hadn’t been taking so long to find his way out of the shelves, she might’ve thought the groups plan a failure.
“If I could just kill her—” began the man, but he was cut off by Clenum’s sharp retort.
“Why is that always your solution? I already told you Vladik wants her alive. Just knock her out.” The man who’d previously been fighting exclusively on the defensive struck out with the pommel of his dagger. The blow was too fast for Vera to react and she crumpled in a daze.
“Oh, right,” said the dagger wielder as he moved to stand over her head. “You did say we could damage her though, right?” he asked as he prepared to pummel her into unconsciousness.
“Do what you will, Huggs,” answered Vladik, as he turned toward the empty space on his other side. “Any idea how much time we have Wisteria?” A woman appeared in that space, her mouth opening to reply, before the shelves closest to the atrium exploded.
The man, Huggs, had positioned himself with a leg on either side of Vera. It was not the best position to deliver a pummeling, but it did obscure Vera’s sight so that she missed the chain that swung out of the explosion of wood, leather, and paper.
The newly appeared woman, this Wisteria, did not miss it. In fact, she was painfully aware of the chain as the metal collapsed her chest and the end’s flick ripped the bottom of her jaw away from her face. She turned to Clenum, the ever-calm man struck with shock. Her words never came, replaced with a gurgle as she fell to her knees.
Meanwhile, Vera had grabbed her adversary’s ankle. He was too absorbed in the explosion and his colleague’s gruesome death to avoid Vera’s dazed movement. The demoness’s soul was not fuzzy like her mind, but the magic there had began to run dry. She metaphysically squeezed her water sack of a soul as she grabbed the man’s leg and the magic that squirted out had a slightly different feel. The ankle buckled, and unlike previous times, Huggs did not recover control of his muscle immediately. Him falling to the side, revealed to Vera, the spawn of Wrath’s appearance among a shower of papers.
“I fucking hate illusionists.” He yanked the chain, still attached to the collar at his throat, priming it for another strike.
Clenum was out the window before he could whip it forward again. The lanky figure blurred faster than Vera’s eyes could follow, but he rapidly slowed once he was outside in the midday sun. Braulen turned to Huggs, who was awkwardly getting to his feet, careful to favor the ankle Vera had affected.
“I guess you’re next then.” He swung his arm, the chain writhing in response.
“No, wait!” shouted the dagger wielding man, now left without comrades. He raised his arms to cover his chest and head. The vambraces on each were the only reason he didn’t lose them both as he was launched backward out of the window. The figure with the rifle had made it to the window, just watching after his weapon failed. Now he moved to help his buddy hobble away, Huggs having significant trouble just breathing.
Vera stared at the other woman on the floor. She didn’t even know her name, not having heard Clenum address her. She just watched as blood poured from the hole in her head that couldn’t still be called a mouth. The blood spread and stained the woman’s lavender robes. Vera met her eyes, with a start realizing the woman wasn’t dead.
Braulen moved to follow the fleeing group, but stopped as he passed Vera her look of horror shaking off a part of the rage that had been driving him. He positioned himself between Vera and the woman he’d mutilated, kneeling down partly to speak to her, but mostly to break her line of sight.
“Are you hurt?” he asked in what may have been intended as a gentle tone. The Wrath still pulsing through him warped it, and Vera flinched at the harsh tone that resulted.
“M-my head.” Vera looked up at the figure of brutality, a fear gripping her despite him being a supposed ally.
“We’ll get you something cold to put on it.”
“Siloque,” Vera exclaimed, the brutality having momentarily distracted her from the plight of the woman who’d started the fight with her.
“She’s…” said Braulen trailing off before recovering. “She’s fine. The other two fighters are dead and Gren is taking care of her.” Vera stared at the hulking demon, his presence shrinking before her eyes. His body did not actually change at all, but some sense told her that the man before her was deflating. “Do you want to help her?” he asked in a weary voice.
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Vera had asked a couple times what the graezen woman would need help with, but Braulen kept refusing to answer. As they neared one corner of the archive, they were met by the glare of a furious Siloque. Well, Braulen was.
“You led them here. Who would’ve guessed the rage fueled lunatic wouldn’t be great at stealth. And then, instead of showing up to help us, you blow off my godsdamned arm.” Vera’s eyes shot to the arm that Siloque was cradling in her other. The stump of a shoulder was wrapped in bloody bandages. Gren had applied them, but they were doing little to slow the bleeding. The scene was so outside of what Vera had expected, if Siloque hadn’t drawn attention to the severed limb, she might’ve looked right past it.
“I-I am…” Braulen began, but gave up on a response and turned to Vera. “You need to slow the bleeding.”
“How?” asked Vera, her eyes still transfixed by the severed limb.
“Sloth,” said Braulen, stepping between her and the sight.
“I’m fine,” said the graezen woman behind him. “You need to get the fuck out. You’re a walking curse.”
“You will bleed out and die. Only adrenaline is keeping you awake right now. Once your anger fades, you’ll pass out.”
“I only just sort of figured out how to make a guy’s leg go funny,” said Vera, leaning around Braulen to look at the bloodied woman. “Healing magic seems like a big jump.”
“I’m telling you,” continued the graezen woman, “I’m fine because my anger will never—”
Gren had to catch her so her head didn’t hit the ground as she nearly passed out.
“No, that is even better,” said Braulen, his face brightening slightly despite the gruesome scene. “I did not realize you had figured out muscular manipulations.” He moved next to the dazed woman, holding her up so that Gren could apply bandages. “Do the same thing, just make her heart ‘go funny’ instead.”
Gren looked up at that. “You will not mess with my daughter’s heart, she’s in a bad enough state as it is.”
“She will die like this,” said Braulen, too coldly for Vera’s taste. “Vera will slow down her heart enough to slow the bleeding, but not enough to kill her.” He looked at the mangled arm Siloque had dropped in her near-faint. “If there were more left, we could just apply a tourniquet and get her to a healer or at least a physician, but there is not, so we do this.”
Both men looked up at Vera, who looked down at Siloque. She certainly wasn’t in good condition. Vera had little way of knowing whether she’d survive, but a part of her feared intervening and making it worse. Even if she didn’t make it worse, but simply didn’t quite do enough, refraining felt cleaner, less bloody.
But Siloque hadn’t just let the group take her. It seemed a rather low bar, but she’d intervened and Vera could do the same now. She stepped over to the kneeling woman, crouching as Siloque had before. The graezen’s spines were stained with blood, her eyes glazed. Vera wasn’t intimately familiar with demonic anatomy, let alone graezen, but she assumed the heart would be in the chest as she placed her hand there.
Her water skin soul was still mostly dry, but the demoness was able to squeeze out a bit of her magic into the chest. Unlike with the strikes she’d delivered to her earlier opponent’s muscles, Vera did not release the squeezed out magic. Like when she’d called to the magic encapsulating Braulen’s, she was able to manipulate the magic she had squeezed out. Her manipulations were inexpert and she likely affected a few other muscles on accident if Siloque’s sudden shuddering was any indication. Still, eventually the weak pulse beneath her hand slowed. The graezen had a peaceful expression, worrying Vera that she’d actually just passed. She looked over at the redheaded spawn of Wrath who nodded.
“I appreciate you helping my daughter, even if you are the one who put her in such a situation,” said Gren, picking up the woman with strength belied by his age. “However, I cannot allow you to remain within this archive.” He turned to Vera. “You are not at fault for your situation. I know that, but right now, I must prioritize my daughter, and your presence is a danger to those around you.”
Vera’s eyes stung. On the heels of getting the slightest grasp on her abilities, to be told such a thing crushed her. She nodded, her head low to hide the tears filling her eyes. She turned and began moving around the disordered and destroyed shelves.
“I urge you to join the Adventuring Corps,” said Gren, following her ostensibly to take his daughter to a healer of some kind. “They will not protect you, but Vladik will no longer be able to move so openly as this.”
She nodded again and jumped as Braulen put an arm around her shoulder. The small group of them walked out of the shelves and returned to the atrium. They walked past the now dead Wisteria, Braulen not bothering to step around her pool of blood. As they stepped out onto the street, the eerie quiet confronted Vera and made her horribly aware of the wheeze in her breathing.
Of course it’s quiet, thought Vera, who would stick around for this. Gren did not stop as they arrived on the street. He simply faced one way, told them both that the Adventuring Corps had a recruitment building in that direction, and then turned in the other direction, and walked off with his daughter still in his arms.