"I have a hunch I know that my pain tolerance has been increased as well. Normal people would experience intense pain if they have their fingers blown off, but I barely felt anything. This actually makes sense, in a weird way; pain is the body's way of saying that something is terribly not right. Why should losing my fingers be more than a little sting, if my regeneration makes them regrow within seconds anyway?"
— excerpt from Bezel’s diary, Loop #373
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Bezel had always been amazed by the stark contrast between the impoverished districts of the city and the area where Raph’s mansion was located. Amazed, but also disconcerted. He trudged along the dark, dirty, smelly streets, following Mashek and Mira closely. The three of them stood out like a sore thumb, but—much to Bezel’s surprise—it had little to do with Mira’s aura. The people on the streets didn’t seem to know anything about her—well, either that, or they had sufficiently powerful Krinil gems to withstand her aura. With that kind of power they wouldn’t be living here though, which led to reason that they really had no idea who Miranda Alexia Dawngrove was.
Still, the three of them earned quite a few suspicious looks as they walked. A sharply-dressed foreigner, a woman in tight leathers and a pair of swords across her back, and a big dude in a uniform two sizes smaller than he was ought to be wearing. Not exactly the most ordinary citizens, especially not in these parts of the city.
Ahead of them, a group of street urchins were flinging mud at each other, forcing Mashek to either stop or risk getting his clothes dirty. The Athorian man chose the former option, much to Mira’s ire. The kids scampered away quickly when they realized they were in the way—Mira loudly berating Mashek probably helped a lot in that regard. When the three of them got going again, Bezel couldn’t resist needling Mashek a bit more; the spymaster’s reactions were just too damn amusing.
"It must suck to be you, spymaster," he said, walking up to Mashek to pat his shoulder. "Having to visit your spies regularly in this dirty neighborhood."
"Ah didn’t ask for your ophinion, slave," Mashek retorted, conjuring a powerfield around his shoulders so that Bezel couldn’t touch him directly. "Stop speaking so caherlessly. The walls have ears, here."
"Doesn't matter," Bezel shrugged. "By next week, the walls will forget all I said."
Mashek scoffed at that. "You don't know what you talk about, slave."
"Alright then, I'll let you in on a secret," Bezel whispered, sidling closer. He looked around dramatically, before leaning closer to the spymaster. "Mashek, I know it's going to be hard to believe, but . . . you see, I’m not actually a slave. Yes, Mira calls me that all the time, but you know how rich ladies tend to be. They all have their peculiarities—calling me slave just happens to be one of her kinks. Mira loves it when—"
"Stop whispering about me, slave," Mira barked from Mashek's other side. "Either say it out loud so that I can hear it, or shut the Hell up."
"See?" Bezel said, winking at Mashek. "She’s really into it."
Mashek opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to decide what to say. If it weren't for his dark skin tone, he'd have probably been blushing, Bezel supposed. In the end, Mashek just cleared his throat and hurried forward, heading for a dark alleyway and pretending that nothing had happened.
"Come, we are alhmost there."
Much to Bezel’s disappointment, their destination—contrary to the stereotypes—wasn’t actually in the narrow alley. They just used the alleyway to enter yet another small and crowded street. Since Bezel had already given up on keeping track where they actually were, one more disorienting turn didn’t bother him too much. Mashek was heading for a small house wedged between two taller buildings; rotting wooden walls, boarded-broken windows, peeling paint on the sign above the entrance—according to which, this was a tavern.
When Mashek pushed the squeaking door open and the three of them filed in, it became obvious that the tavern wasn't any better on the inside. Pale, yellowish light illuminated the room, and Bezel had to strain his eyes to see anything through the smoke of tobacco. A dozen or so customers were sitting at various tables, silently observing the newcomers. Their eyes were mostly on Mira, though Bezel caught a few measuring stares on himself too.
"The usual," Mashek said as he walked past the barkeep, flicking a coin at the man. He then walked past the bar, opened a creaking door behind it, and disappeared inside. A steep, dimly lit staircase awaited Mira and Bezel when they followed the spymaster, leading down. As they descended in silence, Bezel couldn’t help looking over his shoulder time and time again. The place was a bit—alright, a lot creepy. Why was the staircase this long? Why had it been necessary to dig so deep down? Bezel was used to dark and long corridors, but this staircase still gave him the heebie-jeebies.
But when they finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs and Mashek opened a heavy metallic door, it became immediately obvious why they had to walk so far down; the chamber behind the door was enormous.
"Welcome to the Ratpit," Mashek said as they filed in after him.
At first look, it looked as if a storehouse was built inside an abandoned factory. Metallic platforms running up above their head, huge tanks with powerlines twisting in-between, crates with suspicious content all over the place. There was a bustle of activity up on the platforms, people carrying stuff while a pair of guards stood alert, overseeing everything. Said guards nodded at Mashek when he waved at them, though Bezel didn’t miss the way their expressions hardened as they glanced at Mira.
There was a small bar in the shadow of the platforms; high-legged chairs, dusty wooden counter, and an old cabinet with a small variety of drinks. It was currently unoccupied, so Mashek led them there, bowing slightly when they arrived.
"Please make yourself comfortable, mah lady," he said. "I’ll gather the men, and be right back."
Mira watched Mashek’s back as he walked to a nearby ladder, put on a pair of white gloves, and climbed up cautiously to one of the platforms. She made no move to make herself comfortable, so Bezel didn’t sit either. Instead, he peered at the large pipes running across the chamber, containing the powerlines within. He wondered where this enormous chamber ended. It could be some kind of secret tunnel-system, spread out beneath the entire city; the long staircase they had used to arrive might not have been the only entrance, but one amongst many.
"How legal is this place?" Bezel asked Mira.
Mira just shot him an annoyed glance, then turned her attention back to the people running on the platform up above.
"Hey, just asking," Bezel said, keeping his tone light—though he was now looking upwards as well. Was it just his imagination, or were more and more men gathering on the platforms above? Even the pair of guards from the entrance appeared, drawing their guns—
"Fhire!"
By the time Mashek finished uttering this single word, Bezel was already moving. He grabbed Mira's shoulders and slammed her against the counter, towering over her to shield her with his body. A moment later he felt the first bullets hit his back, bouncing off him harmlessly. He grunted when Mira punched him in the stomach as a reward for his efforts, though she switched gears quickly thereafter, realizing that he meant no harm. Like any Krinfused, she needed some precious seconds to summon her powerfield and strengthen it enough to withstand gunshots. If a lucky bullet hit a vital spot before she had a chance to do that, her healing powers wouldn't be able to save her.
Fortunately, Bezel had no such concerns about himself—not until the Krinhanced guns had come to play.
Wood exploded all over as the energy-bullets tore the furnishing around them apart, and Bezel felt his flesh being scorched away bit by bit. He slapped a hand against the back of his neck to protect his gem within—which unfortunately meant that he couldn’t catch himself when he stumbled, a well-aimed bullet having pierced the back of his knee and destroying it thoroughly. Even so, Bezel wore a triumphant grin as he fell to the ground; he had bought enough time for Mira to bring forth her powerfield. Judging by the lapse of gunfire, their enemies had realized this as well.
"Not a smart move, gentlemen," Mira said, her voice full of barely restrained anger. Her bubbling crimson powerfield had grown two phantom limbs that she flattened into shields, while she held her twin swords in her own hands.
"Not a smart move, mah lady?" came Mashek’s voice from above. The Athorian man tried to sound mocking, but had an edge of nervousness to his voice. "You walked into our trap willingly—we shan't wish for a better chance to remove you!"
"The only thing that you'll wish for is a swift death," Miranda snarled. "Tell me, how long—"
"Canisters! Now!"
Bezel was just about to get back on his feet when Mashek's gunmen tossed several small cylinders down in front of him. Thick, yellowish smoke burst out of the canisters, spreading rapidly. It was a common tactic against powerful Krinfused; no matter how strong their powerfield, they still needed air to breathe. Mira crouched down—ready to launch herself up towards the gunmen—but Bezel reached out quickly and grabbed her arm, preventing her from jumping.
"What are you—"
"Get Mashek later," Bezel said. "Think of the loop, escape now."
He didn't have time to say anything else, because the smoke was already about to reach them. Taking a deep breath, Bezel stumbled towards the exit. The heavy door wasn’t too far from them, but—not too surprisingly—it was closed. Mashek and his men continued to rain bullets at them, though this time it was Mira who took most with her phantom limbs.
Bezel bent his legs cautiously to see whether they had regenerated completely, then kicked off the ground with all the power he could muster, charging forward. He slammed into the door with the force of a battering ram, the impact stirring up the smoke around him. Sadly, it wasn't enough; though slightly bent, the heavy door stood steady. Bezel scrambled backwards to gain some distance and charge again, but Mira surprised him by dashing in and slashing at the door's hinges. Her powerfield-covered sword cut through the metal with ease, barely meeting any resistance. Bezel took this opportunity to lunge forward with a powerful kick, bursting through the door with the same motion and landing on top of it. He began to scale the steps immediately, Mira close at his heels.
"So my entire spy-network is against me," Miranda grumbled as they ran, her voice almost drown out by the shouts below. Mashek sounded really pissed for some reason—perhaps Bezel shouldn’t have bullied him so much.
"I’m not too surprised," Bezel said, tearing the singed scraps of his uniform off his chest. "I warned you Mira, you cannot trust—"
He stopped in his tracks as he reached the top of the stairs and burst into the tavern. Every customer was standing, pointing guns at them from behind their tables.
"—anyone."
The thugs opened fire, and Bezel barely had enough time to raise a hand and shield his face. Luckily these guys weren't as well-equipped as the people down at the basement; most of them had ordinary weapons, their bullets bouncing off Bezel's skin harmlessly. While Bezel hesitated what to do, Mira leapt into action; pushing past him, her sword was nothing more than a blur as she swung it at the bartender and decapitated him with a single strike. Before Bezel could comprehend what had just happened, she pivoted past the headless body and launched herself at the nearest group of men—then chaos ensued.
Gawking, Bezel lowered his hands slowly. He couldn’t deny that Mira was a sight to behold; terrifying and amazing at the same time, graceful and unstoppable like a battle angel from Old Cook's tales. Her fighting style was all about movement, using phantom limbs to navigate, her long swords tearing bloody arcs around her. She was constantly in motion as she spun from person to person, following the steps of a deadly dance—and none of her opponents had any chance. Some outright collapsed in fear, unable to withstand the closeness of her aura, while the rest—those who were Krinfused—trembled, the weak manifestation of their powers providing nothing against Mira's crimson red shroud.
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Bezel was brought out of his horrified fascination by being shot in the back of his head. He whirled around instantly, making his offender jump in fright before kicking him in the chest. The man flew back to the staircase, bowling over the others behind him amid cries of pain.
"Mira, we got to go," Bezel shouted as someone from the stairs flung up a gas canister. He tossed it back down, but he knew it wouldn't stop the gunmen.
"We can take them," Mira said, punching a thug with a phantom fist while impaling another with one of her swords.
"We can, but we don't have to," Bezel said, grabbing the first emerging man with two hands and tossing him back bodily.
"They are coming up one by one," Mira said, appearing next to Bezel. "I can take them alone."
Not eager to help Mira murdering the gunmen, Bezel stepped back to give her some space. He turned around to cover her back, though there wasn't much need for it; the remaining customers were either bleeding on the ground, or making a swift exit out of the tavern.
Sadly, this didn't mean that Bezel could just laze around.
In spite of Mira's bravado, it looked like she wouldn't be able to handle the gunmen one by one. The next man who emerged was covered in a pitch black powerfield that formed and reformed small spikes all over its surface. A hatred-induced powerfield; tough, almost impossible to fine-control, and obscuring its wielder's vision even more than rage- and aggression-induced powerfields. But neither of the drawbacks mattered for the man who charged at Mira, forcing her to back away from the stairs as her swords failed to penetrate his black protective layer.
Bezel jumped forward to cover Mira's spot, punching the next emerging gunman in the face. The crimson aura covering the man's head was nowhere near as strong as Mira's, so he was knocked out immediately. The next gunman opened fire at Bezel, pushing past his unconscious buddy; if nothing else, they were admirably persistent. Bezel was about to punch the man back down, when an energy-bullet hit him in the chest and another took out his left eye simultaneously. It made him stagger slightly, and that was all it took for another man to jump at him, slicing his throat open with crimson claws.
Bezel's cry of pain came out as a bloody gurgle, but he grabbed the gunman’s arm with one hand, and side of his head with another. The man fought back of course, grabbing onto him with his free arm while his buddies tried to squeeze past him to get Bezel. It had to be done then, Bezel realized; there was no use of playing nice. Bezel roared, pushing forward and forcing the gunman back down the stairs, moving like an unstoppable force defying the energy-bullets hitting his legs and side. With his hand around the closest gunman’s head, he squeezed—squeezed even as the crimson powerfield turned spiky black, squeezed even as the gunman stabbed pitch-black spikes into his stomach. He squeezed, and when he felt his opponent’s skull crumple under his fingers, he tossed his corpse down the stairs—fighting down his feelings of disgust just as much as the gunmen.
Bezel hated killing with his own hands. No, he hated killing, period. But if he had to do it, he would have much preferred if he could use Krinfused weapons, like everyone else.
He spat a glob of blood to the side as his throat reformed, then smashed his fist into the wall beside the staircase. The corner of the wall exploded in a shower of bricks and dirt, filling the entryway with rubble—but it was nowhere near enough to stop Mashek’s men.
"Mira, we really should go now!" Bezel bellowed.
He kicked yet another gunman down who climbed over the debris, and got hit only by a couple of bullets this time. Mira didn't answer however, and when Bezel glanced back he saw that she was still fighting her opponent. Apparently the man owned a relatively powerful Krinil too, holding his ground with a pair of powerfield-covered daggers. At times like this, there wasn't any surefire way to win quickly; Krinfused people with similar strengths either had to wear their opponent down, or disrupt their concentration long enough to kill them.
Sighing in frustration, Bezel vaulted over the bar and tackled Mira's opponent from behind—taking both of them down to the round.
"Cover the stairs, I got this!"
Mira's powerfield shifted into a shade of yellow, but thankfully she complied. She practically threw herself towards the two men who were already out and aiming handguns at her.
Meanwhile, the man under Bezel struggled to get free.
"You are a dead man," Bezel's opponent threatened. "You don’t know who I—amgh!"
The man roared as Bezel squeezed his head, black spikes erupting all over his powerfield, punching through Bezel's hand. But Bezel held on, right until his opponent freed one of his daggers from under him and swung it at Bezel's left arm, cutting deep into his flesh. Before Bezel had any chance to get away, the dagger had already carved through his arm, severing it at his elbow. Bezel grunted in pain, but had enough presence of mind to dodge the next dagger-thrust. Still on the ground, he rolled backwards and grabbed his opponent's leg with his remaining hand, then slammed him into the side of the bar hard enough to shatter the wood. The man dropped his dagger, but Bezel didn't let up; he sprang to his feet and started swinging his opponent around, gripping his ankle in an iron fist. He smashed him into chairs, tables, walls—anything solid he could find.
The man was tenacious, Bezel had to give him that. He even tossed him up to the ceiling a few times, but his powerfield of hatred held firm. The man must have truly despised House Dawngrove to be able to keep up his powerfield this long. Still, his concentration finally broke when Bezel hammered him into the ground, the wooden floor caving in under them from the impact. The black powerfield flickered out for a second, long enough for Bezel to punch his opponent’s throat with his newly reformed left fist.
The fight ended quickly after that.
Bezel straightened back up, exhaling slowly. He turned back to the fight behind him right as Mashek emerged from the stairs. He was the last one in the line, with only two of his gunmen remaining. They had Mira pinned down with two Sequencers; large Krinhanced rifles capable of shooting up to two energy-bullets per second. The cooling system was supposed to be tremendously heavy, but the gunmen carried them easily on their back with their orange-crimson powerfields. They showered Mira with so many bullets that she had no chance to counter-attack. Her face was tense with concentration as she tried to keep a light green powerfield in place, the bullets constantly chipping away at her protective layer. More alarming was Mashek however, or at least the machine on his back. It began to whir and emanate a soft light, a long barrel protruding above the man's shoulder to take aim at Mira.
That was when Bezel joined in the fight, ramming into one of the gunman from the side and picking him up with both hands. His momentum took both of them forward, right between Mashek and Mira. Mashek fired at the same time, a continuous beam of energy erupting from the barrel of his weapon.
Bezel held the gunman up as a shield, the beam hitting the cooler tank on his back first—which, in hindsight, might not have been the smartest idea. The Sequencer on the gunman's back exploded in a burst of power, the detonation so intense that the shockwave knocked everyone to the ground—everyone, except Bezel. His entire upper body was a bundle of pain though, and it felt as if his flesh was melting off his bones—which probably wasn't too far from the truth.
Still, he remained standing.
The left side of his face was in a state of ruin, but with his remaining right eye he focused on the other gunman through the smoke, injured in the explosion, writhing on the ground. His powerfield was gone now, which made this the perfect opportunity to strike. Bezel took an unsteady step forward, then another. The charred remains of his boots fell off his feet, but he took yet another step, stomping down on the burning floorboard. Acrid smell wafted his nostrils, and he found it difficult to breathe. It wasn't because of the smoke, he realized a moment later; a piece of metal—part of the former gunman's weapon—had been embedded in his chest. Reaching up with one hand, he gripped the metal firmly and pulled it free with one smooth motion.
He then took another step forward.
Mira and Mashek were getting to their feet, but the gunman was still on the floor, coughing from the smoke. The moment before Bezel reached him, the man looked up with eyes full of tears and terror. It took Bezel all his willpower not to flinch. This was the worse part—something that hurt way more than any explosion ever could. It didn't stop him from kicking the gunman's head though, killing him instantly.
He then looked up at Mashek, who was backing away slowly.
"What the— What the Hell are you?!" Mashek squeaked.
"Officially just a simple shoe cleaner," Bezel rasped. Damn, his throat was dry. He coughed a little and forced a smile on his lips, trying his best to put the dead gunman’s face out of his mind.
"You—"
"A-ah, now it’s my time to ask," Bezel interrupted him. "Mashek, where did you get an LSR401? I’ve only read about it in a tech newspaper, but they wrote that it’s still in testing stage! How did you get one?"
Mashek shot him a look of utter confusion.
"No, wait," Bezel continued, "Before you answer that, could you tell me how strong its stopping power is? Can it really pierce through—"
"Out of my way," Mira snarled, brushing past Bezel.
"D-Don't come clohser, or I’ll shoot!" Mashek yelled, aiming the barrel of his gun at them. Bezel knew it was an empty threat, though; unless Mashek had improved the original design, the LSR401 couldn't fire more than once per minute. Miranda called him on his bluff too—or perhaps just didn’t care whether he fired or not—and leapt towards him, the tip of her sword cutting off the weapon's barrel. She then followed it up by thrusting her second sword straight through Mashek's abdomen.
"Aaah!" Mashek screamed as Mira twisted the blade inside of him.
"You'll tell me who you're working for," she hissed, "Or I will carve out your gem and find it out myself."
Mashek trembled—from his injury, from Mira’s aura, and perhaps from a bit of genuine fear. Still, when he looked up, Bezel saw a spark of defiance in his eyes.
"I have a better idea, mah lady. I'll just make shure to—"
"Mira, back!"
"—take you with me!"
Bezel grabbed Mira's shoulder and spun around, flinging her backwards while he simultaneously kicked out with one leg, launching Mashek in the other direction. He wasn't quite fast enough. The LSR401 on Mashek's back detonated, and the explosion was even larger than the last one. As white-hot flames swallowed up his whole world, Bezel found himself once again in a sea of pain—and this time he didn’t remain standing. All he could do was to duck his head and clutch the back of his neck, hoping that his gem would remain intact.
And then there was only darkness.
For a long time—which could have been anything between minutes to hours—Bezel couldn't see, couldn't hear, and all he felt were his melted flesh and bones. Oh, and the roof collapsing on top of him. He was quite sure he felt that too.
When he first came to, he was lying on his back. He didn't have any eyelids yet, but he could see—he could see Mira standing over him, pointing a sword at his neck. Her face was streaked with dirt and she breathed heavily, but she was seemingly uninjured. Her regeneration must have healed her already.
"I could kill you now."
"Good for you," Bezel wheezed, his eyes focusing on the blade at his throat. His mouth tasted like ash, but at least he could speak. He couldn’t move, though—couldn’t even feel his limbs, in fact.
"I should kill you now."
"That would be stupid," Bezel cautiously said. He tore his eyes away from the blade, looking up at Mira’s face—and found only cold resolve there.
"I would have the time loop for myself," Mira stated. "I reckon there are memories in your Krinil gem about how to end the loop."
Bezel didn't say anything, and Mira didn't say anything else either. For long moments, they just stared at each other, her green eyes boring into his brown ones. His body was taut with tension, aching as he forced himself to move—tried to move. He couldn't feel his legs at all; he knew they would take some time to be usable. He attempted to move his left arm, to no avail. His right arm, however, was in a better shape. Bezel cautiously bent it a bit, shifting it slowly closer—
"I guess I'm a soft-hearted fool too," Mira suddenly said and stepped back, sheathing her sword.
"Ah," Bezel sighed, sagging in relief. "You scared me a little, Mira."
"Good," she said, the corner of her lips twitching upwards.
"Just a little, though."
Mira rolled her eyes. "Just hurry up and heal yourself already. Someone is bound to investigate what this explosion was about."
"Oh, sure," Bezel said, groaning, struggling to sit up. "No problem. Here, let me just regrow all of my limbs and organs real quick."
With another long groan of pain, Bezel managed to sit. Quite disturbingly, neither of his legs were more than blackened sticks. They remained unchanged for the moment, probably because his regeneration couldn’t handle so much at once. His left arm was completely wrecked too, but he could feel his burnt skin on his back healing up nicely. He was fine otherwise, the rest of his body more or less restored by now.
Oh, but of course he was also butt naked.
"You don’t happen to have any spare clothes in my size, do you, Mira?" Bezel asked, not really expecting an answer. "You really owe me an entire wardrobe of clothes now. They just keep getting ruined ‘round you, you know. This is the second shirt I lost because of you—today! Let's not even talk about what happened yesterday and the day before that."
When Bezel looked up, he saw Mira watching him with an inscrutable expression, her face slightly pinched.
"What?" Bezel asked.
"I never asked you to protect me. It’s your fault that your clothes got burned."
Bezel snorted. "That so?"
Mira turned her head aside, fixing her eyes on the collapsed roof above. She remained silent for a while, long enough for Bezel to think their conversation was over.
"Yes," she replied suddenly, still not looking at him. "Nevertheless, it was a good fight. You held your ground well enough, so . . . you have my thanks, Bezel."
Bezel blinked in surprise. "You're welcome, I guess. I wouldn't say it was a good fight, but that's what I think every time it involves people dying."
"Too bad," Mira said, turning her back to him. She sauntered across the room, winding around the debris until she reached the tavern's entrance. She kicked down the remnants of the door, then glanced back over her shoulder.
"Heal up and scavenge some clothes. You've got five minutes before I'm leaving."
She stepped out to the street and began to walk away. Once the echoes of her footsteps faded, only the wind's sharp rustling could be heard as it blew through the damaged walls and the collapsed roof.
Bezel sighed, rubbing his newly grown hair. He needed to hurry, that much was true; hopefully Lynn wouldn’t wake up in her incubator before they returned. Bezel glanced around in the room and took in the carnage. The debris couldn’t entirely hide all the bodies that lay on the floor, torn and burnt beyond recognition. He had to close his eyes for a moment to calm down.
How the Hell was he supposed to scavenge clothes here?
He would need to have some serious talk with Mira. Her insistence to take on Mashek and his men had been reckless and stupid. It would have made sense among normal circumstances, to prevent Mashek from getting away—but within the time loop such things were irrelevant.
This fight also put Bezel closer to death than he had ever been to it. It was a scary thought, actually more frightening now, when it was over. Instead of dwelling on it, Bezel decided to regard it as a learning experience. He had gotten to know exactly how many explosions he could withstand before turning into a pile of ash. Very useful knowledge, especially in Mira's company.
"Oh man, what a day," Bezel mumbled. And it wasn't even over yet. He still had the worst part ahead of him; riding Mira’s automobile back home.