Zeph’s fingers flex around Applause. Her knuckles whiten and her glare sharpens. Her focus is locked on Ablee. “Let me make one thing crystal clear: I don’t pull my shots. Not for you, not for anyone. Your dad gets what he’s got coming, teeth intact or not.”
Ablee’s arms fold across her chest, her stance defiant. The wooden box of ammunition nestles snugly in the crook of her arm. The sheen of her stone-coated skin catches the lantern-light, giving her an ethereal glow. “Too bad, witch,” she says, her smirk widening. “If you plan to ruin my turn with him, these stay with me. Guess you’ll just have to wait.”
Zeph snarls. “This isn’t a game of hop-scotch, kid. It’s life or death. We probably won't get the chance to take turns.”
Ablee doesn’t falter. Instead, she steps forward, her nose lifting to nearly brush Zeph’s chin. “If you think that way, you haven't played enough hop-scotch! Cline knew if he skipped my turn he was going to catch a fist."
The tension between them crackles like an overdrawn bowstring, both standing firm and unyielding. The shadows around the chamber flicker and dance, caught up in the heat of their standoff.
Zeph opens her mouth, her sharp tongue poised to cut through Ablee’s bravado, but the words are cut short by a deafening CRASH. The walls shake. The two spin toward the noise, their argument evaporating like steam from a fire.
Zeph’s eyes narrow, her grip on Applause tightening. Ablee’s cocky demeanor wavers just slightly as she angles herself toward the sound. “What the hell was that?”
From beyond the stone wall, a voice breaks through the fading echoes of the crash—panicked, frantic, and unmistakably Rhody’s. “ZE—PH!” Her shout is muffled, as if from the bottom of a deep well, but the fear in it cuts clear.
----------------------------------------
Inside Rhody’s room, the air is weighted with a terrible presence. A towering figure steps into the flickering lantern-light. His massive shadow envelopes Rhody. His form is stone, just like the girl Ablee she'd met moments prior. Eyes burning with faint, otherworldly light, are fixed unerringly on the trembling acolyte.
Rhody scrambles backward, clutching the red leather pouch of her Royal Tarot Deck. Its once-reassuring weight now a lifeline she doesn’t know how to use. Her breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts, her mind fumbling to grasp a method of escape.
He lurches forward, his stony hand sweeping through the air like a crusader's flail. Rhody throws herself to the side, landing hard as the desk behind her explodes into splinters under the weight of his strike. She scrambles to her feet, heart hammering in her chest, and dashes toward the corner of the room.
He pauses. His head, framed in thick braids, tilts slightly, almost mockingly, before he lunges again. Rhody ducks beneath his menacing arm, her ponytail whipping through the air as she dives. She crawls behind the upended remains of a table, overturning it with trembling hands in a desperate attempt at a barrier.
He doesn’t even slow, batting the broken furniture aside as if brushing away a bit of errant dust. His ogreish hand shoots forward and snags her by the leg, his grip unyielding as iron. Rhody lets out a strangled cry, her nails clawing uselessly against the stone floor.
“Zeph!” she screams again, her voice cracking with panic as he drags her across the room. Her free foot kicks wildly, her hands scrambling for purchase, but his strength is absolute. The corridor looms ahead, foreboding, as he pulls her toward it. The weight of Rhody and her pack don't slow him at all.
----------------------------------------
Zeph’s eyes snap wide at sound of Rhody's cry. She turns on Ablee, her teeth bared. “Give me the damn ammo!”
Ablee, still clutching the box of bullets with infuriating nonchalance, raises an eyebrow. “Gladly, just as soon as you make the DAMN promise!”
Zeph doesn’t waste another second. Her boot lashes out, catching Ablee square in the chest. The kick's force sends Ablee hurtling backward. There's no thud of flesh on stone. SCHLORP, the surface of the wall wavers, thick and fluid, like wet paint disturbed by a careless brushstroke. Ablee is enveloped in the thick fluid wall, her body swallowed whole.
Tumbling into the hallway on the wall's other side, she lands in a graceless heap. Her instincts flare, her stone-coated skin grinding the box of bullets against her chest.
She looks around, dazed but unharmed. Her gaze catches on a familiar figure down the hall. Rinval, with his pole-arm propped at his side, turns his porcelain mask to meet her, eye to eye.
Ablee climbs back to her feet, her gaze narrowing. "Yeah I'm out of my cell. What you gonna do about it old man?!”
His porcelain mask tilts, the inked grin somehow smugger than before. “Ah, the little painter's slipped her restraints,” he says, his voice oozing disdain. “I suppose I have time to give a lecture on obedience, while your daddy tends to the pest problem.”
Her eyes dart past Rinval, her chest tightening as she spots her father at the far end of the hall. Rhody trails behind him, her head and shoulders drag the ground as he pulls her by the leg. Her small frame shudders as she claws at the stone floor.
Ablee clenches her fists, ready to bolt after Karich, but Rinval steps to the corridor's center, the wicked blade of his pole-arm swinging across its width like a drawn curtain.
“I have not dismissed you.” he says, his tone dripping menace.
Ablee doesn’t hesitate. She lunges, her fist arcing toward his head. Rinval pivots with infuriating grace, his cloak swirling as his pole-arm knocks her strike aside. She presses forward, weaving beneath his counterattack and striking at his midsection. The shaft of his weapon slams down on her knuckles, the sound of the impact reverberating like a thunderclap.
“Unlike a chain, a war-band is as good as it's strongest link,” Rinval muses, his tone contemplative. “Everyone else must fall in line to be dragged behind them.” His words weigh down upon her shoulders, condensing her to the naive, inquisitive girl she was years prior. She grits her teeth, fighting the urge to drink in her tutor's insights.
She rattles her head from side to side and launches into another barrage of blows, her fists relentless. Rinval’s movements are slow, but compulsive. His polearm spins in a hypnotic dance, drawing her blows to futilely waste upon its length.
“On your father's stage you'll want for nothing.” Rinval says, his voice pressing against her defenses. “If you'll just play the role you've been given.”
Ablee stumbles, her rhythm faltering. Her swings grow wilder, less precise, and Rinval exploits the opening, slamming the blunt end of his polearm into her ribs. She staggers back with a hiss, her breath leaving her in a sharp burst.
“I expected more,” Rinval drawls, positioning his weapon for an incapacitating strike at her head. “Even Cline somehow surpassed you.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Before he can deliver the blow, a sharp, mocking laugh echoes through the hall. “Oh, this is rich,” Zepharin’s voice cuts in, dripping with amusement "It seems someone does know how to handle this brat!"
Rinval’s head snaps toward the sound as Zeph strides into the corridor, her golden hair catching the lantern-light. Blood stains her blouse, but her grin is sharper than the stolen blade in her hand.
“I'm still here,” she says, twirling the sword in a lazy arc. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Can you repeat that? These ears of mine have trouble with soft voices.” he says, his tone still mocking.
Zeph scowls, "I know you heard me you son of a bitch!" She doesn’t wait for him to respond. Her blade swings in an unrefined arc, and Rinval blocks it, letting out a soft yawn.
As Rinval counters Zeph’s strike, Ablee seizes the moment. Her eyes lock onto the gap in his guard, and with a surge of determination she vaults, cresting just over his weapon. Her body slips through his, exiting coated in the blue and gold of his cloak. Rolling across the ground behind him she stumbles.
The world around her feels warped, wrong. She straightens, blinking hard as her ears ring. Her surroundings are overwhelmingly silent. The chaotic echoes of his clash with Zeph seem distant, muffled. Panic lances through her chest as she slaps her hand against the side of her head. “What the hell!?” she mutters, the words loud in her own mind but disturbingly hollow in her ears.
Behind her, Zeph’s voice cuts through the muted din, sharp and furious, but the warbling words hold no meaning for Ablee. She turns, catching Zeph’s blood-streaked figure gesturing wildly, her mouth moving with what must be a reprimand—or a threat. Ablee squints, trying to read her lips, but the effort is futile. She forces a lopsided grin and gives an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Thanks for the assist!” she shouts, though her voice feels distorted, warped by the quiet in her head.
Zeph’s eyes narrow. Her mouth moves faster now, her gestures sharper. Whatever she’s saying, it isn’t pleasant.
Ablee decides she doesn’t have time to linger. The outline of her father's hulking form stains her vision, growing smaller with every passing second. Clutching the box of bullets tightly to her chest, Ablee shoots Zeph a cheeky wave and takes off down the corridor, her bare feet slapping the stone.
Behind her, Zeph’s frustration crescendos into what can only be a scream, but Ablee barely registers it.
She swerves sharply, passing through a section of wall into an adjoining passage. The maneuver jars her senses further, and for a terrifying moment, her equilibrium tilts. She lands braced against the opposite wall, panting, her painted fingers scraping faint lines into the stone. “Damn it,” she growls, shaking her head, hoping the motion will clear the haze.
Somewhere ahead, Rhody’s muffled cries break through the silence like faint ripples on a still pond. Ablee pushes off the wall and charges forward, deaf to the chaos she leaves in her wake.
----------------------------------------
Ablee hurtles through the keep. Her wild, uncoordinated movements are punctuated by the thuds of her shoulders against wall after wall. The power of her Painter's Ambrosia flares instinctively as she takes a hastily made short-cut. She misjudges her exit, stumbling out at a bizarre angle and landing with a muffled curse that feels distant in her head.
“Damn it!” she growls, scrambling to her feet. She squints down the hall, trying to orient herself. The distorted echoes of her own voice bounce off the stone walls, making her flinch. “Where did you go?” she mutters, steadying herself with a palm against cold stone.
Behind her, Zeph wheels around a corner, her golden hair trailing like a banner. She slows just long enough to catch her breath. “You are the worst runaway I’ve ever chased!” she calls, her tone exasperated. The words bounce uselessly off Ablee’s dulled senses.
Ablee turns, catching sight of Zeph’s sharp expression, and scowls. “You're not getting these bullets, not til I'm done!”
Zeph throws her hands up, baffled. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Ablee hears nothing, of course. She flips Zeph an irritated wave and takes off again, her form vanishing into the next wall. Zeph groans, the sharp pain returns to her shoulder and she feels a wet warmth pooling down her chest. She forces her a foot forward, then another, resuming the chase.
This is a disaster, Zeph thinks, shaking her head. But a grin sneaks its way onto her lips, Damn if it's not entertaining though.
Farther back, Rinval struts through the halls. His composed movements relay little concern. "Can't believe they slipped past me," he muses, “This brings back fond memories, corralling those kids through these halls.”
Ablee’s eye catches on a glimmering object lying ahead of her. Without slowing her sprint, she bends sideways and scoops it up. A midnight blue card dotted with golden stars. "That girl." She huffs, and surges forward, keeping her eyes peeled for any more along her path.
Exiting another barrier of liquid stone, she finds herself looking down an uneven stairwell. "Since when was this here!?" She shouts, tumbling down the steps and landing with a graceless thud. The bullet box flies from her grip, skidding ahead and hitting the base of the stairs with a resounding clatter.
She slams her fists against the ground before picking herself up. Her ears ring faintly as she jogs down the hall to reclaim her bargaining chip.
Zeph eyes her from the top of the staircase, her boots skidding to a stop at their edge. “You drop those bullets one more time!” she warns, her voice livid, “I swear I'll—”
Ablee turns to glare at the intrusive, garbled sound. “What!?"
Zeph blinks at the girl. “You—wait, can you not—” she begins, but Ablee turns and bolts again, clearly uninterested in whatever Zeph has to say.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Zeph hisses, her temper bubbling. She takes off after Ablee once more, her hand brushing the revolver at her side. “This better end with bullets in my gun and Karich dead... Or I’m tossing her off the nearest parapet.”
Rinval strides after them into the stairwell, his pole-arm clanging against the banister as he gingerly descends them. “The dungeon huh,” he mutters, "What have you got planned Karich?"
Ahead, Ablee pauses at a fork in the hallway, her hands on her knees as she pants. Her sense of direction is warped, and the muffled sounds around her seem to bounce erratically. Bending down to pick up another card, she catches sight of Zeph, upside down between her legs.
“Later, witch Lady!” Ablee shouts, before passing through another wall.
“Stop doing that!” Zeph yells, barreling down the hall after her.
----------------------------------------
The chaotic trail of noise and destruction funnels them all toward Ablee’s cell, its smeared chalk murals glowing faintly in The Tower's light. Inside, Karich towers over Rhody, his massive stone heel planted firmly on her head, grinding it into the cold floor. Her breaths come in ragged bursts, her face pale with terror.
Pin-Beard eyes Karich from the wall, he shouts “Give it a rest ya over-grown dog-fish!” He punctuates his insult with a crude gesture.
Ablee stumbles into the room, her stone-coated foot-steps clacking against its floor. Her hearing, dulled to a frustrating muffle, makes the scene feel distant, almost dreamlike. Her eyes lock onto Karich's back. Something about him seems off, but it's hard to tell what in her addled state. Trailing down the length of his fur-cape, her gaze lands on Rhody’s trembling frame.
Suddenly, her mind is yanked fifteen feet forward and three years back. She's lying in Rhody's position, Karich's boot digging into her temple.
Her eyes slam shut, as tight as they can, and the ringing in her ears grows to a cacophony.
"Stop...Stop!...STOP!" She fights her every inclination and forces her eyes back open, squinting tightly. She takes in the scene, her eye-lashes filtering its harshness, rendering it more slight bearable, by just the smallest amount.
Ablee steps closer, her fists clenched. “Why are you doing this!?” she demands, her voice raw with frustration. The sound rings strangely in her own head, amplified by the silence that surrounds her. “Why are you doing this, to her!?”
Her shout feels swallowed by the space, leaving her words hollow and weightless. She sees some movement across her father's back, and can feel movement in the air, but her ears register no sound.
A sudden, feral gust surges into the room, swirling about it with vengeance.
Cline's drawings, Pin-Beard, Talia, all of her friends, cry out, shouting and screaming, as bit by bit, line by line, their forms are ripped from the walls. Ablee's eyes twitch from side to side, seeing, but unable to hear, their pleas.
The storm swirls as vibrant as a rainbow. In quickening circles, layer after layer is peeled away.
The wind drags across her, particles of chalk pelting against her stony skin. “No! Stop!” she shouts, her ears drowned by the storm’s furious roar. The cyclone churns, its presence suffocating and undeniable.
As Ablee struggles to maintain her senses, Zeph crashes into her back like a battering ram, the force of the collision sending them both sprawling across the floor. The box of bullets clatters away, spinning into the vortex.
“What the hell?!” Ablee snarls. She struggles to push herself upright, but the wind presses her down, its weight almost physical.
Zeph groans, clutching her revolver as she rolls onto her knees. “What is—” her voice cuts off as her gaze locks on Karich, his head has turned, his glowing eyes are fixed on them with cold, unfeeling precision.
The storm intensifies, a frenzy of chalky debris whipping through the air. Ablee’s heart pounds as she lifts her head, the wind clawing at her hair and clothes. “Zeph…” she begins, her voice thin and strained, but her words are swallowed whole by the roaring tempest.
The wind surges around Karich, and the cell itself seems to shrink under the weight of its presence.
Ablee and Zeph brace themselves as the storm howls louder.