So it’s there, then?
It has to be. Akella would not
have hunted for this artifact so fiercely, otherwise.
Why then? Why there?
…Do you think I know that? Now, come on. We’ve got
preparations to make…
--
In the present…
“Whoo!
Ahahahaha, I got it!”
In a manner that would make even a zombie’s blood run cold, an almost maniacal peal of laughter rang out in the walls of a certain immortal’s small Wiccan shop. Deep within the sweet but pungent aroma of the incense’s normally calming smoke, a blond man let one of his eyebrows rise ever so slowly as he lifted his eyes from The Magician’s Almanac- he knew exactly who that laughter came from and knew that it meant nothing but trouble.
Refusing to move even when Joey growled his irritation, Sand let Erika laugh whatever it was out of her system as she tiptoed in a perfectly practiced manner through the items that littered the floor. Piles of books, boxes of semiprecious gemstones, and glass cylinders full of scents that she couldn’t even begin to name offhand were passed without a second thought, and she was soon no more than a few yards away from two of her dearest friends, grinning quite expectantly with clothes folded over her arms. Cats before caged birds looked less enthusiastic than she, and her body language screamed that she had something to say.
Clearly whatever she had couldn’t wait until the next chapter. Closing his book, Sand let his eyes lazily follow the flash of deep emerald that rushed around the room before she stopped in front of him. He vaguely recognized the emerald dress that she was now wearing- it billowed down in waves and reached almost all the way to the floor, obstructing her view and forcing her to rely on memory when going through Mirra’s shop. Something fuzzy that he didn’t recognize was draped around her shoulders, but he stayed silent about it as he heard the heels of her black leather boots click impatiently against the floor.
“Sand, Joey, it’s perfect- that artifact’s as good as ours! I got something, see.” A small bronze dragon that held a stick of incense between its fangs was nearly bowled over when the magician twirled on one foot, holding something tightly against the back of her neck like a shawl- neither of the two men recognized what it was. While the blond man was perfectly content with letting her come out with it on her own time, Joey put down his own book (which he wasn’t reading, anyway- Astral Projection 101 wasn’t exactly on the top of his desired reading material list!) and carefully stood up, making sure to avoid the outstretched wings of the Maat statue that perched atop the shelf.
“Well, spill it.” Not particularly patient since the incident with Alshik, nor particularly willing to play such frivolous games if she truly had found something, Joey rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension that had built up over time. Though he hadn’t been reading, he’d been sitting in the same position for what had to be three hours- Erika kept insisting that they’d find something there, and wouldn’t let them leave the premises without her.
She’d said something about not wanting to leave ‘her beasties’ alone, and threatening to hang them by their intestines if they left- ordinary threats, of course. Spotting her friend’s smug grin, Erika pelted Joey’s face with a musty-smelling cardigan coat and gloves that already looked far to small for him. Listening to his yelp of surprise, the immortal woman just smiled and turned her attention to her boyfriend. At least he didn’t sneer.
“Look, look. It’s this. Never expected a time travel device
to be so fashionable, did you,
Her eyes followed the two men, waiting for some sort of interesting reaction. Realizing that her bow at the end of her speech had been met with a scoff, she hit Joey with what were supposed to be Sand’s gloves, giving out a noise of protest when he pocketed those and threw back the smaller ones that were meant for him. This started quite the squabble, but she expected her dearest to help her at any moment…
However, all Sand had done was to slip his feet into the two combat boots near the couch he had been sitting on, lacing them up and looking to his familiar baseball bat. Without a word, he knew he couldn’t take it with him- that sort of weapon wasn’t appropriate in the 19th century. Rather, he flexed his fist, almost as if testing the innate curse that flowed through his veins. Hearing the primal power roar in his ears like a powerful heartbeat, he quickly suppressed that feeling, lest it soon become pain. Almost as if realizing for the first time that his friends were bickering like children, he stood up, taking his gloves from Joey and Joey’s from Erika, giving them back to the one who was supposed to wear them in the first place.
“…You’re no fun, dude.” Throwing on the coat and making a
rather juvenile face at Erika, the brunet wasn’t all that surprised that he got
one back as he buttoned up the small vest that came with it. Damn stuffy
things, the fashion of
“One of us has to be responsible.” Sand was having a bit of trouble getting into his own clothes, but still managed to chuckle out his answer as he put his arms through a black suit that was a size too small for him- the pants were loose for now, but a twisting feeling in his gut told him that the pants might not survive a transformation. Of course, if he told Erika that, she’d hit him and tell him to get used to a 19th century bludgeon instead of relying on his curse. As such, he kept mum and tried not to think about how she got the outfits in the first place.
Did she steal them from that time period? Doubtful, but there weren’t all that many sellers for that particular style in the current day and age- war made business just a little bit difficult for tailors, especially those skilled enough to make the suits they were wearing.
“Wait, wait, we can’t get ready to go, yet. Where are River and Wade?” Changing the subject, Joey turned his head and did a quick once-over of the shop; he didn’t see anyone between the bookshelves, he knew Erika had been the only one upstairs, and didn’t even spot them behind the glass containers that held dozens of precariously stacked tarot decks. Turning only to see the deceptively old magician pulling at his caravat to fix its alignment, Joey stopped moving when she answered him quickly.
“They’re going to watch the shop. Mirra’s been gone since last night, and they should be back any minute- I warned them that we might not be here when they got back, and I don’t want to risk the shop being unattended for even a moment without Mirra’s magic on the place. Now get fixed up- we’re going. Bring anything more sophisticated than a pocket watch, and I swear I’ll gut you both.” Smiling as she patted their pockets, she stopped and met Sand’s eyes for a moment when she patted him down, giving him one playful tap on the rear…
…and pulling out his wallet.
Opening it and throwing out the dollar bills, her boyfriend had already produced an envelope from behind the cashier register and was writing his name on it- he’d be damned if he let his money get pissed away while he was gone. Writing down the amount as his girlfriend handed him the bills, he watched as she pulled old British currency from her pocket and stuff it into his wallet in place of his American bills. Regarding her with a raised brow as he heard the register jingle cheerily at the prospect of more money, he put the envelope beneath the cash tray and hid it among all the personal checks.
She did the same with Joey, leaving him to look at his apparent cut in income with a very stunned and upset look on his face. Not missing a beat, Erika’s voice was already chirping out an answer as she did the same to her own wad of bills.
“They’re British pounds. This skin is from
“God, I hate this part.”
She merely smirked at his discomfort and let the magic envelop her, focusing all of her energies into the time signature of the ancient skin, all while Sand closed his eyes as the world seemed to turn around them, the books spinning into a blur and the timeless artifacts seeming to laugh at him as the blinding blue light still burned beyond his lids. A lurch, a sense of trepidation, and an unnerving sense of something just being inherently wrong screamed at his soul, and it was only then that he looked to his left, only to find that the god-awful skin was smiling at him, guffawing with eyes that were no longer there and making a grin that would have been toothy if there were any bones left in it.
A whisper rang in his mind, but by the time he seized the
thing in his hand, the chilled air of late-night
Revenge is sweet- finally, centuries later,
I can get back at you for my pain. Finally, my premature death will be avenged!
You’re in my world, now, human!
--
June 14, 1880. 10:50 PM.
Near enough to midnight where no sensible lady would
normally be up and about, sounds of life still rang in the serene darkness of
“Sabin, dear, have you seen--?”
“What, him? No. Not after our fight, this afternoon.” Cutting her off with the best of intentions, the white-haired man suppressed a wince, holding up his hands in a submissive manner when his girlfriend turned a venomous stare in his direction. His eyes, blue in the moonlight but appearing almost steely silver by the warm light of the candle, softened quickly despite the thought of the familiar that had bothered him earlier. He and Simon often got into scuffles over the most minor of trifles, but this particular fight had been vicious- the familiar had left in a huff, storming out the door and vowing not to come back until ‘the whore’s spawn apologized’.
The little spirit hadn’t come back since, and that had been five hours ago. Since said five hours had begun, Samantha had scoured every inch of their room thrice over, clearly not pleased with the argument or its incomplete resolution, shooting scathing looks at one white-haired beloved and wishing that her other one would come back. Had it not taken all those hours just to look for a hair of the magical creature, she wouldn’t have wasted any time summoning him back- but with nothing to show for her efforts, there was still little left to her in ways of options. Now, as she looked at her empty hands and the nearly melted candle, she bit back a curse.
“It’s so nice to see that my two best companions get along so swimmingly.” Her voice dripping with sarcasm, she sighed when she saw Sabin’s minute flinch before continuing. “Just what were you two arguing about this time?”
“Ah… right, about that.” His heart clenching from guilt, he looked sheepishly at her, twirling a few hairs between his fingers in a failed attempt to relieve the tension. “Simon was harassing me about my apparent ‘immaturity’ and how I couldn’t think ahead. I got tired of it, so I called him clingy, when it came to you…”
“Come now, you know as well as I do that that wouldn’t make him leave. What did it?” The brunette had uncorked a bottle of wine in an attempt to calm her rattled nerves, and began to pour it into the glass as he trailed off, falling silent as the words finished tumbling from his lips. It wasn’t until she lifted the glass to her lips that he finally responded, again twisting his hair about his bare fingers.
“I told him to stop clinging to the teat. Nicely, of course.”
He barely dodged a spray of cheap red wine, jumping out of the way while holding a pile of clothes in his arms (to make sure that his corduroy pajamas wouldn’t get sprayed, either!). Samantha was coughing sharply, and she looked up at him with a positively incredulous look as she watched him fuss with his sleeping clothes. It was quite the sight, seeing a man in his twenties, dressed in a light blue vest and a black cape, cuddling a pile of clothes as if they were made of gold. It wasn’t that they were a treasure to him or anything- it was just that, after Simon berating and badgering him over wasting funds and such, he really didn’t want to have to go out and buy more sleep clothes willy-nilly.
“What possessed you to do that?”
“Well, he did start it!” Throwing up his hands, his eyes wide open, he looked down once to see where his pajamas had fallen in a haphazard heap before smiling sheepishly at Samantha. Wonderful- already she was groaning, seemingly torn between the desire to wipe the wine off of her lips with the back of her hand and the dire need to just slap her hand against her forehead in exasperation.
“Brilliant.” The word came out as an almost disgusted groan, but she turned it into a sigh when she noticed that Sabin looked ready to start arguing his point with her- that wouldn’t help them find Simon any faster.
“But I--” As he pointed his hand to where Simon had been- an awkward sight, to be sure- to justify his actions, Sabin didn’t notice the strand of that sparkled ever so subtlety in the relatively dark room. Thankfully, however, someone else did- Samantha found herself standing up and speaking before she’d even fully realized what it was. Instinct was a powerful beast, and her gut hadn’t lied to her in as long as she could remember.
“Wait. Stay right there!” Interrupting him sharply and rushing forward when a stunned Sabin complied, the brunette let out a triumphant cry when she plucked a hair that shone silver on his dark coat- a dead giveaway of her beloved friend’s essence. Rushing to grab a pin, she bit her lip and stuck her pinkie with it (she would have poked her thumb, but she didn’t want to risk dropping that hair!), touching the barest beginnings of a drop of blood to the hair and grinning like a schoolgirl.
“I won’t ask how his fur got on your coat- did you two grapple? Well, now you’ll get to apologize. Be nice to him.” Blowing on the blood-streaked hair to create the energy catalyst needed to summon and keeping an image of her dear familiar in mind, she concentrated on bringing him home. It was not unlike a bloodhound tracing a scent, only she could not see her surroundings in this state- rather, she felt out the energy trail he had left behind when he’d left in a huff and quickly followed it to the source. Beginning to cover the small spirit with a swath of her own warm energy, she expected to be able to bundle him up easily and bring him home with no problems.
She
didn’t expect resistance from the spirit- even through the hair,
she could hear his shrieks of protest as the trembling energy signature threw
her protective coat from his shoulders. If she thought about his argument with Sabin, then Simon’s reluctance to come back made some sort
of sense- however, the terror that was in the scream was something completely
foreign to her. It made no sense, and the sheer unfamiliarity of feeling it
nearly threw her out of her summoning state. Simon never feared the man…
Simon? Simon, I’m here, please calm down! Realizing that the fear was growing stronger as her familiar’s energy rushed towards her own corporeal form, she called for him again, ready to forcefully summon him if need be. Snapping from her summoning trance, Samantha turned to the door, not having time to move but already feeling a knot of fear twist within her-
THUNK.
Sabin leapt up with a start, running with Samantha to the window as a blaze of white rushed by, striking the window once with its flank and leaving crimson streaks in its wake. The sounds that rang out from outside were unearthly as the familiar shrieked in terror, his tongue lolling out of his mouth from sheer exhaustion and panic as a shadow followed close behind him. The creature with large horns followed him, with a laugh rising from its barreled chest and an unnaturally shrill voice that seemed to tear itself from the minotaur’s throat.
“Little spirit, remember my name- Sand
of
“SIMON!” Throwing open the door and likewise tossing caution into the wind, Samantha ran outside, nearly tripping once as she beheld the sheer volume of blood that had spattered onto the glass of her window and the cobblestone path beside the hotel. It wasn’t until Sabin urged her forward and they both heard another of the small beast’s screams that they ran to follow the shrieks of pain and terror.
The trail of blood was eerily easy to follow, even at night- the warmth and stench alone was enough to wake the spirit within Sabin, though for once the Anju did not care to intervene. When the trail began to slow down, the blood slowing to the occasional drop rather than the large spatters they had seen before, they hastened their steps. Every attempt she had made at forcibly summoning Simon to her side only resulted in another scream, until even those grew faint and fell silent. Just as the trail ended, however, the two pursuers paused, feeling the cold silence of the night fully settle in on them.
The wind was still, and all was silent, save for their heavy breathing. Samantha clutched Sabin’s hand in hers, and called silently to Simon again- this time, she felt nothing in return.
A laugh cut through the air as a crimson form arced into the air…
Leaving the skinned body of a fox to fall with a sickening splat onto the cobblestone road before their feet.
--
June 14, 1880. 11:19 PM.
Those scarce few that dared to venture into the woods of
Shocked, he looked to his amber glass bottle before deciding to shuffle up, running into town with a lurching gait as the beast disappeared into the night.
The rippling muscles of the minotaur were useful for fighting and fleeing, but were practical for little else- the muscles were dense and heavy, the hooves felt sturdy but needlessly large, and the horns seemed only like an ornament and a detriment as it crashed through the undergrowth surrounding the city. With each rough laugh and chortle, the beast could feel its larynx straining with the effort to keep its voice human; unable to balance the ratio between the bass cry of the beast and the true owner’s much higher frequency, it knew already that there was already something gone awry in their plans.
But it did not matter- clutching the spirit fox’s skin tightly in its beefy fist, the beast let out another dry laugh as its breath misted heavily with each labored breath. With only the light of a half moon playing off of his short, brown fur, the sweat coated beast felt his muscles shudder as a cool breeze seemed to almost freeze the perspiration on his skin. The tail, seeming unnatural as ever, seemed to stick closer to his body, relishing the warmth his workout still produced, even at a standstill.
Coming to a halt before a small cottage in the woods, it grinned, walking confidently towards the fragile wooden steps despite its apparent bulk and density…
With each step, the muscles seemed to melt away, shrinking as the hair covering its body retracted back into quickly paling skin. Hair that was once wiry and straight softened and split into thinner strands, turning from light tan sheets to dark brown waves that rushed down the now pale and bare back. Hands that were once gargantuan shrank as they ran up to its hair, having reduced to graceful, strong women’s hands by the time they flipped the hair casually over one shoulder. From its chest, the pectoral muscles seemed to shrink slightly, softening from the sinew of muscle into the familiar softness of the immortal’s breasts.
The loss of power in her abdomen was not nearly as noticeable, as the muscles still remained strong despite their shrinking into a more feminine frame- the beast’s waist dipped inward as the woman’s body demanded, and necessary changes in the groin regions truly made the body hers again. With a laugh that was her own again, she felt the enormous steel-like muscles of her legs revert back into the sleek, strong, and lighter form that she was used to, and she ascended the steps with little fear of them collapsing beneath her still hoofed feet. In fact, it wasn’t until her companion opened the door that the woman finally allowed her feet to soften and return to a fleshy form, and even then she merely shrank the horns, refusing to get rid of them altogether.
“Ah, you’re back, Akella.” Looking down with an arched brow, her companion beheld the war goddess in all her nude glory- the immortal had not learned how to use her new skill from Josephine to its fullest extent, yet, and so found herself standing in pants that once fit. Though she had been wearing them while in her minotaur guise, the sudden lack of mass made them fall from her like leaves from a tree in autumn. Akella found herself shivering in the breeze despite herself as she let the beast’s tail shrink and slurp back into her spine and retracted the horns, leaving her as fully human and herself once again.
“Of course. A shame things won’t have quite as much ironic value, this way- who would have thought that guardian beasts couldn’t be affected by mental magic?” Following her comrade inside, she snapped up the offered tunic, sliding it over her head and down her toned body in one smooth motion. Finding that she was perfectly fine with that level of nudity, Akella threw the pelt into the other woman’s arms, not caring that blood spattered onto the woman’s hair.
“What would you like me to do with this, exactly?” Likewise, her companion didn’t seem to mind the presence of the crimson that liquid that dripped onto her own white shirt, merely holding onto it obediently. With one smooth motion, Akella’s companion closed the door behind her fellow immortal, watching as the warrior sat languidly on one of the plush couches that sat before a warm fireplace.
“Just tan it and prepare it- you’ve enough experience with time magic to make it happen within the hour, don’t you? I need that if I’m to smoke out my target. I’ll be damned if my month of hunting for that prize was for naught.” Stretching out where she sat and letting her hair drift down over the back of the sofa, Akella let her eyes close slowly as a wave of relaxation washed through her. The warmth of the fire was a sharp contrast to the cold nights she’d spent, trapped in a cave where no light ever reached her- she savored every second of it, letting a grin cross her features as she did so.
The other woman in the room raised her eyes to look upon her, however, and braved to speak.
“Yes, Akella, that should be no problem. May I ask why you went after this… vermin? It took you so long to capture it…” As soon as the words fell from her lips, however, she was left standing perfectly still, the sharp point of a diamond spearhead just barely touching her throat. And yet, the woman did not so much as flinch- she merely met the brunette’s eyes and refused to move, despite the woman’s deadly reputation and mastery of the spear.
“Do you dare question my actions? I could kill you now, you know. Take your powers like the rest of your pitiful lot.” Each word was a bitter hiss, and the immortal stood from her chair, the point of the spear not wavering from its deadly position once- even as she moved to stand. Akella looked down on her companion, irritated that she was greeted with that same, cool gaze that spoke nothing of fear. Her voice did not shake, just emerged with the smoothness of silk from between her lips.
“I merely meant that the magician woman has stayed in one place for nearly a week, now. Why not attack them there? Why go after her beast?”
For a moment, Akella looked upon her partner with an incredulous look- then the spear was lowered as a crowing laugh shook her body. Tearing a series of sketches off of the wall, the warrior did not blink twice at the damage as she shook them repeatedly in front of her companion’s face.
“Why? Why? Why do you think I made you get me drawings of that time traveler beast? If they’ve any sense at all, they’d come here to try to find the Artifact- the time and place are perfect, if they wanted to find their guide to the relic. If I can get the summoner woman’s attention away from me and onto the travelers, I can focus on the task at hand… getting the power I need to smash them and drain their bodies dry!” Slamming the spearhead into the floor, the immortal hissed and waved her companion away, tossing the sketches nonchalantly into the likewise uncaring blaze of the fireplace. “Now, get out. Prepare that skin- don’t let me see you until you’ve finished.”
“As you wish. May I be so bold as to ask why it has to be that mage woman’s strength?” Already moving to leave, she missed the very amused glance that the mind-controller gave her.
“…If you really don’t understand that, then I doubt you even know what I’ve been after this entire time. Immortals only gain powers from kindred spirits- look to that little beast’s ties and find my immortal spirit, dear Mirra. The very essence of fear will make me invincible!”
Sitting back down once Mirra had closed the door behind her, Akella felt the wave of power emanated by a powerful time magic spell and smiled at the discarded drawings, watching the ink boiling and contorting while the parchment beneath it blackened and curled up upon itself- not unlike what a human would do in its place. Though paper did not scream, and though drawings did not beg for mercy or cry useless tears, it still curled up into a fetal position, useless and unable to escape as both boiled and cooked into nothing but dark cinders.
And so she watched the proud visage of the minotaur burn- a cheap substitute for the real thing, but it would do, for now.
--
June 15, 1880. 3:15 AM.
Initially, adrenaline had been enough to keep her going, fueling her legs in an almost mechanical fashion as she raced about the city, looking for any sign of the beast whose trail had gone cold in the forest- the hoof prints would have been easy to find, had it been daylight, but with mist already hanging thick nearly a foot above the ground, following the tracks had become an impossible task. Tears stung her eyes and anger seethed in her heart, but more than that was a cold sense of emptiness as a part of her very soul seemed like it had been stripped away.
She remembered his dying squeaks- pathetic attempts at speech that he’d tried to make as she’d tried to heal the bloody, broken body that had been thrown at her. Though a familiar spirit by nature, his coat held most of his magic- without it, her healing arts had little to take hold of. Likewise, her magic only worked to speed up the healing process, not completely regenerate what had been literally stripped from his body; blood vessels had been torn beyond repair, and the muscles that shook uncontrollably from sheer agony had no skin left to cover them, even if he had been allowed months to heal.
A shaky mental cry was all he had given her, undecipherable through the crimson strings of agony that wrapped around his feeble speech, and he was gone.
She’d gripped him, then, holding him like she was his own mother, and had set out immediately, Sabin close behind her. Through the bloody streets and out into the woods they went, with an utter disregard as to how many snags she got in her chestnut locks when they ran through the underbrush and ignoring the stains that were no doubt building on her once-fine dress. The sticky blood, once warm with the magic of life, had cooled sickeningly as his lifeless form lay in her arms- now every movement had her feeling the weight and chill of packed, coagulated blood around her abdomen.
Though she shivered, never once did Samantha waver.
He didn’t dare utter a word- she would break if he stopped her, even for a moment, and so let her run as she pleased. Her fury and innate magic would serve her well if they found the culprit, in addition to his own ferocity; though they bickered, Simon was no enemy of his. Opening his eyes- all of them, for who was out to see them at this time of night?- Sabin let what little light there was seep into the four crimson eyes on his face. It took some doing before the top pair of blazing red eyes was able to tolerate the constant onslaught of sweaty white locks, but he eventually fought through the irritation from sheer necessity.
He, unlike his companion, could see perfectly well in the dark of night, and soon ended up taking the lead. An unspoken understanding made her fall back, but as soon as he passed, she matched his pace to follow his superior senses.
He could see the world as no one else could- the eyes of an Anju pierced the darkness with ease, though seeing through the mist was another matter entirely. Tracking was slow at first, but once he got the gist of where the tracks had gone, he used his eyes to find and follow the evidence in the foliage- shattered sticks, scattered bushes, trees with limbs that looked like they had been shorn clean by a pair of massive horns. Signs that Samantha would have had to wait until morning to see shone like beacons in his eyes, and he led her through them as she held her companion close.
The trail ran unexpectedly cold at a small hut, and they wasted no time, rapping on the door with their fists. Through the small glass apparatus in the door, Sabin could see someone moving to peer out at him- he pulled his extra eyes back into his face just in time to prevent the woman from seeing him.
Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, the door opened slightly, and a woman smelling strongly of foreign incense made a motion to be silent as she closed the door quietly behind her, shaking with something akin to fear. A knife was in her belt, and though he could tell it had been recently drawn, Sabin knew she was too shaky now to do them any harm with it. Her eyes would not meet theirs, and kept flitting between their faces and the dark woods outside.
“You’ve come at a bad time. A beast… a beast ran through here. A nightmarish creature, with horns that split the sky. I was afraid it had returned.” Motioning behind her with a flick of her head, she bade them stand by the window and peer in on the reclined form of Akella, who had wrapped herself up in a blanket. “My sister, she’s only just been able to get to sleep- please don’t disturb her.”
“We’re actually looking for it. Where did it go?” Testing the waters with a simple question, the Anju inside him flared up with a sick sense of glee when her eyes met his, widening in response to his question. Her lips trembled, almost as if she was aware of the answer, but was afraid to accept it as truth if it ever left her lips. Impatient though he was to hear the answer, he made a note of how she reacted- if Samantha started acting like this, he needed to know what to expect in terms of impulsive behavior and denial.
“…There. It fled that way, towards town, but it did not leave as a beast. Some foul magic at work made it change.” A shaky hand rose to point towards whence they came- and the woman before them fought through the first few words like a violent curse. Fueled by the momentum of her moving lips, however, they stopped shaking just long enough to make her message decipherable. Though Sabin was content with that information and bowed his head in readiness to leave, Samantha drew forward, grateful that the woman could not see what was held in her arms at this time of the night.
“Change? What do you mean?” Samantha’s green eyes caught Mirra’s for a moment, and for once the immortal’s voice was calm as she spoke.
“Strike me down if I lie… that beast turned into a man. Golden locks, piercing eyes, and a tool of the devil, no doubt. Goddess bless, if you go after it.”
--
Content with this, the two left Mirra, thanking her before quickly setting off towards town. Thankfully, both were familiar enough with the route to make good time through the underbrush- but the silence that was between them now was stifling, rather than comfortable. When Sabin drifted close, Samantha braced herself for unwanted sympathy- she needed her anger, lest she lose hold of it and second-guess their mission. She didn’t need pity, didn’t need comfort, she needed…
“There’s no room for misunderstandings, you know. You know who did it.” She nearly stopped when she recognized the breathy hiss, and fought the urge to instinctively push him away- Creante again. It had been a few weeks since she had seen him last, but now, with Sabin distracted, it had gathered up the strength he needed to speak to her again.
The Anju, the essence of fear, had reared its ugly head from within Sabin’s psyche, pushing him aside and taking control of him again. However, Samantha found that she could not refute his words or claims… rather, she found that some part of her wanted to hear more, despite her mind screaming that there was a chance yet that this was all just some horrid dream....
He seemed to smile victoriously at her apparent reception, leaning in to hold her close as they walked back to town- a behavior he had learned from watching, one that he had learned broke barriers and made others more receptive to his advances. Already he felt her shoulders relax just the slightest bit, and that was all the invitation he needed. Remembering the tones he had heard Sabin make when comforting another, he twisted it into a bated sense of sympathy before drawing on her deepest thoughts again.
“Samantha, dear Samantha, your dearest friend was slaughtered like an animal- skinned alive, tossed back to you like a slab of meat! Return the favor. Skin that beast alive and send it to his beloved master. Make him bleed, make him suffer, feel the justification of revenge coat your hands. No one would blame you, my dear.” His purrs were like poison, and she felt a knot of revulsion clench in her gut- but again, she did not send him away. For once, just once, she could have her revenge- just this once, she could indulge the darkest desire of her heart and be perfectly justified for it. She’d lost a friend, this night- a friend, a companion, a part of her very soul.
“No. There might be doubt, still...” The words came out just as empty as she felt about them, eliciting a mighty laugh from Creante.
“Doubt? Are you hearing yourself, my dear? Who have you and Sabin chased so wholeheartedly? Who did you see with your own eyes, chasing your companion to his death? You wouldn’t give him the benefit of a doubt after what he’d done, I trust.” His eyes looked at her almost as if searching for a glint of humor, but he was only greeted with a furious glare in response.
“I could not do such a thing! Take revenge like that… surely there must be another way. Some alternative to plunging a knife in his throat like a loathsome barbarian.”
The incredulous look returned, and the Anju looked almost disgusted as he beheld Samantha’s words. She was naďve, in his eyes- unseasoned in the ways of treachery and vengeance. Pointing first to the pathetic, bloody bundle she had in her arms before turning it on her, the finger that could once be considered Sabin’s seemed far more accusing than she could ever remember seeing him.
“You’re going to make him do your dirty work for you? Make Sabin get his hands coated in blood for your sake? How presumptuous, to assume that he’ll commit murder for someone he didn’t even like in life, let alone death! Look at your precious familiar. This is your blood feud, your chance at revenge. Strike while the iron is hot, or your dear spirit may forever be forced to endure eternity without the thought of revenge- which is the worse crime, I wonder? Murder in the name of justice, or the injustice of not eliminating the murderer of your dearest companion?”
“Stop it! I’ve no desire to hear more.” Only then did she push him away, pain overriding any temptation to hear more. Revulsion at her own willingness to hear him out only made her feel filthier, and his subdued chuckles made it worse.
“But of course, dear Samantha. Just remember… you’re not a saint.” Bowing as if to bid her farewell, the brunette turned to him, grasping his hand for a moment.
“Wait. Wait, Creante.”
Crimson eyes turned on her with a sense of interest, and the sly smile that normally made her want to slap it right off of his face now seemed barely tolerable. From his bowed position, he lifted all six of his eyes to look upon her as he slowly rose to a standing position. Taking her hand and kissing it lightly, the Anju purred with all the smoothness of liquid mercury- and like it, every touch was pure poison.
“What do you wish of me, Samantha?”
There was a moment of tension as she thought of what to say- the deafening silence was nearly overbearing as she struggled to take in enough breath to try to speak her mind. Every fiber of her moral being screamed at her not to do it, but some dark core in her heart- perhaps the more logical side- demanded her tongue to untwist and her lips to part, forming several fateful words in its wake…
“I need you here. Make sure I do not falter. I… I don’t think I could do this alone.”
“…As you wish.”
--
Back at the shack, the owner of a certain
The puppet master just let a coy grin sit on her face as she sat back and let the tapestry of fate weave itself- she’d felt the intrusion of time begin, like a ripple through space. To attack her quarry now, though tempting, would prove to be foolish; though the pair would be fueled by rage no matter when she chose to strike, their tired state and raw emotion would only strengthen their magic and make them less concerned about the later consequences. Best to let that sense of irrationality do the work for her, and let those time-travelers have a taste of fate at its cruelest.
--
June 15, 1880. 3:30 AM.
When reality bit, it usually bit hard- it was what they were all accustomed to, after being forced to live in a near state of paranoia at all times in Maplewood.
Because of her prior experience with surprises, the slap of cold shouldn’t have shocked her nearly as much as it did- but Erika nevertheless found herself starting at the air’s caress, shivering as the warm atmosphere of the Wiccan shop gave way to the untamed chill of the great outdoors. The soothing scent of incense gave way to the damp, earthy smells of the city- streets that would have smelled like rank body odor during the daylight hours found that the mist that had settled in effectively stifled the reek of not only the townspeople, but the odors of oil and liquor, as well.
“Geebus, just as cold as I remember. Let’s get inside, huh?” Even as their surroundings had started to swim into focus, Erika was all too quick to break the spell and immediately head for the lit streets of the town, not very much in the mood to hang around the deepening mists that didn’t seem keen on leaving before sunrise. Hiking the front of her dress slightly in her hands, she tried to keep the emerald material from dragging along the ground, not even waiting for Sand or Joey to catch up with her as they walked through an isolated street. So far as she was concerned, the two could dilly-dally as much as they wanted- she wanted to get inside, out of the dangerous streets and into a safe haven.
Buildings rose from the roads here, seemingly closing in on them with every step that they took- the shadows played tricks on an overly cautious mind. Looming up like massive beasts, the wonders of the French building style let businesses and apartments alike reach into the sky, though all the windows were dark at this hour- the only lights now were the lampposts that lined the streets. Even then, however, many of said lampposts seemed to be the working spot of a harlot, and none seemed keen on letting Erika anywhere near what they considered their territory.
Though she wore emerald in a sea of crimson harlots’ dresses, the color was bled out by the overpowering darkness, making each set of eyes stare at her with open suspicion and spite. Full, painted lips would stretch into a pout or a snarl when Erika moved quickly past a ‘worker’ of the nighttime hours, all while she tried to keep her eyes away from their mussed hair and the odd stains on their otherwise expensive-looking dresses. She had no business with the prostitutes, and really didn’t want to give any of them a reason to attack her.
A deep sense of foreboding made her heart clench, her pulse pounding in her ears as instinct made her want to hide until the dark presence vanished. She tried to shake it off, while at the same time keeping her wits about her- instincts that had saved her numerous times in Maplewood would only help her survive in this rough time, no matter what was making her feel this way. Surely the prostitutes didn’t frighten her that much, she reasoned…?
“Hey, baby. You lost in
Green eyes flared open as the time magician let out a yell, jerking her head backwards and fighting off the stars when she made contact with her assailant’s face. She could hear a masculine yell of pain, too, and didn’t even try to identify it through her haze of pain- rather, she moved her heeled foot back and stomped on the instep of his foot, making him curse again and release her. Being unarmed, she knew that she would have to end it if she was to get away unscathed- no attacker would just let her go.
“Sonofa--!” Jerking her elbow back into his abdomen, she heard one last, winded gasp before hearing her attacker collapse. Only then did she bother to turn around, quite ready to stomp the freak right in the face if it meant sparing other women the indignity of—
“Woah, woah, woah! You need to grow a sense of humor, Erika! …Ohhhh.”
A voice, thin with pain, came up from the collapsed figure, and it was all Erika could do not to kick him in the ribs to turn him over. Joey’s right eye had already begun to swell, and he seemed torn between holding his face or his foot- both seemed to be in equal amounts of pain, and he could not uncurl immediately from his fetal position. Though he looked ready to laugh, it certainly wasn’t out of happiness. She looked ready to laugh, too, but for decidedly different reasons- when she finally allowed herself to let one out, it was bitter and shaky, laced with fear and anger.
“…Did you seriously think it was a good idea to try to pretend to be a pervert at such a late time at night, and with a French accent, to boot? You’re just lucky I didn’t elbow you in the throat like I wanted to!” Looking as Sand hefted Joey’s body up from the floor (getting him a quiet thanks, and a mutter of how the roads were filthy), Erika stood stiffly in the street, her breath misting in shaky huffs as she struggled to fight off the jittery effects of adrenaline. She felt almost lightheaded as she fought not to move- almost locking her legs to make sure they didn’t lash out for a quick kick, she found that they shock slightly as she turned quickly away, pulling up her gloves ever so slightly before cuddling the skin tighter around her neck.
The soft, simple warmth of the lush fur felt wonderful, giving her a sense of security even when her boyfriend kept his distance. His eyes looked wary, uncertain, but he kept quiet, as he was often wont to do- it seemed a bit unfair that her only mental crutch was a dead animal slung over her shoulders, rather than those secure arms.
It was his choice, though--
“Hey!”
When another hand fell on her shoulder and Sand’s voice rang out, she didn’t even give the one who touched her a second look- assuming it was Sand trying to get her attention, she closed her eyes and let out a long, drawn out breath. Her voice was forcefully cheery, but there was venom behind her words that even he wouldn’t question.
“You’ll remove your hand from my shoulder, dear, or you’ll soon lose it.”
“Brave words, coming from a murderer.”
The laugh behind her was anything but loving, and it was decidedly cold- a chill ran down her spine as she realized that something frigid and misty was touching her cheek. Her eyes widened, and she snapped away from the white-gloved hand, only to come face to face with the one she had assumed was her lover.
While the pale skin might have been a match, the man’s hair wasn’t blonde- it was a shade of shocking white, pulled up into a haphazard ponytail while back in the woods to keep the briars from snagging him during the pursuit. His dark blue suit and underlying violet of his cape immediately screamed that he was quite wealthy, but the snags and tears that covered them seemed terribly out of place. She didn’t keep her eye on his clothes too long, however- from his hand, the pool of dark magic continued to seep out like a dark mist, moving languidly at first before dashing towards her with frightening speed.
A tendril wrapped around her neck- a fleeting but dangerous touch- as a voice purred from those pale lips and he looked at her with fierce blue eyes.
“Greetings and salutations, Time Witch. I’m surprised to see you still up and about.”
“Time Witch? Erika, I thought you got that thing this morning. How do these guys know about you?” Snarling slightly at the hostile behavior that the Anju was exhibiting, Joey did not find a need to look at Samantha- she looked like any other street harlot, save for the corpse in her arms--
…Wait, what?
Suddenly finding her much more interesting to look at, Joey was disgusted to see how this woman cradled a dead beast near her bosom, her dress already caked with its blood and visceral juices. Already, the muscles had dried from exsanguination’s effects, becoming leathery as the night wore on. It reeked of death, though not of rot- clearly whatever it was had died relatively recently, and the woman refused to let go of it. The demon kept his eyes on her as she stepped forward, not moving as Sand barred Samantha’s path to Erika.
“Having a swell time wearing my friend, aren’t you? Ah, and this must be your gold-haired beastie.” The brunette woman’s tongue, sharp as ever, was no match for the ferocity of her eyes as she glared savagely at Sand- her hostility confused him, but he did not back down from her as she held up the corpse of her departed friend. Simon’s head lolled forward in a sickeningly limp fashion, though even that motion seemed slowed due to the stiffening of his body. That definitely caught the blond off-guard, but though he stepped back, he still remained between her and Erika. Samantha’s voice was bitter but smooth as she purred, “Happy to see him again? I’m sure Simon is glad to see the one who murdered him.”
“Murder? I have no idea what you’re talking about, madam.” Sand’s eyes looked about wildly, looking for some sort of foothold in sanity as the two clearly hostile people continued to circle around the three of them. The white-haired gentleman had released Erika, joining in the almost prowling behavior, blue eyes flashing in the dark like some damned beast. The woman’s halfhearted smile behind her rage was unsettling, perhaps even more so than the Frenchman’s feral grin. Spotting the sharper canines, Sand found himself narrowing his eyes dangerously in turn towards Sabin’s possessed body.
The beast within shrieked at Sabin’s mere presence, throwing itself at the cages of Sand’s own human body as if demanding to be released to attack this blasphemous shadow being. It took some doing, but with a snarl, Sand suppressed the minotaur’s wild spirit within his body. In this time of rampant superstition, the last thing he needed was to arouse attention and perhaps change this alternate timeline indefinitely by introducing a beast of legend back into local tales.
“Then what’s that skin your master wears around her neck?
That time magician is currently wearing our dear friend’s fur right around her
neck- and he was only murdered around five hours ago. Wasn’t it you who
declared the challenge to us as you murdered him- legendary horned beast, Sand
of Maplewood?” Creante laughed as he watched the minotaur in human’s skin jump, stepping back and shooting a
quick glance to an equally confused Erika. Not only was it impossible for them
to have known about
It was time for a dangerous gamble.
“We’ve just arrived in this time, not ten minutes ago. It’s impossible that we would have killed your beloved pet- not like we would have had a reason to.” Backing up ever so slightly, she heard the beast hiss with satisfaction as he moved his hand close to lift up her chin- almost as if to get a better look at her- before she sharply slapped him, Creante’s head snapping to the side as he quickly fell silent. Joey kept balling his fists, but knew that Erika wouldn’t appreciate an interruption. He didn’t know how much she planned to tell them, and so didn’t volunteer anything.
“She admits it! Time magic. Sabin would’ve been thrilled to hear about it.” Speaking each word with an edge, he let it at a taunting note before sweeping into another bow- this one fairly shallow, however. As he looked up, all six eyes flared open- there was no need for secrets, now. The cards were on the table- identities had been revealed, and now they’ were face to face with the murderers that would paint his claws red for the first time in many days. “My name is Creante, co inhabitant of the body of Sabin Duvert. It is only fitting to know the names of those who are going to avenge the dead.”
“I am Samantha Blaire, maker of the pact you broke when you murdered my familiar, Simon.” Unable to keep her voice from trembling slightly, she realized with dread that what she had feared was coming to pass- she was losing her nerve. While in the woods she would have slit the throat of the faceless fiend that killed her beloved familiar, she knew now that they were all too real, all too human- she couldn’t just kill, could she? While her words would normally seep hatred, the hesitance was already beginning to bleed through. Creante hissed upon hearing it, turning to her and then back to the group before then.
“Don’t falter now, Samantha. It’s your blood right- nay, your task- to avenge him.”
“If that’s the case, then don’t look at us.” Joey snapped back, his voice dipping into a guttural growl as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “We aren’t murderers, damn it. We’re not like… not li…”
He struggled with his words, tried to enunciate through the shifts that he knew were occurring too quickly for him to stop. With eyes open wide and flitting from one direction to the next, Joey knew he had to leave- whether Creante was a demon or something else was irrelevant. The woman would not know what was happening to him, he was sure- shoving her aside, he made a break for the woods, his skin already beginning to split and burn all along his spine. Hearing her cry out as he tore the suit jacket off of his fiercely itching skin, Joey ran for the cover of the trees, even with the tail already beginning to sprout from the base of his spine, one painful vertebra length at a time.
His legs, growing stronger with every stride as the demon began to show through, carried him far, but…
“Don’t
leave now, accomplice!” Sabin’s possessed voice rang out loud and clear in the night sky, and from the
earth rose tangible shadows at his bidding. Twisting together and forming a
rope, a group of shadows grasped Joey’s shredding leg fast, making an inhuman
cry of displeasure tear itself from his throat as he was thrown to the ground
mid-leap. His skin was shredding fast, and with each movement, more tore loose-
it was a bloody mess, with each shred that was torn away staining the streets
with more smeared blood. When Creante pulled on the
shadow spell, Joey dug the claws of one hand into the street, making the task
of moving him much more difficult- and with a twist, he released a wing from
beneath the confines of his skin, just below his left shoulder blade.
Reaching
his free hand back, talons raked forcefully over the skin of his back, tearing
through his shirt with ease and releasing the second wing, likewise spattering
the air around him in a fine crimson mist- a shriek tore itself from his
still-human lips as, with his tail nearing completion, he turned suddenly
towards the Anju. Obliging the fear demon by flying straight towards him, the
gargoyle beast that had once been Joey readied to rake talons across the
white-haired man’s face. He would protect his friends- they would not end up
like
Letting
out a battle shriek and aiming his hooked claws towards his eyes, Joey could
not at all fathom why the man kept smiling. It didn’t matter. He’d soon be
tearing that cocky smile straight off of his skull…
Suddenly,
the shadows that were wrapped around his foot moved, leaping in front of him
and smothering his face in a swath of darkness. Letting out a strangled cry
that was muffled by the shadows themselves, Joey misjudged his strike and
landing as he fell into a stunned heap- Erika cried out when she heard the
unmistakable sounds of cracking bones as his wings twisted beneath his body,
taking the brunt of the weight. When his hands went up to claw away the
shadows, they too became engulfed, leaving him to writhe without air, sight, or
any hope of escape. His legs thrashed about wildly, half-exposed talons peeking
out from between human toes, all while his tail squirmed like a captured snake
on the ground. No matter how he moved, there was nothing that would dissuade
the shadows from their task of effectively smothering him to death.
“Stop,
Creante! Stop this, you monster!”
At
the sound of her voice, the Anju snapped his fingers, and an opening just large
enough for Joey to breathe opened up by his lips- the beastly demon took in a
heaving breath, shaking from a lack of oxygen but grateful for every last
breath. Turning to Samantha with a sour expression, the fear apparition
resisted the very strong urge to spit. His fangs were sharp, feral, more than
capable of doing harm; if hurting her wouldn’t have made his host rebel so
violently, he would have bitten off a few fingers if it meant showing her the
meaning of pain and retribution. She had magic, she had power, but she didn’t
use them for half the things he thought she should be using them for!
She
couldn’t even retaliate against those that hurt her. Pity was feeble-
retribution and revenge were strengths of the dark that she should have been
able to take advantage of long ago, had she not been so blasted naďve.
“Weak.
You are weak. I don’t know how he does it- sitting back and listening to
you babble constantly about outdated ideological nonsense! They hurt you- hurt
them, in turn. Every cause must have an effect. It is a fact of life!” The
impatient spirit’s voice roared, and he gave off a
dismissive wave of a hand to summon a blob of shadow large enough to force Sand
and Erika away from the recovering demon, who was still tethered to the ground
by the shadows.
“I
don’t care; I am not a barbarian, you demon’s whelp. I’ll not do it, if it
requires those measures; those shadows are no way to kill a man! Whatever
happened to the civil art of dueling? Surely grievances can be solved in that way,
versus killing like some street mugger!” Samantha’s words were punctuated with
a violent backhand to his face, and Creante nearly
attacked her then and there, snarling like the beast he was while baring his
impressive fangs. Feeling Sabin’s mind bubbling back
up as a response to his impulse, however, the Anju let himself quiet down as he
focused more energy on suppressing the more benevolent being within his psyche.
For
now, all he could do was assuage the foolish human conscience in his mind to
make sure there would not be a rebellion.
“Fine. If you insist on not fighting and that I must
be civil…” Shrugging and noticing that Erika was moving towards Joey to try to
release him, he raised a dome of shadows around his body, listening to the man
inside yell in fear again as his contact for fresh air was once again cut off,
though the dome was significantly more forgiving than his prior predicament.
She spat a few curses that were less than becoming of a woman her age or class
in this time period, but the Anju paid them no mind, looking to Sand instead,
his six eyes blinking one after another in an awkward parody of a usual human
habit.
“You, Sir Sand. I challenge you to a
duel for the skin your friend the witch wears around her neck. Should you best
me, you’ll get to walk away, unscathed- your friend will not be harmed, no
matter what the outcome, on the proviso that Samantha is unharmed, as well. But
if I win, the skin stays with me, and I will flay you alive. Your friends will
leave this time, if you lose, and must not come back. Understood?”
There
was little alternative- Joey’s infernal screams were already growing weaker
again as his air ran thin, and those desperate thrashings were starting to
begin again. With really no route of escape and the inability to get Joey
loose, Sand had his hands tied- he stepped forward despite Erika’s hand on his
arm and nodded slowly.
“Good.
Let us go into the woods, then- no sense in alerting the public to our antics, hm?”
---
June 15, 1880. 4:46 AM.
There was no formal ceremony, despite the formal challenge- no one lined up, ready to spar. There were no announcers, no one holding a pillow with the prize- just two stiff combatants, making their way into the woods in search of the perfect place in which to attempt to tear one another’s throats out, as most duels often went. For all the ceremony that went into the pronouncement of a battle, duels themselves were often grisly affairs that left one man standing… and the other one choking in a puddle of his own spittle and blood.
Moving into the woods with almost a palpable amount of tension in the air, the two duelists marched a fair distance in front of the others. At first sight, it appeared that they didn’t care that their friends or cohorts (now all entirely human, with Joey having shifted back) were behind them- there were more important matters at hand, though neither truly forgot their companions, whether it was a significant other, friend, or a woman who managed to get herself into trouble every time she turned around. Of course, the reasoning behind eyes that didn’t once stray backward was much more simple and stupid than all of that, and would be easily summed up as ‘male pride’.
Rather than show sentimental feelings towards friends and cohorts, the two men merely kept their eyes pointed straight ahead (at first glance, anyway) as they looked for a suitable clearing, away from the eyes of prying eyes of normal humans who would be aghast to see their showings of magic and might. Though each appeared to want to walk ahead of the other in a show of confidence, neither surged ahead, with both future combatants walking at the same speed; though each wanted to prove he was faster than the other, and prove that they weren’t afraid of the other, neither wanted to reveal his back to his opponent.
There was a respect for each other’s strength, perhaps, but there was no trust between them. Each made the pretense of nonchalance to irk the other, but their eyes kept flicking towards one another to make sure that their opponent wouldn’t strike at them in an apparent time of weakness. Each one silently bated the other with taunting glances or a nonchalant stare, but neither acted on the primal instinct to brawl like beasts before they found the right place.
When a bush was moved aside and a clearing was revealed, however, suddenly they were slightly apprehensive to move forward- there was no going back. It wasn’t that either was afraid; more like neither wanted to appear too eager to fight. That was an animal’s way. Rather, both walked rather stiffly into the unspoken battleground, each hesitant to make the first move as the skin was thrown onto a casual stump and the onlookers shuffled awkwardly into what they hoped was a safe area between the outlying trees.
“Don’t fear, Sir Sand- I am ever the gentleman.” Grinning at the obvious lie about his character, Creante nevertheless waved his arm in a very genuine manner, his voice turning into a very formal, clipped tone that he’d always wanted to use. “Do transform- I won’t stop you. To fight you in your current form wouldn’t be at all sporting.”
Sand regarded him silently, looking for signs of the spirit’s jesting before an impatient glance told him that he was indeed serious about the offer. Not one to look the gift horse in the mouth, he felt within his very blood for the curse that had tried to run amuck not an hour earlier. He wasn’t surprised to find the curse within easy reach of his mind, finding it and feeling its power course through his body with remarkable speed, starting from his feet and rising…
“Sand! Watch out!”
A harsh cry from Erika made his eyes snap open, and he threw himself aside from a rope of shadows that had emerged from between his feet. Already, said feet were getting heavier- the seams were popping audibly with every move he made, and he found that until the keratin grew in to cover his new hooves, it was literally painful to have feet breaking his footwear. Had it been any other circumstance, he knew he would’ve regretted ruining his combat boots- in this situation, however, he kicked them off as soon as possible, not caring when the now-useless shreds of leather fell into the bushes. Keeping an eye on the tendrils, he grinned when his hoofs split, digging them into the ground with a fair bit of dexterity as he ducked beneath the horizontal strike it tried to make against his head.
“Very good- you perform well under stress! How about a breeze?” Waving his hands in the air, the Anju began to chant in a tongue Sand did not recognize as he felt the layers of muscle begin to painfully build beneath his skin. Every powerful muscle had to be built from pre-existing fibers, tensing painfully and repeatedly as the curse enlarged them into their final shape- genomes switched, his skin stretched, and it if was not for the speed of the curse, Sand would have sworn that his skin would split like Joey’s under the pressure of the additional muscle mass. Feeling the spell coming before he saw it, he tore off the constricting shirt and jacket before he tested the strength of legs that were nearly fully formed, relieved to find that the agony was finally fading (even if the cloth of his pants continued to constrict his legs) as the curse spread upwards.
Had it not been for the sudden painful strengthening of his abdominal muscles, he would not have dropped fast enough to avoid the first of Creante’s wind spells- he was not fast enough to dodge one aimed at his leg, however, as spasms in his powerful shoulder muscles forced his eyes shut with the agony. It was a shallow cut, just behind the thigh- intended to infuriate, not maim- it barely bled, but the combined pain of muscles that visibly seethed on the back of Sand’s neck and back and the cut were enough to send him to the ground, leaning forward on one knee.
Curious enough to stop his casting, the Anju beheld with Sabin’s curiosity the sight of enormous arms emerging from relatively small ones- biceps seemed to pulsate repeatedly, growing larger with each painful pulse and looking quite like they were ready to burst from the skin, surging with power as his very insides underwent similar changes. The bones in his legs had shifted with little problems, but his vertebrae grew noticeably, notching up from his back and towards his neck from the base, each lumbar vertebra growing thicker and stronger before pushing up the next, spurring its growth as his tailbone agonizingly grew new segments and muscles with which to sprout a tail. At this point, there was no fur on his arms- he looked a fright, with coarse, short hair sprouting on his face, legs, and back before finally spreading to his arms. Denser bones emerged from his normally small ones, giving his muscles something to hold onto and further boosting his limbs’ volume.
Ribs were pushed up and out beneath his flesh, giving him a barrel-chest and making him bellow in agony- natural endorphins never kicked in before adrenaline did, and even then, the curse belayed those until after the transformation was complete. Every breath felt like torture as his lungs expanded, growing with his heart to make sure his enlarged body could still run. His golden locks thickened, growing out into a dark, stringy mane that ran down a now muscular back. His neck stretched painfully as wider blood vessels filled his neck and vertebrae continued to thicken and lengthen, forcing the muscles to stretch further before enlarging like the rest of his body. More bone continued to accumulate around his skull, pushing out the cartilage of his nose and forcing it to collapse, moving forward as his entire face broadened into a more bovine, boxlike shape. Muscles were pulled painfully across the larger bones, and he could not help but yell for a split second when his entire jaw jutted out, breaking free from the skull for a moment before bone came in to replace his broken palate.
His nostrils split apart, drifting to either side of his now brick-shaped nose, flaring once experimentally once the cartilage regrew and the pain began to subside. Eyes that once saw half-decently at night improved only the slightest fraction, as the diurnal nature of the bull made its eyes no more useful at night, changing even as the brow bones jutted up and out to create a protective ridge above each sensitive orb. His ears were forced back, almost pulling themselves into points as the cartilage forcibly reformed them and the inner workings of the ear drum, painfully reorganizing themselves within his very skull as his brain mass moved and melded to fit just perfectly into a relatively unchanged cavity.
Letting out a mighty, bestial roar, Sand leaned forward and charged, his form mostly complete as horns jutted suddenly from the sides of his head, still moist with sub dermal fluids. One arm was stretched forward, ready to grab the pitiful spell caster who dared attack him during his transformation and toss him into a nearby tree. Smaller and lighter than the beast that attacked him, the Anju-infested human weaved backwards and to the side, watching with an amused grin as the minotaur passed him by. Already he had another spell ready to cast, with a ball of shade ready to become a weapon with just a flick of his fingers.
“How truly magnificent…” Sabin had started to emerge again after fighting off the Anju through sheer curiosity, and already that inquisitive but mischievous smile had returned with gusto. Snapping his fingers and ducking when Sand quickly turned around and leapt at him again, the magician laughed with glee when the shadowy mass failed to stop the beast’s momentum. Though he had set up a rope of dark magic to stop him, Sand had stumbled on it- his weight was too great for the rope and it broke, though it was interesting to see that, even in this state, he was not completely immune to magic.
“Face me, Creante. Don’t tell me you’re going to waste my time by running away.” His voice now a deep and guttural growl, Sand lifted his bearded head proudly and stood up at his full height, for once looking down on the otherwise fairly tall Frenchman. To this, he only received a laugh, and a very awed but amused smile.
“Oh, no… I’m not Creante. I’m Sabin, true owner of this body. …To think I would truly see a minotaur…!” His childish grin baffled Sand, but a duel was a duel- if it was a front Sabin was putting up, he didn’t want to fall for it. Letting out a war bellow and charging forward again, he waited for the man to get ready to sidestep. When he saw Sabin bearing his weight down on his legs, however, he grinned- this was a much more comfortable alternative.
As the charging beast approached, the white-haired man leapt the moment just before contact, stunned when he heard a cry of shock from Samantha. Not having the time to look down, he completely missed the fact that Sand had intentionally thrown himself into a handstand, rolling onto his palms and kicking his large hooves sharply but blindly into the air.
Though he didn’t see it, he felt it- though a grazing blow, Sabin let out a hiss as he felt his leg was battered by the edge of his hoof, forcing him to roll when he came to the ground. Though no bones were broken, the muscles and tendons of his left leg shrieked at the mere thought of movement. A good part of his pants leg had been sheared by the friction of the attack, and he found that putting weight on it wasn’t a wise thing to do- when he tried to sit up properly, his leg gave out and he was forced to push himself up with his hands.
“How powerful! The legends do you no justice, Sand!” Watching the beast roll back onto his haunches before standing up to stalk around him, Sabin realized quickly that the minotaur could pretty much do as he pleased with him- there were many advantages stacked in Sand’s favor. Height, strength, weight, and maneuverability all weighed heavily in the minotaur’s favor, and yet the vice of arrogance wasn’t readily apparent- a crying shame for an opponent desperate for an opening. Sand’s deep breaths were deep and strong, with each exhalation creating a cloud of steam- he didn’t seem particularly interested in giving a reply, and the still-human intelligence made him all the more dangerous as he carefully weighed his options.
With a swiftness that Sabin cry out from shock, Sand threw himself forward, aiming his horns straight towards the ground where the white-haired bibliophile was lying, half-lame from his prior blow. With weight and momentum to assure that he could not be just blasted aside with a veil of shadow magic, he knew that more extreme measures had to be taken. Thinking quickly, he snapped his fingers, grateful when the minotaur was forced back with a savage bellow when a flash of bright light erupted before his eyes- a quick wind spell, one whose blades were too shallow to do more than slice the skin on his muzzle in several places. He hadn’t had the time to prepare a more sophisticated spell (one that would do more than just give him shallow cuts, anyway), and he struggled to back away from the muscular rogue.
Though
Sand’s eyes saw nothing but a bright green and white haze, Sabin
knew he was still dangerous- already, his lips were moving quickly, forming a
spell to send blades of wind tearing through his opponent. The words of the
ancient tongue made the magic blaze in his fingertips, and he threw his arm
forward, ready to fire the spell…
The chanting promptly stopped, and Sabin
let out a harsh shriek when a wild strike from the half-blind minotaur sent a hand the size of a ham slamming into his
right arm. A bone snapped in his lower arm, tearing him from his train of
thought with a torrent of agony while the magic promptly disappeared from the
assailed limb. His muscles were deeply bruised already, and with already one
leg lame, his options for getting away now were absolutely minimal. Letting his
arm hang and dragging himself away with his one remaining hand, he tried to
force the nausea-inducing pain away from his psyche when he realized that he
did not see his opponent. His eyes looked around furiously, but it ended up
being another sense that detected the fighter from
He could scarcely hear beyond the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears as a blast of hot, moist breath flared atop his head, covering him in a foul-smelling mist. Without thinking about the source or its consequences, he dropped and rolled to the side, his broken arm sending another jolt of pain through his system as he narrowly avoided the arm that swept just overhead. He’d dodged the proverbial bullet- in this case, a blow that would probably have removed his head from his shoulders- but there was really no sense in trying to rely on luck again, especially since Sand was readying his hand to strike again. This time, however, Sabin was ready, and he slammed his left hand hard against the shadow that the beast cast beneath the half moon and the beginnings of the rising sun. Drawing on the books he had read in years past, he cast a bolt of shadow magic into it, feeling the magic do its work.
Where the Anju was ruthless, Sabin was subtle- pinning the shadow to the ground and feeling the magic connect to every shadow on his opponent’s muscular body, he froze them in place… and the beast with it. With a strangled version of what might have been a snarl, Sand still tried in vain to reach the man who smiled at him- Erika depended on his strength, and yet he found that nothing he did would free his body from the magic’s grip. When the minotaur locked a hateful, uncomprehending glare in his direction, Sabin just smirked, pointing once to his skull with the only hand that could really do so.
“Ancient faerie magic- the lore is that to pin the shadow of a magical beast is akin to stopping a curse at its root- it’s a technique often used to hold one in place.” Releasing the shadow’s hold just around his face and lips while keeping the horns in place, the white-haired bookworm didn’t bother fixing the hair that got torn from its ponytail during the tussle, and still looked quite bedraggled. He could hear the panicked steps of all of the witnesses as they stepped forward, almost unsure of what to do now that the duel had reached its unspoken conclusion- Sand could no more move than a fly snared in a spider’s web.
The white-haired gentleman turned when he felt a blaze of warmth in his leg, and beheld his lover, her hands healing the muscles that had been bruised in the battle and staving the pain, allowing him to finally stand again. One touch later, and she killed the pain of his arm, with a look that told him that a complete healing would come at a later time. Sabin looked up thankfully as Samantha took the pelt from the neutral position it had been given atop a small stump that lay nearby, watching as she walked to the burly warrior with the skin in tow, holding it for the beast to see. Taking a deep breath and steadying her nerves, the healer spoke, stepping forward as Erika held Joey’s hand tightly for support.
“This pelt… this pelt belonged to a friend of mine who was
murdered, this night. Answer me truthfully, or I’ll have Sabin
destroy your shadow and your curse- did you kill my friend?”
“…No.
If that fox is your friend, then no.” There was a thoughtful, poignant pause-
and with a movement almost indecipherable, Samantha realized that Sand had been
trying to shake his head. Sabin drew back- it wasn’t
his fight, anymore, though he kept his hold with his shade magic. Watching as
the minotaur’s massive chest
heaved with every shuddering breath, he noted that even within the beast, there
was still a man- no creature could answer with so much pity and sympathy.
Though Sand’s muzzle was streaked with blood and his body coated with sweat,
his muscles shaking in the cold, the humanity still shone through in those sad
eyes.
“We
chased another minotaur out here tonight- one that happened to look exactly
like you, introduced himself by your name, mentioned having a leader who was a
time witch, and killed my bickering companion in cold blood. I will ask you one
more time- did you kill him?” Green eyes narrowed suspiciously at him, bright
in the pre-dawn light and gleaming with a challenge and pain. Though she knew
the dangers, she grabbed his chin and moved to force him to look at her
directly- Sand seemed to oblige her silent request and let her move his head as
she pleased, looking directly at her and speaking with conviction.
“No.
I don’t know who it was or who knows about me, but I can assure you that it
wasn’t me.” Again, there was that minute shake.
“Surely
you must know who it was. If it wasn’t you, who was it? Who followed you back
here to commit murder in your name?” Not releasing him, her eyes blazed with
frustration and anger when he stopped to think, closing his eyes and thinking
of those few they had seen that had used time magic. This list was small-
pitifully so- and he could not think of one of them that would willingly commit
such a treachery in his name. Erika was here, with him, and seemed to have been
as surprised as he had been… and the only other immortal that he knew with
access to the hidden arts was the one with the gift of disappearance. Mirra had no reason to spurn them.
“I
don’t know. I can think of no one.”
“…Simon
will be happy to be avenged, this night.” Hearing all she needed to know, the
brunette turned to Sabin, her eyes torn but her mind
certain- there was no mistaking it. Circumstantial evidence was all he had
going for him, and that wasn’t enough to convince her of his innocence. Just as
she opened her mouth, however, an accusing laugh rang through the area- a high,
shrieking laugh that had Sabin dropping the pelt that
he held in his hands. Not once, but twice since his skinning had Simon’s pelt
wriggled with life- this time, it was for more than a
mere snide comment.
“Happy? Do you think I’m happy, Samantha?” What little magic that was left in the pelt allowed it to laugh again, flipping over in the grass to reveal the tanned underside, dated with that morning’s date. While it had no jaw to open its mouth, it still managed to make the unnerving smile that Sand had seen earlier during their trip to this time.
“B-but, we’ve found him, don’t you see? The minotaur that--” As she readied her explanation, however, he lifted his head off the ground, silencing her with a ‘ssh’ motion brought about by raising his tail to what used to be his lips.
“I
love you- what little magic I have left is tied to your soul- and yet, despite
all my warnings, you let the Anju in as soon as I departed. Why?” Without
a second thought, Samantha ran to the pelt, picking it up and stroking it with
dirty hands- like always, no dirt or blood stuck to that magical coat. Her
answer came slowly, quietly, but came nonetheless as she cuddled her face close
to his.
“I couldn’t let your savage death go unanswered. I needed Creante, or I would never have gathered the nerve to do it.
Even now…” As she trailed off, there came a loud hiss from the skin. The
skinned face turned, glaring at her with eyes that were no longer there, and
stared down at the bloody mess on her dress and the sack of meat that had once
been his body.
“You’re
cradling my lifeless corpse, instead of thinking things through like you always
do. This isn’t like you. What’s happened to you? You’ve gone mad, Samantha!” From
a loving purr to a vicious snarl, the volatile magic that kept the fox’s soul
in the pelt twisted its emotions, making it thrash about in her arms as she
held him close to her. Channeling enough of her magic into the pelt so that the
tremors stopped, she waited for his aura to calm down before she let the tears
flow and the words fall from her lips.
“Mad? Is it mad to want to avenge you?” She felt a shake,
though it was faint- with no bones, the impact of his head movement was nearly
impossible to feel, even against bare skin- the chill of the coming morning
that numbed her flesh didn’t help matters, either.
“I
didn’t say that. It was painful, you know, getting chased, battered, and
skinned like that. But what is mad is that you’ve been had! You were
played for a fool!”
“A fool? You mean, this isn’t him?” This time, however, Sabin was the one to step in, narrowing his eyes and
looking at the proud minotaur he had captured. Again,
a deep, throaty hiss came
from the once-docile fox as he shook his head impatiently.
“We told you it wasn’t.” Erika couldn’t help but grumble,
letting out a faint squeak of protest when Joey elbowed her in the ribs to shut
her up.
“Brain-dead as always, Sabin. He’s not the one that
did this to me- the other beast had the same form, but also had the magic necessary
to kill me! This ungainly beast couldn’t have done this to me if he tried!”
At that, all went silent.
Sand stared at the skin, not sure whether to be flattered at
the fact that Simon had gone out of his way to prove his innocence or be
insulted due to the backhanded comment that came with it. Erika looked ready to
argue before realizing the same thing, and Joey was biting back a snide laugh-
all while Samantha furrowed her eyebrows questioningly and shaking her head
slowly as she struggled to wrap her mind around what he’d just said. It wasn’t
as if minotaur were a dime a dozen- they were rare beasts, and due to different
pelt patterns, the odds of finding two solid-color tan ones in one night was
simply astronomical.
“I don’t understand. He couldn’t have killed you… you mean,
it was impossible?”
Aaach--!
There came a choking sound- a gargling gasp, to be precise- and all eyes turned to Sabin, who stared at the diamond spearhead that emerged from his abdomen. The crystalline edge dripped a translucent black liquid at its tip, and it was all he could do to stare at it dumbly while the effects of pure shock rendered him positively numb. Withdrawing it sharply, the wielder of the weapon merely grinned as the Frenchman stared down at the gaping wound, feeling his dark blood draining from him as his body collapsed onto the grass beneath him.
The assailant was a tall woman, an immortal with chestnut hair that ran down her back. She’d changed back into her more familiar attire, savoring the familiar caress of a loose leather dress and the utility of the small belt wrapped around her waist; there was no need for the fancy frills that the women wore, nor the stifling attire that the men of the time decked themselves in. Simplicity at its finest made for the most efficient murderers of all time, and she was no different.
“Of course not. A normal mortal cannot kill a familiar. That animal you’ve captured can’t even grasp the concept of magic!” Looking to the dark blood and licking it from the sharp spearhead, Akella let out a small laugh as she looked languidly from her unique tasting experience to the furious cohorts of the wounded man. Where there were once enemies, there was now a single group- bound not by any particular loyalty to one another, but through the sheer shock of the sudden strike. Licking her lips, she remained where she was, leaning her weight on her hips as she heard Samantha muttering a healing spell to counteract the piercing.
“Who just stabs someone like that, you bitch?” Erika spat in undisguised disgust, helping Sand up as the shadow magic weakened enough for him to move again. “What sort of coward strikes someone in the back?"
She was greeted with a sharp laugh- without a moment’s notice, Akella reached her hands up to her face and pulled her cheeks to the side, stunning all present when her tugs literally changed its shape- letting the magic from her fellow immortal meld her face once again into that of Sand’s minotaur form, she was soon grinning with his face and laughing out of pure glee. Oh, how she loved how they reacted! Such lovely faces, twisted with fear and misunderstanding. Only one looked relatively sane, and that was the man who was currently bleeding out like a stuck pig, despite Samantha’s efforts- his breaths were harsh and ragged, and he twitched like a man possessed.
Oh, wait… he was possessed! The irony only seemed to make the immortal even more pleased with her work, and she waved a hand when Joey opened his mouth to speak- his mouth immediately shut at her command, and his eyes went utterly blank as her control snared his mind like a net to a wriggling fish. Her face turned back to her regular shape to aid in speaking, and she shook the hair that felt so gritty and thick when in the form of the minotaur.
“My name is Akella- an immortal after others to add to my collection. Two of you, actually, though I’ve nearly taken care of the first; move, whelp.” Turning her magic towards Samantha, she was stunned to find that the young woman had enough mental strength to keep her back- though it was a weak defense, and temporary at that- the revelation was almost enough to make her reconsider her target quarry. True, the powers of the time witch were great, and were that of an immortal; but with the defenses that this mere mortal put up, when polished with her already proficient magic prowess, she could adequately shield herself from the likes of other immortals. However, one last punch with her mental strength and she felt the walls crumble; taking control of her immediately, Akella forced her to back away, her eyes just as glassy as Joey’s. She sat obediently, despite Simon’s enraged snarls, and remained where she was.
A hoarse bellow made her sidestep out of pure instinct as a universal war cry rang through the early morning light. Grasping her lance tightly in hand as she watched Sand approach her with speed that surprised her, the immortal nevertheless had an advantage- range. He seemed to realize this, however, and lifted his hand once to grasp a heavy branch as he passed the many trees in the forest- snapping it off and listening to the bark shatter and splinter at its base, he grasped it like a rough baseball bat and charged for the warrior. Waiting patiently for his approach, she let him come within four yards of her before readying a charge herself, more than willing to take the gamble of speed versus strength.
His one-handed swing came remarkably quickly, and she ducked to prevent the huge bludgeon from striking her in the chest; however, using the momentum of his first strike, he swung out his second hand in a lower arc, forcing her to roll between his legs and pull the lance between them. In one smooth motion, she parried with a slice of her own across the back of his enlarged calves- with no time to move his feet from their rooted position, Sand roared when skin and muscle alike tore before the sharp spearhead, his legs shaking and bleeding as pain prevented him from standing. Not one to be crippled so easily, however, he parried with a kick out with an injured leg, only to stretch his muscles painfully and expose them to another slice as they missed their intended target.
Now lame, Sand gave another swing of the makeshift bat, catching the tip of the spear in the rough bark and forcing her to let go of it, lest she break her wrist or harm herself while trying to hold onto the swinging weapon. Undeterred by the loss, the immortal woman leapt straight at him, grasping his horns and using them as a launch pad to land on his back. Taking a knife from the belt on her side, the immortal plunged it into his shoulder, letting it go as he rolled over quickly in a futile attempt to crush her with his weight. Unable to swing the branch anymore and unable to walk, the minotaur still managed to grasp her foot and pull it out from under her, feeling the satisfying thump of her hitting the ground with a shocked cry as he rammed his head forward, ready to gut the murderous woman on his horns.
Only then did she fall back on her crutch, grasping his mind as well in a vicegrip and finding herself shivering when she realized that his horns were not two inches away from her flesh.
Forcing him away, she picked up her weapon again and stood by the two items she had come for- Erika was trying to grasp the branch meant for hands twice as large as hers, and Sabin’s continued twitches attracted her like a shark to blood in the water. Grinning as she grasped those white locks between her fingers, Akella grinned as she lifted him up painfully by the roots, feeling his hands go up feebly in an attempt to get her to release him. Blood came more slowly from his wound than before, but the damage was done; though the healing prevented the wound from being fatal, it didn’t prevent her from finishing the job she’d set out to start.
“Any last words before your power becomes mine, demon of the dark?” Waiting to see the satisfying sight of eyes full of fear, she let him look up…
Only to find six eyes flaring open, and a twisted grin on his face. The mortal within had been suppressed again.
“Of course. Do you think you could tame me, failed immortal?” The hands that had once seemed to weak and feeble clawed painfully into the hand she’d twisted into his hair, and he was too close for the spear to be effective- with several strikes, the Anju crowed with glee as he felt the first shivers of fear and pain wrack her system as his claws bit into the muscles of her arm, soaking both her arm and his head in her unaging blood. Letting her go for a moment as she tore her hand free, he grinned with satisfaction as he saw the would-be goddess cradling an arm that looked as if it had been mauled by wild beasts- the skin was sheared from it in places, and torn apart ruthlessly in others, exposing muscle and bone alike. Listening to her curse a goddess whose name he did not recognize, he shrugged nonchalantly as she voiced her challenge.
“You think I can’t tame your power, fear demon?” There was a faint quiver of fear when the tendrils of her mind could not find a hold- she hadn’t expected a full mental transition from man to Anju. From a mortal’s mind to an immortal’s came an invulnerability that she feared above all else, and panic at the unexpected fueled her frustrated rage. “I will tear you apart, and you will become mine! I will have power over fear, do you hear me?”
“Oh, but of course! After all, you were able to kill that weak little fox familiar so easily.” Creante’s voice was taunting, and he opened his arms as if welcoming her to embrace him. “Come, then, if you think you can kill fear itself. Come, come, Akella!”
She obliged him, swinging her spear with skill and ferocity that the Anju did not dare face- rather, he faced them, but only because he kept moving, literally melting into shadow and leaping from one dark patch to the next, laughing in glee all the while. Appearing from any and all directions, the Anju delighted as the immortal continued to swing her deadly spear blindly; a dangerous game of cat and mouse, where the mouse had more than one trick up its sleeve and the ability to catch its hunter by the throat, if not seen to.
I’m here, Akella!
No, I’m here!
Look below you…
Each stab of the spear caught only air, save for the very few times she caught a shred of cloth- even then, there was no damage taken, and she shrieked with frustration, swinging in what she hoped was a wild and unpredictable pattern while the infuriating spirit continued to toy with her. Finally, fed up with the game, she hissed her final challenge.
“Come out and fight like a man, you thrice-damned whore’s spawn! Or are you too afraid to face a woman?”
At that, however, she was greeted with the unpleasant sense of vertigo as a rope of shadow grasped her foot and drew her foot into the shadow of one of a nearby tree’s branches; she held onto her spear for only a moment before Creante’s shadows allowed him to make a slice into her wrist. Weakened by the agony, her twitching fingers released the weapon, with the blades bouncing harmlessly against the grass below when the Anju reappeared before her. A full yard below her, he kneeled for a few moments, his mouth open and upturned to catch a few of the rich drops of blood that ran from her shredded, useless arm. Though she moved, so did he, even as she cursed him in several tongues. After several moments of this, he stood, humoring her curses with a statement and a question.
“I am not afraid- I am fear. The question is… are you?”
Grasping her temples and pushing his forehead against hers, she could only hear the laugh of the Anju as he plunged her into her darkest nightmares…
--
“You don’t belong here- leave, please.”
“Why, Sabin? She’s helpless, now…”
“The nightmares will last for a day, yet, but you don’t belong here- I know that much, Erika.”
“I don’t know why she did it, but… thank you for saving us, Sabin. And I’m sorry about Simon. Come on, Sand.”
“Hold on- Joey looks like he’s going to have a cow if he doesn’t get to ask his question.”
“…Shut up, Sand. Anyway, Sabin, what’d you do to her?”
“Indeed. What nightmares did Creante give her, dear?”
“Use your imagination. Can’t you hear her? Being immortal isn’t all a bed of roses and champagne…”
“No… no… my powers, give them back… don’t trap me! I can feel this body dying all around me--!”
---
Epilogue: Present Time.
Where’ve you been?
I’m sorry to have worried you both, River and Wade.
Rest assured, I had important business to take care of.
If you say so.
…Say, what’s that
on your coat? Silver?
Hm? …Just a bit of pet hair. I trust that
Erika got my parcel, you two?
Mmhm. That
fuzzy thing you told us not to open, right? She left a note and ran off with
Sand and Joey.
…I’m sure she liked the parcel, if she left so
quickly. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.
…
…Must be an immortal thing. I wonder what that smile was
about?