Falhorn Alley, leading to Old Henrietta's Slight

Lower District of the Seeking, Fifth Ring.

“You’re going to do what?, said Annabelle. She barely lifted both her eyebrows but for the silver-haired girl, this was essentially a full-on emotional explosion. Her friend, on the other hand, bounced an oiled pouch on her palm.

“I’ll light up the night, Annie. It’s not as insane as it sounds”, Tharia nodded, tossed the pouch into the air and caught it again, “These moth things like fire. I’m going to give them one while you slip in. Easy distraction”

“You can’t be serious”, Annabelle said with a stern tone.

When next she looked at Tharia, the human girl suddenly looked miserable. She shuffled her legs on the spot, wrenched the cord of the pouch in her fingers and her lower lip was quivering. It was such a look of utter dejection that Annabelle couldn’t help but place a hand on Tharia’s shoulder.

“Alright. Do it. I trust you”, Annabelle proclaimed. Tharia’s mood switched instantly. The girl had just played her emotions like a fiddle but she found it hard to be mad at her for that. While it was pretend-play at being hurt, there was truth to the pain inside, Annabelle thought. Tharia had always struggled to appear dependable and this was her moment.

“You won’t regret this Annie”, Tharia brushed a hand through her short hair and showed a cheeky grin. With a wave of her hand, she then disappeared down the alley, back the way they came.

Annabelle didn’t have to wait long: The ground suddenly shook under her feet. A massive fireball several houses wide lit up the night sky. Dozens of windows tore into tiny pieces and showered razor-sharp shards onto the ground. Annabelle pressed herself into a nearby doorway and watched as bits of stone and other assorted rubble rained down from above. She stared open-mouthed as the destruction unfolded half a district away.

“Girl, you’re nuts”, she said and then forced her mouth shut. At least it had worked. The moth-creatures took off and headed for the light. The swarm was large enough to hide the night-sky behind hundreds of bodies. Out of all the moths, only two blocked the path ahead. One of them just flopped about on the ground. Upon closer examination, it seemed to be half-dead. Literally. The body of the moth itself didn’t move anymore but the tendrils still thrashed about. The other one looked old with long white fur reaching the ground, where the monster pushed itself along with weary motions.

Out of the two, she decided to go for the old one first. Even its tendrils looked sickly pale. Annabelle went straight for it. Dismember, disrupt, destroy. This time she would oblige. With a passing thought, she checked the bandage on her stomach. It held. Only occasional pains gave away that she had been stabbed the day before. She was within ten meters of the beast when it finally noticed her. It tilted the massive head and used its four eyes to focus the rapidly approaching goddess.

Eight meters. She grabbed the scythe with both hands, twisted her torso and then tossed the weapon towards the beast. Two of the tendrils snatched it right out of the air and tore it like a toy. Seven meters. The beast was old and wary but still a threat. Annabelle simply recalled the Soul Scythe once more. Six meters. Glowing particles of light re-formed into the weapon and despite the usual dented visuals, it was whole again. One step after another, she moved closer. The old moth used the tendrils to wobble itself around. It looked ridiculous until the horn suddenly started to glow bright purple. Four meters. Annabelle let herself fall to the ground by instinct and escaped a purple beam of light by a hair’s breadth.

Now that was just plain cheating. Annabelle tumbled into a roll and without slowing momentum, got back up on her feet. Three meters. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the second set of purple light. She had miscalculated. The second moth wasn’t dead after all! Annabelle took a page from Tharia’s book of vile curses and screamed out her anger with enough profanity to make a sailor blush. The moth wasn’t all that appreciative. Annabelle’s vest went up in flames as the beam of light narrowly missed her. Two Meters. She dropped her scythe, threw the vest off while running and brought the weapon back into existence just in time to deal with the old moth.

The old beast used four of its tendrils as a way to balance itself. The other four went on the attack. Annabelle weaved around three of them, mostly owed to just how slow the old thing had gotten. The fourth, she pushed aside with the weapon. The impact still was monstrous though and made her momentarily stumble. One meter! She was finally in range. Two quick steps and she found herself in the moth’s dead angle.

She stepped in for a coup de grâce when the moth suddenly went up in flames. A slightly less bright beam cut right through it and burned straight into her shoulder. She yelped in pain and moved back out of range as the moth burned to a crisp within seconds. That was some literal friendly fire. The sharp pain drove tears to her eyes, which she brushed away with the cuff of her blouse. This wasn’t the time for that. The raging adrenaline pumping through her veins agreed. The pain turned into a dull throb while her senses reached immense clarity.

Annabelle stepped away from the burning moth and took aim for the killer. The second moth looked utterly ridiculous. It wasn’t so much that it was still alive but rather that the tendrils more or less moved the larger beast like a puppet. The tendrils would then press onto the horn, followed by another burst of purplish light. By now she was ready for it and simply moved aside. It cut right past her.

The tendrils flailed about in anger and tried to yank the beast around by the horn but this proved its undoing. The horn cracked into tiny pieces that evaporated into a puff of purple smoke. This didn’t deter the tendrils in the slightest. They wobbled the moth onto its back and then crawled in Annabelle’s direction. It was a pitiful sight but also one she didn’t dare underestimate.

Annabelle kept her distance. Calm and collected she hacked off the tendrils one after another just as they came in range until the beast was once again flopping about and shrieking. She then stepped in and hacked the sharp edge of the weapon into the weird face like thing. The beast died flailing its stumps about, shrieking horrible noises into the air while Annabelle caught her breath.

Stomp, scrunch, crush, she felt the impulse and much to her own surprise, found herself jamming the blunt edge of the scythe down onto the dead beast. Again and again, until nothing was left but a disgusting paste. She whipped her head away from it and focussed on the massive metal gate leading towards the Zuresti Mansion. Annabelle pressed a hand against her aching shoulder and fletched her teeth.

“Eleanor”, she said and swung open the rusty gates.

Rupert von Halen Weg

Lower District of the Seeking, Fifth Ring.

“Sweet mother of unholy fucking shit explosions. What in the many names of the abyss was that”, Tharia cursed. The human girl sat flat on her arse in what could only be described as the last vestige of intact road in a block-wide radius. Her barrier chain had worked overtime to protect the girl from what raged outside: A blistering inferno. Even now, the chain glowed in a bright blue as it absorbed the sheer heat of the fire. Tharia looked around in shock and awe. The first row of houses was simply gone. They just up and went away. In pieces. All over the district. And the rows after that looked as if a firebeast had used them as a scratching post for fleas.

Some part of her realized she needed to move. Now. Yet she was stupefied. It had been a simple idea, really. Months of living the merry ‘end of all days’ had seen a sharp decline in sewage maintenance. She had found a deserted district not far off and simply brought a black powder match to a section of the sewers that smelled particularly vile. She was hoping it’d give her fire a bit of a boost. First came the flash of light. Bright, quick. Her makeshift match had somehow penetrated into a pocket of methane gas and the rest was history. Fiery, burning history of wanton destruction.

“Right. I should probably book it. Holy Bethany, I unbind you from your guardian duty”, Tharia said and then quickly snatched up the chain. Intense heat washed in on her and made her sweat almost instantly. That, however, was just discomfort. She focussed her divine spark on her spine and ran as fast as she could. She heard the beating of massive wings above her but didn’t dare to stop. Only idiots tripped on things while running away.

With the last of her breath, she finally reached an alley that wasn’t ablaze. At least not yet. It was here that Tharia allowed herself a look back. The sky was black with hundreds of moths. Luckily none had paid attention to the human girl giving her best at legging it. They were transfixed by the inferno, some even put their tendrils into the flame and quickly exploded into bursts of fire.

“They sure are going to call this Tharia’s folly”, she said to herself and exhaled audibly. An abrupt sound, however, let her heart sink in panic. It came with a strange scent too.

“I’m more partial to calling it magnum opus, my dear”

The Muse. She feathered about on the spot and saw the old man right next to her. Tharia’s shivering hands brought up the pistol. She had precisely two shots left. They didn’t do anything against him, but she still had to try. The Muse just smiled while Tharia supported her aim with the second hand. Two times, the trigger clicked, two flames bellowed from the gun and two shots hit the muse right in his chest. He merely lifted an eyebrow.

“So decisive. That’s a good quality we shall grow”, he said with a smirk, “Do tell, how much do you understand of dramaturgy?”

Tharia felt miserable. She was the little girl again. Small, helpless, frail and broken. Her body slumped to the ground as her subconsciousness had pulled the tiny flame from her spine. There was little worth to her existence. Father hated her, mother rejected her and brother only saw her as a toy he could break at will. Her family was a den of uncaring monsters. The Sigil-Ring constricted around her finger and she clasped her hand around it. Well, so was she. With sudden defiance, she glared up at the Muse.

“It’s about love, dead people and a washed-up director in the gutter”, she replied with a taunting smile. Her fingers caressed the ring. No more a little girl, no more a victim. She was a Verholden and that was pedigree of the vilest order: They were the monsters before monsters walked the capital.

The Muse looked at her with one eye twitching. Her words had struck true. He kneaded his hands while staring at the flames behind her, before smiling again. A sudden burst of sickly sweet smell encompassed Tharia.

“You’re so very remarkable. Lesson learned, do not tempt a mistress of the Verholden house”, the Muse praised her with a half snarl that seemed magical to her. She felt her defenses weaken as more of that scent overwhelmed her. She was safe now.

“Well, let’s proceed. I quite look forward to a bit of remote fratricide”, the Muse said and lifted Tharia off the ground. She didn’t object as she was carried off like a toy. After all, the Muse would know what to do.

Zuresti Residence

Lower District of the Seeking, Fifth Ring.

Annabelle had taken a moment to bandage up her shoulders and check on her stomach wound from the day before. With a fresh layer of herb tinctures, the pain came down to a bearable level. She slung the Rucksack back over her shoulder and entered the gardens. The plants here had grown out of control months ago. Statues looked like they were slowly being eaten by overzealous flora. Annabelle got flashbacks to the golden fields and decided to check the bushes for flesh-beasts. All she found were hundreds of moth larvae scurrying about.

A movement near the conservatory caught her attention. There suddenly stood a raven-haired beauty in a flowing white dress the same color as her skin. The stranger reached a delicate hand for one of the plants and plucked a flower bulb from it.

“Leave”, she said with a voice as sweet as honey, “You are not welcome here”

Annabelle clasped her hands around her scythe and snarled. Burn, char and torch the betrayer. Red anger swamped her senses. The hacked the plants apart while she made her way straight for the stranger.

“You’re impertinent, peasant. Did my brother put you up to this?” the woman in white asked. She held the flower bulb to her face and watched it open into full blossom within seconds.

“He’s a manipulative one. No matter what he said, I will neither embrace you nor create more of my young with you. Now shush, leave us alone”

She waved her hand in dismissal. The pale moon accented the gentle curvature of her face. Not a single blemish marred the skin and when she opened her eyes, they glowed with a captivating blue. She walked with the grace of a social predator that was used to getting whatever she wanted – and more. Except for one thing. Annabelle growled.

“Eleanor”

Upon hearing the name from Annabelle’s lips, the woman dropped the flower on the spot. She looked directly at the intruder.

“You live?!”

Without warning or any sudden movements, Eleanor floated up into the air. The white dress fluttered in the wind and so did her obscenely long hair. Annabelle glowered at the woman in white and leaned to the side. Then with a sudden motion, she chucked the scythe at Eleanor. Unprepared for a sudden attack, the woman in white was hit square across her midsection. The impact sent her crashing down into an overgrown conservatory with a flock of moths ascending from the building like pillars of smoke. Annabelle suddenly heard Eleanor’s voice right next to her ear.

“It’s okay to hurt me. That’s what friends do”

In one quick motion, the woman in white peeled off Annabelle’s rucksack. Within a short breath, Annabelle suddenly felt a warm body lean into her from behind. Delicate hands reached around and came to rest at the base of Annabelle’s throat. It wasn’t a threatening gesture but rather one that felt caring and intimate.

“You came back for me. Have you finally decided to love me back?” the woman in white whispered into her ears. When she felt a kiss on her neck, Annabelle snarled, lifted her right hand and resummoned the scythe. It was but a hunch but the weapon materialized with a golden sheen – right through Eleanor’s chest. The woman in white dispersed into a flock of moths.

When next she saw Eleanor, she sat atop the overgrown conservatory with her legs dangling down. Annabelle realized in a passing notion that the woman was moving about barefoot.

“You’re mean”, Eleanor said and brushed a finger over her lips, “Why’d you give me divine beauty, if not for love? Tell me, did you ever feel anything for me?”

Annabelle took a deep breath. Eleanor had been the second one she gave a divine gift too. She still remembered the crying girl that had cursed her very existence. Amongst all these memories, a singular emotion ruled supreme.

“I did”, the goddess said aloud and started to walk towards the conservatory. Eleanor noticed the change in attitude and ever so gently floated down from the building until her bare feet touched the ground again. She looked hopeful with her eyes opened wide and lips slightly parted in anticipation. Her hands were folded in front of her flat belly and she lowered her head to the side while nervously shuffling on the spot. This side of her seemed more like the girl Annabelle had seen back then.

“I felt it strongly too”, Annabelle continued as she walked closer. Memories burned inside her mind. The mistress of the moths blushed in embarrassment. She rubbed two fingers against each other in a visible attempt to calm herself down. Annabelle saw all that and walked up to the other woman. She then leaned closer and pulled Eleanor into an embrace. The pale moth-queen shivered in delight and closed her eyes. Annabelle held her tight with the left arm and then raised her right hand so that it pointed directly at Eleanor’s head.

“I still feel it. Want to know what it is?”

Eleanor nodded with a surprisingly shy demeanor.

“Pity!” Annabelle spat, “You duplicitous hag”

With that, she willed the scythe back into existence. The blade manifested directly within Eleanor’s head. The face distorted into a mixture of pure emotional hurt and shock from the pain. Once more, the shape lost form but this time, Annabelle was ready for it. She twisted the scythe and cut directly into the swarm.

“Pity it was! I gave you my friendship but it was not enough”, Annabelle screamed. All the memories that didn’t seem like they were hers, suddenly felt right. It all clicked into place.

“Nothing but pity for a vain wretch like you. My gift made you the most beautiful of them all, but deep inside you were ugly”

She twirled the scythe in quick motions, each time, they cut more of the moths before Eleanor even had a chance to manifest again. She suddenly paused, allowing the moth-mistress to manifest for but a second.

“There was one more emotion”, Annabelle said and waited until Eleanor beamed with hope.

“Hatred”

The scythe cut straight through the head, leaving more dead moths on the ground.

“You jabbed a knife into my heart while begging for my attention”, Annabelle continued her onslaught until the moths finally gained enough distance to break free. The air exploded into the flutter of a hundred white wings that all rushed to the nearby mansion. Annabelle gripped her scythe with both hands.

“You've got my attention now. I’m coming for you, Eleanor Zuresti. Prepare your lair, call your children, wail to the skies, beg for mercy, none shall stop my wrath”

End: Faint of heart | Coming up: Ravaged paradise