Mhaieiyu

Arc 2, Chapter 13

Erica

“Watch out, swan!” the voice of a growing girl called, giving the angel little time to recoil as she landed like a meteorite against the soft ground, lifting dust and leaving a thin circle around her.

“Victus——!” the young man blasphemed, projecting himself in a leap with a push from his short, white wings.

The girl sizzled saliva in a winge, straining her leg but feigning being fine as she stood with awkward posture. “No bodies on the court! You’ve gotta keep your eyes peeled if you like living, swan.”

“You made me drop my things. And I think I’ll be fine in here,” the older angel said, his voice hindered from growth.

The small lass leaned forward and showed her fangs. “Sorry to end your daydreams, but you’re not one of those hallowed ones, so you don’t get to sit here and eat books for a living. You get to go out there with the mighty hawks and face the winds! So you best get to training, maggot, or you’ll eat my dust!”

He sighed, feeling tense but keeping a smile. “You’re a lively one.”

She winked. “Have to be! Only the top of the team gets to be the Guardian’s Sword, and I’m not gonna pick up a bow anytime soon.”

The lad squatted down to pick up the papers he had been carrying. To his surprise, after giving a complaint, she too got down to help him.

The teen gave her a puzzled look. “Spears don’t make good swords either.”

“Oh, shut it!” she shouted right into his ear. Goodness, her voice was high pitched back then. “The Major doesn’t care if it’s a sword, a spear, an axe or a goddamn honey-stick!”

The boy angel tapped his ringing ear, his eye spasming for a second. “Less volume! And why is everyone so completely infatuated with that role?”

“Commandeer me once you're a hawk, swan! And are you kidding? Next to the Skyborn and the Guardian himself, there’s no better class ‘round here!”

“So?" he said, "People will expect you to die for someone you don’t know.”

“Ugh, such a ‘swan’ thing to say. Life under Victus is an honour, but that doesn’t mean you should waste it in a library. You live to give life meaning. Being the Sword’s a good one.”

The little Celestials sat up to look at each other. The ‘swan’ looked impressed. “You know, that’s not such a ‘hawk’ thing to say either.”

The younger angel rolled her eyes, and hiding a blush, she returned to the floor. “You’d know, swan.”

The girl was surprised when she felt his hand reach her shoulder. When she turned to look at him, she found an honest smile on his stone-cold face.

“I am a hawk. And my name is Corvus.”

She pushed her scaly shirt up to cover her cheeks and turned back to him. He had to hide a snort at how silly she looked, sitting on her legs with hands on her sides. “We’ll see how you get along, Corvee. I’m Erica.”

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Erica’s body was flung like a ragdoll as the shockwave caught up to her, projecting her into a tree and tilting it backwards. Despite the burning explosion, her skin was left with nought but scrapes, and her body hadn’t been devastated whatsoever. Slowly, the light in her necklace faded to nothing, and with it went the vibrant golden hues of the pendant, turning it to a colour closer to copper.

The lady angel grabbed her aching head as she sat up again, her teeth clenched. When she looked onto the field her soldiers just stood upon, she saw little more than a gaping hole in the earth, with chunks of the fallen littering its perimeter. The sight made her gag. She almost unleashed her sick when her eyes caught three figures standing together near the shoreline. Her nausea dissipated as she strained to see them through the fog in her light-blinded vision.

One was the young man who had landed ashore. The second was the Syndie faker in a benefitted cloak. The last of the trio was new to the scene. A man of average height in a properly sewn, cotton grey suit and trousers of matching colour. The monochromatic nature of his clothing was compensated by a great many number of regal accessories, all golden, such as bracelets, cufflinks, buttons, a wire rose on his left chest, a ruby ring on his right wedding finger, a watch with a chain falling from his pocket and many more. The strangest part was his face, obscured by an item she couldn’t discern from where she stood.

Erica stalked her way to the tree closest to them—having been sent a good way past the treeline—with a conviction for revenge. In that instant she forgot escape was an option. All she could think of was righting this wrong.

Once she was in range, her fingers spread and a small burst of air gave birth to sharp, intangible weapons no person could ever wield.

And then, she fired.

The magic swords and spears were launched quick as arrows with enough force to cut through a Mynotaur’s torso and turn it into two. The mystery men would have had barely a second to react, and judging from their sluggish reflexes, they wouldn’t stand a chance against her spells.

And yet, just as the bullets were, they made contact upon a surface that simply didn’t exist and shattered on impact; dispersing the light they were made of into a tiny breeze of warm air.

Erica’s throat tightened. Her attacks felt just as ineffective as when she fought the male Wraithsman, except this time the odds of her landing a hit seemed impossible for reasons she didn't understand.

Before she could bring herself to speak, the disappointment of the man in greys was made vocal. With a clear voice attractive in a man, he said, “Oh, there she is. God, you took your time, didn’t you?”

Erica felt sick to her stomach. She knew she recognised him from somewhere, but she couldn’t piece where. More so, she felt sick that Noire was still alive, standing among them, doing nothing.

Stepping out from under the tree, trying in vain to hide her anger, she assumed a carefree stance; her wings spread gloriously and relaxed behind her shoulders. “What is your name, Shepherd?”

The man flinched, dumbfounded. It was clear to her now that he was wearing a mask emblematic of the Crimsoneers. One of a pyramid with smoothed base and a fine point, much like the one on her pendant, only it was inverted like a tall, filled ‘V’. Unlike the brightness of hers, his was a blackish-blue with a red outline.

“Do you understand that, by attacking me, you’re already failing to respect me and my safety to an exaggerated degree? And if that wasn’t enough, you’ll ask me for my name without even giving yours first? Are you entirely devoid of reason?”

For every question he asked, his arms moved about whilst his body remained stiff. They moved behind his back, folded together, extended and waved… His hands opened and closed, fanning and bobbing, all without end.

Erica tried her best to look unfazed. In truth, she was biting her tongue. “Considering I, a Celestial, am speaking to a Crimsoneer, a worshipper of God, I’m pretty sure you can get the gist behind my ill manners. Not to mention…” She looked behind her, noticing a sliver of furred pelt left behind by a certain Wylven. Her wrist twitched. She had to keep this insatiable boil settled. “You and your daft gnasher just murdered my comrades. Just like that.”

The man folded his arms and nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. You can say it was me, by the way. Speak as you wish, but have I heard a single apology from your comrades after trying to gun down my associate for merely speaking? He barely got a word in, and suddenly, my ears were assaulted by sheer noise.”

The Celestial stopped a good few metres away from them. The lax on her face fell apart as her cheeks jerked. “We’ve been waiting for your kind to arrive for a while now, and we’ve just been through a lot. We were on edge.”

“That isn’t a very good apology," he said.

“Screw you, then,” she seethed, her eyes puffed.

“And rude. So very rude. Honestly, I mean seriously, you are such a joke of a Celestial. Rumours and all, you’re just another graceless human blessed with little more than favouritism. Soaking in your worthless harlot Goddess’ attention. It’s embarrassing.”

Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue if you want to keep it. You’re on holy grounds.”

“Oh really? ‘Watch my tongue’? As in, stay it? What will you do to exercise such supremacy over me? Make me shatter your efforts again? And what’s this about ‘holy land’? What, because your skies are so clear, this land is holy? Or is it because your likes colonised it? You waste me. You waste my mind figuring you out. I utterly fucking despise it.” His poise became mudded by spite as his twisted attitude worsened, his arms moving about with increasing passion.

“You’re a man of many words. A girl should tell you to shut up more often,” Erica spat with a click of her teeth. She noted how still the Harbinger of Famine was. But worse… “Noire, what are you doing just standing there? Don’t tell me you gave up already!”

The false Syndie didn’t turn to look at her. It's as if he were shut off. As if everything in the world had turned him blue.

“Noire,” she called. No answer. “Noire!”

“Eugh, your shrill voice pains me,” the masked man said, his hand wafting by his side. “Can we get this over with? My journey home will be long and tedious.”

Erica’s teeth ground together unhealthily. “You’re really pissing me off, prick. And where do you think you’re going? We’re sorting you out right here and right now,” she said, gripping her halberd firmly and dropping its point in their direction.

The cocky Crimsoneer sneered. “We? You and what army, pigeon?”

“Me, myself and I! Erica her goddamn self!”

Impatient, Karma put his hands to his head and grovelled like a begging dog, “The meal drags on and on and on and on! And my hunger, my thirst, my need, my gluttonous greed singes me still!” Karma's lips quivered in excitement as he flung his sword about. He slashed at the air; lobbed the sword and caught it by his fingers; spun the blade precariously around his wrists — all whilst focusing his eyes on the Celestial’s body. It’s as if he were mapping every cut before the slaughter. The way he stared disturbed the angel. It wasn’t lecherous. It was a beastly stare; one a starved Howler might give a young Lypin caught in the woods. His pupils were tiny and his sclera huge. His eyes had large, black rings around them nearly as dramatic as a panda's.

The man in grey exhaled. “Spare us the headache and silence yourself, Famine.”

Erica shook her head of fear and shot them a derisive smirk. “Oi. I gave my name. I asked for yours.”

The man in the masquerade mask shrugged and shook his head. “How obsessive. Are you falling for me? I’m sorry to disappoint, but I am promised to one and one alone——”

“Don’t think for a second I’d give you the smallest piece of my heart,” Erica interjected. “Now give me your name before I get reckless."

“Hmph. As if a living being could surpass my charm.” He rested his cheek on a palm, his arm serving to support the other. “Then again… I do suppose an exchange is fair. Very well. My name is Vermillion. I am the celebrated new inheritor of the Disciple of Aquarius, the acclaimed Manifestation of Lust, and soon to be sole suitor to the Lady Crimson herself. My beloved: Bellum.”

Erica winced, hearing a name she hadn't in years. A name that drove caution like a spear into the pits of mortal hearts. And still, she found it so amusing. “Hold on. You’re marrying Bellum? The Witch of North? That Bellum? Are you nuts?”

Vermillion’s vision thinned as his brows furrowed. “What kind of comment is that?”

With a sheepish look, she said, “You’re joking, right? Get used to being a punching bag! Shit, no wonder they appointed mister mystical shield over here. Anyone else wouldn’t last five minutes after being eloped to her!”

The young man’s hands clenched as he took furious steps toward her.

Erica piped up again, holding her face as she burst out laughing. “And you freaks say Victus isn’t merciful! Buddy, I think I’ll be doing you a favour here——!”

Once close enough, Vermillion stood still and snapped his fingers, pointing at her afterwards. Then, in the time a drop of water fell from leaf to mud, a surge of kinetic force collected once more, pulled from storage invisible to the naked eye to travel the earth and reach the angel with a thunder. A sudden force collided against both of the Celestial’s wings, crushing them into each other and destroying the bones therein instantly. The sudden impact whirred Erica’s body and crashed her aground. The pain, shushed by shock, was oddly passable, but the damage was dire.

“Y-You bastard! What the hell did you just do to me?!” she shrieked out, falling on her hands and knees.

Vermillion turned his nose up as if merely upset. “Disrespect towards myself is unacceptable enough. But to my betrothed? You accursed little bitch. Be ravaged by the devils, she-demon.”

"...The fuck is your problem?!" Erica said, writhing her back muscles to move the useless wings into a less agonising position.

Vermillion scoffed and accused her with a wag of his finger. “You became my problem — and that’s deplorable. I just arrived here, and already, trouble has made its foulness known twice. First, a bastard town of inbred nature lovers violated my personal space for breathing their air, and then, a wicked little bird sent her spite my way for doing my job. I mean, really? Seriously? This is the extent of respect we’ll bestow upon each other nowadays? Fucking despicable. Hubbite scum. Victus whore. Abominable.”

Erica’s head hung. She held her tongue at the poison, wishing not to lick more. With a begrudged, hoarse voice, she called the silent rescue instead.

“Noire, do something or I’ll kill you right here and right now.”

She didn’t even lift her gaze as a bout of nothing took place. Then, Vermillion arched his back and clapped with a hysterical laugh. “Oh! Oh, you’re joking! You pitiful mare! You still don’t see clearly the circumstances at bay? Of course you wouldn’t. You poor cur. Lost is the shepherd where light is most bright. How whimsically ironic.”

With hands shaking in pain, she took off from her knees, clutching the halberd like a cane. “Then that’s it then. I’ll just off all of you. If it costs me my life.”

Karma bit his rotten nails until they bled, his skin shaking with vigour like an energetic child forced to stay put. “Wasteful, wasteful, wasteful time. I hate waiting. Please, an order of execution. May the feast begin, lord.”

Erica’s eyes widened as the dull, monotone voice of Noire responded. His voice was different. It made her hair stand.

“This entire display has been such a tragedy.” He turned around, facing the damned Celestial with a sunken visage. “For a moment, I truly prayed there might have been a chance for you to convert. I know it’s possible. Myldew did.”

Erica’s breath trembled. She couldn't believe her ears. “You can’t be serious… You were… And right under our noses…”

“Unfortunately, your judgement is not mistaken. I am grateful to Corvus for bringing me in. I didn't get much of a chance, but seeing you two, I hoped that maybe, you and him…” Noire said, his gaze falling flat onto the floor.

Vermillion interjected with a curt moan. “This melodrama is boring me so much.”

“It’s starving me,” Karma added, taking a step forward only to retreat as his wrist was slapped by Noire.

“You’re allowed stillness, but don’t stop him! If the rapacious boy seeks to eat, let him eat!” the pompous Crimson complained, only to be slighted more at Noire’s disdainful stare. Returning the leer and unrelenting in arrogance, he spat, “Eugh. Don’t look at me like that. It’s disrespectful and your eyes look disgusting. Cease.”

Although it wasn’t a surprise anymore, Erica was still startled to hear Noire snap back. With a haughtiness befitting leadership drowsed by sadness, he said, “That’s enough. Be quiet, Vermillion. Your words are needlessly piercing. She’s had it bad enough.”

“Bad enough…?” Erica’s words slipped from her mouth. She was baffled. The wasteland that had been made of her comrades made her lips and brows twitch and spasm.

Noire gave her a distant look. Extending his arm lazily and unwillingly, as if pointing at a chasm of despair, he gifted her the whole of his worthless sympathy. “Notice she suffers from our plight. It’s regrettable. This Celestial loves.”

“Loves?” Vermillion scoffed. “To love another winged swine...”

Karma’s teeth chattered. “Swine. Swines. Swines for the slaughter. The blood, the nectar therein, a splendorous bounty, yes… So wasted! Vermillion!” he shouted, springing to attention the embodiment of Lust. “You wasteful creature! The blood, theirs, gone! Smithereens! To what end does your service stand?!”

Those words seemed to tick something in the Crimson’s mind. He took a step back, overcome with pressure, before thrusting his finger in the young killer’s direction. Vermillion’s face scrunched and wrinkled, mangling the beauty—what little could be seen—of his appearance and displacing it with hatred. “You! You abhorrent little shit! I walk my way to this location of my own merit, and my efforts are rewarded by the squeals of a feather-clipped sparrow, backtalk from a depressed simpleton and now this? You’re so pitiful that you won’t be grateful of my labours——?!”

“Enough!” Erica yelled, silencing the blatherings of the maddened Reds. The Celestial inhaled through her nose and let her chest drop. “I’ve had enough.”

Vermillion’s face only contorted further. “Who the fuck do you think you are?! You're just going to interrupt me? Are you even marginally aware of who you’re speaking to?!”

To his venomous words, she returned a look. A look that turned even his breath mute. One of a person with so much to lose, but who was still willing to throw it all away if only to, ironically, give those feeble belongings a chance to prosper.

To die and let live.

“I don’t know what kinda sick individual it takes to convert to the extent of lunacy you people have shown. Even Isosceles wouldn’t freak me out this much.” The name ‘Isosceles’ reached Noire’s ears and his eyes widened.

Disregarding this, Erica continued. “All I know is, there’re some good people I need to keep healthy, and you three are a threat to that.”

Noire conceded, closing his eyes. “You aren’t wrong. If you want your wishes granted, you will undoubtedly have to spill our collective blood. I can offer no respite. It is utter shame violence spurs so quickly in disagreement. So tragic.”

Karma’s grin reformed and grew wide sideways on his face, his mouth unhinging to show those carnivorous teeth. “Food that stands at attention so passionately… The excitement of it all gives the harvest a taste unlike any other! Dear God, you’re a gift! Oh!”

The air tore and lacerated as several smudges took form by Erica’s knees. Her nose trickled blood.

Vermillion watched Karma sprawl his arms wide once more and cringed. “You don’t have to get so vocal, imprudent child. My ears have been raped enough. And you.” He directed himself to Erica, trying in vain to justify himself. “Don’t act violently against me. Don’t mistake me for being as mindlessly deluded as these two. It offends me so much that you would call me a lunatic, did you know that?”

Erica paid the ceaseless ranter no mind, much to his boiling frustration. She had here the epitome of need and the pinnacle of arrogance. And beside them…

“Noire,” she called. “Sorry, Sagittar. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The charcoal-haired impostor lowered his head. “Yes. That is, unfortunately, my birth name.”

“You ended my people, so I’m going to kill you and your buddies now. I’ll try to, at least. I’d hear Emris bitch about it if I merked you myself, but I don’t really give a damn right now.”

Sagittar said nothing. The Guardian’s name only made him sink further in his own misery.

Erica’s ears began to bleed as the projectiles took form around her. She had barely gotten a wink of rest since her last battle. She clicked her tongue. Of course they had planned to come when the Syndicate was only recuperating. How naive of her likes to think they had longer. The sting of her wings reminded that flight was impossible, and that adrenaline would soon wear off.

“One of the four!” Karma suddenly said, “Those sent by our Lord, the great Divine, for the King’s reawakening, so that the world may be born anew!” The cleaver from hell he wielded dropped until its unsightly, harpoon-like tip aligned with the Celestial’s body. “I, Harbinger of Famine, promiser of wilting grey flowers to rebloom in colour, Sanguinary, Karma!”

The depressed man sighed and took a step forward. He had the minimum of respect to look into Erica’s eyes. “I, Harbinger of Conquest, promiser of bountiful land in a world taken from Sin, Manifestation of Melancholy, Sagittar. I want you to——”

The Celestial couldn’t care to listen further. She spawned a dozen more weapons by her feet. “And my name is Erica. Honoured Celestial. Second Brigadier of the Syndicate, and before you lay eyes on the Sword, your fucking haymaker!”

Before further rebuttals could be made, Karma dropped his body forward and bolted, closing the distance between him and the angel as quick as a leopard in full sprint. Less than a second before his sword could turn her into butcher’s meat, the Celestial raised her heel and dropped it against the earth with a gargantuan thump, bringing about a great shockwave that crumbled and upraised the soil around her and cascaded it down; the force powerful enough to stop the young man dead in his tracks and project him backwards.

“Be skewered, devils!” she shouted then.

Erica reeled her hand back and swung it forth, impelling one of the spears to shoot off towards the faker who lived under Noire’s name. As it did, that same mangled blade spun and whirred through the air quick enough to clatter the projectile and dissipate it. As the sparks faded, Karma dropped with the weapon, landing in front of his fellow Harbinger with a twisted, thrilled smile.

Wasting no time, Erica continued to fly her spears his way as Karma once again ran towards her. For every projectile that came, regardless of direction, he would slash and parry them into nothingness as if for sport as he sped on by, eventually lobbing the sword high to catch the last stray spell and bringing himself up with it.

“Incredible!” Karma cried out. “Do entertain me, sheep! Grill your loins before the feast!”

Landing sword-first on her halberd, Erica was forced to push back at his weight, and with a weapon much slower than his, fight back and keep his impossibly sharp sword at bay somehow. Her weapons were useless. Her magic had all been wasted. The frustration of being pinned into a corner so effortlessly made her eyes water, and so her vision began to fog. Halberds were never intended to be used at such short distances, but no matter how hard she tried to create space, Karma would close in immediately. The sheer velocity of his swings and hacks were unparalleled; the likes of which she hadn’t seen even with fencers. Every fraction of a second was accompanied by striking iron. It’s as if the sword and his arm lacked any inertia. The glimpses of a foothold she did get were thwarted as Karma spun around her unstoppably — all the while wearing a horrific, gluttonous grin and reeking of decay. The gore of the Zwaarsts he had massacred singlehandedly still clung to his clothes and skin.

No matter how hard she tried to fight, there was nothing she could do. Her armour kept her locked in a tight position. The endless hacks of the Harbinger forced her in a perpetually defensive stance of which she tired and he did not. The thought of those she would never see again, those they had killed, made her grip loosen. In that instant, she smiled. Corvus was right after all. She had gotten too bold. She was too foolhardy. She didn’t enter this battle with a plan. Instead of flying away as she should’ve, the hawk chose vengeance.

Her eyes began to bleed, and through her lips, blood too seeped. Her fight weakened and slowed. Her eyes lost sight.

“You know, Erica, whenever I see you, I notice that you keep trying to go fast. But that’s not what you should be aiming for. You should strive instead to go far.”

“I’m sorry, Corvee,” she daydreamed, losing touch with the hell that surrounded her. “I should’ve been a better listener, huh?” Somewhere in her mind, she giggled to herself. “Maybe if you’d have spoken a little louder, swan. And maybe if you weren’t so dense, too.”

Somewhere in her mind, she laughed. She felt warm.

“I wish you could just crawl into my mind. At least see the signs, you goof. I’ve been trying to tell you for ages.”

She heard his voice. “Erica?”

“Yeah, that’s me! Don’t wear it out. Hey, Corvus.”

“Yes, yes. Go on.”

“I think I’m in love with you, you know?”

“Is that right…?”

“No no, I’m serious. I really think I am.”

“A hawk? In love with a swan?”

“Heh, no. You’re a hawk, Corvee. You’re just a hawk with a heart.”

Erica closed her eyes. It felt nice, seeing his face instead. She’d treasure his name to the grave.

“So, thank you, Corvee.”

“You’re welcome, Erica.”

With a hundred cuts as quick as a spider weaving its web, flesh became cubed, and cubed again, and cubed again, and cubed again, and cubed again, and cubed again, and cubed again. And never had blood been so warm.