July 8th, 2486 - Planet Sanctuary, Sanctuary City - Koltura District - The Ruins of the Teqaku Family Mansion

Akira Choaganta rose from the floor. He shook his head, his ears ringing, and coughed, dust filling his nose and mouth. The entrance way was eerily silent, all vision obscured by a dusty haze. Olivia gripped his arm tightly.

‘You go right, I’ll go left’, she hissed urgently.

‘His … his highness …’ Akira began, shaking his head to stop the world from spinning.

‘He’s fine … it’s best not to interrupt him right now’, she insisted. ‘Go, quickly! They might have split up.’

Akira nodded stupidly and began to walk. He had lost his gun, but it didn’t matter. All good soldiers carried a knife, and he pulled his out from his belt.

He wandered through a corridor, through the dark, dusty passages of the mansion, when suddenly he felt very stupid indeed. He had taken orders from Olivia; a simple bodyguard. He cursed under his breath, but just as he was about to turn around and give her a piece of his mind, he heard a noise … footsteps, scurrying—someone was nearby. Grinning nastily, Akira ducked low, and pressing himself against a wall, following the source of the noise. He came to a flight of steps, plummeting down into what was probably once a wine cellar. With celebration on the mind, Akira flicked on the flashlight on his utility belt, and descended into the darkness.

He turned a corner, peering into the darkness between rows of shelves. Shattered bottles crunched under his boots, and he surveyed the darkness in deliberate silence. Something scuttled past him in the gloom. He tried to train his flashlight on it, but it moved too quickly. There it was again, behind another row of shelves. His breathing heavy, Akira shone the flashlight quickly onto the owner of the footsteps; the small, green elderly man with the heavy white beard, stood stock still in the darkness. Akira let out a breath of disappointment. The flashlight beam shook, light reflecting off the old man’s bald head.

‘Jig’s up old timer’, he grunted. ‘You’re under arrest—I’ve got some plasma-cuffs on my belt. Turn around, put your hands behind your back and let’s get this over with.’

The old man did not move.

‘Didn’t you hear me old man?’ Akira snapped. ‘You lose your hearing aid or something? Hurry up, let’s get a move on!’

The old man smiled, his crimson eyes lighting up.

‘You’ve trained in the Mysitk Arts’, he crooned. ‘You’re practically bursting with Mystik energy…’

The old man suddenly seemed far larger than he had a moment ago.

‘How could you … know that?’ Akira asked. The flashlight shook on his belt. He suddenly felt very cold.

‘Drink, Dearg Due’, the old man said … in a voice not his own. It was the voice of a young woman.

The old man’s features grew dark, his smile growing unnaturally wide, the crimson eyes glowing a blinding white.

‘H—Hey, what the hell!?’

Akira took a step back. Something loomed in the old man’s shadow. It had pale green skin, long, black hair that fell over its face, long enough to cover the feminine body beneath, wrapped in a satin robe. Thin wisps of blue smoke rose from her body, and the woman placed both of her hands on the old man’s shoulders as she loomed above him, pointed ears protruding from either side of her head. Her chin slowly poked out from beneath the mass of coal-black hair. Her lips smiled seductively—then suddenly parted, revealing a mouth filled with teeth like barbed wire—she emitted a horrible shriek.

Akira’s scream echoed through the hallways of the crumbling Teqaku mansion.

*

Olivia gripped her gun tightly, and clenched her jaw. Her bright blue eyes scanned the corridor; she pressed her back to the grandfather clock, and cautiously peered around the corner. There was a spiral staircase, leading to the second floor, somewhat cloudy with dust from where a room had collapsed. Someone stood at the top of the stairs. They emerged from the smoke; it was Ichiro. Slowly, Olivia rounded the corner, gun trained on Ichiro’s chest. She wouldn’t take her eyes off him for even a second—not even a split second. She had her orders, and she would follow them through this time, without fail.

‘Ichiro Gorkanja’ she said, a slight tremble in her voice. ‘You’ve made my life a lot harder than it ever needed to be. I’ve been ordered to kill you … I—I have to shoot you either way, so if you just hand over the Princess now, I—I’ll make it quick. C—consider it a professional curtesy.’

‘Consider pissing off’, Ichiro replied. ‘You heard Yared; if anything, I’m the victim here. Doesn’t that meaning anything to you?’

Olivia pouted impetuously.

‘That’s exactly your problem, Ichiro; you’re just a selfish, lowborn vagrant, and you always will be!’

‘Tell me about it’, Ichiro grinned.

A candelabrum collided with the back of Olivia’s skull, and she fell flat on her face, immediately unconscious.

*

‘That felt dirty’, Abiona said with a shiver, clutching the candelabrum in both hands.

Ichiro descended the steps and walked past Olivia. He looked down at her, and let out a sigh of disappointment.

‘That’s exactly Olivia’s problem’, Ichiro said, picking her gun up from the floor. ‘In her eyes, everything is black and white.’

‘She’s colour-blind?’ Abiona asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘No, she’s a bigot.’

‘Ah. Gotcha’.’

*

The dust settled. Angora stood on one side of the crater, Yared on the other. Yared’s eyes widened and he left out a shrill laugh, tossing his dreadlocks back over his head with a hand.

‘You’re strong, Bungirban!’ he growled. ‘That’s Mystik—no two ways about it!’

‘So what?’ Angora asked, his brow furrowed.

‘So you know how to show a guy a good time…!’ Yared sneered. ‘Bring me victory, Shango!’

Red lighting pulsed through Yared’s hands, and he raised his arms to the heavens. A bolt of lightning struck his fists, and as he lowered them, Angora could see that his arms were clad in two gauntlets of crimson light, shaped like curling tree branches, inscribed with the number ‘six’. Yared raised his fists and took a fighting stance.

‘All power has purpose, Bungirban!’ Yared said. ‘There are many who are able to wield it, but only a handful are worthy of it! Fight me, Bungirban—I want to know which you are!’

‘Fine!’ Angora growled, stamping his feet, forcing his Mystik energy out once more. He was weakened, and growing weaker by the second, but with no sign of the others, his best bet was to buy time. ‘You want a fight?’ he cried. ‘I’ll give you a fight!’