The middle of the Cafe was largely vacant, except for the few foolish souls who decided to stick around in open field.

They were being taught their mistake at this moment, and Lucious decided not to stick around. Lucious ran back to the Chef’s now 8 knife-wielding group without engaging any further Ghouls, lest he would get cornered.

That last fight was largely luck, major luck, and a side of luck to keep him alive. Lucious did not delude himself with the results. He did come out largely unscathed, but in truth, it was either that or he wouldn’t at all. One mistake was all it took for the Ghouls to rip through him.

Lucious did observe how different he was. Ordinarily, his technique and skills were apt, but in no means or purposes as agile or experienced enough to perform the moves he did. It did help that the Ghouls had the mental capacities of 12-year olds--a 12 year-olds that would bite your neck off, but a 12-year-old nevertheless. Still, Lucious had enough blood-boiling events for the next year and a half.

He’d had a substantial effect, as the few that he saved probably saved others. It was enough for now. Things did not look as hopeless as they previously did.

By this point, Lucious had already figured that the Ghouls purpose was not to wipe them out. If it was, they could have easily started from the kitchen in groups, attacking from one side to the other. Without weapons, the Ghouls could have traded hits. A thrust that could go through front and back from a Ghoul was no match to the mighty fork that might go two inches in if stabbed correctly.

Instead, the Ghouls apparently decided to uphold a code of honor, and for the most part only engaged on one versus one. Lucious figured that the only reason he was out-numbered was because he attacked more than one Ghoul, which was understandibly foolish.

That, Lucious noticed as he got closer, was also extremely odd. The closer he got to the Chef’s group, the more ravenous eyes he saw. They moved with power, with convection, throwing their entire weight with each slash and thrust. These were supposed to be middle to high-class brats, who probably had one servant for holding their dicks as they pissed, and another to wipe the shit from their asses, lest their pure hands would touch filth.

But there, in front of him, were men and women huddled up in a rough circle, lashing out forward with fervor, undiverted by the ones who were missing an arm and an eye right next to them. The ones who did lose a limb did not seem to notice, the blood in their eyes knowing only to go forward, and to hit and to kill and to ruin.

The Chef lead the charge, stepping forward uncontested as his Cleaver chopped whichever unfortunate limb was in range. Any Ghoul brave enough to get close was skewered by the Chef’s men. Any Ghoul Skewered by the Chef’s men was chopped down with an earth-shaking bellow.

Lucious stepped back, witnessing a Ghoul using one of his brethren as a trampoline, jumping and landing on top of some tall man, whom promptly lost half of his skull as the thing bit into it like it was swiss cheese. Lucious laughed nervously. So that’s what it wanted to do that time. The Ghoul jumped off before the body hit the floor, attempting to land on its next victim but instead meeting a wide variety of pointy objects.

This was not how the world worked. There was too much death around, too many screams and screeches. The dying held a face full of ecstasy and anger, and the living seemed to no longer care to live.

Lucious went still. Out of the corners of his ears, he heard grotesque cackle in the distant, its pitch raising and lowering, its voice ever changing. It echoed then contorted into a twisted, fiendish giggle, then increasing in pitch, becoming an excited, happy child’s laugh. He felt it inching closer.

Fear came back. It coiled in tight ropes around his limbs, slowly itching itself into his skin. Lucious whipped around, trying to hear the whispers, trying to see the moving things. He saw nothing, but the oppressiveness increased. He turned away, his body straining itself. It wanted to step forward. Away. He smelled blood in the air. It found its way into his mouth, too, its metallic flavor soaking his tongue. Or was that his saliva? He swallowed, tasting nothing. Something heavy twitched, then, inside of him.

He began to hear the piano again. Distance sung it far away, now, but increasing in intensity, in fervor, in desire. Dizziness followed. Following dizziness was further loss of control. It was numbness. It was a creeping cold. The Fear was in his blood now, making its way, twitching his body in ways unknown to him. His muscles tensed, relaxed, then pulsed. It was an invasive thing, those notes were. They wiggled inside, dancing gleefully. He felt them, foreign and inquisitive, poking inside of him.

He Willed his body to move. It did not comply.

Lucious did not want to look, did not want to remember what he did not see, but the feeling was there. She was there.

The Pianist.

Shaking overtook him. He Willed it away. It did not work. Terror followed his failure, panic threatening to come. He held it back. He tightened his grasp over the knife, knuckles going white. He Willed it again this time, just like he had done previously.

Everything was gone. Lucious let out a breath he did not know he was holding. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his body. His trousers were wet, but all of him was glad and thankful. He felt his tongue, he had bitten it at some point. He was panting too, almost uncontrollably. He opened his eyes, too, unaware he had closed them. Everything was normal. He took a step forward.

Then its hands coiled around his heart, squeezing curiously.

With a roar Lucious broke into a neurotic sprint. He screamed inaudible things. Frenzy overtook him. He ran through chairs and bodies. He fell but ran on with all his limbs, his numb hands making as much leeway as his dead feet. The oppressive air lessened but followed closely, tugging at the ends of his ears, becoming enraged, agitated at his insolence. It was angry and Lucious was sorry, very very sorry and swore he wouldn't do it again and would do better and make it up but he did not stop. He felt it breathe down his neck with its teeth bared against his skin before he threw himself into the midst of the Ghouls and knifes and screams and flying limbs and bodies.