“Hmph. You really make me laugh.”

  “And what’s so funny exactly?”

  “This ‘plan’ of yours. It won’t work. There’s no going back to the way things were. It’s gone, Camelia. Forever. Nothing will change that. Not hope, not your weird magic. It’s best to let it all go. What’s the point of dredging up the past only for it to shatter our dreams for the second time?”

  “Because there’s a chance, a real chance. I’m beginning to understand the fundamentals of our world… the way everything flows and reflects. Magic is capable of anything.”

  “...Stop. I don’t want that. Fate is set in stone. Even if it could work, I’m not sure I would even want it back. Maybe it’s better that we leave it to rest.”

  “It’s not in some sort of resting period. They’re all in a torturous stasis with no end. It’s a living hell, a purgatory. We have to free them.”

  “You have to free them. I want nothing to do with this.”

  “You can’t keep treating the past like it doesn’t exist. I know you can’t be mired in it either, but you have to embrace it… accept it to face the future.”

  “There is no future in what you’re planning.”

  ***

  “Camelia?” Julius slowly enunciated. The fury that had been bursting from his red, sunken eyes diminished as he thought upon her name. “No… I still do not recognize it nor you. Whatever relation you may have must be quite the stretch.”

  Camelia, the Witch of Warmth, shook the painful memory from her head that resurfaced at the sight of her old friend. The brusque Sirithisian that she had relied on so many times in the past now etched a deep, bleeding gash in her heart just at the mere mention of her name, let alone the woman herself standing just a few meters away from her. Though Ilzif’s actions were terrible and inhuman, part of Camelia wanted to thank her for driving Ma’at away before the painful gash could threaten to overwhelm; to rip apart and cause her repressed emotions to gush and flow.

  Julius looked away from the scarlet witch and eyed the pale hag overseeing the deaths she had wrought, then turned to see Beatrice Blackthorn standing just as she had all this time, completely untroubled by the terrifying turn of events. I must have quite the soft spot for eccentrics, he thought scornfully. Though, I am all too familiar with the fact that I am one as well.

  “Hehe. Great change in the flow requires those with wayward minds. Do not scorn your uniqueness, lord. None of this would exist without it.”

  Beatrice’s words drove into his head like a rusty pike. He didn’t bother questioning how she knew what he was thinking, for it was not the central concern burning in his heart. He simply chuckled and replied: “When all is said and done, the host is truly the most entertained by his own entertainment. To see this great passion surge forth from your dead husk of a heart, Lady Blackthorn, brings some solace to this tired old fool.” He relaxed his spear-arm, turning back to the shrewd witches. “Camelia. A beautiful name. I am glad you’ve finally told me. Now will you tell me what you desire? I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  Camelia’s poised form softened. The violent flames behind her lost their passionate colors and the intense heat dissipated. An odd serenity gripped her, the last thing she’d expected from such an intense situation. “In this world… this castle you call home, there is a certain room housing relics from years past. The Reliquary Room.”

  The Count’s eyes narrowed, understanding filling his pores. Finally, the fiery intruder’s goal was coming to light. He had something to grasp onto. “Yes, that is correct. Such a room exists behind one of the infinite doors, one possibility among millions.”

  “In that room, you stored an object recently. Some odd years ago. The heart of a star.”

  Julius grinned, his fangs scarier than ever. “May I ask how you came to know this?”

  “The few who retained some sanity after the Advent claimed to have seen three individuals touching a glowing blue orb. Then, they said, the world went white and they lost themselves for some time. When they returned, when they were conscious again, those three were gone, but the orb remained. It was nighttime and cold, and they were on the brink of death in the mud and grime of the Outlands. Before they gave themselves to death, a swarm of bats descended down to that glowing blue orb, they testified, and flew off with it.”

  Julius nodded, semi-impatiently. He wanted her to get to the point.

  “You have it, Julius. The Aspect. It’s in this Reliquary Room of yours, yes? That is what I desire.”

  “A slight correction: the Reliquary Room is not mine, nor anyone’s. It exists by its own means, between the boundary of our world and whatever lies beyond. I may be quite gifted in the art of magic, but I could never come close to creating anything even resembling that primordial horrorshow. Thank you for thinking I did, however. It reignited my pride. I am quite glad of what I am able to achieve otherwise.”

  “The heart of a fallen star is a fickle, transparent concept. Without being housed in a place immortalizing mystery, it could never survive the harsh exactness of base reality.” Beatrice closed her eyes, pondering her own words. Noth stood as unflinching as ever beside her, even when faced with monsters holding strength that easily outshone his own.

  Julius nodded. “That’s right. That is why I took it. If it had been left there, abandoned to the wasteland, it would have lost its luster and burned out.”

  “I very much doubt that’s the only reason,” Camelia replied pointedly. “But, all the same either way. I require the Aspect. That is my true aim, no smoke and mirrors.”

  The vampire lord turned to Ilzif, her Eternal Procession gone from her side. By this point, they had surely spread all throughout the Crimson Castle, mercilessly killing all the nobles that had survived the first attack. “And what is it that you desire, illum? Why disrupt my duels? There was more fun to be had!”

  “Duels are no fun, latpol. They are… how you say… zivimel?”

  “Boring!? Boring, how?”

  “I know the reason, lord. They are for steady transfusion, yes? Otherwise, with excessive violence, as of now, your blood boils. The kel-anisai within you spurs forth, and you are overcome with a thirst unrivaled by any in the world. More dire than a secluded man dying from thirst on a lonesome island. More hungry than a poor, diseased peasant. It is the curse all of your kind face… a punishment for the original sin.”

  “The original sin…?” Camelia thought aloud. “You mean-”

  “Yes,” Ilzif croaked. “The ancient progenitor, the original vampire, was created when a human feasted upon the corpse of a kel-anisai. The tainted blood of the Godbeast turned them into sun-fearing creatures of the night. Abominations of the flesh, requiring the blood of the living for eternal sustenance and near-infinite magical potential. You are royalty, Count Julius, and that is why I do not look down upon you. But your kind is ill and disgusting to gaze upon; they are a malignant species, a reminder that humanity may never escape the shackles of our dreadful mother of all.”

  Julius scowled. “I ask you to explain yourself, and you insult me?”

  The pale witch brushed white hair from her face, the tome floating beside her pointing its pages at Julius menacingly. “I beg your pardon, lord. I meant only that these duels may serve to keep your instinct sated, but as a being that has witnessed countless duels and deaths, such a bland tournament scarcely qualifies as true entertainment.”

  “Hehe. Your immaturity betrays your age, Ilzif the Scourge. If you were truly wizened by the revolving world, you would know that one can find entertainment in the simplest of happenings. Bloodshed is no more entertaining than a simple conversation.”

  Ilzif glared at Beatrice, the small woman in black wearing a tiny smile. It wasn’t quite mocking, but it sent a pang of anger into her normally dead heart. Emotion that, at this point, could only be conjured up by another enigmatic creature. “Graaski. Keep your observant silence, Blackthorn. I wish not to be chastised by a mooncursed animal such as yourself. And banish your Wolves; these lesser humans have nothing to do with our meeting.”

  “No, they will stay as they are. Such is the flow.”

  A crooked, upset smile crept onto the illum’s face like the symptom of a stroke. Now, she was truly angry. “Why are you here, then? Why must you interfere?”

  Beatrice cocked her head to the side, giving the witch a posed look. “An odd question. I came to experiment. To give the locus a little push, to spin the axis. What other reason could I have?”

  “Everything is a game to you, kaltrix.” Her warped smile turned semi-genuine as an idea formed in her mind. “Then, what if I was to dismantle this little game of yours, just as I ruined the poor Count’s festivities?”

  Beatrice turned to Noth, her black hair rolling like dark waves, then looked back at Ilzif with the selfsame expression. “I would put an end to you.”

  Ilzif’s grin faded, dropping from her face like melting candle wax.

  “Camelia,” Beatrice said, turning to the Witch of Warmth. She ignored Ilzif’s growing wrath, violence coming to life and fated to reach her soon.

  “Hm?”

  “Go to her. That is the right choice. The possibilities may seem overwhelming presently, but that is what you must do. She’s been searching, seeking, waiting for so long now… reveal yourself to her. And push her in the right direction. Pull at her soul. Push her. Pull her. Reignite the spark that lies at the bottom of her heart, in the abyss of her mind. That is what she needs, what I need to direct this flow.”

  “You mean… Ma’at? But… she wants nothing to do with me anymore.”

  “A lie. White lies fall from her mouth at times of struggle. It is so often a trait mankind possesses. Reality can be too harsh and uncomfortable otherwise.”

  Passion welled up in Camelia’s heart for the first time in what felt like years, and faint courage drew her legs forward; not toward the arguing creatures, but toward the exit. Flames kicked up from her heels, and her crimson dress flowed behind her much like Julius’s bloody mantle. She stopped, gazing back at Beatrice and the rest with a tinge of doubt. But Beatrice gave her a reassuring nod, and so she obeyed.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  For what reason? She didn’t even know the strange girl. Something about her words and her demeanor, however, told her that everything she said was true to an extent. That to disregard them would be greatly foolish. But, she also couldn’t see herself staying there for any good reason. The room wasn’t there in the Great Room. It was out there, among the countless doors of the castle. She would gain nothing by fighting with them, bickering and hurting each other. She had to push forward.

  “Why did you turn away my ally? Afraid? I do not need her,” Ilzif boasted.

  “I do not seek battle with you, silly witch.” Beatrice grinned and her eyes widened. “Noth. Wolves. Do not allow her to corrupt dear Julius. I must go.”

  “As you command, my lady.” The bulky man and his two bestial allies’ eyes burned blue as they readied themselves, hulking steel greatswords leaning across their shoulders.

  The world seemed to distort, as if someone had flipped a switch or a television was losing signal. A white noise entered all of their ears, their vision messy with geometrical shapes, then nothing. When they looked again, Beatrice was gone.

  Ilzif shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Leaving with your tail between your legs… coward. And to leave these unskilled vermin to me. Such a shameful woman,” she whinged.

  “Then it seems we are left,” Julius said. Downstairs, the cries of noblefolk rang all throughout the castle and met his ears. He winced. “There is nothing to protect you now, Ilzif, surely you realize.” He readied himself again, this time pointing his black spear at the illum’s heart. “You must be killed… or, perhaps detained… before I can help to fight off your wretched procession. It will be sad when I must relay your terrible actions to Ylyasniya. Ilzif… I had hoped to be friends. Why create such chaos for no good reason?”

  “We are ambassadors of chaos. Have you forgotten? We have lived for so long. Yet, you care so much for those revolting, bloated humans. Why, I ask? They give you praise and nothing more. They are naught but prey; blood to fuel your eternal body. What is there to care about?”

  “What other meaning would I have, dear witch? The fear of mankind, the mystery of our existence keeps us alive. If we were to slay them all, to revel in the endless blood, who would be there to cement our existence? To give us meaning? That is why… I give them a grand show. Fair entertainment. They are enthused by the victorious, and I feast upon the loser. This… slaughter has no meaning at all. It’s all just… dazzling red. Screams, then grim silence. There is no longevity in that. Only madness and despair.”

  “The world is built upon madness and despair,” Ilzif replied. Her cloudy disposition seemed to darken. “Nothing is fair. Even this show you put on is unfair. They may know full well the dangers of the Masquerade, yet they believe with all their hearts that they will continue to win and strive. But… their lives are so very fragile.”

  When was it when I lost her to that shadowy parasite?

  The memories have long faded.

  Only this pit remains, this monochromatic emptiness…

  “Ilzif?”

  The witch’s nose bled. A thin stream of red ran from it like a tiny sanguine river. It reminded Julius of the time he had traveled to the Bloodspike Rapids. The pungent flowers there, cultivated by the anisai, sometimes dyed the rivers that same nauseating color. A deep, resonating emotion was carried in the blood.

  “Brothers, it has already started. We are too late. Brace yourselves.”

  The Wolves nodded in reply to Noth’s statement.

  Julius suddenly doubled over in pain, his nails digging into his scalp. A frenzied, uncontrollable feeling assaulted his senses in a single instant. Endless, ravenous, obsessive thoughts.

  I must feed. Feed. I must feed. Feed. Must drink. Drink the blood. Drink it all. Drink the remorse. Drink the passion. Drink it all. Fill myself with emotion. Fill myself with pungent remorse. Drench myself in the blood. Revel in the blood. Revel in it all. We must drink with abandon. Like wine we will drink and become drunk from it. Douse the halls with it. Taste and smell it. Douse the world with that color. Fill ourselves with it all. Absorb the ichor as if it was our own. Our own. Our own emotions. Our lost selves. We need the blood. Drink the blood. Drink it all. Feed. I must feed. I must feed. Feed. Feed. Feed. Drink the blood until all becomes one with the blood. Until the world is dyed crimson. Until the oceans reflect the bloodsoaked sky. The blood-red sky. We must reflect the bloodsoaked sky. Reflect. Reflections. Endless reflections. Paint the world red. Paint it. Paint… it? Paint…

  A horrible scream came from the vampire lord, echoing into the eons. Red smoke and eminence expanded from him, dousing the Great Room with blood and the stench of iron.

  “Lord,” a Wolf intoned, “speak if you have retained yourself. We will have to restrain you if-” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

  The elder vampire slid toward the Frostlander as if he were some intangible phantom, his form darkened by black blood. Before he could react, the Spear of Judgement in Julius’s hand impaled the Wolf’s head, killing him outright. His massive, heavy body hung from the end of the spear as if he weighed nothing at all.

  “Why has the thirst settled in already?” Ilzif moved her tome to her hands and flipped through it, confused. She was going to douse the vampire with the Wolves’ blood, culminating in the lord entering a hysterical frenzy as he just had. That had been her plan. But it had been swiftly rendered pointless. She touched the blood leaking from her nostril with her thumb and forefinger and looked at it. Could it have been… her sudden reminiscence? The raw emotion that had suddenly leapt from her soul? No, surely not. The soul she had long ago turned away from in pursuit of wretched witchery could not possess such a power. It was devoid of feeling, her humanity thrown aside.

  Red streaks left the Count’s vision as blue had shined in the Wolves’. The person within was lost now. All that was visible was a blood-leeching monster. A true, mindless vampire hellbent on feasting upon anything that moved.

  The other Wolf screamed and entered a bestial rage not unlike the one Noth had gone into to defeat Lomm. He charged toward Julius, leapt and swung his greatsword at a wild, sweeping angle. It carved through part of his Veil of Bloodshed, then managed to chop off his left hand. The lifeless piece of flesh fell to the floor with a chunky plop.

  The Count of the Crimson Castle, or what had once been him, did not react in the slightest. He spun around in a circle, spear in hand. A whirlwind of black and red misery. A storm of polydipsic thorns. The dead Wolf flew from the end of the spear and splattered a nearby wall with viscera. It cut into the other Wolf’s chest, and he swiftly took a step back and retreated as the vampiric beast continued to conjure a bloody tempest. Eventually, he stopped, and the storm subsided.

  But the battle was far from over. The Count jumped a dozen feet into the air with virtually no effort, aimed carefully for the repositioning Wolves, and threw his spear with all his might. The sound barrier almost seemed to tremble and quake. The air snapped like a whip being cracked, and the weapon flew down and struck the already injured Wolf squarely in the heart.

  He grasped at the Spear of Judgement, dropping his weapon. He tried with all of his strength to pull it from his body to no avail. The serration only locked it in place and caused him even more pain than he had suffered from its penetration.

  The Count flew down, his mantle flowing like a pair of eerie red wings behind him. He grasped the spear, the Wolf winced, and, wasting no more time, ripped it in such a way that the blade tore through the northerner’s entire right side, exposing entrails and causing a flood of blood to pour out from it.

  The Wolf screamed at his own behest and tried to get away, but the beast’s hunger knew no bounds. The Count pounced upon him, brought him to the floor, and began to tear into his flesh with his nails and fangs, eating him alive. He bit into the warm flesh, lapped up the nauseating, hypnotic liquid until he was satisfied.

  Noth stood stock still before the creature. Not in fear. He simply watched with mild curiosity, soaking up the experience as a student learns from his mentor.

  And Ilzif watched the massacre with a mixture of glee and befuddlement. Glee for Beatrice losing two of her trusted allies, and befuddlement born from Julius’s sudden transformation. It couldn’t have been the blood itself that caused it. There was enough to go around during the tournament. No, it must have been something else.

  Outside the Great Room, total chaos had unfolded. Most of the nobles that had accompanied Ma’at and the others on the airship had been systematically disposed of. The others, the mercenaries and vagrants whose sole purpose of attending the Masquerade was to win and claim objects of their desire, roamed the mazelike halls looking for any survivors.

  Grin panted, dropping his scythe to the floor and sliding down a wall against his back. “Haah… haah… did we lose ‘em?”

  “I think so,” Sato replied, peering around a corner.

  “How many coins have we collected so far?” Tien asked flippantly.

  “Who cares about those damn coins? Hmph… that procession or whatever they were called don’t mess around.”

  “Why the hell did that witch bitch suddenly order them to attack everybody? Wasn’t that shitty tournament enough?” Grin spat a globule of blood onto the floor. One of the random mercenaries they’d encountered had given him one hell of a right hook.

  “I tried to tell you to be on your guard around them,” Tien chastised. “Witches are nothing to joke about. They can flip allegiances on a dime. They don’t care about societal niceties. If I had to guess, she probably just got bored. Or she wanted us to spread out like this.”

  “You’re just as insane as she is, bookworm. How can you still be thinking about money at a time like this?”

  “Shouldn’t you be? Isn’t money the one thing you need to save your brother?”

  Grin glared at her, then shook his head dismissively. “Whatever. What’s the plan then? Find that Beatrice lady?”

  Ma’at opened her mouth to speak, but another voice replaced it.

  Surprising all of them, a well-dressed man in a suit and devil mask spoke up as he came up from behind. He stood glaring at them, surely with a smirk beneath the mask, and extended an open palm facing the ceiling. “Now, now, loves. Settle yourselves. I don’t want to make this any harder than it needs to be.” His goons, most injured and bleeding, the others sneering and cackling, stood behind him in a group.

  “Fuck off,” Grin grumbled from the floor. His exhaustion had quickly gotten the better of his common sense.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed sarcastically. “We have a real tough guy here, don’t we boyos? Listen, all. I just want your coins. Give me the coins, and we’ll be on our way. Good deal, aye?”

  The hooligans snickered, nodding in agreement and repeating: “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Make the smart decision,” Bifrons continued, playing with his deck of cards. “I’ve dealt with enough wankers for today. And, to be honest, that illum chick scares the living hell outta me.”

  Ma’at gave Tien a look as if to ask if keeping the coins and fighting was even worth it. Some extra money earned from the job was one thing, but it wasn’t their main goal. The Roseblood Heart was. She didn’t even know where the Roseblood Heart was, though. Or what it was.

  Tien nodded, seemingly deciding on something. She had been writing on the telepaper, most likely conversing with the Writer. She put the page away, slid her pen into one of her pockets, and took a step forward, confronting the greedy posse. “Ma’at. Take the others and go find Beatrice. We don’t have much time. I can handle these idiots.”

  Bifrons shook with exhilaration and hilarity. “Ahaha! Quite the mouth on you, missy. You’ll ‘handle’ us, aye? With what, then? That flimsy case?”

  “Mhm, that’s all I’ll need.”

  “No, Tien.” Ma’at stood her ground. “I swore I’d protect you and Sato.”

  “And I promised that I wouldn’t hold back anymore, didn’t I?” The brunette looked back and flashed her friend a brilliant smile, then returned her gaze to the devilish man and his buddies. “I don’t need protecting. Now, go.”

  At first, they thought her plan was idiotic. But, seeing the calmness in her eyes, her reassuring tone and demeanor, they decided to trust her. They left and ran down another hallway, descending deeper into the regal, labyrinthine corridors.

  “Bifrons, sir, who gets first dibs on her? Aye?”

  “She’s a pretty one. Lacking in some respects, but I like her feistiness.”

  “Right? I wanna see that confidence slowly die… I wanna see her fall into despair… kehehehe.”

  Bifrons chuckled. “All in due time, lads. Let’s see what card the bird has up her sleeve, eh? What exactly is in that case of yours, darling?”

  Tien smiled meaningfully. “Everything. But nothing you all would like.”

  “Oooh, so mysterious. Open it up. Show us, then. Some valuable stuff, methinks?” The devil pinched one of his cards in between his middle finger and forefinger, the queen of hearts, then threw it like a shuriken at the Vroque mercenary.

  Tien simply opened her case, the celestial void pouring out, and the flying card went flying into it never to return again.

  “Heh. Neat trick.” Bifrons took out a cigar from his suit jacket and promptly lit it with a cheap lighter. He pulled up his mask a tad, took a long drag from it, then exhaled, pale smoke escaping the mask and turning into wispy clouds. “A bottomless container. Tough magic to make work, but nothing truly special.”

  Tien shook her head, resting her left hand on her waist. Strange sounds began to emanate from the blackness within the case. “It isn’t about how much it can contain.”

  The goons saw then a swirling miasma of tendrils and sinister eyes within. Squelching, horrid noises got louder and louder, coming from the suitcase. It sounded like a wild animal was fighting to escape the void’s grasp. It sent horrible pangs of fear into them. Something they couldn’t quite understand, yet they were perplexed, mesmerized by the display nonetheless. Paralyzed by curiosity. What the hell is that? What exactly is she storing in there? they thought.

  “...It’s about what’s inside,” she said, dropping it to the floor and kicking the open top. “Marchosias! Dinner time.”