IC || Grey&Spectral

[onetrickpony]

The corridors leading up to a memory that seemed so far away felt more spacious than before, empty and vacant though somehow still more clausterphobic. Nica led them quickly, sparing them no sympathy despite the fact the poor warriors should really focus their energies on sleeping for days rather than the haste Nica seemed intent upon. Her chicken legs strode, accomplishing an impressive speed without any regard to her tiny stature. Her eyes remained blank, the same dullness she had when she'd first lead them; however, this time, she ocassionally peeked over her shoulder. The motion in itself might have passed as an agitated or passive aggressive signal, her rosebud lips giving away to puckered microexpressions that insisted "hurry up", tiny fingers that jabbed into their sides with the impatience of a child, but those not blessed with the ability to read others, her eyes flicked continually towards Lucas, would more than likely not pick up on this.

At the great door, the beautiful carvings seeming to have lost some beauty, she rose to her toes to reach the handle once more, using all her weight to bring the sizeable thing down with a satisfying click, swinging it open with all her might.

Inside, Mendax still sat in his oversized chair. His head rested heavily in his hand as he stared down, the room more dimly lit than before, seeming to compliment the mood. Candlelight flicked across his face, making the creases seem deeper. He looked contemplative, deep in thought. He appeared to be doodling.

But at the appearance of the Redeemers, he straightened up, at first appearing outraged. It seemed as if being angry when someone entered his office was a part of his job description- one of the many points on a long checklist of mannerisms he was to adopt when playing this role. As soon as he recognized them for what they were, however, he swapped facades easily. A broad smile spread like a little disease across his face. He seemed genuinely happy. "Comrades!" he cried, using his arms to push himself upwards from the desk, standing to greet them. "Friends." he added, if possibly, more warmly. He opened his arms, as if inviting a hug. "I am so glad to see you!" he crowed, deep voice resonating. He side stepped his desk, approaching the group stead fast, no doubtably on a mission to invade personal space. His bravado seemed inapprorpiate, bordering on obscene, when compared to just about an hour before hand. It felt almost as if no one should be allowed to be so pert when travesties like those existed and continued to exist.

Mendax froze, fingers curling in and arms slowly twitching to his side when he registered how dirty they looked. He frowned, lips curling in distaste. "Oh," his voice was curt, almost disappointed, but not hostile or unfriendly. Quickly tossing out the disgust, his face settled once more in the mug of hospitality. After all, he was a great host, even to guests who needed a bit of rest at relaxation at the hot springs, as well as a heavy dose of beauty sleep. "Come! Sit! Let's have a drink, my darlings," he offered, and yet there were no seats for them to take.

Entirely through with his charade and waving him off like an insignificant insect, Nica decided to move along. She made a single snort, however subtle it may have been, and that was all the noise needed to get across the extent to which she considered herself above the actor. She bee-lined for the trap door, barreled towards it like a tiny unstoppable bull. She lifted it with a small grunt and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Her little form could not be seen. The torches were not lit, creating an alarmingly ominous atmosphere. Her tiny foot steps from her barefeet slapped against the cold floor with quick pap pap pap paps.
Showing no hesitation, she reached Litatio's office and opened this door almost as if she'd made this trip thousands of times. She made her way inside. Litatio's eyes quickly darted over her form, more annoyed than startled, before settling back on the paper with an exasperated sigh. He almost wished that it had only been the small girl to have appeared before him. It was unclear and unprobable that he had moved from his seat since they had last seen him. His many arms still whirred through the papers. Nica found a spot in the corner and watched the doorway expectantly for the Redeemers, apathetic little face glowing like a ghostly apparition in the gloom, her eyes dark sockets. Now that her job was through, she seemed content to simply watch as they did their part.

As the Redeemers made their way in, Litatio's skin seemed to crawl, back growing rigid as if he were a cat getting more and more annoyed before he finally snapped. He was much bigger than them, each hand easily bigger than each of their heads. Yet he was so thin - a monumental contradiction.

"Get out," he whispered initially, quietly, like a soft-spoken father after a bad day following his shift at his shitty office job. "Get out get out get out get out," he continued, a mantra, whispered in such rapid succession it was almost creepy in its rhythmic repitition. But the volume quickly began to rise. "GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!!," he roared, head snapping to face them like a snake honing in on it's prey. Again his spectacles lit up in the dim light, the rest of his form completely dark. Just those bright, round, artificial, bug-like eyes. It felt as if he were looking directly at all of them all at once. His voice had echoed with such force against the stone walls that it could still be heard. The reverberations had bounced back, overlapping with new sounds, creating an immensely chaotic sound. Pebbles fell from the ceiling.The several arms on his left side, the side farthest from the Redeemers, slowly began to shuffle through the papers, sorting and signing while he stared, though the hands on his right side remained still, fists clenched. A hissing sound filled the room.

At first, the Redeemer's leading commander seemed shocked, as if she simply couldn't beleive that Litatio could have the audacity to treat them so coldly after the price they had paid. It wasn't long before a stern, command spread about her very being, a scolding mother hen. She let out a single breath to calm herself, blinking in quick succession, standing firm in a resolution to withstand none of his sass. "Oh no," she breathed, "No, no, no," she continued lowly, completely rejecting the idea that Litatio - a god - would have been throwing a temper tantrum like a child. In a way, she gained the resolve she'd lost somewhere along this day through his childish behavior. "Litatio, we had a deal." she stated very firmly, approaching the desk when he continued to ignore her.

[Baby]

Hellreigel

Manon came to consciousness shortly before seeing Nica moving a bottle towards her mouth. Her chest was hurting and threatening for a cough to escape her, so she covered her mouth before she told Nica “No.” The cough escaped her and her chest tightened in protest. Manon winced and a tear escaped her eyes when she tried to scan the green liquid inside of the bottle. Manon did not want anything to drink, fearing her chest would explode if she were to swallow something. But with unnerving persistence, Nica offered Manon again. “I refuse!” Manon said, losing her patience with the child. Did Nica not know of her chest pain? She couldn’t consume anything just yet! But again, Nica insisted, and pushed the bottle against her mouth. Refusing to be fed like a child, Manon took the bottle from Nica and cautiously drunk the suspicious liquid in one gulp, not because she was thirsty, but because the bottle was small for Manon’s size and it took but a simple swig to finish it all. The liquid surprisingly went down easily enough; the disgusting taste seemed to explode in potency once it touched her cheeks and left a nasty aftertaste for Manon to mull over with a curled tongue. “Gross.”

Forgetting the liquid incident, Manon began to look around her. Apparently they were in a wagon, which led to the assumption that the demon before had died. Who was left over when Manon collapsed? Who defeated the monster? Manon heard the light conversation and saw the worried looks between her partners and trembled her lower lip. They were so comfortable with each other! Manon did not find it in her place to speak with them, and instead watched them tell a story she had no idea what the main idea was about.

She wanted to sigh, but did not want anyone to hear her, so she kept in her sad heave. Manon did not like being the new redeemer, she didn’t know anyone before this mission and she didn’t care to know anyone until after it. She had grown the desire to be part of this group but could not bring herself to fully step into it, nor was she easily being accepted. Would shy be the word for Manon? Or more anti-social? What was the reason behind this wall? She knew the cause was her, but what about her?

“Not likeable.” Manon stiffened her shoulders. Not likeable? How rude! Manon was likeable! Manon was…

“A red giant with an attitude.”

“Ok, now you’re lying. I don’t mess with anyone that doesn’t mess with me.” Manon said to herself, crossing her arms over her breasts. Manon was likeable. There were plenty of things about her to like. She could be funny. For instance, this one time she told a little joke about women and got her older brother Clay to smirk about it. That was funny. And that time when she tripped and got both her brothers to laugh. She did it on purpose. She was funny. She was likeable.

“And I’m huge! Check me out!” Manon yelled in her head to her inner demon. She flexed her muscles in the cramped wagon, trying to be careful not to hit someone, and nodded her head in approval. “Not likeable my ass. I’m awesome!” Manon smiled to herself, conquering her demon and her doubts. She felt a bout of assurance and to top off her joy, her chest pain was going away with each breath. The green liquid was apparently medicine, and Manon took a moment to wonder what she thought the liquid was in the first place.

Now that her little charade was over, Manon realized she was still holding the bottle she took from Nica. She looked around to return it and saw Nica working on Lilith’s body, which was not a pretty sight. She face-palmed and realized this was why she could not have friends. She couldn’t pay attention to anything important! She’s flexing her muscles to someone who isn’t even real, while a child is trying to operate on one of her partners! Who she fought to avenge! This is what everyone was talking about earlier!

“You have issues.” Manon’s left eye twitched. Manon didn’t need salt on her wounds and she wasn’t going to be bullied into a temper tantrum.

“Who the fuck asked you?” Manon snapped, tilting her head and raising her right hand as if to receive the answer.

“Attitude.” The demon concluded and though Manon cursed in response, the demon remained silent. Manon left the conversation at that and tried to pay more attention to the important things going on around her.

Out the corner of her eye, Manon saw someone coming up to her while she sat in the wagon, he had a wet piece of cloth and apparently wanted to clean the dirt and blood off of her. Her red eyes glowed slightly as she watched him move closer and closer. He immediately noticed Manon’s penetrating glare and added caution in his step, moving slower when he got closer to her torso.

If Manon was fully conscious of the last 30 seconds, she would not have yelled. From the moment she saw the boy approach her, Manon was stiffened and alert like an animal in danger. Her eyes were glowing with warning but she wasn’t conscious of it. Fear rose in her, slamming her heart around, making it beat in protest. She didn’t notice the slight blur in her vision when she lowered her eyes, or hear her rough breathing. But if she did, she would understand why the boy approached her like he was approaching a wild boar. It was only until he got too close, when his hand was only centimeters away from her arm, did she snap. “Don’t touch me!” Manon yelled, suddenly aware of her hidden fury. The boy dropped his cloth and ran from her, not wanting to help her that badly. Manon felt a tinge of shame and sadness. Her chest was filled with a different type of pain this time around, and too afraid that she would only continue ruining her chances with the redeemers, Manon remained quiet for the rest of the ride.

When they began their walk, Manon couldn’t help but want to put herself close to Ezekiel. Unfortunately he was not with them, so she settled for Fallon, which was not a bad choice at all. She felt comfort with Ezekiel and Fallon and though they were not, Manon felt like they were taller than her. Manon liked being the tallest, but it was becoming more and more apparent that she was missing her family. She used to be the shortest and had someone to look over her, someone to take care of her. And though her brothers’ love was tough, it was better than no love at all. Manon wanted to have that comfort again and would gladly imagine Ezekiel was Clay and Fallon was Reagan. And Amaryliss… she could fill in her father’s shoes.

“Yeah… This could work.” Manon said in her head, looking at her pretend family. Now all she had to do was get them to see her as their sister, which would be embarrassing enough to even ask. Manon’s cheeks darkened in a blush, she would never work the courage to throw her arms around Ezekiel and nonchalantly say “No problem Zeke! Hey, and call me ‘sis’ from now on, eh?” Though the fantasy was embarrassing, it filled a part of her that could not be put in words. And with that, she moved even closer to Fallon, making sure not to make eye contact with him in case he were to question why she was moving so close to him. She imagined Ezekiel questioning her actions and accidentally said out loud, “None of your beeswax Ezekiel.” Manon whispered to herself, not sure if Fallon heard her but hoping he did not.

When Nica entered a room, Manon could see a slightly familiar man sitting in his chair. She almost blanked him out but she saw him get up and open his arms for a hug. He was approaching the group fast and Manon tensed her whole body. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” Manon growled, like a cat trying to hiss at a big dog. She knew she didn’t say it loud enough for him to hear, so why did he stop? Before Manon could realize the reason, Nica was leading them again, this time into a strange hallway. When they entered a room, Manon remembered all of a sudden where they were. This was where she asked Fallon to be her friend! And earlier, Snow was calming her from when she first met the redeemers! This is where it all began!

“Hello memories!” Manon stretched her arms up and smiled, this was a great place!

"GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!!!" Manon yelped and her arms shot down from her stretch. She stood behind Fallon when she heard Litatio yelling at them. They needed to get out! This man is obviously more frightening than his lanky appearance leads on to be! Half of Manon wanted to simply walk out and be done with it, but the other half of Manon would not leave without Amaryliss’s permission. So Manon stood there behind Fallon, her hands closing towards his shoulders as if he would hold her down.

"Litatio, we had a deal." Amaryliss boldly walked up to Litatio’s desk, who was trying to ignore her. Amaralyss would stand up to him? How brave was she? “You tell him Amaryliss! You let him know we are not leaving!” Manon cheered behind Fallon, hell if Amaryliss wasn’t going to leave, Manon wasn’t either. And Manon would fight Litatio for her, if it ever came to that, even if it meant death.

“You wouldn’t die for her. You have goals to accomplish; your life isn’t something to throw away.” Manon considered the chastising demon but could not change her mind about it. Though she had a family to go back to, Manon took up the role of a redeemer, and the process of becoming one almost took her life. If you were to count it, Manon almost died 5 times in her life, 3 of them with reckless determination to do as she was told. And if Amaryliss commanded Manon to fight Litatio, Manon was sure she would not hesitate and raise her hammers once more.

“You don’t know shit about me.”

[Wudgeous]

They were like a humble armada of felines shuffling after a mouse that was entirely too quick for her own good. Lucas entertained himself with brief and breezy thoughts of plopping her onto his shoulders and taking a jog--straight into a sunrise, at that. It was all well and good in his imagination, anyway, in which his limbs weren't those of a poorly sewn doll, ready to fall off with the slightest snag. Slowly he was allowing himself to forget the cage of bone exposed for all to see, the awful crack of an arm not entirely human, the spurt of blood and bees from otherwise colorless nostrils. He lagged behind somewhat at the emblazoned door, though he (to a dim extent) realized someone might grow cross with him for doing so. Hesitation was gnawing at his wrists, holding him still like a child throwing a tantrum. Not the screaming, kicking, rolling on the ground sort, mind; but the soft, close-fisted sniffling and rapid blinking, and the adamant resolution to plant her feet firmly in place until she had her way. As always, Lucas came to feign ignorance of her presence, moving forward into the dark.

Dimly, once again, Lucas was almost surprised Mendax didn't really get mad, what with the kleptomania rolling and ruffling in their blood from last time. Just what sort of curious upbringing did they have to make such a thing smiled upon, he wondered? He may have been preoccupied then, but he was not one to fail to notice the sudden appearance in camp of parchments flipping like rapidly flapping butterfly wings, or of books that not one of them had no time to run off and purchase. Yet the councilman sauntered about as before; no qualm with them at all. Still with that scowl on his brow even when presenting himself as amicable, still with the faint trace of scruff on his jawline, still with clothes entirely too heavy for his frame. Lucas narrowed his eyelids momentarily, tilting at the head.

And then he was chuckling hollowly despite himself, nerves prickling at the contrast in movement. So eager was Nica to--what? Get it over with? She was already crawling into the secret passage he could not wait to see the last of, and entirely alien to her was the reluctance most young women would be expressing at the means of travel. But Nica was different. Of course she was. He did not forget that her first and only spoken words pertained the business at hand. Still looking at Mendax, the sensor flicked his fingers towards the departing child's bent toes in a familiar sequence: The nonchalant suggestion of accompaniment.

Heading into the dungeon with us this time, Lord Councilman?

It was tempting to stay for drinks, he had to admit. Why didn't he do that last time, back when claustrophobia struck him at the base of his spine and rendered him useless? Back when his business with the demigod didn't border on personal? Back when Fallon hadn't curled his fingers around his heartstrings and wrenched with the simple idea of passing Lilith's flask around? Lucas sighed, and tended to the matter at hand.

One key difference between his first and current time in the chambers was that he got a good look at the demigod this time. Glimmering spectacles atop a disproportionately small face, hollering voice stabbing into him like a wall of spikes; Litatio had enough arms for each of them and then some. He could feel the tension in his own body, lower ribs pressing against his diaphragm and wisdom teeth scraping against the dead tissue from his cheek, but he paid it no true heed. Grasping his mind by the reins was the feeling of energy radiating from his companions, though he was not focused enough to detect whether it consisted more of fear or anger. Whichever it was, it was a contagion that infected and reinforced his own misgivings thoroughly.

Lucas meandered over, calmly, as he'd promised himself. His boot jolted forward in a perfect arc, a swing of a pendulum, and made contact with the underside demigod's desk.

[Averagebear]

There was something sick, something so abnormal, in the way that Mendax lounged in his chair, scowling sourly at the door as if they'd just passed through the first time without introducing themselves. Worried forehead crinkles and winking crow's feet battled against a, seemingly forced, neighbourly comportment. As if he were waiting to greet a much more whole Redeemer group. Perhaps, he'd been waiting for one who'd waggled fingers, presented threats, and refused his unwelcome advance because they were in such a damn hurry to see this Litatio-figure. Now, they were hollow-boned, brittle-eyed, and heaving with a melancholy that couldn't be stifled with kindness or cordial how-do-you-do's. Their limbs were like mile-long ropes rubbing against each other, moments away from bristling and letting go of the ships that held their patience. It was being shifted overboard, anyway. They were flightless birds. They were wingless creatures. What did being a Redeemer mean? He didn't know anymore. Mendax's growing smile offended him. It did not belong there. Although Fallon's injured arm was bound around his chest, the Elf certainly felt that he'd be capable of wringing his finger's around the man's thick neck – to constrict, to choke, to strangle that expression clear of his face. It did not belong there. He hadn't noticed Manon slowly drawing near, but even if he had, he wouldn't have migrated away. There was something in the press of his companions that kept him anchored. It kept him from drifting off completely, hopelessly. Then, Fallon sensed movement, glanced in Mendax' direction, then quickly to Manon, who'd tensed like a stricken animal: straight as a board. “Stand away. We are not here for you.” He curtly rumbled, motioning with a flick of his wrist, suggesting that he remain seated. He did not wish to be touched by the likes of him.

Fortunately, Nica had no plans to simply have a drink with Mendax as if nothing had happened. He respected such vigilance, such tenacity to move things forward. The little girl scuffled towards the trap door, busying herself, quickly, with it's iron latch, until it finally heaved open. The darkness swallowed her, silhouetting her receding form. No longer were there any rabbits crouched, hesitantly, in his tangled hare-veins, begging him to think before he acted instead of foolishly leaping ahead. He wasn't sure if he cared anymore. He wasn't sure whether or not it would've mattered if he stepped into anyone's needle-point jaws. He, too, ignored Mendax. He wished he'd known how things would have panned out when they'd first arrived in Litatio's forsaken chamber. It was a foolish thought, like the majority of those that passed as of recent, unhampered, like flitting insects rising from a stinking corpse. He wished he'd read the constellations, or known ahead of time. He wished his abilities weren't uselessly limited to his sight – as if he could flick through the pages of their fates and pick apart the unpleasantness of loss, the tragedy of having something important stripped away from them. Perhaps, then, Lilith would still be idling at their sides, skipping books like stones across Mendax' desk because he was being inappropriately jubilant. He missed her wings.

It was only a matter of minutes, of seconds, until they'd face Litatio, again. Furthermore, Fallon didn't have Ezekiel here to ease away the worries, to apply a mollifying salve to the bitterness swelling against his ribs, to temporary nullify the murky thoughts clouding his judgement. His injured brother-in-arms that taught him how to tie knots in his fishing line, and to keep it from catching against clusters of grass. He couldn't bring himself to look at Amaryliss. He couldn't. Even the sweat beading on his lip tasted bitter, as if his pores were shedding sunless gloom. As if his goodness had run dry, mere dirt-puffs swirling at the bottom of a well. The quiet could not soothe him. The registered chest-falls of his companions did not offer peace of mind. His heart beat loud and long and slow, seemingly stuttering before beginning once more. As they neared the large, parchment-paper occupied chamber, Fallon's stomach knotted and cramped. He was heavy-handed, heavy-lidded, and red-rimmed with exhaustion. His fingertips brushed across Lilith's flask, swinging softly by his side like a seam-ripping, heart-destroying reminder of why they were here in the first place. It was empty. They'd all drunk from it – those who were conscious, those who needed some small, significant, ceremony for the dead without speaking any words.

There were no whistling tones of complacency from Lucas, who'd been the first to doggedly follow after Nica into the open hallway. He paused, then gently placed two fingers against Manon's elbow, applying even pressure, to direct her forward. It was a quick, almost imperceptible, action. His hand dropped, and he, too, followed their heterochromia-eyed guide back into Litatio's chambers. He'd react with the same indifference, with the same kind of infuriating callousness that would make the coldest of shoulders smolder with warmth. How would they fare against those attitudes this time around? Certainly not well. His shoulders tensed as they passed the threshold of the looming gateways, iron wrought double-doors swinging open to reveal the miserable wretch hunched over his papers and parchment, wicked hands scrawling away as if his life depended on finishing his work and not supplying the Redeemers a way in saving his own people. He'd rather damn them. So, it came to a surprise when the demigod's upper torso arched, much like a perturbed cat who'd been prodded with a stick, and looked at them with such malice that Fallon couldn't help but gawk in surprise. Who was he to tell them to get out? His face relaxed, muscles easing. It was not hate that was there, not loathing, not vengeance; but unadulterated disgust. The demigod's repeated mantra dug it's talons through his cerebrum, grating beyond exasperation at such an inappropriate response given how much they'd just been through because of him. Because of where he'd decided to send them without explanation, without heeding any warnings. Strangely enough, as Litatio stared at them with those swirling peepers, he'd still had enough focus, or obsessive compulsions, to continue signing and shuffling papers. Perhaps, Lilith had been right about burning the entire damn place around him. At least, then, they'd have his complete attention.

---

Lucas' heavy boot flung papers haphazardly on the floor, the stacks teetering and spilling like an avalanche. Litatio grew bug eyed and frantic and he jolted as if his heart had literally stopped for a second. His hands darted out to catch them, snatching at the articles with uncanny speed fueled by pure panic. His many hands whipped about, collecting nearly all of the papers before they'd ever touched the ground and organizing them instantly. Almost as quickly as they'd fallen, they'd been placed back in their spots again- yet there was still something- something not quite -

He froze before snapping his head at the parchment that now lay on the floor, dirtied, soiled, unusable. A rage whirled inside him, coming out in increasingly heavy breathing that soon turned into huffs. Wild eyes abhorred Lucas and he rocketed forward with uncontrollable rage towards Lucas. A massive hand struck out and firmly held Lucas by the throat, thin fingers digging into the
flesh and squeezing as if he intended to pop his head right off. He might as well have, too.

---

Her focus was comparable to a razor's edge. Sharp, without much room for extraneous anything, and certainly not inclined to leave one's fingers uncut and unblooded. Snow had always been intelligent; even she didn't bother to question that. The difference between this and her ordinary state-of-mind, however, was otherwise much like comparing the noontime sun to the dead of night. There was no drifting to be had here, and though her trains of thought moved at the same speed, they seemed now all the more directed, and somehow, this was causing her limbs, her body, to come alive as well. Smell, hearing, taste... everything was clearer, more crystalline and more like glass than fog.

But she was not glass, she was ice. Cold, brittle, and still even more brutally dangerous when shattered.

Her upper lip curled, just a bit, when Mendax made himself known again. He was a nuisance, a buzzing fly, and she did not wish to waste her time here. Perhaps fortunately, Nica seemed almost to share the sentiment, and through his ineffectual hand-fluttering and his words that did not matter, progress still continued inexorably forward. The lights were still blinding, she still had to squint against them, but this went nearly unnoticed, filed away in some cabinet in her mind rarely-used, not given the considerations due important things, and this was perhaps extraordinary in itself, that here was in this moment at least a difference at all between important things and other things that she would not devote as much attention to. The time for idle observation had passed, though she sensed it would return in time. This fervor, this quickening in her insides, could not last forever, but it would last long enough.

Her teeth set themselves together in her jaw, and Snow bit down hard, wishing very much that the power of her voice could return to her just long enough to say what she needed to. She'd happily be mute for weeks on end if she could but express this one thing, something she knew to be important but could not quite understand how. Amaryllis was trying to reason with an overgrown, spindle-armed spider-child, but Snow was done with it. What, though, to do if she could not speak?

The answer was as obvious as Lucas could make it, and in the wake of his blow to the desk, there were several heartbeats of dead silence, until Litatio's arms shot out in all directions, seeking to retrieve his precious papers, the pieces of parchment and ink that this foul thing valued more than what they'd just sacrificed, what they would sacrifice still. Snow's lips pursed, her eyes flickered, and her hands curled almost absently into white-knuckled fists. She knew what she needed to do now, to get her point across, but the question remained: who else would be willing to act, for whom else did words fail, and who even so would understand what her face, her clenched jaw and flinty eyes and furrowed brow, was asking of them?

For once, she went with her instinct, turning to Fallon and placing a hand on the hilt of a saber. As soon as his keen eyes had picked out the direction of her quiet entreaty, she darted hers towards the desk. Are you with me?

---

He transfixed his sight on the back of his Amaryliss' neck. She was a few paces ahead of him – and he vaguely, helplessly, wondered whether or not this was the distance they would keep themselves at. Or if he'd keep this distance himself. Litatio's mouthed commands rocked the very foundations of the building, sending electric pulses and sordid vibrations through his fingertips and toes. He watched as Amaryliss moved towards the desk, presumably rejecting their dismissal. The demigod had taken things too far, so that even she could not merely accept things as they were and move on to kinder prospects. Her patience had run dry. Initially, Fallon simply stood his ground in front of Manon until he spotted movement over his shoulder, revealing itself to be the scruffy Sensor, who casually gallivanted towards Litatio's desk and administered a righteous, if not impressive, kick to it's underbelly. Tidy stacks of paper shuffled down like rainfall, flitting, fluttering and fluctuating on an unseen breeze, while errant quills spilled from glass vials, and black ink appropriately splattered across any remaining sheets in front of Litatio. Ugly, incorrigible smudges. Spatters of permanent ink, uncorrectable. He might not have known it, or felt it, but Lucas was strong, and brave, and something else he couldn't put his finger on. The small swell of pride had been quickly quelled when Litatio's many-arms snatched out of the darkness, grabbing desperately at the fallen papers, and honing in on it's intended target. Spidery fingers groped around Lucas' neck, thin fingernails digging against his tendons, which seemed so impossibly small compared to the creature's hands. He found his voice with a quick, parch-mouthed: “Lucas!”

He saw the slightest movement in the arm that held the pommel of her sabre. Even the chamber seemed to sense the enormity of the moment – lights seemed dimmer, the vibrations abruptly stopped, and the faint torchlight’s behind them seemed to cast impossible shadows across the floor. He didn't even need to confirm Snow's silent question, her suggestion. It was there, clear and true, in his mind, in his heart. With the speed only Elves could truly emulate, his forearm blades hissed from their mechanisms, and with a hearty yell, Fallon moved alongside Snow. It pained him how he immediately thought she'd bump him out of the way and sacrifice herself, again – but they did not face Orpheus, and they were not back in the forest. He leapt upwards, soaring high in the air, before planting himself on Litatio's wooden desk with a promising thunk – succinctly in unison, two threats terrifyingly combined. His blade idled in front of the man's bulging eyeball, foot balanced on his shoulder and hand gripping the last stubborn frizz of hair sticking up from the demigod's skull. No doubt, Snow's own blades would be poised on another vital part of his person. “Let him go.” It came out as a hiss, spoken firmly from between his teeth. “If my blade does not score, then hers surely will.”

It was a promise.

---

His movement was hers, and she matched the stride of her powerful legs to his. It was almost a callback, to a moment from long ago, a time when such orchestrated motion-poetry had been her sole proveneance, a swirling, slashing dance of two things made one by an easy singularity of purpose, the whole thing designed to dazzle, to startle, to coax hearts into throats and ragged gasps from between lips agape as the performers moved in tandem with the patterns sketched in sound by drumbeats, the staccato rhythm of footsteps complimented by metronome hearts and the fluttering of gossamer and silk. This was not exactly the same, but for all that it might have had a similar effect, were the audience a bit different and the mood a bit lighter.

The thing that had been building in her insides, stoking the smolder of emotion in the pit of her stomach to a true burn, had ignited her in earnest now, and perhaps she wasn't so much ice as she had thought. Or perhaps she'd simply chilled to that temperature when the two no longer felt so very different, because both burned. She didn't know, she didn't much care, and indeed the feeling wasn't one that required contemplation or reflection or even a name; all that it demanded from her was that she move to it. And move she did, her feet falling in perfect tandem with Fallon's, and her singular drawn sword resting at the hollow of the spindle-man's neck. Perhaps, if she were lucky, his heart might come to reside there after all.

She had no ability to speak, but she certainly knew something that she needed to say. A rasping hiss, inelegant and very much unlike her, whistled between her teeth and over barely-parted lips; her narrowed eyes calculated the exact moment when she drew his attention. Deliberately, pointedly, she raised her empty hand to the level of her chest, tracing it slowly in a X-shape over her heart. You promised, the gesture admonished. Now keep it, before I keep it for you.

---

Litatio tremored in what you could imagine to be anxiety and rage mixed into one, flicking his eyes between the two elves on his desk- his desk- his desk - their boots - dirty boots on his desk. His mouth opened as if he were being exorcised, his eyes now closing. This had been the first physical contact he'd had in at least a hundred years. His muscles grew stiff and for a second, when his involuntary shaking ceased, he seemed dead. He proved his immortality quickly, for in the next instance, he swung one of his hands forward and into the blade pointed at him, gauging into his wrist with incredible force, splattering glimmering blood on his table, on the two elves, down his arm, everywhere. He locked eyes with Nica. She held his gaze as if it came naturally, eyes burning as if daring him to defy her. He didn't say another word after, simply pushed the two elves lightly to signal them to get off his desk and let the arm rest on the table, flowing his thick red blood onto the floor, away from the papers. He continued with his papers lackadaisically now, almost carefree, like he'd found salvation in the stacks after understanding how terrible life and its endeavors could be after the Redeemers came into town.

Ama quickly grabbed a chalice from her bag and did her best to collect the seeping red liquid in an attempt to avoid wastefulness. Nica was impatient, though, snatching the gold sheened goblet before it was barely half full. Ama made a sound in protest but Nica had already sprinted out the door and now flew down the hallway. Without understanding why, Ama followed the pale little girl's urgency and skirted through the door after her. How could a little girl be so fast? By the time she'd flung the doors open, Nica was pouring the tiniest bit of blood into Lilith's mouth.

---

"Nica?" It was a question, her fiery brows knitting together in confusion. What was the meaning of this? The girl needn't answer, for Lilith sputtered a single gasping breath, chest rising violently before it fluttered back down. She did not open her eyes, nor make a hot remark. She did not guzzle whiskey nor did she flash a cheeky smile. She appeared to be unconscious, damp hair cascading down Nica's thighs as her head lolled back onto her lap, but she was alive. Ama sighed with relief. Alive. Lilith was alive. Her cautious eyes tried to study Nica's to spot little spindles of malice or ill-play, as if the Asian woman in her hands were some illusion, but she couldn't find anything. Nica held out the goblet towards Ama.

With an innumerable power now in her hands, she handed it to her comrades first and poured into the mouths of those too injured to do it themselves. She finally took a sip herself. It felt wonderful. It felt as if Sapentia herself had sung, a chorus resonating deep inside. Ama felt as if the hushed lullaby of the ocean- a sound she'd only heard once in her life- tenderly kissed her. A warmth spread. It was impossible to be worried or foul with the blood of the demigod vibrating inside her. As if the battle before and the coldness she'd received last time had never occurred, she wrapped her arms around Fallon and hugged him. It came naturally. The embrace ended shortly, quickly enough that she didn't have time to calculate a mishap it might have been, as Ama turned back around at the sound of Lilith's voice, eyes bright and excited. Lilith groaned and made an ugly face, still laying on Nica. "Well, fuck."

---

[Wudgeous]

His eyes were uncomfortably dry. No matter how much he ran skin over them, they would not produce moisture. Ezekiel could remember, barely, the last time he cried.

"Would you like to get up?"
"... No."

"Amaryllis," that was her name. The Valkyrie in the battlefield who led him to a new world, not much darker than the one he had left behind. The woman who, it seemed, smiled and giggled more easily with each passing day. The Redeemer he so admired who, it seemed, was currently absent. Oddly, he found himself missing her presence, her hand on his forehead. Where could she be...?

His body felt so heavy, yet the regular pressure of his armor was... lacking. Someone had removed them, piece by piece, unveiled his woolen garbs and fleshy palms. A dread realization came to be in his once more ticking mind: He had been out of commission.

Ezekiel shot upright, ribcage digging cruelly into his lungs, arm screeching more shrilly than usual. When he reached to clutch the appendage--broken at the wrist, raw parasite exposed and jagged, dire straining, fingers numb, limited mobility-- he felt every bulbous mass scattered about his body. Each spot was cold, tended to with impressive, if overcompensating care. The most notable spot of puckered winter was at his neck, around the jawline... Same spot he had stabbed that first abomination. That was funny enough to coax a halfhearted chuckle from him, though the noise was curt short. His eyes were cast at the body across the wagon.

"Lilith," he rasped. The gallivanting mare, sent to the glue factory at last. She never did manage to earn his respect, did she? Not that she tried or cared, which in itself could be something to admire. He had seen many of his comrades fall, since his days as a common soldier. He couldn't be sure until he inspected her more closely...

"Snow," called Ezekiel, but he only earned the attention of the pudgy villager who had been left behind. Ezekiel swatted said attention aside. The elf was in better shape that that man, whiter and less hairy. They bore no resemblance at all, so it was silly for the man to attempt to answer the call. The redeemer searched for the girl so skilled in various arts--fighting, healing, performing--so essential in their motley crew. Silent though she was, he did not know where they would be without her. He struggled off the wagon on his own, its weight shifting as he did, and with trouble landed on his feet. Everything was sore. His body was a nuisance.

"Fallon." That one might share the same careless mindset, the same disregard for his mortal form once it stopped doing its job properly. He and Fallon shared such innate similarities at times, they could have been reared in the same household--Ezekiel still disliked admitting such. But he was trustworthy for an elf, and Ezekiel could barely understand why he wasn't here.

"Manon." Of course she wasn't here. He could spot that one miles away... The one so formidable for a fledgling, so keen to learn. If she was dead and buried somewhere, Ezekiel might even feel remorse. She'd barely had time to make it up the ranks, as he was sure she one day would.

But no one was here. "Greyais." The madman, in equal parts reliable and unpredictable. Where was that mess of a human being, who preformed so impressively in their last battle? Ezekiel had half a mind to congratulate him, though he could not say why. He was convinced Grey was little more than a troublemaker for the most part, though he was not so much a last resort as the last name he called.

".... Lucas?"

---

"Yes?" He had quietly croaked when Fallon called his name, despite the manifestation of the dreams of all the betrayed husbands of all the wives the scoundrel had whisked away: Lucas Truesdale was, with his feet lifted several inches from the ground, being strangled to death.

He was dropped unceremoniously, sagging like a sack of potatoes. He coughed a few times, rubbing his throat as he glanced at the two elves who, intentionally or not, saved him from death. He wanted to jab at them with a moniker along the lines of "my heroes," but he had to catch his breath for more reasons than one. The demigod was nonchalantly bleeding everywhere, and it scared him.

If he didn't scamper onto his feet fast enough, trail the little girl who was already out the door with a golden goblet, he might miss the next part of their odd tale.

[Wudgeous]

"And that's it," the crickety old man closed the book and cleared his throat, leaning back into his chair in a way that showed his tired bones.

"Whaaat? That's it? What abou-"

"I said that's it, didn't I?" he snapped like a child himself, a wrinkled frown coming on his face. "It's late- well past your bedtimes."

"What happens next, though?! Just because it's late doesn't mean the story is over!"

"That's true. The story is over because I said it's over." he replied, a satisfaction in his voice.

A child stood up and throw his pillow on the ground. "That's garbage, old man!" he shouted.

The kids around gasped with horror. "Sit down, Shilo," one chided, tugging on the freckled kids shorts to calm him. The damage had been done, though.

"That's it! All of you, out! Get out of my office right now!"

There was a groan but the children understood, clumsily rising to their feet, sleepiness making them stumble every now and then as they collected their blankets and belongings to leave. At the sight of a weepy eyed little girl, the old man sighed.

"They win, you know," he grumbled, tiredly taking his thin, round spectacles off and placing them on the table beside him. The girl looked up curiously. The kids slowed their pace enough that they could hear what he was about to say without getting yelled at for dillydallying.

"The Redeemers prevail in the end. There's more to the story. After the Redeemers take in the blood of the obsessive demigod, Litatio, they travel to a kingdom unlike one they'd ever seen before- a remarkable place full of love and spirit. They meet people they'll never forget there. There's more heartbreak and more tears, certainly, but they prevail. The Redeemers always prevail." he rumbled, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. "I'll finish the story tomorrow night," he explained, "but for now, we rest."