Chapter 1: Cherry Blossoms
Notes:
The long-awaited Theresia/Zarestia...
you'll have to wait some more, Zarestia doesn't appear in this chapter
lol
Chapter Text
The former Sword Saint's escape continued.
Her powerful legs forced the ground to tremble beneath her stride, causing tremours and etching untold trauma unto the landscape itself.
Were she to glance back, she would notice the River City of Priestella tumble below the horizon, as her body tirelessly traversed hundreds of kilometres along the uninhabited moors between the two nations of Lugunica and Kararagi.
Under these circumstances, her mind yet remained cool, ejecting thoughts of the city, or any regrets that may be associated with the settlement and its recent events.
And so, she skedaddled.
---
Her long, bundled red hair swaying in the wind, the former Sword Saint kicked up dust as she paused before the entrance to Banan ‒ the first city she had come across during her day of trekking. Travellers came and went through the great gates leading into it, while guards stood checking cargo and passengers in carriages.
Theresia noted the cages being pulled along with normal cargo, housing manacled demi-humans. Standing dozens of paces away from the entrance, she began to decide her plan henceforth. Considering the slavery evidently sanctioned by the city guard, Theresia decided that she was fully within the bounds of Kararagi, having left the border city of Priestella.
She used her Astrea-quality sight to gaze across the field between herself and the city, noting the structures within. Exotic guesthouses and tenements lined the streets, along with other decorations a foreigner would recognise as odd.
It could be considered treason, a member of a noble Lugunican house simply abandoning the country and entering another —
— or rather, it would be, if she were still alive.
The notion bothered her. It wasn't because she would regret leaving, it was rather the fact that she held no regret in renouncing her homeland, abandoning the place she was born, leaving the city she grew up in, sheltered behind its great walls, or betraying the country she died for. That she felt nothing... that's what bothered her.
A lack of something that had always been there, a connection forged long ago ‒ it suddenly not being there... would have been terrifying.
Would have been.
Theresia brushed a hand through her rustled hair. She didn't feel any terror, but she could rationalise the fact that she should. Memories were fuzzy ‒ when was the last time she felt panic, or terror, or anything, really?
A mist-filled sky shifted into her mind's vision. When was the last time... her last time?
Trying to recall the moment she died... she likened it remembering the exact moment one fell asleep the night before. One moment she was awake, the next moment, she wasn't. There was a flash of platinum, and she was standing in Priestella. She knew how she had gotten there, but it felt like second-hand knowledge that she'd gotten from a book, or someone's recount. Impersonal.
That person fighting the Sword Demon was not Theresia van Astrea. As far as the country was concerned, the former Sword Saint had perished fifteen years ago during the expedition against the White Whale. Maybe that was true.
Theresia sighed inwardly, staring ahead. This thinking wouldn't solve the problem at hand.
She was certain the Kingdom had pronounced her dead. Surely no-one would protest, were she to introduce herself to another city, in absence of her own inhabitance?
She patted herself down and checked for anything suspicious she may have born on her person. Besides the fact that she was unaccompanied and had nothing but the defaced Royal Knight uniform on her body, the guards should have had no reason refuse her entry to the city.
Theresia strode forward, and approached the gates.
---
She ambled through at a leisurely pace, in case the guards tried to stop and search her, but they were too preoccupied with the mercantile traffic to bother with a random woman.
So, she entered the city without much trouble.
What struck her first was not, in fact, the unfamiliar architecture. Nor was it the exotic cuisine being sold by street vendors. More, it was the individuals themselves selling the food.
Species was always a sensitive subject in Lugunica ‒ Theresia would know this better than most living today ‒ so it surprised her just how diverse and seemingly unaffected the general population of Banan was, compared to her home country.
From her perspective, it was indeed shocking to behold such a variegated group of people, working even remotely harmoniously. From the vendors to the labourers to the merchants themselves, people and demi-humans were well-represented.
If she were to criticise anything, it would be the fact that she had noticed only demi-human slaves during the journey inside. This wasn't to say she would encourage enslaving more humans to make the numbers more representative... but it was something she noticed nonetheless.
Many of the locals eyed this stranger in her noble-looking garb. She had ditched the Witch Cult cloak many kilometres back, and was bare to the city with only her dirtied white uniform and her naturally-pristine scarlet hair. As an Astrea, her presence inherently demanded attention.
This was inconvenient, for the refugee playing incognito.
Some met her eyes, before diverting their own away in fright. Theresia was confused by this behaviour, before happening upon a display of mirrors outside one of the many stalls dotting the streets of Banan.
Instead of her normal, cheery, sky blue irises surrounding a black pupil, her entire eye was dyed a dim indigo. Her sclerae had networks of maroon threads woven within, the blood vessels clearly visible and granting her a macabre countenance.
Theresia flexed her gloved fist in the mirror. Disregarding the cuts in her uniform and missing locks of hair, her body seemed to resemble the very same somewhat aged Theresia in the mirror on that fateful day. Dim eyes and pallid ears worked just as perfectly as before, but the rest of her body was either dysfunctional or unresponsive.
Her sense of smell was gone. As an undead, breathing was entirely unnecessary, but she had forced many breaths through her nose, and recognised the void of sense. Taste, as well, was absent. Her tongue was in working order, motor-wise, but she noted the lack of flavour in her mouth, which was disconcerting. She may have had no need to eat, but her loss of taste meant that food had lost all purpose in her... 'life'. As if there weren't enough sudden shifts in her habits.
Her touch existed, somewhat. Rubbing her gloved hands together produced heat, which was more noticeable than the feeling of her fingers themselves. She no longer felt blood flowing through her body, and many automatic processes were hollow and gone, resulting in a distinct sense of absence.
Placing a hand to her chest, she felt no heartbeat, and putting a finger to her neck, no pulse was present either.
Theresia resembled, wholly, a corpse.
"Hey! Are ya gonna buy somethin' insteada just touching yourself in the mirror?" an impatient voice called to her.
Theresia glanced towards the human vendor, who was arching an eyebrow and scrutinising her expression ‒ or lack thereof.
"...ah‒"
His eyes widened in much the same way that other pedestrians did, and he backed away slightly, raising his arms in defense. He had evidently noticed her deathly, murky eyes, bearing danger.
Were it not a reflex action, Theresia would have sighed. Of course he would be frightened. She promptly removed herself from the mirror and strode away, wishing to no longer bother the man.
As far as cities went, it was smaller than Theresia was accustomed to, but she could certainly adapt. From what she had heard during her life, Kararagi was becoming more urbanised, as more and more individuals with varying skillsets emigrated from the surrounding nations.
In her case, she hesitated to put her fighting experience to use ‒ especially considering the situation she had just fled ‒ and didn't have much else in the skills department.
Besides floral decoration, of course.
Either way, despite her lack of employment opportunities, there was always someone in need of extra hands.
---
"You want a job, eh?"
The manager of one of the many employment offices in Kararagi, a lizard-man named 'Crane', asked her this, scratching his chin.
She had found her way here, acquiring both a faulty fountain pen and scrap parchment tossed away haphazardly. Coming to the conclusion that she wouldn't be able to find work in this foreign country by herself, there was really not much choice other than to consult such an office.
Theresia nodded.
"And you can't speak either, huh."
This was something Crane had concluded himself, as Theresia had never claimed a lack of speech. He most likely thought such a thing due to her primary mode of communication during this exchange: the parchment she had found.
Being sharp, pointy objects, Theresia was naturally skilled with any and all writing implements, including the very pen in her hand. In perfect font, neat lettering and enviable handsmanship, she had scribbled a very simple and efficient inquiry onto her scrap paper.
'Got job?'
"Managing accounts, vehicle inspection, peddling-on-behalf... hm," Crane scrutinised her with a continued scratch of his chin. He didn't seem to be perturbed by her soulless gaze. Crane met such a glare in every mirror.
Repeatedly shuffling around the papers on his desk didn't aid his indecision. Crane audibly hummed and muttered aloud. He had been hoping to get rid of those requests.
"You can't do any of those, since you can't speak. And you don't seem the mathematically-inclined type, anyhow." Crane leaned back and dug around in the cupboards beside him, looking for something in particular.
It would be erroneous to claim Theresia was upset by his rather sweeping judgements of her person ‒ as she was now resistant to such intense states of mind as outrage ‒ but she did feel ever-so obliged to correct the notion of her being numerically inept.
In fact, during her self-isolated adolescence, Theresia had found herself alone with nothing but the most exquisite learning materials available at the time. She had gone so far as to memorise the integers of the Golden Ratio's sequence up to the 37th term.
This interest in the sequence was of course unrelated to her appreciation of flowers, which employ the ratio in their spiral seed arrangements.
"Mercenary work? We never run out of those requests."
Crane cut into her reminiscing, placing a few papers on the desk before her.
"..."
Mercenary work for a former Sword Saint. The suggestion itself may have seemed insulting for anyone aware of her lineage, but she had been presumed dead for more than a decade, and most people in Kararagi would not have seen her outside history books.
"...and you look like the, er... strong-willed type, anyhow."
She could not have blamed Crane for the connection, as her appearance suggested that she had only recently fled from an engagement, and was accustomed to participating in many. Ignoring the fact that this was true, it did not result in her being able to accept work involving violence, no matter how desperate she was for an income and lodgings.
She shook her head.
Crane grumbled. "Picky, huh? Whatever."
He retrieved yet another paper from under the desk, and laid it before her.
"Supply escort and transport," he announced. "From one end of Banan to the other, and the transport moves during midday. All you need to do is move boxes and look threatening, and it seems you've got that second one down."
Theresia leaned forwards, her hands clasped behind her back. Ignoring the sensation of blood flowing as she shifted her centre of gravity, she analysed the advertisement. Indeed, escort work simply involved ensuring the safety of the company, which Theresia was capable of doing. It was worth considering.
"Decent-ish pay for unskilled work. You taking?"
The request was perfectly reasonable in regards to labour, and while she may not have completely understood the Kararagian mode of currency, she accepted Crane's statement about it being decent.
Gingerly receiving the paper, she held it close to her chest and nodded.
Crane grunted in acknowledgement. "Job starts at six in light hours. Try not to break anything ‒ it reflects badly on me and my recommendations."
And he waved her away, returning to sorting his papers. Theresia stared at him a moment longer than necessary, before silently retreating out of the office, dodging chairs and filing through the doorway.
...
Crane fidgeted with his apron, rearranging the various requests on his desk and pinning others to the notice board beside him. Running the employment agency required complex organisational skills, as he sorted applications, requests, and funds afforded by the city council for his services. In addition to these things, he also paid attention to all manner of strange ongoings, and reported them to the appropriate authorities.
"‒..."
Crane peeked behind him. His slitted eyes widened in shock at what he saw.
"Oh! It's you!" Crane spared a single glance to the doorway, before facing the corner, just out of view from the entrance. "Are you healing nicely?"
"..."
Whispers, barely audible, were received by Mr. Donahue. He arched a scaly eyebrow, placing his papers down and being attentive.
"No...? It's in the urban centres, not the outskirts, so I didn't feel it was impor‒"
"‒..."
"W‒!"
Crane attempted to quell the panic from rising within him by placing a webbed hand to his chest.
"Witch Cultist?!" he leaned forwards and continued in a lower voice. "She didn't‒ I don't think so...?"
He massaged his head. She didn't seem like your everyday employment-seeker, true. But still...
"..."
Crane grabbed a pen and paper, "If you say so, sir..."
The pen's tip met its partner, and lines formed in ink. He passed along the note.
"This is the route they usually take."
"..."
The paper vanished from sight appropriately, and Crane sighed.
"I'd warn you not to overexert yourself, but I doubt you'd ever do that willingly, anyway."
"...ha."
A single bark of laughter, and the wind rushed forwards along its path. Crane tried to press down on the rustling papers, but he only had so many limbs. They inevitably scattered around the air, obscuring sight ‒ as he was wont to do.
---
Ennui is a state of being, in which an entity lacks stimuli, or is unclasped from the bounds of passion.
Such an entity, in such a state, is unafforded the presence of activity. They are fated with unpleasantness, and allowed nought but idle thought.
This state, ennui, is also known by the name of 'boredom'.
Such an entity, in such a state could be said to be bored.
Theresia was in such a state.
Theresia was bored.
Escort duty, in fact, involved large amounts of waiting. Waiting for her application to be processed. Waiting for the cargo to be loaded. Waiting for the convoy to begin moving. Waiting for someone to consider sneaking alongside the convoy. Waiting for the convoy to stop. Waiting for the convoy to stop. Waiting for the convoy to stop. The convoy still hadn't‒
If Theresia had any air in her lungs, she might have screamed and thrown her fists into the carriage's keel. The convoy leaders just seemed to notice how they overshot their target, something Theresia had noticed about three streets ago.
Theresia had not mentioned this, as she thought the caravan's leaders had noticed as well, and had chosen some alternative route for whatever reason.
"What do you mean we missed it?!"
She had thought wrong.
Thus began the rotating and reshuffling of half a dozen liger-drawn carriages, leading to the kerfuffle among those present.
Theresia's task was to observe and shoo way any prospective thieves, which she had done so while the convoy traversed the busier streets in the market square. Once they reached the quieter streets, they became no more than a passing concern.
In the request, it stipulated that applicants be able to defend the caravan in case of sudden attacks. Theresia wondered as to why such a clause was added, as very few would be foolish enough to launch a raid in the middle of an urban centre.
"Damnit, we're turning around now?"
Theresia glanced to the carriage behind her. A pair of demihumans grumbled about the new turn of events.
"They must've missed the drop-off point."
"I expected some fighting on this job, at least! But it's just standing around the whole time!"
A cat-eared demihuman and a dogman leaned against the railing of their carriage. The dogman moaned about the situation, throwing his arms into the air.
"The request said it would be from warehouse to another ‒ did you expect a bunch of bandits to attack us in the city?"
The cat-eared man was cooler than the dogman, who scratched his head and grumbled.
"I didn't, er... read the whole request. I just saw 'guard duty' and hoped something interesting would happen..."
The cat-eared man guffawed and clapped his companion on the shoulder, "Your hopes weren't entirely unfounded, friend. The request did mention that we must be able to 'defend the convoy in case of sudden emergencies'."
The demihuman's furry eyebrows shot up. He gripped his sheathed sword tightly, "Really?"
"Mhm," his companion nodded. "Though, I can't imagine what would require so many escorts, besides..."
The cat-eared man cut himself off, ruffling his eyebrows and fluttering his ears.
"Nevermind. Look, we're moving again."
Theresia was frustrated at the sudden cut-off, but directed her attention away from the exchange. Indeed, the convoy had fully reversed itself and had begun the route back to the appropriate warehouse.
"What!" the dogman, also frustrated, complained. "You can't just cut off there! You were about to mention something!"
He waved a hand dismissively, "They're probably paranoid about all the attacks lately, you know."
"Attacks?"
Attacks?
It was the cat-eared man's turn to show shock, "Wha‒ haven't you heard? Where are you from?"
The dogman shook his head, "Inorandum; I only arrived here last week. What're these attacks?"
The feline man smoothed his hair back. "Well, you know about great spirits?"
His companion barked in laughter, "Yeah, o' course. Are you telling me it's a great spirit attacking people? I find that hard to believe."
"Believe it or not," he shrugged. "About half a year ago, something resembling a great spirit started attacking people and caravans on the outskirts of town, and in town during nighttime. A lotta merchants are paranoid of having their stock being destroyed, so they hire a lotta guards."
"Ha!" it was the dogman's turn to guffaw. "As if we could do anything against a great spirit! We might as well keel over and beg that they kill us quickly."
"I thought it was just an exaggeration by the public, but when Halibel went in to neutralise it‒"
"‒them." the dogman corrected.
"Whatever. When Halibel went in to neutralise it with his lackeys, all of them died, and he got out with major injuries."
"Shit."
"Indeed."
"If they attack the convoy, for whatever reason, how are we supposed to fend them off?"
The feline man shrugged, "I don't think we are. Just act as fodder while they escape, or something."
They went silent, and Theresia believed the conversation had ended there. She ceased eavesdropping, and focussed on the surrounding carriages, as the other guards did.
"Though..."
Theresia refrained from whipping her head around back to the muttering dogman.
"Hm?" the cat-eared man flicked his ears, but stayed focussed on the road.
"Why is the spirit attacking people? There's usually a reason." The dogman scratched his head with a paw in confusion. His companion leaned forward to whisper into his large ears.
"They say it's after..."
Theresia couldn't see the dogman's face from this angle, but she understood the body language of shock.
"W‒"
"Shh..." the feline man hushed him. "We don't want to espouse bad luck and summon it, do we?"
The dogman choked on his voice. Leaning back onto the railing, the feline man ended the conversation. Theresia was left frustratingly ignorant on the local happenings.
The remainder of the mission resumed as it had begun, excruciatingly, with much waiting.
---
It proceeded without fanfare.
Theresia had heard muttering from the drivers, criticising the convoy leader's lack of direction, but nothing came of it. The merchants requested that the escorts accompany them while cargo was unloaded, and to clear the warehouse of any potential squatters, which they did.
Each guard was dismissed after assurance from the merchants that their assistance was no longer needed. Some were confounded, confirming with their employers multiple times.
"What about the return trip? It's getting closer to night, now."
They insisted, and paid the escorts the promised amount, a small sack of coins, which Theresia could only assume was enough to convince them to leave, judging from her temporary colleagues' reactions.
Freed from her recent enrollment, Theresia jostled the bag, before placing it in one of the pockets of her uniform. It was indeed strange how the merchants wished for them to leave during peak thieving-hour, but she hadn't much to go on before making wild hypotheses or accusations.
The sun hung low in the sky, decorating the city with an orange glow. Leaving the warehouse and returning along the road to the city centre, she felt warmth over her body, vestiges of the retiring sun. Her sense of touch may have been dulled after her resurrection, but she was yet fully capable, and able to distinguish between changes in temperature. Naturally, she felt the cold steel pressed to her throat.
"..."
---
A light tug on her coattail brought her attention to behind. She did not attempt to rotate her sight, however, due to the persuasive skills of the curved blade on her jugular.
"Yeah, you've realised what's happening here? I can't tell if that's good or not ‒ stay still."
Hot whispers washed the back of her neck, a mix of relief and tension within. Her nose was supposedly nonfunctional, but she could have sworn she sensed some herb in the breath. She heard shuffling behind her, and the grip on the blade changed, in addition to a clawed grasp on her left arm. A demihuman?
"Right, come here, all peacefully... hm."
With both the changing angle of the blade and the tugging of her arm, she was directed away from the street and into the shade between two buildings. Barely anyone was out and about in this area of the city, at this time, and no-one saw her be led away.
They backed into an alleyway.
Her cheek was pressed to a wall, while the blade migrated from her jugular to her nape.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
Relatively speaking, yes she was. She had only arrived that morning, so Theresia could safely be described as 'new'.
She nodded.
"The silent type, eh? This makes it somewhat more difficult..."
The new-found acquaintance muttered in frustration behind her. Theresia still didn't dare turning around to face what sounded like a 'him'. She may have been undead, but it was still uncertain whether she could permanently die after she had broken free from the curse. It may have also been hypocritical, but Theresia did not want to... discontinue. Mayhaps it was a vestige of the curse itself, where she prioritised her life in order to fulfill her duties, but there was still that sense of desiring life, despite being an undead.
"I'm gonna ask you some questions, and you're gonna nod or shake your head."
It wasn't announced as a request, but a demand, or perhaps a threat.
Theresia wasn't in a position to argue, as she wasn't the one with a knife to someone else's neck. The mere fact that he was able to ambush her at all was proof enough of his prowess. Her senses may have been dulled, but Theresia would have noticed something awry if most anyone had tried to attack her so suddenly ‒ her interrogator was dangerous. No, she would comply for now. She did not want to die.
...again.
"I've heard along the grapevine that there's a lot of unsavoury stuff going on in Priestella. I'm guessing you came from there."
Theresia was tempted to complain about how that was a statement, not a question, but she simply nodded her head in agreement instead of playing semantics.
"Hah."
Her interrogator hummed and made a sort of scoffing noise. It sounded like a sort of bark.
"Real nice city. Never been there personally, but I heard there are a lot of different people there; engineers, architects, scholars..."
Theresia felt the tip of the blade tap against her nape.
"...witch cultists."
"..."
He sighed dramatically, his grip loosening on the knife, as well as her arm. Theresia was not to take the bait, even if the morbidly curious part of her wanted to determine whether the demihuman was as strong as she initially believed.
"It's a shame what a few bad apples will do to such a nice little place... y'know, I even heard that they tried to take over Priestella. Awful."
This seemed to be more of a pontification than a line of questioning, but Theresia merely stilled and did not speak. She nodded along, her head bobbing deliberately and with care.
"Luckily," his voice suddenly became cheerier. "All the witch cultists were driven out of the city. Happy endings really do exist!"
Theresia did not respond, and merely awaited the question she could feel coming.
"Unfortunately," he drawled. She was certain he had noticed her expectant silence, and was clearing the dense verbal brush clouding the goal of this 'conversation'. "Some witch cultists were spotted entering Banan recently."
Had she any acute sense of touch, Theresia may have felt the hairs on her nape brush against the cold blade's tip. She focussed on the wall before her. They were well within the buildings' cover, and she was unable to see either of their shadows in the darkness. She had wished that she would be able to see his figure, and where he was, at the very least.
"So, I feel like doing my civic duty, making sure this nice ol' town doesn't end up like Priestella, y'know?"
He removed the hand from her arm and shifted it to her shoulder. He proceeded to pat it.
"I'm sure you understand, right? We wouldn't want any problems."
Theresia nodded, noting how his hand seemed more like a paw than anything. She could feel the claws dig into the surface of her arm and shoulder when he had grabbed the respective parts. He lifted his paw and slid it down the back of her tattered coat, settling on her waist.
"...?"
She never felt the paw brush against the inside of her pocket, but a cursory glance downwards rewarded her with the sight of her winnings from her recent job in his black-furred grip.
Her interrogator-turned-mugger muttered something unintelligible behind her, almost like an 'is that all?'. He once again waved his paw along her side, but soon paused, and backed away.
"Hmph."
The jostling of the coins told her that he was at least a metre or two behind her. She no longer felt any intense threatening aura emanating from him, indicating that his interrogation had concluded.
Theresia took a risk, and rotated until she was face-to-face with...
"Well, I'm glad we got all that cleared at least, eh?"
...a wide toothy grin from a scruffy-looking dogman. Or was that a wolfman? Theresia wasn't an expert at distinguishing between the two.
"..."
Theresia stared at the sack of coins in his hand with her dead eyes. He continued to grin toothily at her.
Theresia had lived through enough wars to recognise someone's strength at a glance, as well as just being built different. So, she was able to tell that the demi-human before her was much more than he let on, with his dumb grin and the smoking pipe in his‒ when did he get a smoking pipe?
"You're new here, right? I'm gonna take a stab in the dark‒ ooh, guess that's a bit too soon, huh? I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say that you're looking for a place to kick your feet up and nap after a hard day's work?"
The wolfman didn't seem the type to have worked a day in his life, with his relaxed attitude and protruding belly. However, Theresia would have been foolish to drop her guard around him, despite his attempts at comity.
"I've got the feeling you don't trust me, glaring at me with those, er... lovely, eyes of yours," the wolfman said. "I'm actually a tenement house manager, y'know, I could hook you up with something special."
He spread his long black limbs in a sort of 'what do you say?' shrug.
Theresia noted how the bag of coins has disappeared from his hands, despite the limbs they were attached to always remaining in view. During the exchange, the wolfman had barely moved his legs, but Theresia's keen eyes could perceive the imperceptible, and she saw a telltale shifting onto to one side, suggesting a limp.
This demi-human had moments ago pressed a blade to Theresia's throat and rifled through her pockets, only to now offer her a residence. One must wish that not all business transactions in Kararagi shared these traits.
Theresia didn't seem to have many other options. She nodded.
"Great!" he exclaimed, clapping his paws together. "Well, the amount you gave me covers it perfectly—"
"..."
"—so you don't have to worry about the transaction side of things."
The wolfman gave her a 'thumbs'-up, "The name's Halibel, by the way. Come to the centre of town and look for estate management building, they'll know I sent you."
After his explanation, Halibel stood there as if waiting for something. Theresia merely stared at him unblinkingly.
"You're really not making this easy, huh?" Halibel barked, and took a step backwards, sinking foot-first into darkness.
---
They had, in fact, not known that Hailbel sent her.
She had entered the building and was almost immediately ushered out, the guards repeatedly telling her that 'she must be lost' and that 'the bar is on the other side of the street'.
Halibel had found her standing outside, arms crossed ‒ and her expression cross as well. Expressions were no longer automatic, so Theresia manually forced her mouth into a frown and creased her forehead in order to display her disapproval.
The wolfman had sauntered over to her, masking his limp with a certain swagger, billowing smoke from his pipe and chuckling at the peeved redhead. Theresia stared at him.
Theresia puffed her cheeks up at the memory. Halibel had actually kept his word and acquired her a residence. It was a rather small freestanding house in the Kararagi style, with paper pasted upon wooden lattice frames for those strange sliding doorways. Theresia held some angst about how fragile the building was, compared to her experience of Lugunican dwellings, but Halibel had dismissed her fears.
"As if anybody'd bother you here," he had noticed how she cautiously studied the structure for weak points. "This is one of the nice neighbourhoods ‒ plus! No-one'd want to bother a client of good ol' Halibel, would they?" He lifted his arms in a sort of shrug, saying 'no, they wouldn't'.
Theresia stared at his leg.
Halibel scoffed and rubbed the back of his head. "You know what happened the other day...? That's embarrassing, y'know."
The house didn't have much furniture, but the scant cupboards did hold glasses and cups, which she certainly wasn't going to use for their intended purposes. She now had in her hands a single tall glass housing a single flower, with a healthy stem and blushing petals. A surface to set it upon was sought.
Looking at its petals, memories surfaced of back home, and the flowers that grew outside the city, far outside the Astrea estate. She'd go there every day, admiring the blossoms growing through the cracks in the ruins and facing the sun with pride. Those ruins were flattened not long before the expedition.
Her new house was near the outskirts of the city ‒ or rather, closer to the edge than most residences. It was but a brief jaunt from there to the flowerbeds and trees within the forest, where she had picked this flower. No matter how different it may have been, the meadow between the trees reminded her of her own garden, back home, and the flowers she had set around the house. She imagined she'd often visit these new flowerbeds in the future.
A shelf to lay the glass on was found, once more.
"It's a cherry blossom!"
"A 'cherry' blossom? Like the fruit?"
Water was poured into it through a small jug, nourishing the suffocating blossom.
"Yes...? Why do you sound so full of disbelief?"
"That's a flower, not a fruit."
With one hand, the stem was readjusted until it was upright in the water.
"I‒ all fruits start as flowers, didn't you know?"
"...that's not important. Why a cherry blossom of all things?"
Stems of such flowers aren't often straight, so this was made a challenge.
"Well, the cherry blossom symbolises new beginnings, so I thought it would be nice to be the first decoration we put up."
"..."
Its petals were balanced on the lip of the glass, its stem stretching across only half its container's length.
"Do you not like it?
The pouring seemed more haphazard than necessary. Droplets on her hands and the floor were found.
"I..."
Droplets on her face were found. Messy.
Theresia set the trembling water jug down.
"I don't... hate it.
Yes, she imagined she'd often visit those flowerbeds, in the future.
Chapter Text
Boxes were heavy, as Theresia had discovered.
Theresia had been doing work for most of the day, for the past week. Her undead body did not actually require sleep at all, so she undertook night jobs to supplement her income. Predictably, there were few opportunities available for job seekers of the nocturnal persuasion, besides guard duty, patrol, and bounty hunting.
She continued to ignore that last avenue of employment.
Employers generally became spooked at her haunting face and scruffy clothes, so she had forsaken her torn overcoat for a plain black shirt and rested a pair of shaded spectacles on the bridge of her nose to hide her eyes. Not only did this make her more approachable, but it had the additional effect of making her swaggier.
Theresia swayed slightly as she heaved the box into her arms. Boxes were heavy.
There wasn't any escort duty for the day, or anything else Theresia could manage with her highly specialised skills, so she had been delegated to simple labour by Crane ‒ who had seemed nervous around her during their last encounter ‒ where she aided in filling freight carriages with cargo. The former Sword Saint was moving boxes.
This, in fact, did not do justice to her efforts. There were also large bags.
Theresia had at first not understood why merchants hired contractors instead of having a stable supply of workers who they could depend on ‒ then she overheard a rather loud conversation between two such merchants.
"Job stability is bad for the economy," the one had insisted.
His compatriot nodded along, "They get too complacent, and work output drops."
"And they start getting full of themselves, demanding more pay," the former complained.
His compatriot shook his head in disgust, "That's not the Kararagian way."
She discovered from eavesdropping on another conversation between workers that contractors were obligated fewer rights than the permanently employed. Theresia's ignorance was cleared.
It seemed that maximising profits and minimising losses composed the Kararagi work culture, where a head that prevented this was swiftly decrowned.
Theresia carefully stacked the box atop another inside her designated carriage, while her colleagues merely tossed them inside, hoping to complete another carriage as soon as possible. The pay may have been based on the amount of carriages filled within the designated time, but Theresia simply couldn't endure irregular stacking in her carriage. Her body may have been long dead, but her mind lived on, and her mind would simply perish before allowing such chaos in her charge.
"Be careful with the cargo, damn it!"
Theresia felt only a smidgeon of self-satisfaction at her colleagues' sheepish expressions.
In twenty minutes or so, Theresia had filled her carriage as far as she could within safety limits. The crates and boxes were stacked and secured atop eachother neatly, while sacks were bound both on the roof of the crates and near the rear of the carriage.
Before moving onto the next freight, she took a step back and circled around it to admire her handiwork and examine it for flaws. From this angle, an askance view of the vehicle's side, she could also see the street ahead, and acknowledge passersby.
Kararagi housed numerous types of individuals, all of which attempting to make a name for themselves in the way of wealth in the thriving commercial capital of the world. Theresia could have sworn she saw that dogman from the other day milling through the streets, but he sunk in line with a small crowd and disappeared from sight. There were others strolling through the avenues that stood out to her; a rather colourfully-dressed man with his arms around the two younger men beside him, a young woman with brown hair and a shortened version of one of those traditional Kararagian kimono Theresia often spotted but hadn't the courage nor funds to adorn, and a small mouse human sprinting through the crowd, obviously late for an appointment or some sort.
A cold breeze lapped at Theresia's skin, which may have triggered a shiver in a more lively individual. The wind seemed to be picking up, as her tailed hair brushed into her face. She ignored it and sidled over to the second carriage in her charge, before one of the other packers could have a go at it.
Her palms brushed against the first crate's frame, and it rang.
No, the crate was not ringing ‒ everything was ringing.
The avenue erupted.
More fighting instinct than reflex, Theresia dodged, and witnessed the carriages around her splinter. They were obliterated in a sudden gust, and ceased entirely.
Her feet soon left the floor, dancing between walls and windowsills. During her leap, she scanned the street below, and beheld the airborne road tiles of central Banan succumb to gravity and shatter.
The ringing halted, and Theresia was bombarded with yelling, screaming and wailing. A single cry permeated all, however, as her eyes met its source's.
"Witch cultist!"
Great blue eyes, contorted in fury, met her own shaded irises. The brown-haired young woman lifted an arm, and Theresia smashed her soles into the nearest roof's eave, ejecting her body away as piercing gale crumbled the former building.
Theresia careened through the air, somersaulting and landing on a rooftop. She sprinted across, wasting not a moment to gain vantage, nor allow her assailant clean fire.
Hearing the structures behind her collapse, Theresia doubted that the woman cared for such a thing.
As Theresia leapt to the next rooftop, she assumed that this was the great spirit attacking people ‒ witch cultists, specifically. She had no idea how the spirit had identified, or rather misidentified, her as a witch cultist, but the matter at hand required foregoing of such pondering.
She halted, heels digging into the tiles of a roof. A blade of wind roared past her nose.
"Stay still!"
No. Theresia did not feel like complying with that request.
Her legs broke into a sprint. The assailant was quite evidently targeting her, ignoring the numerous other evacuating citizens in favour of lobbing volleys of cyclonic wind at her general direction. Theresia would be able to lure her.
She knew the direction of the forest intuitively. The rolling canopies of its evergreens clued her into the exact distance, which would be at least ten minutes of steady sprinting in a single direction for the average person. Theresia needed to dodge and weave between slanted rooftops, while maintaining a clear view of her assailant, to avoid them destroying any buildings that might have separated them in her pursuit. She assumed the spirit wasn't the type to appreciate architectural merit.
For the average person, performing these delicate manoeuvres and escaping unscathed would have been impossible.
Theresia van Astrea was not the average person ‒ so it was only extremely difficult.
Using her airborne momentum between the previous and following eaves, she calculated the time until she would reach the forest. A liberal estimate predicted six minutes. A conservative estimate suggested two minutes. Theresia's estimate said fifty seconds.
...assuming her assailant could keep up.
"...!"
A bisected water tower crushing the house before her proved this assumption correct.
Theresia turned sharply, digging a heel into the roof and using the elastic energy to launch herself sideways. This changed her route somewhat, but she still maintained both a view of her attacker and a view of the forest.
"Die!" her attacker cried. "Die! Die! Die!"
Theresia would not be complying with this request either. She had died quite enough.
Her feet pounded the roof beneath them, creating minature shockwaves worthy of an Astrea's leaping. Theresia tried to ignore how the tiles shattered under each stomp.
The final building before the forest's border approached. As Theresia hopped to its roof, she whipped her head around near one-hundred and eighty degrees, sensing an incoming attack.
She lifted her hand to block. Three blades of wind tore by her. She failed to retract her hand in time. The wind brushed against her hair.
Red splattered against the roof. Two slabs of flesh rolled down the slanted roof and plummeted below. Strands of red fell in turn.
Theresia had tilted her head to face below, but she shifted her gaze upwards, and met a pair of great blue eyes. Assessing her from afar.
She spared a single glance towards the tainted ground, and leapt away. A single bound served her well, and she faded into the forest's brush with nothing but a rustle of leaves.
---
Mast lining the ground crunched beneath her soles. Small rodents, rabbits and squirrels, among others, scattered. It was a matter of course that they would recognise the danger she posed.
She possessed a great spirit's Light Sphere, after all.
The witch cultist had fled into the forest, hoping to evade their pursuer. They thought that the cover provided by the trees and brush would offer them some sort of shelter.
She strolled forward, crunching more dry leaves and branches. What substantiated her goal, and encompassed her mind, was anger. Rage. Fury. Apoplexy. These emotions constituted her direction, and shoved her onward.
However; deep within her, in the depths of her person, where no soul ventured or returned, there was yet another emotion, sifting and fermenting.
Striding through the thicket, brushing a hand through her short brown hair, she felt something. It spread from her heart, through her chest, to her shoulders, her belly, and the rest of her body. What she felt eventually concluded on her lips, twisting them wickedly. She felt cool.
She felt smug.
The corners of her mouth contorted to impress her rosy cheeks. Fleeing to the forest was really their worst course of action. In the city, the witch cultist had ample opportunity to mingle with the crowds and use them as shields, or weave between the buildings to offer a line of defense between them and her attacks.
But they had immediately scaled the rooftops, and remained above the buildings during her entire pursuit. She may have been inexperienced with aiming at such a large angle, but she maintained sight of them until they entered the forest. It made no sense why they would trade potential cover for a slight aerial advantage. They may have been confident in their ability to dodge, but even that was proven wrong when she struck their hand with a blade of wind.
Now they entered the forest. The witch cultist probably realised that allowing her sight of them was a mistake after losing their fingers, and abandoned the rooftops. Escaping to the forest made sense, from the perspective of sight.
Her grin deepened, straining the skin almost so far as to tear it. The witch cultist would die.
A vortex cleared the brush before her, and she strode forward. She had no need for sight. In fact, she could hunt and exterminate her target with her eyes closed.
She had her nose.
Witch cultists emit miasma. This one emitted an exorbitant volume, almost as if they were converting the mana around them into the thing. Most cultists she had hunted barely had a scent ‒ which she was still able to detect, of course ‒ but her prey held an ineffable amount.
The crowd in the city wasn't nearly as dense as it could have been, and the immense miasma that the cultist effused had forecast her location. A stench permeated the forest, rendering the leafy camouflage inert in regards to masking her target. Ever since the attack on her village, she had been able to detect the stench exclusive to witch cultists, and would use this to hunt them down, and exterminate them.
In addition to her ability to smell the miasma, the Light Sphere she possessed allowed her the senses of a wind spirit.
Within the city, hot air mingled and rose haphazardly. It was considerably frustrating trying to distinguish between the breaths of each inhabitant as they fraternised. In the forest, there were few creatures as big as humans. A rabbit's exhale held no equivalence to that of a bumbling human's panting.
A person would not succeed in evading her detection, as their breath would betray them.
So why...
"..."
She paused during her gait, stepping on a droopy, bluish flower she didn't bother recognising. She lifted her head and sniffed. The miasma still shrouded the forest, concentrated in the meadow she entered especially. Her very presence had frightened the smaller animals and sent them scattering before she had even entered the clearing, so there was no movement in the air beyond what was offered by the breeze. Only the witch cultist remained. The stench forecast this.
Which raised the question, as to why she detected‒
"Nothing."
The air was still, pushed along only by the natural midday heat forcing it aloft.
Her two primary senses were in direct opposition. Smell dictated that her target was within the very clearing she stood in, while the wind contradicted this.
No matter how still, how measured, the witch cultist, or anyone, may have been, there were traces of life. This was present in all humans. A single breath, a shudder, would disclose their location.
Warmth diffused through her head. The matter of where they were exactly was of no consequence, and debating it offered no answer. Further devoting what limited reason remained within her would not avail.
If she wanted to destroy a witch cultist that may lay in the clearing, the answer was simple: destroy the clearing.
She raised her arm in a wide arc, her kimono swaying in the wind. The power afforded by the light sphere was more than enough to erase the entire forest, but that was unnecessary. Channeling mana from the surroundings, heat collected at her fingertips.
Leaves on the trees rustled as the air gave way to her will, rushing to fill her palm. Loose roughage swirled around in her vortex of wind. The area had been still moments before, frustrating her. A great spirit's power, enhanced by an oni's magical aptitude, would change that.
Blades of piercing wind nestled between her fingers. When she engaged her lifted arm, a fissure of wind would sever the trees from their roots and tear the very ground itself asunder.
She stomped forward, trampling another droopy blossom. With one foot behind the other, she rose her hand diagonally, positioned as if a blade to fell a beast.
"Al--"
The ultimate wind spell was released from her gate.
"--FULA!"
A fierce gust was ejected from her fingers, and tore through the air with shrill whistling. The vortex shredded the forest's ceiling, leaving utter devastation in its aerial wake and the canopy's remains to fall to the floor.
The canopy?
Her hand pointed upwards, towards the canopy, instead of the meadow she had intended to clear.
Her eyes trailed to her raised limb, supported by deathly pale arms ‒
"..."
‒ oozing miasma.
---
She leaned backwards, and flailed furiously to dislodge the prey clinging to her.
Wind swirled around the two as she grew more agitated. Their arms shifted up to her neck and clung tightly. Their legs locked around her waist and dug into her belly, forcing a breath out.
She had the power of a great wind spirit. Such trifles would not bother her.
The personal cyclone intensified, drawing in leaves and loose dirt from the surrounding area. She reached behind her, and the witch cultist caressed her neck.
She feared for a moment that the witch cultist had attempted something worth concern, but as the fingers brushed across her neck, she felt no further pressure.
Incomprehensibly, the witch cultist proceeded to leap off her back in a straightforward and unassuming fashion. The wind did not err, they had simply hopped off her back and began to observe her.
She grinned. The witch cultist was foolish enough to underestimate her power, and she would exploit this moment of poor judgement. It all happened in but a few seconds. She flexed her fingers and turned around to meet the witch cultist's shaded face. Just above the drooping spectacles, she could see dead, cerulean eyes. The grin intensified. She lifted one arm, a limb of pure destruction. Its mere presence wrought death.
With a yell, she‒
"‒hah."
She felt an intense itch at her nape, she slapped the free hand onto it and dug into it roughly, but the itch remained.
"‒hehe."
The limb of death trembled as she held it aloft. Her entire body quaked as the itch shivered through her spine. The witch cultist merely observed her curiously.
"‒hehehehaha!"
Something was wrong. The itch surged through her spine and coursed through her every extremity. Her bones quivered and drove a breath out of her lungs, forming a pained laugh.
"‒HA!"
The ground met her chin, and her mandible cracked, its rows of teeth slamming into their upside counterparts. Threats of shattering ivory urged her to regain control of the situation.
"‒ahaeeeeeeh..."
Her jittering limbs were unruly and incapable of being manouevred. The tickling itch still radiated from her nape, but the pain emanating from her cracked mandible was countering the frightening sensation, summoning some vestige of authority over her mind.
The witch cultist had cursed her. She was sure. When they had grabbed her neck, they had placed some sort of... mana-corrupting curse on her body, which made basic functions incredibly difficult to maintain. A cursory glance with her strained eyes told her the witch cultist still observed her from only a few metres away.
Killing them would remove the curse.
How would she kill them?
The witch cultist had lured her there. She knew now. They had lured her into the forest to ambush her. She was quivering and useless on the forest floor, and the witch cultist was silently gloating. They had placed a curse on her, capable of rendering a great spirit's power inert. She could not kill them.
She could not kill them. The great wind spirit's power could not overcome their guile. She had obtained this power for the purpose of killing witch cultists, and she could barely touch this one?
She had to run. She could not win.
"‒aeh."
A shaking leg drew forward and dug into the ground. Another followed just behind the first. She used this moment of consciousness to her benefit, and ran.
One foot kicked the ground roughly, sending her trembling body stumbling forward. As gravity seemed to overwhelm her, another foot knocked against the roots of a tree, maintaining her scrambling flight. Her arms hung uselessly by her side, continuing their quivering and jolting. Her lungs protested against their unwarranted use, shooting pain throughout her aching chest.
"‒uha."
Liquids formed in her eyes, decorating the creases of a pained smile and dripping onto the dirt. She dared not glance back at the silent cultist, yet she could ascertain their current expression.
They were still, standing in the meadow. They looked downward, at where she had stepped forwards and began her spell.
Throughout this entire hunt, not a single breath escaped from the walking corpse, the witch cultist. And yet, as they glanced down at the flower she had crushed during her entrance, they released a sigh, as if to mock her power,
All witch cultists were monsters, removed from the very base of humanity, but this one was above all others, surpassing even the inhuman might of a great spirit.
Even the wind told her this, and the wind did not lie.
---
Theresia stared at the crushed flower and forcefully exhaled. The iris is considered a sign of positivity and good tidings, but this encounter between herself and the great spirit wasn't all too positive.
A drop of viscous blood dribbled onto the freshly-mown grass, and she lifted her left hand into an upright position, cradling it with her right. The liquid didn't spurt out of her hand as it should have in a woman with a beating heart. She could feel the pull of gravity coercing the blood in her hand towards the earth instead.
The great spirit had scrambled out of the clearing, but Theresia could still hear her distressed laughter, courtesy of Theresia's actions.
It was a rather simple, but risky, manoeuvre. Theresia possessed the Divine Protection of the Reaper, which made it impossible for wounds to fully heal, unless Theresia were to consciously allow so.
If one accepted a wound as an infliction of force upon an individual, resulting in a certain physiological response, Theresia had posited, then what would be the difference between a wound, and a tickle?
If one accepted a tickle as damage or a wound, then the sensation of being tickled would therefore lay within the jurisdiction of the Divine Protection of the Reaper, and become incorrigible.
Even the undead Theresia blanched at the thought of harming someone unnecessarily, so this action was simply a measure taken in response to her two desires of priority: maintaining life, and maintaining her own.
She stared at the amputated fingers nestled between her attached ones.
There was a possibility that the spirit could have killed her.
She was unsure of how she could die, but there was a certain intuition that one had when one's life was in danger, especially one as combat-hardened as Theresia. She could determine, throughout that entire ordeal, that the spirit would have killed her if she was caught.
Word had reached her of the spirit being a wind spirit in particular. Theresia wasn't all that knowledgeable about spirits, but she assumed that the wind spirit had an innate sense of the wind and its movements, and decided to exploit that reliance. She fled to the forest, where there was no-one to serve as collateral damage, and ambushed her. The spirit had fled in tears and distress, deeply disturbed and thwarted by Theresia's sudden assault and physiological upheaval. The effects of the blessing would lessen as the... victim distanced themselves from the holder, but would never fully fade.
Theresia turned away from the single crushed iris, and began to exit the flower meadow. She could still not determine why, but the spirit had indentified her as a witch cultist, and seemed to be hunting her for that reason. Theresia may have had the excuse of self-defense if she proceeded with snapping the spirit's neck, or otherwise harm her gravely, but she felt great conflict in harming something hunting an evil as vile as the Witch Cult.
The trees receded, and Theresia met the clearing between the city and the forest. A few dozen metres away, she observed her cut-off fingers laying in the grass, between even more of those blue irises. Her left pinkie finger and ring finger were shorn away, leaving her with only three fingers on the left hand. It was made more difficult tickling someone with only four fifths of the normal amount of tickling tools, but Theresia, as both a soldier and grandmother, managed.
Grasping the fingers in her intact hand, Theresia wondered how she would go about re-attaching them. Halibel probably knew a guy who knew a guy, so she could have bothered him for help. She hadn't known the wolfman for very long, but she had the impression that he would already be on his way to her, eager to know the results of her spat with the dangerous spirit in his town.
It seemed that all the residents had sought safety from the spirit's wanton attack. Theresia could barely see anyone in the streets, and what few people there were slunk around between the buildings, shifty-eyed and suspicious.
"..."
In the corner of her eye, Theresia spotted a flash of white. She rotated her head, and her eyes met wide yellow counterparts in the distance. The woman stopped in her tracks when she noticed the bespectacled Theresia focussing on her direction.
Theresia glanced down at her own outfit. It was torn in places from the scuffle with the spirit, but was otherwise intact, and not indecent. There was a minor crack in her glasses, tarnishing her otherwise untainted vision, but it was also negligible for the moment.
She faced the pretty stranger, who was inching closer. This woman was wearing a kimono similar to the one worn by spirit that was chasing her, but this garment was mostly white, with green accents. She also had a bright green streak down her ashen hair.
Theresia lifted a hand to beckon her over, at which she flinched, but conceded and approached with tentative steps. As she came closer, her features became more pronounced, and Theresia noted the curves of her form, along with the almost seductive gait she employed while anxiously shuffling through the field of irises. Her skin, her hair, her hands, her entire body, seemed to be finely crafted by some sort of magical artisan.
"Uh... hi," the woman muttered, glancing around nervously and brushing her brilliant white hair out of her face. "Did you see, uh..."
She briefly glanced towards the forest before continuing. Lifting her hands and contorting her supple fingers, she attempted some form of visual aid.
"Did you see a..." she spread her hands apart, as if placing them on either side of a large object. "Dangerous-looking... human woman...? With... wind powers?"
Theresia tilted her head. She was obviously referring to the great spirit that had chased her, but the way she described the spirit was curious.
She nodded, to the widening of the woman's eyes. Theresia lifted her hands to try and motion a chase between her and the assailant with her fingers, before noticing that she was still holding her severed digits. She retracted her hands and simply nodded again.
The mysterious woman, seemingly ignoring that awkward signal Theresia had just attempted, leaned forward in what appeared to be agitation. "You saw her?!"
"Where did that bra‒" the brilliant woman choked on her words and ruffled her eyebrows, forming a crooked frown. Theresia felt the need to rid her of that frown. "Where did she go?"
Theresia closed her eyes in thought. This mysterious new woman was connected to her recent assailant in some way. It wouldn't be too extreme to assume that she was after the great spirit, though Theresia wasn't sure how she planned on capturing or even harming her in any substantial manner.
"E-excuse me? I asked where she‒"
Theresia opened her eyes and stepped closer to the woman. She recoiled slightly, but appeared to be too frozen in fright to resist.
The former Sword Saint sized her up. In Theresia's humble opinion, the woman possessed a body reminiscent of one of those classical sculptures she pored over during her studies, but she was unable to determine her combat prowess, or her power at all. A thought floated through her head, contemplating whether the woman was a witch cultist attempting to avenge her fallen comrades, but Theresia dismissed it almost immediately.
She did not carry herself suspiciously, and Theresia did not sense any danger from her. What she detected was anxiety, and a smidgeon of guilt, on her expression. She did not imagine a witch cultist would hold such emotions when hunting down an enemy, so the thought seemed absurd. No, she was not a witch cultist.
The woman's beauty held no bearing towards Theresia's negative conclusion.
"Hello? I really need to‒ ah!"
Theresia clapped her hand onto the woman's slender shoulder, causing her to yelp and recoil. Theresia had just survived an encounter with the dangerous great spirit hunting down supposed witch cultists, and now she stood before someone searching for that very great spirit. There was only one possible path of progression from this point.
Theresia tilted her head down slightly, letting the sunglasses droop so she could meet the woman's luminous, quivering golden eyes with her dull cerulean. Just as the woman opened her mouth to speak again, she took her hand and turned around. They would be going back to her house.
Notes:
Thanks to my beta for being as useless at action scenes as I am :D
Chapter 3: Forget-me-not
Notes:
ATTENTION:
I changed the ending lines of the previous chapter so go reread that as it kinda changes the progression of a certain important thing (SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO SPEAK YET)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Houseplants liven up the place! If I left you to decorating, the walls would probably be covered with sword racks, and that's a horrible environment to raise our little Rose in."
"...Rose?"
"Roses are flowering plants of the genus Rosa, of the family Rosac-"
"I know what roses are. But you said that like our child would be named Rose."
She caressed her bulging belly.
"When our little girl is born... I want to name her Rose. Every child born to an Astrea had flaming red hair and developed great sword-fighting skill, though I'd prefer a different fate for our child, if we can..." A fate different to that her parents had been forced to carry.
"Rose..." Wilhelm contemplated the name. "The flower represents both delicacy in its breathtaking petals, and sharpness in its numerous thorns. She would take after you."
Theresia giggled, "See, you can be romant‒"
"However, our child will be a boy. And his name will be Heinkel."
"I‒" she sputtered. "No! She will be a daughter, and I'm calling her Rose!"
"It does not matter. He will be a boy, and in that case, his name will be Heinkel."
"How do you know? You're not the one carrying hi‒!" she cut herself off, and an idea bubbled forth. She grinned smugly. "Actually, I have an idea."
"How about a bet? If she's a girl, which she will be, I call her Rose. If she's a boy, which she will not be, then you can call her Heinkel."
"I don't get it? You want to give him a girl's name, and I will grant him a boy's name. Surely, when we determine that he is a boy, we will name him Heinkel, regardless of whether there is a bet."
She raised a finger. "Here's the catch. Whoever wins... gets to tell the other I told you so."
"I accept," he responded immediately.
I should have named him Rose anyway... Theresia thought.
The battle over what to name the Astrea heir lasted almost a year, and ended in Theresia's ignominious defeat.
Word of this duel had spread throughout the Astrea estate, from what remained of Theresia's relatives, to Grimm and Carol and the rest of the servants, to even some rival nobility in neighbouring realms.
During her second trimester she recalled receiving a most generous donation of baby and toddler clothing from the King's nephew, each garb sporting the name HEINKEL in bold letters, clearly communicating whose side he supported, and how strongly he did.
Brat.
The midwives had especially understood Theresia's position in the chamber, and what was at stake. As the child was passed around and inspected by each midwife for any abnormalities, they shared nervous expressions.
"My baby," Theresia cried. "Let me see my baby."
The youngest among them was ushered forward, baby in hand.
"My Lady, your son appears to be‒ wait, shit."
Wilhelm was not present for the birth, thankfully, otherwise he would have witnessed Theresia bawl as she did, and he might have even said 'I told you so'.
He had been conveniently sent away on an urgent mission that just so happened to coincide with Theresia's water breaking.
When he hastily returned to join his wife's side, Theresia had recovered enough ‒ physically and emotionally ‒ to greet him with the dignity of an Astrea. While she had embarrassingly lost the bet she had initiated, she also managed to gracefully avoid that dreaded phrase by immediately placating him with 'I don't like losing, unless it's to you'.
She was still pissed about the name though.
Honestly, who names their child Heinkel? Theresia furiously clinked away with her knitting needles.
She would've have been happy with a girl or a boy ‒ if it hadn't been for that bet. Twenty-year-old Theresia was young and impulsive, and her poor decisions led to a lifetime of regret in the form of her only child being named Heinkel.
Theresia loved her son, of course. She felt helpless when her daughter-in-law inexplicably fell into a coma shortly after Reinhard's birth, and felt a great maternal pride when he stood strong and promised to be a great father whilst dealing with his own grief.
Then there was the expedition against the White Whale. Wilhelm was busy on his own mission as captain of the Royal Knights, so Heinkel had been expected to lead the attack. But... Theresia had seen the fear in his eyes. She stepped up to lead the expedition, out of concern for her grandson. It wasn't as if she doubted Heinkel's ability, but she didn't want her Reinhard to end up an orphan. She still bore the Divine Protection of the Sword God, while he was merely a man ‒ an Astrea man, but a man nonetheless.
She led the expedition and... she used her divine protection to... protect the members of her expedition, before...
Despite the clarity of her other memories, what came before her passing almost seemed to be from a dream, projected onto a fog that dissipated at her breath. Needless to say, recalling it brought some difficulty.
Ah! Theresia mentally clicked her tongue, glancing down at her hands.
She had accidentally knitted her fingers into the wool again.
The spirit had severed her left ring and pinkie fingers during the attack earlier, so she had reconnected them to her knuckles with some industrial-grade magic tape she found lying around the tenement.
She was at this moment biologically incapable of healing or forming connective tissue, leaving the digits to dangle by the knuckle, unmanipulable. Considering the ferocity of Theresia's knitting, it came as no surprise that she found them tangled within the hastily-fastened fabric a second time.
Theresia rose from the ground and went to extricate her fingers from her attempt at a black cloak, horribly tainted by sludgy crimson liquid. A simple preventative measure would be to soften her efforts and focus more on the pattern she was producing. Too simple.
They're like swords, Theresia mused. But... smaller.
Individuals borne of the Astrea family were naturally predisposed to handling weapons. This predisposition usually applied to swords, but Theresia had discovered an unexpected subject of this domain.
She set the needles and skein down on the table, and retrieved the tape lying beside her.
It wasn't as if she chose knitting because it particularly stood out to her as an interesting activity, but she supposed the craft would come quite naturally to her ‒ which it did ‒ along with guessing that it would aid her struggle in staving off the omnipresent boredom lurking behind every inaction.
"Um. Hi."
Mid tape-appliance, Theresia glanced at the wooden doorway, finding a woman leaning against it to peer into the room. Golden eyes rapidly scanned the area before settling on Theresia and her bleeding hand.
"Ah."
---
"And you're... letting me stay here?" the woman stared at her apprehensively.
Theresia nodded reassuringly before rummaging through the kitchen cupboards. She hadn't bothered to purchase any food or drinks these past few days for obvious reasons, but she dearly hoped that there would be something lying around, otherwise she would look like a right dunce of a host for inviting someone over and not having anything to offer.
"The thing is," the mysterious lady continued, unperturbed by Theresia's actions. "I don't have any way to repay you, so‒"
Her golden eyes widened as she was hushed by a finger pressed against her lips. Confident sky blue met wavering gold, and the finger shifted from her thin lips to her shoulder. The hand opened and gestured to a seat near the table.
She understood the message and knelt on the cushion, though her consternation had yet to dissipate fully.
Aha.
Theresia opened a new cupboard and noticed an untouched box of tea. It wasn't a type she recognised, and therefore not to be trusted fully, but it was better than nothing.
"So..." the woman fiddled with the teacup as Theresia filled it with low quality leaf juice. "You may call me the Most Beautiful Re‒ I mean, you may call me Zarestia. And who are you?"
Theresia set aside the recently-boiled pot and sat in front of her guest. She hadn't poured herself a cup of tea, which made Zarestia squint at her in confusion.
Her name? Erm...
Theresia glanced around the room, but she hadn't any writing implements available. It would be rude to not answer, especially after the guest had introduced herself, but she wasn't sure she was all that capable of speech.
She pulled at the muscles around her lips. It didn't come quite as naturally as it should have, but she could still manipulate them sufficiently.
Facing Zarestia, she mouthed the syllables The-re-si-a to her, hoping that she would understand.
"...uh?"
She did not.
"Are you more of the silent type, then?" she tilted her head. "That's fine, I guess. I just want to know ‒ do you know why she was chasing you?"
She sipped at the tea, and attempted desperately to hide her immediate disgust, but it wasn't as if she could hide anything from Theresia. She was Theresia.
"You see," she continued, setting the cup down permanently and folding her smooth arms. "I'm after her. She has something of mine, and I want it back. I wanna know if she was trying to take something from you as well?"
Yes, thought Theresia, My life.
Er, death, rather.
She tentatively shrugged.
The girl had mistaken Theresia for a witch cultist and hunted her for that reason, but why she was after witch cultists was beyond her.
"Really? Ugh..." Zarestia's face fell and contorted into an expression of disappointment. What a horrible sight. She had to put a stop to it immediately.
"It looks like I've wasted our time. Thanks for the tea, but I'll get goi‒?"
Her golden eyes switched from chagrin to bewilderment as Theresia knelt down beside her, needle in hand.
"...!?"
Theresia set her palm atop the startled woman's slender knuckles. Warm.
She leaned into the table so Zarestia would be able to clearly see it.
"Are you carving a message?"
Theresia blankly nodded in affirmation. She dragged the needle along the wood of the table, carving the necessary curves and serifs to form the glyphs in her own elegant style.
She leaned back after finishing it, allowing Zarestia to read it in full.
"'I will help you.'"
Theresia patted the hand of the bewildered young woman as she glanced back at her in disbelief and suspicion.
"You will? Why? What do you want in return?"
The former Sword Saint pretended to consider it for a moment, scooting backwards and stroking her chin. In the past, she would have had no need for a reason other than the fact that someone needed help, or that the target was a dangerous individual proven to have no regard for human life.
So that should be the reason, right? Why else help this random lady she'd known for only a few hours? It's simply what Theresia would have done, so she, being Theresia, should do it.
Grimly, she couldn't help but realise that classic altruism was merely an auxiliary motive compared to her true desire.
She lifted a finger and pointed at the woman.
"M-me?!"
And Theresia brought two fingers on her intact hand to her own mouth, pulling the corners up and presenting her dazzling grey teeth. This seemed to reassure the kimono-clad young woman.
"Smile? Uh, I can do that!" Zarestia nodded enthusiastically, ruffling her perfect white hair. She didn't seem to question the utter bizarrity of such an exchange. "You'll help me with that girl then? If you can beat her like you did last time and let me get my light sphere, then I can smile for you. Even though it may not such a... pleasant smile as yours."
She muttered that last part as if Theresia wasn't supposed to hear it. Ha.
Theresia offered her right palm, which Zarestia gently grasped in turn. She seemed giddy with excitement, which may or may not have tugged at some non-existent strings in Theresia's vacuous chest.
"Alright, it's a promise!"
---
"You alright? I thought you fixed those..."
Zarestia stared at the detached fingers in her yarnwork. It wasn't of any consequence ‒ what was of consequence was the fact that her guest was still awake.
She tilted her head and pointed at the time stone on the wall, showing the yellowish-green indicative of midnight.
It's late. being the implication.
"Uh, yes, about that."
Her guest sheepishly entered the room, her beautiful form shuffling forward awkwardly.
"I'm, uh, I mean... shouldn't you be worried about me sleeping alone in your room? I'm, uh... I'm actually wicked strong!" she sputtered in a panic. "I'm the Great Spirit of Wind, and I'm super temperamental! I can make the air go all—
She lifted her arms and rapidly waved them around as if loosing blades of wind.
"Brrrrrrrrrrrrr!"
"S-so! So! You know!" she ceased her violent gesticulation and instead set her fists upon her hips. "You should supervise me so I don't have a nightm- wake up in a rage and destroy the bed and everything!"
Zarestia stood proudly and shut her eyes after explaining her perfectly rational concerns, beating her chest once and nodding excessively.
Theresia blinked at her.
She glanced back down to her fingers and applied the final length of tape around their separated ends. The spirit continued, not noticing this.
"And another thing, I'm‒!"
Zarestia was startled by the cold hand that took hers.
"AH‒"
She stumbled backwards in shock, almost landing on her behind, but was instead spared the indignity by the redhead's strong grip. Theresia pulled her into an upright position.
"Thanks," Zarestia muttered and balanced herself, before staring at her host wide-eyed. "So you'll...?"
Theresia nodded and patted her shoulder with the injured hand, before leading her back to the master bedroom. She had borrowed it to the guest, because... well, it wasn't as if she needed it? Unless she wanted to feel more dead than she already did, the floor beds in the tenement weren't of much use to her.
The guest's little performance was obviously hiding the fact that she didn't want to sleep alone in a dark room, which reminded Theresia of her own child and grandchild.
And husband...
Questions fluttered through her mind. Where is he, right now? she wondered. Was he searching for her? What happened to the three of them after she left?
...did she truly care?
Given their relationship, she would have expected even a modicum of concern levied towards her family, nestled within some recess of her mind.
She found nothing.
"You're too kind," Zarestia muttered, interrupting Theresia's troubling carriage of thought as they entered the bedroom. She was wrong, but the sentiment did not go unappreciated.
The former Sword Saint lifted the injured hand to the Great Spirit's neck, trailing upwards until the fingers met her glorious white hair.
They paused in the middle of the room, hand-in-hand, as one stroked the other's hair.
You're too adorable, Theresia tilted her head and formed the smallest of grins.
And they stood there for a moment, unperturbed by any encroaching past or midnight angst, merely staring into each other's eyes, enjoying the beauty that met them.
That was, until a lock of white hair adhered to a loose surface of tape mid-stroke.
"Owowowowow!"
---
It was early morning about a week later when Theresia once again slipped out of the spirit's loose embrace and rose to meet the day. Her new roommate had little problem with her lack of body warmth and regularly hogged an arm and-slash-or leg for nighttime companionship.
Her absence in the bed was quickly noticed, and Zarestia awoke with a groan. She spotted Theresia's form moments before the doorway. "Work?"
Theresia nodded dully. While she did receive a supposed discount from her furry benefactor, there still was rent to pay, and she also wanted a deposit of backup money in case of an emergency.
Besides, with her new roommate, she did not have only herself to worry about, and those cupboards and drawers once again saw food for the first time in what must have been months.
Zarestia yawned and riled herself up, slinking up into a standing position. It was not as if she lazed about on Theresia's funds ‒ she had also begun taking requests, mostly the mercenary and bounty hunting jobs her companion had forsaken.
Theresia began her march to the kitchen-living room area, collecting the necessary items for today, including a small rucksack for carrying her craft work. Winding into the kitchen, she maintained a view of the living room, where—
"Hope you don't mind, I let myself in."
Halibel lounged over a cushion against the wall, bringing his pipe up to his lips to huff. Theresia brought her own fingers to her lips, tapping them to indicate that his air pollution was not welcome.
"Ehhhhh, what?" he shrugged in a 'what do you mean?' manner, seemingly unaware of what he was doing wrong. "I'm technically the owner of this little joint anyway, so can't I really do whatever I want?"
Theresia made a show of rolling her eyes, moving back to organising herself for the day and ignoring Halibel's bark of 'what, no tea?'.
This was the second time since the fight with the spirit that Halibel had met up with Theresia. He had been more than a bit surprised to hear how easily she had incapacitated the spirit and more than a bit frustrated to discover that she had let them go.
The wolfman grumbled to himself before the announcing the reason for this visit of his. "Anyhow, I've got some updates on the spirit‒" his dark eyes shifted away from Theresia to the Zarestia shuffling through the door and yawning, "‒or rather, the spirit wannabe."
"Ehhhh?" the great wind spirit moaned as she stopped before the doorway and stared at the wolfman loafing on one of her favourite cushions. "What are you doing back here, mutt? Shedding your fur all over our house as you please, again?"
Halibel barked out a laugh. "Your house? This place is my property, I'm just leasing it out to your girlfriend here. Maybe you should pay more attention to who you're talking to."
"I know exactly who's messing up my favourite spot," Zarestia spat, seemingly not noticing his little comment. "Some self-important dog who couldn't even handle that poser with a fraction of my power, a mangy mutt who‒ow! Hey!"
Halibel snickered as he watched Theresia pull on Zarestia's ear and deliver her a deadly glare, dragging a whiff of his pipe. The reaper looked at the saint, her warbling golden eyes frothing with innocence, betrayal and plain confusion.
"I don't think There-san likes your language, miss," Halibel cut in to explain, puffing after the 'miss'. "She's sensitive to things like that."
Theresia nodded once, giving Zarestia's ear a final tug before going back to flitting around the kitchen. The reaper gazed on in the direction of her housemate, some novel, conflicting emotions brewing within her.
"To answer your question," the wolfman continued. "I have some more information on that girl who stole your, uh, 'light sphere', was it?"
Zarestia instantly perked up, rushing over to sit at the table and rapping at the surface impatiently. "Why didn't you lead with that? Spit it out, mu‒"
A chill crept through her as she felt Theresia's judgmental gaze pierce through the back of her head. "...spit it out, man."
Halibel chuckled at her antics and suggested waiting for Theresia to join them before he continued.
"I contacted some of my associates," he began as Theresia knelt down besides the spirit. "And we think we know the events leading up to your light sphere being stolen."
"Bah," the great spirit scoffed. "I already know that! Some good-for-nothings infiltrated my nest and the one who managed to avoid my whirlwind made off with my light sphere and half my power!"
"Well you could have mentioned that earlier," Halibel scratched the back of his neck. "But we did get something a bit more specific."
He straightened and leaned forward, primed to elucidate: "About a year ago, a request went up for strong individuals to explore an area known as Zarestia's bed."
"Hey!" Zarestia pointed excitedly. "I know that place."
Halibel continued, "None of the people who took the job reported back, and it was assumed all of them had perished. Co-incidentally, the spirit that's been harassing the area appeared around that time."
It seemed that girl who stole Zarestia's light sphere was among that group, her being the sole survivor. Theresia nodded and gestured for him to carry on.
"We're thinking that girl was among the recruited and succeeded in obtaining your light sphere, using it as a sort of power-up to help her hunt down witch cultists," Halibel concluded that thought.
Theresia raised an eyebrow, asking a silent 'why?'.
Halibel stretched his arms and leaned back again, huffing his pipe, to Theresia's chagrin. "Here's the thing, you see. My sources tell me that girl's a demon."
Theresia raised both eyebrows. She was not all that familiar with the current state of the demon people, but demons were magically gifted individuals that would be wise to avoid in a fight. More importantly...
She lifted her hands to the ridge of her forehead and curled her index fingers, waggling them before making a cutting motion with her arm.
"You didn't see any horns?" Halibel surmised. "Yeah, me neither. But my sources say she fits the description of an demon who came from a massacred village. It's weird that she wouldn't use her horns to fight..."
"Not even a demon could properly harness the powers of my light sphere, even just using it would be enough to overwhelm their brain, no horns needed," Zarestia suggested. "Though I don't see how that information helps us particularly. Is there something relevant about demons that I don't know?"
What Halibel uttered next confounded both the out-of-date Theresia and the completely antiquated Zarestia: "Well, you see, I haven't heard of a live demon in ages. The witch cult has been systematically exterminating them for decades now. She's one of two that I have confirmation for existing ‒ the only one in Kararagi."
That was why the girl was so intent on hunting down witch cultists. Theresia's commitment to sparing her was only emboldened by this new information ‒ not only was the girl actively pursuing a vile evil like the cult, she was also one of the last of her kind, so ending her would be ending a millennia‒long legacy.
She had some questions, though. How did Halibel come across this information that only the girl herself or witch cultists would know?
"How did you find this out anyway, dog?" Zarestia serendipitously voiced her queries. "It doesn't seem like readily-available public information."
The wolfman simply smiled cryptically, saying, "My associates come from a wide range of backgrounds," before offering no other explanation.
"But now we know why she's after witch cultists," Halibel quickly changed the subject, finishing his briefing. "We understand her capabilities a bit more, and from 'our'‒"
Halibel glanced for a moment at Theresia's unreadable expression.
"‒encounter with her, we also know she can detect and track witch cultists with some sort of sense of hers. And that she thinks There-san is a witch cultist for whatever reason."
Halibel sighed and twiddled his pipe around his fingers. "If all goes well, we can use this information to lure her again, catch her in a trap and neutralise her."
Theresia stood up suddenly, startling both her guest and roommate. She dragged a thumb across her neck, before frantically waving her arms and shaking her head.
Zarestia gaped at her, "You don't want to kill her?"
Theresia nodded firmly, asserting her commitment to doing no harm in this new life of hers. Zarestia covered her mouth with a hand and held back a gasp, her golden eyes shimmering with awe.
"But..." Zarestia clicked her tongue, conflicted.
"Yeah, that's not gonna work," Halibel shot down the declaration. "The only way we're getting that light sphere off her is if she's dead, not to mention the massive risk there would be with keeping her alive."
Theresia crossed her arms and shook her head once again. They all knew Theresia would be the one to lure in and confront the demon, and that she was the only one to face her in battle successfully, so her noncooperation would halt the plans entirely.
"...I suppose we still have time to plan it all out," Halibel offered hesitantly.
There was a moment of silence as they all wondered what to say next (mostly just the wolfman and the spirit, for obvious reasons), when Halibel caught sight of Theresia's taped-on fingers. "Why haven't your fingers healed yet?"
Theresia shook her head, shrugging. The wolfman scratched his head and huffed his pipe.
Zarestia spoke up to offer a bizarre piece of information. "Theresia's body isn't healing normally like mortals' are supposed to. She also has some kind of mana interference around her. Those are probably related."
Theresia and Halibel both stared at her, wondering why she took until now to mention this, while she innocently shrugged a 'what?'.
"There-san, if you wouldn't mind," Halibel began tentatively, and Theresia felt he was about to request something she ought to refuse. "There's a healer I can bring you to who might be able to reattach your fingers. And get the rest of that weird stuff around you checked out."
She paused in thought. Halibel was not one to give without strings, but getting her fingers reattached would make things a whole lot easier in her day-to-day, like reducing the need for gloves when out and about or freeing up her left hand for spontaneous hair-brushing.
Meeting the wolfman's eyes, she nodded, curious to see where this would go.
---
An unexpected benefit to reattaching her fingers was the newfound ease during flowerpicking, now that her fingers were firmly attached and she could utilise their full potential.
The healer was more than disturbed by Theresia's body. Her stagnant blood and the seemingly permanently lacerated skin were particular points of interest, especially with how she seemed to otherwise function normally, movement and cognition-wise.
If you would even call this normal...
She tried to exile that little thought from her mind, instead focussing on the patch before her: a field of sky blue forget-me-nots, complementing the dull blue in her own eyes.
The sight of the flower resurfaced some memories of her youth ‒ those of after the war especially. It symbolised the commemoration of loss, often used by the bereaved and grieving to express their conflict.
It symbolised the longing of a time to which one wished to return, but could not.
It symbolised memory itself, the dying and the immortal, to be frozen and recalled at will.
So why was she here to commemorate what she wished to forsake? To return to that which she had escaped? To recall what she had cast away?
Why was she even here at all? Just to mock the memory of‒?
"Yo, Theresia."
She placed her basket down and turned while sitting between the flowers. Zarestia was shuffling through the flowerbed toward her.
She raised a hand to beckon her over, moving the basket to beside her and flattening the grass it previously occupied. The spirit understood the message and plopped down next to her.
"I didn't see you back at the tenement so I thought you'd be out here," the reaper explained, afternoon light dancing between her ashen-white locks.
"Uhm," she hummed awkwardly, clearly hesitant to broach the topic of her interest. Theresia nudged her with a shoulder.
She clicked her tongue. "Right. I just wanted to make sure," and her golden eyes turned to meet Theresia's blue. "You're really certain about sparing that girl."
Theresia nodded firmly. Killing someone like that would be a waste, so she had no intention of allowing it to happen, by her hand or anyone else's.
The great spirit's expression turned a shade darker, conflict brewing, "Yet you also promised that you would help me collect my light sphere from her," she said, a lofty lilt in her tone. "You understand what a promise means to a spirit, right?"
The Sword Saint once again nodded firmly. She had every intention of keeping her promise to its full extent, as well as maintaining her previous declaration of sparing the girl.
The reaper's gaze softened at her determination, and she averted her eyes.
"Bah. Well. If anyone can do the impossible, it would be you, wouldn't it?"
The Astrea nodded again, less firmly this time. She believed it was within her power.
The two would then slide in a calm silence moments later, before Theresia reached into her basket and retrieved a flower.
"Oh?" Zarestia studied the blue blossom presented to her by a cold hand. "Is this for me?"
Her roommate gave her affirmation, and the woman gingerly accepted the flower with a 'thanks'. She rotated it between her fingers, seemingly appreciating its beauty.
Theresia similarly drew a flower for herself. The petals seemed to embody some new symbolic aspect when viewed from her current perspective. Perhaps instead of reliving what has passed, it could be said to commemorate the past in what was to come? She had an idea.
Glancing away from her companion and to her side, she cursed herself for not taking any writing implements along ‒ though it was not as if expecting this series of events was something a reasonable person would do.
She pulled at her throat, flexing the muscles therein. A dim thought presented itself, encouraging the wonder of whether such a thing would be possible. It would be unholy, a bastardisation of what it could have been, what it represented, what it truly was‒
‒but it was better than nothing, and better than everything at the same time.
Closing her eyes to focus entirely on the infernal internal, she turned away when she had gathered the will, facing her companion.
The flesh worked its way around her mouth, the muscles down her throat contracting to form the sounds she desired.
Then, she said:
"Do... do you like fl‒"
"Mhm, yeah, this one has a good taste. Excellent pick, Theresia."
Interrupting her ghoulish reenactment was Zarestia loudly chewing on the flower she had placed in her hands moments before. After swallowing that result, she reached around her paralysed companion to retrieve more nutritious snacks.
"I haven't had anything like this for a while," Zarestia sighed with a satisfied grin upon her lips. "It's nice to‒ ow! Hey! What the heck did I do this ti‒ aiiiie!"
Theresia, in her confounded rage, yanked on the woman's ear twice before angrily stomping away.
---
On days like these, returning from a job with not much on her mind, Theresia's thoughts slid towards the demon.
One step after another, she strode forward, wondering how many collateral victims there had been during the demon's hunts for witch cultists.
Her resolve had not weakened, it had not faltered. She was determined to spare the demon girl from the fate the others wished for her. Maybe it was the mother in her wishing to spare an orphaned young lady from being cruelly cut down, or the saint in her valuing life as life itself, or something darker, within the recesses of her mind that noted how her ability to smell miasma may be useful in the future.
Maybe it was none of them at all, maybe it was everything at once; they were of no matter ‒ she had made her choice.
The shadow of the building beside her shifted.
"..."
Theresia's steps slowed to a halt. She had grown to expect Halibel's sudden appearances through the darkness, this time she merely wonde‒
"‒she's back."
Theresia stared at him, stunned for a moment, though her expression did not slip. Before she could manage even a questioning glance or a shrug, the shinobi elaborated, almost out of breath:
"She's at the tenement. Zarestia engaged her as I left."
This was all she needed. She bent her knees, raring for a jump, when the wolfman grabbed her and yanked her towards the wall.
"This way is faster."
And Theresia met the embrace of shadow.
---
Zarestia had been minding her own business well enough.
It was a day without any work, so she was chilling at home ‒ something she was more than allowed to do.
Unfortunately, she had an unwanted guest lazing about her living room.
"You're really not up to anything today?"
"Silence, mutt. You know not the meaning nor consequence of labour."
"That's kinda odd coming from you, haven't you been asleep for the past couple o' hundred years?"
That damned dog had strolled in like he owned the place; smoking his damned pipe, with that damned grin, lying across her favourite damned pillow.
"It was a well-deserved slumber; though I wouldn't expect such an entitled beast to truly understand the concept of merit," Zarestia was effortlessly ruthless in her assault, adorning a violent glare and pouring herself tea ‒ actual, good tea, not whatever cough tonic Theresia had given her on that day.
"Aw, now how would There-san feel about you saying such mean things to me?" Halibel clutched his heart dramatically.
"She shall judge it as completely justified," Zarestia quipped with a nod. "Even one as compassionate as her shall discover her patience wearing thin upon the grating surface of your blatant disrespect."
Halibel may have been preparing some kind of counter to that, but the great spirit expertly shifted the subject before he could interject.
"Where is Theresia, anyway?"
"She should be coming back from patrol right around now."
The dogman suddenly sat up straight, his ears fluttering and his eyes flitting about the room. "Do you feel that?"
"What in Od are‒" and Zarestia paused, as a prickle tickled along the edge of her spine. A burst of energy coursed through her, in addition to whatever spirits had in equivalence to adrenaline. Along with these two incorporeal measures, something grimly, fatally real struck her instincts.
Fear.
"She's he‒!"
The air shimmered and froze, the living room wall erupted.
"Down!" she couldn't tell whether it was her own voice or the mutt's across the room, but Zarestia heeded and ducked behind the counter. Splinters of wood and paper soared by her, slamming into her shelter and past it.
As shrapnel and collateral fell to the ground, Zarestia held the rim of the counter and gingerly peaked over it to the source of destruction. There, she saw it.
"Where. Is. The. WITCH CULTIST?"
Pigtailed brown hair, a swaying black kimono, and pure rage written plainly across her face.
The demon.
The thief.
"I'll keep her occupied, Halibel! Go retrieve The‒" Zarestia had not the chance to even finish her request before the ninja threw himself through a window.
"Uh, yeah! Good teamwork!" she said, before turning back to the scene at hand.
Her adversary had not seemed to notice her. The girl glanced around the living room, searching for something particular. Within seconds, she grew impatient, and her expression of rage morphed into frustration. Her nose scrunched up violently.
"I can smell you! Come out here!" she roared. Her light blue glare then locked onto Zarestia's golden gaze, and she growled. "You."
"Me." Zarestia agreed. "You have something of mine."
And she held out her hand as if to say 'give it here'. The demon scoffed.
"I don't care. Where is that witch cultist?"
"I have no idea to whom you could be referring," Zarestia pushed a finger to her cheek innocently. "Regardless, could you please return my light sphere? I would like it ba‒"
"LIAR," she screeched, and a gust of wind was ejected as she stomped the ground. It flew past Zarestia's head, barely shearing off a hair as it careened past into the wall. She did not flinch. "I can smell the scent of the witch all over this building! If you live here then you must know where she is right now!"
That was a bit of a stretch of logic, even though the conclusion was ultimately true. However, it was not as if she would so simply be disclosing such pertinent information as her close friend's whereabouts to her close friend's aspired killer.
"She's actually behind you," Zarestia assisted her claim with a pointed index finger, gesturing to the blown wall behind the demon.
"As if I'd fall for that!" she roared in indignation. "That's the oldest trick in the‒"
Book! was what she had planned to say, before Theresia van Astrea landed a flying drop-kick to the back of her cranium.
The demon went skidding face-first along the tatami mat floor, her head crashing into the wall opposite the entrance she had made, her legs comically rising into the air and flopping down onto the floor after her momentum had ceased.
"Theresia!" Zarestia called, frothing with relief. "I kept her busy until you arrived. Do you want to take care of the rest?"
The Sword Saint silently waved in greeting before nodding at the question. She balled her left fist and hovered her right arm in front of it, imitating a shield. Protect me if it's looking rough.
"Got it, I'll jump in if I think it's nece‒"
"How DARE you!"
A gust of wind whipped around the room as the demon rose to her feet, wind lapping at her feet and thrusting her in the air. She turned to face them, and two great white horns shone through the debris-laden whirlwind.
"This is it, Witch Cultist! Today I will slay you! No more tricks! No more curses! You're done for!" the empowered demon declared, burdened with intent. She approached the witch cultist, raising a hand in offence, preparing to the cleave the creature in two.
She took another step threateningly, effortlessly slipping into a stumble and falling into a nearby table.
It appeared the Sword Saint's kick into her skull had left a lasting disorientation that was not so easily dissipated. Though she may very well have been suffering the recoil of unsheathing both her horns and the light sphere.
Theresia seized the moment to enter the demon's personal space; in less than half a second she aggressively patted her hands along the girl's torso until she found the desired result. She signalled to Zarestia, retreating shortly thereafter.
"Don't underestimate me!" the demon screeched in pain, stumbling back onto her feet. She furiously patted down her body where the Sword Saint had touched her. "A little dizziness won't stop me from ending all of you! You're going to pay, I swear it! You're going to regret ever coming to my village, ever leaving me alive! I will make you regret everything!"
And the girl then spread her arms, preparing a powerful wind spell to tear the very air asunder.
Theresia backed away from the girl, generating distance between both her and the spirit. The Sword Saint gestured to Zarestia before pulling at her chest. The spirit appeared to understand the message.
"Halibel, jump in at my signal!"
Whether the shinobi heard this or not lay unconfirmed, but they proceeded with the assumption that he had.
Mana gathered between the demon's arms, her great white horns shining prominently, aiding her mana collection along with the light sphere she possessed, though the sheer difference in degree was stark.
In a single bound, the mana was released as an overwhelming attack that disintegrated every part of the building before her: "Al Fula!"
The surging blades of wind cut through the air, wiping away most of the living room and kitchen. Pillow stuffing, splintering wood and off-brand tea littered the atmosphere before succumbing to gravity and crashing to the ground.
The girl grasped at the back of her head, huffing in pain, trying to suppress the creeping dread of familiarity. She probably did not get the Witch Cultist in that attack, so she would have to locate her and prepare another. It was merely to force some breathing room into the fight. At the very least, it seemed the cultist had not the opportunity to place a curse upon her as she had previously.
She gazed around with unfocussed eyes, witnessing the carnage wrought by her hand. It mattered little. What remained paramount was the extermination of Witch Cultists.
Mana gathered between her fingers once again, her forehead throbbing in agony. Her enemies had all but disappeared, probably hiding behind cover to her left or right, so it was imperative she address the issue.
"Al Fula!" she cried, sending off a blast of wind that wiped away another section of the building. The construction groaned as it was shorn away in such a violent manner, debris piling along the ground.
"Al..." the demon began, preparing to erase what was left of the building. As she turned however, she was rendered unable to complete her spell.
"‒hrk!" the girl whined as she took the force of Theresia's punch deep into her gut. She fell back and the mana dissipated. The blow was expertly-arranged, as it seemed her body divined no other option but to crumple to the floor.
"Oi, dog, now's your cue!"
The spirit rushed forward, signalling her ally. Theresia stood back a few paces and watched as four copies of her landlord leapt toward the grounded demon from different directions.
One wolfman pinned down her right arm, two others took a leg each, while the final ninja held a paw over the girl's head and another atop her left arm. He whistled in affirmation.
"I've got her, now hurry up and take your light sphere!"
"Don't lecture me about punctuality, freeloader!"
And Zarestia placed her hand on the demon's chest, grasping at something beneath the surface. In just a few seconds, she would be able to extricate the light sphere and fully regain her powers.
Suddenly, the demon lurched upwards, struggling in the wolfmen's grip and throwing off the great spirit's hand.
"Don't think this'll be so easy," she cried. "I'm still‒"
"Shouldn't kids like you be asleep at times like this?" the lead Halibel said, delivering a controlled karate chop to his captive's forehead. This strike to her head, in conjunction with the earlier injury sustained from Theresia's kick, as well as the pain from being struck deep in the gut, seemed to incapacitate her well enough, and her struggling ceased with a thunk against the floor.
Zarestia seized the chance, roughly grabbing at the unconscious demon's chest. Ribbons of light leaked through some aperture of mana through the girl's body, and the great spirit pulled at them as if they were ropes in fantastical tug-of-war.
Theresia observed this, analysing the girl's body as the great spirit yanked at the source of power she had taken unto herself. Soon after falling unconscious, her horns retracted and her body lay limp in the Halibels' grip. With each jerk of the reaper's arms, her expression grew tighter, a yelp escaping her parted lips as she found her instincts begging for action, her body unable to oblige. Theresia had deactivated the effects of her blessing, but the vestiges of damage would still persist for a while longer as normal.
A final tug proved fruitful, and Zarestia obtained the light sphere in her hands. She stumbled back a few paces from the force of that pull, but once she had regained her balance she stared at the sphere in shock.
Shock turned to excitement, to elation. She held the sphere aloft, presenting it to the world, and cackled.
"Ahaha!" she cried out joyously. "After so long, I have my power back! Fuck yes!"
Zarestia brought a hand to her mouth with an 'oop', recalling the constituents of her company. "But hey! Theresia! You see this?!" and she brought the sphere to her chest and absorbed it.
The light filtered through the spirit's body, her skin seeming a few shades brighter. She met the Sword Saint's gaze with a bright smile, intent to fulfill her end of the contract. "Theresia, I..."
But Theresia hardly spared a glance to her companion, instead levying her attention to the motionless girl on the ground.
Or rather, not so motionless.
It began with a twitch, then a tremble. The Halibels looked on curiously, though they slackened not their grip, preparing for a possible retaliatory attack.
However, the girl's body did no such thing. First, her head twitched, though the extent of it was hindered by the lead Halibel's grasp. Then, her knee contracted. Her hands shook, her shoulders tensed up, her chest rose and fell erratically. Within a few seconds she progressed from reticence to overreaction. Her body seemed to flow with repeated shock, shaking as if she were being electrocuted.
Theresia leapt forward to hold the girl's torso down. She glanced towards Zarestia for an explanation.
"Her body won't react well to me pulling out the light sphere so suddenly," she guessed. "She had incorporated it into her gate, so I think it's having difficulty adjusting to the change in input and output. Let me see..."
The Most Beautiful Reaper approached the seizing young woman and placed a hand along her gate, soon arriving at a conclusion: "No. Her mana flow is completely out of control, it's not following the inherent flow of her body at all."
"Can't that kill a person within minutes?" Halibel asked.
The spirit nodded grimly. "I don't know demon or demihuman or even human anatomy well, but if mana flow was reversed in the body of a spirit, it would instantly explode."
"That's because spirits are made of mana, though. In the case of a humanoid, it would probably kill the body through mana poisoning, or something..." Halibel muttered, at a loss for what to do further.
Theresia stared at Zarestia. This could not be the end of it, surely? There had to be something they could do. The spirit seemed uncomfortable under her companion's expectant gaze. She was hoping this moment to be one of celebration, of the pair crying out in joy ‒ though it would probably just be her crying out ‒ at the spirit once again becoming whole.
"I'll try something," Zarestia relented. She placed both hands on the girl's body, gripping tightly and shutting her eyes in concentration for a few seconds. Light swam through the spirit's fingertips, seemingly leaving the demon in excess. Within moments, she ceased her shaking, returning back to her previous unmotion.
"You didn't kill her, right?"
"Shut up, dog! Of course I did not," the spirit scoffed indignantly. "I absorbed most of her mana, but I am a wind spirit, not a water spirit, so I cannot change the flow at all. I at most bought her some time, half an hour or so before the little mana remaining within her sufficiently poisons the body. She needs a strong water spirit, or even an experienced water mage to fix the flow of her mana."
"An experienced water mage, huh..." Halibel mumbled. After the girl ceased her seizing and the topic shifted to saving her instead of subduing her, the wolfmen relinquished their grip, as did Theresia. The Sword Saint met the shinobi's eyes, clear expectation being communicated. She gestured to her left hand.
"Seriously? I'm not sure how that guy's gonna react to us bringing in the terrorist who killed several dozen people!"
"You owe her, wolf," Zarestia said. Before Halibel could manage even a 'what? how!', the spirit continued: "Oh, and now that I have my light sphere back, you're going to be much less of a nuisance from this moment on, lest you find yourself encountering a hurricane in your town, alright?"
And the Halibels, defeated, held their heads in their collective paws as they wondered what exactly they had done to deserve this situation.
Notes:
hihihi (//・_・ //) It has been literally a year since my last update. Miss me? Anyway I wrote this in like, thirds. I did the first 3 scenes in the first half of 2022, the middle scenes in December and this last one in the past few days. Fun? Fun.
Also I couldn't have this beta-read so sorry if it's shitt orzzz
Do NOT expect chapter 4 soon. Hell is awaiting me this year, ripperonis. I might find it within me to do some wholesome family bonding, I very well might not.
Hope you enjoyed <33333
Chapter 4: Tiger Lily
Notes:
thank you to shansome for emergency consultation on this fic!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There weren’t any flames at first.
She looked around the settlement in wonder. It was her village, that one she’d found herself in; the one that picked up strays like her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw them walk past, her ‘friends’, if she could even call them that.
The nice neighbour, her fellow woman, that man she’d been talking with recently. When she went to turn the corner, they weren’t there. When she turned around, there they were.
Dancing flowers of heat leapt across the humble village, invoking desecration in all that she had found holy ‒ all that she had found at all.
There they reappeared ‒ her ‘friends’. The nice neighbour had been entirely engulfed in fire, sweltering flesh dropping to the floor in a lifeless heap. That woman she befriended was dangling in a monster’s grip by her head. In the monster’s other hand was that man she’d met. The hands clapped, meeting together those bodies in a rain of gore. Blood splattered across her face.
“Kyahahaha! These meatbags look much better now, dontcha think?”
She drew forward with a run, sprinting towards the monster with horns shining white. Sticking out a hand in the hopes of pinning that monster down and tearing it to shreds ‒ fruitless.
“Aren’t you a feisty one!”
A beast’s mouth thrust into her from the side, and she was sent tumbling into the scorching flame, heat lapping at her skin.
She moved to roll and struggle under the fatal heat, but her body lay immobile. The heat tickled and bit at her and radiated throughout her body while she lay there dying. Blood, pollution pooled at her feet as the monster stood above her, dripping from its open arm.
It moved to drop this pollution into her mouth, and she was powerless to resist, strength dissipating by the second and pollution filling her insides. She moved to scream, to yell, to cry in pain and decry the tragedy, to call that neighbour back to life, to pick apart those enmeshed chunks of her friends, to put them back together in a way that mattered and go back to the blessing of ordinary life. She moved to‒
“Wi...tch… cul… tist!”
-awake with a start.
The demon girl took a great gasp of air, escaping the clutches of that nightmare once again. That very same nightmare, an imperfect recollection of the terror of that night, had plagued her these past years.
She tried to shut her eyes tight in response to the residual panic encroaching upon her heart, but all she saw behind her eyelids was the rent flesh of that night. Balling her fists, she forced her eyes open.
What greeted her eyes were the wooden panels above her, forming one of those traditional Kararagian ceilings. She gathered she was in a house of some sorts. When she attempted to shift her position from lying down to sitting, she was struck with a throbbing pain in her skull.
She reflexively lifted a hand to soothe it, but found her arms weak and sluggish. Nonetheless, she forced the hand to her head and let it fall onto her face, unable to keep it aloft for long. She worked at massaging the migraine away.
Through the buzzing aura permeating her skull she heard the clink of metal to her right, prompting her to gaze at its source. A pair of knitting needles laid down on a table next to a chair, and in that chair‒
“‒hk, you!”
Her eyes met that scarlet-bedorned form of a monster, dark clothing and even darker panels of glass hiding wretched blue eyes devoid of life. As she huffed through her nose for the first time, she smelt it as well; miasma.
She scrambled into a sitting position, despite her body’s protests and the migraine worsening. Lifting an arm, she pointed at the witch cultist and issued a threat:
“This time… you’re absolutely going to regret it…!”
The demon girl prepared to engage the cultist beside her bed, readying her fatigued body for yet another encounter. As she pooled the mana in her body, she realised with a shock that she had lost possession of the light sphere. No matter. Even if she had lost the light sphere ‒ in fact, even if that cultist had taken it ‒ she was still a demon, high and proud.
The demon pooled her energy and moved to raise her ho‒
“GAH‒!”
The girl was thrust back into the bed, her body spasming in protest. Attempting to invoke her horns had summoned such drastic recoil that it had left her even worse off than before.
She huffed large gasps of air as she felt the recoil assail her body, tensing weak hands into the folds of the duvet covering her. The failure of her attack had left her in a vulnerable position, at the whims of the monster beside her. She had to get ready to defend herself, so she made sure to face them properly.
Her vision swam with swirls of light, but even through those she was able to see the blank visage of the witch cultist, dark eyes behind glass surely taunting her with cruelty ‒
‒ that was the initial thought, but faced with that passive behaviour from the monster, she couldn’t help but reconsider. The witch cultist had barely moved since putting down those needles, even when she dropped from pain back into the bed, they made no attempt to lunge at her, or to do anything at all. They merely watched her curiously.
Come to think of it, had the witch cultist planned to kill her, they surely could have done so while she was unconscious. Did they seriously want to wait for her to wake up to gloat?
She raised an arm to rub away the stars streaming across her sight. Besides the fact that she was missing an enormous amount of power and that her body hurt all over, she felt different. An absence in her soul, a cavity formed by the sudden bereavement of an incorporated power; she felt that the extremes of that power had melted away.
It hurt to think with her horrible migraine, but she was able to do so with an amount of clarity she hadn’t gathered in such a long time.
“You, what’s your game?”
“…”
She met the witch cultist with the most pressing question, but they did not answer, merely staring at her silently. She bit her lip ‒ she wasn’t used to tense silence.
Before she could repeat the question, or ask another, the cultist rose from their seat, grabbing something from the table beside them. They took one, two, three steps towards the bed, stopping before her. She tensed up in response to this threatening behaviour, glaring at them warily.
The cultist stuck out both hands towards her, an item in each. In her right hand, curiously, was the object they had been knitting earlier. It had the form of some sort of animal, adorned in blue and black. In her left hand, a piece of paper that read ‘what is your name?’.
“My name? My name is‒”
✾✾✾
“Reize...”
After answering the cultist’s question, they muttered Reize’s name and left the room, carefully placing the knitted animal on the bed-ridden oni’s lap on their way out.
The echo of her name surprised her, as this was her very first time hearing that cultist speak. The fact that the first word she heard out of their mouth was her own name smelt of some ill omen.
Why had they left her alive? Why had they asked for her name? Did the witch cult do something horrid to the names of people they knew? Reize had a tough time trying to conceptualise how that would even work, but the thought lingered.
“Ya got this reeeeeal unpleasant look on yer face, girly.”
Reize jumped at the interruption of her thoughts, turning to its source. Her eyes met the slitted black eyelids of a wolfman with similarly black fur. He was lounging in a chair by the entrance and brazenly huffing from his kiseru. This was that shinobi, Halibel… when in Od had he arrived?
“We don’t want ta hurt ya, just so ya know,” the wolfman puffed out kiseru smoke. “Well, I did. It’s There-san that stopped us from killin’ ya.”
“There-san…?”
“That ‘witch cultist’ you’ve been tryin’ ta kill for the past few weeks. Y’know, the one who saved ya.”
“Saved me? Ridiculous. How could a witch cultist‒”
“Were ya always this slow, or did the spirit’s orb fry yer brain?” the wolfman chuckled. “She chose not ta kill ya twice, surely even you coulda noticed that.”
Obviously she’d rebuke the notion of a witch cultist sparing her ‒ how stupid. The very same group of people that destroyed her village, wiped out her people… they’d have absolutely no reason not to kill her as well, given the chance.
“Ya can deny it all ya want, but that won’t make it less real,” Halibel said at her sceptical look. “Not only is There-san the only reason yer alive, she’s not even a witch cultist.”
“Liar!” she blurted out. How couldn’t she be a witch cultist? “How do you explain the miasma around her?!”
The wolfman shrugged half-heartedly. “I can’t.”
“Exactly, so‒”
“What I do know,” Halibel sat forward. “Is that There-san doesn’t act like a witch cultist whatsoever. That lass wouldn’t hurt a fly if her life depended on it.”
Reize scrunched up her face in response to that unsatisfying conclusion, but Halibel continued. “I also got suspicious of her at first ‒ though I had different reasons ‒ and now I know with a good deal of certainty that There-san’s as good as they come. If a little pushy…”
The wolfman chuckled ironically with that last comment, but his intended communication was not lost. Reize gripped the sheets covering her legs tightly. “But why would she...”
It made no sense at all. Even supposing the questionable notion that this person wasn’t a witch cultist, she would have no reason to spare Reize’s life after she tried to take her own so many times. It was baffling.
She looked down between her legs, spotting that knitted animal she had left before exiting the room. She reached a hand towards it, bringing it closer for inspection. The shape was a bit off, but it seemed more or less like a dragon with a blue and black colour scheme. It made her wonder what could have inspired the witch cultist… her ‘saviour’, to make such a thing.
“You can ask her yerself.”
Reize looked up, about to demand what he meant when she spotted the figure in the doorway shuffling through with a bowl on a tray in her hands. The figure in turn spotted her, her gaze lingering on the stuffy in Reize’s own hands. As she approached the bedridden oni’s side, Reize felt urged to demand answers, but was interrupted by the strange woman proffering the tray.
“What… is this?”
The bowl in the centre was filled with a beige, sludgy mass and on either side of the bowl were a metal spoon and a serviette. She looked up at the woman for an answer, then the wolfman in the corner.
“Porridge, probably,” he shrugged. “Yer stomach can’t take anything complicated when you’re this weak.”
“It’s for me?”
Reize stared at the wolfman as he barked a laugh at this. Movement met her peripherals and her attention was directed back to the woman who was jiggling the tray at her, an unspoken ‘take it’.
“...I can’t use my arms.”
She tried to lift her arms to take the tray, but she felt even weaker than when she had woken up, so the result was ineffective. Upon hearing this confession, the woman shifted the tray to one hand and used the other to pull forward the chair behind her. She sat in the chair before Reize and placed the tray in her lap.
Grabbing the sole utensil, she tapped it on the rim of the bowl and dug out a spoonful of food, bringing it above the bowl and staring at Reize expectantly.
“You cannot be serious.”
The spoon in her hand delicately approached Reize’s face with purpose, its burdened end aiming for her mouth. She shut this mouth tight, refusing to accept this humiliation without a fight.
As the food homed in on her face, the flavour in its aroma met her nose. It was porridge, so the smell obviously wasn’t that strong, but with it being mere centimetres from her nostrils, with her being as hungry as she was without her realising, with the prospect of long-awaited sustenance dangling before her lips, the smell managed to even overpower the miasma emanating from the woman’s body.
Before she knew it, her lips had parted. The spoon passed her clattering teeth, depositing a pathetic bounty of nutrition onto her tongue. Liquid dribbled down her shaking mouth, which the woman cleaned using the serviette on the tray, patting her chin before readying another round of sustenance.
This continued until the bowl was almost emptied, until Reize realised she could no longer eat any more and merely lay in the bed to sleep. It was when the woman, ‘There-san’, was leaving that Reize realised Halibel had silently exited the room ages before.
✾✾✾
“Who are you, if not a witch cultist?”
Reize’s sudden question caused the woman, who she came to know as ‘Theresia’, to pause over the fire, which was spitting away under the pot that brought the food to a boil. She faced Reize while hunched over the stove, slowly shaking her head in dissent.
“’No’? What do you mean ‘no’?”
Theresia merely shrugged, turning her focus back to the fire. Reize scrunched up her face, dissatisfied.
“Do you mean ‘no’ as in I won’t tell you, or ‘no’ as in I don’t know?”
Theresia didn’t face her as she raised two fingers in her direction.
“You don’t know who you are…?” Reize’s eyebrows shot up at Theresia’s nod. “Did the witch cult take your memories?”
The shake of the woman’s head did little to assuage Reize’s confusion. The woman reeked of miasma, likely had some history with the witch cult, was utterly committed to sparing Reize’s life, and even knitted a small dragon for her for some reason.
She scratched the back of her head as she thought. She wasn’t a witch cultist, yet reeked of one; she acted to save Reize, who was after the witch cult and tried to kill her, and now chose to nurse her back to health.
“Did the witch cult hurt you? Or your family?”
At this, Theresia paused and raised her gaze from the fire, staring into the wall seemingly in contemplation. Reize tilted her head at this response, tentatively settling on a yes even before Theresia confirmed with a nod.
Reize leant back with a ‘huh’, absorbing the information. The stench of miasma draping over her being a result of the witch cult’s victimisation made some sort of sense; in the same way that Reize gained the ability to smell the witch cult after their attack on her village, Theresia had gained the smell of the witch cult after whatever violation they had committed.
DUN! Reize’s thoughts were interrupted with a thud. Theresia laid the pot upon the table next to Reize, retrieving a bowl and scooping the food in. It was still hard to detect through the miasma, but even Reize could tell how good the soup smelled.
She poked at the meal with her spoon, gingerly tasting her first spoonful. It was a basic food, as Reize was still weak on her fourth day, but she had somehow managed to taste some delicacy. Or what Reize supposed a delicacy was supposed to taste like. She hadn’t had the chance to try anything resembling one during her life.
Anyway, the food was amazing. And not just because Reize spent months upon months subsisting purely on mana and hadn’t tasted real food in ages.
After serving her guest, Theresia crouched down into a cushion and began to knit. Reize stared at this critically.
“Aren’t you going to eat too?”
Theresia shook her head, merely clicking away with her needles, likely creating some other strange creature she had been inspired to make. She could have sworn this was also a dragon, but that would have been a dragon with three heads… maybe it was something else.
Serving a guest and refusing to eat was suspicious, but Reize reasoned that a poisoning would have come much earlier than the fourth day, especially after she had regained enough strength to eat by herself (not walk, though; she still had to be helped out of bed).
“You’re impossible to understand sometimes…”
The red-haired woman’s lips turned up into a smile, seeming to relish in the history of that comment.
✾✾✾
‘Trust’ was a strong word, but Reize’s suspicions of the woman abated more and more as the days passed.
For the first few days at this pleasant Kararagian household, Reize had been so weak as to fail to lift even the spoon for her simple nutrition, and especially too weak to ambulate around the building. For both tasks, she reluctantly relied on Theresia’s shoulders. And hands.
Under normal circumstances, being aided by such a firm, gentle hand would have provided comfort for a newly-developed invalid such as herself, but all it did was throw Reize’s perception into disarray and doubt. This was in no small part due to that consistent, suffocating evil aura that seeped through the woman’s being.
It was hard to internalise appreciation for gestures of kindness when her entire body screamed ‘danger!’ from merely existing in the gesturer’s presence.
However, even if Theresia emanated such foul miasma every second of the day, it wasn’t such an active threat as the vicious aura the house’s other occupant provided.
“And you? You can walk now, is it?”
Reize had been hobbling through the corridor when she met the great spirit for the second time ‒ since waking up in this new house, anyway. In total, this would have been their fourth meeting. Their first meeting after waking was abruptly cut short by Theresia’s intervention, as the return of Zarestia’s light sphere also seemed to promote the return of her unfathomable latent rage.
“I can…” Reize concurred carefully, wary of tempting the great spirit’s ire. Even were she not in a heavily impaired state, the demon would be torn to shreds in a second by the full power of an awakened great spirit, so maintaining emotional control of the situation was paramount.
“Huh? What’s with that trailing tone? Are you tryna be all coy or something?” she approached the young woman with purpose, light stomps leaving prints in the floor in her pursuit. “Where was all this back when you were trying to kill us, huh? You looked awfully confident when you broke into my den, don’t you th‒ gah!”
Reize, stricken by terror and stock-still, was rescued by the timely assault of Theresia’s finger into Zarestia’s flank, prompting the gasp.
“What was that f‒ okay, okay I’ll back off, okay! I only came to drop by and check on you anyway, just making sure she’s not causing trouble… don’t look at me like that! You know what I mean!”
Theresia silently provided her side of the argument with a series of meticulously-crafted looks of disapproval and disbelief, eventually claiming domestic victory over the sputtering spirit. Conversations between the two often went like this, at least the ones that Reize witnessed herself; it was entirely possible that she herself was the sole contributor to the tension between them.
Before she had even been able to stand on her own, Halibel had warned Reize to not leave the house until he explicitly deemed it safe. Many in the town were still after her and would have been more than a little miffed to see that she was walking free. Even though she had the tacit protection of Theresia, a skilled warrior by her own assessment, and the subsequent reluctant support of both the great spirit Zarestia and the shinobi Halibel, her safety was not guaranteed.
Smoothing it over with the officials would take some time, and the fact that she had been dealt with, much less left alive after doing so, was a secret to the public.
Thus, even though she wouldn’t have been capable of doing so anyway due to her battered body, Reize was restricted from leaving the borders of this house.
She slowly lowered herself to the floor before the wall, leaning against it for support as Theresia eyed her curiously. Zarestia followed her housemate’s gaze, watching Reize sit down with her own critical gaze.
“So you heal this fast, huh. I guess you are an oni…” she mused. “In a week or two you’ll probably even have regained enough strength to start pulling your weight around here.”
“...right, right,” Reize muttered. “It’s about time I start repaying the kindnesses I’ve been… afforded.”
Reize glanced at Theresia. The red-haired woman’s eyes rarely showed involuntary expression, but she could have sworn she noticed a hint of sadness in that sea of cerulean.
✾✾✾
Two weeks passed before Reize had all the strength of a regular human. She was an oni, so this meant she was still quite frail compared to her regular demon fortitude.
Unfulfilling as it may be, she used this lacklustre power to aid around the house that had become her prison. First order of business was taking over her own care from Theresia, of course consisting of feeding herself and cleaning the room that had become her own.
As it turned out, there was truthfully very little to do in the household besides these two things. Feeding Reize and doing light cleaning were Theresia’s only chores, as she herself had no need for sustenance (for reasons Reize struggled to comprehend) so Reize assuming responsibilities was more about lightening the load on Theresia than actually contributing anything.
Despite being unable to taste food, Theresia was very skilled at cooking and knowledgeable about all different kinds of cuisine, and gave Reize a hand in expanding her palate beyond blood and porridge.
As recalled earlier, Theresia required no, and in fact rejected any, sustenance, so the expansion of Reize’s cooking repertoire rewarded herself more than anyone else. Beyond the spirit, who didn’t seem interested in mortal food ‒ at least the food that Reize made ‒ the only other possible enjoyer of her meals was that wolfman who quickly felt entitled to good food upon his visits.
“Back here again, wolf?” Zarestia said upon walking in on the lounging shinobi.
“I own the place, ya know? I can drop in whenever I feel like.”
“How about you drop dead into an early grave?”
If Reize had been told that this intense hatred of Zarestia’s towards the wolf existed even before she had restored the light sphere, she would have believed it. This animosity came from a place deeper than fashioned rage.
“Oi, what’s with that look?”
“Nothing, nothing… just thinking that I understand your anger towards him.”
“Huh,” Zarestia nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe even someone like you has some sensible parts.”
“All this hostility towards li’l ol’ me, it breaks my heart ‒ it really does.”
Halibel wiped away his crocodile tears with an imaginary handkerchief, pouting at an unimpressed Zarestia. He glanced at Reize, who was leaning on the kitchen counter across the room. “Especially after I went through all that trouble to get you some good news.”
“…! Does that mean?!”
“They said yer free to walk around town as much as ya like,” he nodded. “Provided ya don’t cause trouble, o’ course. And cover yer face.”
Halibel leaned back in his cushion pile against the wall even further, bringing the kiseru to his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to cause a stir, y’know.”
“So I finally get my freedom…” Reize sighed. “I guess I should thank you for going through all that trouble for me.”
She scratched the back of her head with a hand. “Covering my face I can do, but avoiding trouble is another thing… if I smell a witch cultist, I’m going after them.”
“Oh, reminds me,” Halibel said suddenly. “One of the bargaining chips I used for yer pardon was yer ability to smell miasma. The city says ya have to show up to use yer nose whenever they call ya.”
“...you should have led with that.”
Halibel shrugged. “If you ever smell a witch cultist while you’re out and about, make sure to inform me first. Those guys are worth a bit more alive than a smear on the ground.”
“’Alive’?” she scoffed. “You honestly expect me to spare even a single one of those scumbags from a painful death?”
“Oi, I know ya can use that nose and those hands, but use yer noggin too. If we have one alive, we can get information on the other ones. Ultimately, we’d have an easier time tracking down the rest of ‘em.”
Reize huffed and crossed her arms, resistant to the wolfman’s logic. The wolfman in question just sighed as he dealt with the third obstinate supernatural creature he’d met in the past few months.
Zarestia, silent until this point, glanced between the two individuals on opposite sides of the room, offering her own opinion.
“We should just find out where their nest is and kill them all.”
✾✾✾
“This is…”
“The warehouse district, yup,” Halibel confirmed. She’d been prepared for a long journey by cart or foot across the city, but Halibel merely took her by the hand, disappeared into shadow and reappeared with her at their destination a minute or two later.
“And you think the rats are hiding out here…” Reize repeated as she walked forward into the setting sun’s light, Halibel slinking along beside her.
“Lotta suspicious activity ‘round these parts, ever since There-san showed up ‒ and probably a li’l bit before that too.”
Theresia had wanted to accompany Reize and Halibel on this mission, but Halibel said her presence would render the point of it moot, so she begrudgingly stayed behind. Reconnaissance: she was merely to determine the presence of miasma in a certain area of the city.
She had been explicitly told not to engage in combat by both Halibel and Theresia, but both understood on a deeper level that she would ignore that command given the chance. Halibel himself would be able to take care of almost any combatant, so the risk to Reize was low, but one couldn’t help but worry.
Theresia might have suggested Zarestia accompany them were it not for two very important factors in opposition: the first was that, Zarestia, having acquired her light sphere, was utterly incapable of keeping a low-profile. The second was that no-one knew where in Od she was.
Halibel had decided to lease out Theresia’s new house for free for the time being, meaning Zarestia was no longer required to make rent and was often absent from sight for days at a time, merely coming back to check in on Theresia and hurl insults and threats at Halibel and Reize.
In the end, it was just the two of them, Reize and Halibel, on this reconnaissance mission.
“Funny thing, I first met There-san ‘round this area. Same time of day too,” Halibel chuckled, gazing up at the orange sky. “We got off on the wrong paw at first, but she was really convincing and co-operative.”
“’Co-operative’… I can only wonder what questionable things you were doing.”
“That’s just mean, y’know. We have a very productive working relationship, There-san and I.”
“Name one thing you’ve achieved together.”
“Stopping ya.”
Reize was glad her face was covered by a cowl and mask, otherwise the wolfman may have spotted the flushing weakness across her cheeks. He’d said it in such a matter-of-fact and nonchalant way, even though the context was terrible to consider.
“I‒I’m working on repenting for that, okay? That’s why I’m here.”
“Didn’t say ya weren’t,” Halibel smiled at her amusedly out of the corner of his eye. “We appreciate yer co-operation in this matter.”
“Got it...”
“Needless to say,” he continued. “There-san is too. It’d be a shame if we had to execute ya after all that trouble she went through just to keep ya alive.”
“I said I got i‒”
Reize stopped herself mid-retort, nose twitching violently. Her head whipped around, eyes roaming wildly.
“Caught the scent, huh?”
Reize broke into a sprint down the street, announcing “this way!” to her companion.
“Our bloodhound’s on the prowl,” Halibel chuckled. “Well, let’s see where the hunt leads.”
The two strolled ‒ well, Halibel strolled, Reize ran ‒ down the streets, winding between buildings and changing directions seemingly with the wind. Momentarily she would pause in front of a warehouse before continuing ahead, seemingly ignoring some and taking interest in others at random. Halibel mentally noted the ones she paused at regardless.
“Here!” she announced, barely out of breath after running for several kilometres. “This is where it’s strongest!”
“Oh, this is… the warehouse There-san’s first job was at.”
“Hah?” Reize looked at him. “Do you think her scent is still lingering around here?”
“No, no, she was last here more than three months ago, that’s why I’m concerned. It must be more recent activity.”
“…! They might still be in there!”
“Hol‒”
‒d on!, Halibel tried to call out, as Reize promptly smashed open the doors to the warehouse.
The wolfman sighed, trailing in behind her.
“It’s empty!” Reize announced. “There’s no-one here!”
She’d done a loop around the dark warehouse, sniffing for any witch cultists lying in wait. Halibel had sent two fur clones in after her, the main body casually strolling through the centre, investigating the contents of the building.
Contrary to what she had declared, the warehouse was certainly not empty, even if no-one was present there. Piled up in rows and columns were actual tons of material and materiel, lining the floor haphazardly. When Halibel went to peek below the cloth covering a set of crates, the expression he met it with was less than pleasant.
“Ah, she’s not gonna like this.”
✾✾✾
“Thank you for… accompanying me. I’ve never had the opportunity to attend such a big market until now.”
Theresia nodded, hands entwined behind her back. She was used to even bigger markets, considering she had lived in the capital in her youth, sheltered as she was. However, small town life was a welcome change of pace.
Reize seemed to have had a peculiar life ‒ at least that’s what Theresia could tell from what little she shared with her. An impoverished demon girl raised by a single demon mother who had unfortunately perished. At some point along her journey into adulthood, her village of misfits had been attacked by witch cultists. The rest was history.
History that was rather recent and directly led to the circumstances they found themselves in today, but history.
“Theresia! And you!”
Zarestia appeared, flustered and red, seemingly frustrated at something. Reize tensed up and froze, her bag of goods swaying from momentum without her.
Theresia gazed at Zarestia, who appeared to have been waiting for their return outside their house.
“There are people! In the house!”
This prompted Reize out of her reverie, asking a “What do you mean?”
Zarestia scowled cutely. “That wolfman let them in, said they were friends of his, and that he could never say no to them, or something. Anyway, they wanted to talk to you.”
Zarestia specifically pointed at Theresia, which prompted a tilt of her head. There weren’t many people she knew that knew of where she was now, so her thoughts inevitably drifted to considering that people from the kingdom may have come to retrieve her.
She marched forward, Zarestia and Reize in tow, intent on finding out who exactly had come to drag her back.
When she entered the living room, she spotted two guests seated on the cushions lining the floor. Halibel was nowhere to be found, possibly hiding in shame of letting strangers in to see Theresia without her permission.
One of the guests almost instinctively rose after seeing her, before quickly sitting himself back down properly. He was wearing the uniform of the royal knights of Lugunica ‒ which only accentuated Theresia’s worries ‒ and so was likely accompanying a noble, the purple candy floss-haired woman beside him.
“Who are you two?” Zarestia was the first one to ask.
"Good afternoon," the small woman announced, putting down the cup of tea in her hands (that Halibel likely helped her to) before rising from the floor with her knight. “My name is Anastasia Hoshin. We're here regardin’ you and your household receivin’ patronage from the Hoshin Company in exchange for supportin’ our faction in the comin’ royal sele-"
Theresia interrupted her immediately and gestured towards the door, eyes trained on her interlocutor: a clear ‘leave’.
“Ah’m jokin’, it’s a joke,” Anastasia giggled. “Well, ah wouldn’t say no if you accepted the offer‒ ah said it was a joke, okay!”
Theresia gestured even more strongly after that attempted segue, prompting the woman’s attempt at further weaselling out of judgment. The violet-haired man wearing the knight uniform shook his head disapprovingly, muttering something about poor taste.
The knight finally actualised the bow he had attempted earlier, introducing himself and his liege. “It is a pleasure to meet you, madames. My name is Julius Euclius, a member of the royal knights of Lugunica and the personal knight to Anastasia Hoshin, owner of the Hoshin Trading Company and candidate for the royal selection of the Kingdom of Lugunica.”
Theresia, Reize and Zarestia glanced amongst each other. The majority of these words were meaningless to all of them.
“Please forgive my liege’s jest,” the Julius continued. “We in fact came here under the pretence of a different request, she merely felt tempted to exercise some humour.”
“Julius is such a killjoy… ah already said it was a joke, didn’t I?” Anastasia pouted at the apology on her behalf as they sat back down. “Anyway, he’s right. Excuse the joke, we wanted to discuss somethin’ else with ya, please, sit.”
Anatasia said this as if she wasn’t the guest in this situation, but Theresia and her two companions decided to co-operate and sit. Her suspicions still hadn’t faded, however.
“We hear from our dear mutual friend that each of ya are endowed with certain skills that are hard to be find in these parts ‒ well, the whole world. We’d like to request those skills. With compensation, of course.”
“Are you ever going to get to the point of what this request is?” Zarestia raised an eyebrow.
“O’ course, o’ course,” she nodded. “We heard that y’all were after that wicked group we call the witch cult, and it just so happens that we have come into important information regardin’ that lot.”
Reize’s eyes widened, intrigue piqued and leaning forward. Theresia understood now that it would be difficult to dismiss whatever Anastasia was about to request next.
“Specifically, we believe we’ve found the location of a hideout o’ theirs nearby. Additionally, we’re under the impression that this hideout is overseen by the Sin Archbishop of Lust, Capella Emerada Lugunica.”
Notes:
merry christmas! I'm back! I feel like my writing's improved in the last few years (god I hope so)
this one probably didn't have as much fluff and bonding as it needed, which saddens me, but we press on
next is the final chapter! The climax! The coup de grace! I hope you'll enjoy (when I finish it)
tura!!!! (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 02:11AM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 07:22AM UTC
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The_Coomslayer on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 05:11AM UTC
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suffaruwu on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 06:31AM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 07:27AM UTC
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suffaruwu on Chapter 1 Sun 26 Dec 2021 07:32AM UTC
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Memorysoul on Chapter 2 Wed 26 Jan 2022 09:31AM UTC
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Turacoverdin on Chapter 2 Wed 26 Jan 2022 09:24PM UTC
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LittleRunningDemon on Chapter 3 Fri 27 Jan 2023 02:49PM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Fri 27 Jan 2023 03:26PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 27 Jan 2023 03:30PM UTC
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LittleRunningDemon on Chapter 3 Fri 27 Jan 2023 07:11PM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Fri 27 Jan 2023 08:51PM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Sat 28 Jan 2023 12:45PM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Sat 28 Jan 2023 08:19PM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Thu 02 Feb 2023 12:05AM UTC
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Weekend_Ice_cream on Chapter 3 Tue 31 Jan 2023 10:50PM UTC
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AlmaRita on Chapter 4 Thu 26 Dec 2024 10:09AM UTC
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