Realms of Magic: Demon Invasion

57. The Underworld

After an uneventful journey of switching ships multiple times, we finally arrive in the so-called Nameless Regions: really, a chain of several isolated islands. Located tens of thousands of kilometres away from any major power back in the continent of Alxelis, I sure as heck know why it becomes a haven for criminal operations. Aside from several outposts held by Francia, they are virtually untouched here.

Almost as immediately as we land, a number of men approach us. In response, Agatha simply revealed the tattoo on her shoulder.

"Hey, isn't she Violleta Vonville?" one of them asks.

"That renegade Imperial Guard?"

"Well, yeah, she is," Agatha replies, "now unless you want to draw the ire of two former Imperial Guards, please fuck off."

The group of men scatters grumpily. "You guys really don't mess around with strangers," I say.

"Of course," Agatha replies bitterly. "Back in the old days, I would've murdered them for even approaching me that closely."

In a a very brief flash, I see the past Agatha: a vicious human supremacist. Agatha gulps down her own spit bitterly. "Let's go," she says. "The faster we get off this hellhole, the better."

Agatha leads me into the streets, dim light from what remains of the sunshine with the thick clouds illuminating us. She knocks on a shoddy building, its exterior rotten and a few of the windows somewhat broken.

"Who is that?" a sultry voice shouts.

"Agatha! Agatha Sinclair!" Agatha shouts back.

Muffled happy murmurs are followed by a loud bang on the door. The door opens widely. A young woman hugs Agatha tightly.

"Oh, gosh! I never thought we'd get you back!"

Agatha uncomfortably hugs her back, her hands reluctantly circling the woman's shoulder. The woman breaks off the hug.

She looks at me closely, and so does I. The woman is, perhaps, several years older than I am, with peach coloured hair that is short and straight. A triangle tattoo is present on her left arm.

"You must be Violleta Vonville, the renegade Guard."

"Indeed. And you are?"

"Magnolia Greivy, leader of the Fundamentalists." Her voice suddenly breaks down amidst a small sob. "Or what's left of it."

"'What's left of it'? What happened after the whole shebang?" Agatha asks. Magnolia signals for us to enter the building.

"It's ... empty?" I murmur.

Magnolia huffs and puffs. "Has been for quite some time. We have a hundred or so members scattered across the region."

"A hundred?" Agatha asks. "We used to be tens of thousands strong."

"You're right, Agatha. And even after a mass culling by Irvine, we still had thousands. It's only recently that we have dwindled this badly."

"Something is hunting you, isn't it?" I ask.

"Exactly. We are being systematically slaughtered. By who, I don't know. I think it's the Empire, but some argue that the renegade Guards do it–for what purpose I do not know. Some think the Alliance is the culprit–but there's a damn full-blown war against the Empire, I don't reckon they have the resources."

"As a renegade Guard, I can confirm that we don't give a fuck about you," I say.

"Fair enough," Magnolia shrugs. "To be honest, we've ceased operations in Irvine. We're mainly launching attacks on Elaise and Erwing, as well as some vampires here and there."

Well, I'm not surprised that a bloody human supremacist group has many enemies. They pissed off Irvine, Erwing, Elaise, and the vampires.

"Is the gladiator arena still around?" Agatha asks.

"Why, yes. I myself have been participating to raise money–that is how bad this entire situation has devolved into."

"Well, we can have Vio here fight there," Agatha says slyly.

"Bloody brilliant," Magnolia says, a bright light illuminating her eyes.

"So how does the arena work?"

"Oh, it's easy, really. You are put into brackets. The lower brackets are for those with weaker magic or old gladiators. The higher the bracket is, the more elite the opponents are," Magnolia explains. "Top ten gladiators are incorporated to the highest bracket–including me."

"Well, I'm off to register your name. Agatha knows the intricacies well, ask her if you wish."

Magnolia leaves, humming a cheerful song. "Doesn't look like a significant terrorist organization to me," I scoff.

"Agreed," Agatha admits. "But it used to be."

"That Magnolia," I mutter. "How strong is she?"

"I would be severely injured if I tried to take on her, although I am sure I would emerge victorious."

"Really?" I am shocked. Imperial Guards are pretty much on the top of the food chain outside from immortals-using-blue-fire-and-other-shit. And although I know I'm more powerful than Agatha is, the margin is not very significant.

"The Greivy family had a strong battle mage tradition until they were wiped out by Al-Azhar after publicly supporting the Fundamentalists."

Magnolia returns very soon after. She slams an envelope on the desk and nudges me to open it.

"I tried to get you into the highest bracket," Magnolia bursts out even before I have the chance to open the envelope. "I told them you're an Imperial Guard. But they were stubborn and I could only get you into the second highest bracket."

"Well, we'll have to work with what we have, I guess," I say.

"Yeah. Well, I guess that's good; you don't want to stick out like a sore thumb with that kind of bounty on your heads," Magnolia says.

"A bounty?" Agatha asks. "For the two of us? How much?"

"Two hundred billion each or so. I think Vio's about two hundred and twenty, yours is a bit lower."

"So we can expect a ton of bounty hunters after us," I say.

Magnolia laughs. "No, no! You'll probably get a few."

"The thing is that most hunters don't dare even annoy people with high bounties since they are always extremely powerful. Take this man, for example."

Magnolia pulls a photo of a black man. He is quite muscular and somewhat bald, with green pupils.

Mr Charles!

"Charles of Irvine–dunno if you knew him or not. He has a bounty of about 2,3 billion credits or so and he used to roam this place as a gladiator before disappearing several months ago. Nobody dared to fuck with him, except some salty gladiator who lost against him. The outcome wasn't good."

I see! Mr Charles may have found clues here, which he relayed to Mr Anwar, who then directed us to go here.

"Well, I reckon you should rest here. Tomorrow, we'll go to the arena."