Preeminence

Ch. 02: Catfight

You stood face to face with the last person you wanted to see in this palace.

He leaned casually against the wall, his arms folded leisurely across his chest. His ginger hair seemed almost out of place among the white backdrop of the hall.

You'd recognize that smug smirk anywhere. You glared daggers into him, but it did nothing to deter his smile. He simply stared back with amusement gleaming in his cerulean eyes, seemingly unaffected by your venomous glare. He chuckled.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite errand girl!"

His laughter grated on your nerves like nails scraping against a chalkboard, and yet, there you remained unmoved. If you could strangle him senseless, you would have already.

"... Tartaglia." You managed to say his name between clenched teeth. His name tasted foul on your tongue, like dirt.

It was obvious what he was doing here, why he was standing in front of you now, as he always did whenever he happened to show up wherever you were when you least expected it. Just who exactly did he think he was?

It seems like the masks shared your sentiment, judging by the way they started muttering their displeasure to one another. Even so, their grumbling quickly subsided, replaced by a collective silence that permeated the air. Tartaglia looked amused by the silent treatment that they provided, though he was certainly not intimidated by it. He straightened himself and approached you. As he drew close, you saw his grin widening ever so slightly.

"Hello to you too, [Name]," he said, his tone full of mock sincerity. "Say, our last duel ended in a rather unsatisfactory manner, don't you think? How about we settle things right here and now to determine the victor?"

You scowled at his words. There doesn't seem to be anything else in his mind other than fighting. All he knows are fights and bloodshed, nothing else. You wondered how far his ambitions stretched, how far they led him.

"If it is a fight Lord Tartaglia wants, then it is a fight that he will get!" The mask representing a warrior bellowed, his voice sounding like thunder in the night. "Master, let us accept his proposal. Let us show him your might — the might of Otobide!"

"Calm yourself, brother Otobide," the fox mask intervened. "Let us not act hastily, shall we? We must not let our pride take precedence over our duty to Master."

But it was clear that Otobide was unperturbed by the fox's words. His attention was solely fixed on you; his eyes glowed with the promise of battle and excitement mingling together within them, awaiting your verdict.

As their words hung heavily upon the air, you found yourself unable to speak while the masks kept on muttering amongst themselves. Each one of their words seemed to echo inside your head. You could hear their whispering, and every word they said, loud and clear.

With every passing syllable, everything around you seemed to slow down. Only you and your little bubble remained, cut off from the outside world.

"Kitsunemen is right," the mask of an old woman said, her stoic countenance giving no indication of her emotion. "Besides, what could Master possibly gain from fighting a weak opponent such as the lowest ranked Harbinger? This is no proper duel at all."

Otobide scoffed at her comment, the anger and contempt evident in his tone. "And who are you to tell me who is a worthy opponent? Who is the strongest among us? Reluctance to fight will only hinder Master's growth. You can hardly deny that, can you, Uba?"

Their argument continued unabated, and you were beginning to lose your patience. This had gone on long enough, you realized. The masks, while usually quiet, were always quick to express their dissatisfaction and disapproval at any situation. You hated to be in the middle of such a scene, having to listen to their bickering even more so.