"Run! I have to... keep running!"
Miles away from the sprawling grounds of Coeur Academy, a lone figure zipped through the untamed terrain. The air was heavy with anticipation as if holding its breath in anticipation of the news that this man carried.
His name was Desmond, a trusted member of the noble Zegrath Clan's elite guard, and he was racing against time to deliver crucial information to his leaders.
The magical power coursing through his veins seemed to lend wings to his feet as he leaped over the rugged landscape of brambles, trees, and rocky outcrops.
His once pristine uniform was now dirtied and torn. Burned wounds slowly regenerated on his face and arms. The air of confidence and nobility that usually accompanied him as a member of the esteemed clan had long since dissipated, replaced by a sense of urgency and trepidation.
Each breath he took burned with exertion, and beads of sweat lined his furrowed brow. Never before had he experienced such physical exertion, even amidst the chaos of war. He was accustomed to wielding his magical energy with ease, effortlessly vanquishing his foes with a mere flick of his wrist.
But now, reduced to fleeing like a wild animal, he felt a deep sense of vulnerability that gnawed at his core.
As he ran, his eyes darted anxiously from side to side, scanning for any signs of danger. He dared not look back in the direction from which he had come, fearing the power of those people who pursued him. What kind of monstrous MORTALS possessed such strength? It was a power that seemed to belong to the ancient Angels who had participated in the Great Supernatural War between the Pantheons, striking fear into the hearts of both Undead and Underworld beings alike.
Yet, the first one was no angel. She was but a mere mortal that Edward was supposed to steal power from while Desmond observed her until she manifested her Fantasm Arm and used holy light to burn Edward to crisps.
When Desmond withdrew to bring the news of his death to the clan, he was mercilessly ambushed by searing flames that reeks of unholy.
He never expected to witness another mortal–no... a demon hiding in human form to share a facial resemblance to the maiden. A sister? Possibly, but a sister that wields a similar but bastardly version of a bladed flag.
The magnitude of resentment and hatred reeking from that cursed flag had frozen his very soul.
The questions burned within his mind, but he dared not seek answers from this terrifying enemy. The memory of their first encounter haunted him, the unfeeling draconic eyes that had met his gaze, leaving him with a deep sense of anxiousness.
The mere thought of thinking the look of this foe sent a chill down his spine. He knew that her appearance would only further cement the terrifying image that had taken hold of his mind. A cold-blooded demon, capable of snapping him like a twig.
Fear gripped his heart, for he knew that his life hung in the balance. His cautious nature had been shattered by the realization that his own actions had led him to this situation. He had underestimated the power and cunning of the lowly humans that they prey on, and now he paid the price for his hubris.
As he ran, his mind raced with thoughts of the woman's sister he had stalked. Would her personality and character allow her to spare him, despite the sadistic gleam in her eyes? It was a ray of hope amidst the darkness of his predicament, a glimmer of possibility that kept him pushing forward, determined to reach his leaders and deliver the crucial news that could change the course of their battle.
Desmond sprinted forward, leaving a trail of dust in his wake, oblivious to the chaos he was causing.
It was an unusually scorching day, the searing heat blistering his skin and making each breath a struggle. He wiped away the sweat that trickled down his forehead, his lips parched and quivering in response to the scalding temperature.
To his surprise, fiery embers began to dance before his eyes, carried by the scorching wind.
Confusion and more anxiety gripped Desmond, hindering him from pausing and assessing the situation. But if he turned around and came face to face with her...
And as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a blistering realization set in — there was a presence watching him.
Panic surged through Desmond, urging him to quicken his pace. With every breath he exhaled, his warm breath turned into a shimmering heat wave that distorted the air around him. The air grew suffocatingly hot, making it difficult to breathe. The flames—cursed fire intensified, transforming the surroundings into an infernal landscape. With each step, the ground beneath him seemed to radiate an unbearable heat, fueling his growing dread.
Desmond's frenzied movements betrayed his confusion and disbelief. The scorching heat enveloped him, surpassing anything he had ever experienced. The urge to scream was overwhelming, but he knew it would be futile. Survival required clear thinking, which meant he had to stop and gather his thoughts before carelessly walking into another deadly trap.
But even when he halted, the scorching wind relentlessly battered him, leaving him feeling as though he were standing amidst a raging wildfire. "Aaargh!" The flames mercilessly touch him. Gradually, his skin reddened and blistered. His magical energy was burned away. Struggling to find words to express his unease, Desmond fell into a disheartening silence.
Before he realized it, the entire area appeared identical. The trees, the rocks, the shrubs – everything was consumed by voracious dark flames, resembling the fiery depths of the Netherworld.
It became nearly impossible to discern which way to run amidst the billowing smoke that obscured his vision, allowing him to see only a few meters ahead.
Desmond stumbled forward, choosing a direction at random. His hands instinctively shielded his face, but the intense heat penetrated his skin, rendering them almost useless. Covered in sweat and soot, he struggled to regain his balance and found himself standing helpless once more.
His face contorted with despair as he tried to comprehend his current predicament. This was the Mortal World, and it was not known for such scorching heat, especially in the afternoon nearing sunset.
"No... I can't... end like this..." He muttered, his words seemingly swallowed by the roaring flames that surrounded him, intensifying the heat and making movement even more difficult.
Suddenly, the crackling of flames reached Desmond's ears from a short distance behind him, causing terror and despair to grip his heart. Footsteps. He urged himself to move, to escape, but it was futile. He could no longer even plead for mercy. The scorching temperatures threatened to consume him entirely, his once-vibrant skin turning crimson.
A pale white hand, engulfed in cursed flames, rested on Desmond's shoulder, its grip tightening with an infernal strength. The voice that followed was casual in tone, yet laced with a menacing intent.
"Found you, you wimpy bat." It said. Desmond wanted to speak, to beg for mercy, but his parched throat betrayed him. The hand left his shoulder, trailing fingers of fire along the nape of his neck, and a figure pressed against him. A voice whispered into his ear.
"How dare you flee from my sight? Did you think you could simply hide from me forever?" The voice snickered, the temperature rising further. Still now, Desmond has not realized the identity of his assailant, and he won't.
Desmond felt the hand at his back disappear as he was lifted off his feet in an unearthly fashion, propelling him to gas his mouth as he was strangled while the heat of the blazing desert burned his flesh as he sailed past. The heat of his body continued to intensify with each passing second as if he were about to be burned alive.
Her breath warmed his ear, sending chills up his spine. "Your fate awaits you, little shadow." The malevolent voice mused.
Desmond flinched, unable to repress his shivers of fear. She laughed. "Oh, are you frightened?" She taunted. "I suppose all of this must have been a dream after all, isn't it? I expected you to wet your pants for someone who just narrowly being incinerated by my fire." She paused before continuing.
"You're really quite pitiful aren't you, a pathetic little bat, too scared to face me."
At her condescending remark, Desmond couldn't help but feel insulted. He opened his mouth to retort when the burning sensation returned and consumed him completely. The agonizing ache overtook him, sending him reeling backward. Desperately trying to catch his breath and regain consciousness, his body collapsed onto the ground.
Desmond closed his eyes tightly, wishing for the pain to pass so that he might regain consciousness and wake up from this nightmare.
"Are you satisfied?" The female's smooth voice asked Desmond. "Is this what you imagined it to feel like after committing such heinous deeds?"
Desmond's eyelids snapped open, as he found himself staring directly into the malicious pair of flaming slitted eyes that were glaring straight at him. Eyes that reminded him of ferocious creatures, larger than human buildings, spew flames of death from their mouth full of razor teeth sharper than a sword.
Dragon Demoness, no—
His eyes dilated.
Dragon Witch.
"Now, allow me to put you out of your misery." She whispered.
Desmond's eyes widened in terror, but he had no means to resist. The flames of vengeance closed around him, engulfing him in an eternal, scorching embrace.
The last thing he heard was voices, a dissonant chorus of frustration directed at her. Despite the gravity of the situation, the voices maintained a casual tone, as if discussing mundane matters while the threat of burning him lingered in the air as he slowly lost consciousness.
"—Come on, seriously? Burning him is a bit much, don't you think?" One voice remarked, their tone tinged with disbelief.
The witch who held his life in her hands scoffed, her voice suddenly changed, filled with a mix of annoyance and determination. "You think frightening him is going to be enough? This guy knows too much. We need to make sure he can't spill a word."
The nonchalant banter clashed with the severity of their initial intent. It was as if they were debating the toppings on a pizza rather than the fate of the man in their custody. As his consciousness wavered, he couldn't help but find the surreal nature of their conversation oddly unsettling.
Another voice chimed in, their tone betraying a hint of apprehension. "I get that, but this? That's crossing a line, even for us."
She sighed heavily. "Look, we've been over this. We can't afford any loose ends. We've come too far to let our operation be jeopardized by one guy."
"But still, there has to be another way, Joan." This time a familiar voice pleaded, her concern palpable. It's that damn Laeticia maiden.
The witch paused for a moment, seemingly contemplating the options. "Fine. Maybe we can find a compromise. We'll scare him enough to keep him silent, but without resorting to such extreme measures."
The threat of imminent harm had not entirely dissipated, but the atmosphere had shifted from a chilling execution to a bizarre negotiation, in the haze of fading awareness.
The voices continued their deliberation, their words becoming more distant and indistinct as his awareness finally slipped away.
~F/CO~
Somewhere underground...
Inside a dimly lit cell,
A prison cell that is beautifully designed yet so technologically. Futurism melding of medieval aesthetics and advanced engineered science. The cell walls are constructed from sleek, translucent nano-glass embedded with intricate patterns reminiscent of stained glass windows found in medieval cathedrals.
The entrance to this cell is a locked arched doorway made of shimmering metallic alloys, decorated with intricate engravings and embedded LED lights that pulse with a soft glow. As it opens, the door emits a futuristic hum, reminiscent of ancient gates creaking open.
Within the cell, the floor is made of exquisite, polished stone that replicates the look of traditional medieval cobblestones, complete with the texture and weathered appearance of centuries-old craftsmanship. Embedded within the floor are concealed sensors and advanced technologies that enable the cell's security systems and environmental controls.
A simple, velvet-lined bed with intricately carved metallic posts and drapery stands in one corner, providing a place for rest. The bed is equipped with a hidden array of sensors that monitor the occupant's vital signs.
Images of almost holographic projections of medieval tapestries, depicting scenes of chivalry and mythical creatures, adorn the walls, creating an immersive and ever-changing environment.
The one inhabiting this, with his hands and legs tightly chained with magecraft-cancelling shackles, a former noble vampire lay restrained on the cold, hard floor. His unconscious face etched with burned marks that no longer heal.
Before him on the other side of the cell, two young girls watched the prisoner silently.
They wear identical uniforms, the color scheme of the garments ranging from black to purple.
Their faces remain impassive and curious, displaying a detached attitude unlike the younger of the two, who is wringing her hands while she fidgets about.
One girl is dressed in a purple frilly Victorian-era dress with black pantalettes, black Mary Jane shoes, and a black hat that has a cyan ribbon on each side. Her dress is trimmed with black lace and decorated with two ribbons: one around her neck and the other tied around her waist. Her long, pure white hair is divided into wavy pigtails that are tied off with a white and cyan ribbon for each.
The odd thing about her is not the unusual empty light pink eyes, but the doll-like arms she has.
The other girl wears a dark, gothic-style dress with purple accents that has puffy sleeves and a large purple bow at the front. The hem and sleeves are frilled, adding to the gothic aesthetic elegance, but also has a mysterious and dark vibe. She also wears white stockings and dark red shoes with white laces. The girl's white hair is tied up with a red ribbon, contrasting with her dark outfit. Her clothing contrasts sharply with the black hue of her counterpart's attire, a stark contrast to her own purplish dress.
Ignoring her green-yellow eyes, one would notice the stitched-up scars on her face.
"Look at him, he's so still. Do you think he's dreaming?" The latter asked, her voice uneasily soft and sweet.
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just pretending to be asleep. He might be waiting for a chance to escape," The other one replied, her voice calm and bored.
"Escape? How? He's locked up in here, and he has no weapons. And he's weak from Joan's flames. He can't do anything," The green-eyed girl said, tilting her head.
"You never know, Jack. Vampires are cunning and deceptive. They can use their mind tricks and their charm to manipulate people. Maybe he's trying to lure us in, so he can bite us and drink our blood," The pink-eyed girl said, narrowing her eyes.
"Bite us? That sounds scary. And exciting. Do you think it hurts?" Jack asked, her eyes sparkling, yet unbothered by the answer.
"I don't know. I've never been bitten by a vampire. And I don't want to be. It's disgusting and dangerous. They can infect you with their venom, and turn you into one of them. Or they can drain you dry, and leave you as a husk. Either way, you die," She shuddered.
"Then how do we kill him? We can't just leave him here. He might wake up and cause trouble. Or he might starve and rot. That would be a waste. We should do something with him. Something fun," Jack replied more while smiling wickedly.
"Well, there are many ways to kill a vampire without using our Noble Phantasms. We could stake him through the heart, or cut off his head, or burn him to ashes. Or we could expose him to Karna's flames, or ask Martha to drown him in holy water... I don't know if garlic affects his kind though. Or we could do something more creative, like inject him with acid, or electrocute him, or freeze him. The possibilities are endless," The other said, listing the options as she looked above in contempt.
Jack blinked and awed, "Wow, you're so smart. You know so much about vampires. I think you spend too much time with Elizabeth. Which one do you think is the best?" The younger girl asked, admiring her.
"I don't know. They all sound interesting. Maybe we should try them all, one by one, and see which one works best. And which one makes him scream the most," The doll-like girl said, grinning.
"Ooh, that sounds fun. Let's do that. Let's play with him, until his mind crumbles. Or we can kill him. And then we can play with his corpse. And then we can find another vampire, and do it all over again," Jack's eyes sparkled, clapping her hands.
"That's what I thought. So how about we start with the first thing that comes to mind and see where it goes? We can work out the kinks later. But, for now, let's go. There's a briefing above." She shrugged, before walking towards the hall exit.
Jack nodded eagerly and stride after her, closing and locking the door behind her. She smiled deviously as she and Nursery Rhyme thought over how to make the prisoner suffer in the worst ways for intending to oppose their family.