DAY 44-2: UNO
"Wait, wait," Leda hisses, rewinding a couple steps. "Kill who? Us?"
She doesn't receive the opportunity for an answer because when the girl holds up her stick a series of pellets comes darting towards them. Orian shoves her out of the way in time, Ro somersaulting the other way. The pellets explode prior to making contact with the deck. Leda's shoulder is knocked back from the raucous tremor. She slams onto Orian's arm and he emits a painful grimace.
It takes her a while to come to her senses but even then, her movements are slow. She uses her forearms to sluggishly rise from the ground, only to hack like a madwoman when she does. She shields her mouth with her hand, squinting through the black smoke encircling them from the attack.
It's moments after it ascends further into the sky that the two become visible again.
"Paola. Paola," Uno chortles when he sees they haven't perished. "Aim sucks. Aim sucks."
'Paola' sends him a scowl, readjusting the helmet on her head. "Shut up, Uno! Go get the one who went inside!" She holds her magic stick to eye level, squinting and handling it the way she would a gun. "We're taking their filthy heads to the Queen no matter what!"
More minuscule pellets dart almost faster than light—a multitude more detonating than earlier. As Ro takes the smoke as a screen to dash forward, Orian also reacts. He yanks Leda towards him and transports them to the opposite end of the ship—the portion that has their enemies backs turned to them.
Paola takes notice in an instant. She swerves, red from frustration. However, her firing reels to an abrupt halt as a result of momentarily losing her footing on the mast.
The ship teeters and creaks. The thick smoke circles all around them like an impenetrable void. Leda's heart slams against her ribcage as she pants for air whilst Orian from beside her does the same. But her mind has stopped working. It's a mess.
"Are you all right?"
Orian has a tight grip over his left wrist, his teeth grounded in a wince. He shakes his head, hauling himself to his feet and beckoning for Leda to follow. "I will be fine, Master."
It's because she fell on him. Her stomach flips from the guilt, her mouth running wordlessly for awhile. But then, there's a hand on her shoulder. She jerks back when Orian does, but that caution is dispelled in an instant. Ro.
"You two, back up Nixon. The round one went downstairs."
His voice barely surpasses a croaky whisper, but he doesn't lose sight of Paola who jumps effortlessly from the mast. Her heels click against the deck when she lands, face morphed in a nasty glower. But Ro's right. The other one is gone.
"Run all you'd like," Paola snaps, gripping her weapon. "I'm going to make you suffer like the scum you are!"
Leda swallows, hard. "We don't even know these people," she hisses, her breath hitching in her throat. "Do all Hearts come at Spades from the get-go like this?"
"It is extremely rare." Orian is glaring into the distance, cautions still high and alert. "They do hate Spades, but..."
"This is Edaps territory. Not Straeh." Ro keeps his weapon aimed firmly towards her. "You are a royal guard! What are you doing in Pashee?"
"You people from Edaps truly are as ignorant as they say." A cackle floods past her lips. She brushes aside a stray hair from her cheek, widened smirk and eyes reflecting her insanity. "'Edaps territory'? You're the ones who stole our land from us. Then act like you can come strolling into our kingdom with that high-and-mighty attitude of yours. Sickens me to the core, honestly."
"Stole?"
Leda bites down on her lip, rigidly, but she's already spoken. Paola's steely eyes narrow into slits and flicker onto her. For a moment, she prepares herself to run. Orian and Ro have gone on guard as well. But she doesn't fire this time. She merely places a hand to her hip.
"Those greedy, greedy Spades." Her language is a lot looser than Ro's and Orian's—her use of contractions on par with what Leda's accustomed to. But it's the coy smile that quirks her wretched lips that causes her knees to buckle. "Do they not even teach their people about their dark history? That their kind deserves nothing but punishment."
There's a strange look in her eye as she says the word. Her chin is high—haughty. Like she knows something. Something dangerous. Something about the Spades.
Ro doesn't seem to catch on.
"You people are not clean of sins either!" he snaps. There's fire smouldering in his eyes—disgust, anger. He aims his weapon at her head. "My distant fathers and mothers had no choice but to put you deceitful Hearts on a leash. You began that war!"
Paola shuts her eyelids. There's no ridding her discontent. "Why am I engaging in conversation with a bird-brained Spade?" With the sway of her stick, a long black vine shoots out. A whip, decorated in nothing but thorns dangles by her side. "You know what, I've changed my mind." She licks her lips, a chuckle bubbling from her throat. "I'm going to drag you people to the deepest and darkest dungeon to hang. Then I can spend your last days torturing you to your last breath. Getting to see your blood spatter—hear you scream for mercy... Ah, that sounds absolutely delightful."
She swings her arm forward. Like the snap of lightning, the vine comes straight for Leda. Clank! Using his halberd, Ro barely manages to deflect the attack in time. He digs the heels of his feet into the ground, but he recedes. The vine that's been deflected flings right, slamming straight into the wood and leaving a dent the size of a crater. Water splurges from it like a fountain, and the left-side of the ship sinks. Fast.
But Paola hasn't quit her attacks. She slings back the whip and slashes it back at Ro. He skillfully parries her never-ending stream of attacks. Screeches erupt when the thorns scratch against his axe. More ear-splitting snaps result as well as craters into the ship's floorboards.
The further Ro backs due to the ricocheting of the attacks, the more painful looking it becomes. Paola snaps the whip close enough to knock his arm off but he pivots. It's not long after he loses his balance and collapses onto one knee. And even when she reels it in, and his muscles constrict—trying to move—he can't. It hadn't been easy from the start.
Ro's torso buckles over his knee. From all that evading and jumping he heaves in and out in rapid spurts. It's not on a regular level of exhaustion. It's a faint-worthy amount—the cold sweat darting like bullets down his face is evidence. Leda's feet twitch; her stomach clenching. But Paola's demonic laugh and whip has already swung straight for his heart.
She tackles him out of the way in time. They collide onto the ground. Her chin hits his armour—hard enough she can taste metal. Through her spiralling vision, she hops onto her knees. She stumbles slightly at first but shakes her head like a dog to rid her of her disorientation.
"You're being too reckless," she pants her scolding. "Stay out of action—"
Her voice catches in her throat when she realizes Ro's consciousness is gone. She swallows, hard. Crap. Did she do that? Well, clearly he's in no shape to be moving; let alone fighting. Besides, if the impact of hitting his head is enough to knock him out, it's proof he's pushed himself way too hard. It's better off this way, then, given Ro's track record for being stubborn.
Leda swivels her black-spotted vision to Orian. "Hey—"
Paying any attention to her is out of the question. In the amount of time it'd taken Leda to shove Ro out of the way and reassess his well-being, Orian has taken hold of the situation. Utilizing a strewn sword from the ground, Orian barely dodges Paola's whip. He slams onto his back proceeding a powerful strike. "Mas...ter! Go on without me!"
She doesn't even have the leisure to argue. If Ro's in this bad of shape, Nixon must be incredibly weakened as well, regardless of his past military involvement. Seeing as she, a complete novice at self-defence, was able to flip him quite easily yesterday only serves as a testimony of that.
Her feet twitch, senses high and alert. Soon, she's on her toes with enough force to potentially twist her ankle. Employing her palm, she regains her balance when she pushes off the ground, and it acts as the perfect support to dart her towards the stairs.
"Orian, look after Ro! I accidentally knocked him out!"
His poise falters with another piercing screech of their colliding weapons. "Y-you did wha—"
"Where you do think you're going?" Paola shrieks. "Come back here!"
The whip spirals towards her at the corner of her eye. Orian is too slow to react but she dives towards the open doorway and steps before she can make contact. The impact forfeits Leda's footing for a moment but she recovers it straightaway, hearing a snap when her feet lands back onto the floorboards. The pain that results is lost to her. The boost she's received is the only important thing.
Leda dashes down the steps, skipping two to three steps at a time. Her ears are alive, her heartbeat ringing with adrenaline. Life or death; fight or flight. She's forgotten this click. This feeling of being alive.
But now she's not fleeing from the cops or angry people she's pickpocketed. It's far worse—terrifying. A nightmare she can't outrun.
There are puddles—leaks springing from the floorboards in all directions. They're sinking. How long did they have until they were beneath the water? Five minutes at most? Ten? Dammit, and this situation is nowhere near as romantic or awesome as the Titanic, too.
The shattering of glass is loud enough to knock Leda's heart off beat. Her heels screech to a halt, eyes wide and darting. Her chest rises and falls as she jerks her head around. Nixon? Where is he—
The planks to her left burst like confetti. She shields her face with her arms at once, but the impact has enough force to send her hurtling backwards. Shards, splinters—it hits her all over until she collides onto a pile of debris behind her. She fights a scream, much to no avail, bringing her knees to her chest as she does. She doesn't even want to open her eyes—assess—the stabbing wood slivers piercing every inch of her skin.
It's the sound of splattering that halts her wild curses and groans. Like ice slinking through her veins, it's unforgiving. Unimaginable. Bile rises in her throat. She has to use all she can to get up.
Leda stumbles like a newborn fawn, her churning stomach the least of her concerns. She ignores the shards piercing her calves as she drags herself across the floor whilst using an undamaged wall as support. All she wants is to run to where the sound came from—to where Nixon is—but she can only limp.
The tremors from above. Images of a passed out Ro and Orian. Her imagination spirals out of control.
She hardly registers the wetness of her cheeks until a tear rolls to the ground. No. No. No. Nobody can die. This is supposed to be her starting point. Her second chance at life. She made her mind up when she decided to come out here. That she won't allow something like that trickle in, ravish everything, then leave like always.
But when has death ever cared what I allowed? The thought is just as black as her vision. Misfortune stretches as far back as the plains of her memories. It's taken everything from her since she was born and wouldn't be afraid to do it again. All because she's too weak.
But, hasn't she already accepted that?
Leda staggers through the opening of the control room, and is unsurprised in the least to see every speck of the room enveloped in blood. Nixon's bloodied body is sprawled, unconscious. The crimson-dyed man giggles like an idiot as he licks his scythe up until the moment it shrinks back into the shape of a cherry red lollipop.
Her vision turns fuzzy. Nausea drenches her from head to toe as he slowly spins around. His physique and cloak are definitely round, but not his face. His jagged, bony chin and hollow turquoise hues drills fear into the depths of her being.
"Leda, did you hear? They say that when people die they'll meet a robed skeleton holding a scythe!"
"Grim reapers don't exist, little bro."
"They so do!" The nine-year-old stamps his foot. "Some people say that you'll either go to heaven or hell or that you'll be reincarnated, but I'm telling you the grim reaper mercilessly keeps your soul for himself! He kills thousands of people every day, not sparing even a single life if they beg. He has to be really, really messed up to enjoy doing what he does. And carrying out the job for centuries would obviously drive them mad!"
Leda pays heed to every syllable only to roll her eyes. "Khenan," she starts.
"I'm telling you, Leda!" he hisses. "The grim reaper is bad news! You need to run if you ever see one!"
As if he ended up running. He couldn't. Not from death. And she can't either.
Her consciousness slips in and out of focus, like a flickering light switch. Her body sways until sideways, she falls, hitting the floor with a loud crunch. Her blurry vision fixes itself on the head placed conveniently in front of her. But she can't move. She can't even barf.
Nix's cheerful smile isn't on his mangled face. Rather, it's pure fear, melted away by his petrified, gaping look.
"Because Spades are greedy, they will loose what matters most to them. Because Hearts are passionate, their affection will drive them mad."
Uno's eerie chant and cackle stabs into every bone and fibre of Leda's tattered body.
"Your heads will fit right in with the rest of the Queen's collection." He crouches over, allowing his scythe to curl around her neck. "The dead always do."