Chapter 11 - Artists

Author's Notes:
-Hey there! D.A. here with the latest chapter, which actually did not take nearly as long as I thought it would. A few things to note:
-I'm not very comfortable writing fight scenes. Brian's generally better at that, but I gave it my best shot, and apparently it came out alright.
-I'll also be doing the next chapter, which features another epic fight, and which will be the final chapter!! Woo!!
This all being said, enjoy :D



Kat wanted to put the world on pause. Finally, she had found an opportunity to speak with Dolosus alone—and he had even agreed to it. But Maion’s invasion was still well underway. Each passing moment brought the organization closer to a glorious victory or a devastating fall. More importantly, Altojo and Crimson were still fighting, and their wellfare weighed heavily on Kat’s troubled mind. Why couldn’t time just stop and wait for her to catch up?
She looked over at Dolosus. He seemed to be okay, save for being a little winded and a few cuts that still bled just a little. Most would close fairly soon, but the slash running up his torso worried Kat. She had no medical supplies on her, and anything in the storage room that could have helped had been lost in Dolosus’ battle with Ikonu. She sighed.
“Stay still for a sec, I’m gonna see what I can do about that cut.” She instructed, and began removing the bandages from around her feet and ankles.
“Kat, I can handle this, don’t-“
“Men,” Kat interrupted, sighing and rolling her eyes, “would you just shut up and let me help you for once?”
“You kind of just saved my life.”
“…That doesn’t count.”
“Oh, okay.” Now it was Dolosus’ turn to roll his eyes. Kat laughed and went to work, first carefully pealing the blood-stained fabric of his shirt from his skin, then wrapping the bandages around his body to stanch the bleeding.
“Aren’t you going to need those?” Dolsous asked.
“Not really. I mostly just use them to cover up these marks,” Kat said, gesturing towards the tiny, wing-shaped marks on each of her ankles, “but everyone here already knows about them, so no biggie.” Kat finished fixing up Dolosus’ wound to the best of her ability, and for a moment, there was silence.
“…I meant what I said up there.” Dolosus began, “you know, when you, uh… saved me.”
Kat blushed, and butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Doubt, however, lurked in her mind. There was no way. He couldn’t mean it. Why would he? Are you really that stupid? Why would he want to kiss you? As if he could feel anything for someone like you.
“Dolosus, you were in a life or death situation,” she said, unable to look him in the eyes, “I don’t know if you really realized…”
“I don’t regret anything,” he insisted, “I’m happy about what happened between us. It just, you know… took me a while. I’m not used to this. Emotions and… affection. I’m not good with things like that.” But Kat still looked doubtful. He sighed, “What can I do to convince you?” She said nothing. Dolosus was at a loss. Finally, he put his hands firmly on her shoulders and looked her right in the eyes, hazel burning into gold.
“Kat, I mean it this time,” he said. Then, he pressed his lips against Kat’s and kissed her. Butterflies the size of hawks thrashed about in her stomach as if to break free. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to receive his tongue. She could not bring herself to believe what was happening. All this time with Dolosus, going on missions, living in the Organization, and she had never dared to think that they would be like this. Dolosus held her close, his arms now around her waist, and he felt as if he were falling into the sky once more.
Neither knew how long they spent thusly engaged. When they slowly separated, both reluctant to do so, they were silent for a long while.
“…We need to get back to the others.” Kat said, at last.
“Yes…” Dolosus said quietly, “Demonic is calling me to fight. I feel her urgency.”
Kat nodded, and Dolosus raised his scythe, then swung it down to create a wormhole leading back to the main hallway of the Organization’s headquaters. No doubt, the others were still fighting there.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Dolosus muttered, and the two stepped into the portal.



“Demonic wants to see me? Now? In the middle of all this?” Altojo wondered out loud. He listened closely and determined that the fighting had died down a little, but that could simply mean that Maion’s force was taking time to re-group and prepare for a second assault. Then, he got to wondering why Demonic would want to see him alone. She probably had orders for him regarding the current situation. But then, she knew that he worked better with Crimson and Kat. Why was it just him?
“Crimson, which way to Demonic’s room?” he asked, as he had no convenient way of determining this without sight. He heard her footsteps across the floor, then she stopped and called to him,
“In the direction of my voice.”
“Thank you.” Altojo turned, but as he was making his way to the throne room, he heard a familiar voice,
“Crimson, Altojo!” Kat cried out to them as she and Dolosus steped out of a womhole in the main hallway. Kat sighed in relief, seeing that her two friends seemed virtually unharmed but for a few minor cuts and bruises.
“Seems like you’ve faired well here.” Dolosus observed.
“Naturally,” Crimson responded, facing the two, “But I highly doubt this is the end.”
“Agreed,” said Altojo. He walked towards their voices and joined the group. He faced where he figured Dolosus stood and said, “your master wishes to see me alone. Any ideas why?”
Dolosus shrugged,
“Does it matter? You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. You have to go.”
“…I see.” He said, and nodded. He paused briefly, then said, “Dolosus, I wanted to thank you for saving Kat from that man with the arrows earlier.”
“It’s… nothing, really,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in this unfamiliar situation, “she’s already made it up to me, to be honest.”
“Regardless, I believe I now know for certain where your heart lies.” Altojo offered his hand, and a small grin touched his lips, “I’d be proud to consider you a friend.”
He hesitated a little, but then Dolosus took the offered hand, with a just a hint of an awkward smile.
“That’s for me as well,” Crimson said, and placed her hand over Dolosus and Altojo’s, “you have been fighting quite a battle, Dolosus. But as long as you protect Kat… you have my trust.”
Kat placed her own hand over Crimson’s. She sniffed, trying desperately to hold back her tears. She seemed to struggle for quite some time to find the right words to express her gratitude, but then simply said,
“I frickin’ love you guys.”
It was at that moment that Demonic’s messenger, the marshmellow fairy creature, returned. It landed on Altojo’s shoulder and said in it’s squeeky, mouse-like voice,
“The master is getting impatient. Please report to the throne room—immediately!”



Kat, Dolosus and Crimson had stayed behind to stave off the second wave of Maion’s cronies, which had arrived as expected. When Altojo had left them to meet with Demonic, they had been fairing well, and so he was not overly worried. Besides, he knew of Dolosus’ skill and power first-hand, and he would be protecting Crimson and Kat. He figured there was no real cause for concern.
Altojo closed the oak doors behind himself and entered the throne room. He focused his hearing and heard a person’s body nearby; Demonic, no doubt. She approached him hastily, rather than barking at him from her chair as was usual. Her footsteps were strong and deliberate. She stood before him and spoke,
“I trust you know why you’ve been called here.”
“…No, actually… I don’t.” Altojo responded, frowning slightly.
“No? I instructed that blasted fairy to tell you.” She sighed in aggrivation, “No matter. I’m sure you are aware of what has happened here, at the very least?”
“I understand what anyone in my position would.”
“You understand that this is over that file. A file which contains my downfall, supposedly. Even I am not entirely aware of its contents. Maion wishes to gain this file and take me down. Clearly, I cannot stand by and allow her to do so.”
“And what does this all have to do with me?” Altojo was getting tired of this. Let Demonic and Maion settle their fued. He did not care. He wanted to be with his friends. That was all.
“This is all out war, Altojo. It concerns all in contact with either side,” she said, sensing his impatience, “Maion has long been my rival, but I never forsaw an attack so soon—and on so many fronts. As we speak, my strongest face hers. Those gifted with marvelous and frightening abilities are pitted against each other. But, alas, in the end, is it all futile? Are their efforts, and mine, for nothing? Only bloodshed will show me the answer. The strong prevail, and the weak become their food. Then, when all is said and done, the strong shall write history and become the heroes. Such is the natural order of things.”
“Impressive,” Altojo said, “an entire monologue saying virtually nothing.”
“Are words truly so useless to one with such hearing?” she said with a hint of amusement. Her voice was oddly calm and confident. Her words alone would impy worry and anxiousness, but her heart beat evenly, her muscles were relaxed, and her entire body sounded at ease. This was wrong. Altojo listened for anything else unusual, but the raging battle just beyond those wooden doors distracted him. A girl screamed distantly. Was it Kat? Crimson? He had to get back to them!
“Get to the point, already,” he said impatiently, ignoring her previous comment, “Why did you send for me?”
“Altojo… Kat is in grave danger.”
Panic struck him like lightening, sending a shock of fear through his veins.
“I knew it! I should never have left them—I have to get back there!”
But when he tried to run to the door, he couldn’t. He tried once more to move his feet. They were stuck to the floor.
“What have you done?!” Altojo snarled, and his body temperature began to rise. As flames sprung from his hands, however, he heard Demonic move suddenly, and now his wrists were weighed down somehow. Next, he felt a liquid of some sort creeping down his wrists, to his hands, dousing the growing flames. It was sticky… her ink! She had smothered his flames with her ink! But this weight on his limbs…
“You’re probably rather confused. Disorienting, isn’t it? Not accustomed to this helplessness, obviously.”
“Lying dog!”
Demonic laughed, and continued,
“I never lied. Kat is in danger. Grave danger. But now you can’t do anything about it. My ink has seaped through the cracks in the floor to encase your feet. I have painted chains on your arms connected to the floor, and smothered your flames. You have been defeated, Altojo,” he felt cold, sharp metal against his neck, “if you have any last words, I would hear them. Chose carefully, I don’t allow rough drafts.” A touch of amusement sounded in the last sentence. There was a pause.
She had tricked him… distracted him with meaningless words to prevent him from hearing the movement of her ink. And now he was going to die. He had expected the whole “life flashing before his eyes” experience, but his mind was blank. But as Demonic pressed the blade against his skin, obviously becoming impatient, Altojo thought of his friends. Kat and Crimson would be okay. Dolosus would protect them. But if something happened to him…
“If I see Dolosus again any time soon, I’ll kick his @$$ right out of the afterlife.”
Demonic laughed,
“I’ll be sure to relay that to him.”



Maion’s scouts were not giving her much positive feedback on the invasion. Demonic’s fighters were truly powerful. It seemed that she had underestimated them. This was why she had decided to step in for herself. No use trying to wittle down the pawns. It was time to check-mate the king, and Maion knew that she herself was the only one capable of bringing her down.
As such, Maion had opted to make use of a passage to Demonic’s room that one of her spies had made her aware of during the course of the invasion. A system of passages ran through the walls of the building, which were made just wide enough to allow for a relatively thin person to move about in them. It took a little longer than expected, as the passage was difficult to navigate, with few hints as to where she was. It was necessary, however. Her target was the strongest she could hope for, and dealing with underlings may needlessly tire her, or cause her to lose her focus.
Finally, she reached what seemed to be a dead end. Maion pressed her ear to the brick wall and listened closely. She heard a man and a woman speaking. The man’s voice sounded only slightly familiar , but the woman’s, she recognized immediately as Demonic’s. Maion frowned. Then, quite suddenly came a noise. A piercing sound. The sound of metal in flesh. Maion knew it well. Demonic had eliminated another obsticle. Time was running out, and Maion knew she had to act.
Stepping back from the wall, she examined it closely, taking in and scrutinizing every brick. At first, it looked completely ordinary. Soon, however, she saw that one brick was loose and stuck out ever so slightly from the rest. Maion, perplexed and rather curious, removed the brick and watched the wall.
Nothing happened.
Of course… Maion thought, smiling, Demonic would never resort to such cliches. But how to get through…




Demonic stood over Altojo’s body, watching blood continue to spill from his neck onto the marble floor. She smiled vaguely.
“Good thing I opted for tile. It would take ages to clean that out of a carpet.”
A sound. Demonic whirled around, searching for the source. She could see nothing unusual. No one was there but herself and Altojo’s corpse. Then, it occurred to her. She knew the sound. It was the brick. Someone had entered the walls and had reached her room. They had removed the loose brick, alerting her to their presence, and now all that stood between Demonic and the intruder was the remainder of the brick, wood framework and plaster. Demonic readied her brush, muscles tensing slightly. She heard the rustling of clothes beyond the wall. Her foe was moving. A battle was near.
All at once, the wall blew apart. Demonic grunted and raised her arms in front of her face to protect herself from the falling debris. Chunks of brick, wood and plaster fell, and a cloud of dust obscured Demonic’s vision.
“Who is there? Show yourself!” she called out, her voice strong, not betraying a single hint of fear.
“You mean you don’t know?” came the answer from the dust and debris. Demonic squinted and saw a dark form walking towards her as the air began to clear.
“Maion…” she said, “What took you?” her lips twisted into a sneer, and she regained her composure, “Don’t you think we’ve played this game long enough?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Maion responded. The dust had cleared from the air by now, leaving Maion and Demonic facing each other, and a massive creature looming some distance behind the former.
So that’s how she blasted through that wall… Demonic thought as she gazed on it. It was an enormous spider. It’s back nearly brushed the top of the cathedral ceiling of the throne room. The head was of a woman, with stringy locks of white hair hanging about her face, six gaping red eyes, and a wide, fanged grin. From the main body shot out eight hairy legs, with a pair of giant hands attached to the front two.
Impressive… she thought, and I’m sure she has even more up her sleeves. Even I don’t know every tattoo at her disposal. This will be interesting.
“So, my dearest friend,” Demonic said as she walked towards Maion, “Ink versus ink, it seems. Your power is truly impressive. Such a shame for it to be lost to the-“
The spider’s left hand slammed down where Demonic had been standing just seconds ago. The room shook and tile cracked from the impact.
“I have no interest in whatever you have to say to me. Just shut up and fight me.”
The spider brought its face in close to devour Demonic, it’s fanged mouth open wide and ready to taste human flesh. Demonic reacted quickly and jabbed the wooden end of her brush into one of its fiendish eyes, then pulled it out and wiped the fluids off on her robe. The creature wailed in pain and drew back, and she saw her chance.
She readied her brush and began to paint in the air in front of her, ink rushing to the tip. The spider was slowly regaining its senses. A little more ink. A couple more strokes. It was getting closer.
Finally, it was done. A flash of green light, and a raven spread its wings and took flight. Maion frowned. Demonic grinned confidently. They both watched as the black-feathered creation soared around the flustered spider, its beak digging into its prey’s flesh. Gashes appeared, one after the other, blood spilling and screaches of pain echoing through the room. Finally, the great arachnid siezed the bird with one of its hands and slammed it down onto the floor. With one last strangled chirp, ink spilled, and all that was left of the raven was a black puddle on the floor.
“’Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore’.’” Maion said, a smirk on her lips, “That one is from Poe, by the way.”
“I’m fully aware of the literary reference, thanks. You’re not all that damn clever. And your beast is not all that strong.”
Maion looked up at the spider. Demonic’s raven had managed to cripple two of its legs and cause it to lose quite a bit of blood. It swayed awkwardly, dizzy from its injuries, but not quite finished yet.
Demonic decided that would have to be remedied. She sent ink to the tip of her brush, but rather than painting any sort of beast or creation to do her will, she simply swung it in slightly curved lines through the air. Now, several thin, crescent-shaped ink strokes hung in the air. As the spider slowly regained its bearings, Demonic thrust her hand out in front of her, palm open, as if she were pushing the air. The ink soared towards the beast, and cut through three more legs, the head and main body. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the creature’s body collapsed onto the floor with a heavy “thud!”, tile cracking beneath it. Maion scowled and closed her eyes, and gradually, the spider and the blood it had lost seemed to dissolve into the air until it was gone, leaving no trace of its presence.
One down, Demonic began readying herself for a counterattack, what will she try next? Her brush danced in the air, and soon she had painted a new weapon for herself. She took hold of the spear with her right hand as soon as it had solidified, holding the paintbrush with her left. Thus armed, she charged at her foe, blade at the ready. Maion clenched her teeth into a snarl and prepared herself.
The first thrust of the spear missed. As Maion began to throw a punch, however, Demonic slammed the pole into her side, sending her sprawled onto the floor. Demonic stabbed downwards at her, but she rolled to the side and the spear glanced off the tile, putting Demonic off balance for a moment. This gave Maion her opportunity to get to her feet. She sent a punch that connected with Demonic’s stomach. She was stunned, and a few more blows landed before she thought to retaliate. She swung her spear blindly, not being able to aim or think properly under Maion’s assault. The tip of the spear made a thin cut just below Maion’s bust, and Demonic took the extra second she had gained to step back and put some distance between herself and Maion. She soon regretted having allowed that extra space.
Maion threw her hand out in front of her, and a tattoe of barbed wire running up her arm sprung from her skin. She swung her arm, using the wire as a whip of sorts, with one end still connected to her arm to allow her to control it. Demonic jumped back, but the barbs succeeded in tearing the front of her robes and cutting through the flesh of her chest. Demonic flinched from the new pain, but the wounds were not deep. Maion swung the whip again. The wire wrapped around Demonic’s spear, and with one strong tug, Maion pulled it from Demonic’s grasp and sent it flying across the room, where it liquified into the ink that had created it. Another swing of the whip. Demonic dodged this one, but Maion quickly used it’s momentum to aid a second swing, which sent barbs digging into Demonic’s arm. She grunted in pain, but continued to dodge and receive blows.
Maion smiled like a cruel child over an ant hill. How she enjoyed this—the sight of her rival prantzing about like a puppet on a string in her attempts to avoid the wire. Soon, Demonic was panting, sweat beaded her forehead, and blood trickled slowly down her arms and chest. Grinning madly, Maion swung the whip hard. This time, she aimed to do some major damage.
“Wha…What?!” Maion gave a start, disbelief overtaking her. Demonic had not dodged the whip. She had not even tried. Instead, she had raised her arm in front of her and let the wire wrap around it. The barbs sunk into her arm, but Demonic did not show her pain.
“You’re absolutely mad!” Maion cried out. She tugged slightly on the wire, but it was embedded in Demonic’s arm and would not move easily. With a look of grim resolution, Demonic suddenly pulled on the wire with all of her strength. Both women exclaimed in pain.
Demonic had literally ripped what had remained of the wire in Maions arm out of her body. The wire tore out of the lower layers of her skin, leaving a bloody gash where it had just been. Demonic, however, also paid for this manuever. The barbs dug even deeper into her arm, and blood drenched her robes.
Gasping with shock and pain, Maion stared at her own bloody arm. Never had she experienced this kind of pain. Her mind went numb with it, which gave Demonic the time she needed to gingerly pull each barb out of her body, flinching with each one she removed.
Finally, Demonic tossed the wire to the side, her arm dripping with blood still, though not as heavily. The two met eyes once again.
“You dog…” Maion snarled through her teeth, “I really liked that tatto.”
“My most heartfelt condolences.” Demonic readied her brush, wondering which tattoo Maion would resort to next.
“Oh, don’t beat yourself up over it,” Maion answered with a smirk, “Now you’ll get to see my favorite one.” She then spread her arms and closed her eyes. Demonic watched as an enormous bird emerged from Maion’s chest and soared into the air above them.
“Copy-cat…” Demonic muttered, thinking of her raven that had been squashed by Maion’s spider. Maion glared fiercely at her and said,
“Don’t you dare! I had this tattoo before you even claimed that brush!”
Demonic shrugged and tried not to become distracted by wondering how Maion would know that. She was about to make another comment when the bird swooped down to land in front of her. It chirped shrilly, flapping its giant wings so that feathers rained down around Demonic. She made no huge effort to avoid them, but soon, thin cuts began to appear on her body, though none of them particularly deep. Could it be the feathers? They seemed too soft and fragile. Then, with fast, precise movements, the bird snapped it’s beak at her and she did her best to dodge it, though she was slowed by her injuries. Left, right, right again, lower, then up again, moving almost too quickly for Demonic to react. Soon it managed to nip at her shoulder, drawing blood. Demonic scowled and slammed her brush into the bird’s head as hard as she could. While it was dazed, she sent ink rushing to the tip of her brush. The bird recovered too quickly though, and before Demonic could paint anything, it bent down and charged at her. It head-butted Demonic in the stomach, and she fell to the floor on her back. The monstrous bird opened it’s beak wide, drawing in close to her. She panicked for a moment, but at the last second, she took her paintbrush and shoved the ink filled end into the bird’s throat.
It chirped in alarm, rearing back and spitting up saliva and ink. Demonic had just managed to extract her brush from the bird’s mouth, and it thrashed about, flustered and confused, wings outstretched and feathers flying off. A giant feather brushed by Demonic and she flinched and looked at her arm where it had touched her. A thin cut dripped blood, and she frowned deeply. Then it is the feathers… All the more reason to end this now.
She moved her brush rapidly through the air and painted a dagger. It solidified and she took the hilt. She rushed towards the bird as it writhed and sputtered, avoiding stray feathers as she went, though still receiving another cut on her cheek. She readied her dagger to end it,
“No! Not that one!” Maion cried out, and the bird began to sink back into her skin, as if it were being sucked into a vacuum of sorts. The bird had been saved, but Maion, enraged, was not quite finished yet. Glaring murderously, she took a dagger of her own from a tattoo on her forearm and charged towards her foe.
Daggers met and metal clashed. The gloves were off. No more fancy tricks. The two women fought with steel, both thirsty for blood. Maion gained the upper hand quickly, backing Demonic further and further towards the wall. It was all Demonic could do to defend against Maion’s attack fueled by rage. And yet, she did not seem worried.
What is she up to? Maion wondered. She stabbed at Demonic, but was blocked. Demonic attempted a counter stab, which was dodged, What does she have up her sleeve now?
And that’s when it began. Maion felt dizzy. She shook her head to regain her focus, but it only worsened. She swayed on the spot, feeling herself growing pale. The room was swimming in her vision, and the dagger fell from her hand. Demonic laughed.
“I win.”
“F…frack you…!” Maion fell to her knees on the cold floor, “what have you done?!”
“I’ve poisoned you.” Demonic explained, and she took a seat on the floor next to her. She went on, her tone conversational and very matter-of-fact, “your bird got quite a helping of my ink when I shoved my brush in its mouth. When you returned it to your skin, my ink was mixed with that of the bird, allowing me to force my own ink into your skin, then your veins. Once in your blood stream, it was only a matter of time until you were brought to your death by—ironically—ink poisoning.”
Maion was becoming weaker by the second as Demonic spoke. She sat there on the floor, wondering why and how it had come to this. What had she done wrong? She had planned everything perfectly. She had never faltered in her efforts. If she hadn’t called back her bird… if she had let it go…
“You really should have let your bird die.”
“Shut up!” Maion shouted, despite her weakness, “that tattoo… means too much…”
Demonic rolled her eyes,
“The one fool who will die for a bird.”
Maion glared, but she could not find the strength to shout again. The ink’s effects were worsening. Very suddenly, she doubled over and vomited on the floor, coughing and sweating. Her body was trying to clean the ink out of her system, but it was no use.
“You know, Demonic…” she said in a near whisper, “you were in love once.”
Demonic’s grin instantly vanished, replaced by a blank stare of utter bewilderment. What was she talking about? How did she seem to know so much about her past? More than she herself did, in fact. Demonic glared, and was about to speak, but Maion laughed and said,
“Damn… I could really go for a drink…” and collapsed onto the floor. She was dead, at last. Demonic let out a sigh of relief.



Meanwhile, Mohajon was getting pissed off. His assignment was to search for the file while the others were all distracted by the invasion. While battle raged in the main hallway, he searched every room, every drawer, every nook and cranny that he could get into. He picked locks and broke doors for how long, he couldn’t say, but he had had no luck. Finally, he found himself in what was quite obviously a girl’s room. Fashionable clothes, chic flic DVDs, books, bras and various other girly objects were strewn about the floor, makign it difficult to get across.
At last, he reached a dresser at the other end of the room. Years of searching, spying and thieving had taught Mohajon that important things were often hidden among clothes. A file was also likely to be hidden among other, unimportant looking papers, but save for some empty mission report forms on a night stand, Mohajon could see nothing of the sort. So, opening a drawer of the dresser, he began tearing through the contents in search of his objective.
No luck in the first drawer. Likewise with the second. He opened the third and final drawer, expecting the same, and not feeling very hopeful after hours of fruitless searching. Beneath a couple kimonos, some bandages and ointment of some sort, he saw an envelope. Mohajon’s heart skipped and his hands trembled in excitement. He swallowed hard and took it gingerly in his hands.
“At last…”



It was absurd. Love. What use did Demonic have for such a hinderence? Why should she subject herself to something which had caused the downfall of so many before her? Yes, she had used lust to her advantage on a few occasions before. But love? Obviously, Maion was either lying or dilusional. But Demonic would know for certain soon enough. Maion’s forces had only to see her corpse and they would fall apart. It was over, and Demonic had won. She could have the file and her peace of mind.
The doors of her room slammed open. She looked to the new arrival.
What now?! She thought, irritably.
“Maion! I have the file! You’ve done away with her by now, of course…” Mohajon trailed off as he laid his eyes on Demonic, standing several feet away and watching him curiously.
“You!” he clutched the file tightly.
“Indeed,” Demonic said dully, “Mohajon, right? Her lover, if I’m not mistaken. Oh, and by the way, I am quite obviously not ‘done away with,’ as you so eloquently put it.”
“But… I… Where is-?” but that was when he saw her. He finally caught sight of Maion’s body, laying in the shadows a small distance behind Demonic. He looked like he had been slapped across the face. Stunned into silence, he approached her where she lay.
He stood over her, his brow sweating, his entire body trembling. Soon, with an animal-like groan of despair, his knees gave out, and he fell before her, kneeling over the corpse of his love. Tears began to fall, but he was wholly unaware of them. He reached to her, still shaking, and took her in his arms. He kissed her pale, cold face, his fingers tangled in her soft, golden hair. The file, meanwhile, sat on the floor next to him, all but forgotten.
Demonic came to stand behind him. She considered simply taking the file, but in his current state, Demonic had no idea how Mohajon might react. Instead, she gently caressed his head as he shook, still cradling Maion’s body.
“That’s the trouble, isn’t it. Faith. Trust. Love. All simply lead to disappointment,” she said softly, comfortingly even, though she smiled in triumph all the while, “fate is cruel, isn’t it? And to think… you were so certain…”
Silence fell. For some time, no one moved, spoke, of perhaps even thought or felt. Finally, Mohajon let Maion’s body to rest on the floor once more. Then, his face blank and his movements robotic, he pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it to his side. On his chest, among several other tattoos, was one that was eerily familiar to Demonic. It was a bird, wings spread, seeming about to take off in flight.
“One more permanent bond, we will share,” he whispered, and he took Maion’s cold, stiff hand in his, placing it on the image of the bird, “…I will not live to see your beauty fade in death.”
He then took her in his arms once more and got to his feet. He glanced down at the file.
“I’ll… surrender this to you. We’ve lost. There’s no point now.”
Demonic picked it up, stared at it for a moment, then nodded,
”You have my gratitude. I wont have to kill you too now.”
Mohajon simply smiled to himself at that comment. Then, carrying Maion’s body, he walked out of the throne room and stood outside the massive oak doors.
The battle was still in progress. Demonic’s fighters had now gained a significant advantage. More and more of Maion’s group fell by the hands of the Organization, and the hallway was stained with blood. But still, both sides fought on. Mohajon watched them for some time, until one by one, they began to notice him. Then, one by one, they noticed Maion. Finally, all were still on both sides. Weapons were lowered and spells ceased. All eyes watched him.
“…We’re done,” he finally said, addressing Maion’s fighters, “It’s over. Time to clear out.” He walked down the hallway, and as he went, his allies fell into a sort of prossession behind him, and his enemies parted to allow him passage. Some seemed triumphant, some bewildered, some still craved blood and let them leave only reluctantly. All were silent on both sides. Following Mohajon, a few shed a tear. Some were indifferent. Some were simply annoyed.
It was over? Just like that?
Mohajon felt a hand on his arm. It took him a while to register this, but Kitty had come to walk beside him. She looked to him, then at Maion, and spoke to her as if she were simply asleep.
“…Not you, too…”



Owari.

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