Chương 53: CHAPTER 52 – Gentlemen

In the galleries beneath the ruined city, the confrontation between Roman and Jeanne had reached a stalemate. The orange haze had dissipated, just as the vegetation on the ground had. Jeanne forced herself to swallow her own blood and mucus, pushing them back down. Her pupils struggled to stay open, weighed down by blood and exhaustion.

"Will you stop holding back?" Roman asked, limping toward her. His blade had broken, returning to that silver foil with which he had first pierced her. Jeanne gripped her suit tight, reduced now to a mass of holes and bloodied tears.

"Go to hell instead!" She stopped grinding her teeth, drawing the scythe's blade from the ground. The metal's surface had been reduced to a crust of soot and thick, filthy paint.

"A mastiff would have twice your elegance." He smiled, raising the broken metal above his head and preparing to charge. Jeanne rotated the scythe, fracturing the ground. In that rain of rock, the two blades clashed once more.

"You know, I was thinking…" With an untrackable rotation, Roman managed to dodge Jeanne's kick and trap her leg. In the next instant, her leg twisted, breaking on impact. She bit her lip, losing her vision for a few seconds. The man struck her directly in the stomach, leaving her on the ground.

"That perhaps in hell you might meet them." Roman's face decorated itself with a macabre smile, while hers turned pale with shock.

"Had you truly not considered it? Do you think you are the only one suffering, while your companions are challenging that monster?" He pressed the blade into the ground, fixing the girl with his head tilted slightly toward his shoulder.

"I would not be surprised if they were already dead. Even David feared a confrontation against him…" Jeanne lost all concentration, feeling something burning deep in her gut. An image appeared in her mind, swift as a gust of wind, and just as painful. At her feet, for a single instant, the image of Maliard and Lance, lifeless. Their bodies torn open and unnaturally twisted into a contorted mass of flesh. In that instant, a faint stream of mucus and blood escaped her lips along with a copious flow of tears.

Roman turned his head and sighed.

"I imagine that suits you well enough…" He smiled, drawing slowly toward her side, swinging a thin phalanx of dark mire between his fingers.

"After all, a monster like you would have no reason to concern herself with it!" The blade of bone sank into her neck, stopping halfway. Roman pressed harder still, yet remained unable to push his knife any further. Jeanne slowly turned her head, revealing her eyes wrapped in a crimson halo, much like that of blood. Around her wound, veins began to pulse, crushing the blade in her neck with force.

"Is this the appearance Maica spoke of?" The weapon of bone and mire snapped, bending his wrist. Roman took a step back, but was reached immediately by Jeanne. Her heel dislocated his shoulder at once, hurling him into the wall.

"This strength…" He slid to the ground, feeling the impact of every fragment of debris against his body. He wiped the blood from his lips, thick and dark. Jeanne seized a protrusion, gripping it so hard the entire small raised space cracked. Dark, dense tears welled from her eyes, smearing her cheeks further still"I see you have finally stopped restraining yourself…" He smiled between one cough and the next. With speed, he brought his hand to his pocket, drawing out a greenish, luminous vial.

Jeanne gasped, saliva flowing freely from her lips.

"LET US ENJOY THIS LAST DANCE, DEMON!" The syringe shattered between his fingers, immediately releasing a thick, dark vapour. The girl drew back with a hiss. Roman swept the smoke away, revealing his body fully revitalised.

"Ascan and Ed have done excellent work this time." The smile on his lips seemed almost luminous. He rolled his shoulders slowly before pressing his hand to the ground." Dush…" From the earth emerged dozens of black limbs, ready to seize Jeanne. The girl snarled, shattering the ground beneath her with a kick. In an instant, Roman closed the distance, striking her squarely in her lacerated side. All the black fibres across his skin trembled, contracting like muscles.

Jeanne bounced between rock and debris, slamming down a few paces from the only way out. Her hair began to lighten, slowly growing longer as veins pulsed through her flesh.

"This material will sustain me only briefly… I will kill her with the next one!" He leapt down from the rubble, seizing a tentacle that had emerged from the ground. It immediately transformed into a heavy axe. He took a step, raising the heavy axe above his shoulders, when a whistle reached his ears.

"I could be mistaken, but this is not how a gentleman treats a lady…" A voice reached his ears, followed by a thin, greyish mist. A moment later, his chest was pierced by what appeared to be a walking cane. The golden pommel, covered in his blood, and that malevolent air began to go to his head.

"ENOUGH GAMES!" He swung the axe with force, sweeping away the cloud of haze. The hole in his chest had vanished immediately, leaving not even a wound or a scar visible.

"You are an agent of NOIR as well, am I right?" Roman turned toward the long corridor, settling his gaze on the figure mantled in red. The person tapped his cane against the ground three times, each time with a different tone. A new wave of smoke filled the hall, followed by a series of light, sharp whistles.

"Certainly. But before introducing myself, I would prefer to attend to my companion." Roman turned sharply, stunned the moment he noticed Jeanne lying in the man's arms. A syringe protruded from her neck, exactly where he had struck her.

"A pity, having to report this mishap to Lucas…" He murmured regretfully, letting the girl get back to her feet on her own. He smiled at her and immediately removed his hat, handing it to her.

"Mr… Ross?" At the girl's question, the man nodded, pointing the way to her left.

"Do you not want to go help them?" He smiled, stroking her head. Jeanne's eyes immediately regained their colour, brightening at once. Edvard took the scythe from the ground and offered it to her. The girl seized it the moment it was within reach, darting off into the darkness.

"You are not following her?" Roman asked, lowering the axe to the ground. Edvard turned toward him, releasing ever more mist from beneath his coat.

"There is no need. I cannot help them against Grayson Dirac." He answered with courtesy, maintaining a measured, calm tone. His cane struck the ground a second time, this time spinning on itself shortly after the impact.

"Ross… That name comes from high society. What are you doing in an agency like NOIR?" Roman smiled, almost rapturous at the sound of that surname. Edvard sighed, leaning on his faithful cane.

"Still on about such trifles? The Ross family collapsed after the war. What remains of it now is nothing but a skeleton in the hands of governments." He laughed heartily, moving his hand as though to wave something away from in front of him.

"You must be Roman Dostoj? I imagined you coarser in your manner. Forgive my candour." He smiled, rising from his rest. Roman nodded slowly, tightening his grip on his weapon.

"Do you hate that girl so much you must resort to that drug to kill her?" The mist grew steadily denser, slowly swallowing Edvard's figure.

"After all, that organic substance was my ace in the hole, in case Ascan and Maica's theories proved true…" He immediately covered his own mouth, looking around.

"Why did I say that?!" He thought, sliding the axe immediately onto his shoulders. A sigh echoed in the darkness of the haze, bringing him back to his senses.

"Did you happen to say something out of place?" From the tone of the voice, Roman understood immediately that it was mocking him.

"Do not toy with me, coward!" In a burst of fury, he rotated the axe above himself. The rotation cleaved the mist in two, yet his blade severed nothing.

"Mr. Roman…" A voice, carried on a groan of pain, reached him from behind. He turned slowly, hoping his mind was simply playing him a cruel trick. A tear escaped his eye when he made out the girl.

"Maica?! What are you doing here?" Instead of answering, she pressed a hand to her chest, brutally mutilated by a slash. The man's voice began to break, but Maica remained still and pale. Her blue dress was soiled with blood, just like her lips.

"ANSWER ME!" He threw himself at her, trying to help her, but the woman vanished the instant he managed to graze her chin. He shook his head, staring at the untouched, dry ground. On his hands, not a single drop of fresh blood, only solid crusts of vines.

"Oh, dear… Seen something unpleasant?" Edvard stroked his shoulder, brushing off the dust. Roman's pupils filled with blood, erupting all their fury toward him. An enormous limb of mire and bone emerged from his forearm, driving through his chest. Blood sprayed from Edvard's lips before he was brutally severed in two. His torso fell to the ground, immediately followed by his legs. His entire body began mixing with the blood in a grotesque pool. Roman drew his limb back inside his body, gasping.

"What grotesque work." The corpse smiled, transforming into mist and vanishing into the air. Before him, Edvard Ross presented himself once more, entirely unharmed and perpetually wrapped in columns of haze and smoke. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"How dare you fight in so vile a manner!" A series of finger bones flew through the air, exploding behind Edvard. The cane in his hand had risen and splintered, deflecting the projectiles.

"My power, unfortunately, is not suited to confrontation. I use only the methods I have been granted." He explained with a smile, gripping the iron pommel of his rod. With a single tug, the entire body of the cane fragmented, dividing into a long, sharp, violet chain.

"But I believe it more honourable to give you a clue…" The whip vanished into the mist above him, descending across the ground like a shroud. Suddenly, Roman felt screams pass through his eardrums. He scanned his surroundings immediately, confirming that only Edvard was present.

"My power manipulates the horrors in the mind of anyone who breathes this mist…" He drew a deep breath, blowing an enormous curtain of smoke before him. The only sensation that remained for Roman, wrapped in that terrible haze, was the hiss of the whip. The sound stopped for an instant, before a crack resounded through the grey air. He stared in horror as his fingers fell to the ground and the whip retreated into the mist." Dush!" A thick series of bones erupted violently from his side, spreading like a wing.

The iron flew out of the haze again, bouncing off his armour.

"Do you believe yourself invisible?" From the wing of femurs and humeri shot a dart of black mire, crashing somewhere in the mist with an explosion. A hand freed itself from the grey wall, entirely bloodied, the bones visible. A moment later, the rest of the body rose from the mist, showing holes in his garments dripping with blood. Limping, he managed to display the remains of his cane with a smile stained by sweat and red.

"Got you." Edvard murmured, collapsing to the ground with a sound like a wet cloth. Roman fixed him with even greater hatred, pointing his finger directly at his skull. A second blow exploded from his index finger, detonating the head of the corpse before him. The body remained there, motionless, contracted in a series of spasms that disturbed the pool of blood.

"Got you." All the fury in his body turned to terror as he saw a row of Edvards materialise before him. Each fell to the ground exactly like the first, accumulating into a wall at the edge of the mist.

"Got you." The voice echoed in his bones, growing louder as the bodies multiplied, piling atop one another.

"STOP THIS!" A second wing unfolded from his side, opening in unison with its twin. A burst of bone and skulls pulverised the wall of flesh and swept away the mist.

"Are you not losing your composure rather badly, for a gentleman?" His arms fell to the ground, along with the tips of his wings. The whip grazed the ground, leaving a trail of sparks. Roman tried to shield himself, but Edvard struck him directly in the face with the handle of his cane. Roman's neck bent backward, snapping to the side along with the rest of his body after the second blow.

"More resilient than I expected…" Edvard studied the scratches on his knuckles before lowering his arm and reclaiming his cane. Roman sprang upright, his eyes fixed on him.

"Your mist has vanished…" From beneath the ground, a series of shadows made their way to the surface. In an instant, their lances pierced Edvard's abdomen and sides, forcing him to his knees. A pool of blood spread at his feet, slowly absorbed by the dust and earth.

"Did you perhaps believe my ability could be kept at bay simply by keeping your distance?" Roman smiled, regenerating the bruises and vertebrae of his neck. Edvard pressed a hand to his side, gripping his own red flesh hard.

"Of course not. I would not underestimate you so much." He smiled, sliding off his coat. The garment fell wet into the pool of blood, scratched and pierced throughout from the chest down.

"You know…" Roman stared, eyes wide, as his opponent slowly began transforming into smoke. From his wounds began a constant jet of ashen mist.

"I am someone who takes decidedly too many precautions!" Edvard smiled, passing his hand through the holes obscured by the haze. Roman swallowed, rising with the remains of his axe.

"I knew you were a Kontrolle … But not of this kind." He joked, smoothing his beard between sighs. He let the remnants of his weapon be absorbed into his wings, now completely intact.

"This little trick is something I learned only recently. A gentleman must always have an ace up his sleeve... Or more than one, in my case." His skin returned to normal, as though he had compacted the smoke back into muscle and bone. He retrieved the cane from the ground and leaned on it.

"So what brings you here? Are you so interested in that scientist?" Edvard asked, taking a step toward him. The tip of his cane echoed through the hall at a slow, steady rhythm. Roman folded his wings, opening his mouth.

"Plans of Malcolm's client. The details are marginal to me. I have already lived through the burdens of ignorance." Edvard smiled, halting his steps.

"I see… You are continuously regenerating your tissues to prevent my mist from taking effect." The pommel of his cane spun sharply, opening into a long series of sharpened chains.

"But how long will you last while defending yourself?" An orange gleam crossed his face, almost as though his eyes had fixed themselves on his very soul. Roman smiled, drawing from the ground a pitchfork, thin and composed of a tangle of bones and ligaments.

"I find myself wondering, rather, how long you can sustain that form…" A gash formed between him and Ross, a few fingers deep and long enough to span their distance. Edvard took a step back, cracking the whip. The bones of shadow and the metal collided, releasing sparks and ichor. In a burst, Roman closed the distance, preparing to strike his opponent. A cloud of smoke struck them both, stripping their vision. A shadow emerged from Roman's back, extending its arms beyond the mist.

A crack split the air, cleaving the cloud and the creature in two. In an instant, Edvard and he found themselves face to face once more.

"Struck." A whisper crossed the air before a violent eruption of black, miry beams shot from the pitchfork, passing through Edvard's arm. In place of a copious spray of blood, a thin flow of smoke released into the air.

"Decidedly so…" Edvard smiled, striking Roman full in the face with his arm, fully regenerated. The man took a step back, seizing his cane. With a violent grip, he pulled him close.

"Does he really carry this much strength?" Edvard's thought stopped as he was hurled away by Roman's kick. The force of the blow drove into his abdomen, fracturing his ribs. He found himself sprawled on the rock, the whip, stained with blood, still in his hand. Roman took a step forward, gripping his pitchfork firmly. His arms were covered in strange, greasy scars dripping with dark liquid. He stopped walking, extending a finger toward his shoulder.

"Not bad… For an Anchored One!" A violent jet of blood shot from his neck, floating through the air and spreading everywhere around him.

"Another illusion?" Roman asked, sliding his index finger into the gash in his own flesh. Edvard let a grimace escape him, nodding slowly.

"However hard you try, the mist has already reached a small part of your brain. What you seized was my arm…" In that brief exchange, Edvard had cracked the whip the moment Roman seized his wrist, leading him to believe he was unarmed.

"You know the Anchored Ones, and from your conduct you do not strike me as an ordinary citizen." Edvard remembered well the meaning behind that name, the shame of his family. The merchants anchored to an old curse of the past: The Ross.

"I hate people like you. Lapdogs who only know how to feed themselves." Roman shifted his tone, making it harsh and low.

"Young master! Young master! Come with us, please! Your father will be glad to see you." A faint memory crossed his mind, perhaps guided by the toxin slowly devouring his synapses.

"I imagine the Ross wronged you in some way… You have my condolences." At those words, Roman ground his teeth. He gripped his beard with force and began pulling at it, trying to mask his agitation.

"Your family and the rest of those dogs devoured everything… So much so that nothing remains!" The tendrils moved beneath his legs, digging into the earth with force at every stomp.

"My family? I am sorry to disappoint you, but…" His voice grew spectral, as though those words were a conviction etching itself into the air of that underground space.

"For me, the Ross family died during the war." Roman released his beard, fixing his narrowed eyes on Edvard, standing before him.

"It matters not to me! Dogs of the past or dogs of the present, you remain dogs all the same." The vines of mire wove themselves around his arms, doubling the size of the pitchfork, now turned into a trident.

"Always wallowing in gold until you drown." The points of the weapon moved through the air, releasing a grim and threatening hiss.

"With all that gold you ramble about…" The chain began rotating around Edvard again, as though it were an insect. The sound of the air and the lament of the trident mixed with the wind of the galleries.

"I could have bought myself something better than this." Both vanished as the mist continued to thicken. While the two gentlemen confronted one another in the depths of the island, Jeanne climbed quickly up the steps of the old sorting system. Her legs struggled to keep pace, and yet she kept climbing. Atop her chestnut hair rested Mr. Ross's hat.

"I will not waste this chance…" At last, a faint light brightened her vision, followed by a roar. She seized one side of the opening, dragging herself out. Around her stretched an irregular, scorched expanse of debris, almost as though it had been swept clean. Long, contorted iron stakes were driven into the ground. She turned her gaze, staring with horror at the remains of the mountains in the distance. Immediately after, a white flash blinded her sight, followed by a crimson gleam.

Jeanne gripped her scythe tight and began running with all her strength, following the roars and flashes. On the coast of the capital, for the city's poor labourers, the hammers of the alarm clocks readied themselves to ring.