Chương 68: CHAPTER 67 – Hatred and Rivalry

David studied their faces one by one, digging through the distorted air in search of something. Between his fingers, a thin patch of black silk, with peculiar gold embroidery.

"What's with that expression? Have you all gotten scared, by any chance?" The man smiled, fogging and polishing his glasses with slow, circular motions. His eyes gleamed a colour like the summer sky. No one opened their mouth. Only the sound of steam and gears managed to break that grim silence. David sighed, tossing his glasses into the air and pointing at the bleeding mass. The ice had begun to melt and mix with the blood, leaving behind an unsettling trail of diluted, dirty red.

"I am nothing like Malcolm. He chose to remain silent, and I made my choice. I would not have made it if things had gone differently." A look of disgust began forming on the faces of everyone present, each with their own particular shade of it. David furrowed his brow, fixing his gaze on the tips of his boots.

"Perhaps I explained myself poorly? It is no different from choosing what colour to give a painting. Whatever happens simply shapes my will, and the colour depends on that. Simple enough, no?" A new bullet lodged itself in his shoulder, once again ejected by the shards of rock. Smoke still curled from Maverick's rifle, and a series of small silver keys hung from his hands.

"Where is Malcolm? I have absolutely no interest in some little tramp dressed up as nobility." David furrowed his brows, dusting off his jacket.

"Really? Is pursuing your 'revenge' the only thing that interests you? They warned me you would be like this, but this is genuinely sad." The air appeared distorted once again, and David vanished from before them.

"So you would be the witch who uses paint? I imagined a considerably more threatening woman…" Jeanne felt her shoulders seized in a vice, immediately followed by an unnatural aura of cold. His voice caressed her ear as she could feel the hatred and concern of her companions hurling itself toward him. A hiss through the air, but no blood, no laughter.

"Fast… Perhaps too fast." Part of David's cylinder fell to the ground, severed by the girl's scythe. He barely had time to right himself before Monica lunged at him, striking his arms with force. Sparks scattered through the air like tongues of blue fire.

"You are the 'Maiden of Lead'? What a fine name! I quite like it!" A slab of rock materialised at his side, shattering on impact with Monica's kick.

"I understand now… You truly have a death wish." He worked his fingers inside his heavy iron gauntlets. The sound of his bones echoed through the room as his gaze bore into David's eyes, left smiling and satisfied. He extended his hands, framing all of NOIR between his slender fingers.

"I would say this will do nicely… I might add this evening to my masterpieces, if all goes well!" His fingers snapped with a deafening crack, sweeping away the dust as the space behind him distorted, absorbing the partitions and iron pipes into a spherical amalgam. With a gesture of his hand, the grey spread out behind him like a brushstroke.

"What dammed trick do you have up your sleeve?" Maverick murmured, passing the ignition keys from hand to hand. Every sound seemed to cease, replaced by the gentle patter of rain. The grey took on colour, transforming into a magnificent vision of a damp, windswept forest. Faintly, the sweet melody of the wind joined in, along with the lament of emerald leaves. The edges of the vision grew dark and dense, almost as though made of mud. A low, sinister laugh echoed, putting an end to every cheerful, calm sound.

A series of shadows appeared among the skeletons of the trees. The clouded sky had shrunk into a grim, silent night.

"How much time has passed, boy?" Something different crossed the souls of every one of them: a shiver of disgust and fear. A terror driven by human anger toward an abomination. The figures slid out of the grey mass, wrapped in the viscous matter corrupting the air.

"Malcolm's ability…" Maverick ground his teeth, immediately activating his suit. His clothes tore apart, replaced by a heavy, long cloak gleaming with white metal. A black briefcase closed itself around his hand, a sinister violet light emerging from the gaps around its lock. Each of them did the same, pressing the dark disc hidden beneath their clothes. Within seconds, the metallic fabric transformed for each of them, settling ominously across their shoulders.

"You certainly could have made this a little less 'unusual.'" Lautre murmured, adjusting the thin iron plate resembling an ordinary tank top. He seized his glasses, set them on his face, and gripped the mechanical mass on his shoulder.

"We will talk about that later. Right now we do not have time…" Maliard's new gauntlet closed around his wrist, slowly extending all the way to his elbow. It lacked Compulsion's luminosity, but was animated by a sharp gleam, almost alive at moments. His fingers were wrapped in a series of silver chains, connected to a cylinder on his forearm.

"I really must compliment you all! You look as though you have stepped straight out of a tailor's shop!" David smiled, as the shadows beneath his feet continued spreading like oil. He narrowed his eyes, noticing their numbers had thinned.

"You certainly do talk a great deal. Has anyone ever told you that you are long-winded?" Hoku, his face obscured beneath a thin black iron cap, appeared at his side. His cloak reflected against the shadows, while the red light gave a sinister colour to the edge of his thick blade. The air hissed, followed by the screech of iron.

"Would you mind showing me your face? I am not the type for blind dates." A trail of violet crystals rose into the air, illuminating the face of the woman before him. Part of her legs were still trapped in the shadowy mire." Laure?! How could I not sense her?" Lance gulped for breath, gripping his gun harder.

"And who would you be?" Hoku freed his blade, seizing her shoulder and hurling himself away. The moment he touched down, he felt his arm tremble and contort. The woman emerged fully, revealing her attire in red, blue, and white. Across her shoulders a thin cloak, and across her whole body a dress fitted at the waist and full across the legs.

"Thank you so much, dear Laure… Would you mind telling the others to come out too? If it is only Malcolm and me, we might genuinely be considered a 'cliché.'" Laure smiled, striking the shadows with force with her heel. The entire mass began to boil, slowly separating into several smaller pools.

"Miss Laure… Would you mind taking your shoe off my head?" A low, spent voice murmured as two white hands gripped the floor. The woman laughed, leaping behind David and allowing the figure to rise along with the others. The first was the one beneath Laure: a young man in a simple white shirt, streaked with strange patches of dense black mould.

"Come on, Ed, get into position! Mr. Roman is already working elsewhere!" From the largest pool emerged a young girl in a dark canvas suit, stained with oil and thoroughly ruined, and an unsettling sphere wrapped in a shirt. Her face contorted with every attempt to raise her companion upright: a lardy creature, dressed in a grotesque bluish suit with a green stripe pattern. His short, tousled hair was greasy, just like his thick moustache, resting atop that pudgy face.

"Yes, yes, I understand, coming…" Surprisingly, he rose quickly, making the platform shake with the impact. David applauded with satisfaction, a childlike smile plastered across his face.

"Is Ascan already in position?" Maica asked, fixing Angel. The boy wiped away his tears as he nodded, massaging his head with every movement of his neck.

"I genuinely have a bad feeling about this…" Maliard murmured, slowly reaching his hand into the inner pocket of his suit. Maverick seized him at once, fixing him directly in the eyes.

"That is not Compulsion. Try not to overdo it." Maliard nodded, letting his companion release him. Immediately they arranged themselves in a curve, fixing their gaze on NOIR, as the forest continued to decompose further and further. Laure leaned forward, fixing Lance with a leer. She brought her hands to her lips and blew him a kiss, leaving the boy with a look of nausea.

"So you would be the woman from Arden Ring? At least you got the physique right…" Lautre smiled, appearing behind Lance with perfect calm. Maica reached her hand into her large front pocket, gripping something with force. Lautre struck his tuning fork against the ground, sending a couple of sparks floating near his own ankle. His gaze fell on Maica's face.

"Did you miss me?" At those words, her face contracted and flushed red. A growl nearly escaped her throat, but David extended his hand to stop her.

"You are the one who killed our poor creation that night… Lautre Clerc? Did I pronounce that correctly?" The man apologised with a faint bow, never once taking his eyes off Lautre's pale face.

"Pronounce it however in the devil you please. I don't really care either way." His grip on the tuning fork grew steadily firmer, ready to use it at full force.

"Since you enjoy talking so much, I would like to ask what you intend to do here. Is this perhaps about Grayson Dirac?" Monica took a step forward, drawing ever closer to the curve. David slowly turned his gaze toward her, shaking his head.

"No, not at all, though our employer does not wish her intentions to be known without at least a touch of theatre." Monica stared at him, mouth open, fingers trembling, as though she had just taken a violent blow. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"What in the devil does that mean?! And how in the hell do you even talk?!" A second shock ran through all of NOIR, sending them toppling like ninepins. David fixed her, confused, but before he could answer, Monica pointed her finger at Laure.

"And you… Are you repressed, or what?! Since you appeared, you have done nothing but stare at every one of my employees!" Laure shrugged, smiling.

"A little lust is good for you, you know? Though I doubt someone inactive for over a century could understand what I mean." At those words, her arms fell to her sides. She bit her lip and turned away. An instant later, something struck Laure squarely in the throat, hurling her to the ground, wrapped in her own blood.

"Lethal force is authorised. Root out the problem as quickly as possible." Monica turned to fix her gaze on Lance and then the rest, returning to look at David only once she was certain they had registered it. She took a step forward, but suddenly something set her nerves on edge.

"Come now, what kind of person calls for the show to begin without all the actors on stage…" Before he could realise what had happened, Lance had pushed her aside, or at least, that was what he believed, in that sea of blood at his side. The concrete at their feet had split apart, leaving behind only a long, smoking black line. Lance let out a few groans, pressing at the mass of dark flesh that his arm had become.

With effort, he began channelling all his Frequency into that spot, slowly managing to regenerate his own limb.

"I see the relic is bonding with your body… Interesting." A figure mantled in a long robe of iron plates and old, stained fabric, perhaps with mud, perhaps with blood, leapt down from the now-apocalyptic vision before them. His black hair seemed almost to steal every trace of light, dissolved into that grim aura reflected in his pitch-dark gaze.

"MALCOLM!!" Without a moment's hesitation, Maverick's case snapped open, launching into the air a long strip of bullets with a silvery casing and a violet tip. A blaze of flames rose across the thin dark iron barrels of the two pistols. The only sound after the roar of gunpowder was the tremor of the shell casings against the ground.

"I'm happy to see that your animosity had not been extinguished after the incident with Balyon…" One last bullet shattered against his forehead, falling dead at his feet.

"DO NOT DARE SPEAK HER NAME!" His voice nearly broke, shattered by nearly a century of hatred left to fester within him. He gripped the remains of his case with force, but Maliard stopped him, shaking his head.

"Do not worry. We will have far more thorough ways of discussing this tonight." His fingers snapped, and the room was swallowed by darkness, devouring the alarm's red light and slowly stripping away even the sounds from everyone present.

"LANCE!" Maliard was the first to cry out, but before he could take a step, something viscous bound itself around his waist, dragging him into the air. The air was knocked out of him, almost as though he had fallen to the bottom of the sea. He thrashed, trying to tear through the darkness, and suddenly his eyes were blinded by light.

"I had hoped to meet you, Maliard Turner." Greeting him, a man in a long, ruined lab coat stained with various glossy, dense colours. Around his neck were thick glasses with a cracked lens and burnt leather framing. The same happened to the others. They vanished amid that storm of shadows and were cast into the tower. Monica understood it well, left dazed atop an iron bridge suspended over a sea of machinery and enormous steel wheels.

Her vision was clouded by scalding vapours, making it difficult even to steady herself.

"It was to separate us…" She rose to her feet, watching the burns on her palm regenerate. With a smile, she tightened her gloves, clapping them together.

"Finally, I can enjoy some action!" The bridge seemed almost to collapse as the vapour vanished, before being swept away entirely by a tremendously violent roar. Jeanne and Lance had remained in the hall, with only David before them. The man smiled, bowing to them once more. The frame between the girl's hands snapped, becoming thin and sharpened.

"I was undecided about my muse. So allow me a little time to choose." The ground beneath his feet shattered into a thousand pieces as he felt the sound of steam drawing ever nearer and Lance's face growing distant.

"You can go choose somewhere far from here… Preferably underground." The boy murmured, until he felt himself seized by the neck, trapped in a glacial vice.

"I would rather avoid that. It is rather uncomfortable to paint in the dark." Lance's body was hurled away, finding himself near the lights on the upper part of the wall, close to the metal bridges leading to the machinery entrances. Around him, after a couple of blinks, dozens of sharpened rocks appeared." What in the devil is his ability?" He pushed his foot against the iron bars, springing away an instant before the wall was violently pierced through.

David smiled, noticing the sharp iron thread only moments from slicing through his throat. A series of sparks extinguished themselves on the ground as Jeanne pushed the blade ever harder against the block of rock at his neck. The blade slid to the ground, cleaving the earth as though it were a patch of grass.

"What a surprise! I had never seen a witch fight like a fury… Not that I have ever seen a witch, mind you." A column of ice, nearly as sharp as it was gleaming, appeared before her. Fragments of her black dress, mixed with blood, slid to the ground.

"Lance, are you all right?" Jeanne asked, wiping the blood from her chin. A small cut revealed her pale, red-stained flesh, while Lance tore away the remains of his sleeve, severed by Malcolm.

"I am fine, but he is dangerous. I would say on the same level as Malcolm." Lance gathered together everything that had happened, from the movements to the speed with which he had been able to manifest his abilities. In that brief exchange of blows, Lance had lost more blood than the sweat that had formed on that man's brow.

"Come now, do not compare me to him. There is a difference between a genius and a monster." David caressed his hand, leaving both of them frozen in confusion. The blood on Jeanne's wound began to boil, until it became a splendid silver with violet reflections. A thin metal lance grazed the bridge of his nose, while Lance's knuckles were about to connect with his abdomen." EINBRAND!!" A discharge of condensed Frequency erupted from his fist like a burst of projectiles, shattering the wall behind them.

Immediately, he felt something burning near his face.

"WELL DONE, BOTH OF YOU! WHAT MAGNIFICENT INSPIRATION!" Behind Lance, David and Jeanne had crossed weapons once again. The blade hidden in his cylinder managed to withstand the force behind Jeanne's slashes." Rood!" The sweat and blood between her fingers and on the hilt of the blade ignited, erupting into a diabolical blaze. Nothing before her was spared by the flames, and yet a new block of ice materialised before her once again.

A single step back, and the gleaming surface shattered, cutting her face with its shards. Lance shot through the icy vapour, only to be stopped by a heavy boulder, hurled at him from the side." My blind spot?!" The rock shattered, but through the dust and the remnants of algae, the gleam of the blade was already making its way toward him. In a rapid succession of movements, Lance's new blade managed to deflect the blow.

"Now this is new." David smiled, putting distance between himself and the pair. The blade in the boy's hands was different from the old Gladiolus: the thin, straight edge had been replaced by a curved silhouette, joined to a guard extending almost to the tip. Its length had doubled, and dozens of gears could be glimpsed peeking out from the metal block." Milites Gloriosus, Maverick's prototype. Had this been my old blade, it would already have shattered."

Lance rotated the blade between his hands as Jeanne rose from the ground. David found the point of the great sword levelled directly at his throat, Lance fixing him with his gaze.

"What is this muse you speak of? I am tired of trying to decipher all your peculiar obsessions." The man smiled, scratching the tip of his nose and adjusting his hat over his dishevelled hair.

"It is you! I want someone with such grit and passion as to inspire me. Everything I do is directed toward my own genius!" As he laughed, the sword began to tremble, along with the whole of Lance's arm. Jeanne fixed him as his breathing grew stronger and slower. The golden gleam returned to his eye, making its way through the brown.

"You killed… All these people… For satisfaction? For a bit of inspiration." He took a step forward, stamping the ground with such force it echoed through the hall. The powerful blade drove into the earth, dragged along behind him.

"You created this war… ONLY TO SATISFY YOURSELF?!" The boy's growl stunned both David and Jeanne, and now both his eyes had taken on tones of pale yellow. David furrowed his brow, smiling.

"Many believe it is war that separates the rich from the poor. But Monsieur Laurien… it is the will that is to blame!!" He recited those words with an innate satisfaction, almost as though an audience were singing his praises from a stage. Lance tightened his fingers on the hilt even further.

"Forgive me. Those were the lines of a play by an old Northest writer. His name was Gideon, if I am not mistaken. Unfortunately, being a lover of the arts is not synonymous with having good memory." He immediately recovered his composure, drawing closer to the furious young man. Jeanne could do nothing but stand still and watch them, her hand fixed on her sword.

"What I am trying to tell you is that it is not misfortune that divides the line between the strong and the weak, but the will to impose one's own nature. Only by possessing an immense vitality can one condense a masterpiece between one's own hands! It is a matter of will!" His smile bared all his perfectly white teeth as he leaned ever closer toward Lance. In a single instant, a growl escaped the boy's lips, and immediately after, David rolled across the ground all the way to the railing overlooking the machinery.

His hand had been torn open, and yet the blood on David's face was not entirely his own.

"Then my will is to send both you and him back into the mud from whence you came!" He announced, launching himself at him, Jeanne close behind, as tall columns of ice and rock materialised before them.