The tense atmosphere within the putrid alley was palpable. Several bystanders witnessed the entire ordeal; however, they turned their backs, unwilling to get involved and risk their lives.
They had their own problems to attend to.
"It was difficult for us to approach without provoking you. I believe we have been as lenient as possible. We didn't move immediately and allowed you space out of consideration for the condition of that slave," he explained, pausing for a response from Lady Evelyn.
Silvie appreciated their professionalism and the carefulness they had shown, yet she could only hope that Lady Evelyn would soon find a solution to this mess.
With a daring glance, the mistress dared anyone to separate her from her servant.
"I am the only one in this world allowed to possess such a being; none of you are deserving, for you are all beneath such a thing." Lady Evelyn's remark was the final straw. It was clear there was no convincing her peacefully, yet her words intrigued the servant.
"What could she mean by that?" Silvie thought.
The man's face went blank... "You leave us no choice." With a gesture of his hand, he ordered his men to seize what they had come for... Silvie...
They stepped closer and closer, their footsteps echoing through the alley. The servant's heart raced; she was terrified, her eyes frantic and her hands trembling.
Both parties knew a confrontation was imminent; still, Silvie had faith that Lady Evelyn had something hidden up her sleeve, for even now, the smirk on her mistress's face had not vanished.
"Silvie... are you curious how humanity survived the drowning of the world and the invasion of ink?" the mistress asked.
"How, Lady Evelyn? How did we survive?!" Silvie exclaimed, and in that moment, she realized her mistress was far from ordinary...
The servant then felt it... Cold liquid poured from Lady Evelyn's corpse-like hand, glowing violently, with an almost ink-like consistency.
It hissed as it vaporized into the air.
The liquid had an ethereal quality; it almost represented Lady Evelyn's mysteries soul.
"W-What is this?!" Silvie asked out of curiosity and fear, but a sudden yell came from one of the men, which caught Demiscus's attention.
"S–SHE'S A SCRIPTER!"
In this world, some individuals held the title 'scripter'. Supernatural as they came, they could manifest a power known as a 'script'. For lack of better words, it was the power to leak the writing of the thematic mind of one's imagination, causing phenomena that bent the rules of what was possible in the natural world.
To the horror of men, adrenaline and the instinct to survive followed, as scripters in this world could easily kill multiple people at once...
Without warning, all the men immediately pulled out silver-laced revolvers, aiming them at Lady Evelyn from every direction, front to back. They acted out of sheer desperation, confronted unexpectedly by a Scripter.
"LADY EVELYN, THEY'RE GOING TO SHOOT US!" the servant yelled. She had every right to let go of her mistress's hand...
Despite the sudden escalation and the terror tearing at Silvie's heart, Lady Evelyn remained a woman of unfathomable mystery.
The servant had felt it in her very soul that her mistress was on the verge of unveiling a miracle both beautiful and terrifying.
"I want to see it..." Silvie whispered inwardly. Yet, just as wonder bloomed within her, a wave of inexplicable nausea swept through her body, ready to rob her of this fleeting moment.
She stumbled. Soon, her body began to distort, as if every organ and all parts of her were being transported onto a flat surface.
Her vision of the surroundings stretched and warped, flattening like a picture.
"Lady Evelyn, what is happening to me...?!" Silvie realized it wasn't random, the moment that cold ink seeped from her mistress's corpse-like hand and brushed against her delicate skin. She understood: this was Lady Evelyn's doing.
There was pain, the agonizing sensation of her body contorting bit by bit. As a result, the servant lost consciousness midway.
But she saw one thing, it was fluttering, the symbol of metamorphosis... The last thing she thought before disappearing was, "I've never seen such a beautiful sight in my life..."
The silver revolvers fired, all five of them, aimed precisely at Lady Evelyn's figure. It was an instant showcase of skill.
They didn't miss. They successfully hit their mark, but—
Woosh~
The bullets, upon piercing Lady Evelyn's head and body, turned into velvet spiritual butterflies, scattering everywhere like fireworks outwardly into the narrow alleyway, obstructing their view, causing the men to fire blindly into the veil.
"DO NOT LET IT TOUCH YOU!" Demiscus shouted in sharp urgency. His men made sure to stand back, keeping their distance and using their forearms to shield their faces from the spawning butterflies; they refused to retreat without retrieving what they came for.
All the men reloaded, then opened fire, bullets tore through the mistress's body despite the fog of fluttering wings. Blood was spilled, yet Lady Evelyn's form continuously unraveled into countless swarms of velvet butterflies.
They failed to notice that a tiny velvet butterfly had flown up to each robed figure's ear. A loud, deafening sound followed, similar to the horrifying wailing of a banshee, loud enough to rupture their eardrums, leaving them off balance, disoriented, and writhing in excruciating pain.
Demiscus staggered, clutching his head, his voice strained between agony and disbelief.
"What... what sorcery is this woman wielding?!"
His men endured; as royal guards, their bodies were far stronger than the average human.
It would be a disgrace to show weakness; however, Demiscus still checked their condition, and it seemed that the woman had no intention of killing them.
They considered themselves lucky to have survived an encounter with a monster disguised in beautiful despair.
He cast a glance at the position of the two women, but their bodies had already vanished; only faint, violet silhouettes remained, misty figures slowly dissolving into the air.
"Her Script... I could barely tell. I think we saw two or three."
"First, the butterflies, she can transform those that touched her into them. Second, when they vanished, that one I don't quite understand. Lastly, that horrible noise that burst our eardrums."
"I could be mistaken, but... she's certainly no less than a seventh or eighth-degree Scripter."
He noticed the bloodstains, yet it vexed him that they weren't from Lady Evelyn's position.
"What did we do...?" The alleyway was akin to a crime scene without the bodies, yet there were streaks of a girl's blood everywhere, the smell of gunpowder was present, and spent bullets were scattered.
"DID WE KILL THE SLAVE?!" Dimiscus yelled in worry...
The robed figures panicked. They weren't here for murder, but the revelation of facing a Scripter could've cost them their lives.
"We failed to retrieve the white canvas...?" Demiscus let out a low laugh as they stood in silent failure, unsure how to proceed. This mishap might cost them dearly, but they would need the aid of a certain someone...
"We must seek the Maiden of Glass and ask for her assistance..." The Empress would not be pleased with this performance, and Gravenhurst's gloom only deepened.
Pedestrians had witnessed the entire commotion, some in awe, as numerous velvet butterflies scattered into the bleak, foggy sky.
Yet, back at the splendid cake pastry shop, something wondrous and uncanny came to be...
"I am Silvie... for now."
"I have no eyes to see, no pair of ears to hear, no mouth to speak. The feeling of my limbs is absent, for I am flattened into a painting..."
Her portrait replaced the canvas that once bore the silhouette of her mistress, hung in the corner of the pastry shop's wall.
If an onlooker were ever to gaze upon her painting, their delicate eyes would witness the fatal wounds that had befallen the servant.
She had been shot, one gaping hole in her head and a wound in her abdomen, both grotesquely exposed within her prison of a canvas.
A warm crimson dripped down the frame, trickling onto the cold floor.
The servant longed to scream, yet had no mouth to do so. Trapped flat within the bleeding portrait, she wondered...
"How am I alive?"
Chapter End...