"And that is also when their destiny to be slaughtered begins."
With each step that Grav made, Gabe's instincts screamed at him. It wanted him to run, to turn around and allow his back to face Grav's advancing motions.
And he gave in.
He listened.
Because all he could do — all he could think — was the awful reminiscence of his first dungeon. The dread that coursed through his body, coiling at the center of his heart. L
Grav followed Gabe, his presence never too far behind the fearful Gabe.
He watched, though, the empty breaths that escaped Gabe's lips. The desperation that began to churn with more prevalence.
"I can hear it," Grav said lowly. "The beating of your heart." He smirked, his words reaching Gabe's ears.
Gabe did not respond, his feet still shuffling, bits and pieces of ash lying around the two of them.
In a dungeon, the only thing that remains true before the Devotees, is the uncertainty of their fate.
~~~
11:45, Edge of Forest Center.
As David and Miller sauntered through the forest, the dead bodies that they came across became an increasing number.
They stopped for a few of them; it was not to search their remains, but to see the ways in which they had died.
And all of them — absolutely all of them — had the same reoccurring deep slithers of gashes. They were small, but they were punctured deep into their flesh.
"We're near," David muttered.
They were not too far away from a vast clearing, in which there was a visible mound of stone that held unrecognizable engravings. Its height was just a hair's breadth shorter than the trees.
As their legs shuffled further and further, closing in on the expanse, they unknowingly slowed down, their running becoming a quiet walk.
Swooosh.
When they reached the clearing, the wind flew softly, swaying their bangs as the lush green tickled their legs.
The bodies around them became clearer, their eyes seeing through the swaying green. At the top of the shrine was a small altar with a curved ceiling situated above; there was a circular opening up at top.
As they got closer to the base of the shrine, the air began to shift — more suffocating, more deadly — once a figure began to emerge from above.
Jingle!
The gentle hum of a hanging bell.
The laughter of a circus.
"Hello," the clown smiled. "I've been waiting." The red lips curved into an exaggerated smile.
The clown — despite the ridiculous red and black stripe pattern — exuded a profound aura. The type that could make anyone realize that the person was of a greater existence.
"You—"
Miller's words did not continue, unknowingly shutting down once the clown took a step down the staircase before them.
"When we met on that day beside the map… I knew for certain that something was near."
David narrowed his eyes, each breath quicker than the last.
"What do… you mean by that?" David asked, the blood pulsating like another heart.
"The guardian of this altar," the clown told. "The manifestation of the goddess' will. A protector subjected to guard the prized item once time is nigh. That is who I am."
Unknowingly, David and Miller took a step back.
"Why… as a clown?" Miller asked, his eyes darting at the dozens of bodies that had fell.
"Who knows," the clown responded. His mouth dropped, the lips forming a neutral expression that held a hint of bitterness.
"Perhaps… I am just a fool. Hahahahaha—do you get the joke?" The clown shook his head once he saw the same strained expressions on their faces.
"Regardless, the thirst for the artifact is strong," the clown's eyes looked at the vast corpses. "If you want it, come and claim you think is rightfully yours."
Around David and Miller, cards erected from beneath the soil, dangling towards them like knives.
However, as they were about to be bombarded by the cards—
Fire began to bloom.
~~~
11:48, Forest North.
Grace appeared behind a tree, having circled it. Irene swung her head backing, her hair swaying in response. There was a gentle breeze as Grace's dagger flew pass. Grace halted his steps, then jumped over her.
Irene trailed his movements as he glided like the moon.
Grace swung his hand down, a speedy blur crossing along her torso. Irene responded, putting her arms together, blocking the initial chop. Then Grace spun, extending his foot, and finally barreling into Irene's oblique.
Blown back, Grace hopped forward, the gap between them disappearing.
He needed to go faster, he thought.
Irene stepped back, splitting her legs apart, her hands lifting upwards. Her dagger having fell on the ground, she had no choice — with the hurling attack by Grace — to counter with her fists.
Irene reeled her fist back then shooting it forward.
Their eyes met for the briefest half-second.
Hunger was all that Irene could see in those daring violet eyes of Grace's. So disgusting, the thought had crossed.
BAM!
Skin to skin, knuckle to knuckle—their fists burrowed deep into each other's faces, blood flying out of their mouths like a splash of water soaring like a bird.
Grace planted his feet firmly on the ground, bringing his off-hand — the one holding the translucent azure dagger — and waving it, the edge of the dagger grazing into Irene's stomach.
Faster.
Faster.
Grace could feel it.
All the discrepancies between the consciousness and the body—it was all disappearing. The boundaries between Allen and Grace was difficult to tell before, but now it truly felt like the boundary was becoming a thin veil.
Allen was Grace.
Grace was Allen.
"You're a fucking monster," growled Irene, her expressing furrowing. "Where were you hiding all this time? Sailing? Being a regular folk?" She flipped over and then rolled behind the tree.
But, akin to a swift phantom, Grace appeared from her side.
"Asleep," Grace responded simply. As his foot sauntered, Irene managed to catch it just narrowly before it would have caved her face into the tree bark.
"What a load of shit."
Before she could throw him against the tree bark, Grace extended his hand onto the tree, before pushing the entirety of his upper body off.
As his torso hovered gently, he immediately rotated his opposite leg, allowing it to rise up and swing towards Irene's face. Again, however, Irene blocked it his her opposing hand.
Grace was unbothered by this, however.
Grace smirked with a quiet hum. "Good luck." As he began falling down, Grace pressed his fingertips on his wrist, an azure flash appearing overhead.
A translucent dagger hovered above, soon shooting down with the intention of piercing Irene's skull. Letting go of Grace's feet, Irene leapt to the side, dodging the azure dagger just barely.
Landing on the ground, Grace followed suit.
He continued like the phantom he was, a fresh flash of azure appearing to his side. The luminescent dagger floated before Grace swiped his hand forward, commanding it to drill on.
Irene flipped over, sliding across the grass, picking up her dagger.
He had long since relinquished his hesitancy in killing. He knew it then, and he most especially knew it now.
The road was one filled with only strife and peril.
Grace got closer and closer, their breathings syncing. He jumped, waving his hand and summoning his trademark dagger. As he felt his mana quickly dwindle, Grace pressed his hand down.
She dodged the dagger.
But not the ghostly fist that followed behind.
Staggering, pain began to flicker across every part of her body. Blood flowed out from beneath her skin, painting Grace's face and hands and clothes.
Grace's eyes glimmered, his heart dancing as if he saw the path forward quickly — instantly — form, guiding him as he reached forward. Irene stepped back, avoiding his grab. Her eyes darted to the left, seeing Grace's hand slither, fingers convulsing as it emanated an eagerness to grab her.
Grace smirked, retracting the hand. Irene widened her eyes once her vision flipped, Grace's foot colliding with her legs, sweeping her down with mana pulsating from the tips of his foot.
They knew it—how death lurks on the other side, awaiting its moment to take hold of any Devotee.
Which is why, as Grace watched Irene descend down to the fleeting grass, the familiar flash of azure materializing in his hand, fitting snugly as if it was all he has ever known, he drove it down like a plane crashing to its own destruction.
SPLLSSSHHH!
It slid into Irene's noggin, her skull crackling as blood splattered. Her face briefly contorted before Grace's hand tightening around the dagger, dragging it down and unleashing a wave of blood.
There were any things to waver and second guess about.
But he couldn't falter with this. He mustn't.
He knew from the moment he killed El that he would undoubtedly shed more blood. From himself. From others. He knew, eventually, his mind would grow numb from it, completely desensitized by killing to the point it would become normal for him.
But if that was the price that he must pay, then so be it.
As long as he could live to see another day—he will kill.
~~~
Earlier, 11:49 PM, Shrine Center.
Fire bloomed, emerging from the forest, and zipping through the air like a bullet. The clown turned to the side, his figure embellished by the thrilling fire.
As David and Miller stood still, all the cards directed towards them all started moving, redirecting their position.
The clown did not move, allowing or the cards to form a massive shield beside him. The collision was quiet, the song of the fiery incineration of the cards being the only thing that was able to be heard.
"How unsightly," Grav's voice resounded with venom. His figure shone underneath the moonlight.
David and Miller widened their eyes, witnessing the person that Grav was holding.
Gabe Laughlin.
With a missing arm.