A palace-type Imperfect Signature was one where a Scripter carried a palace beneath their feet.
"Entel possesses remarkable potential. Palace-type Signatures are exceedingly rare; even I am incapable of manifesting one," Evelyn murmured to herself.
The battle of Scripters was a battle of creativity, of the better thematic mind and the rarer mythical ingredient.
However, the higher one's degree, the greater the chances of victory over those lower in the hierarchy.
But one rule was absolute: a higher Scripter could always be defeated by those two degrees below, especially when they were in greater numbers.
At the lowest rung was the 10th Degree, where a Scripter possessed only a juvenile script, a simple spark of power that formed the foundation of all mastery.
A Script begins with a single Origin Word. Carried within a simple sentence, it can branch in abstract ways, shaped by the Scripter's talent and creativity as they ascend through the degrees.
At this stage, a Scripter might conjure a small flame in the palm of their hand, learning the most basic art of control.
Ascending to the 9th Degree brought the first verse, an expansion of a script's potential.
The word Fire was no longer mere fire; it could be shaped, bent, and manifested with greater purpose, hinting at the possibilities of deeper interpretation.
The 8th Degree demanded more of a Scripter: the interpretation of two to three verses.
It was a test of understanding and adaptability.
Here, raw power became skill, and skill edged closer to a scripter's artistry.
Then came the 7th Degree, the first true milestone.
A Scripter at this level could wield an Imperfect Signature, the combined expression of multiple verses.
The 7th Degree was currently Entel's level, and Lady Evelyn wished for her to ascend higher by manifesting a second Imperfect Signature, to reach the 6th Degree of power, the domain of those who possessed two and rarely three Imperfect Signatures.
"I must say, if I weren't the victor, I would find this place appalling," Evelyn remarked, for before her stood a group of beheaded women partnered with beheaded men, dancing elegantly despite their grotesque wounds.
"So this is the fate of your lovers, Entel." Lady Evelyn felt a shadowed figure circling her behind the beheaded dancers.
Entel was frenzied within her own palace, and the Lady of Velvet smiled in such a predicament.
"Try your hardest—though I highly doubt it'll matter."
"In the end… I'll be the one capturing your heart." Evelyn said, as violet ink oozed from her fingertips, mixing with the blood beneath her feet.
However, Lady Evelyn's vision went dark, and she was slightly proud, as this particular trick was amusing to her.
Entel finally revealed herself, circling Lady Evelyn at subsonic speed, a large blood scythe in hand, forged from her Verse I: Blood Manipulation.
Her script bore the word Blood, and anything containing her essence could be freely shaped and controlled, limited only by her natural imagination and proficiency.
Beneath Evelyn's feet, the pool of blood rippled. Without hesitation, Entel caused crimson spikes to surge upward, impaling the Lady of Velvet's flesh from the waist down.
The attack came without mercy, blinding Evelyn's vision with the palace's distortive effects and immobilizing her where she stood with the blood spikes.
"I know you're not dead, Evelyn!"
Entel then unleashed a massive, fast-traveling wave of blood energy with a single swing of her scythe, tearing across the palace and reaching Evelyn's position in an instant.
Those caught in its path were infected by her blood, and the wave itself dissected everything it touched, severing even the beheaded dancers clean in half.
This was her Verse II: Crimson Weaving.
The wave struck Evelyn squarely, slicing the Lady of Velvet clean in half.
As a result, Entel hesitated, her expression filled with genuine disbelief.
It had been far too easy; the Lady of Velvet could not possibly have fallen to such a simple attack.
"This isn't possible…" Entel murmured, retracting her blood scythe.
But before she could make sense of what she had done, a pair of arms slipped around her small waist from behind.
"You care for me that much? You should be more honest with your feelings," whispered a voice into her left ear.
The vampire felt goosebumps. That melodic voice, it was so soft and teasing, belonged unmistakably to Lady Evelyn.
"How did yo—" Her words caught as her gaze fell upon the bisected corpse of Evelyn before her.
The body was already dissolving, its flesh unraveling into a swirl of violet butterflies that scattered through the crimson mist.
Then, the embrace tightened. The vampire felt the coldness of Lady Evelyn's corpse-like hands.
"Evelyn, you're getting a little too cling—" Before she could finish, the whisper came again, gentle, but that result was devastating.
"Verse I: Petals of Perdition."
Evelyn's form began to glow, oozing torrents of violet hissing ink that drenched Entel's skin and clothes.
Entel struggled, attempting to manifest her blood scythe once more. Pivoting sharply, she swung it behind her in a wide arc—
—but it was too late.
Evelyn's body that embraced the vampire, which had already ruptured into thousands of butterflies, encircling them both.
Entel instinctively tried to seize control, manipulating the tainted blood clinging to each and every one of their wings.
She forged chains of crimson spikes between them, connecting each butterfly in a desperate web, in an attempt to stop them.
It was useless.
Each butterfly pulsed with a violet light, shimmering for an instant before they detonated, one after another, in a cascade of violent explosions.
There, Entel had no choice but to reveal another trick, Verse IV: Into the Night.
The vampire scattered into an uncountable number of shadow bats. She only needed one to survive.
Entel meticulously ensured its safety; she concealed it within crystallized blood that pulsed beneath the garden's floor.
The crystallized blood formed a cocoon that protected it from the violent explosion, and when it opened at the aftermath, the bat within manifested once more into Entel herself.
Entel's body was grotesquely damaged from the explosions.
The garden was crumbling, and the blast had unleashed a blood tsunami, its shockwave sending crimson rain across the collapsing palace of blood.
It attempted to stabilize itself as the vampire poured out the last remaining of her dark red ink, hissing from the wounds across her body as she forced the palace to comply.
Across from her stood Evelyn, clapping slowly. "You possess a fourth Verse as a seventh degree? Entel, you are remarkable!" she praised.
Entel emerged weakly from her cocoon; her movements were sluggish. She had spent too much ink, causing her energy to be nearly depleted.
"How unfair…" Entel murmured.
"You only used one Verse against me—and not even a single Imperfect Signature."
Her eyes met the Lady of Velvet's. "You are a monster, Evelyn…" the vampire remarked.
"Don't feel so bad. You refrained from using your second script, did you not? Perhaps you were showing me mercy…" There was a faint trace of sarcasm in Evelyn's voice, though Entel was too exhausted to take offense.
"As promised," she said softly, "I'll do your bidding."
Chapter End...