Before passing the dooming gates of Tartarus, Wren had turned to Lucas and attempted to probe him for answers that he couldn't give. It wasn't because she wanted him to suffer—but because she wanted them to all return alive.
Except for Elias, naturally. That man could disappear in the depths of that Story, and Wren would be more than thrilled.
"Do you remember anything else about the book, Lucas?"
Lucas had shaken his head, clutching his temples as if slowly consumed by a deep, numbing pain. His face contorted, fingers leaving vague imprints on his skin.
Elias had pulled Lucas' hands away, telling him that it didn't matter. Aware of the circumstances behind Lucas' missing memories, and how recalling things related to Kane made him ache with an indescribable pain, they'd dropped the topic.
However, when they passed a row of standing mirrors, a black sheen surface that reflected the depths of their souls, Lucas felt a twinge of memory.
He couldn't quite place it, and that frustrated him.
It was Lucas who saw the first shadow. It appeared as a blurred figure whose head hung low with despair, limp on the body of a throne dripping with madness. The figure was tall, familiar, and seemingly stripped of hope.
Kane noticed Lucas' pause, and turned—stopped midway by the back imprinted in the dark reflection, a lonely back with slumped shoulders.
He was taken by the urge to reach out, to spin that sorrowful back around and pull it into a hug. To say that he was there and wouldn't let him go again—that back, which belonged to his admirable brother, who'd outgrown him far too young.
Like a ripple, both Nora and Sylvia frowned and turned sideways, captured by the sight as the others.
Nora trembled, clasping a hand over her parted lips. She saw the bloodied body of a frail-bodied boy hanging out of a wrecked car. The wide gaze, both longing and blaming, settled on her.
Beside, Sylvia wasn't trapped by the illusion, but her frown deepened slightly.
All that stood was a man with hunched shoulders, slightly bowed, and a hand stretching out. A curious gleam, and a hat tipped low and welcoming.
In all reflections, a voice resembling the image spoke simultaneously.
Eshe's corpse twisted with a smile, stretching his small hand to Nora.
Alistair's bow deepened with charm, an extended arm waiting for Sylvia.
The face tilted with a jeer, a mangled arm reaching out to Lucas.
And Lucas's head turned slightly, offering a trembling palm to Kane.
White formatted words rippled across the darkness, revealing a simple, gloating line.
Then the words were overwritten as they were read.
Lucas snapped out of his stupor, noticing the glazed looks on his companions. They seemed to all be looking at the same black slate, yet seeing different things. Different things, but the same horrors.
He asked a question back. "Can I seek information?"
A trade he didn't remember, Lucas realized, with a frown. However, denying such a request in these lands didn't seem wise.
"I'll accept."
And it seemed that the others did too, as they raised their hands like puppets on a string, moving to whatever's whims.
A slow bell rang in the distance, resounding and rhythmic.
Nora flinched as her skin darkened at the tips, flaking off like dead skin cells. More and more, until her arm wilted and withered away.
Sylvia's tightly pressed lips furled, and she closed her eyes as the rest of her body corroded, an unsettling lightness that came without pain.
Kane swung his head to Lucas, his skin decomposing in the same manner as theirs. All Kane felt was sinking dread.
He wanted to call his brother's name, but it fell on the edges of his wilting mouth. Lucas frowned at the mirror, not wanting to peer at the obscure display nor to see the doctor decompose.
Then, a trail of thoughts untangled, and he whirled.
"Obey whatever task you're given! Don't try to make any deals! The Teller—"
Piles of ashes fluttered to the ground, carried by a breeze into the black reflection. Lucas words were an unfinished warning heard by all.
A single man remained, sleeves rolled, with an uncomfortable tension in his shoulders. Not from fear. From resisting the urge to move.
Elias stared at the empty darkness, revealing nothing.
"Now, what game is this?"
A laugh answered him.
"Is it freedom to submit to the End Delusion's wishes, oh lovely puppet?" mocked Elias darkly. "If you'll excuse me, I have a precious darling to save."
He traced against the reflection and pushed his hand through. With a smile, he calmly strolled into the darkness.
———XXX———
Lucas rolled over, his aching body pressed to jagged stone. He lifted his head. He really wanted to question whose brilliant idea it was to knock them out for every new game, our Story.
He pushed himself up, furrowing his eyebrows and focusing his eyes as best he could—though that best was seeing a blob-like figure across from him.
Lucas slowly approached. Before he could get any closer, a barrier prevented his touch, and pain shot up his arm.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, darling."
In the cramped cave, with the dull bloom of scarlet light heating the stone ground, a man leaned against the rocky, concaving walls. Elias smiled lazily and waved. Lucas, as he always did, frowned immediately.
"What is this?"
"A game, I'm supposing. Tartarus has plenty of those."
Lucas, with consideration that he was trapped in the confines of the space, abandoned movement and rolled onto his back. The ground didn't make for a good napping place. "I remember something about this. About the mirrors."
Elias listened curiously, though there were no fluctuations in his calm demeanor. "And that is?"
"A deal. The protagonist of my Story made a deal to go against the Teller's objective. But it was a trick. He agreed to give up his compassion temporarily and was forced to kill the other party. He did what he was trying to avoid."
"To make a deal with a Teller is a risky thing," said Elias, casting a sideways glance at Kane's unconscious body. "One shouldn't trust them."
Lucas was in no mood to endure Elias' cynical remarks that would likely include a note or two about them dying. Not to mention, he was especially protective of his protagonist.
"Don't ignore me."
Lucas rolled over again, his back to Elias, and pretended to start snoring.
A groan sounded, passing through the barriers dividing them. Kane felt a terrible throbbing pain in his head as he lifted his gaze tiredly
"...Lucas?"
"Kane," breathed the other, approaching the barrier carefully. Worry laced in his impassive white eyes, one that Elias noticed but Kane didn't.
It was Lucas' memories slowly trickling back in, through the cracks caused by entering Tartarus. Memories that detailed how important that doctor was. How every injury was something to note.
Amplified in the shallow space of the cave, the voice boomed.
Lucas' mind worked quickly, craning his neck as if searching for the owner of the voice among the dark curves of the ceiling.
A Teller that took amusement in their misery, he concluded. Similar to the one in the Sleeping Beauty Story, demanding a required death. Knowing the twisted nature of this Story, Lucas couldn't help but wonder.
Was it for amusement, to pit humans against humans and watch them unravel, revealing their most terrible selves?
Coaxing them by promising the fulfillment of desires and simultaneously threatening their lives? However, there was no wish he wanted at the risk of sacrifice.
At the very least, he'd rather die himself than watch that doctor die—the doctor who gazed with such concern at him.
Lucas spoke first. "If I offered my life—"
"A ridiculous proposition that doesn't suit you, darling."
"No! Absolutely not! How could you even suggest that?"
The two men spoke at the same time, Kane with disbelief and horror, and Elias with a slow shake of his head.
Lucas didn't argue, leaning back with crossed arms. "I won't agree to the sacrifice of any others in here either. So what do you want to do?"
Elias cocked his head back. "You said something, earlier. I believe it was to not go against the Teller's words, to find trickery or loopholes?"
Because any deals or tricks would ultimately backfire.
The skin between Lucas' eyebrows creased, and he lay down once again, muttering complaints about the harsh flooring and their dilemma. Complaining was his stress relief, one he used often.
Understanding something, the voice spoke again.
"I never liked listening to my teachers," yawned Lucas.
Elias listened with a smile. "I'd have thought of you as an obedient child. Sitting in the back, all nice and proper—"
"I was a child bully."
"You know, that suits you quite well too."
"Are you saying I look like a bully?"
Lucas had the nerve to look offended, despite having been the one to confess to his bullying agenda in the first place. Elias chuckled, shaking his head.
"I apologize. I meant that you look bullyable."
"..."
In the midst of their nonsense, the voice ripped through, causing the air to hum in dangerous promise. Watching eyes, unseen by them. A need for violence; for the amusement of suffering.
In Lucas' display of indifference, Elias recognized the taut lines that ran along his sharp mouth, a newfound tiredness cast across his narrowed gaze. One thing after the next; after watching children die, would he watch his brother next?
Elias didn't enjoy the growing shadows painting Lucas' body and face.
His curiosity lay in the man with a singular and clear ambition. A man who felt deeply for the world but would forsake it as necessary.
Lucas, built of delinquency that added a casual and rugged edge to his aura, but also kindness, hidden by an illusion of disinterest. And it wasn't as if watching Lucas gradually change was terrible, but Elias didn't want Lucas to lose part of himself.
Not to the apocalypse; not to the Tellers' games.
The air around the three shimmered, invisible walls closing in around them as a pressure approached, ghosting their skins.
A fourth space was introduced. An empty, triangular area that no one could enter. Wedged between Lucas and Kane, a cast of ash dusted off the grounds, swirling into a small tornado.
It grew larger, spinning around the shape of a body, piecing together bits by bits.
When the dust dispersed, it left behind the shape of a young woman, disheveled as she was beautiful, with torn raven hair, but a slender body dressed in leggings and an army jacket.
Dread crept up Lucas' arms, snaking under his black jacket. He reached to spin something around his neck absentmindedly, before realizing the lacking presence.
Silver metal that should've been there—that he wanted back, until he'd forgotten. Not the delicate apple left by Snow White's brother, but the ring.
His parents' ring.
He cast a look at Elias, whose focus had drifted over to him.
Memories clicked and organized themselves in his head, but he had no time to think as the woman opened her eyes, an icy blue that darted around.
She scrambled to her feet, viciousness sharpening her beautiful features. "What now? What is this? Another game?"
Her voice was hoarse and snappy, snarling at the idea of another torture. The wounds on her face and her exhausted appearance told tales of suffering and pain. Lucas observed her, lips curling into a cautious frown.
On the other hand, Kane raised his hands and spoke with a steady pace. "My name is—"
"Don't give your name," snapped Lucas. "Tell nothing about yourself."
Kane sucked in a breath and nodded slowly. Despite that, he didn't want to alert the woman any further, noticing how she curled in on herself as a form of protection. "This is... I'm not quite sure. I believe your suspicion of a game would be accurate."
"The rules. Tell me, now."
The doctor didn't flinch at her brashness. "The rules are—"
The voice repeated itself, insistent and impatient. The woman's gaze changed, twisting into a sharp and cruel glare.
"Only one person has to die?" She laughed with dark delight. "This is some beginner's game, isn't it? This makes it easy!"
Kane tensed, approaching the barrier carefully. "We can find a way to resolve this without violence."
"You're naive! Is that why you three are here, sitting as if it were recess?"
"You don't understand."
"No, you don't. Only one needs to die!" She snapped her head to the ceiling, a manic glaze over her. "I'll decide, then! Do I need to kill them myself, or do you want me to tell you? Tell me!"
"The gentleman standing there." A gesture towards Kane was all it took before the air shimmered again, and the restraints between man and woman seemed to disappear. "It would be a mercy to kill you."
Kane raised his hands out slowly, furrowing his eyebrows. For years, he'd studied medicine and anatomy. Not how to kill strangers at the goading of a supernatural creature. His familiarity with a scapel was to slice through skin to save. Not to reap.
It'd never settled with him, even if he had been forced to within the Stories.
"I don't want to fight. If there really is no other way, then we'll do what we must. But let's discuss first. Please."
Violence didn't run naturally, and while he would do what was necessary to protect others, the children or Lucas, he couldn't kill easily. And that was a fatal flaw in these times.
But if he forgot his own morals, what would be left of him?
Lucas gritted his teeth. A vein ticked in his jaw.
'Fool,' he wanted to seethe, at either Kane or the woman, he wasn't sure. Because he knew it in a second.
That Kane wouldn't be able to kill that woman.
Not before she'd kill him.
And his theory unraveled before him as the woman lunged like a ferocious beast, leaving the doctor on defense. He defended himself well, expectedly, but killers always won in the end.
Defenders couldn't last forever, not before death eventually took.
Her jagged nails, bitten from a history of torture and suffering, scraped past Kane's cheeks as he jumped back, attempting to knock her over. Wild hair whipped around the woman as she attacked again, and again.
A fist slammed into Kane's face, a heavy kick to his stomach. The woman, clearly experienced, fought not only with skill but with a ruthless swing of her hands.
The anger was still building inside Lucas as he watched, open eyes that were both blank in seething fear and fury. It revealed everything: the battle entrapped in the gaze, the blood that dripped to the ground.
Kane attempted to speak. "I don't want to hurt you."
Naive. He was foolish and silly to attempt to reason in the middle of a fight and not to participate in the game. But for some reason, it also made perfect sense to Lucas.
It wasn't as if Kane didn't get in a few hits, but his were with the intent to disarm, and hers were to murder. That fundamental difference changed everything. Both parties huffed, bruises blooming, and blood painting the ground.
With those words, two silver knives clattered to the ground.
Kane hesitated, and the woman lunged.