I looked to my left, where the hallway was bleached in a bright yellow glow. Arthur stood there, his divine energy radiating around him like a miniature sun.
Ironic.
Remembering the cult to which the crazed man belonged, I pushed myself off the floor, standing shakily—worn down from everything that had just happened.
Arthur approached in a rush, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my condition. He glanced over to Mary.
"Your Highness, I've been ordered to escort you out. Damian, you're with me. If either of you were to die here, it would be a devastating blow to the Empire."
His voice was firm, yet I couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief. But the sound of gunshots outside quickly snatched it away.
"I'm guessing that man wasn't alone?" I asked, urgency leaking into my voice.
Arthur clicked his tongue, visibly irritated. I had never seen him look so genuinely angry.
"It happened all at once. People started passing out. Then the gunfire started outside. Then the priest vanished, left me with the task of finding Mary and securing her. Honestly? I expected to find you tangled in this."
The priest saved me this time.
This wasn't an assassination attempt—it was a declaration. After Arthur annihilated the Nameless Ones and the nobles grew complacent, the cultists came back with a message.
We're alive. We're organized. And we're capable.
I held my tongue. No time for deep dives—gunshots were getting closer, and pain surged in my head like a siren. My right eye burned. Instinctively, I gripped it, wincing. I looked up at Arthur, trying to mask the pain.
"Arthur, do you have something I can shoot with?"
He nodded, pulling a black bronze revolver from his coat. Sleek and polished, its metallic surface gleamed under the hallway's light. A small colorless gem pulsed faintly on its grip.
I took it from him, flicked open the chamber. Six bullets. No cartridges, just clay-like matter packed into the base, this worlds substitute for gunpowder.
Arthur gave me a curious look. "You remember how to use it?"
Like a cowboy, I twirled it on my finger and caught it by the grip. The gem instantly shifted to a deep red, glowing like it had been filled with blood.
"Feels like muscle memory."
Arthur smirked slightly before turning and taking point.
"Come. As far as I know, the Regent's already evacuated the guests. If so, this attack is confined to the mansion."
I sighed, relief tempered with caution. I followed him closely, taking his left flank. Mary trailed just behind, quiet but more composed.
I glanced back at her and tossed her the bloody knife I'd picked up. Her white dress. so pristine, was stained now, but she caught the blade with both hands. I had no time to think, especially now of all times.
Walking backward to cover our rear, I tightened my grip on the revolver. I stared at the revolver, sense of familiarity hit me. My hands started to shake, going against my will. I glanced toward Arthur.
"Hey… this is the same revolver from the Northern Forest, isn't it?"
Without looking back, he replied, "Yes. Thought you'd want it. You were always… attached."
My grip tightened as memories surged. Faces. Screams. The smell of burning.
I bit down on my tongue as hard as I could. Metallic blood hit my tongue as my vision refocused. The shaking stopped.
Nobody saw that. Good.
The last thing I needed was a psyche evaluation. I forced myself to focus. The pounding in my head intensified.
Charlotte.
It had to be another one of her "gifts." When danger approached, my head throbbed like a drumbeat. The closer I got to danger, the more painful it became.
A sick game of hot or cold.
But it was thanks to those cursed eyes that I was even alive right now.
"We're here."
Arthur opened the doors to the hall we had entered earlier. But something was wrong.
Pitch black.
Arthur reacted faster than I did, channeling golden energy from his palm into the darkness. His light carved a path through the black fog—only a narrow corridor leading toward the distant pearly exit on the opposite end.
From where I was standing, I could see the fog move. Its consistency was thick like sludge, allowing no light enter, masking anything, or anyone, that may be inside.
Arthur didn't hesitate seeing the fog, he stayed composed as he commanded us.
"Mary, stay close to me. Damian, you're her shield now. Stay behind me and protect her."
I nodded, grabbing Mary's hand. I wasn't about to let her die. Not now. Not when we were this close. It was less now about the fact she was a named character, and more the fact I had already gone through so much effort.
Never thought I'd do so much for so little in return.
I joked in my mind, and tried to give a strained grin. My hand trembled around the revolver, but not from fear of failure, but from the knowledge of what would come next.
It's been a long time since I've killed another human being.
As we slowly entered, Arthur whispered:
"When I say run, you sprint. Both of you. Don't stop. No matter what you hear. No matter who you see."
Mary nodded. She was scared, yes—but she wasn't breaking. Not yet. And I refused to get beaten in a battle of composure.
The moment we entered, I heard it.
A low tremble. The black fog quivered like a beast, shapes forming in its wake.
Arthur reacted instantly. He slashed to his right, his blade seemingly cutting nothing...
Until it did.
A butler lunged from the fog, but Arthur's blade sliced through him with ease. The man's body split mid-air, collapsing with a wet thud. His sword now dripped crimson, contrasting the light he gave off.
I fought my stomach and locked in.
No time for weakness.
Arthur glanced back.
"RUN!"
We sprinted.
Gunfire echoed outside.
Fog swirled around us.
And then—I saw it.
Afterimages.
People—lunging, hiding, crouching.
One man tried to grab my ankle. I saw him before he could even reach me. Bald, old, his wrinkled hand stretched too slow. One shot to the back of the head ended it. His body slumped.
Another one lunged from the left—knife aimed at my ribs.
Too slow.
My left boot collided with his face, staggering him. I fired into his abdomen, blood spraying into the dark. I felt thankful that I learnt self defense before this.
These eyes… they're unreal.
I moved faster, more confident—but careful. I only had a few bullets left.
Arthur, ahead of us, fought like a hurricane. Three, four, five bodies rushed him at once, but he held the line, gold flashing in the black as he raced.
Another figure, this time a maid, appeared cloaked in the fog to my right. She held a pistol. The afterimage showed her shooting her pistol straight at my head.
Before she could even raise her gun, I shot into the dark. I heard a thud sound, and continued to sprint to the door.
Three left.
I cursed under my breath for choosing such a small magazined pistol. Six bullets were not enough.
Two more came next, one from either side. No weapons, just raw numbers as they both lunged.
The right one dove low to grab my legs, probably to immobilize me. I shot him mid-air as he stopped and collapsed. The other lunged for my neck.
Too close.
I blocked him with my forearm. He bit down, hard. I felt fabric tear, skin burn.
But I didn't stop. I threw him forward and shot him in the back.
One left.
We were nearly there. The pearly doors gleamed just ahead, Arthur was still fighting for the entrance, the seemingly endless horde refused to give him a break.
Two more afterimages appeared in the fog.
One aimed a rifle—at Mary.
A rifle?! Where the hell—
Without giving it a second thought, I pulled the trigger. The man collapsed before he could lift it.
But I missed the second one who was coming at me, and with no bullets left, I had little choice.
A small shadow lunged for my throat.
I had no time.
And then, a black spike ripped through the shadow's chest, made from the same black fog surrounding us, stopping him mid-air. I stopped for a moment, and I saw him clearly.
A child.
No older than twelve.
Wearing a butler's uniform.
His hair... it looked like mine. Even his face.
He stared at me with blank, white eyes. Eyes that reflected mine, only mine were pitch black.
The blackness in my eyes swirled as if it was alive, and as the spike of black smoke disappeared, dropping the boy to the ground, the black tint left my eyes.
I gave a silent apology in my head, having no time to think about anything but escape.
I'm sorry.
Without looking back, I grabbed Mary and dove forward. Through the doors. Into the light.
We had escaped.