“We might not have a lot of curse casters left, but we’ve got cursed weapons and magic swords comin’ out of our ears, don’t we?”
“Y-yes, ma’am…” the man replied with a nod.
Valletta smiled. “Then I’m gonna send us out a little invite. Get the party ready, boys. Only instead of cake, I wanna see as many traps as those little heads of yours can devise.”
They’ve stopped coming…
Bete thought as he downed one of Loki’s high potions, currently hidden within the darkness of the backstreets. Wiping his chin once it was gone, he tossed the empty vial onto the stone. His amber eyes narrowed in thought.
They run outta guys? There’s no way. I haven’t seen that woman make an appearance yet. But I still don’t know where they’re comin’ from. Do I howl again? See if more come runnin’…?
Perhaps out of some sort of pride at their shadow-born lineage, the assassins had refused to give away any information on their allies, terrified as they were. Despite the unceasing sensation of fiery red constantly pulsating through his body, Bete figured he might as well try, so he slipped out from the safety of the shadows and back onto the streets.
Crumbling buildings, abandoned weapons and strewn shards of the same, burned rubble.
Racing past debris that looked straight out of a city of ruins, he set his sights on the tallest building in the district…when all of a sudden, he noticed something underfoot.
“…”
It was a trail of blood.
A snakelike red path, almost as though someone had been dragging a body.
It was very clearly deliberately placed to lead him somewhere, continuing on down the street. Bete stared at it in silence for a moment, then took off.
Corner after corner he turned, the trail of blood leading him down the convoluted web of streets.
“This handwriting…” he murmured, looking at a piece of scrap building material that was resting beneath an overhanging archway. On the side of the stone block was a message written in red.
Come to the palace, Vanargand! We’re so looking forward to welcoming you!
He pored over the blood-scrawled Koine, the “paint” likely coming from the corpse of the assassin slumped against the nearby wall. Perhaps by shoving a cloth of some sort in his open wound and using it as a paintbrush? But the light was already gone from the battered corpse’s eyes, and bloody rivulets streaked from its multitude of lacerations. Bete didn’t throw more than a glance at it, instead simply staring at the personalized invitation.
He recognized this hastily drawn scrawl.
It was the same as the one written on the walls of Knossos when they’d found Leene and the others dead.
Bete clenched his fist so hard it shook, and then he was off, leaping atop the roof of a nearby brothel. His eyes went to Ishtar Familia’s home, the great palace towering tall and proud above the darkness of the crowded buildings.
Then, with a sudden jerk, he looked straight up.
The rain had come to a stop. And through the swath of dark clouds, the dim blue of the sky above was peeking out. The moon, however, was still hidden behind the sea of gray.
With one last silent look, Bete hopped down from the roof and set his sights on Belit Babili.
He arrived at his destination without a hitch, not even having bothered to stay on his guard during the trip. Now that he was standing so close to Belit Babili, it was hard for him to deny its majesty, even though it was crumbling after Freya Familia’s attack. It boasted all the grandeur and prestige of a royal desert palace, not a single celch of it lacking in luxurious extravagance, right down to the finely chiseled lions gracing its many columns. The cracked golden facade covering the entire building was a symbol of both opulence and decay. And across the circular garden guarding the palace’s entryway stood a colossal door, the familia’s emblem—a veiled courtesan, currently missing entire chunks of stone from her face—looking down from on high.
Paying none of this any heed, Bete charged straight past the damaged remnants and into the palace proper.
He was greeted by a grand elephantine hall of white marble, also in a state of disarray. Though the hallways visible all the way up to the ceiling many floors overhead seemed nigh uncountable, Bete didn’t even have a chance to get lost. No, a red carpet had already been laid out in preparation for his arrival.
Not one of cloth—but one of blood.
“Well, isn’t this artsy-fartsy…” Bete mumbled, his brows furrowing as he followed the trail of blood. It took him down a long hallway, then down the stairs past a hidden door that had already been opened for him. He sped along in silence, the air around him growing colder and colder.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he passed by the crumpled corpse of an assassin, then followed the path until he reached an enormous underground hall, not altogether dissimilar to the one he’d just left at the palace’s entrance.
Tall, broad columns lined the open space on either side, supporting the ceiling more than ten meders overhead and almost reminiscent of the underground sewers he’d infiltrated with Loki a while back. Magic-stone lanterns, too, were fastened sporadically across the rows of columns, giving the space an ethereal glow.
An underground chamber of this size…Had Ishtar been planning to keep some sort of monstrous pet?
“I knew you’d come, Vanargand,” came the sudden voice, almost unimaginably loud as Bete scanned his environs. Then she appeared, fur-lined overcoat flapping as she stepped out from the shadow of a pillar about eighty meders in front of him and smack-dab in the center of the hall.
“You bitch…”
“And you came alone, too; how wonderful! Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose. Your kind is as easy to read as ever!” Valletta jeered, belting out a laugh and ignoring the murderous look in the werewolf’s eyes. Her fingers were curled around the grip of a one-handed sword—a cursed weapon, no doubt. She raised it now to the height of her chest, thrusting it in Bete’s direction as she continued to push at his every button with endless joy.
“The two of us know each other far too well to need pleasantries at this point. Besides, I wouldn’t want any of your little friends poking their dirty noses into our business. And the way I see it, you wouldn’t, either.”
“…”
“Come on, then!”
Now that the prologue was out of the way, Bete’s eyes flashed with a sharpened glint.
He could already sense the presence of the ten-, twenty-some assailants hiding in the shadows of the surrounding pillars. This was a trap; that much was for sure. But none of that mattered to Bete. Not now. He was ready to kill, no matter how many enemies came at him.
Fury coursing through his veins, he took a step forward. But…
“?!”
That’s when he noticed it.
What’s…?
The stone floor was ever so faintly glowing, myriad geometric shapes shimmering faintly on the surface. They were a reddish-purple color, just about masked completely in the amaranthine phosphorescence of the magic-stone lanterns lighting the room. And they covered the entire length of the room, each one of them 120 or so meders across.
The round shapes seemed to center around Valletta in the middle of the room.
Bete narrowed his eyes.
“What’s wrong, Level Six? Don’t tell me you’re scared! You wouldn’t run away with your tail between your legs now of all times, would you?”
True enough, Bete didn’t have much choice in the matter now.
Was it magic? A curse? Or something else entirely?
At this point, though, he didn’t really care. This hungry wolf had only one thing on his mind: killing and eating his prey.
He stepped forward, metal boots landing in the range of the reddish-purple circles.
“He-he-he!”
With one grin from Valletta, the battle began.
Bete shot forward, kicking up and off the stone.
Only for Valletta to leap
to the side, dashing back into the shadows of the columns to escape.
What, you don’t wanna play?
Bete hissed as he raced after Valletta, who was now making use of the entire width of the underground chamber to duck and dodge away from the wolf. She let out an even louder guffaw, and though Bete knew she was trying to goad him on, he couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling up inside him. Column after column he smashed in his pursuit as the woman cackled in glee.
It was like he was stuck in an endless loop. Though clearly the faster of the two, he realized that no matter how many times he tried to attack, one of her Thanatos Familia goons was always there to block him.
The rosy glow of the magic-stone lanterns overhead. The reddish-purple haze of the patterns underfoot. Together, they made for an ethereal, otherworldly ambience, and in the midst of that world of color, Bete’s face twisted in increasing irritation.
“Don’t let him touch me, you worthless pieces of scum! Ha…Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!”
Again and again, they leaped from the shadows, the obedient servants protecting their mad queen.
It was a deadly game of cat and mouse. Or hide-and-seek, perhaps, only this hider was having the time of her life shooting blades at the seeker.
Valletta’s features seemed to glow red in the light emanating up from the floor.
“GruuuuuaaaaaAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!”
“Gngh?!”
Bete let out a roar as he suddenly charged forward, his fist just barely missing Valletta’s throat. The force, however, was enough to carve clean through the stone floor, and the gust of wind it created was more than capable of launching her into the air.
She tumbled backward, forced to thrust her sword into the ground like a staff to slow her slide and pull herself back up to her feet.
“Shoulda known…gettin’ too close to you was a bad idea…” she hissed, her ever-present provocative smile still on her lips as she brushed the dust from her cheeks. At the same time, another group of attackers rushed forward to meet him, and Bete grimaced.
I missed?! Goddammit!
Bete cursed himself and his own missed opportunity. She was only a Level 5. He should have been able to take her down easily. Was his own rage hindering his movements?
He scowled, throwing himself at the incoming enemies. Limbs flying, he aimed punch after kick at the clingy gnats, decorating the underground hall with their blood.
Then, he set his sights back on Valletta, who herself had already put some distance between them.
Next time. Next time he’d have her for sure. And with that oath, his amber eyes ran red with murderous resolve.
There weren’t any traps, or at least none that he could sense immediately. Just try and dodge me now, he raged, the maddened fire inside him building into an inferno.
Only—there was one thing wrong with that thought.
Valletta’s trump card was already in place—and had been for some time.
“”
The first thing that clued him in was the sudden change in light.
Then, her followers, the Thanatos Familia disciples he’d already blown away, began gradually, ever so slowly, catching up with him. Tears and blood streaming down their cheeks, they pointed their cursed blades at the werewolf, faces half-crazed.
It was so strange.
They were somehow speeding up.
Or no.
Not even that
“He-he-he.”
It was so faint at the beginning, Bete himself hadn’t even noticed it.
“He-he-he-he-he.”
But it was becoming clearer and clearer as time went on.
“He-he-he-he-he-he-he-he.”
As Valletta’s smile grew in voracious amusement, Bete’s movements began to slow, and he finally became aware of just what was happening.
What’s…going on?
His limbs felt heavy.
Like his whole body was made of lead.
It wasn’t that the enemies were moving faster. No, quite the opposite.
Bete was the one who was moving slower—laughably so. Hilariously so.
“Took damn well long enoughbut now, the time has come!”
Just as Valletta’s spit reached the ground…
The enemies’ attacks began to hit.
“Gngh!”
It came from the back first, a light scratch that left him briefly in shock.
Though the gash itself wasn’t deep, the searing pain of the curse made his fur stand on end, and with a quick half spin, he sent his elbow into the jaw of the offending assailant. They swept toward him in constant waves, sending up panicked wails as their swords came flying—a fierce retaliation, as though avenging their fallen comrades.
Bete repelled what incoming cursed blades he could, but his movements were so sluggish. Too sluggish. He couldn’t respond fast enough. His body could no longer keep up with the rapid-fire perception of his first-tier-adventurer mind.
He was evading less and less, forced to defend more and more.
This…!
Bete could sense it now.
The strange change that had befallen his body.
His movements themselves were being restrained at an accelerating speed.
“How ya feelin’ there, Vanargand?”
“?!”
As Bete barely managed to leap away from an enemy attack, he felt Valletta’s sickly sweet breath directly on his cheek. How had he allowed her to get so close? Only a second ago, she’d been running away from him! He hurled his fist like a bolt of lightning at that vicious smile, only for Valletta to quickly duck out of the way.
Her eyes flashed as she activated the blades on her boots, sending out her leg in a high-speed horizontal kick.
“Hrraaauugh!!”
“Gngh?!”
The two strikes landed direct hits on his Frosvirt, shattering not only a section of their armor but the inlaid yellow jewels, as well. With their core gone, the mythril Superiors fell silent.
“You don’t think I know about your nasty old magic-sucking boots, huh?!” Valletta laughed, moving like an acrobat as she directed a kick toward his upper body while standing on her head. When her leg struck his armguard, she used the recoil to jump back, reclaiming the distance between them.
Bete, meanwhile, now completely robbed of his weapon and power, stumbled backward.
Losing his Frosvirt was bad, for sure, but his biggest problem now was still the overwhelming weight slowing down his body. It seemed like every second that passed saw his reaction time worsening. No, his power, too.
He threw a glance first at the cracked jewels on his boots, then at his arms and legs, and finally, down at the still-glowing reddish-purple pattern decorating the floor.
The more I move, the worse it gets. That thing must be lowering my Status…!
“Took you long enough to realize, you great big galoot!” Valletta called out, her voice only adding to the already building panic in his gut. “Let me introduce you to my own special brand of magic!”
“!”
“I call it Shaldo! I suppose you could call it a type of…barrier magic,” she explained, her voice reverberating through the underground hall as the attacks on Bete came to a momentary halt.
Almost as though responding to her call, the geometric patterns on the floor seemed to glow even brighter.
“But this magic isn’t a barrier at all. What’s more, it has an annoyingly long chant, and it dissipates the moment I step outside it. Not even that useful in real combat, either, given how much Mind it zaps. Damn thing!” she ranted, clearly irritated at the one magic spell she possessed. “However,” she started again, lips curling upward. “It’s perfect for a trap. Even more so for catching impudent little beasties who can’t rein in their own rage!”
“Ngh…!”
“As you might have guessed already, Shaldo is a Status Down spell. It saps the power and speed of any uninvi
ted guest who steps inside…And the more they move around, the worse it gets.”
Whether she simply had time to spare or was enjoying this opportunity to bestow his death sentence, Bete wasn’t sure, but Valletta gave him all the details about the features of her spell. Listening to it, however, made the color drain from his face.
A type of anti-Status Magic, then, but one that didn’t require repeated castings, able to continuously drop an opponent’s Status all by itself—rare magic, for sure. And if the chant really was as long as she said, its power had to be massive, with no way to break it aside from Valletta’s previously revealed conditions. It seemed that no matter how many of them there were inside it—one, ten, even a hundred—all of them would have their Statuses lowered by this super-wide-range spell.
“The more you scuttle around, the tighter the invisible strings of my magic!”
Everything inside the reddish-purple circle.
Was Valletta’s castle. Her prison.
In other words…
“That’s right, my little flea. I’m the spider…and you’ve walked straight into my web!”
Bete’s eyes widened in shock.
“There’s no running away now, Vanargand! You’ve been rampaging about so much already, the threads of my web are already alllllll over you!”
It was true.
Bete’s Status had dropped so low by this point, he’d breached the level threshold. If he had to guess, he was down to a Level 4 already, which was perilously low. What’s more, Valletta had slowly lured him straight into the center of the barrier. Even if he used every ounce of strength he had left to try and escape, who knew how many attacks he’d have to fend off before he made it to the edge? And with every block, every dodge, his Status would plunge even further.
The frenzied wolf had truly fallen straight into her trap.
“Now then…let’s play! Ready yourselves, my inept minions!!”
As the strident command echoed off the walls, the rest of the Evils materialized from the shadowy expanse behind the columns. Every single one of them—wielded a magic sword.
Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon? On the Side: Sword Oratoria, Vol. 8 Page 17
