Purple Ink Reborn (2019)

"Purple Ink Reborn" was my first long story written directly in English, as a collaboration with an online acquaintance of mine, known by the moniker of GrapplerGoddess. She had created a vast array of characters and often discussed with me about worldbuilding and plot development, since around 2018. Her characters are almost all exclusively VILLAINS and many of them are sensual in nature. However, at some point, one of her acquaintances and her decided to collaborate on a short comic, pitting their characters against each other... and my mind raced. I knew these characters well enough that I simply couldn't contain myself, and started writing, writing, writing, directly in English. Back in 2019, though, the deal fell out right after the first version of the tale was complete. In order not to throw away everything, with approval from GG I came up with a complete new set of original characters with similar roles to the ones expunged (all those not belonging to her) but with different twists and personalities. This is how the whole of Stratosphere, Reiner Greschnik included, made its first appearance. This story remained unpublished, but Stratosphere went on living inside the Schwarzerblitz universe, with just little differences from the original versions. In hindsight, this is pretty funny how a fall out caused me to create so many new characters I'd use later.

1. Operation Aragami

The chopper started its descent, blades twirling in a well organized, circular motion. A vortex of steel, keeping the helicopter afloat in its struggle against gravity, like a lash preventing a huge, clumsy beast from trying to fall to its death down a cliff.

A small contingent of security guards, all wrapped in a thick, tactical armor, their rifles ready. Eyes covered by a visor, depersonalized armed dummies, doing a job just for money, no attachment or passion.

On one side, the guards, standing in a semicircle, waiting for the arrival of the boss. On the other side, leaning on a wall, a girl.

Or something that looked like one.

Her arms crossed, a gloomy look on her face, black sclera pierced by a shining, crimson beacon. Flowing white hair, writhing and squirming like snakes. A bone mask encasing a somber expression, lost in thought. Someone would have defined her “sad”, if this word could have been used for such a creature.

One of the guards looked at her. It wasn't the first time he noticed her around. He found her strangely endearing, despite her clear lack of humanity. The creature's eyes met the black visor, went through it, sparking like blazing jewels.

“Anything wrong, meatbag? Is there something on my face?”

“Uh, well...”

A sound of fingers snapped.

“I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that baby. The meat is too tender and remains stuck between my teeth, every single time! If only I had listened to mydietologist...”

The man jumped in place, his rifle steadily in his arms. Then, he turned his gaze away, shivering. The girl chuckled.

“Meatbags...”

The giant metal whale landed with grace, the vortex slowing down, more and more, until a complete halt.

The door sliding open, two security guards going out first, moving at the sides of a small, retractable, staircase. A polished leather boot set foot on the steps, a boot belonging to an elegant figure, wrapped in a blazing red, winglike jacket, painted with black accents. At first sight, one would have noticed the peculiar beauty of the woman getting out of the chopper, made even more prominent by the finesse of her movements. However, a careful observer would have noticed something amiss, little details not adding up. The scars on her cheek. The unnaturally long nail on her index fingers. The rigid expression of her face. The cold, emotionless demeanor.

Bright hair, bright eyes, bright clothes. A dance of flames and decay. Life outside, death inside.

The guard who looked at the creature stepped forward, bowing in front of the newcomer.

“Welcome back, Miss Beauregard. I hope everything went...”

“Where is Riezlee?”

The man almost frozen in place, his mouth half open. He couldn't even complete the sentence.

“So?”

One moment of discomfort, then his hand pointed at the wall, at the creature standing there, with crossed arms, at the shadow of the building.

“Yo, boss.”

Sharp teeth gleaming in the shallow shadows of the afternoon, sharp as the voice who came out through them. The guards stood still, gazing at the woman standing among them.

Rena Beauregard, the powerful CEO of one of the most – if not the most – important biotech company in the known world. A walking concentrate of ambition and intelligence, tainted by obsession and pure hatred, whose reason was unknown to most of her subordinates – if not all.

Rena strode on, leaving her men behind.

A meeting of stares, a rotten phoenix and a deadly mutant, face to face.

“You should have sent your status report two hours ago.”

“Sorry, I had some annoyance to take care of.”

Rena let out a short sigh.

“Let me guess... Azalea?”

“Bingo, boss. She hates Rickson to the guts. She's seen pics, you know. She defined the place, aehm, an architectural disaster without any trace of elegance or beauty, something better torn to shreds and turned into humus.”

Rena smashed the palm of her hand on her forehead.

“For God's sake, you couldn't send Chrome or Naga, could you? Or, you know, go there yourself? The Rickson mission has the highest priority and...”

Rena turned around, averted the gaze.

“... it's better to discuss it inside. Alone.”

Riezlee faked a bow, showing a twisted smile.

“Aaaaas you command, boss!”

The two went through a heavy door, leaving the guards outside. People paid to do their job and not to make questions. But Riezlee itself was the living reason why they couldn't abide to the latter part of their duty. She had quickly become an everyday topic, among them.

Was she really a man-eater? Or was she just messing with them? Some found her pretty disturbing, but at least a couple soldiers thought she was a fascinating being – the man who talked to Rena being one of them.

What business their boss could have had with such a creature, was largely a mystery to them. A mystery better left as such, if they valued their life and wanted to reach retirement age with all limbs at their place.

Closed the door at her back, Rena quickly moved through the corridor, flashing neon lights at the sides, illuminating a dark hallway to the control center.

“Please, tell me one more time why you sent that psychopath there.”

“Naga's got urgent business. She's tracking an ol' friend of hers, a certain Selena. They were pals in the army, apparently. She's hella sure they'll get to an agreement and that she'll be a pretty valuable element.”

“Couldn't Azalea take care of this?”

“Azalea? Interacting with people?”

Riezlee exploded in a burst of laughter.

“Really, boss?! If you wanted someone dead, that was the best solution, indeed.”

Rena sighed once more.

“Well, it could have been a good occasion to get rid of her, someway.”

“Most likely, we would have lost a valuable asset. And with asset, I'm talkin' about Selena.”

The duo strolled through the corridor, swiftly moving through the hall towards the laboratory.

“What about Operation Aragami?”

Riezlee nodded, her voice turning serious all of a sudden.

“Chrome retrieved the sample.”

A spark of excitement flew through Rena's veins.

“And?”

A bitter smile tainted Riezlee's face.

“It's amazing, boss. It has characteristics never seen before. The other researchers and I couldn't imagine Subject X's blood to be so... excitingly interesting. The amount of hemoglobin and the way the proteins are folded is...”

“Spare me the technobabble. Did it work?”

Riezlee opened the door of the lab.

An untidy mess of desks, with a small aquarium in the middle, surrounded by complex machinery. Four men and women were checking values on their computer screens, while two were just standing near the biggest table. Posters and pictures were stuck on the walls, ranging from lewd trucker calendars to artsy replicas of Van Gogh's paintings. A collection of ripped central pages of Lust, a popular softcore erotic magazine was standing near the entrance. The picture at the top portrayed a naked girl with a very pale complexion, shiny, platinum hair and cold, blue eyes, in a suggestive pose. She was cuddling a well-dressed man, with long blond hair and an unpleasant smile. Rena glanced at the photo, at the girl's emotionless eyes, her expressionless face. At the annoying smile of the man she was hugging, the scar on his face, his red glasses. She shook her head, averted her gaze, moved it around the room. On the opposite wall, one colorful poster advertised an incoming all-female wrestling tournament called Queen of the Oujos. There was an A4 paper clipped on the side, with various bets marked on. Riezlee's name was circled in red, written in a childlike calligraphy near the names of six other researchers. In the background, a TV screen was broadcasting live wrestling matches, the voices of the commentators as a soft background noise for the scientists.

Riezlee made her way through the door, entered the room with her coat flying.

“Hey, meatbags! How's Mr. Froggy?”

A man with long, oily black hair turned around, towards the voice. White coat, dark glasses, a two-days beard unevenly cut. The classic portrait of a lab rat, without any redeeming features.

“Oh, I guess he's feeling well, after all.”

Rena distinctly heard the croaking of a frog. Her gaze moved left and right, until it found it.

A small, living frog, joyfully jumping between plastic islands floating inside a small aquarium.

With a scalpel coming out of his body, still stuck where her heart used to be.

“What the...”

Rena's jaw dropped.

“The sample was small, too much to replicate it, so we decided to try it out, boss. We killed Mr. Froggy, waited for his heart to stop, then bathed him with an unprocessed serum obtained from the blood.”

The frog kept on jumping, happily croaking under the astonished eyes of a more astonished Rena.

“This... this is not a joke, right?!”

Riezlee placed her hand near the aquarium. Mr. Froggy jumped on it, started moving up her arm, with the bizarre metallic noise of what was left of the scalpel hanging from his belly.

“Nay, boss. This is REALITY!”

Rena clenched her fist.

She would have finally been able to resurrect her master.

Only to kill him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

In a perfect, continuous cycle of death, rebirth, and death, up to the end of times.

She wouldn't have let him die, this time. And not even the gods, true or false, would have saved him from his eternal fate of pain.

Adrenaline pumped through Rena's vein, the vision of her master suffering was enticing. And now, slowly but surely, nearer to fruition. She just needed a bit more blood...

“... that said...”

Riezlee's voice interrupted her lucid dreams.

“... that said, it was a Pyrrhic victory. Chrome... Chrome is still under medical treatment.”

Something similar to sadness clouded the monster girl's face. Something that could be described as dark, pitch black tears, accumulating at the bottom of her eyes.

But a monster can't cry, or so it is told.

“I don't know the details. He completed the mission, but when he came back... he wasn't all well. Something... or someone hit him really hard. He had severe cut wounds and.. and...”

Rena shrugged.

“It was worth it. Now we know that the blood works. Operation Aragami has been a complete success.”

“You know, boss... I want daddy to come back. I really do want it.”

Rena met her gaze once more. Those black trails on her cheeks. A strangely compelling image.

“But... sacrificing Chrome for it? Not in one million years, boss.”

A grin, her teeth gleaming, her voice reduced to a hiss.

“Ignore his safety once more, boss... and no resurrection, no god's blood will save you from me. He is your life insurance, boss. If something, anything happens to him... and, by chance, you are the cause of it...”

Silence fell. A heavy curtain of silence, a conflict of stares for one, long, interminable second.

Mr. Froggy jumped on Riezlee's head, standing atop of her hair.

“Y.. you croaking idiot! Get off my hair! NOW!”

The tension fell off, as Rena chuckled at the sight of Riezlee forcibly removing the small guest from her white mane.

Riezlee took the frog in her hand, and shoved it violently inside the aquarium, splashing water everywhere. Mr. Froggy recovered from the shock, rapidly swam to the surface.

“... we were saying?”

Rena went back to her usual self.

“Chrome is being patched in the infirmary, Naga is on a mission, Azalea is at least fifty kilometers away from here.”

Her gaze wandered to the once-dead animal.

“And, most importantly... the blood works.”

Riezlee nodded.

“Yup. But to resurrect both daddy and your master, we need much more of it. We should either slay Subject X whole or capture someone who has received blood from them, as it tends to self-replicate inside a human host, reaching surprisingly high concentrations. A living sample would be the best choice, but...”

“A living sample, huh...”

Riezlee frowned.

“You are not calling her again, right?”

“What if I would?”

“She makes me shiver.”

A smile painted on Rena's face.

“I thought you called yourself a monster.”

“Indeed I am a monster... but that woman...”

A sigh. Riezlee wrapped herself in her own arms.

“You know, boss. Look at me. You see it, right? I am different. I am not one of you meatbags. You can tell it at a glance.”

Riezlee became serious all of a sudden, meeting Rena's eyes once more.

“Well, take a look at her eyes and tell me if she even looks human. Maybe, biologically, she is, but deep inside...”

Riezlee grinned, without averting her stare.

“... deep inside, she is the real monster, among us.”

The girl stepped away, moving towards the heart of the lab.

“So, please, if you are going to invite Ying Tao here again, do it when I am at least two kilometers away, alright?”

A small nod as an answer.

“Alright, alright, don't get so worked up. I am of the same opinion, doctor, but you know what they say. Desperate times...”

Rena glanced at the TV screen, her eyes narrowed.

“... call for desperate measures.”

2. 2. Ink Night Slam

Michio Funabaki was, for all intents and purposes, an unremarkable man. He was tall but not so tall, short but not so short, neither fat nor slim, with a skin of an unspecified color and short gray hair. He was easy to ignore, and even easier not to notice in the first place. A ghost without features, always in the shadows of someone else. The second best of his class, the third best of his soccer team. Never one day in the limelight.

But this was what made Funabaki so valuable, at least to Rena. And Funabaki took pleasure and pride in his own insignificance. He could see without being seen, hear without being heard. Like a plant, placed somewhere in the waiting room of an attorney studio.

More so, in the stands of a huge stadium, during a live pay-per-view event. Funabaki was not feeling nervous or anything. It was his job, after all. But, deep inside, he hated people.

Something bumped into him, eliciting a muffled swearword.

A big, fat guy with a short t-shirt unveiling his unshaven belly, hugged him while waving his hands like a madman.

“Pal! You saw that? YOU SAW THAT? THAT was a Starry Night, pal!”

A burly woman, at least as excited as the man, was shouting at the ring, waving a brush replica.

“INK GODDESS! Please, make me your canvas!!!”

The noises of the crowd were almost unbearable, Funabaki could feel the excitement in the air. Wrestling is fake, or so they say, but LAW was apparently serious business. People got hurt, almost every night. Hearing the sirens of a rescue vehicle was such a common occurrence, that ambulance-chan quickly became a mascot for the events, as an omnipresent, benevolent “rescue-waifu”.

Funabaki adjusted his fedora, without a single word. The match was going to be over soon, if the crowd was to be trusted.

“PAINT HER BLACK! PAINT HER BLACK! PAINT HER BLACK!”

There was a choir, a choir of viewers, becoming louder and louder every second. An amazonian woman was standing at the center of the ring, wrapped in a white leotard with an intricate ink pattern painted over it. She had long black hair and what could be described as a by-the-book homicidal look in their eyes.

The audience was cheering for her, but little did she care about it. What was important was to get the prize home.

A group of fans activated air trumpets just behind Funabaki, making him lose his balance for a moment. He sighed, while adjusting his fedora once more. According to some well informed rumors, the LAW executive board made every athlete sign a contract which waived their freedom for a period of 24 hours if they lost a peculiar kind of match. This intriguing aspect, together with another type of match that could be broadcast only very late at night and not even in all countries – a type of match which was indeed very popular among the lab rats back at the base, according to Riezlee – skyrocketed LAW ratings, almost exclusively due to its shock value. And the objective beauty of their athletes, that is.

Funabaki directed his attention back at the ring. While the brute was standing, her opponents didn't have this luxury. She was leaning on the ropes, in an evident state of confusion. Her head had been struck against the ring post three times in a row, right before suffering a true powerbomb against the turnbuckles. The match was virtually over.

The giantess bent her knees and, with a speed that would have made Goldberg envious, speared her opponent to the ground, leaving her senseless and breathless. The crowd exploded, people jumping, shouting, waving plastic brushes bathed in black ink. The whole stadium roared like a lion, a beast triumphing over a powerless prey, a celebration of the law of the jungle.

“PAINT HER BLACK! PAINT HER BLACK! PAINT HER BLACK!”

The referee, a deceivingly thin girl with pigtails, sighed heavily, then started a ten-count for a technical K.O. None of that woman's matches had ever ended in a pinfall, until then. It was rumored that she wasn't able to understand the concept of “winning by pinfall”, while she managed to come to terms with the concept of “losing by submission”.

Yet, there she was.

The Maniac Painter, Ying Tao. Standing firm, at the center of the ring. Ready to grab her prize for the evening.

“... Nine... Ten!”

The referee crossed her arms, made a gesture towards the commentators' table. A bald man with a dark complexion and bizarre, spiral-like goggles jumped on his seat, his microphone bare centimeters from his lips.

“It's over! IT'S OVER! Ying Tao, the mad goddess of LAW, wins this Prisoner-of-War match... out of sheer supremacy!”

A young woman dressed in red, with long auburn hair, took his microphone away, started speaking in his stead.

“There is no doubt! This was a one-way massacre! Lola Morgan didn't stand a chance from the very beginning! If Ying goes on like this, she will grab that Heavyweight Champion belt in no time!”

“To think that she was the one asking for this match...”

“She's surely learned a lesson this evening, Harris: never, never underestimate Ying Tao!”

The crowd cheered for her like mad, the slight amount of booers becoming smaller and smaller every second. Ying was the protagonist of the evening.

People were paying to watch her steamroll any opposition.

People were paying to watch her destroy the babyfaces, the fan favorites.

In some way, Ying was a living representation of everything they could not be: a ruthless, amoral creature, responding only to its deepest instincts and desires, casting away any societal rule, any convention and common sense it would not need. Ying was a reflection of what those people craved to be, if they had enough courage to overstep the boundaries of what was accepted.

But they didn't have it. And, as such, they needed someone like Ying, to mirror their frustration.

“GODDESS OF INK! GODDESS OF INK! GODDESS OF INK!”

Ying listened to the voices, slightly annoyed. It was indeed pleasant to be revered, but barely a tasteless appetizer to what was going to come next.

Her eyes gleamed, outshining the lights burning the ring like a mid-summer sun.

“Morgan! You will be such a wonderful canvas! Your body proportions, your stupid, self-destructive will to show off! How sweet it will be to break everything you hold dear!”

She pointed her finger at the referee, a demonic smile painted on her face.

“You, squishy pigtail! Give me the tape, NOW! I have to secure my prize!”

“T... tape? Isn't... it a bit...?”

Ying towered over the girl, looking at her from above, crunching her fists.

“You were saying?”

The referee put her hands in front of her face, waved them in self-defense.

“IT'S ALRIGHT! IT'S ALRIGHT! Please, don't piledrive me like last time! HERE'S THE TAPE!”

Ying took the roll from her tiny hand, then patted her on the head.

“Good girl. One of these days, step by my atelier...”

She burst into a maniac laughter.

“... there's always room for a new painting!”

The referee ran away, hid herself behind a ring post, her knees trembling. Ying smiled at her gently, then wrapped Lola's wrists and ankles with black tape, before loading her on her own shoulder. The safety volunteers shook their heads. They were ready to take the stretcher right down the ring, to help the poor girl, but they learned the hard way not to try to snatch Ying's prize.

Last time they tried, ambulance-chan got filled to the brim with the unconscious bodies of six rescuers. LAW had to send a public apology to the Red Cross, at the same time strongly advising them not to meddle with the result of a Prisoner-of-War match, unless the victim was in an evident state of pre-death. Especially if the winner happened to be Ying.

Ying walked in front of the volunteers, without giving it a second thought, reaching for the exit of the arena among the cheers and shouts of the crowd. She didn't even stop to greet the audience, there was no time for those pleasantries. What was of utmost importance, was to reach her atelier to start the painting session. Painting until dawn and beyond, on the body of her unconscious victim. She felt ecstatic just by thinking about it.

She walked faster, abandoned the building, reached for her pick-up truck. With one swift gesture, she threw Lola on the open trunk, then she headed for the cockpit. Or, at least, she tried to.

Someone was standing between her and the car's door. A Japanese man, fifteen centimeters smaller than her, dressed in gray, with a hat of the same color. Completely unremarkable.

“Miss Tao?”

Ying grunted.

“I haven't noticed you following me.”

“Nobody does, Miss Tao.”

Ying stared at him again. A meaningless shell of a man, indeed. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of having already met him. The man gazed through the content of the pick up.

“I see you got a pretty interesting bunny as a prize. How was it called, the one before this? Ducky?”

Suddenly, she remembered. She whispered his name, with a low, annoyed tone – apt for a man with no relevance whatsoever.

“Funabaki...”

The small, unremarkable man adjusted his fedora.

“You don't seem happy to see me, Miss Tao.”

Ying shook her head, stared at the sky, without making eye contact.

“Oh my, how could I, Funabaki? Every time we meet – and, I mean, every single time – It's because that woman needs something done. Usually, urgent. Or dangerous. But always, invariably, against my own interests.”

She pointed her finger at the trunk, with an elegant, yet restrained gesture.

“... and I have really no time to deal with that nonsense now, as you can clearly see. So, please, go back to Beauregard– as the good, yapping dog you are – and tell her I'm busy for the rest of the night.”

“You can tell her yourself.”

Funabaki browsed his pocket, extracted a flip phone which looked directly out of the early '00s. The phone had only one single button and no screen, just a speaker and a microphone. It was one of the several throwaway mobiles Rena used to keep contact with peoples without being tracked. Ying grinned, ripped the phone out of Michio's hand and pressed the button.

A well known voice welcomed her.

“Greetings, Ying.”

“Beauregard...”

Ying took a deep breath, her voice free of anger, tinted by a slight bit of annoyance at most.

“I was just going to my atelier for painting my new canvas – one that I have freshly acquired, no further than ten minutes ago. I don't have time for your business now. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow. Or, you know, you could take care of it yourself, since apparently you have enough time on your hands to stay up so late just to bother me.”

She could hear a chuckle coming from the other side, followed by Rena's voice shouting something against the perpetrator. It was a different voice, probably that of the monster girl Rena kept as a macabre sort of overgrown puppy. Ying thought about her for a second. She could have been an interesting canvas – after all, she never painted on mutants before.

The voice of Rena came back from the speaker again, a tip of frustration in her tone.

“Please, Ying. Not again. I don't have to remind you that if I snap my fingers, the police will find out about your... huh, atelier, right?”

Ying's eyes opened all of a sudden, her voice went up one octave.

“This is blackmailing!”

“I call it a reasonable exchange of favors. Now, back to business.”

A small pause, one of those dramatic pauses Rena loved to do to underline a message she deemed important.

“You have to infiltrate the Stratosphere headquarters and bring me at least one of the bodyguards of Reiner Greschnik, alive.”

Ying's blood froze for a long instant.

“You... you cannot be serious! The Stratosphere headquarters?! Greschnik's bodyguards?! You are joking, right? This is just an elaborate prank or what?! I mean, you are asking me to storm a building where an entire platoon of soldiers armed with kalashnikovs would have troubles to get in... and get out of it alive?!”

“That's precisely the point. They would never expect something so reckless.”

Ying remained silent. Infiltrating the Stratosphere building. The headquarters of the second biggest biotechnology company in the world, fifth most valued space tech enterprise on the market. Kidnap the bodyguard of one of the most famous men alive. All in plain sight.

“This would make me a moving target for them – you have realized it, RIGHT?”

“Let me handle this little annoyance.”

“Oh, sure! Now, you'll tell me I have to go this evening, maybe? I don't know, do I also need to overthrow the government of Japan, now that I'm at it?”

“Going to the Stratosphere headquarters now will suffice.”

“... you haven't really said that, right?”

“I'm afraid I have. These are the orders.”

Ying kept her rage in check, a wild beast growling under a facade of politeness.

“I have other plans, Beauregard. A fresh canvas, who screams to be painted now. If I...”

“Funabaki will keep her company until your return. You have my word.”

“But I –”

“A reasonable exchange of favors.”

Ying grinned.

“Okay, okay! As you wish, boss. I'll head there, get the goods, come back, and forget about it, but! – you will have to stop bothering me for at least one month, alright? And provide me some extra fresh canvases!”

“Fair enough, but I expect results. And I expect them soon. Report once you are out, you will find a disposable phone inside the second pot near the entrance of the building. Funabaki has already taken care of it.”

Ying clenched her fist around the phone, her eyes ablaze. Rena's voice came back once more, much to her surprise.

“Ah, before you crush the phone as usual... Funabaki has something for you. You may find it...”

A chuckle.

“... interesting enough.”

A loud beep, the conversation ended before she could reply.

Ying growled, her masquerade broken, her blood boiling. She threw the phone to the ground, smashed it with her heel, three, four times, stomping it like mad.

“Sure! As if!”

She hit it with one last strike of her boot, pulverizing what was left of it.

Funabaki adjusted his fedora.

“It will be faster if we use your car, Miss Tao. Now, if you would allow me to show you the road...”

3.  

4. 3. Lab Rats

Lights were down in the lab, the cold blue light of the TV screen weakly shining in the dark. The desks had been cast aside to make room for a small sofa, where three of the scientists were lying. Night shifts were hard, but nothing unheard of. It was difficult to keep up the attention for a long time, closed between four walls, without a single window on the outside world. It was almost two o'clock. The display was showing two women trying to force each other into a certain kind of submission, the main event of the newest LAW pay per view.

The members of the research team assembled by Rena were not all fans of female wrestling, but this harmless hobby of some of them had proven precious in binding the group together. Bets for the evening were placed on several scattered pieces of paper, with names and balance. Contrary to the expectations, Riezlee's predictions had been the most accurate, up until then. She was leading the competition by a large margin on the runner up.

Probably, being closer to an animal than a regular human being, Riezlee could judge better than anyone else the level of danger of a wrestler, a literal wild beast when entering the ring – thus, she was able to determine who among the contestant was hungrier for a victory, who was the alpha and who the beta. All in all, whatever the cause, this small game managed to get her closer to her human colleagues. She felt one of them, not just an extraneous body, no matter the fact that they were simple meatbags, compared to her perfection.

The one kind of match where Riezlee was consistently losing points – giving her competitors some room for breathing – was the one they were watching now, exactly that kind of match restricted for broadcast to impractical times at night and directed to a mature (or horny) audience.

What was driving the fighters was not the primal desire to best the other, but a mixture of luxury and will to put the opponent to shame – something she couldn't understand that easily. If your philosophy is kill or be killed, any other result or objective is meaningless.

“Come on! You can do it, Gambit! Resist, just a bit more!”

Zeb, the lab rat with long, greasy hair, was pumping his fist in the air. One of his female colleagues, with short blonde hair decorated by a butterfly-shaped clip, shook her head.

“Zeb, we both know she won't. Stop fighting for a lost cause!”

Zeb rolled his eyes, adjusted his glasses.

“Oh, excuse me if I have not given up all hope to get my money back!”

Riezlee was sitting on a nearby armchair, her knees pressed against her chest, her arms folded around her legs. She was eating a bunch of popcorn from a carton box shared with her lab mates, the white coat leaning on her shoulders, her sandals lying on the carpet. A croaking Mr. Froggy was restlessly jumping on her hair, his belly now patched by a cross-shaped plaster, hiding the scalpel wound. Riezlee was less than pleased by the continuous ribbit, but it was clear that the small animal had taken her in sympathy. She let out a disappointed groan.

“I just can't understand it! Gambit has a better constitution, a more muscular body, she is built to fight! How comes she's losing like that?! Just because Krystal got in her pants?! That's ridiculous!”

Zeb chuckled. He had bet on Gambit too, but watching Riezlee complaining like that was always entertaining. A known visor peeped through the entrance door. It was one of the security guards, also on a night shift. Riezlee's yell guided him to the lab, and curiosity had the best of him.

“Anything the matter?”

The girl with the butterfly clip waved her hand.

“Hi Vince! Nah, Riez here is just a sore loser!”

“Oh, shut up!”

Riezlee threw the popcorn box in her direction, hitting Zeb instead, causing him to tip up, falling from the sofa upside down. A burst of collective laughter enlightened the room. The guard called Vince shrugged.

“Shouldn't you be working, pals? They're called night shifts for a reason, you know?”

Riezlee pointed her finger at the croaking annoyance lying on her head.

“Oh, but we are working! We are waiting for Mr. Froggy to go to sleep. Since we revived him sooner this day, he literally didn't stop jumping or ate anything at all. We agreed that he has to run out of juice at some point, we just don't know when.”

Vince gulped.

“R... revived?”

Riezlee moved her attention back to the TV screen.

“Oh, yeah. We stabbed his heart with a scalpel this morning, bathed him in the blood of what we believe to be an alien or demonic creature and – puff! Little, good Mr. Froggy was back to business! Right, Zeb?”

Zeb was still recovering from the fall, slowly dragging himself to the sofa. However, his scared face was telling a whole story. As well as those of all the other scientists. Riezlee's eyes widened, her scarlet pupils gleamed on the black sclerae. She growled something unintelligible.

“Uuuuh... I've forgotten I wasn't supposed to tell you – what was your name again? Vince? Too bad, it seems that we will just have to advertise a vacancy in the security personnel. HR won't be too happy with that, but...”

The butterfly-clipped girl shook her head.

“Please, Riez, don't eat him here at least, 'kay? Last time, you left such a bloody mess that the cleaning guys got mad and we aaaaall received a pay cut as a reprimand. Notwithstanding the fact that I had to write the poor man's widow that he mysteriously stabbed himself in the neck three times, bleeding to his death.”

Riez rolled her eyes, jumped on her feet. Mr. Froggy leaped away, landing on the sofa, right near Zeb's face.

“Come on, it was only two times! I'm not such a monster!”

Vince froze in place, his hands trembling, the index finger looking for the trigger. Riezlee cracked her knuckles, licked her lips.

“Sorry, my mistake. I'll make it painless, don't worry!”

“Wait, I –“

Riezlee pounced on him at an amazing speed, her teeth just millimeters from his neck. Vince let out a scream, closed his eyes, his whole life passing by as a bad quality movie. He waited for her to kill him. And waited. And waited.

Nothing.

No pain.

No blood.

He was still alive.

Unharmed.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Just to see all lab members laughing like mad, monster girl included.

“You... you... seriously believed it?!”

Zeb and the others were laughing to tears. Riezlee looked at Vince right in the eyes. She was trying to get back a serious face, but it was extremely difficult while admiring his priceless expression.

“Listen... do you know how many of you guards see stuff they're not supposed to? Usually, I just let them go away in exchange of a liiiittle bit of discretion on our... cough harmless hobby.”

One mocking voice rose from the crowd.

“By the way, Gambit lost, Riez! I've gained ten points on you!”

Riezlee growled.

“Whatever, that was a mood killer for the evening. I'll go check sample number two, now.”

Then, she turned towards the guard.

“Unless you want me to chew you for real, go out, don't follow me and forget all that you saw. Alright, Vince?”

Vince didn't think about it twice. He furiously nodded, then ran away from the room, leaving the scientists behind. But he was not far enough for Riezlee's voice to reach him.

“And remember that I know where to find you. In case news of a zombie frog starts spreading through the company, I mean. In that case, I hope you have a very good life insurance or no family to care about, meatbag!”

Vince's body shook violently, his eyes blankly staring at the floor. He was one of those who found Riezlee strangely compelling. Even in that moment, when her teeth were bare millimeters to end his life prematurely, she found her... almost fascinating. Even if his head was seriously trying to remove that memory and shut that thought up, he could feel a sort of sympathy for her.

“D... damn. Why creating a monster with a sense of humor? Why can't she be just like those mad mutants in movies? It would be so much easier to hate her...”

“Is there anything interesting on the ground, soldier?”

Vince's blood froze once more. He slowly raised his gaze from the floor, from those elegant leather boots, going into a red and black qipao, embraced by a long jacket of the same color. A sharp, scarlet nail was pointing at him while an even sharper gaze started examining his reactions.

Holy shiiiiiiiii...

Vince gripped his rifle, pulled it to his chest, his heels clacking..

“Nothing, Miss Beauregard, sir! I just spaced out for a moment, sir!”

Rena lowered the finger.

“Enough with formalities. Is Riezlee there?”

Two times they met that day, two times the same question.

“Yes, Miss Beauregard, sir! She's in the lab with the rest of the research team, sir!”

Rena stepped over, leaving him behind.

“Good. Keep on with your guard duty, but be warned: next time I catch you with your gaze lowered to the ground, like a scared puppy, you will find your firing letter in your cupboard. I have no use for weaklings, in my company.”

Vince nodded in cold sweat, then observed his boss silently opening the lab door. For a second, he hoped that the eggheads had already switched off the TV. Then, on a second thought, he maliciously realized that this could have been a nice payoff for their tasteless joke. Grinning, he slowly walked away, tasting their scared shitless expression once Rena would have found out about their harmless hobby firsthand.

Rena, however, was neither concerned with her lab rats wasting time with a pay-per-view wrestling event, nor interested in punishing them. Results, was what she asked for. Her scientists could do whatever they wanted with their own time, provided they produced something worth it. With this mentality, she managed to ignore Zeb's flabbergasted expression and the general embarrassment due to the noisy aftermath of the match being shown in that exact moment on the screen.

“Where is Riezlee?”

All fingers pointed towards the back of the laboratory, almost synchronized. Vanessa – the girl with the butterfly clip – quickly switched the monitor off, to avoid further damage. Riezlee's voice echoed through the room.

“Yo, boss! Something's the matter? Has Vince already complained to HR for our innocent joke?”

“As if I would come here, this late at night, for that.”

Riezlee went silent, all her colleagues too. The croaking of the frog was the only element of disturbance in that surreal, Mexican standoff. Then, the monster girl spoke up..

“Then, you must be here for sample number two. Seriously, chief, you couldn't wait until tomorrow, could you? Or, you know, come juuuust half an hour later?”

“I'm afraid we don't have this luxury.”

Riezlee peeped over the back door, gestured towards her.

“Ooookay! Come here, boss! You're gonna get crazy for this one!”

Rena walked through the empty popcorn cartons, the untidy desks, the bets annotated on white, squared paper. She ignored all of it, for the delight and relief of all the lab members. Vanessa and Zeb fell to the ground, on their knees, hands joined, with a collective sigh.

“Z... Zeb... we... we were lucky this time...”

“I thought we were gonna suffer another pay cut!”

“Well, I thought we were going to be fired!”

Riezlee chuckled, while closing the back door. She found human concern for something as negligible as a job was very amusing. People should have had that reaction only for a question of life and death, in her opinion. Otherwise, it was mostly business as usual. Jobs are lost and found. Money is lost and found. Life, once lost, can't be found again, however.

Unless someone manages to break that final barrier.

“So, boss... why did you come back? I've already shown you number two sooner this afternoon.”

“In fact, I'm here for number three.”

Riezlee rolled her eyes.

“Number three... number three... ah, yes, the cat, right? Injecting Subject X's blood in that fluffy hairball. Now I remember.”

Rena narrowed her eyes.

“You didn't do it yet?”

“Nay, chief, sorry. Had some... technical issues”

Riezlee toggled the light switch, a row of neon lamps came to life one after another, enlightening a small room with four desks and several hi-tech tools mixed in with old fashioned beakers. Two cages were lined up on the biggest desk, covered by a black drape. Metallic, hollow noises were filling the atmosphere, like something was being thrashed against an iron surface at irregular intervals. Rena folded her arms, stood still near the door.

“I hope you have a good excuse for watching the TV instead of trying to fix them.”

Riezlee shrugged.

“This ain't it, boss. I can't fix'em today.”

She moved near the cages, put her hand on the black fabric.

“Sooner this afternoon, we saw that number two got muscles, do you remember?”

Rena rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yes. Muscles. Sure. I mean, you said that the rodent got around 10% bigger and, while I believed you, I wouldn't call those muscles.”

Riezlee smiled.

“I wouldn't either, chief! But look, look what I found when I went back juuust ten minutes after you left!”

The hand pulled off the cover, showing one of the two cages.

Or what was left of it.

The front bars were bent, surrounding a hole the size of a punch. Claw marks on the floor, on the top of the cage, the paper cover ripped and shredded. Rena stepped back.

“What...”

“You ain't gonna believe it, boss. The rodent got real muscles. He made his way out. I saw the camera records, it's impressive!”

Rena gazed at the broken cage in utter disbelief.

“If this is a joke, I'm not laughing, Riezlee.”

A creepier smile filled the monster girl's face.

“This is no joke. Once I watched the tape, I wanted to test the blood again, on sample number three. I mean, if a mouse could become so strong with just drops of that blood, what would a cat do, if exposed to the same amount of blood? Become a full-fledged werebeast?”

Riezlee tapped on the wooden desk with her middle finger. The noises in the background were not diminishing, dwarfing her gentle tap, engulfing it in their embrace. Riezlee loudened her voice

“Zeb was hoping the blood could transform it into a – wait for it! – a sexy catgirl! I laughed like an idiot, but I was also in a sure, why not? mood. I mean, after having witnessed Mr. Froggy's resurrection and the rodent going full Hulk... so, yeah, I didn't even finish watching the record and directly went here to test the blood on that meowing troublemaker.”

“But... but where did the mouse go?”

Riezlee nervously rubbed her bone mask, absentmindedly looking at the ceiling.

“Weeeell... you do remember I mentioned technical problems, right?”

She grabbed the second piece of cloth, she pulled it quickly, revealing the content of the second cage. Rena winced in disbelief, her hand in front of her own mouth, her stomach shaking. The noises were loud and clear, now, and she could finally see what was causing them. It was bones. Bones with some residual meat still stuck on. Hammered against the metal bars.

Rena stepped back.

“I... oh, my goodness...”

She grabbed Riezlee by the collar of her coat, looking straight at her eyes.

“Come with me to the office, now. There's something I must tell you in private...”

One last gaze at the cage, at what was lurking inside it.

“... I might have committed a mistake.”

Riezlee nodded, switched off the lights and followed her outside the room, closing the reinforced door.

Far from the desks.

Far from the cage.

Far from that eldritch abomination that once was a mouse.

Feasting on the remains of what originally was a cat.

And throwing white bones against the electrified bars, after having cleaned them of any remaining meat.

5.  

6. 4. To Unleash a Goddess

A deep yawn broke the stillness of the night, caressed by the soothing music from a crackling radio. Officially, guards should not be allowed to have access to such distractions. But, during night shifts, exceptions were the norm. Another yawn. The warm guitar loop of The Bluesman & the Tiny Fox was a good companion for those sleepless nights, yet it could not stop the boredom from showing up and poisoning the attention well.

“Why do you keep on signing up for night shifts, if you can't handle them?”

The guard covered his mouth with his hand, turned his head towards the voice. A Caucasian woman around his age, bobbed black hair, green eyes, a small spades-shaped tattoo on her left cheek. Remarkably well built. She was lazily drinking some tea from a corporate mug with the company logo, while absentmindedly staring at the CRTV monitor.

The man yawned once more.

“Money, what else? A night shift is paid twice as much, ya know?”

The man was around twenty-eight years old. Short brown hair in a crew cut, brown narrow eyes, square jaw. His name tag had “Steve Smith” written on it. A common name for an Englishman, nothing special – a perfect fit for someone who never excelled in anything in his life, yet had the courage to seek his fortune in Japan. The woman's name tag was more exotic, it read “Sarah Riccati”. Steve thought it was a nice fit for her. He had never understood where she came from: Every time she was asked, she answered with a different nationality. Italian, Spanish, French, Maltese, Swiss, only to list some of them. Sometimes she came from a small town on the Alps, sometimes from a big touristic city on the coast. Whatever the truth was, only someone in HR seemed to have the full picture, if any, and was not disclosing it – not even under the promise of a consistent bribe. Discussing Sarah's past was the national sport among the Stratosphere Inc. security guards, especially during night shifts, when they had nothing else to do.

“As if you needed it.”

Steve shrugged.

“My time, my money, my business.”

Sarah took a sip out of her mug.

“At least you don't have to financially support a twelve years old daughter living in South Africa.”

“You... do? I mean, you should have been fourteen when...”

Sarah took another sip, without changing her expression.

“My time, my money, my business.”

Steve sighed. Sarah was a puzzle without solution. If he had a hundred yen for every time she changed her version of her own story, he would have not needed to do any other night shift for the rest of his life. He gazed once more at the wide, empty hall.

Six columns were standing in a regular, symmetric pattern, richly decorated by gold bands and colorful red stucco. The floor was embellished by a majestic mosaic portraying a giant, open, blue eye, surrounded by six angelic wings, whose tips were the origin of each of the columns. The winged eye was placed on the picture of a space shuttle, with an azure planet in the background. Four additional rose windows were placed on the walls, among the columns. During the day, the stained glass created an amazing game of reflexes and vivid shadows, dancing on the floor, creating a haunting yet beautiful atmosphere. Steve had been flabbergasted, the first time he saw it, the day he came for the job interview. He could still remember his first meeting with Mr. Greschnik himself, his almost cartoony mannerism, his excessive usage of body language. Normally, the big boss wouldn’t welcome a new candidate worker until very late in the application process, but Greschnik wanted to show him that he was not an abstract entity, a name just heard whispered in the corridors, but something concrete. Someone you should never disappoint. If only he hadn't addressed him as Stevie-boy, it would have worked magnificently. Yet, Greschnik was exactly how people external to the company portrayed him: a psychopath cretin manchild with delusions of grandeur. But with money. A lot of money. And ambitions outside the realm of what was considered human.

Steve closed his eyes for a long second. If only he had negotiated a higher salary, he would have not needed to stay so late. Slowly, but surely, he started drifting in Morpheus's arms, losing contact with the surrounding reality...

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. We've got company.”

Sarah's voice woke him up. Steve got his composure back.

“...what?”

The doors slid open, the moon cast a sinister shadow on the rich mosaic. The shadow of a tall, gargantuan woman with long black hair and burning golden eyes. The shadow of Ying Tao.

“I beg your pardon, sir...”

Ying stepped inside the hall, walking slowly towards the entrance desk. Tampering with the automatic door system had been easy enough for Funabaki, more so that it could look like a genuine hardware failure.

We have prepared a cover story for you, Miss Tao. You will enter the HQ from the front door, pretending to be a foreign business woman with an appointment with Mr. Greschnik – don't worry, an insider took care of putting a fake name in the system for you. And he is known to be eccentric.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Greschnik. If you might be so gentle and show me the way, I'd be most grateful.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. The doors were not supposed to open that late at night, not without a manual input. Not for someone who looked like that woman, at least. Sarah moved her hands to the gun.

“This late? Dressed like that?!”

We have also made sure to have a disguise ready for the occasion. It's a valuable red velvet dress from the latest Armando Pelizzari collection. It will help you play the part and lower the guards' attention.

Ying smirked, while recalling Funabaki's words. She just ripped the dress in half in front of his sorry face, no way she was going to dress like a vamp. Her wrestling outfit was much better for fighting. And subtlety was never one of Ying's favorite tactics. The guards weren’t of the same opinion, though.

About the guards, our mole made sure there would be the bare minimum of them around, this night. In total, there will be just two to six people on night shift, aside from your primary targets.

Steve and Sarah stood up, cocked their guns. They looked at Ying with puzzled expressions. Ying stared back, a sadistic smile painted on her face. Sarah shivered.

“Who's this weirdo?”

“I don't know, but this ain't carnival season. Better for her to have a good excuse.”

They both moved away from the desk, straightened their arms, pointing their weapons at her. The radio was still transmitting blues music, giving the scene a surreal taste.

If you play by the script, you will just arouse minimal suspicions in them. Enough for you to go to the fourth floor almost unnoticed.

Steve raised his voice, almost shouting.

“Who are you? Identify yourself, NOW!”

Ying sighed loudly.

“Alright, let's go for plan B.”

She stared at them, bending her legs, without saying a single word.

In the unlikely case you are questioned – for example, due to the late time – and the guards are not believing in time zone shenanigans or in their boss being a lunatic idiot who schedules meetings so late at night, try to avoid confronting them physically and call me back, as naturally and calmly as possible.

Ying sprinted towards the desk at full speed, ducked while running, loaded her ankles. Then, she jumped.

“W... what the Hell...?”

Before Sarah could even aim her gun, Ying was above her, with a slasher smile, her eyes ablaze. Her knee hit the guard on her chin, blasting her off from the solid ground, propelling her directly into one of the six columns. Sarah's body bounced against the red stucco, fell to the floor, bounced once more. Steve turned towards his colleague, let out a loud scream.

“Sarah!”

The girl slowly recovered her position, pain filling every inch of her body. Steve roared, pointed his gun at Ying, the finger ready to pull the trigger. But not ready enough.

A fast slash, Ying's foot rising in an arc, hitting the gun, sending it flying. Steve saw everything in slow motion. The gun gliding through the air, the sadistic smile of the woman, her demonic laughter, her arm bending, aiming at his neck. A clothesline from Hell, simple, clean, and quick, smashing him to the ground before he could react. Steve bounced on the mosaic floor, his nape hitting the colored pieces which made up the iris of the giant winged eye.

Whatever happens, keep your cool. There will be absolutely no need for violence before meeting the targets.

Sarah tried to stand again, clenching her teeth. She instinctively searched for her gun, her head still dizzy. Only to find Ying instead, with a wooden chair in her hands, raised above her head.

“That body! That determination! You would be a perfect canvas, sweetheart!”

Ying swung the chair down, hitting Sarah on the back, disintegrating the improvised weapon in a cracking cloud of sawdust and splinters. Sarah spit out all the air in her lungs, fell again to the ground, breathless. Ying grabbed the collar of her shirt, almost as if she wanted to rip it off. She fought against the urge of unpacking the canvas in an unexpected, rabid burst of inspiration, and left her on the floor.

“Unfortunately, I'm not on a pleasure trip tonight!”

Steve went back on his feet, slowly moved away from Ying. There was an emergency switch in the bathroom, if only he could reach it, the fire alarm would have started spreading through the building. It was his best chance, while Ying was somehow distracted by Sarah. He walked silently back, hoping not to pick her attention, like she was some kind of wild animal.

Silent, slow.

But not enough.

Ying looked at him with her scariest smile, bent her legs, started running like a raging bull seeing red, the hall echoing her heavy steps.

In case you can not avoid a fight, don't disturb the placement of the guards. We don't want anybody to know they're missing and that will be especially noticeable with how few there are tonight.

She speared Steve against the wall, leaving him breathless. With a last ditch effort, he tried to reach for the alarm. The red button was mere centimeters away. Just a bit closer. Just a bit...

“What are you trying to do? Calling your friends?”

Ying pulled him away from the wall, grabbed his neck, bashed his head against the concrete, two, three times. Then, in a last fit of excitement, she rammed him against the door of the bathroom, before pushing his face inside one of the toilets. Steve remained motionless, totally passed out, on his knees, his arms hanging down.

And, in case you can absolutely not avoid it, please hide them well. Don't leave them in plain sight to be found by the other guards. That would be inconvenient.

Ying returned to the hall, walked towards the elevator, pressed the button. She stared once more at the beautiful canvas she had to leave behind, then she focused on the room. That mosaic was intense, but not enough. The columns were pretty, sure, but not enough. The place was missing something. Her artist's sensitivity couldn't be satiated by just observing.

While the door of the elevator started to open, Ying took out several ink bottles from her belt.

Be as stealthy as possible and do not leave any trace of your passage.

A burst of maniacal laughter.

Inspiration can't be tainted by the mere worries of ordinary human beings.

7.  

8. 5. Blood Red Passion

Stroboscopic red lights flashing everywhere, psychedelic effects at full speed. The crowd was silent, staring in awe at the show, at the tall, titanium-reinforced barriers placed between the stands and the stage, the Cage. Dozens of synth-drum plates drums hit by dozens of neon-coated performers all around, holographic spaceships flying above in the sky, six eyed carps swimming in the pond around the cage. The statues of two xenomorphs silently observing from the entrance, shaped like a stargate from the '90s movie of the same name. Then, the music stopped. The lights dropped, leaving behind a pitch black darkness. The crowd whispered, noise started to build up. Then, a sudden gong sound, flames bursting out of the arena pillars, up to the sky.

A renewed surge of synth drums, while the lights stabilized to an ill whitish neon light effect, focused on the center of the Cage. There stood a man, probably in his thirties, a knife steadily in his hand, a gun holstered. Surrounded by nineteen corpses. Freshly cut brown hair, an accent of beard, a small scar on his right cheek. Deep gray eyes, pointed at the entrance, waiting for a sign. He smiled nervously. He did it so far. He killed them all. All nineteen of them. Just one, one more before freedom. One of those damn... things. At the beginning, they were all taken to a giant room with all sorts of weapons – firearms, swords, maces, spears and whatnot. There were some fancy items like electric grenades and something which was advertised as a plasma rifle. He also saw what looked like a chainsaw sword – something too big and impractical to be of any use. Taking one of the flashiest toys could have been alluring for newbies, but someone like him would have never made that mistake. In a life and death situation, you need to rely on your instinct, on your reflexes. Having to get accustomed to something you've never used when your life's on the line is not gonna help you. Good, old knife and gun was his way of buying his freedom out of that Hell. The alternative was the death row, anyway, so it was worth a shot. And he was not wrong – the chick who took the chainsaw was the first one to be offered, as it got stuck in the ground. She hadn't had a chance, a clean shot to the nape, her head exploding. Yep, those with the sci-fi toys didn't survive ten minutes – be it for shooting themselves with an oddly shaped weapon, or not understanding how to operate the flash grenade before it exploded in their hands, or thinking that a cloaking mantle would be a good idea on a floor covered with five centimeters of sand.

Now, only one was left. The Beast. It was not unbeatable, by any means. They have bested it before. Heck, a twelve years old girl did it. Yet, it was more an exception than the rule. It was probably its appearance, what instilled fear into the contestants. They saw the metallic chassis, the teeth, the T-rex legs, the bladed appendages and just went into an oh shit mode, scared like kiddos. Understandable, but a twelve years old girl killed one of them, years before. A girl so small, and tiny. Yet...

The synth-drums suddenly stopped, the crowd fell silent again. A voice echoed through loudspeakers hidden from sight, booming on the stage.

“Jean Croiset, thirty-two. Convicted for grand larceny and the deaths of three police officers.”

Jean grinned. If he aimed better, it would have been four and nobody calling reinforcements. Oh, well, you can't have everything in life.

“The audience has voted. The executioner has been informed of your decision.”

Jean started whistling some old French songs, just to try and relax. His heart was pounding, adrenaline running wild. His one chance at a new, free life. His name cleared. A new house. Maybe a family. The past forgotten and overwritten. A new, shiny job as one of Greschnik's bodyguards. His ticket out of Hell. He prepared himself. The Beast was coming. The Chaingear. The last obstacle before the end. The light at the end of the tunnel.

The announcer's voice boomed.

“Let the joyful choirs of the Rapture reach the Heavens!”

A burst of synth-drums, flames burning high, dazzling lights, turning to red, all pointed at the fake stargate. Then, the muffled sound of tiny footsteps, almost too light to be heard. Jean narrowed his eyes. No booming noises. No scratching. None of those distinct metallic screeches he heard while watching the show on TV. That was no Chaingear, no chainsaw-powered mech abomination. That was but a kid.

The audience held their breath.

Instead of the insanely popular Chaingear, there was a tiny girl there, no older than twelve, thirteen years old. A light brown complexion, brown hair of a darker hue, dirty with mud, dull, whitish eyes. A ragged beige poncho, her feet and forearms covered in bandages. A freaky raven with tech implants was hovering over her shoulder. Jean was puzzled. The crowd too. Murmurs and voices, rumors and buzz. The silence broken by incessant talk.

“Wait, isn't she...”

“No way! They can't be so cruel!”

“Oh my goodness...”

Jean kept his eyes on the kid, his heart beating rapidly. Was that the last test? Seeing if he would have been willing to murder a child for a ticket out of Hell? No, that couldn't be it. It had never, ever worked that way. Greschnik was a sadistic bastard, but to that level? The man sighed, stared at the audience, shouted at the sky.

“Okay, what am I supposed to do? You aren't forcing me to kill this brat, right?”

He sheathed his knife back, walked slowly, towards the small girl.

“I'm a robber and a murderer, sure, but this?”

He reached for her. She was even smaller than he thought. He instinctively patted her short hair, with a soft, warm gesture.

“Putain, you can't be so devious! Who would be so cruel to lay a finger upon this harmless...”

One loud, screeching noise. The kid's arm raised, straight above her. Blood spattered everywhere. Jean's right arm fell to the ground, cleanly severed right below the shoulder, strands of brown hair among its stiff fingers. Jean screamed in agony, his mouth deformed in a grimace of pain and surprise.

“WHAT?! WHAAAAT?!”

Silence fell for a long instant. Then, the crowd started chanting her name, an impetuous roar overwhelming the drums themselves, blasting through the stadium. People standing, cheering, not unlike in a wrestling match. Except they were seeking true violence. That's why they were there. And their excitement was reaching a new peak.

The kid lowered her arm, licked the blood out of her nails, one after another.

“... stupid.”

Jean's adrenaline pumped back in, his voice booming, echoing inside the cage.

“You little bastaaaaard!”

His left hand reached out for the gun, took it out of the holster, the pain, the blood loss completely shut down from his brain. He stretched the arm for aiming, clenching his teeth. Doing what he knew was a suicidal move. Doing what he told himself one thousand times NOT to do.

He didn't manage to pull the trigger, not even once. His left arm fell to the ground, detached, in a crimson cloud.

“Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaah!”

Jean screamed, fell on the sand, screamed again. The kid was towering over him, bathed in his blood. Her arm still raised, like a blade from the heavens. Her poncho soaked in dark red, her bandages and skin like a macabre painting.

“... judging your opponent by their appearance. Pathetic.”

She licked the blood out of her nails, again, slowly. One step, two steps in the direction of the dying mess that once was a man.

“Humans are so predictable. You assumed that, since I am a child, I must be harmless. Your psyche had classified me as a non-threat the very first second you saw me. You didn't think I could be the executioner. You didn't think I could have killed the Chaingear that was deployed for you. And that's why you failed. That's why you can't be one of us.”

Jean shook his head, violently. His future, the light at the end of the tunnel. All lies. All lies.

“I am number six, Nivandra Rajaan. It's a shame. You could have been number six, instead. And free me from this valley of tears.”

The audience heard her name. Widened gazes, shocked with surprise. Then, the choirreached heaven, a burst of wild excitement in every single one of them.

“Finish him! FINISH HIM!”

But Nivandra remained still, as if she was waiting for something. The loudspeakers boomed through the shouts of the crowd, breaking through the noise.

“The verdict of the audience: blind death.”

“WHAT?”

Jean – what was left of him – shouted in agony. He knew what the blind death was. He knew it. And didn't want to die that way, it was too painful.

“No, please! Kill me now! Don't...”

Nivandra snapped her fingers. The raven landed on her shoulder. She petted his feathers, patted his head, whispered something to him. The raven extended his wings, took flight, glided on Jean's torso, set his feet on his neck. Then, his beak reached for his left eye.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Jean's scream echoed through the TV system, filling the office at the top floor of the Stratosphere headquarters. The 70 inches plasma screen was showing that night's Rapture, which was marking a new record in share and viewers worldwide. A success in its own merits, considered the circumstances. A slender man, sitting at his desk, was watching the show live, with a complacent smile on his face, giggling at the sounds of the bloodshed. His eyes staring intensely at the screen, behind thick red sunglasses, almost without blinking. Long, blond, slick hair, extremely pale complexion. A scar in the form of an asymmetric cross marking his forehead, dark lipstick completing the composition. A black business suit, with a red shirt, red gloves, red shoes, gave his weird figure the final, eerie, touches. He started screaming, an unpleasantly high-pitched voice full with excitement.

“Magnifico! Simply, simply MAGNIFICO!”

He pumped his fist up in the air, then quickly dialed a number on the office phone. A crackling voice replied from the other end of the line.

“Yes, Mr. Greschnik?”

“Hi, Robbie-boy! That! Was! Awesome! Seriously, who had the idea of staging number six's first public appearance instead of the Chaingear?! Give! That employee! A raise!”

“I'll do it, sir. Anything else?”

“Huh...”

Greschnik tipped his finger against his lips.

“Indeed, yes, Robbie-boy. The Frenchman lasted for too little time – even if that was an AMAZING short time. Yet, we are a bit too ahead of schedule. Is there a halftime show we can do to fill up the time slot?”

“We could use robots for an interlude, before we send the second batch of contestants.”

The man smiled.

“Magnifico! Then send ten – no, fifteen robots. At once. And deploy a Chaingear! Children LOVE the Chaingear! I mean, using Nivea-chan was a stroke of genius, but the Chaingear is THE VERY SYMBOL OF OUR BRAND! Send him out to crack them open in the most scenic way! So that the parents will buy our cool little merchandising for their kids at the Purgatory shop!”

“As you command, sir.”

“Children LOVE the Chaingear, Robbie-boy! Who are we not to give them what they crave for? Huh, wait, one last thing!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell Chris-chan at the Hell shop to expose ALL the Nivea-chan merchandise we have in stock and put it on 20% sale! We do have her dakimakura in our catalogue, right?”

“... we... do, sir. But, I mean, sir, Nivandra is only thirteen. You know, that's not...”

“Money, Robbie-boy! Men! Are! Perverts! So, let's fuel their perversion! Let's FREE them in the wild! And reap the benefits of it! Sinners gonna sin! Why should we STOP them?”

The voice from the other side of the phone stopped. One second of awkward silence.

“... okay, sir. I'll do as you command.”

“Magnifico! Keep me up-to-date on the sales figures, 'kay?”

The call ended, leaving her alone, gazing at the live broadcast of Jean's agony. Reiner Greschnik sat complacently at his desk. A forty-something slender man with constant delusions of grandeur, notorious for sponsoring many enterprises and bizarre ideas. He was filthy rich, though – as once in a while, his ideas actually worked in a spectacular way. He revolutionized the healthcare industry with his biochips and nanomachine tech. He revolutionized the mobile phone industry, with his patented high-speed network communication protocol. Now, space was the limit, the target of his whole ambition. Space was vast and infinite. Thus, he founded Stratosphere, which grew like a tumor, assimilating smaller competitors in fifteen years of activity. It rose so fast that it quickly became the second biggest biotechnology group in the world, fifth most valued space tech enterprise, and – thanks to its subsidiary Rapture Inc. – seventh more prominent entertainment company on the global market. And, fittingly to his role, Greschnik was himself one of the most talked about people. Countless discussions about the rise of his economical empire and of Stratosphere were carried out every day, in every corner of the first world, be it mainland China, Canada or Italy. Most of the rumors were connected to the activity of an Anonymous-like activist who went by the name of “Vanguard” and started spreading facts on the Internet from throwaway accounts about the “true nature” of Greschnik. Most people regarded them as part of a crackpot theory by a conspiracy kiddo who watched V for Vendetta too many times. Yet, the open broadcast of the Rapture planted the seeds of doubt in a consistent part of his viewers and followers.

The Rapture games held by the entertainment branch of Stratosphere were indeed swimming deep inside a gray legal area – they were broadcast only by virtue of being pay-per-view events hosted on a private satellite network with registered office in a foreign country – currently Panama, but it was changed on regular basis depending on the regulations. The artificial island where the arena was built had been set in international waters, outside of the sphere of influence of the Japanese coast guard. So, although the Stratosphere headquarters were located in Shinjuku, the executive board could dodge the moral and legal question about their activity. Moreover, the games had a sort of curtain of protection from the United States, which were more than glad to send their convicted criminals there to die, instead of spending public money for costly and unceremonious executions. The fact that part of the advertisements revenue was shared with the stars & stripes government was seen as a welcome bonus to the operation – and source of bragging rights for the current congress, even if it was more an open secret than anything else.

The Rapture had a varied audience, according to the anonymous polls: many of the viewers were older men and women who advocated death for every felony, together with far-right middle-aged activists, followed by people of all ages who just enjoyed the view of a dismembered human body. There was also a consistent number of teenagers who were watching it just because they were formally not allowed to, through means like pirate streaming platforms and illegal downloads.

Greschnik sank into his chair. That night's Rapture had been a welcome distraction, but he had to go back to his business. In two days, he should have convinced the stakeholders to pour more money in his space exploration project, yet his opening speech was far from complete. He had no ghost-writers, as none of them was able to capture his way of talking, his unique appeal. He browsed through his notes, once more. Much was left to improvisation, as he was a master of making up stuff on the spot to cater to the audience, but a skeleton, a bare-bones guideline was indeed needed. On the surface, Project Voyager was a huge commercial operation and – as such – had to be organized like one.

The TV screen roared at high volume. Greschnik redirected his attention once more. Apparently, it was advertisement time. The amount of companies willing to have their ads shown during the Rapture was amazing. Its being controversial didn't faze those companies in the slightest. Most likely, they were interested just because it was controversial. Greschnik pressed a button on the remote, switched off the TV screen.

It was useless, he lost inspiration for the night. It was better to wrap everything up and go back home. There was still enough time left to finalize the remaining details, before the meeting with the stakeholders. He stood up, headed for the door. Muffled grunts coming from the other side. He stopped, listened again. Understood what was happening. He sighed, then pulled the handle, and made his triumphant first step into the hall.

“Ladies, there is no need to be so gloomy, PLEASE.”

Two girls were waiting for her in the corridor, sitting on comfortable sofas. One was of Japanese heritage, dressed elegantly in a light blue kimono, covering her legs, cherry sandals and white socks, her arms crossed. Slick, neck long, black hair, white face paint, pitch dark tears down her cheeks, deep black irises completing her figure. Her eyelids were decorated by blue eyeshadow, underlining an inquisitive, brooding gaze, with a hint of annoyance.

The target of said annoyance sat at the other side of the corridor. She was the polar opposite of the first girl, dressed like a strange mixture between a teenager going to a club, an edgy action movie protagonist, and an online idol. A leather, ripped long coat, black leather-like jumpsuit with sparkling neon red accents, scarlet decorations on her whole outfit, black boots, black hair with flame-like locks. She was wearing a small metallic mask, covering the top part of her face completely, two red, shining lenses glaring where the eyes should have been. And she had two knives, safely fastened to her waists. Contrary to the first girl, this one was ignoring the other, being self-absorbed in using her own smartphone. Her right hand was keeping it up, the camera angled to frame her whole body, her face wearing a radiant (if twisted) smile. The beeps and chirps of the phone, together with the never ending stream of notification noises were composing something like a post-modern symphony. She started reading the live comments out loud, with a touch of satisfaction.

“OMG, ur so hot! Thanks, Otakugamer09! And, yes, I'm goddamn hot! Would you bang me? Oooooh, please, Usel3ssLe$bian, you know that the only person I'd bang is my dear brother! Sorry! When's the new album? Soon, TheMagnificentRenzo! I just need to record one more song! And yes, I will show off some spicy new underwear on the cover! You ain't ready for that!”

Greschnik stared at her, in silence, closing and opening his eyelids rhythmically, almost in disbelief. He looked at the first girl, then back at the second, then at the first again.

“Since when is she... huh, live streaming?”

The first girl didn't reply, kept on staring at the second one. Greschnik stepped in front of her, waved his hand.

“Houston to Miko. Houston to Miko. Are you still there?”

Miko's hands reached for her ear, two pink ear plugs removed with a pop, a long sigh.

“Yes, Master Greschnik?”

The man's thumb pointed at the other girl.

“How long is she going on with... that thing?”

“You mean, using her stupid phone to broadcast her nonsense and her pretty face to thousand of stupid, hungry zombie teenagers who have the hots for her? At least four hours, then. Four. Fucking. Hours.”

The other girl exploded in a burst of laughter, showing her her tongue.

“Oh well! Sooooooorry if I am that popular! I mean, it's so hard to be famous and... oh, riiiiight! You wouldn't know anything about it, isn't it, Miko?”

Miko closed her eyes, a wide smile opening.

“As far as I know, this month's cover of Lust features Nadia for the fifth time – or was it the sixth? Please, remind me... how many times did you get that spot until now?”

The second girl's expression turned dark, her muscles stiffening.

“... a... and to do what, precisely? To show myself in my birthday suit? N... no, thanks!”

Miko shrugged.

“A shame that Lust just contacts the women considered the most beautiful, isn't it? The fact that you didn't get an invitation, not even to be featured on the cellophane used to wrap the magazine, speaks volumes about what they think about you.”

The other girl gave her the finger, without interrupting the livestream.

“... you know what, Miko? FUCK. OFF. You, your magazine, and your f-”

Greschnik stepped in, waving his arms like mad.

“TIME OUT! Time! Out!”

He looked angrily at the second girl, his eyes blazing.

“Please, Yu! Limit your streams to outside your work hours. I mean, it's literally written in the contract you signed!”

Yu stood up, her index finger pointed at her boss.

“I am an idol, Master Greschnik! I have an image to uphold! How many followers do you think I’d lose if I didn't stream every, single, fucking day?”

Greschnik narrowed his eyes. Miko's voice erupted from the other side.

“Less than what you would gain if you just showed half a picture of one of your nipples once per week.”

Yu stiffened, frozen in place. A notification beep, her hand trembling. She bit her lips.

“No, Otakugamer09, I am not posting a picture of my nipples anytime soon. I mean, I have motherfuckin' standards.”

A torrent of beeps and chirps, notifications flooding the chat. A primal scream, the phone thrown to the ground, smashed by her heel. Once. Twice. Three times.

“STREAM! IS! OVER! SUCKERS!”

Miko chuckled loudly, under the baffled gaze of Reiner Greschnik. He adjusted his glasses, a slight cough.

“Huh... okay, good. Now – huh – would you please follow me to the exit? I'm going home, so your duties for the night are complete.”

Miko smirked. It was the first good news of the evening. Staring for all that time at that annoying brat and her phone had been unnerving. Deep inside, maybe Miko was just a tad jealous. Her family raised her to be the Teruchigawa flagship heiress, with all the traditional fluff that comes with the title. Very little personal freedom, very few chances to make her choices. If she had the possibility, she would have liked to choose her own clothing style, at least once, dress like girls her age do, and experience the world outside the Teruchigawa estate. But, alas, she had no such possibility. In addition, Yu Vampyr was very hot. Despite all her mockery, she couldn't stare at that beautiful face of hers for too long without getting flustered, without her heartbeat accelerating. Yu was a teenager's wet dream come true – a mysterious idol with a perfectly slim body, delicate doll-like features and an explosive personality. Miko secretly watched all her daily streams, in her own bedroom, drooling at those shapes, at that perfect body of hers, but nobody – nobody – should have ever found out about it. In real life, Yu was as beautiful as she was unpleasant. And that, that was the biggest turn off for her. She was in love with the Internet Yu, not with the real Yu. That separation between her idealized waifu and her stubborn, childish, stupid colleague was something of a burden, a conundrum she hadn't been able to solve yet. Her “Yu Vampyr officially licensed dakimakura” was something nobody alive should have ever found – and, if they found it, they wouldn't have been alive for long.

On her side, Yu Vampyr was extremely annoyed by Miko Teruchigawa. She was looking old with that spectral face paint, old and ill. She had no taste in fact of clothing, with her grandma-fashioned furisode, socks and sandal. And her personality! That brash, holier-than-thou attitude. No, there was no way Yu could like her or even think about talking to her. She was hating any atom of her body, from her deep, calm voice to her always impeccable hair. But even more than Miko, Yu hated Nadia with all her being. Nadia Nagase, the First Angel, the most beautiful bodyguard for three years straight according to Lust. The girl who was asked to pose naked for the central pages of one of the most influential erotic magazine for six times since she came of age. Six. Times. Nadia Nagase, that emotionless wreck of a South African bitch, was overshadowing her. Without even playing. Nadia wasn't streaming, she had no social network presence, no followers, no patrons, no viewers. Yet, she was hailed and revered, like a goddess. The worst part? She didn't care in the slightest. That was irking Yu the most. Nadia was winning a popularity war without even trying. Without even acknowledging her as an opponent. But it wasn't over yet. Seu would have noticed her, sooner or later. Seu would have been all hers. All of his body. All. Of. It. And Nadia wouldn't have stopped her dream. Nadia wouldn't have stolen her spot for long. If only...

“My dear Angels, it's sooooo good to see both of you smiling!”

Greschnik clapped his hands, seizing the attention of both. For the first time during that day, both girls thought about the same thing: how much they hated their boss. Reiner Greschnik was an extremely irritating manchild. He was known to be so annoying that, once, the interviewer of a popular TV network decided to resign and let herself be fired on the spot rather than having to bear him for two hours straight. Those smiles, the smiles of the two Angels, were both of contempt. They could have single-handedly made short work of him, without any shred of trouble, if they hadn't any more use for him. And that feeling was priceless.

“This is our shiiiiiiiining door to a bright future, after all!”

On the shiiiiiiining, Greschnik circled his arms as usual, to better express his point, then he started to look at the decorated corridor in front of them, the pale golden walls with ebony finishes, the uncountable number of replicas of traditional Van Gogh paintings, the warm lights burning like the rays of the sun on a stone floor with precious caramel-colored speckles all over the dark pattern, the bronze replicas of Greek statues, placed at the opposite sides of the hallway.

The bronze was supposed to be spotless, reflecting the light in a myriad of patterns.

But it wasn't, not in the slightest.

“Wait, what...”

The statues were drenched by some sort of humor, black and thick. Greschnik frowned, stepped over, wiped part of it with his finger, sniffed it, checked its consistency.

“... ink?”

He raised his gaze, turned his head around. All the statues. All of them. Stained by spots of black ink. The floor, the walls as well. A replica painting of the Starry Night too. Greschnik blinked, his mouth gaped in disbelief.

“Who... who dared to do this...”

“Master Greschnik, look!”

The lights.

The lights at the end of the corridor, near the elevator. Broken.

There was darkness. A thick, unspeakable darkness.

And, from that darkness, came a maniacal laugh, piercing through the air.

Miko unsheathed two short maces, from inside of her large sleeves, assumed a defensive stance, overcame Greschnik, and stood in front of him. Yu prepared her knives, placed herself near the wall.

A powerful voice boomed from the dark. Heavy steps, a dreadful silhouette projected by the lamps.

“Oh, well! If this is not a nice welcome party!”

Miko clenched her teeth, in cold sweat.

“Show yourself, coward!”

From the shadows, the silhouette of a human being entered the stage, coming out of the darkness, centimeter after centimeter. Then, there she stood, bathed in the light of the sun lamps, a black and white spot dominating the gold, an unspeakable aura of terror irradiating from her demonic gaze.

In front of them, stood a muscular, titanic woman, dressed in what could have been considered a wrestling attire.

In front of them, stood Ying Tao, the maniac painter.

And her laugh echoed through the corridor, up to the heavens above.

9. 6. Menage à Trois

Miko gripped her fists around the handles, grinned almost to the point of cutting her lips. A sigh, her muscles relaxed, her facial features back to a quietness that seemed almost unbelievable, just seconds earlier. Then, she started laughing, shaking her head, her right hand on her forehead, her eyes almost closed.

“Oh, well, isn't it funny? A leotard? Come on, she can't be serious!”

Greschnik stepped over, almost pushing Yu against a column, his face twisted in an amusingly large smile. Whether that was a true smile or not could be up to debate, but it was certainly unsettling. Miko rolled her eyes. That plastic smile of his was openly screaming advertisement mode, like in a badly shot Brazilian telenovela. Greschnik was going full showman, ready to start one of those obnoxious monologues that he used to write in bed before sleeping. There were rumors he was listening to his own recorded voice in the evening, just because of how much he loved his own dialectic.

“Well, well, well. I guess I have already seen that beautiful face of yours, somewhere, somehow. If you are here to apply as an Angel, I'm afraid it's the wrong place. You know, I haven't built a Chaingear for nothing, missy!”

Greschnik pumped his fist down, his glasses shining in the warm yellow-ish lights.

“But you know what? IT DOESN'T MATTER! I, Reiner Greschnik, I'm all for breaking the rules!”

Greschnik widened his arms, pointing his fingers at the ink-stained statues.

“Though this was a bit too over the top! Sullying a private property like this. Do you have ANY ideas of how much it will cost, to clean up everything again? Those were precious reproductions of lost Greek statues, crafted by the best of the best American sculptors in Japan! The quality of the bronze is...”

“Oh, Gods! Could you please shut up? Your voice is just, plainly annoying.”

Ying's remark echoed through the corridor, a loud, mocking whisper. Greschnik smirked.

“Well, many say so, but I instead believe my voice to be musical, expressive and perfectly fitting my elegant personality: that of Reiner! Greschnik! The man who searched for Gods! AND FOUND THAT NONE EXISTED!”

In saying those last words, Greschnik spread his arms, a radiant smile opening on his face. Ying rolled her eyes.

“My, my... so this is really the famous Reiner Greschnik? A middle-aged man acting as a Saturday-morning-cartoon-character, despite being at least forty years too old for that?”

Greschnik froze in place, his eyes wide as narrow as slits, not blinking even once, his body completely still, his teeth slightly shaking. A sliver of voice through the lips, the pupils slowly breaking the spell and focusing on the woman in a wrestling outfit.

“... I beg your pardon?”

Ying kept the mocking tone, doubled down mirroring Greschnik wide arm gestures.

“You knoooooow, sir? I wouldn't have come here, if I had a choice – I will have to bear with your childlike brain for at least the time needed to take care of my business. Not that I'd want to, mind me – I'd rather be set up by my useless brother rather than having to listen to your annoying voice just one second more... and this speaks volumes about my consideration of you.”

Greschnik's expression changed abruptly. The friendly smile was replaced by closed lips, the eyebrows bending forward, the arms crossed in front of his chest, the head subtly nodding, the voice but a malicious whisper, a creepy cold tone replacing the sensationalist one he used until that moment.

“I am sure you have an interesting story to tell, Miss...”

Ying raised her index in front of her lips, ink drippings from her finger.

“My name is not of your concern. I am here because I need something from you. And I am not going away without it.”

Greschnik chuckled, regained his composure, his arms, his fingers spread.

“MAGNIFICO! Simply, simply MAGNIFICO! Your attitude, your way of talking! You! Are! Perfect! Yet... yet you are overstepping the boundaries. My boundaries. I want to see more, to know more about you, but – alas – not without a proper punishment.”

He snapped his fingers.

“Angels? Hurt her please. Badly. But leave her alive. Dead don't speak well enough to tell stories.”

Yu stepped forward, unsheathing one of her knives.

“Piece. Of. Cake.”

Then, she pulled out a second smartphone, rolled it among her fingers, the camera angled to frame her whole body from above.

“Stream is ON, Creatures of the Night! I'm gonna kick the ass of a big titty amazon wrestler live! And, after I win... I'll juuuuust have a little surprise striptease, down to my undies!”

She blew a kiss to the camera, wore a radiant smile.

“Wait for it, I'll be aaaall yours!”

Miko turned her gaze away, words chewed, her cheeks flashing red.

“... you'll better make that a video-on-demand...”

Yu stared at her.

“... what?”

Only to meet a flustered face, masked by heavy, white makeup.

“Nothing. Just... forget about it.”

She raised her arms, her maces crossed.

“We need to take out the trash, now.”

Yu chuckled.

“Precisely. So, why are you still here?”

“You'd better close that sewer of yours, you insolent...”

“Ladies? Not. Now.”

Greschnik's voice, again a cold whisper. Miko nodded, Yu made a quick gesture with her hand. He was an annoying cretin manchild boss, but it was still their annoying cretin manchild boss. The key to their desires. The ultimate link to the true heaven. Bearing him a little bit longer wouldn't have been too traumatic, after all. Ying grinned. Those two assassins may have been skilled, but their minds were easy to read. Cocky girls who wanted to prove their superiority to the other, almost to the point of disregarding their task. She bent her legs, licked her lips.

“Oh my, it appears I will have some fun...”

Then, she blasted towards the duo.

“I WILL PAINT YOU BLACK!”

They didn't see her coming. The shoulder tackle hit both targets at once. Miko fell against Greschnik, making both tumble to the floor. Yu’s body crashed against the nearby column, her back kissing the gold coated wood, leaving a dent in the foil.

Miko rolled on the ground, clenched her fists.

“Oh, well...”

She rammed at Ying, maces in hands, circling them in an elegant wind dance, while spinning at every step, without losing eye contact. Ying went one step back, tried to keep the distance. The air whipped by her sudden, elegant motions, the right mace cutting through, before she could move out. The metallic end of the weapon struck Ying's rib cage. A muffled scream, the breath lost, her eyes widened. Miko spun once more, the left mace striking on the knee. Ying almost fell to the ground, her hands touching the tiles, her teeth biting the lips.

“GGGGGH.”

She flexed her muscles, opened her mouth to catch her breath. But Miko was faster. Another spin, the right mace dancing in a huge arc, right above her prey. The wood smashed against Ying's neck, her head banging on the floor. Miko raised her foot, pressed it on her back.

“Pray tell me, where is now your ardent fighting spirit?”

Miko's maces whirled again, just as a show of power. No need to go for the finishing blow, not yet. She stared at the body of her opponent. Ying was huge, by all means. Not as huge as Hyde, Greschnik's Seventh Angel, yet definitely not on the small side of the scale. Her muscles seemed trained and sturdy enough to withstand a great amount of punishment. She quickly stared at her mace, at the dented flat tip. With a body like that, being knocked unconscious by such a hit should have not been so easy. Unless...

“For Heaven's sake!”

Miko stepped away, as quickly as she could. Just as Ying rolled on her back, grabbing her ankle with both hands.

“Catch you, little princess!”

Ying rose fast as lightning, pulled her leg, turned her torso in a sudden rotation, making Miko fly over her head, slamming her on the ground with rage.

“This! This work of art is what I call SHUI-MO!”

She inverted the spin, grabbed her again, slammed her on the other side, under the widened eyes of Greschnik.

“That mace was heavy! It hurt me a lot!”

She grabbed Miko from the ground, pushed her to her chest.

“BUT NOT ENOUGH!”

Ying started spinning on herself, Miko's legs raised by centrifugal force. One spin, two, three, four. At the fifth rotation, she left the hold, a grin blazing on her face. Miko flew through the corridor, hitting the wall in full, her head against the golden paint, scratching it away for the violence of the impact.

“...and that is WHY you shouldn't underestima...”

Ying's voice froze, her eyes shrunk to small dots. In a normal scenario, a woman with the physical build and age of Miko, slammed two times on the floor head first and rammed into a wall, would be a chaotic mess of blood, bruises and half-broken bones. Well, Miko was defying the very rules of nature. Standing firm, on her feet, after the beatdown. With just a hint of heavy breathing.

Ying shook her head in disbelief.

“W... wait, are you sure you are even human?”

Miko stretched her neck, a trickle of blood down her lips. She flinched, took position again. She suffered the hit, even if not as much as a normal human would have.

“Such a display of brutal strength. Insane to think that a regular woman could possess such prowess. In other circumstances, I would have welcomed you to our numbers.”

She crossed her arms, regained composure. The air around her body crackled, small crystals forming and fading in mid air, strange formations gathering on her maces, a thin, white layer accumulating on the lucid metal.

“But, alas, I will have to terminate you without further ado. The risk that you could be even more powerful than you've shown so far is too big to be downplayed.”

Ying squeezed her own hair, a muffled sigh from her lips.

“Please, can you stop doing that? You are reminding me of the very way my family would have liked me to behave..”

An explosive jump, Ying towered over a baffled Miko, cloaking her with her shadow, her eyes shining in the darkness.

“... and this is making me mad, little princess!”

She fell on her with an elbow drop, aiming at her neck with all her weight. Miko sidestepped at the last second, saw Ying crashing the floor with her fall. She frowned, turned on herself, spinning her mace. A shining trail of ice burst from the mace, a frozen wave following the weapon's trajectory, in an elegant, yet deadly arc. Ying jumped back, avoided the hit, the ice slashing the floor. Then, something grazed her cheek. Something fast. Ying limped on her right leg, eyes widened, hot blood spilling from her porcelain skin, a fresh wound right below her eye. A sharp noise, the column behind her carved by the impact. It was a knife. A golden tipped knife.

Ying turned her head slowly, muzzy, incapable of believing what she was seeing.

“No way?! A kni...”

Another hiss. Ying ducked, driven by her own survival instinct. Another knife, piercing the ceiling.

“YIKES!”

Then, she noticed her. Five blades, kept in one hand, among the fingers. Tens, dozens of them inside the jacket, coming out of every pocket. And a mocking stare, hidden by a weird metallic mask.

Yes, Yu was probably mocking Ying, behind her mask. The first hit was a warning shot, to test the reflexes of her quarry. The second was to see her fear materializing, taste her helplessness. The third would be the last one, as usual. The boring, expected outcome.

“... all those knives?! How the...”

Yu smiled again. That was just the tip of the iceberg. She had many, many more knives. And every knife was different from one another. Every knife was forged to remind her of a moment. Every knife was dedicated to her brother Seu. Every single one of them built to celebrate her lust for him. Every single one of them was unique. Ying's mouth gaped. So. Many. Knives. Yu kissed those in her hand, licked the tips, being sure to capture it with her camera.

“An idol cannot go to a party unprepared.”

Miko clenched her teeth, waved her mace in a fit of pride.

“Stop right there, Yu! She's mine to finish!”

Yu rolled her eyes, then she casually waved her hand. Three knives thrown in Ying's direction, proceeding full speed against her head. Yet, Miko made a mistake. And Ying's mind was faster when under pressure. In the fraction of second Yu needed to throw her blades at her, Ying accepted the fact that those were real, that Yu was going to throw them, that she was the target. And that Miko was distracted. And too near. She grabbed Miko, dragged her in front of her body, her face filled with surprise.

A scream of pain, Miko's mouth warped in a grimace.

“YOU... BIIIIIITCH!”

A flood of blood, coming out from the wound, staining the blue dress. The knives sticking out of Miko's back, her pupils shrunk to dots. Ying was smiling, her ego shining thanks to her resolution. Yu was smiling too. A muffled laugh. Wrong target, yet the best outcome. That stunt made her gain at least fifty viewers in one go. If she were luckier, she could have killed that awful ghost, but – hey – you can't have everything from life.

Ying threw Miko away, like a dead weight.

Take one of them and escape.

The annoying, unremarkable voice of Funabaki echoed in her mind.

Take one of them and escape.

Ying widened a sadistic smile.

“No way, Funabaki. No. Way.”

The show was just starting. No way she would leave it halfway through.

Yu bared six more knives, three per hand, every blade with a different shape, her smartphone kept between two fingers. She took a somewhat loose defensive stance, analyzing Ying in detail. Huge. Muscular. Almost like Hyde, when she decided to use her adult form. Yeah, it wouldn’t have been much different than sparring with her, with that freak, that joke of an Angel. Tiny, cute, refined, red-headedIrish... who could become more buff than a gigantic, comically disproportionate bodybuilder. One moment, a brash trashtalker with a “greater good” mindset and a thing for unicorns. The moment later, an unstoppable death machine, capable of snapping your neck if you said something wrong about her favorite magical girl show. Yu hated her – like she hated ninety percent of the world population – hated her because she had to train, to waste time better spent streaming, to learn how not to die because of a fit of rage of that dumb beast. If it had been for her, Hyde should have been euthanized LONG before. Ying was neither as tall, nor as muscular, and probably not even as fast as her. Yet, something in her gaze was different. Her golden eyes looked like those of a wild beast, craving death. Something driven by instinct alone, almost inhuman. A flash in her mind. Yu's mind goes back in time, her infancy in Busan, with Seu, her beautiful twin brother, together at the zoo, with their mother and father. They were in front of a cage, policemen running around. A commotion had just happened, sirens blaring in the background. An attendant had just killed the tiger's cub by mistake and her mother tore him to pieces in retaliation, ripped his throat open, in front of the visitors. The eyes, the eyes of that tiger. Yu had never forgotten them, since the moment their gazes met. Those eyes got impressed in her memories. And, now, they were back. Right in front of her.

A shiver down her spine, a long breath. She was calm, calm again. She started analyzing the situation, trying to think with a cold mind. A frontal assault would have not worked – and would have not been scenic enough to keep her followers entertained. She needed something more refined. Ying laughed.

“You know, I would really like to see what you hide behind that mask, cutie!”

Yu arched her back, bent forward.

“Trust me, you don't want it. If I'd remove this mask, you would fall in love with me immediately. And I can't afford it, as my heart belongs to someone else.”

Ying chuckled, spread her arms, advancing slowly towards her. Miko was still turning in pain, muttering a waterfall of swear words. Yu licked her lips, her hands on her knees

Then, they heard a snap. A broken knife thrown on the ground, still soaked with thick, red blood, a heavy sandal smashing the tip with raging fury. The heiress of the Teruchigawa estate was standing again, her blue kimono tainted by rivers of blood, sweat covering her skin.

“N... not so fast. You won't ignore me. Not like this.”

The maces started whirling in a macabre dance, small crystals suspended mid-air, snowflakes, ice forming around her sandals, cracking at each one of Miko's steps.

“NOT. LIKE. THIS!”

A blasting scream, ice shards coming out of the walls, the air freezing, a raging snowstorm around her body, lights going out, coming back again, blinking like mad. Then, silence. A thick, heavy silence. Miko coughed, red spots on the ground, a dense drip of blood down her lip. Another cough. Another. Another, once more. She caught her breath. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, she rocketed forward, full speed.

Greschnik stepped back, hid behind a column, smiled, pumped his fist.

“Magnifico, MAGNIFICO!”

He took out his mobile phone, quickly dialed a number on it. One beep, two beeps. A disgruntled voice from the other side. Greschnik started talking with her usual high-pitched voice, pouring exhilaration from every octave.

“Yes, Bekk, it's me, your boss. Yes, I know what time it is and no, I'm NOT interested in your complaints right now. Look, can you... can you open the connection with the high definition surveillance cameras? The ones in the Stratosphere HQ, I mean!”

A sudden gust of wind, a body flying through the corridor at high speed, grazing the man, almost making him fall. Ying crashed against the wall, breaking the first layer of golden coating. Miko roared like a lion, strode at her maximum speed, her maces coated in ice, like two beautiful crystal swords.

Greschnik ducked behind the column, took the mobile phone closer to his face.

“You can? Perfect! Then, restart them and... wait, what do you mean out of order? Then reset the program in safe mode! Once you do that... once you do that..”

A loud noise, Miko's face pressed against a column with full force by Ying, with both hands, Yu casually observing and carelessly whistling, while taking a selfie for her audience.

“... well, once you do that, open the live broadcast! Directly on the Rapture channel! This is gonna be a show, a one of a kind improvised show! Yes, I AM serious!”

Miko pushed her head back, hit Ying's nose with her nape, making her stumble.

“Bekk! I don't care if you are tired! Do it NOW or you will be fired and enlisted as a contestant for the next Rapture. Your choice. So? Oh, MAGNIFICO! And send a nice opening before! This is gonna be PRIME TIME MATERIAL!”

10. 7. Prey per View

Excited screams, laughs, cheers, hands waving, pumping fists. Drunk people waving through the hallways, trying to understand what was happening, then rejoicing, joining the crowd. One would expect only stray dogs to be around this late at night, in this peripheral block of the city. Lights were almost out, everywhere, except some random spot here and there. Yet, the soft shine of a TV screen, displayed inside a closed electronics shop, was attracting passersby like flies, making them gather and cheer together. The veil of darkness was already embracing the skyscrapers, the slums, the residential areas. Yet, more and more people would come there, lured by the chants. Some joined to complain about the noises, sure, maybe salary men just wanting to sleep some more hours before the new shift began, but this lasted but a minute. Once there, they didn't go away. And started cheering as well, hypnotized by the show. The TV screen, that single, switched on display in an almost empty window, was all they needed. Among all those people, you wouldn't expect to be noticed. Especially if this is your job, on the sidelines, never shining. Yet, this time it was different. Not only you were noticed, Funabaki – you were also invited to step out of your pickup truck, to watch, to share the joy, while being offered a drink. What was the origin of such a commotion, you ask, right, Funabaki? This is not where you would expect people to meet, in front of a random TV store in an unremarkable city block. But – then – you see. You understand why everyone is excited. You recognize the shapes on the screen, even if they are so small, because you are so far from it, due to how many people are standing between you and the shop window.

And that is the moment when you understand that, when Ying Tao is involved, carefully crafted plans don't mean anything anymore.

So, what do you do now, Funabaki? How do you solve the problem? A rhetoric question, indeed. There is only one thing to do in situations like those.

**

A smartphone started ringing several kilometers away. It was not a new model, but not that old either. A red and black metallic cover was protecting its backside, with small nail scratches here and there. The screen came back to life, spreading a whitish light all around, showing off a black, sober background with the Beauregard logo at the center. A crimson tinted nail pressed on the green virtual button, answering the call.

“Beauregard.”

“We have a problem.”

Funabaki's toneless voice. Rena was used to it, but knew him long enough to notice a hint of annoyance in that short, unremarkable sentence. Riezlee raised her hand to advocate for her attention. Only to be shut down by a violent, homicidal stare.

“Tell me.”

“Tune a TV on the Rapture channel.”

Rena quickly exited the back lab, headed for the room with the scientists, now almost silent. The huge plasma screen was off, nobody talking. Zeb and Vanessa were still trembling in front of the boss. Rena opened her lips, gazed coldly at them.

“Remote, please.”

“Remo...”

“Give. Me. The remote. Now.”

“OH! YES! SURE! HERE! HERE!”

Zeb handed it immediately, his hands drenched with sweat, the glasses almost fogged. Rena snatched it violently, switched on the TV. Two, three seconds for the screen to go live. Another two, three seconds to tune in the channel.

And two, three seconds to accept that what she was seeing was real.

“What the hell...?!”

Rena's eyes widened, she almost lost her breath. She remained still, in a trance-like state.

“This is the problem. Funabaki out.”

The call ended abruptly, before Rena could even press anything. Not that she had the force to.

On the TV screen, Ying Tao was fighting, but not on a ring. She was inside a building, a familiar building, with gold-coated walls and several bronze statues, now stained in ink. And her opponents were...

“Oh, niiiiiiice!”

Riezlee's voice broke Rena's trance, as she quickly stepped inside the room, her hands steadily in the pockets of her lab coat, a slasher smile painted on her face.

“We have a real-time live feed! How did you do that, chief? It's impressive! I didn't know we could hack the Stratosphere cameras!”

“We... didn't.”

Rena's words were muttered slowly, stumping at every pause. Then, her voice suddenly turned high-pitched, enraged, in total disbelief.

“Greschnik... that crazy mad psychopath idiot manchild... he's... he's broadcasting the fight on his pay per view channel!”

On the screen, Miko hit Ying in the side with her mace, while Yu disrespectfully jumped on her head to deliver a roundhouse to their target's face.

Riezlee stood motionless for an instant.

“But that's... just...”

Then, she started jumped around, like an over-excited bunny

“Amazing! SIMPLY! AMAZING!”

She sat on the sofa, waved her lab coat, pointing her index at the ceiling.

“Alright, meatbags! Take a seat and enjoy the show! This is somethin' I never thought I would have seen: that Tao freak being bashed live – for real – while I'm at a reasonable distance and can do nothing about it, not even if you, chief, order it! That's, like, the best situation ever! Zeb, where are my popcorns?!”

Zeb, still trembling, reached for an unopened can of popcorns, handed them to Riezlee. She snatched it with one swing of a hand, while willingly falling on the sofa. A familiar croaking, Mr. Froggy jumped on her hair, sat on them. Seeing their immediate boss so relaxed, Vanessa, Zeb, all the scientists started to calm down, to look at the screen. Rena was still motionless, like a statue, incapable of processing what her eyes were watching.

Riezlee ripped the can open, started greedily munching popcorns.

“Fo, mea'bagf! Who'f 'onna win?!”

She ingested the popcorn with a noisy gulp, kept on talking unperturbed.

“Come on, bets are open!”

On the screen, Ying was being grabbed by Miko, hit in the back by her mace, while repeatedly kicked in the stomach by Yu. Riezlee smiled once more, totally comfortable in the utter chaos which was embracing the room and its occupants.

“Take your time, there's no hurry. The show has juuuust started!”

**

A guttural cry, eyes closed in pain. Miko kicked Ying in the knee, making her fall to the ground.

“Oh, is that all? Spare some screams for later, dear.”

A vengeful smile painted on Miko's face, droplets of blood tainting the porcelain skin.

“The evening is still long, and the punishment is far from over.”

One second later, she was lying on the floor, her nape hitting the tiles, bouncing, causing her teeth to rattle. Ying had unexpectedly ducked, a sudden hip movement, a sweep with the back leg - overcoming the pain, hitting her with her own medicine. She rolled on her side, avoiding Yu's stomp, and went back to her feet. Miko got to her knees, leaped at her, her maces surrounded by a snowy haze.

“How DARE you defy a goddess?!”

One, two swings, blasting Ying's shoulders, sides, thighs, like sticks on a drum. A vertical swing, aimed at the head. Ying grinned.

“Goddess? You?”

She grabbed Miko's wrist, rammed forward, built momentum, launched her unbalanced opponent to the other side. Then, kicked her in the stomach, her leg completely extended. Miko lost her breath, her body propelled full-speed upwards. Her back left a dent on the ceiling, bounced down on the floor, her maces spread left and right. Ying towered over her, a sadistic smile from cheek to cheek.

“Please, don't make me laugh. Not more than I'm already doing, at lea...”

Blood interrupted her. And pain. And a high-pitched noise.

Ying blinked one, two times. The noise. That noise. That high-pitched noise. Why? What. The blood. The pain. Miko. Floor. So? Pain. Pain on the right of her head. Hand. Move your hand Ying. Check it. Blood. Right. Head. What is that? A knife.

Yes, a knife.

Stuck to the wall.

Ying, your hand. It's covered in blood.

Your blood.

The knife. An ear.

Your ear.

The buzzing noise. The pain. The blood.

Your ear.

Your symmetry.

Your beauty.

Lost.

Yu.

Standing.

Smiling? Smiling.

Sure.

Not.

For.

LONG.

A thunderous growl, shaking the walls. Ying roared like a tiger, her hand covered in blood, blood springing from what was left of her ear.

Yu did it. Yu hit her from the back.

Two centimeters. Two centimeters on the left and bye bye, Ying Tao. No, that was nothing like she experienced before. That was a true fight to the death. As a predator who yielded to its instincts, Ying rejoiced in her pain. And her pain became her strength.

A burst of power, her muscles flexed, releasing the sprint, a human projectile running full speed ahead. Yu bared three more knives, aimed at her head. But it was too late. Ying was already there.

Ying's shoulder deep into her chest, a slasher smile on her face, dilated pupils. A trail of blood drips, completely ignored, the feral determination to strike the opponent. Yu lost her breath, fell on the floor. Ying remained still for a moment, contemplating her opponent's pain, laughing like a maniac. Her senses clouded by adrenaline, her heightened lust for punishment overshadowing her mind.

She didn't watch her back. She didn't try to listen.

She didn't see her coming.

A piercing pain to the chest, Ying's eyes dilated unnaturally. The edge of a crystal sword. Right between her ribs. Blood gushing out, tainting the ice. Then, the sword drawn out, the wound covered by cold crystals, the viscous, red fluid frozen. Ying fell to the floor, her whole body aching, yelling in silence, her hands against her mouth, trying not to scream. Miko, staring at her from above. Ying raised her arm, one eye closed, blood still dripping from her ear, from her back, a brown icy mess where the blade struck.

“H... how?! I... sent you...”

“You are so weak.”

A kick to the cheek, with all the weight of her wooden sandal. Then, Miko pressed it on her face, smashing it on Ying's nose.

“You thought you were the one in control, goddess...”

A subtle, sadistic smile, her eyes half closed.

“... exactly as I planned. You were so distracted by your own perceived strength, that you let your guard down... and revealed yourself for what you truly are!”

Miko stomped Ying's belly, all her weight pressed on the sandal.

“A useless, delusional, predictable, maggot!”

One word, one kick, on her chest, on the belly, on her face again, alternated by screams of pain. The wounds aching like hell, every movement made a torture. Then Ying exhaled, stopped moving, breathing heavily. Yu shook her head, neared the fallen brawler, turned her back to her, raised her phone.

“Soooo, Creature of the Night... did you enjoy the gig? This evening, your beautiful Yu slayed a fiend for you all! Stay connected juuuust a little longer, because later I will show you my undies, as I promised!”

Miko smirked.

“... oh, yeah, because stripping on a corpse would be so much out of character for you, right?”

Yu ignored the stab, wore a radiant smile, angled the camera to try and get the best view of Ying's mangled body.

Greschnik gave a disappointed look to Ying. She didn't last half the time she was supposed to. A wasted opportunity. Well, at least it was all free marketing for his Angels. If only Yu actually performed her striptease on the woman's downed body... well that would have been so controversial that he would have got even more sponsors. Greschnik shook his head at the missed opportunity for some more influence and public contention. He clapped his hands, twice, looking at both girls.

“The game's over, you played very, absolutely, inconceivably MAGNIFICO! Now, we should take our guest to the security room, soooo...”

“... I told you to stop looking at me like that, you FREAK!”

Greschnik froze in place.

“... what?”

He needed one long second to realize that Miko was talking to Yu. Now that the fight was over, the two girls were focusing again on their favorite target: each other. Miko roared like a lion, pointing her mace at Yu's mask.

“I... don't want to appear in your fucking stream! Not in one million years!”

Yu gave her the raspberry, kept sure of framing her with the phone's front camera.

“Oh, come on, Miko-chan! You said it yourself that you would like to see eeeeevery inch of my body!”

Yu walked forward, blew her a kiss with the fingers. Miko flustered, clenched her teeth like a beast.

“... in your wet dreams, maybe? Ah, no, I forgot I'm not your brother, you little degenerate!”

Yu stuck out her tongue, without diverting her gaze. Static electricity between their eyes, none of them was going to back down. None of them was paying attention to the fallen opponent. None of them was seeing her reaching for her waist, grabbing a small vial.

“D... desperate times...”

Ying used all that was left of her strength, took the vial to her mouth, opened it with her teeth. A loud pop, a fluorescent, red liquid dripping from it, right onto Ying's bloodstained lips.

“... call for... desperate... measures.”

Nobody noticed, for the first few seconds. Nobody, except a sharp viewer, on the other side of the screen. Someone whose eyes had adapted to watch through the deepest darkness. A self-proclaimed monster, chomping popcorns and enjoying the show. Until that point.

“What in daddy's name is she drin...”

Riezlee jumped on her chair, almost spat her popcorns.

“FUCK!”

Her f-bomb echoed in the room, prompting all of her colleagues to look at her with a puzzled expression.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

She looked at her boss, waving her hands in a chaotic pattern, with Mr. Froggy trying not to lose his grip and remain solidly anchored to her hair.

“How did she get THAT?! It can't be, I had all the samples in the lab! There's no way she...”

Rena's reply was just a still, cold, stare. Riezlee's jaw dropped.

“You... gave it... to her?”

Rena shrugged, impassive.

“Whatever it takes.”

Riezlee fell on the floor, laughing, a genuine, wholehearted laugh, from the depth of her soul, almost moving her to tears.

“Ah, ah! You are a mad meatbag, boss! You crazy ass bitch! Ah, ah! And they call me monster! Ah, ah! Isn't it... sweetly ironic?!”

Rena stood up, stared calmly at her insubordinate subordinate.

“This operation mustn't fail, no matter what. I’m ready to play all my cards to...”

Riezlee stood up as well, on her tips to match Rena's height, her eyes unnaturally dilated, her face deformed in a grimace. She pointed her finger at the screen, prompting Vanessa, Zeb, and the other scientists to watch the scene carefully.

“Boss, let me rephrase it, so that maybe you'll understand the implications!”

She stood mere centimeters before Rena's face, her tongue almost licking her skin, the teeth sharp as those of a shark.

“Right before your sorry eyes, Ying has just gulped down... a full vial of mutagen alien blood!”

11. 7.5 Moonlit Interlude

The sharp eyes of Riezlee were the first to catch a glimpse of the vial, but not the last. On the street, Funabaki was quick to spot the small item he was tasked to deliver to Ying. And was quick to understand what was going to happen. Broadcasting it through a pay-per-view channel might not have been the best outcome, though. Secrecy would have been violated, but that was not a huge issue. He had to deal with worse, back when he was in the intelligence – having to find a way to cover it up, fueling disinformation and modern urban legends. Bizarre lamppost creatures eating children in the dead of night? Just a fluke of the camera, and an unfortunate child getting lost in the woods. A strange gate opening in the middle of the ocean, devouring a fisherman's boat? The unfortunate effects of an anomalous wave. Lots of unfortunate things happened, around the time Funabaki was in active service. Lots of people going missing. Sometimes even close to him.

Yet, he went on.

Funabaki's job had been hiding things, all his life. Ying's ingesting an alien mutagen would have not been an exception. He pulled down his fedora and sat at the corner of the road, still watching the monitors, but standing as far as possible from the lampposts. After all those years, he was still not trusting them, especially the flickering ones. Old habits die hard. But not as hard as him.

**

“... and that's why Mrs. Milena Blazchewrobitz is to be considered guilty! The evidence is unmistakably showing that...”

An odd voice, sometimes raucous, acute at times, always unpleasant. Too loud to be ignored, too ordinary to be remembered. Like listening to chalk scratching a blackboard, continuously. A torture for his enemies and friends alike. Which made things easier, as he had no friends at all. Prosecutor Zhengyi Tao was still in his office, despite the night already calling him to bed. Getting to the point where he could have finally become famous enough to indict his sister Ying for all her kidnapping crimes required sacrifices. Like working that late at night to close a case.

“W... wait, prosecutor Tao! I...”

A second voice interrupted him, the voice of a girl frantically trying to write down his words for record. Seva Linfan, his young assistant. A Maya Fey to a Phoenix Wright. Except if Phoenix was a narcissist asshole. And Maya was a double agent for Manfred von Karma.

“Miss Linfan, what is the problem, this time?”

“... with how many Q should I write Blazke... Blaqze... Blazaak... that name?”

Zhengyi rolled his eyes.

“Just write down M.B.! Or simply the defendant! Haven't you learned anything at the stenographer course that I paid for you?!”

Seva yawned, gazed quickly at the corner of the room, dimly lit by a 70 inches plasma screen. The TV was open on the Stratosphere channel. Zhengyi's new target was the Rapture: he wanted to find a way to indict Reiner Greschnik, so that he could use the resulting fame to show his sister who was the best. Just that, no higher goals in life than a dick measuring contest with a woman, who happened to share parents with him.

Zhengyi went on with his usual rant. He was tired and the more tired he was, the more time he was spending complaining about Ying.

“Ah! If only I had a shred of evidence against my sister, I wouldn't need such a useless apprentice! Even only a tiny, little fragment of evidence would be enough!”

Seva sighed heavily.

“Yes, prosecutor Tao. As always.”

She hated him to the guts, yet she was working for him to learn a thing or two about prosecution. It would have been extremely handy to find a way out after a failed kidnapping attempt for her goddess Ying. She was sleep-writing, as tired as she was. Yet, the goddess's orders were clear. Stay with Zhengyi, report his moves. And she didn't dare defy her will. Ying Tao was a divine-like figure for her. Her faith in the goddess was so great that she could have sworn she was seeing the object of her devotion, right in that moment. Her eyes were catching a glimpse of Ying fighting in her elaborate outfit, against a strange girl, wrapped in a blue kimono and white face paint, and a disgruntled leather-clad brat with a thief mask. Crazy, how a tired mind could bend reality so much.

Except it wasn't.

Ying was being broadcasted LIVE. Inside the Stratosphere headquarters. And Zhengyi was going to see her there and record it!

“... and, as I said, the fact that the defendant pretends to speak with ravens is a clear indication of her delusional mind state. I want to stress once more, Your Honor, that...”

“OH MY GODDESS, NO! HOLY PICASSO ON MUNCH'S SCREAM!”

Seva jumped at the plasma screen with a high pitched yell, hit it with a kick, making it fall back, tumbling towards the open window for a long, interminable second. Before miserably falling through it, ending its premature life at the bottom of a side street, crashing each of its 70 inches on the rough asphalt. Zhengyi stopped for a second, incapable of understanding what happened, his voice suddenly coming to a halt.

“W... what in Shintoist heavens just happened?”

Seva, drenched with cold sweat, looked at him more puzzled than ever.

“The TV... it was... huh, overshadowing your melodious voice, sir. I couldn't focus properly on it, so I... huh, shut it down.”

Zhengyi peeked from the window.

“Forever, apparently.”

“W... well! Less distractions! Now we can keep on working on the Blazkreovtz case!”

Zhengyi sighed.

“Seriously, once I am famous I will fire this brat. Once I'm famous...”

Seva curled into a ball, crying tears of joy. She was enduring all that pain for her goddess. No sacrifice would have been too big for her.

**

>TheMagnificentRenzo: @everyone Tune on the Stratosphere streaming! Yu was *really* fighting someone! That was no joke!

>Usel3ssLe$bian: Not that we could tell from her stream. The camera was all shaky and always framing her (not that I complain)

>Otakugamer09: she hot

>Usel3ssLe$bian: she hella hot! I'd bed her *on the nails*, but who is she fighting?

>Otakugamer09: she hot too

>TheMagnificentRenzo: I saw her before. She was on Lust 2 months ago, in the LAW special

>Usel3ssLe$bian: You buy Lust? Isn't it for horny kids and gals (yes I buy it too, don't judge me)?

>TheMagnificentRenzo: Nadia Nagase's nude double feature was best, don't @ me Yeah, I recognized her, she's a wrestler called Ying Tao – the maniac amazon prodigy

>Usel3ssLe$bian: YIIIIIIING! OMG! WHICH CHANNEL DO I NEED TO TUNE IN?

>TheMagnificentRenzo: …

…several people are furiously typing...

>Otakugamer09: boi

>Usel3ssLe$bian: MY MULTIPLE GODS! SHE HAWT! SHE HAWT AF!

>Otakugamer09: *boi*

>Lukso: who @ everyone?

>Otakugamer09: @TheMagnificentRenzo. He wrote Yu is live on Stratosphere channel. Beating up Ying Tao

>Otakugamer09: they hot

>Lukso: bruh. Next time no @ everyone, kay?

>AngryKrimsonSkeleton: only if Yu strips -.- No @ me otherwise!

>TheMagnificentRenzo: SHE FUCKING DOES IT IF SHE WINS! DOWN TO HER UNDIES

>Usel3ssLe$bian: *dead*

>Usel3ssLe$bian: YOOOOO! WAS THAT AN ICE SWORD?! I swear, I hate Miko, but that was pretty badass!

>TheMagnificentRenzo: They are merciless o.o Holy sheeeeeesh!

>Otakugamer09: GAWD! Stop! She dead!

>Usel3ssLe$bian: FUCK! YING CANNOT DIE! NOT LIKE THIS! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

>AngryKrimsonSkeleton: Guys, language. Next who says the F-word is silenced for 15 minutes.

>TheMagnificentRenzo: Wait. Wait. WAIT

>TheMagnificentRenzo: @Usel3ssLe$bian you seen that? WHAT IS SHE DRINKING?

>Usel3ssLe$bian: The hell should I know?

>Lukso: that seems shiny

>TheMagnificentRenzo: okay, what the FUCK?

TheMagnificentRenzo has been silenced

>Usel3ssLe$bian: FUCK HELL, KRIMSON! WE WERE COMMENTING HERE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

Usel3ssLe$bian has been silenced

>Lukso: bruh

**

Japan was a strange country, a country where you could just rent a room in a love hotel and spend the night there, on a whim – as easy as snapping fingers and taking the keys from the robo-maid at the reception. So much different from what she was accustomed to. Pride. Hate for the weaklings. Law of the strongest. Rules of nature. Violence. Death. You gotta grow accustomed to that quite fast, when there's no kindness, no love around you. Who needs them, by the way? They don't help your survival. They make you weaker. Yet...

“... I mean, why?”

Naga sighed loudly, her snake-like eyes staring intensely at the ceiling, her blue hair spread around freely, in a chaotic, irregular fashion. Why having bonds, if they are not helping your survival? Just a question of utilitarianism. Bond with someone, use them until you need them, leave them to die. Rules of nature, they say. Human biology. Something you can fight. Like physical attraction, arousal. You can't fight them, right? It's not that human beings are much different from animals. They all act on instinct, on their lowest functional level.

“... why?”

She turned her head on the cushion, stared blankly at the other side of the bed. Staring at the girl softly sleeping at her side, her long, auburn hair, her delicate skin. She was deep in her dreams, a sleepy smile on her face. Naga shook her head. Her mission was to convince her to join Rena, not to bed her again. Yet, rules of nature, right? A discussion, escalating to an argument, a heated argument. No, I'll never join forces with my father's murderers!, she uttered. Which is completely illogical. You side with the strongest, you can't afford to fight a lost battle. If you meet a monster, a monster which can annihilate you, you join the monster and help them in their crusade, until you meet an even stronger monster. It's that simple. It's the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest. Yet...

Naga shook her head. There was no answer. What she did, what they did, was completely, utterly illogical. They shouted at each other. Threw stuff at each other. Then, she cried. Selena cried.

Not that it should have changed anything.

Yet, someway, it did. And they ended up kissing each other, like in the old days. Like when before meeting Azalea. A sudden hissing noise, near her ear, the sensation of being licked. Naga moved her hand, intercepted the small visitor.

“Noodle...”

A microscopic, dwarf snake. Selena's pet. The pet she gifted her on their one-year-anniversary together. Noodle was no longer than thirty centimeters, a small, quiet, curious reptile who used to rest around Selena's neck, like a living necklace. Now, with his owner asleep, he was curiously savoring that scent that he grew accustomed to for so long, only to miss it from one day to another. Naga stared away, pulled down the sheet, sat on the bed.

If she says no, dispose of her. We have no use for such a dangerous meatbag! Or, ya know, do as you wish! It's not that you'll listen to me anyway, right?

Naga caressed Noodle, combed Selena's hair with her fingers, in her sleep. The logical conclusion, the logical thing to do, would have been killing her, on the spot. A weakling like her would have just died, in that pitiless world. Why make the agony last longer? She shook her head, started to put her clothes on, slowly, without waking her up. Her eyes gazed at the moon, that silent witness who saw what nobody should have. Rules of nature. Kill or be killed.

For once, Naga decided to make an exception. Only once. There wouldn't have been a second time. No, not at all. She reached the door of the room, as quietly as she could, her fingers on the handle. She turned back, a last glowing gaze, a smile she quickly suppressed.

“... take care of her, Noodle, alright?”

She left the room, her eyes closed. No need to show feelings from someone so insignificant. Yet, rules of nature had been broken, that night. Naga stepped down the stairs, left the love hotel. Headed for her motorbike. Helmet on, throttle on, the raucous growl of the engine. The metallic scream of the exhaust pipe let her thoughts dissolve in a cloud of thick, black smoke, while driving back to her home. A home where Selena had no place.

**

There was nothing even remotely beautiful in the dead of night, while on a crowded train to the Narita airport. Nothing beautiful in the passengers, sticky with sweat, smelling of cigarettes. Old Japanese men, mostly. Halfling midgets with one two many wrinkles, a skin too dark and flat faces, with horrible almond eyes. In one word: ugly. UGLY. U G L Y. Azalea capitalized every single letter in her mind, while clinging to her suitcase. Ugly. Rickson. The two words almost rhyming with each other, at least inside her capricious brain. She hated the U.S., almost as much as Japan. Fat people eating burgers and shooting guns. Ugly. Black people, white people. Ugly. Their language. Ugly.

No, it was too much. The world, the whole world was ugly. Nothing to care about. Nothing worth a SINGLE MINUTE of tolerance. Yet, she was on that train, directed to Narita, to take the first plane to the U.S., just because she was ordered to. If that bitch of her boss didn't hold all cards, she would have already gone M.I.A., yet the possibility of living forever was too alluring. She could have endured the pain a bit more. One day, one fateful day, she would be the EMPRESS of the world, purging ugliness from existence. And, with ugliness, she meant all life on Earth, indistinctly.

She unlocked her smartphone's screen, to watch something in streaming. It was still a long trip ahead, anything would have been better than trying to guess how many cigarettes did the fat, bald man sitting at her side smoke before throwing up. She had a kind of secret thing for the Rapture. The Chaingear was ugly, but not THATugly. Plus, that beast indirectly contributed to her cause, killing the scum and removing their infectious ugliness from the face of the planet. That was the reason she found the show barely acceptable. Nobody knew about it, and nobody would have EVERknown. To think that she could like anything except herself was a HERESY. Still, she couldn't resist. The Rapture was hypnotic. Her relaxed expression, however, turned to UTTER DISAPPOINTMENT when she found out the broadcast was already over.

“Oh, GREAT. Stuck on a dirty train filled to the brim with smelly yellows and not even the ONLY show I can BARELY stand.”

She was going to shove it again in her rucksack, but then something caught her attention. Ying Tao. On the screen. The woman who REPEATEDLY refused to violate her body and use it as a canvas, DEFYING her status as the new Venus. Beaten to a pulp by two UGLY henchwomen (but not as ugly as her). Live on stream.

Azalea smiled. Maybe, after all, there WAS something interesting to watch.

**

Two o'clock is a time like any other, when you are on the hide. Changing flat every couple of weeks, right before the Stratosphere goons find out about about your current place, open two or three new channels on social networks and video sharing platforms, with the same velocity they are taken down by Greschnik's digital watch dogs, find a suitable neighbor with a router left on factory settings, so you can access the net without having to have a contract in your name. Change name, two, three times per month. Be that shy, new guy with a pretty face that makes the janitor's daughter have a crush on you, then be on the run the day afterwards with yakuza enforcers knocking at the front door of the building. This is the life of a rebel. The life Seu Honhwan is forced to live, for a greater good. Not the life he would like to, but sometimes you don't have the luxury of choice.

Two o'clock, though, is quite late, in any reference system. Especially, after a day spent collecting data about the so-called Subject X, the alien creature which was rumored to be held in the depth of Stratosphere HQ, and the seemingly connected disappearance of a biologist, Rebecca Engels. But, hey, you can't miss the Rapture, not even one night. Not if you want to find a way to destroy them.

The devil's in the details had never been truer. Knowledge was Seu's most precious weapon. And he wouldn't have traded it for anything else. A yawn. The adrenaline was slowly going down the drain. Setting up the new cameras around the city had been thrilling, evading the cops and the CCTV thanks to his camouflages more so. Now, however, it would have been almost time to shut down operations. Would have being the keyword. Except, he couldn't afford it: on the TV screen, Ying Tao, a semi-professional wrestler, suspected of having kidnapped several underage girls and having ties with the powerful Beauregard Industries, was fighting for her life against two of Greschnik's Angels, one of which suspiciously resembling his sister, Yu. Same name, same demeanor. Yu Vampyr was a mystery, an idol with no past, who appeared as Yu Honhwan ceased to be part of this world.

That Yu, that very same Yu...

Seu had looked for more information, but he couldn't break the wall of silence surrounding her. He joined several servers and streams, trying to confirm that the two were – in fact – the same person, but something on her mask was making all his face-recognition programs crash abruptly and produce no results. And now, Yu Vampyr was there, on screen, fighting against a female wrestler in a leotard. Why, Seu had no idea. But it was an interesting show... and a good occasion to test his additional spy cameras. He sipped his coffee, yawned again. The computer was recording all the streamed footage, no frame was going to be lost. Then, the fluorescent liquid made its appearance on screen, in Ying's hands. Seu almost spat his drink on the monitor.

“What the actual fu...?!”

That was...

“How... how could she get that?!”

Useless question. No time for that. He quickly typed on the keyboard, a storm of small clicks, like a metallic rain. His spy cameras, the same he managed to install inside the Stratosphere building thanks to a couple bribes, started streaming the same scene from different angles. There were no doubts: Ying Tao was drinking something that looked like a vial of an unknown substance. That substance. Live. Seu pulled his hair. That was an unexpected gift. No way he would have left it unused. A quick click, the stream replicated on two pirate channels, one using his own cameras alone. He smiled. Greschnik was going to have bigger problems than him, for once. And this made him genuinely happy.

**

Nadia closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. That was the extent of her surprise. Nothing more than a blink. She rubbed the towel on her neck, wiped away the last drops of sweat from her skin. Another girl with her, smaller, thirteen years old, wrapped in bandages. A ripped poncho falling on her shirt and shorts, her forehead beaded with sweat too. Nivandra, the sixth Angel – the little teenager who killed a convicted French man, mere hours before. Having to train with Nadia, to learn how to survive another day. But she wasn't as collected as she was in the arena – no. Nivandra's face was surprised, her mouth gaping. She had raised her finger, pointed at the huge television screen covering the whole wall, her tiny eyes fixated on her teacher. They were just chilling, moments before, enjoying some late night replica of Saturday morning cartoons together. Apparently, the small girl never had the luxury of watching them and was secretly sneaking into the TV room after training to catch a glimpse of them, in the dead of night. Nadia didn't know what to think of it – didn't know how to feel. Yet, she allowed her to do so, allowed Nivandra to have access to that luxury. She was looking pleased, wearing a radiant smile, laughing, so it had to be a good thing. Except, the cartoons were interrupted by an emergency broadcast. Something wrong at HQ. Nivandra's voice called for her attention.

“N... Nadia? Isn't it...?”

Nadia nodded.

“A breach. Fortunately, Miko and Yu are with Mr. Greschnik.”

Nivandra looked at her, at that blond girl in her early twenties, who was stoically standing near her, her expression unperturbed, her tanktop still drenched and wet from the training session. She had gone all-out, just ten minutes before. No time to relax and recover. Nadia lowered her gaze, fastened the bandages around her right forearm.

“The threat level of the target seems to be nothing of concern. We should just stay out of this.”

She took off her tank top, threw it to the ground, slicked her hair back.

“I will go for the shower first. Call me if anything out of the ordinary happens, Nivandra.”

She turned her back to the girl, started walking away.

“N... Nadia?”

Nadia stopped.

“S... something's not right!”

On screen, Yu and Miko were bickering with each other. While Ying was opening a suspicious vial with her teeth. And gulping it down, in one go. Nadia narrowed her eyes.

“Okay, forget the shower. I'm going in.”

She patted Nivandra's hair, went for her closet, took out her rider suit.

“Hold the fort for me until I'm back.”

12. 8. Awaken

Have you ever seen a real darkness, Miko? A black so thick you can't pierce it, not even with your flashlight? A shimmering, all-eating void, devouring every single photon, depriving the surroundings of their very essence, stripping them naked, painting them gray, then black, making them part of the overwhelming nothing? Making them just indistinct, indiscernible stains of a homogeneous, pitch-dark wall? Well, you are lucky, Miko. Now, you are seeing it. Or not seeing it, depending on the point of view. Right in front of your eyes, Miko. Where Ying Tao was. Where lights are fading out, and the walls are disappearing.

You like to hear people screaming, don't you, Yu? You are pretty fond of how they call your name, how they idolize you as a goddess, craving your body like wild animals. You like to listen to your own screams too, Yu, right? When you are alone, in your room, alone with your dreams, alone with your lust. Your howls, your pleasure, exploding in one go. Yes, you do like screams Yu, there's nothing you can do about it. You can't stand silence. You simply can't. Yet, this time is different, isn't it? That scream, the scream of that woman. You are not enjoying it, Yu? You are trying to cover your ears, but it doesn't work, does it? It's piercing, piercing your brain, resonating inside your bones. That's no normal scream, Yu. It's one of a kind. A never ending, never fading scream of pain. You've never experienced anything like that Yu. It's the first time a scream makes you feel uncomfortable.

Power is control. Control is everything. Without control, you can't get results. You know it, Greschnik, deep inside, you know that maintaining control is the only way you can get your plan complete. Control yourself, every single muscle, every single cell of your body, every single tooth, nail. Smile, shine, repeat. Care about yourself, never let anything unexpected take you by surprise. Plan for the unplanned. Always. Except, this time you couldn't, right? You couldn't foresee the situation. You missed the vial. Nobody could have had access to it. Nobody should. No need for a contingency plan, right? Except, Ying Tao drank Subject X's blood. Just in front of you. It was rare to have you, Reiner Grechnik, speechless, but this time, this time, you couldn't utter a single word.

Then, the piercing scream stopped.

And the darkness exploded.

A torrent of pitch black paint flew like a waterfall, invading the corridor, climbing the walls, enveloping the columns, deviating left and right like the delta of a river. Miko shouted, raised her foot trying not to get hit, Greschnik motionless, incapable of understanding. Yu groaned, extracted three knives, aimed at the source of that anomalous flow. The ink kept on flowing, the body of the woman, who was their opponent until then, was hidden by the pitch-dark envelope, her voice now silenced. Yu waved her hand, opened her fingers, let the knives go. An audible swing, the metallic tip flying at maximum speed towards the black mass. Only for a hand to come out of it. And for the blades to just melt into ink at its touch.

Then, it happened.

The ink, the ink scattered as spots and stains, rearranged itself, climbed walls, floor and ceiling, even faster. Flowers of ink started appearing, first at random, then systematically around the corridor. Waves came soon after, the whole, giant Hokusai tsunamis. Then mountains. Fields of sunflowers. Spinning towers, melting clocks. Elephants with spider legs, daffodils, clouds, waterlilies, the sun rising on the sea. The ink twisting, turning, creating new figures, painting delicate Chinese characters, ideograms lost in the folds of time, resurfacing now after millennia, the whole heritage of a dynasty whose meaning was silent for too long. The ink blossomed in beautiful shapes, covering every single inch of the red pigment, of the floor tiles, as if the building had just become a part of her. The never ending trails had embraced the corridor like feelers, ramifications of an ever-growing plant.

And there, at the source, she stood.

With eyes closed, like a goddess, her clothes shredded to bits and tatters, mended by ink. Ink flowing as her hair, covering her hands, her chest, as her skin was one with the pitch-dark substance. Her lips were sealed, her arms lying down. The ink figures blossomed, danced around her, fed by the constant stream of black substance, pouring from her very being. She stood, silent, motionless, like a ruler, an empress surrounded by her subjects.

Her eyes opened.

Two shining beacons of amber, fiery flames, majestic gems underlying an otherworldly grace.

Her lips opened.

Her whole aura of refinement broke in an instant, as her smile gleamed in the dark, destroying any appearance of sanity and balance. And heralding the beginning of the nightmare.

“This shouldn't have happened.”

Greschnik stood still, staring at the ink-stained figure, at those merciless eyes. His jovial attitude gone, his smile broken, replaced by a genuine, visceral terror, mixed with a morbid curiosity.

“How... how did you get that vial? Tell me, NOW!”

The instant immediately after, a black hand was grabbing his nape, those burning eyes shining relentlessly, that mouth distorted in a grimace of mockery.

“Silence, heaten.”

A swing of the arm, Greschnik's head pushed down like a ragdoll, his knees hitting the floor with violence. A doubled voice, eerie echoes following every word, a litany without rhythm or reason.

“Learn to bow before a goddess!”

A primal scream rose from the back, snowflakes dancing around swirling maces. Miko clenched her fists, ran at full speed, jumped in, both her weapons raised.

“You? A goddess? PLEASE!”

The maces impacted with a dripping arm, thousands of small drops flying everywhere, a black rain pouring up and down, defying gravity. Another swing, striking a cheek tainted by black streaks. Ice shards, a shower of snow petals, falling through the ink droplets, Miko's eyes staring through the dark cloud, her voice echoing in the alley.

“Gods don't bleed!”

A shimmering glare as a reply, a doubled, cold voice.

“Neither do I.”

Ying grabbed her face with her free hand, lifted her up without effort. Miko screamed. The droplets raining down stopped their flight mid-air, started whirling around her forearm, faster, faster, faster! A black tornado enveloped Miko's body, droplets like blades, a walking whirlpool of ink, the sound of a thousand cracking whips, overcome only byher ghastly, wailing lament. The tornado exploded in a burst of blackened water, Miko's body thrown away with one single swing, landing on a pool of dark ooze, splashing it around. She slowly got back to her feet, hands looking for her fallen weapons, her knees trembling, her kimono ripped, open slash wounds around her body, one directly below her right eye.

“W... what did... just...”

Greschnik stepped back, quickly retreated, his suit soaked with black ink, eyes wide open. Ying stood still, her lids closed, arms down, didn't move to follow him. Her hands caressed the wall, the intricate patterns drawn by her transformation, the carvings in the wood.

“This. This is art.”

A loud swinging noise, a knife piercing her head. Only to travel through, completely unfazed, and stick to the wall instead.

“Art... art is not a placid squall.”

Another knife, through her chest, and another, and another. All passing through in a shower of ink.

“Art... art is not a quiet drizzle.”

A rain of knives, Yu shooting without pause, almost without aiming, not anymore. Ying still unfazed, her voice louder.

“Art is ASSAULT!”

Louder.

“Art is VIOLENCE!”

Louder! Eyes wide open, ink gathering around her hands.

“ART! IS!...”

Ying lowered her arm, her voice like a thunder.

“... A RAGING... STOOORM!”

Pillars of ink emerged from the pool, a primal claw enveloping its mistress, piercing through wood, stone, clothes, flesh. The paintings scarred, the columns breaking, the walls wailing and screaming in pain. An explosion of droplets, the noise of a jet engine, blasting through a crystal shop. Cameras exploding, the lenses first blackened, then corroded. Lights eaten by the black outburst, neons flashing, for one last time. Darkness fell.

And there was only silence.

Static.

That was all Rena could see.

Just static. No signal. All communications lost.

But that was the last of their problems. They saw. They all saw what caused it.

Silence.

Not one, single word in the lab. Only the croaking of a little frog, unaware of the circumstances. Rena was envious of that small amphibian, in that exact moment. Carelessly jumping around, without thoughts or reasons to worry.

Silence.

Broken.

One hand patting on the TV, pushing it repeatedly.

“Come on, you can't switch off now!”

The hand started punching the screen vigorously.

“Stupid! Stupid meatbag with the brain of a goose! WHY breaking the cameras?! How do I check the results of the experiment?! You should be kicked down a skyscraper! REPEATEDLY! AAAAAGH!”

Rena blinked two times in a row. The first to be sure she was not hallucinating. The second to be sure the first blink was not a hallucination itself. Riezlee was waving her fists at the screen, hitting it continuously as if it were a drum, throwing tantrums.

“I wanna! I wanna! I wanna see what happens neeeext! When will I have another possibility to see a human drinking an alien mutagen and not becoming a brainless cannibal?! Agh, this is SO frustrating!”

Rena cleared her voice, got back to a semblance of composure.

“... which begs the question... you did experiment on humans with another alien mutagen in the past, Dr. Moreau?”

Riezlee stopped waving her hands, her eyes comically shrinking to widened dots, a drop of cold sweat on her forehead.

“W... wasn't I allowed to? I... I thought that when you greenlighted the use of any animal, well...”

Rena smashed her palm against her own face, shook her head, her eyes closed.

“Nevermind, it's not too important right now. Come to my office, we have to figure out... something! Anything, really. Covering up this whole accident will be a total mess! Gods only know what will happen next! I hope she won't annihilate the whole building in the process! Shit, I don’t even want to think about it! Losing our only reliable source of alien mutagen due to an idiotic, depraved, amazon-like wrestler gone insane and murder-happy!”

Riezlee rolled her eyes, pointed her finger at her.

“An idiotic, depraved, amazon-like wrestler you gave mutagen alien blood to, chief! I mean, why not gifting a couple nukes to the Geraas or some other terrorist organizations, now that we are at it?”

“One more snarky comment and I will send you to get Azalea back from Rickson on the spot!”

A weak cough from the back row, from the mass of frightened scientists.

“Huh... boss?”

The feeble voice of Zeb clashed with the shouts of the two women, timidly looking for its turn to speak.

“YES?!”

Riezlee and Rena replied in unison, their eyes burning with killer instinct. Zeb gulped, raised his hand, showing his own smartphone.

“I... was looking for news, online, to see if somebody already wrote anything... but, before I could find... uuuuh, on Buzzer I saw a post... and, huh, ehm... apparently, V... Vanguard...”

Rena snatched the phone from him, glanced at the screen. The corridor. The ink. Ying Tao. Greschnik. His Angels. All in a reasonable quality, from a plethora of different angles. Riezlee snatched the phone from Rena, just one fraction of a second later.

“This... this is new footage! Live footage! Uploaded on a pirate website!”

She hurried to the screen, connected the phone, changed some settings on the flight. The static gave place first to a uniform blue tint, then to an enlarged, real-time picture of what was previously on the phone.

“We have it again!”

Riezlee ripped open a new pack of popcorn, started to munch it while still speaking.

“Goof, that t'oub'emakee Fangua'd haf done 'omethin' ufefu' fo' uf!”

She gulped down, sat on her stool, mockingly staring at the screen.

“Now, useless meatbag... show me the true power of that freakin' alien blood!”

13. 9. Ink Stained Nightmare

Floods of a pitch-black, dripping ooze, pools scattered around. Floor tiles shambled, columns scratched, bent, broken in half. Black thorns and spikes, everywhere, crystal solid. Paintings ripped, defaced by arabesque motifs, walls covered in delirious van Gogh nightmarish visions. Flickering lights, fragmented statues. The golden finishes, the precious woods, the splendid marble. All eaten, devoured by thick, oily ink. A figure standing proud, her hair flowing like living ink, a colorless waterfall rooted in darkness. Her arms too, like black, endless rivers, feeding an even blacker lake where her feet touched the ground. Ripples scattering, ever-evolving wavefronts, reflecting the feeble lights, distorting them into a pale mockery of life. At opposite ends of the corridor – of what was left of that – two figures were trying to stand again. The first, a young woman who got her pride shattered and crushed in a tornado of ink. The second, another young girl who was finding the situation too unsettling to react.

Yu was standing still, staring at the anomaly. She was an idol first, and an assassin second. She never took her job too seriously, as her one, only goal was to conquer Seu's heart and body – that job was just a means to an end, her beautiful end. Greschnik promised, promised her that, if she worked as an Angel, they would have found a way to alter her genes so that she wouldn't have been Seu's biological sister anymore. He promised. So, she trained – she had to. But that power, Ying's new power, was out of her reach. Her mind raced, her hands quickly reaching for her phone, asking for help. It was a desperate, automatic, gesture. No one could have helped here. Nobody. But keeping her phone, her last phone, in her hand, her connection with her followers, her faithful adorers. Her hand grabbed nothing but emptiness. Yu winced, her muscles frozen. Her mobile phone. Her door to celebrity. She knelt, her hands deep down the ink, frantically searching around, gasping with rabid moans. Then, a familiar jingle. The Liveframe notification jingle. A burst of joy, the phone was near, hidden but still working! Just a little more effort and...

“Were you looking for this, little miss camwhore?”

Her heart sank. Her phone, drenched by ink. In the claw of the beast. Yu extended her arm.

“G…give it back, you bitch!”

“Too bad.”

All of a sudden, the ink swirled like a snake, enveloped the cellphone, got inside its mechanisms, from every crack, every slit, every hole. Then, it detonated, smashing the device in bits and pieces of plastic and glass, a rain of shards and jagged fragments, under Yu’s shellshocked gaze..

She screamed, clenched her teeth, roared like a beast.

“My stream was on, you FREAK! I promised a live striptease! I promised it! And now I can't keep my word! Do you know what that means? That I will lose so many followers because of you! And I don't have another phone, that was my last spare! Goddammit, I will lose views, and fame, and so he... he won't see me! HE WON'T CRAVE FOR ME! You bastard, do you know what you have done?!”

The goddess glanced at her, a sadistic smile painted on her face.

“You despair! It's priceless! It's art in its purest form!”

Yu screamed, her voice erupted, louder. Louder. LOUDER. A deflagration, an instantaneous sonic boom. Ink vanquished, spatted everywhere, columns bent, the golden stucco scratched away. One, single primal scream, light bulbs exploding, a shower of wooden splinters. Then, she stopped. She stood still, silent, her eyes staring at the ground. Her chin rising up, with an unsettling slowness, an infinitely slow motion, yet continuous and noticeable. Her eyes kept on rising, until they met those of the goddess. Glaring blazes against a burning inferno, without need for a single word. Then, Yu threw her coat above. A rain of knives, falling down from every pocket. Yu raised her hands, grabbed five of them with the right, five with the left, let the others reach the floor, bouncing on the tiles, shattering the wood.

“You'll regret ALL you've done, sucker!”

On the other side of the room, Miko was coughing blood. The tornado tore her apart, the ink was not just cutting her, it was flowing inside her body, under her skin, piercing her already broken lungs. Miko was born defective. A congenital disease, her respiratory system compromised since she was a child. Always coughing blood. Always needing cures. Her lungs, her bronchi, degrading every day more. She wouldn't reach thirty, they said. She would die young, they said. I can cure you, he said. His warm smile, his persuasive tone. I can cure you. It was a promise. A promise shattered. She got the injection, she got ice powers. But her lungs went worse. Her lungs never healed. We will find a solution, he said, with his now annoying voice. She hated him. She hated him, from the depth of her heart. But he, Reiner Greschnik, was the only one who could do that. She couldn't give up, not yet. She had to protect the only man who trusted her. A man she hated, a man she couldn't live without. She stood up, took hold of one of her maces, the other one nowhere to be found, then looked at Ying. Whatever happened to her opponent, it gave her superhuman abilities, something she saw only during her most brutal training sessions. She smirked. Even with that amount of raw strength, she was still an amateur playing goddess. She wasn't trained to kill. She wasn't wired to kill. She hadn't carved the heart out of her parents and burned down her house with her two sisters in. Ying Tao was simply not at her level, mentality-wise. Miko raised her mace, a cold wind whirling around her body, air freezing, crystallizing around the metallic tip, growing a blade, out of nowhere. A beautiful, shining sword of ice, gleaming in the darkness. Miko coughed, again. Again. Blood on the tiles, her supreme reminder. But she didn't care. She didn't need to. She wiped the blood away from her lips. She crossed her arms, closed her eyes. And the air around her began to freeze. Cold tendrils, a web of thin, fragile crystals, the ink solidifying, slowly but surely, the crackling sound of the advancing ice, snowflakes floating around, in a quiet, elegant dance.

Then, she opened her eyes.

And the arctic wind blew, a cold, deadly storm. The walls freezing solid, the columns, the black liquid oozing from every nook and cranny. Everything. Everything was embracing the stillness of her eternal glacier. Ying sensed the danger, stepped back, taking cover. Until the scream. A sound so acute, so powerful to crack the plaster, the golden-clad wood, the ornamental columns. A sound so vile and repugnant that made the scratching of the chalk on a blackboard as harmonic as a symphony. A directional scream of unyielding rage. Yu's rage. Ying stumbled, her hands covering her ears, her eyes wide open. And the ice caught her.

“DAMN!”

Both her feet trapped, encased by transparent, inkstained ice. Then, it climbed her legs, up to her knees. Up to her waists, lower body, torso, shoulders. The ice crawling, covering her skin, devouring it with absolute hunger, until only her head remained unscathed. Ying watched in disbelief, her whole body paralyzed. She grinned.

“This is bad...”

Miko walked slowly towards her, mace in hand, her eyes burning with resentment. She stopped, some ten centimeters before Ying's body. Her cold hand touching Ying's cheek, cruelly caressing it, her smile twisted in a grimace of hate and lust.

“Such a pity. You would have been such a lovely lady, if only you decided to behave.”

Then, she flung her mace with all her strength, against Ying's humerus. A sudden crash, ice shattering, shards flying in every direction. And Ying's right arm exploded in a million cold fragments. Ying gulped, her mouth gaping. Then, a second swing, at her left shoulder. Another crash, another shower of snowy remains of what was once part of a human body.

“AGH!”

A grunt of pain, Ying closing her eyes, clenching her teeth. Miko stood still, in front of the unarmed opponent, still encased in her frozen coffin. She raised her mace, snow covering it, shaping into a beautiful, translucent blade.

“This is the place you die, goddess. This is where it ends.”

A laugh, a laugh filled with sadistic joy, filled the room, bounced on the corridor, echoed through the hall. But not Miko's laugh, no. And not Yu's either.

The one laughing maniacally, laughing without a moment of rest, laughing loudly, was Ying.

Then, Silence.

Not for long.

A massive explosion, the coffin fractured, broken, like an ice grenade setting off.Ink everywhere, Ying's ink, bursting out of the cracks, like water out of a broken dam. Miko tumbled, fell on her back for the surprise, her eyes wide open. Ice shards piercing her body, pushing her away. One on the shoulder, one on her hip, one on her waist. Ice blades, drenched by that horrible, pitch-black ink. The shards piercing the walls, the floor, the ceiling, like a thousand crystal needles. The ink swirled, a silent tornado scattering darkness. Miko stood back on her feet, regrouped with Yu, shielded herself from the black wind, both of them protecting Greschnik's body from its deafening fury.

Then, silence.

Again.

There, in the middle, where the whirlwind was, she stood.

Dark rivers rebuilding her arms, mending the wounds, patching the scars.

Ying Tao, her body unscathed, opened her eyes.

“The one who needs to know her place, is you.”

Yu didn't wait a second, run through the ink with a primal scream, her knives like claws, scratching the walls, sparks flying as the blade hurt the concrete behind the wooden cover. Miko jumped on the wall, her sandals pressed against the panels, bouncing from side to side with inhuman reflexes, her weapon shining in blue. Ying raised her forearms at both sides of her head, closed her eyes in anticipation. A brutal impact, the left forearm sliced, falling to the ground, breaking into a million frozen shards. The right forearm pierced, five blades slashing through the black thick fluid, all together, screams of rage mixed together in a loud, horrific wail. Miko spun around her supporting leg, a heavy roundhouse kick to Ying's nape. On the other side, Yu aimed at Ying's stomach, the other five blades carving through the ink, piercing her near the navel. Ying lost her balance, fell to the ground, both her arms rendered useless, ink flowing out of her wounds, a muffled scream of pain. Miko lowered her sword, put Ying's neck above its ice blade. Yu put her foot on her ink soaked nape, ready to press and end her life, once for all. A sarcastic snarl, satisfaction shining in Miko's eyes.

“Now we will see if you really don't bleed, goddess.”

She applied a bit of pressure, Ying's skin meeting the cold blade, a scream of pain. Miko smirked, laughed briefly.

“Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this so much!”

Then, the scream turned into silence, then into laughter. A genuine, maniacal laughter, with eyes closed. The lids opened, Ying's irises blazing like golden flames.

“Not as much as me, BITCH!”

Ink flowed, from all the corners, all the statues, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the cameras. A stream of black fluid, violently pouring from everything in sight. Ying's body lost color, became black, Yu's boot found itself touching the ice blade. Ying's own living substance had just melted into ink, joined the pool, spread on the ground.

“What?!”

Then, the ink rose, altogether, enveloped the two, solidified, pushed them against each other. Miko's head hit Yu's, bounced back, while ink tendrils wrapped around their bodies. Two dazzling lights shone in the darkened, twirling ink. The droplets coagulated, joined again, forming a solid shape, Ying's shape, embracing both opponents in an ink-drenched grip.

“This can't be...!”

“GET READY FOR A RIDE!”

Ying bent her knees, the black fluid accumulating at her feet. Then, she jumped. The ink burst propelled her up, up to the roof, with such a force to smash it to bits with her own head, wrapped in a shell of hardened ink. Rubble and splinters, wood chippings, small tiles, white concrete powder falling down in a rain of dust. Then, the burst ended its power, they stopped in mid-air for a long instant. Only to fall down, with an ever increasing speed, head first.

Greschnik, who had just got back to his senses, saw just a black, ever-moving ink symbiote-like structure enveloping his Angels, heading to the floor after having pierced the heavens, unreasonably fast. He braced for impact, letting out a surprised gasp.

One second later, the floor exploded.

Bricks, blocks of concrete, powder, broken tiles, a column falling into pieces. Greschnik grabbed a ledge, an extruded beam of bent steel. He grinned, moaned in pain as his hands slipped, making him fall again, right down a gigantic hole, to the lower floor. The poor rests of a column softened the hit, bounced him down, on his left arm. A spark of pain, through his whole body, as if all his neurons decided to fire at once, his head pulsating. He opened his eyes. A hole. He was lying a couple centimeters far from a giant hole. Punched through concrete. He watched in horror as he realized what just happened, what was happening right in that moment. He gasped, endured the pain, his motionless left arm, crawled to the elevator, pushed the button. No way he thought no way I'm letting her go!

The first floor cracked, broke under the gigantic pressure of the ink flow, bent, crushed through the now formless tiles, right onto the mosaic of the Goddess. Then, a black shape smashed with violence against it, destroying the work of art, leaving a meteoric crater in its stead, filled with boiling ink. A tidal black wave flooded the ground floor, washed away Sarah's unconscious body, smacked Steve's away from the toilet, pushed them both even more on the sidelines. The reception desk was blasted to bits by the shock wave, the columns shrieked, the delicate stained glass trembled and shattered. From the pool of ink, the bodies of two women were ejected by a pitch-black geyser, flying against the walls, after the violent impact with the solid ground. Miko crashed against a column, split it in half, rolled on the floor. Her clothes, her skin, her hair, completely drenched with ink and blood, open wounds, an arm twisted in an unnatural way. She coughed, spitting a black substance, repeatedly, her body shaken and broken. Yu was fighting against unconsciousness with every inch of strength left, lying near the crater, her mask almost shattered, subtle cracks going through it, her top ripped, sullied by ink and white concrete, her hand still stubbornly clenched around one broken knife. She couldn't move, her legs refusing to comply with her orders. At the epicenter, the point of impact, Ying rose from the black pool, assuming a steady human form again. She knelt shortly after, panting, catching her breath. She overdid it. Even with her newfound power, she was not invincible. Her endurance was waning, it was hard for her to keep her eyes open. Regenerating her maimed body has cost her a lot of energy. And that four-floor-long izuna drop had been the icing on the cake. Devastating as it was spectacular, but hardly something to use as anything but a finishing move. Ying was exhausted. The content of that vial had given her something extraordinaire, something she would have never dared to wish. She could generate ink, control ink, become one with it. Her mind was racing, it was like being high on drugs. Her brain, her whole body wanted more of it. More. But how? Her heightened senses made something “click”. And suddenly she knew, she could smell it, feel it. That substance, that same exceptional substance, was flowing inside the veins of her opponents, of both of them. The substance, that miraculous substance, was part of their blood!

“It's there! I... I just have to get it! Now! NOW!”

Ying stumbled out of the pool, got back standing, endured the pain. Yu was nearer, almost motionless, she could have started with her, yes, fed on her, to increase her power, to get more. She felt it, she needed it. A slow crawl, on all her four limbs, like a beast looking for her prey. She leaped at Yu's body, like a lion on a sleeping gazelle, her mind bursting with thoughts of immediate pleasure. Then, an oppressing feeling on her left side, coupled with a cold burst of wind. A wild cry, Miko hit her with her mace, using all of her remaining juice.

“You'd... wish!”

The impact was strong enough to deviate Ying's trajectory, making her miss her target entirely, falling on the floor with all her own weight. Miko rolled on the ground, her broken arm dragged, her legs trying to recover, ice crystallizing around her body, using all what was left of her energy. She took off her own furisode, the ancient kimono Ying ripped though and through with her ink, over the course of the battle. A relic she didn't need anymore. A white short dress, with white bandaged shorts emerged out of the ruined fabric. Her white skin, the white dress, her white face. A yuki-onna, a snow woman, in all her deadly, cold beauty. Miko grinned, yelled like a caged predator. Now it was a question of honor. She blasted off, running at Ying with all her weight, took off to deliver a jumping kick. Ying tanked it with her own body, felt the impact, endured it with all that was left. Her feet scratched the floor, left deep carvings, while sliding back, stopping Miko's swansong attack. They stopped, her whole body aching, pierced by the coldness of that hit. Yet, she tapped into her survival instinct, her last reservoir. She closed her arms around Miko's body, pushed her against herself, almost to the point of strangling her, a deadly hug with no shred of love or tenderness.

“You... won't... stop me! Not... now!”

She kept on crushing her bones, heard Miko gasping, lamenting her pain. Then, she suplexed her to the ground, smashing her nape on the remaining floor tiles. A pitched scream from behind, Ying jumped on her feet, glanced back. Yu rammed at her with her shattered blade, aiming at her back. Ying ducked, right on a pool of ink, melted in a matter of milliseconds. Yu swiped her weapon, slashed in the direction of where Ying's body was. Only for her to come out with a dark splash, from a stain on the nearby wall, grabbing Yu's head, slamming it on the ground with hellish violence. Ying slammed her down once, twice, three times more, the black mask losing fragments, breaking more and more, as if it were frail porcelain. Then, Ying bared her neck, opened her mouth, an unstoppable frenzy, her blood boiling, craving for it, from the bottom of her soul. One centimeter! Just one centimeter and some microns of tender skin separating her from her ambrosia, that divine nectar that made her a goddess! How, how not to be excited? As her fangs pierced her prey, a loud cry echoed inside the hall. But not hers, not her victim's. A primal roar, the angry growl of a wild beast, a dark shadow falling from above, her heel raised up, smashing down Ying's nose with full force.

“Miko! YOU BASTARD!”

Ying stumbled on the side, her hands on her face, widened her stance. Miko landed near her, almost as a ragdoll, her limbs completely uncoordinated. She fell on the broken arm, tried convulsively to go back on her feet, succeeded in kneeling, breathing heavily, one eye closed, the other only half open. Then, a sudden cough, blood gushing from her mouth, once, twice. She collapsed on the ground, her illness getting the upper hand. Yu slowly came back to her senses, touched her own mask, found out it was still almost intact. Then, she fell on her back, completely drained. Her weapons gone, her energies at her minimum. She slowly stood again, fighting against gravity, fell once more. Her legs were trembling, a broken column as her only support. Ying saw her tiredness, her despair. Yu knew she had nothing more to give, after that impact. She knew she had to resort to underhanded tactics to still have a role to play. Ying breathed heavily. She had given everything, every single ounce of strength left inside her. And now, now her opponents were basically powerless, motionless, at her mercy. Or, maybe, she was at theirs. It was hard to judge who had it worse. She looked at her arm. Her ink was slowly starting to dry, solidifying, showing cracks on her skin. How much more could have it lasted? It was a question she didn't want to answer yet.

Then, she heard them.

Steps. Noise of steps. Rapid, quick, at an unreal speed. Someone running through the hall, from the front door, someone not accounted for. Ying turned on her back, her mind failing to grasp the situation. One second later, her right arm exploded in a burst of ink, severed by an invisible shock wave.

“... what the Hell...”

A second shock wave, an air blade. She avoided it for an inch, landed badly on her knees, and stood up. In front of her, a third woman, in a defensive stance. Military camo trousers, a green top, black, leather gloves, thick bandages wrapped around her right forearm. Nothing remarkable about her appearance. Except her pale skin, her shiny, platinum hair. And her lifeless, still, emotionless blue eyes.

Rena's eyes widened, watching the scene in the lab, as almost all the members of the staff – those who were buying or reading Lust at least occasionally, shouted a name in unison. That woman, that seemingly harmless twenty-something girl with her empty stare, devoid of life, devoid of passion. That woman, portrayed while cuddling her boss, on a ripped central page of a softcore erotic magazine, pinned to the laboratory wall. That woman, the woman who was standing in front of Ying, was none other than Greschnik's First Angel: Nadia Nagase.

14. 10. Endgame

To Nadia's eyes, the situation she was staring at was much more complex than a common annoyance. A flood of thick, dark, dry ink, broken columns, two unconscious guards, one of which with his head inside a toilet. Shattered glass, rubble, wooden shards spread on what once was a valuable mosaic depicting the Stratosphere logo. A sizable hole on the ceiling, showing glimpses of similar cavities on the floor right above. And the one above that. And one more. By lowering her gaze, she could see Yu, on the verge of passing out, soaked with a black substance, and Miko, coughing blood, kneeling in pain. That was beyond ordinary. Two Angels, out of commission. Because of one, single, opponent. That woman standing there, covered by nothing but the same ink soaking everything in sight, as if the ink itself was generated by her body, pouring out of her very skin. That woman was the enemy. The being single-handedly responsible for that chaos. Nadia straightened her hands, the fingers joined together like a makeshift blade. That woman, her target, was staring at her, puzzled. She wasn't expecting reinforcements, that was pretty evident. And she was barely standing, all her energies used up. Only a façade of bravado, not even a good one.

Ying stared at Nadia. She knew her name. She knew how she looked. A prized quarry, a canvas-to-be. Every time her eyes met those suggestive pictures on Lust, she knew she had to have her for her next masterpiece. In person, Nadia Nagase was even more gorgeous. But her gaze...

She doesn't even look human.

Ying was sweating profusely, panting aloud. Those eyes. The eyes of someone who survived Hell. The eyes of someone who would slaughter an infant without a second thought. The empty eyes of an assassin who was but the husk of a human being. In one, single instant, Ying stopped thinking about her as a prey, as a premium possession, started seeing her for what it really was. A cold, unstoppable, killing machine. Subtle fear started climbing her spine. Fear not to see another day. Ying shook her head, clenched her fist.

“Oh, SCREW THAT!”

Ying's remaining hand punched the ground, exploded in a burst of droplets, melded with the tiles. The black ooze started to boil, concentric circles and waves moving around. Then, the sea trembled. And an ink geyser erupted at Nadia's feet, enshrined her in a black shower, a thunderous roar piercing the night. The pressure propelled her to the ceiling, slammed her body against concrete. An audible groan, Nadia falling down to the floor, her chin caressing the tiles. She rolled on her side, like nothing had happened, stood up. She wiped her lips with a finger, rubbed her jaw. One second later, her hand was deep in Ying's belly, her knuckles pressing hard on her abs. Ying lost her breath, folded in half, cursed, raised her head to try to keep eye contact, to evade the next move of her assailant. In vain. Another blow, to her cheek. An open handed chop between the shoulder blade and the neck. A precise kick to the knee. Ying crumpled. Nadia shook her hand, massaged her fist. Coldness in her stare, her eyes never blinking, always focused on her opponent. She straightened her arm, raised her index, pointed it at Ying's forehead, stopped two centimeters before touching it, and stood still.

“A magnificent showcase of power. If you hit me with that when you were in a better physical condition, I might have suffered considerable damage...”

She quickly lowered her finger, in one smooth vertical motion.

“... but in the present state, you hold no chance to retaliate.”

Ying barked.

“You...”

“Farewell.”

A shockwave of appalling proportions, Ying's body splitting vertically in half, the line traced by the finger pierced by a screaming jet stream. Ying's voice fading in the turbulence, a primal cry of pain reaching for the stars, completely extinguished by the loudness of the sonic break. Then, silence. The two halves of Ying's body fell to the floor, at each side, the interior being just a black, featureless sea. Her eyes still open in disbelief. A rain of droplets, the tiles broken, Nadia standing there, without a word, finally closing her eyelids, calmly unwrapping her bandages. Her forearm bared at the faint light of the surviving lamps, a constellation of small scars appearing, progressively, after each round of unwrapping. She unsheathed her knife, moving the tip near her wrist.

“One life, one sc...”

An explosion of ink, before she could complete the sentence. Nadia fell on her back, the knife flying away. A dark tower elevating from the pond, all the ink joining into the shape, enlarging it, sticking to it. The black column fell down, a human shape forming among the countless droplets. A primal cry piercing the air, the blackness receding, leaving a figure alone, standing, dried ink stuck to her body, her skin but a patchwork of black and white, her golden eyes burning, a fading flame of determination, the remains of a fighting will.

“S... so much pain... but... but I won't' back down! I WON'T!”

Nadia rolled back in position, her hands open, her eyes cold as ice. A subtle nod.

“Understood. I must use lethal force, then.”

Ying bared her fangs, took a stance, every fiber of her body aching, every muscle and bone on the verge of snapping. It was time for the all-in. One last burst, with all her remaining power. Letting that damn building sink, drenched by ink, crushing down every single atom of that wretched place. Going out with a bang, was called, right? A spectacular performance, her swansong. A sacrifice to be made in the name of art, with one, single, desperate chance that she would survive it. She didn't know HOW she got that idea – it was an inspiration. Her blood, her ink, talking to her, prompting her to do it, to destroy everything. You won't have me alive. You will sink into oblivion with me.

She placed her regrown hands on the floor, started absorbing all the remaining ink, pitch-black rivers flowing to her joining her body, freeing the tiles, freeing the remains of the mosaic, leaving Miko's crushed body, coming away from Yu's mask and jacket, all to her. Her hair waving wildly, as if a tremendous wind was blowing from the floor up, lifting ink droplets and rubble. This. This is ART. My last gift to mankind. MY GREATEST SUBLIMATION! Ink patterns forming around her, embracing the walls, colorless flowers appearing everywhere around her knees, growing up like vines, flailing at the sky.

“BEHOLD! This is the power of the ultimate artist!”

Nadia raised her defense, quickly evaluated the situation. Ying had a blind spot, easy to exploit. One hit. One single hit to end the fight, end her life. Not leaving her time for her nonsense final move. A pitiful last desperate attempt. That was her goal. Prevent other destruction from happening. Prevent Miko and Yu from getting hurt more. Prevent the building from being leveled. Prevent Ying from living one minute longer. Silently, she prepared to strike.

Then, a sudden, loud jingle boomed through the hall. The elevator reaching the ground floor, the noise of the metal doors squeaking and complaining. An unpleasant, annoying voice ruining the moment, the standoff, killed the mood.

“For my sake, STOP it, you bunch of yelling morons!”

Reiner Greschnik stormed out of the cabin, didn't even wait for the doors to open completely. His left arm was completely motionless, yet this didn't stop him from putting himself between Ying and Nadia. Miko's eyes widened, surprise written all over her irises.

“M... master Greschnik? What...”

A cough, blood on the floor. Greschnik looked at her, rolled his eyes behind the stained glasses.

“Stay out of this, Miko! I'm talking to the other moron, the one who had almost killed our welcome guest!”

Ying stopped abruptly, her hair falling down, the flowers withering.

“What...?”

Nadia blanked out for a moment, stared at him blankly.

“But I...”

“You. WON'T. It's. An order.”

Greschnik raised the volume of his voice, just enough to give himself a more authoritative tone without resorting to shouting. Nadia blinked once more, stared at Ying, stared at the ground. She thought for an interminable second, then nodded.

“As you command.”

She let her arms fall down, abandoned her stance. Ying was breathing heavily, watching the scene in pure confusion. The adrenaline had hit a low, as if Greschnik's voice had a quenching effect on her. She was feeling unrealistically, dangerously calm. Then, her eyes met those of that man, the man who was holding the reins of Stratosphere, that who was fancying himself above the gods, after having had access to knowledge lost to mankind. A man that, despite the biblical level of destruction that devastated his headquarters, was still keeping a bitter smile on his face, and an unwavering resolve which shadowed that of Ying herself. He pulled Nadia on the side, opened his arms, pointed at Yu and Miko, barely standing.

“You four played enough. Broke a lot of valuable stuff. Had quite some fun, from what I saw. Good, right? Everyone enjoyed it. You, me, the audience at home – it was quite a nice show, I must say. But! Even a good show needs a curtain call. And I won't let such valuable resources go wasted in an evident mutually assured destruction.”

Ying clenched her fist. That annoying manchild was right. She was at her limit, she was almost kicking the bucket. Miko couldn't take much more punishment before passing out – her body was a literal broken mess. Not to talk about Yu's pitiful state. Even if she had still a secret move to unleash, she was in no physical shape to do that. But Nadia? She came fresh out of nothing, barely unfazed by her desperation move. Yet... could it be that they feared her power? Mutually assured destruction he said. She could level the building. Nadia could kill her. But who would have been faster? Could it be that that man saw through all of that in a split second? Nonsense!

“Now, what about telling me your name, yes? I feel I have already seen your face around more than I would like to admit.”

Ying's energies were low, she hadn't enough juice to retaliate or invent excuses. Straight, simple truth was better, even only to gain time.

“Ying Tao, of the Tao family. That's all you need to know.”

Greschnik nodded. His wounds didn't support his usual demeanor, his usual theatricality. He couldn't wave his arms as he wanted, his legs were aching. He looked almost too collected to be Greschnik. And that made him even creepier.

“Sweet, Ying-chan. But you are dead wrong. There's three more things I need to know: who sent you, why, and how did you get that vial.”

Ying replied with a hysterical laugh.

“Nice try, Greschnik-boi! Nice try, truly! But NO! If I answer any of those questions, I will be found dead, on the bottom of the bay of Odaiba, tomorrow! And my brother will cry like a baby because it was not his merit, since I died before he could show me he was the best! Actually, this is quite amusing, you know? I could do this just to spite him. Huh, on a second thought, NO. Sorry, try another time.”

Greschnik closed his eyes. There weren't many other syndicates as powerful as his, around. Possibilities were limited. It could have been Die Fledermaus, but their affairs were mostly focused in Europe – and they didn't seem to have any interest in the East – or theBeauregard Heavy Industries – but how could they get hold of a blood sample from Subject X? Unless... unless that incursion in the laboratory. Yeah, that could have been connected. The raid. The stolen blood. Everything made sense. However, it was too soon to single out a culprit. All those people he considered were too smart to make use of someone like Ying Tao. Unless that was exactly the plan – a red herring, to make him not even consider the possibility. In any case, it had to be something huge at work behind the scenes. Something he would have needed to face directly, sooner or later. He needed to play his hand in advance.

“Alright, miss Tao. I see you got talent... and power. You have put on an excellent fight. Yet, you seem to crave... something. Something you can't get, not now. Am I right?”

The elixir. The nectar. The ambrosia who made her a goddess. Ying couldn't stop herself from nodding. Greschnik's voice had something magnetic, something unique, capable of igniting the hearts and spirits of people. Ying pointed her finger, still dripping with ink, though not as much as before. It was slowly drying out, leaving crusts and patches on her body.

“It's in the blood of your bodyguards! It's there! I can smell it! I can feel it!”

Greschnik smirked.

“Why don't we strike a bargain?”

He walked slowly, at a constant pace, right in front of Ying, despite his size being negligible, compared to that of the wrestler.

“You might know that I am always looking for new Angels, right? It's well known – after all, I am Reiner Greschnik, the man who soared the sky and found no gods. Thus, I decided to become God. But, what is a god without his angels? That's why I'm doing this. So, what about this? Forget who sent you, forget who you work for. Join me. Become one of my Angels. Become one with this god you see in front of you! Join my ranks, Ying Tao! And I will give you ALL. YOU. NEED! For I AM a benevolent god! And your thirst shall be quenched, until man doth walk on this barren wasteland we name Planet!”

Ying could do nothing but nod, her personality shut down by that man. Nadia, Miko, even Yu, that managed to recover and stand, didn't dare to interrupt, they were all like charmed puppets.

“If you accept, I will give you all the blood you crave, to your heart's content. All. What. You want. But, if you decline... Nadia will make you spill all the beans. Names, dates, who, hows and whys, everything. And I don't care if you will be killed by them, because I will have you killed too, in the most painful and slow way possible. Your call, but you understand what's the better option, do you?”

Greschnik extended his right arm, his hand wide open.

“Do we have a deal, Miss Tao?”

Her mind was saying no, but her body... her body craved the nectar, needed the nectar! That same body who had made her invincible! No chance of losing! No chance of being overwhelmed! Joining him! Forgetting about Rena, ANRC, that whole resurrection business! Forget wrestling, forget all! Become a goddess, be a goddess forever! Yet... what if it was a trap? Nadia... Nadia was stronger than the others. Nadia could kill her on the spot, she sensed it. What if it was just a trap? What if it was but a ruse, to make her lower her guard? Ying's hand trembled. She didn't know. She had no idea of what to do. Was it a risk worth taking? Greschnik's voice broke her inner thoughts, with a strength conveyed by his intonation alone.

“Do. We have. A deal?”

Two lights, brighter than the day, shone in the hall, all of a sudden. The roaring noise of an engine, the tires of a pickup truck. The front door exploded, destroyed by the armored vehicle, Greschnik stepped back, his eyes wide open, his voice broken by the absurdity of what was happening, Miko and Yu still motionless, as if under a spell, Nadia standing still, as ordered. The pickup drifted, black smoke from the exhaust, the smell of burning rubber. It stopped, brakes screeching,the passenger door opened. A small, unremarkable man, with a gray suit and a fedora, firmly grabbing the steering wheel. Ying gasped.

“Funa...”

“Now. On.”

Ying nodded, jumped in the car, closed the door. Funabaki put the gear in, tamed the screaming tires, pulled the throttle, switched gear. The pickup sped out of the building, leaving rubber marks on what was left of the mosaic, then went away into the night, before Greschnik could say even one single word. Then, everything became suddenly quiet. And Greschnik let himself fall on his back, without any ounce of energy left.

**

“How... how did you...”

“Pirate streaming. Watch you online. Got the order to bring you home.”

Typical Funabaki. Synthetic, toneless. No time for details. There was a reason Rena trusted him. From the moment he received the order to retrieve Ying to the moment he stormed the building, less than ten minutes had passed. Funabaki was already in stand-by, he had a feeling something huge was going to happen, the feeling of a man who saw too much in his lifetime. Stories better left untold. Ying let herself lie on the seat. She was tired. Her body had given everything, all the adrenaline was gone. The ink had fully dried, wasn't flowing anymore, and was now encrusting her body with several, scattered patches. All her muscles were aching, she had barely enough willpower to keep on talking.

“You... crazy... old bastard. If you damaged... my car... you gotta pay... for that.”

Funabaki nodded without staring away from the road.

“Miss Beauregard will do. This car is compromised anyway, we will get rid of it soon.”

Ying replied with an unintelligible groan. She was passing out. Tiredness, the fight, the transformation which gave her superpowers. She was so thrilled, so overwhelmed by them that she didn't even question why or how they were working. She felt they were natural, she had the feeling she knew how to use them since forever. But why? That was a question she didn't try to answer, while fighting for her life. And, even now that the danger had passed, she had no idea about it. The only thing she knew was that she wanted more. Like a deer which savored for the first time the freshwater of a joyous spring, she felt like she couldn't live without that divine nectar, not anymore. And, as an unmarked chopper was slowly, but surely, starting to land to pick them up, her consciousness drifted away, falling into a dream of Rorschach spots and ink markings.

15. 11. Aftermath

Lights out, monitors shining faintly in the night, a mess of untidy desks and open popcorn cans. Zeb and Vanessa sleeping on the couch, in a comically entangled position, the low, constant muttering of the air conditioner, the quiet croaking of an undead frog, placidly resting near the aquarium. Riezlee lying on her back, her eyes gazing at the ceiling, inquisitive, focused, her hands behind her nape, her mind racing as usual. Five o'clock in the morning. The first rays of sunshine were caressing the outside of the building once again, in its never ending cycle of rejuvenation. Five billion years to go, to the moment the source of all warmth on Earth would have become a red giant, burning the planet to a crisp. Five billion years. An unthinkable amount of time. In the depth of her laboratory, Riezlee couldn't feel the dawn, but she was thinking about it. Thinking about time. Five billion years. Five followed by nine zeroes. How would Earth look, in such a distant future, was something she thought about often. Especially, because she didn't know how long her lifespan could have been. She developed as a twenty-something adult in five years, then stopped aging. But for how long? Was she like a cat? Dying in a mere ten years? Or like a butterfly, destined to fade and decay just after her climax, after making sure her progeny would spread to the world? No amount of her father's surviving notes helped clearing the issue. They only managed to fuel her doubts. What if she outlived her human brother? What if she outlived everyone else? What if she was still there, once the Sun became a red giant, staring blankly at the sudden burst, Earth burned to a crisp? Five billion years. An awfully long amount of time to spend alone. Without Chrome. Maybe she didn't really need to resurrect her father. Maybe, what she really needed were certainties.

Rena was sitting on a nearby sofa, closed in an unusual tranquility, sipping a herbal tea, eyes gazing around. In two hours, she would have been forced to leave, to attend a company meeting with some shareholders, worried about the effects of her new policies. Yeah, shareholders. She had better time dealing with Azalea, Riezlee and assorted monsters. She almost preferred a tight, frightfully long night, like the one that just ended, to a half an hour meeting with those greedy vultures, ready to jump at her neck for a missing zero point one percent of profit. Parasites she needed to keep around to keep an appearance of normality, but – hopefully – not for long.

Riezlee lazily stared at the TV screen. Several news reels, muted, showing off clips of the fight, on every single channel. Information spreading like wildfire, Ying and Stratosphere trending on all major social networks. Greschnik already had an interview or two, with his usual smile, writing everything off as a staged event to promote his Rapture. His broken arm seemingly fine, even if that didn't make any shred of sense. A loud sigh.

“You know, chief? I have, like, several questions.”

Her voice caressed the veil of silence, played with it, without completely breaking it. Just filtering slightly through, a drop at a time. Rena stared at her, at that self-proclaimed monster that was also her best and most trusted associate. She didn't reply, and waited for her to continue.

“What we did this evening... was both dangerous AND stupid. Most likely, that meatbag manchild already knew about Chrome's little incursion in his lab, right? So... why the haste? Why sending in that mononeural psychotic juggernaut there, on such a short notice? And why trying to kidnap one of those two? I mean, you saw the Rapture today, right-o, boss? That Nivandra would have been so much easier to deal with! She's still almost a child – and still in training. She's not good at killin’ people, you noticed it, right? She hesitated before finishing off the French meatbag. She would have been a much, much, much easier target. Yet, you send that musclebrain psycho straight into the wolf's den, knowing full well that not one, but two of those better trained assassins are there? Seriously, boss, what the fuck?”

Riezlee made a short pause, shook her head.

“I didn't tell ya before, not in front of the others, because you are the boss to me, to them. I wouldn't openly undermine your authority – this ragtag bunch of nerdy idiots need a reference point. This doesn't change the fact that it was a dumb decision. I get that you're as eager as me to get that formula lined down, but...”

Rena sighed audibly, sipped her tea.

“I might have acted hurriedly, I won't deny that. But I guess you misunderstood my reasoning. Everything went according to one of the outcomes I've forecast.”

Riezlee stood up, sat on the carpet, gazing at her with renewed interest.

“Could you... elaborate on that?”

“For starters, Nivandra is currently under tutelage of Nadia Nagase. That Nadia that almost disposed of Ying in one blow, yes. Sending Ying to retrieve her would have been even more dangerous than sending her to the Stratosphere HQ. Contrary to those two clowns, who clearly toyed with her at first, Nadia would have killed her on the spot. That would have been the worst outcome, wouldn't it? No, Miko Teruchigawa and Yu Honhwan were the best targets for this endeavor. True, we could have waited a couple more days and taken them on alone, but we wouldn't have had the advantage of the surprise. Greschnik knew about the lab raid, but he would have never expected a second attack less than forty-eight hours later. Nobody would have. Including me.”

Riezlee's pupils moved back and forth, trying to process the information, her index finger rhythmically tapping on her cheek.

“Okay, but what if they didn't toy with her? What if they killed her?”

“Everyone is important, nobody is indispensable.”

Riezlee's eyes narrowed, gazed at Rena. That coldness. That calculating, cunning clarity of mind. That was the mindset of a boss. The mindset of a meatbag she could respect.

“And what if she spilled the beans 'bout us? I dunno, under torture or so? What if the blood didn't work out properly on her and turned her into a cannibal horror, like sample number two? What if the bloody idiot joined Greschnik for real?! AGH, too many what ifs! I'm glad things went the way they went! Really, we could have been in so many more troubles otherwise!”

Rena grinned.

“Let Greschnik know who the enemy is. Let him fear us. Let him know he is the quarry, not the hunter. My quarry, the designated quarry of Rena Beauregard. If Ying talked, he would know who to fear. I'm almost disappointed she didn't tell them, it would have been interesting to see Greschnik's subtly panicked face, live on stream. And what if the blood had misfired? Well, it would have been even better. Imagine, an eldritch creature ravaging his building, an unspeakable abomination carving its way through the halls, tearing flesh and limbs apart. Imagine the psychological factor! Surely, Miko would have disposed of it – or Nadia. But Greschnik, Greschnik would have tasted fear. Fear of an unknown enemy ready to do anything to reach their goal, even turning a semi-famous wrestler into a monster, live on cameras! Riezlee, the fear of the unknown is a powerful ally – and, to be frank, I hoped for this possibility to materialize, if only for one second.”

One more sip, her eyes shining in the almost darkness of the room.

“Concerning your last point, I took the liberty of canceling Azalea's flight to the US, once the situation started being... difficult. You know, one call to the right person at the right time. I dispatched some men to bring her back here, they will pick her up in one hour or so. Goddess or not, Ying is no match for her. Nobody is.”

“Fight fire with fire, huh?”

Riezlee rubbed her own chin, lost in deep thoughts.

“Wait, wait, wait... does this mean that Azalea is currently trapped at Narita airport, harassing all the meatbags in a one hundred meter radius and screaming like a primadonna? If so, is there footage of it? Please, please, tell me there is!”

They both chuckled, keeping the laughing at bay not to wake up the scientists. Riezlee averted her gaze, exhaled deeply.

“You know, I – ugh – owe you my apologies, boss. So it really was a win-win situation, huh? You had plans upon plans upon plans piled up, taking into account most scenarios. Remind me never to play chess against you again.”

“After you physically ate the pieces last time we did, I gave up on that.”

“... but when you explained the rules, you told me I could eat that pawn...”

Rena chuckled once more. In her solitary lives, she never managed to find someone to really trust, until recently. That monster, that monster that was far too human to be called like that, was the nearest thing to a friend she ever had – though she would have never openly admitted so. She drank what remained of her tea, then she stood up.

“Time for my boring meeting with the shareholders. Proceed with the experiments as planned, set up a medical unit to take care of Ying and examine her body, whether she wants it or not – sedate her, if necessary. I want a detailed report on my desk before the end of the week. Leave no stone unturned, perform all the analyses you can think of. Understand if this was a one-off or her powers are now permanent. Task someone to watch the footage from this night and cut it down to pieces, to review every single detail of the fight. We might need to extend our containment protocol for Ying to take into account her new powers.”

Riezlee fell down on the carpet, hands behind her nape.

“Aaaaaaas you command, boss! Can't wait to dissect that ink-drenched meatbag to see how she ticks!”

Rena reached for the door, opened it with a press of a button. Sending Ying in was not a simple statement. It was an open declaration of war. Greschnik had probably already figured out who was behind it. If not, it was just a question of time. She advanced to the corridor, left the room behind, walked with decision towards the heliport. The first rays of sun made their way to her eyes, through the half-open windows of the upper levels. She did it. She made the first step. Advanced the first two pawns on the chessboard. A faint smile. The battle had just begun. And there would have been only one winner. The helicopter was waiting for her, guards standing still, their rifles loaded, waiting for an order. She boarded the vehicle, sat in, found the briefcase left inside by Funabaki with the material to review for the shareholder meeting. Then, the door closed. And the helicopter started taking off, ready to reach for the sky.

Fine