Chapter 47.3: Lady of the Second Rank

  The interior of the Yokohama Beacon was drowning in crimson light. The sirens blared, each pulse driving deeper until Lady Meng felt them reverberating in her marrow, making her teeth ache. Every single screen, even the welcome screen at every arrival pad that she was facing, had gone dark except for one thing: a message box, replicated across dozens of monitors like a house of mirrors. The same face stared out from each one—Dante, but younger, his features sharper, donning his old hairstyle: long, scruffy hair with a thin braid next to his right ear. Beneath the photograph, in stark block letters, a message throbbed with urgency:

  EXECUTIVE ORDER 6210 - AUTHORISATION REQUIRED

  Or just three words, cold and final:

  ADVISORY: EXECUTE IMMEDIATELY

  Thank God for budget cuts and declining birthrates. Lady Meng sucked on her teeth. This was the only Beacon she had to deal with. She sprinted for the command centre, her flats smacking against the glass floors. With one hand, she tightened the harness carrying her weapons and first-aid kits. The other shifted down to her xiao, Shenwen, that hung at her waist. It was a Chinese end-blown vertical flute, and hers was made out of white jade, a gift she got when she became a sorcerer. The jade flute pressed cool against her palm was a small, solid certainty amid the madness.

  Lady Meng curled her fingers around Shenwen, drew one steadying breath, then drove her foot into the command centre door. The lock gave with a shriek of metal.

  Inside was pandemonium. Voices overlapping in a cacophony of shouted coordinates and status reports, the frantic clatter of keyboards, someone barking orders that no one seemed to hear.

  “Higashino?! He’s back?!”

  “Isn’t he supposed to be dead?!”

  “Wasn't there supposed to be an error message?!”

  “Petrov should’ve fixed this!”

  “He’s not at his desk! He gone-gone man!”

  “Petrov!”

  "Petrov-san~"

  “This isn’t possible!”

  “He’s not fuckin’ dead, you dumbass! Beacon’s never wrong!”

  “PETROV! STAN PETROV!”

  The wall of sound and motion swallowed Lady Meng’s entrance whole. If anyone registered her unauthorised entry, they were too deep in crisis mode to care.

  Above the din, Ryuga Hazama, the Ancil that headed the operations of the Yokohama Beacon, was bracing against the control panels. He hollered, “Execute Executive Order 6210!”

  “Huh?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?!” Ryuga barked.

  Clicking her tongue, Lady Meng whipped out her handgun and fired three blanks into the air. The tower fell silent as all eyes shifted to her. Ryuga whirled around, his coat flapping loudly with the motion. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, marching towards her.

  “Do not execute Executive Order 6210!”

  “You know full well that you have no authority here!” Ryuga snapped.

  Lady Meng did not bother with words. Her hand shot out, fisting in Ryuga’s collar, and she jammed the barrel of her gun against his forehead hard enough to leave a mark. The blood drained from Ryuga's face. A bead of sweat carved a slow path down his temple “S-Second Lady M-Meng!” His eyes had locked onto something above her face—the golden poppy hairpin gleaming in her hair—the Meng family insignia.

  “Halt all recording!” she commanded the room.

  “You know we can’t do that!” someone shot back, but their voice wavered as she glared in their direction.

  “Sir! Sir!” A young man with mousy brown hair shoved through the press of bodies, nearly tripping in his haste. His white Ancil coat was still crisp and new, practically glowing compared to Ryuga's faded, coffee-stained garment that had seen one too many double shifts.

  Recognition flicked across Ryuga’s eyes as he heard the voice. Lady Meng relinquished her grip on his coat. “Stan Petrov!” The name came out as a roar before he caught himself, voice dropping to a furious hiss. “Where were you?!”

  “Taking a wee?” Stan mumbled, a deep-red tinging the bridge of his nose.

  “Did you not fix the issue you raised about the Beacon picking up an anomaly?! The one picking up Dante Higashino’s Essence signature? He’s dead!” Ryuga demanded, spittle flecking his chin. “Should I call for Executive 6210—”

  Lady Meng narrowed her eyes at Ruyga, who quickly changed his tone, “Or should I not?!”

  “Oh, the deep sea sensor reading?” Stan quickly dipped his head in her direction. “That was deemed to be a false alarm! Shun agreed with me!” Stan’s eyes darted between his superior and the screen. His nervous smile was filled with crooked teeth. “Shun also said to leave the bug to him so…”

  Shun! Lady Meng clenched her jaw. She swung her gun at Stan. He flinched violently, hands flying up high above his head. “You. Come to my side,” she instructed, using the barrel, indicating a spot to her left where he would be clear.

  Stan scrambled to her side. To Ryuga, she repeated herself, “Halt all recording.”

  “I cannot!” Ryuga insisted. “The override order can only come from the higher-ups!”

  Lady Meng closed her eyes. Breathed in once, slowly, drawing the chaos into herself.

  Meng Meng, the greatest spin doctor, to the rescue.

  Lady Meng dropped into a crouch and slammed her palm flat against the floor. “Memory Hijack: Wilt and Fade.”

  Her Essence detonated outward from the point of contact—violet vines that raced through the command centre, up through the walls, flooding every circuit and wire in the Beacon. All the lights stuttered. Then died. The screens fizzed out into darkness. The hum of machinery wound down to nothing. The entire room of Ancils drew breath as one, a collective inhale of shock as they processed the darkness, only illuminated by the remnants of the technique.

  “What did you do?” Ryuga’s eyes seemed as though they were going to pop out of his head.

  Lady Meng extended two fingers like a benediction—or a curse—and pressed two fingers to Ryuga's forehead, forcing his head back. “July Slumber: Lavender.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Her Essence lanced his head, along with all the Ancils under his command. They dropped like flies, heads smacking hard against the tables and floor. July Slumber had branched out, erasing every memory they possessed of the encounter and of Dante’s signature ever appearing.

  Only Stan remained standing. He let out a strangled sound as he watched his colleagues drop around him. Lady Meng ran her fingers through the purple tassels absentmindedly as she turned to him. “What did Shun tell you about the bug?” she asked.

  “He said that there were many fringe cases to consider and it was beyond my technical expertise,” Stan mumbled meekly.

  Lady Meng put her hand on his shoulder before shifting it up to gently cup the back of Stan’s neck. “Thank you. You just saved someone’s life,” she said before activating her ability to harvest Stan’s memories before erasing any memories of her presence, just like the other Ancils. She caught his body and laid him down, making sure to cover him with his own lab coat before sprinting out of the building.

  Once outside, Lady Meng scanned the street and locked onto her prize: a sleek motorcycle idling at the curb, its owner leaning against the seat, checking his phone. She strode toward him, letting her hips sway, and flashed him a dazzling smile. “Nice bike.” Her voice dripped honey. She trailed one finger along the handlebars, eyes never leaving his. “Shame you're about to forget you ever owned it.”

  The man’s brows furrowed. “Wait wha—”

  Two fingers to his temple. His eyes glazed over mid-word.

  Lady Meng caught him as he slumped, lowering him almost gently to the pavement. He would wake up in twenty minutes, wondering why he was napping on a street corner. The memory of his beloved motorcycle had been wiped clean from his mind.

  She swung her leg over the seat, kicked the engine to life, and tore down the streets to Yokohama Highland Hospital, where Dante had gone berserk.

  ***

  “I have a plan!”

  He’s finally putting that big brain to use. Felix heaved a sigh of relief as he gestured for Ace to speak his mind. Outside Kazuya’s little dome, Dante—blind with rage—was tearing up every inch of the land in his hunt. Leftover avatars were scuttling away from his grasp.

  There was still time.

  “Indifference nullifies attacks. No one here is stronger than it,” Ace said, his words tumbling out rapid-fire. His fingers were moving as though he was pressing keys in some imaginary event calculator. “But I know something that can take it down. Then Felix can slip in and take off the Regalia!”

  “What?” Felix leaned forward, unable to hide his eagerness, and so did Jude and Leonhart.

  “Cats.”

  Jude blinked. “...Really?”

  “He has one,” Ace said. His tone was dead serious.

  “Nova,” A grin spread across Felix's face as the memory surfaced—that little ball of midnight fluff with enormous amber eyes. “He calls it Nova. Black, fluffy, very cute-”

  The world tilted, then straightened. Felix let out a croak, his skull clamped between Ace’s hands. Suddenly, a profound calm washed over Felix, disconnecting thought from feeling.

  Ace tugged, extracting a shimmering blue thread from his temple. He twirled it, pulled it between his fingers, conjured a vision of Dante's cat, and shoved it in his face. “This one?” Ace demanded.

  “Yeah, pretty accurate.” Felix reached out to pet the Vision on its head. Ace had replicated the pitch black and softness of its coat. If not for the blue aura that wrapped around its body, he would have mistaken it for Nova.

  A faint rumble vibrated through the floor.

  “Guys?!” Kazuya’s warning came a little too late. There was a loud bang, and the ceiling above the pharmacy collapsed as Dante came barrelling through. He landed right atop Kazuya’s dome, and the impact sent ripples across it. Felix turned to Kazuya and shook his head vigorously. Not yet! Do not dispel it!

  Snaps rang through the air as Dante straightened his tendrils. The temperature of the room seemed to reach a boiling point as he dragged his gaze across it. Leonhart covered her mouth, her knees knocking together silently. Jude held Leonhart close to her.

  Ace hurriedly set the Vision on its feet. His hands were steady as he readied the spectral form. “I’ll do everything I can,” he promised.

  “That's all I need.” Felix knew that his smile did not quite reach his eyes, but the reassurance was there. He turned to Kazuya. “Release the shield. Slowly.”

  Kazuya’s arms trembled as he lowered them, inch by agonising inch. The dome shimmered, its protective surface fading away. The air grew heavier and hotter. Dante faced them, but not quite registering their presence just yet. Felix suppressed his Essence, waiting.

  The moment the last traces of Kazuya’s shield vanished, Ace released the Vision with his first command. “Bound.”

  The spectral cat launched itself through the air in a graceful, shimmering arc. It landed soundlessly on Dante’s right shoulder. Its phantom paws kneaded against the invisible barrier next to his ear, plaintive meows escaping its translucent form. It was the exact pitch and sweetness of Nova’s voice.

  Felix’s heart hammered against his chest as Dante went rigid. His fingers, which had been curled up tightly into fists, went slack. His white eyes widened, just slightly, as the Vision nuzzled against his jaw.

  Ace’s hand snapped downward decisively. The Vision responded instantly, springing from Dante's shoulder and landing at his feet with feline grace. It wound itself around Dante's ankles, purring—a low, rumbling sound that filled the silence.

  It rubbed its face against his leg.

  The fabric of Dante’s trousers bunched and rode up, exposing the pale skin underneath.

  Felix leapt, driving his open palm into Dante’s sternum. There was warmth under his fingers. Indifference was down. The strike was strong enough to propel him out of the building. Gravel shattered as Dante’s Regalia pierced the ground to regain balance. More tendrils shot out at Felix.

  “Give him back!” Felix seized the tendrils with his bare hands and launched himself at Dante. He drove his feet into Dante’s torso. He toppled like a cut tree, slamming into the ground.

  Felix’s hand shot out, fingers ablaze, reaching for the Regalia on Dante's finger. Before Dante could recover, Felix conjured a ring of fire around them both—walls of flame erupting from the ground, climbing higher and higher until they formed a blazing prison.

  Inside the inferno, Dante thrashed. The tendrils lashed out wildly, frenetically slicing through Felix's Essence but finding only empty air and flame. The tendrils flailed desperately, not knowing what to focus on.

  Felix’s fingers closed around Dante’s hand, and he pulled—twisting, wrenching with all the physical strength he possessed. Dante’s bones creaked under his grip, but the Regalia was fused to his being. From the corner of his eye, Felix saw Dante's other hand surging toward his face. He twisted his head, narrowly missing it, and drove his own fist into Dante's jaw. Dante's head snapped back.

  “Fuck your ring!” Felix heaved, but it refused to budge.

  Dante's head rolled forward, and his eyes—still void of life—locked onto Felix.

  The tendrils surged.

  Before Felix could react, they wrapped around his arms, his chest, his throat. They yanked him backwards with inhuman strength, and suddenly he was the one on the ground, Dante looming over him. Felix struggled, his muscles straining against the thorned bindings, but for every tendril he burned away, two more took their place.

  Dante's hand—the one with the Regalia—rose slowly. His fingers curled into a fist, aimed at his head.

  The fist descended.

  A deafening roar shattered the air.

  The wall of flames exploded inward as a motorcycle tore through them. Orange and gold embers rained down on them as the bike burst into the ring, airborne over them. The rider twisted mid-flight, and the back wheel slammed into Dante’s head. The impact sent Dante stumbling, the tendrils loosening just enough for Felix to suck in a desperate breath.

  The motorcycle slammed down in a screech of burning rubber and gasoline. Smoke poured from the back tyres as it screamed across the ground, the chassis nearly parallel to it .“Meng Meng!” Felix gasped, his voice hoarse. He withdrew his flames when he saw the hem of her skirt smoking.

  Lady Meng dismounted in one fluid motion. Unfazed by the heat or the possessed Dante, she drew a beautiful white flute from her side. She raised it to her lips.

  The first note was haunting.

  The melody was like mist, soft and cold. Her slender fingers deftly moved across the flute, gently covering the holes with the pads. A purple aura bloomed around her, shimmering like silk, and wisps of her Essence coiled outward. They wrapped around Dante and his thorned tendrils, almost coaxing them back into the Regalia.

  Dante turned to Lady Meng, his gaze fixated on her.

  But there was no bloodlust in it this time.

  Lady Meng took a step back.

  Dante took a step forward.

  The fissure-like marks on his skin began to recede. Slowly at first, then faster. Colour bled back into his eyes, pushing away the lifeless void that had consumed them. Dante let out a guttural groan, clutching his head. Lady Meng furrowed her brows and slowed the tempo. She drew each note out, coaxing him forward with the melody.

  She is doing it.

  Felix could hardly contain the surge of hope rising in his chest. Dante's irises returned—green, human, alive. His pupils resurfaced, dilating as he struggled to focus.

  “Mo Wang…” Dante's voice was hoarse, confused. He raised his head, blinking at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  Lady Meng did not stop playing. Her expression remained unreadable, her fingers still dancing across the flute. She pressed down hard on one of the fingerholes, drawing out a single, low, resonant note.

  Dante’s knees buckled. He sank before her, trembling, his hands falling limp at his sides.

  The melody began to taper off, fading into silence. Lady Meng's free hand moved to her side. There was a soft click as her fingers closed around the grip of her gun.

  She ripped the flute from her lips, drew her gun and aimed it directly at Dante’s forehead. The barrel began to glow, humming with charged Essence.

  Felix’s stomach dropped. “Wait—”

  A single shot rang out.

  What if everything you knew — your world, your life, even your blood — was a lie? Valerius Delindor is about to find out. Torn from Earth and thrown into the brutal, awe-inspiring world of Yilheim, he must unleash the power in his veins to survive a realm where gods and monsters walk, and the greatest threat is the destiny that binds him to it.

  ? An Anti-Hero Forged in Blood

  ? A World of Alien Races & Ancient Magic

  ? Reality-Bending Willpower & Power-Ups

  ? Clashing Factions: The Unbound vs. The Binding Hand

  ? Epic Worldbuilding & Hidden Heritage