-Arc 1-

  Chapter 17

  “The Red Right Hand”

  *?*?*?*

  The manor under her feet violently shuddered, threatening to throw Eris out of the window. In her shock and confusion, she forgot to use this as an opportunity to jump.

  There was another bang, this one sharper and louder but less vibrationally strong as Eris slipped out of the window and back into the cylindrical room.

  By now, everyone should have gone to bed. Not to mention, she couldn't think of anyone capable enough to make such a racket, even considering Caelia and Aqua. A third impact shook the manor, and by now, Eris was rushing out of the door. Around a few corners and hallways, Eris reached the hallway with her room. Seraphine, Petra, and Aíma, her hallmates, were also coming out of their rooms looking shaken up, alert, and groggy respectively.

  Seraphine: “Who is making all that noise?!”

  The red haired girl snapped, still in her night gown, annoyed to be disturbed from her rest.

  Petra: “It wasn't me. Eris, do you have any idea?”

  She shook her head, looking at the petite Aíma who was holding some sort of yellow stuffed dog. Surprised to be considered, Aíma too shook her head.

  Aíma: “It sounds like it was coming from the first floor.”

  Indeed, that was Eris’s impression as well. Maybe the grand hall. From her position at the window, she could not see any disturbances, but she was also at an unfortunate angle, so she couldn't see the front of the property.

  Petra: “That's what I think, too.”

  Seraphine: “Is it another demon-beast?”

  With fear in her eyes, Seraphine frantically asked Aíma. Seraphine had terrible past experiences with such creatures, and Eris was getting tired of them as well.

  Aíma & Eris: “No.”

  Petra: “Oh, I forgot you could smell demon-beasts too, Eris.”

  Seraphine: “We should go check it out. I hope that guy from before isn't back.”

  Eris: “Guy from before?”

  Petra: “I forgot to tell you Eris, but some strange man arrived earlier today, trying to get in the manor. But we turned him away.”

  Eris: “That's… odd.”

  It seemed only strange things happened when Carlos was absent. Even as a new member of his ‘faction,’ she was not informed of any of plans, nor was she given any additional information about his trip than the other maids.

  Seraphine: “Strange things only happen when Carlos is gone.”

  Taking the words from Eris’s head, Seraphine expressed the same concern.

  Petra: “I agree with Seraphine, though. We should go check it out— where is Aíma?”

  Aíma, no longer standing in front of her door, suddenly reemerged from her room. Her stuffed animal was gone, and she was fully dressed in her maid uniform.

  Seraphine: “That was very fast…”

  The lifeblood of the manor had a tendency for efficient and swift, yet thorough work.

  Aíma: “It’s a bad idea to linger here if there truly is danger downstairs.”

  As she said that, another impact shook the manor.

  Petra and Seraphine nodded, and making their way through the long hallways to the nearest flight of stairs with Eris and Aíma close behind.

  Reaching the first floor, Petra, who was leading the group, suddenly came to a stop, making Eris nearly crash into Seraphine.

  Seraphine: “What is it?”

  Petra: “——”

  Pearing around the shoulder of both Seraphine and Petra, Eris caught glimpse of what had caused her hesitation

  There was a man lying on the mansion floor, covered in black and red robes. His face concealed by a black mask. In his hand was some sort of black sword. However, he was not merely resting there. His throat had been slashed open, revealing skin and gore beneath it. Blood was soaking through his black robes onto the marble floor, leaking between the tiles.

  Eris: “——Who…”

  Seraphine: “——It’s true…”

  Petra: “Who would do this?”

  Eris: “A better question is, who is this man?”

  She was still a bit shaken up. She had never seen a corpse before, especially not in such a grotesque way. However, Eris still had the sense to be confused.

  Aíma still remained silent and expressionless.

  Seraphine: “It’s the same robes as…”

  Petra: “As the ones who—”

  Seraphine: “It's the same group that attacked me and Eris!”

  Eris: “——?”

  Eris’s mind ran through every memory she had, but did not recall getting attacked by anyone alongside Seraphine. The only conclusion was that Seraphine must be recalling a memory with ‘Eris.’

  Petra: “You’re saying…”

  Seraphine: “The same group that probably caused Eris’s memory loss.”

  Eris: “Caused…”

  Watching the blood pool grow larger and larger, Eris considered Seraphine’s words. They caused her memory loss. She had thought about her amnesia so much, and came to the conclusion that it was her fault. Granted, there was little evidence for it, but it was the only explanation that made sense for her.

  How exactly did someone else cause it?

  From somewhere deeper in the manor, there was a shrill cry of war, made by a sharp voice.

  Petra: “Was that Caelia?”

  Loud explosions continued to ring out, varying in intensity. Petra gathered herself, and making as much space between her and the corpse as possible, slipped past it down the hall to the grand hall.

  Following behind Petra, they found more corpses in the hall. They were all wearing the same black and red robes, suffering from similar injuries in the first. Most had their throats slit, but some were decapitated or missing other limbs.

  Seeing the severed stumps, Eris’s own leg began to ache with the trauma.

  Seraphine: “Why…”

  Throwing open the door to the grand hall, the metallic scent of blood and sulfur reached their noses. Gagging in the choking air, the maids slipped inside.

  There were at least a dozen bodies strewn about, with severed limbs scattered. Blood was pooled, smeared, and splattered across the massive regal room.

  There was a familiar, shining, dark-purple crystalline dust floating around the air, lingering on the walls and floor.

  Eris: “Dark magic…?”

  Arguably the most surprising thing to see, however, was the front entrance of the manor. Usually a large door, the wall was blown apart. Debris was piled up, and the black scorch marks left hints of immense heat.

  Petra: “What happened?”

  Suddenly, their processing of the room was interrupted by a black figure flying across the room. Originating from the grand staircase, the figure slammed into the wall with a mixture of a thud and a crack and fell to the floor completely limp.

  Descending from the steps, the origin of the flying man, was a maid with flowing silver hair. Her black and white dress stained with streaks and drops of crimson.

  Caelia: “What are you doing? Can’t you tell it’s not safe here?”

  Petra: “Caelia?! What is going on?”

  Shouting at each other across the grand hall, their voices echoing amongst the room of corpses, Caelia wiped blood from her cheek.

  Caelia: “We’re under attack. If you can't fight, you should find shelter now.”

  In these circumstances, even Caelia could refrain from being rude and instead traded it for what sounded like real concern.

  Eris, of course, was frozen in place at seeing her. She had more trauma for Caelia, since she was the one who caused her physical pain. However, she had more resentment for Aqua.

  Seraphine: “Under attack? By who?!”

  Caelia: “——The Red Right Hand.”

  —*—

  Caelia swiftly and elegantly made her way to the group of maids. Eris subtly moved back in the group behind Aíma.

  Seraphine: “The Red Right Hand? Yes, that does sound familiar… So it is the same group after all.”

  Caelia: “I’ll ask about that later. Right now, you three need to get to shelter.”

  Seraphine: “Three?”

  There were four maids, following Petra was Seraphine, Eris, and Aíma.

  Petra: “Shelter? Where? And what about you?”

  Adjusting her blood-caked hair, Caelia raised her two fingers.

  Caelia: “I am defending the manor. If you don't have confidence in my martial abilities because of the encounter with the demon-beast, know these are different circumstances.”

  Petra: “Yes… It’s not that I'm doubting your ability to fight, Caelia… I’m just worried. Where is Aqua?”

  Eris: “——”

  Caelia: “She led a group of them to the bathhouse.”

  Seraphine: “Then it will be a massacre…”

  Indeed, with the entirety of the bath as ammunition for her blue rune, as well as defensive position, it is hard to imagine Aqua losing the fight unless the Red Right Hand came in unreasonable numbers.

  Caelia: “Anyway, it is as I said. Take shelter until this is all over.”

  Petra: “Where should we hide?”

  After a brief moment of thought, Caelia pointed vaguely behind her down a connected hallway.

  Caelia: “The Room of Records.”

  Eris choked suddenly, as Petra and Seraphine also gasped.

  Petra: “We aren't allowed down there!”

  Eris wondered if her blood was still down there, staining the cold stone floor as a permanent reminder of her agony.

  Caelia: “Would you rather enter a room or die?”

  Petra: “That's...”

  Seraphine: “You should go, Petra, Eris.”

  Petra: “You’re not coming, Seraphine?”

  Eris: “N-No, I can't.”

  Seraphine: “Huh?”

  Eris: “I’ll stay up here.”

  If she had tried to enter the red room, she would probably faint. She would probably be overcome with emotions. What would she do if her rune activated and she accidentally hurt Petra? Regardless, using that room as a hiding place would be unacceptable. It was her hell, not her sanctuary.

  Seraphine: “You’re going to fight?”

  Eris: “——”

  Eris knew that staying up here with the attacking Red Right Hand, she would probably have to face them. However, it was better than entering that room. It was not like she valued her own life anyway.

  Eris: “I’ll… try.”

  She noticed a cold glance from Caelia.

  Caelia: “Fine. Then, Seraphine, you will accompany me.”

  Seraphine: “Ah?”

  Caelia: “Wind is more deadly when hot.”

  As Caelia took the wrist of Seraphine, pulling her in the direction of combat, Petra suddenly turned to face the other remaining two maids.

  Petra: “Mirra? Have either of you seen Mirra?”

  Both Aíma and Eris shook their heads.

  Petra: “Right, we’ve been together the whole time… If you guys are fighting, be safe! I’m going to look for her!”

  Eris: “Petra, wait!”

  Petra began to run off down the hallway, giving the corpses wide berths, and Eris's weak protests were futile.

  Stretching out her hand as if to stop her, Eris was helpless. But she could not dwell on it or recklessly chase after her.

  Aíma: “Eris.”

  Eris: “Ah, y-yes?”

  Though Aíma’s dread had indeed been present the whole time, only now, being officially addressed by the demon, did her veins ice over.

  Aíma: “Come with me.”

  Eris: “Okay?”

  Even if she denied it, she would have had no choice. Just as Seraphine was pulled by Caelia, Eris was being pulled by the wrist by Aíma. The petite maid had surprising strength.

  The manor shuddered as the sound of muffled combat raged on. It was in the direction of the bathhouse, so Eris only figured it was Aqua. She wondered how Caelia and Seraphine were doing, and if Petra was safe on her search for the shy violet rune.

  Dragging Eris along, Aíma suddenly stopped in front of a door. It was an unlabeled room. She had walked by it a few times, but had never entered it before.

  Eris: “What is this place? Shouldn't we be…”

  Despite claiming to have some kind of duty, Eris did not particularly want to fight the Red Right Hand. She did not want to hide, either. Confused by her own emotions, who urged her to do something despite reluctance to act, she watched Aíma open the door.

  Inside was a small room illuminated by a dim crimson light. Eris's breath hitched immediately, and combined with the dread of Aíma, Eris was confident that she was going to pass out.

  But she prevailed despite the light-headedness, and retained her consciousness.

  Eris: “What is…”

  Aíma pulled her inside and shut the door. The room was very cramped, but on the walls were a few shelves. There were a few swords, spears, clubs, and even a flail.

  Aíma slid a sword from the rack. A sturdy silver blade with a modest black hilt. Expecting Aíma to arm herself, Eris’s eyes widened as the demon presented it to her.

  Eris: “Huh? What do you want me to do with this?”

  Aíma: “Fight.”

  Eris: “I don't know about ‘Eris’ before me, but I have no idea how to use a sword!”

  Aíma looked blankly at Eris for a moment, inspecting the blade, before turning her gaze to the rack of weapons.

  Aíma: “If that's the case, would you prefer a spear or—”

  Eris: “It’s not the sword itself, I just have no idea how to use any weapon. Besides, I don't know if I could…”

  Aíma: “It’s preferable to being defenseless.”

  Eris: “——”

  Aíma: “If you do not want to kill the Red Right Hand, you should know that they are evil.”

  Eris: “Evil?”

  Even Eris was not one to straightforwardly categorize a person or group of people as ‘good’ or ‘evil.’ It was difficult to say someone had purely evil intentions. Even someone doing evil could believe that they are doing something for a good cause.

  Aíma: “They pillage and destroy villages, torture and kill innocent people, and cause destruction to everywhere they go.”

  Hearing that emotionless explanation from Aíma, however, Eris struggled to not categorize them as ‘pure evil,’ even if she didn't know their motive. She felt that, regardless of what you believe, if your methods are senselessly violent, it was unforgivable.

  Aíma pushed the sword to Eris again, and reluctantly, Eris took it by the hilt. Aíma gave her some kind of belt with a scabbard on the side, and Eris hesitantly clasped it on her hip as well.

  Testing the scabbard by sliding the sword in and out a few times, she determined it was a good fit, though having a sword in her hands did feel strange.

  Eris: “What about you— huh?”

  As Eris began her question, she watched as Aíma suddenly placed her wrist over a sharp blade of a sword on the wall, and swiftly pulling her hand down, crimson blood began to trickle down from her lacerated skin. Another fresh scar amongst many old ones.

  Eris: “Aíma, what are you doing?”

  Aíma turned to face Eris as the blood suddenly stopped leaking from her wound. It had stopped leaking, but it had not stopped flowing. Instead, a great quantity of crimson left her wound, slithering like a snake. Yes, it was like an alive creature. Dripping not onto the floor, but into Aíma’s grasp, the blood began to harden and mold into the shape of a weapon.

  A double headed axe, nearly the size of Aíma herself, forged entirely of her own blood.

  Eris: “——”

  Choking out her surprise, Eris’s eyes were stuck open. Her blood, more than ever, was frozen in her body. Dread had welled up in her stomach, and her limbs felt like they were moving through molasses.

  Eris: “What…”

  She thought Aíma was runeless, thus incapable of using magic. However, even that rune-centric world view was broken when Eris’s scarlet rune was revealed. Perhaps Aíma shared a similar type of rune, one which was inside the body instead of out of it.

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  Aíma: “Axes are the only physical weapon I know how to use, that is why I’m not using any of these.”

  Aíma motions to the weaponry on the wall.

  Eris: “That's not what I was concerned about, Aíma.”

  Aíma tilted her head, her crimson eyes blinking ignorantly.

  Eris: “What was that magic that you did just now?”

  Even though Eris asked the question, even though she was confused, inside she was pretty sure of the answer.

  In one of ‘Eris’s’ books, there was a story about a user of a terrible, legendary type of magic. Eris thought it was a thing of fiction, since she hadn't seen it mentioned in her books about magic.

  Aíma: “Blood magic.”

  Eris: “It’s real?”

  Aíma looked at the blood-forged axe in her hand, then nodded.

  Blood magic in the story was described as a cataclysmic event, wielded only by the most vile of demons that wreaked chaos and destruction upon everything it came in contact with.

  Eris: “——”

  Of course, other than Aíma's aura of dread, there was nothing so evil about her. Stories were stories, not reality. She also noticed the extreme bias against demons in many books, fiction and non-fiction. Unless they were written by demon authors, demons and half-demons were described as vile beings who sought only destruction, hated all things living, and feasted upon the flesh of human beings. Obviously, this was not the case. Eris knew two demons, Aíma and Mirra, and they were nothing like that.

  Of course, another question arose to Eris, despite the time crunch.

  Eris: “If you have that, why didn't you help against the demon-beast?”

  Aíma hesitated for a moment. Eris could not remember her ever hesitating.

  Aíma: “The seals Master Carlos placed on me makes my magic almost useless aside from cleaning up blood and this.”

  The ‘this’ was of course the axe in her hand. Considering the size of the beast compared to the size of Aíma’s body and weapon, Eris understood that it was probably for the best that she did not join the battle.

  Eris: “Cleaning up blood?”

  That specific duty suddenly alarmed Eris, remembering her severed leg and the pools of her own life she had left behind in the red room.

  Aíma: “If you were wondering, yes, I removed a great deal of your blood from the Room of Records, Eris.”

  Eris could not stifle a gasp. Had Aíma been in the red room as well, waiting to mop up the evidence? She thought Aíma was on the side of Carlos, directly opposing Aqua and Caelia. Was she pretending?

  Eris: “You… Were you——”

  Aíma: “Caelia told me that there was blood in the Room of Records that I should clean. I obviously could tell it was yours—”

  Eris: “—You could tell? How?!”

  Aíma: “It’s obvious to me, as a user of blood magic, whose blood is whose.”

  Eris: “——”

  Aíma: “We should not be wasting time here.”

  With that said, Aíma tightened her grip on her blood axe and opened the door. Following the demon out into the hallway, the sounds of chaos grow louder. Aíma seemed undeterred though, as she immediately began to rush in the direction of the sounds.

  Hesitantly following her, Eris laid her eyes on a group of masked men in the hallway. Their robes disheveled and dragged on the ground. They were tearing open each door and looking inside, probably searching for inhabitants.

  Immediately being noticed by the members, they silently communicated with strange hand signals, then leapt into action like wild animals.

  Eris tightly gripped her sword, unprepared to kill, wishing for but still terrified of death.

  But she did not get the chance to defend or attack. Aíma pulled her axe into both of her hands, leaping off the floor towards the Red Right Hand.

  Using the wall as a tool for momentum, she kicked off of it and hurled her tiny body, gracefully bringing her axe down upon a robe with a dagger held in two hands. His two forearms were cleaved off, blood splattering about the walls and floors, gushing out from the remnants of his arms on the floor and the stumps of his arms.

  Aíma hit the floor, ducking under a massive sword. Suddenly the blood, splattered about from the first man, came to life. Silent tentacles of crimson reached up, impaling all but one of the masked figures.

  Watching his comrades be massacred, Eris thought the survivor would value his life and flee, but he was silent and unwavering. Like a puppet on a string, he raised his weapon into a combat stance and danced about with surprising skill.

  Aíma did not move her hands or call out a spell to control the blood. It obeyed her without having to be told.

  The blood on the floor rose, turning to blades which cleanly stole the man’s footing. Rather, his feet were violently— precisely— severed off.

  The man fell silently. Instead of bracing himself, he made one last slash of his blade, which the petite Aíma sidestepped to avoid, and brought her axe down upon his skull. This was not as clean as the other attacks. His skull was split apart, scarlet blood swirling about on the floor, alongside pink chunks and white shards of skull. His eyes, popped out of their sockets from the blow, squeezed through the holes in his mask.

  Eris: “——hah~.”

  Witnessing the gorey massacre, Eris felt her legs shake. She clutched her hand over her mouth to hold back vomit which threatened to hurl out of her.

  Aíma, despite being the epicenter of the brutality, was pristine. Her uniform free of even a single drop of blood.

  Aíma: “Recover quickly, Eris. We are not the only ones in danger here.”

  Aíma’s weapon was not just her axe. It was not just her own blood turned into a weapon. Every drop of blood by an enemy or ally, the very essence for life, was her ammunition. Understanding this, Eris wished she utilized her strength against the demon-beast.

  Her magic was not ‘almost useless.’ Even in its apparently sealed state, she had effortlessly relieved those soldiers of their lives.

  Eris: “Why—?”

  Suddenly, a small clump of blood rose from the obscene amount of it on the marble floor and shot past Eris. Her reaction was immediate, ducking as it whirled past her, but its target was not Eris.

  Spinning around, she watched as the blood pierced the skull of a massive figure. The black and red robes which were usually oversized on the silent masks were threatening to rip at the sheer size of his body. Regardless of his physique, with his head now a tunnel, his body shook the manor as he collapsed.

  Aíma: “Recover quickly, Eris.”

  Eris took a deep breath. Even though her heart was restless, and the horror that clung to Aíma now had a cause, she nodded.

  She wasn't sure where Aíma was taking her. She didn't know why she was following, why she didn't ignore the crash and jump. If she did, this mess would all still happen. But not to Eris. She could have easily been seen as a casualty of war and the guilt for dying would have been non-existent.

  As Eris closed the distance between herself and Aíma, she hesitated at the pool of blood which covered every inch of the section of hallway where Aíma massacred the Red Right Hand.

  Like Eris was a princess in a fable, the blood suddenly parted itself, making a clean passageway for her through the gore. Glancing up at Aíma, who was still wearing her emotionless expression, Eris felt silently grateful for her surprisingly considerate gesture.

  The sword felt useless in her hands. Despite Eris's strength, making the sword practically weightless to her, it felt heavy in her grip.

  Aíma: “Plenty of blood is being spilled in the bathhouse.”

  That phrase was unsettling by nature. Other than being spoken by Aíma, who was terrifying regardless of what she said, the contents of the sentence felt like something Eris would never have to hear. Should never have to hear. It almost felt impossible.

  Though she had only lived at the manor for a little over a week, it was home. Despite the red room, it was quiet and harmonious. Eris wouldn't say it felt like safety and warmth, but she had some attachment to it, alongside resentment. It was a place where the concept of combat and warfare should never touch.

  Eris: “You can tell even from here?”

  Aíma: “A water mage can detect water for miles. A wind mage can read the wind and the air currents. A fire mage can feel the change in temperature days ahead.”

  Understanding Aíma’s point, Eris slowly nodded.

  Eris: “I get it. I’m assuming you don't know whose, though?”

  Aíma: “I would have to come in contact with the blood to determine that.”

  Aíma was the sole defender of the bathhouse, using the pure water they used for bathing as a weapon of destruction. It would be erroneous to say Eris did not worry for Aqua’s safety, even now.

  Eris: “Wait…”

  Petra had always seemed strong and reliable to Eris. Though Eris did not want to rely on her, especially after Aqua revealed her true feelings, Eris always got the impression that Petra was independent and capable and could fend for herself even if she seemed to be a bit airheaded at times.

  This impression had clouded her mind, which was already overwhelmed by thousands of thoughts and emotions that confused, terrified, enraged, and saddened her. To the point that, watching Petra run off to find Mirra, she was not thinking of the true danger she was plunging into without a way of defending herself.

  Perhaps it was because only now Eris had witnessed the Red Right Hand as anything but corpses, thus confirming their life-threatening danger, but worry began to reach Eris’s heart.

  Eris: “Petra. Petra, she doesn't use her magic for fighting, does she? She doesn't fight at all?”

  She had heard that said a few times, but never actually from Petra’s mouth.

  Aíma: “I believe that impression is correct.”

  Eris: “So, she’s defenseless!”

  Aíma seemed thoughtful for a moment, before coming to a conclusion, and nodding with a nonchalant look.

  Aíma: “If you are planning on trying to locate her, I cannot accompany you.”

  Eris: “Huh? Why not?”

  Aíma: “I have my own duties at the moment.”

  Eris: “Can't you track her? With blood or something?”

  Aíma: “It is as I said. I cannot tell whose blood is whose without coming in contact with it. Isn't it pessimistic to assume she has already shed blood?”

  Aíma had a point. Perhaps it was better that she did not know if Petra was alive or not. She had a reason to throw herself in danger. An honorable death, she could say. Not that she cared about that.

  But if she was going to die, she was at least going to try and prevent the death of one who did not want to die. One who had shown her kindness.

  Without exchanging any more words with the lifeblood of the manor, Eris turned on her heel and began to run westwards, remembering the direction Petra went.

  Aíma: “If you died, it would be bad. So try to prevent that as much as possible.”

  Eris: “——”

  —*—

  Though many corpses had been left behind by Caelia, using her wind magic to take the lives of the figures in robes, and great amounts of blood were left behind by Aíma’s way of fighting, in this section of the manor, there were no signs of combat.

  The bright moonlight pouring in through the window, the manor shuddering from the impacts of combat, distant sounds of blows being exchanged deeper in the halls, the manor was far from feeling normal, even without corpses in her way.

  Eris: “Petra!”

  Calling out her name recklessly, knowing, perhaps wishing it would alert her position to the enemy, she desperately searched for the green haired maid. Mirra would be a welcome bonus as well.

  Eris: “Petra?”

  She repeated her name as she flung open every door she passed. How many times had she done this by now? Searching every room in the manor for one person?

  Reaching a section where all the doors were already open, the emptiness of the hall became not just unsettling, but eerie.

  Eris: “Petra…?”

  Saying her name quietly now, she was of course met with no response. Peaking into the open rooms, there was no sight of her. The sword weighed at her hip, sheathed like a knight.

  The smell of cooked meat— no, burnt, came to her nose. Thankfully, there was no indication of smoke. If the manor were to burn, things would rapidly escalate. Besides, burning was an agonizing way to die, and Eris did not wish to experience it.

  At the end of the hallway, even before turning the corner, she could see blood leaking between the marble tiles.

  Bracing herself for the sight, however gruesome, whomever’s the blood may be, she peaked into the next hall.

  There were charred corpses, blackened and fried like overcooked meat.

  That was precisely what it was. Cooked meat under singed black robes.

  Eris: “Seraphine…”

  She had watched the red haired maid in combat before, against the demon-beast. In fighting, she was surprisingly brave and selfless, even if she knew it would put her in danger. But Eris could not picture her using her magic used like this.

  As if being boiled was not enough, many of them had precise wounds, undoubtedly from a wind blade. They were not a painless way to die either. Eris was familiar with the pain of being struck by Caelia's magic.

  The windows were shattered along the hall, and crystals of glass reflected along the walls like sunlight dappled between trees.

  Plugging her nose for the scent, and trying her best to avoid blood, corpses and shattered grass, Eris hopped through the hallway.

  Eris: “Petra!”

  She had been wandering aimlessly for what felt like a dangerous amount of time, and she had made it to a familiar hall.

  It was the one with the library, dining hall, conference room, and of course, the Room of Records.

  When she went through here to get to dinner, Eris of course tried to avert her eyes. But she always eventually was drawn to the sight of it, even though it brought back traumatic memories.

  Before that night, Eris looked at the entrance to the Room of Records with curiosity and even intrigue. With nobody but Caelia allowed down there, and an ominous name like that, it was hard not to be interested. She would often gaze at the door before entering the library.

  Eris didn't read anymore, after entering the room of records for the last time.

  However, the fact that this was a familiar hallway was not at the forefront of Eris’s clouded mind. What concerned Eris to the point where she drew the unfamiliar sword from its sheath, was the fact that every door was opened.

  It was not something new. The Red Right Hand seemed to be going room to room, checking for inhabitants. What their goals were was unclear, however, it was clear they came with violence in mind.

  This hallway having been searched was particularly concerning because—

  Petra: “Where should we hide?”

  Caelia: “The Room of Records.”

  The memory of that short dialogue, where Caelia instructed Petra and the others to take refuge in the red room of Eris’s hell, played in her mind.

  If Petra had found Mirra and they both had taken refuge there, or worse, Petra had been unable to locate the violet runed demon and had to hide without her, their place of refuge was discovered.

  Her trembling hand gripping the handle of the sword, Eris stared reluctantly down the long staircase to the room of records.

  It was like she could hear her own screams of agony and terror. Begging and pleading for death.

  But the screams coming from the room of records were not pleas for death.

  ???: “Please! Stay back!”

  They were pleas for life.

  Eris: “Petra!”

  The Maids of

  Count Schwartzhardt's Manor

  To say Eris swallowed her fear would be incorrect. She did not have time to swallow her selfish, pitiful emotions like fear and hesitation. In that moment, the red room was not Eris’s hell, but the room where Petra was in danger.

  Her sword now weightless in her hand, Eris rushed into the dim crimson light of the room of records, racing down the cobblestone steps that winded through the darkness.

  Caelia: “Please do not scream or raise your voice. Just so you know, this room is down many sets of stairs, so nobody will be able to hear you.”

  Eris: “Shut up!”

  She shouted these words out loud, her voice echoing in the chamber which continued to grow colder as she descended.

  Her legs fought against her. Another betrayal, just like the window. They wanted to turn back. Her body wanted to pull her from this room that screamed danger and horror, and save herself. Rather, ‘Eris's’ body wanted to preserve itself.

  A traitorous body, and in this room, Eris had been betrayed already. She would not let it happen again. Despite her legs which shook violently and tried to force her to go the other way, despite her vision blurring as the red right grew brighter, the phantom pain emerging in her leg and lungs and eye, her heart which pounded to the point of aching, she pressed on.

  Eris: “Petra?!”

  There was another scream, followed by a loud crash.

  Reaching the final step, Eris stumbled into the red room.

  The room was extremely dark. Only a few deep vermillion fixtures on the wall provided a bloody light. The air was cold and thick. It smelt of dust, mold, and old paper.

  The room was more of a hallway, with long shelves that stretched into darkness. Their contents were countless scrolls and books.

  Yes, it was familiar. The familiar bloody light drew the breath from her lungs.

  Intruding on the horrible déjà vu, four figures in black robes suddenly snapped their attention to Eris.

  Eris stared past them. Behind a collapsed shelf, the source of the crash, were two maids. Basking in the crimson glow, seeing Petra here was a thing of nightmares. Indeed, Eris had tossed and turned in bed over the thought of this exact room. Petra had been present in more than one of those nightmares.

  Petra was not the only one. Behind Petra who was standing protectively aside from her trembling legs, was the violet haired demon with eyes that swirled like a nebula. Petra had found Mirra after all.

  Petra: “——Er—is…?”

  Standing in this room, with no way to back out or say she was too scared now, Eris had only one choice.

  If she ran, the Red Right Hand would cut down Petra and Mirra after herself. There was no point anyways. Her life was not a valued thing.

  The sword, foreign in her hands, was a language she did not speak. She could not dance around the enemy and manipulate their blood into doing her work for her. She could not feel overwhelmed by emotions and let her rune take over. The sword was a brutal weapon that forced the user to painfully reap the lives of those they wanted to attack. Regardless of the user's intentions, to defend, to attack, to maim or execute, their hand would have to make the action, draw blood and take the life with the blade.

  She wasn't going to say anything like; “I can't kill” here. Even if she did not value her own life, she valued the lives of all others. Even so, there were lives she had to value more. She would not place the lives of the Red Right Hand, who were attempting to kill those she cared for, above those she cared for.

  So even if she had to use her hands to brutally reap the lives of someone else, she could do it. She would do it. She had to do it.

  As the robed figures, all armed with silver daggers pounced like wild animals, Eris likewise reciprocated with equal untamed vigour. Her silver blade swinging across the air, Eris’s heart jumped as the blade felt resistance.

  It was smooth, like she was swinging it in strong wind. She was using a sword. She was cutting into somebody, drawing blood, creating agony. Realizing those things in slow motion, the resistance slowly increased until the motion of her sword came to a rest.

  Sorry.

  Senses other than touch returning, she witnessed the robed figure fall into the floor with their chest carved open.

  Eris: “——”

  If she lingered on the feeling of killing, she would die. Even if that was the desirable outcome, Petra and Mirra’s lives depended on Eris’s patience for death. Following her subconscious’s instructions, Eris dove ungracefully to the floor. The Red Right Hand preparing a strike with their dagger tumbled to the floor from the force of their own swing.

  Her sword dripping with crimson, staining the floor of the red room with blood once more, Eris scrambled to her knees.

  As a figure in black approached, dagger in two hands, Eris pointed the blade towards them. As if blind, or perhaps simply indifferent to their condition and life, continued to charge at Eris until they were impaled on the sword. The impact of the masked robe’s suicidal charge drove the hilt of the sword into Eris’s gut with force that, for a brief moment, deprived her of breath.

  Losing air in her lungs, gagging and gasping for air in panic, begging the perpetrator for mercy in the form of death—

  She bit down on her teeth to fight back the memories which froze her blood to ice and locked her brain with fear. When that wasn't enough, Eris clamped her teeth into her tongue to forcefully yank herself back into the tangible moment.

  The taste of iron filling her mouth and scarlet saliva spilling from her lips, Eris pushed the hilt forwards, and the robed figure who impaled themselves slid off the blade with a wet sound and hit the stone floor with a thud.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

  Petra: “Eris!”

  Mirra: “Eris——?”

  Letting their voices remind her of her purpose here, Eris went on the offensive. Rabidly swinging her blade with the advantage of range, the third robed figure was struck in the arms, cleaving their limbs apart and sending the dagger flying. Like a broken tree branch, the remains of the robe’s arms were split apart and frayed at the ends. The sound of blood splattering across the stone floor was a familiar sound to Eris.

  The entire time, even when fighting Aíma, the Red Right Hand’s soldiers had never made a noise. Not a grunt of pain or a scream. Never had they shown a single sense of self-preservation, or shown any personality in fighting style.

  The one who had missed their attack on Eris when she dived scrambled to their feet, their mask cracked from hitting their face on the stone floor. It stumbled around as if dazed and confused. Perhaps concussed.

  Eris felt her hands move, and the edge of the sword struck the neck of the staggering figure. It crumpled to the floor, twitching and spewing blood.

  I’m sorry.

  Fending off nausea as blood continued to fill her mouth from her own tongue, Eris gripped the hilt of the sword.

  Turning around, refusing to face the maids yet, Eris’s gaze was on the floor. The Red Right Hand still alive with mangled arms writhed about on the floor, trying to pick up the blade with its exposed bones and blood-dripping flesh.

  Turning their head at Eris, showing off their intent to kill despite their crippled body, Eris staggered back.

  The featureless black mask, without a mouth or nose or distinguishing features, had simple cutouts for vision. Behind the holes were a pair of human eyes.

  Behind the robes and masks, behind their emotionless and painless fanatical attempts to murder, there were people.

  Eris: “Don't——”

  Eris raised her sword, blood flying off it like rain, dripping across Eris’s face and uniform.

  Eris: “Don't look at me like that!”

  Bringing down the blade, the life of the torn apart human being on the ground, face hidden behind a mask, ended.

  —*—

  Petra: “E-Eris…?”

  Mirra: “——”

  With her blade still in the skull of the man on the ground, Eris’s breath was completely gone after the adrenaline began to fade.

  Her hands were trembling on the hilt of the sword, the eye still staring at her from under that black mask. Staring into her with a human pupil and the desire to kill.

  She had traded the lives of four people for the lives of two. Now, she would have to face those two.

  Were they going to be angry? Would they look at Eris a different way now? A murderer? A horrible monster? Someone who was capable of extreme violence, who screamed at her enemies because she could not bear the weight of her own inhumane actions?

  Petra: “Eris!”

  Eris was nearly knocked over by something wrapping around her hips. It was a warmth that was somewhat familiar.

  Eris: “——”

  Looking down, the expected sight of her lower body was obstructed by Petra, who was tightly pressed against her.

  Eris: “Petra…”

  She felt Petra's hands grip harder into her dress. Warmth seeping through the fabric.

  Petra: “Eris! You’re——”

  Eris: “I’m sorry, Petra… I didn't know what else to do…”

  Her hands were still trembling, blood soaking her skin, stuck between the lines of her palm and under her nails.

  Petra: “Eris—!”

  Petra’s voice was slurred from crying and having her face pressed against Eris.

  Eris: “I didn't want to kill them… I didn't want to… I just—”

  Petra: “Thank you! Thank you!”

  Eris: “Wh—”

  Petra’s grip only got stronger, pressing her face into Eris so hard that she eventually stumbled. Bracing herself, she eventually stabilized on her knees. Now eye level with Petra, Eris felt her freedom restricted by the green haired maid who only pulled her back in.

  Petra's emerald eyes were swollen with tears, soaking into Eris's shoulder.

  So much confusion hit Eris that even the fear and guilt momentarily left her. Looking over the sobbing Petra’s shoulder, she saw Mirra watching the two of them, hugging her knees.

  Petra: “You… saved… us…”

  Petra stammered through her tears. Eris shook her head, slowly at first, gaining momentum as she did so. Petra could not see Eris’s denial, but even so, she continued to shake her head.

  Saved. It was not a word she wanted to hear right now.

  Even so, having Petra’s arms wrapped around her, having her sobbing into her chest, Eris couldn't deny her.

  Reciprocating, Eris wrapped her bloodied, red hands around Petra, holding her tightly.

  Petra: “I was so—s-so scared…”

  Eris: “It’s okay, Petra…”