†††
A Beast Blood with one glowing eye smoothly dropped onto the balcony railing.
The dome darkened.
False night with deeper blues than the real night sky had arrived. The Night Bloom petals blazed in the distance. Wind swayed the false Sea of Trees. Shank stood with the simulated Wilds against his back.
“It’s a mess back there. This wouldn’t have happened if the private soldiers you hired were a little more helpful. I at least dealt an equally fatal blow to the Beast Blood ranks,” Shank reported, expressionless as he looked at Haydn twirling his rapier in Euphemia’s calf.
“Bastard! You killed them?!” Zelaide growled.
“Can’t say for sure… If they’re lucky enough, they probably survived,” Shank replied, launching into the air without even bending his knees.
Zelaide promptly fired on him. Shank kicked off the railing and landed dead center of the balcony, unharmed. The strength of his kick propelled him at lightning speed. It was hard even for Zelaide to track his movement.
A flicker of light shot out of his afterimage. He had thrown one of his moon-shaped weapons—the chakram.
Zelaide dodged right and fired where he thought Shank would land next. His aim was off by an inch. Valuable bullets were decreasing with each missed shot.
“…So close.” Shank laughed as multiple chakrams spun on his fingers.
Vexed, Zelaide sunk his fangs into his lip.
He’s supposed to be weaker than me physically? Ha. Son of a Bijour bluffed.
Zelaide tightened his grip on the gun. Only two bullets left. Shank didn’t have a gun. But the holders on his thigh were packed with strange steel rods and more of those round blades he spun like discs. What other unseen weapons was he packing?
“You’re still young,” Shank said quietly. “Brute force isn’t enough to defeat me.”
“…We’ll see ’bout that!”
Zelaide launched himself off the marble floor, closing the distance in one long stride. His first shot missed; his second just barely grazed the tip of Shank’s boot. This was the first time he had ever missed at this distance.
“Out of bullets?” Shank smiled.
“…Not the end of the world.” Zelaide tossed his gun. It clanged loudly on the marble. Before the echo stopped, he lunged at Shank with his knife in the reverse hand grip.
CLANG!
✦ ✦ ✦
Shank blocked with a nightstick. In his right hand, he held a double-edged knife with a blade thinner than Zelaide’s.
They clashed blades repeatedly. Zelaide had a bigger physique, giving him a size advantage. But Shank fought on par with him. Zelaide clenched his jaw whenever he lashed out with his knife, while Shank’s expression remained placid.
Steel crashed against steel.
“I hate you,” Shank said, his voice quiet and even.
“What a coincidence. I hate you too,” Zelaide responded with vitriol.
“You don’t understand why, do you?”
“I don’t give a damn!”
Another violent exchange of blows started. They constantly changed their footing, parted, drew near—the two men dizzyingly clashed and danced around the cramped balcony. The occasional sparks added color to the flashes of silver.
“Oh how the Wilds have cursed me! I must hurry, but I’m dying to watch this through!” Haydn was glued to the battle between two Beast Bloods.
Cameras must have been installed all around the balcony, because several of the rear monitors displayed different angles of their fight. And yet that wasn’t enough for him. Haydn was keen on filming their battle with the small camcorder he had hidden in his pocket. He essentially had ringside seats to the ultimate match.
“You have to bear with it a while longer,” Haydn said to Euphemia. “I will have you properly patched up once the authorities arrive. Yes, that’s the face I want to see!”
“…Go to hell.”
Haydn filmed Euphemia pinned to the floor by his rapier. She struggled to stand despite it, only for him to kick her in the side, knocking her back down.
The air hissed through her clenched teeth.
“Oh no! Your Beast Blood pet is in danger. He’s being driven to the edge! Wow! He jumped onto the railing without looking behind him. Who knew they could do that. Does he have eyes on the back of his head? Is he an ape or an owl?”
Euphemia pretended to go limp on the ground and slowly inched away from Haydn on her stomach.
Unfortunately, Haydn was just as interested in her suffering as the fight. He dug his foot into her side, keeping her pressed against the cold marble floor. The one hand he had on the rapier lodged in her calf didn’t ease up either.
Bleeding out slowly from her calf, and still under the influence of drugs, Euphemia had no strength to force him away.
“GUH!”
Zelaide dropped on the ground to avoid Shank’s blade. He was right next to the shield. In that instant, their eyes met. It was hard for her to know how he took her expression, but Zelaide smiled with just his lips and sprung to his feet.
“Don’t worry,” he mouthed.
Euphemia suddenly wanted to cry.
He’s putting his life on the line to save me this very moment. Bound solely by a stupid contract. I won’t let him die! Euphemia scraped together what little strength she could muster and quietly waited for her chance.
One of the chakrams tore through Zelaide's arm. Wearing body armor put Shank at an advantage over Zelaide.
To make matters worse, Shank seemed to have ample experience fighting Beast Bloods. It was difficult to tell a Beast Blood’s age by their appearance, but Zelaide instinctively sensed that Shank had lived many more years than he had. Likely more than triple. He lived all this time hidden in human society, bringing death to both humans and Beast Bloods.
Zelaide, on the other hand, lived as a Muta Hunter and had significant experience battling the beasts for his age. But very little battle experience against Beast Bloods. The difference in experience was starting to show. Shank’s expression remained unchanged despite Zelaide getting a few good hits in.
“Dance!”
Spinning blades flew at Zelaide again. He was starting to understand their trajectory now. He ducked and swept up with his knife, knocking the chakrams out of the air. They plummeted off the balcony with a whoosh. Shank’s knife lashed out before he could breathe a sigh of relief.
Gimme a damn break!
Zelaide retreated to the balcony’s edge and breathed.
What’s that? From his current position, he spotted something shining on the wall. It appeared to be a lever that had been cleverly disguised to look like the rocks.
Does it go to the shields?
Shank unleashed his next attack before he could stop to think. Zelaide blocked his strikes, pretending he hadn’t noticed the lever, and slowly retreated in that direction.
Just a little further. Just a little further.
Knowing Haydn’s sickening hobbies, he probably built the shield to be controlled from inside and outside the control room, in case he wanted to trap someone in with the monitors.
Zelaide advanced a step. A trail of his blood stained the white marble floor. He took another step forward.
Shank swiveled in front of him, blocking his path. He had noticed Zelaide was controlling the direction of their fight. The lips on his deadpan face twisted. He was smiling. The lever was visible over his shoulder. One leap and he’d reach it.
Well, taking one direct hit shouldn’t kill me.
Shank swung his knife up.
Zelaide lured him in close, dodged at the last second, and leapt. He didn’t even think about attacking Shank.
Jumping with both feet paid off—Zelaide’s hands latched onto the rock wall. He stomped on the u-shaped lever. The heaviness in the air instantly lifted. The invisible barrier at the entrance of the viewing room disappeared. Nothing was left to stop him. Now he could go to Euphemia’s side.
“AGH!”
Severe pain pierced him.
A knife had pierced through Zelaide’s thick leather boot and sank through the top of his right foot. Pain numbed his whole body. He couldn’t withstand the sudden kick to his left leg and tumbled onto the ground. His knife flung out of his hand. He didn’t have time to retrieve it. The next attack was coming. Zelaide dodged it by rolling into the control room.
“How?!”
Haydn was struck dumb by the black leather ball that suddenly rolled into his space.
As he rolled inside, Zelaide ran his eyes over the wall in front of him. Sure enough, there was a big lever just behind the wall. It was pulled down, in the off position. The shield could be controlled by a lever installed on the inner and outer wall.
Silver flashed through the air. Zelaide rolled to his feet and dodged away from Shank’s knife. Blood squirt up around his stabbed foot. He slammed into the wall and leaned in with his weight, shoving the lever up. Instantly, an invisible and heavy hum filled the room once again.
“AGGGGGGHHH!”
Shank’s knife hand skidded across the floor. Removed by the sheer power behind the Guardian-grade shield, the severed arm slid until it hit Haydn’s boot, leaving a long trail of blood behind it.