Chương 73: The Bishop

"Wha—" The Black Mask who approached Tiny blinked, and that was the last thing he did on his own before a rock shot from the ground and struck him beneath the chin. His teeth snapped, and his head whipped back as he flew into the air. He struck one of the crates behind him and violently crashed through it. Tiny stared at him, a little vomit once again threatening to escape his throat as he saw the Black Mask's bones and some splintered wood pierce through his flesh.

Tiny did not have the luxury to puke, however, as the two other Black Masks slowly turned to him.

"Ah," he said, his eyes widening. He then immediately slapped his palm against the floor again. [Please, please, Earthmother. Volley!] This time, the two Black Masks moved. One leapt ot the side, while the other rushed him before the word could settle into the stone. Tiny panicked, dragging his palm across the floor, seemingly trying to smear the Script as if it would make the inscription faster. Still, a small stone shot out, striking one of the Black Masks in the shin.

"Grah!" The man stumbled, and Tiny quickly rolled away just as the other's blade struck the place his neck had been a moment ago.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Tiny scrambled backward, raising one hand while pressing the other to the ground.

"I surrender again!"

"You just attack—" [Earthmother. Wind!] The air in front of Tiny pushed toward his enemies. It was not strong, but it was enough to make the Black Mask stumble back a step or two. Tiny used this moment to push himself up, coughing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His knees shook, and his stomach still hurt so much that every breath made him want to curl up again, but when he saw the Black Mask hesitate, a thin and very stupid smile appeared on his face.

"You… you said you did not have Breath!"

"Heh…" Tiny smirked upon seeing their looks of panic.

"I suppose you could say that… I was holding my Breath." There was silence after that, and even Tiny could not help but wince at his own words. The two Black Masks, however, did not seem to appreciate his words and rushed at him at the same time again.

"Eep!" Tiny threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the blade again. He hit the ground shoulder-first, rolled, and slapped his palm down again and wrote some words on the dirt. [Earthmother. Volley!] The floor trembled, and another stone bullet flew out, this time hitting the Black Mask on the chest head-on.

"I… I hit him!" Tiny celebrated, which caused the other one to wake up from his stupor and rush at him once more. Tiny quickly stepped back, writing in the air. [Buf!] This time, he slapped the words onto his chest, then met the Black Mask rushing at him head-on. He just pushed him, and yet the man flew several yards before his back slammed onto the wall.

"Is that…" And before he could even finish his words, someone else entered the storage room. The man was wearing a gray mask and holding a short club in his hand. There was nothing truly frightening about him at first… until he started writing in the air. [Buf.] The man Breathed out, grabbing the word as he looked at Tiny. Tiny rushed at the Gray Mask before he could use the Script, but the man stepped to the side while swinging his foot straight at his stomach.

"Gkh?!" Tiny fell backwards, and the Gray Mask did not give him any time to recover at all. He kicked him right on the head before he could even breathe. Tiny flew into the crates, breaking through one of them. If it was not for him reinforcing his muscles with Buf, then most of the splintered wood would probably have pierced his flesh. Guinevere, who was hiding somewhere behind the crates, paused with whatever it was she was doing. Tiny opened one eye, catching a glimpse of what she was doing.

It was hard to tell, but it would seem she was assembling some sort of instrument. The Gray Mask followed his gaze, and Tiny quickly moved his eyes away… but it was already too late.

"Hm?" The Gray Mask already saw Guinevere.

"Oi!" Tiny placed his palm on the ground again, firing stone bullets from the floor. The Gray Mask, however, only smashed them in the air with his club before rushing at him. Tiny put up his arms, but it was not enough at all as the Gray Mask smashed the club toward his head.

"Grah!" Tiny could not even feel the pain as he felt his vision darken. He completely fell to his knees, and his eyes once again landed on Guinevere… who was now on her feet. She held the thing she had been assembling since earlier, some sort of black tube. Her face was as blank as ever, but her eyes were fixed on the Gray Mask's head.

"Tiny," she said, the tube she was holding hissing as an orange light began to crawl across its dark surface.

"Hold him." The Gray Mask turned to Guinevere, and before he could take one step toward her, Tiny pulled himself up. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. He almost whimpered, but he lunged at the man and wrapped both arms around his waist. His broken hand cracked from the pressure, and his ribs felt as if they were grinding together, but he held on anyway. The Gray Mask drove his elbow down into Tiny's back, causing his knees to buckle.

But still, he did not let go.

"W-whatever you are doing, M'lady… Now would be a good—" Before Tiny could finish his words, a deafening thunder filled the room.

"Huh…?" Tiny felt the Gray Mask jerk violently in his arms, and for a moment, Tiny thought the man had hit him again. But then… the man dropped. The Gray Mask's face struck the floor beside his shoulder, and he quickly pushed him away.

"What is…" One of the man's eyes was gone, but the back of his head was worse… it was as if something crawled out from inside his skull. Tiny stared at it for a moment before his mind fully understood what had happened.

"Uh…" Tiny touched his face, and he felt something squishy mixed with his own blood. He did not have time to find out what it was, however, as he heard a small wince coming from Guinevere's direction. She was still standing there, holding the tube. Or at least, what remained of it. It was completely split in half, each side bending the other way like a broken flower. Guinevere's fingers were also bleeding where the grip had cracked, her palms deeply chafed.

"This hurts," she muttered before letting go of the tube.

"What…" Tiny whispered, completely forgetting the pain he was feeling.

"What just happened?" Guinevere looked at the Gray Mask, then at the broken tube on the ground, then at her bleeding hands.

"The discharge succeeded," she said, her hands shaking violently.

"But the Vulkan Staff was destroyed."

"M'lady…?"

"Was the iron insufficient? Hm…"

"M'lady… you are scaring me." Somewhere else in the cavern, Lamb had completely overwhelmed the Black Masks. With most of them having no Breath, and only a handful being in the First Breath, Lamb literally just mowed through them with her sword.

"Is this… the last one?" She whispered, pulling out her sword from the Black Mask's chest. She dropped the corpse, and it rolled over the side of the bridge.

"Ay…" she muttered, watching the corpse fall, then looked away before it landed on the ground. The rope bridge slightly wiggled with the sudden change in weight, but Lamb did not lose balance at all. She breathed out, and right when she was about to sheathe her sword, the ropes of the bridge groaned again.

"Hm?" She looked back, and right there, the Red Mask that Enel had previously pushed away was slowly making his way toward her.

"Oh? I thought you would never join us." The Red Mask already had a Script in his hand, which he calmly brushed across his other arm, which had completely twisted the wrong way. But Script crawled under his skin, and his fingers, elbow, and shoulder snapped back into place. Lamb could see all of it, as the man's robe had been torn almost completely open at the chest. She saw his ribs crack and settle, and although blood dripped from his lips, his breathing became less broken with each step. But…

Lamb could hear him wheeze, his Breath consumed.

"Ah…" Lamb muttered.

"Enel really did make this fair for me." The Red Mask tilted his head and stopped walking.

"You think so?" he asked.

"You think we are equal just because I was injured and have lost a lot of Breath?"

"Yes," Lamb said, placing her left hand behind her back.

"If you are scared, then I will fight you with one hand."

"You bark quite a lot for a worthless servant."

"Aw." Lamb lowered her stance.

"Did dear old Valir teach you that one? Probably not… seeing as he is not fucking real."

"You are here in his house, and you dare…?" The Red Mask scoffed.

"I will waste no more time with you, dog." And with those words, the Red Mask rushed at Lamb. Lamb smiled at this, then swung her sword at the rope beside her.

"Hm?!" The Red Mask lost balance, but so did Lamb as the world around them tilted. Both of them fell, with Lamb's hair whipping out from her bandana. And for a moment, the Red Mask looked almost disappointed.

"This is your move?" he said calmly even while falling.

"Yes." Lamb's smile grew wider as she opened her palm. And there, a Script had already been written. [Wind.] She waved her hand, and the air struck her hand violently, causing her shoulder to nearly tear from the force. The force, which hurled her through the empty air straight toward the Red Mask. The Red Mask's eyes widened, and he quickly wrote something and gripped it. Stone crawled across his arm as he pulled it up—but it was already too late. Lamb's sword sliced into his wrist.

The Red Mask's arm continued to turn into stone, however, hardening before the blade could completely take his hand off. Lamb clicked her tongue, then pulled herself closer to the Red Mask before stomping both her feet onto his chest, kicking herself and her sword away from him. The two crashed into the remains of the bridge, both hitting the ground hard as dust and debris surrounded them.

The Red Mask quickly stood up and looked at his hand, and he was sure that if the Script wore off, his hand would also fall off. But before he could begin healing… … Lamb shot out from the cloud of dust, a wide grin plastered on her bleeding face. And while her laughter soon echoed throughout the cavern, Enel followed the crying of children. He moved through the tunnels quickly at first, but slowed down as he began to lose focus in this maze. There were children, a lot of them.

He could hear some of them praying, while most were… groaning and mumbling sounds Enel couldn't quite make out. And he could also hear them calling for their mothers, their voices so weak that Enel felt his fingers curl with every word. He continued to follow the sounds, and soon, he passed cages along the walls. Some were empty, but some had soiled blankets inside. He stopped for a moment, staring at the scratches on the walls… and the dried blood.

Enel gritted his teeth and then rushed forward, only for him to stop as the tunnel curved downward, the air changing. It smelled of herbs first, then blood… and what smelled like wet fur. Fog crawled along the floor, but this was not of the Veil. It curled around his boots as if trying to hold him back. He looked ahead, and the fog was seeping out from a crack in the wall ahead. He did not hesitate. He rushed toward the wall, digging all of his fingers through it.

He felt through it at first, then, without even as much as a groan, pushed the stone aside. The fog wafted across his face, but also quickly dissipated and revealed another wide chamber inside. Lamps burned everywhere, hanging from chains in the ceiling. Their light fell across tables, cages, tools, bowls of dark liquid, and white robes stained brown at the sleeves… the very same robes the people at Valir's Crescent wore. And at the far end of the chamber stood a figure in white robes, their back turned to Enel.

Their robes were similar to Hadd and the other elders of the cult, but what stood out the most was the figure's long, graying hair. The figure slightly turned their face to the side, and although Enel only caught a glimpse, he was sure of it—it was an old woman. She raised both her hands over the stone basin in front of her, not minding Enel at all even though she clearly knew he was there. But Enel also soon ignored her and focused on the cages around her. Cages filled with… children?

"W-what…?" There were children, yes. They clung to the bars with their small hands, eyes swollen from crying, and lips still moving in prayer. Some, however, only resembled children. One boy had patches of gray hide crawling up his neck. A girl's fingers had morphed into claws, and she kept scratching at her own arms… digging through her scales. Another child lay curled in the corner of a cage, his spine protruding from his back… and his eyes almost bulging out from their sockets.

There were two, however, who no longer even had a trace of being children at all. Even feralfolks looked more human. But it did not change the fact that they were all… afraid. The girl turned toward Enel, and she opened her mouth. But what came out… was just a growl. Enel stared at the girl, then slowly turned his focus to the old woman, and his eyes flickered with a crimson glow.

"Are you turning children…" Enel's voice deepened to a growl.

"Are you turning them… into monsters?"