Author's Notes:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgIqecROs5M&feature=youtu.be

Chapter 135

The banquet hall was filled with the low murmur of conversation. Tablefuls of career criminals conversed about any number of topics —some halfway decent, others not so much— over glasses of wine and craft beers, served by the hotel’s busy catering staff in an attempt to keep the guests content as they waited for dinner to arrive late.

It was well past 10:30pm when a polite knock sounded from the set of double doors that resided on the west wall. After a quick glance toward the sound, one of the caterers set the wine bottle they were holding on ice and slung a towel over their shoulder to approach the door in haste, relieved that the dinner carts had finally arrived.

Upon opening the door, however, he was confused to find a lone woman instead. No carts, no chef, just this mystery person wearing a long, brown coat and a dark fedora. The coat’s collar was popped and her head was lowered to keep her face concealed, hands buried in her pockets. The only things visible were the tall, black boots protruding from the beneath the tails of her coat —which was tied closed— and a small patch of bare chest, coloured in pale alabaster and visible through the opening at the top.

The caterer glanced down the hall in both directions before looking down at her, seeing only the top of her hat. “Can I help you?”

“Perhaps it is I who can help you, darling,” the woman replied, keeping her head down. “I’ve been summoned by your employer to provide a bit of… ahem, entertainment? ... while your guests await their dinner—which I am sorry to hear has fallen dreadfully behind schedule.”

“Oh!” The caterer’s mouth dropped open. He was surprised to hear this, but was relieved that help had arrived to distract the guests. He’d already had a knife pulled on him by someone demanding their steak; surely there would be more threats before the night was over. “OK, sure. C’mon in,” he said as he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

“Ah, much appreciated. Thank you.” She strode confidently into the room, her face hidden under the hat and collar, hands still buried in her pockets.

The door was promptly closed as her heels clopped along the hard floor, and the server retrieved the bottle from the ice bucket to make his way to the next table.

As the mysterious figure weaved her way toward the center of the room, the speaker —who sat close to the DJ table— took notice of her presence and stood, glaring inquisitively. “Uh, excuse me…?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, face still obscured.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” the speaker asked, picking his glass up to take a sip.

“I was invited here to entertain your guests,” she replied from under the hat. “Do you... object to this?”

“Why the sneaky get-up?” he asked. “What are you, some kind of stripper?”

Her reply was a soft giggle. “Perhaps.”

Smirking, he swung a finger her way. “Well? Let’s have a look at you; let’s see what they sent us.”

“As you wish,” she said, removing her hands from her pockets to unravel the belt and then flip the coat from her shoulders. It fell to the floor around her feet, revealing a slender body wrapped in a black, skin-tight outfit. The guests had only a moment to take in the blue diamonds on her hips, the milky-white cleavage that sat nearly bursting from the valley of the outfit’s low-cut front, and the sharp collars that projected outwards and hung above her shoulders before she brought one hand up to flip the hat from her head and throw it into the center of an adjacent table.

A number of wolf whistles and thirsty groans came from the surrounding tables as the room beheld the mysterious woman in all her glory: a lovely face, it’s upper half hidden behind a shiny, black mask, a sly, confident smirk covered in jet-black lipstick, bright sapphire eyes that sparkled beneath the chandeliers overhead, and a substantial head of indigo locks, tied tightly behind her head.

“OWW!” one of the scruffier-looking men howled from a corner table, followed by some gruff laughter and a number of rather tasteless catcalls from others.

“Lookit that!”

“Take it off, baby!”

A table directly behind her was pounded by an excited fist, and she turned to find a spiky-haired individual with a number of facial piercings staring shamelessly at her backside, which, to be fair, did look quite amazing wrapped in that smooth, black material.

Knowing this, she glanced around the room, lips pursed. As much as she enjoyed being the center of attention —being ogled like the goddess that she was— she had expected more of an awed hush upon revealing herself.

“Hm,” she mumbled. “I keep forgetting that I’m a bit out of my jurisdiction here. I suppose none of you are aware of my work.” She laced her gloved fingers together and began to saunter between the tables, letting her hips swing as she moved. “You may be disappointed to learn that I am, in fact, not an exotic dancer, nor will you be seeing any more of me than you already are. I apologise if this does not please you; if you are disappointed, or are not interested in learning why I have made myself present here, you may leave now.”

She gestured at the door when she said this, drawing a number of confused glances to it before coming back to her again.

No one got up to leave.

“Tsk, tsk…” She shook her head. “Brave souls, refusing such a generous offer—a decision you will come to regret, I’m sure.”

This generated a few scowls, as well as some whispers between members.

She resumed wandering amongst the tables, glancing around at the guests. Then she raised a finger. “Now, I know I said that I’m not a dancer, but that doesn’t mean I am no fun; do any of you, by chance, enjoy magic?” She paused to look around a silent room. “No? So you’re telling me that something like this wouldn’t tickle your fancy?”

She raised her hands, pointing one at the windows and one at the doors. With a bright flash, both openings were suddenly encased in a thick layer of impenetrable gemstone, transforming the place from a banquet hall to an inescapable fortress in an instant.

As everyone gaped at the new architecture, one man began to clap, but then slowed to a stop when several others gave him a bemused look.

“Impressive, wouldn’t you agree?” the Dark Mistress gloated, smirking at the crowd. “Now then, on with the show.”

“What the hell is this?” the speaker interrupted, having finally lost his patience.

She whirled around to lock eyes with him. “Ah-ah!” She taunted, wagging a finger in the air. “We’ll get to that in a moment, but first: I have a short story to regale you with.” She took a few steps more, rubbing her chin while looking around the place once again. “This was first told many years ago, by one David Foster Wallace, and it goes as follows:

She took a moment to chuckle at herself while everyone else watched in silence. An awkward tension was beginning to grow throughout the place.

“Oh my, so clever,” she giggled, before becoming serious again. “But what does it mean?” she asked, rubbing her hands together as she resumed her stalking. “Simply put, often times the most obvious and important realities can be the hardest to see—or discuss. And why shouldn’t they be? In some cases they surround us at all times —like the air we breathe, or the warmth that comforts us— but they are invisible to the naked eye, and so we tend to take them for granted. And yet... without them, we would perish.”

She paused for a moment, but then continued to amble, her heels clopping on the floor like gunshots in the cavernous silence.

“Some of us have epiphanies in regards to these things, for numerous reasons—perhaps a near-death experience, or a terrible illness.” She spun on her heel to head back the way she came. “In the past year, I’ve had a realisation of my own; a realisation that has made me very aware of a quaint little thing called... ‘time.’

“Sure, we are all aware of it. We know what it is. We set our watches to it, we use it to keep appointments, we understand its structure—we even theorise the possibility of controlling it, despite the fact that we cannot. Yet. Now…” She brought her hands together and squeezed them, sucking on her bottom lip as she took a moment to glance around the room. “Although we are aware of time and are able to measure it, like the fish and the water, most of us have failed to grasp the sheer gravity of it.

“Like water to the fish, time is always there. It surrounds us, it keeps us afloat, its current carries us along. We cannot fight it, and we cannot disobey it; to swim against the current is not possible, and we are likely to destroy ourselves trying. And yet, we seem helpless to understand its importance.” She raised a finger. “I have come to realise the indestructible finality of time in recent months: its ability to take us from conception to the grave, and then to continue on as if we never existed.

“What is done… cannot be undone.

“This is what the average person fails to truly grasp: that time is infinite. We are limited. A moment passed is a moment spent, and it cannot be relived. Once it is behind us, it is gone forever. This is a fact of life —and it should be an obvious one— yet, everyday, I see people wasting it as if there’s an unlimited supply just for them. They take it for granted. They squander it on petty disputes and frivolous pursuits of recognition across social media, not realising that the time they spend with their noses buried in their touch-screen prisons is lost forever in page-after-page of the useless history they concoct, and they go on shuffling about like zombies, sleepwalking to the gallows like brain-dead fools. Instead, they could use it to create something fantastic, to spread joy, to hold someone’s hand to make them feel warm—or to make love to them. Sadly, so much time goes to waste, and it cannot be exchanged for anything greater.”

She paused for a moment to draw a deep breath. Then she scanned the crowd again, her eyes sharpening, jaw clenching.

“This alone causes me frustration, but what irks me much more… is when I see the crooks of society engage in the thievery of other people’s time.” She shook her head, heels clopping along the floor as all eyes watched her every move. “Unfortunately, there are people who endeavour to cut short the precious time of others for their own gain—for money, or power… or simply because they are sick. Or evil. They exploit the power of addiction to manipulate innocent people into being their unwilling patrons, uncaring of the damage they cause to their lives, to their families, or to the community itself.

“And for what? Money to buy a worthless hunk of gasoline-powered metal? A fancy mansion with an indoor pool? Pfft! How about a high-class hotel, a glamorous façade to hide their filthy dealings? Are the lives of countless others worth all this?”

Many brows began to crease when she crossed into this line of reasoning. These people did not appear to appreciate being lectured by some masked harpy.

Nevertheless, she continued, indifferent to their dismay.

“For shame,” she scolded, shaking her head slowly. “It is not an even trade-off; not by a long shot. You destroy the lives of others and rob them of their precious time, for coloured paper stamped with numbers, or a figure on a screen. How selfish!” She stopped in the center of the room, shifting her weight onto one leg as she glanced around at the sea of eyes, all growing with anger. With a click of her tongue, she gave her head another shake.

“Silly. You take one of the most important things in existence from others, and you can’t even keep it for yourself. The days you’ve stolen? They cannot be spent like the sodden cash you’ve attained; no, they simply fall like sand through the hourglass. Wasted and destroyed, it cannot be recovered. And you are no better for it. Such waste sickens me, and the punishment I intend to exact upon you will be swift and severe—for that which you take from others… I can take from you. Is this hypocritical? Perhaps. But consider this: many of the lives you’ve ruined were innocent. Yours, however, are not. And to that, I say: vengeance is bliss.”

She gestured to the barricaded windows and doors as she locked her sapphire gaze onto the beige-skinned girl sitting in the corner, who instinctively broke eye contact and looked down at the table.

“Like this room, you cannot escape time, anymore than your victims could. You can try to run, you can try to hide, but inevitability will find you, one way or another. Time is relentless. It will always give chase; and when you are weary, it will creep up from behind, ruthless... and indifferent. You cannot run forever, because time waits for no one…”

She paused briefly, letting a smirk curl the corner of her mouth.

“…except for me.”

She spun around and pointed a finger at the clock that hung above the stage, the hands of which were both pointed at the eleven. “Now then, if I could bring your attention to the clock; I shall teach you all the value of a minute. Observe the time, please.” She gave them a few seconds to glance at the clock before continuing. “Here’s how this is going to work: by the time that clock strikes the eleventh hour, I shall be alone in this room.” She withdrew her finger and held it next to her temple, mouth open and smiling. “But here’s the kicker: none of you will be leaving.”

The room fell into a vacuous state that could almost make one’s ears implode. The Dark Mistress took a quick glance to her left, and then to the right. “Does everyone understand?”

The question was met with more of the same still, uneasy silence.

She responded with a nod. “Good. Then we can begin.”

With that, her arms shot outward as each hand was enveloped in a flash of light, and she was suddenly armed with two long, translucent sabres, their edges sparkling under the lights that hung above.

The gangsters were not unprepared, however; during the speech they’d readied themselves for action. Many of them sprang to their feet when she made her move, weapons drawn. Without hesitation, they filled the room with the deafening roar of gunfire.

The Mistress responded quickly, ducking her head and crossing the blades above her head. A shimmering dome of flawlessly cut diamond appeared, surrounding her like a cocoon.

Bullets pinged and ricocheted off its surface and scattered throughout the room, piercing walls, curtains, and flesh. Forced to duck down to avoid being wounded, they ceased fire while others scrambled for cover, hollering in fear —and in some cases, agony— while the speaker yelled at his henchmen to hold their fire.

It was then that the glittering dome vanished, and the woman in black charged forward, blades ready. She dove across the nearest table, drilling through the air with her swords outstretched like a razor-sharp cyclone, slicing the table and its occupants into thin parts with little resistance.

She landed just beyond the table, somersaulting across the floor between the next two tables as the one she’d just leapt over collapsed into a heap of splintered wood and flesh, bathed in a mix of blood and wine.

As she rolled up into a sitting position, she swung her swords outward to cut the legs out from under the chairs on either side of her. They fell backwards, dumping their occupants onto the floor, and she quickly buried a blade in each of their chests, using them as crutches to pull herself to her feet again. At the table directly in front of her, a man had kicked his chair out and whirled around to face her, brandishing a handgun. He took aim, but she’d already swung her foot up by then, kicking the weapon to the side just as he fired.

Sent askew, the round sailed across the room toward the DJ table, where it found it’s new home inside the maestro’s temple. His head snapped back under the impact and then he slumped forward, landing on his laptop keyboard, which inadvertently selected a new track as the weight of his head came to rest on the volume button, causing the percentage bar to fill all the way to the top.

The soft plucking of what sounded like a harp filled the spaces between gunfire, building slowly in volume as the slender, black figure mowed its way through the crowd with unnerving efficiency, flinging blood, shreds of clothing and flesh this way and that.

Several people flinched when a loud BWAAAAAAAAA! blared from the room’s sound system, though most were too distracted by the murderous rampage to notice it. After another round of quiet notes, the buzz sounded again, and was eventually accompanied by the crash of cymbals and then a voice shouting a single word:

”SAIL!”

With a beat now established, the song was fully underway, giving a soundtrack to the macabre spectacle that slowly made its way through the room. Hands brandishing guns were lopped off, as were heads—or sometimes only the scalp. Bodies were impaled, legs were swept away, and intestines were spilt. She did not discriminate. She did not favour anyone. It mattered little whether her victim was wearing a suit or ripped jeans and a T-shirt, or if they were a man or woman.

No one was spared, and their signatures of resignation had begun to accumulate on the Dark Mistress’ cheeks and chest; dots of crimson peppered her pale skin as her attacks began to synch unintentionally with the song’s tempo.

🎵This is how I show my love...🎵

That pair of blades flailed mercilessly —seemingly out of control, but in fact hitting their marks with frightening precision— dismantling yet another body amidst the screams of terror and pain. She continued her sabre-dance around the next table, towards the fortified window.

Just as she approached the table of her primary target, a deafening BANG rang out immediately behind her. A spray of metal collided with the back of her head with such force that she was knocked off balance, causing her to stagger forward. Everyone nearby tried to maintain some distance, making sure to keep clear of her blades as she fought to stabilize herself.

To everyone’s horror, the strike hadn’t felled her; in fact, once she regained her foothold, she spun around to face her attacker. The blast had blown the ribbon that tied her hair to pieces, letting those dark, flowing locks fall free. It swung in a wide swath when she turned, surrounding her face and shoulders with long, silky strips of indigo.

Facing her was a man holding a sawed-off twelve-gauge, smoke pouring from its barrel. She cocked her head and scowled through her mask at him, causing his eyes to widen as he watched her use the heel of her hand to wipe away the hair that’d stuck to the blood on her cheek.

Too far away to reach him with her weapon, she swung a blade at the floor. A large, sparkling slab sprang up beneath his feet in response, and he was catapulted into the air, almost to the ceiling. As he sailed across the room, the Mistress raised her arm and flung one of the sabres, which skewered him in mid-air before he dropped again. He crashed through a table when he landed, causing everyone in the area to scatter.

She turned back to face a tattooed punk who’d raised a chair with foolish intentions of trying to attack her from behind. Undaunted, she raised her right arm and a large, convex shield appeared on her forearm, blocking the attack. The chair smashed to bits and fell to the floor, leaving him standing with a broken piece of wood in each hand. She then moved the shield aside and countered with a quick thrust from her left hand, running him through the chest with the sword.

A pistol was pointed at her from the right, to which she responded by quickly raising the shield next to her head. The bullet bounced off and punched a hole in the forehead of a woman to his right; after watching her crumple to the floor, he looked back at the Dark Mistress just in time to see the shield coming at him sideways. Its razor-sharp edge buried itself deep into his face, separating his forehead from the bridge of his nose.

The strike had now lodged the shield in his skull. Unable to pull it free, she raised a leg and drove her boot into his chest, ripping the shield free and letting him fall back over a chair with a gaping trench in his face where his eyes once sat.

Finding the weapon cumbersome, the Mistress decided to rid her self of it by winding up and throwing it like a discus. It sailed through the air like a flying saucer, heading straight for a man in a blue suit, who saw it coming just in time to duck, letting the hapless lady behind him get beheaded by it instead.

He stood slowly, looking over his shoulder to watch the elegantly-dressed body crumple to the floor. Then he turned to face the Mistress again, only to find her blade rocketing toward him. It buried itself in his left eye, the point bursting from the back of his head as the sabre passed through, stopping only when the hilt hit his face.

Now disarmed, the Dark Mistress found herself in need of a new weapon, so she held her right hand above her head to conjure one.

Blinding light pierced the air above her, its beam long and narrow. It subsided quickly, and in her hand was a long, straight staff that she held in the center. Each end consisted of a blade much like the sabres she’d been using before, however these were attached end-to-end by the handles. The weapon was longer than she was tall, and she showcased it by bringing it down and twirling it around like a propeller, much like a certain red-faced character that she remembered seeing in that one space film as a child.

She held it behind her back and paused, smirking as she looked around at the crowd, who stood back and watched with faces filled with terror.

Without warning, the masked woman charged Gage’s table with the six-foot blade poised for action. Using both hands, she whirled it around like a walking blender, hacking the beige-skinned girl’s tablemates to pieces. Gage’s chair faced the corner behind her, and with nowhere to run, she panicked, froze and closed her eyes, shielding her face with her forearms as she waited for the end, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful.

To her surprise however, the sound of screams, falling bodies and that blade whipping through the air seemed to be moving away. Now hearing only the song as it blared from the speakers, Gage cautiously opened her eyes to look, and was surprised to see the murderous spectre continuing on in the other direction, cutting a bloody path though the crowd as she went.

She released the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding, unsure if she should allow herself the luxury of feeling relief. Had she been cut and not realised it? Looking down, Gage ran her hands around her front. When no wounds were found, she looked up at the Mistress again, brows furrowed.

Why had she been spared?

Confused, she watched with a churning stomach as more of her comrades became corpses, dismembered by this violent horror film villain—deadly, cold, and indestructible. Then a thought suddenly struck the young survivor: this wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a being like this…

🎶Blame it on my ADD, baby!🎶

The song chugged forward as the Mistress ploughed through to the far end of the room, butchering everything in her path. None of these people expected to get their comeuppance like this, and not on this night—and certainly not with such an unexpectedly haunting melody filling their ears. Not one of these people would have suspected it’d become the sound of their doom, the anthem of their demise, accompanying them to the grave before the night was through.

Tables, chairs and humans alike were sliced to bits, their blood flinging from the tips of that long blade, warming the masked warrior’s face as it sprinkled her skin. With a slight gap carved out, she paused when she noticed a slamming sound across the room, coming from the west wall. A lone man in a suit was swinging a chair at the diamond barrier that covered the doors in a desperate attempt to break free.

The Dark Mistress shook her head and rolled her eyes. Deciding to put an end to his panic, she hoisted the weapon above her head, wound her arm up and then launched it across the room like a spear. It hit its mark dead center of his back, impaling him.

He immediately dropped the chair and looked down at himself, stunned by the sight of three feet worth of blade protruding from his chest. He turned to face the rest of room, mouth hanging open as he met the eyes of his assailant. He convulsed suddenly, and after a stream of blood poured from his mouth, collapsed onto his side.

With a stern expression, the Mistress turned her attention back to the remaining group, which had mostly gathered in the far corner, by the north wall. They exchanged glances with her for a moment, and then watched in terror as she raised her fists in front of her face.

With a flash like that of a camera, the gloved knuckles of the Mistress each found themselves equipped with a trio of twelve-inch claws—translucent, blue, and sparkling with ominous beauty.

Needless to say, the crowd looked unsettled by this, but they had little time to imagine what she had in store for them before she charged, stepping up onto a chair and then a tabletop, which she sprinted across before diving headlong into the group, claws first.

A roar of panicked screams broke out as she slashed and sliced about, disfiguring, dismembering, removing terrified faces with her nimble new weapons. Individuals tried to slip away to no avail; a kicked chair would trip them up, and then they would suffer the agony of either three or six blades buried in their chest or abdomen, or worse yet, having their throats gashed open, after which they would bleed out and expire rather quickly.

After driving a high-heel into the jaw of one last tattooed punk, followed by a punch to his underarm to pierce his heart and lungs, she yanked the claws free and had a look around as her latest victim collapsed to the floor.

A couple of strays were making their way toward the door, thinking in error that they could make an exit, slipping and stumbling along the bloody floor as they went. Only one person remained in the north corner: a woman, wearing a wrinkled miniskirt that hung from her bony frame, held up by an asymmetrical set of phony breasts. A pair of wide, thickly-lined eyes stared out from beneath her frizzy, two decades out-of-style hairdo.

The Mistress fixed her gaze on the petrified hooker, her face streaked with gleaming crimson. Holding the claws at her sides, she took an imposing stride towards the woman, who staggered backwards until she bumped into the table behind her, her whimpers of terror inaudible under the sound of piano that now filled the room.

🎵La, la-la, la-la... la, la-la, la-la OH!🎵

Shaking her head frantically, the woman raised a hand in defense, her pleas for mercy lost in a mess of stuttering and cries.

“We shall see who the pig is,” the Mistress barked as she approached swiftly. “Let me hear you squeal!”

The woman leaned back, holding her hand out. “No… no! Please!”

Her blubbering went ignored by the masked killer, who raised her right hand and swung her claws across to the left. They passed through the woman’s forearm like warm butter, and her hand fell to the floor as the Mistress followed through with the attack, spinning in a full circle and bringing her foot up on the way around to strike the hooker across the face with her heel.

”SAIL!”

The woman spun around after the impact and found herself sprawled across the table, blood leaking from her stump onto the tablecloth.

The Dark Mistress wasted no time in continuing the assault. She quickly reached up and raked the claws down the woman’s back from neck to tailbone, splitting her skin all the way down.

The escort arched and threw in head back, letting out a raspy screech as unbearable pain rang through her body.

Her attacker showed little remorse, however. She grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to plant a hard backhand across her face; she stumbled back and fell to her knees, but was stopped from falling to the floor by the Mistress, who’d caught her by the shoulder and was now holding her in place.

”SAIL!”

She leaned close, putting her masked and blood-splattered face close to her victim.

“That… ‘piggy’… has been a dear friend of mine since we were children,” the Mistress explained on a low tone. “Making light of her not being murdered with her family —and then insulting her appearance— has earned you a special place in hell, darling.”

🎶Sail with me, into the da-ark...🎶

Panting heavily, the prostitute’s eyes widened when she saw the masked woman wind her arm back. The Dark Mistress then delivered a mighty uppercut to the woman’s chin. Her body stiffened and shook when the tips of the three claws protruded from the top of her head, passing just behind those staring eyes as they glazed over, draining rapidly of what little life remained.

”SAIL!”

With a scowl on her face, the Mistress released the woman’s shoulder, letting her weight hang from the claws that threaded through her head. The blades were too sharp to support her weight, however, and they began to slip forward until they broke through her face, leaving behind three ruts that ran from chin to forehead as she fell to the floor, dead as dead can be.

The masked vigilante stood. There were only two gang members left, not including her primary target. They were sure to keep their distance, though; whenever she moved, they would move in the opposite direction. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that their attempts to evade her were futile—nothing more than a sad waste of time.

After an exasperated sigh, she wound her right arm up and, after a quick flash, flung a dagger-like projectile at one of the remaining men. It happened too fast for him to react, and before he knew it, the spike had buried itself in his forehead. Stunned by this, the last survivor watched in shock as his associate crumpled to the ground, wasting valuable seconds that the Mistress used to conjure up a second projectile, which ended up buried in his own temple an instant later.

The room was empty now, other than Gage and the Mistress herself.

Crouched behind a chair, the beige-skinned girl watched helplessly, her racing heart stricken with terror as the masked woman glanced around the room for a moment, admiring her handywork. There were bodies, limbs and entrails everywhere. There were smashed tables, broken chairs, torn table cloths and shattered dishes strewn about.

And there was blood. Everywhere. An ocean of it, in fact, covering the floor in a layer of slippery, crimson warmth, soaked into everything.

After taking in the carnage, the women both looked up at one another.

Gage had locked eyes with the Mistress a second or two sooner, giving her enough time to take in the state of her appearance: the black material of her suit glistened with a red hue, and her face and chest were obscured, her formerly ivory-white skin completely covered in crimson. Her hair was matted and sticky; blood dripped from the ends of her locks, nose and chin, and from the tips of her claws.

Just as Gage was becoming hypnotised by the red droplets, falling softly to the ground as the song faded into silence, her heart froze like ice when the Mistress’ eyes suddenly rose to meet hers. Such a stare might have been the most frightening thing the young woman had ever witnessed; those sapphire eyes seemed to bore a hole directly into her very existence, their whites the only things not covered in blood. As such, they stood out from beneath that mask as though they were glowing.

After a tense moment, the Dark Mistress pursed her lips and blew, spraying the drops of blood that hung from her nose before slowly turning to glance at the clock, prompting Gage to follow suit.

It was 11:00pm.

With a bloody smirk, she returned her eyes to her frightened prey. “Hm… I suppose I’m not completely alone, am I? After all, you’re still standing.”

Gage stared back in silence for a moment, forcing a scrap of courage to the surface to speak. “W-why me?” she asked, jaw trembling. “Why didn’t you kill me too?”

“An excellent question,” the Mistress replied, raising a finger—which was accompanied by those bloody claws. “I have been instructed to keep you in one piece for the time being, as the others would like to have a little chat with you. Nevertheless, I think I’ll first indulge myself a little bit, of course.”

Gage straightened up slightly, brows furrowed. “How?”

“You and I are going to have ourselves a little dance.”

That beige tone quickly drained from Gage’s face. “Dance?”

“Not to worry, darling,” the Mistress said. “I’m not a complete monster; I am willing to, at the very least, give you a fighting chance.” She held her fists up, and the claws suddenly vanished.

Gage gave a sideways look and then shook her head. “Now… j-just wait a minute…”

“Oh, come now, it’ll be fun!” The Mistress giggled as she made her way around the left side of the table.

“No!” The beige-skinned girl shuffled around to the right, keeping herself directly across from her adversary. “I don’t wanna fight you! I’ll talk to your people, but I’m not gonna—“

“I’m afraid you do not have a choice, my dear,” the masked woman said as she advanced further, prompting Gage to continue evading her.

They stopped again; caught in a stalemate, they stared across at one another—Gage’s expression one of apprehension, her stalker’s one of exuberance. After a short face-off, the Dark Mistress poised herself to head the opposite direction, and Gage began to retreat as expected. This prompted the masked woman to make her move, and she stepped up onto the adjacent chair to give chase.

Unexpectedly, Gage seized the opportunity to gain the upper hand; she’d faked her retreat, figuring that her enemy would have to go over the chair in order to follow her. The ploy worked, and she quickly darted back to kick another chair towards the Mistress as she stepped down, causing her to adjust her descent to avoid tripping herself.

She landed somewhat awkwardly and rolled her foot—an injury that would put an ordinary person at a severe disadvantage. She stumbled to her left, unhurt, but having to catch her balance by leaning on the adjacent table.

When she turned to see where Gage was, she found the girl charging full speed, shoulder first. Stepping back, she avoided the attack and swung a right hook, but again, Gage was slicker than expected; she caught the Mistress’ forearm and yanked it over her shoulder, hip-tossing the masked woman onto the table.

The Mistress’ bloody frame slammed onto the table, face up. Gage wasted no time in bearing down on her, hammering her throat and face with a closed fist. This had no effect, much to Gage’s dismay, and the masked woman brought her knee up and drove it into her opponent’s forehead.

Grunting noisily, Gage turned and staggered away, clutching her face with blood-smeared hands as the Mistress reached toward the floor, slipped off and cart-wheeled from the table to pursue the other girl.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Gage took her hands from her face in time to see a black fist rushing towards her. She turned to sidestep the jab and countered with a backhand—which was the only attack she could manage from this position.

Anticipating this, the Mistress ducked and spun on her heel; her other foot swung up, and Gage, having nowhere to retreat with a table close behind, took a bloody, black high-heel to the chin and was knocked straight off her feet. She flipped over backwards, landing on the table with her legs before slipping off to the floor, head first, with a heavy thud.

She paused after rising to her hands and knees, teeth gritted as her face and neck throbbed with pain. Her clothes had become smeared with blood, and although this disgusted her, she was more worried about the Mistress’ whereabouts.

Wincing, she forced herself to look around. Her search wasn’t long; the masked girl was standing back, watching, waiting for her to return to her feet. Looking at the floor again, she gave her head a shake, wishing for anything but to continue this hopeless fight.

With a sigh, she rose to one knee, and then grasped the edge of the table to pull herself up.

The Mistress waved her over. “Again!”

Gage hung her head and exhaled. Then, after steeling herself, she drew a breath and stepped away from the table, leaving its protective support behind. Being careful not to slip, she approached the masked girl and brought her left foot up for a kick, followed by a hard jab with her right.

The Mistress countered rather casually, raising her leg to kick Gage’s foot back down and then throwing a punch of her own, which met the knuckles of her adversary with a dull thud.

Gage barely had time to yelp and grab her fist when a second jab from the Mistress found its mark on her throat, causing her to stagger back and cough violently. She doubled over, trying to catch her breath; this was a mistake, she soon learned, as the Dark Mistress used the opportunity to grab her hair and yank her forward.

Grabbing those bloody, gloved hands, Gage let out a shriek as she was swung around in a circle before being flung into a chair. She stumbled over it, falling onto her hands and face on the blood-soaked floor as the chair clattered over behind her, entangled in her legs.

Groaning, she slowly turned over, her body aching. After kicking the chair off, she sat up to face the Mistress, who was patiently standing by, waiting for the next round. Drawing a deep breath, Gage steeled herself and, feeling her clothes becoming soaked in blood from beneath her, stood once again, slowly.

The pair stood for a moment and watched each other, after which the Dark Mistress cocked her head.

“You look weary.”

Gage sneered and looked down at herself. She was about to bring her hand up to touch her bottom lip, which was stinging profusely —she was pretty sure it’d been split wide open—but she stopped, noticing that her hand was covered with blood. She looked back at the Mistress and exhaled.

“Hm. I am surprised, actually,” the masked woman said, taking a step closer as she rubbed her hands together, noticing how sticky they’d become. “I must commend you. You did better than expected; you showed cleverness, resourcefulness and bravery—it’s too bad you won’t use those traits for good, rather than murdering an innocent family.”

Gage froze, her eyes locked with the blue irises of her adversary.

“Yes. I know what you’ve done,” the Mistress said. “It is precisely why I’m here.”

The beige girl watched her for a moment, and then, looking defeated, lowered her head and closed her eyes.

The Mistress dipped her head to look at the other girl’s face. “I take it you no longer wish to spar with me?”

After a pause, Gage slowly looked up and shook her head.

The Mistress stuck her nose in the air. “As you wish.”

And with that, she quickly raised one hand, materialised a sword and slashed Gage’s left knee with it, causing her to shriek with pain as she dropped to the floor.