Archive of Our Own

The nightly air of New Meridian is crisp, the sounds of cars running along the wet asphalt echoes throughout the city. Buildings are alight with the nightlife, music, glasses chiming, people chattering, and the occasional underground match all fill the city with life. On a regular evening like this one, however, something monumental was taking place just outside of the city... 

In the suburbs, just off Cedarwood Boulevard where the children go to school, and overlooking the city park; there is a 5,000 acre estate. Standing an imposing 140 feet tall and consisting of many rooms--this beautiful Ottoman-styled mansion belongs to someone important. That someone would happen to be the famous songstress of the premiere New Meridian nightclub, Eliza. No one but her, Albus, and Horace have been inside. Rumors about the locals of New Meridian include dungeons, screaming heard at night, and the occasional visitor… Tonight, there would be another visitor to this home--an unexpected one… And they were right across the street from the mansion gates.

Near the city park next to Eliza’s estate, there is a parked car; a vermilion 1960 Ford Thunderbird--it’s lights are out. Two men sit in the dark car, regarding the mansion with differing plans. Irvin, a private investigator, holds a notebook in one hand; a pen twiddling idly in the other. He finishes writing another note, and looks toward the ominous gates of Eliza’s mansion. His mind is racing with probable thoughts of infiltration--many possibilities, but few solutions. He writes down another note, and feels pressure beside him. That pressure is the man he brought along, Beowulf, the renowned wrestling champion of the NMO.

The champ’s been restless ever since he got into Irvin’s car back at Yu-Wan's restaurant. His eyes have been fixed on the mansion since the duo arrived not two hours ago. He’s not wearing his normal gear, and has opted for a dark suit-jacket with dress pants--he doesn’t want to be noticed. Contrasting to Irvin's, his mind is ablaze with worry, and anticipation. Hands are on the edge of the door, and he has a disgruntled look on his face.

“Knock it off, Beowulf, doing that’s not going to make it go any faster..” Irvin jolts, continuing to write down notes.

“We’ve been sitting here for two hours though! Why haven’t we just gone in already!?” Beowulf snaps back, taking his hands off the door and folding them.

“Because I don’t feel like rushin’ in head-first and letting Eliza know that we’re here. Besides, this is all part of the plan.”

“Yeah, about that… I don’t think waiting for her to ‘leave’ for a performance is something that’s going to happen. Eliza has to know we’re here!”

“Need I remind you that her show was explicitly advertised all over New Meridian this evening? She’s going to sing her heart out--and while she does we can get into her house. We just have to--”

“We need to get her out of there! She’s suffered enough!” Beowulf slams a hand on the dash.

“Calm yourself, Wolf-man, we’ll get there soon. There’s no security besides those two bodyguards of hers--and they’ll be in attendance at the club beside her. You can go in and get her then. Please, just… be patient.”

“Grr… It still doesn't make any sense; why would Eliza kidnap Ms. Fortune? They have no connections, and Eliza doesn’t take prisoners if rumors are to be believed.”

“It puzzles me too, the only possible leads I have on it are that Fortune has a price on her head; but Eliza has no use for money. There could also be the possibility of the Life Gem… She could be using Fortune as a--”

“D-Don’t make me think about that! I’m already scared enough for the girl and you have to bring up the one thing I don’t want to hear! I swear to god… When I get my hands on that sadistic temptress I’ll..!”

“Hey! Easy… Do I need to remind you about what happened at Yu Wan’s? Even Minette joined up with us in an attempt to hold you down when you heard the news; you were going to wreck that entire restaurant! You need to think clearly--if things go wrong in this mission, it could be bedlam. You and I both know what Eliza is capable of.”

“Damn it… You’re right, I hate that you’re right; but, you’re right. Fine, we’ll do it your way. How long until she leaves?”

“Eliza usually leaves for her shows in a modified, cadillac limousine, ruby-colored, and adorned with a hood ornament depicting an owl. It’s a gaudy car, and it’s hard to miss… It should be coming out in t-minus 4 minutes if my previous two days of stakeout are correct.”

Beowulf grunts, “Sorry, Irvin, I…”

“I know, I know. Just trust me on this, be patient. Wait for the opening.”

The two men watch patiently from the thunderbird as the mansion looms in the distance. The idling of the car is the only noise either of them can hear amidst the palpable tension of this stakeout. Beowulf’s eyes remain glued on a temple-like structure on the far west-side of the estate; according to Irvin, that’s where the limo has been coming from. He knows that there are people in there that need help; however, every second that passes is another chance potentially wasted at saving their lives. Beowulf shudders internally at what potential horrors lie within…

Horrors that he still can’t face until Irvin gives the go ahead; time marches onward like a lamb to the slaughter. Seconds turn into minutes; which turn to half hours; which turn to a full hour--it feels like insanity. Each passing of the minute hand on his watch marks another drop of sweat from Irvin’s forehead. Each minute that passes without any sign of the limo progressively cause the sturdy wrestler to shake with frustration and anxiety. The clock hands are daggers which continue to poke at his soul--egging him further to making a rash decision. Irvin isn’t doing any better, he keeps checking his notes, and is becoming increasingly worried that the limo isn’t showing. Time still ticks forward, something may happen within the empty promise of future--or will it? Neither man knows for sure…

Beowulf knows one thing for sure, it’s been almost three hours since they’ve gotten here, the limo was supposed to show one hour ago, and that the image of Eliza torturing Ms. Fortune is replaying like a broken cassette in his brain… Beowulf has waited for long enough that he swears he hears the miniature gears within Irvin’s watch grind against one another while the minutes pass on. The ticking picks at the man’s brain; 1 second… 2 seconds… A minute… Ten minutes… Fifteen minutes… Thirty-Fi-- Beowulf can take it no longer, and he opens the car door--much to the surprise and fear of Irvin.

“What the hell are you doing!? Get back in the car before you’re seen!”

“Screw this, Irvin. She knows we’re here, I’m not about to sit here and wait for something that’s not going to happen..” Beowulf walks onward towards the gates.

“Beowulf it’s dangerous! Get back here right now! This could cause this entire operation to fall apart, Beowulf! Beowulf!! …”

Irvin’s calls for his associate fall on deaf ears, Beowulf is trotting towards the mansion gates… Sitting in the car with his pen in his mouth, Irvin grits his teeth in panic and frustration. This was supposed to be a simple operation; wait for Eliza to leave, get in, grab Fortune, and get out. This is unprecedented, why wasn’t Eliza coming out? Every note and observation had pointed to that exact time; and on the night they needed it most--it wasn’t happening. He could see Beowulf’s frustration, but couldn’t understand why he was going alone into the jaws of the beast for a common thief. Why go through all this trouble?

Did he want the Life Gem? Did Eliza kill one of his friends? Did Fortune have some info on the ongoing NMO corruption scandal? Irvin’s thoughts flailed about in the raging sea that was his mind. In the eye of the storm, he could only see one thing--Beowulf, heading into certain peril. Irvin reached into his pocket and took out a blocky, retro design cell phone, he took one last look at Beowulf and muttered, “I’m gonna have to call in favors for this one… Be safe, buddy, don’t be reckless....” Irvin listens to the dial tone ring away, and watches the bulky man go through the gates--disappearing into the night…

***

Surprisingly, Eliza knew a lot when it came to floral design. Beowulf was impressed when he walked through the estate; botany of different types formed a crowd of many faces. The sun’s pale sister only accentuated their beauty as they flowed in the nightly breeze. Amidst the flowers, Beowulf stuck out like a toothbrush in a candy isle; shoes clacking along the sandstone path. When he passed a group of sunflowers, Beowulf thought about his approach.

Was he in the wrong for ditching Irvin? Should he have waited a little bit longer? Was Eliza even in her home? The lack of information ate away at his conscience, but it gnawed at something greater; and for that--he had chosen to go in headfirst.

Despite the brashness of this decision, nothing had happened yet. Beowulf thought for sure that Horace and Albus were at least out on patrol… Though, according to Irvin, no one was there. Maybe that would change when he got into the house? If worse came to worse… Beowulf clenched his fist at the thought, it wouldn’t--he wouldn’t let it happen! Thought provoked again, the wrestler jogged towards what he thought was a terrace. His footsteps were louder, but that didn’t worry him. Coming closer to the terrace, Beowulf noticed something.

The closer he got to Eliza’s mansion, the more red pigment of flowers around him became. It went from sunflowers, birdweeds, tulips, buttercups, and oleanders to; spider lilies, roses, begonias, peonies, and zinnias. Eventually, the bite-sized dense jungle became positively red. While it was probably a design choice, it unnerved Beowulf--the rumors around the wrestlers came crawling back: the ‘Bloody Songstress of New Meridian’.

Stowing his fear away, he leapt onto the terrace with incredible deft, and rolled behind a potted cactus--hoping not to arouse suspicion. Looking through a hole in the cactus, he spied no one through the glass window that overlooked the terrace. He looks around, and finds that the scenery around the terrace is also Ottoman-styled. The window’s shape is vaguely reminiscent of a Taj door, there are ceramic patterns outlining the upper walls, and there are bannisters that wave in the night breeze. Despite all of the design, there was absolutely no security.

It worked for Beowulf; he slowly crept towards the door within the window and tried the handle. It opened with one stroke; unlocked. He was in, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been invited… Regardless, he moved past the entry and surveyed the home itself. The area near the terrace door was something of a lounge--no doubt one of many in this vast palace--four leather chairs overlooked a fireplace with a portrait of someone Beowulf didn’t know. Whoever they were, they were wearing a turban. To his left was a mini-bar, four champagne glasses were lined up neatly. Perhaps on some days, Eliza liked to share in the company of her servants while watching the sunset.

Purpose of the room aside, Beowulf noticed something that he hadn’t before: doors, two of them. They stood equidistant from the fireplace, one to the right, and one to the left. Beowulf decided to weigh options, and peeked out the door to the right. He gazed upon the empty hallway, there wasn’t much to look out other than darkness. Quickly he gently shut the door and headed to the left one, poking his head out of the doorway like a bird looking to be early. This hallway was illuminated (slightly), but had a dead end; a stairwell probably leading up to a spire room. He didn’t want to admit it--but going into the darkness was probably the right way to go.

For all he knew, that hallway could have traps, and the darkness was less likely to have them. It was one of the first lessons mama had taught him; people always like to take the easy way out--and regret it later. Beowulf--remembering the advice--decided to head into the pitch-black hallway to the right. He meanders about the door for a minute, takes a deep breath, and then heads onward into the unknown.

In the darkness, one of the five senses had given way, but the other four helped the wrestler maneuver silently through the hall. He had no idea where he was going, but it wasn’t a dead end; therefore, it had to have led somewhere. Beowulf rounded what he thought was a bend, moonlight crept in from the windows that lined what looked like another hallway that led further in. At the end of it was another door, Beowulf could make out the words; “Foyer Hall” in gold plated letters.

If there was anywhere in a mansion where one could grasp direction, it was the foyer. Beowulf still had to remain silent, but he nonetheless elated by his luck. Gleefully, he walked to the door and opened it a crack--peeking out for the third time this evening. What awaited his eyes contrasted what awaited his gut. Beowulf’s mouth went agape when he saw what was behind the door. It was called the foyer, however, it looked more like a palace hall.

It was spacious--absurdly so. Beowulf could swear that this hall must’ve connected to the rest of the mansion. The first thing that caught his eye was how high up the ceiling was, he could stack three of himself on top of one another and still not meet the height. Every twenty feet stood a pair of pillars extending to it, between the gaps in the ceiling that the pillars created, golden chandeliers dangled--illuminated with red candles. Looking forward, Beowulf could see that between each pillar stood a pair of statues; all of them depicted the same thing: cats. In what looked to be the center of the foyer hall stood a large fountain; it was a sight to behold. Golden fish spat out water into awaiting silver cats, a giant panther’s face stared back at him from the front side of the fountain--spitting out water into the pool below. Atop the fountain, Beowulf recognized what looked to be a statue depicting Eliza. She was pouring water out of a chalice into a lotus below her.

“Gaudy is this woman’s middle name…” Beowulf thought to himself as he traveled forward. “How much money did this all cost? How long did it take to build this place even? Whoever the contractor was, they must’ve had a field day…” The wrestler was in astonishment at how beautiful this place looked; beautiful and well kept, he could see his own reflection in the spotless marble floors. Although--like the master of this mansion--appearances can be deceiving, Beowulf kept his guard while he walked towards the center.

The fountain looked gaudier up close, everything was polished and reflective… “She probably works those two to the bone… Now, where can I find a directory? I hope this place isn’t just a maze...” Thinking to himself, Beowulf circled around the fountain in search of anything that looked like a guide--only to come up empty handed. However, on his trip he did notice that a set of double doors was at the end of the foyer. They were almost to the ceiling in terms of height, and bright red. “Well, if that doesn’t just scream: Eliza’s this way! Might as well…”

The log-built man made his way over to the doors almost three times his size. They were scarlet, absolutely covered in chiseled hieroglyphs, and had two golden cats as handles. Beowulf latched onto one and heaved, he didn’t want to waste time looking about. Sounding like a pelican squawking, the door flung open. Instead of hallways; Beowulf was greeted with a staircase. It was made of sandstone, covered in red and gold carpeting. Beowulf could see light coming from the top of the stairs…

When he ascended, he was once again humbled, but not in a good way. In front of him stood two staircases leading upward; however, in between them there was a statue of a giant, round-bellied crocodile. Where its stomach should’ve been, there was instead a map. It was illuminated in soft burgundy light and had every room of the mansion mapped upon it. Upon seeing the Crocodile’s face, the wrestler winced a little bit; the statue was positioned in such a way that it was looking right at him. It’s eyes were an unblinking harsh emerald.

“Jesus… This mansion looks normal, but Eliza… Goddamnit, if she’s an interior designer, then she’s also the master of taking normal things and making them scary…” Beowulf thought to himself while he inspected the map, “Now if I were a diva, preparing for my appearance… “No, screw that. She knows I’m here. She’s probably waiting for me somewhere… But where? Hmm, if I were a diva villain, where would I be?”

Observation may have not been his forte, but he did know how to read a map. And according to this one, the biggest room was called, “The Bath of Tefnut”. Judging by how it was also surrounded by advanced symbols it must’ve held great importance. Following this notion, the biggest room held the baddest woman. He thought about it for a moment, “I heard she’s a diva…  Though, there might be something more to her--especially in the way Irvin kept calling my name. Does he know something about her I don’t? How was she able to capture Nadia? She’d overwhelm those two bodyguards of hers easily… I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”

Feeling the familiar gnawing at his conscience that had driven him to go it alone in the first place, Beowulf marched up the right staircase; the map said that the Bath was up on the third floor, and past some place called: “Set’s Gallery”. Beowulf couldn’t care less about the naming schematic; he was fully convinced Eliza knew of his presence, and decided to drop the silent act. He ran up the stairs, and was met with another hallway that split into a plus. According to the map, Set’s Gallery was up another floor, two doors straight, one door left, another door straight, and through the ‘Ballroom’.

Once he made it to the intersection Beowulf looked for stairs; he found some to the right, and ascended quickly. He wasn’t met with a door this time, rather, railings with hieroglyphs printed all over them. Beowulf swung himself over the railing and ran through another door. Past entry, he was greeted with another hallway, and what appeared to be entrances to walk-in bathrooms. Portraits of cats, crocodiles, and hawks lined the walls. Of note, the hawk one, looked quite divine compared to the rest. Not getting caught up in the art, Beowulf opened the door and proceeded into the next hall; moonlight shone through the windows.

Moving at a brisk pace, Beowulf could see the outside of the estate through the glass; what he saw, baffled him. There, sitting parked with lights out was the ruby limousine that Irvin had talked about earlier. It wasn’t being kept idle either, it was completely off. Eliza definitely knew that the two men had come here on intention of breaking into her home. This was proof, and it only made Beowulf angrier at himself for not coming in sooner. His gut tore at him, and he darted down the hall and thrust open the door.

This time, he was met with a plus intersection again, but the floor was entirely made of glass. Below him, Beowulf could see what looked to be a banquet hall. There was a very long table set neatly with champagne glasses, floral arrangements, and utensils--as if someone was inviting guests over for dinner.  “At this point, she’s just messing with me… Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, how could you? Fool me three times… You’re officially that woman--a sadistic one at that…” Beowulf thought angrily and headed into the door to the left.

This door led to something Beowulf wasn’t expecting; a bridge. It was outfitted with candlesticks and made with sandstone. Peering over the bridge, Beowulf saw a river and some waterfalls below--he surmised it must’ve connected to the baths. There were window panes up above, stretched in an arch; the ivory shining down on the sandstone. The sound of running water relaxed the wrestler temporarily, but he knew that he had to press on. Instead of a door at the end of the bridge, he found drapes, he lifted them up and was marveled by what he saw.

The ‘Ballroom’ as it was referred to on the map, was absolutely massive. It was modern-styled, with a stage in the center, many set tables with luxury chairs, flower pots filled with red lilies, a fully stocked bar, a kitchen, and a gigantic chandelier hanging from above. Beowulf was in pure awe at how finely this room was kept, but his eyes were on the prize--namely, a large leather-coated door at the other end. He ran to it, and after many doors--he knew he was in the right place.

This must’ve been Set’s Gallery… And the gallery part was right, pictures were hung on the walls, many pillars made of sandstone stood around, and the entire floor was covered in various murals. Beowulf was unnerved when one of these murals happened to be of a man who stabbed himself in the chest to give his heart to what looked like a jackal. Moving forward, Beowulf noticed that--as its name implied--there were many pictures lining the walls. Most of them were various portraits of Eliza, some were of her bodyguards, and a couple depicted landscapes. Beowulf was caught up enough in the art that he almost didn’t notice a square pillar right in front of him. He stopped himself before he hit it, and gazed up, a tall portrait of Eliza sitting on top of a piano. Beowulf recoiled because of the details of the painting, whoever the artist was, they had gone to great lengths to make it as detailed as possible.

It was almost lifelike, Beowulf would’ve mistaken that pillar for her throne if he didn’t see the golden picture frame around it. The body and the piano had been shaded in such a way that it matched the light of the room. And Eliza’s face was almost too real, her seductive cerulean eyes stared directly at the hapless intruder. “G-God… Who made this? This is like, serial-killer shit level of detail…” Beowulf recoiled, and moved sideways.

He poked his head around the pillar, and moved onward further into the gallery. Several display cases of weapons could be viewed. Beowulf was astonished at the variety that Eliza had amassed, and was also terrified to note that they had all been sorted; alphabetically, by country, time period, and use. Guns, swords, clubs, axes, torture devices, and strangely bottles of poison were all present. They were all neatly sealed in glass, not a speck of dust on them, all in pristine condition--perhaps Eliza restored things on her time off?

If she did, she also did taxidermy, the next display cases contained animals. It started out with normal animals of middle-eastern origin, but as he went further, the oddity increased. He saw the skeleton of what looked to be an octopus, but it had two human shaped legs, multiple eyes, and an extendable ribcage. Beowulf tried to decipher what the nameplate said, but it was in a foreign language--most likely Arabic. He was puzzled to see another skeleton, this one looked to be of a bird-- but it had many weird appendages sticking out of it’s back, it looked like a dinosaur. It’s ribcage also extended out, and it’s mouth was just a hole consisting of a spiky chasm. Beowulf looked for the nameplate, this one was in another language than the first one. It looked vaguely like Yu Wan’s writing…

Forget the nameplates, what were these things? Their physiology made utter nonsense. The next one in line had three heads, and one skull bulging out of the rib cage. Beowulf noticed that each one of these things had something in common; extendable rib cages. But, for what reason? Come to think of it… The next one Beowulf saw bore an uncanny resemblance to the snake that that zombie girl carried around… “What was her name...  Squelch? Squiggy…? Shaggy? No… Why isn’t it coming to me? Wait, I know her companion’s name is Leviathan… Oh. Oh no, please tell me this isn’t--”

Beowulf stared madingley at the nameplate to check if his worst fear was realized, it wasn’t. The name was in English, and read: “TIDARIATHAN” in big bold letters. The skeleton too had the same extending rib cage. While Beowulf was grateful that one fear hadn’t been realized, he was horrified at what this was implying… Eliza collected these “companions” from other users and most likely killed them--having them displayed here as grizzly war trophies. This was confirmed when he made it to the end of the gallery, and saw an infographic about the various things Eliza had on display. The part that he had just been in read: ‘PARASITES’.

Another two fears crept into his mind when he read that phrase, and he started to sweat. “I-If she kills parasites and collects them here… How powerful is that woman, really? W-wait! Does that mean that she wouldn’t be above stuffing Nadia once she’s…? That... “ Beowulf felt his blood pressure rise; anger built as he thought. “How sadistic can a person really be..? Screw that, I can’t let--I won’t! I won’t let Nadia end up the same way! If that smug, uppity, bitch thinks that she can step over everyone in her path and treat everyone as her plaything--she’s got another thing coming. Beowulf. Hang in there… Nadia, I’m coming, and I’ll make her pay!.”

Beowulf rounded the next pillar and found a staircase accompanied by a large set of double doors. The sign above had a mural depicting a beautiful bathhouse, occupied by a harem. Carefully, the man on a mission opened the double doors; an audible creek emanated from the gatekeepers of the bath while they swung open. Amidst their groans, Beowulf could make out another noise. It was distant, but he could vaguely make it out.

Singing… It sounded like a choir, eerily in tune to a ballad. Beowulf pressed on, looking about the baths to make out anything that resembled a throne. All he saw was egyptian hieroglyphs upon large sandstone walls, and large bodies of reflective water. The liquid looked like crystal, it was still with no ripples; an actor, waiting for the curtain to rise. The further Beowulf went in, the more audible the singing became; he could finally make out words. They sounded seductively sweet, but like a venus flytrap, sinister intentions lurked beneath the petals… A seranding baritone echoed through the bath accompanied by a full choir: 

No love~ But your looooove~ Can set~  My world~ On fire~ No love, but your love~ Can fill me with desire~ No love~ But your loooove~ Can shape my~ Destinyyyy~  No looooooooove~ But your love~ Can make a slave of meeeee~!

Beowulf kept walking despite losing some of his nerves, he knew he was getting close. He had to brave this woman’s attempt at spooking him, his gut wrestled with the fear in a grudge match; this wasn’t the time. It was time for action to near, and when Beowulf rounded another walkway leading into an archway--it sat there waiting for him. 

There, sitting on a marble throne with a chalice by her side, was the bloody songstress of New Meridian herself. Standing in front of the throne and near the baths were several bright red figures--their bodies dripping crimson as they crooned. Albus and Horace, Eliza’s most trusted bodyguards, sat in E-Z chairs close by, and were in full attention of their mistress. Next to the throne to the right sat a sarcophagus; Beowulf knew someone was in there. However, the wrestler’s attention and fury gravitated his eyes to another sight-- Ms. Fortune.

Her body was chained up next to the throne, silver rings enveloped the torso, feet were bound together, hands were covered with steel gauntlets, and the feature that caused Beowulf the most anger was a shock collar around the bottom of the neck. Fortune’s head wasn’t that far away either; it rested on Eliza’s lap, eyes squinting downward. Her aquamarine pupils took in the light of the room, her silver hair was an ocean--but Beowulf could tell that the sea was suffering. Though he still felt fear, anger steadily took a hold of the wrestler’s heart.

He took a deep breath, Beowulf had to remain calm--lest Eliza get the upper hand on him. Beowulf marched into the throne room, earning the attention of Horace and Albus. Eliza on the other hand, didn’t seem to care, and soulfully finished her song: “No love~ But your love~ Will~ My~ Heart~ Ever~ Knoooooow~!” Holding the long note a little longer, she waved her hand playfully as if she had an audience. Horace and Albus clapped, and the red figures that had stood around the pools collapsed after a short period… They turned into crimson puddles, which all made their way up to Eliza before disappearing into her clothing. She yawned a bit before sipping her chalice.

Mid-sip, she took notice of Beowulf; a small, smug, and cheeky grin lit up her face in the  aqua light.  She guffawed at the wrestler’s presence, Fortune heard this and she looked up to see what the fuss was about. Her eyes went wide and her mouth turned into a scowl when she saw Beowulf standing in front of her. She winced, and spoke hastily, “B-Beowulf! What are you doing here!? Get out! Please! Ru-”

For her troubles, Fortune was slapped across the face, and her hair was pulled violently by Eliza, who interrupted her with, “Blood slaves do not talk unless their mistress has given permission to do so--you still don’t know your place my bonaparte feline~  Mmm~” Pressing her luck, Eliza tugged on Ms. Fortune’s mouth, making the feline wince in pain. This earned a grunt from Beowulf, which caused her attention to refocus on the NMO legend. “And what’s this? The Beowulf in my private quarters? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“A lot of things, actually.” Beowulf snarled back.

“I hope it’s not eclectic, it makes things more difficult to understand. Old women like me may love to read, but getting straight to the point helps, would you mind, pup?”

“Gladly. First of all, that cat you have with you, and the sarcophagus… You know those are both people right?” Beowulf shook his fist.

“Scum loses their rights to be people once they defy me. And it happens to be the case quite often.” Eliza leaned to the side and used her arm as a head rest. “I should’ve known that no one on this earth has greater merit than Horace and Albus; therefore, these two rank very low on the hierarchy of ‘people’, pup.”

“Glad to see being a sociopath is the norm for high society then..” Beowulf put his hand over his face.

Eliza giggled seductively, “Am I not wrong? We are people, Beowulf. Those who attempt to copy us, or defy our wishes don’t deserve to walk on the same ground as we do.”

“Well, I’m defying you right now, what are you gonna do about it?.” Beowulf gestured mockingly with both arms outstretched.

“Hmph~ Cheeky, aren’t you?” Eliza tapped her fingers on the throne.

“Only when I need to be.” Beowulf sprouted a cheeky grin of his own.

“I think I’ll return the sentiment by letting you in on a secret~ If detective Irvin thinks that I don’t know if he's been watching my abode, he truly is foolish. That thunderbird couldn’t fool anyone~” Eliza shook her head. “However, I knew that there was someone else with him--and Horace had a premonition of someone coming in this evening.” She looked at Horace, who nodded in response. “He was right, but I wasn’t expecting the mighty Beowulf to pay a visit to little old me~ Tell me, to what do I owe the honor?”

“This pup’s gotta bone to pick.” The wrestler cracked his neck. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Aww~ Don’t make me guess, I can decipher hieroglyphs--vagueness is another language entirely.”

“Hmph.” Beowulf folded his arms.

“Well, I’ll attempt to fill in the blanks for you then~ Perhaps the Medicis have gotten their filthy, greasy hands on the NMO? They most certainly want their Life Gem back, they already sent their lapdog…” Eliza looked upwards, trying to remember something. “What was her name? Cute thing with green hair, had a fun time with her~”

“She has Cerebella too… Son of a bitch, this woman… Come on Beowulf, level head, level head...” Beowulf clenched his fists and grimaced.

Eliza pointed a finger over to a large marble fountain. “She feeds my fountain now, poor thing tried to get the jump on me~ I enjoyed trashing her little hat too, such a nuisance--had to seal it with her because I couldn’t tear it to shreds.” She put her hand up to her mouth and giggled. “Oh, you should’ve seen her beg, I’ll bet you have a thing for that, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes. I’d much prefer a woman who at least asks me for it instead of treating her like garbage--love is a two way road.” He noticed that Fortune blushed when he said this.

Another sultry giggle, “And what would you know about love, pup? All you have are groupies, little fangirls that would beg for a night with you~” Eliza leaned forward and put a hand over her chest. “Of course, their love is empty--a man of your stature is deserving of someone better~ Why not become a bodyguard of mine? You already know Albus~”

“I sure do. But my loyalty already belongs to someone else, and it’s because of that undying loyalty that I find myself here in front of the bloody songstress herself.” He took a step forward.

“Hmm~ Interesting. Loyalty, hm? And just who, or what, are you here for? If not the Medicis, or Lab 8, then what?” Eliza cocked her head to the side.

“...And why do I need to tell you? You know I’m looking for a fight.” Beowulf sighed. “And what would you know about loyalty, you betrayed the Medicis--the most known traitors this side of New Meridian.” Beowulf thrust both hands forward with palms open--signifying the importance of his next statement. “Lorenzo HIMSELF betrayed his own brother just to grab power. Nadia is above that, she’s innocent in all of this!”

“What a knowledgeable boy~ Hm?” She paused, tapping her fingers on the throne once again. “Nadia…  Isn’t that the name of..?” 

Eliza looks over to Fortune’s head, she’s sweating… She looks back to Beowulf who’s staring at Fortune, but quickly looks away once he notices Eliza’s gaze is upon him. Eliza repeats this a couple times before looking at Horace inquisitively. Horace himself scratches his beak, looks at Beowulf, and then whispers something to Eliza. The classy woman’s eyes widen briefly, her grin widens farther. Eventually, she begins to smirk and snort a little.

Beowulf’s face loses color, she’s caught on to why he’s here… Eliza’s snorts turned into a full, hearty laugh, and it was filled with gasps. She placed her hands over her stomach and threw her head back; it was like a comedy to her--what she had just discovered. “Oh hoh~ This is a treat indeed, so, how long have you two been seeing each other?”

“None of your business.” Beowulf looked away dismissively.

 “Oh darling, it wasn’t~ But it became mine when this little alleycat got her filthy nose in something that she shouldn’t have~” She tussled Fortune’s hair, causing the catgirl to grunt. “That gem is as important to me as it is the Medicis! She isn’t worthy of life unbound~”

Beowulf remained silent with his arms folded.

“Thieves are the lowest of the low, you know~ You couldn’t have chosen a worse partner, after all, why would you trust her?” She made a chopping motion with her left hand and playfully smacked into the right one--imitating a guillotine. “She let her friends go into a trap willingly~!”

“I trust her because I love her.” Beowulf leaned forward. “What the hell would you know about her?” His face contorted into a scowl.

“I know a lot of things, pup. But there’s something I can’t fathom, why would you risk your own life for this filth? Why would you risk your reputation breaking into my home? The only thing you have to gain from this girl is a knife in your back~” Eliza rested her head on her left hand again. “Just like the pathetic little thief she is… You’ll only be doing yourself a favor by just letting her stay with me~ She’s only useful as a reservoir, anyway~”

“Like hell.” Beowulf shook his fists at his sides. “Nadia’s stronger than both you and me--and certainly has a bigger backbone than you do, Eliza.”

“Hm~ Striking nerves am I? Does seeing your beloved serve a new master make you seethe with rage?” Eliza giggled.

“Let her go.” Beowulf stepped forward with a fist clenched tightly.

“I don’t think I will, I have the Life Gem and a willing host to boot. Besides, she’s my property now.” Eliza smugly put her hand to her lips again.

“I’m not going to ask again.” Beowulf took a wrestler’s stance. “Either get her out of those chains, or so help me-”

“Help you?” Eliza leaned further forward.  “Well I most certainly could, right after I finish this drink~”

With that, Eliza pulled Fortune’s head by the hair and readied her chalice. Placing the chalice on the side arm of the throne, Eliza used her right hand and clasped it around Fortune’s neck. The beastkin groaned in pain, her teeth gritting against themselves was almost audible. This earned a giggle out of Eliza, who fiercely squeezed at the neck. The veins on Eliza’s hand vibrated--there was something more to this woman…

Fortune in response sharply yowled in pain as blood seeped out through her gaping neck; it filled the chalice with a sound akin to a fountain drink being poured. Beowulf felt his heart being torn at, and his calm expression turned quickly sour. He felt himself wince, he was bearing witness to the full cruelty that this woman was capable of.

Eliza knew it, she knew exactly how to toy with people’s emotions--it’s what got her to this position of power. Grant it, Eliza also knew what love meant; she was doing this on purpose to make Beowulf lose his nerve, and he was sure of it. Beowulf tried to remain calm,but couldn’t stop himself from wincing.. The screams of his lover didn’t lessen the pain, but he had to stay firm. If he didn’t, he’d play right into her hands--like most men before him did. Completed, she mockingly toasted to Beowulf, and then gingerly drank from the chalice. She greedily slurped at the blood, making sure that every sip was audible. Some of the blood dripped down her neck as she drank, landing on her chest and causing the dress she was wearing to darken around it. Eliza ended her drink by slamming the head of the beastkin down; she dug her fingernails into Fortune’s hair, prompting a loud yowl. 

Beowulf starred in morbid disbelief and utter disgust; all the rumors about this woman, her nicknames, the tales of other wrestlers telling horror stories about the one night they were invited to humor her--it was all true.  She licked between her fingers, and tongued up any excess blood. Beowulf felt like he was on fire, his heart was being punched, and his eyes watered. “Tangy as always~” Eliza mewled, “I’d expect nothing less from a feisty alley-”

“That. Tears it.” Beowulf’s eyes widened, a vein popped near the top of his forehead.

“Hm? Whatever do you mean?” Eliza said smugly.

“I gave you a warning. You chose to ignore it.” Beowulf limbered up.

“A warning only works if you’re of equal power to the one you’re warning, my dear pup~” She taunted, checking her nails as if uninterested.

“I’m just as if not more. By the time I get up there, you’ll wish you’d never screwed with me. Your ass is grass.” Beowulf slammed his fist into his other cupped hand.

“Such a tongue~!” Eliza playfully gasped, putting a hand up to her mouth. “I believe I’ve been toying with you this whole time~ Your point?”

“Touching a man’s pride and joy… His love in life!” Beowulf put his left hand over his chest. “The one who greets him when he comes back from a hard day at work! His woman…” Beowulf cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath, and jumped up twice; “Then you’ve crossed every boundary that’s available. I’m done being the diplomat--that’s Irvin’s shtick--I guarantee you, Eliza... We’re gonna skip the pleasantries…” He leaned forward with both arms flexed outward. “I’m gonna crack that skull open like a walnut. I’ll make you feel every bit, just like you did Nadia!”

Eliza giggled, “Hmmm~ Bravado on full display~! How charming…”

“No more games, bitch. It’s time for a smackdown.” Beowulf said sternly.

Beowulf angrily advanced towards the throne, his shoes clacked against the floor, his muscles beneath his dress shirt bulged, his breath quivered in rage, and his eyes were full of determination. Eliza giggled again, “Horace~ Albus~!” The two bodyguards stood in attention to their mistress, “Rid my chamber of this interloper who meddles with me, he is not worthy of my hands!” Both beastkin nodded, and advanced towards Beowulf himself. “Oh~ And, one more thing.” Eliza quipped, both Beastkin turning around and kneeling to her, “Please don’t make a mess, I just had this floor waxed.”

“Yes, mistress.” Horace bowed. “It’s time to dispose of the garbage who dared raise his voice to mistress, Albus.”

“Well, look who it is.” Beowulf quipped, “The eagle and the jackal. I’m gonna give you both this warning once, because I hold a margin of respect towards you two; unlike your boss, who threw every chance of me not beating her face into the earth away.” He held up his index finger.  “Move out of my way. Now.”

“Not a chance, Beowulf. Our boss gave us the order, and we’ll have to take care of you first.” Albus readied himself, “Sorry about this in advance, old buddy.”

“Oh come on, Albus! You’ve gotta be kidding me, you threw out your title, your glory, and your loyalty to the NMO; all of it for this woman?!” Beowulf pointed at her with his left hand, the other hand clenched into a shaking fist.  “She’s a violent sadist, Albus, this is bullshit!”

“It’s not. She is our mistress, and we will follow her to the end.” Horace adjusted his glasses. “Leave it to the uniformed to shout the loudest  I will not have you insult my mistress and let it go unpunished!”

“That’s right. I’m not gonna question her motivations, she’s shown us love and loyalty that’s unlike anything else.” Albus wiped the slate with both hands. “You have Nadia, we have Eliza--our woman. We’ll let no harm come to her. Mind’s made up, and we’ll stand our ground.” Albus stood ready.

“Tch. What a load of bull.” Beowulf grunted. “Don’t blame me for what happens then.”

Beowulf could hear the sounds of his fans cheering him on, however, this wasn’t to be a regular festivity. This… This was a grudge match. Eliza had kidnapped Nadia, insulted Beowulf, but had gone a step further--she hurt the one he loved the most. And he would make her pay. He assumed a defensive stance, his teeth gritted, and his legs tensed. Likewise, Albus adopted a shoot style wrestling stance, motioning to Horace to get ready. Horace nodded and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Quickly, he took his glasses off, wiping them thoroughly and revealing his eyes; dark blue, like the night sky. Breathing deeply, Horace slowly rotated his arms in a circular pattern. Afterimages of them could be seen trailing behind his arms. He clasped them together and then shifted his legs; assuming a stance, ready for battle.

“That stance…  Where have I seen that before?” Beowulf wasn’t sure, but he knew that whatever it was, it must’ve been dangerous. The wrestler gyrated himself, and moved slowly towards the duo. The room was silent for a time, each assailant waiting for the other to make their move. There were no words, empty stares, twiddling fingers, and a bored Eliza. The stage had been set, now all it needed was an opening scene.

The first move was made when Beowulf ran at Albus, the beastkin himself braced for an attack. Beowulf enveloped himself in orange energy, and hurled himself toward Albus--the beastkin caught the attack. Grunting, Albus chucked Beowulf into the air; Horace sprung into action. Disappearing in an illusion of afterimages, Horace reappeared next to the hapless wrestler in mid-air, “In my grasp.” Horace murmured, his hand lit up with golden energy, “Nile Splitting Talon!!!” At full volume, Horace brought his palm down onto the exposed Beowulf, the impact of the blow made the noise barrier burst, and sent the fully weighted wrestler hurtling towards a ceremonial pillar. Beowulf winced a bit.

But not enough to lose his bearings, he caught the pillar with his feet. Using the force from the impact, Beowulf propelled himself off the pillar and into mid-air. He enveloped himself in orange energy again, moving faster this time at Horace. He heard Albus below him, “Not happenin’ bud.” The canine leaped into the air, attempting to get the jump onto Wulf.

Thinking quickly, Beowulf, removed something from his suit--his faithful chair, the Hurting. Swinging it around himself, he deflected Albus’ advance, and lost altitude. Beowulf tucked himself in, managing to avoid a kick from Horace and rolling onto the ground. He got back onto his feet by using a handstand. WIth weight behind it, he kicked the Hurting forward--the red demon flying through the air at a breakneck pace. 

Albus caught himself and sidestepped, however, Horace wasn’t as lucky--it hit the bird man right in the stomach. He staggered backward from the blow; Beowulf ran towards Albus again. When Beowulf got within hitting distance, Albus tried a sweeping kick, only to have it be jumped over by the hulking man. Beowulf followed up with a powered dropkick; knocking Albus in the face hard. The beastkin staggered back, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, bucko!” Beowulf yelled loudly, “Diving…” He rushed Albus, and grabbed him by the neck--causing the beastkin to yelp in surprise. Beowulf pulled Albus along with him.

“Wulfdog!!” Beowulf slammed Albus into the stone, causing him to grunt in pain, and making an indent on the floor; Eliza sighed at this. Beowulf got to his feet, only to be met by a charging Horace, afterimages behind him. The beastkin clasped his palms together and pointed them at Beowulf; a small light growing in between the folds. Beowulf dodged quickly, and performed an axe kick; this clashed with Horace’s leg. The two kept clashing with seperate punches and kicks, not one landing a single body-blow on either combatant.

Beowulf lurched forward with a right hook, only for Horace to seemingly phase backward through the air. With inhuman speed, Horace snapped forward with an overhead kick, Beowulf caught it with both hands. Unfortunately, he didn’t see Albus rise up behind him, and the canine caught him around the waist. Wasting no time, Albus--with great might--used a suplex to pound Beowulf into the floor with lightning speed. He picked the champ up with one hand and swung him around above his head--white mane flowing.

Albus threw Beowulf up once, and then caught him with an outstretched leg. Defying gravity itself, Albus lifted Beowulf over his head with the leg and then punted him hard with his other--slamming the leg into the wrestler’s back. “Tipped Scale!!” He bellowed proudly as Beowulf went flying towards the pools.

Once again, Horace caught up with Beowulf in mid-air with the same teleport maneuver as before. This time however, Beowulf wasn’t caught off guard, he was lucid. “Hey there birdbrain, goin’ my way?” Beowulf taunted and pushed against Horace, much to the surprise of the beastkin. He locked him in a hold and spun himself around while hurtling towards the pools. Horace struggled, wriggled, even lighting up his torso in the same golden energy--but Beowulf was feeling the crowd now.

The spinning changed the trajectory of their location away from the pools and toward the center of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen… It’s time.. Oh, it’s Beowulf time!!!” Beowulf shouted; he heard the crowd get louder as he prepared a move. Albus snarled, and jumped upwards to catch the duo. “I didn’t know you wanted in on this too, Albus! Looks like we’re gonna get a twofer!” Beowulf joked and let go of Horace, only for him to push his weight into the bird--causing him to hurtle downward towards Albus.

Albus couldn’t withstand the weight of his compatriot, and felt himself buckle back downward to the ground. With a loud slam, Beowulf crushed the two bodyguards into the ground, “Double Canis Major Press!!!” A mighty shout reverberated through the bath halls. Beowulf, after completing this, backflipped onto the Hurting, and quickly holstered it. Keeping his eyes peeled for what would happen next, he saw Horace stand up.

His sunglasses had been cracked, revealing one eye. The beastkin took a moment to dust off his suit, and take off his sunglasses. Cracking his neck, Horace, rotated his arms in the same manner as he had before. Breathing deeply, the debris around him rises. There was a glint in his eyes, and then they were suddenly there--illusions of Horace sprint towards Beowulf. They crowded around him, Beowulf was outnumbered by at least twelve. The wrestler looked around him, almost everywhere, he saw Horace--he was certain that none of them were the real one though… Something felt familiar.

All of the illusions of Horace radiated with golden light; they steadily rotate around Beowulf. Each afterimage at a different interval, it was like looking into a kaleidoscope. The wrestler felt reality seep away as the images of the bird kept rotating. “I must say, since I’ve gotten older, I’ve never met one to stand against me for so long.” Horace mused, his voice echoing amongst his images.

“Well, you’ve obviously never met Beowulf. You’re telling me Albus never told you about me?” Beowulf quipped.

“He’s mentioned a wolf, however, keeps his priorities in check.” Horace said professionally. “You know this, of course.”

“Yeah. I know that you and him are both serving succubus princess axe-murderer over there. Tell me, Horace, why?” Beowulf folded an arm outward to signify his question. “Why do you follow a man-eater like Eliza?”

“I do not need a reason.” Horace said plainly.

“I’ll bet you do, old man.” Beowulf taunted, both hands outstretched.

“I do, but it is of no concern to a simpleton such as yourself. Our mistress is destined to rule this earth, and restore the legacy once lost.” Horace raised an index finger.

“Once lost?” Beowulf cocked his head.

“My mistress, Albus, and I are the only remnants left of a bygone era. But enough talk.” Horace locked eyes with Beowulf.

Horace’s images rotate their arms as well, afterimages blended together, reality seemed to bend. “Behold your demise; savor this moment, because it is the last you will be prithy to, insect.” Horace’s voice almost sounded divine at this point, Beowulf clasped his ears, the roar of the dust kicking up, and Horace’s booming voice was too much. Overbearing his mind, his senses faltered…

A slash across Beowulf’s chest, there was no physical wound, but it felt like searing flames to Beowulf. Another slash, then another, and another. The wrestler was mercilessly attacked by an unseen force. “It’s like my spirit’s being whipped… G-Gotta do something’...” Beowulf gritted his teeth amidst the pain and delirium. Meanwhile, Horace had stopped talking completely; wherever he was, he was in pure focus. Golden aura surrounded the space Beowulf was in, it kept lashing at him, rapidly wearing him down. Beowulf felt his consciousness begin to fade, his legs were heavy, his arms felt like sacs of potatoes, his breathing was ragged…

It was only in this state of near-dying that he realized it, he knew what this was--he’d fought it once before in a prize match. It was similar to another technique that the wrestler in question used. The only difference was that this was faster, and that the sensation was whipping more than it was burning. Beowulf’s moment of clarity was upon him; he sat down, closed his eyes, and began to breathe deeply.

Slowly but surely, his focus was shifted away from the pain, only the feeling of his chest rising and falling was with him now. Strange peace washed over him… He was tempted to think of Nadia, but shoved her out of his mind temporarily--he needed focus. Being deprived of one sense made the others react, he could feel the lashing, taste the crisp air of the pools, smell the aroma of spider lilies. But what Beowulf heard was what he was looking for; he heard Horace’s breathing. Beowulf listened for a little while longer, he visualized Horace within his mind.

An image thoroughly presented itself; and with it: a chance. Beowulf’s eyes opened, and he lurched forward with an orange energy imbued uppercut. He caught Horace’s palm with his knuckle, the energy from their strikes grinded against one another. For the first time this evening, Horace’s eyes went wide. Beowulf had made him lose his composure, and he took the opportunity to try landing a sucker punch. Horace dodged, backflipped, and landed with dust crackling up around him. His royal blue eyes locked with Beowulf’s auburn. “You are aware of my art… How?” The beastkin murmured in disbelief.

“I don’t know what it’s called specifically-” Beowulf spit out some dust, “But I fought something just like it once. The trick is to be at peace with your mind--and realize that it’s all an illusion. But that was wrestling… This art you have is different, may I ask the name of it?”

“For surviving even my “Trial of Osiris”... You’re no ordinary human, aren’t you?”  Horace adjusted himself.

“What can I say? I’m a helluva guy, ask Nadia if you’re unsure--she knows!” Beowulf pointed at Nadia and winked.

“Hmph. It appears I’ve underestimated your capabilities…” Horace tapped his beak with his hand. “Quite troublesome… Quite troublesome indeed… However, it will be a test of my skills!”

At this point, Albus had managed to pick himself off of the floor, and stood beside Horace. Albus snarled, and removed his jacket--revealing claw marks upon his pectorals. He dusted himself off and then put it back on. He looked to Horace, who responded with a nod. The two assumed battle stance again, their focus firmly on Beowulf.

The two then rushed at him, Horace was a blur, Albus was raw horsepower; both were the bodyguards of the most dangerous woman in New Meridian. Beowulf, was still Bewoulf, and he had a woman to save; he was going to give it his all. Enveloped in orange energy, Beowulf dashed forward again. Horace was knocked back slightly, Beowulf followed up with a grab, and tossed the beastkin towards a pillar. Beowulf spun around to nearly duck a punch by Albus.

It grazed his hair, the power behind the punch managed to pull a few off. Albus followed up with a spinning jump forward. Beowulf braced himself as Albus struck him in the face with a double palm strike--the sound barrier broke with this one too. Following up, Albus striked Beowulf’s chest with a few blows, axe kicked him upward, and then finished with a devastating larialat. “Scorpion Sands!!!” He bellowed as Beowulf landed on the ground and rolled to the other side of the room. Beowulf managed to prop himself up, he saw Horace running in his direction--a glint in his eyes.

With a long kiai, Horace dashed forward; afterimages trailing behind him. Beowulf didn’t have time to react to the imposing bodyguard, and his guard was broken by a quick palm slice. Horus unleashed a flurry of punches, he kiai’d after every punch that landed--it sounded like he was screeching. Upper body, stomach, face, fist after fist was rained down on Beowulf. Horace tapped part of Beowulf’s pectorals with two fingers, and then seemingly dashed through him--golden energy striking him from all sides. Horace reappeared behind Beowulf, his arms were folded in an x-shape. “Khepri: Southward Sunrise. ” Horace murmured, unfolded his arms, and stood up. When he did, another concentrated burst of phantom strikes hit Beowulf, causing him to stagger.

Beowulf managed to catch himself with one knee, and took a deep breath--the double assault had taken more out of him then he’d like to admit. The wrestler thought hard while Albus was readying up some sort of flying press. Beowulf decided that it was time to try something new, a new technique he had planned on using in a bout with Nadia herself--but had been unceremoniously distracted before he used it. He had also come up with a new name for it, and was eager to test it out; now was a good time to do so. He crouched in the howling position he usually did as part of his routine, and welled up with orange energy. 

Albus leaped up high, and then dove down towards Beowulf with his arms in a striking motion. The moment his hands touched Beowulf’s body, Beowulf’s eyes glinted. He did an upward double-fist slam and knocked Albus backward. “WOLFMAGEDDON-” Beowulf dashed forward slowly punching Albus with heavy blows, each one reverberated throughout the baths. He added roundhouse kicks intermittently through the punches, Albus grunted and buckled against each hit. “-BUSTER~!!!” Beowulf dashed forward and slammed into Albus with an elbow. Finally, Beowulf ended the technique with a spinning uppercut; it embedded into Albus’ jaw and orange energy went bursting. The impact knocked Albus onto his back--making an indent on the floor. Albus lay there, lethargic, and beaten; his eyes shut--a knockout.

“Sorry old pal… I swear you’ll be free from Eliza one day.” Beowulf bowed in respect as he thought, “Now… One more to go.” Beowulf turned around to face Horace, who was adjusting himself to the situation. His eyes were focused on Beowulf, who was now getting ready himself. 

“For Albus to be knocked out… Who are you, really, Beowulf?” Horace mused.

“I told you already, Horace, I’m a man on a mission.” Beowulf pointed to the throne where Eliza sat. “My lady is up there waiting, facing certain doom if I don’t win. I know you aren’t gonna move out of my way--you’ve made that clear. So why don’t you gimme all you got?”

“Such an opponent… After almost fifty years… Very well.” Horace shifted his stance, and golden energy once again rose out of him. “I will show you the fullest extent of what my ‘Golden Fist of Duat’ is capable of. Prepare yourself.” 

Horace breathed deeply, and his eyes flashed. He was about to unleash everything he had onto Beowulf. Beowulf adjusted his jacket and stood ready; the air in the room changed. It was no longer about women, nor protection, nor grudge match; this was a duel between two men of differing ideologies. Both men sized on another up, but there would be no waiting this time. Horace let out a kiai and then dashed forward with afterimages trailing behind him; the bird-man’s eyes were clear with purpose. Beowulf performed a shoot in response, both clashed against one another. Blows were exchanged in a flurry, golden and orange streaks of light burst within the storm.

The eye is seen momentarily when the two combatants strike one another which causes a sound barrier burst. Beowulf’s punch versus Horace’s kick--both are equal in measure. Horace kiais and brings his free leg upward creating a slash of energy. Beowulf avoids it by inches, and somersaults backward. Beowulf attempts a flying press, and front-flips to attempt to grab Horace. Horace stamps his foot, and stretches his arms outward; golden light emerges from his chest, and the image of an eagle bursts forth. The attack causes Beowulf to become temporarily stunned in midair.

Horace’s eyes glint, he dashes forward, and jumps up with an outstretched kick. Beowulf’s stunned, but he thinks quickly, and braces himself to lessen the blow he’s about to receive. Horace kicks right through him, landing on the other side of Beowulf. Sharp pain courses through the wrestler’s body, but it’s enough to break him out of the stun. He quickly grab’s Horace by the head and performs a power bomb; the sheer might of the attack causes the floor to crack again--much to Eliza’s annoyance.

Horace quickly gets back up, and assumes a stance that Beowulf saw earlier. “For me to use this… Consider it an honor, Beowulf.” Horace rotates his hands in the same way again, but there’s a difference. Horace’s eyes are glowing fiercely, and the golden energy starts to swirl around him. “This ends, you will trouble my mistress no longer.”  The ground of the bath house trembled, the mirror images that surrounded the beastkin moved around him, his pupils dilated, breathing no longer made a sound, and the air grew thick with power.

Beowulf thought about it for a moment, and then decided to go with one of his older techniques. He figured that if Horace would unleash this massive amount of energy with one strike; he could use the bodyguard’s own power against him. However, it wouldn’t stop the blow from being excruciating. It was risky, but in the time that his woman needed him--he was willing to take any risk; to go any distance necessary for Fortune. He braced himself, eyes staring at Horace, “Hit me with it!” He bellowed.

Horace dissipated through the air and stomped the ground in front of Beowulf. He slowly turned while images of what appeared to be extra dimensional beings surrounded him in golden energy. Horace’s movements were unorthodox, and his afterimages readied a punch at the same time. Horace himself lit up in golden energy and reeled back--this was it. “Duat’s Mirage: 10,000 Hands of the Dead.” Horace stated and lurched forward--around his fist were the spirits of many, hallowed ground, differing sizes, but the same purpose: death.

Beowulf braced, and took the brunt of the attack--it felt like needles were stabbing each one of his pores. It made his hair stand on end, weakened his legs, and his body temperature dropped as each strike connected. Beowulf was cringing, it reminded him of that fight long ago, he felt like he was dying. If he took any more of this, he was sure that he’d lose--he had to act now. Another risk taken, but he had enough energy from the initial attack to grab Horace by the torso, “My turn now, boyo.” He snarked amidst the blows. Beowulf, with almost inhuman might; lifted Horace over his head and slammed him into the ground behind him. 

He picked up Horace and performed a backbreaker, causing the bird man to grunt in pain. Beowulf swung him around until both were like a smudge on a blank canvas; once he had enough speed, Beowulf threw Horace up into the air, and grabbed him on the arch upward. “Alright! Here comes the big one!” Beowulf shouted, and pummeled Horace in midair. Punches, kicks, larialats, and newly created orange energy strike Horace many times over. The storm had reached its climax, and the thunder cracked with each blow. Finally, Beowulf grabbed Horace by the torso again and they both hurled toward the ground. Beowulf added a spin to increase the velocity of the throw; the funnel cloud had become a tornado. Beowulf yelled mightily as he braced for collision.

“Hrunting of Legend D.D.T!!!” The impact made the bath floor crack, the sound was deafening. Orange energy bursts everywhere, there is a cloud of dust, and an indent made. The energy felt around the room is massive, and Fortune’s eyes go wide in surprise; Eliza groans disappointingly. For Beowulf, time during throws seemed to move slower--was it because of the adrenaline? Regardless of theoretical time-based questions, one thing was clear; Horace was down for the count. He had managed to kneel in his last moments of consciousness, but quickly slumped over when the pain must’ve hit him. As a sign of respect, Beowulf gave him a salute, the men had tried to defend their woman as he had tried to rescue Nadia...

Two bodyguards lay knocked out, Beowulf had gone against the odds for love and beamed brightly. He triumphantly posed, and Nadia loudly cheered for him--annoying Eliza even further than she had already been. Beowulf smirked confidently at that annoyance, he lived for it at this point; anything to earn the ire of the one who kidnapped his love. Eliza took another sip from her chalice, and pondered momentarily. She found her words quickly, “Horace and Albus together have never lost… This is certainly not what I intended...  Hmhm~ Bravo, pup.”

“Flattery’s unbecoming of you, Eliza.” Beowulf snarked.

“It wasn’t flattery, I assure you.” Eliza checked her nails, clearly pretending to be disinterested.

“Call it what you want. I just beat your only two men, with a tag team advantage, in front of you and Nadia. What now?” Beowulf flexed confidently.

“Now?” Eliza sighed at the question, clearly somewhat agitated. “Now I’ve grown rather tired of your presence… You come into my house, bartering with my things, assaulting my bodyguards, and demanding I relinquish my rightful property?”

“Property is a big stretch for you, songbird. The only thing you do is take from others, and now that someone’s giving your shit back to you…? Heh! What’s the problem, Eliza? Did I strike a nerve?” Beowulf mockingly said in her tone of voice.

“Hmph. You give someone an inch and they take it farther than a kilometer~ I wasn’t expecting Horace and Albus to be outdone… However!” Eliza stands up and wags her finger disapprovingly “Young, loudmouthed, naughty boys like you ought to learn some respect~ And I think it’s high-time you met someone capable of dishing out proper punishment!”

Beowulf snorted. “Isn’t that funny, being lectured by the kidnapper about punishment--is that really how far gone you are, Eliza? You seriously don’t think you’re in the wrong here?”

“Gone? You mistake your place, boy. One such as I--” Eliza throws her chalice onto the marble floor, causing it to break into tiny pieces, “--is above normal conceptions such as law! I take what I want, when I want it! Despite being above the law, I am above even that notion alone. And you?” Eliza picked up her staff and slowly descended from her throne. She points the staff at Beowulf direction, her expression is a tightly nit scowl. “You are naught but an insect that sullies my baths with your mere presence--your life is mine, Beowulf.”

“You’ve gone on for far too long, taking everything from everybody… I’m gonna enjoy beating that smug smile off that face. Bring it.” Beowulf in return walks towards the throne.

“Ohohoh~” Eliza put her hand to her mouth to giggle again. “Most people would run in the presence of me when I get serious, and yet you’re approaching me? Brave boy~”

“I can’t wail on you if I’m not close, that’s obvious ain’t it? Let’s rumble, I’m taking you down, you sadistic bitch.” Beowulf pointed at her directly.

Eliza approaches Beowulf as well, the two combatants locked eyes in the baths. Nadia looked intensely worried, but nodded towards Beowulf as he walked. The air in the room took a nosedive, all the noise of the bath seemed to dissipate amongst the tension; it was as if the patrons who were bathing suddenly up and left. Once again, it was only footsteps that rang out within these marble halls of water.

Beowulf struck first, opting to go for an elbow slam; his heavy body thundered forward incredibly. It would’ve impacted had Eliza not snapped her back in half to avoid it. Beowulf was shocked to see her spine in the open, blood trailing not too far behind. Before he could register what was happening, she reassembled; quickly, she counter attacked with a clothesline with her staff. Beowulf was hit in the face and stumbled backward; Eliza went on the offensive. She spiked her staff into the ground, causing Beowulf to be knocked up, and then followed up with a jumping kick. Beowulf was knocked flying backward; he hit the ground a couple times before catching himself.

“I should’ve known Eliza’s no ordinary woman… I’m gonna have to be more careful with this one. ” Beowulf wiped the sweat from his forehead as he thought up his next move. Eliza on the other hand, already was moving toward Beowulf; a smirk plastered across her face. With inhuman speed, she decapitated herself, and a spurt of blood flew at Beowulf. Beowulf blocked his face with his arms--hardened blood spikes embedding themselves within his forearms. He lowered them to see Eliza’s head grow back in a swirl of blood as if nothing had happened.

She dashed forward, and swung her staff hard, knocking Beowulf in the chest. She then slammed her staff into the ground, and her lower half turned into a red swirling mist. Eliza giggled, and in the next second a bloody hieroglyph of a man spiked out of the ground. It hit Beowulf hard, then another--taller--one spiked out, then another, and then a fourth one that knocked him up once again. “And just where do you think you’re going?” Eliza taunted, the blood swirled and her legs reformed. “Y-You leave my big wulf alone, now!” Fortune shouted defensively. Eliza smirked at this; she lurched forward with her forearm and grabbed Beowulf by the neck. A wide-eyed, manic smirk spread across her face.

Beowulf grunted as Eliza slammed him down and dragged him across the floor; she picked up speed the further they went. Pointed nails were digging into his jugular as Beowulf felt the marble scrape beneath him. Once they reached near a pool, Eliza cackled, threw Beowulf into the air with seemingly no effort involved. She then opened her mouth, her tongue elongated a bit. Then--a bloody spear shot out with a magnitude of force, it hurled towards Beowulf. “Checkmate!” She yelled as it careened through the air like a missile.

Beowulf saw the spear, and quickly used his power of weight to fall away from it. He was reeling from the damage wrought by the earlier assault, but had enough sense to dodge. Quickly thinking, he decided to hit the water, a large splash rippled throughout the cerulean baths. He was right about one thing, the water managed to break the shards of hardened blood loose. With mighty force, he jumped out of the pool and onto the marble. He removed his suit jacket and shirt; his chest bare, and the adrenaline pumping Beowulf looked for an opening.

Unlike Horace and Albus, however, Eliza tended to look open. Beowulf figured that she reveled in times like this, simply waiting for her attackers to make the mistake. A different approach was needed… “I swear when I break free of these things… I’ll kill you for hurting him!” Fortune growled loudly. His thoughts drifted to Nadia at that moment, and that’s when he got an idea--pragmatism. If Eliza was going to wait for him to attack, he would have to employ some tricks to counter attack the counter attack. He rushed at Eliza, quickly hatching ideas.

Eliza scoffed, and extended her palm flat--holes open through her fingertips. With a squelching noise, darts of blood shot forth, a populus of many small bullets. Beowulf ducked under each one, and raised his hands up high, seemingly going for an overhead. Eliza once again tilted her head back, however, Beowulf wasn’t aiming for her head--or using his arms! A formula quick roundhouse to her leg caused Eliza’s to wince and lose balance. Beowulf follows up with an overhead strike, and knees Eliza in the stomach. Staggered, Eliza can’t react fast enough for Beowulf to grab her by the torso and hoist her up.

He leaps forward with her behind his head, he slams into the ground with her head tilted towards the floor. A loud impact and crack heard as dust flies, “Da Grendel Killer!” He bellows proudly. He decides to follow up with a stomp, but Eliza’s already slinked out of the way when his foot spikes the ground. Eliza’s body reforms itself from the head down with blood, she dusts off her hair dainty. “Did that even do anything to her? No wonder Nadia got caught....” Beowulf shifted his legs back and forth, looking for the next action Eliza would take.

Eliza reeled back, then used her staff to propel her into the air. With an arcing motion, she threw out her right arm--the flesh around it unraveled. In what seemed like three seconds, ivory amidst crimson was all that could be seen. The thick, crimson liquid homogenized to form the face of a demon--it’s maw full of spiky teeth. Eliza smirked, and the demon head flew towards Beowulf with incredible speed.

He rolled out of the way in time to see it splatter across the ground. Eliza shot out more of these heads, and Beowulf was quick on his feet to avoid them. The barrage continued until Eliza landed, she rushed forward with an outstretched hand. Beowulf countered with a windup punch, but Eliza caught him by the arm. With incredible strength she lifted Beowulf off of the ground. She giggled and tossed him up, on his way down she hit him with a cross style clamp punch. Beowulf went backward, but was quickly caught by something… There was an intense pain in his gullet, it felt like he was being stabbed...

Eliza’s spine… It pierced through his stomach and hooked into his back flesh. It contracted and reeled him back into Eliza; who proceeded to giggle again while hitting him repeatedly with a hardened blood whip. Each strike felt like a cattle prod, a crimson flurry striking the wrestler true. Coupled with the feeling of having his abdomen bleeding out, it felt like he was being burned alive. Giggling devolved into manic laughter when Eliza started hitting Beowulf as fast as her powers would allow her. Blood spurt everywhere, the marble floor became a ruined canvas. Nadia uttered a heartfelt cry…

Beowulf didn’t want to see her in this much pain, but right now, he couldn’t fight back--Eliza was too fast. She slammed her staff on his foot, and a puddle of blood came out from under him. Beowulf felt his skin crawl, something was touching him repeatedly. “Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t. Look…” Beowulf looked down to see around twenty blood-made hands grasping at his legs; immobile, and trapped. He tried to counter attack Eliza with an overhead smash, but his arms were caught by more hands that shot up from the pool. He could no longer fight back, and Eliza smirked confidently at this.

Uttering a little guffaw, she sashayed up to Beowulf and gently caressed his chest. She pulled her spine out of his stomach, and blood started to drip out of the gaping wound. “Poor thing, if you only would’ve served… Such a shame~” Eliza, going in for more, grasped Beowulf by the neck with her left hand, and dug her fingers in deep--nails piercing flesh; deep gashes. Beowulf grunted in pain, and was losing blood at a rapid rate. Eliza’s fingers were like an iv needle, draining out the blood from his arteries… Beowulf hated needles, and squirmed amidst his bindings while Eliza simply laughed.

“What’s wrong, pup? Have you finally realized the inevitable? Are you cursing your poor choices? Struggling to beg for mercy?” She dug her fingers deeper, Beowulf was certain that his one was close to his cardiac vein… “All that bravado--instantly gone~ It’s quite entertaining to see someone when they know they’ve lost~ How does it feel? She’s watching you suffer, that alleycat, whom you came to save from me… How does she feel? Watching her beautiful boyfriend being drained dry of all he’s worth! Some gentleman you are, Beowulf, dying in front of the very woman you came here to save~!” Eliza chuckled, “Tragic~ Boring, but tragic~”

Eliza’s grin had turned into a sneer, Beowulf’s life was slipping away. He had to do something to conserve his strength, otherwise he’d be nothing but skin and bones. Beowulf once again tried to breathe deeply, slowing blood circulation within him. Eliza saw this and dug her nails in deeper, prompting a grunt, “You’re only making this harder on yourself, darling~ Your blood is bitter, but has a sweet aftertaste~ I can somewhat see what that alleycat sees in you, and now she’ll get to see it die along with any hope of her esc-” Eliza paused, eyebrow raised, smile turned neutral. “That’s odd… I swore I felt something on my--'' Eliza grunted, and turned her head. What she saw confused her.

Fortune’s head was firmly planted on her upper right arm, her fangs digging into the soft flesh of Eliza--a look of hatred and determination in Nadia’s glare. For a second, Eliza’s composure was lost, and her eyes turned red. She removed her free hand from Beowulf and attempted to rip Fortune’s head from her flesh. Her nails dug into the catgirl’s head, causing a yowl. “You annoying little flea… You dare to attack your mistress while she’s feeding? It seems that you still don’t understand your position. You are no hero and you are no thief! You. Are. A. Blood. Slave! And you will act as such!” Eliza stuck blood tendrils into Fortune, prying at the back of her head--and causing the feline to scream in massive pain.

Beowulf’s neck hurt fiercely, but his heart ached harder seeing Nadia in such pain… He struggled against his bindings, a fly caught in a web, unable to do anything. The wrestler’s breathing went back to normal, blood flowed again, and with that bloodflow came something else. There was a flicker in his mind, a lighter that shot out a few sparks, and as he watched Fortune suffer--the lighter continued to click. Eliza continually berated Nadia for her attempt to free Beowulf, and dug into her deeper; fiercely yelling within a control manner.

Tears streamed down the feline’s face, and she whimpered. The lighter became a flamethrower, and it let loose fierce, white-hot, vermillion flames; flames of pure, raw, scorned, and unlimited rage. His neck turned into a mountain range, his teeth pressed metal, his eyes became centered, and his heart ran a marathon. Beowulf’s arms buckled against the restraining hands, and he easily tore through; Eliza didn’t notice. Beowulf ripped the hands off of him, they desperately tried to grasp at him--he went so far as to bite one of them. There was one thought on his mind when his legs were free; punish Eliza. 

Beowulf’s right fist glowed a sapphire hue of crackling energy; fury welled within it. Eliza was too wrapped up in Fortune's suffering, and with every cry the catgirl made--the energy rose higher. Beowulf set his sights on the songstress, fist shaking, breathing heavy, and full of vengeful ire. Fortune’s eyes eventually drifted towards Beowulf, and widened when she gazed upon the energy he was storing. Eliza seemed to be puzzled by her sudden attention shift, she turned around to see Beowulf reeling back. In the confusion, Nadia swayed her head free of Eliza’s grasp and wound up on the floor before the attack.

In the time it would take someone to blink, Beowulf unleashed this new attack that had been brought on by Eliza’s sadism. An afterimage of a tall, bearded-giant followed behind the punch--exploding upon impact into dust. Faster than a nebula, piercing like a bullet, harder than a hydraulic press; his fist colliding with her face. The sheer impact of the blow not only burst the sound barrier, but caused the floor around them to crack. Eliza’s face twisted and contorted under the pressure of the blow; the sound was akin to thick sheets of ice coming apart--bone after bone dislocating… Blood spurt out of her mouth, along with three other teeth.

The force behind the punch sent Eliza flying, her body smashed through one pillar, causing it to collapse in a heap of sandstone. With a grunt, Eliza was ricocheted off another pillar and slammed into the ground next to her throne; a chorus of cracks echoing from her body when she smacked against the floor. And, a cloud of white dust accompanied the resulting crack of the marble. “Grudge Strike: Fist of Balore…” Beowulf whispered as he knelt down to catch his breath. He felt that strike in his fist still, he’d definitely broken a few of Eliza’s bones with that number. His mind snaps back to reality, he runs over to where Nadia’s head is, screaming her name. His heart was still running a marathon as he saw her eyes gaze into his.

Nadia screams his name back, and Beowulf picks up her head to hug it. She still has tears in her eyes, and Beowulf can feel them on his neck. While it is touching, he knows he has to get out of here and find Irvin--he’s probably worried. Beowulf puts Nadia’s head on his back and runs over to where her body is. With herculean effort, he ripped the rings around her torso appart. Using brute force, he bludgeoned the steel gauntlets until they cracked open. Beowulf used the Hurting to sever the chains, and then removed the shock collar by snapping it in half. He breathed a sigh of relief that it didn’t go off… But more importantly, Nadia Fortune was safe, and reunited with her body. But most importantly…

“Whew. I thought those rings were gonna cut my hands… Eliza’s sadism knows no bounds! I hope you weren’t too uncomfort--” Beowulf’s musings were interrupted by Nadia throwing her arms around his neck and planting her lips firmly on his. Surprised at first, Beowulf leaned into the affectionate gesture, and put his hand around the back of Nadia’s head. Tensity, fear, pain, uncertainty, strife--all faded away in place of a powerful, fiery, passionate declaration from two inseparable lovers. A glow unlike any other washed over them, Beowulf knew right then… He’d been unsure before, he’d gone through all this, had many times in life where he felt that the choices he made have had everlasting consequences…

But this, this wasn’t about consequences, it wasn’t about weighing the options and going with what was best. This was the careful plucking in his heart, the smell of Nadia’s perfume, the silkiness of her hair, the feel of her soft arms against his neck, her delicate lips against his scarred mouth, and the roughness of her tongue interlocking with his; this was not a decision; this was love. This was what he’d been missing since his mother had passed away, the feeling of pure passion and unconditional acceptance; to Beowulf it felt like heaven.

Heaven had to be on the backburner now, however, and Nadia seemed as if she remembered something. She ran over to the coffin and tried to wrestle it open. Beowulf knew someone was in there, but was confused as to who other than Nadia that Eliza had bad blood with. “Who’s in there? And what does Eliza want with them?” Beowulf asked.

“It’s the hair girl!” Fortune growled, trying to pry the lid open. “Eliza wants her parasite! We need to pry open this damn coffin!”

“Hair girl… Nadia you’re gonna have to be more specific.” Beowulf said plainly.

“I don’t know her name!” Nadia huffed. “B-But her parasite’s name is Samson.”

“Samson, huh? Where have I heard that name before…?” Beowulf scratched his chin. “Oh well, I’ll think about it later!”

Beowulf picked up the coffin and shook it about. There was definitely someone in there. He thought for a moment before gathering himself, and he welled up with energy. Nadia tried to wave him off, but her face lit up with surprise when Beowulf merely tapped the coffin with his right index finger. Beowulf held it there for what seemed like a minute, and then removed it with a small smile.

The coffin rattled and shook fiercely. Its gyrations started to kick up dust off the marble floor. It slowly reached a climax of noise and movement. It echoed throughout the baths with a reverberating shock. Suddenly, it stopped in place and emitted a creaking sound. With a sigh, the coffin opened up to reveal what looked like a mummy bandaged in scarlet wraps. The precise method in which these bandages were wrapped unnerved Beowulf; how committed was Eliza to this, anyway? Commitment wasn’t the right word… “How long has she been doing this?” Beowulf thought as he stared at the mummy.

Nadia quickly made three gigantic slashes across the woven fiber, her claws causing bits of rope to fly everywhere. The bandages unraveled to reveal a young, shapely, high-school aged girl dressed in a tie-sweatshirt, a short skirt, long-stockings, and casual shoes. Her hair was like the night sky, darkly amethyst with hints of yellow! “Wait… Those aren’t hints! Those are eyes!” Beowulf stared at the eyes, and they stared back. Beowulf wasn’t sure what to make of this, was she two faced? Did she have a pet hiding in her hair? Did she simply get the wrong hair-dye while wondering at the plaza? All of these questions went through Beowulf’s mind… “What the hell are you looking at, chump?” The eyes narrowed in on Beowulf, “If you’ve got something to say, say it! Don’t just stare at me! Shit’s awkward!” A rather gruff, and deep sounding voice emanated from the back of the girl’s hair.

“Talking hair.” Beowulf said flatly. “This girl's hair is talking to me. Oh my god. Nadia, please tell me I just got hit by Eliza too hard....” He pointed to his forehead.

“Let’s get one thing straight here, chump. I’m. Not. Hair.” The unknown mass growled.

“No, you’re still here, Wulf. Beowulf this is Samson, Samson, this is Beowulf.” Nadia introduced the two sheepishly.

“Oh, the famous wrestler. Kid’s mom often talks about you.” Samson said.

“Speaking of which, what’s her name? I’m sorry, I’ve never met her before, but Nadia knows you! Somehow..?” Beowulf cocked his head to the side.

“Her name’s Filia.” Samson said, eyes rolling. “Thanks for rescuing her, and of course, me too.”

“Is she ok?” Nadia asked, looking at Filia’s face.

“Eliza removed her heart and replaced it with some weird… I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s a heart. She was planning on finding me a new host, but something tells me she got bored halfway through and decided to change Filia here… Seriously, thanks for rescuing us.” Samson explained.

“No problem… Talking hair..?” Beowulf said cautiously.

“I’m not her hair dammit! I’m a parasite! Hell you just… Oh. No.” Samson’s eyes dilated, and stared through Beowulf.

Beowulf turned around to see what had caused Samson to suddenly go silent. What he was seeing made his mouth go agape, this was physically impossible. There she stood, Her face embodied pure malice, her eyes had turned red, the left one twitched, her grin stretched to her ears, and her teeth were jagged from the punch that Beowulf delivered; it was as if Eliza’s body had realigned itself in the time he took to free Fortune and Filia. Before going forward, Eliza noticed her neck was lopsided. With a pouting look, she used her hands to jerk her face back into position. A low, shattering crack resonated as her spine slipped back into place.

“I have to hand it to you, Beowulf, you gave me quite the hit! You dislocated my spine, fractured my face, and caused three major hemorrhages all in one punch~ My poor body is going to feel sore from that one, but I do like a man with some bite~!” Eliza said mockingly.

“Step off, bitch. He’s mine.” Nadia said forcefully.

“Unfortunately, me squeezing you dry hasn’t at all damaged your tongue~ We’ll have to fix that.” Eliza giggled to herself.

“Fix yourself when I rip your face off for chaining me up like that, and forcing my boyfriend to risk his life just to save me.” Nadia unsheathed her claws.

“Oh, I’m done dirtying my own hands, darling~” Eliza waved her off condescending. “Why don’t you say hello to someone who’s been begging to join us this whole time? Oh, Sekhmet, come hither~!”

Without hesitation, Eliza grasped both of her hands on the fringes of her stomach and grinned widely. She ripped herself open, crimson blood swirled and splashed about in a mist. A white blur broke through the mist and darted to the foot of the throne. It’s skin was as pale as the moon above the baths, it’s golden eyes flashed within the mist, and the unmistakable sound of a cat’s rowr could be heard.

“Watch out, catgirl!” Samson screamed before the creature lunged through the air. It appeared to be a skeletal judging by the way the baths illuminated its pale body. The unknown assailant unsheathed two blades from it’s cartilage and swooped in on the beastkin. The scythes hurdled down, this would be a decisive blow. It would’ve been, if Beowulf hadn’t caught both the scythes, and the claws of the assailant with the Hurting. The scythes bore into the fabric of the chair with ungodly ferocity, but the metal held firm, managing to catch the would-be-killer; dead in its tracks. It struggled amidst the Hurting, hissing violently at Beowulf. 

He wasn’t sure what this was, but it made Samson cower, so it must’ve been pretty bad. What was worse is that it slowly dawned on him that Eliza was now using her own skeleton to try and get the drop on him. “This woman… Is a demon.”   Beowulf thought as he swung the Hurting trying to get rid of the thing, but it maliciously kept clawing through the chair; wanting  to take swipes at Beowulf. With a precise flick of her tailblade, Fortune severed the arms of the unknown beast at the wrists, causing it to fall flat on it’s back.

It flailed momentarily before Beowulf came charging in. With a kick that would put a running back to shame, he punted the skeletal creature into the fountain. A resounding splash echoed through the baths when it hit the water. Beowulf turned around to see the visage of Eliza fall apart into blood. He winced at the sight, but kept his cool long enough to look away and then undo the rest of Filia’s bindings. Nadia worked with him to make sure that all were properly undone, and eventually they set her free. Now, everyone that Eliza had taken was free from her clutches, and they could all escape together. However, when Beowulf looked at Samson, he saw fear; not triumphancy. “What’s with the look, bucko?” He asked the parasite, scratching his chin.

“Don’t you feel it?” Samson gruffed, his eyes darted about the room.

“Feel what?” Beowulf asked.

“The air, stupid. It feels like we’ve dropped in pressure!” The parasite squirmed on Filia’s head, Beowulf could tell something was clearly bothering it.

“Pressure, you mean like when you’re in a cabin? Now that you mention it…” Beowulf felt his ears start popping and poked at one of them. “Yeah, I guess we have… Why though?”

“Beowulf…” Nadia’s ears poked upwards, her eyes glued to the fountain.

Beowulf turned in the direction that Nadia was facing, and he almost couldn’t believe his eyes… Blood. Pure blood was oozing across the marble floors and into the fountain like a reversing waterfall. All of the crimson liquid had vanished from where Eliza had once stood, and now the last bit of it had made a new residence within the fountain’s waters… Once it had done this fully, the baths began to rumble. The fountain itself spewed out blood, splattering across the floors and into the canals around it.

The cerulean waters around the baths had turned to violet before being fully encompassed by the crimson… Meanwhile, blood bubbled in the fountain itself like a cauldron over hellfire. The ground shook violently, and Beowulf instinctively held onto Nadia as it did. To Beowulf physically, it felt like an earthquake; but mentally, he had been overcome with something primal. Dread, the feeling of terror had come to grip his heart fully, whatever was cooking within that pot of a fountain was full of malice. The thick liquid thrashed about within the fountain, blood rose up in gooey, unnatural shapes. Beowulf could feel pressure building within him, the power that was being exerted; it terrified him.

His fears were not unfounded when a gigantic, bubbling, thick arm arose from the fountain and smashed upon the marble floor. The impact had caused Filia to stir, Samson yelped, Nadia hissed, and Beowulf stood firm with a grimace. The fist that had just smashed the floor was bulging like the rest of the arm, he could make out that it had claws and veins… Before he had time to register the full form of it, another arm splashed out of the fountain and spiked the ground, causing blood, marble, and dust to fly about. The blood within the fountain bubbled higher, and emitted a noise akin to crackling. Beowulf swore he heard something amidst the cacophony of debris…

Laughter. Smug, maleficent, vile laughter faintly run against the cracking of marble and the boiling blood. It increased in volume when something else rose out of the fountain. Two pointed jackal ears, a crown depicting an asp, two slit eyes, a pharaoh’s headpiece, rows upon rows of jagged teeth, a hawk’s beak, and a torso full of something vile… Images of people, some tall, others small, their faces had no eyes, and their expressions remained frozen in terror. The body was massive, it almost reached the tip of the highest pillar in the baths that neared the roof. In the center of the pectorals, Beowulf could make out two yellow eyes… Then, he heard her voice, the same voice that had taunted him so earlier now filled him with dread.

“To be pushed to this form… It’s quite astounding that you’ve been this much of a pain, pup.” Eliza’s was verging on a knife’s edge of anger, and smug satisfaction. “To come all this way, not understanding what it means to not only cross my path, but to defy me and inflict pain on me…” She cackled quietly, each laugh struck a pin within the cushion. “Truly, everything you saw back there was me only toying with you. But now…” The bloody beast lurched forward, “You have angered me. Consider that an accomplishment, because it is by no means an easy task. However, accomplishment comes with a price.” The beast’s eyes lit up with crimson fury, “And being the achievers you are; you already know what that price is. You will face the consequences…” The beast’s head looked down upon the four, “And fully understand the foolishness of defying a goddess!”

With blinding speed, the right arm of the beast flung into the air. With ferocity akin to a lion, it slammed against the marble floor, causing pillars of crystalized blood to erupt from it. They traveled towards Beowulf, who was still trying to grasp what he was gazing at. Nadia tackled him out of the way, as the blood spike careened past them. Feeling the impact of the ground and smelling something quite aromatic, Beowulf looked up to see that Nadia’s chest had been buried in his face. He flushed red, and quickly rose up sheepishly, prompting a tiny giggle out of Nadia. Despite the brief snapback to reality, Beowulf knew that this was absolutely no time to gawk at the chest of his lover--there was a twelve foot tall blood beast hell bent on killing all of them. He looked towards the door he had come from, and his heart sank.

It had been smashed beyond recognition by the rubble undoubtedly caused by the shaking earlier. They were trapped, and Beowulf could see no other way out than the window panes above. “Have to make a decision quickly…” The wrestler thought. He looked at the beast, who was in the midst of preparing another attack. “If I don’t, we’re all dead…”  Beowulf looked over to Nadia, fear lingered in her blue eyes, her teeth firmly bit her lower lip, and her tail was swishing rapidly. Seeing her in chains had angered him, but this made Beowulf want to cuddle up with the woman he loved. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be fine, that nothing would ever happen to her, and that he would be there for her forever. However, he needed to protect her now when she needed it most. “Nadia.” Beowulf called over to her. “Take Filia and get out of her while the going’s good--I’ll handle Eliza.”

“W-what!?” Nadia winced, “Hell no! I’m not leaving you here alone with that!”

“We don’t have time, Nadia! I can buy us some--” Beowulf dodged a bloody spear that embedded itself within the floor behind him.

“I don’t care how much you could, I’m not leaving you!” The catgirl--in defiance--stamped her foot.

“Nadia I don’t want to see you in chains again, I won’t let it happen!” Beowulf’s fists quivered. “I promised myself!”

“And I promised you, Beowulf! I promised that I’d be with you forever! I’d rather be dismembered and chained again rather than leave you here to die!” Her voice cracked when she uttered the word die.

“Nadia…” Beowulf’s argument melted away.

“I mean it, Beowulf! We’re in this together!” Nadia stared at him with conviction.

Beowulf paused, and sighed deeply. “Nadia I--”

“I’m not running! I’ll stand and fight for my man--damn if I’m going to let him become a pincushion--that’s what a real woman does!”

He paused again, but this time he stared at her and not Eliza. “I understand. Your mind’s made up, and once you’re set to something there’s no changing it.” Beowulf shook his head while smiling weakly.

“Damn right I do.” Nadia playfully smiled. “I love you no matter what happens to us...”

“You can continue being lovers from the bottom of the abyss!” Roared Eliza, “Kneel!” The bloody beast’s left hand lit up with crimson light, and the physical structure of the hand warped into something that resembled a crocodile’s mouth. The maw opened and gathered energy as blood spun around the teeth. The beast’s arm lurched forward, and the crocodile mouth spat out a gigantic, crimson, steelforged spear. It hurled towards the duo with incredible speed, and both braced themselves for impact--there was no way they could dodge this one. Beowulf stood in front of Nadia and braced his arms for impact.

An impact that never came. Confused, Beowulf heard the sound of spear hitting flesh, therefore, he should’ve been dead--shouldn’t he have been? Was he already? He peered up from his crossed arms to see something that looked like a gigantic rubber band… It was silky, soot colored, and smelled faintly of… cheeseburgers? Beowulf leaned in to examine it further, and saw a bunch of tiny fibers holding back the tip of the spear Eliza shot out. This got Beowulf curious, and he reached out to touch it when he heard a familiar gruff say: “If you so much as lay a finger on me: you’ll be my next snack, meathead.”

“Samson!” A high-tone, smooth voice called out from beyond the dark fibers. “Don’t be rude to the people that just saved us!”

“Hmph! Fair enough, kid. But you know how I get when someone touches me!” The fibers stretched in frustration.

“But I brush you all the time…” The voice protested.

“Y-Yeah..! Well, you’re different, kid! Especially that shit you do with the bristles…”

“Excuse me,” Beowulf asked with his mouth slightly agape, “who is talking right now other than the hair?”

“Oh! Sorry. Thanks for saving us, Beowulf--my mom’s a huge fan!” The fibers let go off the blood spear and it fell to the floor--turning to a bubbling puddle. It retracted into the flowing hair of the same young, tall, dark-haired, thickly-shapen, red-eyed school girl that they had rescued not moments earlier. “M-My name’s Filia! Nice to meet you!” She smiled weakly, and then turned her gaze to the blood beast, who was clearly not amused with what was transpiring because it’s mouth was now closed. Beowulf could hear Eliza breathing heavily, trying to control herself while in that big thing… But the cracks came through when she shouted at Filia; “You… Mongrel! Who let you out of your sarcophagus!? Return there at once! You are still unfit for Samson in your current state!”

“I think I’m fine as I am.” Filia pushed some of her locks to the side, “Oh, and thanks for this beast heart.”

“You fool! It is not a ‘beast heart!’ It is a legendary creature’s heart that has been weighed by Albus’ ancestors and enhanced by me--ugh!” The beast slammed a fist on the floor, kicking up marble again. “Return to your coffin at once!”

“What do I look like, a magician?” Filia cocked her head to the side and frowned. “There’s no way in hell I’m going back into that thing!” 

“Defiance… Will be met with severe punishment!” The beast glowered.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not into the whole…” Filia put a finger to her lips, and thought for a second before saying her next words. “I’m not really into the whole master slave slash S&M bondage stuff… Samson though, maybe you could try him!?”

“I. AM. NOT.” Samson growled. Filia’s hair went wild to signify his frustration.

The beast unleashed a hellish roar, full of anger, shattered pride, and murderous intent. “That does it… That. Does. IT! I’ll kill all of you! I won’t stand for this humiliation! Not now, not ever! Perish!” The beast opened its maw agape. The sound of liquid crystallization could be heard loudly from the far reaches of the open mouth. “Perish for your insolent behavior!!!” Eliza roared fiercely. The beast rolled its head back and belched sixteen bloody cannonballs in the direction of the group. They trailed through the air, the excess liquid flying off of them as they careened maleficently. Beowulf leapt in front of Filia and swung the Hurting mightily.

He knocked three balls away in succession before Nadia pushed him out of the way again to avoid another. Filia rolled out of the way--cannonball nearly missing her--and watched as the bloody sphere embedded into the floor. They slammed into the pillars of the baths and they crumbled down; marble shards flew everywhere. Eliza’s wrath was uncontrolled for a moment, nothing but pure fury rained upon the group as more cannonballs were spewed from the maw. They made squelching noises as they traveled, but their impact was reminiscent of an earthquake. Nadia threw bits of stone at the beast, Beowulf kept knocking back the cannonballs, and Filia kept striking the beast with her hair--all three to no avail… 

Beowulf knew that if they kept going like this, it would tire them out, something had to give. He knocked another cannonball away before he heard Eliza scream with fury again. “To the deepest pits of hell! Vanish!” The beast raised both fists into the air, and with lightning speed slammed them down onto the marble floor. From the impact a large shockwave shook the room, causing the three of them to fall to the ground. “And now, the final curtain!” The beast lowered its head and the maw opened once again. “DIE.” Was the only word Eliza uttered before the beast welled with crimson bubbles and a deluge of blood came breaching from the mouth. Incredibly fast, it blew away everything in its path across before coming within inches of the group… Beowulf shut his eyes, wishing he could at least hug Nadia one last time.

A crash from up above diverted his attention; glass shards fell around him. He gazed up to see a large shadow come thundering down. Beowulf couldn’t tell what he was looking at, it stood at least eight feet tall… And, it had a saxophone coming out of its back… “What?” Beowulf cocked his head to the side. “Am I dreaming?” Dreaming or not, the figure knelt forward and braced. In the next second, Beowulf thought he was for sure dreaming, because a gigantic french horn encompassed the figure in full brass glory. “Hit the road, Jack.” A baritone voice quipped, “Horn Crush!!!” With implausible speed for a figure that size, the unknown giant barreled forward into the oncoming wave. With incredible strength the wave clashed against the figure, the flood diverted away from the group and into the baths beside them. 

Eliza groaned in frustration. “And who should come to ruin my moment than the free-form titan himself… To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” A hint of fury still hinged on her voice. After the deluge ended, the figure stood up again and shook himself off. “Business as usual, bloody songstress.” The figure retorted. It stood eight feet tall, wore a fedora, a trench coat with six golden buttons, and a saxophone sticking out of his back; Beowulf recognized that look… “Big… Big Band?” He asked, still trying to take the visage of the imposing figure in. “Oh boy, and who do I gotta get out of a mess more than the six time federation champ himself?” Band quipped.

“Wait… I don’t understand, why are you here?” Beowulf got up and scratched his head.

“I owe a debt to a buddy, Irvin says hello by the way.” Band tipped his hat.

“Ack! I forgot!” Beowulf put his hands to his ears. “He’s still in the car! And wait… How do you know Irvin?”

“We go way back. But he’s not the only one I’m paying a debt to. Patricia wanted me to find a schoolkid by the name of Filia.” Band said smoothly.

“Patricia… Ah! Miss Peacock!?” Filia got to her feet and dusted herself off.

“She’s still using that damn alias... “ Big Band shook his head, “Anyway… Don’t think of this as me coming to the rescue. I’ve come to pay debts, and it just so happened to be two birds with one stone.”

“Well if it isn't the detective…” Nadia wiped some of the dust from her mouth. “Come to put me away?”

“No. Besides, now that you’re with Eliza, the Medicis are considering you a lost cause.” Big Band put forth a thumbs down to signify ‘lost cause’. “You still owe me for ‘Ellington’, kittycat.”

Beowulf looked at Nadia. “Nadia, did--”

Nadia put her arms to her sides, balling them up into fists in defense. “It was a one-time thing, and Minette needed it to practice!”

“So that’s where it is…” Big Band shook his head. “Nevermind that, It looks like we have ourselves a pickle.”

The group turned their attention to Eliza, who was making the beast she inhabited wag its finger condescendingly. “Don’t go celebrating preemptively~ Just because you have four now doesn’t mean you stand a greater chance at avoiding your demise… Quite the opposite.”  The beast reeled back one arm, it grabbed a piece of furniture on the other side of the baths. Without hesitation it hurled it forward; a stone table flying through the air at ludicrous speed. Beowulf yelled for all of them to spread out, and ducked as the flying marble flew past him, missing his head by a few inches.

Big Band rushed to the left side and jumped into the air. From his coat popped out a set of timpani drums and six extra appendages. “A band’s greater in numbers, sweetheart.” Band retorted. He rapidly beat the timpani drums and the bottom of the drums unleashed a hail of energy shots with each successful beat. Salvo rained into the giant, causing it to flinch and put up its left arm in defense. Each shot caused the liquid the arm was made out of to ripple wildly. The right arm rose up above the left and opened its palm; the shape of a stylish slit formed through the crimson liquid. Opening like a zipper, the slit revealed a yellow eye that manically darted about before setting its sight on Big Band. The pupil in the middle--though barely visible--dilated and the hand itself started rumbling.

Within the next second, an amorphous blood-creature jumped out of the hand; one gleaming eye on its misshapen head. It lunged at Big Band while screaming incoherently; two large arms outstretched to try and deal damage. From below, Nadia jumped up and roundhouse kicked the creature in the eye. It careened back into the fountain--landing with a loud splash and a growl of pain. Nadia then went on the offensive and performed two gigantic slashes across the palm. Blood spurted about, but the arm didn’t lose structure. Gravity kicked in and Nadia landed to the ground on her feet. Big Band was still hovering in the air, though he had stopped drumming. The beast reeled back the left hand and attempted to smack the detective out of the vicinity with a swooping clothesline.

Big Band took the brunt of it, but managed to use the impact from the force to gain higher ground. He took a new position on top of an aqueduct overlooking the baths. He looked down to see Beowulf making a mad dash to the fountain; his shoes clacking across the cracked marble like a ballroom dancer; wearing dress pants hadn’t slowed him down at all. In his left arm he carried Filia, who was currently rolled up into a hairball courtesy of Samson. “Alright…” He looked ahead at the beast in front of him. “Now I just have to aim for the head, that’s usually how this works right? Right.”  Beowulf took aim when he was within ten feet of the beast.

With the strength of a legendary defensive player, he chucked Filia at the beast. In the air, Filia made Samson generate spikes on the hairball and she tumbled frontward. Picking up speed, the hairball had turned into a whirling razor of death and impacted the beast near the neck area. Spinning at an inhuman rate the ball dug into the beast; it emitted a sharp roar of pain--being the first that Beowulf had heard this evening--and tried desperately to remove the spiked hairball. Filia kept on spinning and intended to go deeper from what Beowulf was seeing. The beast thrashed about wildly and clawed at it’s own chest; growling in frustration.

“Enough.” Eliza said sternly. The beast’s right arm caught the hairball mid spin causing Filia to stop. Like a yanking out a leech, the beast removed the hairball and threw it towards the bath canals. Filia went flying--now out of her hairball--and scrambled about in the air. Beowulf ran to try and catch her; only for Samson to sprout butterfly wings made from hair and lower her down gently onto the marble. She dusted herself off and looked at the beast before screaming at Beowulf to move out of the way. The wrestler rolled to the side and avoided a chunk of the hieroglyphics on the wall. It broke apart with a loud crunch when it hit the floor. From what Beowulf could see, Eliza threw at least six more parts of the building at them; she was fully set on continuing the onslaught.

“It’s time I finished this; I care for one thing: and it shall be mine.” Eliza calmly stated. The beast spiked the ground in front of it after she finished throwing things. Two lines of blood scrawled across the floor like red ink on a sheet of paper. Two turned into four, four turned into eight, after a short period the two straight lines had developed into what looked more like a diagram of tree roots. Beowulf’s hair stood on ends, the lines gave off an aura about them that made him cringe internally. It was when he noticed that the blood boiled within the crimson did he realize his compromising position. He jumped back in time to avoid a rising torrent of blood out of the ground. They rose higher than the pillars in the bath. Beowulf thought he was looking at waterfalls going in reverse. Amidst the noise of gushing, he heard what sounded like ice-cubes crackling from a warm soda…

The blood slowly solidified--creating walls of see-through red. Beowulf, Nadia, and Filia were all cut off from one another. The moment Beowulf saw the beast glower at Nadia did he realize what Eliza was planning. He smacked against the liquid once to no avail, he desperately called out to her while the beast loomed. Beowulf threw all his might against the liquid, it felt harder than cement, and made a sound similar to bumping into glass when he hit it. “Nadia’s cornered! God damn blood wall! Get outta my way! Nadia, be careful! Please..!” He frantically pounded on the wall, prompting a snort from Eliza.

The beast flexed the lower part of its torso and the fabric of blood rippled within it. Suddenly, tendrils shot out from the torso and grabbed hold of the beastkin, making her yowl in surprise. Beowulf could see her struggle against the tendrils while they slowly tugged her in like a wild fish on a hook. Every yank of her body he felt on his own, every yowl pierced his heart, and with every inch he grew more frantic. Fists, legs, body, and teeth; nothing would pierce the wall. And with each failed attempt meant seeing the one he loved edge closer to certain oblivion. If one was close, they could hear his heartbeat through his chest--panic was in full force. Another hit, another tear, another slam; still nothing.

Beowulf stood still for a moment, watching as Nadia inched closer to the beast’s torso. For the first time tonight--he truly felt powerless. No matter which strike he tried the walls would not budge. It felt pointless to attempt another strike, Beowulf was sure that Eliza had figured out how to outsmart him. It didn’t take traps, games, or some kind of complex puzzle--the greatest wrestler in New Meridian was being outsmarted by a wall. The thought of it nearly drove him up against it. He had taken on titans, legendary wrestlers--at one point taking on Clark Still--but there were no grandiose defeats this time. There would be no ceremonies, no headlines, no after-parties, and no second chances…

The pure agony built upon itself much like Eliza had built the walls that now seperated Beowulf from Nadia. Yet, she went the extra mile to give him a front row seat to watch her demise by making them clear. “This bitch… This bitch! I’ll wring her neck! I’ll wring her with my two hands! This is lower than low..!” Beowulf felt his own blood boil, his breathing became ragged, and his mind was traveling to all sorts of dark places… But in the darkness, he found something. Not light, but nothing. Nothing but emptiness.

It was in this emptiness that Beowulf got his emotions in check. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply like he had earlier. “Ignore everything. Just think..” He kept repeating to himself quietly. He felt stupid at first; this wasn’t going to change anything, and he was wasting what moments he had to save the woman he loved… Yet, he kept doing it. It was his emotions that had led him right into the venus flytrap that was Eliza; and it was going to take getting them under control to rip the flytrap from its stem. However, his thoughts turned to not Eliza, Nadia, or the circumstances that got him into this. A vagabond, the thoughts traveled through his stream of consciousness searching for an answer.

“Alright… Now, what do I…? Wait. Where’d the sound go?” Eyes closed, Beowulf marveled at the sudden absence of another one of his senses. “Weird… Is this what it’s like to be mama? Just tuning out Mrs. Chumley while she yaps about her husband? This is… This is great!” Beowulf pushed his amazement aside, and concentrated firmly on the matter plaguing him. There was a wall, it was impenetrable--as far as he knew--to fists, Nadia was on the other side being dragged away, and Eliza was a smidge close to getting her hands on the Life Gem. What was he going to do about it?

Was he going to try and punch it again? Would he attempt to jump over it? Would he burrow underground and uppercut out? Beowulf knew that it was blood, it was Eliza who controlled it, and most likely maintained it with her mental fortitude. If he could upset that balance of her mentality and make her lose focus--perhaps her grip on the wall would fade? It seemed plausible, and from what Beowulf had witnessed so far Eliza’s powers were mostly controlled mentally; not by instinct alone. She made these shapes, she controlled the appearance, toughness, and destructive power of her blood. It seemed likely that without her composure, she’d falter again; as she had allowed Beowulf to do earlier when he punched her square in the jaw. It was time to put this plan into action, and he knew just the walking orchestra that could fit it to a tee. “Big Band!” He called the aqueducts above.’

“Yes, sir? Your lady friend’s kinda in trouble.” The detective looked down to Beowulf with a cynical glint in his eyes.

“Ok. This is going to sound totally out of the blue--but what is the highest note you are capable of playing?” Beowulf raised his hand high to imitate a scale.

“At a time like this--what!?” Big Band’s eyes bulged, “She’s gonna die!”

“Just tell me! I know she’s in danger, trust me on this one!” Beowulf stomped his foot.

“Fine. C8 on my Jazz Flute.” Big Band furrowed a brow, “Why do you want to know so badly, anyway?”

“Alright. I need you to play that note,” Beowulf stretched his arms out to the side with his palms open, “-for as long and as loud as you can. I’ll give the signal, and you do it.”

“That note can damage your ears, if not render you deaf. I can withstand it, but you…” Band said worriedly.

“I want to save her dammit! She’s the world to me!” Beowulf shook a fist, “I’ll do what it takes!”

Big Band scratched his chin with a robotic arm for a moment, “Very well. Just give me a snap, and I’ll blow. But, be careful, Beowulf.”

“I will.” Beowulf gave him a salute. “Filia! Have Samson plug your ears, this is going to get loud!”

Fillia nodded, and had Samson place tendrils in her ear canals. She gave him a thumbs up and a smile before turning her attention to the wall in front of her. Beowulf limbered up, and set his sights on the wall and the beast that lay beyond it. He once again closed his eyes, and tried to go back to the place he had just been. Deep breaths; in and out. Think about nothing. Remove all distractions and simply think. He assumed a runner's position as his mind shifted back to nothingness. He waited patiently and continued to breathe; to Beowulf, he had all the time in the world right now. And once sound faded from his mind again: the time was now. 

Though he could not hear it, he snapped his fingers and walked forward. He opened his eyes, but still kept the grasp on not thinking. He saw Big Band up above, blowing as hard as he could into a gigantic, die-cast silver flute. His eyes turned to Filia, who was still standing there and looking at the wall. Finally, his gaze shifted to the beast. What Beowulf saw, he was certain that he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The beast was writhing in absolute physical pain, the blood that made up its bodily structure was rippling with the sound that Big Band created. It’s mouth was open, its arms grasped it’s head, and it thrashed about violently. The tendrils that had once held Nadia firm had loosened their grip. She was free, and looked around in confusion--seemingly unaware of the noise that reverberated around the baths.

It was loud enough that the glass windows above shattered, the ceramic pots around the throne broke into pieces, and a pillar weakened by prior fighting fell apart. He eagerly looked back at the blood wall in front of him and beamed in delight. The integrity of the wall looked to be more of a cascading waterfall now than an ice block. When he reached out to touch it, he felt the smooth, ripply exterior one would feel when touching cool water on a hot summer’s day. On pure instinct he charged through it; causing it to ripple further. Passing through the wall felt like being doused in water, but Beowulf shrugged it off and kept advancing towards Nadia.

After three more walls he finally made it to her, and hugged her. She said something to him, but he still couldn’t hear. He was a bit concerned that he had actually blown at his hearing by asking Band to do this. However, his concerns turned to the beast itself. Physical damage didn’t seem to affect the beast at all. However, after seeing the walls lose consistency with the presence of sound--he wondered if the consistency of the body was also like water. He yelled at Nadia, “When I get in the body, tell Band to stop!” She cocked her head to the side, a look of worry spread across her face.

She looked at the beast in pain, and nodded slowly to Beowulf. Using instinct again, he dove head first into the fountain. Strangely, he could breathe amidst the bloody water. He swam upwards into the main body, and looked around for any discernible features that he could; there had to be a weak point in here somewhere… When he got to the chest area, his heart sank at what he saw. There, encased in a fleshy, veiny prison was Cerebella. 

She was completely nude, and had tendrils boring holes into her body. Her eyes were closed, but Beowulf could tell that she was breathing. “Is there no level that this woman will stoop? I gotta get her outta there!” He was shocked at the way that she was being used, but a part of him sighed in relief at the fact that she was alive. He would free her from Eliza’s grip too. He swam further upward into where the head was supposed to be--hoping to find her and beat her senseless.

However, there was no sign of Eliza. Instead, he saw what appeared to be the parasite he had battled with earlier. Like Cerebella, it was encased in the same fleshy material. However, it had much more veins and cartilage around it; most likely acting as a shield. “I think she called it Sekhmet, didn’t she? That must be what’s controlling this thing… If I can just… Get to it... “ He propelled himself through the blood, eventually reaching Sekhmet at the top. He locked eyes with the parasite, who recoiled in absolute disbelief. Sehkmet’s golden eyes bulged within its skull. In response Beowulf put on his best imitation of Eliza; he gave the parasite a grin that would put any manure eater to shame and slammed his fist into a cupped hand. Sehkmet hissed at this, and grasped at the veins around it with it’s claws. Beowulf felt the liquid around him shake… Beowulf gulped.

The shaking eventually turned into a current, which forced Beowulf away from Sekhmet at an impossibly fast rate. He struggled to swim against the pressure, but he couldn’t and was knocked farther back to the surface of the beast. Sound returned to him at that moment, and he heard what was similar to a bottle cap being popped off. He lost his momentum with the stream and tumbled backward out of the beast’s body. He hit the ground once, twice, and then rolled all the way over to a waiting Big Band--who had taken up a position farther away from the beast near the throne. He gently hoisted the wrestler up, “Have you lost your damn mind? You could’ve drowned in there!” He said sternly.

“Relax, for some reason you can breathe in there...” Beowulf smirked, “Great… I smell like iron.” He muttered.

“You get used to it.” Big Band snarked, “What did you see in there?”

Beowulf looked at Nadia and Filia, who were now fighting off Eliza once again. “I saw… The parasite, Sekhmet. And Cerebella’s in there too…”

“Cerebella…” Big Band scratched his chin, “The circus performer? Medici’s gal. What’s she got to do with this?”

“The Life Gem, the thing that’s in Nadia.” Beowulf stared at Big Band plainly.

“Oh… That wasn’t in the.. Forget about it.” Big Band shook his head. “If Sekhmet’s controlling that thing, how do we stop it? Physical attacks ain’t working, and you got in there for a bit before she spat you out.”

Beowulf thought about his next words and then beamed brightly, “Do you still have those brass knuckles of yours?”

“Yeah, I haven’t used them yet. Why?” Big Band lifted his brow.

“Ok this is going to sound crazy.” Beowulf held up his index finger, “But I need you to use it to launch me.”

“Launch you into that chest?” Big Band looked to the beast and then back at Beowulf. “There’s no way I’d get enough force to break through!”

“Normally, no.” Beowulf smiled, “However, the body of the beast is weak now because of your sound. Though Sekhmet may not have felt it, Eliza did, and she controls the blood. Nadia and Filia can mess with the outside integrity of it a bit before I go in, we just have to wait for an opening. Are you with me?”

“I’ve gone this far.” Big Band sighed and then beamed proudly. “It’d be an anticlimactic show if I didn’t bring the showstopper at least once.”

With that, Beowulf and Big Band rushed to meet the other two. Beowulf whispered his idea to Nadia, and the catgirl motioned to Filia to follow her lead. The parasite-haired girl nodded, and together they started a frontal assault on the beast. Nadia opened up with three separate slashes across the torso. She bobbed and weaved amidst the tendrils that it shot out. The mocha skinned beastkin became a blur with her strikes; rapidly, claw marks appeared all across the torso creating small holes within the mass.

Holes that were quickly borne into by many tendrils from Samson. Filia pulled herself in with the tendrils and made sure to land a couple short blows. She dashed forward with a pigtail that transformed into a spiral shape. With a sadistic smile she drilled into the blood; this caused the beast for the first time to double back in pain from a physical attack. Nadia leap-frogged over Filia and followed up with a somersault kick. With a glint in her eye, the catgirl leaped up to the beast at chest level. Nadia unleashed a flurry of slashing sobats on the chest area before backflipping off of an incoming beast hand. She landed on her feet and looked to Filia for their next move. Filia smiled and drew a zig-zag shape with her index finger. Nadia’s face lit up with a grin and she nodded.

The duo raced around the beast and the bottom of the fountain; landing blows whenever they could. “Purrserker Barrage!!!” Nadia yelled as she rapidly clawed away at the beast’s back. Each slash was progressively causing the beast to focus on her, it desperately tried to smash her with a free fist. Nadia rolled out of the way and started running in the opposite direction. Filia took her turn meanwhile, having Samson use his energy to ignite her hair in orange energy. She welled up with power and assumed a runner’s starting position. With Samson taking the shape of a large blade, she propelled herself into the beast and through the sea of crimson. She wrought havoc on the inner structure of the beast--it may have been formless, but blood was blood. The heat from her energy was causing several places to clot and thicken, she burst through on the beast’s front. Filia wasn’t done and passed the baton.

With a figurative running stick in hand, Samson took control. He bulged to three times his normal size on Filia’s head and manically bore into where the abdomen should’ve been. His teeth were still hot with energy, and he gnashed about in the blood. Filia confidently stood with her arms folded. “Banquet of Tarrare.” She proudly called her new attack. Samson kept striking at the same area with rapid ferocity until the beast spurted out tendrils of its own in pain-induced defense. Filia back stepped, and met up with Nadia who proceeded to give her a high-five. The beast glowered at the duo, and opened it’s maw; preparing for another deluge attack. “Hey, look alive, songstress.” Bellowed the familiar baritone of Big Band. The beast’s gaze turned toward the bionic detective.

A torpedo-sized, metallic, and riveted brass knuckle stared back at it.  With a spare appendage, Big Band tipped his hat. “This one will be a shout from the soul!” He aimed the fist at the beast's maw, “Expression.” The sound of deafening cannon fire, the smell of sulfur, and the billowing of white smoke. From the fog came Beowulf, he sped past the two ladies faster than a shinkansen and burst through the beast’s maw. A mighty impact caused blood to spurt everywhere, and the beast was thrown backward in pain. The wrestler passed through the bloody stream like a warm scoop through ice cream.

 Within five seconds, Beowulf was right in front of Sekhmet in the center of the beast. His smile was larger than ever, contrasting the parasite’s pure shock and surprise. Instead of being forced out, he grabbed onto the cartilage surrounding the parasite. He pulled himself in and locked his legs around the lower flesh--giving him stable ground. The parasite winced, and Beowulf cracked his knuckles. He reeled back a fist while staring right at Sekhmet; ready to finish the job he had started earlier with Eliza. “W-Wait!” A feminine voice resounded. Beowulf looked around for Eliza, but looked back at Sekhmet. “Extended exposure to a parasite within the confines of using its power can result in death…” It said smugly. “And, if you damage me, that circus harlot’s life is forfeit! I-Is that really what you--” Sekhmet’s sentence was cut short by a left hook; it’s head twisted to the right.

“You treat everyone like dirt.” Beowulf unleashed a flurry of punches to the parasite’s body. “You kidnap Filia, and Cerebella.” A knee into the lower abdomen of Sekhmet. “You put MY woman in chains and drink her blood like the leech you are.” Four more strikes to the chest, and one double handed swing to the neck. “And you use a bright young wrestler for a meat shield!” Three hooks to the face. “Got the nerve to threaten me after all you’ve done!” An abdomen crushing punch. “You act like I’m not going to beat you until you’re white dust!” A flurry of punches to the face again, and one final left hook. Sekhmet--bruised and beaten--desperately tried to flush Beowulf out in one last ditch effort. The wrestler chuckled and grabbed onto the parasite. “I think it’s time you saw the light, you royal pain in the ass!”

Together, they both flew out of the beast. Beowulf clung onto the parasite like a goalie to a soccer ball. They both rolled out onto the marble floor; dent after dent was made as they bounced. Eventually, they rolled to a stop beneath a crumbling pillar. Beowulf looked up to see it on the verge of falling over. In shock, he stood still while Sekhmet squirmed beneath him. The pillar heaved amidst the stone it was attached to, and slowly lumbered over like a falling tree. Beowulf felt something grab him, and pull him off of Sekhmet before the pillar could crush him.

He watched what happened next as he was pulled back. Stones rained on the floor, the deafening roar of cracking signified that the pillar could no longer support itself, and the shadow cascading across the marble floor grew progressively larger with each second. Sekhmet stopped writhing and locked eyes with Beowulf. She glowered and hissed at him while he was pulled away; her expression changed when she looked up. When her golden eyes locked with the pillar, they bulged within her head. A scream of pure anguish and terror escaped her lips--cut short by the explosive crash of the pillar. Dust and shards of marble rose up upon the impact of the pillar. And then, sound was gone again; however, Beowulf could still here the steady breathing of his comrades and the hushed waves of the baths.

Beowulf himself was still breathing heavily. He looked down around his waist to see the familiar strands of black hair coil around him. Filia had been the one to rescue him from certain peril this time. After the debris had settled, the figure of the beast slowly lost its form and dissipated. The baths returned to the normal color, and a still nude Cerebella slumped onto the ground next to the fountain. Beowulf breathed a sigh of relief, Nadia cheered, Filia smiled, and Big Band wrote something in a little notebook. Everyone got up and collected themselves.

Nadia and Beowulf went over to Cerebella to inspect her. Beowulf himself eyed her back, and what he saw mortified him. There were many small slits where the veins had been inserted into her, she had lost a bit of weight, and her skin turned paler by the second. “What's the situation, Nadia? Is she ok?” He asked, trying to gauge the extent of her injuries.

“Still breathing… She’s lost a lot of blood.” Nadia held her hand, and grimaced at the veins that popped out of it. “She’ll die if we don’t do something within the next hour.”

“Eliza’s cruelty is something else…” Beowulf punched the ground.

“It’s astounding… If I didn’t have this Life Gem she probably would’ve done the same thing to me.” Nadia surveyed more of the young wrestler’s body.

Beowulf grunted. “Then we need to get going. I’ll try the doors.”

“Isn’t it funny? Even when she’s on the brink like this, she still won’t quit... “ Nadia rowred. “That’s dedication!”

Beowulf walked over to where the doorway was. It had been covered with debris earlier, but, now that they had time he could clear it out. As he walked another cracking sound started up… He spun around quickly to see if Sekhmet had gotten up from the pillar; it was still in the same place it had fallen. He looked up to see the ceiling above them full of divots and cracks. He then felt the baths shake fiercely underneath him. Beowulf thought to maintain his balance while the others kept looking around in confusion. It seemed as if the entire house was shaking, pots fell over, the waters churned, the throne fell backward into the water behind it. “What’s happening!?” Filia yelled.

“It’s the integrity of the building, we must’ve fought hard enough that we’ve knocked it loose!” Big Band put two arms out to maintain balance.

“Aww hell no! We didn’t just do all that to be crushed!” Samson growled.

“I’ll try and clear the doorway!’ Beowulf yelled over the noise and ran over to the door.

What he found instead of a door was the shattered marble levitating, putting themselves in front of the doorway, and then melding together with a familiar crimson liquid. Beowulf swore and ran to the debris; trying to pry it off of the door. He struggled, punched, kicked, and threw himself against the newly made wall; no dice. Amidst the cacophony of the foundation falling apart, Beowulf heard something enter his mind. It was a voice, soft, elegant, but full of malice. It kept repeating one sentence: “No escape. No escape. No escape. No escape. No escape...” Beowulf recoiled from the door and ran over to the group. “The door’s sealed shut! Eliza intends to bury us along with this mansion!” He shouted.

“Bury…” Filia’s eyes bulged. “Miss Squiggly! She’s still in the crypt below! We have to get her out before this place collapses!”

“We’re not going anywhere with that door shut, are you crazy!?” Beowulf snapped back.

“If we don’t get her out, she’ll die!” Filia argued.

“Kid, she’s already dead!” Samson growled.

“We don’t have time…” Big Band said as he avoided a falling pillar. “This place is going to hell, and unless we want to stick around we have to go!”

“Squiggly… If only I’d known…” Nadia chided herself.

“Save who we can for now!” Beowulf shouted. “We have to… Aww crap.”

The wall with the blocked exit slowly heaved back and forth. Cracks ripped through the stony structure, bricks fell out onto the marble floor, and the roof buckled under the weight. Beowulf held onto Nadia and Filia reeled back while Samson winced. This looked to be it, the night had been proven with victories… However, not even Beowulf could stop a falling building. He shut his eyes and quietly prayed for help. He thought the least he could do was block out the noise like he had earlier--but opened his eyes in surprise when he heard the careful humming of a trumpet… He turned around to see Big Band, playing a key few notes on a tiny brass trumpet. The ground around Big Band turned monochrome, the debris falling from up above stopped, and everyone but the hulking detective froze in place. The last thing Beowulf saw before existence halted was the ever stylish Big Band moving towards him.

The next moment he was inside Big Band’s jacket. He saw the metallic body of the detective underneath him and winced at the amount of things it had on it. Bells, whistles, cymbals, woodwinds, brass, you name it; he had it. He saw Nadia and Filia were clinging onto things next to him. The sound of rocket thrusts and blowing wind permeated the wrestler’s ears. Beowulf felt a cool breeze, and moved the jacket in front of him aside to see the night skies of New Meridian in place of the baths. He looked down to see that they were now flying away from the crumbling mansion, and descending towards the streets below. Big Band landed on the sidewalk and the noise from his rocket thrusters faded. Beowulf got off--dazed and confused from what happened. “Band! Beowulf! You made it!” A familiar voice shouted.

“Irvin! Boy am I glad you’re still here…” Beowulf sighed. “What just… How did you do that, Band?”

“I’ve got my secrets, you’ve got yours, Wulf.” The brass man quipped.

“And you got Fortune and Filia outta there too!” Irvin wiped sweat from his brow. “How in the hell did you pull that off!?”

“Well I…” Beowulf tried to explain. He gestured with his hands before Irvin stopped him.

“Actually, forget that! The police will be here soon.” Irvin motioned to the thunderbird. “We gotta get moving, it’ll only cause problems if you guys stay here for longer.”

“Cerebella needs help!” Nadia showed off the unconscious wrestler still over her shoulder. “She’ll die in this state!”

“I’ll call Ileum.” Big Band interjected. “She can tend to the gal’s wounds.”

“Tell her to go to my place, Band, I can give you the address.” Beowulf said. “It’s out of the way and the authorities will most likely be all over this place.” Irvin quickly handed Beowulf a piece of notepaper. He quickly scrawled his address onto it and handed it to Big Band.

“Alright, I’ll tell her to go there.” Big Band nodded. “For now you guys should get going. I can handle the force, and when Irvin comes back we’ll chat with them about what happened.”

Filia and Nadia ran over to the thunderbird with Cerebella in tow. Irvin took his leave as well, getting in the driver’s seat and twisting the key into ignition. Beowulf nodded to Big Band and started that way before he felt one of Big Band’s arms touch his shoulder. He turned around, and saw that Band had a serious look in his eyes. They weren’t dilated, they were sharp, focused, and unblinking.  “What you did tonight was insanely reckless, idiotic, and unprepared.” Band chided. “But… You went above the call for the woman you loved and two innocent bystanders caught up within Eliza’s twisted games. It takes one man to bravely charge into the fire when the others want to wait; it takes another to risk his own life and love to save others.” He paused, and looked to the side. “I used to think wrestling was fake, that the personalities, the moves, and the people were all just phonies using special effects; working for that paycheck at the end like the rest of us… But you, Beowulf. You’ve got a true heart of gold--the real image of what a wrestler should aspire to be.” He removed his hat and stared directly at the stunned wrestler. “I’m sorry I misjudged you, Beowulf. You’re every bit of the legend that they hype you up to be.”

Beowulf nodded. “Thank you, Big Band. That means a lot coming from you. You sure you don’t want to come back to my place and get some R&R?”

“I wish I could.” Big Band shrugged. “But someone’s gotta explain what happened here to the police.”

“I’ve often talked to my local officers after the match.” Beowulf smiled. “They’re actually pretty normal acting considering how deep the Medicis are in this city.”

“Money can keep anyone jovial.” Big Band put his hat back on and shook his head. “But only the soul can keep you happy. Have a good night, Beowulf.”

“Thanks, Big Band.” Beowulf paused for a moment and then found his next words. “Your reputation as a legendary detective precedes you.”

Big Band shrugged, but smiled. “I didn’t know I was ‘legendary’, but thanks, kid. Take care of Fortune, will you?”

Beowulf nodded firmly. “I will! Take care, Big Band!”

Beowulf ran back to the car while waving and got into the passenger’s side. Big Band tipped his hat back to the wrestler. The car engine hummed to life and the wheels squealed across the pavement. Within moments the thunderbird was gone and all that could be heard was the distant sound of sirens.

Big Band stood there alone--gazing up to the starry sky of New Meridian. Quietly, he regarded the moon that was rising in the east. To him, it was another night; but to Beowulf, it’d probably been a hell of a time. He sighed deeply. “Things around Meridian have a knack to get way more complicated than they should…” He shook his head. “I suppose I’m going to have to go find Squiggly amongst that mess--can’t have the authorities take her into custody or else the ‘princess’ will get ideas…” Big Band looked upon the ruins of the mansion, now illuminated by the moonlight. “I know for a fact that didn’t kill Eliza or her cronies. However, she’ll be out of commission for a while--definitely after that parasite of hers took that trashing… And then, there’s the question of taking Cerebella hostage means for the Medicis; if news of this gets out… It could start a war between Eliza’s connections and the Mafia. Vitale would kill anyone who laid their hands on Cerebella--he’s done it before.” The wail of the sirens sounded closer, and he could see the officers pull up near a couple of houses across from the mansion gates. “That boy reminds me a lot of a younger me--hope he recovers ok…” The sound of car doors opening and the shouting of police officers filled the air. “Just another night on the job.”

*******

When his house was built Beowulf had added the spa as a bit of an afterthought. Originally, it was his mother who had suggested it to him; that woman always emphasized cleanliness. Beowulf thought however, that he should go the extra mile and have a full luxurious spa complete with many amenities. A walk-in shower, a hot-tub, a large bath, a massage table, an open sauna, and a salon all had been requested by Beowulf to the architect. He had this house built after a gigantic prize match that he, and six other wrestlers took part in. Through hard work, determination, and guile had he clenched victory in his fist.

It was those same qualities that now had him on a gurney in a makeshift medical bay in the spa--though Nadia knew he didn’t mind it one bit. Meeting Ileum, however, was a bit of a challenge. The catgirl herself had met Ileum many times before; Yu-Wan often saw her for dentistry. However, when Beowulf saw her for the first time he thought it was one of Lab 8’s misfortunate creations. “Well… He isn’t wrong, but she’s making the most of it.” Nadia had come up to the spa after dressing in more casual clothes. She wore a t-shirt that read “MATRIMELEE” in large curvy letters, a collar with a fishbone on it, embroidered jeans, and black slippers. 

She originally didn’t want to change, but Ileum had informed her that she didn’t need to be operated on. The Life Gem had an endless supply of blood--all of what Eliza had drunk had returned the moment she’d slammed her head down--and her external wounds would heal with rapid timing. According to the reports that Ileum had shown her, the Life Gem had bestowed Nadia the powers of rapid regeneration… “No wonder that woman wanted me so bad… With this stupid thing she could’ve been unstoppable! Well, now she’s six feet under--good for me~” Nadia hummed while she climbed the stairs up to the spa, she found the door to it open. Poking her head inside, she saw Ileum tending to Cerebella.

At nearly seven feet tall, her hair was like a magpie’s crest, a proper button-down nurse’s outfit, a porcelain mask with a red cross on the forehead, scrub gloves, and skin that looked like it had gone through a meat grinder--Ileum looked more like a monster out of an urban legend than she did a registered nurse. Nadia, however, knew that she was indeed a nurse--she’d seen her license--and her supreme knowledge of both the human and beastkin body was unparalleled. She’d almost scared the hapless catgirl out of her skin when she went into extensive detail about beastkin growth development. Speaking of growing, the luminescent viridian glow of a heart monitor gently rose and descended as Ileum methodically worked on the young wrestler.

Brain Drain had referred to Ileum as ‘absorbed’ in her profession, but to Nadia that was only a half-truth. Ileum was dedicated to her profession, but like everyone else: she had a non-work side to her. The non-work side that Nadia had observed was akin to a relaxed and artsy mother; complete with her own opinions on how New Merridian should educate their youth to express themselves fully. Nadia could listen to the woman talk for hours if she felt like it, but words had all left the woman’s lips when she began her work. Antibiotic gel was her paintbrush and her eisel was Cerebella’s toned backside. She spotted Cerebella's hat… or was it a living weapon? It was off to the side of her body and with its eyes closed.  “How is she, Ileum? And how’s her hat buddy?” Nadia asked.

“Her vitals were abysmal when you brought her in. Vice’s has been the same since it was sealed within her.” Ileum grabbed a sewing needle and surgical thread. “Things were looking grim for her, however, she’s stabilizing as of right now. Vice is stagnant--but alive.”

“What did Eliza do to her?” Nadia looked at some of the open wounds and felt Cerebella’s smooth skin with her right hand. “There’s so many of these holes…”

“Eliza most likely used this poor girl as a blood tank; her entire existence must’ve been hellish if these x-rays are to be believed. She also went the extra mile of sealing Vice-Versa--the living weapon--inside of her abdominal cavity; absolutely barbaric...” Ileum pulled out what must’ve been the documents from a manilla file folder she kept nearby. She handed them to Nadia. “Take a look for yourself.”

When Nadia saw the documents she almost threw up in her mouth. Eliza had rerouted Cerebella’s entire… She didn’t know what it was called, but it was how your blood flowed throughout your body. It had been rerouted from her heart to at least thirteen different holes on her back. The amount of work Ileum had to do according to her notes was nothing short of astounding. And here she stood like it was a regular occurence to her. Had it not been for her quick fingers, Cerebella would’ve bled to death. It both angered and saddened Nadia; she had the Life Gem to let her cling to life, but Cerebella? Cerebella had nothing but her body, and Eliza saw fit to use it for nothing but a repository for leftover blood. Ileum was right in saying that her existence would’ve been hell.

The catgirl imagined for a moment how Cerebella must’ve felt. Confused, alone, and in pain; trapped forever in a pool of blood. Barely conscious, unable to speak, and unsure of where she was--only knowing that Eliza had her. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, she definitely couldn’t hear--if the ruckus Beowulf caused wasn’t an indication--the only thing she could do was be somewhat conscious. Nadia counted her blessings that at least she was allowed most of her senses--save for movement--and could at least have hope of one day getting out. Knowing the Medicis, they most likely thought Cerebela was as good as dead; maybe not Vitale, but Lorenzo was a man who liked to cut his losses. Nadia had learnt that when she’d spied on him for one evening. He also apparently had a taste for tomato juice, surprisingly.

A glass of the very same drink sat next to Ileum as she worked, she’d sometimes stop working on Cerebella to take a swig. Nadia set down the notes for a moment and looked at Ileum’s progress. Cerebella certainly looked less pale than she had at the mansion, color had returned to her skin, her mint hair had been undone from a bow, and most of the holes on her back had been sealed. Nadia’s thoughts drifted to Beowulf, and she asked Ileum about him. “How’s Beowulf, is he ok?”

“Oh! He’s better than ok, he’s lucky to have escaped with minor bruises and lacerations.” Ileum finished applying another bandage.

“That’s awesome!” Nadia wiped some sweat off of her brow and breathed a sigh of relief. “But will he have to…”

“Oh yes, he’ll have to go under the knife.” Ileum pulled out a notebook from under a folding table she used for her tools. “The stomach wound that Eliza inflicted upon Beowulf will have complications if not treated soon; septic shock in the like.”

Nadia rowred. “I-Is it reversible?”

“It is, yes.” Ileum clasped her hands together. “I’ll get started on Beowulf as soon as I finish up with Cerebella here. Would you mind checking on Filia? There was nothing wrong with her new heart aside from some aortic blockage--I’ll fix that later--but just to be sure, y’know?”

“I’ll go check on her then. I’ll be right back!” Nadia nodded and headed for the door. “Oh, and, thank you for doing this, Ileum. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you helping us…”

Ileum folded her hands together to signify genuinity. “It is a nurse’s duty to go wherever she is needed and to render aid to those who need it. And…” She seemed to look away abashedly, rubbing her mask with one hand and holding the other with her free one. “I’m actually a huge fan of Beowulf’s…”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Nadia giggled. “Alright, I’ll be right back, I’m going to go check on her real quick.”

Nadia walked out of the spa and into the second floor of Beowulf’s chateau. Unlike Eliza’s mansion, Beowulf had tried hard to make everything less convoluted and easier to navigate. Near each room there was a nameplate, each hall was named, everywhere had a landmark of some sort, and Beowulf made sure that it didn’t look tacky. Nadia appreciated him for doing this, because it made it easier to find the fridge--hence stealing his milk all those times prior. She went left from the spa and down a hallway that split off into two directions. There was a sign in a small alcove in the middle of the wall at the part where the path split. It denoted four seperate places, but the one Nadia was looking for read ‘Guest House’ in bold typeface. The sign pointed to the right and led down another hall that had a glass door at the end.

Nadia quickly made her way down the hall and opened the door to be greeted with something that looked more like a small apartment than a guest house. There were three rooms equidistant from her, a spiral staircase that led to the lower floor, a firepit, comfy cloth chairs, and a small bar with a TV hung up on the wall. If she remembered correctly, Filia was staying in the room numbered 6. She found the door all the way to the right. Pressing her ear against the door she could hear low fidelity hip-hop playing smoothly. Nadia knocked twice and called Filia’s name. She was instead answered by Samson, who told her to come in.

Nadia entered the sixth guest room and was greeted with a surprisingly wonderful sight. This room looked more like a suite than it did with a room. The low fidelity hip-hop was playing moderately; the smooth sound of a guitar and the careful drumming of a sampler seemed to accentuate the nighttime atmosphere perfectly. It had both the space and furniture to prove it. Four leather chairs around a coffee table, an in-house stereo system, a large plasma screen TV, a bathroom with a mini-spa, a large fridge with a small kitchen area, and near a large window sat a plush king-sized bed with a dark-haired girl resting peacefully. Filia was sound asleep, her rosy cheeks seemed to glisten in the moonlight, her chest rose steadily, and atop her head was Samson; wide awake. He noticed Nadia come in and waved her further towards the bed with a tendril. “Out like a light, huh?” Asked Nadia, giggling to herself.

“If there’s anything I really love about her, it’s the way she sleeps.” Samson glanced to the side sheepishly.

“Is she doing ok? Ileum wanted me to check on her.” Nadia pulled up a leather chair next to the bed. “Wow, she seems like she’s really gone…”

“Well, she’s spent about a week in that coffin.” Samson said plainly. “I wouldn’t expect her to have a bunch of energy… Which has still got me thinking about what happened…”

“About what, Samson? You’re not one to usually dwell on things.” Nadia cocked her head to the side, her ears twitching to the beat.

“The way Filia acted during that whole fight… She could’ve chosen to run at any point--I would’ve done that--and instead…” Samson closed his eyes, grumbling to himself. “She stood and fought; she knew full damn well the consequences if you guys didn’t pull through.”

“But we did make it through, Samson. Both of you were a big help.” Nadia patted his head sincerely.

“Kid was the shot-caller that time, catgirl.” Samson grumbled and then opened his eyes--looking away from Nadia. “W-What I’m trying to say is, I felt like I wasn’t me in that fight. If I was in my true form, I would’ve raised hell, kicked some major ass, and freed everyone…”

“Samson…” Nadia said caringly, brushing him.

“C’mon, how lame can I get? The first thing my mind defaulted to when we were in that situation was to run.” Samson looked down dismissively. “All I have to do is look big and then I’m brave? What the hell does size matter anyway? Kid’s about five times smaller than I am and she acted braver than I’ll ever be…”

Nadia let out a small guffaw as Samson sighed quietly. “Just because you weren’t brave at one point, doesn’t mean you can’t ever be brave.” She smiled. “When I was growing up, there was nothing--a beastkin with no mom or dad; walking the streets of New Meridian looking for a bite to eat.” Nadia made a mock fist and punched the air. “I taught myself how to fight by watching street brawlers. And, I got good at picking locks after spending an afternoon with a locksmith after he gave me some food. Using my talents I found the Fishbone Gang, and the rest is history from there.” She looked down to the bedsheets solemnly; she remembered her final night with what was basically her family. “I only got the Life Gem by chance, and it was the same chance that had taken the people I cared about…” Nadia smiled, remembering that though they were gone; they were still rooting for her. To add to that, she had formed new bonds with others, gone on crazy hijinks, and had found a true love that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. “But by the same token, I would’ve been strong whether I had the gem or not. I built myself from the ground up--Beowulf did too, and look at where he is!” She stared directly at Samson, who had at this point opened his eyes. “Samson… Strength comes from within. It doesn’t matter if you have muscles, are ten feet tall, or if you have mastery over anything… It’s about the heart; the strength that you have in yourself.”

“Fortune…” Samson looked at her, eyes bulging.

“I mean it.” The catgirl nodded. “That’s why Filia stood and fought; she believed in the strength that she had.”

“Strength from inside, huh?” Samson closed his eyes. “It sounds like something a therapist would say but… It’s kinda true, isn’t it?”

“Course it is, you witnessed it tonight.” Fortune extended a hand to Samson. “You did it yourself when Filia let you go ham like that!”

Samson chuckled. “That was the most liberating thing I’ve felt in a long ass time.”

“I’ll say, you would’ve tore right through to Sekhmet if you were given the chance.” Nadia patted his head. “You have strength, Samson, you just need to find it in yourself.” Nadia got up and headed for the door. “I have to go back to talk to Beowulf and tell Ileum everythings alright. You have a good night, Samson.”

“Fortune, wait.” Samson perked up.

“Yes, Samson?” Nadia stared back, ears perked up.

“Thank you. Thank you and Beowulf for everything.” Samson nodded at her as a sign of respect.

Nadia smiled, waved gently, and shut the door behind her. She started back up towards the spa. Out the glass door, through the hallway, past the T intersection, and into the same embroidered wooden door she’d gone out of half an hour prior. When she came into the spa, she found Ileum putting the finishing touches on Cerebella’s torso. The wrestler was rightside up now; the lower part of her abdomen was being sutured shut. Ileum noticed Nadia entered and finished her careful threading. “How is she?” Ileum asked. “Her vitals looked fine to me when I saw them, but what did you see?”

Nadia smiled. “She’s sound asleep. Her breathing is normal too, however, Samson did have some regrets about the battle earlier.”

Ileum nodded and applied some antibiotic gel to the suture. “What exactly did he regret?”

Nadia summarized the conversation that she and Samson had--making sure to emphasize belief in one’s own capabilities regardless of size.

Ileum sighed. “I too have had those feelings sometimes. However, it’s always important for a nurse to remember that she is forever needed; regardless of time or place.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Nadia scoffed. “Oh that’s right, where’s Wulf?”

Ileum chuckled and pointed to a nearby room. “He’s in the salon, please go get him ready while I make the necessary preparations.”

Nadia nodded and proceeded into the salon. She was greeted by the gentle plucking of a guitar and the soft hum of medical machinery. Before going further in she adjusted her hair in the mirror and made sure everything was in order. She found her lover on another gurney, he was humming to the song while twiddling his fingers. He had an IV needle sticking out of his right forearm, bandages in several places, and only had his pants on. Beowulf smiled weakly when he saw Nadia, and sat up to greet her. The catgirl knew he shouldn’t be doing this while he still had a gaping hole through his stomach and playfully pushed him back down. She still saw the blood in his bandages; her enhanced ears heard Beowulf grunt a little while laying back. Cooing, she kissed him on the cheek while he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he seemed to come to a realization. “Hey, Nadia.” Beowulf said, hands off the rubix cube. “Do you think I should invest in an in-house medical bay? The spa’s great and all; but, I think we should have a place dedicated to it.”

“Spas are places to relax and restore. But, you do have a point.” Nadia giggled, “It’d be good for when we have kids~”

Beowulf blushed and sheepishly looked off to the side. “Y-You know if I wasn’t beaten this badly, I would spend some ‘quality time’ with you.”

 Nadia guffawed and stroked Beowulf’s hair; it was still as soft as a pillow. “We’ll have a bunch of time for that later, I promise~ For now, I want my big strong wolf to get the care he needs.” She cradled his chin and looked at him with a soft glow in her eyes. “I still can’t get over how you went through hell and back to save me… If it weren’t for you, Eliza probably would’ve ripped this gem out and fed me to those crocodiles she had.” She nuzzled him affectionately.

“Don’t make me think about that…” Beowulf grunted. His muscles seemed to instinctively contract in defense. “If my woman--my heart and soul’s equal--was snatched from me; there’d be hell to pay. And, there was this evening.” He rose off of the gurney and put his hand over his chest. “I’d stop at nothing, no mountain high enough, no chasm’s too deep, and no countess is too evil to swade me. I love you, Nadia Fortune, and no one or no thing will stand in my way for your love.”

Nadia felt her heart rise out of her chest and slam back down like a carnival strongman bellchime. She felt herself blushing, and temporarily lost composure. “Beowulf… No one’s ever said anything like that to me…” She cradled his chin again and got incredibly close. “My heart’s going into overdrive…” She became assertive, and yanked him closer. “I love you, damnit! Kiss me!”

Both of them locked lips again. Nadia felt reality around her melt, seconds had become minutes, minutes became hours--time lost in passion. Her heartbeat in the broken time was that of a sledgehammer; ferociously beating slow and heavy. Her tongue mixed with his, and in the haze she had a moment of clarity. Everything that had happened in her life; the abandonment, the come-up, the gang, the trap, Lab 8, the restaurant, and the dangerous life of a thief. Though she had friends, Nadia secretly thought that she was slowly on an inevitable course of self-destruction… Though she’d secured a nice place to live, had extravagant income, and had honed her abilities to virtuosic tiers; she still lacked something deep in her heart--something that gnawed away at her each day she lived. 

Everyday in her life was an uphill battle. All these pent-up feelings of frustration, loneliness, self-doubt, and anxiety; she had to put on a mask. A mask that she wore each day of bravado, but underneath there lurked a sadness unlike any other… Survivor’s guilt and the feeling of loneliness; she felt that it might take her soul and yank it down to the blackest pit. Nadia was certain that she’d never be able to confront these feelings; haunting her until the day she eventually passed on. But something grabbed her out of the undertow; it had reached out with acceptance, understanding, and unconditional support: his arm.

The man she’d come to know as Beowulf, stealing his milk, cuddling with him, sparring with him, going so far as to court him in front of Minette, and having him claw his way through Eliza just to save her… This was the first time in her life that she felt like she mattered to someone; that someone cared deeply not as a friend, but as a true companion. Beowulf was someone who lent her a shoulder to cry on, would listen to her no matter how long she talked, and would always go the extra mile to make sure that she was shown love. This was a man who had taken on two experienced bodyguards, a literal blood demon, and a gigantic god monster; all of it was done to save her. And for that, the heat within her body welled up.

She leaned into the kiss further and wrapped her arms around him; this prompted Beowulf to lean in further for the kiss. This was what she had been missing, pure, unconditional, passionate, and unbreakable love. She wished it could’ve gone on longer, but she quickly noticed that Beowulf’s stomach was bleeding again. Realizing her mistake and hearing Beowulf grunt again, she stabilized him and patted the bandages down sheepishly. “Sorry, I lost control of myself there… Are you alright?” Nadia asked.

Beowulf grunted, and then laughed a little. “No, it’s ok. I completely understand, I would do that too if you were in front of me. And don’t worry about me, your love’s healing me.”

Nadia giggled and playfully punched Beowulf’s left arm. “Ever the flatterer, aren’t ya?”

“Only for you, babygirl.” Beowulf smirked. “Is Ileum ready for me?” He asked.

“She sure is, I think she has to prep her equipment and put Cerebella to bed.” Nadia scratched behind her head.

“Nadia…” Beowulf’s face scrunched up in discomfort, she knew something was bothering him.

“What is it, Wulf?” She stroked his hair. “You can tell me anything you need to.”

“Can you be near me when she starts working on me?” He said, laying back down. “I’ve always had a fear of operations and needles…”

“Oh, Wulf… Of course I will.” Nadia smiled. “Ileum is a professional, there’s nothing to be fearful of with her, I promise.”

“That other nurse… What was her name? She did NOT help with my fear of hospitals…” Beowulf grunted.

“Oh dear…” Nadia pinched her forehead. “Leave it to Valentine to make everyone scared of the doctor’s office. D-Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow and I’ll be right by you, ok?”

Beowulf nodded to her, and Nadia wheeled the gurney out of the Salon. Ileum was fiddling with her tools when the gurney had reached her. Approvingly, she clasped her hands together and bowed to Beowulf. She began to arrange the tools in a specific order and removed a small box from under the folding table. Ileum set it on top of the table and opened it up. From what Nadia could see, it had multiple shelves and a small mirror. Rows upon rows of bottles, cotton swabs, tongue depressors, plastic cups, beakers, and spare bandages to name a few things that lined the shelves. Ileum limbered up, and told Nadia to get Beowulf ready while she made the last few necessary adjustments. Nadia made sure that she was right beside Beowulf, and told him to hold onto her hand if he felt bad. She longed for moments like these, it was the rare sight of her lover being adorable that she loved the most. “Now, Beowulf I assure you that this process has a 98.67% success rate. But I want you to know that the process can sting a little bit.” Ileum advised, adjusting her gloves.

“Sting… As in how much?” Beowulf furrowed a brow.

“Ileum, will you be using anesthesia?” Nadia asked, trying to look at more of what the nurse kept in her box.

“No, no.” Ileum said professionally. “Anesthesia not only drags this process out unbearably longer than it needs to be; but it also can cause complications. Basic analgesia does not mesh well with my toxins--and should be administered after I drain the wound.”

“Excuse me, did you just say toxins?” Beowulf yelped.

“Not toxins in the traditional sense, Beowulf my boy.” Ileum shook her head. “Toxins in the acidic sense; they do not poison, they melt or control other aspects.”

“W-What are you gonna do?” Beowulf stammered.

“I am going to cause your flesh to trigger an adverse reaction.” Ileum stated. “The tissue and the organs will begin to expand rapidly--catabolic reactions will be sped up.”

“Can we have that in english please, Ileum?” Nadia asked.

“Basically, I’m going to cause your body to repair itself at a faster rate it normally would.” Ileum made a gesture to emphasize pulling something apart. “Your flesh will bubble, and you’ll feel a burning sensation; but bear with me and I promise you you’ll feel as good as new.”

“Alright.” Beowulf nodded. “I trust you, Ileum, start when you’re ready.”

Ileum nodded and removed her gloves to reveal her hands. She motioned for Nadia to remove Beowulf’s bandages around his stomach. Nadia used her claws to undo the carefully wrapped bandages around Beowulf’s stomach--she thanked herself for learning how to remove her gag reflex--it smelled like rotten meat. It looked like someone had made a plate of lasagna, but the tomato sauce had dried.... “Nadia, come on. Don’t think of Lasagna, it’s going to ruin it for you… Just.. Just think about Beowulf and everything’ll be fine…”  She rubbed Beowulf’s hair while Ileum descended into position with her hands.

The moment they touched Beowulf’s skin Nadia saw him wince. She cooed to him gently and held his palm while Ileum made the flesh around the wound bubble with her toxin. Nadia saw shades of Illeum’s artistry once again as she masterfully weaved her fingers amidst the red soup. Her movements were never erratic and always stuck to patterns. She delved farther into the wound; Beowulf squeezed Nadia’s palm while grunting. Nadia patted his head gently and reassured him that she was there. She’d never been put in charge of someone else before, but she was feeling like she was doing a damn good job of it. “Jeez… Ileum is making this look like a joke with how precise she’s being…” The nurse’s fingers were like a muse to a harp; they constantly changed position, but always made sure to never miss a detail. Nadia saw her weave a part of Beowulf’s lower innards back together by simply touching it in specific areas.

To think, this woman had been artificially engineered with a parasite to be an assassin. Nadia had heard Brain Drain himself go on for forty-five consecutive minutes about Ileum’s potential to leave nothing behind--the ‘uncatchable nightstalker’ as he referred to her--and here she was acting in the complete opposite way he had intended. Ileum temporarily removed her hands and let the flesh simmer while she took a tool from the table. “The hell is that? Some sort of hose?” Ileum told Beowulf to hold still and brace himself. Nadia held onto him tightly and Beowulf took a deep breath in preparation. Ileum rubbed her hands together quickly. Nadia could see what appeared to be magenta-colored liquid emanating from Ileum’s pores…

She went down on Beowulf again, this time using both hands to penetrate the abdomen. Beowulf yelped in pain and squeezed Nadia’s palm harder while gritting his teeth. There was a noise that sounded like water running down a pipe… Nadia noticed that the hose Ileum was using was vibrating at a medium rate. She removed her right hand from the flesh to grab a pair of surgical scissors. With ludicrous speed, Ileum delved back into the flesh and snipped everywhere with her right hand. Her left hand secreted more of the magenta liquid as she snipped. Beowulf told Nadia that he felt like something was tingling in his stomach… Ileum removed the surgical scissors and the hose. 

Like grabbing another color from her palette, Ileum’s pores secreted a green liquid this time. Nadia saw her movements become quicker still; the bubbling flesh of the wound sounded almost too much like Yu-Wan’s spicy hotpot. Nadia averted her gaze from Beowulf to look at the wound. Ileum’s movements caused blood and flesh to go in every direction; swirls, lines, spirals, gradients, all separate patterns within a raging sea of her creation. She removed her hands once again from Beowulf and then told them both that this would be the cauterization process. She made it a point that it would burn intensely, and told Beowulf directly to brace himself once again in a professional manner. Beowulf nodded while Nadia watched Ileum closely.

Ileum rubbed her hands together again; the spark still yet to be seen. She descended on the flesh once again and meticulously tapped her fingers across the lower parts of the abdomen. Wherever her fingers touched caused the bubbling there to slowly subside. Beowulf held in a scream of pain, but Nadia once again worked her magic to calm him. With a bit of artistic flourish Ileum pressed one more time against the abdomen. All at once, the bubbling subsided. The red that had once been was now replaced by the same-old peach colored skin. Ileum removed her hands and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well done, Beowulf, Nadia.” She said happily. “The wound here should take about a week tops to heal naturally.”

“Really? That’s amazing!” Nadia exclaimed.

“Yes, really.” Ileum nodded. “However, I’m prescribing Beowulf antibiotics, show this to the Delano Pharmacy, they should take care of the rest.” She presented Nadia with a signed piece of paper.

“This is great!” Nadia smiled. “Are you ok, Wulf?” She put her arm over his shoulder.

“Aside from this queasy feeling inside my gut, I’m fine.” Said Beowulf, face still scrunched up.

“That’s normal. The feeling should subside within at least three hours.” Ileum proclaimed with three fingers raised. “If it doesn’t, call me immediately and I’ll redress it.”

“Thank you, Ileum for doing this.” Nadia said, shaking Ileum’s hand. “Is there any way we can repay you?”

“It is my job as a nurse to go where I am needed, and I owed Ben a favor.” Ileum looked to the side. “But… I did have something else to request.”

“Name it!” Beowulf sat up and adjusted himself. “You’ve already done so much for us, whatever you want can’t be that far out there.”

Ileum seemed to become jubilant. “I’ve been looking for more permanent work, and I hear the NMO is in need of a nurse since the head of staff recently quit. If possible, could I perhaps get the position?”

Beowulf laughed. “Of course you can, are you kidding me? We’ve been looking for a nurse for ages!” He whispered to Ileum. “Plus, some of the trainees there are looking for some pointers on becoming more medically savvy.”

“T-Thank you! I won’t let any of you down--this is such a big opportunity!” Ileum held her fists up in excitement. “I did have one other request…”

“And that is?” Beowulf leaned in.

“Could I get an autograph for my record book? I’m actually a big fan.” Ileum sheepishly presented a professional looking notebook and a pen to Beowulf.

“I always have time for fans, hell yes!” Beowulf quickly scrawled his signature.

Ileum expressed her gratitude profusely and slowly packed up everything she had brought along with her. Neatly, she placed everything within a large white bag. To Nadia’s surprise, the large card table and tools seemed to fit within it as well. The trio made their way downstairs to the foyer where Ileum put on a jacket and hat. Nadia and Beowulf waved goodbye to her as she started for the door. “Oh! Ileum! That reminds me.” Nadia stopped her for a moment.

“Yes?” Ileum turned around.

“We’re also looking for a family doctor.” Nadia grinned. “That is of course, if you’d be up for that too?”

“Why, yes!’ Ileum put her bag down and clasped her hands together. “It’s been so long since I made house calls. Consider it free of charge as well.”

“Once again, thank you for everything you’ve done this evening--you were wonderful.” Beowulf said.

“It was my pleasure.” Ileum bowed. “I gave Nadia my cell, so please call me if you have any further questions.” She turned to leave.

“Oh, tell Big Band we said ‘thanks’ too!” Nadia said, waving her on.

“I will. Have a good evening you two!” Ileum waved.

With that, Ileum went out the door and into the nightly air of New Meridian. Nadia closed the door and smiled with satisfaction. She heard Beowulf breathe a sigh of relief. She felt his arms around her, and he hugged her tightly. It was forceful, but the way he leaned into and used a bit of his strength made Nadia feel safe. She herself leaned back into it and purred softly--she loved moments like this. Playfully, she teased him. “You’ll break my bones if you keep hugging me like that, y’know~?”

“You held me through all of that.” Beowulf said. “I haven’t gotten to hold you like this all night… It’s the first time since we’ve come home, and I wanted to make up for lost time.”

“Lost time, huh?” Nadia purred.

 “Exactly.” Beowulf held her closer. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, that you’re safe, that you’re smiling, and that goddamn purr; it makes my heart throb…”  He nuzzled against her, Nadia felt his hot breath upon her hair. “You mean the world to me. The kitten to my bulldog, the suplex to my german, the apple of--”

Nadia snickered. “You’re such a dork... But I love that about you~” She pursed her lips.

Both leaned in for another kiss. They stood there, embracing one another for what felt like an hour. Nadia couldn’t get enough of this feeling; it was like being on catnip permanently--the high was exhilarating. This kiss felt special; maybe it was the way Beowulf was holding onto her? Nadia felt everything come to her at once; the warm, fuzzy, and safe feeling rose within her. She felt hot enough that if she were to lay an egg on her stomach it’d fry! If Beowulf let her, she’d kiss him like this for the whole evening. But it seemed that Beowulf had other plans, she felt herself being hoisted off of the ground… Beowulf had put her into a bridal carry--it was the type of thing that she’d only read about in some of Minette’s stories--the reality of the situation hit her like a truck. She felt her entire face flush up in red, and she impishly giggled. “What are you going to do with me now, Beowulf?” She teased.

“I think I’d like to cuddle together, and maybe pamper my catnipped kitty.” Beowulf said with a cheeky smile. “And I think she deserves the bridal treatment.”

“Oh, the great Beowulf, treating a woman like this~” Nadia teased.

“Only you, Nadia.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Beowulf…” Nadia purred.

Beowulf carried her up the stairs and through the halls. They made it to their bedroom within five minutes and both laid down on the bed together. As she lay there, Nadia rubbed up against Beowulf--showing of more of her feline side--and continued to purr until both of them fell asleep. Beowulf’s arms still wrapped around Nadia, Nadia still wrapped around Beowulf. The moonlight outside illuminated them both as the lovebirds drifted off into the world of dreams…

***** 

Cerebella awoke with a yawn… She stretched out her arms and limbered up. “I haven’t slept like that in ages! This is an awesome bed and…” She rubbed her eyes, and looked around. “Where am I?” Cerebella looked at herself, she was wearing a tanktop, jeans, and she was pretty sure she had bandages across her back. Still disoriented, she heard a small squeak come from the end of the bed. A tiny hat with a skull, and an orange pattern rocked side-to-side eagerly. “Ah!” She said aloud, “Vice-Versa! You’re ok!” Cerebella grabbed the hat and hugged it tightly. She put it on her head and got out of the king-sized bed she was sleeping in.

The bedroom she was in looked more like an apartment than a bedroom, it had many furnishings, luxuries, and a small kitchen. Cerebella was still unsure of where she was, so she walked out of a nearby door. What she found was part of a mansion--a living area with chairs and a small bar--and became concerned. The last thing that she remembered was Eliza beating her to a bloody pulp and taking her away… Was she still in her mansion? Quietly, she tiptoed to a glass door and made her way into another hall. On the walls she saw various photos of old sights around New Meridian, historic events, and depictions of famous wrestlers… Where was she? Moving along still, she found a t-shaped intersection. There were many signs in an alcove at the center where it broke off into two other pathways.

She found a sign that said ‘MASTER BEDROOM’ in a big font and decided to head that way. She saw more photos and wrestling memorabilia lining the walls… “Whoever lives here must be a huge Beowulf fan! I can’t blame them, he’s the best wrestler ever!” At the end of the hallway she found a large oak door. She couldn’t make out any discernible features other than a  large golden plaque at the top that read; “BEOWULF’S ROOM”. She rubbed her eyes again, was she dreaming? Was she really in Beowulf’s house? Had Eliza beaten her so hard that she died and went to heaven? She had to stop herself from squealing. In a fit of haste, she opened the door and opened her mouth only to be greeted with another jaw-dropping sight.

There was Beowulf, cuddling up next to Nadia Fortune in a large bed. Cerebella had to rub her eyes again and tap Vice-Versa--it flailed excitedly--to make sure what she was seeing was real… Like one of her favorite wrestler’s used to say, “Oh it’s real!” She didn’t know Beowulf was in a relationship--much less a relationship with her target--and was still trying to grasp the situation. She could take Nadia back to the Medicis, have them get the Life Gem, and return to Vitale in one piece! This was her chance to make every dream she had come true..! But something in her heart tugged on her when she came to another realization…

Beowulf and Nadia had gone out of their way to rescue her from Eliza. Fortune knew that Cerebella was her enemy and still went against that woman. Beowulf, especially showed shades of this; his bandages were proof of it. She sighed heavily… They looked so… peaceful together. Beowulf had fallen asleep with a smile on his face, and Fortune was still purring in her sleep… Cerebella grunted in frustration, and a little bit of jealousy. “What should I do, Vice?” She whispered to her weapon, asking for advice.

Vice grew a giant fist out of the right part of its body and pointed towards the door. It grew another left fist to wave off Beowulf and Fortune. Cerebella grunted… She knew her weapon was right--these two definitely were in love with one another. She herself loved Vitale like a father, it wasn’t right to tear them apart; especially after they had both just gone into Eliza’s headquarters to save her… Smiling weakly, Cerebella said goodnight to both of them quietly and walked out the bedroom door. But not before at least rubbing one of Beowulf’s biceps. She went downstairs to the kitchen, she grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. Thinking of what had happened tonight she wrote a letter.:

“Dear, Beowulf and Fortune… First of all, how long have you two been seeing each other? Secondly… I wanted to extend my personal gratitude toward the both of you for rescuing me. If you hadn’t saved me I don’t know what would’ve happened, I probably would’ve been in that place forever… I gotta hand it to Fortune, she’s actually pretty good at this medical stuff--I feel like new! Though, my back still hurts quite a bit… I’ll ask Ms. Dahlia to take care of it when I get back. This part of the letter is addressed to Fortune specifically; thank you. You knew I was after the Life Gem and yet you brought me back here--knowing full well your enemy was sleeping a couple rooms away from you--that takes guts!

I also wanted to say that I’m very happy for you. Not many women can say they’ve captured the heart of the great Beowulf… You’d better treat him well, you hear me!? Oh… And, forget about the Life Gem. In my report I’m going to say Eliza destroyed it… After seeing you and Wulf in bed together, and knowing that you two saved me I realized something. A measly gem shouldn’t separate two people from loving each other… Nor should it be used to make somebody else respect you. Love’s worth more than some stupid gem anyway… Well! I’ve said my piece, Fortune. From now on, we’ll live and let live--two girls do their own work.

To Beowulf; I wish I would’ve seen the fight you had with Eliza! She probably did a number to you based on the amount of bandages you had… Please, write about it one day! I know Eliza would probably quash the publishing--but I want to hear all about someday! Oh… And good luck with Fortune… Watch your back! That girl’s feisty as it gets!

I can’t express my thanks enough--have a wonderful time together!

• Sincerely, Cerebella”

With note finished, Cerebella put on one of the many jackets she found within the foyer closet. She took one last look at the inside of the mansion before heading out the door. She smiled as the cold air of the New Meridian night hit her. It was a long road back to Medici Towers, but she didn’t mind. The nightlife was beautiful, and she needed to limber up after being held by Eliza for so long. With pep in her step, she jogged down the sidewalk; Vice-Versa flailed it’s arms backward in the breeze. 

The nightlife of New Meridian bustles, spring leaves blow in the nightly air, and the moon shines on. The wolf sleeps softly with his kitten while the lights of New Meridian fade in and out like a burnt-out neon sign...