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Falls Rock, Italy
Inside Nico’s Van

“So,” she stepped into a nook set up in the back of her vehicle, clapping down the plank to extend the counter and throwing on a protective apron all with one smooth motion, “What are we looking for?”

“Depends what you have I suppose?” Ichabod shrugged.

“Oooh, a conscientious customer, I like that, but,” she leaned forward, sneering, “Take a second and let’s assume that I have everything you want, what’s your poison?”

“I guess…” he looked back at Melody for help but the faye creature only shrugged and he turned towards Nico once again, “I’m partial to revolvers.”

“Figured as much,” she ducked behind the counter and came back with an array of various guns and arraying them along the plank, “With that gunslinger belt and all.”

                Ichabod stared at the array of weapons in amazement then picked one up and started looking it over.

“It’s a single action army, Mercer Brand, model…” Nico began describing the piece.

“Model 1875,” Ichabod finished for her, turning on an overhead lamp so he could see better, “You snubbed the barrel, and modified the gear for the cylinder,” he quickly flicked the hammer on the gun several times before opening it, “Ten shots, and you use Derringer bullets, this is a pea-shooter.”

“I call it the Red Lotus,” Nico corrected him as she placed it back behind the counter, “Good for close range, yeah, the bullets may not look like much, but you put one in a man’s eye, eight or nine in his gut, it’ll make him think twice.”

“Can’t really fan the hammer with my arm in this cast.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nico ducked behind the counter again, this time emerging with a pair of sharpened blades mounted atop short leather belts, “You probably will need something for close quarters that’s got a little more kick than that dinky little switchblade.”

“Bayonets?”

“Made from the horns of a Bicorn,” Nico explained, “I was going for this whole ‘enhancement accessory line’, but it turns out Devil Arms don’t really play nice with each other.”

“You made these from…”

“Parts of them, it’s why Nero and me work together, he dices ‘em up and I get a chance to experiment with the bits and pieces.”

“Interesting,” Ichabod nodded and tentatively reached out to the blades with his cast arm only for a red electric current to jolt out from his hand, he quickly jerked his arm away, muttering under his breath, “Damn.”

“Okay,” Nico looked at him confused, “What the Hell was that?”

“Don’t worry about it…”

“Well I am worried cause I don’t need fire ‘round the gunpowder you get me?”

“I’m sorry, it’s…” he considered for a moment, stroking his chin, then reached out for the blades with his good arm, “These might actually be useful, thanks.”

                While tucking the blades into his coat, Ichabod’s eye fell upon a larger revolver with four barrels. The model of it seemed to have been taken from a 44. Magnum, but heavily modified to incorporate eight bullets into the cylinder as well as reinforcing the increased weight of the frame with several cross bars.

“Excellent pick,” Nico smiled, “That there is a Nel Goldstien original.”

“No kidding?” Ichabod seemed legitimately impressed.

“She called it Brier Rabbit, see the sights on the top shaped like little bunny ears,” she pointed out before disappearing behind the counter to retrieve a box of ammo, “The real secret’s in the bullets,” she explained, arranging them on the counter, “The center is a cobalt and steel spike, a metal needle that can penetrate pretty much any armor, surrounded by a group of smaller needles made of tungsten, and at the back, a C3 explosive kicker.”

“The explosion scatters the needles, blinding and lacerating your opponent while also adding a little extra velocity to the spikes as they punch through your opponents chest,” Ichabod surmised, examining one of the bullets, “Clever.”

“Yeah, she liked it,” Nico admitted, “But, it relied on a lot of real world resources and, well, with only two shots per load, most people weren’t interested in paying through the nose to keep it usable, that’s why there aint too many rounds, I can only give you four shots all together.”

“I’ll take it,” he nodded, and began slotting the spare rounds into his gun belt.

“You’ll need the holster,” she stated and helped him buckle the large sheath over his left shoulder before holstering the weapon.

                With that sorted, he looked over the last four guns on the table, a snub nosed Luger with a stiletto blade coming down from its barrel (Chrysanthemum written across its handle) , a Smith and Wesson with a belt fed cylinder and three rotating barrels (dubbed Dandylion), and a Rhino enforcer with a cross shaped barrel (Lilac was visibly scrawled on its cylinder). Finally he picked up a Colt with a strange apparatus around its barrel. Looking it over, he flicked out a pair of magnifying glasses that had been worked into the apparatus, folding in and out of the barrel with a quick twist of his wrist.

“It extends,” Nico explained, “See the extended cylinder, it actually takes 3.57. rifle ammo, specialized sabot rounds that turn purple when you fire, supposed to be a stealth thing, muffles the muzzle flash, you shoot and the barrel doubles in length for increased accuracy, you gotta be careful with it, but it’s no joke, my gramma hit a fly between the eyes from thirty paces away with that thing.”

“It got a name?”

“Violet Amaryllis, but I call her Vikki for short.”

“Spare rounds?”

“Don’t have to worry about it, already gave it the Nell Goldstien treatment.”

“Yeah,” Ichabod flicked the magnifying glasses back into the gun’s barrel and holstered it, “I think this’ll do,” he turned to Melody and grimly nodded, “You ready?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped, “Are you done flirting?”

“I wasn’t…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Melody turned away, floating out of the van, “Meet me at the gate.”

                Nico pointedly waited for her to leave before asking.

“So…um…Are you two…”

“No, we’re not,” Ichabod insisted, “She’s just…territorial.”

“I heard that,” Melody shouted back at him.

“It’s not an insult!” he yelled in return, before sighing, “Are we done here?”

“Just one second,” Nico hurried behind the counter and bustled to put her guns away only to emerge with an impossibly massive six-barreled shotgun that she effortlessly hoisted onto her shoulder, “What?” she sneered at his stunned expression, “D’you really think I was gonna let you go alone?”

The House of Amut
The Arena

                Trish stood in the middle of a room strewn with boxes and smeared with dried blood, there were spikes and racks of broken steel thrown about haphazardly, potential weapons, or pitfalls. Nervously she tightened the barbwire that had fused into her arms and stared down the doorway across from her own entrance. This was not her first time in this place, she had been thrown in, to be punished, to be tested, and emerged each time, yet the anxiety never went away.

                The doorway finally slid open revealing her opponent and Trish clenched her fists tightly while Frieda approached. The two women eyed one another with hate flooding off of them in waves, though Frieda was smiling as she circled around, sizing up her enemy.

“You always used to flinch when I looked you in the eye,” Frieda ran her finger over the lid of a box, drawing a giant toothy mouth into existence, “I miss it.”

                Wordlessly, Trish raised her hands and assumed a fighting stance while the mouth grew outward, an extended black worm that gnashed its teeth, stopping just sort of biting her nose off.

“Aww, I miss my sweet, innocent, little sister,” Frieda mocked.

“Is everyone ready down there?” the voice of the Surgeon crackled out from the loudspeakers overhead.

                Frieda swiped her fingernails through the neck of her new creation, the attack rendering it into a pile of dust.

“Ready,” she smirked while Trish growled back.

“Very well, Begin!”

                Trish moved first, blasting at Frieda with a handful of lightning. Frieda easily spun out of the way of her attack and sliced her finger across a nearby wall, summoning another worm mouth that lashed out like a striking cobra. While Trish burst her attacker with another blast of lightning, Frieda was giggling, running around the room and slashing open new holes in the objects around them an summoning a veritable tidal wave of her snake-like familiars. Leering through the curtain of flesh and teeth, Trish kept her eye on her true opponent and leapt after her, narrowly avoiding being rendered to pieces by the vicious mouths.

                She landed directly in front of Frieda, throwing a few kicks and punches that her opponent easily avoided before drawing her attention to the army of worm mouths regrouping for another attack. Gathering energy in her hands Trish threw a torrent of lightning directly into a nearby pillar, shattering it to create a cloud of debris that managed to stun the attacking mass while she charged directly into Frieda once more. For her part, Frieda dodged around the flurry of attacks, grinning broadly until her back hit a wall.

                Her smile took on a tinge of madness while Trish wound up for a heavy jab and ducked under it, letting the fist drive itself into the wall, then jumping back up, opening her mouth wide and biting down on Trish’s shoulder. She suckled on Trish’s blood until a blast of electricity finally forced her to let go. Trish stumbled backwards, trying to recover, but falling into the waiting mouths that snapped down on her arms, locking her in place while Frieda circled away, licking the remnants of blood from her lips.

“I take it back,” Frieda sneered, “You taste so much better now.”

                Trish roared in anger, letting loose another blast of electricity, killing three of the mouths and forcing the others to back away while she rushed forward, slamming both of her fists into Frieda’s chin. Her opponent went spinning away and Trish turned back to the worm mouths, dispatching them quickly with electrically powered strikes, one after the other, while Frieda moaned in pain, clutching her face.

“You Bitch!” Frieda turned back, her face cracked open like porcelain and leaking some kind of purple fluid, “You Filthy Whore!”

                Trish, again kept her silence and brought her hands together, charging another orb of electrical energy.

“You…” Frieda growled, ripping away a loose chunk of her own face, “You think you’re strong?” a chattering noise vibrating through the air as her body started to shake, “You think you’re Fucking strong now?”

                Frieda’s stomach burst open revealing a gigantic mouth with multiple rows of teeth, a massive tongue lashing out and dragging itself across the floor. Sharp tendrils erupted from her neck and right shoulder, swelling down her arm until her hand shattered apart, becoming a deformed, demonic head.

“I’ll Fucking Kill You!” Frieda screamed, running at Trish, flailing her mismatched appendages while her tongue left a trail of slime in her wake that quickly grew into a line of spikes.

                Trish fired the orb, creating a massive explosion that blinded the both of them. For a brief, happy moment, she assumed that her attack had succeeded, then the teeth clamped down on her arms. A splash of blood blinded her and the demonic mouth closed around her throat. By some act of divine providence, the teeth did not sever her hands, instead stalling at the barbed wire that had fused into her flesh. Yet Frieda seemed not to notice, or care, rather she seemed happy to be holding Trish in thrall, gleefully anticipating the moment she ripped out her victim’s throat.

                Cackling, Frieda increased the pressure on Trish’s neck, twisting the jaws as they clamped down, enjoying her pain. The helpless Trish could barely think to fight back, not that she had many options, she had no leverage, no point of attack as she was being forced onto her knees. In complete desperation, Trish grabbed hold of Frieda’s second row of teeth and started pushing them inward, pulling them out of joint before reversing the pressure and ripping them out of her body. Stunned by the sudden agony, Frieda couldn’t react at first as Trish lashed out blindly, beating her down with her own broken teeth.

                Dropping back from the sudden assault, Frieda’s grip loosened on Trish’s throat and she pulled her arm back before slamming it back into her gut, biting down on Trish’s ribs until they cracked. Trish let out only a single agonized scream, then whipped her hand around, driving her thumb into Frieda’s eye socket. The two continued to struggle against each other, neither wanting to give an inch until Frieda’s skull started to snap and with a mighty heave, she threw Trish across the room.

                Both needed time to recover after their shared clutch, Trish finally cleaning the blood out of her eyes while Frieda stared in a baffled rage at her own wounds.

“How dare you…”

“Shut up…” Trish cut across her tirade.

“You…” Frieda’s rage swelled uncontrollably, a massive leech-like creature erupting from her back and gnashing its teeth, “You filthy little…”

“Just…” Trish flexed her hands, drawing up another electrical charge, “Shut the Hell Up!”

                Snarling, the leech swung around, lashing out at Trish who punched it right in the throat, the electricity contained in her fist stunning the creature with its mouth open. Pushing the attack, the charge grew in power until it shattered the leech and she jumped through its shattered remains. She and Frieda collided, rolling over the floor until Trish came out on top, viciously pummeling her mercilessly until Frieda’s head turned into a mass of pulpy gore on the ground.

                Exhausted, gasping from the exertion, Trish crawled backwards, away from the body. Her arms shook and fingers twitched while she tried to recover.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed at Frieda’s motionless corpse before collapsing onto the floor.

The House of Amut
Entrance Hall

                Nico slunk in carefully, practically tip-toeing across the floor and swinging her weapon around in a sweeping motion while she examined every inch of the decorative hall made of gold and polished oak. Ichabod only rolled his eyes and walked ahead of her, holding out his hand to stop her most recent scanning rotation.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“One: take a breath,” Ichabod told her, “Two: covering your corners does not mean whipping your gun around like a fan, look quick, assess, move on, got it?”

“Okay…?” Nico quirked an eyebrow.

“Three: heavy weapons stay at the back, your job is to watch our ass and make certain we have an escape route, not blaze the trail, Four…” he turned to the Faye creature waiting at his right side, “Melody, would you mind?”

“Of course,” floating into the air above them and emitting a low hum capped by a ringing noise, this ritual ended and Melody floated back down to the floor, head bowed pensively.

“Anything?” Ichabod approached her.

“The room is empty,” she explained, “But…strange,” she approached a nearby pillar and lightly pressed her finger against it before rapping against its wooden surface, “This place, it is suffused with a clockwork sort of energy, it doesn’t feel manmade but there is a rhythm to it, almost like…”

“Shush,” Nico cut Melody off and brushed the hair off of her ear, “Do you hear that?”

                They all focused and quickly picked up on it, the faint clanging sound.

“Metal against metal,” Melody nodded in agreement, “Sharp edge, scraping against sharp edge…swords?”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Ichabod wondered, “The rhythm?”

“No,” Melody shook her head, “But there is something off about this also,” she listened intently, counting the beats, “Three slashes then a pause, it’s repeating, over and over.”

                Ichabod clasped his hands together and considered their options, nothing about this situation felt normal. Part of him wanted to investigate, but that was not their mission, and there was also the warning they had received before entering. While he was loathe to take the warnings of a demon to heart, two hunters had disappeared into this mysterious hall and he didn’t want to add to that number.

“Your buddy uses a sword right?” he asked and Nico nodded, “Aright,” he gestured to Melody, “Lead the way.”

The House of Amut
The Arena

                Trish recovered slowly, her eyes barely opening as she peeled herself off of the floor.

“Ahhh,” the Surgeon’s voice crackled through the speakers once again, “She awakens at last, do you feel refreshed my dear?”

“Give…” Trish growled, pushing herself into a sitting position.

“I wonder, how did it feel?” the Surgeon wondered, “To finally surpass her after all those years, held down and smothered by her power, her will…”

“GIVE ME WHAT YOU PROMISED!” she yelled, “I won the fight, that means…Let Nero go home.”

“Ah, that, well…who ever said this was the totality of the contest.”

“That’s not…”

“Please darling, we’ve all seen Empire, don’t make me quote some tired cliché.”

“You…dirty…” she clenched her hands, shaking in rage.

“But now that you have tipped your hand,” the Surgeon snickered at her, “Perhaps I shall go down and pay your precious Nero a visit while you mull over whether or not your prideful defiance is worth his pretty face.”

                Trish gritted her teeth to choke down the tirade boiling up in her chest. There was a chance, she reasoned, he was only speaking to her, no one had been sent to collect her body while she was unconscious, he must have a plan and that entailed an opportunity, to escape, to turn the tables.

“Are you calm now?”

                She glared up at the ceiling, barely controlling herself as her hand reached out for one of the severed teeth scattered around Frieda’s body.

“Good,” the Surgeon chortled and continued on, “We have a few intruders mucking about in my house, go and kill them for me would you.”

                Standing, the makeshift weapon still clutched tightly in her hand, she turned towards the door.

“Answer Me!” the Surgeon yelled stopping her in place.

“Yes…” Trish ducked her head, shuddering as though she was trying to keep from vomiting, “Master.”

“Good girl,” he sneered, “Now dance.”

                Head firmly set downward, grumbling and snarling hatefully under her breath until she exited the room.

“You should just tell him,” the assailant snapped as she walked through the door.

                In response she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pressing the point of the sharpened tooth against his face. Hardly in control of herself, she slowly raked the spike across his cheek and almost succumbed to the desire to kill him.

“You’re not a warrior,” the assailant snapped, ignoring her threat, “You were never even meant to be.”

“Neither are you,” she shoved him, letting his body drop as she walked away, “Pissant.”

“You were a goddamn, glorified landmine,” he yelled at her retreating back, “Just tell him what you did! Just Tell Him How You Did It!”

“Go to Hell,” Trish muttered in response and never turned around.

Description

Falls Rock, Italy
Inside Nico’s Van

“So,” she stepped into a nook set up in the back of her vehicle, clapping down the plank to extend the counter and throwing on a protective apron all with one smooth motion, “What are we looking for?”

“Depends what you have I suppose?” Ichabod shrugged.

“Oooh, a conscientious customer, I like that, but,” she leaned forward, sneering, “Take a second and let’s assume that I have everything you want, what’s your poison?”

“I guess…” he looked back at Melody for help but the faye creature only shrugged and he turned towards Nico once again, “I’m partial to revolvers.”

“Figured as much,” she ducked behind the counter and came back with an array of various guns and arraying them along the plank, “With that gunslinger belt and all.”

                Ichabod stared at the array of weapons in amazement then picked one up and started looking it over.

“It’s a single action army, Mercer Brand, model…” Nico began describing the piece.

“Model 1875,” Ichabod finished for her, turning on an overhead lamp so he could see better, “You snubbed the barrel, and modified the gear for the cylinder,” he quickly flicked the hammer on the gun several times before opening it, “Ten shots, and you use Derringer bullets, this is a pea-shooter.”

“I call it the Red Lotus,” Nico corrected him as she placed it back behind the counter, “Good for close range, yeah, the bullets may not look like much, but you put one in a man’s eye, eight or nine in his gut, it’ll make him think twice.”

“Can’t really fan the hammer with my arm in this cast.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nico ducked behind the counter again, this time emerging with a pair of sharpened blades mounted atop short leather belts, “You probably will need something for close quarters that’s got a little more kick than that dinky little switchblade.”

“Bayonets?”

“Made from the horns of a Bicorn,” Nico explained, “I was going for this whole ‘enhancement accessory line’, but it turns out Devil Arms don’t really play nice with each other.”

“You made these from…”

“Parts of them, it’s why Nero and me work together, he dices ‘em up and I get a chance to experiment with the bits and pieces.”

“Interesting,” Ichabod nodded and tentatively reached out to the blades with his cast arm only for a red electric current to jolt out from his hand, he quickly jerked his arm away, muttering under his breath, “Damn.”

“Okay,” Nico looked at him confused, “What the Hell was that?”

“Don’t worry about it…”

“Well I am worried cause I don’t need fire ‘round the gunpowder you get me?”

“I’m sorry, it’s…” he considered for a moment, stroking his chin, then reached out for the blades with his good arm, “These might actually be useful, thanks.”

                While tucking the blades into his coat, Ichabod’s eye fell upon a larger revolver with four barrels. The model of it seemed to have been taken from a 44. Magnum, but heavily modified to incorporate eight bullets into the cylinder as well as reinforcing the increased weight of the frame with several cross bars.

“Excellent pick,” Nico smiled, “That there is a Nel Goldstien original.”

“No kidding?” Ichabod seemed legitimately impressed.

“She called it Brier Rabbit, see the sights on the top shaped like little bunny ears,” she pointed out before disappearing behind the counter to retrieve a box of ammo, “The real secret’s in the bullets,” she explained, arranging them on the counter, “The center is a cobalt and steel spike, a metal needle that can penetrate pretty much any armor, surrounded by a group of smaller needles made of tungsten, and at the back, a C3 explosive kicker.”

“The explosion scatters the needles, blinding and lacerating your opponent while also adding a little extra velocity to the spikes as they punch through your opponents chest,” Ichabod surmised, examining one of the bullets, “Clever.”

“Yeah, she liked it,” Nico admitted, “But, it relied on a lot of real world resources and, well, with only two shots per load, most people weren’t interested in paying through the nose to keep it usable, that’s why there aint too many rounds, I can only give you four shots all together.”

“I’ll take it,” he nodded, and began slotting the spare rounds into his gun belt.

“You’ll need the holster,” she stated and helped him buckle the large sheath over his left shoulder before holstering the weapon.

                With that sorted, he looked over the last four guns on the table, a snub nosed Luger with a stiletto blade coming down from its barrel (Chrysanthemum written across its handle) , a Smith and Wesson with a belt fed cylinder and three rotating barrels (dubbed Dandylion), and a Rhino enforcer with a cross shaped barrel (Lilac was visibly scrawled on its cylinder). Finally he picked up a Colt with a strange apparatus around its barrel. Looking it over, he flicked out a pair of magnifying glasses that had been worked into the apparatus, folding in and out of the barrel with a quick twist of his wrist.

“It extends,” Nico explained, “See the extended cylinder, it actually takes 3.57. rifle ammo, specialized sabot rounds that turn purple when you fire, supposed to be a stealth thing, muffles the muzzle flash, you shoot and the barrel doubles in length for increased accuracy, you gotta be careful with it, but it’s no joke, my gramma hit a fly between the eyes from thirty paces away with that thing.”

“It got a name?”

“Violet Amaryllis, but I call her Vikki for short.”

“Spare rounds?”

“Don’t have to worry about it, already gave it the Nell Goldstien treatment.”

“Yeah,” Ichabod flicked the magnifying glasses back into the gun’s barrel and holstered it, “I think this’ll do,” he turned to Melody and grimly nodded, “You ready?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped, “Are you done flirting?”

“I wasn’t…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Melody turned away, floating out of the van, “Meet me at the gate.”

                Nico pointedly waited for her to leave before asking.

“So…um…Are you two…”

“No, we’re not,” Ichabod insisted, “She’s just…territorial.”

“I heard that,” Melody shouted back at him.

“It’s not an insult!” he yelled in return, before sighing, “Are we done here?”

“Just one second,” Nico hurried behind the counter and bustled to put her guns away only to emerge with an impossibly massive six-barreled shotgun that she effortlessly hoisted onto her shoulder, “What?” she sneered at his stunned expression, “D’you really think I was gonna let you go alone?”

The House of Amut
The Arena

                Trish stood in the middle of a room strewn with boxes and smeared with dried blood, there were spikes and racks of broken steel thrown about haphazardly, potential weapons, or pitfalls. Nervously she tightened the barbwire that had fused into her arms and stared down the doorway across from her own entrance. This was not her first time in this place, she had been thrown in, to be punished, to be tested, and emerged each time, yet the anxiety never went away.

                The doorway finally slid open revealing her opponent and Trish clenched her fists tightly while Frieda approached. The two women eyed one another with hate flooding off of them in waves, though Frieda was smiling as she circled around, sizing up her enemy.

“You always used to flinch when I looked you in the eye,” Frieda ran her finger over the lid of a box, drawing a giant toothy mouth into existence, “I miss it.”

                Wordlessly, Trish raised her hands and assumed a fighting stance while the mouth grew outward, an extended black worm that gnashed its teeth, stopping just sort of biting her nose off.

“Aww, I miss my sweet, innocent, little sister,” Frieda mocked.

“Is everyone ready down there?” the voice of the Surgeon crackled out from the loudspeakers overhead.

                Frieda swiped her fingernails through the neck of her new creation, the attack rendering it into a pile of dust.

“Ready,” she smirked while Trish growled back.

“Very well, Begin!”

                Trish moved first, blasting at Frieda with a handful of lightning. Frieda easily spun out of the way of her attack and sliced her finger across a nearby wall, summoning another worm mouth that lashed out like a striking cobra. While Trish burst her attacker with another blast of lightning, Frieda was giggling, running around the room and slashing open new holes in the objects around them an summoning a veritable tidal wave of her snake-like familiars. Leering through the curtain of flesh and teeth, Trish kept her eye on her true opponent and leapt after her, narrowly avoiding being rendered to pieces by the vicious mouths.

                She landed directly in front of Frieda, throwing a few kicks and punches that her opponent easily avoided before drawing her attention to the army of worm mouths regrouping for another attack. Gathering energy in her hands Trish threw a torrent of lightning directly into a nearby pillar, shattering it to create a cloud of debris that managed to stun the attacking mass while she charged directly into Frieda once more. For her part, Frieda dodged around the flurry of attacks, grinning broadly until her back hit a wall.

                Her smile took on a tinge of madness while Trish wound up for a heavy jab and ducked under it, letting the fist drive itself into the wall, then jumping back up, opening her mouth wide and biting down on Trish’s shoulder. She suckled on Trish’s blood until a blast of electricity finally forced her to let go. Trish stumbled backwards, trying to recover, but falling into the waiting mouths that snapped down on her arms, locking her in place while Frieda circled away, licking the remnants of blood from her lips.

“I take it back,” Frieda sneered, “You taste so much better now.”

                Trish roared in anger, letting loose another blast of electricity, killing three of the mouths and forcing the others to back away while she rushed forward, slamming both of her fists into Frieda’s chin. Her opponent went spinning away and Trish turned back to the worm mouths, dispatching them quickly with electrically powered strikes, one after the other, while Frieda moaned in pain, clutching her face.

“You Bitch!” Frieda turned back, her face cracked open like porcelain and leaking some kind of purple fluid, “You Filthy Whore!”

                Trish, again kept her silence and brought her hands together, charging another orb of electrical energy.

“You…” Frieda growled, ripping away a loose chunk of her own face, “You think you’re strong?” a chattering noise vibrating through the air as her body started to shake, “You think you’re Fucking strong now?”

                Frieda’s stomach burst open revealing a gigantic mouth with multiple rows of teeth, a massive tongue lashing out and dragging itself across the floor. Sharp tendrils erupted from her neck and right shoulder, swelling down her arm until her hand shattered apart, becoming a deformed, demonic head.

“I’ll Fucking Kill You!” Frieda screamed, running at Trish, flailing her mismatched appendages while her tongue left a trail of slime in her wake that quickly grew into a line of spikes.

                Trish fired the orb, creating a massive explosion that blinded the both of them. For a brief, happy moment, she assumed that her attack had succeeded, then the teeth clamped down on her arms. A splash of blood blinded her and the demonic mouth closed around her throat. By some act of divine providence, the teeth did not sever her hands, instead stalling at the barbed wire that had fused into her flesh. Yet Frieda seemed not to notice, or care, rather she seemed happy to be holding Trish in thrall, gleefully anticipating the moment she ripped out her victim’s throat.

                Cackling, Frieda increased the pressure on Trish’s neck, twisting the jaws as they clamped down, enjoying her pain. The helpless Trish could barely think to fight back, not that she had many options, she had no leverage, no point of attack as she was being forced onto her knees. In complete desperation, Trish grabbed hold of Frieda’s second row of teeth and started pushing them inward, pulling them out of joint before reversing the pressure and ripping them out of her body. Stunned by the sudden agony, Frieda couldn’t react at first as Trish lashed out blindly, beating her down with her own broken teeth.

                Dropping back from the sudden assault, Frieda’s grip loosened on Trish’s throat and she pulled her arm back before slamming it back into her gut, biting down on Trish’s ribs until they cracked. Trish let out only a single agonized scream, then whipped her hand around, driving her thumb into Frieda’s eye socket. The two continued to struggle against each other, neither wanting to give an inch until Frieda’s skull started to snap and with a mighty heave, she threw Trish across the room.

                Both needed time to recover after their shared clutch, Trish finally cleaning the blood out of her eyes while Frieda stared in a baffled rage at her own wounds.

“How dare you…”

“Shut up…” Trish cut across her tirade.

“You…” Frieda’s rage swelled uncontrollably, a massive leech-like creature erupting from her back and gnashing its teeth, “You filthy little…”

“Just…” Trish flexed her hands, drawing up another electrical charge, “Shut the Hell Up!”

                Snarling, the leech swung around, lashing out at Trish who punched it right in the throat, the electricity contained in her fist stunning the creature with its mouth open. Pushing the attack, the charge grew in power until it shattered the leech and she jumped through its shattered remains. She and Frieda collided, rolling over the floor until Trish came out on top, viciously pummeling her mercilessly until Frieda’s head turned into a mass of pulpy gore on the ground.

                Exhausted, gasping from the exertion, Trish crawled backwards, away from the body. Her arms shook and fingers twitched while she tried to recover.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed at Frieda’s motionless corpse before collapsing onto the floor.

The House of Amut
Entrance Hall

                Nico slunk in carefully, practically tip-toeing across the floor and swinging her weapon around in a sweeping motion while she examined every inch of the decorative hall made of gold and polished oak. Ichabod only rolled his eyes and walked ahead of her, holding out his hand to stop her most recent scanning rotation.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“One: take a breath,” Ichabod told her, “Two: covering your corners does not mean whipping your gun around like a fan, look quick, assess, move on, got it?”

“Okay…?” Nico quirked an eyebrow.

“Three: heavy weapons stay at the back, your job is to watch our ass and make certain we have an escape route, not blaze the trail, Four…” he turned to the Faye creature waiting at his right side, “Melody, would you mind?”

“Of course,” floating into the air above them and emitting a low hum capped by a ringing noise, this ritual ended and Melody floated back down to the floor, head bowed pensively.

“Anything?” Ichabod approached her.

“The room is empty,” she explained, “But…strange,” she approached a nearby pillar and lightly pressed her finger against it before rapping against its wooden surface, “This place, it is suffused with a clockwork sort of energy, it doesn’t feel manmade but there is a rhythm to it, almost like…”

“Shush,” Nico cut Melody off and brushed the hair off of her ear, “Do you hear that?”

                They all focused and quickly picked up on it, the faint clanging sound.

“Metal against metal,” Melody nodded in agreement, “Sharp edge, scraping against sharp edge…swords?”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Ichabod wondered, “The rhythm?”

“No,” Melody shook her head, “But there is something off about this also,” she listened intently, counting the beats, “Three slashes then a pause, it’s repeating, over and over.”

                Ichabod clasped his hands together and considered their options, nothing about this situation felt normal. Part of him wanted to investigate, but that was not their mission, and there was also the warning they had received before entering. While he was loathe to take the warnings of a demon to heart, two hunters had disappeared into this mysterious hall and he didn’t want to add to that number.

“Your buddy uses a sword right?” he asked and Nico nodded, “Aright,” he gestured to Melody, “Lead the way.”

The House of Amut
The Arena

                Trish recovered slowly, her eyes barely opening as she peeled herself off of the floor.

“Ahhh,” the Surgeon’s voice crackled through the speakers once again, “She awakens at last, do you feel refreshed my dear?”

“Give…” Trish growled, pushing herself into a sitting position.

“I wonder, how did it feel?” the Surgeon wondered, “To finally surpass her after all those years, held down and smothered by her power, her will…”

“GIVE ME WHAT YOU PROMISED!” she yelled, “I won the fight, that means…Let Nero go home.”

“Ah, that, well…who ever said this was the totality of the contest.”

“That’s not…”

“Please darling, we’ve all seen Empire, don’t make me quote some tired cliché.”

“You…dirty…” she clenched her hands, shaking in rage.

“But now that you have tipped your hand,” the Surgeon snickered at her, “Perhaps I shall go down and pay your precious Nero a visit while you mull over whether or not your prideful defiance is worth his pretty face.”

                Trish gritted her teeth to choke down the tirade boiling up in her chest. There was a chance, she reasoned, he was only speaking to her, no one had been sent to collect her body while she was unconscious, he must have a plan and that entailed an opportunity, to escape, to turn the tables.

“Are you calm now?”

                She glared up at the ceiling, barely controlling herself as her hand reached out for one of the severed teeth scattered around Frieda’s body.

“Good,” the Surgeon chortled and continued on, “We have a few intruders mucking about in my house, go and kill them for me would you.”

                Standing, the makeshift weapon still clutched tightly in her hand, she turned towards the door.

“Answer Me!” the Surgeon yelled stopping her in place.

“Yes…” Trish ducked her head, shuddering as though she was trying to keep from vomiting, “Master.”

“Good girl,” he sneered, “Now dance.”

                Head firmly set downward, grumbling and snarling hatefully under her breath until she exited the room.

“You should just tell him,” the assailant snapped as she walked through the door.

                In response she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pressing the point of the sharpened tooth against his face. Hardly in control of herself, she slowly raked the spike across his cheek and almost succumbed to the desire to kill him.

“You’re not a warrior,” the assailant snapped, ignoring her threat, “You were never even meant to be.”

“Neither are you,” she shoved him, letting his body drop as she walked away, “Pissant.”

“You were a goddamn, glorified landmine,” he yelled at her retreating back, “Just tell him what you did! Just Tell Him How You Did It!”

“Go to Hell,” Trish muttered in response and never turned around.