“I will warn you only once. Leave now or suffer the consequences of your trespass.” The Count of the Crimson Castle walked forward some ten-odd feet and planted himself firmly in front of his respected guests. The whole atrium seemed to darken as his contempt for the intruding witch grew in potency.

  “You don’t believe me? How then do you think I entered? You crafted the lock yourself. You know better than anyone that it would take untold magical prowess to simply break through such a barrier.” She rested a hand on her hip.

  “Prove it, then. Prove your familial ties or I will not hesitate to end your life, human.”

  “You ask for proof? My mere existence is proof enough. I am an adjacent relative.”

  Julius’s ire began to overflow. Unclipping the lower parts of his garments drawn across his chest and abdomen, he pushed them open to free his arms. Then, he drew his arm across himself and threw it to the side in a grand display of seriousness. “Speak your name and remove your mask, then, intruder. You test my patience when it is already so very thin.”

  The witch giggled again, shaking her head. “Julius… you do know this splendid event you’ve put on is a masquerade, yes? To remove my mask would be an unpardonable sin. And, anyway, my identity does not matter in the slightest.”

  The vampire lord sighed, the last of his patience crumbling into dust. “...I have given you courtesy enough.” His red eyes shone brilliantly. Without removing his gaze firmly fixed on his enemy, his arm still suspended outward, he called for his servant. “Silas, to my side.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  The air began to quiver with magical energy. The world shook. “Come, Spear of Judgement!”

  Silas, the Count’s dear servant and butler, exploded abruptly into warped blood both black and red in hue. It coagulated, entered a flux, then floated through the air at a miraculous speed toward his master’s outstretched hand. As it swirled into his palm and mixed accordingly, it condensed and expanded vertically into a strong, lengthy weapon. A black spear accentuated with mesmerizing, crimson filigree. It came to a razor-sharp, terrifying piercing blade that warped, curved, and was as long as one of his own legs.

  He gripped the black spear, once in the form of Silas, and swung it to the far side of his body, grinding it across the ground back to the side it started at with duelish flair. He held it ready to attack, his other hand open at his chest in preparation for any secondary magic he would need.

  A moment of absolute silence took hold, the lord of blood and the witch of flame staring at one another from across the hall in a standoff. Then, as if to get on his nerves even more, she shattered the grave atmosphere with another light laugh.

  “Surely you wouldn’t seek to harm a little lady like myself?” she joked, her voice lacking any anxiety or sorrow for her situation. “The Lothaires are always so quick to violence, unable to control their tempers. Their emotions. Isn’t that why she died, Julius?”

  A dark shadow veiled the young Count’s face. Her statement had dashed any remorse, any empathy, if any, he had had for her up to that moment. “No,” he replied grimly. “She died to this wretched curse… the affliction… the thirst.”

  “Not to malice? Not to hatred? After all, it was she who killed Malum in the end, no other.”

  “You DARE speak that name in my presence, lowly creature!?” Julius spat, his character shifting into an intense, burning rage full of despair. “Say it again and I shall kill you ten, no, a hundred times over! You speak of things you can never understand! You do not know of our kind! Our thirst! You do not know of our suffering!” he cried, his chest heaving from the outburst. To relieve the hatred overcoming him, he sped forward at lightning speed and aimed for the cackling trespasser’s heart, bloody trails flowing from his form.

  The woman dressed in scarlet smiled, her pointer finger resting on the face of her mask. As her foe approached, she threw down her hand, aimed at the floor, and as fast as the action had taken her, a massive amount of fire erupted from that place, engulfing them both in smoke and embers.

  Julius entered the flame in a blood-caked fury and was lost in the fugue.

  After a few seconds, the witch came into view, jumping out of the fading smoke and landing deftly on her feet at the other end of the room where Julius had once stood.

  The Spear of Judgement peeked out of the smoke, drenched in the vampire’s own blood, then whirled around in place, dispersing the smoke screen entirely. Julius turned around, facing her again, their places now reversed.

  “How fun~!” the witch provoked, her pleasant voice muffled slightly by the bird-like mask. “It has been some time since I’ve fought. The Theocracy love their duels, don’t they?”

  Count Julius von Lothaire did not respond to her taunt. Simmering flames, though small, burned his mantle. “Vivian, to my side.”

  Vivian, the vampire seamstress, bowed her head in solemn surrender. “Yes, master.”

  The world shook once more. A metallic chime emanated from the man. “Come, Veil of Bloodshed!”

  Vivian exploded into a whirling phantasm of blood and shadow as Silas did, then soared across the room and spiraled in circles around Julius until finally draping him in a true vampire’s attire, bloody and rippling with chaotic energy.

  “Your ramblings end now, human. In your next life, one I shall surely outlive too,” he said with a dignified yet sad air, “I hope that you will remember this moment as the greatest mistake of your life. The one that led to your death, your end by the hands of a wretched vampire aged 300 years. I, Count Julius von Lothaire, keeper of the Crimson Castle, shall send you to the Blissful Sleep myself!” His voice boomed, reverberating all throughout his home and land.

  The witch laughed, her feminine frame bouncing up and down rhythmically. “Haha! Let it be bathed in searing flame, then! Hold your airless breath, leech! Prepare yourself, for you fight the beautiful and intelligent Witch of Warmth!” she shouted firmly in a euphoric frenzy.

  The vampire dragged his obsidian spear across the ground in much the same way as before, except this time a torrential wave of blood materialized and launched toward the lady.

  The witch let out another insane laugh and flicked her right hand at the oncoming deluge. Below it spawned another eruption of violent flame that instantly burned away the rolling liquid.

  Through the hole created, Julius went for another piercing attack wreathed in fiery crimson and deathly onyx, aimed for the intruder’s heart a second time.

  The witch stepped to the side, then put her hand close to the blood lord’s head and snapped her fingers. Another explosion conjured into being, burning his body, though his Veil of Bloodshed protected him from the brunt of it.

  He gripped his spear with both hands, veins bulging beneath his pallid skin, and swung it horizontally at his foe with an exasperated cry. It struck the Witch of Warmth’s side, sending her flying into the wall. It cracked and broke from the force, and the lady fell to the floor in a weakened state. Blood fell from her lips, dotting the battleground.

  She got back up to her feet, amazing the crowd. How a common woman, or who seemed like one, could take such an attack was a feat indescribable. The witch chuckled, then swung both arms backward, magic coming into being. A hellish inferno ignited from her back and crept along the wall she’d just been flung into. Around her head spawned tiny creatures, fire spirits. Faint laughter could be heard emitting from each of them as they danced around her.

  “Your flame burns passionately. I will admit that, human. Though, it is filled with a worldly longing all too common among your kind. Your lifespans are too short, and so you can scarcely understand just how small our realm really is.”

  The Witch of Warmth cackled from within the expanding inferno. It was as if the devil himself had clawed his way up from hell and vomited his sins into the atrium. “No, quite the opposite. Your kind too soon loses their sense of wonder, their sense of mystery, and so you stew in a pot of nihilism for longer than any being can withstand.”

  “Childish whims. There is nothing that you may find that has not already been discovered. Nothing here, too. Have you come as a simple thief? Is that it? How disappointing, if true.”

  “Is it any more childish than this simple entertainment? That is what the Scarlet Masquerade is, no? It’s all you can look forward to. All you find enjoyment in. Is it wrong for our kind to do the same? To hope for mysteries and answers that can satiate our boundless curiosity?”

  “You will find no such mysteries here,” Julius replied with a stoic stare.

  “I disagree. In every world, there are always corners left untouched. Your sister, if a tad manic, understood that well. She was captivated by the stars and the Blissful Sleep, wasn’t she? Blindly obsessed with what lies beyond the boundary.”

  “...What did I say about mentioning her? You know nothing of her plight. You know nothing of her kin, cursed by the creator. You know nothing, stranger!” Ending the talk, the Count dashed at his foe yet again and, with a charged arm, thrusted his spear at her over and over again. A multitude of times. The spear’s end cut through the still air like a blade through paper with mortal accuracy.

  The witch drew up a dense cloud of smoke as a shield and put it in front of herself, though she was a bit too late. Some of the jagged onyx strikes pierced through the openings, marring her flesh and denting her garb laced with Spiral Lining. In retaliation, she sent forth the building inferno behind her. The colossal train of hellfire cascaded forward, warping around its master and running straight into the Count with considerable force.

  Julius raised his arms to block, his Veil extending over them to shield him, and was struck by the inferno in yet another blinding plume of smoke and ash. Once the dust settled, the vampire lord was shown to still be standing upright, though his Veil of Bloodshed was quite damaged and the topmost layer of his garments had all been burned away. Lowering his arms, he stood silently, exhausted.

  They both heaved, breathing irregularly. The fight had been somewhat short, but the actions performed were so very physically and magically taxing that they could barely move a muscle.

  “You still don’t believe me?” the witch asked, deeply perturbed. “Even after all I’ve said? How could I have known those things otherwise?” She shook her head in dismay. “Nobody ever said you were so stubborn, so thickheaded.”

  Julius remained silent for a time and leered at her, his strength returning. Then, seemingly deciding on something, he pointed his spear at his enemy with unknown poignancy. “You fought well, Witch of Warmth. But now you will be tested, and I do not believe you will pass.” With that confounding statement, he closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with a crimson flash. They burned a brilliant, charming, mesmerizing red the likes of which mortals could barely comprehend. “Ocularis: Unwavering Enchantment.”

  A dark chime resonated in the hearts and minds of all who stood in the atrium, gripping their souls with a hand impaled by serrated thorns and constricting brambles. Untold power had been demonstrated with nothing but the Count simply opening his eyes with intense focus. The intonation was not even needed, though it strengthened the worldly spell slightly more.

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  He looked into the witch’s eyes with muddled emotions. There was a stalwart acceptance, though also a faint hope, one the bearer didn’t fully understand himself. “If you are truly a relative of the Lothaire family, do not follow the command I give you now.” He paused. “Incinerate yourself. Scatter your ashes to the wind and leave this place for eternity.”

  Time seemed to stop. The world shook no longer. Instead, it willed itself to act as his word dictated, including all of the world’s children.

  The scarlet-haired lady raised a hand.

  The onlookers held their breath.

  And, gracefully, she gave him a deep bow.

  The crowd gasped, crazed astonishment flooding the room in a second. Garbled mutterings spread from person to person.

  Julius opened his mouth in surprise, his fangs gleaming momentarily, then closed it and nodded. His eyes regained their usual luster, the power evoked receding. “Return, dear servants. She is no intruder, nor an imposter. She is family, a Lothaire by blood.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, the black spear in his hand and the sanguine raiment draped across his shoulders melted, flew back to their places, and transformed back into Silas and Vivian respectively.

  “A Lothaire by blood…? How does he know?” Ma’at muttered to herself.

  Nobles across the room whispered amongst each other the very same thing, mystery infecting their thoughts.

  Hearing their queries, Julius glanced their way and decided to explain himself without a moment’s delay. “Our mysterious guest, to my own surprise as well, did not fall victim to my inherited Ocularis. Only members of the Lothaire family can resist this ability.” He pointed to his eyes with two fingers, then turned back to the masked pyromancer with an odd look. Of course, a pinprick of suspicion still remained in his heart for the witch, but he chose to ignore it for now. To his knowledge, there was absolutely no way one could exploit nor avoid his absolute test of kinship. “...Hmph. Apologies for my familial sin. To attack one of my own… my own family member… is a disgrace to the vampire race.” To everyone’s surprise, he bowed to her.

  The Witch of Warmth raised a hand to stop him. “That is more than I deserve. Despite everything, you are still of purer blood than I. I am not even a vampire, nor a pureblooded one. Bowing to me is akin to a king begging at a peasant’s feet.”

  The Count raised his head, his red eyes solemn and brewing with questions. “That is quite rare. I have never met any relations that did not carry the tainted blood. Perhaps you are descended from a line long ago, before our kin subjected ourselves to the original sin?”

  She shook her head. “I may have worldly knowledge superior to that of the vast majority, but even I do not know that, despite my extensive research on the subject.” A tinge of pink tinted her cheeks as if it were really that embarrassing for her to admit that she didn’t know something, but it went unseen beneath the mask.

  Silent contemplation flooded the room as everyone’s minds finally caught up to the events that had just transpired. The whirling dance of death, bathed in blood, shadow and fire, still replayed endlessly in the spaces behind their eyes.

  “Might I inquire the reason you are here today?” Julius asked suddenly. “If you are truly only here for the Scarlet Masquerade, then that is quite alright. But, your fateful appearance tells me otherwise.”

  Tiny, twinkling fire sprites still danced in little circles around the witch. She was thinking carefully about what to say and what to leave out. “Yes,” she said finally, “you are correct in your reasoning. The party you’ve prepared I’m sure is an entertaining one, but there is another purpose for which I’ve come here today.”

  Julius raised an eyebrow. “And…? What might that be? You are family. I shall do whatever is in my power to aid you in your quest.”

  The scarlet witch giggled gleefully. “A witch does not reveal her secrets~”

  The vampire lord grinned, his fangs gleaming in the dusky light again. Candles all around them flickered as if in sync with his deepest emotions. “Haha! Yes… you witches are a prideful bunch, just as we vampires are. I must honor your secrecy.”

  “Traxni vogul.” A voice cleaved the conversation in twine. Ilzif the Scourge and some members of her pale procession had come to greet the stylish intruder after the battle had ended. “Another witch is to grace this event, hm?” she croaked, analyzing the scarlet witch with her glazed-over gaze. Wispy, white hair hung disorderly across her face as she leaned forward. Despite her wretched, hag-like demeanor, she looked very much like a young, scrawny illum woman draped in torn rags. Her youth, stolen or otherwise, caught the eye of many even with her off-kilter act.“I know who you are. I know what you plan to do.”

  The Witch of Warmth’s eyes narrowed at the gloating, pale creature. “Is that so? Only other witches can understand a witch’s whims, it seems.”

  Ilzif stared at her in silence for some time, then chuckled knowingly. “Varis. Quite right. A witch’s mind cannot be understood by simple humans.” Relaxing her gaze, she turned to Julius. The chains around her body holding up her alien grimoires clinked as she moved. “Count Julius, now that the matter is settled, shall we continue from when the Witch of Warmth so rudely interrupted?”

  Julius stared at the witch with the same stoic expression he had had during their duel, this time tinged with a nagging feeling. Was it… longing? Yearning? Hope? He still couldn’t place it. He deliberated, then came to a decision in his mind. “I still have a whole host of questions for you, my long-lost relative. But, they will have to wait, I'm afraid. I am the host of this grand banquet, and as is, I must guide my guests along so that they do not grow rambunctious. Besides, I cannot allow my precious plans for this evening to go to waste, now can I?” He laughed, his showy personality from before her involvement returning.

  “Of course, Julius. Don’t let me ruin your ‘entertainment’,” she said with a smirk. Firelight still danced around her elegant, ruby red dress.

  He nodded, the feeling in his chest growing tighter, nearly suffocating. Finally, he turned back to the bustling, gasping, awed crowd with a shrug, his arms extended outwards. “Then, that shall finally bring the reception to a close. Now, we can begin the true festivities.”

  The crowd cried out for the Count, wooed by his overwhelming might and magical prowess. Many applauded, some whistled, others danced with each other in pure bliss, others smoked their pipes silently in the back of the room. The music came back to life, the pianist’s fingers dancing along the reverberating keys. Fireworks boomed overhead. The masked nobles continued chatting amongst themselves, flourishing in the splendid duel and the peaceful anonymity.

  “Oooh! What a show, your grace! You were truly magnificent!”

  “A fantabulous performance.”

  “My, my. He wasn’t kidding about tonight being the entertainment of a lifetime.”

  “Yes, see? The Masquerade is something else altogether. Nowhere but here can you indulge in such pleasures, seek such wonders.”

  “That is too true. Never have I forgotten my past ventures into this miraculous castle. Whew. I’m shaking with excitement to see what else he has planned!”

  “What else…? Did you think that was planned as well!?”

  “What? The witch’s duel with the Count? Well, of course! It had to be! Never has someone uninvited entered his abode… especially claiming to be ‘long-lost family’. It is a show, nothing more, nothing less! Enjoy it while you can.”

  “All who are interested, and I bet all of you are, follow me to the next room! It will be a show worth dying for!” Julius’s deep, aristocratic voice boomed so that everyone could hear. It was a song that pulled deeply at their hearts, urging them to wake their feet and take those long, arduous steps up the huge, ascending stairs and up to where the Count stood, his mantle flowing behind him.

  And so, most of them did as such. They climbed the gilded, duskly-lit steps and entered what appeared to be an exceedingly large room. To many, it seemed almost impossible such a room could exist within the castle, even with the knowledge of how truly expansive the manor was. Suits of armor hung as decorative pieces along the far walls, and more dusky, vermilion lights illuminated the place. A massive, red proscenium curtain was drawn closed at the far end. Instruments and random trinkets lined tables set up around the middle. In the middle of the room, the Lothaire family crest was burned into the floor; a screeching raven extending its wings to the heavens, dark sigils and the moon in the background.

  “Welcome… to the Great Room. Or, you may call it the Great Theater. It can be used for a variety of things… dancing, sports, plays, auctions. However, we have come here for a very specific purpose, one that our most valued guests have come for as entertainers!” he announced, turning back around to face the bustling crowd with dramatic flair. His red gaze fell on Ma’at and her allies. “Here, we shall partake in the first of many shows for tonight. A great many duels shall take place, here and now, just for you fine gentlemen and ladies!”

  The crowd gasped, jeered, and cheered as per usual.

  “Duels…?” Ma’at grumbled. The glaring eyes of pathetic noble folk were enough to deal with when she was standing around idly, and now she would have to fight. “I have to duel in this mess?” She glanced down at her clothes with contempt for the hundredth time since they’d changed.

  “Forget that… who is that witch?” Tien asked no one in particular, eyeing the Witch of Warmth with a terrifying sense of unease. “The Writer didn’t mention her either…”

  “She seemed really powerful,” Sato agreed, a little fear in her voice as well. “It’d probably be best if we try to stay on her good side.”

  There was something about her that nagged at Ma’at, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was a somewhat obvious suspicion in her heart, one that made her want to run up to the lady witch right away and talk to her, but she thought it was a fool’s errand. In all of Vastyliad, it would take a miracle for Camelia to show up here and now, of all places. It simply seemed impossible. At least, incredibly unlikely.

  “She’s a human incinerator, yeah,” Grin said in his ignoble tone of voice, uncaring for the grand atmosphere bearing down on them. “Someone like that… can barely be called ‘human’ though. There are mages, like you.” He eyed Tien. “And then witches like her.”

  “What is the difference?” Sato asked, curious.

  “There isn’t a fine line between them,” Tien answered, brushing her hair back. “It’s a kind of catch-all phrase for anyone extremely attuned to magical forces, same with the term ‘wizard’. They aren’t so dissimilar that you couldn’t also call them mages, but nobody would call anyone regularly skilled in magic a witch or wizard. Witches, as you’ve seen, hold power normally unseen in humans or other humanoid races. I’m sure that Ilzif lady is just as powerful, if not more so because she’s an illum. Witches have studied magic so long that they’ve become something akin to a force of nature. Whatever they say, goes. I’ve heard of one that directly influenced the conflicts in Aza.”

  “Oh, right. You mentioned that once. Wasn’t her name… Eloise or something?”

  “Mhm,” Tien replied, nodding. “Eloise the Witch, also known as the Witch of Chaos. I think that was the last recorded time she ever showed herself, though.”

  “What’re the odds she shows up, too? Wouldn’t be so surprising now, eh? We’ve already got a buncha loons running around here.” Grin spoke as he absentmindedly poked at a decorative suit of armor.

  “Extremely unlikely,” Tien said curtly. “And if she does, I don’t imagine it’ll be for a peaceful reason.”

  “So… do you think she’s really a relative of the Lothaires?” Ma’at asked, diverting the conversation back to the Witch of Warmth. There was clearly something else troubling her, raking her brain, but the others chose to ignore it.

  “Mm… hard to say.” The brunette woman stole glances at the scarlet-haired lady. She could barely be spotted through the wavy crowd of nobles. “I can’t imagine that was all for show, though. You felt it, I felt it. The Count really did use his Ocularis in that moment, and intoned that phrase. If she was just an actor, and wasn’t a Lothaire, she probably would have died.”

  Ma’at pondered the situation, and as she did, stared daggers at the scarlet witch a few meters from them. Her voice, her body, her mannerisms… all of them did fit. But what reason did she have to be here, now? And what were the chances? Her mind whirled around and around in circles, endless thoughts of the same variety torturing her until the Count continued his spiel.

  “Quiet down, silence please.” Julius smiled, his fangs showing briefly. “The rules will be as such: each participant will be granted one of these.” He held up a clear, pristine object. It was round and translucent. “These are glass coins. A rarity in the Theocracy, if you do not know. One would sell for… roughly…”

  “5,000 Kin,” his daughter Millarca finished his sentence, her eyes closed deftly.

  He nodded. “Yes, that is correct! Each is worth roughly 5,000 Kin!”

  Astonishment filled the room.

  “Yes, yes. Allow me to continue. Each will be granted one of these glass coins. Each will duel another participant, randomly selected. The winner steals the loser’s coin. At the end, in the final duel, the one in second place will keep three of all that he has collected, and the absolute winner shall take home the rest and all that he has collected for himself! Hahaha!” He laughed boisterously, as if surprised by his own wild machinations.

  “So… a miniature tournament?” Grin muttered, confirming everyone’s suspicions.

  “A friendly one, though! Won’t it be kinda fun?” Sato smiled cheerfully, energy springing up in her body. She felt ready for some action, especially if it was like a game.

  “No,” Grin shot her down bluntly. “He didn’t say we couldn’t kill each other, did he?”

  A moment of realization passed over them.

  A bit of the spirit that had welled up inside her diminished slightly. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she admitted. “Guess we’ll have to do our best, then. No holding back.”

  “Yeah…” Tien agreed solemnly, gazing down at the suitcase firmly gripped in her hand.

  “Ah, and you are allowed to pick from these tabled oddities to aid you in battle. Only one, however.” He pointed to the tables holding up the assorted trinkets, baubles, weapons, and other items. “Is everyone clear on the rules?” Julius asked.

  They all nodded, readying themselves.

  “Then, let us commence!”