How many days had it been now?

  Long enough the human flesh had gone bad. If the smell wasn't enough of a sign, the swarms of vermin crawling from deeper inside the Guts had to be. Blind and pale crickets, elongated flightless roaches, pink slugs like starved tongues slithering over trails of saliva, stranger things still who had picked the limbs to the bone, turned the disembodied innards to slurry. She should have been glad, that should have meant the end to her temptations.

  Wrong. All she felt was unsatisfied. Back in the Lesser, she knew she could have lasted much longer without food and never get this desperate, yet now her hands shook, and her stomach crumpled as if trying to digest itself. Why?

  It had to be Menoux. Him, and the nagging madness of the Buzz, whispering needs in the back of her mind while delighting itself with her failures to fulfill them! It wanted her broken, begging for release, and mocked her compromises: her attempts to sate her hunger through the carrion eaters only ended with her feeling like her tongue and gums were melting, her attempts to lure one of the leering guards to her cell so she could rip them to pieces fell apart as they laughed on her face, and her attempts to solve the slickness in between her legs... well, she was lost to where she could even begin with that.

  And yet, despite everything, it wasn't her the one who had the worst of the situation. A few days ago, Agare's Mark began to deform.

  What started as hitching, growing worse with every hour passed, had suddenly turned to bulging, as if his liquid void had been set to a slow boil, or, and she had tried not to indulge the idea at first, as if something was pushing it from beneath. Agare, of course, remained taciturn, telling her he felt fine until she bothered him enough for a scolding.

  And then, as if answering her worse fears, it emerged. It was difficult to describe, but harder to forget. One moment, the left corner of his Mark lifted, as it had many times before, though instead of deflating as usual, it rose, rose taller than ever, until its surroundings tore like some flimsy membrane, tissue fusing back into the whole as some slick, smooth shape arched outwards, coiling as if about to spring to his chest.

  Before it managed to escape, it shrank back down, leaving the Mark to quickly repair itself as if nothing happened. Since then she had seen it a handful of times, and not once did Agare react with any sort of worry, fear, anything that would let her know it wasn't just her imagination.

  "I-it happened again," she said, watching over him intently.

  He didn't turn his head. Where he stood, neck and head bent in a very uncomfortable angle against the rough stone, he remained. "So it did."

  "... I'm sorry," she said.

  "For what?" That his voice was clear and audible was almost a sign of relief. Not knowing how exactly the Faceless talked, she couldn't help but think it was for her sake.

  "W-we're here because of me. Because I freaked out."

  "So we are," another bulge grew as if a finger was poking his void from behind, thankfully quick to retreat, "Nothing to be done now. Keep thinking of a way out, and we can discuss this later."

  "W-what later?" She said, sliding besides him. "I can't imagine how we're going to get out of here, I mean... I couldn't beat Menoux before, how could I now? I'm so hungry..."

  "Me too," he whispered, so low she almost didn't catch it.

  "Y-you are? Is that why you're all weird?"

  "Can we not start this again? I need to conserve energy."

  She picked at the ground with a nail, nervous. She would never forget that night in Lesser Hollow, how badly God had wounded him, but the next time they met at Marquise's manor he had recovered like no other person could, an entire arm gone now back. With a once-over, she knew this time things would be different. There had been no visible improvement to his state since she woke up, all four of his limbs still gone. That he wasn't bleeding nor showing any signs of infection was a small miracle, assuming he was even capable of the latter.

  "A-Agare, aren't you going to tell me what's going on?" she gulped down her hesitation, to no avail as Agare chose silence. with a sigh, she hugged her knees to her chest and waited.

  Their captor would be here soon.

  His approach was heralded by a keen, piercing sound, metal dragging against stone echoing from what felt like all directions. At the very corners of her perception, harsh whispers threatened gibbering obscenities.

  She glared as Menoux swaggered to her cell, taking a fast yet obviously pleased glance at Agare before sitting down, legs crossed, though further from her bars then usual. Scythes arrived second, his namesake sheathed at his back and pointing opposite of the thick rope balled around his fists. By the grunts, he struggled to pull a large object in between them.

  Her instincts screamed. The cruel children, nowhere to be seen, screamed louder, outraged at their treatment.

  Scythe let go, and Hagan's raised half dropped with an impact that shook the entire cave. Not daring to touch the bundle of rope now left around the blade's ugly, curved handle he hurried behind his master, whose muscles held taut but whose eyes held a loving intensity at the downed weapon that made her skip a beat.

  A moment came and went. Neither spoke. Holly crawled to her feet, about to initiate the conversation.

  Menoux fingers plunged onto Hagan's side so fast she crashed back down. Threats died as a dozen kids cackled with vengeful glee. Not even that, however, could hide the grotesque crescendo of the feast. She covered her mouth, failing to hold back a whimper as the sound of a thousand chittering mandibles rose in a chorus to match her own unfulfilled desires.

  Skin ripped like wet paper, blood was splattered in all directions, muscle and bone where both undone in thin air. Menoux's grin grew to his scalp, tense like a bow string, sweat pouring from every fold in his body as he pushed further and further. Through his impossible effort, she didn't miss the way his branch began to twitch, becoming larger and redder as the absurd performance went on.

  With a bellow, he pulled upwards. As if glued to the mangled extremity, Hagan pursued until its weight dragged it down, tearing with a horrid wet rip. Menoux lifted it above his head like some sort of trophy, blood spurting freely. Nothing was left of the hand but a flap of skin where its back once met the wrist and the jagged shards of bones.

  The blood flow abruptly drying was the first sign of lingering damage. Then, both skin and muscle began to darken. She saw the outline of veins turning black, bone yellowing and crumbling. Before it could spread further, Menoux gaped his maw wide, farther than any human mouth had the right to open, then clamped down right below his elbow. The wet crunch almost made her gag, but it was all over in a matter of seconds: a pull of his neck, and the forearm tore off at the joint.

  With a spit, the dead chunk of flesh plopped on Hagan and was devoured with disappointed jeers. Menoux watched the show with interest, a single tear dripping over his panting lips, but she was left numb, baffled.

  "Diaborium!" Menoux spoke with a tired laugh. "The God-killing Devil! Such sublime pain! No wonder your Sect had to go to war to build this one, dear Madhound, if only I knew the secret I would have done much the same."

  The taunt earned no response from Agare.

  Menoux continued undaunted. "See, I'm conflicted. The faith leader part of me wants to melt down this abomination and cast off its molten cadaver into the deepest hole I can find, so it may never be pointed at my flock again. The connoisseur part of me? Learning to fly wouldn't make it happier! This' one of the greatest wonders of the Starlit World, and having it in my hands is nothing short of an honor!

  "For as much as Ivias is considered a backwater trench outside its shores, it has always had these quaint little things that seen to make the continentals green with envy. When the Yine Empire invaded, centuries ago, it is said a single plate of towerbone so tough their strongest smiths couldn't work it was all their emperor needed as a reason! Having owned some Towerland, or Amavian for poor layman godlings, weaponry myself I'm inclined to believe."

  "M-Menoux." She forced herself forward on her knees. The sight of the Agare's blade still made her heart flicker rather than beat. "Please, let us out! I'll do anything else you ask, but Agare is sick, I-I think-"

  His surviving palm gestured her to stop. "They were powerful, but once the Dynasty of the Lion crumbled under the heels of a monster of its own creation, all that made it strong became as dust. Their almighty warriors had their throats slit on the battlefield, the incredible weapons that once served as vanguard to their conquests became unresponsive, and the unity they once boasted was quartered by greedy, weak noblemen.

  "Later, when the Galehold Empire found its footing and decided to gorge itself on past glories, they needed something to bridge the gap again. The Old Empire was gone, the Gobans were divided, and Awin was still some ways from existing, but their forefather's failure in both subsuming or decimating their enemies meant they became stronger than ever. What could they do under those circumstances?"

  "Please, answer me!" She won over her nerves, and threw herself at the bars. "T-there has to be something you need, something you want!"

  He smiled. "Well, they do nothing. The Bear hibernates and stockpiles its strength, while a solution falls on its lap. Two, rather, both from the same source, the first of which would take a century to be understood well enough to be useful, but which shifted the whole balance of power to their advantage."

  His words bothered her. Had she heard something about this before?

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "The Lion had looked far and wide for the mystical metals that would turn their continental wars, but in a twist of irony, the innards of the mountains were far too repulsive for their sensibilities. The Bear had to be taught what it had to gain before it dug in with its own claws, but look at that, it learned! In the fire of its forges, the first blade of Demonium was crafted, a burning, venomous thorn in the side of us pesky godlings! The damage they caused with their new toys must have been incredible to behold, but alas, it was not close to enough."

  "Why does any of that matter?!" She tried to rattle the bars, but they wouldn't budge. "Stop ignoring me!"

  "It was their first siege against the City that Never Fell, now the nucleus of the Saintdon and its religion. Imagine, if you can, walls that shone so bright they could blind, focused rays that could char one of their prided Warmares to the bone in seconds, shadows that would devour officers and spit out corpses! In that chaos, tools only helped so much. They needed heroes, warriors, monsters who knew the blade better than they knew themselves!

  "And monsters would come. Caged, shackled, maddened monsters, brought by allies who waited until the last possible minute to reveal their hand. And for the privilege of pointing them towards the Bear's enemies, you knew what they asked for? The simple privilege of watching undisturbed!

  "What happens next is something I would have sacrificed and eye and a leg to witness! Imagine a beast that feels neither pain nor fear, who could with one arm overpower ten veterans at once, whose skin was tougher than iron and whose blood burned to the touch. They were mindless outside their skills at mass murdering, of course, and did not particularly differentiated between friend and foe. Once out of the box, they could never be returned. But what is a couple hundred dead men in comparison to glorious victory? The Bear cheered the abominations on.

  "The carnage stretched to the walls and beyond, the interlopers ceaseless to the moment of their deaths! The light was smothered, and Galehold howled triumphant, pushing into the outer layers of the city. That would be as far as they would ever reach, that war or the next, but its mark was left across history, the frenzied creatures becoming as myths for their ferocity, and earning the moniker of-"

  "Faceless."

  Menoux frowned, and she whirled, shocked. Agare had spoken with such pride and daring a part of her had expected to see a miraculous recovery, maybe even him on regenerated feet, ready to get them out. Reality was, he remained where she last saw him, diminished and weak.

  "Madhounds," Menoux shook a finger. "Uncontrollable mutts whose only notion of restrain was in their leashes. Admirable, to an extent, but let us not pretend it afforded you any dignity among the so called civilized people."

  "You're describing the first appearance of a Faceless in open warfare since the times of Eligor, the Madman Massacre of the Second Ivian War. Those who sacrificed themselves to the Faceless Band to become as their lost King, whose minds were lost in the process," Agare said, fidgeting as if trying to sit up, but giving up soon after. "You're trying to undo Holly's loyalty by portraying us at our worst."

  "Not entirely." Menoux eyebrow rose as he giggled with childish mischief. "Care to defend yourself, in that case?"

  "No," he shrugged. "I'm just wondering why all this preamble, when you could just tear those sheets off and show her?"

  Menoux rolled his eyes. "Please, have some sense of gravitas! You can't just drop the big revelations like that, you need build-up or else it falls flat! Of course, it would be the damn Madhound to ruin my night..."

  He rose back to his feet, and she retreated, disbelieving eyes falling upon Agare's prone form. "W-what are you both talking about? You never told me anything about this!"

  His mark, distorting, did not break its vigil of Menoux fleeing back. "You're not the only one to have parts of themselves they don't like touching on, Holly. If you want to know, then watch."

  She hissed, low and soft, but the shame prevented her resentment from spilling out. He was right, and after everything she did she had no right to say otherwise. Mouth shut, she watched as Menoux grabbed the leftmost sheet, yanking it from its stakes without a drop of effort, then the next, then the next, until the floor around his feet was covered by bundles of leather and cloth. Beyond laid a dark cavity, roughly as wide as her own cell yet significantly deeper.

  "Now, don't think this was done for your sake! The view disturbed my faithful too much," Menoux said, grabbing a torch from a scone sitting by an empty cell, their front neighbor's left conspicuously empty. As he returned, the edges of the flame's incandescent light revealing a mat of dirt and straw beyond tight metal bars, she almost begged for him to wait.

  But of what use would that be? She had no power here.

  He poked the torch inside the cell, revealing a single occupant, nothing more than a distant, pitch black shadow.

  In the dead silence that followed, the silhouette waited still, swaying on its feet as if bent by a breeze. On an unheard cue, it turned, the echo of feet dragging against debris grating on her ears as it approached, slowly, awkwardly, in the toddling shuffle of something that didn't quite understand its limbs very well. Menoux retreated a step, though remained careful so his bulk never obscured her sight.

  It took several moments for her to begin comprehend what she was seeing. Ripped, shin high leather boots, followed by heavy trousers with their padding bursting out. Next was chain-mail, great chunks of rings missing and what was left heavily caked in scum. Twitching fingers beneath a single glove, its pair now gone to almost he shoulder. Finally, the face-

  It lunged.

  She didn't have time to react, before it tried to squeeze itself through a gap slimmer than its bicep, dashing a distance of several paces in the blink of an eye. It slammed chest first into the metal, again and again, crooked hand grasping thin air in an obvious effort to cross the distance towards her. It did not grunt, did not gurgle, made no sounds other than a faint twinkle, almost lost in the chaos.

  Then, a second cue. it halted, allowing her a good look.

  Where its face should have been stood a prolapsed mass of impenetrable black from where a mane of slick black worms quivered in rhythmic motions, licking the warmth of the fire, the wooden torch carrying it, the metal bars. As one reached for Menoux's hand, he jumped away, leaving the dull pointed limb to retract back into its Mark, while a new tendril took its place. Cracks into this impossible space had expanded down its chin, towards its ears, now occupied by tumorous growths.

  She didn't need further explanations. Suddenly, she understood everything.

  "In my research on the habits of your kind, I became aware of this phenomenon," Menoux said. Who can blame me for wishing to see it with my own two eyes? Capturing one of you alive was difficult, I must admit, but I came to love this beautiful specimen almost like a pet, can't even imagine how my life would go without its never ending hunger to keep me on my toes!"

  "...You kept me alive as a hostage." Agare's voice was so devoid of emotion it made her shiver. "Even if Holly doesn't kill me out of her own volition, I eventually lose my mind and force her hand. All for the sake of severing her relationship with us?"

  "W-what are you trying to say, you can't mean you-"

  "To remain functional, a Faceless requires a very specific diet administered through their Mark. We call it Mush, although its old name is quite different," Agare said.

  "Apoxia Mia. Tears of Apoxia." Menoux smirk held a cold glint, resembling more a feral baring of teeth. "One of the greatest drugs ever concocted by the Sages of the Old Empire, produced in small quantities and meant only for the most proved of warriors! A single pill the size of a child's pinkie nail was enough to keep five fighters up and at it for several days, or until their bodies could physically no longer endure the stress."

  "N-none of you ever told me, Agare. W-why?!"

  "... It was forbidden to me. But you have tasted it yourself, Holly, back in Lesser Hollow."

  Of course. Connecting the dots, she remembered it, that sour mud he had made her swallow, relieving her pain and helping a side of her she would never have known otherwise into awakening.

  "I woke up to find the batches I kept stashed away ruined by strange substances, and wondered what purpose that kind of prolonged death would fulfill," Agare whispered. "Without it, the systems that maintain my body turn to alternative sources of sustenance, and when they finish consuming them..."

  "Then your being goes poof!" Menoux cackled, tossing his torch aside. "Right back to the primordial ways with you! Well deducted, my rotten friend, although I must say you missed quite a lot of nuance, assuming you care about that. I imagine you aren't too keen on giving more details about these 'systems', are you?"

  "Listen to yourself. As if you never got a look yourself, Heir of Citrine!" Agare said. "That isn't the first 'pet' you kept, is it?"

  " 'Know thy enemies, foolish Aenexias, better than you know thine own self.' The journey must be taken carefully and in the dead of night, but the clues were always there to those who searched, isn't that right? Though, in hindsight, it's only logical that the biggest monsters Ivias ever faced are-"

  She had enough. raising to her feet, she lurched to the front.

  "Menoux, fight me!"

  The challenge echoed down the halls, stunning even the pestilent bugs into motionlessness. Menoux stared, eyes and mouth wide, smile turning baffled.

  "Is this some sort of joke?" he asked. "Or have you gone insane faster than your precious 'comrade?' "

  "B-because I lost that night, I lost my right to my name," she spoke, voice trembling.

  "To your name, and to your existence as an autonomous creature above my heels." He nodded.

  "T-than that should be allowed, right?" Keeping her lack of confidence from her voice was a struggle in itself, but compared to rooting her feet less than three paces away from Hagan, it was nothing. "If I beat you up, if I give you a washing you won't ever forget, then that means I earn all of that back, right?!"

  "Do you forget yourself?" as the mirth died in his face, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, and rising danger. "I haven't given you the option so far, so for what reason I would start now? What happens or doesn't to you is solely at my discretion."

  She grit her teeth, and met Menoux eye to eye. Golden irises burned right through her courage, stripping her of any dignity she once had, and yet, it failed to constrain her whim. "Because I need to shut you up one way or another."

  If I am to die, let me speak.

  The Buzz grew to the peak of its might. The animal part of her brain came as close to becoming a presence with its own will as possible, cowering her closer to the ground and forcing her into ungraceful whimpering. One second of weakness, and her body would prostrate itself before this grandiosity, this apex predator who caught a filthy rat squeeking out of turn beneath his glory.

  "Does not learning his kind was created to exterminate beings like us from the beginning affect your opinion in the least?" Menoux said. "What kind of life could breed a beast as stupid as you?"

  "E-Elder Seneschal raised me... as well as he could!" Her hands slid down, her head turning to look away and instead facing Hagan, She wanted to jump out of her skin so bad. "A-and I would... rather die... than be... something like you!"

  If there was more she wanted to say, it was lost in the whirlpool of nightmares wrecking her thoughts. Her mind repeated a thousand ways the monster could, would, break her and tear her and rip her apart and do awful things to Agare right before her eyes while she was helpless to stop him. By the end of the day, death would be a mercy she would beg for, with no hopes of ever being granted.

  From the depths of her being, a jolt crossed her spine. It all was oddly thrilling.

  But the Buzz was restrained by its master back to pleasant murmurs. Menoux glare, meanwhile, had lost only some of its embers. "The last time we saw each other, I made you a question, and you gave me and answer that meant nothing," he said.

  "W-what does being Dashi means to me," she completed.

  "Give me an answer that satisfies me, and I promise to consider it. But think it carefully, and make it short, I don't have all day to entertain the tomfoolery of children."

  Glancing up at his feet, she tried to think of something. All in vain, her brain was far too scrambled at this point for anything useful that would still keep herself in check. What fled her lips was incomplete, practically gibberish.

  But it was the naked truth.

  "Holly Seneschal," she whispered, to nobody in particular. "It's what Elder Seneschal gave to me. It was supposed to make me safe and happy."

  Her nerves gave out, and she felt her limbs crawl her back towards Agare. She wanted to say she didn't care if Menoux liked her answer or not, but she felt raw in a way she couldn't describe. She had jumped off the point of no return, and regret met her at the bottom.

  When she heard laughter, light and content rather than derisive, she almost laughed herself. She failed to hold in the sigh of relief, looking up to enjoy Menoux pleased expression, the ponderous rubbing of his lush beard.

  "Oh, who am I kidding, I love this sort of attitude!" he said, cocking his hands on his hips. "Very well! Balazia, open those gates and let our dear guest stretch her legs, if you would please!"

  "As you desire, Greatest," Scythe, or Balazia anyhow, said as he reached for his belt and pulled a thick steel key from out of view. He disappeared behind the thick gates, and soon after, she heard mechanisms clicking out of place.

  "Holly," Agare said from behind, his voice sounding clear yet distant. "Don't. You can't win this."

  She had know that from the beginning. If she had lost while feeling at the top of the world, how would she measure here, starved and weak? She wasn't an idiot. She just wanted Menoux to stop speaking about Agare. By those standards, this was a mission well succeeded.

  "K-keep planning, alright?" The gates creaked as if howling from their hinges, giving way to her. "I'll be back soon."

  "... Why are you always like this?"

  She ignored that last comment. There was nothing to be said now.

  For the second time in so long, she crossed the threshold of her captivity, as she had dreamed all along.

  "Come, godling," Menoux said, welcoming her with both arms wide open. "Let us speak body to body what words cannot convey!"

  Except, this time, she knew only tragedy laid waiting on the other side.