The Thalassomare Festival (Second Stage)

Thalassomare's music rose like foam: a distant chorus, a tremor of strings, and voices gliding through the air. It was a sound that seemed to sink into the bones, a prelude that didn't need applause to compel everyone to listen.

[Isolde´s Group Route]

Isolde and her team walked between galleries where the walls were adorned with glittering sculptures.

But they soon realized they weren't sculptures... but people. Men, women, even children: all turned into statues of sea salt, with frozen expressions of ecstasy or terror. Drops of moisture trickled down their petrified cheeks as if they were weeping eternally.

Vera, with a shudder, touched one of the figures. Her finger came back damp, salty. "This isn't stone. It's dead, desiccated flesh."

Sylphidia shuddered, hugging herself. "An offering, then... Anastasia immortalizes them for her gallery."

Lucien, despite his usually mocking tone, spoke more quietly than usual: "What a great set... what a macabre director. Not even Shakespeare would have been so literal with 'stage salt.'"

Isolde didn't smile. Her crimson eyes shone harshly. "This is a warning. If Anastasia turns them to salt, it's because her voice can scorch the blood."

A sound interrupted the moment: a squeaky, melodic song coming from a nearby fountain.

A small green frog, wearing a pearl choker, climbed onto a lit rock. It opened its mouth, and a ridiculously pitched aria echoed through the corridor.

"A pet?" Vera said, raising an eyebrow.

But the frog croaked one last note, and its body began to swell. The green skin cracked as if something else were emerging.

From the puddle emerged a monstrous creature, half toad, half leviathan, with throbbing gills and sea tentacles, all crowned by a shell "mask" that made it look like an abyssal baritone. It was as if someone had summoned Dagon to star in a grotesque opera.

Lucien opened his arms, as if greeting the monster: "Ladies and gentlemen! Here is the tenor no one asked for."

"Prepare weapons," Isolde ordered, drawing her sword. "This is no longer a theater, this is a trial". 

The beast roared with a note that made the salt statues vibrate, as if they were part of the choir.

[Ayato and Fatima Route]

In another wing of the amphitheater, Ayato and Fatima descended the semicircular staircase to an open space. There, broken columns and remnants of stage sets had been converted into a makeshift coliseum. The floor was covered in wet sand and saltpeter, and in the stands, empty 

masks watched like a motionless audience.

In the center, two figures waited. Ayato recognized them instantly due to his past battles with them.

"Who are these, Ayato? Why should they know how to throw a party?" Fatima said mockingly, but recognizing the latent threat they represented.

On one side was Tatsuya Homura, his fiery gaze even more incandescent despite the ridiculously elegant attire he wore. A white jacket with gold embroidery, aristocratic-cut trousers... all too neat for an anarchist-minded arsonist.

"This is a joke," Tatsuya snarled, tugging at the fabric with hatred. "They tried to dress me up like a damn penguin at a carnival." He raised a hand: the fabric ignited, devoured by red flames. When the ash fell, he was the same again: charred clothes, scars, fire in his eyes. "I'm better off this way. I'm not a nobleman. I only took advantage of my parents' surname so they wouldn't imprison me for burning schools and temples. Nothing more."

Beside her was Yuzuru Kurohime. She wore a black crow-themed stage dress, ruined by clumsy cuts and seams, as if she'd sewn it together by force. On her face, the scar on her lip was hidden beneath her usual bird mask. But her eyes shone with resentment.

"Do you know why I never became an actress, Ayato Nagatoshi?" she said with a bitter laugh. "It wasn't because of the scar, even though everyone says so. It was because I hated other people. Because I envied every perfect face, every effortless smile. Because my body always seemed like a crooked prison." She turned to Fatima with a brusque gesture, as if she represented the kind of woman the Lone Demon of the Wind hated. "And because the stage can never bear those who don't know how to love even themselves."

Fatima narrowed her eyes, as if gauging the woman's emotions. "Pathetic excuse. An actress should transform her pain into art, not use it as a knife against others."

"Shut up!" Yuzuru shouted, the echo resonating like a whip even through her cracked voice.

"Shit, so these two are here again, don't bother me!" Ayato said, fed up with everything, drawing his sword and readying his revolver.

"I'm glad you remember me, BECAUSE THIS SHIT AREN'T GOING TO STAY LIKE THIS!" Tatsuya said, already angry and ready for action.

Ayato gritted his teeth. "Great. Two against two. As if life were a damn video game."

Fatima smirked, winking at him. "At least this time you have someone dancing by your side. Don't ruin the rhythm."

Ayato stared at his two enemies, his guard never lowering, while the motionless, masked audience remained deathly silent. The makeshift coliseum, damp with sea mist, had one detail that didn't escape him: the floor was covered in sand soaked with salt water, and every breath smelled of seaweed and rust.

Ayato pondered for a moment: "an arsonist trapped in the damp, and a vixen doomed to fall if she touches the water... they couldn't have chosen worse".

"A coliseum...?" Ayato muttered, staring at the stone circle surrounded by water. "You two chose the wrong terrain."

Tatsuya laughed, but the grimace was more bitter than defiant.

"No matter... even if this place smells of seaweed, your blood will burn just like the others."

Fatima tilted her head, smiling.

"Mon dieu, so angry and so shabbily dressed... do you miss your charred rags, mon cher?"

The arsonist gritted his teeth; Yuzuru, at his side, toyed with her bird-beak mask.

"I didn't come to listen to your provocations," he said in a broken voice. "I came to bury those who robbed me of what I deserved."

A fight broke out.

Tatsuya lit his palms, but the flames sputtered like wet wicks; the jets of fire were extinguished by steam before reaching Ayato.

Yuzuru unleashed a chorus of dark crows, which flew clumsily in the dampness.

"Damn them..." Tatsuya roared, unleashing a whirlwind of fire that almost reached Yuzuru.

She howled in anger, barely dodging.

"Idiot! Do you want to kill me before they do?"

Their coordination was a mess. Their attacks clashed, their fury making them clumsy.

Ayato sighed with a hint of irony as he fired his revolver, keeping his distance. "Of course, because you two never think before fighting. Always pure instinct and violence."

And in the midst of that chaos, Fatima moved her fingers with theatrical grace. The threads shone like silver in the dim light.

First, an improvised mace: taut strands that took shape and brutally struck the ground, raising water and stone. Then, a scythe of dark filaments that grazed Yuzuru's neck, tearing out feathers and making him squawk.

"Imagination, mes enfants... something you don't know how to use."

And with a twist of her hips, Fatima danced.

"Danse Maudite."

Her body moved like a cursed pendulum, each twist releasing waves of threads that tore flesh and shadow. One, two, three, four, five shots that tore through the enemy duo, sending them tumbling to the soaked ground. The echo of their seductive laughter filled the arena.

But the Lone Demons didn't give in.

Tatsuya sat up, his skin covered in burns, and his flames became unruly, incinerating columns and part of the stage, making no distinction between enemy and ally.

He attempted to raise a wall of fire that tried to enclose Ayato. But the heat evaporated excess water, and a cloud of thick steam covered everyone's vision.

"Idiot, I can't see anything!" Yuzuru shouted, as her crows blindly crashed into the flame. Some even caught fire, falling like black embers around them.

"Shut up and sing something useful!" Tatsuya replied, between coughs and fury.

Yuzuru roared, spreading her arms, and a gust of wind blew wet sand toward Ayato. But the gust also pushed the smoke away and revealed that Tatsuya was mid-leap, his leg engulfed in weakened flames, trying to perform a fiery kick. The poorly timed attack knocked him off balance and sent him tumbling straight into the salty mud.

Ayato raised his eyebrows. "You hurt each other more than you hurt me."

Fatima leaned toward him, barely dodging a sonic tornado from Yuzuru. Her cleavage cheekily brushed Ayato's arm.

"Mon cher, how about you let me handle it?" she murmured, almost a purr. "You could be the perfect Dark Lord, with a concubine as... efficient as me."

Ayato frowned, looking away. "Don't even dream about it." And with a sudden butt, he blocked Tatsuya's attempted side attack, pushing him backward.

The ground vibrated with the impact. The sand opened into wet cracks.

"KEEP WATCHING ME!" Yuzuru shrieked, launching herself from the air with a shrill chant. But the water from the stage splashed onto her black wings, weighing them down until she landed awkwardly in front of Ayato.

Fatima snapped her fingers, and her threads wrapped around Yuzuru's legs, pulling her back like a doll being dragged. "Et voilà~, another actress pulled from the stage."

The two Lone Demons struggled to compose themselves, panting, covered in sand and water. 

Tatsuya was soaked, his flames growing faint, and Yuzuru whimpered angrily, her wet wings sticking to her body.

Ayato took a deep breath, observing the scene. "They came for revenge, but they only showed what they always were: impulsive, proud, temperamental, and now bad as a team. If they had really thought, they would have waited for another stage."

Fatima smiled mischievously, posing as if she'd already won. "What a delicious tragedy: wanting to be the protagonists... and ending up as buffoons."

The echo of the sea opera, somewhere in the amphitheater, accompanied the phrase as if it were the final verdict.