Threads

Azalea's fury burned hot, but she was starting to realize that even with Lailah's reduced state, she may have bitten off more than she could chew.

Lailah and Azalea fought largely in silence, Azalea having not the opportunity to really breathe, much less offer Lailah her verbal barbs, and Lailah having said her piece having no more inclination to repeat herself.

The Regalia taken from Nakir was wearing down in the exchange faster than Azalea had hoped. She still had one of the blades she'd made for Eita to imbue, but it was one of the smaller ones and against Lailah's monstrous new form, it wasn't clear how much she could really do with it.

However, despite the fact that she could feel her primary weapon and greatest shield straining as Lailah threw all her might into the attack, Azalea didn't think that was her biggest problem. Rather, her biggest problem was that Lailah probably only needed to get lucky once.

Lailah's head and chest were too high on her twisted legs to realistically deal a decisive blow to from the ground. The moment Azalea took to the air, she was worlds more vulnerable, which meant that was far from ideal. But even with a regalia blade, the aetheric gold of Lailah's hellish prosthesis was unyielding. In the exchanges that had followed, and that began to cause exhaustion to seep into Azalea's bones, she had not managed so much as another scratch. She could do it, if the blow was clean and she put everything she had into it, but she needed to get that chance against something more vital.

Carefully, Azalea began to eye Lailah's ankle joint, the one that looked to human biology like an inverted knee. Though aetheric gold was almost unfathomably hardy, the construction was still skeletal. She had to believe, if she made a precise enough cut with sufficient force behind it, she could break through there. If she did, Lailah would almost surely topple, and then Azalea would have a chance to take her former mentor's head.

Considering that saw a pensive thought cross Azalea's mind. Lailah was a monster... an innocent monster that would use and abuse anything that fell within her grasp in the pursuit of adoration. Inside her, there was no malice; her egoism couldn't spare space for hostility any more than it could for genuine love.

Striking her down would be one thing, but doubt began to seep into Azalea's mind as she considered that she had nearly reveled in the prospect.

That doubt poisoned her. Her steps and her arms slowed, almost imperceptibly, but the effect that beat of hesitation had on Azalea's position in the battle would be obvious to anyone. She was driven back, and forced wholly to the defensive, scrambling to put her sword, or anything else, between her body and those needle fingers of Lailah's lopsided claw.

Then, Azalea found she had no more ground to give, as her back foot hit the wall, the unexpected discovery that Lailah had maneuvered her out of line.

And with that, Lailah came at her with a different attack. Her cursed hand opened wide, and before Azalea could adapt, closed around her, pinning her arms to her side as Lailah lifted her off the ground.

“There we are,” Lailah said, a beatific smile on her face.

That smile.

That same smile. The one she'd wear when offering her vaunted charity. The one she beamed with when others praised her. The one she'd resume after dismissing some other would-be apprentice. Though her face beneath it was ruined, it was the same beautiful, hideous, meaningless smile that Lailah always had, that like the sun shone on heartwarming goodness and infinite cruelty without distinction. The smile that, before Azalea had truly understood what it meant, had eaten up her future, her hopes, her dreams, and her ambitions to perpetuate itself.

That was what Azalea needed to destroy if she ever wanted to move onward. She'd been a fool to think of anything else. So what if there was hate in her heart and malice on her mind? At least she was alive.

For a moment, at any rate.

Azalea began to squirm and struggle against Lailah's grasp, and she felt the fingers of that hideous hand dig into her skin as she did.

“No more fighting,” Lailah said, “Nothing unsightly. Not any more.”

Azalea took a risk, and tried to spread the wings that she had kept vanished for the sake of her balance on foot. The spiritual limbs, which might have passed through earthly matter like a hand through fog if Azalea had wanted it, were bound to her body in the grasp of aetheric gold. The added pressure forced Azalea to exhale, but more than that, it forced Lailah's grasp to loosen in order to accommodate the extra volume.

That grasp loosened just enough that Azalea was able to let her wings disappear once more and drop to the floor below. She landed on her feet and, with no more hesitation, she rushed for Lailah's leg, raising her sword.

Then, as suddenly as she'd started, Azalea stopped. She was yanked backwards, and what was at first an unseen force pulled her arms away from each other, causing her to drop the regalia. Azalea began to struggle as she was tugged backwards, but soon enough she realized the truth. When Lailah had grasped her, she'd hooked the threads that seemed to stretch throughout her into Azalea's body. Now, Azalea was as helpless as a marionette on strings. Lailah held her massive hand above Azalea's head, and manipulated her movements with subtle twitches of wrist and finger.

“Let go!” Azalea screamed as she thrashed, but it was no use. When she nearly had her footing, Lailah lifted her by inches and dropped her, sending Azalea sprawling prone. Before she could struggle up. Lailah planted one foot firmly between Azalea's shoulderblades, pinning her to the ground.

The hooked threads yanked Azalea's arms behind her back, and pulled her legs together. Then, she could feel as new pin-pricks told the terrible story, sewing her into bondage, her arms more firmly shackled than by a dozen handcuffs with threads from her wrist to her elbow, her legs stitched up like an upholstery seam from above the hem of her skirt down to her ankles.

It was over.

Lailah stepped back, admired her work, and then pushed Azalea onto her back with that same monstrous foot.

“Now,” Lailah said, “I believe you have apologies to say to many among the Host, and our Lord of course, but perhaps you'd like to start with me?”

Azalea's heart was racing, filled with equal parts panic and despair. She fought to catch her breath, but then she saw Lailah looking down at her, that same accursed smile waiting for the praise she existed for.

“You can break my body,” Azalea said, “but I won't let you crush my spirit again.”

Lailah bent low over Azalea. She brushed Azalea's hair back like a person might pet a cat, and held up the index finger of her golden hand.

“Sssh,” she whispered. Then she reached out, and Azalea felt the needle-prick as Lailah began to sew her mouth shut. She tried to squirm, tried to scream or shout, but Lailah just kept petting her head, smiling down at her as she worked stitch after stitch, finally tying off the end, leaving Azalea helpless to even speak for herself.

Lailah rose up, and began to lift Azalea.

With any luck, Azalea thought, Lailah would take her back to the Weaver to be killed or Hollowed... and spare Sammy and the others in this moment.

But then Lailah turned suddenly, and a different fate announced itself as a jumping motorcycle crashed through the glass wall, engine roaring as it tackled Lailah, front wheel wiping the smile from her broken face.