Fire and Brimstone

Tropos Tower. Floor 11. Sector E. Room R-03.

Or simply, the middle of nowhere. Take an elevator up to the highest floor, cross the linkway to Pavlin Tower, turn right upon reaching the meeting rooms, take another elevator down to F3... Off to the bin you go. No point following a route for visitors. And this visitor pass? That’s the old fart’s fault. Who else could apparently ‘forget’ to inform HR of my arrival? Though for a temporary ID, it felt far too print-and-play: all they did was bold VISITOR on a plain card. Not that I can blame them. As for the perpetual nuisance, maybe I’ll break a few of his prized bottles once I get back.

Security’s lax as ever. Most of the shortcuts I used were technically unauthorised, but nobody noticed or even cared. Thankfully so, or it would have taken another decade for me to reach here.

Here, in front of a torn and battered door.

Holes, bumps, gashes and the whole medical bill ran through the metal panel, so much so that you could peek inside if not for the smoke bellowing from within. A nearby air-conditioner found itself wrestling against the budding heat, for naught but a faint warmth in the air alongside the loud purring of a machine breaking down. Between the cacophony of stuff smashing and shattering, I could barely make out two voices yelling at each other – and would rather not be involved in it.

“You lost?”

Eyes. Pitch black. Staring straight into me. My hand instinctively reached for the dagger in my coat, but I quickly stopped myself. Somehow this young-ish(?) fellow managed to creep up beside me, leaving not even a sound to his name. Then again, there was a blazing war zone in front of me.

Hmm? His gaze was flitting about my coat pocket... no, the visitor pass clipped onto it.

“Ah, I lost it.”

“Our instructor then, I presume.”

With that, he offered a handshake. His words formal, his actions courteous, yet his appearance was far from it. Sure, he was wearing a standard two-piece suit – and an expensive-looking one at that – but the necktie was loose and his shirt was half-tucked and the coat pocket was puffing out and... and... everything screamed laziness.

“Captain,” I corrected him while tightening his tie, disregarding the outstretched hand.

Poor fellow froze stiff. Can’t complain though, it gave me more time for me to neaten the rest of his attire. Eventually, he shooed my hand away and tidied himself instead.

“That was... an introduction, to say the least. Apologies if mine doesn’t hold up to your strict standards.” He bowed, a clear smirk on his face. “The name’s Allen d’Fey. Pleased to be of service.”

I suppose it was cruel of me to reject him like that. Then again, he was being annoying.

“What are you waiting here for? Not going in?”

Not that he seemed that bothered in the end.

–⬤–

“Macchiato for the lady. Espresso for sunglasses. Then mocha for myself.”

Around us, fire and blood tinted the walls a smouldering scarlet. Furniture was strewn about like a mountain of corpses, cotton and leather mangled as though a wild animal’s been through them. Even so, the culprits showed no sign of stopping. Neither did d’Fey care. His coffee came first.

Watching him rummage through the bag, I couldn’t help but think of him as a kid unwrapping a long-awaited gift. Pure excitement radiated off his very being, his eyes sparkling into a starry night.

However, a glance at me and that joy instantly evaporated.

“Have mine,” he said, tossing a cup to me. “Apologies for not getting yours.”

“How is that your fault?” I tossed it back to him.

“Do people’s goodwill need to be spelled out?” Toss.

“You look like you’ll enjoy this more.” Toss.

“You dislike mocha?” Toss.

“No, no, I mean it’s your favourite, right?” Toss.

“So? It’s just a drink.” Toss.

“Fine. Mocha isn’t to my taste.” Toss.

“Really? How picky.” Toss.

“Ah.”

Coffee was now pitifully pooling on the floor, the tidbits of foam slowly disintegrating, while its rich aroma disappeared into the acrid smoke. Our sad contribution to the mess.

For a moment, both of us went silent – a moment of silence for our fallen mocha. As silent as we could with those two ripping into each other in the background.

“Bastard! Stop running away!”

“Why won't you surrender?! Just how much fire can you take!?"

"As much as it takes to kill you, coward!"

“... So which one, macchiato or espresso?”

“Espresso please. Why are they fighting anyway?”

I finally asked the question. Had no reason to and I wasn’t expecting an answer. It was just for conversation’s sake. Regarding such matters I had a simple philosophy: not my problem, don’t care. And this was definitely ‘not my problem’ – their fight, their damaged property, their bill to pay.

“They were debating whose pet is cuter.”

“What?”

“They were debating whose pet is cuter,” he repeated, speeding past each word.

Perhaps sensing that I wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, he half-heartedly handed me his phone. On display were two photos placed side-by-side. One, a messy ash-grey fur ball snarling with all hairs on end; and the other, a crinkly lizard-like creature with flames swirling about its tail. Not exactly the role models of ‘cute’.

“Ho–”

“Does more need to be said?”

In silence, he turned towards me with a smile and a finger upon his lips.

Handing back his phone, I smiled before raising my voice, just loud enough to be heard.

“What do you mean cute! These are ugly!! Who would want them as pets!!!”

Was it sympathy? Plain impulse? Or I just had enough? It didn’t matter. The deed has been done: d’Fey slowly backed away and the two broke to a stop – all eyes were on me.

“[Summon: Chain] [Type: Light] [Quantity: Um… as much as possible]”

Thin chains emerged from both my sleeves, shimmering as they danced like vipers preparing to strike. A gentle tug later and they began coiling around my fingers, ready to puppeteer.

But they didn't wait for me. Fireballs were already hurtling my way. One after another. Barely any time to react. Courtesy of a small teenager dressed in sunglasses and a black leather jacket.…

Putting his tragic fashion choice aside, dodging him was a pain. Try manoeuvring around, flames bombard your feet. Try jumping away, they redirect to your head instead. He gave no opportunity for a counterattack. Not that I could.

Clang!

The crimson greatsword smashed into a wall of chains, its thick entanglement forced loose upon impact, rattling in the recoil. Unaffected, she swings again. And again. Until—

"Oh dear."

The wall shattered. Disappearing back into mana.

Seeing the monster dashing towards me, raising her blade once more, her jet black wings fully outstretched, eyes burning in madder red, my instincts screaming at me to run, I simply thought:

I hate vampires.

"[Chain] [Reinforced] [Restrain]"

Sigils began overtaking the walls, ceiling and floor, covering the room in an otherworldly glow. From each rushed out a hefty chain, the sigil acting as its anchor, snaking around the two hostiles and terminating at another sigil. Limb, weapon, everything is thoroughly bound.

It's still not safe yet.

The pyromaniac, figure visibly shaking, began willing more and more fireballs into existence and just blindly tossed them around. Even the mana around him started to shudder. So it's a natural prodigy I'm dealing with… At least he looks remotely imposing now.

A lash of my chains and the stray fireballs heading my direction burst like bubbles, prematurely exploding into a bright spew of flames. With how volatile they've become, anything would have made them pop. Troubling, how do I defuse this situation now?

Crack! Creak! Crack!

Oh, I forgot about you. The heat's making my chains brittle. Combined with her strength, the metal is beginning to make all sorts of dangerous sounds. You all really want to kill me, huh.

"Bitten off more than you can chew, Captain?"

A calm voice broke through the chaos. I turned to him, only to see him sipping from a cup.

"I will not help—"

A chain wrapped around his neck and slammed him to the floor before he could finish.

Ring. Ring-ring.

Mother of God, what now of all times?

"Eh, pause."

I hastily snapped my fingers, dispelling the heavy chains, before attending to my phone. As for the fight, the two were still recovering from the whiplash. Not like I wanted to continue.

A siren was blaring throughout the city. At that, I quickened my reading.

Request to subjugate blah-blah
Witch blah 
Threat Level: C blah-blah

"Ah, finally. Reje—"

A finger had already pressed 'Accept'. A dainty, bloodied one.

"What the—"

Multiple chains wrapped around her neck and slammed her to the floor before I finished.