Behold, Dorothy the Destruction!

Rumors romanticized the idea that the ‘heart’ of the Chevolaires’ base embraced brutality and chaos, the very reflection describing the nature of the hunters, mercenaries, and assassins dealing business there.

Whoever spread such rumors wasn't exactly wrong.

Every so often, among the people gathering around in the bars, crowding before the bulletin board with a never-ending list of commissions, or simply socializing in the main hall and other sections of the building, a few nut heads would every so often get too drunk and create havoc.

During Horace’s meeting, a lingering sense of dread loomed over the tavern like a spark, slowly running through a detonating cord. Those who were all too familiar with it within their line of work could almost smell impending trouble ready to blow up.

“Hey, did you hear about a potential rebellion going on?” asked a hunter with a jug of beer, leaning against a counter.

“What rebellion?” asked the hooded figure standing next to him.

“Y’know, the one brewing right after the news of Queen Starlet’s recovery from her bedridden state.”

“Oh, the queen? Damn, I almost forgot she even existed. Did she finish recovering?”

“Yeah. She’s finally back after two decades. Crazy, innit?”

“It sure is. Say, don’t you think it’s a coincidence that the rumors began right after she’s finally back?”

“Do you think the queen would be rebelling against her own husband?”

“Who knows. Maybe she's literally sick of the king. That jackass is batshit insane after all.” He gasped. “What if she’s behind the raid incident decades ago?”

“That wouldn’t make sense. If that's true, then why did she get badly scarred? She and her king got their faces messed up pretty badly, hence their veils.” The hunter shook his head with pity. “Gotta be something more to that.”

“Oh, right. Well, they’re just rumors anyway.” He scratched his head. “Speaking of the royal family, what about their kids? Are they still missing?”

“They are. Hell, I don’t even know if they’re still alive.” The hunter shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the queen’s rebelling because his husband is a terrible father!”

A strong hand clasped the hunter’s shoulder, causing him to twitch. He glanced over to meet a pair of orange, slit-eyes.

“Why, good evening, gentlemen,” said Ortrone, smiling. “I heard you say something interesting about the royal family.”

The hunter tried moving away, but Ortrone’s grip tightened. A bead of sweat trailed down his cheek as he scanned the man's towering, bulky figure with a golden feather pinned at his scarf.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Surely you did not say anything disrespectful now did you?”

The hunter clicked his tongue and snatched his wrist. “How about you mind your own business?”

Ortrone chuckled and let go, raising his hands. “Ah, forgive me. I was merely curious, is all. This place happens to share a bountiful amount of stories. I cannot help but stay and chat around. Even if some of them sound a little… outrageous.” He kept his smile, but his eyes glared with a cold warning, causing the two to shudder and step back.

“Clearly, you don’t know how this place works,” said the hunter. “We Chevolaires have the freedom to—”

A thundering door slam silenced the entire tavern, and most eyes fell onto Horace’s office.

Boldly standing at the threshold was a masked, short lady in a petite yellow dress with sunflower hairpins on the sides of her brown hair. She clutched a bronze figurine shaped oddly just like her at her chest, where a golden feather gleamed under the illuminating chandeliers and sconces. With her black eye sockets, she scanned the crowded scene before her.

Everyone exchanged confused glances. Some even began to stand up from their seats and draw their weapons.

“Who the hell is she?” asked one of them.

“What’s with the creepy mask?” asked another.

“Was she always there? That door’s the only way into Boss's office.”

Murmurs weaved around the Chevolaires, yet as sudden as her appearance, the girl bolted. She sprinted and leaped over the crowd, slipping away from the scene.

Horace barged out of his room next with a bitterly furious expression. “Hear me, you loud brutes!” he bellowed, raising a fancy glass bottle. “I hereby announce a special mission: Whoever retrieves the device that girl is running away with will be rewarded with my whiskey!”

“Eh?! What’s going on?” someone whispered. “Boss is giving away his whiskey?”

“Wait, look at the design! Look at the cork! It’s the phoenix! That’s one of the most expensive brands to exist!”

More excited murmurs spread through the tavern as people began to shift around.

“Free exquisite whiskey?! Imagine the taste!”

“Alcohol? No thanks. I can’t drink it.”

“You’d still be naive to pass up this opportunity. Imagine the price of that very bottle! That’s probably three months' worth of your salary!”

“All we have to do is take the trinket from that pipsqueak? Sounds easy enough!” The young man grinned and pulled out a pistol. “Perfect timing. I was just getting bored around here!”

As he said those words, dozens of silhouettes rushed around the tavern, chasing after the girl. Dorothy briefly glanced over her shoulders before speeding up, jumping over tables, zipping around pillars, and leaping on the upper landings.

“Urgh, how the hell is she so fast?! Is she a squirrel?!” The young man whipped out his pistol and aimed at her.

Someone smacked his pistol away with a glare. “Hey, use of firearms indoors is prohibited!” he hissed. “And she has that honored guest’s badge—we can’t hurt her anyway!”

“Tch! What a pain in the ass!”

More and more Chevolaires rushed after Dorothy, who didn’t break a sweat as she dodged them all. Some tried predicting her next moves and lay in wait, only for her to curve her direction and avoid them entirely. Like an acrobat, she swung chandelier to chandelier, simply dodging and running around as chaos followed her.

Some of the lazier—yet equally entertained—spectators began to whip out their brass instruments and blasted music just to add to this sudden, lively atmosphere. Not for long, jazz and song flooded the hall.

She landed back onto the main hall and hopped table by table, the chasers piling around and reaching for her legs. Someone finally caught her ankle, but without even giving a bat of an eye, Dorothy merely swung her leg and launched them away, crashing them onto another table.

The witnesses dropped their jaws and bulged their eyes. Now realizing their error of judgment, they finally understood why their boss would be willing to give up such expensive whiskey.

Someone leaped at her with a retracted fist. Dorothy blocked it with her forearm and had a one-handed fistfight against him. When more people drew closer, Dorothy decided to end the fight by snatching his arm and throwing him at the crowd.

The Chevolaires with nimble feet simultaneously charged at her in all directions. Dorothy stopped in her tracks and hunched over as the group buried her underneath them. A second later, they ended up flying away as Dorothy spun and kicked them all off with a somersault.

A vampire manifested a whip and swung at her. Dorothy snatched the whip and yanked them away, pulling them out of their spot and sending them flying across the hall with a crash.

More vampires grouped up and shot rings of blood, tying up her legs and arms and letting the trinket clatter beside her. While she squirmed around, a woman finally snatched the gadget and began to rush back toward Horace’s office.

With a bit of a struggle, Dorothy grunted as she snapped out of her restraints and charged at the woman.

Perhaps it was due to her inhumane speed or the fact that she wore a creepy mask, but the sight of Dorothy closing the distance so quickly caused the lady to stumble backward and shriek in terror, dropping the trinket. Dorothy snatched it back and said, “Sorry, Miss!” before continuing her game of run and dodge.

Dorothy leaped high and grabbed onto a chandelier, dangling as she caught her breath and scanned the full scene of the tavern. Her eyes spotted a peculiar stage at a far distance in the main hall—away from the spectators who remained at their seats and watched the chaos—and began to make her way toward it. She ducked when the Chevolaires jumped at her and kicked away their hands when they got too close. She grabbed a few tables and threw them at the chasers, briefly stopping them in their pursuit.

By the time she reached the stage, she tried catching her breath as the crowd gathered in the front row seats, climbing their way up the stage. Dorothy swallowed and prepared to fight them off, only to be interrupted by someone clapping their hands.

Everyone froze as all the spotlights lighting the stage switched off, and a single spotlight shined upon a distant lady cloaked in red, her brilliant red and white, high-side ponytail gleaming under the light. She raised her chin—revealing a festive domino mask that covered the left half of her silver eyes—and smirked, tipping her mini hat as she sashayed in a model stride.

That was until a heel slipped on a crack in the floorboards. She ended up tripping over and planting her face on the floor with a yelp.

Dorothy and her pursuers exchanged glances.

“Is that Rouge Roulette?” someone whispered. “Why didn’t anyone tell me she’d be here?”

“Now that I remember her, wasn’t she supposed to perform tonight?” another one whispered.

“Isn’t she an hour early? Why start so soon?”

A small wave of murmurs spread across the crowd. Not knowing what to do, Dorothy stared back at the lady, who groaned and steadily went back on her feet. The lady wore a strained smile as sweat trailed down her cheeks, and she looked like she already regretted putting on a show and would rather leave—an expression Dorothy herself knew all too well.

Wait, she knew?

A blurry memory abruptly flashed through her mind, causing Dorothy to twitch and step back.

As if the lady finally realized there was no going back, she waved a hand at the crowd. “Hey, hey, heeey, folks!” she called out. “Don’t go fighting each other now!”

Rouge Roulette ripped off her cloak, revealing her vibrant red dress with a short bustle skirt and a golden guest badge. “Without me!” she hollered, swinging her accordion’s brass section at Dorothy, its bellows abnormally stretching across the room.

Dorothy jumped away as the brass section slammed into the stage. With a click, suction cups attached themselves to the floorboards, letting the diva fly over the room and land on the stage beside her. She pressed a button on a keyboard, and the suction cups let go, snaking their way back to their owner.

The lady swung the accordion over her shoulders, a hand on her hip as she scanned the fellow masked girl. “My, my, you sure are full of mysteries now are you, darling? Don’t think that it means you get to hog the spotlight!”

Like a whip, she cracked the accordion against the floor and pointed at her. “Lucky for you, I’ve been practicing a few dance moves. What’s your name, love?”

“M-Me?” Dorothy squeaked, pointing to herself as she looked around.

“No, I’m talking to the guys chasing you. Of course, I mean you.”

“Uhm, I… I’m Dorothy…”

“Ah, wonderful! Dorothy, darling, will you take the honor and be my dance partner tonight?” She stretched a playful grin as she tipped her mini hat. “Though, I can’t promise you’ll walk away unscathed.”

More murmurs spread around.

“What’s going on now?” someone asked. “Are they having a performance?”

“I better hope so. I’m getting sore and tired after all that running…”

“Someone get the tomatoes ready!”

The chasers began to back away from the stage, watching the show with lowered weapons.

In Theatreux, there was an unspoken rule when it came to the stage: No soul should disrupt the performance unless due to a performer’s health crisis. As law-abiding citizens working for Horace and King Carmin, the Chevolaires must respect the social customs.

Dorothy swallowed and gazed far beyond the audience, where she finally caught her brother’s gaze. Clover tossed her a reassuring nod as he continued to walk, allowing her to take a deep breath. She released her grip on the mini figurine of herself, and hesitantly, she pulled the statuette’s arm down. Within seconds, the gadget transformed into a shovel before everyone’s eyes.

“If push comes to shove, I’ll have to fight back,” said Dorothy, brandishing the shovel. “I won’t leave the stage so easily.”

“Ooh, I’m liking this spunky side of you, cutie-pie! But enough talk!” Rouge Roulette pressed a button, making her accordion surge with red static. She cracked it one last time before striking a pose. “Now then… shall we dance?”