A Tainted Mosaic Pierced by Dawn

Trigger Warning: Mild gore.

✦☆✦

Monty roughly scraped his knife around Ortrone's rib cages until it bumped against something solid. He pulled out his blade and dug his hand straight in, fumbling around and making nauseating squelches. With a grunt, he ripped out Ortrone’s heart and crushed it under his grip in a bloody, firework-like spectacle, revealing a shining ruby shaped like a crest.

“Ah, there it is.” Monty smiled and waved at the crowd with his arm drenched in blood. “Thanks for waiting, everyone! The ‘key’ to Ortrone’s train is finally in our hands!”

A gruff, elderly man stepped forth with his arms folded. “And how will this train aid our plans?”

“Simple. We’ll crash it through the Chevolaires’ headquarters. It’ll kill Horace on the spot, easy peasy.”

“Are you crazy?” asked a lady. “We’d kill hundreds of innocent people too! We’d be no different than Horace!”

“Innocent? You call his mercenaries innocent?” someone else spoke up. “They’re killers too!”

“I agree!” said another. “All the Chevolaires have killed someone! All of his employees are guilty!”

“That’s not true! Horace hires the common folk to manage his restaurant. Are you saying they’re guilty as well?”

“Absolutely not! My sisters are working in his restaurant!”

“Besides, ramming a train in the middle of the city will do nothing but alert the king and his army!”

More people continued to argue as they stepped out of the shadows.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting tired of waiting,” said another young lady. “All we did these past few months was nothing but watch. Now that Horace is back with his armor, do we have to keep waiting again?”

“I would rather not wait any longer either, but I’m against using the train,” said the gruff man. “It’ll cause too much chaos.”

“What’s wrong with some chaos?” Monty sneered. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? It’s what this lackluster kingdom needs—more thrilling, gripping, heart-wrenching, and dramatic tragedies to spice up our history!”

“...I’m starting to have second thoughts working with you,” he muttered.

“Now that you mentioned it,” said another, “you promised us a ‘foolproof plan,’ but Horace is still alive.”

“Ah, yes. That’s a real shame,” said Monty. “But I figured he might have some luck, so my plan B was to use this train.”

“Aren’t you going overboard?” asked someone else. “You made us all wait to get your hands on some train just to kill him?”

“Obviously not.” Monty smirked and inspected the crest. “I have more plans with it, of course.”

“What plans?”

Monty snickered, stuffed the crest into his pocket, and shushed the group with his bloody finger. “Something more… ambitious. I wasn’t lying when I said I have my own reasons to kill Horace after all. If you continue to follow my instructions, maybe I’ll tell you all about it,” he said with a playful wink.

“Hell no, you’re too crazy,” a man muttered.

“I’m getting seriously tired of waiting,” said another. “Let’s just raid their bloody headquarters!”

“I agree! They can’t stop us all!”

“We should’ve done this months ago! Before Horace killed so many of our people!”

The crowds raised their voices as they continued to vent their frustrations. Monty raised his hands, gesturing them to settle down. “Now, now, I understand your impatience,” he said. “But raiding them is—as nicely as I can put it—the stupidest idea possible. Only one of you returned even though I’ve sent a dozen of you.”

“What gives you the right to judge us when your assassination plan failed?”

“Hmm, you… you’re the one I told you to poison Horace by shaking his hand, yes? How did it go?”

The man broke eye contact. “Erm…”

Monty raised a brow. “Did you?”

“I… I poisoned his whiskey instead.”

He twitched an eye. “When and how?”

“Th-This evening, when Horace left the office for dinner, I used Crimoire to curse the whiskey.”

“Why did you not follow my plan?”

“Th-That's because Ren's always around him! He's been foiling our assassination attempts left and right, so I thought he might catch me too! I-I thought he wouldn't find out about the whiskey!”

Monty frowned as the truth finally clicked. “Golly, no wonder my plan failed. You’ve royally screwed it up.”

The fool gritted his teeth and pointed at him. “How am I supposed to approach the target without drawing suspicion to that crazy bodyguard of his?! It’s not my fault that—”

Monty pulled out his knife and slashed him across the throat, spraying his blood on the walls. The man gurgled and cupped his throat, falling to his knees and twitching around.

“I have no use for morons,” said Monty, staring at the wary crowd. “Good people, I am not the kind of man to command your every move. If you all want to raid the headquarters, then by all means, go ahead. I will not stop you, but should you go, consider our alliance severed.” 

He walked toward the hatch, and the man with closed eyes followed suit. “If any of you still have some brain cells left, then I'll give you one last chance to follow me, for my vow still stands: I will reshape Theatreux, and I will build an everlasting paradise free from the stars' eternal gaze. Mark my words, that paradise shall embrace all humans, vampires, and those in between."

With a wave of his bloody hand and knife, Monty also said, "Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate you all for working with me up to now, so as thanks, I’ll give you one last piece of advice: you should initiate it at the brink of dawn when the Chevolaires return to the headquarters for their work. Break a leg, folks!”

Murmurs broke out as the crowd exchanged reluctant glances. Most stayed in their spots, but a small handful pulled their hoods on and exited the hatch with Monty, walking behind him in the shadowy alleyway.

After extending his gratitude, Monty shared his next plans with the loyal followers and gave them a new set of instructions before they all dispersed.

Now that Horace and Ren supposedly caught those assassins, it would be a matter of time until they found out about his plans… No, he should expect that they already did and were on the move. Therefore, Monty would have to rewrite quite a bit of his plans.

Admittingly, his own impatience had also been driving him into insanity, but with a mission so grand, a blunder could cost everything.

Monty had to remember: It was all for his Fiona. All for his queen, his savior, his goddess.

All for her and her alone.

✦☆✦

Muffled screams echoed around a child in brown pigtails, who stared at her rippling reflection in a puddle of blood. She glimpsed down at her hands, stained in the same red substance. Her arms trembled, and she backed away in fright, her footsteps leaving behind red footprints.

Red. Everything was red. So terribly red and foul.

The child whimpered and closed her watery eyes, covering her ears that couldn’t block all the screams and shouting.

What’s going on? I feel sick. I don’t like this. Please stop it. Stop screaming. Stop it, stop it, stop it—

Dorothy weakly cried out as she woke with a start and sat up, damp towels sliding off her mask. She breathed heavily and clutched her head as her masked sockets cracked with red static.

The windows framed the first light of dawn, and the wall clock nearby ticked close to six in the morning.

Right, she soaked her mask by leaving wet towels on her forehead and cheeks overnight. She remembered that water would nullify the Crimoire effects on the masks, but to think it finally gave her a dream after eight months of quiet slumber.

Except, that dream wasn’t welcoming at all! What was that all about?!

Even now, a strange, nauseating uneasiness swept through her. Dorothy carefully slid out of the bed and stumbled around.

Something was wrong. Besides herself, something unusual and suffocating stirred in the air. She couldn’t tell if the strange suspense was just her or something else. She had to find Clover, but how could she do so when the room spun around her?

She whimpered and tightened her grip as multiple voices began to argue in her head.

“I’ll make sure you vampires will experience a living hell. Mark my words, this is my vow to you!”

Forget.

Blood stains on the walls and floors flashed through her mind.

Forget. Forget.

“Each one of you caused a tragedy so great you all lost your bloody minds!”

Forget. Forget. Forget.

Dorothy shook her head. She tried to distract herself by staring at a painting of flowers, but the red roses bundled up together looked entirely something else.

Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget.

She looked at the vanity, where a mirror reflected her cracked mask. Behind her, the roses looked more and more like blood.

Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget.

She only blinked once. The next moment, a child stained in red stood behind her in the reflection. Dorothy jumped and spun around, only to face the painting.

Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget. Forget. Forgè̴̩t̴̑͜.

Somewhere deep down, someone drenched each fragmented scene with glue and pieced them together like a distorted puzzle, refusing to let this particular memory disappear again. She could feel it. This prisoner—sealed up in her heart—was quickly breaking free at an alarming rate.

Dorothy whimpered and clutched her head.

F̶̗̋o̷͈͆r̴̫͐g̶̨̀e̶͙͒t̴͙̆.̷͇̄ ̴̥͘F̵̈ͅȏ̶̧r̸͎͂g̶̗͛e̸̮̾t̴̹́.̵̜͒ ̶̥̀F̸̮̋o̷̼̕ŕ̵̡g̶͉̒e̵̳͝t̶̳̀.̴̻̀ ̵̼͊F̸̳͗o̷̤͋r̷̼̓ǵ̵̤e̴̤͘t̶̖̀.̵̜̅ ̶̞̊F̶̨͆ö̷̹r̶͔̄g̷̰͑e̵͕͘t̶̹̒.̷̻̈́ ̵͓̑F̴̹͝ọ̶̐r̶̪̃ĝ̷̘e̵̺͊t̸̜̏.̸̮̾ ̶̼͊F̸̱̑ö̶͜r̵͍̽g̴̞̅e̷̖͆t̴͍͝.̷͉̃ ̶̼̇F̶̣̌o̶̓ͅr̸̗̋ǵ̵͖ĕ̶ͅt̶̗͌.̷̢̓ ̷͉͗F̵̰͆o̶̲͆r̸͍̎g̷̣̀e̸̻̓ṭ̴͐.̷̜̈́ ̶̫͑F̴͚͐o̵̹̅r̶̛͜g̷͈͠ẹ̵̑t̵͉͐.̶̞̓ ̷̫̃F̷̤̋o̶͚͛r̶̲̒ĝ̸̪é̸͎t̷͔̋.̶͇̔ ̷̫͌Ḟ̵̺o̴̜͊r̶͍͝ğ̵̬e̵͚͋t̵̜̋.̸͇͐ ̵̙͌F̸̼̀ó̸̯r̴̨͠g̴̻̈́e̸̪͘t̷̩͘.̶͈͂ ̸̟̅F̷͇̍o̷̗̅r̶̘̀g̸̡͘é̴̹t̶̛̩.̶͉́ ̷̱̔F̵̛͎ò̸̤r̶͉͝g̷͔͂e̸̞͗t̸̟̿.̵̝͒ ̷͎̈́F̷̗̚ö̷̗́r̷͎͐g̸̩͛e̶̡̊t̴̘͂.̷͇̋ ̸̙̏F̴͎̌o̸̟̒r̵̘͊g̵̥͑ę̷̀t̷̞̍.̴̬̉ ̶̰͠F̴̘̒ŏ̷͕ŗ̵͑ģ̴̚e̵͇͝t̶̘͌.̴̢͊ ̷̟̆F̸̛͚o̸̲̍ṙ̵͇ģ̵̈́ě̶͕t̵̛̪.̸̛̣ ̷̛͕Ḟ̸̜o̶̅͜r̶̦̚g̶͍̓e̴̟͌t̶͖͒.̸͙̅ ̷̙̚Ḟ̵̜õ̶̞r̷͎͐g̵̤̾è̸͚t̶̘̍.̷̞̏ ̸͐͜F̷̬͝ô̷̠r̸̟̓g̸̭̀e̶̦͠t̶͙͛.̵̨̇ ̶͉̀F̷̪͌ô̴͎r̴̞̒g̵̤̀e̶̜̋t̶̼̉.̷̙̎ ̵̦͝F̵̞̿ö̴̺́r̴̞͑g̴̡͗e̸̯͒t̷̳͛.̴̥̏ ̵̣͑F̴͎̈́o̴̺̐r̵͚͑g̷̫͋e̶̮̊ţ̸̎.̴̪̔ ̷̝͑F̵͖̑o̴̜̊r̴̠̿g̵̮͝ẽ̵̗t̷͚͗.̴͔̌ ̴̩͝F̷͓̔o̷͈͝r̵̭̍g̷͆͜ȇ̸̳t̶͙͘.̵͓͑ ̸͚͆F̶͎̈́o̴͇͠r̶̛̗g̷͈̈́ẽ̶̡t̴͖̍.̵͙̐ ̷̹̔F̷͉̓ö̵̗́r̴͔̾g̵͍͊ě̴ͅẗ̴͈.̴̣͝ ̴̦̓F̶̡̓ỏ̵̤r̶͖̔g̶̥̔ẹ̸̆t̸̛͜.̵̮̽ ̴͓̽F̵̻̔o̵̖͛ŕ̶̡g̴̣͊ẹ̶̓t̷̩̓.̷̘̽ ̵̞̐F̸̬̋ơ̴̪r̷̮͑g̵̞͒è̶̖t̴͎̎.̶͖͂ ̸͇͝F̶͚̆o̸̜͂r̸̲̒g̵̪̈ȇ̸̺t̵̻͝.̸͈̀ ̵̤͛F̸̜̕o̸̟̕r̴͕̃g̷̦͂e̷͍̔ṱ̴̀.̵̟̚ ̸̰͛F̵̱̔o̶̚ͅr̵̗̍g̴͎͆e̴̞͊t̸̹̽.̵̥̾ ̸͙͘F̶͎̈́ő̸̰r̴̮͑g̶̠͌ę̴̛t̸͎̾.̵͍̂ ̵̭͂F̸̮̆o̴̥͝r̸͖̄g̷̭͋e̸͓͆t̸͍̀.̵͕̔ ̷̏ͅF̶͇̌o̷͇͠r̷̤̎ģ̶̈́e̶͖͊t̸̳̎.̷͖̌ ̶͕̉F̸͓͋o̸͇͋ŕ̵̨ǵ̸̟e̶̍ͅt̶̮̋.̸̩̏ ̶͇̀F̴̗̀ö̸̹́r̴̟̀ǵ̵͔ḛ̵̽t̸̤͌.̶̢͐ ̴̡͑F̶̘͊ó̷͇r̶̳͌g̸͉͝e̷̹͗t̵̮́.̷̰͛ ̷̢͆F̸̟́o̸̮̔r̶͓̈́ǵ̸̞ẻ̴̹t̵̤̏.̵̻̑ ̶͉̿F̸̺͑o̸̟͊r̵̖̈́—̷̲̍

A booming explosion interrupted the voices, silencing them all at once.

Dorothy jolted and whipped toward the door. She rushed toward it and kicked it, and at the same, the door beside hers also slammed open, revealing Clover in disorderly clothes and hair.

“What’s going on?!” both siblings shouted.

One by one, more people opened their doors and asked the same questions.

“Ohh, good lord. It’s freaking six in the morning,” grumbled a familiar lady in red robes, rubbing her eyes. “What the hell’s happening?”

Clover composed himself as he stepped to the center of the hallway. “Everyone, calm down and evacuate the floor,” he said loudly. “The emergency exit is at the other end of this hallway!”

“I-Is there a fire?” someone nervously asked.

“There might be one,” Clover muttered, rubbing his nose. “But I also smell gunpowder...”

“Gunpowder? Where?”

Clover turned to the end of the hallway with the sole window and vase of flowers. “From… over there...”

The man standing closest to the window curiously approached it.

“Huh? Hey, stop!” Clover broke into a sprint after him. “Don’t get any closer!”

The man froze and glanced at the Co-leader in confusion, and at the same time, a red cylinder crashed through the window, cracking once it hit the floor.

A white flash blinded the hallway, followed by a massive explosion blowing everyone off their feet.