Right in front of me, a small scrimmage was occurring between two fighters and an unknown number of opponents, who were heavily outmatched by the two crybabies. The clash of steel and the hiss of magic filled the hideout, echoing off stone walls cracked from the strain of battle. The air was thick with smoke and dust, with the acrid tang of burnt wood and flesh lingering like a heavy curtain over everything.
It would've been funny if it weren't so pathetic. Zagan looked like a broken puppet, staggering around with red-rimmed eyes, swinging his weapon with the grace of someone about to collapse. His grip on the hilt trembled with every motion, the blade dipping too low, too slow, yet somehow still connecting in jagged arcs that made his enemies stumble back. He looked more corpse than man—hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, and shoulders hunched as if the world itself pressed down on him.
Amari wasn't much better; tears streaked down her cheeks, cutting pale tracks through dirt and ash smeared across her skin. Her hair clung to her face in damp strands, but her hands still moved with frightening instinct. Spells leapt from her trembling fingers—gusts of wind that carved through armor, flames that scorched skin and screamed in the still air. Her sobs were loud, broken, and ugly, yet each spell was deadly, precise enough to reduce anyone foolish enough to get close into twitching heaps.
Their movements weren't coordinated—far from it. They stumbled like drunks, driven more by raw emotion than discipline. And still, somehow, impossibly, they were winning.
"To be honest, this was the last thing I ever expected to happen," I muttered under my breath, arms crossed, watching them with a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. They moved like undead, cutting down trained killers while bawling like children who'd just lost their favorite toys. It was grotesque, tragic, and absurd all at once.
One bandit rushed Zagan, his knife raised high, but the boy swung blindly, steel connecting with skull. Blood sprayed the floor, pooling under his boots as he barely seemed to notice. Another lunged for Amari, only to be caught in a whirlwind of flame that roasted his flesh before he even had a chance to scream properly.
The sight drew a long sigh from me. Enough was enough. I lifted a hand. The temperature dropped instantly, my magic filling the air. Frost raced outward in every direction, crawling along the walls, webbing across the ceiling, and slamming into the floor with a sound like breaking glass. In a heartbeat, the hideout was a frozen tomb. The supports groaned, coated in jagged ice; the ground glittered like crystal. Every straggler froze mid-step, mid-swing, and mid-breath. Silence slammed down like a hammer, snuffing out the chaos.
The sound of their crying became the only thing left, sharp and raw in the stillness.
Both of them turned to me, wide-eyed and startled. Amari's spell guttered out, the flames snuffed by frost, her tear-stained face illuminated by the faint blue glow of ice.
"Kitsune?" Amari's voice trembled, fragile and uncertain, as she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.
"Hello, Amari. I assumed you were still at home," I said dryly, stepping closer. My boots cracked over the frost, each step a deliberate sound in the silence.
"We needed some fresh air," she muttered, looking away. Her face flushed, not just from the cold but from shame—or guilt. Maybe both.
"And fresh air ended up killing criminals," I remarked flatly, though I added a mock nod of understanding, as if I were discussing the weather instead of corpses.
"They deserve it," Amari snapped suddenly. Her voice had a surprising edge, though her tears still streamed, dripping from her chin onto her bloodstained tunic.
I gave a small nod, impressed despite myself, then turned my gaze on Zagan. He looked worse than yesterday—paler, hollower, his spirit eaten away. He wouldn't even meet my eyes. His body folded in on itself, hunched as if even standing was too much of a burden.
"Hm. So do you feel any better?" I asked Amari, though my eyes lingered on him.
"No," she whispered, her voice breaking as her gaze swept over the frozen corpses, the ones she'd cut down. "You didn't know something like this would happen. It's really not your fault they are dead." I placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, grounding her with the coolness of my palm.
"It doesn't matter. It was me who unleashed the spell. I killed innocent people, Kitsuna." She raised her swollen, red-rimmed eyes to me. Her words dripped with guilt, her lips trembling as if saying them shattered something inside her.
"Hm, you might view them as innocent, but I wouldn't," I said bluntly, unmoved. "Most of them came from the federation. Technically, you killed enemies from another kingdom."
Her deadpan glare could've cut steel. Her lip curled in bitter disgust. "That is not going to make me feel happier, Kitsuna. And secondly, we aren't at war with the federation."
"Hm. How about if I tell you those guys in the barrier had orders from higher-ups to kill you? They were just trying to execute you. Sadly for them, they underestimated you big time. So really, it was self-defense." I offered a hopeful look, as if reasoning could fix shattered hearts.
"They didn't, though. They knew my strength ahead of time. I learned that spell just the day before," Amari muttered, lowering her gaze, drowning in shame.
"Losing when you have a foolproof plan is always because you underestimated your opponent," I said evenly. "Something I hope you two will never do again." My words lingered mostly on Zagan, who still sulked deeper into his hollow shell.
'His girl almost got killed, and this person is still making everything about himself. "Or, at least, he is trying to," I thought with irritation.
Sighing, I patted Amari's head, her hair cold and damp under my palm.
"You always do these speeches," she muttered, cheeks burning as she swatted my hand away, embarrassed.
"Zagan, are you okay in there?" I asked, finally turning my words directly at him.
"Hm. I guess," he muttered hollowly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't look so good." My sarcasm slipped out sharp.
Amari crouched beside him, brushing her hand across his shoulder with gentleness he didn't deserve.
"I wonder why," Zagan bit back, glaring at me with eyes full of venom but no strength.
"So what now?" I asked, raising a brow.
"I don't know. Maybe wash ourselves in the nearest stream and go back home," Amari suggested, pulling at his arm, dragging him upright with surprising strength for her size.
"Hm. Okay, good luck with that." I smirked, knowing full well the nearest stream was a frozen sculpture under my spell.
"And what are you going to do?" she asked, her frown deepening.
"Well, I will clean up all this mess." I gestured lazily at the frozen bodies around us.
"You?" she asked, incredulous.
"Yeah? What? Did you think I wouldn't clean up a massacre?" I blinked, genuinely confused by her tone.
"Yes," she said flatly, her honesty like a slap.
Her bluntness irritated me more than I cared to admit. "Whatever. The nearest stream is that way. Now go."
"Fine." She dragged Zagan with her, both of them shuffling toward the exit like weary ghosts.
Once they were gone, I sealed the exit with ice, cutting them off from what came next. My shoulders eased as silence reclaimed the hideout.
Jumping lightly, I landed on the second floor, senses sharp.
"Where do you think you're going?" I said coldly, my hand clamping down on a shoulder, yanking a figure back, and tripping them with effortless precision.
To my surprise, the woman didn't panic. She fell smoothly, landing on one knee before me. And then, impossibly, she saluted like a soldier before her general.
I frowned.
"Sigh, who are you?"
"My name is not relevant enough for Lady Kitsune," she replied, voice steady.
'I hate fools like these,' I thought, irritation bubbling.
"Yeah, no. Answer the question." Ice formed in the corners of the room, creeping outward with my thinning patience.
"My name is Karen Wells," she admitted quickly.
"Alrighty. So why are you following my sister?" My tone sharpened. I didn't recall encountering anyone named Karen Wells in Black Ops.
"I am not following your sister, but young master Zagan," she corrected carefully.
"Huh. Why?"
"His parents are worried about him."
"…Hm. So how many did you kill for him?"
"Sorry?" She blinked in confusion.
My glare hardened, the air growing colder. "How many people did you kill for him?"
"N-nothing. Amari killed most of them."
I stepped closer, frost biting into the air, her lips trembling as blue crept into her skin. "I'm sure you know me from rumors already."
"Yes," she whispered.
"So don't fucking lie to me," I snarled, voice sharp enough to cut bone.
Her resolve broke instantly. "Seventeen, Lady Kitsuna."
"There we go. Now, Karen Wells, you can go." I gestured to the wall. "Open it and leave."
"Thank you, Lady Kitsuna." She scrambled up.
"Make sure you don't regret your life choices," I muttered darkly. She hesitated, confused, but I waved her off. "Just fuck off. You'll understand one day."
Once she was gone, I turned deeper into the base. A grin tugged at my lips. 'At least they left me some playthings.'
I dispelled the frozen corpses, the smell of iron rushing back, thick and metallic. "Always nice to have clean air," I muttered sarcastically as the copper tang coated my tongue.
I headed down toward the basement. The damp stench of mildew and rot rose up the stairwell, clawing into my nose. "Hm. Well, the clean air didn't last long."
Torches sputtered weakly, shadows twitching on walls of stone slick with condensation. Shackles hung from walls, iron teeth biting into stone. The reek of filth and despair was nearly suffocating.
"I knew this group was fucked up, but what the hell is this?" I muttered.
"Hello? Is anyone still alive down here?" My voice rang down the hall.
A faint presence tugged at my senses. I ripped open the far cell's door, iron shrieking as it tore loose.
"Hey. I'm not here to hurt you."
"No, don't come closer; he will know." A woman's voice, trembling, drifted from the dark. Two pink-slitted eyes gleamed faintly.
"He? Everyone above is dead," I said, stepping closer.
"…Did you kill a dragon?" she whispered.
My brows rose. "Hm? No. Is he a dragon?"
She shook her head frantically. "No, he's still alive. But it should be fine… He won't get through ice."
I smiled faintly. A white lie slid easily from my lips. "Of course not. My ice is impenetrable."
"No, no, you don't understand. He isn't just any dragon. He has a rare class… Berserker."
My grin widened. "Hm. At least he might get rid of my boredom, then."
"What?" Her voice cracked.
"You heard me. Now come out." I gestured lazily.
"I… I can't carry him." Her voice softened to almost nothing.
"What?" I raised my flame higher, spilling light into the cell—and froze.
"Whoa. That's the last thing I expected to see."
A wolf-kin girl knelt on the filthy floor, so thin she was nearly skeletal. Her skin was pale, her hair matted, and her eyes sunken. But behind her loomed a massive green dragon egg, nearly her height, its surface pulsing faintly with life.
I blinked, forcing my surprise down. "Alright. Can you move at all?"
She didn't answer.
"Okay, so I'll teleport you—and I presume your egg—to my room at the Draigs." I pulled a scroll from storage. Before she could protest, the spell flared, swallowing her and the egg in light.
"Well. With this, hopefully he shows up." My grin stretched wide.
I scoured the basement but felt no other presence. Shrugging, I lit the whole place ablaze, flames devouring rot and filth.
Stepping outside, I conjured an ice throne, lounging back with a lazy grin, waiting for the dragon she'd spoken of.
(10 minutes later)
"Man, I'm getting bored again."
(1 hour later)
"Zzzzz."