"Well, that's rather rude. How could you call a beautiful young woman like myself a 'what'?" Her voice well light and playful carried a theatrical indignation. "The 'who' part I can understand, but are your eyes not working to see a fair maiden in front of you?" A wide, mischievous smile stretched across her face, her eyes glinting with amusement betraying her feigned affront. "And you can lower that weapon of yours. I assure you I'm not going to attack you, unless you attack me first and I'd rather not get my dress dirty again. So, be a dear and lower that." Her tone turned serious for a fleeting moment, then snapped back to its cheerful lilt. She took a step back, her own knife pointing forward with an eager twitch. "Or you can try attacking me with it! I'd love to see who would be better between us! Angaured!" she shrieked, the last word a sudden, almost unhinged outburst.
John flinched violently at the sudden yell, his hand tightening on the machete, almost instinctually lashing out but only just managing to hold back at the last second, staring intently at the girl who now seemed to bounce with barely contained excitement. He slowly raised his flaming machete higher, his gaze darting around their surroundings. An unsettling realization settled upon him: everything had become unnervingly quiet and the very air throbbed with a sense of wrongness different than what this girl seemed to exude.
"Keep it down!" John hissed, his voice low and urgent. "You were a big mouth just now, judging me for not helping when I heard that scream. But clearly you're the blind one. You couldn't tell that I ignored it to keep myself safe and out of trouble. I wouldn't be able to help anyone if something happened to me. besides if by some off chance they were a young woman who would be hooked on me or something it would be the last thing I'd want, what you described is more of a burden than anything at this early stage of everything. What good would they even bring? Furthermore," he continued, cutting off her nascent protest, "you still haven't told me who you are and lastly there is clearly something wrong happening around us. Tell me, do you hear that?" He tried to make sense of the eerie silence and the unsettling dance of shadows around them.
"Nope, everything is all shadowy and silent as a grave," she chirped giddily, looking around and attempting to mimic John's intense, focused expression, though her wide eyes still held too much childish wonder.
"Exactly," John pressed, the flame of his machete a meager comfort against the encroaching gloom. "Unless you somehow made everything like this with some of your special bullshit that you could have gotten from your class, something is very wrong right now. Even if it became nighttime, it shouldn't be this dark. And it certainly shouldn't be so silent. The screams could still be explained, but no insects, no birds, not even the rustling of trees, it's way too quiet and carries a feeling of wrongness different than what I feel from you." He used the machete's flickering light to pierce some of the oppressive shadows, straining to improve his vision.
"Damn it, I should have looked harder for a flashlight," he muttered, frustration seeping into his voice at the limited reach of his fiery blade.
"Don't moan. Shit happens," the girl said, shrugging. "But to be clear, all this," She motioned to the growing darkness and silence around them. "isn't part of your class thingy? Can't your flaming blade illuminate everything or shoot fire and light places on fire or something wicked awesome like that? Oh, oh, maybe you can swing waves of fire each time you swing it!" she rambled, half-serious, half-delirious with an excitement bordering on manic. John internally catalogued it as a potential sign of a split personality or, more likely, outright madness not to different from the dark personality twist he saw the others go through.
Pushing those disquieting thoughts aside, John knew he had to focus. Something beyond his senses was causing this unnatural silence and the unsettling movement of the shadows that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Deciding that engaging in a lengthy conversation with the mysterious and possibly unstable girl out in the open wasn't the wisest move, he quickened his pace, resuming his determined walk home. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard in this deepening darkness.
"Aren't we going to try and find out why everything is so quiet or find out why shadows keep moving around? Wouldn't that be far more fun than just walking in the night like a pair of creeps?" the girl questioned, easily keeping pace beside John, her ballgown a stark, vibrant anomaly in the gloom.
"Again, I'm not stupid enough to go looking for trouble yet," John replied, dismissing her suggestion without breaking stride. "Besides, if something or someone is causing this and sees us as prey, they wouldn't let us go easily. Furthermore, I have my own reasons for just continuing on and ignoring everything else around me. Feel free to go your own way and disappear, though. Not like I'm going to even try to stop you, Miss Mystery."
"But if there is something, wouldn't it be better to find and face it instead of letting it watch and catch us off guard?" Alice countered, executing an exaggerated, dramatic swivel to peer into the shadows as they walked. She twirled and bounced slightly, appearing like a child on a sugar high. "Also, just call me Alice. It's in line with my current character. I doubt my old name is even of any use now. What about you, Mister Fire Man?"
"I'm John. That's my name," he stated plainly as they rounded a corner. "But why exactly are you following me? Don't you have your own places to be, or—I don't know—try to conquer some place, enslave people, or follow through with whatever your 'god' told you to do?"
Though he didn't care much for her reply, John felt he was making decent progress, meticulously mapping out the route in his mind. He debated whether he should try risking a path past the two large shops on his way or play it safe and avoid them entirely.
"Weeeell, they didn't really expect much from me or for me. Something about how a cos—GET DOWN!" Alice began, her voice suddenly piercing the quiet with an urgent shout. She lunged, attempting to tackle John, but her small size resulted in more of a forceful nudge that sent him sprawling onto his side. Trusting his gut, John instinctively dropped the flaming machete, narrowly avoiding burning himself or her. A scythe materialized from the oppressive darkness, a gleaming crescent blade slicing through the air precisely where John's head had been a moment before.
John realized, with a jolt of terror, that Alice had just saved him from a deadly attack. From behind the chilling silhouette of the scythe emerged a figure: a pale, gaunt young man with greasy, wet-looking black hair, dressed in black skin-tight pants and a torn, fluttering cloak.
"Huh, lucky you. I missed," the young man rasped, hunched over, using the scythe as a grotesque walking stick.
As the scythe-wielding figure advanced, Alice sprang to her feet, her knife held ready, eyes sparkling with determination and that familiar hint of madness. The pale young man swung his scythe in a wide arc, aiming for Alice's head, but she ducked under the attack with surprising agility, her blue ballgown swirling around her like a living wave.
With lightning-fast movements, Alice launched a flurry of strikes, a silver blur of her knife aimed at his arms and hands, seeking to disarm her opponent. The scythe user skilfully deflected her attacks, the metallic scrapes echoing in the unnatural silence, but Alice's relentless assault kept him on the defensive. The eerie quiet was now broken only by the clash of their weapons and Alice's occasional and unnerving laughter.
Meanwhile, John had scrambled behind a nearby abandoned car. His hands worked quickly to retrieve the Molotov's from his bag. The glass bottles of fuel swirling as he further secured the cloth around their necks and then, with his flaming machete, he ignited the wicks to transform the simple bottles into deadly but crude weapons.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, John emerged from his hiding spot. He hurled a Molotov cocktail towards the scythe user's left flank. The flaming bottle shattered with a fiery explosion, scattering fire and bright light across the ground, creating a chaotic, blinding distraction.
The scythe user was momentarily disoriented by the fiery display gave Alice an opening that she took full advantage of. She lunged forward, slashing at his legs and knocking him off balance. With a wicked grin, she drove her knife into his side, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him.
But the scythe user was not so easily defeated. He countered with a powerful, sweeping swing of his scythe, the blade catching Alice on her arm. Despite the gash, Alice pressed on, her eyes gleaming with a manic mix of excitement and grim determination.
John continued to use the chaos to his advantage. He circled around the scythe user, igniting the two remaining Molotovs and throwing them from a different angle, one after the other towards the assailant's other side. The blinding light and intense heat disoriented him once more causing him to falter, a momentarily vulnerable target.
Seeing the new opening Alice seized the moment. She feigned a retreat, drawing the scythe user closer to bait him closer in his distracted state, he lunged at her, she evaded his attack with impossible speed becoming a blur of blue. Then, with a sickening squelch she plunged her hand rather than her knife directly through his chest. A choked gasp escaped him, but his body soon went limp, collapsing heavily to the ground.
Breathing heavily, Alice pulled her bloodied hand out of the scythe user's chest. Her pale face was splattered with gore, her eyes wide and wild with a chilling mix of excitement and victory.
John approached cautiously, his flaming machete casting an eerie glow on the gruesome scene. He noticed Alice's injuries, the blood staining her dress and the unnerving intensity in her gaze. "Are you alright?" he asked, a genuine note of concern in his voice.
Alice looked at him, her smile unfaltering, untouched by the recent brutality. "Of course, I'm fine. It was a thrilling fight though, wasn't it?" she said, her voice tinged with that familiar, unsettling madness.
John couldn't help but feel a complex mix of admiration and profound unease. Despite her madness, Alice had proven herself a formidable and absolutely terrifying fighter. "Thank you for saving me and fighting that guy. I doubt I would've been able to do so, let alone be alive right now, if it wasn't for you." As he spoke, he retrieved some disinfectant and bandages from his bag, a wave of genuine gratitude washing over him. He felt a pang of regret for his initial choice in class, vowing that after he reached home and found out what was happening with his family, he would focus on putting his chosen class to work and begin training himself to avoid a situation like this in the future.
"Ha‑ha, that was a lot of fun," Alice said, her voice dripping with faux innocence and dramatic flair. "If more moments like this happen, I'll definitely keep following you. Besides, your taking care of me now, tending my wounds with those medical supplies which shows you care."
She leaned in, attempting to hug and kiss John, but got a damp cloth pressed against her face instead as he began wiping away the blood well letting out a weary sigh.
"I owe you," John replied, his tone guarded. "That doesn't mean we're suddenly best friends though. I barely know you, but it doesn't make me any less grateful for the help. I suppose I can try to be nicer."
He paused, then added, "For now I need a guard until I can extract any value from my class and get it to work properly. Think of it as a 'late‑game' strategy, if that makes any sense."
Alice responded with a sudden, enthusiastic tackle‑hug and a broad grin, managing to keep John upright this time.
"Then onward we go—adventure awaits!" Alice shouted, sprinting toward the fallen scythe‑wielder. She began rifling through his belongings, her knife nowhere to be seen—presumably stashed somewhere. With exaggerated swings, she twirled the scythe, making whooshing noises with her mouth.
John watched, shaking his head. Though Alice's antics were oddly endearing, it didn't hide the madness in her exuberance. He called her over and she paused, nodding before telling him to wait.
She then stripped the dead man's cloak and tossed it to John. He hesitated, uneasy about handling the warm garments of a stranger.
"It looks like a stealth item," she chirped, eyes bright with a manic sweetness. "It'll be useful for you. You can put it on yourself, or I can help you."
"Please, let me dress you," she pleaded, her voice tinged with a playful insanity. "It'll be like a costume party."
Despite his reservations, John recognized the practicality of the cloak. He slipped it over his shoulders, feeling the fabric's strange, quiet weight settle around him as it changed and began to fit his form far better as if made for him.
With the cloak in place and the scythe still humming in Alice's hands, the unlikely duo turned toward the horizon, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—bound together by necessity, curiosity and a fragile thread of trust.