A bitter metallic taste coated Lorelai's lips as she hung. The clockwork ticked, ticked, and then stopped.
She let go, allowing her dress to stream behind her, letting gravity be her guide.
Wind like thunder hit her, and they fell—out of orbit and out of starlight.
The roar of air swallowed her, consumed them.
Tanner screamed, wailing, his oily fingers digging into her belly, her fangs tight.
"You turned it off?! Are you insane—" he snapped.
"Maybe." She muttered.
She must have been crazy to attempt it. To risk everything. However, madness was preferable to stagnation. She would discover a new path or splatter steel.
Her tail swished slightly, her body tilting the bike into a dive.
The sparkly wind whipped her hair, each violet swirl like a thread, a strand that embraced the glitter. Lorelai inhaled, her lungs expanding, her soul filling.
The flow of particle-rich embers was higher here—a trademark of the realm's capital. The taste of the fresh tang sent a shiver up her arm. This was the City of Hell, her home, her kingdom. She would have the advantage here.
Behind her, like ants chasing sugar, they dropped, blasting into an overloaded descent.
Knights ignited their bikes, their black metal inching closer, breathing down her neck.
She pulled one way, and they went the other. She twisted, and they counter-spun.
She would not out manoeuvre them, not on a bike three times their weight.
She had torque.
They speed.
"Oh hell's, the devils arse. I don't want to die like this." Tanner screamed.
Screamed like a baby, she might add.
Mid-city blurred past. Below, the lower half of the city rushed up—seconds from her heel.
She pressed her grips, her pedals one kick from thrust.
"No, not yet,"
She had to think and plan for some way out. To pull a magic trick, a devil's bargain.
Then, crackling like coins, she heard it—Her eyes watching the knights' bikes, their intakes—flickering orange, then red. The coolant boiled off—just steam and scorched oil. Now only metal remained, melting, choking the pistons dry.
She smiled, "Oil, what a dated lubricant."
Her own bike, courtesy of Tanner's wasted expenditure?
Cold. Dormant. Waiting.
She smiled, grinned with sinister fangs.
"Let's play a game," she said.
The lower city boomed past—her bike long past terminal velocity, bolts rattling, wind trying to peel her apart.
But she laughed.
Her dress snapped like a royal banner—violet silk igniting in air friction.
Her tail wound tight. Her eyes wide with the thrill of it.
Let them see her fall.
Let them watch.
Then came the ground.
She slapped the Gravium core.
Lines like dangling ropes latched above—clutching, threading, ready to burn.
"Let's see how their engines survive this."
She surged again.
"Surge."
"Burn."
"Now."
The bike screamed, awake. Flames roared. Her bike kicked sideways in the air. She took the tunnel first—an instant turn that would kill anyone else.
And the knights, well, she watched their melted brakes fail—one by one slamming into concrete, the crack of bone like shredded tin.
No more screaming. Just glass.
Tanner gripped her arm, his eyes wide as the screams behind them cut off—metal, glass, and bone.
"You're a devil," he said.
Her tail wagged once, slow and deliberate.
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Lorelai stepped onto the platform.
The crystalline engine beneath her hissed—steam rising like a pussing wound. The coolant hissed around the Gravium core, ticking in time with her pulse. She dismounted, legs trembling—not from fear, but from what she'd just done.
Behind her, Tanner wobbled.
Still alive. Still loud.
She didn't look back.
Not yet.
She let the wind strike her face. Let the smell of ash, glass, and metal-fused fog roll over her skin like steam from a forge.
This was the heart of the City of Hell.
The pillar of Wrath.
A colossal nail that pierced the land, an iron spear of unadulterated power. Like a network of hands, the beams supported every side, while panels of glass, steel, and concrete adorned every surface, from delicate arches to brutal slabs of material.
The place where she was supposed to stand in glory.
Instead, she stood alone.
No applause. No welcome. No crown.
Just engines cooling and bones settling into silence.
Then, behind her—
A wretch.
A gag.
The sound of something wet hitting soil.
She glanced back.
Tanner, folded over a potted plant, vomit lacing the roots.
She blinked.
"What a weasel," she muttered. The taste of acid rose in her throat—not for him, but for how close she was to joining him.
Then she heard it before she saw it—voice sharp, dripping with scorn.
"You think that little stunt proves anything?"
Tanner wiped his lip, straightening. Fangs bared. Eyes sharp again—like he hadn't just fertilised a fern.
He strode, boots marching up her spine, a thump at her feet. She could taste him, smell liquor on his breath, stubble too coarse to cut away.
She quivered—something felt off. Was Tanner always this old? This ragged, like flesh dragged through ash and stitched back wrong?
And for a second, she faltered, a second too long. Her knees hit before her mind caught up. Her cry echoed as his fingers clenched her horns. Palms scraped concrete. Her knees bit into the stone where her crown was supposed to rest. Her sight tilted upwards to her lord and slimy saviour.
"What the fuck was all that for!" he shouted.
Before she could speak, the man twisted, and she howled, her knees scraping gravel, her fingers at Tanner's feet.
Then came the kick.
Right to her gut, hard, weighty.
She lurched to hold it, but only got pushed further down.
"You stupid princess! Do you have any idea what you did?"
He kicked again. And again. Foam at his mouth. Rage in his breath.
She didn't understand, she didn't know, she—
"You're lucky we have spectators." He said.
She groaned, crawling to get some clarity in the pain, her fingers scratching her father's building, her side pulsing, her sight blurred.
But she managed to get a glimpse: nobles, her kingdom's supporters, her people.
She reached out, unable to stop the panting, screaming at herself to just get a grip. Be a princess, leverage her royalty.
"Help," she said.
"Help…"
"Help?"
Silence.
Not one word. Not one step.
And the more they looked away, the less the councilmen noticed, the more alone she felt.
"Why?" she muttered.
"Anyone else would've left you behind. You know that, right?" Said Tanner.
She looked at him, following his glance.
Knights, more of those dark-clad demons, from the city of lust.
It instantly pricked her; it made no sense. Why were they here? Why was nobody helping her? Where is her father?
He suddenly pulled her up, fingers lingering on her shoulders, dangerously close to her neck.
"Problem", he asked.
She burned, fangs seething, her tail ready to snap his neck. But—
Her glance scanned the nobles, the knights, the cracks in a tower that should have had none.
"No, there's no problem," she said.
But her fangs didn't loosen.
Not yet.
She just had to get to the throne room.
She needed to know what was going on.