Mydia's End

by Sean Davies

  “And you brought your whore along, too,” Mary spat.

  Veronica flicked her hand and sent Mary flying into the wall and filing cabinets behind the reception desk before she could utter another word.

  “Nope, we're not wasting our time on you,” Veronica said evilly. “Come on, Winston.”

  “Oh no you don't,” Mary screamed as she scrambled up onto the desk on all fours. Her hair had fallen off, revealing a raw damaged scalp, and her fingers ended in rusty metal blades. “You killed me, now it's my turn!”

  “We didn't kill you—not that you're actually you,” Winston replied, aiming the pistol. “Now piss off.”

  “I’m definitely not the real Mary,” she said, smirking menacingly. “You'd have a hard time talking to her, wouldn't you, Veronica?”

  “What are you going on about?” Winston asked, growing annoyed. He looked at Veronica and could see from her expression that she was holding something back. “What happened?” he asked his wife dubiously.

  “Uh oh, trouble in paradise?” Mary taunted.

  “Fuck off,” Veronica snarled, sending the bald woman flying into the wall again. “She tried blabbing to the Inquisition about us all, but luckily we managed to take care of her first. The Shadow Circle gang members found out she’d been running her gums to the Triumvirate of Sorrow the whole time she was working here, too.”

  “You never told me any of that...” Winston replied, surprised.

  “I didn’t want you to feel guilty,” Veronica explained, cursing herself for not mentioning it sooner. “I knew you would’ve blamed yourself, sweetie.”

  Mary picked herself up and giggled. “Oh, aren’t you two sweet? Why, I should’ve never tried to drive a wedge between you lovebirds.”

  “You’re not real, so can’t you just go away? Or do we have to kill you?” Veronica sneered, although truthfully she had intended for both of her previous telekinetic attacks to kill the demonic version of Mary already.

  “You’re one-hundred percent correct, this is all inside Winston’s mind,” the bald young woman replied, now speaking in a snobby male voice. “But as your consciousness is trespassing here, I get access to your mind as well!” she beamed sadistically. “Shaving a girl’s precious locks off… that’s quite an interesting method of humiliation, but it’s not one that you thought up yourself, I’m afraid.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Veronica said, both angry and annoyed.

  “I’ve had enough of this. It’s not creepy, it’s just weird and aggravating,” Winston snapped, as he went to fire his pistol.

  Eight spindly metal spider legs erupted from Mary’s back, two of which whipped the gun from Winston’s grasp, cutting into the back of his hands so deep that he couldn’t move his fingers. White liquid seeped out of Mary’s eyes, nose, and facial scars, until her visage was covered in a grinning white mask with a black mouth filled with dagger-like teeth.

  Winston yelped and tried to hang on to the knowledge that everything transpiring was only in his head, but the pain was so real he struggled to focus, and blood poured all over his hoodie as he clumsily tried to stem the bleeding.

  “It looks like your wife needs help remembering while we play,” the Demon version of Mary cackled in a female voice once again.

  Veronica rushed to help her husband, but the split second before she reached him, everything disappeared. The Vampire Bloodmage stumbled face first onto a familiar wooden floor, which smelt of dried flowers faintly masking the unmistakable scent of manure. She attempted to push herself up, but her arms were frail, weak, and unmistakably human.

  “Get back ‘ere!” a rough male voice yelled from behind her.

  Suddenly, Veronica was being yanked backwards by her ponytail, her ass colliding unceremoniously with a wooden chair. Thick muscular fingers quickly tied her arms down with rope, while she tried in vain to perform every psychic ability and blood magic spell at her disposal. Then, Veronica noticed the unflattering blue and white dress covering her unmistakably teenage body, and she knew exactly where she was.

  “Dad?” Veronica whispered in a young voice she could barely remember.

  A hand struck the side of her face, and Veronica squealed in pain.

  “Not her face, that’s too far,” Veronica’s mother, a homely black-haired woman in a brown dress and an apron, said disapprovingly.

  Veronica looked up at her mum, forgetting the strange hotel and accepting the quaint farmhouse around her, and wondered if she’d spoken out of concern for her daughter’s well-being or the dowry that would someday hinge on Veronica’s natural good-looks.

  “You think you can act like a whore and get away with it?!” her dad roared from behind her.

  “Let me go!” Veronica struggled and kicked. “It was only a few kisses!” the teenager yelled, omitting the part about where exactly on the boy she’d been kissing.

  “And after that… that disgusting business with the baker’s daughter,” her mother sighed, and looked like she was ready to vomit. “No, this time you’ve gone too far, Veronica. You need to be punished in a way you won’t forget in a hurry.”

  The teenaged version of Veronica heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against metal, and her blood ran cold. She tried to crane her neck around to confirm or alleviate her fears, but her father yanked her ponytail back again and her mother looked away. Veronica screamed and cried as she heard her raven black hair being hacked away, but it was futile, and her head lurched forward as her father snipped the last few segments, before dumping the entire ponytail (still tied together with red ribbon) onto her lap.

  “Please stop, please, please, stop!” Veronica screamed and raved at the top of her voice, as her uneven hair brushed against the side of her face.

  “I’m glad to see we’re finally getting through to ya,” her dad said uncaringly, grasping at the front of her hair and sliding the big scissors in place across her forehead. “Maybe after this you’ll keep your pants on.”

  Veronica caught her mother’s eye and sobbed, “Please mummy, please make him stop, please!”

  Her mum turned away without a word and pretended to wash some dishes, and Veronica watched as her hair tumbled down her face. The teenager’s cries became roars of unbridled rage, and as more of her hair was hacked away, Veronica vowed that she’d never be the girl her parents wanted her to be, she swore to herself she’d never be sold to the highest bidder like some farm animal. She envisioned the night a handsome stranger would whisk her off into the shadows, as she so often dreamed. Her dad’s hand came too close to her mouth and Veronica bit him with all her might, savouring the taste of warm blood as her teeth penetrated the rough skin and crunched against his bones.

  Veronica’s dad let out a surprised yell and smacked his daughter with such force she collapsed onto the floor, still bound to the chair, knocking her head so hard her eyes went hazy and all she could see were stars. She found she didn’t care though, even as she could feel her own blood pooling up beside her face, and even as she began to lose consciousness; Veronica’s only regret was not biting harder.

  Hot, wet hands slapped at her face, not aggressively but strangely desperate, and Veronica struggled to think straight.

  “Veronica, help!” a male voice shouted from nearby.

  “What are you doing now?” a high-pitched voice rang out venomously. “It is taxing keeping this link active for so long, and you keep trying to leave like a moron!”

  “Cherriesa?” Veronica asked, although she wasn’t sure where she’d heard the name before.

  “Veronica, wake up, help me!” the man screamed again. “My hands don’t work, and neither do my spells—I can’t do anything!”

  “Winston!” Veronica gasped, snapping into focus and quickly opening her eyes.

  She was lying flat on the glowing floor of the eerie dreamscape equivalent of the Hotel Noir, and Winston had his back against the wall beside her, tapping her on the face with one of his ruined bloody hands while fending off
Mary’s masked face with the other.

  “Just one kiss, for old times’ sake?” Mary was hissing mockingly as she lashed out with her claws and mechanical back-mounted spider legs, each swing narrowly missing Winston by only a fraction of a millimetre.

  Veronica saw red, and all of the anger and resentment that had built up during the forced revival of her painful repressed memory boomed into a deafening crescendo of pure hatred. She used her powers to levitate herself off the floor, whilst simultaneously healing Winston and tugging each one of Demon Mary’s ten limbs away from her husband.

  “That was supposed to make you leave!” Mary said in an annoyed male voice. “How do you keep coming back?”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you’re as dead as this bitch, Omniosis,” Veronica said ferally.

  Without moving a muscle, the empowered Vampire Bloodmage smashed Mary into the ceiling and then the floor, over and over again, whilst boiling her black blood. The Demon gargled and screamed, but in less than a minute there was little left remaining for Veronica to move except pulp and rusty metal.

  Veronica shook her head rapidly and quickly regained her composure, before helping Winston back on his feet.

  “Thank you, and nice moves!” Winston said, gesturing to the gore-stricken ceiling and floor. “Are you alright, hun? What did it do to you?”

  “It made me remember something I'd forgotten,” Veronica replied, taking some deep breaths to calm herself.

  Winston gave her a puzzled look and waited for his wife to elaborate.

  “My parents ‘did a Mary’ on me when I was young, as punishment for fooling around with the locals,” Veronica explained. “While my dick of a dad was chopping my hair off, I bit his hand and he knocked me over. I cracked my head open—think I almost died. I vaguely remember lots of doctor visits, but it's still pretty hazy.”

  “Fuck, that's terrible...” Winston gasped, unsure of what to say.

  Veronica shrugged. “It was a different time, and they didn't lay a finger on me after that. They did try to keep me under lock and key...”

  “I bet that didn't last long,” Winston smiled, knowing just how rebellious she could be.

  “This is one animal you just can't tame,” Veronica winked as she gestured to her body, before remembering she was dressed in unflattering casual wear.

  Winston chuckled fondly and took her by the hand. They made their way to the elevator and rode it to the top floor, standing awkwardly beside some smartly dressed apparitions. They hurried to Winston’s luxurious room, which was just the way it had been in his days as the Shadow Circle’s Primary Book Wielder, and searched it from top to bottom.

  “My book isn’t here,” Winston sighed.

  “We'll check Lucius’ Autocrat suite,” Veronica replied. “If it's not there, we can check my room.”

  “What if it's not there either?” Winston asked, worried that they were running out of options.

  “We'll think of something,” Veronica assured him, trying to stay positive. “There's still the World GOVT building. Praetor's Pride restaurant too, maybe?”

  Winston nodded and left his room, giving it a nostalgic second glance before walking down to Lucius’ room and office with Veronica in tow.

  They edged into the Autocrat suite cautiously, expecting a nasty surprise, but found Lucius sitting at his desk sipping at a glass of red wine mixed with blood, while Xavier stood stoically by his side.

  The former leader of the Shadow Circle was wearing a smart black pinstriped suit with a red tie, and had his long black hair tied at his nape with a red ribbon that matched Xavier’s. The Vampire gave Winston a sympathetic look with his crimson eyes, and gestured to the two seats opposite his desk.

  “Take a seat, if you will. We don't have much time,” Lucius said kindly.

  Winston and Veronica hesitated, looking at each other and then eying the two spirits critically, waiting for them to transform into something alarming.

  “We're not under his control,” Xavier said, as bluntly as ever. “He wanted us to make you feel guilty over our deaths, but we're on your side.”

  “It might not feel like it,” Lucius began, “but you're engaged in a mental tug of war, Winston. At the moment you're winning, which means he'll soon retaliate.”

  Winston found himself taking a seat, but Veronica rushed over to Xavier and gave him a massive hug, before moving onto Lucius.

  “You know we're just imaginary, right?” Xavier sighed to Veronica.

  “I don't care,” Veronica replied as she squeezed Lucius’ translucent form.

  Lucius chuckled warmly. “We should really begin.”

  “Okay, fine,” Veronica agreed reluctantly, moving to the chair beside Winston.

  “Firstly, your book isn't here, I'm afraid,” Lucius told Winston. “You'll need it to end this, but we don't know where it is.”

  “We believe it might be with Autocrat Eve, at the top of the World GOVT building, but it's an obvious trap,” Xavier added.

  “Secondly,” Lucius continued, “he's using the realism of this place to throw you off guard, but if you remember that then you can use it to your advantage.”

  Sirens sounded outside, and Lucius walked over to the window.

  “That was even sooner than I’d expected,” Lucius mused. “Hold tight, and remember what we told you.”

  “Wait—” Winston began, wanting to ask more, but suddenly he was standing beside Veronica on the road opposite the ruined Hotel Noir.

  “Let's go, before they see us,” Veronica said, eyeing the swarms of armoured troopers flooding into the hotel’s entrance. “I don't suppose you can teleport us up to the World GOVT building?” she asked as they hurried away on foot.

  “I wish I knew how,” Winston chuckled, “but I do have a plan for how we can get up there without any trouble.”

  “Steal an airship and plough it into the top floor?” Veronica guessed, only half-joking.

  “Nothing that fun,” Winston smirked. “I was thinking about what Lucius said, about Omniosis using this place’s realism against us, and figured if we go in there as Inquisitors then the people in there might not even give us a second glance. Not unless they’re closet dreamscape Demons,” he added, sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t be the case.

  “Sounds good,” Veronica said, impressed. “Oh, if only we could alter our clothing…” she joked, feeling confident that they would soon reach their goal.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  In Gloomingdale City, the real Alice took a deep breath and knocked loudly on the Mayor’s door, preparing for what she knew would be a difficult and taxing altercation on several levels. She had already returned to the airship beforehand to collect her thoughts, eat, and calm herself, and knew she didn’t have the time to put this visit off for much longer. Alice tried to put her personal feelings aside—not to mention her bloody history with the Mayor and his Alt allies—and focus on the fight against Darkheart and Corriztis, but it was easier said than done.

  A smartly dressed Alternative butler opened the door and gave Alice a curious look.

  “I need to see the Mayor,” Alice said abruptly. “It's Conclave and Justiciar business.”

  “The Mayor is busy with his fiancée at the moment, but I'd be happy to pass on a message,” the butler informed her in a bored tone.

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “It’s important. It concerns Winston.”

  “Why ever didn't you say?” the butler gasped. “Right this way, miss.”

  Alice grumbled an acknowledgement and followed the butler inside.

  The Mayor’s manor was dark and foreboding, like a fairground ghost house, only Alice knew that the monsters within it were all too real. It had once been Galleon Anchorage’s city hall, but little of the original structure remained aside from the walls, staircases, and ceiling, and if Alice hadn't known better then she would've thought the whole building had been pulled directly from the Gloom.

  The fabric butler scurried past a central fountain made
up of large stone Demon masks that wept reeking black Gloom water, and up a wooden staircase without a sound, but Alice followed on at a much slower pace, wincing every time the aging wood creaked under her armoured feet.

  Disturbing pictures of grotesque torture scenes, decaying fruit, and screaming portraits lined the walls in fancy frames, along with noble-looking paintings of Winston, the over-stuffed Mayor, and a Needle Maiden whom Alice assumed was his fiancée. There was also a small tribute to Mortissa Aurorana on the landing littered with black roses, featuring a series of paintings and a little marble statue of how she had appeared after stealing the famous songstress (and her real-world counterpart) Marissa Aluniana’s face.

  The butler impatiently waited for Alice to make her ascent before proceeding down a corridor lit with dim witchlight lamps. The Mayor's elite guard—whom Alice knew all too well—stood at even intervals all the way along the hall, staring into space like they were completely brain dead.

  The Mayor had been one of the first supernatural creatures Alice had laid eyes upon; he had been caught by several of her Inquisitor’s helmet cameras before the Alternative had dragged them into the Gloom, and then Mortissa and her Needle Maidens had set to work butchering them into something new and grotesque.

  Alice stopped to look at one of the guards, who was so heavily altered she couldn't even tell what gender they had been before the transformation, and knew that somewhere down the line it had been a loyal Inquisitor she had served alongside proudly.

  The altered Inquisition trooper’s face was pale and covered in stitches, most of its natural features had been replaced with thread, and its eyes were two spheres of cold black glass. The guard was still encased in a battered suit of power armour, and was armed with an energy rifle that buzzed and crackled with green energy intermittently.

  Alice stared at the creature until the butler coughed to grab her attention, and she carried on down the hall, saying a silent prayer for each one of her fallen comrades and cursing the beings that had subjected them to such a cruel fate, including the Alt Mayor she was on her way to see.