My fingers trembled as I flipped through the brittle pages of the old book, my eyes racing over each line for any clue about the gauntlet I couldn't stop thinking about. The lamp beside me cast a weak yellow glow over the faded script and scrawled margin notes, but there was nothing—no hint of the object I so desperately wanted to understand. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "There has to be something," I muttered, voice tight with frustration. For a moment, I blinked back tears—feeling ridiculous and alone in this dusty corner of the library.
Just as I was about to slam the book shut, a pleasant scent drifted over me—bright citrus with a tingle of berries, undercut by something darker I couldn't place. I inhaled sharply. "Wow," I whispered, then cursed myself for speaking out loud when a soft cough sounded behind me.
I turned and froze. She was the woman I'd glimpsed earlier—the one with red-tinged hair and that effortless confidence. She'd been browsing the history stacks; now she stood so close I could see the subtle gleam in her green eyes. Heat crawled up my neck. "Uh—sorry," I blurted. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just…that scent. What is it?"
She smiled, amusement curling her lips. "Relax. I promise I'm not selling perfume. It's lemon and strawberry—mixed with a drop of demonic hound's blood." She pronounced the last part so casually that my jaw actually dropped.
"Blood from a—" I shook my head, trying to make sense of it. "You're joking, right?"
She laughed, soft and melodic. "I wish I were. Name's Caleif." She watched my eyebrows shoot up. "And I already know you—Kamen."
My heart lurched. "How do you—?" I swallowed hard, scrambling through every fleeting interaction. "I don't remember—"
Caleif tipped her head. "I've been watching you for a while. You're a drifter, always on the move but somehow stumbling into trouble." Her tone was easy, but the knowledge of my name and history made my skin prickle. "Which brings us back to that gauntlet you've been obsessing over."
She leaned against the bookcase. "If you want answers, I can help. But there's a price."
I straightened. "A price?"
"A pact," she said simply. "You help me with a little task, and I tell you everything I'm allowed to share."
I rubbed my wrists. "A pact sounds…heavy."
Her lips curved. "Think of it as a deal." She paused, then added with surprising candor, "And yes—if you follow through, I'll let you get closer than most men ever do." She gave me a teasing look, and I had to fight both a grin and a sudden dizziness.
I shook my head to clear it. "This is insane. Why me?"
Caleif brushed a strand of hair from her face, sending another wave of that intoxicating scent my way. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe it in. "Because you're curious," she said. "You don't walk away when something strange happens—you lean in. And I need someone like that."
The library was silent except for the distant rustle of turning pages. "Okay—say I'm interested. What's in it for you?"
"I get your help," she shrugged. "In return, you get knowledge—and maybe a reward." She produced a pen and a slip of paper as if by magic and slid them across the table. "Here's my number. Think it over. If you want in, call me."
I stared at her neat handwriting, pulse hammering in my ears. "I'll…call."
She nodded, eyes sparkling unnaturally bright in the dusty gloom. "Good. I'll look forward to hearing from you, Kamen." With that, she turned and drifted back into the labyrinth of shelves. Before she fully disappeared, she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a mischievous wink that left my heart pounding.
"What the hell did I just get myself into?" I muttered, gathering my things. I needed clarity—maybe Seraphine could help. I headed for the exit, bracing myself for cooler air, only to find night had fallen without my notice. My heart skipped. I'd been here maybe thirty minutes by my reckoning—yet outside was an ink-black sky.
"Something's off," I whispered, pulling out my car keys. I stepped into the crisp night air and made for my car when a voice echoed behind me: "So you're the new holder of the gauntlet? I expected someone more…formidably built." The derision in her tone hit me like a physical blow.
I turned slowly, disbelief freezing me. There she hovered—Claire—defying gravity with wings as dark as midnight unfurling behind her. "Claire—how are you here? And how are you…floating?" The questions tumbled out as alarm bells blared in my mind. "You died—I saw your funeral!"
Claire's expression twisted into venomous loathing. "This has been coming for so long," she spat, then lunged at me with lethal precision.
I barely managed to twist away as her blade sliced across my chest. Agony roared through me as warm blood seeped between my trembling fingers pressed desperately against the wound. "Claire! What are you doing? Why are you attacking me?"
She hovered over me, icy eyes devoid of any mercy. "Because you wield what should never have been yours," she hissed. "Possession makes us enemies—I won't let you live, ignorant of its power."
As panic clawed at my mind, she brought the blade down again—and in that moment, something extraordinary happened: instinct drove my right hand up in defense, and the gauntlet materialized onto my skin, snapping into place like armor summoned by my desperation.
The metal rang as it met her weapon, knocking the wind out of me for a second as wonder overtook pain. How had it appeared? Fear? Reflex? Regardless, I now held her blade at bay against the unyielding strength of the gauntlet.
"This is fucking insane, Claire! It's me, Kamen!" I shouted, my voice echoing into the vast emptiness surrounding us. The enormity of the moment vibrates through my bones as I tighten my grip on the blade. The metal begins to give way under my grasp—a feat both unnerving and awe-inspiring. My eyes dart down to my hand, watching with disbelieving clarity as the weapon bends and warps, yielding like clay beneath my fingers. "What on earth is this blade made of?" The question escapes me unbidden, and for a heartbeat, all else fades but for the surreal sight of this otherworldly artifact bowing to my will.
The chill night air wraps around us as I forcibly drag the blade closer. Claire's body follows the motion, drawn inexorably towards me even as resistance flares in her eyes. My left hand reaches out instinctively, brushing against her wing. Its texture surprises me with its softness—delicate feathers that seem impossible given their menacing presence moments ago.
"Let go!" she commands with a vehemence that cuts through the confusion clouding my thoughts. Her voice cracks with something more than anger—fear, desperation perhaps? "You don't understand!" Her words spill forth in a torrent of urgency and raw emotion that reverberates in my chest.
"If you live," she continues, each word laced with bitter gravity, "there's a risk that I'll die along with everyone else!" Shock contorts her features—an unexpected vulnerability that unsettles me almost as much as her revelation.
The world seems to hold its breath as we grapple under the moonlit sky; shadows stretch and warp around us like silent witnesses to this unfolding drama. Her struggle is electric, charged by some hidden force barely contained within her slender frame. Yet beneath her ire lies something fragile—a glimpse at what once was or could have been had circumstances not drawn our paths into such violent convergence.
In that instant of suspended disbelief and heightened senses, the reality of our shared predicament seizes me with renewed clarity—the precarious balance between life and death hinging not just on our actions but on an enigmatic truth lurking just beyond grasp.
Claire lunges, her blade slicing through the air with a deadly hiss. I twist, feeling the sharp edge graze my chest. Pain sears through me, but adrenaline pushes me forward. The gauntlet materializes on my arm, metallic and unyielding.
I push back with all my strength, forcing her weapon to bend and warp beneath my grip. The clash of metal reverberates in the night air as she struggles against the unexpected resistance.
Claire's voice cuts through the chaos, raw with desperation. "Let go! You don't understand!" Her words echo with a mix of fear and urgency as we grapple under the moonlit sky.
I refuse to yield, determination fueling my actions. I feel her wing brush against my hand, its feather-light touch contrasting with her menacing presence moments ago.
"Caleif!" I shout in frustration. "What's happening? Why is this happening to me?" My voice rings out, demanding answers amidst the swirling chaos of the confrontation.
Caleif steps closer, her expression unreadable yet filled with a strange sense of satisfaction. "The gauntlet you possess belonged to Estingoth—a man feared even by gods. It holds immense power—one that must be controlled."
Claire's movements become more frantic as she strains against the unyielding force of the gauntlet. Her face contorts with a mix of anger and desperation as she struggles to break free from the unexpected turn of events unfolding before her.
The night crackles with tension as we stand locked in a battle neither fully comprehends—a clash of wills and destinies entwined in a dance of life and death under the watchful gaze of unseen forces guiding our fates.
"This is such bullshit, all I wanted was to have a normal life!" I scream, my voice echoing through the chaos around me. Frustration fuels my movements as I drop the blade and swing my fist with all my might. It connects with Claire's jaw, and I feel the bone give way beneath my knuckles. The force of the impact sends her sprawling to the ground, where she lands with a heavy thud, gasping out a pained "Oof, fuck!"
Turning to face Caleif, I'm momentarily captivated by her mesmerizing eyes, their depths pulling me in. But I shake off the distraction, knowing what's at stake. "Caleif, if you really want that pact, then I agree," I declare, my voice firm.
Her smile is like a beacon in the chaos, and she places her hand on my head. A searing pain courses through me, reminiscent of when the gauntlet first fused with my arm, each nerve alight with fire. "With this, you are now my servant; granted, you're the weakest servant right now. But we can change that later on. For now, I want to see what you can do with that gauntlet of yours."
I sigh, a sense of resignation washing over me. I raise my hands in mock surrender and stride towards Claire. She lies on the ground, cradling her head as her skull knits itself back together with a grotesque crunch. "Ugh, that sounds painful. If it were anyone else but you, Claire, I wouldn't feel so bad for doing this. But it's clear you won't back down and listen to me. I'm sorry, Claire," I say, my voice heavy with regret.
I reach down with the gauntlet, gripping her throat gently at first. A heat builds in my palm, an unfamiliar energy pulsing through the metal and into her skin. Claire's eyes widen in terror as she senses the power coiling in my grasp. "Wait, Kamen. I'm sorry, please don't kill m—"
Her plea gets cut off, as the gauntlet's energy explodes like a fireworks show on steroids. Her head pops like an overripe watermelon, drenching me in a shower of blood and brain bits. I'm now wearing a horror movie costume—face and clothes splattered with the aftermath. The brutal reality of this world is a heavyweight champion sitting on my chest, but oddly, a twisted part of me is doing a little victory dance. It's duking it out with the part of me that's mourning the loss of my former BFF. "I can't believe I did that. Claire, why didn't you just listen? We could've talked this out, figured something out. Argh!" I shout, crashing to the ground and giving the concrete a nice spider web crack with the gauntlet as my consciousness starts waving goodbye.
"Looks like you've hit your limit, Kamen. Let's find you a more comfy spot," Caleif sings with a voice smoother than a chocolate fountain at a wedding. It's like getting a lullaby from an angel, and despite my heroic attempts to escape her grasp, it's pretty darn nice. "I got this, really. I'm good. I don't need he—" I manage to mumble before the world goes dark and I face-plant into the concrete with all the grace of a dropped sack of potatoes.