The acrid smell of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the dust and debris that settled over the destruction like a funeral shroud. Pranit stood amid the rubble, his eyes fixed on the crumpled form before him. Florenca lay there, her body broken and charred, looking more corpse than living being. The battle had taken its toll on both of them, but she had gotten the worst of it.
Pranit tilted his head, studying her with an almost clinical detachment. A strange thought crossed his mind, inappropriate given the circumstances, yet he couldn't help but voice it.
"Did I eat too much?" he muttered, patting his stomach absently.
Florenca's eyes snapped open, fury blazing in them despite her grievous injuries. With what little breath she could muster, she gasped out, "Shut... up..."
The words came out weak, barely audible, but the venom behind them was unmistakable. Even half-dead, Florenca maintained her sharp tongue and sharper temperament. It was almost admirable, in a twisted sort of way.
A third figure emerged from the shadows behind them. The maid stepped carefully through the wreckage, her pristine uniform somehow immaculate despite the chaos surrounding them. Her face remained expressionless as always, but there was a hint of concern in her voice when she spoke.
"Master Pranit," she said, her tone measured and professional, "what should we do now? They've escaped. Shall we pursue them?"
Pranit turned away from Florenca, brushing dust from his clothes with casual indifference. He seemed to consider the question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, much to the maid's surprise, he shook his head.
"I don't want to chase them anymore," he declared, his voice carrying an unexpected note of finality.
The maid's composure cracked ever so slightly. Confusion flickered across her features. "Why is that, Master? We had them cornered. If we move quickly, we could still—"
"Because," Pranit interrupted, his face suddenly brightening with an enthusiasm that seemed wildly out of place given their situation, "the new Chainsaw Man movie is coming out soon. I can't wait to watch it. I've been looking forward to it for months."
The maid stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. Here they were, standing in the ruins of what had been an intense battle, with Florenca barely clinging to life, their targets having escaped, and her master was thinking about a movie premiere. She had served him for years, but sometimes his priorities still managed to surprise her.
A long, weary sigh escaped her lips. "Fine then," she said, resignation heavy in her voice. "We shall return to the estate."
But Pranit wasn't quite finished with the conversation. As the maid turned to begin making arrangements for their departure, he called out to her. His demeanor shifted suddenly, becoming more serious, more focused. The playful energy from moments before evaporated, replaced by something harder, more dangerous.
"Wait," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register. "I have a very simple question for you."
The maid paused, turning back to face him. "Yes, Master?"
"Who sent you?" Pranit's eyes narrowed, studying her with newfound intensity. "By whom were you sent to assist us in this matter?"
There was a loaded pause. The air seemed to thicken with tension. The maid's expression remained neutral, but something in her posture shifted ever so slightly. When she finally answered, her voice was steady, matter-of-fact.
"Nirvathos," she said simply.
The name hung in the air like a curse.
Something in Pranit snapped. In a blur of motion almost too fast to follow, he closed the distance between them. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the maid's throat with crushing force. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, his face twisted with rage.
"Who gave that damn being permission to help us?" he snarled, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "Who authorized that thing to interfere in our affairs?"
The maid's feet dangled uselessly above the ground, but remarkably, her expression showed no fear. Even as Pranit's grip tightened, cutting off her air supply, she maintained that same neutral composure. When she managed to speak, her voice came out in a strained gasp, but still without a trace of panic.
"I... just do... whatever it says..." she choked out. "I follow... orders..."
Pranit's face contorted with disgust. With a roar of frustration, he hurled her away from him. The maid's body flew through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through the side of a nearby building. The structure's wall crumbled on impact, and she disappeared into the darkness within, buried under a cascade of brick and mortar.
"What an unlucky day," Pranit muttered darkly, turning away from the destruction he'd just caused without a second glance.
From her position on the ground, Florenca had been watching the entire exchange with what remained of her strength. Despite her condition, she managed a weak laugh that turned into a pained cough.
"At least... we survived..." she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.
Pranit whirled on her, his eyes flashing with irritation. "I'd rather eat you completely than be saved by that one," he spat.
Florenca's expression hardened, even through her pain. She knew exactly what he meant, exactly who he was referring to. "You just hate him because he didn't come to—"
"I will eat you fully, completely, if you try to continue that sentence," Pranit cut her off, his voice dropping to a deadly serious tone that left no room for doubt. He meant every word.
Florenca fell silent, recognizing that she had pushed too far. Even in her weakened state, she understood when Pranit had reached his limit.
The moment was interrupted by movement from the ruined building. To Pranit's mild surprise, the maid emerged from the rubble, looking only slightly worse for wear. Her uniform was torn and dusty now, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. She brushed debris from her shoulders and straightened her posture, as composed as ever.
"Master Pranit," she said, as if she hadn't just been thrown through a wall, "you are still remarkably strong, even after that disaster of a battle."
"Shut up, you stupid maid," Pranit snapped, but there was less venom in his words now. His anger was beginning to cool, transforming into something colder, more calculated.
He looked up at the sky, where the moon hung pale and ghostly. A thin smile crossed his lips, though it held no warmth. "I will make his body hollow," he said softly, almost to himself. "Hollow like my moon."
Then, just as suddenly as his rage had appeared, it seemed to dissipate entirely. His demeanor shifted back to that strange, casual enthusiasm he'd displayed earlier. He clapped his hands together and grinned.
"Well then, bye-bye! I'm going to watch that new Chainsaw Man movie after all. Mommy Makima, here I come!"
And with that bizarre declaration, Pranit simply vanished. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, leaving behind only a faint disturbance in the air where he'd been standing.
Florenca and the maid were left alone in the ruins. The silence stretched between them for a long moment before Florenca spoke, her voice strained but determined.
"This body is destroyed," she stated, looking down at her charred and broken form with clinical detachment. "Give me a new one."
The maid nodded, already making mental arrangements. "Of course, Lady Florenca. I'll make the necessary preparations immediately."
Florenca's eyes hardened, a fierce determination burning in them despite her body's condition. "We will find them," she declared. "We will track them down, and we will get that synthetic soul. That's a promise."
The maid bowed respectfully. "As you command."
The scene shifted abruptly, transitioning from the destruction and chaos to somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quieter, stranger, more unsettling in its own way.
A room materialized around a Angela .The space was oddly featureless, with walls that seemed to exist and not exist simultaneously. The floor was solid enough, made of what might have been stone or concrete, but its exact nature was difficult to determine in the dim, sourceless light that pervaded everything.
Angela lay sprawled on that floor, unconscious and still. Time passed
seconds, minutes, it was impossible to tell in this place. Then, slowly, awareness returned to her. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened fully. She stared up at a ceiling that seemed impossibly high, or perhaps impossibly close, or perhaps both at once.
Her body felt strange. She moved her fingers experimentally, then her arms, then sat up carefully. Everything seemed to be intact. In fact, she felt perfectly fine, which was wrong. She should be dead. She remembered the sinners, the bomb blast, the death of—
"Eve!" she cried out suddenly, her voice echoing strangely in the space. "Carmilla! Where are you both?"
No response came. Panic began to set in as Angela scrambled to her feet, looking around frantically. The room was empty except for her and she noticed it now a staircase. A single staircase leading upward, its steps disappearing into the murky distance above.
"Where am I?" Angela whispered to herself, her voice small and uncertain. "Did I die? Am I in hell? Or heaven?"
The questions hung unanswered in the air. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, because there seemed to be no other option, she began to climb.
The staircase stretched endlessly upward. Angela climbed mechanically, one step after another. After what felt like an eternity but might have been only minutes, she reached a landing. A sign on the wall read "1st Floor" in simple, unadorned letters. She looked around, but there were no doors, no exits, no features of any kind. Just the landing, the sign, and more stairs leading up.
So she continued climbing.
The 2nd floor was identical to the first. And the 3rd. And every floor after that. Just endless, identical landings with numbered signs and more stairs. No doors, no windows, no way out except up.
Angela's legs began to ache, but she pushed forward. Something compelled her to continue, some instinct that told her she needed to reach the top, wherever that might be.
The floors began to blur together. 10th floor. 20th floor. 34th floor. The numbers climbed higher and higher. 67th floor. Still she climbed, driven by a determination she didn't fully understand. 100th floor.
Her breath came in ragged gasps now. How long had she been climbing? It felt like hours, maybe days. But still the stairs continued upward, and still she followed them.
Then, when she reached the 212th floor, she heard something that made her freeze in place.
Voices.
Familiar voices.
"Angela..." The voice was soft, warm, filled with love and longing. It was her mother's
Marie voice. "Come, come to us..."
"We're waiting for you, sweetheart." Her father's Andrew voice joined her mother's, equally warm, equally inviting. "Just a little further..."
Angela's heart clenched in her chest. She looked at the sign beside her. 209th floor. Her parents were on the 212th floor, just three flights up. After all this climbing, she was so close.
She began to run.
Her exhaustion vanished, replaced by desperate hope and longing. She took the stairs two at a time, her feet pounding against the stone. 210th floor. Almost there. 211th floor. Just one more.
She reached the landing of the 211th floor and looked up at the final flight of stairs leading to the 212th. Her parents' voices were clearer now, more insistent, calling her name with love and warmth.
Angela put her foot on the first step leading up.
And something pushed her.
It wasn't a gentle push. It was violent, forceful, sending her tumbling backward. She screamed as she lost her balance, as she began to fall. The staircase that had taken her so long to climb now rushed past her in reverse, each landing blurring into the next as she plummeted downward.
She fell past the 211th floor, the 210th, the 200th. She fell past floors she'd climbed with such effort, her body tumbling and spinning in empty space. The fall seemed to last forever, her screams echoing endlessly in the vast emptiness.
And then—
Angela's eyes snapped open.
She gasped, her body jerking upright. Her heart hammered in her chest, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the phantom sensation of falling that still clung to her.
"Lady Angela!" A familiar voice cut through her panic. "Lady Angela, are you alright?"
Angela's vision cleared, and she found herself staring at Eve's concerned face. The faithful companion was leaning over her, worry evident in her expression.
"Eve?" Angela's voice came out hoarse, confused. She looked around frantically. "Where are we? Am I... am I dead?"
"No, Lady Angela," Eve assured her gently, relief evident in her tone. "You're very much alive. We're on a train."
"A train?" Angela repeated, the word not quite making sense. She looked around and realized Eve was right. They were indeed in what appeared to be a passenger compartment, though it was unlike any train car she'd ever seen before. The interior was sleek and modern, with an almost otherworldly quality to its design.
"A flying train, to be precise," Eve clarified.
Angela's confusion deepened. "Flying? A flying train?" She looked to the windows and saw, impossibly, that they were indeed moving through open sky, clouds drifting past the glass. "This was created by Carmilla, right? It has to be one of her inventions."
"Correct," Eve confirmed with a small smile.
From across the compartment, another voice chimed in. "Perhaps it's one of my better inventions, actually," Carmilla said, sounding rather pleased with herself. She was seated in one of the plush chairs, looking perfectly at ease despite their current situation. "The aerial locomotive was a particularly challenging project, but I think it turned out rather well."
Angela barely heard her. Something else had caught her attention. She looked down at her hands, at her arms, running her fingers over the synthetic skin that covered them. The skin that should have been burned away completely. The skin that should no longer exist.
"Carmilla," Angela said slowly, her voice trembling slightly, "why am I alive? This skin... it didn't burn. How is that possible?"
Carmilla's expression became more serious. She leaned forward in her chair, her analytical mind clearly working through the explanation. "Well," she began carefully, "to be completely honest with you, you were completely burned. Fully cooked, one might say, like a—"
"You don't have to put salt in the wound," Angela interrupted, wincing at the imagery.
"Apologies," Carmilla said quickly, looking genuinely contrite. "What I meant to explain is that while your original skin was indeed destroyed, your internal organs remained functional. Surprisingly functional, actually. It's quite remarkable from a medical standpoint. The synthetic replacement has regenerative properties I hadn't fully appreciated until now."
Angela processed this information, her scientific mind engaging despite the trauma she'd just experienced. "Interesting," she murmured. "That's why I survived. The fire, the bomb blast, all of it. The internal systems kept working even when the exterior failed."
"Precisely," Carmilla confirmed.
A new thought occurred to Angela. "Wait, who's driving this train? We're moving through the sky. Someone has to be piloting it."
"Ah," Carmilla said, and there was a slightly uncomfortable note in her voice now. "It's driven by itself, actually. Fully automated navigation system."
Angela stared at her, a sense of unease creeping in. "Automated. I see." She paused, then asked with growing uncertainty, "Carmilla, have you ever actually used this train before?"
There was a long, telling silence.
"No," Carmilla finally admitted.
Both Angela and Eve spoke in unison, their voices rising with alarm: "Then why do you believe this train will be safe!!?"
The words had barely left their mouths when a voice echoed through the compartment from somewhere far ahead. It was sharp, irritated, and completely unfamiliar.
"Shut up, all of you!"
The three women froze. They slowly turned their heads toward the front of the train car, trying to locate the source of the voice. Through the doorway leading to the next compartment, they could just barely make out a figure in the shadows.
Someone else was on the train with them.
Someone they hadn't accounted for.
The implications of this discovery hung heavy in the air as the flying train continued its journey through the clouds, carrying them toward an uncertain destination.