Danan yanked the shotgun from its holster, aiming at Aeshma’s head. Knowing scattershot couldn’t kill her, he still hooked his finger on the trigger—only to feel a cold blade press against his neck.
“Sir, what’s the matter?” the butler asked.
“…”
“Lower the gun. If you pull the trigger—”
“You’ll kill me?” Danan interrupted.
Instantly, his mechanical arm’s armor split, deploying a high-frequency blade. The butler, pressing a silver knife to Danan’s neck, dodged the unseen strike by bending low, nearly grazing the floor, then rolled back, pulling silver utensils from his suit’s lining, gripping them between his fingers.
“…”
No ordinary human could move like that. The butler’s killing intent, acrobatic and lethal, pierced Danan. Other maids, trays in hand, slipped hands under skirts, drawing Derringer pistols.
If Crucible members posed as staff, they’d eliminate Danan for aiming at Aeshma. Yet, despite radiating hostility, the butlers and maids merely dusted their suits, holding disguised weapons. Danan realized another faction had infiltrated Hydro de Benzene’s fourth floor.
His finger traced the cold trigger. Flexing his mechanical arm’s humming fingers, Danan glanced at the watching nobles.
Disrupting this scene further was unwise. But letting Aeshma, the embodiment of madness, roam free was no option either. Retracting his blade, Danan approached Aeshma, mid-conversation with Gloria, and spat, “What’s your game?”
“Oh, Anonis, you know her?” Gloria asked.
“Shut up. Aeshma… why are you here? Spill it, whore.”
Danan’s dark eyes, blazing with fury, pierced Aeshma’s thin smile. Unfazed, she fanned herself with a feathered fan. “Nothing, really… I said I won’t do anything now, didn’t I, dark one?” She lit an opium-filled pipe, blowing purple smoke at Danan.
A foul stench lingered in his nose—sugar boiled to distortion, laced with artificial sweetener. The pipe’s ember crackled as Aeshma inhaled, scattering red sparks, blending a sickly sweet odor into the purple haze.
The rotting stench pierced the overwhelming scent. Masked or not, dressed differently, Danan knew Aeshma’s madness—her vile aura was unmatched.
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“Anonis…?” Gloria said, puzzled.
Grabbing Gloria’s hand, Danan pulled him away from Aeshma, muttering, “Sickening.”
“What’s going on? Explain,” Gloria pressed.
“It’s Aeshma.”
“Aeshma? The Crucible’s leader?”
“She’s Aeshma. No need to deal with a lunatic.”
Aeshma’s squinting eyes, watching them retreat, sparked deep dread in Danan. Asking why she was here was pointless. The Crucible ran Hydro de Benzene, the pleasure district’s largest den, and she was its head. Tracking Danan or Damocles’ moves was child’s play for her, easily gleaned through her network.
They needed to reach the next floor—escape this district fast. Hurrying to the stairs, adjusting his collar, Danan caught sight of the red-haired girl.
“…”
No matter how much she resembled his old acquaintance, her voice or face, she was someone else. No need to care. Crushing his lingering attachment, clinging to sanity’s edge, Danan froze as the girl whispered, “Don’t go upstairs.”
“…”
Dressed in an ornate, childlike dress, the red-haired girl stared at Danan, her smile unchanged from memory. Then, led by the man she called father, she vanished into the crowd.
“…Danan,” Gloria said.
“Not calling me Anonis?” Danan replied.
“No need now. What’s your history with that girl?”
“…None of your business.”
“It is my business. Look in a mirror—you’re like a kid about to cry.”
“Shut up.”
“I won’t.”
“Shut up… please. Don’t touch me, don’t pry. You and I—”
“Are friends,” Gloria cut in.
Gasping, Danan glared as Gloria’s white hand touched his cheek.
“Even if you won’t trust or rely on me, I trust you, Danan. Trust me back. I don’t want our bond to end here. So—”
“…I knew a girl just like her,” Danan said, shaking off Gloria’s hand, his voice a strained rasp.
“I don’t know what she thought of me, how she saw me. But… looking back, she was my first friend. Gloria, in the undercity, friends are a luxury. In a world where everyone preys on each other, trust is flimsy, unreliable.”
He spat out his lost, stolen, broken past.
“Take or be taken. Break or be broken. Kill or be killed. The weak lose everything; even the strong fall to stronger foes. Friendly types hide knives behind their backs… enemies are more honest. Right, Gloria?”
“…”
Gloria saw Danan’s quiet, rage-filled voice as a crystalline flame of mad passion. The undercity’s malice-soaked brutality, a lawless exile, amplified human sin. To mid-city folk, visiting the undercity was like scooping water from a deep well—surface-level.
Danan must have faced unimaginable despair, swallowed unforgivable sins. Hands bloodied, emotions suppressed, accepting death as normal, he survived the undercity’s evil. Desperate to live, to not die.
Knowing pain, bearing wounds, tasting bitterness, he might quench Gloria’s unreachable thirst, evoke the emotion that silver girl felt. Placing a hand on Danan’s shoulder, Gloria smiled gently. “Even if you push me away, I’ll call you friend.”
“…Do what you want,” Danan muttered.
“Then I will. Here’s to us, Danan.”
“…”
Glancing at Gloria, Danan climbed the stairs silently.
Maybe… the gate guard who called himself a friend meant it. If Danan escaped the pleasure district intact and treated Eve, grabbing a drink at that guard’s bar might be nice.
“If there’s time,” Danan said.
“Hm?” Gloria replied.
“Got plans to drink with a guard later. Wanna join, Gloria?”
“I’ll take you up on that, Danan.”
“Yeah.”
With that, Danan and Gloria ascended to Hydro de Benzene’s fifth floor.
