Safe Haven

**EPISODE REVISION**

This episode, "Safe Haven", is awaiting revisions and may not reflect the series' canon. Readers are advised to keep this in mind while reading.

## Safe Haven

### Episode

3

**"Safe Haven"** is the third episode of Season Two and the fifteenth episode of *The Demon's Light*.

## Synopsis

The group takes refuge in a mysterious town. The search party for the Port City Eight grows.

## Prologue

Through a sand-soaked sea of dunes under a chasm of stars, a canyon etched its way across the landscape like a twisting snake. Walls breached by rocks and sand held the canyon's sheer cliffsides up, as round, metal drones scanned the desolate valley with their red eyes. At the apex of the canyon, between the stone walls, was a set of columns flanking an enormous door holding up a massive cyclopean structure. This behemoth of a building, a monolith carved straight from the desert stone, housed a set of figures sat around a room at its peak.

"On the topic of Euclid... You can't possibly deem it safe. Not if our suspicions are correct," spoke a man in black robes. The voice that came out was rough and scratchy.

"Euclid has undergone its own... problems, in the last generations. I'm confident they've abandoned it." This figure, hooded and isolated from the rest, sat staring away from the others on a throne, alien in design. They stared out a round window, the only view into the valley below and the void hovering above. "Sacrifices do not have to be made to bring progress." Murmuring came from the other seven in response.

"I am here to serve your ideals only, not to argue..." came the calm voice of a feminine individual. "...But we cannot be expected to escape from here without a fight. It could take weeks, even months to reach Euclid. That is time we don't have, Xanvi."

"I suppose not." The throne swiveled around, revealing the presumed leader's eyes. Calculating and mismatched, in the colors of blue and yellow. "From here on, time is our enemy."

## Narrative

### **Part I**

Manta was the finest dining you could find in Silivia, at least according to Dexter Wellington. Dexter was not a frequent customer by any means, but he never left unsatisfied. It was too expensive to come regularly and too risky to come whenever he could afford to indulge: Arsene and his vassals ran deep within Silivia's elite. However, an expensive trip to Manta was more than appropriate for a celebration of Remnant Rock's destruction.

On his last visit, Dexter had found himself remarkably talkative and his drink remarkably empty. He was discussing his recent project with an Alchemilia operative when his mouth ran away with him. Before long, Dexter found himself written up for questioning regarding a Fermion-class information leak.

A waitress observing the commotion approached his table. She clarified to the operative that the basics of Project Lepton were already public knowledge and that Dexter had simply extrapolated correctly from there. This was not the first time Mary Walesh had intervened on Dexter's behalf. Her family had been with Alchemilia almost as long as the Wellingtons and with the same pedigree of respect. Luckily for Dexter, personal loyalty meant more to her than any company.

From a barstool, Dexter eyed the restaurant. It was midday, far from Manta's busiest hour. Many regular patrons were preoccupied with the fallout of the Remnant Rock incident, with the notable exception of a tall man sitting closer than Dexter would have liked: Baptiste Rousseau, the director of robotics and Dexter's former superior. He was accompanied by two rough faces, a black-haired man wearing a faded T-shirt and a ginger woman with heavy tattoos. Though neither member of the duo made up Baptiste's usual entourage, the iconography they wore was recognizable enough to Dexter. Baptiste's muscle were gangsters.

At an adjacent table sat three teenagers: two girls and one boy. The boy was Jordan Walesh, Mary's son, and one of the girls was a friend of his. Dexter did not recognize the other girl. Dexter turned back around. He decided it was probably a bad idea to finish the glass of scotch. Best to make a quick getaway before Rousseau noticed him. Celebrating at the same place Alchemilia's brass would be drowning their sorrows was such a stupid plan.

On the other hand, Jordan had no idea of the shady characters so close to his group. Leaving now was no way to repay the kindness his family had shown Dexter. Mary needed to know. Dexter resolved to remain at least until she did. He finished the scotch. His nerves would need to be steadier if he was going to stay.

"You're full of shit," Lisa Fiss began.

Savannah Whitesmith knew this complaint was not entirely without merit. She had carefully excised certain details in her retelling of events for the sake of believability. If cajoled, she may have been willing to admit that something had happened between her discovery of the amnesiacs and their encounter with the demons.

That was not Lisa's problem with her story.

"You happened to stumble across three future members of the Port City Eight? You happened to be staying at the same place where another was working?"

"I had no idea what they were planning," Savannah insisted. She couldn't have known since she was dead at the time.

"Uh-huh. Sure you didn't." Lisa was unaware of this fact and, as such, remained skeptical. "Like how you had no idea—"

"Give her a break already," Jordan interjected. "She's clearly been through a lot lately."

"We've been through a lot lately too," Lisa countered. "Probably more, considering we actually knew Atticus."

"For longer, sure, but we can't discount her story."

"It's nonsense. We can and we should."

Before Jordan could respond, he was interrupted by a loud ringing.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small gray cell phone and carefully flipped it open, placing it to his ear. "Hello, what is this about?"

"Hi! This is Park Chae Lynn, I'm the secretary for Governor Rosington," a female voice replied. "Can you come to Whitland Mansion for a meeting soon? He wishes to speak with you, I believe it's about the news of his son."

"I'll be over in a few minutes," Jordan affirmed, before saying goodbye and hanging up. "I have to go now, Mister Rosington wants to meet me about Atticus. Please don't kill each other while I'm gone."

"If it comes to that, it'll be self-defense," Lisa said.

"Likewise," Savannah replied.

The other girl involuntarily smirked ever so slightly at that remark. She quickly returned to a serious expression, but not before Savannah caught on and smiled brightly back at her. Lisa gave up on hiding her amusement. Jordan rolled his eyes as he left the table.

"You know," Savannah said. "I get that it's hard to believe what I've told you."

"That's an understatement." Lisa's words still had bite, although her tone was changing. "Then again, everything has been a little surreal as of late."

"And my arrival happened to be your first chance to push back against all that craziness?"

"It might have been." Savannah was absolutely right. That did not mean Lisa had to admit anything to her. "So," Lisa tapped her fingers on the table. "Jordan's letting you tag along. I'm not letting him go alone with you."

"Fair enough." Savannah sighed. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

"Likewise." Lisa smiled. "Although this could have been worse, couldn't it? The setting wasn't so bad."

"Maybe if you're not familiar with these types. They're everywhere in Gladea," Savannah pointed to the menu. "Everything here is overpriced. The food, the outfits—"

"The people," Lisa finished. "Not the first time I've heard that one. Atticus said the exact same thing. Several times, actually. Thought he was so clever."

"He was from Gladea?"

"He was the adopted son of the governor." Lisa took Savannah's bad attempt at humor at face value. "Rosington got the brunt of his ire for taking away his chances to be anything but the heir to a political dynasty. And his stupid alliterative full name."

"Atticus Anoethite?"

Lisa tilted her head to the side. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"That was what he called himself," Savannah shrugged. "He never mentioned 'Rosington.'"

"I'd love to believe that. He wanted nothing more than to forget Rosington."

"But you don't believe it."

Lisa nodded. "Whatever your game is, 'Savannah'—"

"If that's your real name."

"I wasn't going to say that," Lisa lied.

"You totally were." She totally was.

"Whatever. My point is that you're an enigma. This whole situation with Atticus and Alchemilia is like a puzzle. I know what Atticus looks like, so I can put those pieces together. Then I see the bits of his surroundings, so I can work from there.

"But you're the equivalent of someone, let's say Jordan, telling me to start work on an entirely different part of the puzzle. Except I don't even know if it's part of the same puzzle. He could be inserting parts of an entirely different puzzle to screw with me."

"I think you should have more faith in Metaphorical Jordan."

"Well, some of the pieces do seem to connect. But only a few. It's too soon to judge."

"Then why are you judging my story so harshly?"

"Metaphorical Jordan isn't screwing with me intentionally. Someone has put him up to it. He's too trusting. I'm willing to be skeptical."

"Maybe you should be a little less cynical."

"We'll see about that." Lisa checked her watch, then got out of the booth. "When Jordan gets back, tell him that I'm in. We'll talk again later."

"Got it," Savannah affirmed. "See you later."

Lisa left. Savannah spared a final parting glance when she heard a light tapping on the table. A man had approached her.

"Excuse me," he asked. "You and your friends are looking for the people behind the attack, right?"

Savannah froze. "Uh, no. We were..." she trailed off.

"Forgive my eavesdropping," he said. "I understand you wanted to keep this to yourselves, but I can't help but wonder how three children intend to find the fugitives on their own."

"We're going to ask around. Jordan has a few people in mind," Savannah explained.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance? I was an important part of Alchemilia while it was still around."

"How important?"

"Director of the Robotics Department. I knew the other directors and higher-ups well," the man explained. "Although none of them had any experience tracking fugitives." He took Lisa's seat.

"Fugitives like Savannah Whitesmith."

Savannah stood up. She nearly bolted out of the restaurant. She only stopped herself when the director pulled a pistol from his pocket.

"Sit down," he ordered. "We don't want to cause a scene, do we?"

The girl did as the director asked.

"Good," the director put the gun away. "Now, can you tell me why you're impersonating a dead woman?"

"I'm not impersonating anyone," Savannah replied. "The stupid bastard thought a little cut was enough to kill me. He didn't bother to check my pulse. I played dead and he went away."

"That's an insult to John Fontaine's memory. He would never be so sloppy," the director looked over to another table. The two sitting there moved closer to him and Savannah. "You do have one thing in common with Whitesmith: the both of you knew too much. Either you tell us who you're working for or we go outside. Then, if you remain non-compliant, you and she will have another thing in common."

"I'm not working for anyone," Savannah pleaded.

"Then how do you know so much about Whitesmith?"

The girl was still trying to think of a reply when another man stood up from a barstool and sat down right next to the director. He was clearly not part of the backup the director had called.

"Hey, Baptiste, how's it going?" he asked, grinning cheerfully. "How are the kids?"

"I—How the—Wellington, what—what are you doing?" Baptiste stammered, flabbergasted.

"Oh, I'm wondering why you're hassling a teenage girl," Wellington dropped the grin. "Seems a little low, even for you."

"She is impersonating a dead child. Is it wrong to question why she would stoop to that?"

"As far as I can tell, she's only guilty of surviving an attempt on her life. You were the one complementing the would-be murderer and threatening to take her out back to be put down like a rabid dog."

"You know, there was more than one fugitive Wellington." Baptiste tried to match the other man's confidence.

"Not like anybody cares anymore. Alchemilia's gone."

"Remnant Rock wasn't Alchemilia Corporation."

"It was a good start," the man said, smirking.

Baptiste grimaced. "Honestly, I'm a bit surprised," he began. "I was hoping that you still had a shred of decency."

"Oh, I'm the indecent one?"

"Decency is..." Baptiste almost raised his voice, but he quickly cut himself off. He looked again to his backup, who now awkwardly stood between their previous seat and their associate's. The pair were as befuddled by Wellington's intrusion as Baptiste had been. "If you'd like, both you and your friend can come with me."

"We're not going anywhere," Wellington growled.

"I see," Baptiste swiftly removed the pistol from his pocket and aimed it at Wellington's head. "Does this change your mind?"

Savannah tightly shut her eyes as pain abruptly shot through her head. When she reopened her eyes, Baptiste's expression had changed to confusion. His gun had been wrenched from him. Savannah noticed a new weight in her hand: Baptiste's pistol.

"What the hell are you doing?" Baptiste shouted. "I'd tell you to put that down, but we all know you're not going to use it."

"I'll use it," Wellington offered.

A shot rang out. Not from Baptiste's pistol, but from a revolver wielded by one of his cohorts. The other, a woman, had retrieved a shotgun from her backpack. Chaos followed as the customers and staff fled the building. Wellington jumped from his seat, only for the shotgunner to put her gun to his back and forced him back into the seat.

When the screaming died down, only one person remained in the restaurant besides Savannah, Wellington, Baptiste and his cronies. She went over to the table, unfazed by the gunmen taking aim.

"Dexter, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?" She asked, exasperated, as if the incident was only a mild annoyance.

"It's none of your concern, Fontaine," Baptiste answered before Dexter could.

"Walesh now, actually," the woman clarified. "And it's my restaurant."

"It is regrettable that we have to disrupt your business. We can generously compensate you for your cooperation."

"Whatever money you can provide, I'd get more for his head," she turned to the male gangster. He was not expecting to be recognized. "I'm sure the chief of police has some words for his predecessor's killer. Should we keep him waiting, Rooke?"

The woman turned her shotgun at Walesh. "Not gonna happen."

"Actually, our employers would be glad to be rid of him," Baptiste explained calmly. "He poses too great a risk to remain a useful asset, what with his face being public knowledge and the notoriety of his recent accomplishment. What do you say, Mary?"

"What?" The woman spoke up. "We're not really gonna let this bitch have Magnus, are we?"

"I understand it may be difficult, Natalya, but—"

"Hold on," Magnus desperately pleaded. "Look, I know I fucked up. But you need to understand, I could only see Marshall when..." he trailed off.

"Maybe the bounty's gotten even higher due to Marshall's antics," Dexter contributed unhelpfully.

"Fuck this," Natalya scowled. "Magnus earned his place in the gang. You let a kid snatch your gun." She aimed her shotgun instead at Baptiste.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Dexter took the pistol from Savannah and got out of the seat, pointing at Natalya. She was amused by his display. Dexter's courage was false, brought on by alcohol lowering his inhibitions and adrenaline forcing him to fight. He had never killed anyone before. Natalya was so experienced with the task she planned to take the lives of Dexter and Baptiste with a single blast from her shotgun.

Another display of false confidence was nearby. Magnus pointed the revolver at Mary, who did not flinch. The shock of being recognized, then betrayed, had worn down his usual composure. Mary might have sympathized had he not pointed a gun at a child moments earlier.

"I'm a veteran of Alchemilia's security division. I helped repel attacks by both angels and demons." Mary only moved closer to the gunman as he tried desperately to intimidate her. "You're a lot closer to the average rowdy drunk than either of those. I suggest you put that down before you get hurt."

The man was about to lower his gun when he was unceremoniously knocked to the ground by a swift kick to the stomach. Mary wrenched the revolver from Magnus and shot him in the leg. Natalya turned around. The sound of Magnus screaming as he bled on the ground gave her pause. Enough pause for Mary to send a bullet into her forehead.

Baptiste used the commotion to run to another booth. He had planned to take the pistol back from Dexter, but seeing what had happened to Magnus and Natalya he instead thought it best to simply flee. Dexter spotted him as he made his cowardly retreat. The roboticist took the shotgun from Natalya's corpse and took aim.

Unfortunately, Dexter was woefully unskilled in firearm use. He did not know, for instance, why a shotgun is also known as a "scattergun." None of the shots hit Baptiste: not that Dexter knew, as he was used to near-recoilless Alchemilia pistols and was not prepared for the much larger weapon to behave very differently. He was also not prepared to explain to Mary how he would be able to pay her back for shattering the glass exterior of the restaurant.

Instead, he walked back over to the booth. "So," he began. "I heard you're recruiting for a search party."

"Uh, yeah," Savannah replied. Her head still ached faintly. Her ears rang. "You're welcome to join us. I'm guessing you're related to Chris?"

"Astute observation," Dexter sarcastically complimented.

"Are you an android?"

"An android wouldn't start something as stupid as what happened today," Mary laughed. "He's flesh and blood."

"And you're Jordan's mom, right?" Savannah asked.

"Yep, that's my boy."

"We met earlier today. It's a long story."

"Is that story related to that ‘search party' Dexter mentioned?"

"Yep," Dexter confirmed. "They're looking for the Port City Eight."

"Sounds like a horrible idea," Mary opined. "Although I can't say that I trust the Global Union to do it properly."

"Well, we could really use your help," Savannah said. "You did something pretty incredible. I don't think any of us could pull that off."

"You have to admit that was cool, Mary," Dexter spoke up. "Running this dingy old bar has to be much less exciting than a search for the Port City fugitives."

"I left a life of action behind for a reason, Dexter. I don't know if I want to do what I did ever again," Mary explained. "Although you're right that this does get a little boring. There's also the matter of my brother."

"He started acting really strange after a near-death experience," Dexter explained. "Demanded that Mary not tell anyone he was still alive."

"Dexter only knows because he overheard part of it," Mary added. "He completely cut contact right before Remnant Rock. He may have been part of it."

Savannah paused. "That guy—Baptiste, I think?—called you 'Fontaine.' Are you related to John Fontaine?"

"Did you know him?"

"My friends had a bad experience with Alchemilia. Again, long story. Baptiste said he might have been involved."

"Huh. Well, John was my brother."

The first person Savannah would encounter after her resurrection was her killer's nephew. Tuisco has a real sense of humor, she mused.

Over the last few years, Jordan had been to Whitland Mansion many times, but he had never been as nervous as he felt currently. The last time he was here was after Atticus' funeral and that was a day he wished he could forget. Due to the state officials found Atticus' companions in, everyone naturally assumed that Atticus himself had been consumed and his family simply placed some of his clothes in his coffin.

Jordan requested for his basketball to be included, fondly recalling the many afternoons spent in the park with Atticus, after school. Snapping himself out of the past, Jordan approached the front door and pressed the doorbell. After a while, a young Halan woman opened it and let him in.

Jordan recognized her as Park Chae Lynn, Rosington's assistant and the woman that had called him.

"Uh, hi. You said the governor wanted to meet me? Any reason why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Jordan concluded that it was and remained silent as Lynn escorted him through the large mansion and upstairs. Jordan couldn't help but glance towards a corridor on the left, recalling that Atticus' room was located there. He briefly wondered if his parents had kept it the way Atticus left it.

"Okay, the governor is waiting in his office, head inside," Lynn directed, interrupting Jordan's thoughts.

"Thanks," Jordan answered, glancing over the engraved "Governor Rosington" on the door in front of them. He quickly knocked and opened it. Exactly as he remembered, the office was decorated with huge bookshelves against the brown paneled walls, several large windows, and a blue carpet.

In the middle was a large black desk with a green table lamp and several papers stacked up, a middle-aged man with dark hair was sitting behind and talking to someone on a landline phone. Jordan grabbed one of two black leather chairs from a corner and took a seat in front of the desk. "Greetings, Mister Rosington."

The governor motioned for Jordan to wait and eventually ended his call, turning his attention to the boy. "Jordan, it's been a while."

"Uh, yes, it has. I didn't think I'd ever come back here, sir."

"You don't have to call me that, you know. And you're always welcomed here, this place belongs to the public after all."

"Oh, well, that's not what I-"

"I know, I meant you're always welcomed in our home, Jordan. You were like a brother to Atticus and Vanessa would love to see you more often, you remind her of our son in a lot of ways."

"Yes, si- Mister Rosington. He and I were quite close, which is why I assumed you called me here today."

"It is, yes. I take it that you saw the news?"

"I think everyone has at this point."

"Well, I wanted to know what you thought about it."

Jordan paused at this point, unsure of what Rosington could be thinking.

"It's hard news to take in. The fact that he's alive? That's amazing, but he's a terrorist now."

"Is that all?"

"I...miss him," Jordan confessed, glancing down. "I understand he's done some terrible things, but he's my best friend and it's been horrible without him. I always wanted to be a detective, but I started failing my classes after he di- left. I wish he never left, I wish he was home."

Rosington nodded and folded his arms. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as neither of them continued speaking.

"I wanted you to be the first to know that per Global Union laws, a search party will soon be assigned to track Atticus and the other suspects down, so that they may be brought into custody and face trial before the court," Rosington finally stated.

The man paused in his speech and glanced down at Jordan. "If convicted, they'll most likely receive the death penalty. And they will most certainly be convicted, unless, well — someone else finds them first."

"I want to do it," Jordan answered. "I've already started preparing to leave, Lisa and another girl are going to help me."

"Only them? That doesn't sound well prepared, it's going to be a tough journey. It won't be easy evading the Global Union."

"I guess I hadn't thought of that. I'm not really sure what our plan is if I'm being honest."

"Jordan," Rosington started. "I'm going to help. Obviously, as the governor, I cannot leave this city and do it myself, but I'm going to assign a trusted private investigator to join you and offer my assistance and funds as needed. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask."

"Really, sir? You're going to risk your office and reputation? What if the Global Union finds out?"

"I told you not to call me that," the older man chuckled. "And this isn't public information for security reasons, but I'm a member of the Global Union myself. I'm going to be closely watched, but I'm sure I'll be able to steer them clear of this plot. Besides, some things are more important than my status and finding my son is the most important thing in the world to me."

### **Part II**

A small tree stood in the middle of the valley, snow plummeting around it as wolves ran by, steadfast on their hunt.

Nearby stood a group of six. Pulling her arms around her in an attempt to feel warmness, Blossom Cane stared at the bleak area ahead of them. Atticus and Samuel stood next to each other, reading an old map together, with Atticus' hands pointing towards something she couldn't see. Marshall and Li were lost in conversation, with Chris and Melissa talking to each other as well. Their words were inaudible to her due to the heavy sound of the wind encasing them.

Glancing to her right, a break in the falling snow allowed her to see a small city off in the distance. "Hey, guys!" With the group seemingly unable to hear her, she called out louder. "Hey! What's that city there? Is it safe?"

"City?" Samuel said as he looked up. The others perked up as well, equally as curious at Blossom's comment. Through the fogged landscape, everyone began to try and make out what could be seen in the distance. After focusing their eyes, they too could what appeared to be a city. The murky weather let the group see that some buildings were lit.

"I guess that's something," Samuel commented. "It looks populated, but I'm not sure. We've got nothing to lose, so maybe we should check it out?"

The weary travelers made their way towards glossy city gates that were connected to a wall made entirely of white bricks. Up close, the town seemed much bigger, enough that there was no place to see where the wall ended. Chris noted that the city highly contrasted with Silivia, in that its wall was not nearly as ornate and the tall buildings that were visible appeared to be of a much older style. An illuminated sign hung over the gates reading "Welcome to Headre!"

Chris pushed the wrought iron gate open with relative ease. "Well, who's ready to find somewhere to rest?"

Before Chris could finish walking into the city, Atticus grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Be careful, we don't know anything about this place or the residents." He retracted his grip once finished.

"I understand, Atticus," Chris replied. He quickly glanced around the corner, noticing a plant shop. "Excuse me, Mister Li, this isn't too different from home."

"Good to see much doesn't change," Li commented. "Let's find a nice little hotel to check into. How does that sound, Samuel?"

"Guys, there's someone over there," Melissa commented, pointing to the figure.

As the man came closer, Samuel held out one hand and called out to them. "Uh, excuse me?"

The young, brown-haired man turned his attention to Samuel and walked towards him. A large black dog was beside him, sitting down once the person was in front of Samuel.

"Yeah? Do you need anything?"

"Something like that," Samuel explained. "To put it lightly, I and these other people are a bit lost. We just got here, so I wanted to know if you could give us any information. Most importantly, are we able to find a hotel here?"

"Oh, you're travelers?" the man said. "Well, there isn't much to know, honestly. Headre is pretty small but very well-cultured. Most of the buildings here are housing. If you're looking for a hotel," he turned and pointed ahead. "Continue until you reach the smoke shop. Make a right turn, then walk down, and you'll get there eventually. Can't miss it, has a pretty big sign."

Samuel nodded. "Alright, guess we'll be going now. Thanks."

After a final wave to Samuel and the others, the man turned and walked away, his dog following him.

Chris and Melissa walked towards a restaurant across from the hotel they were going to be staying at. "The closeness is quite convenient," Chris laughed until he noticed an interestingly-dressed man at the door.

"Ah, hello, sir and ma'am," The man smiled at both of them. "Would you two care to get a seat? I can detect something in you that says you want 'instant service'."

After the waiter showed Melissa and Chris to their table, they both sat down. "Well, this is a change of pace. It's been so hectic lately," Melissa stated.

"Yeah, it is a nice break," Chris said.

"I still don't understand why those guys attacked us at the manor. How did they know we were there?" Melissa asked.

"I'm not sure, I guess they could have attacked by chance, but I feel there's more to it."

"You don't think they were after us due to Remnant Rock, do you?"

"It's possible, but who knows?"

The waiter returned to the table, bringing food for Melissa and Chris.

"Thank you, sir," Chris replied. He hadn't told the waiter that he was unable to eat.

"Enjoy your meal," the waiter responded, walking off.

"We'll have to keep an eye out for more trouble in the future," Melissa noted to Chris.

Staring into the mirror, Atticus examined the cut on his face closely. Extending from the bottom of one cheek, it ran across and over his nose and ended near the middle of his other cheek. Gently washing the bits of blood left on it with a damp rag, he winched slightly at the pain and continued until he finished his task.

"This place is boring, they don't even have a TV. Well, there's some papers over here," Blossom called out from the other room.

"I'd be more shocked if a town like this did have a TV," Atticus responded.

Turning the sink off, he flipped the light switch and walked out of the restroom, noticing Blossom had several newspapers in her lap. Their hotel room was slightly small, with beige walls and two beds situated next to each other in the middle and a desk placed in between them.

"What are you reading?" He asked as he sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his palms together. It felt refreshing to have a warm place to sit and relax after the last few days.

"The news," she replied nonchalantly as she threw a section to him. Grabbing it, he scanned through it until a story caught his attention.

"...terrorist attack on Remnant Rock and Gladea..."

"...Death toll unknown..."

"...The whereabouts of Gabriel Arsene and the other Alchemilia chairmen are unknown..."

Atticus continued to read, tensing. Soon enough, the moment he dreaded was revealed and he saw the names and photographs of the suspected terrorists listed.
They began with Steven Devlin and slowly descended. *But how did the media know our identities?*

"What's going on?" Blossom asked. "You look concerned."

"Wait," Atticus motioned for her to pause, still reading. Eventually, he made it to his own picture.

*This individual is Atticus Rosington, son of Governor Rosington, who was officially declared deceased months ago after disappearing in a demon attack upon leaving the city.*

*Atticus...Rosington? Son of the governor? What? I'm dead?*

Blossom looked at him, confusion clear in her gaze. "Atticus...what is it?"

"Look here," he answered, handing her the newspaper and pointing at the section. "Read all of this, it's really bad. Once you're done, can you call the others' rooms? Tell them to meet us in the lobby."

Without letting her reply, he stood up and left the room, wanting to escape any questions, even if only for a little bit.

Samuel and Li sat together on a wrought iron bench, its bars cold from the air and wet with powdered snow. The metal's frigid touch made leaning back especially uncomfortable, so they both sat at the edge.

Samuel held his black fedora in his hand, rapidly hitting it against the iron to try and dry it.

"They speak Thelsh. Funny. They seem a bit strange to me, even for Munese people," Li commented.

Samuel chuckled. "That's all you've been thinking about?"

"No, no. I've been thinking about home. I've been thinking about the kids here and what we are going to do. Hell, I've even been thinking about my mother," Li laughed.

"Of course," Samuel answered. "It's hard, I know. As much as I've been trying to reassure everybody that we'll be fine, it's hard to think that this isn't the end."

After a silence between the two, Samuel got up. He dusted off his black leather coat and put his hat back on. "Listen, I'm going to see if I can pick up some important things for the road ahead. You can stay here."

"Make sure those important things include food, water, and first aid kits," Li told the man, staring at the trees, which were blanketed in snow.

Hearing the automated message yet again, Blossom sighed and placed the phone back on its stand. Not a single one of them had answered. *I guess they're all off on some adventure and I'm stuck here in this damned wheelchair.*

Going backward, she rolled out from between the beds and directed herself over towards the singular window in the room. It was a small window, but wide enough to give her a decent view of the snow-capped city. Looking down, she watched as people walked in and out of towns and between buildings, doing mundane activities.

In the distance, she noticed two people on a bench and managed to recognize them as Samuel and Li. Watching them as they seemed content in their conversation with each other, Blossom couldn't help but feel a sudden and strong sense of anger.

She didn't belong in this town, on this continent, or with this group. She was not like them, she didn't have the strong sense of just anger that they all seemed to share in their crusade against Alchemilia Corporation. She had agreed to join them a few months back because it seemed like the right thing to do with the information she had been given and the best way to finally get her out of Silivia.

Now all she wanted to do was go back home, but that seemed like a distant dream now that she was officially a terrorist reported. A wanted terrorist that could not even leave the confinements of her chair.

Feeling tears stream down her face, she clenched her fist and wiped at her eyes, trying to control her emotions before they controlled her. Making up her mind finally, she rolled back towards the phone and grabbed it, pressing it against her ear and hurriedly typing the number in, making sure to keep an eye on the door in case Atticus returned.

After a short while of ringing, it settled on the message she didn't want to hear. A recording of an older female voice began to play.

*Hello! You've reached the residence of Faris and Hawa Cane. If you're hearing this message, it means we're not available to answer. Please leave a message if you'd like.*

Slamming the phone down, Blossom turned around and sighed again. Grabbing the newspaper, she crumbled all of the pages and threw them against the wall.

*I guess I'll continue trying to call the others.*

Li got up from the icy bench, gripping his cane.

He looked to the trees, hearing a faint squawk and saw a large, gray parrot with a silver underbelly, yellow eyes, and red tail feathers. The bird looked remarkably like one he had owned in his youth, Gulliver. It began flying away from the old man, sparking him to follow it. He was not sure why, but he felt like he had to. He had always been fascinated by animals.

Li followed the bird as it flew east. It flew slowly, but seemingly with purpose, over businesses and homes. A curious onlooker would notice the old man following a bird. They may have been momentarily amused but promptly resumed their prior activity once Li was out of sight.

Eventually, the bird and the old man reached a wooden shack and the bird perched itself on the roof, where a flock of birds rested. Li took notice of a stench emanating from the shed. It was almost like rotting pork, but not quite. The door was unlocked and no one nearby was watching him. Curiosity got the better of Li.

He opened the door to a horrific sight. A collection of human entrails, haphazardly sorted by type. Skin, bones, and organs each had a pile. Blood coated the floor and walls. To Li's horror, not all of it was dry.

Seated at a table in the circular lobby of the hotel, Atticus and Blossom waited for the others to arrive. Blossom watched as Atticus stared ahead with a distant look on his face, his arm propped up on the table and holding his head up.

The only other person in the room was the worker at the front desk — a short woman with long black hair dressed in a checkered black and white top and skirt.

"We'll have to make sure we get their attention as they come in," Blossom began, turning her attention back to Atticus. "None of them picked up."

Instead of responding, Atticus continued to stare into the distance, thinking heavily.

*Of course.* Blossom rolled her eyes and continued to keep watch for the others.

After what seemed like ages, Chris and Melissa arrived at the hotel and walked through the front door, entering the lobby.

"Have you two left this place at all?" Chris asked.

"No, we haven't," Atticus snapped, waking up from his daze. "And there's a very good reason for it."

Chris and Melissa both took a seat at the table, seemingly concerned by Atticus' tone. Chris tried to ask Atticus if anything was wrong, but Atticus told him to wait until the others arrived.

Marshall and Samuel came shortly after, their arrivals only slightly apart. Samuel was holding a plastic bag with assorted fruits and nutrition bars, some of which he distributed to the others.

There was an awkward silence as everyone waited for Li. After there was no sign of him for several minutes, Atticus decided to reveal what he needed to discuss.

"So, we're being hunted, your last name is fake, your dad is a pig, we're still in jumpsuits and Alchem gear, and Mister Li wandered off like a small child," Marshall said as he slouched in his chair.

"Yes, my dad is a 'pig'. The one I don't even remember," Atticus said as he folded his arms. "Apparently I'm legally dead and I didn't even know my own name."

Samuel sighed as he crumpled a piece of packaging. "Adoptive son, Atticus," he dryly said. "You're his adoptive son, Rosington adopted you when you were a toddler. After members of a demon hunting group you joined were killed, you were presumed dead."

"What? How do you know this?"

"Well, it's public knowledge that Rosington and his wife adopted a child," Samuel began. "But due to a few laws, the gubernatorial family is almost always kept private, so while we didn't know your name or what you even looked like, the news of your 'death' was announced a while ago."

"I don't know anything about that topic," Melissa started, "but I can tell you about something else that I've remembered recently. It's about how we met. As Samuel mentioned, you were part of a small group of demon hunters. I used to be in a militia dedicated to fighting demons and you guys showed up when my squad had rushed into battle in a forest in Gladea.

"I remember running with you after your team was slaughtered, I don't know what happened to my squad after that, but we were both pretty banged up and ended up running into the barn for shelter. We probably lost our memories due to injuries from that day."

Before Atticus could speak, Li interrupted the meeting by bursting through the glass hotel lobby doors. Screaming and panting, he dropped his cane to the ground.

"The... There's..."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Blossom asked.

Li staggered over to a chair, panting further and trying to calm himself. Breathless, he grabbed at the air, motioning for someone to bring him his cane.

"What's wrong?" Marshall asked, his demeanor changing as he got up and gave the older man his cane.

After taking several deep breaths, Li started again. "Shed... Followed bird to shed. It had... remains... bite marks—I'm exhausted—many bones, nearly shoveled in... not the work of any animal. Awful smell..." Pausing to catch his breath, Li gripped his cane harder. "We need to get out of here."

"Slow down," Samuel told Li, a bit uneasy. "*Bite* marks? What are you talking about?"

Li continued. "There's a monster terrorizing this town," Li responded. "If they find out I discovered their shed, we'll most likely be their next targets."

"He's right, we need to get out of here," Atticus said, deciding to let go of his feelings about the recent revelations and focus on the issue. "Remember to be careful, we could be recognized due to the news. And uh, maybe...we can get my father to help us?"

"No, he can't help us, he's the governor of Silivia. I know you want to talk to him now, but he won't help 'terrorists'. We'll have to continue going on our own." Blossom replied, sighing a bit at the end.

"She's right," Marshall added. "Your rich dad isn't going to randomly want to help us. Forget him."

As everyone began to think about their next move, Melissa stopped for a second. "I agree on leaving. But sorry... I.. uh... left something in my room. Blossom, can you come with me?" she asked. "Due to the situation, we shouldn't leave on our own."

Parked in the middle of Melissa's room, Blossom watched as the other girl closed the door behind them. "So, what did you leave in here that was so important?"

Melissa put a finger to her lips, signaling for Blossom to be quiet. "I said that to get you alone," she admitted. "I need you to do something for me. Promise that you will, okay?"

"Uh, what is it?"

"Well, I am leaving the group. So... I want you to tell everyone else that I will be gone," she paused, in deep thought. "But there is something I would like to do first."

"What? You're leaving?" Blossom could barely think of what to say, she was certain Melissa had lost her mind. "Are you crazy? There's a madman around here killing people, we're wanted, and you're going to leave? What the hell do you even want to do?"

Down in the lobby, the remaining five were all located at the table now, seated and holding various conversations. Anxious and uninterested, Atticus drowned their words out, until he spotted something that caught his attention. *Great, exactly what we needed.* "So you all know, a group of men is approaching us from the entrance."

"You won't understand," Melissa said as she bent down on one knee. "And you don't have to. Please tell the others."

Focusing, she raised her right hand and it slowly began to glow with a faint light. After a few seconds, her hand was lit up with tiny gold particles that were moving as tendrils going in a circular motion up and around her fingers and palm. Gently placing her hand on Blossom's leg, she held it there until the particles died down and were no longer visible.

"Can you try standing?"

"What the hell are you doing?! What is going on with your hand? That's not normal! And you know I can't stand, my legs are broken. Please, please explain what is going on." Blossom started, backing her wheelchair up and wheeling away from Melissa.

"Never mind that, try to stand out of your wheelchair," Melissa replied, looking out the window in her room.

Unsure of what to do, Blossom decided to trust in Melissa's words and slowly placed her hands around the arms of her wheelchair and lift upwards. To her surprise, she didn't feel any pain as she attempted to move her legs and managed to stand out of her wheelchair.

Propping herself against the wall as she regained her newfound balance, Blossom sputtered, shocked. "H-how? But how? They were broken. Did you heal them with whatever you did?"

Melissa ignored her questions, hearing a loud bang coming from downstairs. "You should go check that out, the others may need your help."

The glass stand that was thrown at Samuel made contact with the wall behind him, narrowly missing him as its pieces shattered across the floor.

The two men across from him stood still, temporarily halting their attack. Like a vulture fixated on prey, they watched Samuel with an unnatural gaze as he was also still. Neither party made any move until Samuel moved to pick up a shard of glass and the two men rushed towards him.

The others were in a similar situation. As Atticus had foreseen, the men in the doorway quickly began an assault once they made it to the table. Everyone was forced to fight as the hotel lobby fell into a scene of chaos.

One of the men had lunged straight for Chris with a feral look of rage, and bit Chris in the arm, only to be met with metal. The surprise from the man gave Chris the perfect opportunity, and he ripped the man's arm off, blood gushing out and exploding over the two of them and the floor. With the arm ripped off, the skin got a pale hue, and Chris realized to his surprise that the man yelping in pain wasn't a man at all as his skin became bumpy, his eyes the color of fire.

Li began barricading himself behind a table and chair, stating to the others that he was in no position to fight.

Grabbing three plates off the shelf next to him, Atticus threw them directly at the backs of the men approaching Samuel, watching as they hit their targets and crashed to the floor, shattering.

Running across the room, he grabbed one of the shards and skidded, stopping before he collided with the men. "Get up, Samuel!" He shouted.

Samuel barely got a hold of himself as he started to sprint away. The men behind him recovered after a minor grunt, separating themselves to run for both Samuel and Atticus.

Had everyone not been focused on defending themselves, what Chris had been fighting would have been the center of attention. The creature's screeches rang through the room as its complexion continued to change. It was hard to tell if its shriveling skin was a symptom of blood loss or part of the creature's real form.

Glancing behind him, Samuel saw that there were three more now chasing him. Panicking, he started to run toward the barricade Li had created.

"Damn it — Li, *move*!" he yelled. He picked up a chair and desperately threw it behind him.

Running down the stairs, Blossom paid little attention to the last words Melissa had said before they parted ways. Terrifying inhuman wails coming from below enveloped her with every step, but it only made her run faster. Turning a corner and landing at the bottom of the staircase, she was shocked at the scene before her in the lobby.

Groups of men fought with her friends, chairs being thrown through the air, tables being turned over, blood on the walls and floor in various areas. But the sight in the middle of the room seemed to make her heart stop for a second or two.

A tall humanoid creature shrieking stood in front of Chris, at around 8 feet tall. It was missing an arm and blood rushed onto the floor as every second passed. It had green skin, stretched over its gaunt figure, its remaining arm was extremely long and managed to reach the floor. It had little hair on its elongated head and its face seemed to be a mixture of a human face and that of a feral animal, with eyes stretched out and the color of flames. The creature's teeth were so long that they did not fit in its mouth and hung out, pulling the mouth into a snout-like fixture.

Blossom's breath caught as she took more of the figure in and she paused her run, tightly gripping the railing of the staircase.

Li followed Samuel's lead and tossed the chair in his barricade at one of the pursuing men. Both attacks did little to hinder their progress, but it was enough for Samuel to reach the barricade.

Samuel saw an opening in the barrier, one large enough for him to fit through. He stepped on top of a chair and onto a metal desk, tumbling over as he dove into the floor below. The enclosure Samuel made it to was small and provided little opportunity for movement.

Samuel knew there was not much time to think. He hastily stood up and turned around, to be met by a man trying to reach inside, their body partially stuck by a chair. Taking the opportunity, Samuel drew his glass shard and slashed it at the back of their neck. When Samuel examined the wound, he noticed the skin around it suddenly shifting into a light gray.

Marshall, during the fray, slipped out the backdoor of the building. His bruised, cut, and burned hands gripped the bars of a fire escape as he boosted himself up to it on a yellow dumpster below. Their third-story hotel room interior was in view as he broke the window, cutting through his Alchemilia suit and into his elbow.

"Fuck!"

Wasting no time to dress his ever-growing wounds, he climbed in. He carelessly threw the drawer of the messy bronze nightstand onto the cheap polyester foldout bed. After grabbing the knife and his guns, he exited the room and into the dimly lit corridor.

Marshall groaned in pain as he continued down the hallway. His pace had slowed as it became harder to ignore his wounds, but he had not stopped.

He was almost at the elevator when he spotted it: the bishop he had met the day prior, standing in front of the elevator doors, his eyebrows furling. His face was filled with hunger.

Marshall looked relieved at the sight of the young priest. "Oh, father, you have to get out of here, ther—"

"This never gets old," he said. "Watching your kind desperately struggle against its inevitable fate."

He took a step forward, before clasping his hands together. One after another he threw fireballs at the boy. Marshall dodged, but not before one grazed his arm. He persisted. The fire was gone from his hands.

The bishop became even more enraged. Kneeling down, his skin became a charcoal color. Shrieking in pain as his skin ripped, becoming taller, and revealing his blood to molten, white and orange lava. Two arms sprouted grotesquely from his back. He screeched in pain as they burst through his rough skin.

Punch. Punch. He tried desperately to make contact with the boy, swiping at him.

Marshall was cornered. The monster threw him against the wall. He held the boy's throat chest, preparing his two right arms for a knockout blow. The boy wriggled free, and the being's fists drove through the musty drywall.

His adversary stuck, Marshall took his chance and sprinted to the elevator.

He pressed the down button several times. A few nerve-racking seconds passed as he stared at the creature. It freed itself and hobbled towards him.

"Come on, come on, damn it!"

A ding. The doors opened. Marshall nearly leaped into the elevator and hit the button. He looked back to see what once was a priest gaining speed, getting ever closer. It was almost upon him as the doors shut. He heard banging and saw, right as the carriage began to descend, a fist's impact on the steel barrier.

For a moment, he was alone. Marshall processed what had happened, what he had survived.

Chris looked at the creature in front of him and did the only logical thing he could think of. He drew forth the creature's torn-off arm, then used it to hit the creature repeatedly and causing it to yelp in more and more pain. As the creature howled and howled, Chris opened his gun hand and shot it so that it was incapacitated. He then quickly ran from the horrendous sight and was glad to see the others fighting.

One of the men charged forward, launching himself at Atticus as his hands formed into claws. The creature had shifted into a form similar to that of the one Chris was fighting, with patterned orange and black skin. Atticus prepared to stab the monster before a burning hole formed in the creature's forehead. The other men turned their heads to the doorway.

"Atticus Anoethite," A blonde-haired boy no older than Atticus stood at the door, holding a pair of submachine guns. He smiled. "You're shorter than I expected." He fired a few more shots, taking out two more men who morphed into demonic visages as well.

"Who the fuck are you?" Atticus asked, breathing heavily and glancing around the room, taking in the full scene of the chaos.

"My name is Blackmore Veers," the boy tightened his grip on the handles of his weapons. "I'm here to save your hide. Rosington sent me."

Having a load of new questions, Atticus decided to take the boy at his word for now. He had saved his life after all. "Quickly — what's going on here? Are all these people demons?"

Blackmore stepped back, limping slightly. "We're outnumbered. Shouldn't there be eight of you?" As his smile faded, he fiddled with his machine guns. The demons, noting the fact that he was armed, began to swarm him as they all changed into their monstrous true forms.

With the beast that made Samuel and Li its targets now shot dead, Samuel took a knee and caught his breath. The gathering at the hotel's entrance gave him a needed moment of clarity.

Across the room, Samuel saw a tall creature staggering toward its companions. Its awkward, slow step indicated injury, either from Chris or a nonfatal bullet. Samuel stood up, hoping to take advantage of this.

He steadily walked behind the limping beast. When they did not appear to acknowledge him, Samuel took no time in elbowing the creature's back. They stumbled, and Samuel followed with a kick to the legs and slamming the being against a wall.

He took a moment to look behind him, making sure he was in the clear. For those near the back of the lobby, the scene had quieted down. Samuel was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed that Blossom made it safely back to the lobby, running towards a counter for more cover.

"*Wait—*"

A large demon came running in Samuel's direction before he could think about what happened to her.

Li knew he had to intervene. He swiftly grabbed his cane and approached the creature. Still focused on Samuel, it failed to take note of Li before he rammed his cane into its stomach. The beast bared its claws, preparing to attack. Instead, Li used his cane to impale the creature's right eye. It screamed in agony and fell to the ground.

The elevator doors opened. Marshall ran to the lobby and examined the situation within. Atticus and a stranger were shooting at a group of creatures trying to surround them. Chris was in a similar situation. Samuel and Li were picking off the weaker attackers, Li with his cane and Samuel with whatever he could get his hands on. Blossom hid behind a counter.

"Hey, take this!" Marshall tossed his other pistol to Blossom. He gave the knife to Samuel and began taking care of the attackers.

Looking over the counter, Blossom quickly grabbed the pistol and checked it for bullets. Satisfied with the amount, she looked around the room. Only nine members of the group that approached them remained, out of the original fifteen. Sixteen when counting the front desk worker, who had revealed herself to be a demon as well.

Locking her gaze on the two men approaching Samuel and Li, she pressed her finger against the trigger.

*The only way we're getting out of this is if we all take care of each other.*

Steven Devlin had told her these words months before and in this current moment, they gave her resolve to finish her plan. Controlling her shaky breaths, she aimed the gun at the two men. *If they're like the others, then...*

She quickly fired several shots, hitting her targets in the back of the head and watching as they fell to the ground, dying and reverting to their true forms.

Blackmore prepared to fire at an assailant, though his gun made a click sound. "No time to reload," he muttered, before whipping it at his target. Blackmore jumped forward as it clacked against the monster's skull, jamming his knife into its throat and tearing out the being's carotid artery.

As it fell to the ground, Blackmore turned around to throw the knife into another of the creatures, slicing through its forehead and into its eye, causing it to shriek and drop to the ground, where the boy promptly stepped on its tender skull. He wiped his foot on the ground, not taking time to recover his knife as he kicked the corpse towards another, tripping the monster so that he could approach quickly.

Blackmore took a second to make a decision, before using his knee to lift a nearby chair off the ground and then pushing the leg into the being's mouth, impaling its head entirely.

Chris managed to shoot an approaching creature, who toppled into another one. He turned to Atticus. "Get everyone and run!"

Samuel heard Chris' plea as he pounced onto an injured attacker's back, gripping its right shoulder for support. As it wailed and tried to shake him off, he took out his knife and seeped it into its neck. The being screeched louder as its movements became more erratic.

Samuel prepared himself to dismount, but there was no opportunity as the shrieking creature lunged into a shattered glass wall. The impact from the fall completely broke it, hurling both him and the creature outside.

He got up from the snow-covered concrete, kicking the now-dead beast aside. His arms only partially protected his face, forcing him to remove pieces of glass embedded in his skin. Samuel quickly noted that he was in an alleyway, a good distance away from the entrance. Fearing an escape from the front, he ran back inside and called out to the others.

"This way!"

Chris finally caught sight of Samuel and followed after him, with the others close behind.

"Make a left turn as soon as you reach a wall, my car should be out here somewhere!" Blackmore informed the group.

"Wait!" Atticus called out before the two made their turn, with the rest of the group pausing to hear him speak. "Where's Melissa? She's not here. Last I saw, she went upstairs with... Blossom."

His gaze then rested on Blossom, who was standing near Chris and tightly holding her gun.

"How the fuck are you standing?" Marshall yelled out to her, realization finally setting in.

"Melissa is gone," Blossom replied. "The rest — I'll explain everything later."

Blackmore led the group over to his car. It was completely black, aside from the drawing of a snake eating its tail that decorated the hood. The car resembled those of Silivia, but it had been subject to extreme modification. The first row had two seats, while the other two had three.

"Tame Impala," Blackmore spoke, clearly proud of the name. "Got it from a friend who — well, he won't be needing it anymore. Real convenient it has more than enough space."

Atticus took a seat next to Blackmore. Blossom, Chris, and Samuel sat behind them. Marshall and Li sat in the back.

As Tame Impala took the group out of Headre, demons would jump in front of the car to try and impede its progress. Every time, Blackmore would run it down with little issue. Most of them took human or near-human form, but a few dogs with multiple heads also tried to block the car's progress.

The car approached the gates, where it became clear that Blackmore had no intention of getting out and pushing it open. Memories of earlier crashes flooded the minds of his companions. Regardless, Tame Impala proceeded through unscratched.

With Headre far behind them, Blossom explained what had happened to Melissa. She was presumed the fourth to die since that fateful day in Gladea.