CHAPTER 126: ATTACK OF GUILTILAW, EBONY KING OF THE WOODLANDS!
—Sparks of steel on steel shriek and shriek in succession.
Garfiel: “Ghaaaaaaaahgr!”
Elsa: “Ahahaha! Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!”
Her body dances through the air. Her blades elect for no fixed course as they slash for Garfiel's vitals. Who knows how she is capable of these moves. Every single casual-looking strike closes in with deadly force and accuracy to imminently gouge into Garfiel.
Her crooked blade shreds through the air, transcending sound as it flies at sonic speed. Garfiel redirects the blow upwards with his shields, defending himself by letting the strike slide away rather than block it directly. The force of the woman's slash remains lethal as she shifts merely the trajectory of her swing, her body flowing adeptly aside. Cutting into that opening, Garfiel takes aim at the woman's open stomach and swings up his leg.
Garfiel's kick is mighty as a cannonball, easily capable of demolishing walls of stone. If it hits someone at full force, their fleshy human body will offer absolutely no defence as its overwhelming strength exhibits destruction on their innards. And Garfiel has, in fact, succeed in landing such blows to pulverise the woman's flesh and bone more than a couple times now. However,
Elsa: “I've seen this before.”
Garfiel: “Fuckin' fuck off!!”
The woman twists her open side and back away from the kick's trajectory. Garfiel's foot strokes across the woman's back, merely grazing her, before tangling in her black cloak. It's an instantaneous, but conceivably fatal lag for both the woman and Garfiel.
Elsa: “Hah—”
With a quick exhales, the woman reaches her arm around to her back, entangling the cape further over Garfiel' legs. Her other hand darts up from behind, herself halfway through a backflip, racing for Garfiel. The swing will slice Garfiel's right thigh in two—before he can think, Garfiel hops with his free left foot and jabs it directly beneath his entangled right.
Garfiel's left foot slams into the flat of the ascending blade. Metal and wrist snap as the woman cries out sensually, dropping her knife. She does retreat, but being that his leg remains entangled and he falls back to the floor, Garfiel cannot pursue her. He uses the momentum from his kick and puts his hands to the ground to backflip away, opening distance between them before disentangling his foot.
Garfiel: “Got yer wrist n' yer knife, haha.”
Elsa: “That's fine. I have spare knives, and my hand will be moving again before long. And my cloak... it's practically just an impediment while fighting you.” Garfiel: “Yer can keep yer bravado ter yerself.”
Elsa: “We'll check on your guts whether this is bravado.” Garfiel uses the stolen cloak to wipe off his sweat and dumps it on the side of the hallway. Elsa pays no mind to her cloak as she lightly touches her crooked left hand with her right, and calls out to the massive silhouette behind her.
Elsa: “Mei Lee. Don't just watch, give me another knife.”
Mei: “Geez, just doing whatever you want, Elsa. I'm not your luggage girl or knife caddie. And you keep fighting so Boulderpork can't cut in.” The girl riding the massive witchbeast puffs out her cheeks in reply as she flings something to Elsa.
It's a holder for the knives Elsa uses. She draw two fresh kukri out of it, holding both of them in one had as she feels out their grip. She looks up at the girl. Elsa: “It's a blight on your own cuteness that you brought that giant witchbeast along. Though I'm glad to dance with him without any nuisances involving themselves.”
Mei: “But it's gonna be ridiculous if you get caught up in that and let the mark get away. If mama knew what you did, she'd totally scold you. I'm gonna tell her you were naughty, Elsa.” Elsa: “If I were scared of scoldings, then I wouldn't start without you or steal your food. It's enough for you and the others to be the good children. I personally don't mind being troublesome.”
While she speaks, Elsa tosses the two knives in the air and begins juggling with them one-handed. The size and speed of the blades as they spin means that Elsa could lose an arm if she made a mistake, but Elsa's risky manoeuvres end with one knife in her right hand, and one knife in her left.
Elsa: “My apologies for making you wait. It seemed like waiting would be enough to fix my hand.”
Garfiel: “Don't worry yerself 'bout it. My amazin' self's also lookin' t'buy time, and I ain't crass enough t'butt into a talk b'tween sisters. Family talks're damn important.” Elsa: “Goodness. Why do you believe that she and I are sisters?” Garfiel: “'Cause yer callin' th'same goddamn lady yer mom? It don't matter that yer hair n'eye colours're different. 'M talkin'bout bein' family nevermindin' yer blood.”
Hearing Garfiel's reasoning, Elsa's eyes shoot open for a second in surprise. She puts her hand to her mouth, and slips a very cheery laugh. Garfiel: “Eh?” Elsa: “Huhu... ah, no, forgive me. I wasn't expecting that response, so I went just a little bit funny. ...You truly do seem like a good boy.”
Garfiel: “Stop treatin' me like a kid. My amazin' self's n' amazin' man.”
Elsa: “Indeed? Although, it doesn't feel to me that you're fully a man or an adult.”
Elsa replies to the dissatisfied Garfiel with her cheeks still relaxed. Garfiel's brows furrow in puzzlement, making Elsa's smile even more cheerful.
Mei: “Elsa Elsa. Don't you get the feeling this scary-looking guy's actually really precious?”
Elsa: “Yes, Mei Lee. I am beginning to get that feeling. I may have sighted for the first time in a long while somebody who I'd rather keep alive after pulling out their guts.”
Garfiel: “Stop runnin' yer damn mouths. Yer both gonna be takin' a nap after eatin' my amazin' fists.”
Garfiel sharply turns his wrists as he speaks. He doesn't really understand Elsa and Mei Lee's conversation, but he can definitely tell that they're slighting his determination. Should Garfiel understand that, then he has no kind words to offer.
Unless they apologize in tears as they beg for forgiveness, Garfiel will pulverise them immobile, and give them the punishment they deserve. —Such is Garfiel's duty.
Garfiel: “Bring it on already. Yer even buyin' even more damn time f'th'Captain'n'th'others t'get away. And my amazin' self ain't hopin' t'be gettin' a gold star fer runnin' away. M'beatin' yer t'yer last inch, teachin' yer a lesson. That my amazin' self's the strongest shield inside or outside SANCTUARY.”
With that, Garfiel batters his shields together. A screech rings down the hallway as Garfiel lobs his determination at the two enemies in the moonlit corridor.
Mei: “—Pffhahaa! Elsa, did you hear that? He's the strongest shield! Strongest shield... pff. Pffhaha! He is precious!”
However! The situation turns that Mei Lee laughs, of all things, and Elsa's smile also intensifies! They do not seem to be threatened.
Garfiel: “Fuck're you laughin' at, huh?”
Mei: “Ahh, it's so funny. So funny I just laugh. You're funny too with how you think you're oh so strong, but it's the group that ran who're also just so so funny.”
Garfiel: “Th'Captain's group's funny?”
Mei: “They so are. Aren't they? My pets are surrounding the mansion, so there's only one place to go to escape. That's actually meant to be Elsa's post, but she went off acting on her own, so I put a replacement there.”
Elsa: “—”
Mei Lee shots Elsa a criticising gaze. Elsa unabashedly pays it no heed. Her murderous eyes stare at Garfiel, observing his every action, making it extraordinarily difficult for him to move. And he also has to pay attention to Mei Lee's comment. Mei Lee thumps the back of the witchbeast she's riding while Garfiel's gaze grows sharper.
Mei: “Except for Boulderpork, I brought one more huge pet with me today. He's blocking the path. So when you buy time, it actually does the opposite of what you want.”
Garfiel goes silent.
Mei: “You think when you're done with me and Elsa, you're gonna catch up to the others and save them but, you're really actually not. So when I see you doing your best to buy time without even realising that, everything's just soo funny.”
Unable to keep herself from smiling, Mei Lee laughs at Garfiel's silliness. Faced with her juvenile malice, Garfiel gives a deep sigh.
Indeed, there are many unstable requirements piling up on them. Mei Lee is correct, they are definitely facing a situation which exceeded their plans. However,
Garfiel: “Ha. Stupid bullshit.”
Mei: “...Huh?”
Garfiel: “Yer th'ones who ain't gettin' it. You got more monsters around? We're th'ones gettin' pinned? As fuckin' if me or th'Captain'd let that fly.”
Enjoying the way that Mei Lee's smile disappears, Garfiel steps forwards. He watches as Elsa reacts, stooping herself slightly forward, as he says:
Garfiel: “Th'Captain n' them beat th'shit outta me. —They're gonna snort laughin' so hard they blast yer dumb obstacle right outta here!”
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
Subaru: “We'redoomedwe'redoomedwe'redoomedwe'redoomedwe'redoomedwe'resodoomed, what is even happening anymore!?”
Utterly out of breath, Subaru whines as he dumps himself to the floor. On the third floor of Roswaal Mansion's main wing, on the platform leading to the staircase to the top floor, are assembled Subaru's group—Subaru, Otto, Frederica, Petra, and Rem, all holding their breath as they stay put.
The fatigue is blatant on all of them as they sit there, with deepish wounds present on the whole party. But especially,
Subaru: “Are you alright, Frederica?”
Frederica: “...I am, this is merely trivial, it is not anything serious. Subaru-sama, I apologize to you for demonstrating such fecklessness.”
Subaru: “We'd be getting nowhere without you. The pathetic ones here are us guys, me and Otto. I'm sorry. We're weak.”
Otto: “T-this time alone... I lack any margin to refute your ribbing, Natsuki-san.”
Otto gives a frustrated sigh. Subaru spits the blood out from his mouth. While ignoring the hideous pain across his whole body, Subaru readjusts Rem's position on his back. —He has switched roles with Frederica, and is now tasked with carrying Rem. Otto guides Petra by the hand while Subaru is shoulders Rem. Their only fighter, Frederica, stands at the frontlines while opening a path—such has been the optimal plan for these five.
Right after parting with Garfiel, Subaru's group were attacked by two hyena witchbeasts. Between Otto's spellstones and Frederica's fighting, they barely managed to repel the hyenas, but they soon discovered many more witchbeasts placed throughout the mansion to torment them.
Batlike Blackwing Mice lurking in the hallway between the main and separate wing. Hyenalike Spotted Rex wandering throughout the mansion, attacking whenever they could. Possums that cast a net over the team after they entered a room, and swooped down the second they let their guard down. They had a particularly painful battle when dealing with a two-headed snake thick as Subaru's arm.
They managed to drive the Blackwings away with smoke, Frederica's claws bested the Rex, they fled from the possums while having their rear ends chewed, Otto's frantic negotiations managed to stall the snake, and Subaru took the opening to grapple the thing and have Frederica decapitate it twofold—and now, they're here.
Subaru: “We're just, utterly... we lost because we had to split up with Garfiel...”
Otto: “Don't be so faint of heart. Now is about when Garfiel would be confidently shouting that we'll succeed, so let's hold expectations at least equivalent to the ones that he's placed on us.”
Subaru: “With how dutiful you are, you really don't feel suited to being a merchant...”
Otto is looking the least dire of all of them, stamina-wise. Subaru gives him a wry smile, psychs himself up, and gets to his feet. The Rem on his back is, honestly, so light it's saddening. Subaru had heard that unconscious or sleeping people were heavy to shoulder, but Rem alone isn't exhibiting that. He can barely feel her weight or her warmth. Her very presence is dim. Her faint heartbeat and respiration alone prove that she is alive as Subaru firmly corrects her position. As if terrified that, even though this will surely not happen, he'll drop her and not notice.
Petra: “Big Sis Frederica...”
Frederica: “Do not worry, Petra. There's no need to look so anxious... we will reach our destination very shortly.”
Frederica responds to Petra's nervous gaze with a hearty smile. But Frederica's situation is not as optimistic as she is making it out to be. A hyena mauled her arm during a fight, she is unable to lift her bleeding left arm, and her movements lack their usual lustre. They cannot hope for her to fight at full strength, and need somewhere to immediately heal and rest.
Subaru: “Though yeah, we really are close to our destination.”
Mutters Subaru as he looks up the staircase—at the uppermost floor. The team is trying to reach Roswaal's office. Of course they're aiming for the escape route there, the bad road that Elsa had welcomed Elsa's invasion in all the loops previous. When Subaru first lost his plan to flee outside mansion, he had bordered on discarding this route as well—but after a conversation with Frederica, changed his mind.
It happened right after they left Garfiel and repelled the two hyenas.
Frederica: “There is a concealed passage in the Master's office which leads to the outside. Though it, we may capably escape the mansion and flee to a cabin in the forest. Should we use it...”
Subaru: “Sorry, Frederica. It's not gonna be that easy. There's reserves posted in the hidden passage. Since that's the path that woman got in here through.”
Frederica: “—”
Aware that he the situation is nigh hopeless, Subaru nonetheless reports this information. Subaru has run into Elsa before while trying to check the hidden passage. Leaving aside whether she entered through the route this loop, she at the very least does know the passage exists.
Subaru: “Going off what Elsa and that girl said... it sounds like they have other allies. Leaving aside whether this 'mama' is actually their mother, considering how they look nothing alike... if they're gonna post a rear guard, then they're gonna post someone at that passage.”
Of course they're going to block the path. Witchbeasts are surrounding the mansion, and there's an enemy in the escape route too. They're utterly trapped, and Subaru forces his brain to fire.
Things are desperate. It's wretched that, in a situation where their escape route is ineffective, they can't use Beatrice's help. They wouldn't have to be agonizing about this if Subaru had succeeded in convincing Beatrice. With her GATE CROSSING, escaping this place would be so simple that they wouldn't even need to think about it.
Subaru: “...I'm so selfish.”
Subaru knows about Beatrice's anguish and the reason behind it, and he's still trying to cling to her aid. He can't get her help here because he failed to bring her outside, and that in itself proves that he wasn't seeing her properly. It's natural that she hate and eject him from the room.
Otto: “Natsuki-san.” Petra: “Subaru.”
Perhaps thinking something about Subaru's expression as he broods, a tap come to his shoulder and a tug comes to his arm. He looks to find that the tap is from Otto on his right, and the tug is from Petra on his left. The two each use their methods to bring Subaru back to reality, then realise that they did the same thing, and scrunch up their faces. Looking at the two of them, Subaru sighs, feeling saved.
Frederica: “Subaru-sama. I believe that we ought to choose that path nonetheless.”
Subaru raises his head. Frederica raises her finger.
Frederica: “As you have stated, it presently appears that we are trapped in a deadlock. Ferocious witchbeasts are encircling the mansion, and the enemy is aware of our sole route of escape. Ordinary thought would have it that we will be killed unavoidably...”
Subaru: “Yes, right. I think the same, so I've been wondering about whether we could at least find a weak spot in the perimeter of witchbeasts, but...”
Frederica: “Incidentally, Subaru-sama. Where have you previously met that assailant woman?”
Interrupted by Frederica's low-voiced question, Subaru quietly holds his breath. Unable to read her intentions in asking it, Subaru nods.
Subaru: “Yeah.”
Subaru: “She targeted Emilia in the Capital before. The Sword Saint just happened to show up there and owing to that everyone got out fine. Though it'd be way too convenient to expect that hottie to burst into the scene here, definitely.”
Frederica: “I, see. Your last encounter involved the present Sword Saint. No, regardless, that does not matter. I do not wish to know the methods used previously to repel the woman, I would rather like to know her personality.”
Subaru: “Her personality?”
Subaru tilts his head at Frederica's rather nebulous question.
Subaru: “I mean, her personality is she's the same weird fetishist that she looks like. She's the GUTHUNTER, loves cutting open people's stomachs and checking out the insides. She's up there in the worldwide rankings for danger.”
Frederica: “And judging by how she appeared to enjoy her confrontation with Garf, she would be particularly fixated on doing the deed by her own hands... correct?”
Subaru: “Not like I know her, but yeah she's probably that kind of character. ...I don't see where you're going with this?”
Frederica: “It is simple, Subaru-sama. —Unexpected events in this attack are occurring for the enemy as well.”
A powerful assertion. Subaru's eyes widen in surprise.
Frederica: “Witchbeasts presently encircle the mansion. The young girl who was also present is likely a manipulator of witchbeasts... we shall perhaps call her a witchbeastmaster. The enemy's true designs had been to assault the mansion whilst the witchbeast perimeter was in place, and attack those of us inside, would be what it appears.”
Subaru: “What makes you think that?”
Frederica: “—The timing between the attacks from the beastmaster and the Guthunter are not synchronized.”
For a moment, Subaru furrows his brows in thought. But he immediately realises what Frederica is trying to say, and hits his fist to his palm.
Subaru: “That's it, so that's it! Fuck, why didn't I notice it? Yes, Frederica's got it right! With that weirdo's personality, of course this'd happen!”
Otto: “Wh-what is it? I don't quite see how everything connects...”
Subaru kicks the floor in frustration and excitement. Otto looks somewhat nervous, but Subaru just gives him a nod.
Subaru: “It's real simple, Otto. The witchbeast attack's actually meant to corner everyone in the mansion. And when we're cornered, we can't run away like normal. So we head for the hidden passage. —Is the natural course of events. Right?”
Otto: “That would be exactly the course we have followed, correct? But weren't we saying that the enemy knows of the secret passage, and so we cannot use it?”
Subaru: “Exactly. The correct course of the attack is, we're cornered and run into the hidden escape path, and that's where we all get killed by a waiting Elsa. That's their plan. ...But it's gone astray. Elsa isn't in the passage right now.”
Otto: “—”
Why isn't she? Considering Elsa's disposition, the answer's obvious.
Subaru: “Elsa didn't want to miss out on prey so she started moving on her fucking own. That's why she's out of sync with the beastmaster. And it means she's not at the spot that she's meant to be blocking. —So there's no one at the hidden passage!”
Frederica: “The original plans had been for the woman to lie in ambush in the passage. Consequently, being that events are diverging from their plans, it is extraordinary unlikely that a rear guard is presently occupying the passage. The enemy shall surely realise that the situation is divergent from their plans should they be given time. Likelihood is steadily increasing that they may send another individual into the passage.”
Petra: “So we gotta race there while no one's around!”
Following on from Subaru and Frederica's theories, Petra practically leaps as she gives the answer. Subaru laughs as she puts her hand on Petra's head, and pats her auburn hair vigorously.
Subaru: “Full marks.”
Subaru: “With the information we have, this's what's most likely. Either way, it's a more hopeful idea than breaking through the witchbeast perimeter outside. And worst case, we can at least check what's happening with the office. ...Let's do it. This is the only way we're all getting out safe!”
—Ready for that plan, the team arrived to this sight outside the office.
Everyone is both physically and mentally exhausted. Regardless, the hope of reaching their goal filled them with enough energy to move their incredibly wounded selves. And now, that flicker of hope is—
Subaru: “...You have to be kidding.”
Mutters Subaru reflexively after reaching the top of the staircase and peeking into the hallway. Otto pokes his head out above him, as does Petra below him, and all seeing the same thing, they agree with Subaru in dumbstruck shock.
Frederica: “What has happened? Is the Master's office...?”
Frederica sits on the stairs behind them as she asks this of the three scouts. But going by their reactions, she likely has surmised that the situation is looking bad. Subaru stifles his footsteps as he turns around and says, rather anxiously,
Subaru: “There's a real nasty-looking one camping outside the fucking room.”
—To Subaru, it looks like the monster CHIMERA.
A lion-esque feline head, with the skinny body of a horse or a goat. Its long tail whips about like a snake, and although it is smaller than the beastmaster's hippo mount, it's more than stupidly huge enough to block the mansion's expansive hallway. A strange entity which looks to have burst out of myth—with easily surmised prowess in combat.
Otto: “That... is the witchbeast GUILTILAW. I-It lives deep in woodlands thick with miasma, something of the king of beasts... and now, in a human village... it isn't meant to be the kind of witchbeast that you could possibly bring with you to a mansion...”
Subaru: “What're chances that we're misestimating, and it's actually a wimp? Like, it looks like that but actually its personality's gentle and you just feed it katsuobushi and it's happy, or something...”
Otto: “I wouldn't know what katsuobushi is, but are you saying to approach it with food? It will probably end in the beast chomping you in half.”
Otto's statement leads Subaru to think of how huge Guiltilaw's head is. Indeed. With a mouth that big, Subaru is a two-bite meal.
Subaru: “No but transformed Garfiel's even bigger. Okay, let's go get him and compare sizes. If our guy's bigger then that guy'll slink away dejected.”
Otto: “If we go back to summon him, then that woman will carve us to bits. You can stop being funny, Natsuki-san. ...Have you thought of any ideas?”
Otto entertains Subaru's joking, but his gaze is expectant. It's like he's expected Subaru to have come up with some idea over the span of that little exchange. Thinking Otto the placer of quite ridiculous expectations, Subaru glances back to Frederica and Petra,
Petra: “Subaru.” Frederica: “Subaru-sama.”
And they're gazing at him with expectation too.
Subaru: “—Seriously, just what expectations are you putting on me?”
Giving a deep sigh, Subaru shivers at the weight of the huge expectations. He adjusts Rem's position on his back, and closes his eyes.
What, presently, are their possible combat forces? Frederica is injured and Otto has basically no magic. Neither Petra or Subaru are fighters, and they are on the third floor of the mansion's main wing. There is no way they can call Garfiel up here, and even thinking of getting Beatrice's help is a bust. But that said, fighting while using everything available is the only technique Subaru's ever had.
Everyone's abilities, their capabilities, materials present, the opponent's situation, the requirements, Subaru thinks of them all, considers them all, mulls over them all—and sighs.
Subaru: “When neither martial or magic forces're looking like they'll work... time to stake it all on my unmatched knowledge from the 21st-century.”
※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※
The first thing to catch Guiltilaw's attention is a sound.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Having heard the peal of something hard tapping and tapping and tapping against the floor, Guiltilaw raises his snout.
Silent King of the Woodlands. Some localities indeed refer to Guiltilaw as such, and unlike other witchbeasts, he does not favour needless roars and pointless noise. Contrary to his great frame and queer appearance, he soars deftly though the wastes, making not the slightest sound in approaching his prey before landing a single fatal strike and slaying the creature. Such sneaky and assassination-eqsue hunts are his greatest forte.
Thus, although his MASTER may have ordered it, Guiltilaw cannot see the hunt of lying in ambush in one spot as anything but foolish utilization of his prowess. Although naturally, he has not the slightest intention to be an ingrate and defy his MASTER's orders.
Because the breaking of his HORN allowed Guiltilaw to escape from his curse.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Guiltilaw casts his snout around, searching for the source of the sound while ruminating on his MASTER's orders. Remain in place outside this door, and hunt any enemies what may approach—such is the duty that Guiltilaw has been ordered, and his MASTER's desire.
Tap tap tap. Those nigh defenceless sounds clearly are footsteps. Many two-legged creatures, such as his master, make this sound when they walk. Among their number are the truly strong, who do not even make such noise as footsteps, but the lord of these footfalls is not that. They are undefended, uncalculated, unintentional, unheeding—possessing not a speck of grace.
Guiltilaw finds them irritating to mangle even for a meal with how utterly weak they are.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Silently, Guiltilaw glides away from the door. The footsteps are coming from the western staircase, the direction from which he has heard intermittent sounds of battle for some time now.
Guiltilaw knows that his MASTER has brought in accompaniment with other witchbeasts. While instructing many beasts inferior to him in strength and size to surround the mansion, his MASTER tasked Guiltilaw with defending the door, mounted herself upon a large and dimwitted beast, and went hunting. It did dissatisfy Guiltilaw that she chose that merely-size beast for her hunt and left him behind to guard the rear. But should the foes he face here at least be powerful ones, then he can both agree with his reason for being brought here, and preserve his honour. Thus, Guiltilaw did not do anything so foolish as leave his post to attack the enemies, no matter what beasts they faced, until they managed to reach this very spot.
A weakling who could not even reach Guiltilaw's location did not merit battle. A weakling butchered by beasts weaker than himself did not merit the hunt. However. They prey has overcome the other witchbeasts, and arrived at this spot. The second that Guiltilaw sensed their presence, he felt secretly thrilled.
—And this is what he has been waiting for?
Something fragile, ignorant of what it is to even hide footsteps, with such weak lust for battle. One swing of his claws, one flourish of his fangs, would scatter this fleeting, inferior being to bits.
Guiltilaw: “—”
What surges inside him is rage. Only rage. His fangs will ravage the prey, and without a single lump of their flesh going down his gullet, he will leave them strewn about the floor. That is the only thing that will assuage this burning feeling of insult.
Pursuing the footsteps, Guiltilaw moves without casting any shadow over the moonlight. Should there be anyone to witness him as his great frame glides silently in motion, they would surely think themselves observing a nightmare. The ebony assassin approaches the footsteps, finding that the prey seems to have stopped at the next bend—Guiltlaw draws his claws to bisect the prey from behind.
Guiltilaw: “—!”
With not the slightest sound, Guiltilaw stretches out his neck and bounds for the prey's back— however.
Guiltilaw: “—?”
The prey that he caught, and sensed had been within mauling range, is nowhere to be seen. Unsure of where to swing his upraised paw, Guiltilaw stalls for a millisecond, feeling something awry. He sniffs as he turns his head.
Where has the foolish, frail, flimsy prey gone?
Guiltilaw: “—!”
Once again, the noise of footfalls strikes Guiltilaw's ears. He lowers his head and looks toward the noise, to find that it seems to be echoing from the stairway. The noise of the prey's footsteps, descending, running down the staircase. It appears they they have noticed his presence and somewhat accelerated to avoid him. But should Guiltilaw learn of such a thing, then he shall never allow the prey to flee.
Guiltilaw turns his head. Looks at the door that his MASTER ordered him to protect. He may be distancing himself from his post, but this prey is surely the exact prey that his MASTER ordered him for. Should he slaughter the prey, that is tantamount to observing his MASTER's orders.
With that decision, Guiltilaw pursues the gracelessly fleeing prey.
He is effectively teaching the prey that the moment they turned their back on him—nevermind that they were within range of his strikes—they lost any means of resistance. For Guiltilaw, who dashed over mountains and reigned over the woodlands as King, the hunt of fleeing prey was an everyday act of amusement.
The only prey worthy of being absorbed into this flesh were the truly strong. Prey that turned their backs and lost their fangs to resist him merely existed so that he would not forget the feeling of blood and gore on his claws and fangs—and they ought to learn this too.
Guiltilaw descends the staircase, following the footsteps. He kicks off the wall at the stairway landing, dancing through the air to the floor below. He reaches the second floor, then the first floor in pursuit of his prey, and now stands in the lowest floor of the building.
He perceives the distant signs of fighting. The scent of his MASTER, and the stench of the annoying dimwitted beast accompanying her. The remaining scents are blood and steel, the aroma of the strong.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Were it possible for him, he would prefer to venture in that direction, and participate in the fight. He wishes to brandish his claws and fangs in presence of his MASTER, ripping the strong fighter to pieces and drowning them in a sea of blood, supping upon the taste of victory. However. He must not desire such a thing right now. He has orders to uphold.
—Should he swiftly hunt this prey down, perhaps his participation shall be permitted.
Guiltilaw: “—ϡ”
Guiltilaw feels the burning in his fangs ever more keenly, his body shuddering. Again he hears the footsteps, and pursues them to hear a door shut further down the dark hallway before looking at the door, freshly closed. Darting over, standing silently before the door, Guiltilaw uses his long tail to dexterously open the portal.
This is not his first time invading the dwelling of the two-legged creatures and brandishing his fangs. He understands the framework of these 'doors', squeezing his massive frame through the doorway as he sneaks into the room. He had been expecting the prey to be waiting here at this very moment, but he cannot find the slightest glimpse of them, and yet again Guiltilaw suffers utter surprise. But his disappointment this time does not hide far away.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Turning his head, Guiltilaw's gaze lands on a corner of the room—on the wardrobe. Sticking out from the crack between the wardrobe's two doors is fabric from the prey's overgarments. They swooped inside in a panic, and their clothes were caught there. The shallowness of this prey, believing that they are hiding from Guiltilaw while failing to realise that, is humourous.
Guiltilaw silences his footsteps. Creeps near the wardrobe.
He raises his tail, sharpens its tip, and hesitates for not even a second.
Guiltilaw: “—!”
His tail pistons, pierces easily through the wardrobe like a spear. It leaves a round hole as if made by a drill—and many more of them, coin-sized holes stabbing one after another into the wardrobe, skewering the pathetic prey what cowers inside.
When more than twenty holes litter the wardrobe, Guiltilaw ceases attacking with his tail. He reaches out his front paw and yanks the wardrobe door so that he may observe the pathetic, dead prey. The perforated door opens easily, and the prey inside—
Guiltilaw: “—Grawh!?”
The instant Guiltilaw goes to confirm the corpse's presence, a burning shock to his nose makes him recoil. A terribly intense stench shoots through his nostrils, the sensation so painful he could wail. He promptly looks back at the wardrobe, to find a transparent bottle, broken and overflowing with colourless liquid. The stench is coming from this substance. And the prey is not inside the wardrobe.
The protruding cloth had merely been clothes protruding from the wardrobe.
Guiltilaw: “—!”
Once again hearing footsteps peal from the hall outside the room, Guiltilaw turns around. His nose is not working, but his eyes and ears are fine. He spots a shadow dash down the corridor, and while lamenting the insult of his disabled nose, pursues the shadow. Guiltilaw has never faced such humiliation in his life. This is not a bold and honest confrontation against Guiltilaw, who has overwhelmed all enemies he has ever faced, nor is it him easily sinking his fangs into fleeing prey. This is an entity scrambling so horrendously for life of a wretched likes Guiltilaw has never seen before. Assuredly, kill them. Slay them. Maul them, splay them over the dirt, trample them.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Forgetting to even silence his footsteps, Guiltilaw's massive frame soars into the room where the footfalls fled. He easily blasts through the twin doors. What welcomes him is a room remarkably larger than the others he has seen.
A large table stands in the middle of the room, and in the back of the room is a hearth. Candlesticks sit lit upon the table's white tablecloth. In a room with the moon as the only source of light, the flames flicker bewitchingly.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Fire is an irritating thing for Guiltilaw. Even during day, when the great globe of white fire remains in the skies overhead, Guiltilaw detests fire being near him. After all, the forest that Guiltilaw lived him was engulfed in flames, and he lost his peaceful home. His horn was broken and he began obeying his MASTER during that affair as well, so fire prompts memories of both liberation and humiliation for Guiltilaw.
Guiltilaw: “—”
He hears no footsteps. But he does hear something else. Opposite the door he just came through is yet another door, on the other end of the large room. From that likely-cramped space beyond the door, he senses something.
Guiltilaw sniffs, but his sense of smell has not returned yet. He cannot smell the aroma of the prey wetting itself in terror. When he mauls the prey, he likely will be unable to smell or taste its blood either, which is a disappointment. But he can put those sensations off for another time, so long as he succeeds in slaughtering the prey. Right now, only erasing this sense of humiliation blazing in his chest, and making the prey who disgraced him shriek its death wail, will offer Guiltilaw any solace.
Guiltilaw: “—”
Guiltilaw steps forth, heading straight for the room. Then he stabs his sharp tail into the room's door. It fills with holes just like the wardrobe did, and Guiltilaw pulls the door open before taking a breath and leaping inside.
Guiltilaw: “—σσσ!!”
He soars into the room, roaring. His bellow intimidates the prey, scares the weakling so that it may compensate him with his claws and fangs into its flesh. He whips his tail about, spreading destruction throughout the room, when dust erupts from shredded bags and boxes sitting on the cupboards. His forepaw slams down on the floor, shattering it and shredding through the cloth draped across the ground for dust to erupt yet again, from below—but no. These plumes of dust thick enough to block out Guiltilaw's vision are only growing thicker.
Guiltilaw: “—!?”
Guiltilaw's vision drowns in white, which invades his windpipe the second he takes a breath, making him cough. Some kind of, massive quantity of flour is dancing through the air. Enough flour to rob him of his vision, and even rob him of the breath needed to roar.
???: “Got him!”
Someone, some creature, speaks. Guiltilaw hears their voice not from inside this room, but the previous one,
???: “Eat this, the soul of science—flour explosion!!”
With a sound, something is hurled into the white-choked room. The bright, flickering thing is one of the candlesticks from the table in the previous room. The candlestick strikes the wall, its flickering flame falling the floor and blooming larger for an instant.
Guiltilaw: “—”
???: “H-huh...?”
But that's all. The candlestick remains fallen to the floor, doing nothing in particular. The speaker sounds to have misunderstood something, and Guiltilaw knows that they are standing petrified outside the room.
Guiltilaw: “—ϡ!”
Guiltilaw's instincts tell him that he is never getting this opportunity again. Some breed of insufficiency has happened for the enemy. And if that insufficiency had not happened, Guiltilaw would have been in danger. Comprehending this, Guiltilaw twists his body, electing to escape from this room.
If he can exit to a spacious room, a place where he can swing his paws and his tail freely, no plans the prey come up with will present any issue. He'll use the overwhelming disparity in strength to force them to submit, and wrest victory. There's no need to do anything more than that—.
???: “Yes, didn't I tell you? That instead of doing that nonsense thing!”
???: “It's quicker to just do this!”
The instant that Guiltilaw thinks to soar out of the room, he hears two more prey speak. A low voice, and a high voice. The moment that he realises these are prey of different sexes, Guiltilaw senses that the shelf behind him is collapsing toward him.
The string drawn across the entryway is connected to the leg of the shelf. Forcefully tugged, the shelf collapses onto Guiltilaw's back. But its size only allows it to hit Guiltilaw's massive behind. The force the blow carries inflicts damage on Guiltilaw equivalent to zero.
Calmly taking the blow, Guiltilaw severs the string with his claws. And when he prepares to definitely leap out of the room—
Guiltilaw: “—?”
The cupboard opens, and the liquid overflowing from it streams all over Guiltilaw's body. It feels slimy, unlike water. Its colour is slightly yellow, and having it slathered over his prided black coat is hideously unpleasant for Guiltilaw. But that discomfort disappears instantly.
Guiltilaw: “—!?”
???: “Here is Otto Swein's personal investment of trading oil—take as much as you want!”
The prey's voice calls from outside the room. But Guiltilaw has no leeway to mind the weak prey's voice in that moment.
—The oil he is covered in catches on fire, and detested flame burns his body whole.
Guiltilaw: “—ϡ!!”
The King of Beasts, descended from the plains and forever obsessed about his throne in the woodland skies, without ever knowing what bested him, combusts in flames as hot as his humiliation.
Tappei A/N: Guiltilaw-san, flubber of debuts.
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