“He’s going to be healthier than ever.” Gwen’s babulya patted her on the shoulder. “Give it a week, and Percy can return to school.”

Beside his hand-wringing sister, Percy was suspended above a levitation module designed to prevent pressure-sores while he recovered.

“Hey, sis…” her brother moaned. "I am... fine!"

At the sight of several hundred acupuncture needles sticking out from Percy’s full-body plaster cast, her eyes grew moist.

“It's not as bad as it looks, the bones need to set properly, that’s all.” Klavdiya tapped on Percy’s vitals while Gwen shivered at the sight of the needles. “I've foregone Regeneration to implement a strengthening technique. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity?”

Her brother moaned, his every utterance plucking at Gwen's heartstrings. His face retained a mess of blue bruises where the truck's grill had said hello. She had wanted him recovered by the hour, though babulya's advise that gradual healing was always superior to the brute-force of battlefield triage.

“Who did this?!” Gwen snapped, her hair rising into the air as though she’d turned half-Hag. Her flaring temper elicited a quiet 'eek!' - revealing a meek existence hiding behind her babulya in the form of a girl in Xiangming's charcoal-ivory uniform. “You there! What do you know?”

Mei trembled.
She wanted to meet her idol, not be eaten by her.

“A truck!” Mei spluttered. “A truck hit Percy!”

“That truck has seen its last haul!” Gwen seemed to almost rise into the air. “Where’s the driver?!”

Her babulya intervened.

“Arrested - the driver is an NoM, and he is entirely blameless.” The old woman stared her granddaughter down until she acknowledged the unfortunate man's innocence.

Mimicking Caliban with a prey denied, Gwen returned her attention to Mei.

“Alright, then why were you playing in traffic? Belay that, how the hell can a bloody truck hurt a Mage? Percy’s got Abjuration Shields!”

Mei teetered on the verge of tears and would have cried but for the fact that she couldn't breathe.

“Not… Mei’s fault…” Percy moaned. “Blame… Alain…”

“Who the fuck is ALAIN?”

“My cousin…” Mei squirmed. “He was fighting with Percy.”

“YOUR KINSMEN PUSHED MY BROTHER ONTO THE ROAD?!”

“His servant did,” Percy’s schoolmate cowered. “It was an accident!”

“I’ll show him an accident!” A sliver of Dragon-Fear licked at Mei's ashen face, made paler by the bright cobalt emanating from Gwen's electric eyes. "You better not be lying to me."

‘Slap!’

“Gwen!” Her babulya struck her head from behind. “Enough! You're in a hospital!”

“Urrrrghn!” Percy keened like a wounded cat. “Sis, the needles… why…”

“Shit, Percy! I am sorry,” Gwen knelt by the bedside. “Where does it hurt?”

“Where does it... not hurt?” Percy's complexion turned to paste.

Klavdiya sighed.

“Gwen, leave us. I need to reset the needles.”

“Sorry, Babulya. Sorry, Percy.”

“Mei, go explain what happened,” Klavdiya commanded Percy's schoolmate. "Away from here. Your grandfather should be here shortly."

“Yes, Nainai.”

Stepping outside, Gwen and Mei were met by two boys who had been waiting for them to exit.

The older of the two was an able-bodied youth standing close to six-foot, with a sharp, angular face and semi-transparent, pale amber irises. The other was a boisterous looking troublemaker with slicked-back hair, a head shorter than the first, standing with the gait of a wannabe triad hoodlum.

“Brother Ma, Senior Li!” Mei bowed deeply. “I am sorry about Percy; it’s all my fault.”

“No need to be so distressed," the Ma boy answered after a ninety-degree bow. “Miss Song, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally. I have heard nothing but praise from my Uncle in regards to your abilities.”

Gwen scanned the boy's face, her brain quickly connecting the dots.

“You’re Professor Ma’s…”

“Nephew, Ma’am. Please call me Kelvin.”

The two shook.

“Well met, Kelvin.”

“This is Don Li, my vice-captain. We’re Percy’s Seniors.”

Don bowed deeply as well.

“Please accept my most sincere apologies." Don lowered his head. "I was supposed to be looking out for Percy, but I arrived too late to stop Alain.”

“I take it all of you know who this Alain may be?”

“He’s my cousin.” Mei swallowed.

The dual-Elementalist's glare wilted the girl with its intensity.

“Let’s talk outside.” Gwen pointed to the balcony. “I need some air.”

The three teenagers regarded one another, passing a measure of understanding before following the renowned Worm Handler. Once outside, the trio was surprised to find that Gwen had summoned both her Familiars.

“Shaaa!” Caliban slithered about in its obsidian serpent form.

“EEE!” Ariel emerged fully fluffed with Almudj’s Essence.

The sight of the Worm Handler's twin monsters stupified even the usually stoic Kelvin. Beside their captain, Mei took up his right arm, shivering uncontrollably; on Kelvin's left, Don clutched his captain’s left arm with equal vigour.

“It's alright. I am working on something.”

To ease their apprehension, she coiled Caliban behind her, while Ariel set forth on a diplomatic mission.

“Eeee?”

Ariel cocked its head, its luminous eyes blazing with a rainbow-hue.

“Can… can we touch it?” Mei instantly melted. She had been waiting for this moment for the better part of a month.

“Of course," as a generous God, Gwen offered her Ariel for petting.

Ariel took the better part of a minute to charm its targets, who instantly became its servant, hungrily massaging its mane, brushing its tail and touching its feet.

“Watch the horns,” Gwen warned them, sending a stream of Essence into Ariel, feeling the mounting stress in her Astral Body decrease. “They discharge electricity, sometimes.”

“Senior!" Mei raised her hand. "I am a Lightning Mage too!”

“That’s good to know, Sister.”

“Hee hee hee.” Mei's anxious face broke into a grin, growing so giddy that she bodily embraced the fluffy body beneath her.

“Shaa!” Caliban sulked. Why does Ariel get all the fun? It seemed to say. Not wanting Caliban to feel left out, Gwen picked it up bodily and coiled it around her shoulders so that it could nuzzle her face.

"Wow, Caliban looks magnificent," Mei remarked.

Gwen ignored the unintentional double entendre.
Instead, she commenced her gentle interrogation.

“So, you kids got a tale to tell?”

“Ma’am.” Kelvin dipped his head awkwardly. “We’re the same age. You’re seventeen, right?”

Gwen measured Kelvin from head to toe.

“Sorry,” she apologised, realising working at the office amongst adults had thrown off her biological metronome. “Gents, Mei, I would like to know what happened to Percy. I wish for every detail.”

Mei faced the Void Sorceress and her Mongolian Death Worm.

“I’ll start. It’s my fault that all of this happened…”

With a tender voice that matched her petite face, Mei told the tale of Percy helping her rebuff Alain’s possessive jealousy, finishing with Alain’s ambush and her friendly-fire. The final result, she explained, was a serendipitous convergence of circumstances, truck included.

“And his Shield didn’t manifest?”

Caliban's faceless mien slithered closer.

“I think I paralysed him,” she explained, guilt written all over her face. “I hit him with my Body of Lightning; there’s a paralytic effect to the attack.”

“I see." Gwen remained all business. "Gents, your turn to verify.”

“As Percy’s Team Captain.” Kelvin stepped up. “I can verify that Alain had an issue with Percy. A part of their conflict is because I chose Percy over Alain for the final slot of our team. If anything, I may be the originator of their conflict.”

“Not true.” Don stepped between Gwen’s Familiar and his captain. “Alain’s a reptile. I was the one who was negligent. I should have smacked the little er-bi before this happened.”

“Don, watch your language!” Kelvin chided his second.

“Sorry, Miss.”

“It’s fine, Don.” Gwen considered the two boys, carefully observing their body language. Don appeared to be a Water Mage, while Kelvin was a high-tier Mineral Mage. The act they were putting on was likely for her benefit, though she had to applaud the fact that the two boys covered for Mei, who, in her opinion, was the real catalyst.

“I should have gone with Alain.” Mei appeared crestfallen.

With a glance from its Master, Ariel stood on its hind legs and licked the girl’s face. In return, Mei hugged Gwen’s Kirin around the neck and buried her face into its mane.

Gwen sighed. The kids were wary.

“I see, so Alain’s to blame. Tell me about him.”

“He’s my cousin,” Mei reinstated the unfortunate fact. “He’s potentially the next head of the family after Uncle Tsung died in Tibet. In our Clan's bloodline, it's just my sisters, me and another cousin left, that and our mothers."

All women? She glanced at the boys.

“The Yang family is well-known,” Kelvin intruded, realising that their gweilo senior likely had no idea. "They’re descended from THE Yang family of yore.”

Gwen's stone-like mien remained unimpressed.

“They’re a family that’s existed since the Song Dynasty,” the Mineral Mage made another attempt to impress. “The one who lost three generations of sons to the Khitani Centaurs in the Song Dynasty, then again lost all their sons defending Southern Song against the Mongol Clans…”

“Alain came from Xian originally,” Mei nervously continued, stroking Ariel to calm her nerves. “He received a bloodline talent from his mother, which is something our ancestors call the ‘Pure Yang Body’, meaning he excels at Fire Magic. His grandmother's my great aunt, so we’re twice removed. His mother suggested that he and I should wed so that we could reignite the old bloodline.”

“Your family's renown notwithstanding.” Gwen furrowed her brows. “Let’s say I beat Alain up, who’s going to save him?”

“His… mother?” Mei's voice was barely audible. “She’s a Fire Magus.”

“Miss Song, you’re not thinking of…” Kelvin felt the need to interject before the matter escalated. “I am kin to the Yangs. My Uncle is married to one of the Yang women. If you want reparation from Alain, please let me know.”

Gwen cleared her throat.

"Very well. I want a public apology, fair punishment from the school, and all medical expenses paid-” Gwen paused. “Plus something else as compensation. I’ll leave that to this Alain.”

“…” Kelvin looked at Mei, who looked away.

“What? Don't tell me that's too much?”

“Crystals and favours are alright,” Kelvin spoke with great care. “A public apology is a bit…”

“A bit what?”

“I don’t think-“

“Then I’ll break every bone in the little twirp's body, an eye for an eye.” Her threat echoed across the courtyard like thunder. “Where is he now?”

“At h-home.”

“Your home?” Her orbs scorched her quivering victim.

Mei pleaded with Kelvin: the boy subtly shook his head.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Miss Song,” Kelvin thought he’d give assuaging another go. "If it would-"

"Gwen?"

Guo Song, Chairman of the Confidential Communications Committee, pushed open the door the to balcony's exterior.

“SIR!” Kelvin bowed deeply, quickly followed by the others.

“Yeye!” Gwen ran to her grandfather, suddenly a teenage girl. “Percy’s injured, and I know where the culprit is.”

Gwen's statement of intent was enough to Petrify the horrified Mei. It was one thing to face the famed ‘Worm Handler’, but quite another to displease a man capable of sitting on one of the twenty-four inner seats of the CCP’s central committees.

“Very good.” Guo turned to the others. “You may go.”

The trio retreated, not daring to attract Guo's ire.

“Grandfather, I think you scared that girl half to death.”

“I am sure that was you,” Guo remarked dryly. “Why would I scare her? Percy brought her home once. We spoke.”

Gwen raised a brow.

“She’s a Yang, right? Good family. A respectable bunch.”

“Well, it’s another Yang that did this to Percy,” Gwen quickly explained the situation. “... rather than taking it out on the duelling field, he tried to ambush Percy in public.”

“Hmm.” Her grandfather's bulldog jowls quivered.

“Your counsel, Grandfather?”

“What's your intent?”

“Bring Alain here as a companion for Percy,” Gwen ground her teeth. “A tad worse for wear, of course.”

“That might be unreasonable.” Guo's mildness caught her off-guard. “The right thing to do would be to get them to issue compensation and an apology.”

“I asked for that,” Gwen complained, wondering if Percy had fallen out of favour. “The Ma boy said Alain's too proud for that. But I am perfectly capable of squeezing blood from a rock if need be.”

“Hmm... even for the Yangs, not offering a public apology is a little presumptuous.” Guo raised a brow.

“If you're indisposed, Grandfather, I can handle this myself,” her voice grew impious. "No one touches Percy."

"A commendable sentiment." Guo appraised his granddaughter's passion.

“I’ll go and challenge the little prick and anyone else they’re willing to throw at me. I could also take Tao's advise. I am sure an apology is easier to stomach than being homeless.”

To her astonishment, Guo patted her shoulder disarmingly.

“The Yangs… have given much to the Party.” Her grandfather pointed to the city below. “One son during the first collapse of the Front, then another in the Reclamation. Only recently, they lost their sole remaining male heir to a rebellion in Tibet. They have no Magisters left; a few women Maguses remain, but no one of note. Do you truly wish to browbeat a family like that, knowing your guan-xi with the Fungs? With me? With your Uncle Jun and his... dragon?”

“I…” The fire she'd been stoking dimmed. “That would be bullying.”

“That is the correct answer.” Guo took a deep breath. “Still - an apology must be had. Direct involvement of Jun or I would only make our House lose face, so I'll leave it to you. Can I trust you handle it, tactfully?”

“I’ll do my best, Grandfather,” Gwen replied, thinking of her brother's broken body next door. “Percy will have his apology, one way or another.”

Unaware of his family discussing the matter of his vengeance outside, Percy readied himself for restful slumber, hoping that when he woke, his bones would have mended and he could return to school. Not only that, grandmother had promised that after her acupuncture technique, his bones would be better fortified against future mishaps.

Other than that, Gwen's screw up aside, it had been a good day.

Having Mei, Captain Ma and Vice-Cap Li visit him was tremendously inspiriting, filling his chest with a cosy warmness.

Conversely, having Gwen teary-eyed as she attempted to feed him in front of Kelvin, Don and Mei was torture.

Thankfully, he was soon left alone. With his family and friends gone for the night, he circulated a mote of mana into the Kirin Amulet nestled against his chest, then descended into darkness.

When Percy opened his eyes again, he knew it to be a lucid dream.

He knew this because the sensation of estrangement from his physical body was identical to the one he experienced while under the influence of the Amulet’s ritual.

Calmly, without undue alarm, he scrutinised his surroundings.

A mausoleum.
More precisely, the Song's family tomb in Hubei.

The oppressive atmosphere was as he recalled, made more so vivid by the hundreds of Spirit-plaques decorating the place, each with names of his ancestors carved into chunks of incense-wood.

“Hail, child of Ying Xing.”

A voice floated through the air as an unearthly chill infused his spine.

Holy shit! Percy sniffed the air and scanned the scene, scanning for the source of his unease.

Stay calm! He commanded himself. His stoicism surprised even himself. The lite-Necromancy he had committed in Hangzhou was doing wonders for his tolerance against supernatural surprises.

More importantly, what had the voice declared? Song Ying Xing? Wasn't that the progenitor?

His first suspicion had been that the dream was brought on by the entity in the Amulet, whose presence he had felt but could never decipher. Strangely, his second thought was of his sister.

“Hail.” Percy bowed, his body feeling distended and displaced. “May I ask who…”

“This one knows of the living heir.” The disembodied voice resonated across the hallowed hall.

Living heir? Percy recalled his grave-sweeping visit with the family to their Hubei home. As the heir of House Song, he had spent three hours dusting down every nook and cranny of the mausoleum, eyeballing every plaque an inch away from his nose to make sure that not a single spec of grime remained. After Guo saw just how eagerly he had applied himself, Percy’s grandfather grew mightily pleased, praising Percy in front of Ying Xing’s plaque with such fervency that for a spine-tingling minute, he'd thought Guo was enacting a Necromantic ritual.

After that, they left to join the rest of the village, setting off hundreds of lanterns, filled with wishes and messages to their ancestors, into the sky.

The spectacle had touched Percy quite profoundly: there was something to be said when at the stroke of midnight, from all around the mountain, the river, the village below and the city in the distance, a great river of lanterns lifted into the air, turning the horizon into a vista of light.

So, was this 'being' one of his ancestors?
Had 'he' come to answer the messages he wrote on the lantern, asking for a blessing no less than Gwen's?

If so, could an ancestral blessing be considered Necromancy by the Tower?

“My Lord.” Percy swallowed, remembering his grandfather’s instructions. “This descendent greets the Ancestor.”

Slowly, the miasma coalesced within the chamber collected until it formed into a shape more familiar to Percy than even the Ancestral Hall and its plethora of dead Songs etched onto plaques.

First came a stag’s horns, then a tiger’s maw, fishes’ scales, lion’s mane, carp’s whiskers, solidifying until Percy gasped with breathless anticipation. There was no doubting it. From its presence, it’s guise and aura - he was facing the real deal. This must be the being inside his Amulet!

Swirling motes of Negative Energy surrounded its body.

Percy recognised the mana of the miasma shrouding the Kirin's skin like a rash; it belonged to him. It was the ritual used by the Songs.

A sudden thrill ran through his body. If Gwen could tame herself a Kirin, why couldn't he? Whatever she could manage, he was confident he could as well.

“Long has this one slumbered.” The Kirin’s voice was rumbling thunder on a stormy, cloudless night. “Until awakened by the intrusion of a nameless one.”

Nameless one? Was that Gwen’s doing? Percy racked his brain.

“Lord Kirin.”

“Do not patronise me, Child of Song, let us broker no words of deceit.” The Kirin thundered. “This one and the heir are not allies.”

“Umm… we are not?” Percy almost kicked himself. Did he fuck up already? What did Gwen do to get on the Kirin's side? An offering? Offer what? Herself?

“Foolish youth. It was your ancestor who deceived this one.” The Kirin exhaled two churning streams of jet-black ash, slicing the air with its whiskers. "A despicable man.”

Maybe I should get the hell out of here. Percy eyed the exit. To his chagrin, the gate of the Ancestor’s Hall opened into an abyss of space.

“Having now roused from slumber, this one shall broker for thy pitiable ritual no more! The heir will no longer usurp this one's strength!”

Wait, WHAT?! Percy did a double take. What the hell does that mean? What about his training?

From above, the Kirin's eyes were twin orbs of smouldering stone.

No, that can’t be right. Percy willed himself to focus. Necromancy was always 'take', never 'give'.

“If it's your Essence” he accused the Kirin. “I bet I can still use the ritual and compel your stone to give up its nourishment.”

Perhaps because it had been caught lying, the Kirin grew in stature.
Instantly, its presence filled the tomb.
Before its Demi-God visage, Percy was a slab of fish!

But the motes of Negative mana cascading from the Kirin's side told a different story.

For a minute, boy and Kirin both observed one another.

“Your words hold some weight,” the Kirin’s annoyance rocked the interior of the mausoleum, cascading dust and ash all over. “Yet how soon you forget the reason for your sad state. Did your Fulu not fail when you needed it the most?”

Fulu? Percy searched his brain for the unfamiliar term. Fulu- 'Fu'- those were Taoist talismans, were they not? Did the Kirin think his westernised Spellcraft was a form of sectarian Taoist magic?

“What are you saying?” Percy demanded. “What does my Spellcraft have to do with…”

“The Protection charm which you abused with such liberty,” the Kirin continued. “And your body-transfusion sorcery, do you truly believe they belong to you? That you’re a genius?”

“It was you?!” Percy was an intelligent and perceptive young man.

“Good, thou comprehends," the Kirin gloated. "This one could go on, but one tires of unprofitable word-games. As thy ancestor had broken his compact to this one, so now one demands reparation from his descendant.”

Though his instinct told him to leap out the door and into the abyss, Percy remained in front of the Kirin. Did this mean that he had been chosen? Was he elected for some higher purpose? What of his sister? Did she not meet the ancestors?

“What did the progenitor promise you?” Percy carefully enquired.

“Servitude, then freedom.” The Kirin loomed over him with the oppressiveness of a tombstone. “But then an imbecile split my heart stone in two, negating the possibility of this one's eventual emancipation!”

Grandfather Guo! Percy blinked.
Holy Kirin shit, no fucking way!
His Grandfather had split the family amulet in twain to give both Jun and Hai a chance, breaking the Song's tradition of having ‘one’ true heir.

“Lord Kirin, what is your desire?” Percy kept his voice level and steady, hiding his excitement.

“The other half of this one's heart-stone.”

“...” Percy's silence refuted the Kirin’s claim. There was no way he could do anything to uncle Jun, nor did he want to.

“This one does not make demands without commensuration,” the Kirin continued. “Within this one's wisdom lies the knowledge of your ancestors, two hundred generations of them, each a Master in their own right. Even in the parlance of thy ineffective Fulu, this one can trivialise all obstacles in the heir's cultivation!”

"Your meaning?"

"This heir would be a Master in no more than a decade!"

Though the Kirin spoke of his ascension, for some reason, all Percy could think of was Gwen returning victorious from the IIUC. In three years, it would be his turn. He would join the IIUC, and there, he would supersede Gwen's accomplishments! His future would be incandescent!

But still, he didn't trust the creature at all.

“No,” Percy swallowed his desire. Too much ambition was a dangerous thing. “No deal. I am not harming my family.”

“FOOL!” the Kirin roared. “Dost thou believe that this one demands the lives of thy living kin?!”

“Then…”

“As heir, the other half of the Amulet will return to thee, one day,” the Kirin explained. “Be it naturally, or via conspiracy, that is not for this one to enact nor say. This one is an immortal being. What is half-a-century when this one has waited for over a millennium? This one desires a deal - that within thy natural lifespan, thou shall join the two halves of this one's heart stone and free one from servitude.”

"And in return?"

"This one shall aid in thy training; thou shall be as heaven to the mundane earth."

Percy mulled the Kirin’s clarified offer.
The damn thing was desperate, but they both had their backs against the wall. Without the Kirin’s tacit support, his new found talents would come to an abrupt end, his future training all the more arduous. Instead of catching up to his sister, he would be swimming upstream against the current. The Duelling Team, his university placement, being his sister's equal, they would all have to be forfeited.

As for the cost of the Kirin’s offer?
The Song’s would lose their Amulet, presumably.
But by the time he was an old Magister on his deathbed, who would be left?
Guo and Klavdiya would be long gone.
Hai and Jun, most assuredly.

And Gwen?

He somehow doubted someone who could manifest a pseudo-Kirin at seventeen would be hankering for a training crutch. Though Gwen could benefit from the Amulet, her need wasn't dire. Simply put, she couldn't pass on the family name, her training was already leagues ahead of Percy's, and she was in no shortage of Crystals nor Spirit.

Percy's final concern was for his future scions, though as a teenager himself, he couldn't conceive of such a thing. Even his grandfather's obsession with the House of Song was but a parcel to his ascension.

“Once free, wouldn’t you run amok?” he demanded of the beast. Probing its offer for weaknesses.

“If thou cannot best this one even during the infancy of one's rebirth.”The Kirin’s expression grew twisted as a tendril stroked its chin. “Perhaps the cultivator should give up his Dao before he hurts himself.”

Fucking dick-mouth, Percy snorted internally, deriding the Kirin's fleshy, prehensile whiskers. His gut feeling told him that the damn thing would absolutely not go peacefully. But then again, who said Percy would hold his end intact? His ancestor was a perfect example, wasn’t he? In time, with power, research, another century of advancement in Spellcraft, he may very well end up with a Kirin for a mount!

“And you would accelerate, rather than delay my Spell- Cultivation?” Percy reiterated.

“Thy ascension shall be celestial.” The Kirin's whiskers oozed a strangely thick, black liquid.

In the light of the tomb, the Kirin's appearance was positively demonic.

Wait-a-second, what if this was all just a dream? Percy reminded himself. He was taking a lucid fantasy far too seriously. So long as he had control over himself, over his mind, and so long as he had his sister to give up a helping hand, what need he fear? Why, if he told Gwen-

“Thou shall keep this one's contract in confidence,” the Kirin’s burning orbs narrowed. “Else do not blame this one if thy Fulu fails at a most desperate hour.”

“What, and lose you the only means of your freedom?” Percy fired back.

“… the descendants of the Song are crafty,” the Kirin grumbled. "If this heir is unwilling, this one does not mind if one is returned to his superior Kin."

"Kin?" Percy's spine turned to ice. "What Kin?"

"One's Sister." The Kirin's visage grew cruel and haughty; its maw dribbled with dark malice. "She and this one could be happy together."

The fucking nerve of the damned mongrel! Percy's expression grew instantly dark.

"Listen well." He strode toward the beast, his body suddenly alive with vigour. "You and I are in the same fucking boat. Do you understand, ya MUTT? I am your best hope. Gwen will eat you up; you won't even have a whisker left."

"The heir is willing then?"

With a dire vehemence, Percy caught one of the Kirin's whiskers with a terrific grip, feeling a dull heat singe the skin on his hand.

"Yes, I am willing!"

The bond between them, the connection previously engendered through the ritual, grew immeasurably more intimate. Percy felt lifted into the air as the haze entered his body, filling every pore with its strange Astral energy.

"You fuck me over, mutt," Gwen's brother growled with a fury he didn't know he had possessed. "And I'll make sure you'll be living in limbo for all of eternity."

There was a pause.

"Then one... obeys." The Kirin bowed. "So long the heir keeps one... fed."

In the material world, where Percy's body floated over a bed of air, a warning glyph flared. A night nurse rushed into the room to check the patient's vitals, only to find that all was well. After she triple-checked the Biomancy array, she wrote it off as an error, then resumed her patrol.

Meanwhile, hidden under Percy's bandages, the Kirin-Stone Amulet turned the colour of jet.

Jun shot awake, covered in a snail-sheen of cold sweat.

“You were murmuring something.” Ayxin sat by the bedstead, her eyes casting a gentle glow over the hotel room. “Bad dream?”

“... Do you always watch me sleep?” Jun remarked, unnerved by the sight of Dragon-kin looming over his once sleeping form. He reminded himself that Ayxin was, despite the perfection of her current guise, an apex predator.

“My kind rarely sleeps outside of our domain, so yes.” Ayxin’s eyes swept over her lover’s body. She could sense the rushing of his blood, the air in his lungs, the Ash in his mana conduits, and the thrumming Essences of Magical Creatures stowed within the amulet around Jun's neck. Now that her man was awake, what had once been a tranquil balance of the metaphysical was now thrown into disarray. “What’s wrong? Why did you rise?”

Jun touched a hand to his pendant.

“Nothing. Just a bad feeling.” He circulated a mote of mana into the heirloom device, failing to find any irregularity.

Ayxin slipped back onto the bed, serpentine in the manner her waist arched and her limbs folded around Jun’s torso. She pressed her palms against his chest, then circulated her Essence into her lover’s body, probing Jun’s conduits for symptoms of damage or distress.

“I sense nothing.” She laid a pale cheek against his neck. “You’re fine.”

Jun took her hand in his own, his other hand resting on her thighs.

“If we were on the Mount, I could use the Scrying Pool,” Ayxin advised. “Maybe it’s that niece of yours again. According to my father, her time of peace should be ending very soon.”

“I'd imagine that being the case.” Jun wetted his dry lips. “No one ever said the IUCC would be safe.”

“There is no need to fret.” The corner of Ayxin’s mouth formed into a curl. “Father promised her that Golos would be there thrice. She’ll be fine.”

Jun wanted to say the Yinglong's involvement made it worse, though he knew Axyin was right. There was nothing he could do, not to mention Gwen was more than capable of taking care of herself. Relaxing his shoulders, Jun guiltily kissed the Dragon-kin's delicate fingers. With Ayxin's white-jade figure lounged against his chest, Jun couldn’t help but feel that he had betrayed something of the life he had lived, tempering his craft like an esoteric Daoshi, waist-deep in Undead.

“Hahaha,” Ayxin’s laughter was accompanied by daring fingers.

Jun looked down.

“You did that on purpose!” He couldn’t help but taunt his insatiable lover.

Once Ayxin had gotten past her prudish pride, it was as though a dam had broken. As for Jun, his usual apathy to delights of the flesh was swept away by the supply of draconic-vigour supplied by Axyin. The first time they had finally gotten down to business, the double-king frame snapped under the vigour of what Gwen had sulkily dubbed the horizontal fandango, attracting a mid-night apology from the management of the Pudong Ritz-Carlton.

“Privacy Mode,” Jun commanded the room.

The double-drape curtains, enchanted to block Divination, closed of their own volition. The first time Ayxin had invited him to enjoy the view, he had remarked with a throbbing vein a very terrible observance.

On his right was the looming form of the Pearl of the Orient, A.K.A the Pudong Tower, looming only five blocks away and close enough that he could see the Mages working late into the evening.

On his left, some six kilometres away, was the CCP Super-Structural Tower, looming at half the height of the Ritz-Carlton but covering a dozen-times the ground space, one of its Towers pointed right toward him.

Was it a coincidence that the presidential suite just happened to be wedged between the two Towers, within strategic-Scry range?

Ayxin pushed him against the bedframe.

He was a patriot, Jun grumbled. But he wasn't THAT patriotic.


Eric Walken took a sip from his bone china cup, closed his eyes to savour the taste, then gingerly rested it against the porcelain saucer with a crisp clink.

“Did you manage to keep your head?”

“Mmm,” Gwen murmured over sips of Royal Earl Grey.

“You lie better when you're angry.”

Ignoring her opponent's smug superiority, Gwen instead allowed the scent of Wildland cornflower and bergamot to enliven her tastebuds. It was Walken's shout; according to him, she should be glad because there was only so much tea left from the pre-colonial days.

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’s your plan?” The Magister indicated to the table, or perhaps he was referring to herself. "Go on; help yourself."

To return the favour for her sponge cake, Walken bought tea and scones with fresh cream and homemade jam. When she marvelled at the spectacle of a Magister making strawberry conserve, Walken expressed that thanks to a diluted aristocratic lineage, his mother had possessed a deft hand at crafting artisanal preserves of all kinds, a trade he had inherited after her passing. In fact, within his storage ring, he had no less than fifty jars in fourteen flavours, each a unique product of his physical labour.

Cautious but curious over Walken's boastful narrative-laden conserve, Gwen halved a warm scone with her butter knife in readiness.

“To answer your question, I am going to pay the Yang family a visit this evening,” Gwen informed her Instructor. “Grandfather wants a public apology.”

“That's what he wants. What about you? What do you want?”

“A good grovelling would be a good start.” Gwen applied the jam liberally. The cream was a little runny, so she dipped her conserve-covered morsel instead.

Walken watched as the girl bit off a tad more than she could chew, cramming the rest into her mouth before the jam and cream dribbled on her dress.

How was it that this scone-eating glutton had cornered him? Walken reflected as he passed her a serviette. He suspected that not even Kilroy would have believed his Apprentice of attaining such heights of larceny.

The girl dabbed the cream from her mouth, then gave her lips a once over with her tongue. Having tasted its sweetness, she eyed the rest of the marmalade hungrily.

“Eye for an eye,” the girl answered, crumbling a second scone. “Surely that’s not asking for too much.”

“That's not what you told me earlier.”

“No,” she grumbled. “The family’s protected by some Saving Private Ryan bullshit.”

“Saving who?” Walken raised a brow.

“Some guy called Ryan,” Gwen explained, feeling generous. “Lost a whole bunch of brothers, so he’s the last Mage standing in his House. Tower says maybe this family should have at least one child surviving after giving so much to the Frontier, so they send in a Hero Magus trying to extract the boy from the Front. Hero leads a party into the heart of the war, losing guys left and right until he finally finds junior Ryan. The problem is, Junior Ryan refuses to leave his mates, so Hero stays and fights, ultimately dying so that Junior Ryan could return home. That's who this Alain Yang is, the last man, and he thinks he’s bloody invincible because anyone who kicks his ass would be bullying a venerable old House filled with widows.”

“That’s… quite the story.” Walken racked his brain, bemused that the girl was telling the truth. “Yet, I don't believe I’ve never heard of this.”

“Master told me the story.” Gwen cloaked her uneasy deception with a scone. "Mmmmph... maybe a different war? Somewhere in Europe?"

“Right…” Walken studied her face. “But you know, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Do you now? Then tell me. What type of revenge have you planned? What are you after? Despoilment? Leverage? Control?”

“There are types of revenge?!”

“Revenge should never just involve brutalising your opponents.” Walken raised a finger. “It shouldn’t be immediate either. Before one takes on the role of an Avenger, one’s purpose must be made explicit. Needless vengeance brings nought but suffering; retribution should accompany restitution."

Does Walken think he's Titus Andronicus? Gwen ruminated upon the buttery dough. I am not fomenting a blooding Roman tragedy here!

“I just want an apology,” she explained carefully. “I don’t see why they would refuse. My ire carries some weight these days; I'd imagine.”

“How optimistic.” Walken chortled.

“Why, do you have something to add, Eric?”

“Gwen.” Eric Walken formed the tips of his fingers into a triangle just under his chin. “Care for some advice from someone who has survived three decades of intrigue? I promise to satisfy.”

"You talk big."

"I never just talk."

Gwen considered her Instructor's confidence. Walken reminded her of a manager waiting to show her a project proposal.

"If this goes pear-shaped, I want ten flavours of conserve as compensation."

"Deal." Walken winced, touching a finger to his Storage Ring. "Consider this a trial for the wisdom I shall dispense in the IIUC to come."

“Well then.” Gwen inspected her piece of cake. “What did you have in mind?”

“Master Alain has taken ill and is not taking guests,” a pale and shuddering servant informed her stone-faced guest, cowering before her towering visage.

Almost disbelieving her ears, Gwen turned toward her guide, the affable Mei, who stood red as a beetroot beside the giantess.

“Tell Alain he has five minutes to present himself and make his case in person.” Gwen reiterated her demand, dispensing with the politeness. “Or else he can stay cooped up in there for the rest of his natural life.”

“Yi, tell Alain to get out here!” Mei hissed beside Gwen. “This isn’t a joking matter! Where is Aunty Vivian?”

The servant quickly scurried away.

Sweating profusely, Mei invited Gwen to sit with her in the main living room while they waited.

Visibly fuming, Mei's guest settled into a tub-chair with her back arched and her legs crossed, her simmering furore just shy of its boiling point. Beside her, Gwen’s host remarked the way her senior seemed to fill up the spacious living room effortlessly, her worshipful orbs studying every inch of Gwen’s smouldering visage.

Gazing into the middle-distance, Gwen thought back on Walken’s divined foresight.

Though not explicit on details, Walken had correctly described the core strategy the Yangs would employ: to delay and hope Gwen would go away.

That Gwen herself had miscalculated Alain Yang's resolve was also infuriating. After all, just for the occasion, she had prepared a battle-garb.

Considering the information at hand, she had hoped that a first-impression foot-in-door approach would suffice. To that end, she attired herself to appear bold and resolute. From the feet-up, she had equipped a pair of four-inch black stilettos with stockings in sable, paired with a high-waisted plaid skirt, finished with a charcoal collared blouse and a white-ribbon tie. Additional auxiliary arnaments included straightened hair, bold eye-liners and a matt lipstick with a palette called ruby-revenge.

But for all her imposing impressiveness, she struck a wall the moment she requested Alain's presence.

Beside her, Mei's head lowered apologetically.

“Please accept my apologies, Senior. Mother is away on assignment, and Aunty Vivian has run of the house, if you don’t mind waiting just a day or two, I am sure we will have a satisfactory answer for you.”

“Mei.” Gwen reached over with a finger and lifted her chin. “This isn’t your fault. I don’t even want to harm Alain. I want a public apology for my brother.”

“I know that.” Mei glanced in the general direction of the west wing courtyard. The Yang estate had a setup just like the Songs, consisting of four quadrants. Mei's family lived in the east wing while the branch family lived in the west. The south held rooms for the servants, including the main kitchen, and the north consisted of a communal area connecting to the central feature-garden. When neither Alain nor a servant with tea emerged after five minutes, Mei keened for the future of her House.

“Take a seat,” Gwen implored her host. “I am a patient woman. Why don’t we talk about something, Percy said that you wanted to see me?”

“I did, Ma'am!” Mei flushed. "I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"No worries," Gwen assured her. "So, what do you want to know?"

For the next ten minutes, Mei fired off a barrage of inquiries.
What was it like in Fudan?
When do the courses start each year?
How competitive were the students?
Who were her Instructors?
Why did she pick Fudan over Jiantong?

Gwen meanwhile, engaged in counter-intelligence, affirming that Mei's mother worked as a low-level Secretary for an outer District west of Shanghai's CBD. It would appear that other than their Matriarch, the rest of the family lived on a collection of government subsidy and widows' pensions. It was why Alain's mother, an only child enjoying the rare support of her family, positioned herself as an economic cornerstone within the surviving Yang household.

“Can… can I see your Void Magic?” Mei pleaded, her eyes glimmering with desire. “Does it consume everything as they say?”

Not adverse to humouring the girl, Gwen performed a little experiment with a tea-cup, handing over to Mei half a glass perfectly sliced in two.

“Mao!” Mei thumbed the half-consumed vessel as though she had uncovered an unearthly treasure.

“Would you like to see Ariel?”

“CAN I?”

“Of course,” Gwen addressed Mei with a friendly smile. She felt a motherly affection for the girl - though arguably, their shared Lightning Element was likely the culprit. “Ariel!”

“EE! EE!”

Ariel appeared on the plush carpet, poised and handsome, its mane moved by an unseen breeze, a star in its very own dog-food commercial.

“Oh, ancestors.” Mei trembled with excitement. “Can… can I feed it?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Of course,” Gwen directed Ariel to play nice with Mei. “Take your time.”

It took all but a few minutes to lure out the rest of the household.

“IS THAT A KIRIN?”
“Leilei! There’s a KIRIN HERE!”
“AEEEE!”

“Lingzi greets Senior Song.”
“Leilei greets Senior Song.”
“Yaozi greets Senior Song.”

“Hello, girls,” Gwen greeted Mei’s relatives.

Embarrassed by their lack of manners, Mei introduced her family members. Lingzi and Leilei were her younger sisters, while Yaozi was her cousin.

“Ah-Hui, Ah-Jia, come look, a real Kirin!”

An older woman in her thirties joined the gaggle of giggling girls.

“Greetings Ma’am.” Gwen rose from her seat.

“Don’t mind us, Miss Song.” Mei’s youngest aunty flanked the fray, unable to resist Ariel’s allure. “It’s we who should be apologising.”

Servants as well, came from the other sections of the house to witness the fabled Kirin of Fudan, powerless to constrain their curiosity. By Gwen's count, there were almost twenty individuals in the central courtyard, all of which were women.

Good God, her cheeks twitched, wondering if anyone had ever been hen-pecked to death in a place like this.

As more women emerged, a picture began to paint itself.

Why was it that Alain Yang refused to present himself for a scalding?
Why did the Yangs fear no retribution from a family like the Songs?
Where did the boy get his confidence?

The answer was right here.

The noble and distinguished Yangs had been reduced to a house of women;
ones who lived in an ivory palace, protected by reputation and sympathy.
And Alain? The boy grew up in such a place! How suffocatingly must he be doted upon, the vehicle of the lineage's bloodline talent, knowing that only he could carry on the name ‘Yang’?

“Mrs Yang,” Gwen accosted the aunty. “Are you able to speak for-”

“No, I am afraid.” The woman gave her a wane expression of helplessness, already regretting not recusing herself. “But I will ask my late cousin's wife to come and speak to you.”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Gwen breathed out, watching the woman saunter away.

“Eeee! EE!”
“So cute!”
“Adorable!”
“I am in love!”
“Feel its fur!”

Gwen almost felt guilty watching the guileless women gang-petting Ariel, drunk on fonts of oxytocin.

After a while, the aunty returned with a servant.

"This is Ah-Bān," The aunty's face was a cloud of harried displeasure. It wasn't hard to imagine the tongue lashing she'd just received. "Vivian says to take him and... excuse yourself."

Ah-Bān immediately collapsed to his knees, touching his head to the ground.

"It is Ah-Bān's fault that Young Master Song was wounded." Ah-Bān grovelled. "Please punish Ah-Bān."

That they sent out a servant to be vilified incensed Gwen considerably, though her feeling of the moment was a crushing sympathy for the pitiful attendant. To Gwen, punishing Ah-Bān was no different than shooting an irresponsible owner's dog for biting her kin. The guard dog was doing its job; why should it be punished for loyalty? A single word from Alain would have tethered Ah-Bān to the ground, harmless as a statue.

"Ah-Bān." Gwen's stiletto was an inch from the grovelling servant's face. "You don't have to apologise for Alain, and I won't accept your apology."

"Please, it's Ah-Bān's fault!" The simple man begged.

"No, as I said..."

"Please punish this Ah-Bān for his transgression!"

To her surprise and mild disgust, the man touched his forehead to the tip of her shoe.

An arc of electricity zinged from the metal plate holding up her four-inch heel.

"Ah-Bān! Get up!" She slipped a sliver of Dragon-fear into her voice.

As though bitten in the ass by a Mongolian Death Worm, Ah-Bān stood.

"Miss, please punish-"

"Ah-Bān, shut up," Gwen growled. "Have some respect for yourself man! You're a human being! Not a masochistic dog!"

The man slowly raised his head. He'd thought himself tall, but this Mistress Song was taller still by an inch.

"You stay here and don't move," Gwen gave the man an order before turning to Mei's younger relatives. "So, this Aunty Vivian of yours: is she a naked Mole-rat or what? In what stratum, under what subterranean depth is she hiding?"

Lingzi, Leilei, and Yaozi all burst into laughter.

"Eeee! Eeee!" Ariel joined in as well.

"What's a naked mole-rat?" Mei asked, fighting her impolite mirth.

"A hairless rat, ugly as sin, looks like a wet bag of pink skin. It's got a nose like a star, with five little fingers it uses for digging - look, I'll show you. Minor Image!"

Horrible at anything other than graphical data, Gwen conjured an abstract testicle.

"Haaa! Haahaa!"
"Haaa! Oh, Mao!"
"I can see Aunty as a naked Mole-rat for sure."

“ARE YOU QUITE DONE YET? MISS SONG?”

Finally! Gwen breathed out.

The voice that next emerged from the west wing filled the air space like a raid-siren. Like Helena Huang, Vivian Yang possessed the sort of banshee timbre that assailed one's eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, a decibel away from decimating wineglass.

The crowd parted to reveal who could only be Alain’s mother, a hellcat of a woman with a scrunched face, her hair piled in a manner that screamed 'I demand to see your manager'.

Unbowed, Gwen straightened herself, meeting the woman halfway. When they finally stood toe to toe, Gwen was almost a head taller, awarding her a clear physical vantage.

“My Alain will not be bullied by the likes of you!”

Gwen could feel the elemental Fire radiating from Vivian's body like the glow from a roaring furnace.

“You think your family can threaten us? Just you try! Let’s see how the PLA likes it when the Yang family's trodden on, huh?!”

The woman wasn’t uncomely, though Gwen noted she was extremely annoying.

“Miss Vivi-”

“YOUR BROTHER~!” Alain’s mother continued, her chest enormous and heaving, threatening to body-check Gwen's less endowed attributes. “Is a little white-faced soft-rice eater!”

Gwen blinked. What the hell is a soft-rice eater? Did the woman mean porridge? Beside her, Mei’s face turned the colour of liver even as her sisters giggled and snickered.

Like a Tiger Shark sensing blood, Vivian Yang fell upon Mei.

“YOU LITTLE STRUMPET!” Vivian barked, her face a mask of indignant horror, as though she'd caught Mei looking for Li's at Nanjing Road. “I wonder, are you still a virgin? If not, Alain will take one of your sisters. How do you like that?!”

“Ewww!”
“I don’t want to! Alain's ugly!”
The sisters immediately burst into protest.

“Now, now.” Gwen put up a hand to interrupt aunt Vivian's rebuttal. “Let’s keep this civ-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” the woman snapped at her, almost biting her fingers. “Who do you think you are?!”

“Aunty Vivian…” Mei pleaded.

“You shut your whore mouth!” Vivian Yang howled the girl into submission. “Wait until your mother gets home; the things I am going to tell her! To think she’s working herself to the bone at the government office, keeping you girls at some of the best schools in Shanghai, and all she’s getting in return is ungrateful children who…”

Gwen locked out the female equivalent of white noise.

She hated to admit it, but Walken had been right on the marmalade.
A contingency plan made controlling one’s temper far easier.

"Caliban!" she silently commanded her other Familiar. "It's time."

Caliban stirred.

It had waited, invisible, on the roof for so long that its grey-drool had encrusted into crispy snail-trails against the seams of its carapace.

“!”

An order came from its Master.

Void-tinged slime oozed from between its reticulated chitin.

With a barely audible plop, it landed in the bedroom of the one who had attracted the ire of its Mistress.

Alain Yang stared forlornly at his abused visage in the mirror.

His handsome mien was ruined, destroyed, despoiled by the hated Percy Song. First, the bastard stole his Mei mēimēi, and now the er-bī had ravaged his good looks!

Apologise? No way.

He would rather die twice over than to cower in front of Percy Song, watching the young man’s self-righteous mug twist in satisfaction.

How could they fault him? Be it the House of Yang, or Mei, they all belonged to him, and he would go to any length to ensure that it stayed that way.

“Hmmph!”

Now that Alain thought of it, wouldn't the greatest pleasure be to deny Percy Song his love of Mei? The only reason Alain had felt so strongly about Percy's friendship with Mei was the fact that Percy wanted what belonged to him.

Alain rechecked his reflection.

A part of his scalp, about two fistfuls of hair, was removed entirely, leaving a bald-patch that the Medical-Mages said may never recover naturally. When he protested, they informed his mother that nothing short of a minimum tier 5 Regenerate would be enough to re-grow the boy's decimated follicles.

But the House of Yang didn’t have the clout to spare for such a thing. A civilian-tier Regenerate scroll wasn't rare, but it was classified and subject to supply-constraint. Conversely, A military-issue Spell Scroll was too difficult to acquire without the necessary connections.

Angrily, Alain glared at his appearance, growing more upset with every moment. Just now, after his mother’s youngest sister came, his mother had sent out Ah-Bān as an offering of peace. Having grown up with Ah-Bān, Alain had been unwilling - though he knew better than to try to rebuke his mother. After all, it was Ah-Bān who had launched Percy into the street, an act which Alain had awarded 10 HDMs.

But as expected, Ah-Bān wasn't enough.

After the whole courtyard erupted into laughter, his mother could take it no longer and went to deal with Gwen Song herself. Even now, he could hear her banshee screeches going off at full tilt at Percy’s sister.

Alain smirked.

His mother was a Mao-damned force of nature, but when she could steer her destructive potential toward outside forces, the woman was without equal.

“Let's see how you like her banshee wail…” he chuckled to himself.

‘Plop!’

A strange sound resonated through the space of his spacious bedroom.

Alain turned.

“Hello?” he said to the room. Perhaps it was one of the other servants, Yi maybe.

His eyes floated over the unmolested details of his bed, his bannister, his table, his chest-of-drawers.

‘Tsssss!’ Something sizzled.

Alain looked down.

A drop of some strange liquid had fallen between his legs and was now eating a hole through the chair.

Reflexively, he looked up.

"!"

A sensation of sudden vertigo slammed into his brain as Alain fought to keep his eyes peeled.

The hellish visage that emerged consisted of an open maw, fully a meter-wide, pink and lined with razor-sharp teeth, from within which two tentacles writhed as though pregnant with slithering horrors.

Petrified, Alain's helpless eyeballs followed the contour of the beast until they took in the creature's visage in its entirety. From above, limbs that were spindly and spider-like, akin to rapiers, long, thin and obsidian, trapped him as though a bone cage had descended overhead.

“SHAAAAAA!”

A splatter of grey-goo fell on his face.

“ARRRRRGH! ARRRRGH! ARRRRGH!!!”

His handsome face was forfeit!

Though the gloop was merely cold and clammy, all Alain could do was scream. In an instant, the boy became a marionette of whatever natural impulse his failing biology chose to impose upon its terrified flesh. First, he pissed himself; then after a moment, as though his large intestines were trying to flee his trembling, paralysed form, Alain fertilised his underpants.

“SHAAAA! SHAAAA! SHAAAA!” the creature matched his screeching, bar for off-tune bar.

Caught in the odious-throes of his noxious expulsions, Alain vomited, kneeling over until he was curled into a ball, hugging his shit-stained knees to his chest, his eyes spinning in their sockets.

‘Click!’ A door opened.

“Master! Are you alright?!” A girl-servant who attended Alain’s needs from outside the bedroom pushed into the room. Like the others, she had been distracted by the commotion caused by the Kirin and hadn’t noticed her Master’s cries until they grew loud enough to penetrate the sound-warded walls.

“AEEEEYAAA!” She burst into a terrific clamour. Her Master was rolling in a puddle of his own sick and excreta!

As more details filled her vision, her heart sank; at this moment, she hated the young man so much it was difficult to put her agony into words. Was this - was this a new way to abuse her? Was it because she laughed at his hair?!

Gwen returned her consciousness to the present once Caliban was safely tucked away in its pocket dimension.

“You white-eyed wolf! How could you invite the sister of that soft-rice eating whore-son into our home…”

Jesus Christ, Gwen took a breather to gather her wits. How is it that the woman was still going? Vivian Yang's capacity for inventive abuse was expert enough to attract an hourly rate.

“ENOUGH!” she snapped back, her Essence-infused command cracking the air like a super-sonic bullwhip. A wave of Dragon-Fear radiated out from where Gwen stood, paralleled by twin-circles of electric blue illuminating the amber of her eyes so that her irises grew viridescent. “Another word out of you, and I am leaving. And once I leave, I am not coming back.”

“THEN LEAVE!” Alain’s mother grew triumphant. Her face full of self-exaltation as her Fire-Affinity fought off the paralysis imbued by Gwen’s projected prescence.

"Very well." Gwen turned to Mei. "I will say my piece, then go."

"Gwen-"

“Mei.” She took the girl’s hands. “If you do not want to marry this woman’s 'whore-son', you just let me know. If you're willing to trust me, I can assure you beyond any doubt that NOTHING can compel you into an unhappy marriage.”

“HOW DARE-”

Gwen glared at the woman. This time, she focused her Essence.

Alain’s mother choked as though taken by the throat.

Mei shuddered as Gwen continued.

“Regardless of your relationship with Percy, know that I am offering you not only my protection - but also my Grandfather’s as well. If need be, even the Nantong Fungs will give you and your mother a helping hand.”

“Thank you.” Mei swallowed. “I…”

“No need.” Gwen hugged Mei close to her chest to hide a pang of oppressive self-loathing at having to play out Walken's advise. “If your mother is keen to move to a better Secretarial Department, she can speak to my grandfather. He’ll put in the right word with the right people.”

“Senior Song!”
“Miss Gwen!”
“Thank you, Sis!”
Mei’s relatives gushed with adoration, swept off their feet by Gwen's unexpected generosity.

To think that the Worm Handler had come for retribution, only to deliver salvation! What a good person she was! How rare and precious!

“As for you.” Gwen turned to the dumbfounded mother of Alain. “Pray that we do not meet again.”

“Mei!” Gwen extended a hand to Mei.

“Yes, Sister!”

“My coat.”

“Right here!”

Gwen slipped into her jacket, assisted by her fellow Lightning sorceress.

“Ariel!”

Her Kirin followed overhead.

Like a queen in the finale of a film, she strode from the central courtyard on clicking heels, cutting a dashing and unforgettable picture through the door - beyond which a chauffeur Gwen had earlier requisitioned from Mina awaited. Key to the ploy, Walken explained, was to get the hell out so that the ball was firmly left in her opponent's court.

‘Thunk!’

The door slammed.

With a final wave at Mei, Gwen was away.

Vivian Yang was the first to recover.

“Mei!” Alain's mother immediately caught the object of her ire. By now she had realised that the girl had left a world of troubles at her doorstep. If Mei's mother was to move to an actual department with influence and power, there was no way she could pressure Mei or her sisters into marrying Alain. Moreso, if word of the generosity of the Songs spread, there would be mounting pressure for Alain to apologise. “You’re in for a world of-”

“MILADY!” A servant rushed into the courtyard.

“WHAT IS IT?” the wannabe Matriarch barked at the servant.

“It’s Master Alain!”

“What is it?”

“Master Alain… h- he’s…”

“Out with it!”

“Master’s Alain’s not himself! He's shat himself!”


It took another week for Percy to return to school.

Meanwhile, the public news was that Alain Yang had taken seriously ill and that the boy would be taking the rest of the term off to recuperate. Naturally, rumours were cultivated, then flew circles around the campus.

Some said that Alain’s condition was a result of his House’s inter-factional drama. Others alluded to the strange co-incidence that Percy’s sister had visited the Clan of Yang.

A few well-connected informants remarked that after Biomancers had performed examinations on the young Alain, they found no injury nor signs of magic used on the boy. As for Gwen, she had been with the family the entire time, going as far as to take Vivian Yang’s abuse for a good ten minutes before she lost her temper and left in a huff.

Later in the week, new rumours surfaced.
Gwen's culpability was further 'refuted' by Mei herself, who proudly informed the others of the fact that Secretary Song had recommended Mei’s mother for an escalated promotion. In one bound, she moved from the relatively impoverished District of Zhejiang to the Central Administrative Region of Shanghai proper.

The student cohort took note, as did the teachers. The incident impressed upon the minds of the busy students that the House of Song had repaid insult with unbridled generosity. That and no one wishing to keep their pants unsoiled should mess with Percy Song.

But Percy's school life was no longer Gwen’s concern.

Percy’s sister was now neck-deep in training, paddling through her mid-semester practicals and Tonglv paperwork, riding her Essence like a bucking dragon as April approached, bringing with it the pre-selection round for the IIUC.

Buoyed by their mutual understanding, Walken took up the majority of Gwen’s training, working to push her toward her best condition.

When Week 8 came to a close, Gwen paid another one of her bi-weekly visits to Magister Wen, whose stoic undertaking of harvesting Void-Matter continued unabated. This time, for Wen's biometric update, an unwelcome guest in the form of a cocky Englishman overlooked her shoulder.

Once all the measures were done, Walken, babulya, Wen, and Petra all sat together looking over Gwen's records.

Annoyed with the stickybeaks over her shoulder, Wen read out the numbers aloud one by one.

“Evocation 5.01.”
“Conjuration 5.74.”
“Transmutation 3.25.”
“Abjuration 2.44.”
“Divination 1.65.”
“Illusion 2.25.”

“St Peter's ghost.” Petra sucked in a breath of cold air. “Your Conjuration growth is absurd! Every tier of Affinity is exponentially more difficult."

"You haven’t been snacking, have you?” Wen remarked suspiciously. Even Petra, with all her practice and research, focusing solely on Enchantment, just edged past tier 6.

Gwen's expression grew instantly sour - were effort and hard work that hard to believe?

“Why the surprise?” Walken placed himself between his student and her critic. “She practices with hyper-tier magic, and she has two Familiars conjured most times of the day. Her expenditure on a good day of practice exceeds 800 VMI, over five times an average acolyte of her age. Perhaps the question should be why her Conjuration isn't higher.”

The two Magisters exchanged a chilly back and forth.

“Doing unusually well with Transmutation as well,” Wen continued, tapping the paper. “Care to explain?”

“Flight tutorials,” Gwen declared her extra-curricular activities. Thanks to a suite of body-enhancements, she was growing accustomed to the G-force exerted by the drops, loops, and sudden accelerations required for dog-fighting, though she had years of catching up to reach Alesia's state of absolute ease, likewise lacking Kitty's natural talent. For now, aerial Void and Lightning Bolt were at a passing rate, while higher-tier magic required momentary immobilisation.

Her other first-world regret was the disuniform flight capacity of her creatures. The entire time Ariel dog-paddled beside her effortlessly, she had fantasised about Caliban flying alongside. Capturing a Magical Beast capable of Flight, however, would have to wait until her next opportunistic adventure. Likewise, if there were ways to get her Draconic-deerhounds aloft, it would revolutionise her tactics.

“And your VMI…” Walken read on, ignoring his counterpart. When he got to Gwen's metrics, he couldn't help but take a moment to process what he was seeing. "Marie, is that reading accurate?”

“It’s correct, Magister Walken.” Magister Wen cleared her throat. "And its Marie-Roslyn, you may call me by my title."

“Of course, Marie-Roslyn,” Walken thought out aloud. Seeing Gwen's statistics, he couldn't help but be reminded of his fight with Sobel. “Looking at Gwen, one wonders what Elizabeth Sobel could measure. When we fought, she certainly suffered no shortage of mana nor vitality. The woman was a veritable engine of Void-infused destruction.”

“A high Affinity with a VMI over a two or three thousand ought to do it,” Wen observed with displeasure. “I read your report of the Sydney incident. Volumetrically, the Conjure Elemental she deployed would have consumed just over a thousand VMI.”

"Mmm... yes, her coverage was certainly... impressive," Walken noted.

"I hope you mean monstrous." Gwen's grandmother raised both brows. "I worry for Gwen if that woman's her enemy."

"Shultz and de Botton are Sobel's enemies too," Walken reminded Gwen's babulya. "If I were Sobel, I'd worry about the Morning Star first and foremost."

Beside her Instructors, their student was in a world of her own, thinking about her Void Elementals, recalling what they had done to that herd of Draconic-Stags. Just the memory was enough to make her shiver. That somehow, combined with Caliban, such a thing had brought her the most orgiastic experience of her life - a euphoric encounter arguably better than sex - AND boosted her Lightning Affinity, was most disconcerting.

‘CLAP!’

Walken's hands met in prayer, waking Gwen from her chamber of horrors.

“Well, that’s it!” he announced. “Time to send our baby chick into the world and see how far she could fly.”

“It’s only April.” Gwen regarded her Instructor with alarm. “The IIUC doesn’t start until August.”

“Nonetheless.” Walken was brimming with confidence. “You and your teammates will have to pass muster. The first few should be without incident, I would think. As for the others, we shall see.”

Gwen nodded. With Petra having declined her invitation, it was down to herself, Richard, Lulan and possibly Kitty. Of the three, it was Lulu who worried her. Though the Sword Mage was a fantastic disrupter, her lack of a Spirit made her uncompetitive when pitted against Mages who could rely on their Spirit to manifest magic, possessing both IFF and the means to divert Lulan’s attacks and attack at the same time. Likewise, while Lulan could use her Spell-flurry to negate bodily damage, her berserker-state required extensive recovery time, mayhap even medical attention.

For this reason, since January, Gwen had asked Mayuree to look out for Earthen Cores with Elemental Spirits, even a minor one, though no suitable specimens had made it through the House of M’s Auction House since the beginning of the semester.

Still, they had until August. If Lulan were to be knocked out, Gwen would lose a vital ally.

“If you are all done, I am returning to my laboratory.” Petra's teacher appeared not in the mood for socialising.

Considering Wen's research had saved Walken's life, Gwen found it strange that the Magister seemed turned off by Walken. Likely, the astute academic instinctively sensed that Walken was a rotten apple.

"Not staying for lunch?" Gwen's babulya implored.

"Not today, Klavdiya."

“Magister Walken.” Gwen’s babulya extended an open hand. “Will you be joining us? Petra?”

Petra looked to her Master, who gave consent.

“You have until 2 PM.” Wen bowed her head, then left.

“Very well, then.” Walken took Klavdiya's fingers, an act which immediately attracted his student's ire. “Allow me to intrude upon your generosity, Director Song.”

Marong and Mayuree sat opposite the radiant form of Miss Maymyint, eldest daughter and the preeminent heir of the House of M. Of the nine surviving children of the Matriarch’s lineage, Maymyint was the oldest, a true child of the worshipful one’s womb, blessed by the Goddess.

Maymyint was the tallest of the three siblings present, elegant in her silken saffron attire, her auburn hair pulled back and half-covered by a jewel-encrusted shawl. Her face was sharp, bird-like and predatory, beautiful and imposing, as one might feel while observing a Mithril-taloned Harpy-eagle. Her lips, unlike her siblings’, were tight and severe, a red gash across her pale face. Her eyes as well were formed of twin-slits, darkly made up with bold liners to emphasise her grey irises, punctuated by a hooked hawkish nose.

Besides the three, Lei and another young man, Maymyint’s attendant, stood still as a statue, waiting for the slightest need from Miss Maymyint and the siblings.

“The Tyrant has demanded his tribute,” Mayuree’s eldest sister informed her lessers. “And you are of age, Mayuree.”

Marong’s amber eyes narrowed dangerously. A condensed sliver of smoke oozed from his nostrils until it curled about his general vicinity.

Mayuree meanwhile, sat across from Maymyint, pale-faced and loitering, fighting to keep the content of her lunch inside her. Since this morning, she had been suffering a splitting headache; with Gwen so close and all her immediate problems resolved, however, she couldn't figure out why her Divination was screaming blue murder.

Now she knew.

But she did not regret holding off on a self-Scry. A tangent of fate such as this was more likely a result of her interference than one of unmolested probability.

“But I’ve contributed so much to the House!” she protested feebly. “I can’t be the last!”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You did indeed.” Maymyint ignored Mayuree's agitation. “You are not the last this time. In its growing greed, the Tyrant has requested three girls. The House, on the other hand, needs more time. As you are ranked 5th, you will join Mayindra and Mayshweyi. Still, you may survive yet, you of all people should know.”

“Maymyint,” Marong growled. “That’s not the deal.”

“It is now." Their sister sighed. "Why are you fighting me? I didn't deliver the verdict. Blame the Tyrant."

“We’re not accepting it.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Maymyint scoffed at the Smoke Mage derisively. “The Manipuri Shadowmen will return you to us, one way or another.”

“You forget I was trained in Manipur.” Marong’s form grew hazy.

“And you forget why you are ranked third.” Maymyint untangled herself from meditation, freeing her hands for spellcasting.

“Brother Marong…” Mayuree interjected before things could escalate. Marong was strong, but when it came to combat strength, Maymyint was preeminent. As for Mayuree; she was dead last.

“Mayuree dear.” Maymyint reached across space between them with her claw-like fingers and touched the trembling skin under Mayuree’s fringe. “Do not fret. You were born for this, as was I, as was Marong. Why else would the Goddess bring us into this world?”

“But I don’t want this.” Mayuree recoiled as though Maymyint's fingertips were branding irons.

Born for this?
What kind of life exists to be surrendered?
Was the House of M a luxurious cattle pen?
Since she was a child, Mayuree had heard the stories.
Away from Shanghai, deep in the old country, there slumbered a creature of tooth and nail, scale and tongue, fire and madness, all compressed into a body capable of unimaginable cruelty.

Every so often, once a year or a decade if they're lucky, the Tyrant would demand a tithe. The last tithing had occurred when Mayuree was a child, Magus Maymaruya had spoken of how two of her siblings, twins, had been given up, along with hundreds of others.

As for her self-Scryed vision, her dalliance with taboo...

Mayuree had seen herself, exposed and trembling, waiting for violence to descend. If she were lucky, there'd be gnashing of bloody teeth. If not, her suffering would be unimaginable.

It was in that moment of crisis that she caught the silhouette of a familiar body, accompanied by a visage of viridescent irises.

But Divination wasn't an exact Spellcraft.
What she had seen was a vision, more impression and abstraction than reality and representation. What the revelation foretold was an interjection, not how, when, where or why.

In the comfort of recent events, Mayuree had begun to wonder if Gwen had fulfilled her prophecy.

When the accounts for the Centurion program came in, herself, Marong, and Magus Maymaruya all could only gawk at the surreality of the Short-Loan Credit Program. Via the House of M's new membership initiative, all of their ventures had been tied into what Gwen had called a closed consumer eco-system. Furthermore, inarticulate in the accounting of credit, their competitors had been mired in the mud of bureaucracy.

The company's coffers swelled like a noon-tide. Though Mayuree had no military exploits, no gifts of Spellcraft and no political clout to speak of - she had fattened the family's standing as no fellow sibling had done before.

She was no longer last.

Far from it, she was fifth!

Gwen had saved her life.
It wasn’t at all what Mayuree had expected, but her friend had bought her time. The Centurion program would generate countless crystals yet, vastly more, infinitely more. It was a proverbial money tree.

When the program reached its maturity, would the House have garnered enough HDMs to move a Tower Faction to eradicate the Tyrant? Safe in fifth-place, she could even wait for her friend to ascend.

After all, Mayuree's saviour possessed five Schools of Magic, two Elements, and if age were to be taken into account, her combat potential wildly out-classed their eldest sister, Maymyint.

Moreover, Gwen was the scion of an even greater power! When Gwen stated that she desired a Tower one day, Mayuree was under no doubt that her friend would have her way, that given time, Gwen would bestride the world atop her floating fortress!

Then, and only then, would Mayuree invite Gwen to her ‘home’, below which the Tyrant would cower! Together, they would put the infernal beast down like a rabid dog and harvest its Core so that finally, Myăma would have its due, and the House of M would no longer be the house of Mú, the House of nothing.

That had been Mayuree's plan; until Maymyint appeared.

Had the Tyrant sensed something?
Was she the victim of a conflict within the House itself?
Did someone desire the business that she had built up, wishing to take it for themselves?

Either way, refusing to return home was futile.

As for Gwen, at this moment, Mayuree no longer could confidently say that her friend had yet to fulfil her destiny. If their ties of fate had indeed been satisfied, then she would only invite Gwen to her death. How could she lead a sister into a trap, knowing that an indomitable foe lurked below?

Mayuree lowered her eyes.

She had played herself into a Divination paradox. Knowing that Gwen would save her, she had approached her and messed with their fate. Now that Gwen had saved her once, it was unlikely that her friend could do so again. When one railed against fate, strange things happened. Mayuree was a bloodline Diviner, but she was no Oracle of Delphi.

“You don’t want what?” Maymyint broke into a mocking bout of bitter laughter. “Since when had what we want mattered?”

“Mayuree.” Marong nudged his sister. “Tell Maymyint about Gwen.”

Mayuree gaped in horror.

“No!” she blurted, tongue-tied and panicking. She couldn't do that. To continue her futile struggle would only endanger others.

“What’s this?” Maymyint’s grey eyes scanned over the siblings. “You have a prophecy? Why haven’t you informed the Matriarch?”

“I have…” Mayuree swallowed. “But it’s not important.”

“Mayuree!” Marong chided her. “This is not the time for sentimentality! It's your life! You gave Gwen the Eland Core! You helped her with her lodging! You gave her opportunities at every turn! It’s time you received the help you paid for!”

“Gwen's not a thing I bought!” Mayuree protested. “She’s saved me already! Don’t you see?! Maymyint’s here as punishment for my trespass! You know the rules, a Diviner should never Scry themselves! I interfered needlessly, and how it's all too complicated!”

“This 'Gwen'.” Maymyint licked her lips. “Do you happen to mean Gwen Song? The one who proposed the Centurion program?”

“That’s right,” Marong interjected. "She's fated to save Mayuree, which means she must have a way to deal with the Tyrant."

Mayuree leapt at her brother, but the Smoke Mage’s arm-thick haze was enough to keep the powerless Diviner subdued.

“I know this Gwen. She’s an eater of Dragons: a Void Sorceress. I’ve fought her once, and the stink of the Tyrant radiating from her body was enough to insinuate she made a habit of killing their kind. If it’s her, I don’t doubt Mayuree’s vision. That girl has the means to change Myăma’s fate.”

“Marong!” Mayuree crashed against her brother, almost hysterical in her desperation. “Shut up! Shut up!”

“This is for your OWN good!” Marong pushed his sister against the sofa forcefully. “Stop fighting me, you fool!”

Beside her distressed mistress, Lei bit her lip with such vigour that her complexion took on the colour of the table cloth. If she could only get away for a moment, she could contact Mistress Song, and her Mistress would be saved from this indignity!

Marong continued, deadset on the course he had set.

“Gwen Song has two Familiars. One is a Kirin, thick with Draconic-Essence, the Goddess knows how many Draconic-beings she had consumed to metamorph it from its original form. Her other Familiar, a Death Worm of some kind, takes on the form of creatures it consumes. It’s a Void Beast - nothing like anything we have ever seen before. Its potential is unfathomable. Furthermore, from the reports we managed to skim from Fudan, the girl is proficient in Five schools of Magic, and her VMI rivals that of a seasoned Magus.”

“Mmmmphm!” Mayuree struggled against the smoky tendril keeping her lips sealed.

“Her Uncle is the Ash Bringer, the Hero of the Northern Front, currently dallying with the Huangshan Dragon-princess called Ayxin. Her grandmother is the director of a PLA Research Hospital. Her grandfather is a CCP Senior Secretary. I have also received reports that she is a family friend of the Scarlet Sorceress, Alesia De Botton and the Morning Star Gunther Shultz - that she could be related to the late Magister Kilroy of Oceania. She's the one who collected the Dragon Cores we bought!”

“And that’s who Mayuree thinks will ‘save her’?”

“Correct.” Marong nodded. “That was Mia's original vision.”

Maymyint lowered her hands, then adjusted her shawl.

“And how do you propose we move someone like that?” the sibling’s eldest sister demanded. “You’re inviting destruction for the House of M.”

“We have to persist in the Mayuree’s prophesy,” Marong proposed. “The girl is going to be in the IIUC in a few months.”

“Is that so?”

“I believe the Matriarch can submit a Questing application to the governing body of the IIUC. Our coffers are overflowing right now.”

“What a curious proposition, Marong. How confident are you that this will go well?”

Mayuree kicked out at her brother. Marong caught his sister’s legs and held them down with his hands.

“I want to give Mia a chance.” Marong held the girl’s feet immobile. “Gwen Song will come, and she will make a difference. I have absolute confidence.”

“Very well.” Maymyint’s smile was positively rapacious. “I will confer your offer with Mother.”

“Good. So - Mayuree stays here in the meanwhile?”

Maymyint shook her head. Before Marong could object, she turned to Mayuree.

“Are you going to tell 'Gwen' about all of this, Mayuree?”

Before Marong could stop her, Mayuree nodded furiously.

“Ngar lee…” Marong groaned. “You idiot!”

Freeing her legs while her brother despaired, Mayuree’s feet finally connected with his face, snapping his head backwards.

“Sar!” Marong covered his face. In the next instance, a torrent of blood poured from between his fingers. She had gotten him square on the nose.

“I can’t tell if you’re putting on an act, or if you are that naive,” Maymyint remarked, looking at the siblings. “Either way, I will be taking Mayuree with me to the old country. Pending on Mother’s approval, I will contact you shortly. You can bring this ‘Gwen’, or you can not. It makes no difference to Mother. The tithing cannot wait. You have until Thadingyut, the Festival of the Naga to save your sister. Mia, be a good girl now, and come along.”

Shocked by the violence she had committed on her brother, Mayuree froze in horror. Marong had always picked on her, though she never had she wounded him.

“I’ll take you back in a stasis field if I have to.” Maymyint straightened her back, her body long and slender, her neck elegant and serpentine. “Your servant can pack for you.”

“Mia…” Marong had just managed to stop the bleeding. “You’ll be safe…”

“Don’t involve Gwen in this,” Mayuree begged her brother.

“Sorry.” Marong half-closed his eyes, then exhaled deeply. “I don’t care about her. I only care about you.”

“Then I’ll tell her everything!” Mayuree spat from between clenched teeth. “She won’t come!”

Marong groaned audibly.

Maymyint began to laugh.

“One wonders how you hope to survive.” The sister’s mood improved considerably. “Enfeeble Mind!”

A flash of Radiance emanating from Maymyint’s fingers blasted through Mayuree’s forehead, equipping her with an enchanted halo. Instantly, Mayuree’s eyes lost their lustre, their eldest's spell bypassing the House of M's Mind Shield charms. The raw emotion that had hovered all over Mayuree's face ceased at once. Her mouth open and closed, but no words issued forth; it was as though the girl had grown suddenly dull.

Marong shuddered with barely suppressed anger.

“Don’t look at me like that, little brother,” Maymyint jeered. “You want to save her or not?”

Marong held his tongue.

“To repay your good behaviour, I will make a case in front of Mother. Send me all your reports.” She turned to her servant. “Thum, help them pack. Lei, you’re coming with Thum. Mia is going need a lot more looking after. Once you have her things, have Marong arrange transportation to the ISTC. We leave this evening.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Lei remained impassive.
“By your will.” Maymyint’s manservant bowed.

The House of M's eldest paused.

“Marong, don’t go against the will of our Matriarch. Who knows, the Tyrant might prefer men for its subsequent tithing.”

Marong remained stoic and stationary. He couldn’t bear the sight of Mayuree taken away, but what he could stomach was what came next.

Even if Mayuree loathed him for the rest of her life, a sister that hated him was better than one that was dead or driven to insanity.

Lei closed the door behind her.

She dug into her dress and produced the communication Device her Mistress had left her.

The Message bracelet was for her use, manufactured by Magus Maymaruya for Lei so that Mayuree’s friend could call and ask what and when was dinner.

Lei punched in the glyph clumsily. She had never used an outbound Message before. With any luck, Miss Song wasn't in training, because once Mistress Maymyint was out of Shanghai, it would be impossible to-

‘WHOMP!'

A ball of air struck the side of Lei's head.

“I am astounded.” Thum held onto Lei’s body as she slumped. “Miss Maymyint said that her sister would be a handful, but who’d have thought a mere NoM servant would have the gall to oppose the eldest?”

“She better not be dead.” Marong’s voice came across dangerously.

Maymyint’s servant gave the House of M’s No.3 a wry grin.

“Miss Maymyint will ensure the both of them arrive safe and sound.” Thum pursed his paper-thin lips. “You should probably inform my kinswoman. I find it hilarious that she’s absent at a time like this. I had been expecting to test her growth.”

“Kitty being here wouldn’t have made a difference.” Marong creased his brow. Had Kitty been present, things could have gotten infinitely more complicated. For example, how could Marong explain why Gouding B1's penthouse exploded?

“Of course not.” Thum wrinkled his nose. “I’ll be taking the NoM now if you don’t mind.”

Marong stepped aside.

“I respect you, Sir Marong.” The Mage bowed. “Please live a healthy life, at least until the Matriarch asks for your ultimate service. Dimension Door!”

With a burst of silvery Conjuration, Maymyint’s bodyguard departed.

Marong took a moment to stifle his haggard breathing, then raised his Message Device beside his face.

"Maymaruya, is Kitty with you?"

“She is, Young Master Marong. What’s wrong?”

“Come to the penthouse at B1 as soon as you can." Marong materialised a lit-cigarette. " I have something that we need to discuss.”