His face twists. "Well they're here. Let's hear what you have to say, old man." Old man. The words are strange coming from Virgil's mouth. His voice taut as if struggling to breathe.
"Alfred, do you not have respect?!" Alice reproaches, her face unusually flushed. It was bizarre for her to act this way, I believe, but I had seen her irritation a few hours past. I do not bring it up. "Virgil is your superior, and you dare call him an old man!"
"Calm down, Ms. Alice; Alfred is weary. He has been holed in the wretched locus that is Old Yarim. Pardon him." Virgil. Always the sensible one present in the Sanctuary. His sea-green eyes pleaded with the ruby, and I felt a prick on my heart that I did not know the cause of.
Alice curled her lip and said, "Very well," her melodic voice chiding the gibface. Alfred's face was a teakettle near boiling, and it was only a minute until the zenith of boiling came. "Since Virgil had the compassion to forgive you, then it is not without sense that I should too." Alfred's eyes scintillated a flaming coral, veins on his forehead showed. He grinned wickedly.
"You know what," Alfred said, still wearing the grin. Virgil looked at me, and I knew immediately what to do. The tugging of my stomach only added to the evidence. "Not one of you is up to dick, anyway—and my sauce-box is growing much more ravenous by the second." The tea kettle had burst. Deses. Orkos.
Alfred flipped the table, and took out his equally peculiar blade and firearm. I grabbed Alice, and shoved her to the ground. An explosion of "Take Ms. Alice to her room. It has a barrier for those she does not wish to enter—" I heard Virgil's voice amidst the coat of dust. Above, the moon towered above us, dented and sallow, its light penetrating the house's broke barriers. I heard the sound of metals clanging in greeting each other. Virgil is fighting. "—assist me later; the Missus is of most importance!"
For a moment I stared at the cloak of dust when Alice tugged at my coat. "He will be fine," but the horrified look on her face told me she did not think so. I swallowed hesitation. I took Alice in my arms, and scrambled to her room.
You will be fine? Yes!
You are certain? Yes! Help Virgil; he is not as strong as he used to be. Please, Anima!
Virgil. Whenever she said that name, the prickling feeling would come, and display itself, a spectacle of selfishness and resentment. I brush it off as I hurried into the common room, saber and flintlock in hand. The familiar pang of copper and iron hung in the room. My stomach tugged relentlessly now, a harassing feeling that overtook me when I fought one of them. When I was surrounded by the three, it was faint; the compass—I do not know what else to call it—in me treated them all as allies. Friends, perhaps. I shake my head. The time for reflection is not now.
How I would fight Alfred was the biggest problem? Where Virgil was came second. The principal difficulty presented itself with an unearthly howl that shook me to the core—it was distorted, a disgusting twist of a ghoul's screams and a man's cry. Horrible. Will I end like that? I do not think more. Listen to the tugging. I did.
Left, it whispered. A shadow glided the position where I had been; it had a crown of frosty hair, and a wooden frame flew along with it. I do not recognize it, I am intent on ending Alfred. He emerged from the amalgam of dust as an amalgam himself. The distinct dingy garb he wore had now been torn by the sinewy muscles that ailed only his left hand. It was blighted: bulging pus-colored veins meandering from his wrist, crossing his neck, reaching his face. He was half-ghoul but not vampire like me. It was reminiscent of the monster he had slayed when he had saved me. A theory. Brush it off. Listen to the tugging. I did, fighting back the hesitation that grew and grew in me.
He lunged at me, speed uncaught by my eye. Raise the blade. Just in time. It takes all my strength to parry but his eyes—now a blood-red removed of the white—are steady. He is planning. I rolled to the left, and loaded my flintlock. He is faster. I try to minimize damage. His blade lands on my shoulders, and blood spurts in response. Shit. He steps on my foot. Intelligence still remains in his faculties. The strange firearm's muzzle faces me—a blunderbuss in my face. Shit!
Flare. My fingers connect with his arm. He stumbles backwards, a slight movement but that is enough. Think. Think. A plan. I cannot formulate one amidst the flying wood and glass that were strewn about in the room; I cannot think with the howling and screaming that so reminds me of my nightmares.
I am hit in the sides, a sharp blow that dents me in the mahogany wall. My limbs do not respond to my pleas of functioning. My jaw clenches in frustration, A failure once more. Alfred looms at my feet, perhaps hoping to end me now. I cannot do anything to prevent it. Alice will stay in the room and be safe, perhaps. She must.
"Alfred!" I heard. No. No. No. Stay in the room. You are safe there. Alice, please. Do not be foolish.
She steps in the common room, and the disgusting ghoul turns her head at her. She will die. My heart burns in fury but I cannot do anything. I cannot even save the one woman I had loved in my life, the woman who had brought me from hands of the Nether. A second chance at life. I cannot bear to see her suffer. She walks nearer, towards Alfred. No. I hear a scream but I do not know whose. My vision is hazy and everything was enshrouded by darkness. I see my father's face. Kill. Virgil's face. Kill. Alfred's face. Kill. I fall into the abyss.