Michaelangelo's gaze tore into Emile's soul. His eyes were brutal, the intensity they radiated and the determination behind them suffocated Emile in a way he hadn't experienced before.
In addition to Michaelangelo, the remaining foxes in the meeting didn't help his cause. Although they weren't staring at Emile and contributing to his debilitating mental condition, it was their lack of recognition that perturbed him.
Emile wasn't one hundred percent confident, but his gut was telling him not a single other fox, besides Skipper, had looked at him since he entered. For some strange reason Michaelangelo led the conversation, initiated eye contact, and seemingly spoke on behalf of the remaining foxes.
The situation more or less felt unnatural.
Emile broke eye contact with Michaelangelo, he still needed to reply to the fox, but he couldn't stand his unfiltered gaze a second more. And so, since he couldn't look at Michaelangelo, Emile cast his attention towards Skipper.
The white fox remained still and unmoving. His eyes were focused on the center of the fire pit, but they were empty and lifeless; devoid of the character Emile knew Skipper to be.
Suddenly, Emile remembered his last interaction with the white fox: do not lie.
Goosebumps ran down Emile's spine. His body involuntarily tensed and his palms grew clammy.
Looking back at Michaelangelo, the gold fox continued to burn his gaze into Emile's head, but he was smiling now. And it wasn't some slight smirk, a subtle raise of the corners of his lips.
No, it was a crazed grin. His polished canines gleamed under the light, like a predator observing his prey, Michaelangelo patiently waited for Emile's response.
A response Emile needed to perform, it had already been longer than comfortable, the awkward silence was already stretching thin.
After a disappointed sigh, Emile gathered his thoughts and met Michaelangelo's eyes once more.
"I don't know as much as you think I know —" Emile began.
"But you know something —" the devilish grin stretched further, "and it's something important. I can smell it."
"I haven't had an opportunity to read through Fallen Sky's records, it's possible they have more information worth trading for your cooperation, but earlier in the year Blood and I stumbled upon Mercy's research. We found hundreds of journals, each detailing a different topic, most of which had something to do with the creation of essence."
The moment the word 'research' left Emile's mouth, the aura encapsulating the Ceremony room shifted. The remaining foxes moved simultaneously, each of them turning their necks and nothing more to face Emile.
Meanwhile, Michaelangelo rubbed his paws together, still refusing to break eye contact with Emile.
"This research —" Michaelangelo inquired, "where did you find it?"
"In a labyrinth on the border between the forest and the Hollow Mountains, although I'm not sure if it's still accessible," Emile decided to answer honestly, not that he had much of a choice. He decided he could talk about everything other than the second elixir, for some reason he felt the elixir should remain a secret.
"Skipper, send a scout to the border between the forest and the Hollow Mountains. Find the labyrinth," Michaelangelo ordered without hesitation.
"Yes sir," Skipper quickly stood from his pad and bowed, then left the Ceremony room immediately.
"Can you make it through the miasma?" Emile suddenly asked.
Michelangelo looked at Emile and sneered, "Do not compare us foxes with you weak and fickle humans. The red mist that you're so afraid of is nothing more than decaying essence. Without purpose it grows old and weary, corrupting the soul rather than strengthening it," Michaelangelo spoke down to Emile, his change in persona alerting Emile.
"Then how do you solve it?" Emile bared his fangs and pushed, he was rapidly growing fed up with Michaelangelo's games.
"Must I really answer that?" Michaelangelo stood from his pad and walked around the fire pit. He stopped beside Emile and leaned over his shoulder, his face mere inches away from Emile's, "Your people were abandoned long ago, if it weren't for your connection with our Master, you would have been snuffed out the moment you entered this place."
Emile sat in silence. It wouldn't be accurate to say he was afraid, rather he felt conflicted.
Why did Michaelangelo's approach change so drastically? Emile decided to ask.
"Did we do something to offend you?" Emile leaned back from Michaelangelo and looked at the golden fox, "I'm sure it was done without intention."
Michaelangelo cackled. He straightened his back and walked away from Emile, "Do something? No. It is your presence that disgusts me. Our Master, beautiful and kind, abandoned her own race to strengthen ours. You are nothing more than a failed product. A stepping stone for us, the true Chosen in this world."
Michaelangelo spread his arms wide as he stood before the mural. His back to Emile, and yet his overbearing cockiness manifested externally, affecting the atmosphere of the room itself.
"Can I ask you a question?" Michelangelo turned around, the same wicked grin eating away at his face, "you came here with three others didn't you? One of them is here now, I wonder what happened to the others?"
Emile remained calm. He couldn't react to a provocation, it would give Michaelangelo the advantage.
"Is that a threat?" Emile asked instead, "You know I've been wondering, why go out of your way to appear kind and helpful at first? Why not be this crass from the beginning?"
"You have her aura. At first I thought you had something to do with our savior, but now I realize how foolish I was. You're a grave robber who defiled our progenitors legacy. You are nothing. You are just as Master described: greedy, arrogant, and vain."
Before Emile could reply, he felt a storm of essence manifest behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, a red crystal exploded past him and impaled Michaelangelo's chest, pinning him to the mural he so crazily obsessed over.
Michaelangelo's body went limp. Blood splattered across the mural, painting Madame Mercy's figure in the blood of her descendants.
Footsteps echoed from behind Emile as Blood's palm gently landed on Emile's shoulder:
"What a f****** lunatic."