Glancing to the left and right, Lieren saw nothing but desecrated alleyways and ghoulish thugs, perverted sneers and warped expressions on their gaunt and unsightly faces. Still, that wasn't the oddest part about them.
It was what lay beneath that, below their vile appearances and forms. Way past it.
'They've been manipulated...'
It was their minds, the gateway between their bodies and souls. It had been subdued, corrupted, and taken over like mindless cattle, ready to obey any words their masterful shepherd has for them with no reluctance whatsoever.
Still, with Manavision, he could still peer a semblance of restricted will, dimly burning in the depths of their eyes. It was still, there, it only needed to be called for. For somebody to reach out to that poor, fallen soul.
But why would anybody want to do that?
Glancing at Mysta — the uptight attendant — Lieren said in a somewhat bewildered state:
"So, all of these people are under your control now? Just like that?"
Looking at him from the edge of her periphery, Mysta nodded and didn't say a word, as if her lips had been stitched together. Her hands had been raised like a surgeon preparing for an operation. In the center of her palm was an innumerable number of red strings.
"Hmph."
Forming a fist with a pained grunt, she crushed the innumerable number of strings in her palm. When she opened them again, the strings had disappeared, as well as any semblance of it.
Her control, however, did not seem to wane even a bit.
Lieren glanced around at the thugs and hooligans with a curious expression, nodded to himself, then took a step forward, ahead of the uptight attendant.
'So… she's an Accomplice. One that prioritizes quantity over quality. That's… good to know, I guess?'
Glancing back at her, Lieren simply said with a curt tone:
"Well, should we go? Time awaits for no man!"
With that, the two entered the door in front of them — the meeting place the two contestants had previously agreed upon.
The second battle with Scorpio draws near.
◇◆◇◆◇
As soon as they reached the bottom-most flight of stairs, a heavily repugnant stench assaulted their noses like a vile, dirty poison.
Lieren complained as Mysta put a handkerchief to her nose with a grimace:
"Ugh, what is that smell? It's like a thousand men just sweat in here simultaneously."
For once, the uptight attendant had the same thoughts as him:
"Agreed. Though, I doubt it's just that."
Glancing at her with mildly surprised expression, Lieren nodded knowingly.
Indeed, there wasn't just sweat and other repulsive substances here. There was also — and he dearly hoped he was wrong about this — enormous amounts of blood, tears, and the stinking stench of rotting flesh.
What's worse is that it didn't seem to be coming from just one person… or monster.
And then, they reached the final stair and stood on the soles of their shoes touched something damp and very clearly unsanitary.
"Why did you choose this place as our duel grounds, again? Couldn't the mansion have sufficed? …Ugh, what is that? Is—is that a person… breathing?"
Noticing some strange sounds coming from the end of the halls, or a dark corner, or from behind the desk in the room they found themselves in, Lieren felt cold fear taking over his senses like and unwanted hug. It took, enveloped, and swallowed him whole like a tiny bug, eating away at his sanity like some kind of parasite.
What's more was that it didn't seem to be magical in nature, otherwise his Resistance would have already disposed of it.
No, this was true fear. Fear that keeps the strong alive and the weak cowering.
Clenching his shaking hands so hard he almost bled, Lieren lifted his head and strode towards the table beside the lone door in the room. A single… person?... was sitting on a chair behind it, its face covered by an expanded newspaper.
"Hey, ummm…. I believe I have an appointment here. My name's Lieren. Though I could also be under Aries or Exousia. Whichever one, it's probably me."
The person behind the newspaper flipped a couple of pages, then said in a low, gruff voice. The mystery person seemed to have been a man, at the very least:
"That's an awful lot of names you have there, boy. And from some mighty strong people, too. Don't you think your lies have gone too far? Though, I can't say the same for myself!"
With that, the newspaper man threw his head back and laughed out loud like a madman, his gruff voice echoing through the halls like a menacing monster. After a while, he went back to reading without another word. As if having forgotten what and why he was laughing already.
'This old man…'
Lieren frowned, not even trying to hide his frustration. Anger bled from his voice as he said through gritted teeth:
"I don't lie."
He hated lying the most, after all. Especially those who constantly partook in it.
Peeking from the side, the newspaper man said with a mocking scoff:
"Hah! Sure, kid. You tell yourself that. Even if you don't lie now, or in the past, sooner or later, you'll have no choice but to do so. No matter what happens."
Lieren clenched his hands so hard his palms drew crimson.
"…That will never happen. Ever."
The newspaper man just laughed again. However, this time, there was a dark and remorseful tone to it.
"Haha! Sure, kid. You're young, and so is your mind, no matter how convinced you are otherwise. Enjoy it while you can. Believe me: it's the last time you're gonna have it."
Fixing his newspaper, the man flipped through another page and pressed something underneath his table. A loud click resounded.
"This guy…!"
Lieren reached forward, fist extended, his eyes alit with cold fury… but at that moment, there was a low rumble. His eyes naturally drifted to the close door beside the newspaper man's table and lowered his fist gently. A sigh escaped his lips.
Mysta, who has been watching this entire time with an amused expression, said with a sly grin:
"…Shame. I would have liked to see you best that defenseless old man to a pulp with your bare hands."
She laughed in a low and malevolent voice, striding past the two of them confidently with her plastered sly grin and fully opened the metal door, passing through without looking back.
The man peeked from his newspaper and gave him his own twisted version of a sly grin.
"I suggest you follow him, boy. Wouldn't want your mommy to worry now, would we?"
Lierne yelled in barefaced outraged:
"She's not my mom!"
Inwardly, he added:
'…Nor do I want her to be.'
Shaking his head in indignation, he passed through metal door and into their meeting place.
Pass it was a sight that could only be explained as vile and disgusting, the epitome of bloody glory.