Rania Chalybs
The Rouge,
Onyx Bay.
The Rouge, nestled within the heart of Onyx Bay, was a labyrinthine district veiled in an enigmatic blend of shadows and neon lights. Rain-soaked cobblestone streets glistened under the dim glow of flickering lamps, each droplet tracing ephemeral patterns as they journeyed towards the ground. Buildings, bearing the scars of age, stood like silent sentinels, their facades adorned with faded remnants of long-forgotten posters and graffiti.
The air in The Rouge carried whispers of secrets, entwined with the aroma of street food stalls that stubbornly persisted despite the downpour. The atmosphere, thick with an elusive tension, seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of clandestine dealings and concealed agendas. Darkened alleys beckoned the curious, while elusive figures vanished into the shroud of night, leaving behind echoes of their presence.
Onyx Bay, the sprawling city surrounding The Rouge, unfolded like a tale of contrasts. Towering skyscrapers stretched towards the heavens, their reflective surfaces mirroring the city's pulsating energy. Neon billboards cast kaleidoscopic hues upon the streets, juxtaposing the mysterious quietude of The Rouge with the metropolitan vibrancy beyond its borders.
Rain-streaked glass windows in Onyx Bay's eclectic buildings refracted the city's dichotomy, reflecting both the thriving commerce of the upper echelons and the concealed machinations of those dwelling in the shadows. The bay itself, a sprawling expanse of inky waters, embraced the city with a serpentine grace, holding the secrets of its maritime history.
In a backroom in the rouge, Rania found herself in the embrace of a worn blue chair, its velvet marked with stains. Her neck arched back leaning the chair, eyes partially shut, deep in contemplation about the altered historical narrative and the ominous presence of the tenebrae. The room echoed with the persistent pitter-patter of rain, a stark contrast to Styx's rhythmic tapping on a quaint three legged brown stool with uneven legs. Her contemplation was disrupted by the sound of Styx's movement across the room towards the window. The air held a palpable awkwardness, especially after Rania blushed earlier like a schoolgirl. As she traced raindrops flowing down the window, her amber eyes discreetly observed Styx standing resolutely by the window, where the atmosphere seemed to thicken with unspoken tension.
Breaking the silence, Styx asserts, "Our top priority now is reaching the upcoming grand exhibition. The plan is to dismantle the agency entirely through that platform." Adopting a more serious demeanor, Rania continues, "I agree, but such an operation will retrieve a significant manpower. Moreover, a mission of this magnitude necessitates execution by the coalition."
With a deep sigh while moving his hair out of his face, he counters, "I'm skeptical about involving the coalition. If the agency can infiltrate vampyres, they might have informants within the coalition. It needs to be covert, especially given our limited knowledge about the agency." Absentmindedly, Rania touches the pendant on her chest and reluctantly concedes, "As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with you." Styx, with a cocky raised eyebrow, retorts, "How do we get to the grand exhibition?"
Eagerly responding, Rania suggests, "Isaac Bernarui. We're gathering intel on him. He might lead us to the grand exhibition. The Elysian Sanctum is also analyzing materials for insights." Styx tuts with a shake of his head, "You're forgetting the discretion curse, if it's placed on mere gleaners, I doubt that more involved collectors will be exempt. Infiltrate his home, don't capture him.You said there were only a few number of collectors in Onyx Bay, a missing collector is sure to alert the agency and lead them on our trail." Rania felt her eyebrows scrunch up as she felt a subtle rejection of her ideas while she couldn't seem to find fault with his, nods with resignation and says, "We're obtaining more information on the procurement agency. Our objectives will be clearer then. I'd suggest looking out for any form of correspondence between vampyres and the agency to uncover traitors among your people."
Styx nods in consideration resuming his tapping on the window sill, and the room falls into silence once more, each party contemplating the next steps.
Rania maintained her gaze on Styx, who, now leisurely leaning against the wall, had his legs crossed and hands tucked into his pockets. A flicker of uncertainty passed through her as she sensed his intense scrutiny of her body, particularly directed at her breasts. Growing self-conscious about her less pronounced bosom, a long-standing insecurity exacerbated by subconscious comparisons to Claudia and Poppy's that were rather voluptuous. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her back slightly as a defensive mechanism.
Observing her recent actions, Styx remarks, "Forgive me if my gaze made you uncomfortable; I was captivated by your pendant. It seems oddly familiar." He rubs his neck as he continues, "The green swirly patterns on the turquoise stone seemed to move – quite mesmerizing. I apologize for my intense stare."
Rania, forming a small 'oh' with her mouth, lowers her arms beside her hips and explains, "It's been with me as long as I can remember, passed down from my grandmother after my mother. The patterns give it a unique charm. No need to apologize." Styx's polite demeanor prompts Rania to reconsider her initial judgment of the vampyre. Before she can express her thoughts, sudden screams erupt in the rouge, cutting off any further conversation.
She rose abruptly, the urgency evident as her hand reached for the Ivy Whip concealed beneath her simple, free-flowing black dress. Intent on descending to assess the unfolding situation, her glyph emitted a red light, signaling danger to her partner gathering intel on Isaac Bernarui in the rouge.
As she moved swiftly towards the door, Styx seized her hand, yanking her to the floor just as a deafening bang echoed through the room. Slightly Raising her head from her position lying on the floor , shock registered as she observed a seemingly inconspicuous dark stone with ragged edges pulsating with an eerie energy. The stone liquefied, causing the wooden floor it touched to disintegrate into nothingness. "The tenebrae maleficae," Styx muttered. A surge of terror gripped her as she realized the stone could have disintegrated her if it had hit its intended target, and her heart raced with the close call.
The room's door exploded, yielding to intruders clad like the masked assailants from her earlier encounter. Springing to her feet, she swiftly lashed out with her poisoned whip which hit it's mark with a deafening crack , incapacitating one intruder before delivering a precise kick to another. Her movements resembled a choreographed dance, the whip an extension of her very being.
As the number of assailants grew, she engaged them tirelessly, sustaining injuries that shredded her once elegant, now tattered, black dress. Bloodstains adorned her, testaments to her fierce struggle. Amidst the chaos, she turned her gaze and witnessed a grotesque scene: Styx Bratoviae, the embodiment of death, illuminated by the eerie glow of violet eyes. In the rain's resurgence and thunder's growl, he tore his victims apart, rendering them unrecognizable painting an unforgettable and terrifying picture. The chilling smile on his face as he sucked the blood dry and ripped hearts from chests with his bare hands sent shivers down her spine, leaving innards marring the wall and a string of unrecognizable body parts.
Capturing an intruder with her whip, as she was about to deal him a killing blow, he said to her blood dripping down his chin "spare him, I have use of him" . Amidst the wall of innards and unidentifiable body parts, she spared him. However, her attention was drawn back when she noticed the captive making strange movements with his mouth. Styx, approaching, swiftly broke the man's jaw. "He was attempting suicide," he explained before leaving the room, leaving behind a haunting aftermath of carnage.
Emerging from the room, they found masked men terrorizing women in various chambers. Without hesitation, both plunged into the chaos, wreaking havoc. Certain that Styx could handle the situation, she hurried towards Zola's location, hobbling on her good leg while nursing her ribs.
Upon opening Claudia's door, she confronted a chilling scene – a half-naked Claudia, her eyes void of emotion, stabbing a man in the throat with a hairpin. Blood sprayed across her face and body. Claudia said with a shrug , "I work in a brothel. Some men think they can assault women here. I practiced my stabbing skills on them." Walking past the lifeless bodies, Claudia, drenched in blood, fixed her face in the mirror.
Turning towards Zola, who sat on the floor favoring his left side, groaning in agony, Claudia, seemingly reading her thoughts, reassured, "I'm fine, but damn, my old wounds reopened, and now I have new ones. I'm hurting like a bitch." Knowing Zola disliked people fussing over him, she silently sat beside him, supporting him with her own wounded body. Claudia hummed a tune, applying lipstick as if surrounded by nothing more than the echoes of life amidst the dead.
Moments later, Rania, sensing movement by the door, stood at alert, whip ready for another strike. Her guard lowered when a bloodstained Styx appeared, umbrella in hand. Subconsciously easing her tensed shoulders, she withdrew her whip. The captured man stood behind Styx.
Claudia, her vitality returning, greeted Styx with a bow,"Good evening your grace" devoid of her usual wiles. Zola, on the floor, jaw tense, showed complete disregard. Ignoring the room, Styx walked towards the hallway, signaling Rania with a subtle nod to follow him.
Limping in Styx's wake, Rania collided with him when he abruptly halted, the click of his umbrella on the floor punctuating the silence. As he turned, dropping the umbrella, his violet eyes intensely scanned her body. She seemed to spot a fleeting concern across his gaze however it disappeared almost as swiftly. Suddenly, he enveloped her in an unexpected embrace,she felt the world around her draw into a lull and a warmth that momentarily dulled the battles' tension.
Startled, she felt a cold sensation on her back, and the pain across her body dissipated. Styx withdrew abruptly, his demeanor cold, stating, "The battle is escalating; I can't have you injured." Nodding in a daze, she absorbed his words. "The rouge is no longer safe for our meetings. I'll inform you of our new rendezvous spot. Prioritize finding Isaac Bernarui; dark magic is at play. Stay safe and update me on anything else," he commanded, his intense gaze fixed on her.
Still dazed, she nodded in agreement. Sensing the conversation's conclusion, she turned to head back to the room when he called her name. "Rania." She faced him, watching as he approached with a jacket in hand, which he draped around her. "Your dress is torn, and your underclothes are visible. Besides, it's raining outside," he explained. Before she could respond, he walked away, the dim hallway light casting a glow upon him.
Returning to the room in a daze, Rania was jolted by Zola's furious voice upon seeing Styx's jacket draped over her healed wounds. "Allowing him to heal you now, after what they've done to your people? Stay away from that disgusting creature, Rania. He could be manipulating you, orchestrating all of this himself," Zola exclaimed. Exhausted and unwilling to argue, Rania chose to ignore the comment, though she resolved internally to not be disillusioned by Styx, recalling the chilling scenes witnessed earlier.
Putting aside her fatigue, she assisted Zola, helping him up despite his stubbornness. Together, they headed to his home, where she tended to his wounds and applied healing potions, silently reflecting on the complexities of alliances in the midst of a brewing storm.
Exhausted, Rania ascended the stairs to her house. As she reached for her door, she was met with a chilling warning written in blood:
"Stay away from matters that do not concern you, otherwise you will pay with your life."
Weary and disheartened, she wrapped the jacket around her, sighing in a melancholic manner as the night wind tousled her hair.