She looked out the window, noting dusk was barely casting enough light to see the red and orange autumn leaves. I need to pack my jacket.
Every time she added a new item to her list, her chest hollowed out. How pathetic would her full bag look next to her corpse? She was being foolishly hopeful.
Rushing to get this over and done with before she changed her mind, she finished packing her bag, storing the rope inside it. Then she clipped her whip and sword to her waist, knowing no one would bat an eye at them.
Her bow and quiver, on the other hand, might cause eyebrows to raise.
Her jacket was made from the animals she’d hunted for food on her travels and was made up of mismatched patches. She threw it over the top of her bow to hide it, even though the ends stuck out past her shoulder and behind her leg. Her quiver made a noticeable impression behind her, but she shrugged.
It was the best she could do.
With her mask and hood firmly in place, she exited her room, not even sparing a moment to glance back at it. The four grey walls carved from stone, her timber-framed single bed, her tiny writing desk that had carvings in it from other dead guildmembers... Nothing belonged to her. It was just a place to sleep, and it had never really felt like home.
Emerie made sure to avoid other guildmembers as much as possible, going the long way to the ground level. People were sparse down here, and it wasn’t difficult to sneak her way to the cleaning house.
She acquired a mop and bucket, using the mop head to hide the top of her bow, and calmly made her way to the doors that would take her down to the dungeon level.
The Master rank member guarding the doorway to the top of the stairs let her pass freely, used to seeing her go down to clean the Duskwalker’s cell. She wasn’t sure if it was complacency or stupidity on their part that they didn’t notice she wasn’t being escorted.
Considering no orders had been sent to clean it, the Elder rank member guarding his cell barred her from entering.
Emerie dropped her bucket, quickly pouncing on him before he could even register what she was doing, and placed the mop handle around the front of his neck from behind. He let out a choke, scratching at the handle as it cut off his airways and circulation.
He swiped backwards at her face and dug his nails into it through her mask.
She held strong, her front flush against his back as she pulled with all her might.
When he eventually sagged, she released him and checked his pulse. Good. Still alive. With some of the spare rope she’d acquired, she bound his hands and feet together before using a rag to cover his mouth.
Fishing the key from his weapons belt, she moved quickly to unlock the dungeon door.
Emerie’s gaze met the Duskwalker’s white orbs.
Knowing it wouldn’t lock, Emerie closed the door once she’d dragged the guard inside. Then she spun to the Duskwalker while removing her face coverings, remembering he didn’t like them.
Now, his orbs were a dark yellow.
“What are you–” he started before she leapt into action.
“Let’s get you out of here,” she rushed out around quick breaths. She stormed to one of the crank wheels beside him and shoved against it with all her might until the board forcing him into a kneeling position came away just enough for her to get her arms behind him. “However – please don’t take this the wrong way because I’m sure you feel the same about me – I don’t trust you.”
While he was still trapped and unable to stop her, Emerie wrapped enchanted rope around his waist. Then she twisted the free lengths together to make an anchor point and pushed each end of the rope through the loops already wrapped around his wrists. Threading back to the centre point and giving him plenty of room, she then did the same with the rope at his ankles, as well as his tail.
It almost looked like his back had a knotted harness.
Luck favours the prepared. And she was going to need the universe to give her a lot of luck tonight; it was better to aid it along the way.
“Are you freeing me? Why?”
She wrapped a cloth over his nose holes and secured it, making sure the herb bag attached to it was firmly against those concave notches in his skull. This better work. Hopefully he can’t smell blood through this.
“Because I don’t agree with any of this, and I don’t deserve to live if I allow it.” Emerie then yanked her obsidian blade from the holster on her thigh. She pointed the tip of it at his beak. “But hear me now. Without me, you won’t escape this place. You’ll get lost down here. I’m going to ride your back and give you directions, and you’re going to promise me that you won’t hurt anyone on purpose.”
“I told you. I cannot make this promise,” he whined, his orbs flashing blue. Once more, his honesty on the matter touched her.
She was glad he wasn’t a liar.
Regardless of what he said, she still cut the connecting part of the rope around his neck, leaving the loop of it so she had something to hold onto while she rode him.
“I know,” she muttered. “I know you said you won’t be able to help it for a few reasons, but I’m asking you to try. That’s all I ask in return for freeing you. To not kill my people if you don’t have to.” She cut away the loop around his chest, then the one around his waist she hadn’t placed on him. “I know you probably want retribution for the higher-ups hurting you, but you’d be an idiot for trying. They might capture you again, and they will kill me for freeing you. You won’t get another chance. Please, promise me.”
“I... promise to try.”
For the first time in days, he was able to move his hips back and forth. He was also able to move his head slightly, despite the chains still clamped around his horns.
Just as she went to bend down to cut away the looping section that was threaded around his thighs and calves, someone fisted her hair.
Emerie gasped as she was yanked back and tossed to the ground. Landing on her side, all she could think was, What the fuck?! I didn’t hear the door opening!
However, the woman straddling her torso while raising a knife above her to spear her chest wasn’t wearing a Demonslayer uniform.
Instead, a white feather from her cloak fluttered between them. A woman with brown skin and dark hair glared down at her with an expression so fierce it was harrowing.
“Wait, stop!” Ingram yelled, just as that blade came down. Emerie shoved her obsidian dagger up to block it.
She punched the woman in the side of the face with enough force to knock her to the left. Emerie pushed her off and bounced to her feet.
“Who the hell are you?” Emerie snapped through gritted teeth, her dagger at the ready as they circled the room.
Both poised to strike, both ready to defend themselves.
“I am life, and I am death,” she muttered before she lunged. “And I will free this Mavka from your tortures!”
Emerie’s eyes widened. She crouched low enough so she could bash the woman’s hand upward to evade it before rolling to the side.