Chapter 6: 05 | dance; puppets on a string

[i refuse to play at the whims of this disaster.]

——xxx——

The only colour he saw was red.

Deep, screaming red that rained down in the ballroom through harsh slices of skin, or piercing nails. At least four had killed themselves, with a gun to their head or a sword through their body.

Group suicide.

Lucas spun to scowl at the youth kicking his legs, watching with those creepy, joyful eyes.

"This mess is your doing?"

"I only suggested it." He smiled, grinning wildly as he tilted his head. "After all, they have no choice in surviving. I told them they could die, or I could find their family and kill them instead~"

"...crazy bastard."

"Don't get me wrong, I need to survive! I absolutely, will, not, die! Do you think everybody can live? No! You have to be cruel in order to survive."

Lucas gazed at him calmly before sighing, an almost mocking slight of a chuckle in his breath. "You don't want to die? But you've just killed yourself."

"What?"

He stretched out a steady hand at the corpse. "When everybody dies, humanity loses. This is a no-killing Story."

"That... there's no such thing! This is a death game, isn't it? It's obvious! I've read things like this, the clear option is that everybody will die. You're lying!"

"Congratulations, you're dead and stupid. Happy?"

<Ahahahahaha...! You humans... woah~ really don't fail to disappoint! Didn't I kindly tell you, a story can't continue without its main cast! What is Cinderella without Cinderella?>

Lucas scowled, immediately spitting out, "Shut up, damn bunny."

<I am Cinderella, not a 'damn bunny'!>

At least he knew that Cinderella was definitely listening to him. 

Paying special attention to him, perhaps? That thought made him feel a little sick inside, and he frowned uncomfortably.

<Well, well... hehehe... doesn't this just mean our rules are over? You broke them first, of course! Hmm~ but I suppose, being the all-gracious Cinderella, I may~ give you another chance! Of course, not too much time! The dance has been cut short, and you're funeral is tomorrow! If I don't see 50 shoes by tomorrow... I'll leave it up to your scatterbrain imagination!>

Pressure. 

The pressure to survive, the desperation, obsession.

Cinderella's words ushered a demise for them all, and their hearts, minds, bodies went entirely crazy. Lucas swore, brushing back his disobedient strands of hair in frustration before kicking open the door, already falling at the hinges.

The youth behind him stared blankly, a simmering madness in his eyes. Laughter had long died in his throat at the revelation of his upcoming death, and instead, calmness had taken over.

"The name's Elliot Hales, Ghost!" He shouted loudly as Lucas casted a lingering glance back, frowning. "If we don't die tonight, I'll owe you one!"

In other words, the stupid youth, after making an incredible mess, was throwing the responsibility to Lucas. The man ignored the lingering youth, rushing through the crowd as madness begun to spread, slowly but surely.

Killing, blood, murder. Tearful desperation to live to the end.

He needed to find Nora.

Of course, saving everybody would be ideal considering the situation of the Story, but he wanted to make sure that polite woman, with an instinct for helping others, survived. He shoved through the crowd, pushing aside several people who lunged out for him, scrambling like fools.

He found her, still as a statue, eyes peering into a hidden room under the stairs that glowed with a faint warmth, contrasting the mess that was outside.

She spoke before he could say anything. "I noticed something else. In the apple seller's checkbook, there was a side amount of expenses that they lost. They were giving food away to somebody."

In the room was a beautiful woman, cascading golden hair and a pale blue dress that billowed in soft clouds, twirling around the marble floor. 

Laughter sparkled, with tinkles of bell-like giggles, full of happiness.

"I think, perhaps, there were hints everywhere, but nobody noticed. Because what we want to do is survive."

Lucas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've mentioned before that there was a diary in my house. About a poor, ragged child that would come scrambling for food, even a morsel. In the beginning, the apple seller gave them the rotting fruit that didn't sell, but after seeing the child grow skinnier and skinnier, they started to give more."

"...and?"

"She wasn't a child—she was a malnourished teenager, starved and abused at home. By her entire family. Did you know that the one version of the tale of Cinderella was nothing like the version we know?"

"I did."

The startling thing wasn't the smiling woman, gracefully dancing around the room. 

Four mutilated corpses hung from the ceiling, swaying with the beat of her imaginary music. They were covered in ash and soot, dressed in rags with their hair yanked or chopped off, fingernails peeled back and bleeding.

They were better off being called dangling chunks of meat.

There was another covered in beautiful satin, completely different from the others.

Then, her glass slippers collided onto the ground, and all bodies dropped. Her smile widened, and she scooped one of the limp corpses up—the elegant one with tumbling brown hair, and gentle, sleeping eyes—and danced around, holding it with a careful embrace.

It was morbidly tragic.

"Lucas, is this the other ending that Cinderella spoke about?"

There were two clearance methods. 

Lucas, having written one of them, was well aware of the secrets behind the words spoken behind Cinderella, and the other horrors they'd meet. The second one was something he didn't know—the world had already formed its own rules.

One way to complete the Story was to clear the objective given to the Characters.

The second way, what was it?

<...I didn't expect this to happen in the first Story! Should I give you wretched things a reward for coming so close to the true ending?>

Lucas, for once, listened carefully to the fluctuations in Cinderella's tone. Stressed, anxious. 

Pain of remembering, of seeing the joyful woman spinning with corpses in her arms. A forced sound twisted in her voice.

The bunny's static voice seemed to boom over the chaos.

<Cinderella demands an answer to this question. What is her desire?>

Honest to a fault, that was how the character of Cinderella was portrayed. Lucas' eyebrows furrowed together, Nora's expression mirroring his. 

The beautiful and kind-hearted princess had always chosen kindness, after years of abuse, of neglect. In fact, how much mental pain had it caused her, to be treated with disgust and scorn?

In one version of the tale, her father hadn't died. 

He, in fact, joined the stepmother's schemes and called her names, growing worse each time. She had endured the entire time, not once retaliating.

Some would call her weak for her gentleness, and others would call her strong.

But when Cinderella ended up in the ball, she lost track of time in the happy delusion of the prince, of the luxury and happiness. She became somebody she was not, dressed in flowing fabric cut from the finest cloth.

Perhaps that was why she was destined to fall back into rags, after losing sight of herself.

Did she crave the freedom the prince gave to her, while under disguise? 

Did a part of her not burn with hatred towards the injustice she faced, at least once? Did Cinderella endure because she wanted a family, because she wanted to be loved?

Because her failing hope never died?

"I don't know."

What was her desire? 

Lucas couldn't answer that with such lacking information. The question that was asked didn't refer to the singular existence of Cinderella he'd known, portrayed in dramatic re-tellings, each different people with similar stories.

The white bunny. What was its history? What was their version of 'Cinderella'?

<...buzz—! Wrong answer! The only destination for you fools now is deat—>

"I will give you an answer in 24 hours. When the deadline for completing this story is done." interrupted Lucas, loosening his stuffy collar with a tug, raising his eyes to stare directly at the dancing woman. 

Her head twisted completely, and turned to stare at him with wide, blue eyes.

A large smile spread across her cheeks, almost splitting her face in half. "Then, the time's ticking, human."

Wind rushed from the room, slamming Nora and Lucas onto the floor as they were rushed outside, the doors crashing shut, unable to be opened again.

Nora sucked in a breath of pain from where she laid sprawled on the ground, narrowly rolling to the side as a knife came flying towards her. T

he chaos was still ongoing in the ballroom, and she scrambled with a sore body to duck behind a pillar. Lucas soon followed after her, but not before picking up the knife and hurling it back into the crowd.

"There's no way to stop this madness." Nora frowned, sighing deeply as she rubbed her temples, peeking out from behind. "I suppose it is expected when everybody wants to live so badly."

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"They'll all die."

"...ah?"

Lucas explained the theory the middle-aged man had suggested earlier, mind a little lost as he twisted the ring around his finger. There were still remnants of blood at the edges, since he didn't have the time to wipe it off.

"Then, what should we do?"

"Beat up Cinderella."

"...what?"

Lucas shrugged. "That's only in the worst case scenario."

Nora laughed, before realizing that the other wasn't laughing. "...you, are you serious, Lucas?"

"I don't think they're immune to pain." replied the man simply without a care in the world, glancing down at his sword as if he were truly imagining a battle with the strange Teller of this Story. He figured, if he was going to die, he'd go down with a fight. "I have a sword."

Tellers, the monsterous existences in the stories, were not immortal.

"....." The woman was a little speechless, before shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"If you're scared of death, its better to die in that chaos right now. The punishment for failing this Story may be a pain worse than that."

He didn't remember the specific tragedies that would unfold after a failed ending, but they were often gruesome and terrifying. Something worse than death.

Nora smiled lightly, straightening her back.

"If I ran away from everything that I was scared of, I wouldn't be able to continue growing. To be unable to experience and develop is something that scares me more than death."

She leaned against the pillar, rolling her shoulders in pain. "I had a brother. I could've saved him; but I was scared."

Lucas watched her, suddenly noticing all that Nora was. He listened quietly as she continued to speak softly, nostalgia lacing her voice.

"I watched him, foolishly, as a speeding car had rushed out on a red light. It's not an uncommon story—traffic incidents happen too often. But, I was there. Time seemed to slow, and I'm near certain that if I wasn't struck by fear, I could've pushed him away in time."

She spoke calmly, but there was a tremour in her pale hands.

"We could've both lived."

A soft smile graced her lips. "He was a lovely boy, adopted by my parents. There isn't a day that I don't think of him."

Her dress had been ripped to pieces in the scuffle, the long skirt cut short and one sleeve yanked down, hanging pitifully at the side of the plain, purple dress. A scarlet flower bloomed on her arm, stretching and wrapping around the entire area.

Nora noticed the stare, and tilted her head with a smile. "It's a symbol of my morals, to remind me to always follow what I believe in."

Lucas said nothing, only lifting his hair to get a proper look at her. The woman who had unknowingly infiltrated his life in this short time.

White, shoulder-length hair. Unwavering confidence, and a beauty that hid prickly thorns.

A blooming red flower inked into her arm.

There was a particular villain in his novel. There were many, in fact, since Lucas seemed to enjoy creating villains more than heroes, often gaining tearful complaints from his readers. However, one of his most carefully crafted ones was somebody who used poison to kill.

A woman who became evil after witnessing death after death, failing to protect a copious amount of times. Somebody who'd lost her youngest sibling in her youth, and sought desperately to save even one life, but failed.

Her ability was [transfer]. She could take and give pain, becoming the deadly poison queen, Bloody Ivy.

See, titles were granted to surviours of certain Stories, blessing them with abilities and powers. However, occasionally, there would be a newly generated title, born for a specific person after they created their own legacy.

Bloody Ivy gained her title after brutal murders, her reputation spreading across the world.

[I stood before the blood-covered woman, as calm as I could be. She and I were similar; I was certain of that. Although I became some sort of hero, and she a villain, both of our goals were the same.

We were fighting for the sake of our younger siblings.

Ones we'd lost long ago.

And as she brandished the thorny whip, her pale eyes throbbing with a glow of deadly poison, I raised my sword with respect. Elegance traced her step as she lowered her chin, a white dress fluttering around her that reminded me of a doctor's cloak—a healer, a protector. 

A saviour that wasn't meant to be.]

In fact, Lucas wasn't completely certain of the words he wrote, depicting his brother's legacy during this strange apocalypse. It had come naturally to him, as if he were possessed and grasped a sudden understanding of who his eldest sibling, Kane Silvius, was.

Whatever the case, he was certain that Nora was the villain, before tragedy struck her. She who sought no violence, wanting to save and help others became ruined by that ideal.

"Lucas? Is something the matter?"

He blinked, and shook his head slightly. "Let's retrace Cinderella's steps, and learn what her story was."

After agreeing, he moved to slip out without anybody noticing—the fate of the remaining humans had already been determined. It would only be by a stroke of luck that they'd survive until the end. Yet, as he stepped out the door, Nora reached out to stop him.

His movements halted, and he glanced back questioningly. The woman swallowed, resolution twirling in her eyes. 

Of course. 

She'd never given up on saving people, even after becoming a villain.

"Although I'm aware that there isn't much we can do... is there anything?"

Hesitation. He wasn't cruel enough to wish death upon everybody either, but there was little he could do. But, even if he couldn't salvage the situation, he could create doubt and fan the flames to another direction. 

The outcome would be up to destiny, and the will of these people.

He slowly walked through the crowd, with the leisure of arrogance trailing in his wake, a crowd parting as he moved. His empty eyes, fixated in an unrelenting straight path.

There was a fallen sword on the ground, sharp metal, likely stolen off one of the soldiers that guarded the palace. He picked it up, carefully wrapping his fingers around it. 

The glittering chandelier hung peacefully above, swaying with the noise and movement.

Bending his shoulder back, arm poised and aimed, he thrust the sword out into the air. It sailed, narrowly hitting the connecting metal as the whole thing shook violently.

Then it came crashing down.

Glass and metal scattered into the air, successfully impaling into the surrounding people, though nobody was severely injured as they'd cleared out when Lucas walked towards them.

He stood in the center of debris, quietly raising his head.

"Do you want to live?"

His voice carried throughout the room, dragging behind a dangerous promise, a threat. Everybody fell silent immediately, snapped out of their frantic movements.

"The aim of this story is to find a minimum of 50 glass slippers. Did Cinderella ever state whether it was per person, or an entire group? Did she ever imply anything of the sort? Is it possible for all of us to find enough slippers individually—and if not, is this a game that can't be won?"

One question after the other bombarded the crowd, as they stared, open-mouthed, wide-eyed. Somebody, still angry and desperate, rushed out and lunged at Lucas.

"You—you're speaking bullshit!" Their hands stretched out, filled with killing intent, only to be easily spun around by Lucas and violently flipped onto the ground without mercy.

"Any questions?" wondered Lucas indifferently, ignoring the fallen person at his feet.

A well-dressed man stepped forward, donning a mask that hid most of his features, except for a pair of piercing cerulean eyes and a careless smile. 

There was an imposing air that pulsed around him, making all heads stare silently, too scared to speak. He whistled, glancing down at the man who'd easily been flipped over.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Resisting me too?"

The man laughed lowly. "I'm just admiring your good looks."

"...good?"

"Very good."

Nora stiffed a laugh from where she stood walking, and Lucas only stared blankly before turning his head—no time to deal with this irritating person. The woman made her way to where Lucas stood, calmly spreading her arms.

"I'm sure that you all have reason to not trust us, but what we say is true. If everybody dies, there is no way to clear this Story. If you choose to trust us, then we can offer our assistance, but if you wish to refuse us, then you will live to see the consequences later."

Lucas scowled impatiently, a striking contrast to her patience. "If you value your lives, listen to us. Do you really want to be played as fools, like puppets on a string, to those damn creatures?"

The masked man, still watching, drew the attention of everybody with a single word from his charismatic voice, built to manipulate and trick. "Can you prove it?"

"Proof?"

"Something to convince us to truly believe you."

The man was purposely fighting against Lucas, told from the quirk of his lips in his indifferent stance. It was likely that he believed Lucas' words, but chose to rebuke and refuse. 

But there was no need to prove the truth of this Story.

Lucas drew out his sword in a wide arc, pointing it straight ahead as he cocked his head slightly. "I can prove my reliability."

A phantom of a smile. "I'll give you a reason to trust in my strength."