Chapter 19 - The Sisters Declared: No Way Out
The sisters had declared there was no solution. I smacked my empty head and ground my teeth. Please. Please. Even if this was the last scrap of ingenuity I'd ever squeeze out in my life, just toss me one hint. Something. Anything. But nothing came. What if I hung the scent amplifier on the weasel and had it track the men's smell? In this freezing gale? No way that'd work. Grappling hook over the buildings to escape? How the hell was I supposed to carry everyone one by one? Was there some secret passage to flee through? This wasn't an ancient underground tomb. Fat chance.
"Even if we did escape, you think they'd leave the ship intact? If they had any brains, they'd sabotage the keel."
Captain Tomco's point hit like a gut punch. The priests from each party were losing their faith-based powers in the cold. Could the fighters hold out any longer than them?
I took a deep breath. This is like one of those newspaper puzzles. I figured I'd solve it in five minutes, but it's taking longer. No need to rage or get pissed. Nothing catastrophic's happened yet. I've still got five minutes to crack it...
"Five minutes left. If you don't have a plan, how about mine?"
Shut your trap, you bitch. Paladin Christensen smirked triumphantly, shattering my focus. Esen asked flatly,
"What's your genius idea, slut? You've got ten seconds."
"Toss the useless men out there. In exchange, the women live. We punch through the storm and escape the city."
"Didn't you hear the captain? The ship's probably fucked already, dumb cunt? We need a way to win a fight!"
That felt good. Esen, always clutch.
"Overland it is. Better than freezing to death in the tundra, right? Or are you too frail for that?"
The female paladins rose, swayed by her words, flanking Christensen loyally. So she was the real leader, not the hero. The bishop backed her, huh? Now it clicked. Why only Florica came back injured? No one watching her back, she got left behind. Their party hid the demon's identity to funnel all the credit to Christensen.
"Fucking bitch."
"What'd you say?"
"I said fucking bitch. Didn't they tell you? Screwing over another party mid-joint op is taboo."
"Like you plotting to stab us in the back? You heretics scheming against Mitra's authority?"
Christensen flipped the script, threatening us. Our party tensed. They had twenty; we had ten. The male parties who'd help were all tied up.
"Fight now? You wanna die together?"
"Cooperate wisely, and no need. Still there, you hellbound succubi? We've decided!"
Christensen doffed her helmet, shaking her fluffy bob. Pristine, even in this rain-soaked, humid hell. Helmet off the whole time? Barely fought.
"Hand over the men, and you'll let us women go safe?"
Oh, looks like they've got a thinker over there too!
"No. They've got a brainless one."
A paladin who'd stayed seated barked it out. She rose slowly, using her warhammer for support, ignoring Christensen's shock. Florica, barely straightening, hurled her helmet and yelled,
"You call yourself a paladin? Can't stand with humans against demons, but you'll feed them to the fiends?"
"Not from the one who hid the demon's identity to the end, proud Hero of Mitra?"
Florica bit her lip. Her face—smeared with blood, sweat, tears—was filthier than Christensen's or any of ours. Lingering wounds, yet she fought hard. Her intent rang pure now.
"True. I'm filthy too. Shameful. If I die like this, Mitra's hall rejects me."
"Then listen. Want to live and return as the bishop's good girl? 'Paladin Princess'?"
"Not under Father's shadow. I'll fight to die. Wash this shame in death, praying my corpse gets Mitra's sun."
"What the hell?"
Esen and I traded uneasy glances. Florica turned, smiled faintly, and stood with us, glaring down the paladins.
"Porter."
"Yes?"
"That scent amplifier you mentioned—mix it with a man's sweat, smear it on me. Make 'em think I'm the man. Everyone flees to an easier-to-defend building. Thoughts?"
"One: We said no fucking way earlier. See the wind? It'll blow away scents and people alike."
"...Right?"
Her voice drooped. Genuine, not posturing. Good person, but lost too much blood. Brain's foggy.
"Two: While we've bickered, the five minutes are up. Ask for five more?"
I snarked calmly; Christensen fumed, hating the loss of control. Grew up spoiled as gang boss's kid. Florica's character was leagues better.
"...You're all insane. I offered reason..."
"Reason my ass. You think they'll let you go after? How you gonna negotiate with those bitches in the storm once men are handed over?"
"Esen Taiga's right. Didn't even fight properly, hit your limit? Don't disgrace yourself—martyr like a paladin!"
"Shut up! By Mitra's name, obey me! I'm the bishop's daughter and proxy—"
"You shut up. Paladin."
I'd never heard such ice. Our party whipped around, stunned. The Monica sisters stared coldly at Mitra's paladins.
"Forgot Esen's point when she grabbed you? You're not our masters. Bishop's daughter means what to us?"
"These paladins obey me. We can crush you by force, heretic healer!"
"If even one escapes, your deeds get exposed at the religious summit. Bury us in this storm? Witnesses don't forget. From experience, Mitra's church sucks at leaving no survivors."
Her venomous chill made even murderous-eyed Christensen flinch. The sisters exhaled long-held grudge, then fixed on me.
"Mitra can't shine light through this storm. His followers know whose fault, but my goddess differs. Her power reaches us here. Stronger than ever."
"Meaning?"
"We can survive."
Feels like ten minutes past? Far off, kids? Head back up? Group meeting?
A succubus voice snapped, annoyed. But I ignored the coquettish tone. The Monica sisters were crying.
"But not everyone safe."
"Need a sacrifice?"
She approached slowly, arm around my shoulder, whispering sadly in my ear.
"Close. If I—or my goddess—choose you as offering... can you bear it, Tan?"
"Sisters?"
"And me? Can I endure the grief?"
A gale colder than winter shook the building. Succubi thirst groaned. But here, only me and Monica sisters. Tear- and rain-soaked—my sister, big sis, mother. We were family. Bound deeper than anything.
I knew why she struggled with "Ran." Not stupidity. To her, I'm the only Tan. I'm her only Monica. Irreplaceable.
"I trust you, Monica."
"...What, Tan?"
"I trust your decision. If your goddess wants me, if that's the only way, it is."
"Even if that faith kills you? Still fine?"
Ominous, but no time. Sitting ducks anyway. Demons outside.
"Then pass a letter to my siblings. Say I died in family's arms."
I hugged her head to my chest, stroked it, forced a smile.
"Happily."
Esen shook her head, shocked at my instant offer for "sacrifice." Tugged my sleeve, demanding explanation. I gently brushed her off, soothing: Gotta try something.
Ends like this, huh. Knew rough work'd kill me someday. But if fated to croak alone, better in this warm party. Made happy memories with Esen. Saw sisters again. Beats getting beaten by Adamanthon.
Canned last words ready. Won't hurt sisters' hearts saying it.
Porter sleeps here. Bearing the massive load of party members' lives.
Always first line in my journal. For emergencies, even non-combatants. Hope comrades find it cleaning my stuff, bury me right. Long live the Special Monster Extermination Unit. Forgot the name again. Whatever. Next life, if reborn girl rejoining, suggest easier name.
Sisters, resolved, took my hand. Instructed quietly what next. I followed meekly to the top floor—fourth, attic-like. Eyes followed: party worry, Christensen hate. Esen grabbed my shoulder last, whispering,
"This really the only way?"
"No biggie. Details when alone with sisters up top. If sucks, come back down."
"Even if it risks your life, sounds good?"
Esen bit her lip.
"You'd do it anyway?"
Her heart came through. But after brief hesitation, I nodded. Even if no one else trusts sisters, I stand by them.
"That's family."
"...Yeah. Whatever, come back alive. That paladin bitch tries crashing? I'll yeet her out. And—"
Esen started, scratched head, grinned.
"Hurry. We'll hold. Buy time till 'ritual' finishes?"
"You're the best party member. You'll hit Special-rank someday, today or not. Thanks."
Stroked Esen's hair. Turned from stunned her, climbed. Fourth floor, roof-adjacent attic vibe. No lights. Few windows blocked by clothes, furniture per sisters' orders. Rain sounded dreamlike.
Sisters pulled a candle, lit it matchless—somehow.
"Sit facing away. Close eyes."
I did. Shivering body keenly felt candle warmth behind. But it grew. Unnaturally hot. Windows blocked, candle lit—effective? This weather, this warm?
No. Not just trapped heat... Sweat trickled neck, not water. Sweet, cloying scent teased nose. Like that weird dream.
"My fault... not my fault."
Sleeveless bare arm coiled my chest. Naked breasts pillowed softly on my back. I nearly freaked.
"...Sisters?"
"How I held back, what I endured."
Kept eyes shut, didn't turn. Followed orders. Could swear best effort. But her breath grazed ear—intense jolt. Eyes snapped open.
Sisters' plain smile gone. Glossy black hair parted: crimson horns jutting eerily. Pink hunter's eyes.
"...So you're the bad one."
Still crying—not rain, guilt and joy-soaked. I finally recalled the dream.
"Sisters."
"Sorry, Tan."
Red tongue invaded, ravaging my mouth.