Belus Alpen
Belus Alpen
"'It's been a while, Father.'"
The man with hair the same shade as Angie's grimaced at her words and stepped closer.
He slid the club off his shoulder and tapped his daughter's shoulders with it, once, twice.
Angie stared at her own shoulders as if the gesture felt familiar.
"You've got a lot of nerve coming back. I figured you'd gone out there to finally get yourself killed."
He let the sentence trail off, settling the club back onto his shoulder. He kept his expression blank, but the impact must have hurt quite a bit. The corner of his mouth crept up in a mean little smirk.
"Guess you were too scared to die after all, huh?"
A mocking drawl. Angie lifted her eyes to meet her father's.
Silence. Not the silence of fear. She blinked a few times. Her lips were pressed flat, her eyes wide open and fixed on the man who sired her.
The same hair color, a different face, different eyes. Nothing else about them matched, but the rare shade of scarlet made the family tie conspicuous.
Looking alike should have felt familiar, but Angie couldn't find a trace of familiarity in this man.
What rose in her was disgust, irritation, hatred. The same things she'd felt when he killed her mother. Nothing surprising there.
The man — Gale — didn't see any of those dark emotions.
He took her silence for fear. He snorted.
"Well, since you're back, don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Empty goodwill, rolling off the tongue so easily. Aslan, who had half-drawn a dagger from within his cloak, slid the blade back into place and watched. Gale lowered the club from his shoulder and gripped it tight.
"Right after I bust both your hands up so bad you'll have no choice but to let me."
A harsh laugh rippled through his thugs. Aslan's expression tightened a fraction at the sound. He drew the dagger again — discreetly. Angie wouldn't take so much as a scratch from a shoddy club like that, but he drew it anyway.
Because he felt like it.
The man laughed with his followers. Angie and Aslan didn't. Through the noise of their jeering, Angie exhaled a long breath.
"Where's Uncle?"
"Uncle?"
Her father echoed the word. It clearly didn't spark any recognition. His indifference to his own daughter was that simple. One of Gale's men, though, let out an "Ah" of realization.
"That Bug bastard? Probably rat-shit in a ditch next to the jakes by now."
Yeah, we really worked him over good. The sneering laughter that followed was loud. Gale shot his daughter a look that said, You got that?
There was nothing in that expression meant for flesh and blood. Aslan frowned at the sight. Angie frowned for a different reason.
Bug.
A man who lived here in the Tail District. He raised bugs.
The bugs were livestock, raised to be eaten, and the girl had relied on his help a handful of times.
If that were all, she might not have cared. But the old man they called Bug was the head of a faction that brokered outside labor.
He didn't have much personal strength or many fighters of his own, but he had connections with mercenary companies. Enough that even exiled Dragon-kin sought him out.
A decent man. Angie had left Belus Alpen with his help.
She'd been captured, yes. But because of that, she'd met Aslan.
The girl had wanted to express her gratitude.
Now she never would.
The ache of hearing her benefactor's death — a man who hadn't been anywhere near as rotten as this place — weighed on her chest. Angie lowered her eyes.
"You killed him."
"You think I'd leave him breathing?"
Gale snorted.
"You got out because of that Bug fuck, so of course I had to destroy him. He dared lay his hands on my property."
He bent slightly at the waist, pouring a look of pure contempt down at his daughter. Angie knew exactly what always followed that contempt.
"Angie, that Bug fuck is dead because you ran away."
She closed her eyes, then opened them again with a sigh.
A familiar ritual.
It was a petty, nasty tactic — but before she met Aslan, it had worked on her every time.
Whenever Angie tried to do something, or even thought about doing something, her father Gale would sabotage it or destroy it outright, then declare it was all her fault.
If she'd never met Aslan, it would probably still be working.
Before, she would have shriveled up right here, too crushed to say a word.
Even now, a part of her still felt that way. She'd grown strong, but her heart wasn't much different from the Angie who left Belus Alpen.
But.
Angie glanced at Aslan. He stood with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, utterly at ease. No opponent he'd ever faced had made him cower.
Physically weaker than her, smaller than her, and he'd still laid countless enemies low.
Had Aslan ever been afraid? Had Aslan ever lost his nerve and folded?
Didn't he hold his head high and shout defiance in the face of godlike beings?
Angie wanted to be like Aslan.
What she needed for that was courage.
The girl drew a deep breath. Her eyes flew wide open, and she put on a bluff.
She tried to copy Aslan.
She tried to project the same weight, the same calm pressure he carried when he spoke in that steady voice of his.
The first person to react to the attempt was Aslan himself.
Anyone could see she was mimicking him. He returned the dagger — ready to throw a moment ago — back into his cloak.
Because he judged she could handle this on her own.
Angie swept her gaze over the paupers.
The poor squatters styling themselves Gale's men were all holding weapons.
Axes, clubs, long poles, daggers, even hammers.
A motley collection of cheap, easy-to-find tools. Tools that were also instruments for taking lives in the Tail District.
Nobody walked around here openly carrying that kind of hardware.
If they were, there had to be a reason. Angie lifted her eyes to her father.
"What did you bring those weapons for?"
A steady question. Not what Gale expected.
Aslan recognized the cadence, the way she placed her gaze. He nearly smiled, barely holding it in.
Gale, meanwhile, had expected his daughter to burst into tears any second. Her flat, unbothered tone made something itch at the back of his skull, but he answered anyway.
"What do you think? To bash your skull in and your parasite boyfriend's skull in. Huh?"
Gale rolled his eyes toward Aslan.
He didn't recognize the Master of Combat.
But even he could tell the gear Aslan wore was expensive.
Gale wasn't a warrior. He had no eye for estimating strength.
So all he saw when he looked at Aslan was a prime piece of loot to strip and sell.
Decent-looking face — he'd fetch a good price anywhere. And every piece of equipment on his person was clearly worth something.
Good gear meant he probably wouldn't be easy to subdue, but the mob surrounding him right now was anything but small.
Gale sized Aslan up with the tactical instincts of a bandit.
Staring into those indifferent teal eyes, he thought.
'Grab the eyes, keep him distracted, then — crack — cave the skull in. Nothing to it.'
He licked his dry lips, eyeing the scale cloak and armor that looked expensive at a glance, eyeing the intimidating blades.
How much could he get for them? Or maybe he'd keep them for himself. He smiled a greasy, happy little smile as he entertained the possibilities.
Angie watched that greasy smile and blinked.
Pathetic.
The sigh came out on its own, escaping her closed mouth.
"How have you not changed at all."
A mutter, but not a quiet one. Loud enough to snap Gale out of his pleasant daydreams.
His face twisted.
"Why you little—"
His hand flew up.
Smack!
An open palm cracked across Angie's cheek. A jolt of stinging pain shot up Gale's hand, and he flinched.
The surface felt like human skin, but whatever lay beneath it was something else entirely.
His own hand hurt worse. Frowning, Gale stared down at his daughter.
He'd slapped her hard. Her head hadn't turned an inch. She just gazed blankly up at him.
The emotion swimming in her eyes was unmistakable — a thick, murky loathing.
A familiar loathing. The exact look that always fanned Gale's rage. The exact look of the woman who had given birth to Angie.
"You fucking bitch, you gonna keep staring?!"
Gale couldn't swallow it. He swung the club. Never in his life had this man held anything back. He brought the club down on his daughter's head with all his strength.
Crunch!
A club meant to split a skull open and send blood-soaked scarlet hair flying did its job.
The head of the club shattered, chunks clattering to the ground.
Angie wasn't completely untouched. A gash opened on her scalp somewhere; blood trickled down her forehead. But the result alone was already beyond anything Gale had anticipated.
He'd expected her head to burst open. He'd expected her on the ground.
Angie stood ramrod straight. The eyes glaring at Gale hadn't changed at all.
"What—?"
Gale floundered. Angie looked at her father and let out a small, cold smile.
"What's wrong? You were trying to crack my head open like you did Mom's. Surprised it didn't work?"
Mockery. As if to deny he'd been surprised at all, Gale ground his teeth and flipped his grip on the broken haft, holding it like a dagger.
"You little—!"
He stabbed for her eyes.
He didn't know how she'd done it, but if her head was hard, the eyes were the obvious next target.
Gale's intention didn't pan out this time either.
His wrist stopped dead in the air, locked in Angie's grip.
Gale registered that it was his daughter who had seized him. He heaved, straining to push forward, then to pull back.
Nothing budged. That rattled him.
Something was wrong.
He couldn't tell if the girl in front of him was really that same Angie.
He was bewildered. Angie bared her teeth.
"I asked you what the weapons were for."
"You insolent little—"
"You were planning to hit the Tail Warrior Squad, weren't you? Am I wrong?"
A girl who hadn't been in Belus Alpen until recently. News she shouldn't know. Gale's expression flickered. That was all the confirmation she needed. She let out a short scoff.
"You really never change."
The wrist still wouldn't come free. If anything, pain was beginning to hammer through the trapped arm. A feeling like his bones were being crushed alive. Cold sweat broke out on Gale's face. He shook. The girl kept holding that wrist as she spoke.
"You can't stand to see anyone else do well. You've always got to be on top. You hate it so much? Why didn't you go pick on the Dragon-kin? You never lift a finger against anyone with real power. You just swagger around beating on the weak. Isn't that a pathetic way to live?"
Ah, or are they too strong for you? The girl added the jab, then flung the wrist she'd been crushing. Her father tumbled hard across the ground.
Gale scrambled up, grinding his teeth, breathing in ragged gasps.
"You fucking cunt—!"
He snatched a hammer from the nearest follower. Fast on his feet, he lunged and swung.
Before, he'd been flailing — lashing out without a real intent to kill. This time was different.
He swung to kill.
The diagonal arc of the strike was fast and powerful, surprisingly so for a man who scraped by in the Tail District.
Clang — crack!
It just didn't work on Angie.
She met the hammer with her fist. The wooden haft shattered to splinters, launching the hammer-head far across the space.
The hammer-head that had flown off faster than their eyes could track. The knuckles that didn't have a scratch on them. The paupers of Gale's faction stared in open panic.
Gale had collapsed the moment the hammer broke, groaning on the ground.
Angie took in the whole scene and spoke in a low, even tone.
"All of you, get out. I'm counting to ten. Any bastard still here by the time I'm done, I'll rip out your lower jaw and beat you to death with it."
The paupers couldn't process what was happening.
This was Angie. The girl who'd always taken the beatings without a word of defiance. The girl Gale had always smashed around. And now she was overwhelming him.
Worse, the overwhelming force came from something entirely beyond human.
They looked back and forth between Gale, who should have been giving orders, and Angie, who had created this nightmare.
"One."
When she actually started the count, they broke and ran.
"Two."
His followers hauled Gale to his feet. His face contorted with ugly fury as he looked at Angie.
The inferiority flashing in his eyes was thick as tar.
"You... don't think this is over...!"
And he fled. Angie watched her father's retreating back and let out a humorless laugh.
"Cut the shit."
Her father's back growing smaller in the distance. She hadn't expected a happy reunion, but this had been even grubbier than she'd imagined.
She'd never wanted Aslan to witness something like this. She turned around, her expression apologetic.
"Aslan, I'm sorry. This wasn't why we came. I shouldn't have made you watch that."
An awkward smile with the apology. Aslan shook his head at her.
It seemed her family situation was even messier than he'd thought, but he wasn't much bothered.
He was the one who'd said he'd follow her.
"No, it's fine. If you need something from me, it's better you tell me like this. It helps me understand the situation—"
"Angie?"
He'd been about to soothe her, but the words cut off before they could leave his mouth.
Someone had called her name. Aslan turned. The person standing there was a familiar one.
Someone they'd met before entering Belus Alpen.
The man who'd nearly caught one of Tiyamal's arrows. Harod's subordinate from the Tail Warrior Squad.
He clearly knew Angie. At his appearance, Angie let out a soft "Oh."
"Good timing. I was just looking for you guys."
Before the man could even react, Angie allowed herself a brief smile.
*
"Ngh...."
A space formed by knocking through the walls of several crumbling buildings and connecting them. Inside a chamber that felt like a wide corridor, a handful of people moved busily around a man who groaned as a splint was strapped to his wrist.
His name was Gale.
No family name. Just Gale.
Father of a girl named Angela Tail. A father who had never been much of a father, as far as memory served.
Not that he saw it that way.
Today, his daughter had attacked him.
From her side, it probably hadn't even qualified as an attack. But to him — her father — it had felt like a relentless, savage assault.
He ground his teeth, tucked his injured arm close to his body, and cracked open a bottle of liquor, gulping it down.
The raw burn sliding down his throat dulled the pain. He drank for a long moment, then set the bottle down and snapped at a passing minion.
"Go. Tell the other factions to get over here. Tell the gatekeeper lizard bastards to come, too."
The man couldn't parse what he was hearing. He stared at his boss with a dumb look. "Uh..."
"The other crews and the lords? But... how am I supposed to...."
The minion started to protest — was he supposed to drag them here by force? — and then a shock slammed into the side of his skull, and he was rolling across the floor.
"Agh—!"
Compared against the dull impact, the sharp sting, and the blood already spilling from his scalp, the cause was simple.
Gale had just clubbed him across the head with the very bottle he'd been nursing.
The man groaned on the floor, then struggled upright amid scattered glass shards.
"You stupid fuck, you saw it and you still don't get it?"
Saw what? The wounded man shut his mouth, indignant. Gale howled as if the scene were still playing out before his eyes.
"That bitch is turning into a priest! A fucking monster!"
His fist slammed the table. The minion flinched.
"So now go tell them my goddamn daughter's turning into a monster and they'd better get their asses over here. Now!"
At his barked command, the man bolted like he was fleeing for his life.
Gale stared at his retreating back, clicked his tongue, and started shaking his leg in a jittery rhythm.
Truth was, he had no proof.
But he — once a mercenary, now a pauper with no Tail surname — had seen a priest once, by chance.
The monstrous strength his daughter had displayed was on par with those priests.
So even without proof, he wanted to brand her as one and be done with it.
He stopped shaking his leg, ground his teeth audibly, and muttered to himself.
"Just you wait...."
At the sound of grinding teeth, his remaining men scurried about even faster. Desperate not to get tangled up in whatever was coming.