Alchemist Emily (2)
High above the Atlantic, en route to Washington D.C., the Boeing 777 cruised smoothly. But in the skies beyond human sight atop the clouds, space began to shimmer faintly, rippling like water.
"Center, British Airways 217, maintaining current altitude of 35,000 feet, proceeding to waypoint TUSKY. No issues."
The captain's voice was calm. The autopilot functioned flawlessly, and the scent of coffee filled the cockpit. Everything was perfectly, boringly normal.
That was the moment it happened.
"Huh?"
The co-pilot frowned, pointing at the instrument panel. The outside air temperature gauge was plummeting at an impossible rate. Minus 50 degrees, minus 100, minus 200...
"Damn, instrument malfunction?"
The captain muttered, about to check the systems, when the entire aircraft began shaking violently. Outside the window, no ordinary white clouds—but a grotesque vortex stained blood-red—swallowed them whole.
"Mayday! Mayday! British Airways 217! Loss of control! Unknown severe turbulence..."
Static crackle— Communications with the control tower cut off amid horrific noise. All comms gear went dead. The GPS screen went black, and the radar showed nothing. They were in perfect isolation above the heavens.
"Fuel... the fuel's dropping!"
The co-pilot's voice trembled with terror. The fuel gauge drained as if there were a hole in the tanks. At this rate, crashing into the mid-Atlantic was only a matter of time. They banked wildly, desperate to escape the cloud layer.
How much time passed? Finally, breaking through the blood-red clouds, a single airport appeared miraculously before them.
"An airport! Oh God...!"
But relief turned to abject horror as they descended. The sky remained blood-red. And scattered around the runway weren't ordinary plane wreckage—but crystalline vessels, bone-crafted aircraft...
"Where... where the hell is this...?"
No choice remained. Fuel was bottoming out. With trembling hands on the controls, they attempted a final landing at this hellish airstrip.
"Mm..."
Emily rubbed her stiff neck, sore from her awkward sleeping position, and woke. The cramped economy seat was the worst. She'd barely dozed off leaning on the shoulder of the fat guy next to her. The plane's violent shaking and the passengers' stifled screams fully roused her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Our flight is currently experiencing... an unidentified..."
The captain's voice strained to hide his fear, but the tremor betrayed him. The cabin air reeked of recycled oxygen and terror.
At that moment, the weathered leather tome—Comte de Saint-Germain's Magic Grimoire—tucked in the pocket of her old hoodie began trembling on its own.
Emily! Wake up, you useless wench! Right now!
The grimoire's voice wasn't its usual oily, carefree tone. It carried a sharp, urgent terror Emily had never heard before.
"Quiet, Germain... it's just turbulence."
Not turbulence, you fool! This is... inside! We've entered the 'Eternal Nightmare'!
"Eternal Nightmare?"
Emily's blue eyes sparkled not with fear, but curiosity and excitement. Finally! She'd stepped into the real world of magic with her own feet!
"It's fine, Germain! I've got my secret weapon!"
She pointed to the small clay doll dangling like a keychain from her backpack—the only homunculus she'd ever made.
That clay doll?! Are you insane?! That thing's less than a crumb to the entity I'm sensing now!
This is... different. Unlike any nightmare aura I've sensed before. The master of this place... the predator here... is a Great Warrior. An overwhelming being that dominates this realm utterly! We're not hunters, my lady! We're mere ant larvae that crawled into a dragon's nest!
With that desperate cry, the plane's landing gear slammed into the cracked runway asphalt with a thunderous thud!, landing roughly.
Emily peered out the window. And saw it. The red sky, burning alien vessels, and in the distance amid the ruins—a colossal Great Warrior, double-bladed axe slung over its shoulder, slowly turning its head toward their iron tube.
Her Whirly Peter dream had turned into a perfect nightmare.
The plane cabin was a massive iron tube filled only with the frozen breaths of hundreds terrified humans. Outside the windows stretched a hellscape unbelievable as reality.
"W-what... what is that...?"
One passenger's trembling voice shattered the cabin silence. All eyes fixed on the massive silhouette approaching slowly, heavily from the far end of the runway.
At least 2.5 meters tall. Grotesque armor moving like living blades. And in its hands, a double-bladed axe larger than any man.
"Everyone... stay in your seats! Do not open the doors! We're safe in here!"
The head flight attendant screamed desperately, her voice thin with fear. Clinging to the faint hope that this iron box would hold back the surreal entity.
The Great Warrior approached leisurely, as if on a stroll, right up to the plane's nose. Then it peered into the cockpit window with dozens of human eyeballs plastered grotesquely across its face.
And it spoke. Its mouth didn't move. But the voice echoed telepathically in every passenger's mind.
...Rejoice, mortals...
You have been... chosen as blessed sacrifices... to be offered upon the altar of the 'Countless One'...
As the words ended, the Great Warrior raised its massive double-bladed axe with both hands.
"No...!"
With the captain's scream from the cockpit, the warrior hurled the axe at the fuselage like a toy.
KABOOOOOM—!!!
The economy class midsection tore open like paper and exploded.
Metal shards, seats, and... chunks of flesh and blood from the unlucky passengers there sprayed everywhere amid screams. A massive hole gaped in the plane, and through it poured the red sky and horrific wails into the cabin.
"Evacuate! Now! Open all emergency exits! Scatter and run!"
The captain burst from the cockpit, tearing off his uniform, yelling desperately at the survivors. Attendants deployed slides, and people screamed in pandemonium, fleeing outside. He glanced briefly at Emily's terrified face as she rushed past. Then, resolute, he grabbed a broken metal pipe from the wreckage.
Charging madly at the Great Warrior through the gaping hole, axe reclaimed in hand.
"You monster bastard!!!"
The warrior gazed down curiously at the tiny human charging it.
...Brave, little insect.
The captain's attack didn't even graze the armor. The warrior casually swatted him to the ground. Then, with admiration for his courage and mockery of his folly, it began slowly, agonizingly tearing off his limbs one by one—until his screams became an offering to the god.
Run, Emily! Hurry!
Snapped back by the grimoire's desperate cry, Emily slid down the emergency chute on shaking legs, fleeing desperately into the airport ruins with other survivors. Behind her, the captain's horrific screams echoed eternally long.
The sudden vanishing of British Airways Flight 217 from London to Washington D.C. was no mere plane disappearance. Aboard were hundreds of American and British citizens, plus executives from various nations. Within hours of the incident, both governments were in uproar.
"This is the last comms log, Mr. President. Right after reporting unidentified severe turbulence over the Atlantic, all signals cut out."
Even the FAA director's report hung heavy in the room. Everyone knew. This wasn't mere 'turbulence' or a simple disappearance.
"This is... an Eternal Nightmare."
John Connor, veteran senator from the Armed Services Committee, hardened by countless crises, stated flatly.
"They're turning the skies into their hunting grounds now."
The president's face hardened. He turned to the Secretary of State beside him.
"Contact... Sea's delegation immediately."
Sea sat alone in the empty suite, abandoned an hour ago when her master left with his arrogant bitch hound and monster bird for the hunt. The living room still faintly held his scent and a half-drunk glass of wine, proving his presence.
Her fingertips caressed the sofa spot where he'd sat, torn between jealousy toward the battlefield forbidden to her and a strange superiority at guarding this vast nest alone.
Then the satellite phone blared. Caller: U.S. State Department.
She let it ring a few more times deliberately before answering leisurely.
"This is Sea."
"Delegate! Sorry to call so early..."
The Secretary of State's urgent yet polite voice came through. He quickly explained Flight 217's disappearance and its likely tie to the Eternal Nightmare.
"...So, Delegate."
Desperation seeped into his tone.
"Could you... ask the Crow Mage, your master... if he might assist with this incident? We're prepared to pay an appropriate—no, more than fitting—'price.'"
At his words, a faint but perfectly calculated smile of pity curved Sea's lips. No longer the immature bitch. She was her master's emissary.
"Mr. Secretary."
Her voice brimmed with sincere regret.
"I truly regret this incident. Hundreds of innocent lives hang in the balance."
She paused, feigning a gaze at the Washington nightscape.
"But... as you know, my master isn't here. He just left moments ago on urgent business with his hound."
She emphasized 'hound,' subtly asserting her own importance.
"But...! But hundreds of lives...!"
"Of course, Mr. Secretary. I worry for them too."
Sea smoothly cut him off.
"So... how about this. I'll try contacting my master my way. I can't predict his great will's direction, but I'll convey your desperate plea somehow. Please... don't lose hope. Wait for good news."
With that, she ended with "Then," and hung up.
The pitying smile vanished from her face. In its place: the cold, intelligent impassivity of an emissary who had perfectly set the board and manipulated her mark.
She knew. Her master hadn't gone on mere 'business.' He'd gone hunting. And upon return from the hunt, he'd be even stronger.
Her mind buzzed with thrilling calculations of the diplomatic war ahead and the gains at its end.
That simple, violent bitch hound...
Thinking of Chiharu, she sneered in contempt.
She's just a 'tool' spilling blood and fetching enemy heads on master's orders. But me... I'm different. As master's emissary, I wage psychological war on this world's superpowers, harvesting their fear and submission as tribute. Their gold, tech, loyalty... I gather it all with these hands to build master's empire.
From her lower abdomen, hidden beneath her pristine white suit—the Ultimate Subjugation Seal—a hot, pleasurable pulse rippled through her. This feeling... toying with the world's most powerful men on her tongue-tip, this absolute control was the ultimate orgasm, more thrilling than any fleshly pleasure.