Eleven: The Sequel of AlterMyth

And Hell Froze Over

Prologue

It all happened so quickly.

Irys and Calliope Mori, like coiled springs set loose, charged upon each other. No holds barred. Bae, Mumei, Kronii and J-chad could only watch it all unfold before them.

They bore witness to a symphony of destruction that ripped through the desolate streets of Yekaterinburg. Scythe clashed against scythe in a furious flurry, sending out red sparks that illuminated the faces of their wielders.

Red sparks that seemed like rose petals contrasting the snow.

The scythes, made of different material and built of different shapes and sizes, sang different tunes while they sailed through the air. Calli's scythe of tempered Underworld steel sang low, brimming with intense strength and skill honed over three centuries. Irys' scythe of red Nephilium crystal, meanwhile, raced for the high notes of magic-spurred speed and the staccato of rage unleashed.

And yet, the scythes harmonized with every strike. Their styles of battle were similar - near-perfect mirrors of each other.

Irys and Calli swung their scythes with broad strokes interspersed with blunt base jabs and flashes of kicks and punches. It was an unorthodox style taught to the Potomac Platoon of Grim Reapers - a style developed by Calli and J-chad themselves.

The style that Irys had always dreamt of mastering.

Like a madwoman obsessed, Irys trained day in and day out until it was ingrained into her very being. Her fifty years of afterlife were dedicated to that task. She longed for the day that she could wield a scythe.

That day had finally come - and she was going to make her idol witness her.

"Calli-senpai!" Irys cried, swinging her scythe desperately.

"You're making a serious mistake here, kiddo!" Calli warned. She caught Irys' scythe and pinned it down into the snow with her own, "We're not here to fight!"

However, in the midst of the cacophony of combat, Calli's words couldn't reach Irys' ears. Under the shadow of the galactic orca looming over Yekaterinburg, old wounds that Irys bore in her heart were torn open while she fought and let loose. Memories of loneliness and agony over being some sideshow to the great Calliope Mori and J-chad, clouded her entire being.

Those memories, mixed with the shadow of the orca, forming a mirage tailor made for Irys' eyes and ears.

It started off with mild distortion: a delay in Calli's speech like a telephone call with bad reception that got worse and worse. Then, the words that Calli spoke were twisted outright. Before Irys knew it, Calli's overtures for peace and calm suddenly became scathing tirades that belittled Irys.

" You never amounted to much, my dawg! Get your head out of the fucking clouds! "

" Irys? What a stupid fucking name. You never got your scythe! You don't deserve a name! "

" You wouldn't even have that tiny sickle you had if it wasn't because of me! Don't get ahead of yourself! "

" You let Death-sensei down. That's why you're stuck in this crappy world! "

" Become Hope, my ass! You were a failure in our world - you'll be a failure in this world too! "

It was like the mirage drew from the darkest depths of Irys' soul.

"No... stop it." Irys winced, wounded by the words she thought she was hearing, "Calli-senpai, please!"

But the shadow-twisted words kept coming. Then, something within Irys snapped. The lies that bled into the Nephilim's wounded heart, mind and soul blinded her and spurred her to action. With every clash of their scythes - and with every bloom of rose-like sparks - Irys grew to wholeheartedly believe the false mirage.