What Goes Bump In The Night

XVIII: Lacrimia's Doorstep

Leaping to action, Sorina raised her sword and I, my spells. Pearce was still fast asleep while Matvey lifted his rifle with gritted teeth. The mysterious woman continued to laugh, her milky eyes glazing over as she forced eye contact with the rifleman.

"Son of a bitch."

He mutters angrily, likely realizing what faces us. My whole body leaps in fright when a thunderous boom erupts, followed by a large crater in the side of the woman's head. For a second, her head remains forced back by the power of the bullet. Then, with a deep cracking, she snaps her head forward-- still smiling.

"Come here."

She moans while raising a finger. As if drawn by some kind of unseen force, Pearce wakes up and begins to slowly shamble toward the newcomer, shifting into his human form.

"Someone grab him!"

Matvey cries while fidgeting with his weapon, hurrying to load a new round. Quickly, I grab him by the waist and pull with all my weight. It's not enough. Sorina then steps in front of him and begins pushing, our combined force barely enough to slow him to a walk. Another bullet flies in, obliterating her chest and leaving a fatal hole. Still, she beckons Pearce, extending both arms to receive him. Too close to the river edge, Sorina lets go and turns around slashing at the woman. Her blade connects, but it doesn't deter her. Close enough, the woman grabs Pearce and pulls his head to her shoulder. He's entranced, not even consciously able to make a decision. Scrambling to find a spell that would help, the two suddenly begin to lower into the water. Submerged, Pearce's face becomes pale, oxygen running out; the woman dragging her into the incredible depths of the deep river. His eyes glaze over as he's being drowned and doesn't even realize it. Finding something that might help, I lift the spell note and watch it disintegrate as a shadow duplicate of myself emerges. Her body is made of an ever-flowing ink, she has no indicating features beyond the figure that we share. She dives into the water and begins wrestling with the woman. The shadow is ink only appearance, so she doesn't dissipate as ink would inside of water. I have Sibyl to thank, she used it against me the last time we had our Combative Aptitude Tests. Fighting to pry the lycan free, the shadow manages to tear the woman away, constricting her with slowly extending limbs. Unconscious, he floats in place, limp as the simulacrum manages to subdue the wretched temptress. Before he could even come close to the water line, Matvey was already shedding his weapons and gear to dive in after him. Sorina and I watch with bated breath as the mountaineer violently strokes downward. Suddenly besting the copy, the woman begins clawing upwards in a race against Matvey to Pearce. I looked to Sorina to see if she was going to help, but her frigid eyes leer back with a still expression.

"I'm not risking my neck for that mutt."

We turn back, watching as both of them reach Pearce at the same time. They engage in a tug-of-war match, fighting over him relentlessly. Bubbles spout as Matvey wrestles, delivering kicks and punches as hard as he can with the weightlessness of the water. Realizing she's losing her chance, the woman begins to climb Pearce and wrangle Matvey. It works far better than I could have expected, as Pearce floats to the side and the mountaineer is ensnared in his place. Quickly shedding my boots, I stand at the edge where the river becomes deep. Rolling up my sleeves, I attempt to reach out for Pearce. Too far away and Matvey losing the close combat match, I turn to Sorina. She shakes her head but then lets out a groan. Without shedding any clothes, she dives head first into the deep river and swims past Pearce, but not without nudging him to float upward. I quickly pull him from the water and drag his frigid body to the fireside. Unmoving but still with a pulse, I resort to assisted breathing. His lips are like ice, but even more frightening is just how lifeless he looks. A healing spell wouldn't be effective, he needs air to fill his lungs and spells only mend wounds. After about the sixth breath, he gasps, shooting up with wild eyes.