The Lost Love Above | Elizabeth x (m) Reader!

Bitter Oath

"The path towards Comstock House..."

 I somehow suspected the place to be more lively. Instead, we found it gloomy and filled with dark corners. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to find that there were no more guards. My wounds had healed marvelously, but I wasn't feeling nearly as well as I was when I first arrived in Columbia. I've taken more hits than Booker and Elizabeth combined, and it was starting to tax my ability to keep up with the others.

Just past the first flight of stairs, however, we are greeted by a poster. It was baby Elizabeth with the sun shining behind her head, making her look like some of the medieval paintings of Jesus Christ. The text above said: THE SEED OF THE PROPHET SHALL SIT THE THRONE, and the text below said: AND DROWN IN FLAME THE MOUNTAINS OF MAN.

Elizabeth is brushing against my side when she sees this and scoffs. "HE was grooming me, wasn't he?"

Booker is flanking me, too, and he's spying on the same poster. "Comstock? Yeah. I think so."

  "Then why lock me up?" Elizabeth says, maybe thinking out loud.

  "Well, I'm guessing you didn't want to be groomed. Maybe he had something in the works to make you... agreeable?" Booker offers, making a chill run up my spine. Did he mean it to sound so...creepy?"

  "Like what?" Elizabeth says, facing Booker with her eyes wrinkled with concern.

  "I think it's best we don't find out."

We continued onward. We get the jump on a few more rebels from the Vox Populi, dispatching them to meet their maker. But, all considered, we don't encounter much resistance. Both groups must be too busy with each other to heed any attention.

The lobby is empty of other souls, but there are signs of a panicked attempt at leaving the building. Everything, to me at least, looks like a subway station without the crowd, which gives the whole place an eerie presence. All signs pointed at the place being empty, but I felt like there were eyes all around the walls staring at us.

We ventured further up the stairs, finally running into the bulk of the Vox's forces. We catch them flanked, unprepared for an attack coming from the rear. That said, the fight that follows after the initial confrontation is hard fought as more and more rebels start pouring in from both sides of the lobby. Steampunk robots with Gatling guns crank down the stairs while men with clubs and rifles charge in behind them. Firefighters started appearing. We fight, tearing into each other like primal beings.

Our vigors clash against flesh—body parts and screaming fly around the room while metal slugs are ricochet off the pillars and stonework. The barrel of my weapon steams as I throw it aside and pick another. It's one of those submachine guns but accented with red paint, a drum magazine. The fire rate is slower, but there's no time to be picky about what I'm using it to do.

In short, it's chaos. We are offered no breathing space, and we're often having to engage in hand-to-hand combat. I'm covered in gore, and I often find Booker hacking away at someone with his sky hook. Skull chips, teeth, bones, and gut piles litter the tile floor like garbage. Dismembered bodies lay lifeless while others breathe in ragged breaths.

I don't keep track of the time, but I'm heated and panting by the time we're finished with the Vox Populi. I was no less amazed by the help Elizabeth gave us with the use of her tears. Before I can feel any pity for the men we just killed, we stumble over the bodies of the people they had mutilated. Many have their hands tied behind their back. Others have their scalps missing. Like the scene we left in the lobby behind us, they remain still in a pool of their own crimson.