"Queens and commoners, princes and peasants, welcome to the party of the quincentury!"
For most people, receiving an invitation to the White King's Masquerade is an honor. Even attempting to attend is a chance to go down in history. But for Sol of M...
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Fyn knelt to the side, spewing her guts as I rewrapped my shirt around my hips. Even in my camisole, the heat was unbearable and I was drenched with sweat.
I had lost track time, but Ciel had already fainted twice and Ele's skin was blistering a dangerous red. My legs ached violently, for we had been walking without rest, holding on to the desperation notion that we just needed to take just one more step.
Always just one more step.
We had tried talking for a while, with River telling us about the time he got arrested, but soon his words become slurred and incomprehensible and we slipped into silence.
I remembered Elimes with Pelias at Centerfold, as my head throbbed. It had been hot and tiring, but this? This was cruel. Every step was torture, every breath torment, and for what? We weren't any better off than we had been hours ago. For all we knew we had walked in a huge circle.
"This is hopeless," Syrion panted, his breaths deep and ragged, as he sunk to his knees.
The irony was very much lost on us, overshadowed by the looming prospect of our own deaths.
"No, we have to keep going," Makeda said, spitting in the sand as she tried to get Syrion up.
"What's the point?" Aester said, slumping beside Vernon, as I felt the pounding in my head in my head worsen and bile burn in my throat.
"No, guys-" I slurred, swallowing my stomach acid down, before a wave of nausea silenced me, sending me sprawling to the sand.
I could see Makeda, face shining with sweat as she tried to wet her dry lips.
Then she stiffened and I pushed myself up suddenly, sliding back down as the world tilted. I had heard it too.
I forced myself to stand and reached for my sword, fear replacing desolation.
The vulcan's black bodies came into view, another piercing shriek coursing through the desert.
I had given up hope, yes, but I had wanted a peaceful death with a few nice hallucinations maybe, not to be torn apart by vulcans.
I saw Aester stand up slowly, and reach for his axes as Vernon bared his teeth.
Death could wait, we were going to fight.
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The vulcans circled above us, black feathers shimmering under the desert sun.
I counted seven, although I could not be sure for they kept twisting around each other forming a writing black mass in the air, before attacking.
Two vulcans descended on me, claws swiping ferociously as I sluggishly tried to fend them off.
