Wind rushed from the room, slamming Nora and Lucas onto the floor as they were rushed outside, the doors crashing shut, unable to be opened again.

Nora sucked in a breath of pain from where she laid sprawled on the ground, narrowly rolling to the side as a knife came flying towards her. The chaos was still ongoing in the ballroom, and she scrambled with a sore body to duck behind a pillar. Lucas soon followed after her, but not before picking up the knife and hurling it back into the crowd.

"There's no way to stop this madness." Nora frowned, sighing deeply as she rubbed her temples, peeking out from behind. "I suppose it is expected when everybody wants to live so badly."

"They'll all die."

"...ah?"

Lucas explained the theory the middle-aged man had suggested earlier, mind a little lost as he twisted the ring around his finger. There were still remnants of blood at the edges, since he didn't have the time to wipe it off.

"Then, what should we do?"

"Beat up Cinderella."

"...what?"

Lucas shrugged. "That's only in the worst case scenario."

Nora laughed, before realizing that the other wasn't laughing. "...you, are you serious, Lucas?"

"I don't think they're immune to pain." replied the man simply without a care in the world, glancing down at his sword as if he were truly imagining a battle with the strange Teller of this Story. He figured, if he was going to die, he'd go down with a fight. "I have a sword."

Tellers, the monsterous existences in the stories, were not immortal.

"....." The woman was a little speechless, before shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"If you're scared of death, its better to die in that chaos right now. The punishment for failing this Story may be a pain worse than that."

He didn't remember the specific tragedies that would unfold after a failed ending, but they were often gruesome and terrifying. Something worse than death.

Nora smiled lightly, straightening her back.

"If I ran away from everything that I was scared of, I wouldn't be able to continue growing. To be unable to experience and develop is something that scares me more than death."

She leaned against the pillar, rolling her shoulders in pain. "I had a brother. I could've saved him; but I was scared."

Lucas watched her, suddenly noticing all that Nora was. He listened quietly as she continued to speak softly, nostalgia lacing her voice.

"I watched him, foolishly, as a speeding car had rushed out on a red light. It's not an uncommon story—traffic incidents happen too often. But, I was there. Time seemed to slow, and I'm near certain that if I wasn't struck by fear, I could've pushed him away in time."

She spoke calmly, but there was a tremour in her pale hands.

"We could've both lived."

A soft smile graced her lips. "He was a lovely boy, adopted by my parents. There isn't a day that I don't think of him."

Her dress had been ripped to pieces in the scuffle, the long skirt cut short and one sleeve yanked down, hanging pitifully at the side of the plain, purple dress. A scarlet flower bloomed on her arm, stretching and wrapping around the entire area.

Nora noticed the stare, and tilted her head with a smile. "It's a symbol of my morals, to remind me to always follow what I believe in."

Lucas said nothing, only lifting his hair to get a proper look at her. The woman who had unknowingly infiltrated his life in this short time.

White, shoulder-length hair. Unwavering confidence, and a beauty that hid prickly thorns.

A blooming red flower inked into her arm.

There was a particular villain in his novel. There were many, in fact, since Lucas seemed to enjoy creating villains more than heroes, often gaining tearful complaints from his readers. However, one of his most carefully crafted ones was somebody who used poison to kill.

A woman who became evil after witnessing death after death, failing to protect a copious amount of times. Somebody who'd lost her youngest sibling in her youth, and sought desperately to save even one life, but failed.

Her ability was [transfer]. She could take and give pain, becoming the deadly poison queen, Bloody Ivy.

See, titles were granted to surviours of certain Stories, blessing them with abilities and powers. However, occasionally, there would be a newly generated title, born for a specific person after they created their own legacy.

Bloody Ivy gained her title after brutal murders, her reputation spreading across the world.

[I stood before the blood-covered woman, as calm as I could be. She and I were similar; I was certain of that. Although I became some sort of hero, and she a villain, both of our goals were the same.

We were fighting for the sake of our younger siblings.

Ones we'd lost long ago.

And as she brandished the thorny whip, her pale eyes throbbing with a glow of deadly poison, I raised my sword with respect. Elegance traced her step as she lowered her chin, a white dress fluttering around her that reminded me of a doctor's cloak—a healer, a protector. 

A saviour that wasn't meant to be.]

In fact, Lucas wasn't completely certain of the words he wrote, depicting his brother's legacy during this strange apocalypse. It had come naturally to him, as if he were possessed and grasped a sudden understanding of who his eldest sibling, Kane Silvius, was.

Whatever the case, he was certain that Nora was the villain, before tragedy struck her. She who sought no violence, wanting to save and help others became ruined by that ideal.

"Lucas? Is something the matter?"

He blinked, and shook his head slightly. "Let's retrace Cinderella's steps, and learn what her story was."

After agreeing, he moved to slip out without anybody noticing—the fate of the remaining humans had already been determined. It would only be by a stroke of luck that they'd survive until the end. Yet, as he stepped out the door, Nora reached out to stop him.

His movements halted, and he glanced back questioningly. The woman swallowed, resolution twirling in her eyes. 

Of course. 

She'd never given up on saving people, even after becoming a villain.

"Although I'm aware that there isn't much we can do... is there anything?"

Hesitation. He wasn't cruel enough to wish death upon everybody either, but there was little he could do. But, even if he couldn't salvage the situation, he could create doubt and fan the flames to another direction. 

The outcome would be up to destiny, and the will of these people.

He slowly walked through the crowd, with the leisure of arrogance trailing in his wake, a crowd parting as he moved. His empty eyes, fixated in an unrelenting straight path.

There was a fallen sword on the ground, sharp metal, likely stolen off one of the soldiers that guarded the palace. He picked it up, carefully wrapping his fingers around it. 

The glittering chandelier hung peacefully above, swaying with the noise and movement.

Bending his shoulder back, arm poised and aimed, he thrust the sword out into the air. It sailed, narrowly hitting the connecting metal as the whole thing shook violently.

Then it came crashing down.

Glass and metal scattered into the air, successfully impaling into the surrounding people, though nobody was severely injured as they'd cleared out when Lucas walked towards them.

He stood in the center of debris, quietly raising his head.

"Do you want to live?"

His voice carried throughout the room, dragging behind a dangerous promise, a threat. Everybody fell silent immediately, snapped out of their frantic movements.

"The aim of this story is to find a minimum of 50 glass slippers. Did Cinderella ever state whether it was per person, or an entire group? Did she ever imply anything of the sort? Is it possible for all of us to find enough slippers individually—and if not, is this a game that can't be won?"

One question after the other bombarded the crowd, as they stared, open-mouthed, wide-eyed. Somebody, still angry and desperate, rushed out and lunged at Lucas.

"You—you're speaking bullshit!" Their hands stretched out, filled with killing intent, only to be easily spun around by Lucas and violently flipped onto the ground without mercy.

"Any questions?" wondered Lucas indifferently, ignoring the fallen person at his feet.

A well-dressed man stepped forward, donning a mask that hid most of his features, except for a pair of piercing cerulean eyes and a careless smile. 

There was an imposing air that pulsed around him, making all heads stare silently, too scared to speak. He whistled, glancing down at the man who'd easily been flipped over.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Resisting me too?"

The man laughed lowly. "I'm just admiring your good looks."

"...good?"

"Very good."

Nora stiffed a laugh from where she stood walking, and Lucas only stared blankly before turning his head—no time to deal with this irritating person. The woman made her way to where Lucas stood, calmly spreading her arms.

"I'm sure that you all have reason to not trust us, but what we say is true. If everybody dies, there is no way to clear this Story. If you choose to trust us, then we can offer our assistance, but if you wish to refuse us, then you will live to see the consequences later."

Lucas scowled impatiently, a striking contrast to her patience. "If you value your lives, listen to us. Do you really want to be played as fools, like puppets on a string, to those damn creatures?"

The masked man, still watching, drew the attention of everybody with a single word from his charismatic voice, built to manipulate and trick. "Can you prove it?"

"Proof?"

"Something to convince us to truly believe you."

The man was purposely fighting against Lucas, told from the quirk of his lips in his indifferent stance. It was likely that he believed Lucas' words, but chose to rebuke and refuse. 

But there was no need to prove the truth of this Story.

Lucas drew out his sword in a wide arc, pointing it straight ahead as he cocked his head slightly. "I can prove my reliability."

A phantom of a smile. "I'll give you a reason to trust in my strength."