Read Boss Star :: Lord of Trickery 2/3

The porcelain-masked women opened fire on Esma.

Gunshots echoed throughout the throne room, carving jagged holes into the black marble columns.

Esma whipped her cloak over her left shoulder, revealing blades woven into the very linen of her clothes. She moved with impossible speed: too fast for the human eye to track, she blurred through the hail of bullets.

She caught a row of knives between her fingers and let them fly.

The two women dove out of the way, their red cloaks fluttering like wounded birds.

Esma didn't hesitate. She charged, already drawing another set of blades.

Malachite watched in horror while gripping his bleeding shoulder. He pressed his back against a bullet-riddled column, his voice trembling.

“Esma! What has gotten into you?! We are your comrades!”

Khor and Zorn scrambled out of the way as Esma hunted the women in red.

“Don't get involved! We're ‘just teens,’ remember? Play your role!” Khor snapped at Zorn.

Zorn gave a confident nod and followed Khor's lead.

Abad sat on his throne, stunned by the chaos. However, he knew better than to interfere; there was much more at stake here than a petty skirmish. He closed his eyes and sighed, electing to wait out the storm.

The masked women regrouped side by side and opened fire again.

Esma stopped dead in their sights.

Her expression remained frozen: not even a smirk cracked her features. She stood in eerie silence as the bullets whistled toward her.

Suddenly, the rounds flattened mid-air as if they had struck an invisible wall. They crumpled and fell to the floor in a heap between the combatants.

Ting.

Clink.

Tang.

The masked women straightened up, baffled. They exchanged a wary glance and readied their weapons once more.

Before they could pull their triggers, Esma was suddenly standing directly in front of them. It was as if reality itself had glitched.

The women gasped.

Esma snatched their guns and twirled them in her grip. Reversing the weapons, she slammed the heavy pistol butts into their heads, knocking them unconscious.

Khor and Zorn’s eyes widened.

“Yo, Esma is kind of a badass!” Zorn said, eyes sparkling.

Khor stared intensely, his mind analyzing every frame of the fight.

“No. I recognize those moves. That magic she just used to ‘edit’ her movements and stall the timing of those bullets...”

Zorn looked at Khor with a raised brow.

“Eh? You do? You know Esma?”

Khor shook his head.

“Never met her.”

Malachite gasped at the display of skill. He shook his head in terror.

“Screw this!” he whispered.

He grabbed the red pendant at his waist. It glowed with a vibrant light, tearing a portal open in front of him.

“You'll regret this, Esma! You hear me? You thwarted a perfect opportunity! Sir Fenwick will hear about this!” His voice was a cocktail of fear and rage.

Zorn’s attention snapped to the name.

Sir Fenwick? Who is that?

Esma didn't offer a word. She grabbed the two unconscious women by their legs and effortlessly tossed them at Malachite.

He panicked, scrambling to catch them. Their combined weight slammed him back against the black column.

SLAM!

“UGH!” he yelped.

Khor and Zorn flinched in sympathy.

Esma lowered her hood, revealing long brown hair resting over her shoulders. Her eyes were a tired, stony grey.

Malachite grumbled, hauling himself up with the women in his arms.

Then, Esma broke character. A cheeky smirk played on her lips. She snapped her fingers, and green sparkles shimmered over her body, cascading from head to toe.

Her form shifted and settled into Donal's shape.

Malachite gasped.

“You're...” he breathed, shakily pointing a finger.

“You're an imposter! Who are you!?” He swiped his hand through the air, yelling as he leaned forward. “What did you do with Esma?!”

Zorn’s eyes went wide.

Don?!

Khor sighed and facepalmed.

I knew I recognized that fighting style.

Abad raised a scarred eyebrow, his interest finally piqued.

Donal turned to face Malachite with a cocky shrug.

“Doesn't it suck when someone you thought you knew so well betrays you? Sound familiar?”

Malachite stared back with pure hatred.

Donal dropped his arms. “Hm. Quiet now? You were laughing not too long ago. Confused? Worried about her?” He cracked a wider grin and wagged a finger. “You really don't pay attention to your comrades, do you?”

***

(30 Minutes Ago)

Esma spied on Malachite from the shadows of an alleyway.

Zorn's screaming echoed in the distance, a golden streak of light splitting the sunset sky as Malachite slipped through a wooden door.

That's the cue, she thought.

She turned on her heel and headed toward a different entrance.

Upon reaching the stone wall of the palace fortress, she pushed open a wooden door reinforced with iron plates.

She crossed the threshold into a cold, pale stone room. A singular iron-barred window split the sun’s rays across the dusty floor.

To her left, a narrow stone stairway led upward. She closed the door, her footsteps tapping rhythmically against the floor as she climbed.

She lifted her hand, summoning a luminous orb to light the dark steps, each footfall echoing through the stony stairwell.

Step.

“He better have a good excuse for finally acting on this plan. What exactly was so important about that streak of light?” she grumbled to herself.

She reached the top floor: an isolated solar room containing a wooden desk, arched windows, and several bookcases.

She walked to a shelf and retrieved a worn black book bound in raw leather.

The pages were tattered and uneven, resembling the jagged ridges of a mountain.

All the information I've gathered and written in this book should be enough for now. I... hope, she thought anxiously.

She tucked the book under her cloak and turned back to the stairs.

I have to inform the men dressed as the king's guards. It's finally time.

She descended the cold stone steps, the hem of her cloak flaring behind her like a shadow.