“It doesn't matter...” Donal cut in.
Mossiah shifted his gaze to Donal, stupefied by what he’d heard.
“‘Doesn't matter?’”
“For now,” Donal added with an easy smile.
“His star could be dangerous if he is left unchecked!” Mossiah insisted.
“He'll be fine. I know someone that can help with that,” Donal brushed Mossiah off with a wave of his hand.
“Stop changing the subject, Mossiah!” Ángel shouted. “This man had my brother captured!”
“Which is playing into their downfall,” Donal said. “Your brother will thrive off the darkness in that prison. The E.F.C. has two rules.” He held up his fingers, counting them off. “Survive two trials, and all charges are dropped. Regardless of the crime. Most can't survive the prison part. It's a 10% survival rate.”
“If you say so,” Ángel grumbled. “But if he backstabs us, I'm killing him myself!” He pointed a finger at Mossiah.
“I can't die,” Mossiah said, his voice laced with a strange grievance. “It's my own curse from failing.”
Everyone went silent.
“Until I can help the others of my circle restore an element, I cannot die. Not until then.”
“What circle? What do you have to restore?” Ángel asked.
Abad's brow twitched. He stood stunned by the fact that one of them was standing before him.
So they still live.
Zorn stepped up, redirecting the conversation.
“We'll figure that out later. I have a Light Horse to summon and a Star Ranger to not disappoint.” He points at Mossiah. “If you backstab us, well... since you can't die, we'll just leave you behind. AFTER we kick your ass.”
Mossiah lowered his head into a slow, graceful bow.
“Of course.”
***
Metallic boots stepped forward. The sky was a void of dark ink, with only the stars and the moon to light the woodland path. It was a stark contrast to the brilliant daylight currently washing over Draconia.
Brennan continued to follow the trail. The two Red Saints in porcelain masks were still carrying the decoy relic.
He huffed with irritation.
I'm getting sick of following these two. Do they even know where they are going?
The two Red Saints walked stiffly, whispering to one another.
“Is he still following us?” the one on the left asked.
“Yeah. Does this idiot not know we can sense his overwhelming power? Or is he taunting us?” the one on the right responded.
“Maybe he's just stupid,” the right one concluded.
“Whatever it is, we can't let him follow us to the Red Capital. But Lord Fenwick might grow tired of waiting for this artifact,” the left one responded, glancing at the Lunar Relic.
“I'm sure he will understand that...”
Brennan flicked his rod through the air.
The Red Saint on the left suddenly gasped, clutching his stomach as blood began to seep through his dark clothes. He collapsed to the ground, groaning in agony.
The Saint on the right staggered away from his fallen comrade. He looked back, eyes wide behind his mask, at Brennan's tall, dark silhouette standing in the distance.
“I was planning on playing nice. I was willing to just follow along to get what I wanted,” Brennan said calmly.
He walked up to the Red Saint, his shadow towering over the man. The Saint shakily tilted his head back to meet Brennan's veiled gaze.
Brennan cracked a smile.
“But I see you both were planning on sending me in circles.”
“We...”
“Then your friend decided to mock my intelligence.” Brennan’s tone darkened. He lowered his staff until it pressed against the Red Saint's masked face. “You forget your place, inhabitant of Below Celestia.”
The Red Saint gasped in terror.
“Hurt me, and you won't get to the Red Capital!”
Brennan’s smile widened.
“That's what you think I want?”
“Is... is it not?”
“I already know where your Red Capital is.”
The Red Saint's shoulders sank in disbelief.
How?! It's magically hidden from Celestia! How does he know?! Is he lying?!
The Red Saint searched Brennan's expression for any sign of a bluff.
He's too composed. I can't tell!
“The Lunar Artifact,” Brennan said firmly, holding out his hand. “Or you can join your friend on the pain train.”
The Red Saint froze.
That's what he's after?!
“Just... do it,” the injured Saint moaned from the dirt.
The Red Saint sighed in resignation. He held the artifact up to Brennan. It was dull, its sheen only visible where the moonlight hit it.
Brennan paused. He noticed something off.
That's not the artifact. It can't be.
He leaned in, eyeing the relic closely.
Its divinity is stripped of its essence. This is a fake.
“What's the matter?” the Red Saint asked shakily. His voice now carried a hint of irritation. “Are you going to take it or not?”
Brennan straightened his posture and let out a short, melodic chuckle.
Their lord can't do anything with that heap of junk. So what is this energy I’m following?
Suddenly, the realization hit him.
Following the energy, huh? I see...
He murmured the words under his breath.
Someone made a decoy, but it hasn't been activated yet. I wonder who made it and why? I guess I can play along to see how this unfolds as I search for the original artifact.
With a dismissive brush of his hand, he turned away.
“Keep it. Your hands have tainted it. I don't touch things handled by mortals.”
The Red Saint stiffened, caught between anger and pure shock.
Arrogant asshole!
He looked at his injured partner, then back at Brennan’s retreating form.
No care for the weak... I truly hate these Magi. But if he knows where the Red Capital is... then why just walk away?!
Brennan continued into the darkness, a smile on his face as he chuckled to himself.
***
BANG!
The crack of a gunshot echoed through the morning air.
Zorn held his mystical pistol high toward the sky, one finger plugged into his ear.
Everyone stood outside the palace in heavy silence.
Nothing happened.
Zorn opened one eye, then lowered the gun to inspect it.
“Damn. Is it busted or something?” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
“I don't recall Cinco needing to fire it to summon his mare,” Khor replied dryly.
“Yeah, me neither,” Zorn admitted. “I honestly don't know how to summon a Light Horse with this thing, bro.”
“That white gun is a Halo Pistol,” Mossiah added, stepping forward. “I am in awe to see one in person.”
“Don't get any bright ideas,” Ángel growled from behind him, arms folded tightly.
“Relax, boy,” Abad rumbled.
“Use your star,” Mossiah suggested, pointing to Zorn's chest. “The Halo Pistol can adjust to anyone who wields it. It acts as a guardian that hones the holder's energy.”
“I don't know how to use that either. Hence why I couldn't answer you earlier about what would happen if it woke up,” Zorn said with a shrug.
Mossiah stood there, his face a mask of pure disbelief.
The group fell into an awkward, heavy silence.
Finally, Mossiah broke it with a long, weary sigh.
“He's lying.”
“Nope,” the Donal and Khor answered casually in perfect unison.
“He really doesn't know anything?”
“Yup.”
Zorn gave a hopelessly cheerful thumbs up.
Mossiah facepalmed.
We might be screwed.
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