Summon, or She Dies.

[Gildarts]

As the narrow rocks became more narrow, she inched herself along slowly, until the space grew so slender she’d opted to slide through sideways. The darkness was tangible, as though she could cut it through the knife perched in her teeth. Her eyes had continuously adapted, however, every few steps, the grade of darkness had somehow increased. Perhaps they were going underground, or something akin to it. Every so often, a sharp rock tore at her skin, matching the same tears that had happened to her underwater. The same happened for her secondary accomplice, however he had no blood to bleed, and the rock merely skimmed its even tougher metal, often originating in a dying spark.

The cuts were shallow and not enough to dribble a blood-trail, so, she continued. The halls haunted with their presence, with the idea that at the end of the tunnel would be a light lit with retribution, close to death and devastation for anyone who had wronged her, and freedom to Katia, who had been enslaved so often by her circumstances that she had forgotten how to break free.

Footsteps carried the Prime over the cold rock, which gleamed with the robot’s occasional spark, until they neared the exit, Christa knew, because the smell suddenly had gone from dank, to a fresh, chilled breeze that tasted like the petrichor of the storm. Fresh.

The blonde, invisible in the darkness, slowed her step and tuned her ears, She listened. Waiting for the hum of the breeze, for voices, for Katia’s hoarse, helpless scream as she called for help.

It was eerily silent. Like a shadow, forsaken to silence in its soundless state of being.

Christa had one option: To go forward. She crept along, sticking to the shadows as her eyes took in the new room in all its dim light. In a corner across the room, a fireplace flickered, the only thing to light the whole room. It was as big as a small hotel lobby, two chairs angled in front of the fireplace were stationed. Christa couldn’t see from their tall, plush backs if they were being filled with people. She tensed, the choice came down to, shoot first and ask questions later, or interrogate whoever she found and then shoot them to kill.

If she fired her gun, it might alert someone who wasn’t sitting in the chairs, vacant or not, so she opted to see if anyone was seated first and perhaps find her sister’s location swiftly and surely, rather than searching shadows.

Christa turned back and motioned for the bot to stay still at all costs, his metal could reflect the fire’s light and alert an enemy the robot comprehended her order and continued observing, his eyes, paired with the darkness, and glowed like two tiny stars.

Meanwhile, the Prime approached. She stalked in her combat boots, dry and fully subtle with every single step which shifted her weight to the forefront of her toes. The flickering light from the scorching flames reflected on her blood-smeared face as gradually, her movement brought her closer to what or who she hoped to be the answer. She had picked the chair on the left and now was nearing the side of the shadowed chair. Quickly, she leapt forward, spun around, and raised both her guns at each chair, just in case.

The one on the left was empty, the other, a man was sitting there, his hands were eloquently placed in a steeple’s structure. Christa’s expression immediately scrunched into one of anger, she didn’t know who her weapons were aimed at, but quickly, she readjusted her aim so that both were pointed at his head, even if one missed, the other surely wouldn’t. She was about to ask, ‘Who are you? Where is my sister?’ when she was greeted by the spooky voice from the phone.

It was even more daunting in person, “I am…” he began with a smarmy slither, “A bit disappointed.”

Her teeth shown, anger boiled from the bottom of her soles to the top of her head, “Where IS she?!”

The anger was tangible as her tongue traced the edge of the cold steel knife, she spat it on the ground, sure that her guns alone would be enough to slay him, she started forward with an aggressive lurch and her eyes narrowed, fierce and unforgiving.

“What makes you even think she’s still alive?” Behemoth said with a slither of his tongue.

The swaying shadows cast by the soft cackling of the crisping fire fell on the man’s face. He was pale, as a ghost, had hollowed cheeks and sunken in black eyes. His hair was long and disheveled, running just past his shoulders with a sheen of grease. He was scrawny, and weak looking. She could take him easily, however, there was a power about him she couldn’t quite place, and a question that was posed by her most inherent senses of logic, How is he sitting over there so confidently if I’ve already won by finding him?

The answer as cold as the bullets cocked in the chamber of her gun. She hadn’t. Fear trickled in, flushing with adrenaline, accelerating her heart, mind, and causing her thoughts to dart and dash around searching for the solution to the puzzle.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Christa said, a question in her tone as she waited for the man and king piece of the game to announce his master plan.

“Yes, but maybe it is because I wanted to see the look on your face when I tell you she’s dead. Your time is up. You’ve had plenty of it, went off galavanting with Karl Jak for far too long to even stand my amount of patience.” He delivered the blow ruthlessly, the blow was raw however it didn’t seem to sink into the Prime, who’s face had merely hardened.

She’d prepared for the worst. It had been delivered. But, that didn’t necessarily make it true.

Mind games were as real as you made them.

“So.. I can kill you now without worrying for my sister’s sake? Okay,” Christa’s newly formed smile was genuine as the gun in her hand was poised now with a finger laying aptly on the trigger.