Sixty-Six: She Flees, She Pursues, And Even Wings Won’t Save Her

The Void made a lousy door; not for where it could send you, but for how it wrung you out like storm-tossed kelp.

Lilith had thought being hauled by Abaddon was misery enough, yet the rift she tore herself was a deeper churn of knives and ice.

The Little White Dragon finally knew why she’d blacked out on entry; a spin cycle flung her hollow, a drop-tower thrice plunged her gut, then a carnival wheel nailed her spinning.

She didn’t dare pass out, though; her fingers clamped Abaddon like tongs over a brazier, and losing the gray Demon girl would be smoke on the wind.

When the Void spat her out, Lilith face-planted like a wave hitting sand; hands trembling on the floorboards, her mouth pried open and bile rose like acid rain.

Stomach acid and scraps stained the boards like ugly moss, but time was a hunted deer, and she swayed up into a room her bones remembered.

This was Annie’s—no, Eve’s—inn; not just anywhere, but her own room, a harbor lamp cutting fog in her skull.

“Thanks, Lord Icarus.” The prayer was a coal kept close; she crawled under the bed, yanked out the box of pink fire, and hooked that ember to her hip.

She hunted up a few belts, wrapped Abaddon like a lumpy sack, and slung the weight across her back like winter wood.

The Demon Princess felt nothing, a puppet with cut strings; with no protest, Lilith tied her loose as windblown rope.

“Heave-ho.” With gear gathered, she swept the room like a tide looking for shells; it was scrubbed clean, no trinket left to anchor her.

She slid the window open, and in one breath leaped, a swallow slipping from a ledge into the cool hand of the air.

With Abaddon on her back, wings stayed shut like folded fans; but she didn’t need them—stars pricked the night, the breeze pushed her like a friend.

Lilith knew Eve would come to Morris; even if not for her, the Void Sect had etched the city on its map like a target.

She wouldn’t gamble the hourglass; sand was already whispering down.

So she drove straight for the heart of Morris, a knife to the board, urgency drumming like rain on a drum-skin.

No more waiting on a millstone of officials; she knew the palace by memory, and grounded wings wouldn’t chain a climber’s hands.

At the palace edge, she ignored the gate guards like statues in fog; two steps, a kick to the wall, and she was over like a cat.

Elasha’s office crowned the palace; the Little White Dragon had no time for elevators, and a trespasser doesn’t ride gilded cages.

She would climb from the skin of the stone, like ivy reaching sun.

The Shattered Ark lay busted by Eve; her trusty grappling hook was a snapped claw, so she bared her own and bit into brick like a wild thing.

It was slow as sap; she tested the wall’s spine, then shifted to bounding, a nimble monkey on rain-dark bark, claws catching like iron thorns.

In a blur she crested the palace roof, a pale streak against slate, breath misting like a kettle in winter.

She peered through the window; Elasha was inside, trading files with a suited Vampire, white uniform still bright as frost.

The suited Vampire nodded like a metronome, took the papers, and slipped out the door like a shadow at dusk.

When he left, Elasha rubbed her face with a sigh, a tired moon behind thin clouds; she came to the window, pushed it wide, and leaned out.

“Why not use the front hall like a person?”

“Too slow. I’ve got urgent news.” Lilith slid through the frame like smoke, unbuckled her straps, and laid Abaddon on the soft carpet like a fallen doll.

“And carrying a corpse? No way the ‘proper channels’ would wave me through.”

“What happened? I thought you stayed because that Demon Princess needed you, but that’s not it.” Elasha’s gaze skimmed them like a scalpel.

The Demon girl lay breathless, a quiet stone; the White Dragon was dust-streaked, and the Broken Sword at her hip was down to a naked hilt.

“I’ll keep it short.”

Lilith cleared her throat, then sketched the fight with Eve in strokes quick as charcoal in rain.

“So, you ran into the Void Sect’s high priestess—same innkeeper we inspected—and she’s overwhelmingly strong; you aren’t her match. Correct?” Elasha cut to bone.

“Right. Not that she’s unbeatable, but the cost would gut us—off the table.” Lilith let the warning ring like iron.

“Eve’s got cards she didn’t show. She’s planned for Morris; she’s mapped our cracks.”

“She’ll likely exit through the Void Sect’s sewer portal. That makes her slower than me. We’ve still got a sliver of prep time.”

“Not much.” Elasha shook her head, eyes lifting to a sky over Morris veiled by Udis like a gray dome.

“Reports just flagged a powerful mana surge above us. I’d bet that’s her storm front.”

The Vampire Princess crossed to her desk, lifted a speaking crystal like a clear bell, fed it a spark, and brought it to her lips.

“Tell the Major Disaster Response Unit: Operation ‘Shower’ is authorized.”