Chapter 123 - The Curse Of The Maidé Ball (Part 1)

The sun was already setting by the time Vash arrived at the tunnel exit. Where, with any luck, he'd hoped to intercept Akira and find Kanna within his clutches. 

But so far, there had been nothing. Leading him to wonder, if maybe...

'I might be too late.'

The air was still, as he cast a glance back toward the treeline where Rudolf and his [Pocket Maid], Bridget and her crew of Stormfleece scouts, were ducking; watching from behind the cover of a line of snow-covered bushes.

'Kanna...' thought Vash, returning his hard gaze to the tunnel mouth. 'I won't let him include you in his sick plan.'

Kestrel, after loyally remaining by his side for all this time, suddenly walked off with a look of intent—lowering herself on one knee, into the slushy dirt, to assess a broken-off tree branch resting conspicuously atop the piling layers of white.

"Something...was here," she murmured under her breath.

Looking up, she saw a trail of torn branches leading into the forest. As though a large mass had carelessly moved through, leaving a mess in its wake.

Meanwhile, Bridget walked up to Vash, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

"It's getting late. We should head back."

"Damn it!" Vash roared, his teeth bared in rage as he turned to her sharply. "If only you hadn't taken like an hour getting ready"—he gave a surprised grunt as he faced her, then abruptly quieted. His face was deeply flushed as he reared back, with a bashful look.

"What?" Bridget asked, posing innocently with her hands behind her back. "Quit staring at me, or you'll make me look embarrassed in front of my subordinates."

Earlier, back in the Stormfleece camp: when she had disappeared into a tent for so long to "get ready," only to emerge wearing a plain old robe concealing her whole appearance—Vash thought it was some kind of joke.

However, now the robe was gone. And thus, he could see the incredible change Bridget had undergone:

Her long, ginger hair was woven into a pair of braided protrusions that stuck out from the sides of her head, curling upward like the horns of a steer. Her bangs, pulled neatly back, to fully reveal her cute freckled face and frosty blue eyes. A new wardrobe, consisting of a small brown leather tube top under a midriff orange fox fur vest and skirt—the latter with visible thong straps poking out, visibly squeezing the modest fat of her thighs.

All of it, clearly designed to accentuate her natural cuteness as a [Pocket Maid]. And all of it, clearly succeeding in doing so: judging by Vash's breathless response.

"Stay focused, Big Bro!" she snapped at him, knocking a fist against his skull.

He stirred. "Bridget-san…"

She grabbed his arm, hugging it tight.

"We're all getting cold just waiting out here like thiiiiis," she whined cutely. "Come on and fill my belly with something warm, big broooooooo!"

"What's gotten into you?!" Vash exclaimed.

"Eh?" She pouted, with glaring eyes. "Big brother, I already just told you I'm cold..."

Vash shook his head. "Not that! I meant with you acting all disgustingly cute all of a sudden. It's totally different from how you were before." Suddenly gone from being a laid back, cool-as-ice lady in charge to a slobbering loli dunce.

Bridget gasped, holding her hands together with twinkling eyes. "Big brother...said he thinks I'm cute?!"

"Gah! That's not what I meant."

She pouted again, frowning sadly. "So, then...I'm NOT cute?"

Vash was growing more flustered. "N-no! That's not true either! You're very cute, Bridget-cha—I MEAN—san! Bridget-SAN, not CHAN."

"Aw! You're the best brother ever." Giggling, she hung onto his arm again.

Vash, feeling he was incapable of withstanding much more of this abuse, quickly looked around for a distraction. And sure enough, he found one:

"Ah! Where did Kestrel go?" he urgently interrogated the group of Norn fighters that were still hiding in the bush; watching, with jaws agape, as their honorable captain—Bridget—was barely being held back from her continual, desperate attempts at kissing Vash: by him struggling against her, with one of his hands pushing back against her face. As if she were some wild animal, going for his throat.

…

Kestrel was on a mission.

She was following the trail of broken branches into the forest, moving further and further away from the group.

'I must do what I can to help Master achieve his goals,' she thought resolutely. 'Bridget...is too cute, and too proud of herself, for me to compete with for Master's affections.'

She lifted her head up high, sniffing at the frigid breeze that numbed her face.

'The scent is strong, so it must be close.'

A marking on one of the trees caught her attention: where the crispy dry bark had been roughly scraped away, exposing the bare wood underneath, by a large claw. 

Something huffed aggressively in the distance.

Something...not human.

'A bear?' Kestrel thought, raising her dual axes in front of her. As a "Forbidden" tribesman from birth, she'd been raised in the wilderness: where she was taught all the signs and sounds, even the smells of every animal that lives in the forests of Seaspan. 

'But I also smell...blood.'

The unmistakable scent of fresh, still-warm blood.

As she stalked further into the thicket, she heard its grizzled cries: Sounding closer, and closer. Growing ever more urgent, and threatening, as she precisely followed a clear path of yet more violated tree trunks—bearing the same telltale marks—and piles of shattered branches. 

Until, finally, through a veil of brush she glimpsed it: A tall, gray figure, covered from head to toe in a shaggy coat of fur, residing in a small clearing ahead.

It was a bear, as she suspected…

However, it wasn't alone.

She watched it rear onto its back legs, baring its sharp teeth and claws at a group of Forbidden tribesmen that was surrounding it: Armed with bows and axes and swords. Dressed in their traditional scant leather armors, without fear of the bone-chilling temperature.

Its snout and arms and legs were all bound by ropes, held by the tribesmen.

Kestrel felt a shiver run up her spine. Her people were a rare sight in this neck of the woods: so close to a village and a Stormfleece war camp.

'I must warn Master, and the others.'

But just as she turned to leave, an arrow whizzed past her head—finding itself in a tree just inches away from her head.

"Traitor," a deep voice said.

Her breath halted, she slowly turned to meet its owner.

"Your existence is a black mark upon our people," the voice—authoritative and proud—went on to say. "To not only be captured by our enemies, but also serve them!"

As soon as she saw who it was, Kestrel gasped.

He was shirtless, wearing only a long waistcloth of hide leather, and several bone and tooth necklaces draped around his neck. The only one, among the whole party of Forbidden hunters, seen wearing the skull of a stag and ceremonial torso wrapping made of prickly bramble branches: denoting his supreme authority over the others as the leader of this particular tribe; essentially, acting as their king.

To his people, he was simply known as "Bramble Vest."

"What business does a Bramble Vest have in joining a hunt?" Kestrel questioned, in disbelief. "Unless"—her eyes widened, with revelation—"you're preparing for an attack."

The Bramble Vest, his eyes ominously hidden beneath the drooping Stag skull that he wore upon his head, gave a smirk.

"So what if we are?" he countered. "The business of the tribe no longer concerns you, oh fallen one! Oh coward! Who, in her failure to die a warrior's death on the battlefield, and fear, has chosen a life of servitude over merciful death!"

"Not out of fear," Kestrel said. "I have chosen this new life."

At this, the Bramble Vest lowered his face: such that the empty sockets of the stag skull seemed to be gazing directly at her. "Surely you were taught of what happens to the mind of those that are captured by the [Maidé Ball]: of the curse, and how it robs you of your mind and your senses. Reduces you into a mere puppet, who can do nothing but follow commands and serve the desires of your Master."

"Yes." Kestrel nodded, with a serene smile as she touched a hand against her bare belly, in the exact place where her womb would be. "I can feel it like a fire burning up inside of me, Bramble Vest."

"The desire...to serve," said the Bramble Vest. Then further explaining: "In this state, you are little more than a tool in service of your chosen Master. At first as a fighter, but later destined to become his personal rearing livestock: with no chance of ever escaping. Except—"

He raised his bow, pointing it at her.

"Death…" Kestrel murmured.

She let go of both her axes, letting them fall silently into the snow. Touching her burning belly, again, she closed her eyes—fully accepting her cruel fate. 

"If it is my turn to go, then so be it."