Chapter 520 Who Is The Enemy

What struck him as odd was the stairs he traversed while following behind the elderly woman who acted as both the inn owner and keeper.

As each of the carpeted steps unleashed a drawn-out groan beneath the weight of each, slow step, he felt sweat roll down his skin.

What's up with me? I'm completely on edge. It's definitely a weird night, but why am I suspicious of this sweet old lady, too? He thought.

"I never asked you, dear," the old woman said.

All he could see was her hunched over back as he walked behind her, "Yeah?"

"What's your name?" The question left her lips in a particular way; one he couldn't quite put his finger on at first.

"My name?" He repeated her question with a smile.

As they reached the summit of the surprisingly windy, lengthy stairs, he watched as the old woman came to a stop at the very top.

It was dark.

"Yes. Your name," she affirmed his question.

There were no lanterns hung on the umber walls of the corridor, nor any runes to give light. Light was not an aspect of that hall, and that very darkness seemed to cast itself over the small old lady–yet somehow, she seemed larger.

"It's Maximoff–"

"You're a terrible liar, Sirius Federov."

The confident, steel utterance of his name brought him to a still as he slowly clenched one fist, allowing small sparks of magenta lightning to coil around his glove.

"That's not–"

"Don't play dumb, boy," the old woman spoke with voice that contorted itself, leaving the warm, kind voice of the granny and shifting into something deeper and dark.

"Who are you?" He asked quietly, keeping his guard raised.

Slowly, the old hag turned to face him, though it could hardly be called a face that the once kind, old lady met him with.

Her eye sockets were absent of ocular organs, and her mouth grinning unnaturally, stretched with teeth that were coated in a sooty substance.

"You're too late," the old hag told him with a chilling voice.

"...What? Too late?"

"This city is ours now. Gallvania is ours. Mastorn is ours," the wretched hag told.

He was perplexed. It didn't make any sense whatsoever what the words that left her abhorrent mouth meant.

…Is this a dream? It has to be. It's a dream–there's no other explanation. It felt so real earlier, but…this can't be happening, he thought.

"Must I spell it out for you, Sirius Federov?"

"...?"

"Belmon has taken Yulimium."

Those words finally allowed it to click for him as he froze for a moment, processing the information as a couple, small sparks of electricity traversed his hand.

"Belmon…? You're a part of Belmon?" He muttered quietly, uttering the thought his mind centered around.

It's Lemasdale all over again. No, this is worse. This is bad. They have Yulimium? That means they have Gallvania. But…this is a dream, isn't it? He thought.

"It's blending together, isn't it?" The old hag spoke, reeling him from his thoughts, "Reality and the world of dreams, of illusions. I can see it in your expression; you're so very unsure if the ground you step on is real, or if the air you're breathing into your lungs is fabricated."

He did his best to ignore such words, though it wasn't an arduous task as his mind was flooded with pressing thoughts.

If this isn't a dream…Why would Belmon take Yulimium? Think, Sirius. The Sage told us that Belmon's goal is to plunge the world into depravity–so how does this bring them closer to that? They're just aimless, psychotic lunatics, right? What is there to gain from this? He thought.

Finally, a few seconds after they left her wrinkly, grinning lips, the words told to him finally sunk in.

"...You know about these dreams?" He asked, keeping his guard.

"I wonder," the old hag grinned even wider, tearing her cheeks in a gruesome fashion.

He breathed out slowly, allowing his lightning to spread from the tips of his fingers and up his forearm, "Sorry, Grans, but I'm going to need you to spill the beans–and I'm not asking."

Just as he concentrated the magical fulmination around his fingertips to unleash a viscous snap of his fingers, the old hag leaped back with inhuman physicality, avoiding the lightning as it traversed the corridor to briefly light the dark space.

"Tch," he breathed out in annoyance.

I was going to give her a weak shock just to capture her, but it seems she's not just some old hag–obviously, he thought.

"How heartless of you," the old hag taunted, clinging to the ceiling like a nightmarish arachnid, "I expected the Great Sirius Federov to be more heroic."

In the midst of the encounter, he unleashed an unsaid, unseen spell to search for his companion, scattering a thin veil of electricity throughout the inn--nothing.

Emilia's presence couldn't be felt within the inn at all.

"Tell me where Emilia is," he ordered, flicking another bolt of lightning towards the old hag.

The inhuman old woman swiftly crawled across the ceiling to avoid it, countering by spitting black bile from her outstretched maw.

Even if she is evil, I really can't bring myself to hurt an old lady, dammit! He thought.

Avoiding the bile by warping from its range, he looked back, watching the black substance corrode and eat away at the flooring it landed on.

"You must die, die, die, Sirius Federov, slayer of Sloth! You will become the new vessel!" The old hag spewed, crawling along the sides of the walls towards him.

"Vessel"? He thought.

"Make up your mind: do you want me dead or alive?" He said calmly, flicking bolts towards the grotesque senior to keep her back.

After witnessing the old hag's skin begin to peel, revealing dark sludge oozing from her outstretched, torn pores, he manifested his magenta lightning around his hands.

"Alright, I'm going to get a bit rough now, so–now's your last opportunity to play nice, Grans," he called out.

With the sludge-oozing, old woman sprinted towards him on all-fours, he received his answer quickly.

"I really didn't want to have to zap a grandma today, but…" he muttered out wryly.

If Belmon is in this city, that changes everything. I hate to say it, but they're worse than Mastorn, he thought.