Fire spread like tendrils across the ground, enveloping everything in a capsule of flame. We stumbled on the charred tiles that crumbled below our feet, toppled chairs and tables littered around. From the fire emerged a man. Behind him stood 4 others, wielding silver enchanted weapons. The leader stepped forward.

“To your knees,” he ordered. 

Matron nodded and dropped. Everyone else followed. The leader walked to Olympia, placing a V-reader to her temple. After a second, it beeped, he shook his head, then an arrow was shot through Olympia’s head. Her flowing, brown hair, now coated with blood, gathered in bunches on the floor as she slumped down, dead. Some screamed, some whimpered, but all was silent when the man turned to us. He tested us, one-by-one, his victims always slumping to the floor, dead.

Isabelle.

Emily.

Elizabeth.

Mary.

Janet.

Josephine.

Jocelyn.

Leila.

Alice. 

Patricia.

Betty.

Katherine.

Deborah.

Helen.

Beatrice.

Hannah.

Betty.

Matron.

Their bodies lay crumpled on the floor, surrounded by deactivated godmothers. Then they came to Gardenia. I couldn’t bear to watch, but my eyes wouldn’t allow me to look away. She was a mess, sobbing, screaming, ‘No!’ or ‘Don’t!’ but it had no effect. The shrill beep sounded, then there was silence. The man nodded. A woman appeared behind him, taking Gardenia outside the ruined building. I gasped, teardrops falling onto the burnt floor. A cold sensation contacted my temple, and I glanced to my left to see the man pressing a white-gray V-reader to my temple.

*beep*

Silence.

I raised my head, to a ginger-haired woman with studded gloves and silver bow. She dragged me by the hair, a sharp pain shooting into my scalp. We left the cage of flame, and entered London, what remained of it, at least. The smouldering bodies of Guardians lay piled around me, their operational counterparts still fighting Irish raiders. This attack was unlike others, as the magicians now wielded silver instead of wood, no doubt funded by Russia. Fire blazed on ruined buildings, conducted by magicians who would batter the guardians with licks of embers. They threw me into a truck, and the doors slammed closed.

-

The scratchy sound of tyres braking on a dirt road resonated through the near-empty cargo hold, gruff men in tattered singlets pulling open the doors. Past the truck’s cold, steel walls were voices. Talking, shouting, screaming voices. Above the voices was another, yelling “Auction starts in five!” to the masses who quietened and voices became replaced by footsteps. Grabbing me and Gardenia by our arms and hoisting us away, the men dragged our still-bound bodies to a strangely dressed man. He wore white gloves and a purple coat that draped untaut over orange trousers. Over his face was a white Carnivale mask, like they did in Yital. “Are these the 96 and 94?” A posh voice came from green-painted lips, curling into a smile fueled by anticipation. Nodding their heads, the men put on sunglasses and stood upright. “Fabulous!” He tittered, taking off a glove. Holding his palm out, a bright light flashed into my eye and my body went limp.

-

As if I had merely blinked, my eyes snapped open to bright spotlights glaring down on Gardenia and I, who kneeled on a wooden stage. Struggling to stand, manacles from below the floor retracted, yanking me to the floor again. Gardenia lay, broken, on the stage, staring at me as she let out a terrified sob. Tears dripped from her eyes onto polished wooden boards she slumped upon, forming a small pool where more fell. In the audience were people of varying ages, their faces plastered with Carnivale masks. Each person held a plastic sign with a number on it, formal wear gloves on hands wrapped around every one. A young man in his 20s strutted onto the stage. Putting a finger to his throat, his voice amplified to a volume it should not naturally do, booming around the theatre.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Neydys city auction centre! I hope you’re all having a good time here, ladies and gentlemen, but if you aren’t- don’t worry- for the greatest items of tonight are on display! Here we have some shockingly high ratings- 96 and 94! Prices for the 96 start at 1000 Virtoni. Ah, it seems we have quite a few takers here. Who will take her home?”

“1100!”

“1500!”

“2000!”

The prices given slowly rose, becoming more and more expensive by the minute. 

“10 000!”

Everyone fell quiet. Slightly taken aback, the young man quickly gathered himself and continued.

“10 000 from the lady in the back! Going once, going twice, sol-“

Before he could finish his sentence, an explosion blew the ceiling in. Rubble fell to the floor, punching holes in the stage and crushing the auctioneer. Patrons ran for the door, shrieking in fear. Suit guards ran into the room, yelling into pocket microphones for backup. As they ran towards us, an angelic man floated in from the ceiling. He seemed to be in his mid-50s, golden wings encircling his body like a safeguard from destruction. Blonde, greying hair ruffled in his powerful aura, his eyes sparkling like galaxies. Distracting us from this -- thing that just floated in was the purple-coated man we saw outside. Pulling off a glove and levitating a ball of light, he flung it at the angel. Effortlessly deflecting it with a beat of his wing, he stared his opponent in the eye. “Hello, Caecus.” There was a pause, then the purple-coat man responded. “Hello, Arcturus.” Then they began fighting. Arcturus, the angel, levitated a halo previously poised upon his head, holding it above his finger to fire off shots pointed at Caecus, his opponent. While Caecus dodged every shot, he continued to throw blinding orbs that exploded into destructive poofs of light. It was a repetitive back-and-forth, each side waiting for one to make a mistake. As I sat, mesmerised, watching the battle, Gardenia had other plans. Renewed with fresh energy, she plucked a small blade from the corpse of the auctioneer. Just a minute ago she cut her bonds and began work on mine. 

Scratch. 

Scratch. 

Scratch. 

Snap. 

She broke them. Just as Katherine stood up, a deflected ball of light hit her square in the stomach, the explosion knocking her body to the floor and splattering blood on the black curtains to her left. Arcturus glanced at her for a moment. This was for a second. But a second was all it took for Caecus to take the upper hand. Springing onto Arcturus with an explosion to the floor, his palm struck the angel’s chest, blowing a gaping hole where his heart should be. Landing on the stage with a twist, he bowed to a nonexistent audience. It was just me and him now. 

I should run.

Then a hand grabbed me. Coughing up blood and gasping for air was bleeding, dying Arcturus. “Call to the moon.” He uttered, shoving something in my dress pocket before his body convulsed. Ripping my hand from his grip, I ran out of the building as a pink-blue winged snake erupted from his chest and swallowed Caecus.