Headed by a Snake

Pale held his metal staff up high as Tycon struck his sword down upon it. His knees buckled under the weight and he dropped down to a knee, cracking the wooden floor beneath him.

A few suns prior, Taree had seen Pale block Tycon's heavy halberd. The halberd back then seemed weak, ponderous, and slow... while the dull blade in Tycon's hands...

Her mind sorted through the legends she knew. She had read about the blade of the kindly Sword Saint, who taught patience and precision. Tycon's was nothing like that. Fear gripped her heart as she remembered a legend that matched his sword... the oppressive, remorseless blade of the Blade Tyrant.

Pale clenched his teeth and curled his body-- Taree had realized that the boy was expecting a strike to the abdomen, like in their training. In horror, Taree watched as Tycon drew his crossbow and pointed it at Pale's chest.

"Whoa! Boss!" A massive red blur of movement smashed into Tycon just as he fired his crossbow. Dragan had grabbed Tycon and was restraining his arms. There was no way he could get out of that!

"What are you doing?!" Dragan yelled, "Apologize!"

Taree was shocked when she realized Dragan was not yelling at Tycon. He was yelling at her.

Taree screamed hysterically, "What?! What did I do??"

Pale was still staring at the crossbow bolt stuck in the wall behind him. He had been incredibly close to death-- Dragan had saved his life.

Pale turned to her, weakly smiling in defeat, "Dragons don't exist."

Taree's jaw dropped in shock, "Wh-what? B-but... they... do. I've... I've seen it!"

Dragan yelled, "No! Aaaugh!!"

Tycon had dislocated his own shoulders in order to slip free from Dragan's impossibly strong grip. Like a snake, he slid down Dragan's body, and as he slipped forward in a sudden burst of speed. Meanwhile, Dragan had fallen to the ground, holding his ankle.

Rushing forward, a blue-haired angel stood between Tycon and Taree.

"Boss! Calm down!" Tarquin Wroe brandished his sword, "Look, it's me! I know we're fr--"

Without warning, Tycon stabbed his sword into the pit of Wroe's stomach. He wrapped his opposite arm around Wroe's neck and wrenched the blade deeper. With a shrill scream, dark clouds billowed from Wroe's mouth as millipedes and other black insects climbed out as if escaping. Tycon threw the Shadow-Wroe. spinning down and cracking his head upon the ground, though he dissipated into mist upon collision. The Actual-Wroe, who had never left where he was sitting, coughed out a mouth of blood and fainted against the wall.

Taree looked around, desperate for help.

Tamaki was valiantly protecting Mom in the room's corner.

Dragan was kneeling with a pained look, both hands clutching his ankle. Wroe was unconscious.

Lone was frozen in fear. He was holding a plate with cake on it-- the plate and cake had fallen to the floor, but his hands remained in the position.

She looked down to see that Pale was holding onto both of her hands, gripping them tight.

"Please, Taree. Just say it," he pleaded, seriousness in his eyes.

"But... But..."

Kimura Taree had sought Guild Invictus in order to save her sect. How could she possibly say that the sect's Guardian Beast, the lifeline of the sect, the guarantor of the sect's prosperity and longevity, didn't exist?

She looked deep into Pale's eyes. She was confused. She was hurt. But she ultimately decided that she couldn't betray his faith.

She knelt down on both knees and, without hesitation, slammed her head against the wooden floor with a painful, wooden thud. "I'M SORRY!"

Upon the back of her neck, she felt the cold, dull steel of Tycon's sword.

She shut her eyes hard, trying not to cry, "D-DRAGONS DON'T EXIST!!"

...After what felt like forever, the cool metal touching her skin was pulled away and she heard the cool ring of the metal sword sliding back into its scabbard.

Taree slowly lifted her head, fearful tears running down her face and ruining the makeup her mother had carefully applied.

Tycon stood with crossed arms, his golden eyes still radiating cold-blooded rage. Taree shuddered, feeling a deep, permeating, inexplicable hatred.

"Guilds cannot break an established contract outside of extraordinary circumstances," Tycon's speech was measured and he spoke clearly. "Dealing with a supposed 'dragon' is one of them."

Taree gulped.

"Awaken Mister Wroe. Wrap Mister Dragan's ankle. Guild Invictus will be casting a vote."

...

The situation was somehow reversed. Tycon sat at the front of the hall with the members of Guild Invictus in front of him. Of the Kimura family, only Taree was invited to remain, their guild's direct contractee.

Tycon, green-haired and golden-eyed, got to his feet, standing before his four other voting guild members. Even though he was shorter than Lone, he somehow commanded as much presence as Dragan, who was several heads higher.

"Unsurprisingly, I vote against. This contract is far more trouble than it is worth. We will find other ways for Pale and Mister Barza to gain strength."

He glared at Dragan, "And I find the motto 'All Risk, No Reward' a rather injudicious battlecry..."

The red-haired giant shrugged but kept quiet.

Tycon continued, "If we're to help, we struggle against a possible Dragon-rank threat. If we leave now, none will hear of the fall of this Hidden Sect-- no employer we would care about, anyroad."

The guilds and the sects lived in different worlds. It was a point that Taree had never thought of before. But what irked Taree wasn't his honesty-- it was how he treated the fall of her centuries-old sect so impersonally.

...

(For: 0 / Against: 1)

The giant-blooded man Dragan was rummaging through his ear with his pinky finger, "Yeah, we don't really know these people."

The red-headed man was massive! Taree reasoned that he must have had a giant's bloodline coursing through his veins. He carried an equally huge dark-metal axe on his back with ease.

"An' takin' a look at this place... It doesn't look like they're gonna pay us what we're worth."

Tycon nodded in agreement, "Your vote, Mister Dragan?"

"I'm gonna vote a resounding no. Let's just head to Merylsward from here."

...

(For: 0 / Against: 2)

Tarquin Wroe stood quietly, a tall, thin man with androgynous features, soft, touchable blue hair, and the most enchanting ocean blue eyes.

Tycon lifted a quick palm, "Mister Wroe, before you begin... Mister Dragan, did you have something to say?"

Dragan looked over and tilted his head, "Huh? Oh, yeah, Boss. Mister Wroe's doin' good! I was just thinkin' that you and I always manage to take the spotlight. Maybe we should give him a chance, huh?"

Lone nodded in quiet agreement. Boss Tycon and Mister Dragan were the two most dominant personalities in Guild Invictus. Maybe if he and Pale and Mister Wroe had some more say in matters, he wouldn't be so miserable all the time.

"My thought's exactly," Tycon's hand lowered to grab the whip on his belt.

Acting out of instinct, Lone immediately leaped to the side of the room, hiding under a table.

Tycon lashed out his bladed whip, grabbing hold of Wroe's neck. "SPOTLIGHT!!" he commanded.

"Crashing THUNDER!!" Pale shouted, slamming his metal staff against the side of Wroe's head.

Dragan thrust both of his hands forward, his axe blade sticking deep into Wroe's side, spilling blackened blood onto the floor.

"Blastback!" A thunderous explosion shook the room. Wroe staggered to the side, revealing charred, blackened flesh and bone from his exposed ribcage.

Tycon pulled back the bladed whip... inflicting deep lacerations all around Wroe's neck. Finally, the corpse collapsed the ground, bloody and lifeless.

Taree was screaming in terror. Lone was yelling in panic, trying to open the door.

The door suddenly gave way as Tamaki ran in, "What's goin' on? Where's the fire?!"

A shadowy rift opened up in the room, roiling with power. Screams became silence. Darkness became truth. And an entirely naked Tarquin Wroe fell and crashed onto Lone, landing face-down, rear pointed upward.

The rift closed unceremoniously, taking the unnatural darkness with it.

Tamaki looked at the nude Wroe atop the unconscious Lone. Then he looked at the freshly murdered corpse of clothed-Wroe in the room's center.

He looked to everyone's stunned, yet expectant gazes... "Supper will be ready in 'bout 20 minutes. Hope y'all are hungry. Mama's makin' roast turkey with plenty of fixin's."

He quietly closed the door with a polite bow.

Pale ran over to calm down the terrified Taree, "Don't worry. Spotlight is the plan for when Mister Wroe gets possessed."

Taree was mortified, "Wait, what? Does-- does that happen a lot?"

Pale looked away, "Well..."

Taree glanced at Dragan who was scowling while frantically scrubbing his axe-blade, muttering curses in foreign languages.

She looked over to Tycon, who frowned but didn't answer.

She looked over to the naked Wroe, still atop Lone.

Wroe shot up an upraised thumb, not lifting his face from the hard wood.

"I vote for," he mumbled.

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