Her hands reached out in search of anything to guide her steps. She was met with some sort of vinyl on one side and ranher fingertips along as she walked. After a few paces, a dim yellow lamp glowed to shed some light on her path.
She walked on a dirt road with trampled grass, her fingers gliding along a worn red and white striped fabric that ran from the ground and into the air. It was so tall that she couldn’t make out the top, and wide enough that her fingers never met its end.
“What the fuck?” she whispered.
Her steps slowed, more tentative the closer she got to the light. Nyx didn’t dare step into it, but she needed it to find what her chaos wanted her to see. There was always a point, and she would be stupid not to find it. Maybe it would help her find Xia. Or, better yet, the entrance to the Freakshow so she could hand Chaos over and go back home.
A pang of guilt struck a chord in her heart, but she shoved it down. Chaos was, after all, the creator of everything. He could handle himself, and he would have to understand why Nyx had to do it. She couldn’t lose sight of her purpose.
Low mumbles pulled her from the frantic thoughts and she focused on the voices. She left the tent to her left and crossed the shadows to another she could see peeking through the light.
The closer she got to the new tent, the more her vision let her see. The same fabric draped over metal framework, but this one was smaller than the other and yellowing around the edges. A light glowed from within and two silhouettes appeared on the outside. The tent flap was closed and Nyx wouldn’t risk opening it.
She crept around the shadows and kept the light to her front to make sure she didn’t add her silhouette to the tent. Nyx settled close enough to hear the voices without touching the tent.
From the new angle, she made another body laying on a cot, one of the others reaching out to stroke their cheek.
“We’re almost to the end now,” they whispered.
The voice was meek and feminine that held an edge of… compassion? Fondness?
“I’ve done my part,” she continued, still stroking the unconscious daemon. “I hope for your sake that you’ve done yours.”
The second silhouette shifted from one foot to the other and took their time answering. If Nyx were a betting woman, she would say they were nervous.
“My pieces are in place,” the second answered, the voice so low that Nyx nearly missed the words. She leaned in closer, straining to hear every word.
“Mistress will not be happy if you come up short,” the feminine voice said.
“I will not come up empty. It is not your job to supervise me or the tasks I’ve been given. Your task was just a pawn on the board.”
“A pawn it may have been, but without my move, your board would have fallen useless.”
A chill ran down Nyx’s spine as the man's silhouette expanded on the vinyl. Tattered wings rose from his shoulders as claws extended from his fingertips, twin spikes protruding from either side of his head. Nyx blinked as her mind fought to catch up with her eyes. The middle of the silhouette was black as ink and shaped like a man while the monster outlining his frame was lighter, but still very much a part of him.
“You don’t scare me, Phobetor,” the female crooned as she continued stroking the figure on the bed. “Put your nightmare back where it belongs and do your part. I won’t be punished because you can’t perform. Now leave my tent. Xia needs her beauty rest for the grand finale of the Freakshow.”
The man huffed, the silhouette of his monster trembling. With fear or rage, Nyx wondered. “Whatever you say, Rue.”
Chaos slammed back into his body as Nyx lurched forward and wheezed.
“She’s not in the tavern,” he said as frost spread across the floor.
“How do you know?” Nyx peered at him as her eyes widened. “Brooks, what did you do?”
His jaw clenched as black webbed his veins and shadows rolled off him in waves. “Brooks is no longer here. I am Chaos, and I’ve done what I must.”
Melinoe
Melinoe rested on anivory throne carved from the bones of men as she stared into Hel. A red talon grazed the fine hairs along her cheek, mind churning over the faults in her plan. Her temper flared, lip curling as she replayed the moment from days before in her mind.
“Phobetor lost the Siren, mistress. The Father of Chaos has taken her.”
Melinoe tapped her fingers against the bleached armrest as she contemplated the words and tamed her fury. Crashing doors broke the silence as Phobeter sauntered into the room.
Mel quirked a brow as he approached. “To what do we the pleasure of your company–” She stopped, a touch of malicelacing her words as she mocked him. “What shall I call you today? The self-proclaimed Devil of Club Hel? Or perhaps the Lord of Nightmares?”
“Whatever pleases you, mistress.”
