064 Under Attack - Part 2 - Mirai’s POV

  I sat with my hands folded neatly in my lap, legs crossed at the ankle like some kind of royal debutante. My posture was perfect. My expression serene. Internally, I was screaming.

  Not out of fear.

  Boredom.

  Elena was beside me, her arms crossed so tightly she might’ve cracked a rib. Her jaw was set, eyes fixed on the altar like it had personally insulted her. If the priest had said “thou shalt not glare holes through people,” she’d be first in line for confession.

  The tension between us buzzed like a low-voltage fence. Painful, but not enough to fry anything important.

  I leaned toward her slightly and whispered, “Could we, for a short second, not insult each other?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Didn’t even blink.

  A miracle, I thought. We might get through a whole mass without passive-aggressively declaring war on each other. I felt like I should mark the moment on a calendar.

  And then her phone rang.

  The sound sliced through the solemn quiet like a chainsaw through lace.

  The old woman in front of us—yes, her again, the same battle-hardened church general from earlier—turned around with that look of absolute surrender on her face. Not annoyance. Not anger. Just the deep, mournful acceptance of someone who had given up on the concept of manners.

  Elena didn’t flinch. She reached into her coat with that same controlled precision she used for weapon disassembly, pulled out her phone, and slipped one earpiece in.

  “I see,” she said quietly, then turned to me. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “Follow me.”

  No dramatics. No sass. Just that sharp, clipped tone that meant something had changed.

  I followed.

  Out of the pew, past the disappointed sigh of the old lady, and into the pale hallway just outside the chapel. The stained glass cast strange light across the walls—Saints and angels twisting across Elena’s cheekbones.

  She tapped her phone, and the call went to speaker.

  Merrick’s voice came through.

  “We are under attack. Stay calm.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “Shapeshifters. Possibly a few cryptids. And professional ESPers. Stay alert.”

  He paused. A breath. Something in the background crackled… gunfire? Static? Screams?

  “We’re coming. Find Lady Enoch. Stay by her side.”

  The phone went dead.

  Just like that.

  No time for questions. No time to panic.

  I looked at Elena.

  She didn’t look scared.

  She looked ready.

  “Protocol Theta?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Modified. We’re improvising.”

  Of course we were.

  I reached under my jacket, brushing against the ESP-infused threads stitched into the lining of my dress. I felt the tingle… the rush of readiness. My mind sharpened, vision narrowing to intent.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Back in the chapel. Let’s go.” Elena was already moving, her steps fast and silent.

  Really? I didn’t see her.

  We turned around and slipped back into the chapel like two kids sneaking into a movie halfway through. The priest droned on, unaware, or maybe just used to people vanishing mid-sermon for divine emergencies or dramatic restroom exits. We found our pew… third row from the front, right behind Lady Ash Enoch.

  Elena slid in first, all grace and poise. I followed, a little less gracefully, accidentally bumping the gentleman on my left.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, as I dropped to my knees like a penitent sinner in a cathedral of judgmental eyes. He gave me the briefest side glance—a flicker of confusion and concern, as if he was suddenly unsure if he’d been seated next to a lunatic or just someone with urgent spiritual business.

  Elena leaned forward slightly, her voice soft and smooth, the way you’d offer poison in a wineglass.

  “Lady Ash,” she whispered, “if you don’t mind, can we return to your manor? Mirai forgot her… needs.”

  My head snapped toward her, eyes wide. ‘Hey, why me?!’ That wasn’t even subtle sabotage. Protocol Theta was clear: remove Ash from danger or public place, get her somewhere secure, ideally her manor. But we had to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t trip any alarms for civilians or, you know, whatever shape-shifting murder monsters were in earshot.

  Ash blinked once, then turned her head slightly, amused. “Her… needs?”

  “M-my phone,” I stammered, as believably as I could while lying through my teeth.

  Elena, because she apparently had a personal vendetta against my dignity, added with a smirk, “And her deodorant. She stinks.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I snapped my head toward her again, this time with murder in my eyes. ‘H-hey, this spiteful bitch!’

  Elena furrowed her brows, pretending to be thoughtful. “I always bring one with me,” she whispered conspiratorially, like this was a noble tradition and not psychological warfare. “Of course, I don’t smell or anything. Do you want to use it?”

  The gentleman beside me shifted, faked a cough, and began calculating his odds of escaping this pew without drawing attention. Sorry, sir. You’re stuck in this sitcom.

  Then because she couldn’t just leave well enough alone, Elena added, “She forgot her tampons too. She’s a bit shy.”

  My voice went up half an octave. “You are not my spokesperson.”

  A few heads turned. The gentleman beside me looked absolutely traumatized. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My shame had reached sentient levels.

  Lady Ash coughed delicately into her gloved hand, a ladylike “ahem” that carried centuries of etiquette and centuries of practiced mischief.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said with a smile, standing up with all the grace of a duchess in a Jane Austen fever dream, “I believe I’ll escort my companions. I’m feeling a bit faint. The incense is quite thick today.”

  Bless her.

  She led the way out of the pew, calm and elegant, and we flanked her like disgraced honor guards. The gentleman beside me gave me one last look—a mix of pity, horror, and ‘what just happened?’

  As soon as we cleared the chapel doors and were out in the hallway again, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for five straight lifetimes.

  “You enjoyed that,” I hissed under my breath.

  Elena didn’t even try to look innocent. “It was effective.”

  “You could’ve said anything else.”

  “Could’ve. Didn’t.”

  Ash, still ahead of us, glanced over her shoulder. “You two really do have a strange rapport,” she said, voice like velvet and mischief.

  I sighed. “You have no idea.”

  We reached the manor’s entrance in a fast but controlled pace, like a secret service escort minus the sunglasses—though one of us had goggles, so maybe not that far off.

  Waiting for us by the main steps was Karl.

  He was… overprepared.

  Military fatigues. Bulletproof vest. Combat boots laced tight. Tactical gloves. And goggles—full-on, mirror-lensed, SWAT-team cosplay goggles.

  He stood like he’d been stationed there since dawn, protecting the realm from imaginary invaders and rogue mailmen.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, voice serious. “Professor Merrick told me to join you guys.”

  I stared at him. “Did you raid a barracks?”

  He ignored the question. Probably for the best.

  Lady Ash Enoch tilted her head. “What is happening?” she asked, a quiver of unease in her voice.

  Karl turned to her, posture rigid. “We are expecting a fight, yes?”

  Elena let out a sigh so sharp it could’ve sliced steel. “Karl, for god’s sake. You look like a walking cliché. Please, don’t start raising flags, you dunderhead!”

  He raised an eyebrow behind those ridiculous goggles. “Preparedness is not cliché.”

  Elena muttered something unkind under her breath, but then added aloud, “Professor Merrick said something about shapeshifters.”

  Something prickled in the back of my mind.

  “Wait,” I said slowly, “how do we know the Professor Merrick who called us was actually him?”

  They all turned to me.

  I continued, “I mean… shapeshifters, right? He could’ve lost his phone. Or someone could’ve taken it. Or he could’ve been… replaced.”

  Even saying it felt ridiculous. But with what little we knew, it was possible. And I hadn’t seen him this morning. Just his voice. Just his instructions. That thought settled into my chest like a stone.

  Lady Ash’s expression faltered. “Is… is my life in danger?”

  Her voice, though calm, trembled at the edges. Her eyes darted to the windows, then the doors, then to us.

  “We will protect you,” Elena said firmly, stepping forward. “We’ve had combat experience. Real combat. And we’re confident that we can fend off any threat that comes your way.”

  She didn’t say it gently. She said it like a fact, carved into marble.

  Karl frowned. “So where’s Professor Merrick anyway? And what about Greg? And Mark?”

  My stomach twisted. I started chewing my thumbnail, a nervous habit I thought I’d killed years ago. I hadn’t seen Mark since chapel. Since before the phone call.

  I hated this. This not knowing. This waiting. The part of the movie where everything goes quiet and the shadows start moving.

  I wanted to protect him.

  It hit me with a quiet, terrifying clarity. Somewhere between fear and instinct. I didn’t know why. I had no obligation beyond that bizarre deal with his not-quite-mother. But still, the thought of something happening to him made my skin crawl.

  Then Elena, being Elena, smirked.

  “Worried about your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

  I scowled. “We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Sure,” she said, with all the smugness of someone who absolutely didn’t believe me.

  Before I could snap back, Karl took two steps forward and raised a hand. A quiet hiss of energy danced across his fingertips, and his flames sputtered into life: blue-white in the edges, brilliantly red, and flickering dangerously.

  He stood in front of us protectively, body squared. “Someone’s coming,” he said.

  From the tree-lined path beside the manor, a figure strode toward us with unnerving confidence.

  A man.

  He stood there like a painting come to life—shirtless, barefoot, biceps flexing like they had a mind of their own. Muscles on muscles. Red hair wild and loose like some post-apocalyptic Norse god who wandered out of a protein powder commercial and into our very bad day.

  And yet… there was something ancient about him. Not just old. Ancient. Like the air around him had stopped obeying the laws of time out of sheer intimidation.

  Lady Ash’s voice came out low and cracked. “That’s… that’s…”

  She trembled, backing up one step, then two.

  “What are you doing here, Immortal?”

  The name hit me like a splash of cold water.

  The Immortal. Ivan.

  Even I had heard the stories. He was part of the first generation of dungeonbreakers. The ones who survived things before protocols even existed. A living legend. An anomaly. A monster. No one knew how many centuries he’d been around. Most assumed he was dead, or worse—hidden away in some cryptid-infested wasteland. But he wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t a myth.

  He was standing right here. Shirtless.

  “Harsh,” he said, voice like gravel soaked in wine. “That’s how you greet your husband?”

  Husband?

  HUSBAND?!

  Ash looked like she was about to combust. “Ex-husband,” she spat, “and that was three incarnations ago, you idiot!”

  “Oh?” Ivan tilted his head, smirking like he found this all very amusing. “Still holding a grudge, huh?”

  “Eat rocks, Ivan. Crawl into a ditch and die there, you no-lifer, useless prick!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare come closer. My past lives hated your guts, and I’m no exception! So back. Off.”

  She pointed at him with such fury her glove squeaked.

  Karl stepped forward, flames sparking from his palms. “What she said, asshole.”

  He dragged his foot across the manicured gravel path like a samurai drawing a blade—except his was a searing line of fire. It caught, flared, then erupted into a wall of flame, roaring between us and Ivan.

  Ivan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

  He looked at Karl like he was a mildly interesting art exhibit.

  Then his eyes slid to Elena—measured, amused.

  And then—because this day wasn’t allowed to get less weird—his gaze locked onto me.

  I stiffened.

  “The child of prophecy, huh?” he said, almost to himself.

  I blinked. “What now?”

  Seriously. What now?!

  Because I was pretty sure no part of my life included the word prophecy. Unless it was some doomsday tabloid nonsense like ‘Seventeen-Year-Old Girl to Accidentally Trigger End of World’—in which case, okay, yeah, maybe. But no. No no no.

  He took one step forward. Just one. The flames didn’t touch him. They parted. Not like he resisted them—more like they just… chose not to burn him. The air shuddered.

  I backed up instinctively.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ivan said, still looking directly at me. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “And you’re big,” I shot back. “And look dumb.”

  He grinned.

  Lady Ash stepped forward, eyes burning. “You are not taking her, Ivan.”

  “Oh, relax,” he said, voice suddenly soft. Too soft. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m here to help. The world’s about to go to shit. Again. I came to offer protection.”

  “Yeah? From what?” Elena asked, hand already at the hidden sheath strapped to her thigh.

  Ivan looked past all of us, eyes scanning the distant tree line like he could see the future coming for us. And maybe he could.

  “From everything,” he said. “Because something’s coming. And when it gets here…”

  He finally looked back at me, eyes glowing faintly like embers in a hearth.

  “I want to fight it.”