Magistrix
-Requiem-
Chapter One
A cellar, rather dimly lit, save for anything but a small overhanging light surrounded a girl. She was rooting through box after box, looking for god-knows what, becoming steadily more irritated by the dim lighting, and heavy air. She stood upright, wiping her sweat-covered brow with the back of her sleeve. Her thigh-long, wavy purple hair shining, even in the dim light. She closed her read eyes, a defeated expression on her face.
"Mou, where is it?" She wondered aloud, crossing her arms. She wore a dress, impractical for the situation, It's bottom fringe lined with a black spiked lining. It rose to her waist, where a thin belt marked the change from a dress, to what looked like a tank-top, over a black, long-sleeved undershirt. Over the tank-top, covering most of it, save the collar, was a long-sleeved jacket, stopping just below the ribcage, rimmed with black at the seams. The entire ensemble was a soothing purple, only a few shades lighter than her hair. 'Gothic-Lolita', some would call it, though that was the farthest thing from her mind, when she sewed it with her mother years ago. She tilted her head rhythmically to the left, right, then back again over and over, thinking hard.
"Think, Mythril. Where could it be?" She muttered, again to herself. She stopped her movements, dropped her arms, and looked around the room. Boxes of various shapes, sizes, even materials stacked haphazardly met her gaze. One, in particular, caught her interest. A small, padlocked box, no bigger than a loaf of bread sat on the floor, collecting dust under the shadow of a matte-white steel cylinder. She walked to the small oaken box, it's color faded with age. She knelt down in front of it, holding the lock with one hand. She pulled it a bit, fruitlessly, before standing and looking for the nearest thing to bludgeon it with. Adventurous, she opened the top of the cylinder, to see what looked like a shiny, semi-transparent purple crystal. Reaching under her vest, she pulled out a small knife, square-handled, and razor sharp.
Quickly, she struck the side of the lone contents of the cylinder with the blade. It sparked, and the crystal resonated a soft tune, but nothing visible happened to it. Sheathing the knife, she reached in, and pulled the crystal, only a head shorter than her, out. Hefting the thinnest part of the object, she stabbed down on the padlock with as much force as she could muster.
The sound resonated once more.
Nothing.
Again, louder.
Still nothing.
A third time.
Silence.
Mythril stopped, and held the crystal horizontally, looking it's length, confused. Holding it, with much difficulty, like a baby, she flicked the crystal.
The sound.
A shatter.
The crystalline object exploded into hundreds of tiny fragments, rocketing around the room, impaling objects left and right, but, through a stroke of luck, only scratching her face minutely. She brought a hand to her shocked face, touching the slender, warm wound. Feeling a wetness, she brought her hand in front of her face, to see the fingers coated in a crimson liquid. Shaking her head, gently, she resolved to at least put the shards back, and walked to the nearest one. Kneeling down, she touched the crystal with the red-stained fingers.
It flashed an ethereal blue, and it's color changed, shifting, multicolored and vibrant. A wind filled the room, swirling to the shard. Mythril stood, quickly, and staggered backwards, watching as every one of the fragments flew together, and melded, to form a multicolored archway, glowing a harsh, unyielding white.
It's center began to flicker, before a high-pitched screech filled the air. It continued for not long, before a loud boom, accompanied by a shock wave knocked Mythril back, smashing her head into a support beam, knocking her unconscious.
She awoke, slowly. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she knew for certain she was still alone in the house. The normally dimly-lit room, was now dancing with shadows and various hues of swirling color. She sat up, to see the once crystalline archway gone, replaced by what looked like a tear in the fabric of space, a swirling vortex of white, purple, black and red. A slight wind was being pulled in, mimicking it's effect on her mind. She stood, shakily, and began to walk, slowly, to the portal, it's body calling her, like the most beautiful of the siren songs. The closer she got, the drowsier, like a spell, 'till she reached it's entrance, the wind threatening to push her in. Her eyelids felt heavy, her legs felt light. She spared only one moment, before falling asleep, and forward into the portal, which slammed shut behind her.
Again, she awoke, drowsier this time. But no hardwood roof came to her eyes, instead, a sunny blue sky, lined with brickwork walls, windows, and a clothesline covered in questionable garments. The world seemed to spin, making the clouds seem to dance. Dizzy, she sat up, and looked down what was now apparently an alleyway next to a busy street. Near it's entrance sat a dumpster, obscuring most of what lay beyond from her sight. She scooted herself backwards, against the far wall, suddenly feeling the pain in her body, akin to that of a fall. Murmuring made her look to the end of the alley. Two men, clothed in jackets and beanies were talking to each other in hushed tones, pointing down the way toward her. One started down toward her, followed closely by the second, each reaching into their open jackets, and pulling out something metallic. An ominous click met her ears, a sound she'd only heard once before.
Pistols.
She began to breath heavier, wanting to push herself into the wall, to hide. The men approached closer, smiling perverted smiles, muttering coos of faux reassuring, and warnings of what might happen if she were to scream. They closed the gap, and terrified, Mythril shut her eyes, screaming. A flash illuminated the alleyway, and a gunshot rang through the air, as blood spattered against the back wall, lost in the sound of a passing siren.