The beauty of the city’s skyline was tarnished by heavy rain, reduced to nothing more than a dark and gritty line of saw-toothed shadows against the weather’s sullen canvas. In every way, Lillian knew it should have been a disheartening sight; yet, even as she watched the raindrops pelt against the windows of the waiting room, the sixteen-year-old girl looked strangely at peace. She had been listening by the sill to the pitter-patter on the roof shingles, humming along the rain’s soothing rhythm, eyes following the timid raindrops on the glass as they softly trickled out sight.
Like this, Lillian looked every bit the typical teenager on a rainy day, making it that much harder to believe that this unassuming girl, a freelance librarian at that, was actually waiting to fight in the Cell. She knew she should have been anxious, scared even. Her heart should have been beating like a little drum, threatening to burst or leap out of her chest. In fact, she most certainly should have already run away screaming by now. ‘But then, why do I feel so serene?’
Lillian wandered closer to the windows, peering into the stained glass with a nostalgic smile. The clouds were darker than before, their underside flashing as thunder roared amidst a rain of ropes. A few stragglers were still scampering about the streets, unable to find refuge from the downpour; yet, the girl envied them. After twisting the locks above the frame, she forcefully lifted the window and brought down a mist that caked her with dust and paint chips. A breath of rain invaded the room, damp yet welcoming, and she took it all in. Lillian didn’t mind the deafening roars – not from the stormy heavens nor the awaiting spectators.
And she smiled.
This. This was why. To Lillian, this wistful scenery was the most soothing prelude she could ever ask for, a gift from above to hone her mind… right before taking her first steps into a cage of blood-thirsty titans.
There was a knock at the door, and she knew it was time. Lillian made her way across the dusty slate room, picking up the cloak hanging from the ladder-back chair and the weapons belt she’d left on a table by the exit. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, riveted on the dozen vials scattered on the rosewood… and on the few lingering red stains that tainted their insides. Her eyes clouded over with guilt as she began questioning herself, her motives, but the librarian quickly shook the doubt away. There was no choice.
“You have to, Lily,” she muttered to herself, curling her fingers into little white fists. “It’s why you’re here.” The girl tentatively picked a handful of the vials off the table, staring in dark wonder at the flecks of clotted blood that clung to the glass. Soon, her gaze hardened with resolve, and she carefully stashed the fragile tubes into a satchel hanging from the belt she’d just clamped on. Lillian sighed; with this, she was ready at last.
“To think I came to bleed giants,” the girl finally said with a scoff, throwing on her cobalt cloak in a flutter and a flourish. Fastening it on with the silken strings about her neck, the librarian finally made her way out the door. “Who would believe me?”
:::::
The sudden roar of excitement that greeted her when she stepped into the semi-circular battlefield had frozen Lillian there and then. She knew better than to think the audience was excited to see her, a quite literally nondescript nobody, jump into fray, and so she gave cursory glances to the left and right, registering all she could of her adversaries. The first thing she saw, however, was one of the twelve massive metal doors that lined the arena’s arc, careening through the air like an oversized discus. It missed her by an arm’s length, but the enormous swoosh of wind had knocked her out of balance, so strong it had almost blown her cloak right off. A heartbeat later, the wall of adamantine it struck rang like a monstrous gong, so loud that even the cries of the crowd could not rise over the din.
Lillian blinked, craning her head slowly to the right with palms smashed against her temples. “Great. is that… Joshua Cronen?” she asked herself in a tired drawl. Though he was hooded, his attack had knocked the cloth slightly loose, revealing the face of the Pagoda warrior, and she reflexively readjusted her own hood and cloak so as not to be recognized herself. They’d met in Underwood once, as accidental roommates in the Peaceful Promenade. Since then, they'd gone their separate ways on relatively good terms, but with what would ensue in the out-and-out fiasco this battle was becoming, the librarian doubted those good terms would last much longer.
Wasting no more time, Lillian solicited the surrounding shadows, most of which came from the streams of rain that drizzled on the force-field overhead. They gathered at her feet like moths to a flame, forming a pool of darkness that quickly climbed her small figure before seemingly vanishing. In truth, however, Lillian had become but a passing presence in the arena, manifold more unassuming than the girl already was – visible, yes, but substantially harder to focus on. Moreover, thanks to the otherworldly cloak she wore, even someone with keen eyes sensitive to the colors of magic would not be able to detect the shroud.
With a sweep of her arm, Lillian gathered bits and pieces of shadows from nearby sources: the trickling rain above, the indestructible walls of adamantine, even the foes she slipped by while slinking towards Joshua. Soon, another puddle of fluid darkness massed at her feet, until it burst forth like a jet of ink across the rocky ground, rushing unseen along the arena’s arc. Though her sole target was the currently bare-handed warrior, she was wary of relying on a straightforward attack; instead, she willed the tendril to slither toward the participant closest to her mark, the rogue in showy pink clothing. The moment Joshua showed an opening, however, was the moment Lillian would veer it back on track…
Should the tendril link with his shadow, then the first major step of her plan would be complete. The wisp of sorcerous darkness would drain him of his life-force, something Lillian had just seen the man had in excess. It was essential to enfeeble him, to sever his heels: only then could she begin the second step toward taking down a titan.
‘Sorry Josh,’ she thought to herself with an apologetic grin, ‘but it looks like you’re Giant Number One.’
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