Two weeks had bled away since Eni descended from her floating island. That time had dissolved into a relentless cycle of road dust, fitful sleep cradled by the roots of ancient trees, and the methodical replenishment of her supplies. She had become a shadow, skimming the fringes of civilization. In the last town she’d haunted, Eni operated with cold-blooded shamelessness: she’d ransacked the local Mayor’s treasury, gutted the coffers of wealthy merchants, and vanished into the woods before the guard could even sound the alarm. But barely two yards past the city walls, the forest abruptly surrendered.
Before her loomed a colossal, blood-scarlet palace. Its spires pierced the sky like needles of bone, and its sheer scale seemed to dwarf even her own celestial island. The walls pulsed with a faint, rhythmic crimson light, as if the palace were a living organism pumping the very lifeblood of the earth. Eni, careful not to betray her presence, crept toward one of the high arched windows.
Inside, chaos was dressed in ritual. She saw twisted beings—humans whose flesh had been warped by filth, overgrown with red protrusions and weeping sores. In the center of the hall, upon a throne fashioned from shattered shields and human vertebrae, sat Something. A tall, terrifyingly gaunt figure draped in a scarlet mantle. Its face was masked by the skull of a monskit-boar with recurved tusks, and its long, skeletal fingers gripped a staff topped with a human skull whose sockets still flickered with ghostly fire.
"Will you strike him?" the Voice’s whisper in her head was laced with poisonous temptation. "He is worth 15 Skill Points, Eni. Just imagine the power you would seize."
"Shut up," Eni snapped back, her own voice a mere breath.
She was no suicide. Gauging her strength and realizing her current gear might not survive a head-on collision with such an army, Eni tactically retreated back toward the city. Strangely, the Mayor she had robbed only an hour prior showed no sign of resentment. He allowed her through the gates in silence, watching her with a sort of resigned submission. Whether her Hero status granted her immunity or the townsfolk simply knew what power dwelt in the crimson palace, Eni appeared to them as the lesser of two evils.
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Eni spent the next few hours in a fever of preparation. She secured an excellent composite bow and a quiver of armor-piercing arrows, stowing them beneath her uniform. She double-checked her inventory: the alchemical draughts Doc had left her, magical scrolls, and elixirs accumulated over three months of travel.
As the sun began to hug the horizon, Eni returned to the palace. This time, she didn't hide. With one powerful kick, she splintered the heavy oak doors and stormed the hall. The slaughter began. Eni moved like a ballerina of death, her blade tracing bloody arcs as she carved through hooded zealots and mutants alike. Blood slicked the marble floor, but the creature on the throne didn't so much as flinch. It watched in eerie silence, with a chilling indifference, as its followers died like flies under a swatter.
Finally, as the last defender collapsed, the entity slowly rose from its bone throne. It began to clap—dry, skeletal thuds that echoed through the vaulted ceiling.
"Oh-ho-ho! I did not expect this from a woman. Much less to encounter a Hero in such a backwater," the creature’s voice was grating and thick with blatant sexism. "But I admit, you are impressive. Your rage... it could serve a grand purpose. If you were to join my—"
"Nope," Eni cut him off short, wiping the gore from her blade onto the sleeve of her uniform.
The creature froze, its jaw beneath the boar skull hanging slightly slack. "Wait... what? Do you realize who I am? I am Quivertertar, Lord of the Crimson Threshold! I can grant you resources you’ve never dreamed of! I will teach you the true magic of blood! You could even join me just to learn my secrets and betray me later—that would at least be logical!"
"Nope," Eni repeated, closing the distance. "The Voice said you’re worth 15 Skill Points. To me, that’s equal to four months of boringly chasing cyclopes and krampuses through the woods. I don't have time for your lectures. So sorry, I didn't mean to, blah-blah-blah... Let's just get this over with."
Quivertertar trembled with fury. His scarlet cloak flared out like the wings of a giant bat. "I always knew you women were incapable of appreciating the majesty of a grand design! You are too mundane, too—"
"Yeah, yeah, same old song," Eni interrupted with a performative yawn. "Look, I’m not interested in your hang-ups about women. You’re just a beggar hiding in a huge palace to look bigger. Hurry it up, I’ve got things to do."
Quivertertar fell into a state of absolute shock. "W-what?! A beggar?! You wretched witch! You will regret every word! I swear by my name, I will avenge my subjects and show you who is the strongest here!"
While Quivertertar lost himself in a frantic monologue about his own greatness, babbling curses and waving his staff, Eni didn't waste a second. She calmly pulled two empowerment potions from beneath her uniform and downed them in a single gulp. Then, while her enemy was still ranting, she drew one of her white scrolls.
"Too many words," she said.
Eni activated the scroll. The air in the hall flash-froze. A vortex of razor-sharp ice shards tore from her fingertips, hurtling at immense speed directly into the chest of the raging Quivertertar.
