Alice had successfully trapped Drakthor within her mana field—her Pink Room. By merely tapping her foot on the ground, she manifested the space from her mind into reality, just like Code had instructed. With barely a day's length of time, she had already figured out how to use the technique. Whether it was on a whim or not, all that mattered was that she had done it.
Now that Alice had made it there, and because it was her world, she was like its god.
As Drakthor fought off a multitude of Alice's clones, the real Alice casually strolled on the invisible ceiling. Gravity and space were nonexistent in this place—anything that made sense also wasn't applicable.
From where she was, she summoned a large item through a poof of smoke, the colors of pink, yellow, and star shapes. It looked like a bazooka, contrasted with yellow and blue mechanical parts, and she held it over her shoulders, still upside down all the while. Near the rear of it was a charm depicting what looked like Greed in cartoon form. It chimed as she placed her finger on the trigger, and a scope popped out, allowing her to aim accurately at Drakthor below.
When she had her desired shot, she pulled the trigger, firing it as it made a sharp cocking noise followed by a loud boom.
It met Drakthor amidst the clones before he could realize it was over him. His eyes caught wind of it, but it was too late to react—the clones held him down as the shot blasted them all into smithereens. Each of the clones that got caught in the blast had also blown up, adding to the detonation.
From the smoke, Drakthor was in the form of a ball, his black armor wrapped around him like an armadillo. He retracted his armored scales as he revealed himself, barely unscathed.
He remained on all fours, resembling a wingless dragon, catching sight of Alice from above with his gaze. The black dragon-like helmet he wore covered his whole face, showing only a section of his eyes, which glowed a bright red.
They stood atop pink nothingness; the pull of gravity was different to them both as one stood upside-down while the other was right-side-up—or rather, vise-versa.
Drakthor then let out a piercing roar, making Alice stagger and her Pink Room distort.
She covered her ears, thinking to herself as it rang, I only have five minutes before the Pink Room disappears… I need to figure out how to beat him here until then.
Drakthor rushed from below, crashing into the invisible ceiling as she leaped off from it, changing her center gravity to another angle. Alice then grew wings as her bazooka disappeared in a poof of colorful smoke. She dodged Drakthor and raised a palm toward him; and from where he landed—upside-down now—lava formed below his hands and feet.
He struggled and sank into the pool. However, because his black armor was dragon scales, he could withstand the lava for a duration of time. Alice knew this; her goal wasn't to melt him.
As Drakthor flailed, the lava instantly turned into ice-cold water, finally cracking his armor.
He protruded armored wings from his back, jolting himself out in a chase toward Alice. But as he did, his wings crumbled, shattering piece by piece, sending him falling back down from whence he came.
Alice could not control the magic abilities of others; however, she could create other temporary magic abilities—within her understanding—in this space to combat theirs. So long as the magic and spell were well within the limits of mana she had used to manifest Pink Room, it could be summoned here.
And though Alice had the upper hand because it was her domain, there was only one caveat…
Drakthor bellowed, "If this was the real world, you'd have me in a predicament! Unfortunately for you… I know how your domain works!"
As the pieces of his black scales continued to fall apart, he raised a hand in front of himself, mimicking Alice's movements just before manifesting something…
It was then that the sound of a heavy clang echoed, instantly restoring his black armor—pristine like it was never crumbling.
He landed atop nothingness as he shone his darkness colored scales, clenching his fist with eyes finding her. "This place is like a double-edged sword. Not only can you do and create anything you want in this space, but so can the ones you allow in here… It also makes my magic ability more potent… I know how your ability works, girl. You will lose even here."
Drakthor then spread his arms wide, and a multitude of Drakthor clones appeared—all in armored dragon form.
They each roared as they flew upward toward Alice, and she flew away—the trail of them following suit.
She gritted her teeth at their pursuit, but then juked them, tossing out a hand in their direction. Starting from the nearest clone, she focused a spell at it, igniting it from the inside out. She then trailed her hand down the horde, doing the same to them, letting the ripple of explosions surge all the way back to the original Drakthor, who was smiling wickedly as the blazing trail came.
The flood of explosions rained down over him, and he remained.
When the surge had passed, Drakthor's armor was even thicker—and more abnormal—than before as his armor spread onto the invisible ground he stood on, resembling a massive sea urchin-like dragon.
In Alice's Pink Room, mastery of other's magic abilities were also heightened to a limitless state. And depending on one's imagination, can also take on uncharacteristic forms.
She remained floating in air, palm still outstretched before her all the while.
Then, from the black spikes, an armored hand raised—palm out and flexed fingers faced in her direction. Drakthor cast a cage around her, followed by a plethora of metal spikes that floated all around.
"Poor Alice… You will lose by your own hand…" he said as his corpse of a face emerged from the organic armor, spreading away like leeches off his skin. "Don't worry. I won't kill you, but I didn't say anything about hurting you… Badly."
He closed his open palm, signaling the floating metal spikes to purge.
Trapped in a cage, Alice was doomed to face the attack head-on.
However…
As the metal spikes closed in, their advance halted just inches away from her; one of the metal spikes had even made it centimeters from her eye.
"What!?" Drakthor spat in disbelief.
"What, are you really that surprised, Drakthor?" Alice said, calm and demeaning. "I know this place better than anyone. Of course, I took into consideration that you could also create things in this room; however, you forget one thing…"
His eyes twitched as he beheld her, still trapped in the cage, and the spikes floating all around, refusing to commence.
"I only let your clones chase me earlier—I needed a trail leading back to you for those explosions, after all. Though I did miscalculate how much you were going to enhance your armor. I don't hold your intelligence to high regard… But I'll be more careful moving forward."
He ground his daggered teeth at her words.
"As for these." She gestured to the manifested cage and spikes, leading her finger to touch the tip of one. "There is but one rule to this place that is absolute. And that is—whatever is created here by others cannot harm me. Because I am the creator, and I rule this domain."
Her dainty finger tapped the tip of one of the spikes, and it—along with everything else—disintegrated into white particles, leaving only her, floating with angel wings, and with legs slightly crossed over.
So, this is her—as the rumors call her… The Angel of Creation, Drakthor thought as he witnessed her in all her glory. Like he was in the presence of something mythical. Something innocent and holy that also had the power to annihilate him.
"What do you say, Drakthor? How about we end this for good?"
Above them, Alice summoned a magnitude of things. From weapons and guns to missiles and other miscellaneous artillery, an endless assortment of armaments set to rain hell down onto Drakthor, center stage to it all. Even below him past the invisible ground, there was more, ready to unleash destruction onto him.
"What is it they called me? The Angel of Creation? Ironic really"—Alice raised a frail hand—"how this same Angel can also destroy."
"You got quite cocky from just a moment ago. What happened to that weak, scared girl trying to run away—tears streaming down her face?" He mocked.
"She's still there," Alice said, a solemn expression overtaking her. "She just has wings now."
Her wings flared, white feathers flowing, fluttering out. The weapons that surrounded Drakthor flew, surging down onto him without remorse. Guns fired, missiles crashed, swords and spears impaled. All from different directions. All going for the kill.
More weapons and artillery replaced those that had been fired as they continued their relentless bombardment.
I can do it. I can win, Alice said to herself. Three minutes now… I have time. I can do this!
For another two minutes, Drakthor continued to hold off the barrage. His black armor, though strong, could withstand only about thirty seconds of rain from the mobilized artillery. With Alice's magic, it was like a literal army there to take him down.
Each time, however, with the help of the Pink Room, his armor would reconstruct into perfect condition. The sounds of clanging armor kept on down to the minute. Even if Alice was hitting him with all this force, and all these relentless attacks, nothing was going to happen until she could somehow figure out a way to stop Drakthor from restoring himself. And if she could not…
This is going nowhere… she thought. If only I could eliminate his armor completely, but I can't manipulate people, magic, or things that weren't created here. I need to catch him off guard once his armor is down—right when the time is up. If I can do that, then even I could beat him in the real world. Wishful thinking, but it's all I have to ride on… No one is going to save me. I need to stand up for myself. I'm a Black Wolf now. And Black Wolves don't run away!
Thirty seconds… Alice needed to gauge her attacks at just the right moment upon release from the Pink Room—just in time for Drakthor to be defenseless.
The raining went on endlessly. And all this time, Drakthor could do and say nothing against the relentless, clashing explosions.
Piece by piece, his armor fell along with the falling of time. There were only ten seconds now, and they would both be freed from this place.
Eight seconds… A large piece from his arm shattered, his pale skin taking the damage that followed from a flying sword.
Six seconds… The armor on his back flew off and exploded, his back exposed as it took a strike from a missile above.
Four seconds… He readied himself to restore once more.
Two seconds…
"Valiant effort, Alice… but you fail," he said with a quiet, ominous voice, ready to restore his proud armor.
"Say such things only after you've won," she said as she outstretched her other hand, making a gesture to Drakthor in the form of snapping fingers—a gesture that was signature to Code, mimicked in her movements.
And when she snapped them, the weapons that had struck Drakthor had turned him into stone before he could reconstruct.
Even if it was only for a moment, his eyes widened at the last second before becoming encased. And though he could break out of this within seconds, seconds were something he did not have; it was too late. Alice had timed this perfectly.
The last thing Drakthor saw before turning was Alice flying right at him, grabbing a flying weapon as she dove in for a piercing strike.
Zero seconds… Stab!
At last, Alice's Pink Room dispersed into white particles, and both of them were back, standing in the entrance hall of the Wolves' Den.
The open, exposed wall behind Drakthor let in the beaming morning rays. Debris decorated the place as the sweeping staircase behind Alice lit with light as she stood before him.
He was completely armorless now, only wearing a white muscle shirt, black pants, and boots, with buzz cut hair. The expression on his face was shadowed, and the light from behind obscured his front-facing features.
And though he towered over her, Alice stood below in a wide stance, double-hilted claymore in hand, penetrated right into him as she looked beyond.
Seconds passed. They were still for a moment before Alice finally looked up to his face.
But horror found her where she was meant to find reassurance.
"I told you… You fail," Drakthor said with a sinister smile, pitch-black eyes and yellow daggered teeth piercing the dark.
"N-N-No! How? How are you not slain?" Disbelief was sown in her words as she stared from below. And when she looked to his gut where she had 'stabbed' him, she was met with surprise there as well.
Was… Was I not strong enough to deliver the finishing blow?
"Don't beat yourself up…" Drakthor gently took a large hand and grabbed his white muscle shirt, tearing it off and revealing his massive, muscled physique. And on the spot her claymore attempted to stab, there was no damage. "It's not your fault that you can't pierce me."
His skin… It's just like—
It was then that Alice's fear—the fear she thought she had finally dispelled—had begun to creep back to her as she released the claymore, disappearing into a pink cloud, never to return. She turned around immediately and headed for the stairs.
Drakthor rose—agonizingly slow—taking his time as he had before. Like a beast watching his prey get a head start.
The patter of her futile running sounded in his ears, and with only a few large steps, he had caught up to her—massive frame shadowing Alice even as she had made it to the stair landing.
She fell onto her hind, and squirmed away, crawling backward on her hands and feet.
Just like when he had first arrived, Alice was helpless, once again…
Why is this happening? I thought… I thought I had done it. I thought I had won… But here I am again, on my ass, like the helpless, useless girl I am. Why… Why am I so weak? Why am I so powerless? So pathetic? Why?? She thought as her mind scattered—exploded in a detonation of mixed emotions.
She teared up in frustration. Fear. Animosity. And the tempest of emotions became a mental hurricane.
Kiki, Milo, and Ulrich were still outside, unconscious after defending her, and just when she thought she was going to avenge them, she had failed her last attack. Failed to defeat the enemy that was already defenseless in front of her. She didn't have enough mana for another Pink Room either. This was it.
As she witnessed Drakthor closing in, she panicked at a previous thought. He wouldn't take her without hurting her first. The last time he did, he had broken her arm. Then, he had her healed, just so he could do it again. She worried now that it might be worse because she had chosen to resist. She could only imagine what he would do while still keeping her alive… She would rather die than go through that all over again.
She rejected the thought. But it persisted, seeping in now and rooting into her mind.
The time when Drakthor and the Nightbanes had found her. How they treated her like a pet, using her only for her abilities. Kept in a cage—no doors to escape, and with a Nullifying magic choker on at all times. Her face was dirty and bruised. Countless broken fingers, broken arms… How she would just deal with it for days without getting healed, and how grateful to them of all people when they had felt like healing her. And then at times, what a random Nightbane would sneak in and do to her when she was alone…
She trembled uncontrollably, gripping herself until she bled.
It was hatred. Hatred for them—hatred for herself…
Anything to numb the soon-to-be and once-again future.
Drakthor no longer needed to take a step forward. His massive arms were already in reach. Standing at ten-foot-one over the bottom half of the stairs, his whole upper body was in view just before the landing, with a face that bore a cruel smile from ear to ear, and eyes glowing a haunting black, like a demon about to feast.
"Even if you beg now, it's too late. I gave you a chance to come quietly; now you will suffer along with your useless maids before we take you back. Let's see, I change my mind… I used to always just keep it with a broken arm… Maybe I'll break both your arms and, perhaps, both your legs, too? Ohoho… That's gonna hurt… So much for your 'wings,' girl," he said mercilessly as his voice rang in her ears, eyes weeping while she continued to tremble.
Her tears streamed like rivers down her face, breathing becoming uneven—heaving with each dreadful take of air.
When he raised his hand, his black dragon armor shot out from every part of his body, and he was once again clad in it.
And that same arm he raised turned into a fist as he swung down onto Alice unforgivingly.
She saw her life flash before her—trauma rooting deeply like a weed.
This is it… she thought as all sound had left her for a time, and the edges around her eyes blurred from exhausted tears that flowed out like waterfalls.
This is the result of my own weakness… I'm sorry… Everyone… Belle…
She closed her eyes—the only thing she had the power to do—and braced herself for what was to come.
But only the sound of a clang echoed.
And when she opened her eyes, the logo of a wolf fluttered before her, with a figure standing between her and Drakthor.