The winds brushed against the windows in glass.
A long air of silence hung inside his room.
Maximilian stood tense, fingers drumming impatiently against his wooden desk.
His room continued buzzing with stillness, but the air had changed. He could feel the pressure dropped suddenly. Something is off.
Then,
Knock knock knock.
Soft. Too soft. He didn't flinch.
He turned slowly toward the door, his voice low and controlled.
His hand moved down, opening his desk, grabbing a sharp bayonet from the inside. He turned slowly again, controlling his footsteps as he approaches the knob, quietly and precisely.
The knock came again. A little longer this time. Fingertips tapping. Not knuckles.
He slowly pressed his thumb into the hilt of the blade. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He counted to three.
One.
Two.
Three.
Without a word, he twisted the lock, yanked the door open, and lunged the blade in a swift motion.
It stopped halfway. Not because he wanted to. Because the blade didn't land. The woman standing there-- her dark sleeves were drenched by her own blood coming from her hands, her eyes wide as he had caught the blade with her bare hands.
"Puta madre!--"
"Rosa?!"
Rosalinda shoved him hard, and he staggered back just enough for her to push herself in, and kick the door shut behind her.
"What the fuck is your problem?! I should've known you'd try to stab first, ask later!"
"That wasn't the signal!"
"Three knocks and taps, Cabron! Have you forgotten protocol now?! Shit... my hand..."
She sat on the edge of the desk, her back hunched slightly as she carefully wrapped her fingers in tissue. Blood bloomed into the white cloth with each turn around her fingers.
Maximilian's hands were hanging steady, but his thoughts were not.
"I didn't recognize, I apologize, Rosa."
She looked at him. Smirking faintly. "You're not you today, Max. What's happened?"
He didn't reply, his face frowned.
"You shouldn't be out here. Why aren't you with the Lady in her quarters?"
"I bumped into Adele in the hallway on my way here, so I let her take over."
She leaned her back briefly against the door, listening to the outside. "Something's out of place. And I know you felt it too."
He didn't answer right away.
"I got a call," he said. "They're after me."
"Who are they?"
"The Monarchy"
"The Monarchy?" her arms crossed "Shouldn't there be guns blazing out there if that was the case?"
"Apparently, an unusual frequency was intercepted through a vetted channel outside Villabosque."
"Hunters..." Her face twisted.
Rosalinda hurriedly approaches the window in his room and slides the lock in his window,
"These damn sleeky bastards! They should man up and hit us face-first!"
"Even that we cannot afford to wage. The risk of exposing both of us will be very detrimental." Maximilian said.
She sighed,
"What is your plan--"
Right then, a loud bang broke the silence-- it was clearly gunfire. The sound shook the floor and echoed from downstairs. Then more gunshots came, fast and nonstop.
He turned to her, urgent. "Go to Milady, now!"
Rosalinda didn't wait. She gave him a quick nod, jumped off the desk, threw the door open, and ran out of the room. Following her, Max bolted out and plunged into the dark hallway toward the stairwell. The symphony of gunfire and gunpowder below confirmed the suspicion.
A woman's scream was heard.
He pulled the bloodied bayonet from his pocket. He was halfway the stairs when he heard muffled footsteps and the shuffling of slippers against marble. From the eastern corridor, some of the House staffs emerged with their nightwear. Their faces were painted in half-panic, half-asleep.
Ahead of them, a group maids had gathered in a loose, trembling in circles. Some were clutching each other, one was on her knees praying under her breath, her rosary clenched so tightly it dug into her palms. Their eyes were fixed to the ground in front of them, faces pale with disbelief and horror.
"Back away," Max said gently, but firmly.
They parted slowly, reluctantly, giving him way. And then he saw.
Blood splattered across the hallway, lifeless bodies of masked armed men, their limbs twitched in a gruesome manner, their entrails peeking out of their rusted armor like it has been forcibly ripped out. They were sprawled across the marble floor in a grotesque formation, throats torn open or crushed. One was leaning right next to the maid's room, missing both his eyes, his mauled face exposed out of his broken helmet, seemingly contorting a last scream before he met his gruesome fate.
Blood painted the floor in wide arcs, smeared with foot prints. Broken chains from the missing chandelier above them that was scattered among the dead bodies gave him an idea how they were killed. Despite how stomach turning it seemed, he kept his composure. The sight in front of him does not stop him from investigating.
He kneels down and checks their pockets. There's a radio with nothing but static, some holotags with names swapped out for animal nicknames. But one thing stands out-- the mark of the Hunters. They're an elite unit from the Monarchy, trained in stealth and infiltration. No question about it. These soldiers are on the hunt, and they've picked up his trail.
He pocketed it quickly and stood. "Get inside your rooms, all of you! NOW!"
They scattered like frightened animals, vanishing into their rooms. One maid hesitated, seemingly shocked, her face paling further.
"I saw it. God help me, I... I saw it--"
Max turned towards her, grasping her shoulders.
She swallowed hard, lips trembling.
"A monster..."
Her hands shook violently now, tears running down her face. He exhaled, gently comforting her.
"Get inside your room. Lock the doors. Don't come out no matter what happens." she nodded in response and quickly ran away.
He moved slowly past the bodies, gripping his bayonet tightly, and his eyes locked towards the marble stairs bent down towards the ground floor. The gunfire were gone now, but the eerie silence after that gruesome scene took over. That silence was worse than the noise.
As he reaches the balustrades and peeked down, he froze.
The lit sconce plastered in the walls casted twisting shadows across the blood-soaked carpet and debris.
Bodies.
Another set of soldiers, brutally mauled. They lay crumpled, twisted, like grotesque mannequins. One of them still moved. Barely.
And near him knelt… a little girl.
Dressed in soft, pastel bear pajamas. Her eyes glowed a searing, unnatural red that seemed to be in sync with the dying soldier's ragged breathing. Her face now, contrasting her cherubic, innocent face that beamed a joyful smile-- now curled into something that didn't belong on a child.
"Liberty..."
She giggled softly, her voice high and musical, like a cursed music box.
"Tell me again, mister," she cooed sweetly, holding the soldier's hand in her own small ones.
"On whose orders are you here for? Papillona?"
The man didn't answer. His mouth opened, but only a dry rasp came out.
Liberty frowned.
Snap.
She bent one of his fingers backwards until it cracked. The man screamed which sent shivers down Max' spine.
"You've got a very lovely pinky, Mister" she said, pouting. "Too bad, you don't really need that one anymore."
The soldier convulsed, trying to pull away. She giggled again, tightening her grip.
Snap.
Another finger. Another scream. Louder. Desperate.
"I am done with his hands, brother. Shall I do the feet as well?"
And just beside her, Lincoln standing calmly. His frame all slathered with fresh blood, his bloodshot-red eyes locked at the soldier, cold and indifferent.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move.
"I've just read in a book that your foot have four little bones in them!" Liberty said with her cheerful voice. "That means lots of tiny snap sounds. Want to find out with me?"
The soldier begged now, words slurring through pain and panic. But the girl hushed him.
"Shhh. It's okay. It's not my fault that you're not helping,"
Snap.
He shut his eyes tightly. But he wasn't shocked. The way Lincoln watched him with such sharp focus, the way the guards trembled just by seeing him, it all made sense. The way he made a grown man loosen his grip by squeezing his arm. Even the strange fact that the twins grew up at Kurtz, and the King himself had chosen the twins for the Sulliva mission instead of using regular agents. There's no doubt about it.
They're Mutants.
The mansion's sconce dimmed then outside, white lights began to flicker violently through the large window panes.
Then came the sound of footsteps. Marching. Not the erratic scurry of frightened servants. These were boots. Dozens of them. Max turned just as the main double doors of the mansion shuddered.
Boom.
They cracked inward with a violent thud. The hinges of the door were silent but groaned loudly as it reached its full turn.
Then came the Verschollen. Fifteen armed guards, all geared up. More outside.
"Drop to your knees!" One of the soldier's voice echoed through the halls. Their formation tactical for a direct confrontation, and their rifles pointed towards the twins.
Liberty blinked, her smile never fading. Slowly, almost playfully, she raised her both hands. Lincoln turned to face them, paused for a moment, then slowly raised both hands.
"The Verschollen? Buzzkills!" she chirped.
"I was being ready to chop your hand off incase you finish him. We need a talking evidence to prove our... actions here." he replied coldly
"Hey, which side are you on?!" Liberty pouted.
Behind the twins, the injured soldier gasped-- still alive, twitching near the edge of consciousness.
"Stand down!"
Their rifles jerked upward for a split second. Max descended the staircase, his boots pounding against the marble floor, and his bayonet fixed in his hand. His eyes flicked between the twins and the guards. Despite the sight and the commotion, he decided to maintain composure.
The guards hesitated for a moment before their leader orders them to put their weapons down.
Max shifted his gaze to Lincoln, who looked back at him with an expression that gave nothing away. Despite the mess they had made, the twins didn't seem bothered at all. They weren't afraid of the guards opening fire, didn't care if another bloodbath broke out-- they showed no concern whatsoever.
So these are what they were making at Kurtz that His Majesty had to purge it.
Back in the present,
Max was deep in thought, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. His eyes were fixed on the road, but his mind kept drifting back to the day before. He opened the car's glove compartment, where a masquerade mask shifted beside a stack of forged IDs. He picked up the mask and slipped it on his face without a second thought.
Liberty, now behaved, swung her legs idly over the edge of the leather seat, humming a happy melody. Beside her, Lincoln, leaned back with his arms crossed, head tilted toward the window, admiring the view of the city.
Two Verschollen guards sat across from them, strapped themselves. Sweat trickled down from their faces as they kept darting glances at the twins.
Then, very quietly Liberty leaned slightly forward… and whispered:
"Boo!"
It was soft. Barely above a breath. But it detonated like a bomb.
"GAAAAHHHH!"
One guard screamed, actually screamed and reflexively flung his arms in the air, which clattered against the interior of the limousine. The second guard, startled, yelped and hit his head on the roof, trying to stand.
"JESUS CHRIST—!"
"You should see the looks on your faces!" Liberty was now giggling uncontrollably, her legs kicking as she clapped her hands. Her laughter echoed like bells inside the car.
Lincoln, for the record, hadn't moved an inch. He simply blinked once. Maybe.
"Sister," his voice monotonous but Liberty knew exactly what that meant. Her laughter gradually became quieter, and eventually became an apology.
"I want you two to be serious," Max at the driver's seat, "You still have a lot of explanation to do, Lincoln". His eyes darted towards Lincoln through the rear-view mirror.
"Is the man not enough?"
"No."
Lincoln's arm crossed as he slowly leans back to the window
"I understand. So, what do you want to talk about? How we knew there'd be an infiltration, or"
His eyes turned serious "how we killed them?"
"Neither. We'll talk after your class."
A brief silence settled between them before Max let out a sigh.
"You did a great job stopping them. But next time... try to be more subtle. You two nearly tore the whole place apart. Good thing Lady Lindy slept through all the chaos. Otherwise, we'd be in serious trouble."
Their conversation was interrupted, their eyes were now drawn to the place ahead.
Sulliva Academy
Visible through the outer windows of the limousine was a massive facility, outlined by the flash of security lights and the steady movement of surveillance drones overhead. The most striking feature was its dome-shaped roof, made of crystal-clear glass, with the towering branches of a gigantic tree rising through an opening at the top. Its lush green leaves cast sweeping shadows across the entire dome.
Even from their distance, it radiated prestige.
But in Lincoln's eyes, it didn't look like it.
It looked more like a prison.
Liberty pressed her hands and face against the window like an excited child
"Ooooooh. Is this Sulliva Academy?! It looks so shiny from here! "
Lincoln didn't respond. He was already staring at the dome-- he is suddenly … alert.
"I like domes," she continued. "They're like eggs. Big metal eggs. And we're the yolk!"
"That is one hell of a metaphor," Lincoln said, smiling.
They passed through the outer security checkpoint. A series of drones scanned the limousine, bathing it in pulsating blue light. One hovered briefly near Liberty's window. She smiled at it.
"Axel of the... Ramsay Household... new chauffer eh?", the guard smirked.
Max beamed a smile under the mask in response.
As they continued beyond the gate, the road sloped gently downward, curving like a serpent toward the main entrance of the facility.
The school grounds unfolded like a dream. Lush gardens were trimmed with near-obsessive precision, while a grand fountain spilled into a wide pond that circled around it. Towering buildings, half the height of the dome, rose around the area, their glass windows catching the morning sunlight and shimmering like crystal.
Lincoln was the first to step out of the car. He adjusted his uniform, eyes scanning the vibrant courtyard. Students filled the space, their faces bright with smiles, laughter echoing in harmony. But he noticed the difference beneath the cheer. Expensive earrings dangled from their ears, gold rings gleamed on their fingers, fine necklaces rested on their collars, and their hands often rested on the shoulders of those beneath them in status as a quiet display of hierarchy. It was clear who truly belonged here.
"Wow! this is such a big and beautiful place!" she exclaimed, twirling on her heel, arms out like a windmill. "Brother, look! Our school is bigger than the barracks!"
Lincoln gave her a sideways glance and sighed, his tone dry. "Be careful. You're gonna hit someone."
From behind the tinted window of the limousine, Max leaned forward,
"I'll leave her to you. Lunch is at twelve sharp. Don't be late for your classes." for a moment, Max's face became serious, "Also, don't forget your task. It is in your phone if you needed reminders."
"Yes, Sir." Lincoln gave a quick nod, but his attention was pulled elsewhere.
Another limousine had arrived just as theirs departed, sliding to a halt. Out stepped a poised woman. Her short dark-blue hair brushed back beneath a white fedora. Her tailored business suit enhanced by a dark-blue coat. Something about her radiated authority.
She caught a glimpse of Max's retreating limousine and paused.
"Maximilian…?" she muttered,
From the opposite door emerged a girl, no older than Liberty. Her long white hair shimmered in the morning light, styled, every strand in place. Her uniform was pristine. Elegant. Effortless. With a pauldron attached on her right shoulder signifying her noble status. Her calm crystal-violet eyes scanned the whole place before turning to her mother.
"Mom, I'm off now," she said simply,
The woman in fedora, her mother, walked over and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Be sure to listen to the teachers, alright? And don't go home on your own. Bob will pick you up this afternoon. Stay inside until he arrives."
The girl nodded, brushing off the concern with a calm maturity. "Yes, Mom. I already know that. You don't have to tell me." With that, she walked away, vanishing into the growing crowd.
The woman entered the limousine again.
"Where to, Madam Fiona?" asked the driver, Bob, looking at her through the rear-view mirror.
"Straight to Millard. I can't let my sister keep waiting," she replied, and the car drove off in silence.
Back on the pavement, Liberty was already weaving through the crowd, her eyes locked onto something pink and fluffy.
"Look!" she cried, pointing at a snack stall.
Lincoln frowned. "It's not even snack time yet."
"I won't use your money! I have my own!" she called back playfully, darting toward the stand "Ooooh… so these are cotton candies! It's so smooth!"
He watched her with a reluctant fondness, "We're going to be late for class if you don't hurry."
"Just a second!! Sooo goood!" she squealed.
And then, the atmosphere changed.
The conversations among the students died. Heads turned. Eyes locked forward in unison, as though they were entranced.
Lincoln turned as well because he had to. The crowd had turned their gaze, and now he saw why.
Someone,
Emerged like a royalty parading her prestige. Her blonde curls perfectly coiled into twin tails, her uniform adorned with gilded pauldrons that set her apart from the rest like a queen among pawns. She didn't walk. She glided with elegance, flanked by two bodyguards dressed in black, their eyes hidden behind shades.
"Melissa Yvette von Blutreichter," one student beside Lincoln muttered, "Daughter of Duke Blutreichter, one of the Monarchy's staunchest allies and the owner of one of the biggest oil conglomerates in Sulliva…"
He paused, looked back at the noble, "She's not someone to mess with."
Liberty, chewing on cotton candy like a child at a festival, gasped. "Woah! Who is that cute little girl?!"
"Don't get involved with her," Lincoln warned, voice low.
Melissa's presence was intoxicating to the students.
"Lady Melissa!" they screamed.
"She's so beautiful! She's a goddess!"
"Please step on me, Lady Melissa!"
Melissa walked through it all with a smile on her face, expression untouched by their praise. But underneath, her mind echoed with contempt.
"Pathetic. These monkeys… thinking they deserve to look at me? Not even worth the dirt on my shoes."
She let out a refined, yet chilling, rich-girl laugh.
"Disgusting fucktards. One by one, I'll make them kneel."
But the next wave of cheers wasn't for her.
Lincoln turned again.
The crowd's attention shifted to another girl,
The white-haired one from earlier. She moved calmly, unshaken by the adoration, same as Melissa. Her expression didn't show pride or arrogance. Just coldness and elegance.
"Clara Nightingale," the students whispered in awe. "Isn't she Lady Ramsay's niece?!"
Lincoln's eyes narrowed.
"Nightingale…" he muttered. "Where have I heard that name before?"
Liberty tugged at his sleeve. "Brother, look! They're arguing!"
Indeed, the two girls now stood a few feet apart. Their faces calm but the tension around them betrayed such peace.
Melissa smirked, arms crossed.
"Well, well, Clara. At least you're more than an eyesore. I'm surprised you made it in after that little incident."
Clara met her gaze without blinking. "This is the last time you'll ever humiliate me. You'll pay for what you did."
"HAH! What can your precious mother and father do now? Huh?" Melissa sneered.
Clara said nothing,
"Just wait," she whispered.
Melissa laughed again, head thrown back. "You'll never surpass me, Clara. Never in a million years."
But before another word could be exchanged, the school bell rang.
The courtyard trembled with its piercing chime, and the spell broke. Teachers emerged from buildings, waving students into their classrooms.
The drama was shelved, for now.
Lincoln watched the two girls walk in opposite directions, something's more than meets the eye.
Liberty was at his side again, still licking her cotton candy.
"Brother," she said, wide-eyed, "school is gonna be awesome."
Lincoln wasn't so sure.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE, PART TWO