Mistaker's words fell heavily, like a hail of fiery arrows, each one searing Hermes's sense of danger. These words weren't so simple; in fact, they were terrifying. Mistaker had always been indifferent to Zephyr, and his sudden interest in him was deeply troubling.
Hermes thought of his younger brother Zephyr and swallowed hard, considering what might happen to his beloved brother if he made even the slightest mistake.
"C-can I ask why you want to see him?"
Hermes tilted his head from side to side in a desperate attempt to calm himself.
The Primordial of Errors approached Hermes and, looking him straight in the eye, whispered in a somewhat gentle tone:
"My business is none of yours... As a good friend, I recommend you do me this small favor."
Hermes smiled faintly.
"Are you going to kill him?"
Mistaker shook his head, his black hair moving freely in the wind.
"He's too useful to kill."
Hermes sighed in relief, because for someone to be useful to Mistaker is like having an almost infinite protection card; nothing and no one could touch you... Except Mistaker, of course.
Hermes opened a rift, which glowed a blue color that contrasted with the sun in the sky. He tried to enter, but suddenly the rift vanished—no... Rather, the rift disappeared instantly.
Hermes turned and raised his hands in resignation.
"So, what do you want now?"
Mistaker winked at him.
"Take me to the Sanctuary of the Fallens... please."
Hermes exhaled wearily, then opened a black rift that shone with an overwhelming intensity, as if it were fracturing the very air into several tiny pieces.
This chasm swallowed the two Primordials and transported them to a vast, dark place, where the silence echoed off the walls like the cries of those who had fallen on hard times.
This darkness was repelled by a light emanating from a large chandelier. The chandelier's chain was peculiar in shape, resembling liquid metal.
Some of the chandelier's branches were bent, others broken or snapped in half, but strangely, none fell to the ground, though it was clear they weren't supported by anything.
The candles were red, casting a reddish hue over the yellow light...
Mistaker walked until he stood directly beneath the chandelier, where, fusing thousands upon thousands of tiny red threads, he created a very comfortable fabric chair, upon which he sat with elegance.
Hermes breathed deeply, inhaling the air of the sanctuary, both light and heavy.
"Mistaker, I'll bring Zephyr back in about..." Hermes pulled out a golden pocket watch and examined it closely. "...two hours, more or less, since I don't have enough Aura for more than two rifts."
Mistaker waved goodbye, while playing with his threads, creating various things like spiderwebs, knives, and so on.
No more than a minute had passed before Hermes had disappeared into one of his rifts.
Mistaker laughed arrogantly and leaned back in his chair, letting his red eyes close.
After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, frowned, and stood up. His body walked until he entered the darkness, moving through it as if he could see.
When he almost collided with a wall, he stopped.
I should check that "Bloody Slave" is safe... he thought, as he touched the wall.
This wall, when touched by Mistaker, contracted violently upwards, as if it had fled from a terrifying beast.
Mistaker snorted somewhat casually, his hands gripping a small red-bladed dagger that had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, as if the sanctuary itself had summoned it into his hand.
Mistaker stopped walking and focused on the blade.
"How pathetic... are you really that afraid of me, sanctuary?"
The sanctuary trembled slightly, almost as if it were trying to knock Mistaker to the ground.
"Really...?"
With a single flick of his wrist, Mistaker stopped the tremor, making the place even quieter.
Ignoring everything, Mistaker continued walking down an elegant, candlelit hallway towards a gleaming metal door, each step echoing in the empty room.
Mistaker stopped before the metal door, his mind racing, trying to think of the best way to greet someone very, very special.
He placed his hand in the center of the door, which slowly and discreetly opened.
"Good morning, future afternoons, and future nights, Bloody Slave!"
In a room made of heavy iron, a glass dome stood, inside which two red scythes, each 55 centimeters long, awaited. Their dark metal blades were slightly bent, and a black and red chain connected them.
Mistaker approached the glass dome and touched it with his left arm. Then, in an instant, part of his arm—almost up to the elbow—was severed from his body, exploding and filling the room with thick, crimson blood.
Mistaker's clothes, face, and body were covered in blood, but this only made him smile, a strange feeling etched on his face.
Mistaker tasted his own blood, then smiled even wider, as if the taste of his blood were something splendid, akin to a luxurious dinner.
After a moment of silence, Mistaker's arm regenerated, all the spilled blood being absorbed for its regeneration.
"You're very aggressive today, Bloody... unfortunately for you, I already have someone in mind to be your partner. What do you think of the idea?"
A red energy shook the entire sanctuary, an unbridled rage concentrating within the careless Mistaker. The stone floor around him cracked in jagged lines, while a horrifying pressure filled the entire room.
Mistaker shrugged, brushing off his now-clean tuxedo, and threw the red dagger in his hand straight to the floor.
"Angry? Are you on your period, darling? You seem genuinely upset, though I don't know why... Don't you want a new holder?" Mistaker's tone was a mix of mockery and disappointment.
Ugh... she's still upset, even though I'm giving her everything she asked for... What's wrong with her? Is she ungrateful?!
After a silence as heavy as lead, a female voice, though somewhat agitated by fury, echoed in Mistaker's ears:
"Damn you, 'Error behind the reality,' you promised that I would choose my next holder, though you, as always, don't listen to me..."
Mistaker shrugged, chuckling softly.
"Come on, Bloody, I promise it will be—"
"Shove your promises where the sun don't shine, Mistaker!"
Mistaker put a hand to his face, clenching his jaw slightly.
Oh no, she's really angry... I don't like these kinds of emotional situations. I can never manipulate someone in a state like this!
"I'd like to know what brings you here, primal."
Mistaker studied the two black-bladed scythes somewhat intently, and then asked in a rather sharp tone,
"Couldn't I visit my own sanctuary?"
Seconds later, the voice returned to his ears.
"It's not very common, my dear."
"I've only come to resolve a small problem, my dear... oh, by the way, does it... does it still hurt that I killed you?"
A crimson mist bloomed in the room, filling it with the scent of roses and blood. This scent was unlike any other; it was unique, capable of disorienting vampires.
"Mistaker, you have no idea how much hatred I feel. Do you enjoy reminding me that I lost to trash like you...?"
The Primordial of Errors disconnected from reality, simply inhaling that sweet aroma and ignoring Bloody Slave.
"By the first Infected For The Sin, Bloody... don't you know me?"
The mist concentrated around Mistaker, as if creating a containment zone.
"Why weren't you affected by the smell? Any other vampire would have neutralized it!?"
Mistaker snapped his fingers and said in a somewhat joking tone, "Quick question, even quicker answer! Can you be poisoned, Bloody?"
After a second, Mistaker snapped his fingers again, then after another second, he snapped them once more, and he kept doing this until Bloody Slave answered.
"No, Error behind the reality, I don't have a physical body to be poisoned."
"Exactly!"
Mistaker ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Apparently, this all-powerful Primordial had all the time in the universe for his plans, but not a second for his hair.
"You can't be poisoned because you don't have a body, and I... because I've spent years injecting myself with that mist to be immune. Does that bother you, Bloody?"
The red mist vanished in the blink of an eye, while an awkward silence filled the room.
"I'll leave you alone with your dark thoughts. I don't want to be corrupted and become as bitter as you."
Without another word, Mistaker left the room, feeling as if a wave of death had swept through the entire tower. The metal door, upon seeing him pass, returned to its normal state.
How annoying... although Zephyr is more important right now. According to the seconds I counted, about 37 minutes must have passed. Excellent, I only have to wait one hour and 23 minutes!
For a few seconds, Mistaker walked calmly through the stone corridors, his mind wandering. Then, he stopped abruptly, tilting his head slightly upward, his eyes fixed on the gray and black stone ceiling.
Suddenly, the floor began to disappear in drops of blood, as if the very Sanctuary of the Fallen were bleeding for Mistaker.
The latter lowered his gaze, his eyes meeting a staircase so long that the bottom was nowhere in sight, only infinite darkness. With a calm sigh, Mistaker began to descend the stairs.
Mistaker started skipping down the stairs two at a time, his face showing amusement.
"I think I should prepare myself for the appearance of the one with the 'joyful winds'."
Ten minutes passed. Then, they became thirty. And finally, forty minutes of Mistaker skipping down the stairs, thinking with some depth, and a touch of boredom.
"It's finally over," Mistaker murmured, seeing that there were no more steps, for the darkness had swallowed them up.
"Sanctuary!" he called out calmly, straightening his tuxedo.
A brown wooden door, which contrasted sharply with the black and gray, appeared right on the last step, wobbly as if it really might fall.
Mistaker rummaged through the countless pockets of his tuxedo until he found what he was looking for.
The so-called Key of Babylon had a simple yet complex shape. It was a deep, dark blue, with light blue lines, like the sky on a sunny day.
This key wasn't ordinary; it was an almost sacred relic. It was something mythical, coveted by gods and mortals alike—an artifact that could open the gates of Babylon!
"43 minutes, I only have 43 minutes to do this... ugh... I have to hurry."
Mistaker tried to open the gates of Babylon, but a strong wind sent her plummeting into the dark, desolate void below the staircase.
I'll ask Santurio to look for it... it seems Hermes lied to me. I think I'll have to give him a lecture. Although he'll probably just run away when I try to catch him.
The entire place lost what little color it had left, while a person with lime-green hair approached Mistaker, treading on each step and stirring up the wind, a wind so intense it tore at the stone of the steps, leaving them almost destroyed.
"Good morning, Zephyr."