I was already moving when the pillar of flame erupted from the floor beneath the chair I had been sitting at just a moment before. Flinging myself to the side and rolling under a nearby table I could hear a manic laugh emanating from the young woman Le Jardinier had called Mlle. Epine. A thorn indeed! She had immense power but seemed to lack control over the flames she was able to create.
My mind raced for a way out of the situation I found myself in as I knew I did not have long before she determined where I was and I also knew if I was caught inside one of her pillars I would be burned alive. I peaked out from the table I had taken refuge behind and for a moment locked eyes with the young woman, I made a hand gesture that I had seen some of the would be patrons outside the building use after they had been shoved aside by Jon. If I could infuriate the woman I may be able to take advantage of the time it took her to recover from one of her reckless fire blasts.
Just as I expected, the energy in her brain coalesced in the space I recognized as anger and she screamed a feral scream. I felt the air around the table heat up and a pillar of flame burst from the ground just in front of me.
Bolting towards her I unsheathed the long curved ceremonial dagger I carried beneath my robes and stabbed at the young woman’s heart. I felt the wicked blade penetrate her breast and the blood gush onto my hands as I bowled her over and scrambled to my feet. Seeing the life drain from her face and the glow fade from her Inferno augment I felt a pang of pity in my chest, what a waste of what could have been a vibrant young life.
Quickly I used my dagger to pry the implants from her eyes, she had no use for them anymore, and ran for the nearest exit.
Once outside and away from La Roseraie I allowed my mind to shift away from my hasty escape. Where was Jon?
A feeling of disgust filled the pit of my stomach and in that moment I understood betrayal. I would deal with him later, I needed to get back to the Citadel to process the nights events.
There was much to think about.
Alexander Motus, Guardian # 51
