To the haunted theater, she thought with a sigh.
On her way up the splintered wooden steps, Juliana kept a sharp eye out for any metal. She felt naked with only her bracers. Part of that could be that she actually was partially naked; her clothes had been damaged during her unconsciousness back at the prison.
There were nails holding down the steps and in the walls. They could work for extra metal, but individually, they weren’t worth much. Pulling them out would not only take a lot of time, but… well, the building looked unstable enough without her pulling it apart.
She did take the iron handles off the entryway doors, though that barely added enough to cover up her upper arms.
Juliana pushed open the doors.
And promptly froze in an open-mouthed gape.
Red velvet chairs with golden trim filled the theater hall. White marble pillars stretched up the walls to the ceiling. Craning her neck, Juliana stared in awe at the painting on the ceiling.
The chandelier–roughly the size of a car–covered half of it. White winged, halo capped angels wielded golden spears against red skinned, horned and winged demons who used nothing more than their bare hands for weapons. The chandelier obscured the far demon side, but at the back of the angels was a massive winged being, cloaked in golden armor and wielding a sword.
She hovered, observing the battlefield through a thin ‘Y’ slit in her helmet. Both hands were around her chest, holding her sword point down. The sword was big enough to reach below her feet.
The mural was so lifelike. They looked like they were moving.
Or…
Wait…
They were moving. Juliana followed one of the angels’ arms as it reached forward, sending its golden spear through the face of one of the demons. The spear came out, looking as pristine as it had before entering the poor demon.
Juliana gave a light whistle. “Michelangelo has nothing on this.”
When she finally tore her eyes away from the battle overhead to continue her inspection of the theater, Juliana barely had time to duck.
Falling back on the instincts her mother had drilled into her, the golden spear sailed harmlessly over her head.
She moved her hand to grip the spear. The moment her fingers brushed over it, the gold flowed out of the hands of the angel and over her arm.
It was not as heavy as she expected. Gold was supposed to be some of the heaviest stuff out there.
Looking down, Juliana gasped. Her skin was red. Her muscles had bulged out to be as thick as Prax’s had been. Her meaty fingers ended with sharp and black nails.
With her mouth open in a gasp, Juliana could feel her tongue. It reached out of her mouth almost on reflex. She could see it easily and there was still plenty left. She could have probably licked her own forehead if she had the desire.
She sucked it back into her mouth, feeling it as it brushed over a set of razor-sharp teeth.
Wide eyed, Juliana stared back at the angel.
And she gasped again.
The angel got over its shock of losing its weapon far quicker than Juliana got over being a demon. His white eyes brightened as he reached out a glowing hand.
Juliana was spared the touch of the light by another demon flying in from behind her and tearing the angel’s head clean off. White blood splattered over her face.
She almost lost her lunch then and there–not that she had anything to lose, having not had any food in a while.
Turning to block the sight of the corpse, Juliana gasped again.
She was at the head of the army of demons. At the very back, she could see a man-shaped amalgamation of rock and fire. His eyes blazed hatred out at his enemy.
For a single moment, his eyes met her own.
Juliana trembled.
She turned.
A burning vengeance filled her very soul.
Gold formed into a two-handed sword.
Juliana charged her enemy.
— — —
Juliana!
Where are you?
“Servant,” Shalise’s own voice came out of her own mouth, twisted by Prax, “your thoughts are too loud and they serve no purpose. Your mortal friend is not here nor could she hear you were she here.”
Where is she?
Shalise’s shoulders shrugged on their own.
What are you going to do about it?
Rather than answer, Prax directed her body up the carved stone steps leading to the massive castle. He had barely glanced over it when they arrived, but Shalise had a feeling–based on his emotions that she could pick up on–that he was attempting to act far more subdued about being in his own domain than he actually felt.
Prax approached the wooden gate. It was tall enough to fit a couple of elephants all stacked on top of one another.
And he promptly marched right into it, face first.
Prax stumbled backwards, rubbing his nose.
That’s my body. I’d appreciate it if it wasn’t battered and bruised when you get out of it.
He didn’t respond, instead using the next several minutes to look up and down the door.
When he finally decided to start pushing against the door, it took a good ten minutes to open it wide enough for Prax to slip through.
“Might be a little rusty,” he said.
The door?
“Me. Inside my domain, I should have been able to open it with barely a thought.”
Are you sure that we’re in your domain?
“Of course I am,” he grumbled as he started moving through the courtyard.
It wasn’t that impressive of a courtyard. Most of the square area was paved over with flagstone. The corners held small grassy areas, each with a tree. In the center was a large reflecting pool that, from the angle she managed to see as Prax walked, held the entirety of the castle’s tallest spire.
For a moment, she almost asked him to stop and look on for a few moments. She bit her tongue–metaphorically. There would be plenty of time for sightseeing after Juliana arrived.
Prax weaved through the corridors. He had to physically push open several doors on his way, though none were as large and heavy as the main gate.
The hallways weren’t much to look at. Save for the red rug in the center, everything else was gray granite stone. After a few turns, Shalise was completely lost.
Every hall looked exactly the same as the one that had come before it. There were no landmarks, no swords and shields hanging from the walls, no suits of armor or statues, no tapestries or flags. There weren’t even any fiery torches lining the halls.
Thinking about it, there wasn’t any lighting at all. Prax didn’t look down enough, but she was fairly certain that her body wasn’t casting any shadows. There was just some uniform ambient light that gave the place no tasteful atmosphere at all.
Disappointing, really. Prax desperately needed to hire an interior decorator.
Or not…
Prax rounded another corner.
That hallway was everything Shalise had imagined.
Red tapestries with black horns and wings–reminiscent of Prax’s regular body–lined the walls. Flames danced atop torches placed between the tapestries, giving the room a very warm color that moved as the fire moved.
There were no suits of armor, but plenty of statues. All of them depicted Prax in his normal body fighting elves. Utterly dominating them, really. Most had been torn apart violently.
One statue had him holding the head of a fallen enemy over his wide open mouth, letting the blood drip in.
Shalise was beyond happy that the statues were made out of bronze and not something extremely realistic.
It took her a moment to realize that Prax had stopped moving and was staring at the room as much as she was. Showing off for her.