English was rarely a class of interest. Schools always seem to find the most boring books and force the students to read them. Large books filled with short stories were opened on everyone's desk, reading silently as the teacher gave a lecture. What book were they reading now? Kanoe did not know nor did she really care. Her book was open but she was not reading a single word. Either she has read the book already or it's a horrible piece of trash not worth her time.

The witch was wearing her own version of Shokushu's uniform, replacing the bright blues and whites with darker reds and blacks. Her skirt was longer and more conservative compared to what the staff forces the student body to wear. A upside down cross hangs loosely around her neck, the cross resting over her chest.

Kanoe sighs as she rests her head on her hand. Long strands of raven black hair fell before her shoulders and onto her desk and book. The witch was weary, exhausted. It hasn't been even a year yet and she has suffered many vile encounters with the school and the island. Was she going to make it? The woman shakes her head slowly. She can't let herself think like this. Clarice was suffering as well and they both needed to keep going. At least until they find a way off this island. But, for now she just needed to avoid falling asleep during this tedious class.

A soft sigh permeated from Icelus being as he stood in one of the outer chambers of his vast palace, looking over the inky horizon where the night met the dark sea. With a wave of his hand, a large metal iris within the center of the room’s floor spiraled open, flooding the place with a pale light. Up floated a massive orb of what appeared to be modeling clay, hanging round and immaculate in the light. His hands caressed the soft material, inspecting it before her began to grope and twist, working the clay in the heat of the light into the shape of a fierce arrowed head. He began to go to work on the muscular trunk of the large being when a loud knock echoed through the room.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the ornate door that led further into the palace sliding open, emerging from the darkness a pair of satyrs. Their dark golden horns curled beneath manes of shaggy blue-black hair, bodies pale and adorned with twisting tribal tattoos in black. Shaggy dark hair covered their torsos down to their coven hooves, muscular chests largely free of any fur.


“Lord…” one of them spoke in the wide, echoing chamber, “We could not find anything of the girl you asked.”

Icelus simply sighed, nodding, “I had thought as much. Bring me a screen so that I may work in my studio.”

The pair of satyrs dragged in a large, ornate silver mirror. Icelus could see Kanoe in the surface, touching it lightly with sharpened talons. He tapped it lightly before sinking his full fist into the mirror, squeezing and clenching it like he held a beating heart.

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In the classroom, all would appear fine. That is, until Kanoe took the opportunity to look down at her book. It seemed as though the ink was literally bleeding from the pages, pooling in the spine and dripping into a thick viscous puddle on the top of her desk, bubbling as it went from black to red.

Kanoe did not show much of a reaction as the ink pools together. She blinks as she considers the now pool of dark red ink or at least what she thought was ink. Was she dreaming? Perhaps but, such things were definitely not out of the ordinary on this island. If it is real, what now? This was not something she could actually call the instructor for. Not that she trusted any of the staff in this school to begin with. Knowing that closing her boook would only draw the teacher's attention, Kanoe continues to feign reading and turns the page over. A temporary solution she could hope.

Icelus’ gaze lingered on the unfazed student before he turned back to his work, using clawtips to get the perfect definition in the exposed musculature, carving ridges in the spine with quick drags of his talons, the curling sheared remnants of the clay falling to the cluttered floor. He turned to see Kanoe’s attention still waning, but nonetheless undisturbed by the bleeding book. With a heavy shrug, he rubbed his palms together and clapped them in some sort of odd signal.

With the sound of dry leaves drawn across flagstone a large serpent with a humanoid torso and muscular arms entered, dragging a massive tail behind him.

“You called, my lord?” he asked in a sibilant rasp.

“Yes…” Icelus motioned towards the mirror idly, “The library, bring me everything we have about this… Kanoe something-or-other…”

The naga bowed deeply, slithering from the room.

Icelus’ attention turned back to the mirror. He placed his hand on its glassy surface and closed violet eyes in concentration.

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Back in the classroom, it seemed as though the lights flickered for but a moment, though no one else acknowledged it. When Kanoe would look back up at the board, instead of the notes on the lecture it would be covered in mad scribblings, the script looking ancient but looping and elegant, nothing like the normal harsh and simplistic runes. The book, still dribbling, began to blossom a large crimson bubble from the spine. It grew, stretching until it popped, spattering the girls around her with a light scarlet mist.

What was going on here? She thought to herself as she gazes at the strange elegant runes on the board. It was nothing she recognized. But that wasn't the odd part. No one else seems to be reacting or showing any signs of seeing what she saw. After scanning the classroom, she saw the crimson fluid was still flowing from her book. Her eyes widen as a bubble began to grow from the binding. Kanoe couldn't help but gasp in shock and quickly get up out of her chair as the crimson mist spreads our from her desk. Slowly, the woman began to back away from her things. She did not want any part of this.

Icelus grinned as he watched, though the only way one would be able to tell was the heightening of the intensity of his glowing violet gaze. Both hands went to the mirror now, lazily dragging his nails across the glass surface. He stretches for a moment, wringing his hands with a wicked air before slashing down the mirror a few times and reaching into the mercurial glass up to his elbows, wringing something hidden between his fingers.

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Back in the classroom, the book began to spray gouts of blood, the liquid landing with a splatter on her vacated chair and the floor. Still, no one else in the class took notice, studiously paying attention to the lecture. The thick, viscous liquid moved slightly, still dripping but rolling across the carpet towards Kanoe of its own accord. The overhead lights shined on the red-black surface, the blood pouring from the book like a fountain as it consumed more and more of the floor space.

A shiver ran down her spine as she sees the fountain of blood spraying out of her book. Why me, was all Kanoe could think as she looks at the class again. No reaction, they did not even notice she was out of her chair. Was she really dreaming? Her eyes widen as she sees the blood seeming to flow under it's own will, moving towards the witch. She had enough. The young student quickly moves to the opposite corner and makes a break for the door. If this was a dream, she wanted to wake up.

The blood continued to flow, showing no signs of stopping as it spilled from the page, pooling around the ankles of those sitting in their seats, studiously taking notes. It gurgled, translucent bubbles forming on the red surface, popping and roiling like a boiling pot within the classroom. She ran, the room seeming to fill with steam heat behind her, the students still paying no heed.

The door swung open easily when she tugged it, but her eyes were not met by the hallway she took to enter the classroom. Instead, a vast wintry plain rolled out before her eyes, the sky an inky black and the crash of waves on a rocky beach distant to her ears. When she turned, the classroom was gone. The book lay in a pool of blood on the snow, looking black in the moonlight.

The bubbling, however, continued, and the black pool continued more swiftly now across the smooth snow, crawling ever-closer toward her, reaching out vast pseudopods of liquid as it crawled and heaved end-over-end, rolling in a small wave of nonetheless impressive magnitude.

The landscape offered no real help. A chilling wind cut through Kanoe’s uniform and the snow stretched on for miles and miles in every direction, offering no succor. The only break in the monotonous landscape was, for all intents and purposes, completely impossible.

A massive stone-like edifice hangs in mid-air off to the north, gleaming blue-white against the starless sky. Studded with domes and massive twisting towers, it is the only sign of civilization in the bleak expanse.

Meanwhile, the blood continues to roll, pushing forward until it laps around Kanoe’s shoes, coating the soles and just beginning to eek up the sides.

Kanoe shakes her head at the sight of the students still working despite the growing flood of blood on the floor around them. She opens the door only to freeze in her tracks. A chilling breeze sends a shiver down the woman's body as she stands there in shock. She nearly stumbles as she turns around, finding the classroom was gone. Only her book and the growing pool of blood remains.

The witch turns and looks around quickly. She was not sure where she was but it was night here when it was still midday at school. The landscape was completely smooth and covered in snow, like a blank slate waiting to be painted on. The bubbling sound came closer, it was moving faster and targetting her. Why did it have to be her? She gasps in awe at the sight of the large structure floating in the sky. She could very well be on a different plane of existence for all she knew. God, she hopes this is just a dream.

Another shiver runs through her being as the cold relentlessly soaks the heat from her body. The woman began to run, trying to escape the bloody ooze that reaches out of her.

The spreading slick of black blood increases its speed along with Kanoe, spreading out in all directions as it literally begins to reach for her now, reaching out with large sticky pseudopods that lift up from the snow, dripping hotly before crashing back down once more with a loud, heavy splash. It was insistent, determined in its pursuit, never slowing, never showing any noticeable signs of fatigue, though as it seemed to be nothing more than an ambulatory puddle Kanoe could be forgiven for not paying precise attention to how it was feeling.

More important was where the puddle was chasing her. It boiled forth like a great flood, cutting channels into the snow, steam rising in the cold, dry air, pushing her toward that massive floating structure in the distance. The pool corralled her like a sheepdog with a wayward lamb, reaching around as she ran, forcing her back onto the direct path to the structure whenever she tried to run to the side or turn around. Eventually, as she neared the massive hanging glacier, the glint of moonlight on the snow would show that a thin thread connected the palace to the ground, something that, as she closed, would take the recognizable shape of a black wrought-iron staircase, the long spiraling stair bound into the cracking permafrost and stretching up toward the suspended iceberg above.

Heavy breaths steam from Kanoe's mouth as she stumbles along on the snow. Seeing how the fluid was cutting into the snow with intense heat only reminds the woman to avoid the blood at all cost. Running in the freezing cold and through the snow was quickly tiring the young student. Only the will to survive kept her legs going towards the large structure in the sky. There were no other landmarks to go by in this empty frozen land.

Seeing the stairs, the witch renews her efforts to escape the flood of blood. She was not sure where it was coming from or how it was growing but it did in fact have a mind of it's own. The woman gasps as her bare hand touches the cold iron railing of the staircase. Not looking back, the woman began her long climb towards the floating structure.

The black iron is freezing to the touch, the railing slicked with a thin coating of ice, large icicles hanging from below the rail in accusatory points hanging towards the ground below. She ascends quickly, and as she scurries further and further up the staircase a sound reaches her ears. It’s not unlike a great grinding, the sound of rusted metal churning against rusted metal deep in the belly of some infernal machine. Slowly, the staircase begins to turn, spinning like a cyclopean auger, carrying her further and further up towards the massive glacier above.

Meanwhile, deep below her, the blood reaches the bottom of the staircase. Whipped into froth by the spinning staircase, acrid smog curls up from the snow, eventually reaching her nostrils. If the horrid sizzling and the petulant smell of the smoke are any indication, it would seem as though the blood is actually eating away at the iron staircase like some sort of nightmarish acid.

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Icelus makes his way down a long stone hallway, torches burning an eerie blue light in scones every few feet. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he moves past a number of closed doors, the sound of screams barely penetrating the thick wood of the portals, moving towards a large, heavy door of stained oak inlaid with intricate silver carvings. Pushing the door open, he enters into a room that looks to be a small chapel, pews arranged in a pair of rows, the floor covered with a rich burgundy carpet and dark stained-glass windows marking the walls. In place of an altar, however, there was simply a circle cut into the floor, attached to a wrought-iron staircase leading down to the snowpack below.

The woman nearly gags at the putrid stench. She never knew what melted iron and blood smells like and she really did not want to find out. Kanoe nearly lost her footing as the spiraling stairs began to spin, withdrawing into the massive structure above. Her feet began to slip and her arms wrap around the cold iron railing. She held for dear life as she felt the heat be stolen away by the frozen metal. Only when the dizzying spin stops and the grinding of metal on metal ends their torment does Kanoe open her eyes. She could see the white sheet of snow that made up the land below, a white sheet lacking any break or texture in the flat floor. Breathing in a shuddering breath, the nearly frozen woman continues to climb the rest of the way, arms wrapped tightly around herself for some ounce of warmth.

Icelus sighs, resigning himself to one of the pews, peeling open a massive book and paging through the rice paper pages with a single hooked claw. His eyes scan the pages with muted interest as he hears the telltale stroke of heel on iron, Kanoe continuing up the staircase tiredly.

As she pulls herself up over that lip that leads out of the palace, she would be blinded momentarily by the bright inner chamber. The heat was immense when compared to the temperature outside, but after a period of adjustment it would remain at a comfortable level. Finally, after adjusting to both the light and the heat, the sight of Icelus, far in the back of the chapel, paging disinterestedly through his ancient tome, would meet her weary gaze.

“Oh…” he looked up momentarily, seeing the shape of the girl pulling herself over the edge of the entrance, snapping his book quickly.

He waits for her to come to her senses, looking as two harsh knocks sound on the door. A straight-backed androgynous shape wearing a blank, emotionless gas-mask entered, carrying a tray with a pair of slender glasses, filled to the top with a pale white wine.

“How’s the school treating you, Kanoe? It’s really quite the boon to my business, you know…” he says, raising one of the glasses to her in a mocking toast, the gas-masked entity leaving the tray on the floor and leaving with a bow.

It felt as if she step into a furnace. Kanoe slumps over the opening, breathing heavily. Running for her life in frigid temperatures left her worse for wear. The woman's vision blurs as she gasps in deep breaths, letting the heat revive and calm her down. Her eyes began to focus on the figure on the other side of the room. She seemed to be in a strange chapel. But, admiring the scenery was the last thing on her mind as she gazes at the strange man, assuming that was what it is.

The witch did not look away from the jester mask as she shakily rises to her feet, still recovering from her climb. The harsh knocks at the door nearly made the woman jump as she looks at the strange undecorated figure. Her eyes narrow at the other glass that was still on the tray and sitting on the floor a distance away from her. Kanoe glares at the jester at the mention of the school and the fact he knew her name.

"Do not act familiar with me without introducing yourself first," She replies coldly, "Where am I? How did I get here? Why did my book began gushing acidic blood and what's your part in Shokushu?"

Her hands clench into fists as she demanded answers.