Indomitable

f o r t y - f o u r

Killure couldn't find her anywhere.

She always had such a distinctive scent—peaches and roses—which made it incredibly easy to know where she was. But now, however, his nose was failing him.

He slowly creeped closer to the much too large mansion that the vain Designers lived in, full of its mazes and anomalies and hidden secrets.

In a burst of impossibly fast movement, Killure had used his large wings to leap impossibly high into the air, and land silently on the roof. The dark shingles, having absorbed sun for days on end, were nearly scalding to the touch. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, quickly and silently dropping to the ledge of her window. He rolled in with a graceful dive, stopping in a defensive crouch as he took in his surroundings.

She wasn't here.

In fact, he could tell simply by inhaling the air that she hadn't been in her room in days.

Cautiously, Killure walked to the doorway and glanced out into the hallway. Other than a single servant meandering through the hallway, there was no one to be seen. He waited until the man had disappeared from view, and then took off in the opposite direction.

He wasn't confident that he'd be welcomed if he were to be spotted. Levi and Fahrem would probably jump at the opportunity to disassemble his body parts now that she wasn't here to prevent them from doing so.

Not that he needed protected from anything, anyway, now that his bonding with the chip was severed. He could easily snap the necks of anyone who stood in his way. In fact, he'd do so quite gladly.

It was almost too easy to flit through the air, down the winding hallways and the grand staircase, through the large, open foyer and it's plush furniture and decoration—and into the kitchen.

The kitchen staff immediately became aware of his presence. Most stopped what they were doing, as if frozen. Their eyes reflected their fear and terror. Killure smirked, delighted.

No one protested when their head cook—the young, blonde Conda whom his master liked so much—ordered them to leave the kitchen at once. They scurried out without complaint, many leaving dishes on the stove or in the oven without regard.

The blonde Conda raced around to quickly turn off the stoves and set aside the dishes of food so they wouldn't burn on the still-hot burner or go to waste.

Finally, she turned to face him, arms crossed.

He couldn't remember her name.
Oh well, it didn't matter to him anyway.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing back here?" she asked almost accusingly, her narrowed gaze piercing him like knives.

He held back a snicker.

"Where is she?" he asked calmly, forcing his face into a mask of blankness. It wasn't overly hard, for he'd been doing it all his life.

"Remi?" the Conda asked in surprise. "What do you want with her?"

Remi. He hadn't allowed himself to call her by name before. Hesitant, in case his freedom wasn't really real.

It was almost amusing how hostile the blonde Conda was being. Until now, Killure had only ever seen the bubbly, dim-witted side of her.