OMAKE: Insane world requires insane fortifications.
A strange gurgling chitter echoed in an empty park. It was accompanied by more human, but still incomprehensible, screaming and rapid thuds.
The spidery monster's wails grew even more high-pitched as the enraged teenager hit it again and again. Yellowish ichor splattered everywhere as she repeatedly brought down her heavy, metal pole.
Still, despite her victory, Taylor was despairing. It had all went so wrong.
The bent signpost slipped from her nerveless fingers, clattering loudly against the broken asphalt, and she fell onto her knees. She couldn't stop the desperate tears from bursting out. Taylor's whole body shook and her ruined make-up ran down her cheeks in dark rivulets.
Not twenty feet from her lay a mangled body of another magical girl. Her agonized screams had died minutes ago and she was now silent and dead to the world. Anne's limbs were bent unnaturally and her rasping breath bubbled with blood. Taylor didn't want to think about it, but deep inside she knew her friend wouldn't live to see the sunrise. Further away, on the other side of the park, her neighbour had been disemboweled and his intestines turned into a make-shift summoning circle.
Her fist slammed against the ground.
Weren't the heroes supposed to triumph over the forces of darkness! Why did it have to end like this? Why?!
Her despondent mental tirade got sidetracked when a gloved hand squeezed her shoulder. "Calm down, girl. You are hyperventilating."
She twisted violently, yanking herself free from the new attacker. Her fingers tightened around the viscera-coated signpost and, once she rose from her somersault, she swung the pole around like a giant axe.
Metal screeched as her furious strike was intercepted with terrifyingly casual ease and impossible strength, a luminous golden sword sinking more than half way into her steel pole.
Taylor stared at her new opponent. It was not a monstrous demon, regular gangster or even drug-fuelled cultist, but a fellow magical girl. Her green dress was bright and lacy, her sword glowed with inner light and she even had shimmering filigree wings of silver.
And she was flanked by three more girls, all battle ready and equally well equipped. They looked like they could have come straight out of pages of any Mahou Shoujo manga.
"Well, that was somewhat more violent than excepted," the magical girl stated calmly, before taking a step back and lowering her blazing sword. "Anyway, we can help your wounded friend." She turned to one of the other girls. "Mistletoe, you have the healing potion, yeah?"
The one named Mistletoe saluted lazily. "I got it!"
Hope bloomed in Taylor's heart. "There's this man who-"
"We saw him," the winged one interrupted her. "He's gone. I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes, trying her best to avoid bursting into tears again, and took a deep, shuddering breath. Taylor had barely known the man, but she knew he had a wife and a pair of kids a few years younger than her…
"But you can help Anne?" She asked, her voice creaky, when Mistletoe knelt next to her friend and brought out a small glass bottle filled with red fluid.
"That's her real name, right? No real names; only aliases, New Girl," the older girl snapped. "That's your new name, by the way. You can call me Rose the Entangling. These two sidekicks are Rider and Trickster."
"Fuck you too, asshole," one of them muttered, but her words lacked any real heat.
"I aim to brighten your day," Rose replied flippantly, before refocusing back to her. "And yeah, the potion will keep her alive until the Keeper can patch her up more properly."
"The Keeper?"
"It's short for innkeeper. Although, a lot of people still call him Medicine Boy or Sevenfingers. He's an artificer who also manages a hostel for magical girls."
Suddenly a wet cough caught her attention. Anne was held in a sitting position on the cracked tarmac and Mistletoe was gently pouring the potion into her mouth.
"Anne!"
"No real names, New Girl!"
***
After a half hour's drive Taylor was happy to get out of the hobo-driven minibus that smelled way too strongly of mold and weed. The cool wind felt refreshing against her face and helped to dry her tears.
She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. No doubt she looked absolutely pathetic to the other girls…
Anne still couldn't walk and was carried out on an army surplus stretcher by Rider and Trickster, but at least her breathing was steady now.
Taylor tried to ignore the fact that Mistletoe casually passed a small plastic bag filled with something green to their shabbily-dressed driver. She presumed it was his reward for ferrying them around.
"So, where are we?" she asked instead and looked around suspiciously. Even ignoring the obvious drug trade happening right next to her, they were clearly not in a good neighbourhood. Although the last few weeks had taught her that magical girling was a rather more gruesome business than advertised, it was still a strange place for a supposed stronghold of light.
In response, Rose clasped Taylor's chin and turned her head a bit. "Welcome to Casa del Chicas Brujas!"
"What are you tal-," she started to ask, before she could suddenly see. Somehow she hadn't even noticed the large building, despite being right next to it, until the other girl had forced her to pay attention in its general direction.
"The first layer of the seven-stage ward makes people ignore anything that happens inside. You saw through the enchantment pretty quick," Trickster commented from behind her. "Most girls take like a half minute."
Now that she could see the place, it was rather eye-catching. Although not in a way she would have expected.
Surrounding the decrepit four-story building was a ring of truncated pyramids of reinforced concrete, large stones and giant metal caltrops welded out of rusty I-beams. They were clearly staggered and spaced in such a manner that they would stop any truck or even a tank trying to drive though. Interspersed among the anti-tank obstacles were more barbed wire than she had ever seen in her life.
The building itself looked more like a military headquarters from the second world war than an inn for runaway girls. All first floor windows had been replaced by corroded steel panels with only narrow vertical viewing slits and even the higher floors' windows had metal bars. She could see a half dozen surveillance cameras attached to the walls and the roof. All the dirt and flaking paint made even the reinforced front door look rather intimidating.
The concrete balconies were fortified with shoddy brickwork and had large holes cut in the middle, turning them into machinegun nests. There were even large searchlights installed.
"The lawn is filled with Soviet anti-tank and anti-personnel mines," Rose the entangling said matter-of-factly as she walked past Taylor, which really didn't calm the nerves of the younger girl. "So stay on the path marked by the stones. Unless, of course, you are secretly evil, which will trigger the explosive runes carved into the cobblestones."
Taylor stood still for a second before following her. It was way too late back out now and Anne still desperately needed medical care. She had no other choice but to trust these shady magical girls, even though they seemed less and less trustworthy.
Rose pressed the intercom which beeped a second later. "Who are your new friends?" The voice was distorted by the poor quality of the speaker, but it still clearly belonged to a young woman.
"When we found the demonologists, they were already fighting a duo of magical girls," Rose reported. "We are all alright and the cell got wiped out, but the locals got a beating. One WIA. She needs immediate medical care. Open the door, Ferra."
"A moment," the voice from the intercom spoke. A few seconds later, Taylor could hear the metallic screeches of someone sliding multiple heavy latches, before the lock clicked and the door opened.
When their group walked in she was faced with a dozen girls pointing a bizarre assortment of magical wands, medieval weapons, and modern firearms at her. From the sight of it, they had been lazing on ragged couches, watching football from a wide-screen telly, and gorging themselves on various snacks and drinks. Despite all this they seemed ready to unleash some ultra-violence at the drop of a hat.
The door clicked shut behind her but the girls never lowered their weapons and their eyes remained hard. For a moment the only sound in the room was the commentator's exited voice coming from the television.
Then someone cleared their throat on the other side of the lobby.
A teenage boy in a time-worn suit sat behind what passed for a reception desk and, apparently, a bar. Instead of having a front panel, the table's underside was filled with sandbags. Behind him was a pair of large wooden cabinets fully stocked with a wide variety bottles in all shapes and colours …and a whole bunch of different hand grenades, for some reason.
The boy had clearly been in the process of cleaning a shotgun, but unlike the other residents, he hadn't felt any need to point it at her.
"Ferra, fetch the Keeper," he ordered as he rose up. As the boy walked closer, Taylor could see that his eyes were just clear beads of glass, but somehow he didn't really move like he was blind. "Eowyn, Trompdoy, take her to the medical room. And you others, please stop scaring the new girl."
One by one the weapons pointed at her were sheathed, holstered or, in a few cases, unsummoned, and the girls turned back to their regular entertainment. Some continued to stare at her, apparently unwilling to show their back to her.
"You will have to forgive them. Things have been a bit tense lately with the fish-people and they like to use brain-washed infiltrators," the young man said. His tone was gentle, but it the words themselves weren't reassuring at all.
"I'm Homer the Scribe," he introduced himself with a small nod, before motioning towards one of the hallways. "Come, you look like you could use some hot drink."
"I want to go with An- my friend," she said resolutely, looking at the direction Anne was being carried.
The boy let out a small sigh and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I know you want to help her or at least see that she's okay, but there's a good reason why hospitals don't let people into emergency rooms. Unless you have a healing power, you would only be on their way."
***
She had protested for a while, but eventually Taylor found herself in the kitchen, sitting on a creaky chair, with a mug of steaming cocoa in her hands and a gaggle of curious girls surrounding her.
"So, is this place under siege or something?" she eventually asked.
The boy stopped nursing his own cup of coffee. "Not really, no," he said with a shrug. "The witches used to bother us quite a lot, but they have gone literally underground and now haunt the abandoned metro. The last serious attack was more than a year ago, when the Jade Court vampires drove a bus filled with ghouls through the front door."
"The alchemists did send a pair of homunculi strapped with some cursed incendiaries last month," Mistletoe added, "but the only thing they managed to do was burn lawn and scorch the paint on a wall."
"My wards stopped that attack cold and it had no hope of success. The East-Side Alchemists were just probing and it only cost them two already expiring dolls," Homer said, before turning back at Taylor and noticing her expression. "Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Taylor mouthed. "I have only fought against the demon cultists and their demons and mooks, but you are saying that there are mind-controlling fish-people, blood-sucking vampires, underground witches, and even morally bankrupt alchemists!? What's wrong with this city!?"
There was a second of silence before the entire room burst into laughter.