Return of the Inagrotten

CHAPTER II: Salutations, Immolations, and Confrontations

Deceitful designs paired well with dishonorable foes.

Disoriented by the sound of the blast, the puissant odor of charred flesh, and his brother's psychotic laughter, Rhian groped blindly and used Rafal's fallen handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. What in the Woods—

Rhian blinked back acrid, grey tears.

Plumes of smoke, cinders still asmoulder, raining down from the sky, and the odd, new Rafal in pirate garb swam into Rhian's vision—a Rafal curled in on himself, still convulsing with laughter, silent spasms racking his narrow frame, until he straightened up and inhaled deeply.

All that remained of Vulcan was one blackened, steaming tract of lawn.

Rafal sunk into a bow, arms outstretched behind him like a wide 'V,' like the wings of a tainted, blue swan, hair glinting brilliantly beneath the sun.

The Night Crawlers broke into rhythmless applause from their places.

And Rhian? Rhian gawped, sat in his puddle, almost catatonic with shock, spitting blades of grass, taking in the scorched clearing and... his brother, the actor.

That squid dye or whatever-it-was would never wash out, Rhian mourned without a second thought for his once-substitute.

The Evil School Master strolled further into the clearing, irreverently stepped over his would-be usurper's spot, and strode past Rhian, greatcoat flagging. He left his Night Crawlers be on the Inagrotten, fixed his sleeves, and headed towards his School, towards Evil.

Dealing with everything else would be trifles.

He paused in his half victory lap, half impromptu inspection-to-be of student quarters, and glanced over his shoulder at Rhian—poor, feckless Rhian—still agape and paralyzed by shame and the prospect of his own mortality.

Rafal smirked. "Rhian? Now that our Schools, plural, it seems, are settled, why don't we have a chat? You still have escapades to tell me about, to catch me up on what's gone on while I was away, don't you?"

Rhian gawked at Rafal vacantly.

Three...

Two...

One—

Rhian shook himself, wild, golden curls bobbing, and clambered to his feet.

His blue blur of a brother continued across the walkway to Evil.

Rhian gathered his wits about him and wisely decided not to mention the deadly Trial he'd been about to agree to. His soles suctioned up some of the muck and sod as he frantically chased after Rafal.

Before Evil's raised portcullis, Rafal came to a dead halt, and looked back at Rhian sprinting across the clearing as it sank with the seawater. It'd have to be drained another day. A pity his brother couldn't fly.

"Aren't you going to join me?" He crossed the threshold and peered at Vulcan's great hall. How garish. He'd have to alter all of it.

Rhian arrived, panting, doubled-over in front of Rafal.

Rafal waited for him to catch his breath. "Good."

Righting himself, Rhian began to enter the dim antechamber, but Rafal held out a hand.

"Wipe your feet outside. I don't want Vulcan underfoot," he said pointedly. "And I don't want his presence tracked anywhere near my castle, much less within it. Oh, and here's a lesson: I take care against inviting strange men in." He eyed Rhian's now-drooping, feathered doublet. "Indeed, you're rather strangely dressed, but today, I'll make an exception. Just this once—knowing it won't bring about ruin."