When Alice returned the the underworld, she felt a profound shame within her so deep it might as well have been instilled in her bones.
Her loss had been bitter, yes, and she wasn't happy about having to face Mai again after her failure, but what really hurt more than her injuries ever had was the knowledge that she had given it her all, and it still hadn't been enough. Even with the grimoire, at the full height of her powers, she was still...
She shook her head. She'd address the terrible gnawing beast that had awoken within her the moment she had understood she might lose later. For now, she needed rest.
There was something else, too. She couldn't put a finger on it, but there was a kind of ache close to her heart for which she had no explanation and which only grew more prominent the deeper she dwelt. It manifested as a kind of mist just behind her eyes, making her nauseated and very aware something was out of place, like a dislodged limb but in her soul.
By the time she caught first sight of the spires of Pandemonium, she flagged towards the ground and caught herself just in time to partially control her landing. The grimoire escaped from her grasp a moment before her collapse, but as it didn't open she didn't pay it any attention, focusing instead on breathing. The mist had condensed into a suffocating fog, dimming her thoughts.
She was at the very spot where the barrier had been, she realised. Next to her left hand was a reflective shard, like a piece of a broken mirror. She had never heard the barrier shattering, had thought she had simply willed it out of existence, but here was proof of the event nevertheless.
She blinked and looked at her reflection again. She could have sworn there was something wrong with the image, but even close scrutiny didn't reveal anything amiss.
She tore her gaze away and focused on the grimoire. She thought of chucking it in a gorge, but she might have just as well attempted to throw away her arm. Even if it hadn't granted her a victory, it was now a part of her soul.
She glanced at the shard once again. Her blood stilled.
Whenever she blinked, the eyes reflected back changed from their familiar gold to a deep blue and back again.
She staggered to her feet and very nearly bumped into someone who had materialised behind her back. Spinning around, she just barely avoided skewering herself with the glimmering sword in Yumeko's hand.
Yumeko gave her a staid look. She had wide eyes which always made her look somewhat bemused, but from the gentle curve of her mouth Alice knew she was merely observing her in silence.
A thin line appeared between her eyes. "Can you breathe?"
Alice hesitated, then nodded, the fog constricting her breath somewhat shoved aside by the shock.
Yumeko was yet to blink. Without warning, she held out her free hand and dragged Alice towards her till she was lodged under her arm. "Let us go."
And with that, the world around them vanished.
Alice sat on a cushioned seat in the newly formed library, wishing she couldn't make out the words coming out of the adjacent room.
Mother was crying, the shadow of tears soft but unmistakable in her voice. That was the worst part.
Yumeko in turn was speaking with calm efficiency. "The change is yet to settle. She'll likely become a magician."
It was getting difficult to breathe again. Alice surrendered to the fog, allowing it to drift through her as it wished.
A light touch on her shoulders jerked her back to reality. She had just enough time to see Yumeko's golden eyes before she warped away, leaving her alone with Mother.
Mother stared at her silently. Her eyes were dry — had she imagined the tears? — and they made Alice's heart quiver. Without further preamble, she crouched down and wrapped her arms around Alice.
A blazing inferno ripped through her skin and consumed her to the marrow. She opened her mouth to scream, desperately wrenching herself away from the fire that was everywhere like a pain-maddened beast.
And then it was over, the fog suffocating the ghost of pain, and she saw she had torn herself away from Mother's arms and landed on the floor.
Mother had turned statue-like, her arms futilely trying to grasp air. She recovered as soon as Alice noticed this, returning them to her side and standing up. Her expression was otherwise unchanged, but her eyes wavered.
"You cannot stay here."
Each syllable was composed of lead and struck Alice like a hammer blow. She opened her mouth to apologise, to explain what had happened, but then she saw there was no anger on Mother's face, only horrible, overwhelming sorrow. She felt herself shrink to the size of a pebble.
"When you opened the grimoire, you changed the fabric of reality." Mother's voice sounded like it was echoing from some faraway abyss. "The changes are still volatile, but the ones affecting you are clear enough. The magic here will kill you if you remain here for too long."
Alice swallowed, but her throat remained parched. "Can't you... change me back?"
Mother shook her head. "The power of creation isn't so easy to quell. I can use it, but I can't change what has already been created by you. Only you or someone with powers fundamentally different from mine can do that now."
"Mother..."
Mother moved to embrace her before recalling the previous attempt and recoiling.
"Where would you like to go?" she asked after a pause. "I can open you a path to wherever you'd like to live."
Alice couldn't answer. Her throat was too wracked with sobs.
When she next looked up, Mother had placed a hand on her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
They stood still for a long while.
Mai drifted away from Pandemonium, trusting her body to find its way to safety without her input.
Surely it was triumph she felt. She had certainly been pleased with her cleverness, to where she had struggled to keep a straight face as Alice swallowed the bait. The ripples of the changing world were still spreading, subtle and subcutaneous but already irreversible. They likely wouldn't harm Alice — they might make her more powerful than ever, assuming she managed to cling to the grimoire — but she would no longer be the flawless porcelain daughter Shinki had created her as.
In other words, Mai had won. Furthermore, she had won with ease, such ease it was actually less satisfying than a genuine struggle would have been. The curse of the highly talented, she decided.
The remnants of beauty that radiated from Shinki's realm soon gave way to the tunnels, caves, and plains shaped by wild magic. She hurried onwards. There was one thing she greatly looked forward to: the recounting of her great success to those who had followed her to exile. If anything could rouse her popularity higher, that would.
She flew through the gates she had forced open when seeking out Pandemonium, then halted mid-air.
The plain was deserted.
She descended slowly, staring. Were they in hiding? Surely there was no force lurking in the underworld that could challenge the forces which had gone toe-to-toe against Shinki's?
"They left," a small voice said behind her.
Yuki was a small and subdued shadow of her usual energetic self, but she met Mai's flabbergasted stare without hesitation. "They began worrying after you'd been gone for a while. They said that you couldn't possibly face off against Makai by yourself and would never come back. I told them to have faith, but that just made them talk about what happened with you and Yumeko. Then the first few drifted off, and after that..." she finished with a shrug.
Mai couldn't utter a single word for a long while. When she finally spoke, she cursed herself for managing little more than a whisper. "Where did they go?"
"In every direction, I think. I didn't ask them while I begged them to stay, and by the time it was too late for that, it didn't seem to matter either way. I think most went looking for new worlds to live in."
"And no-one wanted to stay?"
"No-one. Some hesitated at first, but then one of them said we could never reclaim Makai anyway, so what was the point of shrivelling in some cave when there's an entire universe just waiting for them." Yuki tried to smile, but it looked more like some invisible force was tugging at a fishhook attached to her lips. "I told them that there's no place outside there better than Makai, not unless we build one, but while they agreed with the first part I don't think any of them believed we could build a better home."
Mai said nothing.
"That's fine," she finally managed, and though she could hear the tears in her voice she gave the ground a sarcastic smile. "They were fools and weaklings, the lot of them. I don't want Shinki's cast-overs in my army."
"Mai..." Yuki had inched closer. Mai couldn't find the strength to raise her arms to shoo her away.
"I don't need anyone," she continued, counteracting the wavering of her tone by increasing the volume. "I'm free from having to follow anyone's rule, and I've avenged myself on Shinki by taking away what she loves the most. What else could possibly concern me? The whole world is mine."
Yuki said nothing. She came closer still.
"There's no reason to..." She had to pause to swallow. Her throat was still dry from the flight. "There is nothing to regret..."
She didn't flinch when Yuki wrapped her arms around her from behind and leaned her head between her wings, the touch too familiar to be eerie even under the most despairing of circumstances. Her posture stiffened nevertheless. The hug was too soft, too gentle, and far, far too warm.
"Let go," she said flatly.
Yuki tightened her grip. "No."
They stood in perfect silence with nothing but the sound of water slowly dripping down by the entrance of a long tunnel which Mai suspected led to Hell. How many of her foolish former allies had wandered there found themselves in an unwinnable battle against territorial oni? A fitting reward for their disloyalty.
She made a tentative effort to shake Yuki off. "I said let go. Didn't I tell you that I despise you?"
"You did."
"I meant it. Every single word I said. I've hated you since the very first day."
"I know." Yuki leaned more of her weight in.
An even longer silence followed. Mai's eyes drifted to the alabaster ceiling. Perhaps Yuki was simply gathering her courage before unleashing her powers to burn them both to crisp? If so, so be it.
"But even if hearing those words hurt like you really had pierced my heart," Yuki continued, soft as a cat's paw. "It didn't make me hate you, Mai. And I don't want you to suffer."
"I don't suffer," Mai replied, too hastily. She couldn't help it: after everything she had been through, the sweet simplicity of her stupid, obnoxious, loud, only loyal friend was a sentiment too many which made it all boil over.
"I believe you." From any other lips, she would have expected sarcasm, but Yuki said the words with the perfect sincerity. "I know you're really strong, Mai. Stronger than I'll ever be."
And it was with those words that Mai let all her resentment, all her guilt and hatred, jealousy and contempt, and finally her bottomless sorrow spill out as tears, accompanied by a wail of despair which echoed all across the tunnels.