I frown. “Why not?”
“Stop. Don’t go that way.” His eyes are wide and unseeing, and he’s as grimy as the trash around him. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Something in my chest tightens, but I push forward, my instincts screaming at me to continue. I may pay for it later, but . . . my instincts haven’t steered me wrong yet.
Another man pops up from the trash on my left and I shriek a little at the sudden bolt upright position he takes.
“Turn back now,” the man says in a dead tone and wide-open eyes. “Stop. Turn back now. Stop.”
Why are they just repeating themselves? I know NPCs have a limited script, but they don’t usually do it like this. Neither of them responds to me when I ask why. I lean down toward the second man and wave my hand in front of his face. Nothing. He doesn’t react at all. As if I’m not even here.
“What the fuck?” I rasp, looking toward the opening even closer now.
I should probably stop and turn around. That’s what these NPCs want. But I have to find Locke, and something tells me he’s at the end of this alleyway. Carefully, despite the NPCs repeating their warnings in an eerie choir, I pick my way through the rest of the trash. I drop my Bloodsense Fang into my hand, prepared to fight if needed. Squinting my eyes as I reach the end, I take in the scene before me.
I’m standing at the edge of a large hexagonal courtyard. There are no people here, no bustling crowds, no NPCs with dire warnings of turning back. There’s no trash either, at least, not in the same way as the alley. Instead of old newspapers and garbage, there are suitcases all stacked along the edges of the courtyard, scattered around the pristine white tile, most of them closed, but a few open and showcasing scattered items. In the center of the courtyard is what looks like a small river that circles a very large statue of a woman. The small river is filled with crystal clear water, and there’s a railing there circling it.
Leaning on that railing is the Bone Breaker I’m desperately looking for.
My shoulders relax in relief and I take a step forward. “Locke,” I breathe and he jerks at the sound of his name. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to?—”
The sound of metal grating against metal interrupts my words and I frown, searching for the source of it. I look up at the statue, taking in the aged copper of it. The statue is of a woman, clearly. She’s dressed in a long flowing dress upon her pedestal. The turquoise color of the statue catches the light, making me peer closer in confusion when it seems off, like there’s a shimmer. The woman is holding a cone in one hand raised over her head. At her feet is a cracked book, splayed open to reveal pages I can’t read. She has her face in her other hand, covering it as if she’s crying. It’s strange, but it isn’t my concern right now.
Locke straightens and turns to look at me. His lashes are wet, his cheeks reddened, and I forget all about the sound.
“Oh, Locke,” I start, taking a step toward him.
The metal against metal sound rips through the air again, this time too loud to ignore. I stop and look around, my brow furrowed. “Locke, come closer. I think that . . .”
A shadow casts over both of us as Locke starts moving toward me. It’s a large shadow, an ominous one, and as we both tilt our heads up slowly to look for the source, I know we’re about to be in some serious trouble. My eyes find those of the statue as she suddenly looms over us, her face scrunched in anger, black tracks down her eyes where she’s been crying. The spikey crown on her head makes her anger even more imposing as she glares at us. Only then do I realize just how damaged she is. She’s covered in dents and cracks, massive misshapen holes where something must have hit her. Even her face has scratches and small dents.
BOSS BATTLE INITIATED: LADY LIBERTY’S LAMENT
There are no instructions to defeat Lady Liberty. However, this battle comes with a hint. Lucky you. Are you ready?
Staring up at the turquoise statue in horror, I can barely form the words to answer. Thankfully, I don’t need to.
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your decaying masses yearning to breathe free.
The wretched refuse of your rotting shore.
Send these, the players, the hunger-ridden to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door . . .
And ask you to light the flame of my liberty.”
My eyes widen and I take a step back. “What the fuck does that even mean?” I gasp, staring up at the woman.
The statue screams and steps off her pedestal, raising the cone above her head as her metal face twists with her fury. She swings the cone at me like a hammer, and I just barely manage to leap out of the way before she can squash me. Instead, it scraps against the white tile floor and sends sparks into the air.
“Locke!” I shriek, searching for the Bone Breaker.
“I see her!” he shouts back, leaping out of the way himself before the statue can stomp on him. His face has been wiped clean, the only evidence of his tears the slight flush to his cheeks, but now we can’t even discuss what had happened. We have to fight Lady Liberty first. “What the fuck do we do?”
The woman doesn’t speak. She doesn’t shout words to give any more clues. She screams, though. By the Harrow, does she scream. The shrill sound echoes around the courtyard and makes my ears hurt. She stomps after me, her large metal feet shaking the ground with each step, her face etched drastically into that expression of pain and fury. As the scream tears from her throat again, it spears into my heart, and twists like a knife.
