Setting
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As she padded up the stairs on her bare feet, her clothes rustling softly, she paused a moment, to look out one of the windows. It was just approaching nightfall, dusk tingeing the sky with feather-fingers of pink and orange and violet. The entire landscape, the caste, the town at its base, and the farmland beyond… it all looked so peaceful. But that peace was an illusion—messengers had burst into the castle not three hours ago, bringing news. A detachment of troops from Dorthonion were even now marching towards the capital. The strategists surmised that they would be the first part of a siege, there to establish the army for the long haul, and fight off any attempts at uprooting them. Elite troops, then… and death was inevitable when such a thing was just over the horizon. So many people, people she knew and loved, people she had never met but still felt for… their blood would stain the fertile fields of her homeland… and for what?
So that King Anselm would have his mage army.
Lenore’s jaw tightened slightly, and her movement resumed from its pause as though it had never stopped at all. She couldn’t allow that, that much death. And the only way Siegmund Anselm would be stopped is if he were too scared to continue or his army was wiped from this plane. She couldn’t bear the thought of the latter, so the former it must be.
She’d appealed to the angels first, but they had denied her summons, the one who answered saying that the Deva desired no more dealing with Elysia. It had been a long shot anyway—Sephiriel was more than the Deva usually gave up from their own fighting forces anyway, and Lenore had seen her impressive power firsthand. She’d tried everything else after that; beings from planes scarcely studied, but none had been interested in contracting with her. Or rather… most had seemed somehow afraid, whether of her or something else, she could not say. Whatever the case, she had exactly one option left to prevent this war, and she was under no illusions that it would come cheaply.
But it was the responsibility of those with the most to give to give the most, and Lenore knew she was lucky enough to have quite a bit to give the world. If this was what she had to do, to protect this place, these people that meant the world to her, then this was what she would do.
The attic room at the top of the tower was reinforced to hold well against the spare energy of passage from another plane, so it was the room she chose. The circle from the book was copied in chalk onto the center of the floor, the outside rimmed carefully in salt and silver shavings, to contain the demon—any demon—until such time as a proper contract was made or declined. The candles went at the five points of the pentagram dominating the center, though it was far from the only symbol inside the summoning circle. Lighting the candles with a slight flick of her fingers, Lenore brought the book to her chest and knelt in front of the circle.
As was recommended, she wore white, a color that in these context signaled to whatever she summoned that she was both unspoiled and in possession of a soul, and a gown, indicating her noble birth. The enchanted sword at her hip—her own creation, was held in place by a scabbard attached to a belt of golden rope. These bespoke martial skill and a certain level of material wealth. All of it was part of a codified language, designed to indicate to whatever creature answered her call certain things about the summoner. A different color would have been required, for instance, if she were married, another if she had been a mother, and so on. It was more a convenience for ease of bargaining than anything, she supposed.
Laying the book to one side, she began to weave the magic, her voice incanting softly the verses in the language of the Asura and Deva, designed to call to this circle one of the former. The real incentive, however, came next. Still chanting, she extended one hand, palm up, just over the circle, raising the unused ceremonial knife to a level with it and laying the blade across her palm, closing her fingers over it and allowing the adamantine to bite deep. The thick line of red welled from her palm, and, still murmuring her incantation, she walked the circle, allowing it to drip at specified locations on the diagram.
“To this world, I summon Asura. Who shall heed my plea?” With those words, the spell itself took hold, and the entire circle began to glow, throwing an ethereal light onto her fair face and lighting up her hair like the glimmer of starlight contained in the attic.
At the time the call made it through to the Infernal plane, the King of the Asura was in a little tête-a-tête with his three favorite people—which was to say, his three most prominent Generals. He really did like them, he supposed, but that meant something different for an Asura than it might for someone else. He didn’t exactly discourage their little rivalries, both known and unknown, for example. But at that moment, something infinitely more interesting was about to occupy his thoughts.
It started with a scent, actually. An absolutely divine scent, but free of that bitter aftertaste the Deva tended to have. Ah, so something with a little humanity to it—that was all the sweeter. How very interesting. One of Lucifer’s eyebrows ascended his forehead when the sound of a soft, melodious chanting filled the chamber he and his generals occupied, his eyes scanning the ceiling and passing down to the floor, where a glowing circle appeared. A slow, subtle smile spread across his face. A summoning, then, and a very complex, intricate one at that. He’d never seen one with quite that level of power behind it. Actually… he suspected that he could safely answer, and find himself on the mortal plane for the first time in… well, too long, perhaps. Tempting.
But alas, he had a prior engagement, so to speak.
“Well then. It would be awfully impolite of us not to answer such a humble request, hmm? Who would like a little holiday on the mortal plane?” Carmine colored eyes swept over his generals, landing last of all on Apollyon. Asmodeus tended to remain closer to him personally where possible, and Abaddon was singlemindedly interested in only one thing—a thing that was hilariously close to his own nose. But Apollyon was always complaining about being bored, so he might bite. “Momo? Baddy? Apple? I don’t really care which one of you goes, but one of you should. Plans, and all that.”
Not that he usually bothered to tell them what the plans were.
Defensive actions were now being deployed at the borders with great haste. However, it is a fact that bloodshed would be inevitable. Siegmund Anselm's army is more well-versed in military campaigns than the armies of Elysia which had been firmly established for protection and stabilization than invasion. Their magical might had always been a deterrent for any possible interests to occupy them. Though, they did anticipate that perhaps, someday, there would be one who would be tempted to taste such power. But that is why, diplomacy had played its role in maintaining neutral grounds.
Like the saying goes, things are meant to end.
Nevertheless, this is not the case for the Heir of the Golden Peacock Throne. The Princess Calliope had joined the discussion of the next steps in regards to what they should do to counter the Dorthonion's advancement. She had never been in favor of war and would not allow that Siegmund Anselm to capitalize on the lives of her people, the mages, especially of her friend. They were not tools to be owned or used by anyone. So, she will not give up or cower in fear. It is because she has important people and things to protect. As a princess, as an heir, as Calliope, she will not fail in that no matter what.
Truly, the young princess had grown through the years. She was no longer a delicate child who is protected by the Queen so preciously. Calliope now stood before them unwavering and showed no hesitation in her action. There was no fear present in her form. Her eyes landed upon the form her mother who was a main proponent in refusing King Anselm's proposal. She knew that it was for her sake and she was truly grateful for that. "My Queen and My Mother, I intend to protect all of Elysia and its people. Not because I am a Princess or anything. It is because I love this kingdom and everyone in it." She then properly faced her mother and gave a respect bow. And when she returned to her former stance, there was a sweet and warm smile on her face. "I will be fine and I will come back."
It was then an emissary was hurriedly sent off from the palace carrying the acceptance which will place the crown in the hands of Dorthonion.. Yet, it was a small prize to pay for Calliope to ensure that Elysia will not suffer the scars and the horrors of war.
Everything was tedious. All was troublesome. Simply put, boredom was a constant companion to a particular Asura. Really, this peaceful interlude was more of a bother than an advantage as depicted by the oh-so-powerful ruler of the Inferno. Apollyon was not even sure what is he doing here with the other generals and the Archdemon. They were simply wasting time with this idle talk, which he was in no mood for. Asmodeus was currently making fun of Abaddon, a normal routine. He had seen it so many times that it had lost its entertainment factor. That was it. He was out of here.
Standing from his seat, he would be better off sleeping. Time would pass quicker and they would just need to wake him up when the war begins again. So, there problem solved for him. This resulted with him walking away without saying anything to any of them. There was no need. They would know where to find him when the time is ripe, so to speak. His foot was a mere inch from the exit when a scent filled the room. How familiar it was to his senses. It was the sweet nectar of those dubbed as the divine. Yet, there was a faint difference as it was embraced by fragility, something so humane.
Interesting.
Judging by the chanting, it was a female with nothing better to do who was strong enough to allow passage for those like them. This is rather a dangerous summoning for that ignorant mortal. He would want to rip that human apart for such indiscretion and all. However, his thoughts had been duly interrupted before he could continue with his different methods of carnage. Their Ringleader suggested answering the call. Now, that was hardly surprising. The Archdemon did leave his seed on that mortal realm voraciously. He felt those carmine eyes landed on his form. However, he did not look back.
The only time he did was when Lucifer used that infernal name. He viciously turned around and faced the Asura King. "Stop calling me that!" His voice half-growling towards the degradation caused by that alias. Asmodeus laughed at that. Apollyon glared at the wench who simply wrapped her hands around Lucifer's arm and then stuck out her tongue at him. Afterwards, she looked at Lucifer. "I like it here more." So, it would be a no for Asmodeus. As for Abaddon, he simply crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Yes, it also meant a no. "Why don't you go sour-puss? Aren't you bored? Plus, our Lord has plans." Apollyon released a sigh at that. "Hmph."
Like that, he stepped onto the glowing circle as it engulfed him in a brilliant and very irritating light. This would be second time coming to the mortal plane. It made him wonder if things had changed. But then again, humans are fools. Yes, they truly are.
Apollyon wasted no time as he reached out his hand to the girl of white. That is what she appears to him. His abyss black eyes reflected her image as if being swallowed by a void. And perhaps, she was about to. "Shall you fall?"
She was a stunning woman, and it was not difficult for anyone to tell from where the princess had inherited her looks. Their features were almost the same, though the young woman had inherited her father’s coloration almost exclusively. Where her daughter’s locks were like honey, the Queen wore the color of fire and blood atop her crown, though not as long as she once had done. She was silent as the rest argued amongst themselves, the only hint of her melancholy a touch of sadness creeping into her eyes as she watched her daughter speak so passionately. So much like both her parents, so willing to sacrifice, but if there was one thing Dianthe knew, it was that a heart could not be bargained with, and trying to make an exchange of marriage like an exchange of money was bound to lead to heartache. This, she had always wished to spare her child—it was why Calliope was not yet wed at all.
Unfortunately, it just meant that there was one more thing for her to slide across the bargaining table now. But it was her wish, and so in the end, the queen simply conceded, inclining her head to the herald that stood in the back of the room. The message would be sent, the arrangements made.
A few hours later, the message had been returned. King Anselm wished to meet on neutral ground to discuss terms. This was not especially unusual for wartime negotiations, and each party would be expected to take only a small number of soldiers, to preserve the good faith of the negotiations. It was folly, of course, to send both the reigning monarch and the heir, so the queen would be remaining behind while the princess went to lead the negotiations. If this was all the control Dianthe could give Calliope over her fate, then she would give it.
But… this was not to say she trusted the king of Dorthonion. In fact, she didn’t, not in the least. She would have much rather sent an army at Calliope’s back, but this was something she could not afford to do. Arriving at a negotiation with enough troops to overwhelm the other side would be seen as underhanded and lowly, something the other kingdoms on the continent would not take well. And if this war was to continue, she would need their support. If it was to end, then the gesture would be of no help anyway.
So the Queen, in her wisdom, was doing the one thing she could to keep her daughter as safe as possible. “Your Majesty, Lord Nishant is here.” Her steward made the soft announcement, and Dianthe looked up from her tea, nodding slowly.
“Allow him in, please.” With a bow, the man moved to accommodate her command, and within moments, she was looking up at perhaps one of the most intimidating figures she had ever seen. This was only objectively, of course—of everyone Lord Nishant knew, the queen had least reason to be intimidated by him. The knight in black armor descended to one knee, crossing an arm over his chest, and the Queen smiled. “You need not be so formal with me, Cyril.”
“Your Majesty is too kind.” The response was monotone, spoken through the distortion of his helmet, and yet she detected a faint note of chiding in it anyway. He was telling her that she really was too kind. Dianthe’s smile inched a fraction wider. How bold of him.
But there was business to attend to, more important to her than anything, and the smile faded. The queen delayed a moment by taking a sip of her tea, and Cyril remained in his kneeling position, patient as a mountain in a storm. That steadiness was why she’d come to rely on him more than anyone else. The queen had many beloved allies and friends, but right now, when her daughter was in danger and war loomed over the horizon of her kingdom, it was to this man that she turned first. “Cyril… in about an hour, my daughter will ride to meet the party of King Anselm, to arrange the terms of her marriage and the peace between our nations.” Dianthe sighed, looking down into her teacup before she raised her eyes to the eyeslit in the Black Knight’s helmet. “There is more than a little risk inherent in this. Her retinue must be small, as a gesture of good faith. I would like you to lead it.”
When the pause in speech had extended a polite period of time, the Black Knight spoke. “If that is your wish, it will be done.”
Dianthe’s expression gentled. “I know you have only been her guard on occasion thus far, and have served most of your time as mine, but… this is not a demotion, Cyril. My daughter is the one thing in this world that means more to me even than my kingdom itself. In asking you to protect her, I am trusting you with what I deem most precious. I ask you because I will trust no one else with the task.” Just then, the queen, the untouchable figure on the throne, looked so fragile and human that most would have been startled to see it. But not Cyril. Over his years of service, he had come to understand her better than most ever would, and he knew that what she showed him now was her true face. A mother, and still a grieving widow, after all this time.
“I understand, Your Majesty. As she is most precious to you, I will protect her as though she was also most precious to me.” The queen smiled.
“I know you will—and that is more than I have any right to demand of you. But thank you. Please… go now, and prepare for the journey. Take another ten from the castle garrison, and one of the mages. A dozen should be an acceptable number.” Cyril stood, bowed, and left to make the necessary preparations. When he was gone, Dianthe sighed. She had done all she could. The rest lay in the hands of those that were to meet on that field.
“Phanes, Aither… please, watch over her.”
Lenore was rather surprised when her question received an answer. The Fool. Change, potential. Infinite faces for infinite scenarios. The genesis, the source, the beginning. The first. All the associations leaped to her educated intellect in no time at all, but this would not be immediately obvious from her actual overt reaction, which was to blink slowly up—quite far up; this Asura had to be around seven feet tall—at what had come before her. Ramlike horns curled around his head, several smaller ones positioned around those. Everything about him was dark—hair, eyes, plumage and what seemed to be leather. He looked at her like she was an insect at the bottom of his shoe, which was honestly more or less what she’d anticipated.
“I wasn’t expecting someone so beautiful,” she remarked, her tone a curious mix between blunt and misty, and she tilted her head to the side when he offered his hand. Well, she wasn’t quite so much a fool to let him out of the circle before the bargain had been struck. “You are not a Hellknight.” Those were depicted in books, and they didn’t look like him.
Hellknights were mid-level demons, the equivalent to commanders in the armies of Inferno. They were combat specialists, and, while very difficult to summon, should have been well within the range of her capabilities. She studied his face with wide eyes, putting together the obscure references she had and drawing the most logical conclusion. The favorable aesthetics, the sweet scent… “Lord Apollyon,” she decided firmly, nodding her head. She didn’t exactly seem to require confirmation from him. She’d been caught between him and Abaddon, but there was an obscure reference to the latter in a book she’d read a few months ago that mentioned the mark of the crescent moon on his forehead, apparently the heritage of his mother, who had been a Sidhe or something of a similar nature.
“As for falling… I suppose I might. That really depends on you.” she smiled slightly, clasping her hands together and bowing politely, as one would to a king or similar royalty. “What I desire is simple: the protection of this realm, of Elysia and its people, with a minimum of human casualties. In return, well… that depends on you, as well. Anything goes, really, as long as I can give it.” From the lightness of her tone, she had no idea the potential consequences she’d opened herself up to by saying that, but something in her eyes gave the lie to that suggestion.
Lenore knew perfectly well what she was risking. She had simply decided long before this moment that what she asked for was worth it. Worth anything she had to give.
As such, she will ride to the ruins known as the Temple of Sands located a few distance from their national borders, which was the same for Dorthonion. Those ruins are not under any kingdom's authority, so it was a prominent area where various negotiations had taken place. She had been there a few times when her mother would allow her to lead negotiations or diplomacy in a more personal manner. But this time, it would be in regards to her marriage and the stipulations which would come from it. She already knew that negotiations will be rather heated, knowing where King Anselm's heart truly lies when it comes to her Kingdom.
It was, without question, she is concerned about what would take place. Yet, it would be a great disservice to herself and to the people around her to show any signs of faltering. She could not allow such a thing. This is when the words of her father, the Late King, would echo within her consciousness, reminding her to be strong and to be firm. As such, her gait was without any air of concern. Instead, it was filled with resolve and a confidence aptly found for someone of her status. She will not back down from this. For in the end, Elysia was more important than herself, no matter what she must sacrifice.
This had been a repeated subject when she had met with the Queen, her mother, in private earlier. They had discussed the answer of the Dorthonion King and the concern of her mother. Calliope knew that her decision had caused her beloved mother worry. She also knew that her mother did not want her to fall in a fate much like hers when it comes to the matters of the heart. It is a sentiment she shared as well, but it would be selfishness on her part if that was insisted to this point. Knowing her mother and the others cared for her happiness as much, it was enough. She was happy and grateful.
Soon enough, the Princess had arrived at the courtyard. A handmaiden approached her as a dark blue hood was placed over her shoulders. Calliope answered the gesture with a thankful smile. "Thank you." The female smiled as well, though, she could see there was sadness behind the eyes of her handmaiden. Not wanting to instigate such emotions any further, she diverted her attention to her protection retinue which had already been prepared. From her assessment, it was no more than a dozen. That would be a fitting amount not to raise aggression from the other side. Of course, this will be expected from the other party as well.
But knowing her mother, this was done with great restraint and she was grateful. Although, there was one thing her mother would not relent. It was the tall individual fully clad in a black armor. A soft expression could be seen across her face at the sight which could not be ignored. Calliope had been graced by this Knight's presence a few times as a personal guard. Furthermore, she is very familiar with him by reputation as the best knight of Elysia. Her mother was always looking out for her and it was also something she could feel astutely of the man behind the armor whenever he is beside her.
She descended from the stairs with her natural grace. Though, there is a certain hop to her steps in a sense as she approached the imposing black figure, and without further ado...
"I am really happy to see you here." Her face softened with sincerity. Those hazel eyes of hers reflected Cyril's form. To anyone's perspective, it was like a scene out of a fairy tale. A picture depicting a dark knight and a princess of light, first meeting. It was something akin to that the beginning of every tale. But alas, it was not the case, is it not? "It makes me at ease. I will be placing my life in your hands."
This human was well-informed and refreshingly bold about her choice of words. She had called him beautiful, a description which was affluently attached to him most of the time. If he would be frank as well, she looked very odd. Hair of pure white, it reminded him of Abaddon who was rather proud in that feature of his. Then, eyes like the crimson color of wine which was much like an endless flow of blood in the scenery of Inferno. Simply put, it was a coloring unfounded for mortals like them. Although, it was not uncommon for the likes of him and other extra-planar creatures.
There was also her impression that he is not a Hellknight. From those words, he could weave that she had not expected anything higher than that to comply with her call. Logical. She was not underestimating herself; rather she had knowledge of what probable kinds would like to partake in a contract. As such, he did not find it unusual for her to identify him with mere scrutiny. For it was same to him, she is a noble who is untainted in the ways of lust. She is a fighter, though; he has no expectations of her skills, both in a brawl and magic. After all, she is not confident of her own strength to face whatever it is. Because, she is willing enough to have a creature like him devour her as long as he will do the dirty work.
No offense at all. This will do for the time being. There was also no harm in having diversity in his meals. Though, the concept being asked of him is very contradictory to his nature. She must know what title he holds more above than his rank as a General and the Archdemon's fidus achates. Yet in the end, that was fine. For all he had to do was destroy whatever is on the other side.
It will do for now.
Yes, an expression which only an Asura like him could do. That is not it. This is an expression only he could do.
"Let us begin with your destruction, human."
When she takes his hand, then, he had finally made a contract with the Devil Apollyon.
It was at this point that the princess and her retinue appeared, causing the entire contingent of soldiers to bow as a unit, Cyril at their head. As was his right as their commander, he rose first, in enough time for the princess to approach, a bright smile on her face. In sharp contrast to himself, she was rather small, and exceedingly bright, and the fact that she showed no fear of him caused a small murmur in the other soldiers. Not, of course, because they expected that she had reason to fear him—his loyalty was not in question. Rather, it was that most people could not help but be wary. There was just something in his aura that seemed to cause it, something that seemed to bother her not at all.
“Your Highness,” he replied simply, inclining his head. She inquired if his presence here would have permanence as she set out for her destination, and this, he confirmed. “I shall.” He straightened, the lances crossed over his back shifting slightly. It was then obvious that he was also wearing a bow slung across his back, with a quiver of expertly-fletched arrows. For a man of his size, it could not have been more than a shortbow, but for a normal person, it would be of more average proportions. It was, in fact, a precaution. The princess was an established expert archer, and Cyril was not the kind of person who would think to stop her from defending herself out of some misplaced sense of pride. If her own arrows should save her life, then her life was still saved. And that was he important part. But it would look unfavorable for her to enter the negotiations armed, and so he carried the extra weight as though it were nothing at all.
“Your confidence honors me. I shall endeavor to ensure that it is not misplaced.” He was not in the business of making promises he could not keep, and his word was his bond. Perhaps it was a far cry from the poetic phrases that knights in stories were supposed to give, but his words were honest, and he would prove them with his life, if that were required. Turning from the Princess for a moment, he took the reins belonging to one of the saddled horses and gently led it over to her. The horse wuffled and bumped his shoulder with its nose, but Cyril remained unmoved.
“We are prepared to proceed at your convenience, Highness,” he continued, holding the horse steady until she was able to swing astride, then moving the reins back over its neck such that she could take hold of them herself. Once he was astride his own charger, the party set off for the Sand Temple. The ride to the border region was several hours, and the sun was just beginning to set by the time they came upon the grounds.
White marble and pale sandstone jutted from the sand at irregular intervals, evidence of the once-grand structures that had stood here. King Anselm’s party, themselves perhaps fifteen in number, were already present, the King himself at their head, a fact which did somewhat surprised Cyril. He had been expecting some kind of steward in the king’s place—as Dorthonion had the advantageous bargaining position, a minor insult of that kind was almost guaranteed, and yet absent. Under his helm, the Black Knight’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. An optimist would take this to mean that Siegmund was taking Elysia seriously.
Cyril was not an optimist.
Lenore drew in a deep breath, meeting the demon’s eyes steadily. So black, like there was no end to them. From what she had read, this was the trait most unique to Apollyon. Lucifer’s eyes were the exact shade of blood on most depictions, Abbadon’s golden, and Asmodeus’s blue. Most lower-level demons had eyes of grey or brown.
His terms were steep, there was no denying that. Her memories, and the emotions tied to them—it would be a slow death, a decent into utter emptiness. What was left of her at the end would be nothing but a husk, a shell, a doll that looked like a human being. She would forget the people she loved, the bonds she had forged over her lifetime. And she would look upon them and feel nothing at all. First with her acquaintances, then her colleagues, and lastly her friends. She would lose the connection to her mentor, and to her very best friend in the whole world, Cally. She would even lose her precious few memories of her mother. By the end, she might wonder why she had made this bargain at all, because the love that compelled her to make it now would be forever gone.
And her immortal soul, to say nothing of her mortal flesh, would soon follow. She would be as nothing.
So be it.
“I don't know what you’d want with them,” she observed frankly, moving her shoulders up and down in a light shrug. “But if that is the price, then I shall pay it.” This time, she did reach forward and take his hand, using her foot to break the line of salt and silver, allowing him to fully manifest on the mortal plan, in all his power, a storm she weathered with a strange kind of equanimity, almost as though she didn’t notice it. But such a thing would surely be impossible for a mage not to observe.
“If you do not mind, I suppose there is someone I would like you to meet. For when I can no longer remember why you are here in the first place.” When such a time came, someone else would at least need to be aware of the situation, to ensure that everything proceeded as detailed in the deal.
She did not seem to require much of an answer. After all, what point was there in trying to convince him? He’d do what he wanted to do, and she did not operate under the illusion that she would have any impact on this at all. Either way, she was going to inform the person she trusted most. She did not expect he would be too happy with her, but she did know he would understand.
He’d done the same, after all.
The Headmaster’s office sat on one of the highest floors of the White Tower, home of the Academie de Magia, more often just called the Academy. There were, as usual of late, two figures currently in the room, one of them standing behind the other’s shoulder. This one was a woman, though assuredly not just any woman.
She was a stunningly-beautiful creature, enough so that it was no difficulty to suppose that she must not truly be human, and indeed, she was something very different. A cascade of bright, emerald-colored hair crowned her head and trailed to the floor behind her, the saturated hue a sharp contrast with the simple white robes that adorned her frame, though on her, they might as well have been liquid silver and gold.
She held a stave in one hand, then end of it planted against the floor, and her head was slightly bowed, a soft hum escaping her lips, just a whisper of the most delicate spellsong. It stopped, and she raised her head, opening brilliant viridian eyes.
“Master Emrys, Miss Lenore has completed her contract. She has summoned General Apollyon to the mortal plane. She is on her way to see you.”
Casting her sight out much further, she continued. “The Princess’s party has reached the Sand Temple, but my vision is unclear.” That itself was not to be unexpected, considering who Cyril was, and just whose talent he had inherited. But this was something Emrys knew as well as she did. One of only two humans to be trusted with the secret, out of the necessity of the suit of armor, she understood.
With that trail of thought, she took notice of the bow on his back. There was no doubt in her mind that he will be able to wield it. Though, the size would be rather incompatible with his frame. Thinking for a fleeting moment, her eyes widened for a bit at the conclusion presented to her. Then, a small and appreciative smile formed on her lips. "Thank you for bringing me my weapon, Cyril." He was never the kind to limit her or treat her much like a doll which would break at the faintest touch of the wind. With him, she is granted a sense of independence and freedom. These things which are rarely given to her contrary to what others think.
Such gestures, she appreciates the most.
That was then he guided Ramie, her personal stead, towards her. Observing Ramie's show of affection, she could not help but lightly giggle as she placed both of her hands on both sides of its face. "You really like him, don't you?" Then, she leaned closely to her horse's ear. "I like him as well." Of course, this proclamation lacked the romantic inclination. Yet, it was true. In any case, it was answered by Ramie with a cheerful nod and this made her smile brightly. She gently patted Ramie, and then had a slight pout. "I wonder if he likes me too, what do you think?" This time she glanced at Cyril who remained unmoved and that was completely fine with her.
He spoke that they were ready to leave at her convenience. That is correct. There is something she must do. Taking a deep breath, with his aid, she was now on top of Ramie. Holding the reins, she looked at everyone who would accompany her and then towards the group who shall watch them off. She gave them a courteous bow and a bright smile. After doing so, she looked at the Black Knight and gave a determined nod. "Let us go." Once that was said, she placed the hood over her head and gestured for her stead to move and so, it did.
The journey had been long yet peaceful. It was a welcomed interlude for Calliope, though, it reminded her of a calm before the storm. Hopefully, it would not apply to this scenario. Speaking of which, she did a bit of fortune-telling before their departure from the palace. What did the cards tell her? The Devil. It meant various meanings, yet they meet at one point, restraint or bondage. That was rather ominous. Now, she was getting worried all over again. Not good at all. Well, all she had to do was to be vigilant.
Especially when they had finally arrived, and Dorthonion's party was already there in which it was led personally by the King Siegmund Anselm. Somehow, she could not stop thinking of the reading, she had. But regardless, she is here and would not back down from her conviction. And that is to protect Elysia from war.
"It is an honor to finally meet you in person, King Anselm. I bid you the blessings of the earth. I am Calliope Khthonios, Princess of Elysia." Her voice without any form of malice. Instead, it was rippled with gentle strength and elegant confidence. "I hope that your presence before me marks that you will consider a peaceful route between us."
Ah yes, if everything does go smoothly, this person in front of her will be her husband, lover, and King. That is the deal, isn't it?
What is the noble term they attached to such a human?
Foolishly brave.
That is correct. However, in his own terms, it was far more simple and effortless to understand.
Idiot.
It is a description which he will now use to relate in regards to her persona. He never had any expectations for her kind. It would have been a more wise choice to decline the contract. Nevertheless, he was never that benevolent in the beginning. Furthermore, it will serve as a good source of entertainment. The inferno has nothing to give him, but a series of monotony nowadays. Although, he would never understand human logic about protection. What is good in protecting something when one cannot protect themselves? He sees nothing advantageous about it. But, what does he care? As long as it benefits him, then, it is no concern of his.
Never will. Never has been.
As such, she took his hand. The motion of agreement between them, a contract now weaved. And then, he had been allowed to completely exist in the mortal plane. The barrier taken down for his freedom. It seemed that in the end, nothing has changed at all. How dull. Yet, that statement is not entirely true. Something is a bit different. His eyes did not look away from her as she spoke. It seemed that she wanted him to meet someone who would act much like a supervisor. Doesn't matter to him.
Though, there was still one thing needed to be done. The hand, which he had not yet released from his hold, was used as a chain by him. He pulled the human without the hint of delicacy towards him. Her palm positioned before his mouth. "You forget." Apollyon spoke as his lips descended on her skin. His eyes so bleak and so black, not once did he blink, nor did he cast his attention away from her. He teasingly licked it before speaking again. "Prey." And then, a searing pain was present from her palm. Something was being engraved at the very tendrils of her flesh.
After a few moments, he released her hand unceremoniously while playfully licking the corner of his lips. Their contract was now finally complete. His mark was now burned into her palm. It shall be the reminder for the both of them that they are bounded by an exchange so treacherous more so, for her. A bond that shall be severed once she is devoured by him. Of course, he does expect it would not last that long. And so, it would not be long before he is done with this mortal realm.
So, why not allow a bit of capriciousness for his meal?
As to how he knew where to go, it was his sharp senses. He felt a presence of something, he had the penchant to kill. Unfortunately, there is that foolish treaty. But as always, it was Lucifer's call. So, let him do all the thinking. With that nonchalant though, he soon reached a room where the silver plate on the door read, 'Headmaster's Office' Despite the name, he knew well what he was smelling inside. That putrid scent to his senses. Without much of any manner, he pushed the door open, which was broken into half.
How weak. He was being delicate with it.
In any case, his eyes caught sight of another human, a male with a shade which reminded him of Asmodeus' favorite bloom. Yet, his gaze was fixated to the being standing behind him. "Deva." That was all he stated. Because really, he could not be bothered with remembering the names of beings, he had no business of keeping alive. And also to put it plainly, he dislikes them.
There is nothing more and nothing less.
To say Emrys is unaware, it would be like denouncing the existence of air. He knows what is going on outside the academy, away from his jurisdiction. The looming threat to Elysia due to the ambition which had been cast over the mages of the kingdom, specifically, one of his students. It was unavoidable as men would always desire power no matter what, they must do to gain it. Of course, there are many reasons for such a desire. And he could not revoke that sense of logic. Why is that?
It is because he had done the same thing.
Despite having the title as the strongest wizard of the mortal plane as of now, he knew for a fact that it would not be enough to protect what he deemed to be valuable. As such, he had rolled a dice to see how much worth does his very soul amount to. And so, it was revealed to him through the ethereal existence of the one known as Sephiriel, a Deva, who answered his call. He did not expect her appearance completely, especially someone of her status.
That is why he is grateful for her presence by his side.
Upon hearing her words in regards of Lenore, he could not help but release a sigh. He had told her countless of times to not create a contract, especially with an Asura who are compounded by their dark tricks. But no... She had to make one and not only with any Asura. It had to be the one with the most sadistic streak. Really, she might as well contract Lucifer. That would be more favorable than being bounded with Apollyon.
As for the Princess, he remarks her desire to protect Elysia. Though, he could not help but be concerned as well, knowing her willfulness and tendency to be selfless in the most inappropriate time. Why is that the women he knew of and had the opportunity to connect with ends up as bundles of trouble for him?
Well, he could breathe a bit. It would appear that Nishant is with the Princess, judging by Sephiriel’s inability to see clearly. If that Master Knight was there, he knew that nothing terrible would happen to the Heir. Hopefully. But, it would not be said the same to him as the doors to his office had been broken like paper. And before his eyes, the one called as The Destroyer stood. It was clear that the General Apollyon's interest laid on the attendance of Sephiriel.
He is aware of the feud between the Deva and Asura. However, this was not the place for such matters.
Emrys trusts that the two extra-planar beings would not clash senselessly.
Then, he had finally seen Lenore arrived. His peach-hued eyes narrowed which depicted his displeasure of her actions. Although, there is also the subtle sadness behind it. In the end, he could not truly question her conviction of doing such an act. Yet, it does not mean he could not be angry of her choice. "We will discuss about the contract you have for now." There is a strong implication on the last part. It only meant that once things have properly settled. They will have the talk.
"Take a seat." He motioned to the seating provided in front of his desk. "Then, tell me the stipulations."
But the one thing they lacked was the thing that could undo even the best-trained soldier: magic. There were mages in Dorthonion, to be sure, but not as many, nor were they as powerful, on average, as those born in Elysia and trained at its prestigious Academie de Magia. It was, from a strategy standpoint, perfectly understandable why a conquering king like Siegmund would be interested in bolstering his ranks with mages from this tiny, otherwise insignificant little country.
The princess rode at the head of her column of troops, and the blood-colored eyes of a strategist scanned over those assembled. From the way most carried themselves, they were good. Quite good, perhaps the elite of the Order of Thorns. But his were his elites, and so they would stand no chance, if indeed it came to that. There were two prominent exceptions: the mage, identifiable by her robes and lack of armor or conventional weaponry, and the man on the towering black warhorse. Where the princess seemed to shine with the radiance of the sun, this man appeared almost to swallow all the light around him, as though he were cut from utter darkness.
Ah, now this one, he had heard of. And it was all the evidence he required.
When they had stopped and dismounted, the lady spoke, and Siegmund rose from where he’d been seated. He himself wore glimmering golden armor, of a hue with his hair. But there was no seeing his eyes as anything but red—a strikingly-pure example of the color.
“Princess Calliope,” he greeted in return, his smile cordial. “It would seem that the rumors about you were true.” Exactly what rumors he was referring to were unclear. “As it turns out, I hope for exactly the same thing.” Raising one hand slightly, he snapped his fingers, and from what seemed almost to be nowhere, an arrow whizzed out of the sky, striking the throat of the mage who traveled with the party.
“But I confess I’m not interested in ruling beside anyone. I want your kingdom, and you are going to help me get it. Keep the princess alive. Kill the rest.”
Cyril was the first to react, and his actions were immediate: while everyone else was still drawing weapons, he had already moved directly in front of the princess, handing her her bow and quiver. “Your Highness. I ask that you remain behind me. No matter what happens, do not step out of my shadow.” Though phrased in perhaps an unconventional manner, the suggestion had a point—he needed her to stay within arms’ reach, but also outside the area he would need to safely swing his weapons. He would be able to do this even if she deviated from the instructions, but that location also offered her the best protection—anything that was aimed for her, to injure, presumably, would have to go through him first.
The situation was much worse than initially anticipated. The arrow that killed the mage had come from atop one of the many half-standing structures left in the ruins, and even as more of these fired, additional footsoldiers appeared from behind the structures. The mage should have been scrying for this, but doubtless his presence did not make that easy, and they would have killed her before she had the chance to voice a warning anyway.
So, all things considered, it looked like they were twelve against nearly fifty—long odds in any situation. Fortunately, Cyril could handle fifty, though the issue was going to be doing that while also protecting the princess. Thankfully, his men were very good at what they did, and drew into a rough circle, to better protect her from all angles. A few of those with bows fell into a more inner ring and started to return fire against those atop the structures, but it was going to be difficult—they were shooting into the light of the descending sun.
Cyril, however, took a few arrows himself, ones that simply shattered on his armor. He looked over at the king of Dorthonion, and when he spoke, his tone was just as steady as it had always been. “This was a mistake.”
Siegmund’s eyes glittered. “Oh no, I think not. You see, it’s really rather obvious. The Princess is the Queen’s weakness. With her in my possession, Elysia is mine, and I don’t even have to pretend to care about preserving its traditions or sharing power with my dear, lovely wife.. I can just kill them both and have done with it. Regimes change all the time—the mages will work for me just as they worked for her, and the people will be fine. It’s not as though they really care who’s parked on that fancy throne… as long as their lives don’t get worse.”
He smiled. “And they won’t, really.” The King shrugged, watching for a moment as his soldiers charged the Elysian formation. They were not cowards, men and women of Dorthonion, and the bulk of them were eager to get at—and have the glory of killing—the infamous Black Knight of Elysia.
Cyril cut them all down, his lances moving too quickly to be seen, as soon impaled in one heart as slicing across the next throat. He did not hesitate, he did not stumble, he did not waste a movement—eyeslits, gaps in armor, exposed skin—he only struck for the places that would ensure quick, certain death. For someone in so much armor, he was light on his feet, but he did not attempt to dodge anything, for to do so would be to put the princess at risk, however minimal, of injury.
The battle raged, and one by one, men and women fell, until there were only three Elysian soldiers left, plus Cyril and the princess. There were yet twenty of the Dorthonion fighters remaining when the king motioned for them to cease. As one, they did so, backing off immediately, though refraining from sheathing their weapons.
“Impressive,” Seigmund drawled, glancing over the large pile of bodies before Cyril. So skilled was he that he had moved only slightly during the whole skirmish, just enough to form the corpses into an obstruction, such that any who wished to attack from the left flank would have to step over the dead bodies of their comrades. It would only cost a second, but in battle, a second was often the difference between life and death. Blood dripped from the end of each of the knight’s lances. The princess hadn’t put in a poor effort either, actually, what with that bow of hers.
“I have a proposal, Lord Nishant. Fight me, one on one. If you win, my men leave. If I win… well, you’ll be dead, so what does it matter to you?”
Behind his helmet, Cyril’s eyes narrowed. This man had proven that he was hardly to be trusted, but to kill him alone would end the battle with fewer casualties than fighting it out. This was something he knew the princess tended to favor. “The decision belongs to Her Highness. I am but her knight.” He turned slightly, such that from his posture, it was clear that he was looking back over his shoulder at Calliope.
“What would you have me do, princess?”
Sephiriel, for her part, had no desire to do violence to Apollyon. She was aware that the same was certainly not true of him, but that was not her concern. The terms of his contract would actually likely not allow it. Lenore’s wording had been broad, but this was not a choice without merit.
Lenore herself, on the other hand, was feeling a bit chastised by the look her mentor was giving her. He had a gift for being able to express a great deal with no words at all, though in this case, he did use some. She had entered the room a few strides behind Apollyon, apparently distracted by the intricacy of the mark on her hand. It was indeed a fascinating thing, though obtaining it had been somewhat painful. Fortunately, wounds tended to heal rather quickly on her, which was sometimes true of mages especially gifted in certain arts.
Gracefully lowering herself into a chair, Lenore pulled her braid over one shoulder. Large chunks of hair were already coming loose from it—it was always like that, never seeming to stay bound for long. Licking her lips, which had become slightly dry, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Lord Apollyon has agreed to protect Elysia with as few human casualties as possible. In exchange… I am giving him a memory and its associated emotion every time he must take the field in order to do so.” If there were no battles, then she’d never have to give those up, but she knew there would be battles. Scrying had shown her that much of the future without fail, after all.
She smiled slightly. “If you would do me a favor, Master Em, Miss Seph,” she used her affectionate nicknames for them out of force of habit, partly, but in truth she really was quite fond of them, Master Em especially. He’d taught her much of what she knew, after all, when her talents had at last outgrown what the other instructors could teach her. “Please don’t tell anyone else about the terms. I don’t want… I don’t want them to worry.” There were few people who knew her well enough to ask anyway, but those people… she wanted to keep them away from all of this. Let them believe she got sick or something, when the time came. It was gentler.
“And… after I’ve forgotten, please keep going. Please keep Elysia safe. Even if I beg you to spare me.” She could not predict what she would do when her memories and emotions were gone, so she needed to say this now, so that someone would know how to administer the contract after she was too far gone, and until there was nothing left at all. When it came to that, there was no one’s judgement she trusted as much as Master Em’s.
Calliope clearly did not care about her own existence at this moment. If he would ask that of her, she would give it as long as war will not descend to her beloved kingdom and people. As long as needless death and pain would be avoided, she was fine with any course of action she would need to oblige. Yet, it was not the case for this King. Her eyes hardened by reflex as she could feel heat searing through. There was no way she would allow this man to see her tears. He was not worthy of it.
And thankfully, Cyril threw her out of her oppressive state as he blocked her from any form of frontal assault. Her bow and quiver was handed to her with a request not to stray from his side. Hands gripped at the weapon with a restrained emotion as she gave a firm nod. "I would not lose." From that mere statement, it embodied the various emotions deep within her and the sentiment which made her who she is at this very moment.
Quickly arming her bow with an arrow, she joined the foray without a doubt. Her arrow did not have much of trouble seeking their targets. Though unlike the deadly spectacle of the Black Knight, she only aimed to paralyze and to render the enemy soldiers inept to fight. In the end, she knew they were following orders of the monarch they had pledged loyalty to. There was no reason for her to take their lives for something her own guards are inclined to do as well. Yet, this opinion of hers would be called stupidly naive.
She knows, but still will move on with it.
With the bodies of most her men lying dead on the ground in combination of the Dorthonion soldiers, the battle soon came to a halt by the command of Siegmund. Her eyes lingered to each of the faces of her fallen guards. She will not forget them and etched their expressions and identities to her memory. Blood littered around which also managed to find its way on her person. She was not disgusted by it as this was proof of life and death of those who fought for their own reasoning. Thus, she will wear it with a pride worthy of their lives. That is the least she could do.
Then, there was a proposal. Anselm seemed to be impressed. It was not a word she would use to describe this situation at all. Lowering her bow, she directed her eyes to Cyril as he asked what he would do in answer to the term thrown about by the Dorthonion King. She turned her body to fully face the man seeking to claim Elysia.
"If it is the throne you want, I would give it to you in a heartbeat." Calliope started, her voice steady yet it had strong rhythm wrapping around it. "If it is my soul, I would offer it to you as long as war will not come." That was the resolve she had within her to ensure bloodshed would be avoided not only for her Elysia but also for Dorthonion. However, it was different now. His action had opened her eyes. "Remember this, I will not allow you and your army to enter Elysia. I will never die to assure you will not win. Elysia will never be yours."
Finally revealing her eyes, it had gained a darker shade as if it was actually burning. And yes it was, filled with a resolution that had just been forged by Siegmund's own actions. She knew for a fact that the words she had spoken carried such a heavy weight. However, she was not the kind to wallow. She had always been the kind to fight and persevere. As such, she will not back down from her declaration. Just so, she gazed at Cyril with a softness and a trust unbroken.
"Cyril. Defend Elysia and Never lose, my Black Knight."
As to be expected, Lenore was broad in her request. This would yield the General Apollyon free movement in regards on how to deal with the threats. It both have merits and faults. He would have preferred that she had been more specific as the Asura which answered her call was at best a tempest. Furthermore, there was the exorbitant payment for the demon's assistance, so to speak. Yet, he should have expected such a thing from the one known as The Destroyer, an Asura who is known for his sadism and desire to rip his prey in every way possible.
What he was concerned about was her decision to accept such terms. She probably did not even show any discontentment about the stated conditions. Rather typical of her. He did tell her to change that about her as it would always be taken advantage and now, she had been. Then, there was her request to keep this fact a secret.
The knowledge where she will forget everything she had held so preciously and the emotions which drove her to this decision. All of it will cease to exist. One particular person would not be very pleased with this. He could already hear the ceaseless sermons of the princess. Furthermore, he was also sure that the young heir would do something reckless to make certain this shall not happen. It will be another source of his grief, as others would aptly describe.
"So you will not need to be concerned as well, General Apollyon."
For a brief moment, black and peach clashed in silence. Clearly, he does not like the sight of the Asura not because of what or who he is. Instead, it was mainly due to the reason he is here for. And that is to be Lenore's death. Emrys was the one who diverted his eyes first and looked back at his student. "I will do what is right. And so," His eyes softened to a degree, an expression which could only be presented to a rare few.
"Len, just continue to move forward."
That was the best advice he could give to her now. She must stay true to her intentions even if the time will come for her to be robbed of her sense of self. All she has to do is to continue walking forward. Because in the end, it is what anyone could and must do. After a few moments to allow his words to garner her understanding, he had decided to tell her what decision the princess had made.
"Sephiriel had informed me that the princess has reached the Temple of the Sands in order to meet with the Dorthonion King. She had decided to marry the man. However, an ambitious and power-hungry man like that cannot be trusted to seek a peaceful resolution."
His eyes held a stern gaze as it was upon Lenore. "What do you want to do?"
The man introduced himself. He could care less about such things. His relation to the human who summoned him was inconsequential. Furthermore, he could sense hostility whether by words and the subtle expressions. Bold and comedic, he would have laughed, if he had a sense of humor towards such matters. Unfortunately for them, he does not have. Yet, he did find something useful which could be manipulated when he begins to play his games. It was rather a good premise as he could see that white girl holds a great degree of fondness towards the bloom male. At the same time, there was an unyielding trust as she asked that the contract be followed through by the human male when her humanity disintegrated into nothing.
What proceeded next was boring for him. Talks about affection and so on.
They were useless and prevented the fights he desires. So, it was far better for such feelings to vanish into thin air. But then again, he would not have his entertainment if it had not manifested. This was a tribulation indeed for him. Still, it was not something he could handle. As such, he listened nonchalantly while looking at the Deva present. Deep inside, he wanted to rip apart one of the Archangel's Four. The only reason preventing him was the contract.
How disappointing.
His attention was only warranted when the bloom man reported about a possible altercation between a princess and a king in a place where there is sand. He was not very familiar with human literature, yet it resembled one that Lucifer had told of him once. Along with it, he knew there is a suitable description. What was the word which Asmodeus would use for this situation? He pondered for a while before finally recalling the word. When it was used upon him, he had found it tarnishing and annoying. It was only now that he had found the value of this word.
Adorable.
Though, reality was not as such. Truly, that was fine with him. For he might be placed into battle in the short time, he would be delighted for that. That would be positive for him as he would feel the sensation of flesh and blood splattering all over his body and soaking his hands in such a brilliant haze.
As such when the question was asked of what the human girl would do...
Stifling, it is.
Yet, he is interested to see how this human girl would do. After all, he is only to take payment if there is a battle, he is to participate in. So, she could correctly plan and prioritize to avoid herself being melted so quickly. Though, he would not mind her being rash and reckless. For in the end, he had also noted her to be one thing as well.
Idiot.
The insult to the princess seemed to rouse the knight from his steady posture, and at her words to him, Cyril inclined his head, bowing at the waist. “If that is your wish, then it shall be done.” He took a step forward, and something strange happened to his shadow when he did, almost as if it were his very shadow were warping and twisting around him, rising like a faint wisp of smoke. It was almost impossible to notice, and it carried the faintest hint of sulfur to it.
“Excellent,” Siegmund murmured. “Your death will certainly be a bonus, Black Knight of Elysia.” From the scabbard at his side, the king of Dorthonion drew his sword, a flawless piece of craftsmanship, possessed of a curious golden blade, one that seemed to catch and hold the dying light of the sun in perfect likeness. Of course, that was only for a moment, and then actual flames bloomed from it, licking up the steel like tongues and reaching tendrils, desperate for blood to slake the burn.
Cyril did not bother to respond. He saw no need. Instead, he leveled both of his lances out to his sides, striding forward far enough that the princess would be at no risk for collateral damage. The distance he put there was much greater than it should have needed to be, but he was not miscalculating. This armor could contain him, but not completely, and not if he continued to strain it too much. Professionals to the end, his three remaining soldiers closed ranks near the princess, just in case more treachery should occur from the Dorthoni side while their leader was occupied.
The initial clash took place quite quickly, and Siegmund was the aggressor, swinging his enchanted blade in a brutal arc right for the small gap between Cyril’s helmet and his shoulder armor. Only to clang with a vicious noise against the metal shaft of one of the Black Knight’s spears, deflected as effortlessly as though it were simply breathing itself. The test strike accomplished, Siegmund went to circle Cyril, which the other man allowed only until the king would have moved between himself and the princess, at which point he lashed out, blurringly-quickly, the spear tip catching a lock of the kings hair and slicing through it cleanly, the sun-hues strands fluttering to the ground between them. Cyril, who up until that point had been utterly silent, spoke at last.
“Do not test me. Fight for your life, or lose it.” He did not have Her Highness’s mercy; it would be ill-suited to one in his profession, after all. Men like them lived and died for this, for a fight which would pit them against the fiercest of opponents. Cyril wished that this were not the case for him, but he could not deny that it was true.
Anselm smiled, slow and sly. “If you say so.” Too fast for a mere human being, he leaped for Cyril, taking a two-handed grip on the flaming sword and bringing it down—on nothing at all. His eyes went wide, and he smoothly compensated for the overuse of force, his eyes casting about for the figure of the black knight, but he was too slow. Cyril was already behind him. The force with which the lance hit his armor was enough to crack the metal of it, spiderwebbing the plate until it shattered into dozens of fragments. The second lance, which would have found the king’s heart, was just barely edged away by the sword, and impaled his shoulder instead.
“Well. I can see why they favor you. Unfortunately, dying is not on my agenda for today.”
And just like that, the king, and his entire party of soldiers, vanished, as if into thin air, leaving the five total Elysians by themselves with eight corpses and thirteen horses. The posture of Cyril’s body indicated that he was looking down at his left-hand lance, currently coated in the blood of a warrior-king. Behind the helmet, his eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not voice his displeasure, if indeed he felt it. For the moment, his orders were satisfied. He had not lost.
And next time he saw Siegmund Anselm, he would kill him.
“Your Highness… I believe we must make haste for the capital. If what the king implied is true, it is possible that the people there are in grave danger.” His eyeslit turned so that it was looking at the bodies of his downed men and the unfortunate mage, and if one listened closely, there was something like a sigh echoing in his helmet. As quickly as possible, he and the other three loaded the corpses on their horses, covering them respectfully with their cloaks and stringing the beasts to be led together by one of the others.
“I understand, Master.” Lenore’s reply was soft, indistinct. She knew she would cause her friends a great deal of concern with her choice, and indeed, that was regrettable in a sense. But she didn’t have a choice, not when the other option was the death of everything she loved. Not when nothing and no one else would answer her call. She supposed Apollyon may well be what people used the word evil to describe. He did, after all, have a reputation, and he certainly had not been merciful with his terms. But she did not seek mercy for herself, and so in that sense, whether or not he was wicked was completely irrelevant.
The problem of what to do about Cally was another matter. So she had gone to the Sand Temple after all. If anyone had bothered to ask Lenore, she would have been able to tell them that that’s what her friend would do. Anything for her people. So… how could she do any less? Still… “Sephiriel? Did the Queen send Cy with her?” Lord Nishant had never expressed an opinion on her nickname for him, which could mean anything from complete acceptance to very silent revulsion. He was not an easy man to get a read on. But Lenore understood him a little better than most, and she very much doubted he minded it.
The Deva, who up until this point had been silent, enduring Apollyon’s disdain as though she were entirely unaware of it, nodded slightly, then lowered her head to scry again. Normally, this sort of thing would only take a few seconds, but Sephiriel was silent for a full thirty. Just as Lenore was growing concerned, she raised her head.
“There is a problem.” Lenore’s eyes flashed with concern before Sephiriel held up a hand to placate her. “The Princess is fine. Lord Nishant was adequate to his task. The problem is that the treachery there was not the main objective. There is a large contingent of Dorthoni troops headed for the capital right this moment. We have less than half an hour before they reach the gates. Master, what would you have me do?” She turned there to Emrys, a solemn expression on her face. Sephiriel was among the least bloodthirsty creatures alive, be they Deva, Asura, or human, but she was under a contract, and bound to the command of the Headmaster until such time as he died. She was not unwilling to do violence to honor that agreement, for she had seen into his heart, and knew he was a judicious, thoughtful person.
Lenore took a deep breath. It would seem her contract had been made just in time. Dorthoni troops were not known for their mercy, not on civilians nor on enemy soldiers. She looked down at her marked palm, slowly curling her fingers over it. Now, she had to make good on her promise. “Take what I have promised you, Apollyon, and do what you have promised me.” She turned her head to look up at him steadily.
However, if those dreams would trample everyone else, especially those of Elysia, then Calliope will not fail to take arms and defend it from the likes of him to the very end. As what she had stated, she will not let him win.
And then, the clash between Cyril and Anselm began. It had never been her cup of tea to watch or permit duels or even be immersed in battles whether by show or not. Yet, Calliope understood the relevance of such events in the many histories of mankind. That is why she had learned archery to at least connect herself with the soldiers of her Kingdom fighting for its prosperity and safety. To know, what is like to wield a weapon which could deliver harm or protection. There will always be a time where one must contend for what is dear and important.
As such, Calliope stood there as the remaining three guards, true to their oath, protected her from any underhanded tactics which might be activated by the Dorthoni. Her face was without a hint of distress. Instead, she had a serene and confidence expression upon her face. This was due to her trust untainted when it comes to the Black Knight of Elysia. There was never once a scene where she could recall in her memory which he had ever broken his word either to her or to her mother, the Queen. Thus, Lord Cyril Nishant holds the complete credence of the Khthonios Royal Family without fail.
Rightly so, as well. The duel ended without a clear victor, yet the wound inflicted by Cyril should enough to cater who truly had an advantage. Consequently, Anselm had vanished along with his men much like a fading smoke. Leaving in his wake, the carcasses of her guards and the impending doom of nearing the capital. In truth, Calliope was blaming herself for such an outcome. Her reckless naivety had always been shunned by most. It was inapplicable to the current reality. Yet, she had continued with it, as she is prepared to bear the burden of her actions. Though, she will never be ready to see others be succumbed to it as well.
Nevertheless, she kept such emotions deep within. Never to show a modicum of weakness, words Calliope had carried within him from her father. As such, a strong resolve shone behind her hazel eyes. She approached Ramie, her horse, who was left unharmed fortunately. This at least saved her further heartache. Gripping the reins, she closed her eyes as melancholic and beatific words spilled from her lips. She was saying a prayer to those who have departed from this realm. Something, they can take with them for a new life, so to speak.
Upon hearing Cyril's words, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Those eyes of hers did not falter or show any signs of resignation. Calliope was not left broken but further tempered by the circumstances. She gave a firm nod. "I agree. Let us ride faster than the wind. We cannot allow Elysia to be harmed." With that declared, she rode her stead and ushered it with haste knowing that the others would follow suit. There was no time to waste. They cannot afford to be late. As it would appear, the reading she had done earlier had come to fruition. The Devil had truly descended.
Be that as it may, she had no idea what extent of that presage truly meant, as she rode towards the capital with one thought.
"Please do not let us be late."
Emrys' eyes did not waver as he listened to the information brought by Sephiriel. It was not even discernible on upon his form if the news about the Dorthoni Army just less than a half an hour away from the capital concerned him. But without fail, it truly did. That is why he had put his own soul at the sacrificial plate. He did not wish to see Elysia and this Academy to be embroiled in a war consummated by a selfish ambition. This kingdom is his home and even if no one had asked of him, he believed it to be his duty to protect it at the best of his abilities.
Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Emrys was thankful that the princess was safe. He had no doubt in his mind that she will be fine under the watch of the infamous Black Knight. In any case, this only confirmed how untrustworthy the Dorthoni King was. He does understand the sense of never being satisfied. Such sentiment is popular among humans, he was not an exemption. Though, his insatiability is in regards of his research. Regardless, he does not cause pain and suffering to others needlessly. He strives not to do such things.
Hearing Lenore seeking Apollyon's participation, Emrys opened his eyes. That was right. It would be their turn to do something about the sudden development. Gazing at Sephiriel, she had asked him what his orders would be. Among all, he knew for a fact that she is a creature not meant for war. And truly, he did not want to use her abilities for such violent means. Rather, he would have her be an assistant to him in magical researches. That would be more worthy of wasting his time upon, than upon a childish ruler who presents himself as a brat. And with that, he spoke.
Nevertheless, Emrys went on his way knowing that Lenore would follow. Though, the Queen would not be pleased by this report.
Delightful.
It seemed his time on the mortal plane would not be wasted. An enemy contingent was on its way to the capital as stated by the Deva. This would be one of the rare moments where he was rather fond of. Though, the defenses of this realm were rather feeble, to allow the entry of another force without difficulty. Pathetic would be the least description for such a defeat. Well, it was fine. After all, it was because of such inadequacies in which he will be buried in the heat of battle once more. It had been a long time since he could dive himself into a fight.
Apollyon is pleased.
Even the remark of the bloom man did not bother him. That was because he would prefer bloody battles than satisfying himself with a measly girl. Still, it would be an added bonus. He would be presented with dessert at a later date. At that sense, he will never be the kind to refuse. Licking the corner of his lips, he was under a favorable light due to the words released by the white girl. Apollyon would now officially be part of the mortal wars. In such terms, he is never finicky about it. "Prepare yourself." That was all he said as he turned his back from all of them.
The order in regards to the Deva was of no concern to him. She could try and busy herself with being gentle towards the mortals or more accurately, insects. However, it will not be the case for him. Yes, he is here to protect the realm. As such, it will be done at his own terms. He shall enjoy seeing the interesting expressions of the humans when presented before his presence or bear witness to his bloody pleasures. The excitement was filling his senses. This was truly wonderful.
Ah, he cannot wait.
Without wasting any more time, his black wings made its appearance. Not bothering with the more natural way of exiting, he went towards one of the large windows. From there, he jumped outside and his wings did not falter in carrying him through the wind and sky. There was no need for directions as he made used of his remarkable eyesight. And soon enough, he found the army who has the intention to cause harm to this realm.
Now, he cannot allow that.
There was no doubt. The one before them was neither mortal nor a mage. Mere appearance dissuaded anything relating that this creature was of this world. Exuded presence was even something unknown to them. This being was beyond that. As such, one Dorthoni soldier spoke loudly the thought plaguing all of their thoughts.
"D-D-Demon!?"
Such a wonderful music, Apollyon's smiled widened even more. And without failure, the pride of Dorthonion was shattered into a river of blood. Screams filled with terror echoed in tribute to the one ripping and gorging upon them without relent. Others were crying and trembling in regret as they ran for their lives. Not cowards? Implausible. No one is an exception when it comes to the sole Destroyer.
The Queen was not a weak woman, but… surrender may ordinarily have been an option on the table in a situation like this. She took the protection of her kingdom seriously, and she believed that, though exploitative and rather prone to deception, Siegmund simply wouldn’t care enough to harm her farmers and her craftsmen, the people of her towns and villages and hamlets. He would send her soldiers and her mages to war, it was true, but it would seem that she had no choice but to do the same, as well.
But even knowing all of that, she could not give this country up to that man. No matter what it took, no matter how many lives were lost or how much blood was spilled, Elysia could not fall to Dorthonion. It went against the Queen’s every instinct for the preservation of her people, but there were greater things at stake than her own preferences, even if she could not fully understand them. It was the Crown’s secret, something passed from one member of royalty to another. She was only the temporary keeper of this secret, but it bound her just as surely as any of the blood kings and queens of the past.
And one day, it would bind her daughter, too.
“Your Majesty. The Lord High Mage and his apprentice are here to see you.” The announcement came from her steward, and without turning away from the glass of the window, she nodded, indicating that they should be shown in. When they did enter, she relinquished her vision of the outside at last, turning to meet them. Emrys was someone she considered a friend, and a steadfast advisor. Lenore… well, she would never love anyone else quite like she loved her daughter, but the strange little mage-girl was in her view at the very least like a niece. They were two of the few people who were allowed without reserve to speak their minds in her presence, without formality.
This was something that she tried to extend to all of her subjects in a limited way, but it was also imperative that she remained to them a queen and a figure of authority. But not these two. To them, she was simply Dianthe, and she appreciated that.
“I take it you have already dispatched Sephiriel,” she said to Emrys, seeing as how the Deva did not occupy her usual position slightly behind his shoulder and a couple of steps back. “What have you seen?”
The battlefield, such as it was, quickly became a scene of mass carnage. She would like to know how exactly Apollyon believed this was minimal human casualty, but there must be some fashion in which he thought it was possible, for if he broke his bargain, he would not be entitled to what awaited him at the end of it. Perhaps he did not care about that, but it also meant that Lenore would be within her rights and abilities to banish him back to the plane he had come from, which she suspected would bore him, so there was that.
Whatever the case, Sephiriel at least did what her contractor had asked of her, and those that were not immediately killed by Apollyon’s rampage were swiftly healed, after which her magic swallowed them into the earth, channeling them either well away from the field, in the case of the Dorthoni, or back under the city walls for further treatment, in the case of the Elysians. It was grim work, and she had to do it while simultaneously guarding the gate, which was still attacked by those who managed to make it past the zone of slaughter, but in this sort of thing, Sephiriel was well-practiced.
Throughout all of it, she kept up a steady stream of spellsong, the notes changing here and there as was necessary to alter the flow of the magic. Eventually, everything in the killzone was either dead, Apollyon, or herself, and she’d been able to save perhaps slightly less than half the total soldiers involved. Sephiriel stood still in front of the gates, the light behind her eyes fading as the song came to a close.
Over the hill, however, she could see more arriving. Ah, but no, that wasn’t a Dorthoni army at all. That was the princess’s party, returning, no doubt, from the incident with the king. She supposed it was better that they return now than in the midst of that. Lord Nishant, she supposed would not have much of an opinion one way or another, but it would like as not turn the princess’s stomach, and for good reason.
“Your Highness. Lord Nishant. I am glad to see you have returned safely.” Of course, she knew as well as anyone what the string of burdened horses meant, and shook her head sadly. “There is, I think, much to be discussed.”
"Siegmund Anselm ambushed Calliope's retinue." Emrys stated with his usual distant tone. But to determine he does not care from it, this would be a grave mistake. "She is safe. Nishant was more than enough." That should be sufficient to ease Dianthe's concern in regards to the princess. It was no secret to take notice the obvious love she had bestowed to her daughter. To those who had the eyes of ambition and power, this is seen as a weakness. As for him, he sees this as a strength like none other. One could never comprehend the extent of power, love and affection could muster when the opportune moment comes. It was even enough for sacrifices of great things to ensure its proliferation. Was that not right for him and for his student?
In any case, Emrys returned his focus at the task before him. "I believe you already know the army sent to test this Kingdom's patience." Dianthe without doubt knew of this as she could see this from her window and also her query about Sephiriel indicated her knowledge of the Dorthoni army. "Sephiriel is sent to protect the gates and to ensure there would not be too much blood." In connection with those words, he glanced towards Lenore to indicate there was something else present which would welcome the advancing army. Sometimes, he truly wonder if this apprentice of her was emulating him far too much. But then again, they might simply have their desire directed in the same direction albeit, different medium.
To feel wretchedness, it will propel a person to do the most extreme of methods without any regard for self-preservation. And those are the most perilous.
"You know well, this is but a delaying tactic. Siegmund Anselm is a man filled with great worldly desires. He is willing to do anything to see its completion." Emrys' eyes narrowed ever so briefly to show the seriousness of the question he was about to ask. "How far are you willing to go Dianthe? War is inevitable at this point."
Truthfully so, it was reality in which others say to be most dreadful than nightmares.
With speed unyielding, Calliope drove her stead to what it could achieve in its run. She could not bear the thought of being late and be welcomed by a sight which could have been attenuated. Her efforts to avoid any kinds of battle had been rewarded with such harshness. The threat was now knocking upon the gates of Elysia. And yet, she still clings to the stern belief of hers that it will be possible in some way or another to avoid the unnecessary lost. This would be the moment where most would call her to wake up from such a pipe dream.
But dreams are meant to come true, are they not?
And that is why as she and the others reached the top of the hill, her eyes widened in complete revulsion and shock. Calliope had braced herself for a scenery much like what happened at the Sands Temple. However, this far worse than that. Right now, she was gazing at a panorama resembling that of a world depicted in literature as Inferno.
The princess had slowly came to a stop where the Deva Sephiriel addressed her and Cyril. Her expression was still that of horror and total disbelief. "What happened here?" Her voice was shaking from the nauseating scene. Tattered corpses were scattered across the ground like a discarded bag of marbles. Blood painted reached everything without discrimination. Missing body parts were placed about as well, either by decorative means, or as trash. Calliope knew that Sephiriel was not the cause of this carnage. She had known the Deva through the books and the occasional conversation she has with her when she visits Emrys. "Who did this?"
That was then, her hazel eyes spotted towering figure of black. Despite being tarnished with crimson, the dark hue did not seize to radiate in such a excited and malevolent manner.
Yes, he was currently eating. It would not be good to let all of his meal wasted, now.
Apollyon was covered in a bloody shimmer which none was his. Rather, he was even feasting on a head of a Dorthoni soldier. The only remaining part was an eye in which he playfully rolled through his fingers. And then, he threw it inside his mouth as blood trickled down from the corner of his lips. As it would appear, his time here would be pleasant enough. Humans are truly useful as meals and really that was as much as recognition they would get from him.
As for the terms of minimum casualty, Apollyon believed he had catered to that. Humans are fond of retaliation and revenge when defeat is absolute for them. It would be best to cut such source of resolve at the bud. There would be less death in the future. Though, he was not fond of that idea. Furthermore, he had prevented the loss of lives from the realm he had been tasked to protect. In his opinion, he had been lenient as the Deva was able to save the others. The death toll he had delivered was not even enough to cover his normal consumption, so to speak.
Thus, the white girl must compensate this troublesome chore, rightfully.
It would seem that the situation on the battlefield was being handled. Sephiriel, she trusted implicitly. In the short time the Deva had been here, she had proven herself both extremely useful and also quite conscientious, going above and beyond the bounds of her contract to provide helpful advice and suggestions where they were warranted, but never in a way that would challenge the authority belonging either to Dianthe or Emrys himself. Shehad no doubt that an Asura would be a very different creature to deal with, but… as long as Lenore had control of which battles he participated in and which he did not, she supposed even a Destroyer could be of benefit to Elysia, whether that was his intention or not.
At the mention of Anselm, the Queen’s eyes grew hard.
“Yes. I know too well what he is willing to do.” His father, the king before him, had been very much the same. She had dealt with that situation, and she would deal with this one. She would not leave a mess for her daughter to inherit in a year’s time. “War may be inevitable, but it must be clear that at no point is it what Elysia wished for. We are now in a position to take the measures necessary to protect ourselves, and we will. This kingdom must not fall.” So much more depended on their ability to keep it standing. She may not have done it knowingly, and undoubtedly, she was paying a terrible price for it, but Lenore may just have saved them all with her actions.
“To answer your question, Emrys,” the queen continued, a soft sigh escaping her for a moment as she regarded her two friends. “I am willing to go exactly as far as is necessary to ensure that Elysia stands. Whatever that takes, but no further. The kingdom must not fall, even if it costs us all our lives.” It was a harsh statement, but she did not deliver it that way. Dianthe wished that the world were not this way. She wished that diplomacy were still an option with the Dorthoni. And she would be examining her options thoroughly—all of them. And consulting with every advisor and trusted person she had. But the world was not light and softness. It was cold, and it was hard, and what sunshine could be found was all the more precious for its rarity. She knew this, and she would fight to her last breath to preserve it even still.
Cyril had seen more than one vicious battlefield over the course of his life. In fact, he had seen battlefields devastated by both multiple Asura and also some of the strongest Deva there were. This… this was nothing compared to that. It was common knowledge among those who had contact with the other planes that Asura fed on human flesh. Deva could if they chose to feed on human magic. Both could consume souls like food, and doing so granted them great power. So the claw marks, bite wounds, and missing chunks of flesh in the dead did not surprise him.
They did not even stir his iron stomach.
But the same was evidently not true of the princess, and he could not blame her for that. She wasn’t supposed to be like him. He’d have been more perturbed if this had not bothered her in the same way it did not bother him. If Cyril had his way, she would never reach that point, as her mother never had. In response to her highness’s question, he answered: “Asura. Human flesh is a food source like any other to one of them.”
At this point on their way to the gates, they ran into the actual Asura responsible. Cyril recognized him immediately, and apparently this was mutual, given the expression on Apollyon’s face. Under his helmet, the knight’s lips pursed.
Sephiriel sighed, shaking her head. It wasn’t that she disapproved exactly; this field was actually relatively mild as far as aftermath went. She’d been able to save almost half the Dorthoni, and nearly all the members of the elysian garrison were still alive. The others who’d survived would be sure to carry a very fearsome message back indeed: Elysia had the protection of a maneating Asura, more than enough to handle half a battalion in a matter of minutes, not hours. It would certainly make anyone think twice, even Anselm.
“There will be time to discuss things later,” she advised gently. “For now, Your Highness, I believe your mother would be grateful to learn that you have returned.” The group proceeded toward the gates, though Cyril never did give Apollyon his back, out of some old instinct about such things, perhaps. The portals opened to admit them, and then they were in the city once more.
Black much like an endless abyss were the dye of those eyes scouring the fields. The scenery was rather bland for his taste. All due to the Deva's interference and the condition stipulated in his contract. In any case, there were no more stragglers present. How pitiful. Apollyon had expected a bit more resistance. Why so? Sacrifices were made to summon him and even the likes of that Deva to this plane. It was not for public display for certain. They were asked to protect this realm probably from the ones he had eaten. But, they really did not amount to anything except for filling his hunger. Are they so strong that the strength of mortals could not overcome it? This further cemented his opinion of humans.
Utterly weaklings.
Speaking of which, that boy was also present here. Apollyon hardly believed that this realm lacks firepower, so to say. The only thing he could think about was their useless attachment for peace and admiration for restraint. Pathetic. That is what he would describe the humans completely. Though, he was fine with it in the grand scope of things. For, he is able to feast and be not bored which was so often his emotion in Inferno. On the sideline, that Lucifer did say something about plans. But, he really is not fond of complicated things. Thus, he will simply stand to what he knows.
Hearing the spectators leave, the sense of caution hanged thickly in the air. Apollyon returned a fleeting gaze who were about to enter the town. It would seem that the little Heir did not turn his back to him. Perceptive. He would give the child that. At the end of the day, one must never close its eyes on an Asura. For, there is never a certitude about them. Actions and words were twisted in a visceral manner which are meant to tempt and to lure anyone into an unfaltering doom. Well, that is what tthe books say about them is it not? They were not far from the point.
Nonetheless, Apollyon has no interest of joining them. He does not like humans and devas. At the moment, he is depending on his nonexistent trait, tolerance. As such, he remained there in his position as he raised his head and looked at the sky. And soon enough, a melody attached to death echoed through the area.
Lowering his gaze to the ground, he saw a severed finger. Picking it up, Apollyon gazed at it in a nonchalant manner and then ate it without a drop. It seemed that his participation in this battle is done. Perhaps, whoever was the leader of that army would send more. That would be very wonderful and he would be waiting for it eagerly. He could not deny himself of a buffet. But now, he would require the settlement from the white girl. As if to implicate that, the mark he placed on that girl's hand began to burn. It certainly has its uses, but not only limited to his machinations. However, he would not bother explaining it. She is supposedly knowledgeable, correct? She can find it on her own.
Like so, Apollyon spread his large black wings and take flight. He was amidst the flock of crows which simply calmly circled around him. Yet ignoring it, he began to make his way to where the girl is. He does not care what she is doing or who she is with. They were all irrelevant to him. Well, most of the things are paltry when compared to himself. But he does still want. and right now, he wanted only one thing and nothing else. Payment.
As such, he began flying towards the palace.
The words presented to her by Cyril weighed heavily on her mind. Calliope knew of Asuras and their feeding requirement which was not exempted of meat, human ones. Yet, it did not mean she would not be repulsed by such a grim and gory sight. Furthermore, the one thing which prevents her from fully showing her revulsion was a question hanging within her thoughts. There can only be one summon at a time. Yet, there are special matters that is one for a lifetime which was the case for the Lord High Mage, Sephiriel's Contractor. So if she ponder on that line of reasoning, then, there was something to be asked.
"Who summoned the Asura? Who summoned him?"
Calliope pointed to the general direction of the black Asura. However, this question was set aside by the gentle suggestion of Sephiriel. Closing her eyes briefly, she gave a nod. That was right. She should see her mother for now. It was without doubt that worry was hovering above her mother. For now, it would be one of her priorities, to inform her mother that she had returned safely even though at a notable expense. "You are right. I should see mother." She took one final look at the Asura responsible for the carnage. Though, the creature seemed unconcerned about them. And then, she looked at Sephiriel, "Thank you." There was a small smile upon her lips and then gazed at Cyril. "Let us go."
It did not take that long for Calliope to see her mother. With a polite knock to address her presence, "Mother, I have returned." She then opened the door and was welcomed with two familiar faces. "Lord Emrys? Lenni?" Surprise was present upon her face, but this one was of pleasantness. "Why have you come?" Ah, that is right. She should not have asked that. This conflict with Dorthonion had stemmed from the magical strength of Elysia. And with that issue, these two people are the most concerned. To the point, the Lord High Mage had entered a contract with the Deva, Sephiriel. "Ah... You must already know..."
"You are the one who summoned that Asura didn't you?" Calliope question was more like of an accusation than inquiry. However, this is overlapped with great concern. She then approached Lenore and placed her hands on the other girl's shoulder. "What did he ask of you?" There is always something in exchange for the powers of a Deva or an Asura. The only difference, she had heard that Asuras are more deceptive in their conditions. And knowing Lenore, she could care less about herself in the process. "You... Lord Emrys... Mother... Even Cyril would need not do anything perilous. If I am strong enough... I am really sorry."
So, it has come to that. Emrys understood the resolve that Dianthe has over this situation. That was enough. It is what he needed to hear for him to know the path which Elysia would take in the near future. If she was faltering, he would do everything necessary to make her stand firm even, if he had to become a monster in the process. For now, the onslaught of war would be prevented and mitigated by Sephiriel and at times probably by Apollyon. However as he had subtly stated to her, matters from this point might exceed from anyone's expectations. There was no doubt in his mind that other avenues might be exploited and that was fair in what they call the game of life.
"Unrest will soon seep into these walls. I advise that you tread lightly yet with firm purpose." Emrys' words were halted by the knock upon the door. As it opened, it revealed the princess. She has finally returned and that would further ease the tension that Dianthe must be feeling. In any case, she seemed surprised of his presence along with Lenore's. As what he had expected, the girl does have the penchant to hide her actions under the curtain of not wanting to concern. The same could be said about Lenore, these girls were like two peas in a pod. "Welcome back, Princess. I am glad to see you safe."
This pleasant surprise soon turned into an admonishment. The princess was putting blame upon herself for not stopping this war from coming to Elysia. At the same time, she also sees this as the root for him, Lenore, and Dianthe's sacrificing acts, so to speak. This girl was truly too gentle of a soul and naive to a fault. Yet perhaps, it is what this world needs and in which she had also seen within Lenore. As such, he did not speak any further and listened to what his apprentice would say to Calliope's query and worry.
Emrys believes this is what they would say, a girl's talk or something along those lines.
Lenore smiled at the entrance of her best friend and the enigmatic knight, but she did not speak until she was addressed. “I did,” she replied softly. She had tried the Deva first, and then the other extraplanar beings, of less power but more benevolence, save that none of them had heeded her call. Some of them had even seemed… wary of her. Afraid. She could not fathom why. But such was obviously not the case with the Asura who had answered the summons, and how she was bound by the terms of their agreement. Well, there was nothing to be done about that except abide by them. When Cally asked after them, however, Lenore only smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Cally. It won’t affect Elysia.” Lenore knew, of course, that her friend cared about her personally as well as the country. It was one of the reasons why she loved her so dearly, in the way that only those who have been bonded since childhood can. But even so, there were things that she did not want her friend to concern herself with. She had enough problems to worry about, being the princess and the heir.
Tilting her head to the side, Lenore seemed to look past her friend for just a moment when she spoke, apologizing for not being able to save the kingdom on her own. “Well that’s rather silly, isn’t it? There’s a kingdom full of people, Cally; we’re all in this together, and so it will take the strength of all of us to protect ourselves.”
Of course, it was at this point that the mark on her palm began to burn. It was her turn to be summoned, it would seem. The smile faded from her face, into an expression of serene calm. “He calls,” she said simply, and the Queen nodded, dismissing her from the room. Lenore bowed slightly, and took her leave, the mark itself seemingly guiding her to a location.
Cyril, meanwhile, had remained silent thus far, though perhaps it would be fair to say that he was as entitled as anyone else here to speak, save of course that the Queen and Princess outranked him. Neither would consider enforcing their status in this setting, though, and he knew that. “She is right, to a point, Your Highness. Just as it is your duty to protect the kingdom in the ways that are possible for you, so we have the same duty, to serve Elysia by the means we are most capable. It is not a failing on your part that we are called upon to do this.” His helmet turned slightly, and he inclined his head in recognition of Emrys’s point.
“I suspect that Dorthonion will think twice before attacking again. We have time. But in that time, it may well become evident that Elysia is not as united as it needs to be.” The Queen took the point well. She had been long aware that there were elements in the nobility that were none too fond of her, however well it was masked with courtesy and polite distance. It saddened her, to know that the issue of her daughter’s regency had caused so much internal strife, but in the end, she had needed to fight for Calliope’s sake. And that was something she would always do, no matter how much it cost her personally. That was what it meant to be a mother.
“You are both very perceptive,” she agreed softly. “I will take your caution under advisement. But it is as Cyril says. Though the kingdom may rest on my shoulders, I lean on all of you. For your support, I am most grateful.”
The burning sensation in her hand led Lenore to the roof of the west tower, where Apollyon was already present. “Hello, Apollyon," she greeted with a distant smile, looking out at the kingdom over his shoulder for just a moment. “Thank you for defending my home. I will uphold my obligation as well."
There it was again. The sense where she feels so unreliable. Calliope knew for a fact that she was not as powerful as Lord Emrys or Lenore. She has no magical abilities and was plainly human. There was nothing she could do about that. In terms of skills, she knew that there are many inadequacies inside of her. The prospect that she still lives would be entirely placed on Cyril's protection of her. And because, she is unable to do such things. It had been left upon the shoulders of others.
She does not like that. It felt like she had always depended upon them. Due to that, Lenore made a contract with that Asura. A memory of that battleground irked her. Even if they were enemies, Calliope would not wish such a fate on anyone. As such, she worries what kind of contract was made between her friend and that Asura. Though, she does hope it was not twisted as she is imagining it to be.
Yet, she hardly believes that now.
Lenore spoke that it would not affect Elysia. Therefore, Calliope concluded that there was more to that. Being her best friend, she is able to discern certain things about her white maiden friend. "That makes me worry more Lenni... What are you not telling me?" She softly stated as her eyes reflected her concern. It had been Lenore's tendency to answer her queries with a different associated matter when the deed she was going to do has cruel reflection upon herself.
However, the subject was shifted to her statement about being a failure. Lenore said that she was being silly. Why was that? Caliiope looked at her friend with confused eyes. Apparently, she did not take offense on that. For as the bond they have, she knew that Lenore would always find words that truly matter. And like so, she felt that what has been said has merit. She was about to say something about it when Lenore spoke of someone calling.
Asura.
It was the only word that entered her thoughts. That black creature was probably going to ask something of Lenore. The only thing that Calliope was not certain whether this was by whim or by the conditions set by the contract. Yet, she was not able to say anything as Lenore had already left. Worry flashed across her eyes as she watched the doors closed. Lenore was not telling her something. And still, she let her friend go with that smile. Why is that all she could when it really counts was to watch?
Calliope was only taken from her inner monologue upon hearing Cyril speaking. She slowly looked at him. He supported Lenore's earlier words and stated that it was not her failure when they come and do their part in protecting the kingdom. Yes, she did forget that basic fact. This was not only her country. It was theirs as well.
But then again, this was to be expected. It is inevitable in the history of Royal Court Politics.
It seemed to bore in the young Heir's mind that she is the sole bearer for the protection of Elysia. That it is her obligation and her failings are the testament to the weakness she seems to perceive inside of her. Though, this also meant that if she is strong, there would be no need for them, technically. Now, it would be a rather simple life. He would admit to that. Yet, as what Lenore had stated. This country does not only contain one person. Strength cannot protect everything alone. In addition, there are things that others are able to do and she also has things only she can do.
No one will be alone.
Something that had proven a thousandfold. It applies to all and has no exemptions. At some point, there will be a person which one would need and depend on. An inevitable connection, no one can deny. This point was also cemented by Nishant. The man seemed to prefer being alone with reason or not. In the end, he still requires the aid of others on another aspect. The same could be said about him as well. Emrys knew that his strength will not be enough. And thus, he seek a contract in the form of Sephiriel.
Someone will need someone.
"Calliope." As professional as he is, the dropping of titles was sign that he is speaking in a manner of personal affection. "Being silly is not a bad thing. Acknowledging it at a right time is good. You understand that. So do remember, there is no one in existence that can do anything on their own. Even miracles do not make themselves. If you desire to protect, you must see passed your own strength. To be a ruler does not equate to being able to do everything. Having the aid of others, this is also a show of strength. For you are not alone." He ended at that as Lenore bid herself to be excused. As it would appear, it was time for the other end of the contract. And as promised, he will be here to ensure its proper continuity.
As such, Emrys decided to do the same. It was time for him to leave. Being Lord High Mage does not excuse him from being a Headmaster with responsibilities to the students. "As I have said I desire for now, I would excuse myself as well. My Queen. Princess. Lord Knight." Giving them with a proper and polite nod, he went towards the doors. But then, he remembered something.
Who said that being a Royal is all butterflies and rainbows? Reality is far different from fairy tales.
Waiting.
It has never been Apollyon's virtue. One would think if he even has one though. Perhaps, vices would be more suited for him. In any case, he sat at one of the parapets. He has no idea what part of this castle would be. However, it does not matter. The white girl would know where he should be. It was one of the mark's many characteristics. And so, he allowed himself be entertained of the scenery of this realm has to offer. After all, this would be his to protect as stated in the contract. Completely unreasonable in more ways than one, this is his personal preference.
Lucifer has a debt to pay with him certainly.
Plans or not. Apollyon does not like the idea of being under the finger of a mortal. Even if, this particular individual has something special about her. The blood which has the taste of the divine, it only connoted one possible source. But of course, he was not going to say anything about it for now. A terrible glint shone through briefly across his dark-colored eyes. For at the end of it all, he still relishes in the fact of inflicting pain and suffering one way or another.
No one is exempted.
And like that, the white girl had finally arrived. The burning sensation from her mark should have subsided now. A smile both enticing and mischievous appeared upon his lips. It was time for his dessert and a round of destroying someone. Though, there was one thing he did not like in her spoken words. "It is Lord to you." Ah yes, Apollyon does not like being addressed by anyone on this plane without the proper embellishments, so to say. They are not equal to him and frankly speaking, they are mere cattle to him. Thus, why would he see the need to treat anyone in equality from this place?
Would you address your meal with respect before eating it? Of course not.
Standing from his position, Apollyon approached the girl. She was a midget. Everyone was a dwarf in his presence, really. He grabbed hold of her chin. There was not even a stroke of gentleness in that gesture. "Give it to me." And without fail, his lips crashed with hers. Not an ounce of remorse, passion, or care. Yet, there was desire, the desire to devour.
It should be around this time where the mark on her hand was slightly emitting a subtle glow. Furthermore, Apollyon was now taking one of her precious memory along with its prominent emotion.
How truly scrumptious... to tear someone apart from the seams.
Which was not to say that Cyril was entirely pleased with her actions. He generally distrusted Asura, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he knew one of such a status would not have agreed to serve without exacting a steep price. Even Sephiriel, arguably the most benevolent of the small number of extraplanar beings with the strength to make a difference in a war, had asked for her contractor’s soul in exchange, a fact Cyril had been able to discover simply by asking her, though he was under the impression that she had told very few people of this fact. Possibly at Lord Uisnech’s request.
It was at that moment that he felt a shift in the atmosphere, not straightforwardly magical, but connected to a being of magic—in this case, Lenore herself. The power being exercised, however, was demonic in nature. Something precious was being lost, Cyril could say, though precisely what that thing was, no sense was fine-tuned enough to detect. It would not be the last thing lost, if events proceeded in the way all the signs seemed to indicate they would. Protection, change… these were both things which demanded steep penalties be paid, and not always by the people who deserved to pay them. But like any insidious trap, it was of little consequence who was ensnared, only that something was.
He was not as explicitly free to depart on his own terms as the others, given that his standing orders to protect had not yet been revoked, but he made a shadow of himself, as he was inclined to do in such moments, and stood with his back to a wall, watchful of the entry points to the room and doing his best to give the Queen and her daughter as much privacy as was possible. She did not ask him to leave, and she would not. The Queen was hardly oblivious to the dangers within, even if she preferred to believe that they could be solved with a little diplomacy and some kindness.
For her part, Dianthe stood, doing now what she had felt like doing since Cyril and Callipoe entered the room, but had refrained from for the sake of decorum—she took several steps forward and embraced her daughter, her arms encircling Calliope with warmth and parental love. “I’m so glad you are safe,” she murmured gently, drawing back slowly to look her daughter in the eye. “Are you all right, Calliope?”
She did not ask because she believed her daughter was a weak person, who would break at first difficulty, but rather because there had just been a very real attempt to kidnap her, to kill the people who protected her, one that had in many instances been successful. Calliope was as yet a stranger to plans falling apart that way, and the stakes were real in a way it was impossible to simply explain. It had to be experienced, and that was something Dianthe would never have wished on her only child, her beloved daughter. An essential part of becoming an effective ruler, yes, but something that did not fail to leave its scars on a human being.
“It’s never easy, is it?”
Was he truly the type to insist upon titles? She was a little bit surprised. “If you wish,” Lenore replied distantly. “Though what good an extra word does your name, I have never understood.” She lifted her shoulders slightly, a perfectly mild little smile on her face, as though she were utterly unconcerned with what was about to happen. It was both true and false, in different senses. Yes, she was certainly not looking forward to being robbed of memory and emotion, and to some extent she feared what it would do to her mind and her relationships, but…
She had accepted that this was the way things were to be. It was what she could give. It was what she could do, for these people she loved. Even if it meant giving up the love itself. Each and every one of her memories, good and bad, was precious to her, because they had shaped her into the person she was. That, too, was something she would be giving up, in pieces. So be it.
She remained entirely serene even as her chin was roughly seized, the only concession to her discomfort the fact that she was no longer smiling. But then, who would?
Her lip split upon the harsh contact with his, beads of blood welling to the surface of her skin, but she paid this no mind. She could feel a foreign presence moving through her mind, and she let down her defenses to allow this, because it was what she had promised to do. She remembered, just barely, something her mother had told her once.
The mental association, as fortune would have it, brought to the forefront of her mind a very old memory, perhaps even the first one she could recall with clarity. In it, Lenore herself was only a child, a little girl with snow-colored hair and gemstone eyes, staring into the fire that consumed her home. Dry tear tracks were just visible on her face, joined by fresh tears as she came to a brand-new revelation. Her mother could not have survived.
She was alone.
And that, more than anything else ever had, scared her.
The memory was torn gracelessly, almost violently, from its place in her mind, and trailing behind it came the feeling—fear.
When there was no one left in the room but Cyril, her mother, and her, Calliope felt a wave of sadness. It seemed that she did miss the companionship of Lord Emrys and especially that of Lenore. Nowadays, she had less time to runabout with her own preference of free time. However, her melancholy had been changed into another form. This was done as she felt the embrace of her mother. It was very nice and warm. She could not help but closed her eyes in comfort. And the feelings which she had kept deep inside seemed to trickle ever so slightly from its cup.
At the end of the day, there was no place safer and comfortable than the arms of her mother encircling her form. That is probably why when her mother pulled away just a bit. This surprised her as she opened her eyes and met the crimson ones of her mother. Then, she was asked if she was all right. The entire scenario which she had become witnessed to at the Sands Temple played within her mind like a haunting movie. Blood, lifeless eyes, ambitious and selfish motives, they were engraved deep into her memory.
She lowered her eyes to the ground. In her belief, there was nothing she could achieve as long as she did not lose passion and never give up. It was a foolish path to take in the kind of world she has been born into. But, she did not want to lose sight of the ideals and dreams she had ever since she was young. Yielding was also not part of her nature. Yet, it happened how all that she hold dear had been threatened without much effort. Her guards slaughtered and even the notion that the Dorthoni Army was able to gain access to the Capital, it was such a blow.
"I felt so lost and helpless..." Calliope started as an image of the female mage falling to the ground flashed through her mind's eyes. She felt like an idiot for coming and allowing the members of her retinue to be exposed in such danger. How easy it was for that King to use everyone around him which included her. Moreover, if he did accomplish what he wanted with her. The standpoint of her mother would waver because of her. "I was an idiot..."
But then, she remembered...
"Cyril helped me to remember at that moment, I could not afford to lose. I must fight. And I will. Because, I am not alone and I must do my part. If I waver, the lives lost would be wasted and I will not allow that."
Mortals always attached themselves with theatrics whether it was by incident or by will. Drama. Sadness. Numbness. They were irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. As such, he felt nothing upon seeing the white girl's realization of being alone. Apollyon finds this rather idiotic. What is wrong with being a lone being? They desire individuality, wanting to be different from others. In that way, they gain identity. That is why they labeled themselves with names, titles, status, skills, reputations, and so forth. But then, they would seek acknowledgement through others, the need to validate themselves.
Tedious.
It would be better to be an individual by oneself. Less hassle. Less annoyance. Though, Apollyon could see the benefit of such scenarios at times. They were a wonderful source of such raw emotion. Something he relishes in a sadistic twist in both by situation and by desire. And so, he continued to rip such memory from the vault of her mind and take a part of her humanity as to say.
Truly Delightful.
Looking at the white girl with nonchalance, Apollyon licked his lips indicating of the dessert he had eaten and also the blood smeared due to the means of taking of the memory. It is true. Her blood was of exquisite in its taste. The conclusion of her heritage had been set aside at some other time. That was not an issue he had been tasked with and he could hardly care for her origins. All that mattered was their contract. Though, he would not mind the fun of ripping someone apart from the inside. As such, he would not waver in his desire to destroy her. There would be many more instances where he will devour a part of her. Thus, he was looking forward to the next battles he will be called to join.
"Till the next course."
At the conclusion of the generals’ reports, he waved dismissively, indicating that they were to take their seats at the council table. Once everyone was settled, he looked them over for a while and spoke at last. “It is obvious now that Elysia has resources we did not expect them to have. The appearance of both an Asura and a Deva on the field of battle has been backed up by several witnesses, and of course, the effectiveness of Lord Nishant is well-discussed.”
That family had been one of the biggest thorns in his own father’s side during his rule, essentially a singlehanded support to Elysia’s otherwise lackluster military. Oh, their soldiers weren’t terrible, but they weren’t Dorthoni soldiers. And there weren’t many of them, either. But it had been that generation’s Lord Nishant—likewise given to wearing full plate armor and fighting with lances—that had stayed the previous King Anselm’s own ambition to invade the magic-rich country. It was indeed possible to fear one man that much—apparently, his father had been terrified that Lord Nishant would kill his way across an entire battlefield to eliminate the most important target on it, something he had been known for being capable of even when his troops were otherwise dying in droves.
But that was a known, or mostly known, danger. These extraplanar beings were a different matter.
“Attempts to identify these beings have given us the hypothesis that both represent the highest tier of their kind, aside from Michael and Lucifer themselves, of course. Our scholars have confirmed that they are most likely Sephiriel and Apollyon—and that is not exceptionally good news for us.” In the end, it was just a few more obstacles to overcome, but they were not simple ones.
“The Deva can be dealt with in a number of ways—she is reputed to be of especially soft disposition, and that makes her manipulable.”
“And the Asura?” His generals were understandably more concerned about the one that had torn apart half a battalion with little help, not the one who had saved some of their men from certain death. That was an underestimation of Sephiriel, from what the lore said of her, but one that could be justified. Deva were just not as inherently violent as the Asura.
“Well, there is one sure way to void a magical contract, and that is to kill the parties involved.”
“If we could kill him, we would have!” protested another general, this one the commanding officer of the battalion that had been slaughtered.
Siegmund raised an eyebrow, and the man flushed and sat back down, chastised with nothing more than that bare gesture. “It doesn’t have to be both of them. This shouldn’t be terribly difficult to figure out, gentlemen. We find out who contracted with Apollyon, and we kill that person. He gets banished back to Inferno, and a third of our problem is gone.”
Cyril swung the longsword in an arc that probably qualified as casual, blocking the incoming hit from his lieutenant with no discernible effort. If course, it was possible that he had been trying and it didn’t show through the armor, but those watching the exercise knew that this was supremely unlikely. The man was his fifteenth opponent of the morning, and he had neither slowed nor shown any signs of fatigue, instead carefully offering commentary on each and every mistake his subordinates made, until he decided for whatever reason—usually because the other was too tired to continue—that the match was over and ended it with a stroke of his own.
“The longsword isn’t even his weapon,” one of the newer corporals complained to the soldier next to him, who shook her head.
“Anything’s his weapon, Marcus. You learn that pretty quickly. Just be glad all you have is a few bruises.” They couldn’t afford to be injured if the battle should find its way back to their doorstep again anytime soon, and it was unfair to tax the healers with the burden of so many patients. Still, Cyril had scheduled extra officers’ drills for the foreseeable future, and they were to take what they learned back to their men and drill them as well.
It was very difficult work, but they new better than to complain. And most of them never would. For it was obvious that however hard they were working, their general was working many times harder, and it showed. His form was flawless, his skill completely peerless. It was like watching some kind of war-deity; tireless, relentless, merciful only to those whose mistakes were honest. He never complained, never faltered, never tired, not even when the sun grew hot overhead. He had to have been baking in all that black armor, but he gave no sign of it.
For these, men and women who had joined the ranks of the knighthood from either chivalric duty or the desire to hone their own weaponcraft, being able to even see something like this, someone with so much skill, was a privilege. One that was worth the bruises. They might have a hard time approaching him in any other setting, and he was especially intimidating with a weapon in his hand, but in them was the driving impulse of a warrior—to seek out and defeat the strongest person they could. For every last one of them, their commander was just that person, and their aspiration to one day match him kept them at their practice longer and harder than anyone else.
This was something Cyril knew, and it was something he allowed, encouraged, even. It was simple fact that they would never attain that goal, but it was good to have something to strive for, and it had made better soldiers of all of them, one in particular. He disarmed his gasping opponent with a flick of his wrist, pointing his sword for the lieutenant’s throat until he threw his hands up in surrender, at which point the sword lowered and he backed up.
“You are not using your shield effectively. Hold it higher.” He offered the final piece of critique, then inclined his head in dismissal when the exhausted lieutenant snapped him a salute. With care, Cyril sheathed his blade, then handed it to one of the squires waiting on the side of the ring. He usually maintained his weapons himself, but this one was in fact borrowed from one of his captains, as Cyril did not himself usually carry longswords. It was the other man’s choice what to do with it, and the squires were well-trained in this kind of thing anyway.
While the knights of the realm practiced, their ends made more urgent by the specters of international conflict, life in the White Tower proceeded as normally as those in the know could make it. There was still a perceptible hum of tension in the air, of course, and even the students were picking up on it. It would be hard for them not to, considering that the magic in them made them more sensitive to such things. It was all connected, but some people were more gifted in being able to see the threads than others, and mages were the most gifted of all in this respect.
This morning, Lenore was teaching a beginner’s class on elementalism, or more specifically, its finer, more detailed applications. Most people took it to be a brute art, and to some extent, they were correct. The battlefield version of it most often involved large scale manipulations of fire or earth or something like that, and it undeniably possessed great destructive potential. But elementalism was also an art form, and in more peaceful times, mages had used it to create beautiful works, both of architecture, performance, and visual art. Sometimes, both could be combined into something that was beautiful and destructive.
The students in this class were among the most gifted youngsters in the academy. There were only four of them, and they represented all the over-twenties in the entire lower half of the student body. They would be capable of what she was teaching them, if they applied themselves to it, whereas most of their fellows never would be. Some never stopped seeing that as unfair, but Lenore had never thought of it that way. One did not have to be mighty to be great, and the true measure of a mage, she had always held, was what they were able to do and create with what was available to them. Many of the greatest innovators and researchers had discovered amazing things because they needed a way to do with less what it was believed required more.
Lenore and her best student, a boy of perhaps fifteen named Klein, were currently both at work on a demonstration for the rest of the class, bending and weaving rays of light into the shapes they desired. The whole outdoor area had been placed under a darknesss spell, so that it appeared as night. The students would be better able to see what they were doing that way.
Murmuring the last few words of the light-bending spell, Lenore showed them how to use their hands as guides to the process, though that was not strictly necessary, and eventually, only their thoughts and wills would be required. Putting the finishing touches on hers, she brought it to life with a command word, and the eagle, comprised of a network of those bent strands of light, alighted on her outstretched elbow, just like a real one from the palace eyrie would.
“Funny little thing, isn’t it?” she asked the class with a warm smile, an expression which was answered by all of them in turn. Her odd mannerisms and misty voice had not at first endeared her to them, but her teaching manner had, and by this point, it was evident that they all adored her. Especially Klein, whom, if she had even the faintest inkling of things like that, she would have realized had a rather obvious crush on her. As it was, however, she was quite oblivious to it. His own construction was a flock of songbirds, and her eyes softened. Those had really required effort—the more intricate the creation, the more difficult, and he was clearly unused to the amount of energy required, a little flushed from his exertions, as though he’d just run a fair distance. “They are beautiful,” she praised, and he turned a deeper shade of scarlet, to the snickers of his classmates.
“But can you control all of them at once?” Lenore’s eagle took flight in the sky, swooping down over the students, who watched it with big grins on their faces. They were still at that age where magic was new and wonderful and each new thing about it enchanted and delighted them, and in this, she found great solace. It was, after all, this that she was trying to protect. This place where they could have that wonder, and never lose it. Where others would value and protect it as well, from the rulers down to the simplest farmer. That was what she loved about Elysia as a place.
The songbirds followed, Klein puppeting them with little movements of his fingers, and the sound of children’s laughter echoed through the empty field they had chosen to practice in. It wasn’t long before the other three were hard at work making their own little birds to add to the flock, and she was able to forget, if only for a little while, the unpleasantness that still loomed on the horizon. For her, for them… for everyone.
The atmosphere was reveling in great tension. It was probably due to the military will the Dorthoni King had revealed. Siegmund Anselm was a man who would not hesitate to use force whether it is needed or not. A large contingent of his army was able to enter Elysia depicting their might. The only impediment it had in reaching the capital was the presence of the terrifying Asura. Eyewitnesses stated it to be a gruesome battlefield something which could only be seen through the mythological legends written in texts. It was something akin to the Walpurgis Night. Fortunately, a merciful Deva was there as well to mitigate the damages both in life and death.
No wonder, Elysia is a coveted land by many due to the brilliance of its mages. The ability to summon such powerful beings into this plane is no simple task and furthermore, an applicable compensation must be given as well. Yet, it was unavoidable at this point. This Kingdom would be ill-fated in a match against military actions without the dabble of magic and sorcery. One must allow the uses of such resources for sacrifices must be made for the rest. And all of these thoughts were presently encircling the mind of Young Lord of House Pallas.
Basileus had departed from the Azure Council at an early time due to a missive from his mother, the Lady Royale. It was a good thing that the council had ended early and would reconvene tomorrow morning for the enactment of military recruitment and assimilation of mages as well. After all, the Kingdom could not only depend on the strength of the extra-planar beings all the time. In the end, this is the world of mortals, and mortals must fix their own troubles in a way.
And even if he knew, there was little Basileus could do when placed under the Lady Royale's convictions.
Revolting.
This is the prominent emotion that the elusive Lady Royale was feeling at the moment due to her son's comments. She would never understand why her children seemed keen on protecting the current one sitting upon the throne. When in the end, those wretches are nothing more but pretenders. The one who should be recognized as the Queen is her. That is right. She is the first-born and is the legitimate child. However, it was not so due to the rumors about her mother and a question was raised of her birth. It was even solidified when she did not take after the Khthonios coloring, so to say.
Tricks and lies.
These were the tools used against her as a result; the throne had been usurped from her grasp. Thus, what was wrong with doing such matters all over again? It was how those filthy fakes now cater to the Elysian Crown. Furthermore, she truly believed that her son, Basileus, would be a more worthy heir than that second-rated princess they all fawn over. Her daughter, Chrysanthe, was far more beautiful than that midget. She was going to take back what was rightfully hers and put those charlatans in the proper place and that would in the garbage.
"How disappointing. To see your potential and talents and yet be meaningless." Her voice was suave yet had the intense underlying of disgust in regards to Basileus' point of view. Long black hair as dark as a starless sky swayed in the air as they slowly shorten until nothing is left within the unique headpiece of the Lady Royale. A red beak-like mask was upon her face which prevented anyone to see the true visage of the Matriach Pallas. "They are inadequate to be a Monarch. It is because of this, they had exposed this Kingdom to ruin." Elysia will never know peace unless the one who desired it would be annihilated. It was an effective method which she speaks from experience. "Diplomacy is nothing more but placebo. Those creatures are helpful for now. But you forget an integral factor. Who is controlling who?"
Finally standing from her seat, the Lady Royale began to walk towards Basileus. "The idiocy both displayed by mother and daughter will be feeding the powder keg which will question their right to rule." Stopping in front of her son, she slowly extended her hand towards his face. "They are not good for this Kingdom. They are a disease that must be purge. They are not fit to rule. I will have my birthright and you, my child..." Her hand was now upon his cheek. "Is the True Heir. There is no better time than now. We must not allow them to continue their infestation. This is merely retribution."
Truly, it was more than that. This is but a means to a wonderful game.
Despite not having much of a casualty in the surprise attack of the Dorthoni Army, there was without a doubt a blow in the morale of the Elysian Troops. If there had not been the intervention of a Deva and an Asura, the Capital would have fallen. And this idea irked the Vice Commander of the illustrious Crown of Thorns. In the absence of Lord Nishant, it was only right that the chain of command fall on the shoulders of the Lady Chrysanthe. However, this event only revealed how inadequate her skills to protect Elysia. This made her question her own worth.
Gaining her current station, Chrysanthe did not depend on her bloodline and heritage. She worked hard to garner her reputation and to rise from the ranks with her own efforts. It does annoy her that she could not win against the Queensknght. However, it gave her that title of being only second to the Black Knight. For as it stands as well, no one can win against her in physical combat especially with her main weaponry, the Sword. It is why she is rather disoriented with her own abilities of being a Knight.
This is probably why she had not made herself visible through the course of the Spartan training as instructed by Nishant. Chrysanthe was not sure how to present herself even if the soldiers never once looked down upon her skills due to this event. After all, they were taken surprised and caught unprepared. Still, this only proved that she is not up to the task and the gap between her and the Black Knight's abilities were great. And that is unacceptable to her.
"The General is really amazing isn't he? That spar is just..."
That was it. Chrysanthe took a deep breath and removed herself from the isolated area she had hidden herself in. The comments which she had caught from the passersby invigorated her with a sense of competition. As such, she made her way to the training grounds. The soldiers who saw her immediately delivered a salute and occasional a slight reddish tint across their cheeks which was not only limited to the males. For, it was no secret that she is one of the great beauties of Valnor.
Standing in front of the Black Knight, she looked around her casually. It was to assess the kind of spars that had been done through the appearance of those who had been called to it. "I see you have toned it down." She gave it an approving nod. There had been instances that she had mentioned it to him on how to learn the meaning of subtlety when in combat. This was more for the benefit of the soldiers here in Elysia. Though, it would be a different matter on the actual battles. "Here a reward." She proudly said as if speaking to a child who did something very good.
Chrysanthe was currently handing him a stick of multi-colored dangos. This was actually her favorite snack of all times. As such, she rarely shares it to anyone. That is why this gesture of her means more than a simple act of giving. Though, this tidbit is not well-known and is only shared among those who are ardently close to her. "You need to eat sometimes, right?" She noted with a small smile present on her lips and a pinkish touch upon her cheeks. Most of the onlookers present were surprised at what they are seeing. It was known that the Princess and the Queen are unperturbed of the Black Knight. However, it could be explain that Nishant is at their service. It was a different angle for Chrysanthe who despite her nobility is technically under the infamous Queensknight.
Actually, this was one of the many entertaining scenarios between the Black Knight and the Lilac Paladin. A saying had been established among the men that interesting things always happen when the two are present in one place. There is never a dull moment with these two personages at the helm of commandment. A relationship which seemed to border simplicity and complexity at the same time.
She knew well that he was not the kind to do so and never will. However, the sudden challenge was brought upon the situation revolving around Elysia. Chrysanthe wanted to ascertain something inside of her. It is true that she became a knight as she was inspired by the tales of her father. But more than that, she wanted strength. And like many others, she has a reason that would not be taken for granted.
It had become more busy than ever due to the threat of Dorthonion. Right now, the only discussion which echoed through the hallways was how to establish a defensive line and to increase the military strength of Elysia. Calliope knew that this was inevitable especially with the kind of person the Dorthoni King is. She did even declare right into his face that she would not allow him to win. This should cement that she will fight him. Though, the real thing which annoyed her about that person is that she even really considered marrying the brute. Of course, she would not speak of this to anyone as it was far embarrassing. The possibility that he could be someone for her to fall in love with, it was a fleeting thought she had. But as it is, she was extremely foolish.
Releasing a sigh, she satisfied herself with one of her disappearing acts. The talks about war in the end are a depressing topic for her. Though, she knew that if she is to rule, such matters cannot be dealt in this kind of manner. Was it really stupid to wish for peace? To have this kind of serenity and happiness be shared not only to Elysia but to others as well? No, it must not be. After all, there are others who desired the same thing, enough to put their own life to risk, like her guards, Lord Emrys, and Lenore. As such, she must continue on the path she believes. She will show that King Anselm the true power of Elysia.
Finding herself near a large tree, she leaned her back upon its sturdy trunk. "You can do this, Calliope. Be strong!" She told herself while slapping both of her cheeks as a wake-up call. "If you intend to hurt yourself, I can show you a more effective one." The voice startled her greatly as she pushed herself away from the tree. It was so cold, so empty, yet a dark passion was wrapped upon it. She searched for the source and soon found it on one of the branches of the tree. A sight, she did not expect to see so soon after that fleeting meeting they had back then. The black Asura drenched in the blood of those he had eaten. "What are you doing here? Where is Lenni?"
Concern seeped through on that last question. Calliope is not familiar with summoning contracts, but she had the perception that the two individuals involved in such a connection could not be far apart. Was she mistaken? In any case, Apollyon took noticed this entire dazzling spectrum called human emotions. He was actually bored out of his mind and opted to sleep. Really, he was beginning to think that the enemy of this realm has no guts or specifically, a coward. He did even imply to the white girl to send him to capital of the enemy and let him wreak havoc. That would be more fun for him than lazing around this irritating plane. But of course, that did not happen.
"You know you should just sit on your chair or whatever and be weak. There is no need for someone weak like you to be strong. You have others to do that for you." Apollyon stated as he continued lounging upon the tree branch like a feline while those abyss-hued eyes of his gazed at Calliope. Perhaps, she will serve as an entertainment for him. "I will not do that! I will not stand by and watch others fight for me. I want to fight with them." Her hazel eyes were filled with fiery determination as she believed strongly in the words she had spoken. But to the Asura, they were mere noise for something else. "Then, can you kill someone? You say you are ready to fight. But, you are not willing to kill. But your soldiers are. Why? Do you think you are above them?"
Calliope bit her lower lip at these words. That is right. She does not want to harm anyone. But, she will fight. Many had told her to be foolish because of this sentiment. But, she will stand by that. It is not because she believed to be above anyone else. Her soldiers, the knights willing to die and to kill for the safety of the Kingdom. She was not looking down on them. Not at all. "No! I chose this path because I do not want to see anyone dying anymore or getting hurt. I just want... peace." Apollyon smiled at this with such coldness. So, they desired peace. Selfish creatures, aren't they? "Peace will never come without war. And war will always bring death. It is a perfect design of a never-ending cycle. A game."
The Princess immediately revoked that statement. "This is not a game!" It is true that he is a creature brought by a contract. He might not care, but this is not some kind of game for him. "These are lives we are talking about." He finally jumped down from his perch and stood before the princess. "But, it is. What better way to spend eternity? Death versus Life. Hope versus Despair." He grabs hold a bundle of her hair which made her stiffened from contact. He liked that reaction very indeed. "Your friends know of this. What will be your role? After all, the world does not revolve around you." Placing a kiss at the tips of her hair, he then released it from his grasp. "What are you saying?"
He was gone.
Well, to be more accurate, he was going to change the face of the very world itself.
Most people, he knew, didn’t take much time to question his motives. He was the king, and what the king said was law. That part of his country’s culture, he did not intend to alter. His enemies saw only a power-hungry warmonger, too caught up in what a man of Dorthonion was supposed to be to bother asking deeper questions. It was enough that he seemed to enjoy fighting and violence. It was enough that the mages of Elysia would make his conquest easier. To them he was simple, and perhaps it was not entirely untrue.
But that was not the only thing he cared about. Not in the slightest.
His trek through the winding hallways of the magnificent Royal Palace in Shiral, capital of Dorthonion, led him to a little-used wing of the building, still fastidiously maintained by the servants under his employ. The rooms at the end of the hallway, however, did in fact have an occupant, one that few knew about or visited. When he entered the chamber, there was an attendant standing beside the large bed that occupied the center of the room, its tousled state indicating that the room’s occupant was still in it. Awake, though, because of the rustling.
He addressed the attendant first. “No change?”
The servant, an experienced steward, shook his head. Siegmund did not require anyone to bow in informal situations. It was stupid and it wasted time. “On the contrary, Your Majesty. She was up all night.” The man pointed across the room, to the large window that dominated the eastern wall. Stretched across the space was a line of canvases, each with paint still drying upon it. Frowning slightly, Siegmund turned and walked over to them, examining each in turn. Most of them were unclear, depicting subjects from a great distance or through what appeared to be a haze of grey, obscuring the true subjects of the illustration. A few, though, were clear as day.
He recognized the subject of most of them immediately. The towering figure in black armor, lance in hand, could only be one man. He had never understood why so many of the paintings were of him. Now, he thought he might. There was something important about that man, but Siegmund could not put his finger on it just yet. A few more were clear, but the subjects less known to him. One in particular, however, provided him with an interesting clue. A horned figure loomed in front of another, trapped within what looked to be a circle of magic, his hand stretched forward. The other figure’s back was turned, but she was obviously female, and the distinctive color of her hair should make her easy to identify. He traced a finger down the canvas, drawing it back and smearing the snow-white paint thoughtfully over his thumb.
“The summoner,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side. Well, at least he knew who to send his assassins after, now.
At the address from a rather familiar source, Cyril turned his attention to the edge of the ring, making his way over in the familiar unruffled fashion. “Vice Commander Pallas.” He addressed her with more formality than most, but there was a very particular reason for this. Though he was well-aware that a large portion of the knights in the order were somewhat enchanted with the young noblewoman, he also knew that this was quite a separate matter from respecting her. It was true that her skill was undeniable, but there were those who would not be swayed even by that into believing that a woman belonged in the Crown of Thorns. Females had only been allowed into the order in the last generation, something that he himself had fought for in the council sessions held on the matter shortly after Dianthe became Queen. That she had allowed it was another reason many nobles took to think her foolish and illogical, but she had never wavered.
Because Cyril never asked her for anything, but he had asked her for that. And she had seen the benefit of it, and so she’s allowed it. Still, those women who were brave enough to enter did not have it easy. This was not Dorthonion, where it was commonly accepted that women could make warriors just as skilled as their male counterparts. Elysia was not a perfect place, even if it was mostly a good one. So Cyril did what he could to make it easier for those who chose to undertake this difficult path. He punished harshly those of his men who could not seem to graciously accept women in their ranks, and he always indicated his own respect to his female subordinates, including and especially his Vice-Commander. He did not address her in a casual or familiar fashion, or even with the title ‘lady,’ which could have belonged to any female noble. He called her by the one she had earned, with her skill and her labor.
That said, there were things about her that made little sense to him. Her next words were enough proof of that. Toned down? He only ever applied the level of skill he believed his subordinates would gin the most from fighting against, unless of course someone was being insubordinate and needed to be reminded why he was the Commander and not they. Not a lesson he enjoyed teaching, but one that he would. Her tone was not exceptionally pleasing to him—if she had any idea just how old he was, she would not speak to him as though he were a child.
Still, her intentions were clearly not to harm, and so as quickly as his ire had risen, he let go of it, something he was by now quite practiced and accomplished at. He took the offered dumplings, rolling the stick between his offered thumb and forefinger. “Is this an attempt to force me to remove my helm?” he asked, an eyebrow ascending his forehead underneath it. He’d never removed even one piece of his armor in front of anyone but the Queen, and that only for a very particular reason that could not have been served in any other way. His voice, though still mostly monotone, carried a faint hint of amusement, one that only the sharp would catch onto.
It was a well-established theory that Lord Nishant was in some way disfigured or deformed beneath the helmet and other heavy armor, and that he wore it because he wanted to hide this fact from everyone. Another theory was that he always wore it as a form of training, to make himself strong enough to move as though his battle protection was nothing. If only it were so simple as either of those two things.
From a pocket, he removed a clean square of linen, carefully folding it around the dango. He showed care and consideration for the gift he had received, perhaps slightly more than it was strictly due. “I shall consume them later. I would be a fool to disadvantage myself by sparring on a full stomach, would I not?” The same note of amusement carried through, and he carefully set the dango down near his other things. Obviously the consideration didn’t actually matter—he could take down everyone in this room at once with both hands tied behind his back, but this was not something he chose to display or otherwise make obvious. There was no need. Of course, it was at this point that his Vice-Commander issued her own challenge, and he would not say he was surprised by it. Her drive to improve was admirable.
“Your challenge is accepted.” Gesturing to his squire, who was presently attending to his things, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes when the boy grinned widely and retrieved one of his lances from among his other practice gear. It was another subtle show of respect—though he did not need it to win here, he would indeed confront her with the weapon he favored. Her challenge merited that much. Those who knew of Vice-Commander Pallas called her the Lilac Paladin, perhaps in part due to her armor. Her given name, Chrysanthe, could refer to different kind of flower. But Cyril thought all of that was really silly. The woman standing across the ring from him was no flower, nothing so delicate and breakable as that.
If he was the starless sky, shadow deep and dark, then she was all the glitter in the cosmos, the stars. Stubbornly bright, hard like diamonds. And aflame with the desire to be better, to be excellent. It was why, when the Queen had asked him who he desired to replace his previous Vice-Commander when the man retired, he had not hesitated in the slightest. He bowed in the fashion of the start of such a match, and then waited for her to attack first. When she did, he blocked effortlessly, scaling back his power until it was just barely too much for her to overcome. As with all his subordinates, he did not desire to humiliate her, only to help her improve. She required more of him in this respect than any of the others ever had, and he had no doubt that one day, perhaps quite soon, she would be fit to lead the Crown of Thorns herself, should something unfortunate befall him. It was good to know.
But that didn’t mean he would fail to show her where she was still weaker than she should be, where her technique faltered, where she must improve if she should ever be ready for that responsibility. Because he respected her, he was not too easy on her at all.
After dismissing her students, Lenore had lingered for a while to unweave the magic she had placed over the area, including the spell for nighttime darkness. Having accomplished this, she dispelled the remaining birds—a few of them had already fallen apart when the concentration of her pupils had given out, as it tended to with younger mages. Magic could be just as much about will as power, in some cases, and a strong resistance to outside influence or distraction was a useful trait to have. Lenore had it, but not in the usual way.
Her deconstruction complete, she decided to take a walk, and enjoy the outdoors for a time. Who knew how long she would be capable of enjoying anything, after all? For all she knew, simple appreciation for the things she enjoyed could be the next emotion she lost, along with some dear memory. Perhaps it was best not to think about it for now. So she put Apollyon and her bargain and everything like that from her mind, sinking back down into her own consciousness and working over her latest research problem. She was interested in the correlation between personality type and affinity for the various magic schools. Were people good scryers because they were naturally subtle or did they learn to be subtle because their talents lay in scrying, for example? It was especially fascinating because there seemed to be examples of each kind of cause-effect relationship, and which dominated the range of mages was unclear.
She wandered in what seemed like aimless direction for a while, though she was actually walking a long-familiar path. At least, until she spotted someone across the way and her face broke out into a wide smile.
“Cally.” Lenore never shouted as such, and she had never to anyone’s knowledge been angry enough to yell, but she could project a bit when she needed to, and she did in this instance, to catch her friend’s attention. The princess, whom she had never bothered to call by anything but her name, seemed to be alone, meaning that she had likely evaded whomever was assigned to be her bodyguard that morning. Chances were good that as soon as that person was willing to give up and accept their failure, they’d go running to Cy and beg his assistance in finding the heir. Well, she could hardly have been safer than she was with a mage like Lenore, but they wouldn’t know that.
Cyril was the only one who never failed to find them, even when they tried their very best to hide him. Lenore recalled a distinct instance a few years ago when she’d actually cast invisibility on them, and he’d pinpointed their location anyway. He’d explained it as being able to hear them, but to this day, she wasn’t so sure. They hadn’t made any real noise. But whatever the case, he evidently had not been pulled into the search yet, because Calliope was alone.
“You’re out and about early this morning.”
Basileus stood in front of a frame which carried a painting of two individuals. His eyes reflected sympathy and at the same time, yearning. For what? He could not even describe or hope to understand. The self-righteousness ambition of his mother was overwhelming for him in so many ways. Yet, he could not oppose her. He had always avoided conflict of any kind. It is his belief that such is the secret to a peaceful life. And, that is what he simply desired out of his existence. But, there will always be that one exemption to the rule.
This place had been his sanctuary in a sense. These hallways where various creations of artists preferred by the Royal Family or done by them personally would be displayed. It was very seldom to see anyone around as there had been haunting rumors floating about. Really, he finds it absurd for people to be scared of ghosts and spirits when they should be more fearful of what can be touch and what is in front of them. That is right. He does not fear what is yet to come for he instead fears what is quite known to him. Because, he could not do anything but succumb to its lore.
Pathetic.
It was the perfect word to describe himself. So, he could not fathom why people see him as someone excellent or worthy of his title as the next Lord Pallas. Yet, he did not bother with it and let them do as they wished. They had their own minds and own aspirations. It would be a foolish chore to change it otherwise. Though, he would not mind to give counsel when needed. Speaking of which, he would definitely require a sympathetic ear for his own plights. And, he finds that in the painting before him which was rather emphasized than the others beside it. "What would you do if you were in my place...?" He said in a whisper-like manner. There was silence, something which he had been used to. It would be idiotic of him to expect for the artwork to speak. "Just kill yourself." Hearing the voice, he could not help but to step back in surprise. Did that come from the painting? Impossible. The only logical explanation to that is...
Someone else was here.
Looking behind him, his eyes widened in surprise and expected horror. And really, such expression was welcomed by yours truly. "A-Asura..." Endless black eyes looked down at Basileus. He had never in his life felt so small in the presence of another, until now. "You like talking to the dead. Join them. I will help you." Apollyon suggested with all of his little black heart. In response, the young lord backed away from the creature to put some distance between them. Of course, he also knew that it really meant nothing in the end. "There is no need for that. I assure you." That was then Apollyon's attention transferred to the painting. It was a portrait of two humans who looked identical, twins. Seeing the asura's interest, Basileus calmed himself at that point. There is a probability the asura could not harm him based on the prescribed contract.
"You are not human." At that statement, Basileus froze. He did not expect such words to be spoken. After all, he is human as far as he knows and feels. Looking over his shoulder, Apollyon had that empty and cold smile upon his eyes. He liked that reaction of confusion, denial, and subtle agreement. It was all twisted into one of torment. Humans are truly capable of many emotions which make them superbly predictable and so easy to trick. "Not Asura. Not Deva." Basileus could not understand what makes this Asura spout such things about him. He could revoke them and yet, he did not found the words to resist or even to move from his position. It appeared that something had gotten hold of him.
As if the entire area had darkened, Basileus could not see anything else but the black asura before him. His entire body was not moving and even his will was not responding to him. Apollyon began to approach him and then lowered his head to the boy’s neck in such a sensual motion as black silken strands of hair served as a curtain. Taking the scent with recognition, it was rather unorthodox, something new to the senses. It was the same thing he had with the white girl. The mortal plane was now showcasing oddities since the last time he had come. It seems the saying that time truly does change things is true.
The subtle touch of breathing upon his skin made Basileus crawl with fear. It was then the words of his mother echoed through his head in regards to the contract which bound the asura and deva. Would it mean that these actions were dictated or not? Either way, this was enough bases to consider the issue of trust. Even more so, when the asura released the next set of words like the trickling of sweet poison.
“Let us have a taste.”
“Why would I do that? You are already quite the dashing type. I would not want so many girls crawling over you when the helm comes off now. I am rather the jealous type.” Chrysanthe answered back to Nishant’s query that her offering of dumpling was a means to see his face. Though, it had been one of the mysteries that everyone wants to find out someday and she was not exempted from that fact. There had been two prominent speculations, but she was not leaning on any of them. Probably due to one fact, it was not like him to do so. Well, this is her personal opinion. Thus, it could be wrong. Either way, she was also curious about it. Nevertheless, no matter what hides behind that suit of armor. Her respect for the man will not waver.
As such, it brought a very bright smile upon her face when the challenge had been accepted. Chrysanthe could already notice some of the men gathering around. She was not ignorant of the gender specifications of being a warrior within Elysia. It was extremely hard and acceptance was still a work in progress. The reason she had not been heavily reprimanded as the others was probably duly to her noble status. Yet, it was another stigma added to her personage which gave a lasting impression on her confidence. That is why she felt completely proud when Nishant would address her by rank of Vice Commander. Others might find it too distinctively polite and be considered that their relationship was distant.
Yet, she sees this as endearing.
Entering the ring, Chrysanthe noticed the excitement surrounding the area and even upon her respective squire and his. It was no secret to her that the Knights-in-Training were having their own rivalry in relation to the ones they served. Well, competition is good as it would edge development as long as they would not forget the integral factor of accepting defeat when it is due. As for her case, she knew that there is a great difference in strength and skills between her and Nishant. Yet, she would not give up on the idea of overcoming that gap someday. Just like now, she would try to do that once more.
Never give up, correct?
Her sword had been handed to her. It was her favored weapon among everything else. More specifically, it does have a sentimental value. The sword had been crafted specifically for the House Pallas and gifted to its Leader. Though in this case, it had been passed down to her as willed by her father. Of course, this was not questioned by her brother, Basileus seeing it to be a fitting inheritance for her. Well, there was an objection from their mother. Yet in the end, it was left in her hands. She carried it with pride and expertise in regards to a very large sword for someone of her physique.
“Thank you for accepting, Sir Nishant.” She noted while standing on her corner of the ring. Her clear blue eyes did not show any haziness or hesitation. Instead, it was brimming with determination and a certain purpose. She bowed as a show of respect and the protocol for such duels. Afterwards, she was gone from anyone's eyes in an instant.
To her, the man before her was a rival and a mentor. And someday certainly, she wanted to overcome him by her own power. When that day comes, she will have the strength she desire for that wish and also may be... just may be...
The words left to her by the obsidian Asura stirred various connotations inside of her. Unlike when she had spoken to the Deva, Seraphiel where there have been comfort and gentleness. Strings of words covered in the grace of what a mother would say to a beloved child. But in regards of that Asura, he was like a thick fog enveloping her and then strangles her to a slow and tortuous demise. All of it done through the means of a conversation with the implication that he seems to know more than anyone else in this plane could ever hope for. Yet, it should be impossible to do so.
Isn't it?
This is a game to him. But, that is not true. It was real and consisted of people's lives and hopes. That is also true for anyone not only for Elysia or for Dothonion. She took a deep breath and released a rather long sigh. Things were escalating into matters she would not rather want to. Even if the people were still in the trance of peace, the threat of war was true as it can be. Why is that Siegmund Anselm refuses to even talk properly? He out rightly displayed his military might without much of a doubt. Then, he devised such a cruel plan to take the crown of Elysia. Just like a violent and ambitious tyrant, the reputation attached to him.
Even now, Calliope is deeply saddened by the lives lost on that day. They will never be forgotten nor would it be restored. If only people could just say what they want and then understand each other properly, it would be a more gentle world. Yet, what is done is done. As many would have say, still...
Is there really no other way?
That was when she heard the ever familiar voice calling out her name. It came from someone who is very dear to her. Closing her eyes for a bit, she made sure her expression did not reflect any form of weariness or sadness. There had been enough of that before. It must not be repeated. His father would scold her if it does.
True. Military affairs often discussed. Political affairs being interjected at every point. There had also been the opinions of many or rather the revival of a chorus insisting the inadequacy of her Mother's reign. At the same time, this view has also been extended to her, being an unfitting heir. She had stood strong in all of that with the sole purpose of not failing her loved ones. In any case, the issues about the crown could not find a better timing than now. There was only one year left before the throne is handed down to her and the fact the Dorthonion's eye had landed on Elysia. Really, everything was coming out of the wood works.
In any case, she put that aside. It was then Calliope wondered why Lenore was out as well. Are there no classes at the Academy today? She hardly doubts that knowing the strict regimen of Lord Emrys. The man was like the personification of the word STUDY and LEARN. She could already imagine in her head what that look like. A slight chill enveloped her as she quickly dismissed such thoughts. One of the things she fears was Emrys becoming her teacher. She had already a brief taste of it and they were not just compatible. "How about you? Do you have no classes today?" She walked towards Lenore and during that interlude, her eyes observed her friend.
Nothing seems to be out of place. She had been worried ever since that day when Lenore noted that the Asura was calling her. But it seemed, her worries about the intricacy of the contract were left unfounded. Though, there should be something more to it especially when she finally had that talk with the summoned Asura. "I actually just met him... the Asura." Calliope looked at the direction where she had last seen the black creature. "He is odd." Then, she shrugged her shoulders and asked a question in particular to that. "Is it fine if he is not by your side?" Well, she did have that impression since Seraphiel hardly leaves Lord Emrys' side unless it was an order of some sorts.
Then, Calliope asked another question. This one particularly relating to her own thoughts. "Lenni, do you think it would be foolish of me if I said I wanted to talk to the Dorthoni King again?"
[justify]Sephiriel passed through the hallways in silence, stopping not to speak to anyone in particular, though she did favor those who passed her by with nods and smiles. Most of the time, humans didn’t make the attempt to hold conversations with her, partly because she was rarely anywhere but at Emrys’s side, and partially also because when she was encountered alone, most people seemed to be a little tongue-tied, something that she took to be a reflection of the strangeness of her nature to them. Sometimes, they puzzled her as well, even if her reactions to this were different. Perhaps something else was at play, but unless someone cared to explain it to her, she would simply not know.
Most unusually for her, she was not at the moment in the company of her contractor, who was deep into his research. Actually, she had volunteered to go to the palace library to retrieve a book he needed for the things he was working on. She was making the return trip at the moment, the tome tucked under her arm and against her hip. She was passing through a less-used portion of the building, near the portrait gallery, when suddenly her footsteps stopped and Sephiriel grew completely still.
The light that flickered and swirled beneath her eyes was perhaps the only clue as to what was going on. It was not often that she received unsolicited visions or messages, and so it was extremely necessary to pay attention to it. When at last the whispers in her mind grew quiet, Sephiriel blinked and diverted her course, for the portrait room itself.
She seemed unsurprised at what she saw, which in this case was an Asura poised to do what looked like biting a human, one that she recognized, though they had never in person spoken. He did appear in her visions from time to time, though. Sephiriel’s face never lost its perfectly neutral, tranquil expression, but a translucent barrier appeared over the surface of the human’s sin, glimmering in the low light and shielding him from the Asura’s intention to taste, as it were. Her voice, while it was not loud, was in no way difficult to hear, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly with disapproval.
“Apollyon. I do not see the necessity of taunting this man in achieving the objective of your contract. In fact, I rather think you should be finding your contractor about now, unless you desire to be banished back to Inferno so soon.” Her tone, like the set of her mouth, was completely bereft of moralizing or judgement, but firm. What she had seen bore on Lenore’s existence, after all, and it was impending.
She was as elegant and unerringly precise as she ever was, and these were certainly virtues, for one who wished to engage in combat. Her strikes were graceful, her speed nothing to be underestimated, even considering the weight and heft of the sword she wielded, which spoke as well to her strength. Yes, he was confident that, with just a little more time, she would be ready to lead the Crown of Thorns, should he ever be without the ability to do so. And having that assurance was undeniably a good thing.
She also did not lack for tactical intelligence, evinced by the fact that she struck right for where his blind spots were. Of course, Cyril was so long practiced at this that he didn't have to see to perceive, and each of those was met as rapidly and precisely as the strike was leveled, until their hands and weapons were blurring with the almost inhuman speed with which they were striking.
The clang of metal on metal rang out repeatedly over the practice field, the spectators who had once been murmuring finding the words dying in their mouths. They could only watch in silence, hearts in their throats. The flash of sunlight over armor and the spray of kicked-up sand from Chrysanthe’s more acrobatic maneuvers were the visual accompaniment to that clangor, and for interminable time, it continued in such a way. Chrysanthe danced with all the grace of a hummingbird and strength of a lioness, but Cyril was simply impossible to gain the upper hand on. His movements were economical, lacking excessive flourish, but they were blurringly quick, and he was always the place he needed to be to block before her sword made contact.
He was fighting as though he wore no armor at all, his focus on parries and dodges that should not have been possible for a person wearing that much metal. Even though the enchanted armor could have blocked hits as well, he did not use it to do so. He could have been wearing only light clothes and remained unscathed. He had, after all, been taught to fight without armor, and he did not like to rely on it. He did not go on the attack, however, until he sensed she was tiring. As soon as it became the case that she was getting less out of the exercise than before, he abruptly switched his tactics, knocking aside her sword with greater strength than he had used before and bringing the point of his lance to rest impossibly quickly but a centimeter from the pale flesh of her neck.
The spar was over.
After a few minutes of stunned silence, the applause started, growing louder until it filled the practice area. Cyril lowered the lance, bringing it back to his side. There was something pleasant in his voice when he spoke, as though he might be smiling just slightly beneath the impenetrable helm. “That was quite well-done, Vice-Commander.” From he, who so infrequently made any positive remarks about anything his subordinates did in training exercises, that was almost unbelievably high praise. “You still telegraph your intentions, however. Your weight shifts too soon before you actually move, which gives your opponent the ability to predict you.” Of course, most opponents could still not block her, because she was too fast. But that would not hold for everyone, and some people were fast enough to take advantage of that predictability.
Siegmund sat upon his throne, head tilted slightly to his side and studying the visage of his court mage. The man was the most talented one in all of Dorthonion, and quite possibly in the entire part of the world that excluded Elysia, but he was still, the king had been informed, only what was referred to as level thirty-two. Considered prodigal, yes, but nothing next to Lord Uisnech or that snow-haired woman who had managed to summon the Asura. He was still collecting information about her, though all his spies had been able to relay to him was that her name was Lenore Ourania, the sole remaining member of one of the four noblest houses in Elysia, alongside Nishant, Uisnech, and Pallas.
She was the personal apprentice of the Headmaster of the Academy, but other than that and what appeared to be a personal friendship with the princess, there was very little said of her. It would seem that she remained outside of court politics for the moment, and while he would have expected someone like that to arrange a political marriage to another noble house at earliest convenience to preserve the prestige of hers, no such thing had even been discussed. She was reputed in much the same way as the Princess and the Lilac Paladin to be one of the loveliest women in Valnor, but it would seem that no official portraits of her existed. Not that he cared. As long as his spies and eventually assassins could identify her, it made no difference to him.
Btu his mage was telling him something very unusal.
“You’re saying that someone else is making an attempt to kill her?” His eyes were narrowed to reptilian slits; was it possible that he had competition? No… no, for his purposes it didn’t matter who killed her, only that she died.
The old man nodded and waved the staff he carried, producing a projection onto the far wall of the throne room. “I am scrying the location right now through the eyes of one of our agents.” The agent, from the perspective, was well-hidden, and as Siegmund watched, he could see what must be the girl, Lenore, standing with the princess in a garden. They were alone and unprotected. How ludicrous. It was no wonder this country had been so easy to gain entrance to.
Though… perhaps they were not entirely unprotected. He could see the light of magic staining the woman’s hands with red-pink light, and the expression on her face was one of serene calm. Certainly not what he would expect to see on someone who believed their life to be in danger. How interesting.
“Leave the projection there and instruct the agent not to move. I want to be able to see this.”
Perhaps not to their faces, and certainly not to Lenore’s, she and Calliope had been described by no few people, both in Elysia and elsewhere, as the sun and moon of Valnor. Much of it, of course, had to do with their coloration—while Callipoe was shaded in hues of gold and the warm colors of fire, Lenore shared the pale shine and silver-white of the moon. It was also, doubtlessly, a reference to the fact that both were incredibly pleasant to look upon, in a way that made the comparison to celestial bodies not as implausible as one might initially think.
Naturally, Lenore’s thoughts were nothing of the kind as she clasped her friend’s hands warmly. “Actually, I taught earlier this morning, and my lessons with Master Em aren't until this afternoon, so I was taking a walk.” Her delight at meeting her friend on her wanderings was evident, though her words themselves were soft.
At the mention of Apollyon, however, she was brought back to the thoughts she’d been endeavoring to leave behind for a little while, and she blinked slowly a few times. So, they had met? She did not think the terms of their contract would allow the Asura to harm Cally in any way, especially because her fate was so tied up with that of Elysia as a whole, and any individual act of harm would have to be approved through her because of the way the price was extracted. But even so, it did concern her that Calliope had encountered him without Cy there for protection, at least. “Be careful, Cally. He is… well.” She shrugged and smiled distantly. The rest of the warning wasn’t really necessary.
Then the subject of the Dorthoni king came up, and Lenore shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. Wanting to end war without violence is not a foolish wish, even if it turns out to be impossible—”
Her voice came to an abrupt stop, and she turned to look at something over her shoulder. That was in the second before the arrow appeared, hurtling for them. With nothing more than a thought, Lenore deflected it, then turned to face in the direction from which it had appeared, stepping protectively in front of her best friend.
Magic collected at her fingertips, sheathing her hands in a bright glow. “I know you are there. You’re not very good at hiding, I’m afraid.”
Interruption.
It was something acceptable if it was done by him. However if it was done by someone else, it was a crime punishable by death. Furthermore, Apollyon was not particularly pleased with the one doing it. This had to be done by a Deva. And, it should be a known factor that intervening while someone is having their meal is considered impolite and completely reckless. His eyes of black pools gazed at the visage of the green-haired Deva. Despite its usual emptiness, it was now projecting the figure of irritation. He slowly lifted his head and stepped back from the unknown entity. His gaze never shifted back upon the boy.
Instead, Apollyon walked towards the Deva. His movements were erratic yet calculated at the same time. It was like the darkness wrapped around him with such great reverence. At that point, Basileus seemed to have been able to regain his sense of action. He looked at the scene presented before him. This appeared to be so similar to the painting of light and darkness. To even think, these two beings were the ones responsible for the protection of Elysia from the attack of Dorthonion. Working together, is that not right? Though, this was not being projected at this moment. More like, they were clearly repelling each other.
Antipode.
Apollyon stopped before the Deva. He made sure there was quite the noticeable distance before them. It irks him just being in the same area with something like her. "Temptation is your strongest suit.” His voice lingered like an encircling snake before he left the area without even looking back at anyone. Surely enough, he was out of anyone's sight. As for Basileus, he attached his gaze to the Deva who saved him from such a fate of being food or something similar to those lines. This would be the first time he had seen her personally. He had been informed of her presence to this realm through Lord High Mage Uisnech.
"Thank you." Basileus had been told of her name. "Lady Seraphiel." Rumors are certainly true. She was a being of ethereal beauty as to be expected of those known to them commonly as Angels. Though, it was not similar to the assumption of those more known as Demons. Even if the Asura had bestial traits, he was still beautiful. After saying that, he looked back at the painting of the Royal Twins of Elysia. He was not certain what to make of the declaration by the one known as Apollyon. The fact that he is not human. Yet, he was also not a Deva or an Asura. If that was so, what could he be?
"I also want to thank you for your assistance in protecting Elysia."
Disappointing. Frustrating. Chrysanthe could not help but feel such things as the sword was lifted from her grip and the edge of his lance pointed dangerously to her neck. Defeat. That was what it meant. She was still not up to the task of winning against the Commander. Her blue eyes clouded for a bit before it regained the shine associated with her determination and unrelenting passion. This was synonymous with the thunderous clap surrounding them. As always, there was no point in moping around. She would have to try harder next time.
And, there will always be that option.
Her squire handed her back the sword which had been discarded. However, it was now sheathed. There was a noticeable dismay in the appearance of her knight-in-training. Like she could not understand that, she simply patted the boy's head and gave him a wink. A means of saying that she would not give up on the dream of pummeling the Black Knight. After doing that, she took the sword and returned her attention to Nishant. Among the many spars and fights he had, his praises were like crystal among the sands, extremely rare. So, she does understand the sincerity of it. It also goes to the advice he had told her.
Really, he was impossible.
Then, a guard detailed to the Princess came towards them. Of course, the man did not forget to show proper courtesy and respect. "Commander. Vice-Commander." Though, the guard seemed disoriented and looked rather tired. If Chrysanthe would guess or probably not, this is in regards to the Princess escaping their watch again. “Let me guess, the Princess escaped again unguarded.” Her conclusion was right on the dot as the guard nodded in agreement. "Yes. The Princess has disappeared again. We cannot find her." The man looked towards the Commander. She could not help but sigh at this and shook her head. “That girl... I believe you are up, Sir Nishant.” Glancing at him, she nudged her head towards the guard.
“Time to go find the Princess.”
Teaching... Calliope knew that Lenore was a wonderful teacher. She was directly the opposite of Lord Emrys in the methods of education. Well, this was a happy thing. Meeting with her friend like this, it was a pleasure. This brings her back to the days when she had nothing else to worry about but her studies. Those were wonderful days which she had always carried with her like a charm. However, it was not like that anymore. The pressure of the Throne and the expectations of people were becoming real to her as the days passes by. Even if she does not show it, the feeling flows into her like a crushing tidal wave which drives her off to the sea.
Shaking that thought away, Calliope was a bit curious about Lenore's statement towards the Asura. There seemed to be more to that. But, she did not push it anymore. Meeting the Asura personally, she too understood that the Black Creature was something of an enigma. Someone who delves into his basic desires without fail. At the same time, he seemed to be more than a simplistic individual as he shows himself to be. The conversation they had still weighed heavily with her. Though, she has no idea what purpose the Asura had for saying such things.
As for her wish to talk to the Dorthoni King, it seemed Lenni was not opposed to that or see it as something foolish. However, before she could hear the end of those words. Her friend seemed distracted from speaking any further.
In any case, Lenore was already covering for her. Attentive and quick as always, Calliope knew well what Lenni is capable of. Her friend was simply amazing. She looked at the direction in which Lenni was looking at. This would be considered reckless and idiotic at the same time. Yet, she was always the kind to see reason with the hint of understanding. "Please show yourself." She declared with a voice strong yet gentle at the same time. Placing a hand on Lenore's shoulder, she revealed herself. She wanted to know who sent this person. "I have something to ask of you." Once she knows, she will talk to that person and asked his or her reason.
Because in the end, she does not want to give up on her ideals of peace.
The Asura left, clearly irritated with her, but Sephiriel allowed it to faze her not. In the end, she was greeted by the man she had spoken in defense of, and she blinked over at him, as though she’d not quite been expecting it. Most people didn’t talk to her much, after all. Nevetheless, she recovered quickly and smiled gently at him. “It is no trouble, my lord. The Asura can be difficult to deal with, but very few of them are really evil as such. They just think very differently, and many are cunning enough to conceal their true motives.” She truly believed that… and she truly had to. Else the world was just hopelessly cruel, and everyone in it powerless to change that.
Her eyes flickered to the pendant he held, though she kept her silence about it. As Apollyon, she was able to sense that he did not share in the human nature of the most of those around him. At least, not completely. Humanity was more than a circumstance of birth, after all. It was also a set of attitudes, possible beliefs and concerns, emotions. When he introduced himself, she bowed slightly, enough to be considered quite polite, and perhaps more deferential than was strictly necessary. There were those of her kind who would never lower themselves so far as to bow to a being on this plane. Sephiriel was of the opinion that manners cost her nothing, and to show respect for another was not to deserve less herself.
When he mentioned protecting Elysia, however, she shook her head slightly. “I do not think I should be thanked for that, Lord Pallas. The price of my assistance was regrettably steep.” It was simply the case that bringing a creature like her to the mortal plane had to demand a high cost, else the balance of things be thrown off beyond saving. She had done what she could to minimize that, but even a single human soul was a thing of great power and importance. She was not happy to have to ask for it, and even less happy to accept, but Emrys’s certainty of purpose had moved her to it.
“The real protectors of Elysia are those who give to it and ask nothing in return. No power, no fame, no money. I suspect that rather, I should be the one thanking you.”
At first, the assassins, if indeed that was what they were, did not comply with the demands at all, rather launching another volley of arrows right for the two women, though the majority of these were aimed squarely for Lenore. Compressing her lips together in a thin line, the mage swept a hand in a broad arc, a crescent of red-violet fire blooming from her palm and hitting the arrows, burning them to ash in the middle of the air with the familiar scent of smoldering, as well as a lingering aftertaste on the tongue, like lilies in spring.
Well, if they would not reveal themselves, she would find them. A light grew behind her eyes, and she swung her magically-enhanced vision over the area, one corner of her mouth twitching slightly when she located them. Another spell summoned what looked like lines of pure light—an entrapment spell. Flicking her fingers outward, she sent the ropes to wrap and bind the nearest three, pulling back with a closed fist to yank them all out into the clearing.
They fell into the grass at the young women’s feet with muffled thuds, but there were more; and even as she summoned more ropes to deal with them, more arrows flew from all directions, forcing her to cast two spells at once—a difficult task for even the most accomplished weavers of magic. It would appear that their assailants numbered in the dozens, positioned on various castle walls surrounding the gardens, in trees, and anywhere else they might plausibly remain hidden from sight. The strange thing was, she was fairly certain she recognized the three she’d already subdued. One of them worked in the gardens, another cleaned the library wing of the palace, and the third worked in the stables. She even knew their names, but the looks on their faces were not anything she had ever seen before.
Blank, vacant, twisted just slightly into something like haughty arrogance or disdain, but seemingly without any real feeling behind it, as if they’d moved their faces that way and then just forgotten to smooth them out again. It was unnerving, especially because some part of her could not help but wonder if her face would look that blank in the future, after she’d lost everything.
But there was no time to think about that. She kept the arrows at bay with elemental magic and the occasional deflection charm, but it was difficult to do that, scry their locations, and drag them out without hurting them all at the same time, and even her magic would not last forever. It was hardly a danger now, but depending on how many arrows they had, she might have to make a choice soon about how she wanted to handle this.
Fortunately, reinforcement was not long in arriving.
“Impertinence.” That was Cyril’s reply to the assertion that she would beat him next time. Well, in the end, no one human or even mostly human would be able to achieve a feat like that, but perhaps if he used the same level of skill he had this time, next time she really would be able to overcome that. He was clearly not actually affronted by the bold nature of her speech, though another knight might have been. He encouraged these tendencies in those who served beneath him. It was only those who believed they could do great things that ever did, after all, and he wanted all of them to believe it was possible, though not to become reckless with it. A delicate balance, and one that he nurtured as a gardener tends plants.
“Then let us make a bargain. If next time we meet on this field, you are able to best me, you may make one request, and I shall grant it if I can.” Obviously such an offer had limits—he was still a knight and would not allow anything that interfered with his duty. But the sorts of things he had in mind were relatively minor. He had extended the offer to all those present, and most of them would probably ask for something like a week off chore rotations or a little bit of extra leave to visit family. He would gladly do those duties for anyone who could overcome him. For when he fought them, he wasn’t himself, he was them, in some important sense. He was their insecurities and their limits, and so if they could overcome that, they deserved recognition for it.
At this point, however, they were interrupted by a messenger, and Cyril’s lips compressed into a thin line behind his helmet. He could understand the Princess’s desire for independence and a measure of freedom, he really could. But after what had happened with Siegmund, he would have thought she would at least attempt to take more care for her life and safety. It just made everyone else’s job harder when she did not.
“So it is,” he replied to his Vice-Commander. Taking up his lance, he appeared to be completely still for a moment, then set off to the east with purpose, as though he knew exactly the way he needed to go.
When he indeed came upon them several minutes later, the Princess was not alone. Lenore Ourania was there, deftly wielding magic with no less skill than Cyril handled a sword or a lance, defending her best friend from what seemed to be upwards of a dozen assailants, most of them concealed, from the looks of things.
A sharp movement from Cyril sliced a stray arrow in two, and he calmly moved over to the young women. “Lady Ourania. I will defend.” She spared him a sideways glance and nodded, dismissing the elemental spells she’d been using to destroy arrows. Having both hands free would be of great assistance. Casting required motion of the hands, and especially complex spells needed both.
The barrages of arrows seemed to bother Cyril not at all, and they were effortlessly cast from the sky by fluid, graceful movements. Lenore used a stronger scrying spell to identify all the precise locations at once, but just as she was readying herself to imprison them all in earth, they gave up trying to penetrate the dauntless shield and ran from concealment, wielding melee weapons of various kinds. She noted that most of them were no more than farming implements, and she recognized more of the faces. What was more, something about them felt wrong, in a way she could not explain. A large wall of earth halted their forward progress, and another light-bind swathed the vast majority of those that remained.
Cyril took care of the rest, though he did not apply lethal force, rather using the blunt end of his lance to knock the remainder unconscious. There were twenty attackers in total, all armed with bows and farm implements, but the truly remarkable thing was that every single one of them was castle staff of some sort. Lenore knew most of their names. Cyril knew every last one.
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