A/N: On the Geneology of Morality is written by Friedrich Nietzche. Aerrow's karaoke song is Stand By Me by Ben. E. King.
UNTIL IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO
Chapter Three
Don't ask why. Don't ask how.
Don't ask forever. Love me now.
.
He pined for her, the woman with the face of Oriole, with the soul of a warrior named Piper. Looking for her in the castle, his boots thudded against the stone paths as he searched the mess halls and the kitchens and the soldiers quarters for the spy. If he really wanted to find her he could ask one of the new commanders, but where was the fun in that? Furthermore, it was dangerous to bring attention to her, especially if word got out the old champion of Cyclonia was asking about a pretty girl.
And she was pretty even in her disguise. Mint-green hair framed a heart-shaped face. Soft blue eyes. White milky skin that rarely saw the sun. As a Talon she wasn't short of admirers, but her non-indulgent demeanour either shook them off or they directed their unrequited attention someplace else.
Two weeks to find her, only because he fought so hard not to give into temptation. Oriole was one of the permanent castle guards, the ones who lived within the citadel and not a temporary soldier stationed at one of the nearby military bases. It meant he could see her again, learn her schedule, be there if she wanted a bedside companion.
The Dark Ace knew what he must sound like. He didn't much care.
One day simply because he was bored, he decided to shake things up a bit. Rising early, he intentionally walked past the mess hall before breakfast, those precious morning hours, way before any of the other Talons slammed their alarm clocks and swore and rolled out of their beds. She sat there by herself, alone in the east-side corner nursing a bowl of hot cinnamon porridge. A glass of both water and milk, and half an orange. Not many people roused this early for duty and judging from the philosophical book she was reading, this was a habit from her life as a Storm Hawk. A glimpse of the real intellectual woman, not the Talon.
So he took a newly washed tray from the towering stack and stood in the empty line. Balanced a soldier's breakfast on his hands as he claimed a table two down from hers, and sat directly in her line of sight.
This was a big detour, a drastic change of schedule. The Dark Ace did not sit among commoners and dine amongst them. He was a lone wolf with all his fangs pulled out. The sullen one who haunted the castle with a tattered pelt, diminished in persona and spirit. He stalked others to fulfil his ceaseless hunger for attention. It was an unofficial rule for recruits not to engage in relations lest Master Cyclonis received word her declawed pet was wagging his tail again.
It was pitiful. He was pitiful. Yes, he wore the colours of the nation, a dark green sweater that fitted him a bit too tightly around the chest, and a pair of black trousers, but he didn't belong in the ranks. Definitely not here in the mess hall. He no longer counted as one of them, not even by the Master.
Oriole was furious. Blatantly ignored the man who leered at her and focused upon her book, On the Geneology of Morality. Fitting, considering all. Glad for her long bangs, she finished her porridge and left the spoon in the bowl; the aluminium utensil clattered against the cheap porcelain. Underlined the passage she was reading with her finger, and frowned when she heard the echo of the Dark Ace's spoon across the hall.
He smirked openly when she closed her book ever so carefully, stacked her dishes on the tray and made to leave. A daring flash of her fake blue eyes when no one was looking. Regretted going to him if this was how he chose to behave, his antics could potentially ruin her cover.
Raising his chin in arrogance, he silently mouthed two words (call me) and cackled, shattering the silence of the hall. Only the cafeteria staff looked up briefly, crinkled their faces in disgust at the sight of the former champion like an unwanted vagrant, and chalked his odd behaviour to the other rumours circling about him. Besides, everyone knew the early birds were always a little bit odd. Even if they caught the worm.
Two days later the doors of his private chambers opened late at night, and she slipped inside. Stood over him as he lounged in bed, held a glowing crystal blade against his throat. With a growl she prodded his ribs with her fingers and dolefully he opened one eye to her.
"Why did you do that?" she hissed, looking very much like Oriole. This was to be a business visit then, and not for pleasure.
The Dark Ace was prepared for this – another interrogation. And why act foolish? Well, simply because he was bored. Completely miserable. No one looked at him anymore; no more idol-worship, and on the rare occasion some new recruit did they were quickly disillusioned with his surly and blaze attitude towards the monotony of life. There were friendlier Talon commanders to idolatrize, ones that provided encouraging words of glory and honour. At forty years old, he was just an old gas bag.
"Hey, Dark Ace. I asked you a question, so you better answer me!" The blade rose higher but the man was immune to such danger. Stretching his neck further to expose his jugular, his crimson eyes glittered in the dark, pointed straight at the woman who hovered menacingly over him.
"Go ahead, kill me. Nobody would care. I wanted to see you again. Do you rebels kill a man for that?"
She deactivated the crystal and lowered her weapon. Taking this as an invitation he switched the bedside lamp on, illuminated them both. They cast curved, elongated shadows upon the floor that crept up the opposite wall. Intending to push himself up into a sitting position, Oriole's hand pressed down against his chest halting the motion. Five crescent-shaped indents marked the cotton of his shirt and he peered down at her fingers.
"You have delicate hands for a warrior."
"It's an illusion," she retorted. Stepped backwards when he pushed against her palm and threw back the blanket, revealed his knees, his legs, his boxers. The Dark Ace sat upon the edge of the mattress, his bare feet planted upon the floor. His hand curled around her wrist in a loose trip. Red eyes unblinking.
"No. I remember what you really look like. You have pretty hands."
"Thank you? But you can't do that anymore, you can't see me again." On her left side the light of the lamp was too bright. It hurt her eyes.
"Why not? Nobody knows you're here now. Why do I even lock my door? You know how to pick the lock. The Talons haven't found you yet, and I promised not to tell anyone."
Oriole didn't believe him, especially when he liked to stand so close.
"Have you told anyone?" she enquired, her voice rising a pitch higher at the end of the sentence.
"No. You made me promise. I keep my promises."
The woman guffawed in his face. "No you don't. You're a liar and a traitor." To her astonishment he chortled along with her. Their little secret. Her body flushed hot underneath her clothes. And there it was, that lop-sided grin on his face again. Knowing.
"Touche, Storm Hawk. I'm not a nice person. But I'd keep my promise for you."
"Wifey!" He cried out to Piper, and he sounded very much like a petulant, soggy man. "Aerrow has bad day! Today is not a good day to be Aerrow. Aerrow need Piper!"
Her laughter rang out loud and clear. Appearing in the doorway of the bathroom, she leaned against the frame with a curled hand upon her narrow hip, and grinned widely. Three weeks playing at being a married couple on Terra Gale, this had to be one of the easiest missions for them. Simple recon. Find out why Master Cyclonis set up a new military base here and report back to Rebellion Headquarters once they had the information.
It was a small house, very cozy for two. Not a lot of windows for two floors, and it had a blue door.
"Aw. Poor thing. And what can Piper do for Aerrow?"
Slumping dejectedly and hands hanging low, the Sky Knight stumbled forward and planted his face – right between her breasts.
"This!" He muttered into her smushed flesh. "I need Piper's boobies! So soft... like pillows. But your shirt's in the way. Be naked, Piper! And I'll get naked too!"
Red hair still buried against her bosom, the man appreciated her small cleavage. Aerrow tugged at his trousers, pulled down the waistband and awkwardly jerked at his pants until it pooled around his ankles. Sighing, he gave up when he realized it took too much effort to pull out his shoes, and Piper remained clothed.
"You look ridiculous," she giggled, cheeks glowing. Clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her tittering. "What in the world are you doing?"
"Love me!" he exclaimed, shook his head back and forth between her boobs. "Why aren't you loving me, Piper? I had to spend a whole day listening to Talons, and they're so boring. You got to spend a whole day at the cheese factory, and you probably ate dinner without me! Why, Piper, why? I like cheese too. I can make a good cheese fondue. Hugs! I need hugs! The Talons have terrible singing voices, and they invited me over to karaoke night on Friday."
They retreated to the couch. Aerrow remained attached to her breasts and Piper waddled backwards towards the cramped living room. Flopped down on the sofa.
"Don't be silly. You love karaoke night. I remember you belting out rock songs with Finn back in the day."
"I think I remember you blushing when I dedicated a love song to you."
Like clockwork Piper blushed instantaneously. Aerrow looked up from his comfortable position, wiggled his thick red eyebrows suggestively, and kissed her on the forehead.
"I remember that! I was so embarrassed, I wanted to get drunk. I can't believe you did that in front of everyone, in front of our friends! Oh my god, I was so red. My reputation ruined. Everyone was staring at us, nudging me and winking. That was a terrible thing you did, idiot. The worst love confession ever. Giving me the rose was better. And then you had to come down from the stage and hold my hand! You had the microphone and I was hoping you'd trip. You got down on one knee! I was gonna die! Finn was making stupid kissy faces behind you and I was stuck to my chair. I was sweating so bad, I was so nervous!"
(When the night has come, and the land is dark. And the moon is the only light we'll see-)
Tears streamed from his eyes as Aerrow howled with laughter. That was a good night, one he would always remember. He'd been wondering how to make his feelings known to Piper, and Finn gave him the idea of dedicating a song on karaoke night on the Condor. She was right though, the rose was much more romantic and less... traumatizing. A white rose for true love. But it worked, there was no way she could say no after that stunt. The Sky Knight had his suspicions such feelings were reciprocated, but he wanted to know for sure. All he needed was Finn to choose the ill-fated tune.
(No I won't be afraid. Oh, I won't be afraid. Just as long as you stand, stand by me-)
"I was good, wasn't I? You were red like a tomato."
She slapped him on the arm ineffectively. Colour rose high on her dark cheeks when her lover dropped all his weight upon her, and pinned her against his body and the sofa.
"When we get married there will be no karaoke! You are not doing that again!"
She liked that particular memory of her and Aerrow. Living together like normal people on Terra Gale.
Piper was hired on as a temporary employee at one of the cheese factories, and Aerrow had a part-time gig as a parcel delivery man who often made trips to the newly developed Talon camp. The soldiers here were friendly, way more than the ones stationed on Terra Rex. They greeted the civilians with easy, open smiles, and escorted old ladies with their groceries as they patrolled the towns.
It was a memory from long, long ago.
But here on Terra Cyclonia she was a different person. Another helmeted face. A spy in the queen's house who held the secret of the Master's downfall within her hardened chest. Plotted her downfall as she stood vigilant in front of the throne room, nodded towards her comrades in arms as they rotated shifts and marched towards the cafeteria for a hot lunch. Beef cheesesteak.
Shaved beef with sauteed onions and green peppers. Slap on some white cheese, Swiss or Provolone, and load it all onto a buttered hoagy bun. The cooks here added steak spice to the mix that heightened the flavour. The food was better than the rations the Rebellion handed out, but hey she lived amongst the Talons. They could afford to be generous with their portions, and the higher ranking officers dined someplace else, probably in their private rooms. Had their own personal chefs to cater to their specific, defining tastes.
Oriole wondered who prepared the queen's meals, if the rail-thin woman ate anything at all. She was so skinny, gaunt in the face and angular. Definitely underweight, definitely lacked sleep. Rumour had it her appearance was the result of a crystal addiction, and the soldier shuddered in horror.
What a terrible way to waste a life. Enslaved to power and crystals. To have the world at your feet but feel no peace. To be so paranoid you executed anyone who made you uncomfortable in the slightest.
In a time past she would have wondered how so many individuals blindly followed her, now she knew it was mostly out of fear. Master Cyclonis required soldiers, and if one enlistteed as a Talon was a better life prospect over tending to trampled farms. The occupation didn't guarantee lifelong safety but it was pretty stable. The pay was good, and if you had loved ones you couriered a portion of your salary with assurance. Also, having military connections helped protected them from harm.
Oriole empathized with these people and knew many of them were not evil. They just happened to make the best out of their circumstances and chose this. And yes, some of these soldiers were bad, who bullied and harassed the defenceless. They abused their power, but they were the ones who rose in the ranks like fire rockets. Who were promoted to a decorated officer while they lacked the tact and skill. Made it to commander. And then when their smart mouths opened in the presence of their queen, she killed them for their rudeness.
There was a reason Oriole didn't want to prove her true worth as a warrior. It was perilous to showcase brilliance here, to upstage the unhinged monarch. Master Cyclonis embodied many sins, vanity being one of them.
But four long years as Talon and the impossible happened to Oriole, she'd grown to care for the grunts. Wanted to see them take up other occupations and live out their dreams. Find someone to love and marry. Have lots of kids. Grow old and be happy, forget life as a Talon like a really bad nightmare.
They were very much like her.
Revulsion for Master Cyclonis grew within the secret Storm Hawk for how she treated her nation and her people. This wasn't greatness shared amongst all, this was extortion. Almost a pity for the young queen, she hoarded all the crystals for herself and in turn, was consumed. Too far gone to be redeemed, the Guardian's words repeated in Oriole's ears. The prophecy that started this all.
The queen would face death at the hands of a traitor. Someone who could perform The Binding. A hero. The first and most obvious choice was Aerrow while she – as Piper – remained second – the ace up the Rebellion's proverbial sleeve. As the sole rival to Master Cyclonis in crystal magic, the queen believed her dead just like everyone else. The ruse worked. The following years the monarch streamlined her attention towards the hunt for Sky Knights, believed one of them had to be the foreordained hero, and turn said individual to her winning side.
The violet-eyed woman was on the right track, half of her plan had come to fruition. Aerrow remained the strongest Sky Knight of all. He embodied hope and bravery and unyielding loyalty, and he was just what the empire needed. What Master Cyclonis sought in a partner, both as a general and as a suitor for a marriage of convenience.
Oriole would be damned before anything like that was going to happen. She'd roar like a one-woman army if the Master laid an unconsenting hand upon Aerrow. He'd never swear fealty. She was evil. The other woman was too weak, too obsessed with herself to truly connect with another human being. They would never bond. Even if his spirit was broken by the mind control, it wouldn't be enough. Master Cyclonis would never understand how the combined power of two melded into one unstoppable force. Bridges were burned in the castle, the queen didn't have the Dark Ace now.
The green-haired soldier almost dared to break cover, contact the Rebellion and march them through the front doors if she even got a whiff of Aerrow bowing down to her.
The Rebellion had the same intentions. Circling Terra Cyclonia like vultures, they watched over the citadel with a thousand eyes and strained their ears against radio communications for any word of the Sky Knight. He was their last hope to win this war, and the genesis of a rescue operation formed amongst the remaining leaders of the Free Atmos.
Ten years Terra Cyclonia reigned long. Ten years before that came the unexpected fall of the original Storm Hawks. Destiny coursed through Aerrow's blood like the blood of his father, Lightning Strike. Both men united the Free Atmos, both fought in this endless war. And now the queen plotted to corrupt him as her ancestor had done with the Dark Ace?
No way in hell were they going to tolerate that.
He knew.
Oriole didn't have to be alone in her fight against Master Cyclonis. Here, underneath the ancient roofs of the echoing castle, she had an ally in him.
They maintained a mutual exchange of personal benefits. Information on the Talons, dirty laundry on Master Cyclonis – if she continued visiting him. Not forget him like the others. Oriole refused to neglect her duties as a guard, outright rejected his offer to be seen in public with the Dark Ace, so she sacrificed her evenings in his company. It wasn't all bad, she told herself. He handed his leash and collar over to her, she could visit him whenever she wished. And when she did he made sure to have a wealth of new information for her.
Like an abandoned pet seeking a new master.
What she did with that knowledge, he didn't ask but noticed the changes over the weeks, the months. The change of the guard, the high overturn of Talon commanders. Knew the tide was turning because he looked for it. Expected the Rebellion to strike within the year, and the Cyclonian had enough of his windowless cage, of being locked up.
He liked change. It kept things interesting and motivated him to get into shape again. He strode down the hallways with purpose, chin held parallel to the floor, his crystal blade hidden behind a dusty curtain as he practiced swordsmanship in one of the castle's many abandoned rooms. His sweaters fitted better, accentuated the barrel of his chest, and he went down a belt loop for his pants. Carelessly the old swagger returned to his limbs, and more than once Oriole threatened to stop seeing him if he continued preening like a peacock.
And there were whispers among the bunks.
The Talon named Oriole was seeing someone, or if she wasn't in a committed relationship, she was certainly shagging someone and it was doing her a lot of good. Her comrades teased her affectionately, said she looked more tired in the mornings. Maybe she'd been up all night? Was it good? Who was this person? Was it someone they knew? C'mon Oriole, fess up. They were dying to know if it was true, because if it was, it was fucking unbelievable. The woman was almost perfect and cute with her green hair and no-nonsense attitude, way too good for any of these grunts here. They remembered she almost said yes to Jack, ages ago. Was it him? Did he treat her well? Was he handsome?
The fledgling she shared her shift with on this particular day twittered with cheerfulness. Just a kid, a boy. Clearly a virgin. He bounced on his toes, asked a stream of embarrassingly personal questions from his soft petal lips as they stood on guard at the front doors of Master Cyclonis' bedchambers.
Oriole shook her head vehemently. There was no man, and whoever started these sick rumours was asking for it. And yes, she knew what sex was. No, she wasn't going to describe it. No, she wasn't going to deny being a lesbian. So what if she found certain females attractive? There was a word for that kid, he should learn about it. But yes, Costa was. She was open about it and dating one of the captains. It was a long distance relationship and they had to be cautious. It was bad luck to be stationed here. And why was she gossiping anyway? Yes, this shift was boring but it was still duty, so stand guard soldier.
That night the Dark Ace kissed her first. Knew he wasn't supposed to. Missing her, he'd eaten dinner by himself as usual, prepared a solitary meal for one that consisted of soft tacos and coffee. Completed several repetitions of push-ups and chin-ups and when that didn't take the edge off, jumped into the shower and jerked himself off. Fantasized about Piper, the real one with liquid amber eyes and dark hair, and how wonderful it would feel to have her suck his cock.
Funny, how in the light of day he could be an arrogant prick but in the shade of night he was just a washout. A has-been. A pathetic man who hankered to have a woman in his bed and feel needed by her. Oriole shook her head, her green bangs swayed about when he asked to see the Storm Hawk again, but she was adamant on maintaining her facade. He had seen Piper at her most vulnerable and she couldn't give into his request. Couldn't meet him in the eyes when they kissed. If she needed him, he would have Oriole.
This was a mutual friendship between temporary allies, not a blurred window of two people looking to cope with their miserable lives. Not looking for an outlet to relieve their stress.
He wondered if she truly believed in her story. How long had she been a Talon? Did she believe they were all evil? Was she forced to kill her own friends? What was her ultimate goal?
Was he part of the Rebellion now?
Oh no, he wasn't that stupid. He was in this for his own purposes, assuredly defied his queen without Oriole asking him to. He divulged secrets and weaknesses. What else did he have to lose? Power? Wealth? Dignity? All that remained to him was his existence; and what he had before her, that cursed entropy was no life. Doomed to be forgotten. Loved by no one.
Even if it was just mostly talk. Sometimes sex. Even if they both adored someone else.
It was all so perfect.
The Dark Ace was a reckless man who cast his silver coin with a risky lot. Twenty years ago he abandoned his squadron and a bright future to become a figure the public feared instead of adored. He faced the odds back then, and won. Now, he gambled all over again. With his life, his heart, his home.
A scandal. The tantalizing metallic scent of danger fed the flicker of defiance within his twitchy fingers. The man chuckled briskly and polished both his armour and sword. Familiar friends to bloodshed, even if the metal shone. Once a traitor, always a traitor. He'd show them what he was made of. There was still one last trick in him left. The blade of his weapon mirrored a villainous smile.
Need. That's what drove him. Master Cyclonis didn't need him, but Piper did.
It was time to change history once more.
The Rebellion was winning. Impossible, but true. More empty spaces in the mess halls, and recruiters worked doubly hard to enlist and train new Talons. Her academies were being burnt down, her military bases infiltrated with insurgents. They pulled down her flags and raised theirs, the original colours of their conquered terras. A spectrum of banners and symbols of freedom.
How dare they mock her. Thought to usurp her predestined rule.
Master Cyclonis didn't attempt to conceal her anger, she swallowed her ire and breathed out death. Charred the living bodies of pathetic soldiers who quailed in her sight, too doltish to move fast enough when she gave orders. Any rebel caught warranted immediate execution after a good lashing and some tortuous interrogation. The Empire was all-powerful, its queen all-knowing. Forget the stockades, the prisoners. Haze villages to the grounds, the ones who defied her. The ones who harboured rebels. Let her commanders choose between life and death, and dole put punishment to the sullied. Show no mercy to the ones that begged forgiveness, because their queen would show none to them if they failed. Steal the young and give them to her, the Empire. Make Talons out of them all.
She held all the crystal reserves, all vehicle and munition factories under her control, so how were those insignificant free folk of the Rebellion fighting back? There had to be a mole, a spy, a traitor. Master Cyclonis shuttered herself within her rooms and made a nest out of her many crystals, her pounding heart immediately calmed as the sparkle and shine danced over her pale skin. If she turned her wrists she could map out the path of blue veins that lay against thin muscle.
Spies in her house. There always were. A month had not passed since her grand (and bloody) coronation without the discovery of yet another stupid Atmosian. No matter, my darlings, my lovely stones. The world was hers to rule, and there were always more mindless bodies to fill the gaps.
The crystals. The crystals helped her with stress. They sang lullabies to her when she flicked her nail against their facets, and helped her sleep. There was a new Solaris crystal that waited in her drawer, and it was high quality. When she held it she felt warmth inside. She was always so cold, freezing in this place. It was the old architecture, she swore. The steel and the metal. Motor and stone. The furnaces were always stoked underneath the castle and yet she shivered through the bone. The grey slate walls blocked out the light but heightened the echoes of the vibrating crystals, filled her ears with a cathedral of song. Such a dilemma. What to do... she felt wintry and alone.
But Master Cyclonis didn't have to be alone.
She had the Dark Aerrow and he was warming up to her. She could feel it. He'd stopped insulting her, and just the other day she swore he bowed when she entered his prison. A slight dip of the chin to his chest. The training was going well, he'd beaten all her weapons masters with the grace of a bird. Those green eyes of his turned to her unblinking, and the queen felt the oddest little pull of respect; it tugged from the bottom of her ribcage.
The absurdly skinny woman patted her harrowed face in the mirror of her chilly, wet bath and daubed moisturizing cream at the corners of her eyes. Smeared balm against her peeling lips. She hadn't mastered the soft, silky feeling of feminine hair but at least she kept it tangle-free.
The queen regretted her dark, sunken eyes but loved her crystals too much to fully change her nocturnal habits. Maybe she should eat more, gain at least twenty pounds so when her champion finally took her to bed, there were some curves to hold on to. Rumour had it men liked that, so he probably did too.
Hard-faced matrons of the wealthiest brothers were brought before her in secret. Master Cyclonis needed to know how to ensnare a man, make him love her. And quickly. Something was up with the rebels, she could smell it like stinking body odour, and she wanted to perform The Binding as soon as possible.
And what better place to ask for advice than from a professional who bedded others for a living? They were paid well for their services, and the queen would pay them more if they instructed her on how to seduce the Dark Aerrow.
Underneath meticulously painted lips and dark, fluttering lashes, the women graced their monarch with their timeless knowledge. Afraid and yet unafraid of her wrath, they flattered the delusional woman and insulted her in the same breath. They had families too. Women and men and others who lived together under the same roof. Houses of fame draped with coloured silks and plush couches and feather beds. Some had children, some still had living parents. People they cared about, even each other, sometimes clients who disappeared under her rule. Kind doctors who visited them and looked after their health.
The worst was when soldiers barged into their homes and under the rule of the queen, forced them to relinquish any babes under their care. Took them away from their guardianship and shipped the children off to the nearest slipshod orphanage. Human fodder for the generation of more Talons.
The brothels were more than just a cesspool of loose morals, they were establishments of concealed alliances and anger.
Absorbing their words, the queen suddenly felt conscious about herself. She was too skinny, too hollow about the cheeks. Men liked women with pretty hair, and hers was lank and stringy. They told her to brush it out more often, perfume herself with oils and massages. A dab of lavender essential oil for the skin to smell good. Patchouli for dermatitis and eczema. Rose water for the face. Warm fresh milk baths. Pamper her body with utmost care and get lots of rest.
If she did all that they told them, the Sky Knight would fall for her.
Stiffly, their monarch thanked them as they left. The women curtseyed low, their colourful gowns swept the floor, their bare shoulders soft in the harsh light of the throne room. It was easy to envy their beauty, understand how their services lasted for generations. Seduction was an art form to them and they excelled at the skill. Almost all of the courtesans sported long hair, and nervously the woman fiddled with her mid-length tresses.
What did her champion like? Did he think her pretty? She knew she wasn't beautiful, not in the glamourous manner of these elegant women.
The queen couldn't remember her last proper meal. The last time she sat at the grand table. She snacked often, had servants bring her water and juice and sliced fruit and things like crackers. Thin soup, very hot. Lots of candy, lots of sugar. Cakes. Desserts were a weakness, but the last time she sat down to use culinary utensils and minded her manners? Who knows. Perhaps the last time she invited a guest to dinner, and that probably ended up with murder.
Crimson eyes followed her from the shadows. He seethed. He glowed with menace. She had to have remained a virgin with the way she carried herself, obsessed over her captive. So naive for a ruler, the queen of a nation. Likely harboured the fantastical idea she was seducing the Sky Knight successfully with her overt power and feminine wills. She had no idea Aerrow was stringing her along, pretended to adore her to save his strength. How could she be so blind? It was all part of the grand plan.
It was because she loved power, craved it and nurtured it – and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Made one blind with the illusion of invincibility. Master Cyclonis didn't love Aerrow, didn't care for the Sky Knight with human emotions. She saw him as another pawn to use. The greatest weapon of all. Another untapped human crystal.
The Dark Ace frowned in jealousy.
He would know.