VIII: A Sinner's Pride

A night breeze crept into the room through the balcony's open glass doors, tossing the ivory curtains about the form of a slender young man, as the aforementioned blond with bedraggled tresses downed another shot of rum that he had forgotten to finish earlier that night. Dressed in only a pair of boxers that he had slipped onto his body hastily mere seconds ago, thereby exposing the scratches and love bites that marred his pale body to all who laid eyes upon him, Arthur stared beyond the dark horizon. There was no daylight in the Underworld, and he loathed it. There was only a vague sense of morning, noon, evening, and night by the internal biological clocks of roughly twenty-four—maybe even twenty-five or twenty-six—hours ruling their sense of time.

This was eternity.

No time passed here, only the sense of time, in a world that was trapped forever in darkness. He hated it, yet he garnished his title of this world's king with pride and esteem. There was nobody else, his father had insisted, who could occupy the crown and the throne. Everyone else was a sinner unable to make clear judgements, both driven and blinded by their own self-interests, and Arthur was dragged from his country of Britannia to rule an entire dimension instead. He was raised for this, the blond recalled vaguely. He was mentored by Merlin at only twelve and hardly three years later sat upon the throne to an emerging country as though his beloved Britannia was simply a trial, a farce or a contest of sorts between the Heavens and the Underworld. Then when he disappeared from the Surface World, allegedly dying in battle, his education continued—only this time focused on his growing and unique powers—until his father's "disappearance." He was a daemon and a demon by blood though he was nothing like the others. At first he was despised and ridiculed, and now he was loved by all but a few—including his own uncle, his father's brother-in-law and his aunt's husband.

How ludicrous, Arthur mused silently as he poured himself another shot, emptying the bottle of its dregs, and downed it to the very last drip. "I'm nothing," he mumbled softly to keep from disturbing that beautiful creature in his bed. His eyes strayed to the young man of barely nineteen, gazing over his tousled hair and his exotic olive skin that had been bitten and bruised with Arthur's marks. The marks of a stubborn lover sucking and biting and nibbling on Lovino's skin far outnumbered the love bites Arthur himself had received, but the cuts and scratches paled in comparison to the scrapes on Arthur's own pale flesh. "If only I could give him peace," the blond whispered wistfully, admiring his soft, peaceful features, "then all really would be fine."

However, because a daemon outlived a human, there can only be travesties awaiting the two of them if they prolonged this relationship. A part of him yearned for it—contact, closeness, tender love and care—and a part of him condemned it—sorrow and despair, agony and despondence. He faintly recalled a similar fate centuries ago, and he feared the same outcome. Arthur was twenty-three forever, but Romano had only a few years if nothing happened—living eighty years to eighty-three on average for the typical Italian man. They were already so far apart, living in different worlds, so how could they even close the distance?

Well, Arthur supposed, he could begin with a few steps. The blond stepped back into his chambers, closing the balcony doors behind him and pulling the curtains to cover the glass, as he sauntered quietly to the bed. Arthur crept onto the mattress, pulling the covers over his body, as he pulled close to Romano and held the Italian in his arms.

Maybe, he thought to himself, this moment was all that mattered.

Arthur knew that Romano was meant for him. It was part of a demon's ability, after all, to see into a person's soul, and Romano, despite all of his flaws and imperfections, was simply perfect. Kissing his lover goodnight, Arthur closed his eyes and slept restfully, revelling in Romano's earthly warmth and aroma. Yes, he mused dreamily, nuzzling his young lover, this was perfect.


Gilbert, Mathias, and Francis were gathered in front of the iron gate, ready to depart for the Surface World. They appeared to be chatting leisurely and idly to themselves despite the gravity of last evening's discussion and were dressed accordingly in casual attire. Gilbert wore a black and white striped shirt zipped underneath a black hooded jacket with a skeleton print on the side, faded blue jeans, and red high-tops. Mathias, on the other hand, dressed in a casual tan jacket over a plain white tee with a pair of indigo jeans and runners. Francis donned a dark navy blue blazer with crimson silk shirt with a few buttons left undone and a pair of white slacks and black Oxfords. Upon noticing Arthur and Lovino's arrival, their conversation died to greet the two newcomers. Gilbert, however, noticed something strange and began to sniff the air indiscreetly, his nose twitching on occasion.

"What? What?" Francis exclaimed as the albino began to hunt the area for the source of the disturbance. "I bathe frequently! Maybe you are smelling yourself—l'odeur d'une canine!"

"Oi! Watch yourself! I don't stink that badly! Why don't you try patrolling the globe without sweating, Francy-Pants?!" Gilbert barked immediately, affronted, before brushing off the insult. He continued to follow the scent as he griped at Francis. "Anyway! It's not that, it's just that... Arthur's smell is stronger. Like there's two people with his smell—oh." Gilbert stopped in front of Lovino and narrowed his red eyes immediately at the Italian dressed in the same clothes from yesterday—only washed as ordered by Arthur to the nearest maid within the hour that morning, or what he supposed was morning since it was still dark outside. "I get it," he grumbled, dropping his voice. "You've been marked by him—his property, huh?"

"Gilbert," Arthur warned slowly, glaring at his friend and stepping between the two of them as inconspicuously as possible, "that's enough."

"Arthur..." Gilbert reasoned.

"I know," the blond returned just as shortly, his eyes softening. He repeated again for emphasis in order to assure his friend, "I know, Gilbert."

"What?!" Gilbert crowed, snickering loudly and deciding to break the tense atmosphere that fell upon the five of them, as he clapped Arthur on the back, covering up his previous concern. "I was just thinking that—damn!—you look sexy today!" He fixed the loose red tie hanging around Arthur's neck and played with the collar of his black button shirt before slapping his friend's—but also king, as Arthur maliciously reminded him—ass right on the Union Jack pattern of his light blue jeans. "Your leather gloves are sexy, too, and nice boots by the way! Those are Docs, right?" Just as the werewolf had pointed out, Arthur was indeed wearing a pair of Doc Martins—white in colour with heavy black soles and lace.

"This was all that I had from the last time I was here," Arthur defended himself indignantly.

"Right, from the eighties, yeah? It looks fine; you look fine. Actually, you should wear that style more often. It fits you pretty well—demon that you are," Gilbert continued nonchalantly as he marched back to Mathias and Francis. "Anyway, let's get back to Kiku so we can wrap up the mission!"

"What's the Frog doing here?" Arthur inquired as he glanced blatantly and pointedly at Francis, who scowled in response.

"Do you not remember that I have been running a nightclub in Paris for the last decade?" the Frenchman remarked dryly. "As the Patron of the Incubi and Succubi and the Head of Intelligence regarding les affaires de l'Underground, I am stationed on the Surface World."

"Is that so? I suppose your existence was so insignificant that it slipped my mind," Arthur returned just as sourly. He rolled his eyes and raised his hand towards the gate, commanding it to open, yet the gates did not part even after an entire minute had passed.

"Hey, are you doing it right?" Francis questioned sceptically.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you're talking to?" Arthur snapped indignantly, clearly offended, as he glared at the Frenchman. "Something went wrong. They won't open—not even to me. That's... That should be impossible."

"What do you mean?" Mathias inquired as he attempted to open the gates himself—using only his bare hands this time—to try to force them open. "Does that mean we're stuck here?"

"Shit," Arthur cursed. "We can't get out, and nothing else can get in. The souls that were destined for Hell will be left behind on Earth, the last place they need to be, and if they go back to their bodies, we can't escort any revenants to the Underworld. The newly turned won't have an idea of what the bloody hell they can or can't do according to the rules and regulations of the Otherside."

"That's... bad, right?" Gilbert concluded.

"It's worse than bad, you git," Arthur muttered, running his hands through his hair. "It's much worse than bad—if not the worst."

"What's the worst?" Gilbert queried of his friend.

"If it somehow brings about world destruction, such as the Apocalypse or Armageddon," Arthur responded shortly before glancing around them. Sensing Lovino's growing fear and panic, the blond brought his lover closer to him by the waist. "Mathias, it won't open by force. Let's get back to the palace and get to the bottom of this."

The moment they've returned to the palace, they were immediately greeted by a confused and bewildered Yao Wang, who was told to fetch his brothers, cousins, and aunt and uncle for breakfast. No matter what, Arthur insisted, they have to appear. They all marched to the dining hall, and Arthur assumed the seat at the fore of the table. Lovino was to sit to his right in what Francis called the consort's seat, successfully making the brunet flush with embarrassment. Once everyone assumed their seats, the Kirkland family began to file into the dining hall one by one, first beginning with Alistair. The fiery redhead was dressed in his military gear—an entirely black attire consisting of a long coat, a button shirt, belts and buckles that overlapped and crossed his torso, and trousers tucked into heavy combat boots—and carried his officer's hat under his arm. After Alistair was Owain, who hadn't bothered dressing himself and was completely clad in pinstriped pyjamas, then Seamus, who was dressed casually in a pair of jeans with a t-shirt, sweater, and runners, then Peter in his usual sailor outfit, then Jett, dressed raggedly in athletic gear, then James, who donned a snug sweatshirt and joggers as well as runners, the two brothers having been training or out for a run, and a gorgeous woman with a curvy, hourglass figure, long ginger hair pulled into a braid, and green eyes tinged with yellow ambers. She wore an elegant dress of deep green that fell past her knees with only a single strap, accenting her eyes, with black heels. She would have been beautiful had not been for the ghastly pallor of her skin, making her appear a sickly woman, but she was still a sight for sore eyes.

"That's seven of them," Arthur muttered under his breath. "Now where's the eighth?"

"What's the meaning of this, Artie?" Alistair snapped angrily as he narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "Why haven't ye gone back to your quest yet?"

"Someone's sealed the Gate, and even I can't force it open this time," Arthur answered shortly. "All of us know that only the royal family have the ability to seal the Gate to the Underworld. The culprit is someone of our family." The words were spoken bitterly, and it stung even Lovino, an outsider to Arthur's family. Glancing at the Briton, Lovino noticed in his eyes that Arthur didn't want to do this either. Traces of hurt and betrayal lingered in his eyes, mixed thoroughly with disbelief. "The Gate to the Underworld should never be sealed—unless under orders from the Emperor of the Heavens. It has been that way for millions of years now, hasn't it?" Arthur's eyes fell upon the woman. "Aunt Bridget, where is Uncle Patrick?"

She averted her yellow green eyes away from her nephew, the colour wavering like shimmering crystals, and murmured, "I don't know, Arthur. I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't cry, Aunt Bridget!" Alistair exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his arms into the air before ruffling his hair madly. "What the deuce is going on, Artie? What do ye mean the Gate is sealed?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, you deaf git!" Arthur retorted impatiently and hotly. "I can't open it, nor can I break the seal and force it open! Plus, it seems unlikely that Uncle Patrick could overtake my own magic! He must have some kind of bloody trick up his sleeve..."

"Bridget," Seamus called to their aunt casually. It was no secret in the palace that Seamus hardly had any kind of respect for his aunt after she had wedded Patrick, with whom he disagreed even more. "Do you have any idea where Patrick is?"

"If I knew," Bridget wailed, "do you not suppose I would have told you already? That man frightens me terribly now! In the last century, all of which he could think involved usurping the throne, and his followers have now amounted to four percent of the general population! That's one percent of women and three percent of men! He is not the man with whom I fell in love; he is not the man with whom was close friends and allies with your father and my brother!"

Jett and James immediately began to soothe their mother and escorted her away from the dining hall after giving Arthur an apologetic glance. In recent years, her emotions had been relatively unstable compared to everyone else's. Although they didn't like the prospect of it, the Kirkland brothers and cousins all knew in some shape, way, or form that Bridget Kirkland had been harbouring some secret from them. Seamus addressed this once the doors to the dining hall closed firmly and asked, "Should we coax the truth out of her?"

"How?" Owain retorted calmly. "With the way things are, it would take years of therapy for her to speak even about the truth—not just the truth." He sighed, and Alistair grunted. "The only other persons she cares about most after her husband has to be her sons. Hopefully, they manage to pull her together before it's too late and too much damage is done."

"Well, with or without her, we have to break open the Gate somehow," Arthur stated firmly. "That is our first priority. It's dangerous to have it closed for so long. Perhaps if magic is used on both sides of the Gate, then the seal could potentially be broken. Owain, could you handle this?"

The auburn haired Kirkland yawned and stretched, smacking his lips together sleepily, and replied, "i could, but I'm going to need a few more skilled mages. Are you not joining?"

"I have to investigate this matter regarding Uncle Patrick," Arthur explained, spitting out the name with patent disdain and repulsion. "I'll call for Lukas and Vladimir to join you. They both have accompanied their lords to the meeting last night, so they must not have been able to leave."

"Then what of the other side?" Alistair inquired.

"Let's hope only the Gate is sealed and not communications as well," Arthur muttered before gesturing to a maid to bring him a mirror. The size was irrelevant, but it must be delivered with the utmost haste. Another maid was told to inform Jett and James that they should stay with their mother since the brothers hardly had reason to defy their cousin in this situation especially. Although Arthur loathed to suspect his own aunt, she was the closest person to her husband. He couldn't risk any variables slipping out of his own control. "Alistair, I'm counting on you to gather intelligence," Arthur mentioned, "as well as mobilising your men."

Alistair cracked a wry grin and remarked, "They're as much yours as they are mine." Standing onto his feet, the legs of his chair squealed against the tiled floor before he stepped away from the dining table. "They're already awake. We were in the middle of drills when ye called me here. This is an emergency situation, right?" Alistair asked of his younger brother as he approached the double doors of the dining hall.

"What else would it be?" Arthur responded dryly.

The redhead chuckled, musing, "They'll be excited to do something other than regulate Hell."

"Then I'll leave it to you to control them," Arthur remarked shortly, rolling his eyes. He turned to his younger brothers and asked, "Can the two of you manage the household while everyone else is busy?"

Seamus snorted while Peter pouted. "Of course we can!" snapped the ginger haired Kirkland. "Who the hell do you think we are—or at least me?!"

"Hey!" Peter protested.

"Come on, brat!" Seamus declared loudly as he swung an arm around Peter's neck, pulling the youngest Kirkland among with him, "Let's get to work!" This, of course, left only the second and third sons together in the dining room with their comrades.

The maid hastily returned with the mirror Arthur had requested, and on its reflective surface, the blond traced the pattern of a circumscribed star with his right forefinger, leaving a trace illuminated with small blue flames. Lovino watched with awe as the mirror glowed entirely before summoning an image of Alfred, Matthew, and Angelique battling to speak with Arthur, each of whom shouted and cried his name with a toothbrush in their mouths. In the background, Lovino could find Jia Long and Neeraja slowly brushing their teeth though they stared at Arthur with curiosity in their dark eyes.

Arthur smiled fondly at the children and replied that, yes, he missed them, too. "It seems like the communication network between the dimensions hadn't been disrupted," the blond announced to the remaining comrades within the dining hall. Gilbert peered over Arthur's shoulder and crowed a rowdy hello to the children while Francis' greeting was more amiable than the albino's. He made a point to ask Angelique how she was doing, and when she replied, addressing Francis as Monsieur Bonnefoy, his expression faltered into one of heartbreak and bitter-sweetness. "This was a mistake on Patrick's part, but at least we can use it to our advantage," the Briton informed his friends and brother. "Boys—and Angelique—once you're done, can you fetch Kiku? I have to ask him a favour."

They obliged immediately, spitting out the foamy toothpaste and rinsing their mouths clean, before chasing after the fox spirit in their residence. Moments later, all five children returned to the bathroom with Kiku in tow. "Your Majesty?" Kiku addressed the king through the mirror with mild panic in his usually levelled voice. "How come you have yet to return?"

"We're stuck," Arthur informed his familiar smoothly and calmly as panic settled in the Oriental's features. "The Gate won't open. Somehow it has overridden even my authority; I believe Patrick is behind it. We need to force it open from both sides. I want you and the children to head to the nearest cemetery and to set up a barrier to prevent any humans from interfering. Owain, Lukas, and Vladimir will try to open the Gate on our side."

"Your Majesty," Kiku replied humbly, "the children cannot wander too far away from your manor now that you are not here. Additionally, there is the possibility of danger leaving Feliciano Vargas-sama alone in this manor."

"I am aware of that," Arthur muttered softly, "but we have to try. You can't do this by yourself since it requires too much magic, but if everyone evacuates the manor, then that could leave it susceptible to outside attacks if Patrick interferes again."

"Wait a minute," Gilbert spoke up, calling all attention to him, "if we're stuck here, wouldn't Patrick be stuck here with us? Now that Valentino's gone, he doesn't have a puppet either, and to establish another fake contract, he would have to make contact with a human in person. Plus, if he's being selective on his puppets, then he wouldn't have enough time to find another one."

"Then the risk of another attack is low," concluded a voice from the other side of the mirror. Antonio lumbered into the bathroom, appearance bedraggled, and gave the daemons a sheepish smile. "I'll stay here and guard Feli. You do what you need to do, amigos. Hey, Francisco, long time no see!"

"Good to see that you're still alive, Antoine," Francis greeted with a friendly nod.

"I'm glad that I'm still alive, too, and the same goes for you, Lovi! I got so scared when I saw that you weren't here!" Antonio admitted cheekily. His eyes glinted briefly, and it seemed that nobody but Lovino had caught the look in his eyes. He knew what it was, too; Antonio knew about him and Arthur—somehow. Antonio then sighed before announcing that he could use a churro and some coffee. With that, the Spaniard exited the bathroom, leaving Kiku to assent to Arthur's orders. With that, the connection between the two worlds faltered, leaving only a regular mirror in Arthur's hands.

"I suppose I ought to leave now," Owain told Arthur before standing up and dismissing himself. "I'll meet your friends there."

"I'll help with reconnaissance," Gilbert informed. "Kerberos is already on the move."

"I'll go find Lukas and Vladimir," Mathias announced. "The rest of us will see to Patrick's movements."

"I'll tell the girls not to bother you for today," Francis continued before glancing at Lovino, "or, you know, until... well, never mind. If you give me le miroir, I'll get in contact with my units on the Surface World and try to gather intelligence from there. We may be able to send a few mages to support Kiku as the children as well—anything to lessen the burden on the children." Francis glanced again at Lovino with an indistinguishable emotion in his eyes—a mixture of scepticism and concern, perhaps. In response, Lovino narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman as he left with the other two, mirror in hand.

"You must be hungry," Arthur whispered softly, grasping Lovino's hand firmly. "I'll send for breakfast immediately; originally, I would have had Kiku prepare you breakfast once we've returned, but... At any rate, I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this." The emeralds averted from Lovino's eyes, and the Italian returned the hold on his hand with a tight squeeze.

"You can't help it," Lovino grumbled under his breath, a tinge of red coating his cheeks. "Besides, it's all your uncle's fault. Just... Protect me, okay?"

Arthur smiled. "Forever," he promised.


"There's been a breech in the rear of the palace!" a soldier exclaimed as he approached his commander.

Alistair scowled and punched the wall nearby, leaving a nasty dent in the wall, before gathering with the two of the Four Lords, all of whom were in charge of a branch of the Underworld military, the Head Alpha, head of the security of the Otherside, and the Revenant Chief, leader of the Underworld's elite extermination unit. Gilbert looked just as displeased as Alistair while Mathias now bore a solemn expression on his visage instead of his usual cheerfulness. "We hinder their progress," Gilbert announced coolly. "Strengthen the defences in the rear and begin offensive manoeuvres!"

"What if it's a decoy?" Mathias pointed out. "If that's the case, then we'll end up leaving the other areas weakened and vulnerable. We have to maintain our other defences as well."

"No, we'll let them in and then strengthen our defences, thereby weakening the breech," Alistair insisted. The other two generals stared at him as through he had grown another head and had gone mentally insane, and the scowl on Alistair's lips deepened at this realisation. "Don't look at me like that! If we weaken the defences in the beginning, it will lower theirs. At the same time, we get a feel of their strengths and weakness; then we'll cut them off from their rest of their army and deploy a small, elite troop to get rid of them."

Matching wicked grins stretched Gilbert and Mathias' lips as they realised where Alistair was heading with this. "And who gets the honour of tearing the invaders apart?" Gilbert inquired excitedly, bearing his canines. "I want revenge for the time on the Surface World; nobody summons a damn cockatrice on the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt and gets away with it!"

"Be my guest," Alistair responded, "since we're going to need someone to track them down anyway. Kerberos has always been our most loyal guard dog, so go sic 'em, lads."

Upon hearing those words, Gilbert shifted into the form of a hellhound and trotted in the direction of the palace rear. On his way, he nearly crashed into Ivan Braginsky, who smiled upon him eerily. "White truly suits you, comrade," he complimented offhandedly. At this, Gilbert narrowed his eyes, but Ivan Braginsky paid him no mind. Instead, he continued speaking, "Off to defend castle, are you not? I have received orders to control inside intelligence myself with Yao Wang. Rebels are confused now, da? Well, off to work you be going!" Gilbert snorted before dashing in the direction of the invasion. Along the way, he ran past members of his pack who followed after him wordlessly.

In the meanwhile, Lukas, Vladimir, and Owain, who was now forced to wear his scholarly robes instead of his sleep or lounge wear, stood in front of the gate with their eyes closed. Behind the three of them were support mages either strengthening their magic or aiding them in forcing the gates open themselves. A powerful aura radiated from the leading three, but it was still not enough to thrust the gates open. Owain frowned at this realisation while attempting to maintain his concentration.

Uncle Patrick must have used something to seal these gates shut—something powerful—powerful like... like the Will of God, otherwise known as the Divine Right and the Mandate of Heaven. Aside from the King of the Underworld, the only other being who could force these gates shut was the Emperor of the Heavens. Still, what role did their grandfather have to play in this? Why would he aid Uncle Patrick? He had to inform Arthur of this, but maybe his younger brother already realised this earlier and decided to keep it to himself, not wanting to disturb Alistair or Seamus of all people. That's why Owain cleared his mind of everything and focused instead on forcing these gates to open.

On the other side, Kiku carried Alfred under his arm and Matthew over his shoulder. Angelique clung onto his back while Jia Long and Neeraja were dragging their feet on the ground. "Just a little more," Kiku persisted, encouraging the children, "until we make it to the cemetery, children. Perhaps you will feel His Majesty's powers through the Gate and be rejuvenated. Please, just hold on for a little more." They farther the five children were away from their binding place—Arthur's magic or his manor—then the weaker they would feel. He wasn't sure if they could keep this up any longer, but still they endured and endeavoured.

Setting them onto the ground of the cemetery in front of the closest grave, Kiku immediately prepared a barrier before collapsing onto his posterior. Shifting his position so that assumed the seiza position where he knelt with his hips touching his ankles, Kiku closed his eyes and folded his hands together—face up in the cosmic mudra—and cleared his mind of anything and everything but his breaths. The children joined him in their own positions, gathering in a circle, as their energies collected. There were only six of them here, and on the Surface World, their abilities were restrained. He hoped that reinforcements would arrive later and that the other party on the other side of the Gate could make up for the lack in power.


Arthur observed with utter adoration on his visage as Romano dined on his breakfast, admiring the way Romano savoured each and every bite. He supposed Francis came in handy at times—but only when it came to cooking. Glancing out the window for a brief moment, the King of the Underworld then spotted a giant cockatrice beyond the glass. He immediately rocketed to his feet, catching the Italian's attention. "What's wrong?" his younger lover asked instantly as he set down his silverware. Romano joined Arthur onto his feet, but the blond quickly grasped the Romano's shoulders and forced him back into his chair.

"You can't come with me," Arthur told the young man gently with concern prominently featured in his emeralds, flashing with panic and fear. "It's too dangerous. I'll have someone watch over you, but whatever you do... Don't leave the palace. Don't wander from their sight. Do you understand me, Romano? I can't risk losing you here. It's a dangerous place; the only people who have managed to leave the Underworld aside from its resident daemons alive and alone are heroes like Hercules. Promise me you won't do anything reckless."

"And leave you alone?" Romano snapped angrily, shooting back onto his feet and slapping away Arthur's hands when the latter tried to seat him yet again.

"I'm the King of the Underworld, the strongest person here," Arthur assured. "Nothing will happen to me."

"Like hell!" Romano protested. "Your uncle is trying to take your life! I think I have reason to worry about you!"

"Romano, please!" Arthur argued. "This isn't the time for this!"

"Then don't dismiss matters of life and death so easily!" Romano barked heatedly. "Do you think you're invincible, you bastard?! Why the hell do you think your uncle is trying to kill you?! Because he thinks that he can kill you! It means that even you are susceptible to death, you dumbass! Pull your head out of your ass and open your damn eyes!" He panted heavily as though he had ran a marathon. Then again, he had spoken a million words a minute, so Arthur didn't blame him. A heavy cloud weighed in the Briton's heart as he realised the meaning behind Romano's words. Arthur collapsed back into his chair and buried his head into his hands.

"You're right," Arthur admitted. "My mother—a soldier of the Heavens—died after giving birth to me. My father probably died, too, and nobody knows the reason why. He just up and disappeared one day and left me with this throne. You're right; I'm not truly immortal. I can't promise that I'll get out of this alive. I don't even know how that seal on the Gate could defy my authority... The only other explanation I could consider is that there has been intervention from the Heavens—or, rather, the Emperor of the Heavens."

Romano calmed himself as bewilderment took over his features. "What does that mean?" he asked Arthur quietly. The Briton returned his question with a wry smile and shook his head. He didn't know either, but he couldn't bring himself to utter such words. He was the King, after all, and it was his duty to protect his people and this entire realm. Instead, he stretched out his arms and brought Romano into his body with a crushing embrace, wrapping his arms around the middle of Romano's body. He could feel Romano's fingers run through his hair and sighed deliriously. If only it could just be the two of them in the world, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything else in the entire universe.

"I love you, Romano," Arthur whispered softly, burying his face into the fabric of the Italian's shirt, preventing the brunet from seeing his red cheeks and embarrassed visage. "I don't want to lose you."

"That's why you're going to protect me," Romano responded honestly with a gentle tremor of embarrassment in his own voice. Arthur smiled. "You'll protect me, so let me go with you. I... I don't want to be by myself; I want to be with you."

"Do you know how to ride a horse?" the blond asked curiously. Looking into Romano's visage, he chuckled at the perplexed expression conquering his exotic features. "I can't have you go on foot. I suppose we'll have to ride together." Arthur stood up, keeping his arms around Romano's waist before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He stared into those wide hazel eyes and into the blue flames flickering in Romano's eyes. There were traces of apprehension and fear, but still he held out. The fire glowed vibrantly with sheer bravery and courage, and Arthur caved into Romano's wishes so easily, crumbling his defences almost entirely.

He pulled on Romano's hand and led him gently to the stables to meet with the pair of horses that had escorted them to the palace the other day. Without relinquishing his hold on Romano's hand, Arthur stretched a single hand towards one of the two white horses, stroking her snout affectionately. "This is Llamrei," Arthur introduced her Romano, "my mare." He shifted his attention to another horse and added, "This is Hengroen, my stallion. The two of them followed me to the Underworld from my time as Arthur Pendragon. We'll be riding Hengroen to my uncle's residence in the forest. I need to investigate something."

"Is it all right not to let anyone know?" Romano questioned sceptically.

"They'll try to quarantine me if I did," Arthur answered blatantly as he led the stallion from the stall and began to saddle him expertly.

"I can understand why," Romano griped, making the Briton laugh. Upon hearing Arthur's laughter, however, Romano flushed, a tad bit flustered, before turning away with embarrassment. He took to stroking Llamrei gently, amazed at the soft fibres of her mane and hair. "I've never been around a horse before."

"Well, I don't imagine people hitching a ride to the supermarket on one while we're still in the twenty-first century," Arthur teased, making Romano pout childishly while his cheeks reddened even further. "All right, let's get going," the blond announced as he placed a ramp in front of the stallion for Romano's and his steed's benefit. Then he stretched out a hand to Romano in a princely manner, smiling, and chirped, "I'll help you up." Romano took his hand cautiously and carefully while Arthur made sure that Hengroen remained steady. "Stand at the side and place your forward foot—ah, no, not that one, the one closest to his head, luv—okay, good—in the stirrup and grab onto the front of the saddle. Step up like you're walking upstairs and then swing your leg over the other side, and make sure not to bump or kick him." Once Romano was situated perfectly in the saddle, Arthur smiled and joined his lover, taking the stirrups and the reins, flushing with embarrassment as Romano grasped hold around his waist once he kicked off. His body noticeably stiffened, and he attempted to relax and calm himself at their sudden proximity.

It would be a long ride.

The forest path was damp with mud and laden with gravel and pebbles. The dense vegetation made it difficult for any light in this world that lacked light to travel through the multitudes and layers of leaves hovering over their heads. Lovino squirmed uncomfortably as he tightened his hold around Arthur, making the Briton tense once more even though he had just gotten adjusted to their position. Lovino sighed audibly, not even bothering to hide the mild frustration building up his temper, before taking it upon himself to relax the daemon. "Hey, can I ask you something?" the Italian inquired, resting his cheek against Arthur's back as his eyes shifted from tree to tree to rock to bush and repeat. He could barely distinguish the faint outlines of the scenery passing by them, and he knew it was probably a bad idea to relax even though something could possibly charge at them in any given moment. Still, he felt safe around Arthur. It can't be helped, he thought as he inhaled the Briton's scent—traces of rum and tea mixed with fresh herbs and red roses along with something uniquely Arthur.

"You just did," Arthur responded light-heartedly—or, rather, an attempt to sound light-heartedly.

"Bastard, I'm serious," Lovino snapped, breathing in more of the daemon's aromatic smell.

"Then fire away," the blond replied warmly.

"Why do you call me 'Romano'?" Lovino questioned immediately with nothing but pure curiosity. "I remember you saying something about it being the name of my soul?"

Arthur hummed, the noise buzzing in Lovino's ears, vibrating sensually, as he contemplated on how to give his answer. In the meanwhile, the Italian closed his eyes. It sounded somewhat like a purr, but not quite, he mused. It was kind of sexy. He listened to Arthur's calming voice as the Briton replied, relaxing simultaneously, "Every soul has a name that remains consistent throughout its lifetime no matter how many times it is reborn. That's why it's called a true name. It's kind of like a tracking device for the Otherside. Normally, when a person is reborn, the name they are given match with their soul, but there are exceptions—like you."

"Does that mean anything?" Lovino inquired dubiously.

"Not really," Arthur responded shortly. "Only that the person might undergo some kind of identity crisis as they mature. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Lovino snorted, opening his eyes half-heartedly, keeping them half-lidded, as he griped, "You're such a bastard. That's normal? Identity crisis? You make me sound like a damn teenager."

"Well, you're not quite an adult yet," Arthur teased, his voice growing more and more playful, "but you've showed me that you can be quite mature last night."

At that, Lovino pushed himself off Arthur in surprise, eyes wide with shock and cheeks red with fluster, as he spluttered in embarrassment, "Y-Y-You're bringing t-t-that up now?!"

"I can't forget it," Arthur confessed sheepishly. "You were wonderful; you are wonderful—absolutely brilliant. I wouldn't want anyone else."

"Just for the sex?" Lovino grumbled childishly, heart aching at the prospect.

"Not only for the sex," Arthur protested, his voice growing tender and kinder, "but also for everything there is about you. You're not afraid to argue with me even though I hold your fate in my hands. It's cute." His response didn't help ease the redness on Lovino's cheeks, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Lovino buried his face into Arthur's back as he attempted to calm his pounding heart. "Romano," Arthur addressed him suddenly in a stern voice, "don't move. Don't get off Hengroen, understand? Stay quiet." Without heeding any of Lovino's silent questions, Arthur stepped off the horse, the mud staining his white boots, as he led the stallion by the reins. The gallop quieted, and Lovino could feel his breath shortening with trepidation.

Suddenly, they were enveloped in a dome of darkness, and Arthur tightened his hold on the reins. Lovino could hear the leather of Arthur's glove squeak in the silence as fear overpowered his courage, taking possession of his heart. Instinctively, he reached out for Arthur, and upon sensing this, Arthur released his hold on the reins to grasp Lovino's hand. "Take the reins," Arthur instructed Lovino, "and when I tell you to do so, get out of here." Lovino's eyes widened, and he nearly parted his lips to argue before he met with Arthur's fierce glare. "I mean it, Romano." In his hands materialised a silver dagger sheathed in a small scabbard that he thrust into Lovino's hands. "Take this as well. Hide it immediately but in a place where you can easily wield it. Do not disobey me, Romano, do you under—?"

"It looks like I have visitors," mused a middle-aged man with a short stature and broad shoulders, cutting off Arthur's question. Immediately, Lovino hid the weapon, sliding it into his pocket as discreetly as possible. The newcomer's hair was unlike the bright shades of the Kirkland family and seemed to swallow any colour, refusing to transmit any trace of light, an inky black that matched the hollow colour of his deranged eyes. His skin was a sickly light grey, and the corners of his lips were turned upwards in a taunting grin. He donned a cloak that was probably hiding more secrets than one. "I was wondering when you would come, Nephew."

"Uncle," Arthur greeted stiffly. "Would you mind explaining a few things?"

"Aren't you a little too old to ask for my help on homework?" Patrick joked dryly. The smug grin on his lips had yet to slip from its place. "I'll humour you if that's want you want, but I can't guarantee that I will give you the correct answers."

"That's fine," Arthur responded dryly. "I just want some answers—any answer. I'll decide if they're the correct ones or not. To start, what have you done to the Gate? It is sealed, but how?"

"Dearest Arthur," he answered amusedly, "you should have known by now that the only one who can override your authority is the Emperor of the Heavens. It is his doing."

"But why?"

Patrick sighed. "I do not understand the Heavens any better than you do," he remarked brusquely before grinning, "but they must smile upon me—ironically—for they have aided me in my ventures." He pulled a sword from the air, a plain weapon that paled in comparison to what Lovino has seen Alistair and Arthur use though it was incredible in length, reaching heights taller than both the wielder and his opponent, and pointed it at Arthur. "It's no secret, you know, that I've been aiming for the throne ever since my brother-in-law's death, and then you came along and won everyone's dead little hearts over."

"What's your point?" Arthur seethed, inching closer to Lovino and Hengroen.

"You knew all along that I was going for your handsome little head," Patrick continued.

"I did, and what of it?"

"Nephew," Patrick paused to sigh, the grin on his lips faltering, "today is the day that you will descend from your throne." Again, he resumed his grin, the dark emotions more prevalent than ever before, and mused, "I shall be taking the crown for myself. I have lured you here, Nephew, for this purpose. It took me centuries to build a connection to you, and I have achieved it through a bridge named Romulus Vargas. The destruction of his estate raised questions regarding your whereabouts, which led you back to the Underworld. I've trapped you here for a purpose, and it is for this. Your good nature is not fit to rule the Underworld, Nephew, so let me relieve you of this suffering. I'll save you."

"Do you think that you can beat me? That you can best me at swordplay?" Arthur retorted, stalling for time as he backed from his uncle and closer to his steed.

"Not through fairness," Patrick confessed with a wry smirk, "but we are demons. Fairness has little meaning to us, does it now? Well, you hardly know, Nephew, since you are the definition of fairness and justice. Your good will astounds me."

Arthur gritted his teeth before smacking Hengroen's rear. "Go!" he exclaimed, flinging a ball of blue flames to the wall of black fire. The blue flames lapped at the black, creating an opening for a split second, and upon receiving his master's orders and upon sighting the exit, Hengroen pivoted on its hind legs, suspending in the air before taking off in the direction of opening. As though he had been suspecting this, Patrick countered by setting another wall to prevent Hengroen and Lovino's escape. Arthur scowled in disdain, attempting to halt Patrick's progress by summoning more flames with a snap of his fingers, encircling Patrick by a ring of blue. Undeterred, Patrick stepped past the ring of flames protected by his own. A few managed to penetrate his barrier and singe his clothing, but the dark haired Kirkland was not nearly as fazed as he ought to be.

"I wonder," Patrick mused before seemingly teleporting to Lovino's place when, in truth, he had dashed faster than the speed of light, "who this boy is, Nephew. Is he so important that you must save him? He is but a human, Nephew." Lovino froze, terrified, as Patrick reached for him and held him in place. "Oh, I see, Nephew. His flame is blue—such a rare colour in all living creatures—you're quite the collector, Nephew—but its colour is just like... Why! Just like yours! The colour of purity! It is a perfect match, Nephew! Magnificent!" Patrick grinned malevolently. "Do you know, lad?" he addressed a question to Lovino. "When two souls match in colour and intensity, it means that they are soul mates? Cute, isn't it? I'll bet my money that Arthur hasn't told you; he's such a timid little child—shy, meek, and somewhat awkward and dishonest. You can tell his is a blue flame, you know? The brightest of them all, in fact! Did you know that when a demon is born, the soul flames that have been cultivated within the womb extinguish and change to a life essence that a demon can use in battle? Life essence, you see, reflects a demon's would-be soul—how intensely it shines and how sinful it is! The darkest flame—the blackest flames—are wielded by the sinners of sinners, the Seven Demon Princes of the Underworld, but Arthur is different. His is a pure blue just like yours. Oh, by the look on your face, he hasn't told you! This is wonderful news, yes!" He pulled open his cloak, revealing a lantern holding a white flame. "It means I can trade one hostage for another and devour this soul instead. Laddie, do you recognise this flame?" He unfastened the lantern from his belt and held it to Lovino's eyes in plain sight. Staring into the white fire, Lovino heard a faint voice.

Fratello!

"Why, yes, it's your brother."

"Patrick!" Arthur roared, sending a wave of flames in their direction. Hengroen paced back while Patrick barely managed to escape the line of fire. The blue flames charred the ground, but Patrick was still undaunted. "Step away from him."

"Oh my," Patrick mused, "it looks as though you truly are taken with him. It was foolish to bring him along, but—I admit—it would have been even more dangerous to have left him in the castle. Lucifer would have him frozen to stone."

"Lucifer?" Arthur repeated sceptically.

"Ah, yes, I've sent him to preoccupy the palace," Patrick explained, "and to call you here to me." The Duke opened the side door of the lantern's body with his left hand and held the white flame near his lips to be devoured. Lovino could hear it cry louder and louder, Fratello! Fratello! Please help me, Fratello! as tears formed in his eyes. Dammit! How was he this useless?!

A spherical flame of blue burned Patrick's hand, causing him to hiss in pain and release the white flame. Immediately, the white flame took to the atmosphere, burning its way through the black flames, vanquishing from sight. Patrick narrowed his eyes at his nephew, whose fingertips were glowing with blue flames.

"Why don't you try that again?" Arthur dared vehemently. "Maybe your entire hand will be severed from the rest of your body."

"Be that as it might," Patrick returned with a wry smile, "but you are surrounded by my sinner's pride." The raven haired Kirkland gestured around them, his smile growing more and more manic and maniac within mere moments. "It could engulf you any moment, Nephew, and burn you to ashes if you're a split second too slow to defend yourself—or your soul mate here." As Arthur grounded his teeth, clenching his jaw and curling his fingers into tightly packed fists, Patrick chuckled and mused, "I do wonder how you'll get out of this one, Nephew. Strong though you might be, your father is still stronger than you even beyond the grave. You cannot best his legend, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot—or was it Britannia? Well, it matters little since you are now merely Arthur Kirkland—no legend at all. Just a substitute king occupying a throne that does not belong to you. It will never belong to you. You are more of a puppet than the humans that I've controlled beyond the Surface World!"