This chapter is the first chapter in the actual story. The events in this chapter are not a direct continuation of the prologue, so you should view it more as a fresh start.

The events in the prologue will weave themselves into the story eventually (Cato's part from the prologue is directly followed up upon, as will become apparent).


Chapter 1

Cato

The day was grey despite it being early spring, and Cato struggled to get out of bed. The covers were soft and warm and the outside world cold and uninviting. His arm throbbed where Perseus had managed to get in a blind strike, and he felt nauseous. A knocking on the front door of his office was what eventually forced him out, putting on some almost clean clothes as the knocking periodically resumed. He should've closed up the office – hadn't he done that?

What greeted him at the door was not a typical customer, but not too far off from one either. His beard was messy and unkempt, and his hair bleached in the front, giving him a weird light-dark look that surely served as a powerful deterrent to the opposite sex. There was also a faint odor of, well, something, that lingered around him in the unlikely case that the hair wasn't off-putting enough.

Cato made some tea while his prospective client got comfortable. The tea tradition of the country was remarkable, Cato thought. Aldmeri customs demanded that a guest receive a fruit, or at the very least something sweet, and the guest would then be judged on the way that they ate the food – if the guest failed to live up to the expected table manners of the host, they would lose face. In the Empire back home, the common courtesy was to give bread and water or beer, and in Skyrim, it was either a fist to the face or a flagon of mead, oftentimes both. Tea seemed much more civilized. There was a refined procedure to it in much the same way as the Aldmeri tradition, but it came without the incessant snobbery that accompanied the high elves. As the grassy scent of the tea filled his nostrils, his head cleared up, and before long he felt like a real human being again. As human as he ever felt, at any rate.

"So, what was your name again; sorry, I've been a little slow today," Cato started.

"Slow, is it. There's no need to worry, I have yet to introduce myself. I am Azazel of the Fallen, as you may already know."

Cato didn't, in fact, know, and it seemed a rather odd thing to call oneself. Quite obviously it was bait to test him for something. But, as Cato had no idea what the man was fishing for, playing the ignorance card was both the best and the only course of action. Azazel was trying to give away tidbits of information to gauge Cato's reactions. A bold game. Baiting always came with its risks, after all, but there was something dangerous about the man that made Cato certain that his customer could manage those risks.

"Quite the odd name, isn't it? And I'm afraid I haven't heard of 'Fallen'. It sounds more like a secret society than a company. Oh, no offence."

"None taken," Azazel smiled. "You would be somewhat correct in your assumption. The Fallen is what we call ourselves, and we're… delinquents, I suppose. A group of delinquents that banded together, more or less."

"Like the Yakuza then," Cato said. Azazel certainly looked the type. Delinquents perhaps suggested that Fallen referred to their place in the world. It was nothing new that people who were misplaced in society banded together, but Cato's instinct told him there was more to it than that.

Azazel guffawed at the comparison. "No, no, well yes," his expression suddenly turned serious. "I suppose we are a little like the Yakuza. It's an apt comparison now that I think about it, especially with the request that I'm here to make of you. You see, we're not a criminal group, but we take our fraternity very seriously. If someone was to leave us and, say, break the rules, then we would have to do something, don't you think?"

"… but you're not Yakuza," Cato sounded skeptical.

"It just so happens," Azazel continued without a hitch. "That one of my brothers has fallen even further from grace, taking several promising young prospects with him in order to do something. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm certain that it won't be good."

Cato stroked his chin. "So, you want me to find your brother?"

"Precisely. Though, as you might imagine, it's not as simple as that."

"Naturally."

"The one I want you to find already knows that I'm looking for him, and he's evaded any attempts that," Azazel gestured animatedly with his hands as he said the next words. "The Fallen have tried. Of course, he knows us and thus also knows how to avoid us, but he doesn't know you. I believe I mentioned that he took some of our members with him when he left?"

The way Azazel kept stressing some words seemed odd, like he was in on some joke that Cato didn't get. "You did."

"If you can find them, then that will be enough for our contract."

"And what contract is that exactly?" Cato frowned. It was a strange request. He officially specialized in missing persons, but usually that involved a kidnapped child, someone lost in an accident, or occasionally someone living a double life, certainly nothing like a barely legal organization looking for one of its runaway lambs.

"Contract, indeed. Truth be told, I don't expect you to find him, so I will be compensating you for the work that you put in periodically, even if your search yields no result."

Now that was a new one. The idea of being paid without providing a commodity was unimaginable. No one gave money for effort alone, doing so was madness.

"The only thing I ask is that you concentrate your efforts on finding him or his associates. Any other case you're working on should be suspended in favor of looking for Kokabiel. I will be in touch regularly to hear about any developments, but it might be a lengthy affair."

No one in their right mind requested something and promised payment regardless of whether they got it or not. So, what did Azazel get out of making Cato search for a phantom?

The mystery individual could be skittish, perhaps, and the added pressure of Cato searching for him might disrupt his actions. In that scenario, Azazel was asking him to be a distraction, and the very idea sickened him.

There was another far more worrying possibility. Cato's wounded arm throbbed as he considered it. He had made sure to keep his machinations entirely invisible so far, but his encounter with Perseus was the exception to that, a spur of the moment decision that might have been a blunder. There was no way that he was watched during or after the fact, but his relation to the child disappearance case that Perseus had come to investigate could've been a clue to anyone affiliated with the hero. I should have left the case alone after realizing it was unrelated. Perhaps Azazel and his Fallen were involved with the so-called Ophis? If that was the case, Azazel had no way to know how or even if Cato was involved in Perseus's disappearance, and that would explain why he fished for information so profusely.

The mystery individual that Azazel wanted Cato to search for might not even exist, a wild goose chase.

There was, as so often, only one way to find out.

"What can you tell me about this missing person, or of these associates."

Azazel smiled in much the same way that an elder might smile at a child. "I take it that you're interested then. I believe they will be in Kuoh soon enough, though their current whereabouts could be anywhere in the world."

Cato scoffed. "Anywhere in the world? You're hiring a private investigator when you should be hiring an entire intelligence agency, or perhaps a wizard."

"But then," Azazel's smile gained a twisted edge. "I hear some people have taken to calling you a magician, isn't that right?"

Cato frowned. There was no such 'magician' rumor about. How much did this Azazel know? "I can find someone within the confounds of Kuoh, or at least within this general area. To find someone anywhere in the world would take more than an investigators tricks, whether you choose to call them magic or not. And what's this about them converging in Kuoh at some point? Do you know when, and what's so special about Kuoh town?"

"I suppose I should've expected an investigator to be as perceptive as you are; yes, there's something special in Kuoh town, though I'm sure you would've already guessed it."

There was an obvious reason available to answer that question, and it lent credence to the distraction theory. "You're here."

"Correct. And as for when they will converge, as you put it, I don't know. That's why I'm asking you to focus solely on this task for the foreseeable future, and also why I'm willing to compensate you equivalent to double the money you would normally earn in such time."

It was a perfect excuse, Cato realized. Either Azazel was telling the truth, or he had fabricated a story that both piqued Cato's curiosity and any potential avarice, or…

If he had to suspend any ongoing investigations for the sake of 'focusing solely on the task at hand', Azazel could simply want him off any of his two long term cases. By forcing Cato away from all his other investigations, Azazel got him off his tail. The man sitting across from Cato could well be the culprit behind all those disappearances, a monster.

Cato looked up.

"I accept."

The monster smiled brightly.

"Here, this folder has the information I deemed necessary. Should you need anything else, feel free to contact me." Cato opened the folder. There were a few paragraphs of general information about his habits, the nature of his associates, and even a danger level, but what caught Cato's eye was the sketch, though it was a shame to call it such. Captured beautifully in its lines was an androgynous man, flawless alabaster skin lined by straightened, black hair. An otherworldly beauty. But the beauty of the portrait was sullied by the expression and by the eyes. Black eyes that looked down on you, an expression of unrestrained disgust.

"This here your work," Cato gestured to the sketch.

Azazel nodded.

"Impressive. Looks like a real psycho."

Azazel didn't seem insulted in the least. Then again, as the artist responsible for the sketch, and with the skill employed in the drawing of it, the effect was certainly intentional.

"His name is Kokabiel. He was formerly one of the highest-ranked of the Fallen. He is dangerous."

Cato only nodded. He sure looked dangerous.


Cato cast yet another potent healing spell. For just a moment, the pain was gone, but as fast as the magic glow faded, so returned the pain. It was a cruel wound that Perseus had given him, but one that might yet turn into a boon. A blade whose wounds were uncurable by magic, useful if he could harness it. Morning grogginess was something he was used to now, but at least the wound was healing naturally.

He had arrived in Kuoh a little over a year prior. Even without a prophecy to guide him, it was obvious to anyone with magical talent that the city was an anomaly. Ignoring the few hiccups, though, it was a stable anomaly.

That was all changing now. The scroll looked mundane enough as it lay in his lap, belying what he had seen within. What troubled him now, however, were the things he hadn't seen. The noon sun shone brightly over Kuoh. From the window in his office, he could see people walking around during their lunch break, looking about as happy as they ever did on weekdays. He wondered how many of them would be alive one month down the line.

Barakiel, Azazel, Kokabiel. The names sounded eerily similar, as if they were taken from the same context, but it would be strange for Akeno's father to have anything to do with Azazel and the murderous-looking Kokabiel. She was one of the strange high-schoolers that stalked the night, but an orphan like her had every right to be out there spiting the system. He felt a tinge of worry for the young girl at the thought. If there was a connection, that meant he wouldn't be breaking the terms of Azazel's contract by continuing to look for Barakiel as a potential lead in the case.

He walked downstairs to his workshop. The lighting in this room was less pleasant than the sun outside. In the center of the room lay a black, starshaped gem with an ever so gentle sheen, the defiled Azura's star, powering the two wards that made up the defense system of the workshop. If anyone entered, they might think it the greatest treasure there, put on a pedestal as it was. The next thing to catch the eye would be the selection of weapons on two of the walls. Their power notwithstanding, they served as little more than a distraction. The manacles fastened to the other wall, oddly the safest place to be, gave the workshop something of an ominous feel, though Cato reasoned that it was a far cry from the vampire strongholds he had cleared out in his youth.

The scrolls in the corner furthest from the manacles wouldn't be spared a glance except perhaps by the most observant of intruders. He put the one he had with him down with the others and sat in the only chair in the workshop, giving an exasperated sigh as he did so. There had been too many curveballs recently. The Elder Scrolls had told him nothing of Azazel or any of the other boisterous fellows in the city, and he had yet to see any dragon. He had to trust his instincts, and his instincts told him that all of them were important pieces playing their part rather than background noise.

It was dangerous to rely too much on the artefacts, he had to know what was going on firsthand.

He had spent a year already and knew too little of the characters that he shared a city with and nothing at all about this new threat, Kokabiel, if the mad-eyed villain was even real. Wasn't he just repeating the same mistakes over and over again, telling himself that his passiveness was patience, fully believing that the prophecy alone was enough to assure his part in his destiny?

He had to take an active role somehow, and the easiest way was to follow the information given to him by Azazel. Working for clients up until now had been different. It was like the good old days when he was just running around adventuring without a care in the world, even as the threat of Alduin loomed over him, over them all. Those good old days had ended for a reason.

Work on the missing children would have to wait. If Azazel was the culprit and had somehow noticed Cato's looking into it, that would be a matter for a later time.

There was also the issue of whether Kokabiel existed at all. It was worth noting that it was a sketch he was given, not a photograph.

There was just something wrong about the whole thing. Azazel hadn't seemed threatening in the least during their conversation; on the contrary, he was amicable and joking, if a little condescending, in his demeanor, as if he was unconcerned with the whole thing.

Cato rubbed his temples, eventually deciding to violently ruffle his hair in order to clear his mind, even as his injured arm protested the motion.

His gaze wandered around the workshop, stopping on random items in there. A staff, a scroll, a tome, and a ring. Even the ink used in the magic circle on the floor had a story behind it. Staring at his things wouldn't get him any closer, though, so he went out into the night in search of, well, something.

Cato sighed deeply into the night. His breath condensed in front of him, the nights were still cold even as the days grew warmer and too humid to bear. What he was doing amounted to stalking through the night without any purpose, like some malignant spirit unsure of who to haunt. He told himself that it was better than sitting around as he had for too long, but he had nothing to show for it. Six nights it had been like this. The only good thing about those nights was that his arm had stopped throbbing all the damned time. In the end, the wound had been irrelevant. It had worn more at his patience than at his life.

It was too much to hope for that he would just stumble upon a lead in the black of night as he had with Perseus. Nonetheless, that was exactly what he was doing.

"Not even a dragon to pass the time," he muttered to himself, breathing into his hands to warm them. "Laas Yah Niir," barely a whisper in the night, words of power to discern the presence and intent of all living things within his range. His mind's eye lit up with life signatures, sensing each of them as they moved or loved or slept. The cold structures around him came to life, but as had been the case every other time he used the words of power that night and the nights that went before, there was nothing extraordinary going on in the area.

The next area was near the old church in Kuoh city. It was a time-worn thing, decayed mostly through decades, perhaps even centuries, of disuse. Kuoh was not a town that worshipped the Christian god, almighty as his followers claimed him to be. The old church had been the only place that had some suspicious activity, though Cato couldn't tell whether that was simply the religious rituals that seemed out of the ordinary, or if something was really going on. There, he erred on the side of caution, thinking it better to try and find his prey out in the open than break into a den that might well be unrelated, thus blowing his advantage of stealth and secrecy. Charging headfirst into an enemy stronghold was an idea he would earnestly consider in his youth.

When first he'd walked these streets, he was enraptured by the beauty of the city. The buildings were sophisticated, their lines were clean, and finding imperfections in the placement of the bricks was all but impossible. It was a strange sort of mass-produced elegance, and the luxury that each of these homes provided was greater than even the most ostentatious of palaces back in Tamriel.

Warm in the winter, and cooled by air conditioners in the warm, humid summers. Instead of embracing nature and its difficulties like they did in Skyrim, the people of Japan had decided to simply conquer nature through technology.

It was similar to how dragons lived, really, bending reality to their will rather than adapt. It was a fragile way to live if one was ever faced with an enemy that would not bend. And indeed, nature sometimes overpowered these people with its earthquakes and tsunamis, but for the most part, they lived in luxury that should have given them greater happiness than what they showed.

It wasn't an unstoppable force of nature running down the street toward him, though. No, the man running toward Cato, oozing sadistic cruelty, was prey. He spotted Cato but kept running straight ahead. As he neared Cato, he lifted a small baton-like thing, and in a burst, it projected a sword of light. The blow came down on Cato just as they were to pass each other. It was a raging thing. No technique, just a slash to kill for no reason other than proximity.

"Fuck those shitty devils!"

"Zun."

The man stumbled, the flashlight-sword clattering on the ground, its light extinguished.

"What the f-"

Cato slammed his fist into the man's abdomen sending spittle flying out of his mouth all over Cato's shoulder. The man tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath but somehow still cursing.

He was dressed in a suit under an overcoat with a large cross dangling from his neck. Framed by dull blonde hair hanging loosely were a pair of mad eyes, mad in the way of Alduin rather than Sheogorath, a perverse madness akin to that shown in the sketch of Kokabiel. Is this becoming a theme?

"Are you one of the Fallen?" Cato bent down and grabbed hold of the man.

The man only spit at him, cursing him and the devils and even the world. It didn't matter. He would answer in time. A strange light with a tiny core lit up within the palm of Cato's hand. A spell, paralyze, from the School of Alteration. It wouldn't give him his answers, but all in due time. A hunter must be patient.

Cato carried the man all the way back to his office, then down into the basement. The man's eyes went wide, perhaps in wonder, at everything down there. Cato chained the man to the wall at one end. He would have a good view of all the artefacts and secrets that Cato kept there, but Cato felt not a hint of worry. None who saw it would leave to tell the tale. After chaining the man, Cato put the strange flashlight-sword in one end, and then left to make a cup of tea. Only after returning with said cup did he undo the spell.

"What the hell is this place?"

Cato sniffed his tea, taking in its floral fragrance, and took a sip. "It all depends on your perspective, really."

"Fuck you, who are you anyway? You're not a shitty devil, I can tell, and you're not a Fallen either."

A fallen. "I am Cato."

"What?"

Cato put down his cup next to the flashlight-sword. "Now, tell me, what is your name."

"Free- no, fuck off. I'm not telling you shit."

"There are two ways we can do this," Cato started. "More than two ways, in fact, but at the very least you can introduce yourself before I break you."

The man's eyes widened at that before he started struggling wildly against the chains, cursing and swearing and struggling in vain. The chains would never give; they were made strong enough to hold even Cato.

"Now, what is your name," Cato said again, this time empowering his voice, giving it a mild resonance.

"Fuck, damn it. It's Freed. My name is Freed," he took a breath, calming himself. "Freed Sellzen."

"Are you with the Fallen?"

"Yes, yes I am. F-"

"Are you a member of the Fallen?" Cato asked, revising his question to find out if his suspicion from earlier was true.

"Member? I'm with them. I'm obviously not a Fallen angel, can't you tell? I'm human, I'm from the church, I kill shitty devils and heretics," his face took on a wicked smile at the last part.

Fallen angels. Of course, an oversight. Cato didn't know much about angels, though he had heard about them in passing. Them being a species changed things drastically. Azazel had framed them as though they were a cohesive unit, a group not unlike the Yakuza that viewed those of a different mind from them as traitors or dangerous, and it had thrown him off. Azazel also claimed to be their leader. Could a single man be the leader of an entire species?

"Why did you attack me?"

Freed's smile vanished and the color drained from his face. "Shit, I did attack you didn't I. Fuck me," he looked around again, taking in all the artefacts in the room. "Fuck. I just lashed out, you know. The shitty devils really pissed me off."

"Who are these shitty devils," Cato asked. "Were you running away from them?"

"What, you don't know? Damn. What did you do to me; I can't think straight. They're the whores from that school, the devils."

The school would have to be Kuoh Academy, the same one that Akeno went to. Exactly what Freed meant by devils was hard to say, it could be another race like the Fallen, but it would take some more questioning to get to that point. Freed was sweating hard. One can only resist the voice of a dragon for so long. Now…

"Who is Kokabiel?"