Acheron was not stupid. Far from it, actually. This purple mist that had spread among them was neither natural nor harmless. Any sane man would have understood that a supernatural force was behind this plague. Unfortunately, there were few sane men among the Rakurians, especially now that they were all being eaten alive by the Fury virus, and doomed to near certain death. With doctors themselves infected, there was little hope of survival for the seven hundred or so remaining warriors after the battle. He himself doubted his own survival. His father, Oxiderr and Irodim would probably survive because of their natural robustness, but he was the most fragile in the family, if not of the whole Rakuria... Moreover, the virus was extremely contagious and volatile; even if the Stygian Zinogre got away with it, there was nothing to prevent him from contracting the Fury a second time. And who knows if he would be able to face it again...

This virus ... He knew where he had heard of such a plague. A huge Rathien manuscript, he remembered. A massive book that must have weighed ten kilos, with a purple and gold cover... It dealt with the origin of the legends about the Rathien hero, "Gamala, the Misery Spreader".

According to the author, his wrath was manifested by the appearance of a putrid plague-like wind, driving the inhaler mad, and in most cases killing him. Obviously, such a state was not conducive to warfare. The manuscript explained that Gamala intervened in cases of outrage, when honor, especially that of a Rathien, was harmed. For Acheron, there was no doubt that this mist was the work of the Misery Spreader, in retaliation for a serious offense committed by a Rakurian.

Two days after this unfortunate incident, Rakurai ordered a retreat. The camp was reeking of disease and death, and there was no longer any place to bury the many dead.

"The entire regiment will be killed if we don't back down," the emperor had snarled when Generals Blizzard and Asterion had called for his summons.

"We need fresh, new, vigorous blood. We are retreating to Voltarr," he said.

The day before the departure, Akalash made a marked appearance at the camp, and spoke with the emperor. As it was customary for sons to take part in all meetings, including the most important ones, Acheron had the opportunity to see the Rakurian hero again. The steel dragon was as majestic as he remembered. Despite his eternal air of superiority, he was imbued with great wisdom, and weighed his words with a deep and steady voice.

He had come to announce that once the blood of the emperor had paid for the outrage he had committed, he would agree to help him. This one, at the same time very delighted by this news, and irritated by this delay of decision, allowed himself to criticize between two coughs his attitude. The hero replied with composure that he could not interfere with the divine judgment that was the sudden appearance of this plague, and that he had to wait until the scales of Justice tipped in their favor before intervening. He also argued that the fact that the emperor's blood was responsible for this event did not help them to be in the right. Rakurai, who had gone mad, roared that he was more than tired of hearing the same accusation word for word, and that he would rather have the hypocrites who were repeating it point out the culprit to be punished. Akalash had answered in a tone as stoically cold as ever that he was blind, and was living in the illusion if he was unable to recognize the culprit.

There was then a blank during which everyone froze, including the emperor, who was about to break another silver cup full of mead.

Rakurai, weakened by the Fury, although he was in better shape than his soldiers, did not insist further, sat down, and then thanked the Steel Warrior before dismissing him. "We are going back to Voltarr," he said again, once the dragon had disappeared. "We will leave at dawn. Pass it on," the emperor added to the generals.

The return journey was arduous and complicated. All of them harbored a deep, unfulfilled grudge and a terrible despair. As they got closer to Voltarr and its snowy lands, the warriors fell, succumbing to both the effects of the virus and of extenuation. Acheron was inwardly horrified at the way they collapsed, spasms running through them, a dark purulent mixture dripping from between their fangs. It went without saying that these unfortunates would never get the privilege of a grave, and were left rotting in the open air, despite the valiant warriors they once were. The Stygian Zinogre felt drained of all his will and energy, but continued to follow his father and brothers with all he had left. It was getting worse every day, as his skin grew darker and darker, and he frequently coughed up the dark mucus that engulfed his lungs. Still, he considered himself lucky, for he was not yet feeling the effects of the advanced stage of the virus, madness. Most warriors died of lung failure, but others were found dead in the early hours of the morning after smashing their skulls against rocks. No one had yet fully recovered from the disease, but his brothers seemed to be the healthiest, while his father seemed less affected than most of the regiment. That left him, who even without uttering a word, even if only to complain, seemed to be the weakest in the entire army. Asterion passed by him without ever seeing him, Blizzard had always more or less ignored him, and the other soldiers did not give him any attention.

So he kept walking, one step after the other, mechanically, without ever opening his mouth, just staring at the ground that was slowly passing under his large claws. His only consolation was the fact his position in the ranks spared him Oxiderr's insults and Irodim's crude words. Since his walk did not require a particularly demanding mental effort, he spent much of the return journey reflecting on the outrage that had earned them this punishment. Since it was the "blood" of the emperor, it meant that the culprit belonged to the imperial family. By elimination, it was neither him nor his father, given his reaction to Akalash's announcement. That left Irodim and Oxiderr. It was true that Irodim could very well be responsible, but Acheron strongly doubted it. The ounce of innocence that remained in him would not make him go so far in cruelty. Moreover, he was only Oxiderr's toy, who manipulated him as he pleased. Acheron therefore inevitably deduced that it was Oxiderr who should pay personally.

However, this conclusion frightened him, because his hands were tied. He would never have the courage to confront his older brother directly, who would be able to tear him apart without any remorse. So he had to call on outside help. The best choice was his father, but his father would not help him. Rakurai is certainly aware of Acheron's unhappiness, but he would never consider one of his sons as a troublemaker. Sometimes Acheron was even afraid for his father. Oxiderr was such a vile being... The Stygian Zinogre couldn't even tell if he had limits, in the realm of horror and treachery.

This is where he stood. Oxiderr was guilty (and he didn't want to know the details of his sin), and he found himself unable to reveal it. And finally, even if he succeeded, what would become of the Roaring Zinogre? The people, in their despair, would develop a strong animosity towards him, and Rakurai might have to judge his son severely to appease this discontent... This would be something the emperor would not take on, no doubt...

"And let us imagine that it is not Oxiderr, it would be a disaster! By the two Chimeras, this is a devilishly complex situation ... Which will remain at a standstill ... " thought Acheron, demoralized.

The last day of walking was the least difficult, contrary to Acheron's predictions. The disease seemed to loosen its grip, and even seemed to begin to fade. His cough had subsided, and his scales were not as purple as before. This made him very happy, for he was regaining his faith in his chances of survival, where his fellow soldiers had all perished, and this joy inside him almost prevented him from thinking about his aching paws. Shortly before sunset, the army had reached Voltarr, and after Rakurai had given Asterion and Blizzard his instructions, the imperial family had returned to the palace. Acheron was quick to collapse in front of the large main fireplace, on the emerald carpet embroidered with gold, to rest his claws numbed by the walk and the cold. Naturally, he fell asleep like a stone.

He had a strange dream, where he saw his mother, that sweet Stygian Zinogre like him, keeping all three of them warm, in front of the same hearth one winter evening. Their father was also at their side and was looking at them with a tender glance. Suddenly, it looked like Oxiderr was haloed in dark purple and was brandishing a threatening claw towards his mother. He was no longer a pup, but the Oxiderr he knew. Rakurai roared, and his mother screamed in terror. Rakurai froze, unable to react, while Oxiderr was about to bring his claws down on their mother. Acheron wanted to scream. He could not. Then, without even knowing how, he found himself between Oxiderr and his mother, ready to defend her. Oxiderr leaped at him, all fangs out, and pushed him violently to the side. Rakurai suddenly reacted, rushing to stop his mad son, but Oxiderr intercepted him so easily that it was frightening, tackling him to the ground. He then raised his bloody clawed paw, uttering a crazy howl...

"No! he wanted to scream, but the scream remained mute in his blocked throat."

He woke up in panic in a pool of sweat. It took the Stygian Zinogre several minutes to regain his composure and forget the nightmarish images his imagination had shown him.

"A dream... Nothing but a bad dream…"

Acheron noticed that night had long since fallen, and wisely decided to return to his room, even though he didn't feel like falling asleep again. He left the room with a pinch of apprehension.

He paced the palace as quietly as possible, suspecting that the whole family would be fast asleep by now. The moon was shining brightly outside in the polar night, and he was glad to be back in a warm place. Suddenly, at the bend in a corridor, he heard a heavy, close breathing.

"Who could be still up at this hour?" he thought.

The shadow cast by its possessor was frightening, but familiar. That is, if Acheron could call the individual 'familiar'.

The prowler's pointed snout finally appeared, and his moon-gray face was illuminated by a similar ray of light. Oxiderr's evil gaze pierced Acheron, who held back from shaking. This was his brother. And yet, he was still so afraid of him.

"What are you still doing here at this hour?" his older brother almost barked, his fangs exposed and gleaming in the night light.

The Stygian Zinogre hesitated to answer.

"I... fell asleep in the living room. I just woke up... " he said, lowering his eyes.

"Tss, what a pathetic behavior, for one of the emperor's sons…" he snarled.

Acheron felt himself boiling despite his fear.

"And you?" he growled. "What are you still doing awake in the middle of the night? I guess you didn't doze off somewhere, so what were you doing? Some shady things again uh?"

The elder's pupils narrowed in anger, despite the darkness in which he was standing. The next thing he knew, Acheron was pinned to the wall, Oxiderr's threatening grip on his throat.

"Mind your own business, you damn runt! Unlike you, I didn't wallow like a larva as soon as I entered the palace!"

Acheron was already beginning to suffocate, and was trying to dig his claws into the paw of his attacker. In vain, because his armor was much thicker than his own.

"And don't talk to me with this false bravery: you have nothing brave in you, miserable coward", he spat before releasing him, the thin body of Acheron falling like a rag doll on the ground.

He passed him while muttering in a low voice some depreciative qualifiers. The Stygian Zinogre struggled to catch his breath as he massaged his sore neck, tears in his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream that he was the cause of the Rakurian misfortune. He wanted to roar in his face that he was the darkest jerk, but he convinced himself that only the silence of the night prevented him from doing so.

"Why? Why is he so crazily bad? Why does he seem so dangerous to me? How can I prove to my father that he is guilty?"

He stood up slowly, glaring in the direction where Oxiderr had disappeared.

"And why do I have this feeling that he will lead us all to our doom?"