The realm of Vhaayn
Once the whole world had been theirs. Now...the only place of residence the Divine race possessed was this hellscape.
It wasn't quite an oblivion though, for it did possess an ethereal beauty all of its own. But compared to home, Haniel mused, it might as well have been.
Oh how he longed for it. He longed for the sea, for the ancient trees, the great ash plains, and the gargantuan mountain ranges that soared some leagues into the blue sky.
Every single one of his people felt the same way, even the generations born in this...place.
But right now, it was another crime committed by the Vooren, that truly incensed the Sovereign's right hand.
His enforcer.
His Fist.
What made the man's blood boil was the thought of an old friend being butchered by an inferior and weak race. A race fit only for subjugation.
The Vooren, or Humanity as they called themselves.
Though they were a warlike people, quite similar to his own in some respects, their strength was pitiful. They were weak beyond imagination. And a warrior race such as the Divine, had no respect for weakness.
The ground on which Haniel walked, clad in black armour and coat, unmade itself upon contact with his wall of light. Bits of stone hovered in the air for a few seconds, suspended by flickering orange energy, before falling back down. Along the grey cobbled road, flanked by five hundred dark blue cloaked Royal Guard, Haniel strode towards the council chamber, his red eyes narrowed in frustration. Strange winds caused his shoulder length white hair to fling strands into his stormy face.
Said face terrified every single guardsman on duty, for this individual had great sway with he whom they served.
The mighty Sovereign. The Lord of Ash.
And it was thoughts of the one who sat upon the shrouded in shadow throne, that truly depressed Haniel.
As if his Lord hadn't suffered enough pain of late. Now, the ruler of the Divine would learn that his eldest son was dead.
A noble death to be sure, dying in combat was a dignified way to depart this world. But still, to know that one's own son had perished in battle would be...a bitter pill to swallow.
As he reached the huge brass gates behind which stood the Royal council chamber, the sudden sound of double pointed lances clanging as they blocked his path, caught the Fist of the Sovereign's eyes and ears.
"Forgive me, sir. The council is in session and is not to be disturbed." The Guardsman raised his left hand in both salute and caution. Unseasoned red eyes could be seen behind that mask of bone, causing Haniel to chuckle quietly.
Ah to be young. To not remember the calamity or the morning slaughter must be a great thing indeed. Clearly however, you do not understand that, his Lordship makes a few exceptions for me...
"I understand this guardsman, but this is a matter of urgency. I need to speak to, his Lordship immediately." Haniel pressed, knowing how wrathful his friend and master could be when news was kept from him.
The guardsman looked thoughtful for a moment before withdrawing his lance from Haniel's path.
"Wait here, sir." He bowed his head and briskly walked the few metres to the doors, before knocking on them. They swung open inwardly, and the guardsman hurried through, the doors closing behind him.
After a short time of standing around, whilst the other guardsman shifted uncomfortably in the Fist's presence, the younger elite Divine soldier returned with all due haste.
"Forgive me, sir. His Lordship has made it very clear that you are never to be stopped or delayed again. The doors have been left open for you." He and his comrade bowed in embarrassment, as Haniel dismissively waved his hand.
"Think nothing of it, guardsmen, just don't get in my way again." They parted, and the Fist of the Sovereign strode forth into the Royal council chamber.
To call the chamber impressive would be an understatement. Vast white columns with great banners draping down their sides, flanked the volcanic black walls of the room, held up a ceiling of dark blue with many bright dots on it.
The Old Realm's night sky.
The one hundred bronze thrones which made up the Minor Lord's seating positions were proudly aligned along a long stretch of red carpet with a white fur trimming, upon a floor of obsidian.
At the head of the carpet stood a horizontal line of silver thrones, seventeen in total. And behind them, upon a great flight of obsidian stairs, sat a throne of the same material.
Shrouded in shadow.
If this were a less depressing scenario, Haniel might have smiled with amusement at his old friend's addiction to theatrics.
But not today.
Every single seat in the chamber was occupied, save for the silver one on the far left.
This stood silently vacant. Never to be occupied again.
The ones seated on the silver thrones felt their blood run cold as the Fist approached, all having somewhat feared this man since youth. But what truly got to them, was his more than usual stormy expression.
A few feet before them, he went down on one knee and stared into the ground.
"Hail my Sovereign, Lord of Ash." He said in a guarded tone.
"Haniel, speak, old friend." The one on the black throne rumbled.
The Fist had to muster his courage for this, having stood witness to his master's rage on many occasions.
"My Lord...Heir Sachiel has fallen."
Many sharp intakes of breath along with a great deal of mutterings echoed throughout the chamber. Many of them were ones of disbelief, others of despair.
But the Heirs' reactions were ones of grief.
Some gaped, such as Ramiel and Leliel.
Others like Shamshel and Rogziel snarled with anger.
And the softer ones like Bardiel and Armisael simply broke down in tears.
However, Arael being Arael didn't bat an eye, for the wretch didn't much care for anything except his own enjoyment.
"It's not true...tell me it's not true." The youngest, Heir Tabris, forced through choked sobbing. It pained Haniel to see the boy cry, for the young Heir had never properly experienced loss before.
And considering his soft nature, he was not deserving of such pain.
"I'm afraid it is, my Heir." Haniel remained in a kneeling position.
The sudden scraping of armour against a black throne caused the entire chamber, save for the noises of grief, to fall silent.
Heavy footsteps echoed as the Lord of Ash descended his throne's stairs, the greater amount of light at the bottom of them showing his features to all the world.
The Sovereign's long grey hair, along with charred black cape, fluttered from the sheer amount of energy he produced simply by existing, as his white armour and chain mail clanked with every footstep.
He stopped in front of his children's thrones, his somewhat thirty-ish looking, sharp, pale face and red eyes having narrowed into a look of slight dissatisfaction.
"How?" He put forward in a highly controlled tone. However, the Fist knew full well the screaming rage his Sovereign was holding back could well atomise everything within a league.
"It would seem the, Vooren have built a contraption to fight us with, my Lord. It possesses great strength and speed, along with an immensely powerful wall of light. Stronger than all present in this room save for your children and yourself." Haniel gulped as the Sovereign gripped his sword hilt with every ounce of his strength.
Lesser weapons would have been crushed by such power.
But not Kaingrik.
"This is a...surprising turn of events. But it matters not. This is a setback...and nothing more." The master of the Divine exhaled deeply through his nose before setting his gaze upon his subordinates.
"My son is dead. His blood has been spilled by unworthy hands. I assure you, however this is a result of nothing but luck. So what if the enemy has merely bought itself another week of existence? We will shatter their civilisation, force them on their knees, and make them beg for forgiveness. Forgiveness for usurping that which is rightfully ours." He swirled around, turning his gaze upon the next in line from the empty throne.
"Shamshel, you will depart for the Old Realm within the week. Just this once...show no mercy." Were he not one who could control his expressions, the Sovereign would have grimaced at Shamshel's sadistic smile.
"As you wish father. I will send my brother's killer to hell screaming!" The now eldest in line to the throne snarled, whilst the one who sat next to him, his sister Ramiel, quietly shook her head and sighed without drawing attention to herself.
Honestly brother, your boasting will be the end of you one day.
The Minor Lords roared their approval to Shamshel's declaration, before the Sovereign raised his hand and hush descended upon the meeting once again.
"That'll be enough for today. All of you, leave. I have business to discuss with my Fist."
There was a cacophony of armour scraping against metal, as all present save for Haniel stood.
"Hail Sovereign Netzach! Lord of Ash, Lord of the Divine!" After the salute and customary bowing of heads, all present left the room. Now the Sovereign and his Fist had peace and quiet for their coming conversation.
"Rise."
Haniel did as he was commanded. Standing up to full height, he was still much shorter than his master.
At seven feet tall, Haniel would have towered over any human. And yet compared to his master, who was a further two feet taller than him, he seemed tiny.
The Divine in question stared at the throne upon which his son would never sit again with a hint of grief in his eyes.
"I should have dealt with this myself."
"No, my Lord. We still do not have much of an idea of what awaits us there, and we cannot afford to lose you..." Haniel said this without a hint of glorification or flattery.
He truly meant it.
And he was right.
"Tell that to those who remember the time before the Calamity. They still call me the Dark Lord behind my back."
"They are fools and they will learn. Because of you, my Lord, and only you, does our race survive."
"I could only save a million out of two billion. And after the work of the Vooren, there is but one hundred thousand of us left..." Netzach's gaze never left the empty throne.
Now his fist clenched.
"I couldn't even save her..."
"Yechel's death was not of your doing, my Lord. She made her choice, and you know it." Haniel said softly. The Royal advisor's wisdom was desperately needed by all. And, as fate was cruel, they wouldn't be getting it.
Netzach slowly exhaled as he straightened his posture.
"You are right my friend, as usual. The dead live in the past, I must focus on securing the future." He turned to face his Fist, purposefully swirling his cape through the air as even in a sombre state of mind, the Sovereign was always theatrical.
As was fitting of a people and culture who valued power and showing it off almost above all else.
"In your ventures to the Earth over the past seventeen years, you have established many contacts correct?"
"Yes, my Lord. Yet even with all those I could discover nothing of the monstrosity the, Vooren have built until today."
"But now our true foe has revealed themselves. Use those under your sway to find out what you can. A name would do for a start..." The Sovereign raised his eyebrow as Haniel coughed so as to interrupt.
"I am quite confident the organization in question is called NERV. They are highly secretive, and a great deal of money has gone into them over these past ten years. It seems I should have been more thorough in my investigations of them-" A gauntleted hand finding its way onto the Fist's shoulder ended that sentence before it finished.
"Haniel, I mistrusted your judgement once before and it cost me dearly. As such I have resolved never to make such a mistake again. But you must remember old friend, that even you are not above mistakes. Promise me that." Netzach smiled a warm smile, one he did not show often at all.
"As you wish, my Lord."
"Excellent." The Sovereign retracted his arm, before hardening his expression. The Fist returned to a kneeling position, knowing that his master was about to give him an order.
"Your Sovereign commands you. Use what resources you have to find out everything you possibly can about the whelps who dare stand against my will. The worthless scum who impede the reclamation of our home..." Netzach's gaze was redirected at the floor, his red eyes flaring.
"Tell me of the wretches who claimed my son's life..." The one true master of the Divine race's gaze hardened as cracks glowing with flickering orange energy began to appear in the floor he was staring at.
"Tell me of this...NERV."