Chrysalis Heart

by Yincira

AU. What if the story was about the plight of the demons? Nina's more heroic, Azazel doesn't disappear, Belphegor doesn't die, Kaisar's more self aware.

10. Tartaro

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Author s Note : Anyone wanna drop a comment explaining why this of all chapters gets so much hits?

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The disinfective powder still stung after hours. The blankets of the bed were too thin and the dragon inside stirred to make her warmer, but refused to come out when called. Not that she wanted it here, the space was too small. She'd be here, like this, indefinitely, already feeling ready to burst open without being allowed.

The cell didn't get any warmer and there was no sign she'd be treated differently from any other prisoner. She did not think she deserved so in and of herself, but if Charioce really was Chris ...

How could he just do this? She could imagine he'd be angry about her being an enemy, but she couldn't imagine why he'd be an enemy. How was Chris the same man as Charioce? How?

It was much harder to accept that Chris was a torturer and mass murderer than it had been with Azazel. Maybe because she'd known Azazel killed people from the get go, while Chris had been the perfect boyfriend always bathed in light. But even if she tried to put things in perspective — Chri-Charioce's body count was certainly higher — it didn't make her hate Chris. She couldn't even get herself to dislike him. Her feelings always ran back into the wall that insisted none of this made any sense, so how could it direct any feelings? No doubt it would be easier to hate than to mourn, but she didn't even know where to start changing her feelings. Or whether she wanted to as much as she should — villains were to be hated, but the image of Chris and Charioce refused to blend.

There had to be some kind of explanation. Was something else going on? Did he really have a choice? Was a puppet king or something?

More than ever did she want to ask her mother for advice, and only now did she feel she might actually do it. Now she couldn't. She should have sent her a letter to tell her what went down before. She should have ...

She should have killed Charioce. Chris. She knew that in her mind, but her heart didn't have a direction anymore.

She turned over again, failing to find warmth. It'd been so long since she'd felt the need to curl up in her mother's arms, and just pretend there was no world.

· · · · · · ·

"Bummer."

Favaro could say little more to the news that Nina had been sentenced to a special prison and was not likely to be released soon. So much for covering everything. Amira had floated to the castle to find out what they'd do with Rita — Kaisar better get his shit sorted out soon — so when Nina had ran off without telling him where he went Favaro had been unable to ask her to follow Nina. That girl ran so damn fast, he couldn't keep up.

Favaro had stayed with the butcher couple for the past night, and the woman had gone out in the morning to read the boards; Charioce liked to announce crimes against the state to the public at every occasion. Amira was supposed to get a handle on Nina in the mean time, and had yet to return.

No use fretting, so he continued his breakfast. His hosts were in the butcher business but man, there was a thing like too much bacon with one's eggs. Both of them sat opposite of him at the table, eating little.

"So," Favaro said between munching on egg topped bacon, "You guys didn't sell me or Nina out, just the rag demon. It's against the laws to not report associates to demons. Let's not pretend you're Charioce's devoted citizens and help me out a bit. Is there a human rebellion in this city?"

Burkhart clenched his fists. "We shouldn't do this."

"You're already doing it, old man."

Emeline sat straight. "I don't know what they can do, but there's a few. The White Rose is said to be a coalition of doctors and other intellectuals who spread different ideals than the king. The Red Troupe are regular citizens who occasionally sabotage something. The Sacred Circle is another, they're founded in the church. I can give you the address for that one."

Favaro made a point of tapping his tail against the chair, but his thoughts were elsewhere. None of that sounded promising. He might have to get in touch with the demons somehow. All the super strong ones still alive had holed up in Helheim, barring Azazel. He didn't expect he could march in there and get backup. What should he be getting backup for? He wanted to get Nina out, she was his student and he would be damned if he ever left anyone he cared about. But he also had a job to do for the sake of the world. Again. Fuck fate for making this so difficult. Nina wanted him to stick around and help strangers out, fate was being nebulous again, and he himself ... well, he didn't want to be a hero. That came with all sorts of complications, but fate didn't let him be anything else, whether with or against its winds.

Running into Nina had seemed random. He'd been travelling looking looking for work since bounties were low. He'd been crossing a forest to find a town at the center, where Nina had spotted him and cajoled him into being her bounty hunter mentor; he'd agreed in exchange for bed and three meals. It hadn't been bad living for a while. Nina was super strong, atrocious with any ranged weapons, but pretty good with a whip. Then she ran into him while in the springs, and voila, she turned into a dragon and chased him down. Awkward. He declared her training complete the next day, advised her not to hold grudges in an attempt to sound sagely, and got the hell out of dodge because dragons, dammit.

As such, he didn't actually know an awful lot about Nina. Amira hadn't liked it either that he'd been gone so soon, but hadn't been able to pin down why. The more things went down though, the clearer it became Nina was one of fate's primary pawns rather than a secondary. Maybe they should have accompanied her here, or at least kept a closer eye.

"Say, what's Nina been like while living here? As her teacher, I wanna see whether she behaved."

"Oh, she was quite sweet and helpful all the time. Though, she was a little odd in retrospect. She never really made friends her own age and she could chat with us for money and trading talk that'd bore the usual young ones. We just figured it was cause she was so strong that she intimidated the boys and the girls thought she always trying to lead on the boys — she wears a skirt above her knees and her stomach is exposed! I swear the first time I saw her I thought she was a harlot. Before I knew she was from a foreign place, of course. And now ... "

"She was just demonic trickery," Burkhart mumbled.

"You know that's not true!" Emeline said. "Nina just uh, fell in with some bad people. She's young, that happens."

Nina didn't make friends her age, but did make friends with Charioce. What was he supposed to do with that? He didn't have answers for this kind of thing. He skills were limited to bounty hunting and surviving wild fights. Winging it was what he always did.

Amira manifested in the room and Favaro stood up. "Okay, I'm gonna take a stroll. See you later."

Absolutely not, he wasn't staying here in case they changed their mind.

Once outside and out of sight, Favaro drew stick figures of Nina, Rita and Azazel, along with an arrow and question mark. Amira nodded and floated off, wings out. She had two now, a white feathered wing in place of the black bat wing that Michael had cut off.

In the fog it was much easier to sneak around. Amira led him to the riverside and pointed at the island in the middle of the river, her other hand at Nina. Rita and Azazel were at the castle.

"Oi, what am I supposed to do with that? If I bust one place, they're gonna expect me at the other."

Amira pointed at the island again. Her expression was the kind meant for a fight that'd be coming soon, but when he drew a 1 and him tackling the island, she shook her head.

Looked like time for longer chatting. He sat against one of the pillars of the high road, facing the island. A few old papers were pulled out. Amira pointed at the Onyx Knights, and also at a picture of a slave collar. The gems specifically. Then once again at the island.

Favaro drew the kind of factory they used to generate the rocks and Amira nodded, but put her fingers on the drawing and fanned her hands out. More than just a factory, eh?

After going through some more papers, she pointed out several large things, like buildings, mecha and ranged weapons.

What was Charioce brewing there? He already had a station full of the power of Dromos at the rift in Eibos.

He wrote a question mark on the paper, and Amira sighed in disappointment. Hmm.

They didn't get much further cause a tiny cloud poofed in front of him, right atop a rock. It left standing a fluffy white Pomeranian that sent his bounty hunter bracelet glowing.

"Favaro, you gotta come, ruff!" The dog talked. Sure, why not.

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you for a decade now. I'm Coco. We want you to come and have a chat."

"Who's we?"

"Cerberus, hound of Hades and agent of Lucifer, and me and Mimi," Coco said. "You're invited for a council talk, ruff!"

Kaisar had mentioned a Cerberus once as an ally of Azazel, but that's about the extent of what he knew. He cast a look at Amira, who made a blergh face at Cerberus, sighed and pointed over her shoulder. The direction was roughly at the red light district near the slums. She floated along when the dog started walking.

He guessed they were going; if there were any enemies laying a trap Amira would warn him in time.

The red light district was dead silent in the morning, perhaps even more than usual. People staying inside to avoid the fog and its delusions.

The dog led him through an empty restaurant, waved at a bypassing cook who ignored them, and led him up five stairs to the attic room.

The room had to cover the entire surface of the building. Red curtains, fancy couches and so many oil smokers filled the space. Bead curtains and wind chimes filled the space with soft sound, the scent of herbs lay thick in the air. Candles and bowls of incense burned all over the place. Though there was a skylight, it had been dimmed by a yellow, shine through fabric. Paper walls stood around, creating a small maze.

If she had tried to recreate her home, then the stories of hell were off : it was dark, it had fire, but it felt more comfortable than threatening.

Favaro tripped over something, almost going to the floor. He caught himself on a long spiky pole stretching out ... both were the legs of a giant spider with half a lady jutting up from between the eyes. She might be as shocked as he was and drew her legs back quickly.

When he steadied himself, he had a look around. Crawling out of corners and onto puffy chairs and beds were a swarm of miserable looking demons.

Except one with dog ears, who stepped with confidence. Favaro covered his nose with a handkerchief with the antidote on it, but the image didn't change much. Only her eyes were a bit too far apart for a human, her pupils too full, her hair a little too red for a human.

"There you are," she said. "I'd say we meet again, but I don't think you ever even saw my darlings, did you?"

"Ah, I get it now. You're why Azazel kept finding us, aren't you?" Favaro said.

"Your truly, Cerberus," she said. "Let's have a chat. No torture's on the menu, I swear."

Cerberus led him to a rim of cushions on the floor around a low table. She took the biggest cushion and sat down with her dog thing on her hand as a puppet now.

"We're still waiting for someone else my dears picked up on," Cerberus said. She shoved a bottle of brandy at him across the table.

Favaro was not going to decline that kind of offer, and decided this warranted chatter. "So, how's it going?"

"Horrible. I got involved in a rebellion in exchange for a few priviliges in Cocytus and a plot of land, only for the whole thing to fall apart and now I'm stuck with the leftovers." She gestured at the still silent demons all around. They watched him, but most lost interest soon. A few read. One played with — was that Bacchus's carriage and hippogryph? Huh, he remembered those being much larger. Like this one fluffy dog could challenge it. Oh well, he'd find out about that if it mattered.

Favaro killed the time by drinking and checking on Amira who flitted in and out of the room to verify the area was safe. She was a little frantic, as always. He'd survived without a phantom at his back long enough, but her concern was touching and he had to admit it made things easier. He wished he could do the same for her.

Eventually she returned to make the symbol for a single other humanoid coming up the stairs, plus one small animal.

"Got him!" another squeaky dog voice said from behind the smoke and paper.

In came another fluffy dog, this one on the arm of a sky pirate in either old or nostalgic coat with lots of silver buckles and what might not be decorative bandages. Short mustache, long hair, sea sworn skin on a gruff but handsome face, Favaro could swear he knew the face from some old book he'd liked to read as a kid. In fact ...

"How much of an idiot am I gonna sound like if I call you the Heroic Drunkard Walfrid?"

The man froze, his faze drawing into sharp horror. "Oh spirits please don't tell me that's how I went down into legend? I didn't spent decades in the void for this."

"Nah, that's just the children's books," Favaro said. "The adults legends are blander, like scourge of the skies and shredder of masts."

"Any of them actually calling me captain? In any way or capacity?"

"Fraid not."

Cerberus snapped her fingers, silencing them. "Folklore later. Now that I got all three of you, let's sort out this mess, shall we? Can someone pry Tris out of Bel's old room?"

Walfrid had a seat, chuckling. "You got the science ladies too?"

"Just one."

Trismegistus turned out to be quite the looker. Amira air flicked his nose to keep him from staring at her chest; she made a point of guarding his manners too.

The woman sat down on Walfrid's other side and kept her attention on Cerberus. "So?"

"I wasn't interested in rebellion, but that was before," Cerberus said. "I and my darlings have been listening around a bit and we learned zombies aren't that affected by the power of Dromos and that hybrid child is capable of shutting them down altogether. That's a pattern now : Nina, that kid and the zombies are all part human."

Walfrid raised a hand. "Can confirm. I fought some of those black tins, they mowed down the demons around me but I was fine."

Favaro quirked a brow at the man's bandaged arm.

"Okay, I got hit, but I didn't melt like they did." He waved off imaginary bugs and continued, "Well, the hell born anyway. Azazel doesn't seem to melt either, so he better stay alive."

"Am I missing something?" Favaro asked.

"Oh, you're very new. Azazel is the demon we pacted with," Trismegistus said. "Recently he got his hands on some of the past bounties under his reign, we're two of those. We might have been three if Cerberus hadn't lost track of Paracelsus."

"He was a nuisance and I wasn't planning a rebellion yet, okay?" She flattened her ears.

"And you all are now?" Favaro asked.

Walfrid nodded. "I don't want to go back into the rock, and I don't want to die. Definitely not for that damn demon. But I do give a shit for me not growing old and having super powers, so I'm willing to invest in his survival. Same for Trismegistus, right? Right. And you are?"

"Favaro Leone."

"Never heard of you, but I'm kind of out of my time. This lass here thinks you're important for this mission, though."

"Oh, I just saved the world from Bahamut. Supposedly I'm a holy knight, but I haven't got a speck of saintliness about me. They did retroactively knight me, though. I guess you can say I'm still in the world saving business. And you?"

Cerberus flicked her ears. "It's pretty simple : I'm not going to risk my gut, but I'm not going to be in a great position either, especially for my payment, if Azazel doesn't turn up in one piece somehow. Lucifer's fond of him, you see. So my dears can provide you directions, but you're gonna have to do the bulk of breaking him out," she said. "Walfrid and Trismegistus can pull their weight with their pacts intact, which leaves you. Favaro Leone, care to become demonic?"

Favaro revealed his tail. "I'm afraid I'm already taken."

"Oh, I might be able to work around that," Cerberus said. "If it's not in your blood. Otherwise, we'll figure out something external."

"What's in it for me?" Not that he didn't happen to have a goal for which freeing Azazel could be useful.

"You're a bounty hunter, right? Once I return to hell, all the money I gathered here will be useless. You can have it."

"What about Nina?"

"Useless, and don't think I didn't notice her scent on you, as is Azazel's. So let's not pretend you don't have a stake in this too. Azazel's my priority, but if we form a pact, you can try to get her free once that's done."

Favaro sat back and hooked his arms behind his head. "Let me think about it."

· · · · · · ·

"You are proudly part of the productive penal system, which will channel your energy into worthwhile service of king Charioce."

That's what Nina was told when she asked why she and everyone were being herded from their cells, down into long tunnels. People split off by known patterns. Jeanne had disappeared in the crowd, but not for long. She reappeared with word Nina was to be on her team, so she could follow.

So Nina trailed her in silence. That of all people her cell would be across Jeanne d'Arc. Chris must have done this on intention, but why? She was a little grateful for Jeanne's presence, who seemed kind, at least.

When Jeanne at last went into a room with echo beyond the doors, Nina stopped on sheer impulse. Raw, somehow familiar raw power pulsed in there. Her first thought was what she'd felt near Chris, when they arm wrestled, but it dragged up many more emotions that came without knowledge or images. The sensation of danger and violence.

"Move!" The guard shoved her in the back and she stumbled into a hall. Jeanne caught her by the shoulder. The guard marched past and called out, "201, new one for your team."

The hall was lit in orange, making the few spots of bright green stand out all the more. Furnaces in the walls, and twelve kilns lined across the floor. Between them people moved buckets and glass containers holding lights. A bright metal plate on the wall opposite of the door glowed in green markings. Amid all this the small pyramid in the center seemed less noticeable, bland as it was, but Nina could pin it as the source of the power. She wished she'd asked Azazel more about how magic force worked. That pyramid thing did something, but she couldn't even tell how to start figuring it out. It looked so mundane, just two meters high and made of regular stone.

"Nina, come." Jeanne led her to a kiln near the end of the right line.

"What are we doing here?"

"We work," Jeanne said.

"What ... " She froze where she stood as it sank in what penal production mean.

Slavery.

Charioce just had ... enslaved her.

Charioce was Chris.

And the world wasn't right.

She could understand why one would be jailed for crimes, at least. It wasn't like with the demons, and she had tried to attack him ... Nina closed her arms over herself and tried to fight off questions about why he could be that way. It wouldn't help to fret. She forced a smile on her face and said, "Okay, show me what to do!"

A stocky woman in her fifties raised a hand. "Not her job, mine. No talking unless instructions."

Nina darted up to her. "Hello, I'm Nina."

"Rachel. I head the squad of this kiln, you're replacing Margareth," she said, looking Nina up and down skeptically. "Damn, I asked for a strong one, and I get a shrimp."

Nina rolled up a sleeve, showing some muscle. "Oh no, you got the right one."

Rachel grinned and made a feeble repetition with her own arm. She was bone marrow even through the long sleeves of the prison dress, but what really stood out was just how dark her hands were: blackened with the veins standing out. The other women sans Jeanne had this too, but Rachel's was worst.

"I hope that means you stick around, I hate losing faces. You know, I've been here from the start. At first they had demons hollow out the island, but after the green stuff went they removed all demons. Now it's just us slow people," Rachel said.

"What's here?"

"Where are you from, that you don't know that?"

"A hidden village in the east," Nina said.

"Figures. So these are factories of arcane magic where we generate stocks of the green stuff. This is all over the kingdom by now, and the territories Charioce is, ahem, annexing. I used to work for the general industry, got caught selling the material, and voila, now I'm doing the same job except here." Rachel gave a half hearted wave around the hall. "It's not a living, but it's a life. So lemme introduce you to how we shit."

Nina's team was herself, Jeanne, Rachel and three other women. They stationed around a kiln, ready to follow the instructions of the hallmaster. This one wasn't a prisoner, but a middle aged guy in sterile but clean robes. They were to load material into the kiln and take it out on times indicated.

Each kiln had a main door, which blazed with heat and had to be opened with a hook. On the sides of the kiln were ladders leading to smaller hatches atop. At the wall of the hall stood barrels and crates full of strange smelling things that radiated weaker power. Nina got to see only some of it. Metals, a little gold, lead, all poured in through the small hatches. Every time they opened, the hallmaster cast a spell that ignited magic circles over the holes. The material always had to go through those.

She didn't catch any names from the other women. Only Rachel spoke to her, introducing her to the basics like what bucket to use for what, which materials not to touch.

Nina got a newbie job in carrying buckets to the kiln for now. Others levied them into the holes, while Rachel used a metal clasp to carefully lay clear crystals onto a long plate before the kiln. It had holes to hold the crystals, which another woman filled with smelly, bitter water until they were submerged.

"What does this make?" Nina asked.

"Matter for the task force and the slave collars, though I don't think ours goes into either. It gets shipped to the center of the island, rather than outside," Rachel said. "You have to treat it with utmost care or von List visits."

Within minutes all the plates in the hall were full, and the team team leaders shoved them into the kiln. The squad leaders shut the doors and everyone backed off to the walls, where they stood as far from the heat as possible. Nina had a place between Jeanne and Rachel, and dared to whisper, "What's it doing?"

"Brewing. I don't know much of the facts, just the mechanics. The hard part is when we have to get them out," Rachel said. "They're pretty hot, so be careful."

Green light emenating from the pyramid pulsed through lines on the floor. Within the kilns, the plates started spinning around by some mechanism while sigils in the wall glowed harsher.

Waiting for it to be done took long. Nina's legs started to hurt, and she wasn't the only one getting fidgety. Most leaned back against the rough walls eventually, but nobody dared to move or sit down.

When the glow faded at last, everyone moved away from the walls right away, up the ladders to fish out what they'd put it. All material had grown smaller than before, like corroded away and full of holes. These bits were deposited in buckets that were to be emptied in the trolleys.

The woman on the ladder above Nina started coughing when she got a face full of smoke. She stumbled to the ground, where she nearly went through her legs. Blackened blood poured from her mouth.

Nina almost dropped her bucket, only for Jeanne to catch it. As soon as Jeanne had hold, Nina was at the woman's side. Another wave of black blood came out. Nina steadied her by the shoulders and helped her sit down against the kiln.

Why wasn't anyone else moving into help? Jeanne approached, holding both their buckets and seemingly wanting to set them down, but that was it.

"What's the matter? Are you—" A whip cracked on the ground next to them.

"Get back to work!" the guard snarled.

Though she still coughed, the woman struggled to her feet and rushed back up the ladder.

The guard glared at Nina. "Never let go of your material without permission. Nothing touches the ground, got it?"

Another glare went at Jeanne, who held out Nina's bucket in silence.

Work moved on in silence. It was nothing like the construction job, full of jokes and laughter. There was however some sense of camaraderie. Noting Nina's curiosity, during a quiet moment where Rachel explained something about the gold bars, she rolled up her tatted sleeves to reveal her arm. Bit of green rocks were embedded in her skin, the source of her affliction. Like they were new hearts forced onto a human.

"Don't worry on the black stuff. It's better to avoid angering the guards, and it isn't that bad anyway. This stuff eats you if you use it, but it also makes us stronger," she said. "I lasted for six years, you know."

"Does it hurt?" Nina asked.

Rachel nodded. "Just a little. It's better than dying. Still, try not to get too much on you. The coughing's where it gets bad. It gets to the heart."

"What do the doctors say?"

"What doctors? If you become useless here, you get to be ashes. That's where Margareth went."

"I'll be careful," she said with a wide smile, while something in the back of her head screamed that Chris couldn't be like this.

· · · · · · ·

Dammit, Rita was a damsel in distress now. Two centuries in charge, having escaping damsely demise back then, only to end up prisoner in some tyrant's castle. This was all Azazel's fault. Again. Bring in some wild cards at the last minute, will you? Athos had just walked in, told her to evacuate, and pulled her on a wyvern before she could make her zombie guard react. Just like that, her schedule had gone to hell and left her behind.

Athos now escorted her up the palace, deep into the private quarters, like some color inversion of the final walk. They passed through emptied servant routes up until the secret door to a ludicrously rich room. Athos shoved her inside and closed the door.

All irritation aside, she had some interest in the king, and he seemed to have one in her. As she stood here, she got a hunch why.

Fog hung over the place and the window stood open, the only thing a little off about it all. The man didn't have a single personal trait in his entire living space. Perhaps something personal was hidden in the closets, but everything in the open looked exactly like every other room she'd seen so far. Ornate and sterile.

Someone sat at the crackling hearth, a frail ticking sound coming from it. Since nothing else stirred, Rita walked up to it.

Rounding the wide chair, there wasn't anyone in it : just a zombie knitting.

Her eyes fell on the other chair, which also had an occupant. A blond man in fine gray clothes, unruly short hair and piercing golden eyes under weird eyebrows that gave Kaisar's hair a run for their money on eccentricity.

"Charioce XVII, I presume?" she said.

"Indeed." Measured, precise, and he managed not to blink once while he spoke. He slouched in the chair, but as he stood up every motion was controlled so well, one might mistake it for smooth. This man lived calculating every moment. "Your name?"

"Rita will do."

He turned his eyes to the fire. "Do you burn?"

"I do easier than demons, less easy than humans," she said. "Or did you ask whether your friend here burns?"

He smiled just a little. "It is not my friend. In fact, I want to know what it actually is."

To Rita's eyes it was only a zombie so decayed, it gulped up extra magic just to remain upright. Under the fog it would be acting out the script of its past life without being able to take any action truly independent. Only an astral imprint on time pasted onto its old flesh source. Most remarkable about it was the fact that Charioce kept it.

"Who was the corpse?"

"Klarimiani Pözltas."

"Are you going to make me point out the dodge, or what?"

"She was my mother."

Well, well. How fluffy. Rita liked to mess with wicked things, and this was quite the weakness he had just revealed.

"Let's play, your majesty," she said. "We are well aware that I will be eliminated once I cease to be of use, and you are keen on secrets yourself, are you not? Let's say I spin you a story of resurrection manifest through zombies and fog, and you find out it is a lie in part. You may just destroy me when I might be of use yet. Why would I not answer with either the truth, or a satisfying lie?"

"So there's an unsatisfying answer you can give me?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've met you mere minutes ago. You're quite the enigma : such a meticulous murderer of demons, yet your mother revived by arcane means you keep around. You might have a weakness, or you might be pretending to have a weakness to entice me to let loose, or you are only interested for practical reasons, or you are pretending to yourself there is no weakness. You don't know me either, nor what I might say, brew or conjure to ensure my relative survival."

Charioce could be commended for his poker face. "I suppose for now we are at a stalemate over a simple answer."

"Don't be silly. You wouldn't be able to justify keeping me alive just for your nostalgia. Might as well get a move on it." If he didn't have an excuse yet, he'd find one soon.

"Well then, perhaps I should stop playing and eliminate you."

Admittance he had no other reasons, or drawing the time out? She left the seconds hanging as she stared at the fire too. She didn't want to burn, but she didn't want to submit either. Pretending to submit on the other hand?

He let the silence go on longer until he said at last, "I have stolen a thing or two from heaven. I would like her back, but better than this. A life must be lived for a goal, then it can be thrown away," he said. "My mother has yet to achieve hers, I would like her to have that chance. There is enough magic that knows what she was like, locked onto that thing. I want it to live."

He offered her a job, in a way. Figure out how to revive. Rita had never been able to work with divine magic, she might have said yes out of curiosity. Of course, she did not expect Charioce to gamble on that.

"No doubt you have an or else somewhere. Spill it already."

"I have someone of yours," he said. "After all, if you cared for money alone you would have offered your services already."

Ah. Had Athos heard her talk about Kaisar being spared? She could point out she had enough to believe that before the disastrous rebellion, she would've just been killed for offering exactly that. She kept her face blank, and he filled it in.

"Two, perhaps. Let's focus on the one in my dungeon."

"Let's," she said. "I suppose you have a way to kill him too, harvested from heaven?"

"I do, but that's not his only use. He regenerates in ways ordinary demons do not, but more organically than gods. You've tended to him for years. That means two things for me : one that you have a stake to lose, and two that you are not unfamiliar with arcane doctoring. We're going see what you can do with the right tools and the right pressure."

Rita looked back at him now. Still that some inpenetrable look, which she could readily answer with her own. All demons could regenerate, in theory, but it took time and specific situations. He didn't have to know that.

"Alright. I will oblige with your experiments. For now."

· · · · · · ·

Gabriel had determined a strict schedule for El. Purification every few hours, lessons on divine matters to catch nur up and lessons on how to use magic. There nary was a free moment, so even as Sofiel was in charge of seeing El through much of the day、 she had difficulty finding time to speak. She learned things only in small bursts, such as El having been unable to withdrawn nur wings for hiding, a love for music and a general distaste for war stories. Gabriel was fond of telling the latter now that El had been determined to need to spirit. She usually told them, as she joined them during dinner, her efforts to instill sacred duty in El unfaltering.

This evening however Gabriel was absent, to Sofiel's unspoken relief. She had gone to arrange a matter with a few loyal human cities on earth, to prepare for the aftermath of overthrowing Charioce.

El had already laid down on the cushions at the low table, but didn't eat yet. After briefly informing nur and the wait staff Gabriel would not join them, she laid down on her side and stretched her wings to rest. Not that tending to El was that exhausting physically, but it left her with constant anxiety. El wouldn't remain safe for long, already being geared up for war when ne needed so much to still learn. Laying at a table, being allowed to eat as much as ne wanted, having so much choices. Once ne got over the need to be sparing with food, ne tried everything new, of which there was aplenty for another few months. This child Gabriel wanted to send to the forefront of a war.

Sofiel always had pen and paper ready, and a small table between the long cushions to write on. El was usually occupied with the food first, trying everything new, but the papers never went unused. Usually this was just to respond to Gabriel, and ask when and how they would rescue nur mother. The answer always was when ne was purified so Gabriel could regrow nur wings and they'd see the rest later. After a few days El stopped asking that, and went for other things.

Gabriel's absence was a relief not only to Sofiel. Today, El wrote down two letters and showed it to her.

"Ne?" Sofiel asked. "Oh! Right, humans recognize only two, but there are more. I picked up otherwise from you before, I suppose it may be different now you're more self aware. Human society is so backward, really, I wouldn't be surprised there are complications."

El looked curious, so she continued, "According to my senses, you're a dusiu, and will grow up to be a dwoe, like boys grow up to be men and girls grow up to be women."

Next ne wrote about how much was different in heaven and why nur mother didn't know any of it? Good question. Heaven hadn't really communicated much with her on anything divine, though the historical records mentioned some kind of initial turmoil. Michael had needed to make a few personal appearances because being a woman, Jeanne wasn't taken very serious by certain human institutions. They hadn't kept track of Jeanne at all, after Michael's death.

El gave her another line, which clarified that ne already knew there were more than two gender, but wanted to know how everyone knew what ne was, because both nur mother and someone named Rita had concluded boy, but they only knew two.

"Dusiu in early stages tend to resemble boys, though you already have a little of the wider hips. I suppose it will be difficult to determine what truly changes once you transform, because you have no spoken for ..." For how long anyway? He ne become mute right away or only later? The scorch marks on nur neck could be from anything. Oh, all these gaps. She wished Gabriel was a little more interested in El personally. "Anyway, you might notice a few changes about yourself once you transform, other than just the return of your wings. We gods can regenerate to our true form at all times, you see. Your human heritage will not get in the way further."

And who was that person who had told El? Not likely a human. El had been hanging out with demons, perhaps they also recognized more than two genders? She had no idea what their culture was like, and some blasphemous part of her wanted to know. Weeks in the city had shown her a side to demons other than the snarling darkness of legend — they weren't all beasts barely contained by chains. They weren't more than she'd expect of humans in chains. Even Azazel came across as very annoying more so than a cluster of incoherent malice. That last one should tip of her off of unwarranted pity, but still, she wanted to know more.

Such questions were completely unwarranted of heaven, of course. At least, El was a safe avenue.

"There's a big difference between our worlds, I believe. I would love to learn of your life on earth if you would allow me." She pushed a few papers closer to El with the tip of her fingers. "Write as much as you like."

El didn't smile much, so Sofiel felt pleased that she managed to cheer El up enough with such a small request.

For all that El had no voice, ne poured out words.

El had been born with all of language within nur mind, in a body about three years old. Ne knew who nur mother was and nothing else. Early life had been happy for them, with Jeanne often telling nur that ne brought back the color to her drab life. Ne went on at length on that life, on farming, on what they did to deal with the seasons, on the animals and the spirits El attracted.

Jeanne had been the center of nur life as much as El doubtlessly had been hers. For El, that simple cottage was paradise. What little ne had to remark on it was things like bed times and not being able to make spirit nests inside. That went in exchange for nur mother taking nur on adventures in the forest to gather food, carving wooden toys, saving up for clothes and many small challenges like that. Things like making needles out of bones had never even occurred to Sofiel, who had known only the luxury. In heaven weaving happened by magic or machine.

Sometimes there were stories of Jeanne's heroic actions as a knight, but only rarely and to instill understand of the gravitas of war. El liked stories of the spirits much better, and would often venture into the woods to befriend them. So they did, and El learned to find food for nurself and nur mother — it stung Sofiel a little to know Jeanne had been starving; how could heaven just forget their chosen one? No doubt Gabriel would regret falling out of touch now, but then she had not.

Sofiel had ended up on Jeanne's farm out in the city by following the dim sense of holiness, mistaking it for a fellow god who might help her open a gate to heaven. It had been a somber place, stone and old wood, but to El it had been the world, and ne described it as warm and comfortable. And lost, once the Onyx Knights arrived.

How would it have unfolded if El hadn't right then and there manifested the ability to shut down their power? Sofiel had been cramped in a closet at the time, hearing only as they hit Jeanne across the room, demanding Sofiel's whereabouts. Choked noises and then a flare of El's power went through the very fabric of the world. The Onyx Knights had changed priorities to chasing them down.

El's story had shorter sentences here. Jeanne had stolen one of their horses and raced off, trying to find a hiding place in the city — no doubt they would be caught in the barren wilderness of the forest. El had almost passed out, ne wouldn't have been able to repeat it.

The city had been lit with flares, the shadows no longer their friends. They had crawled into an alley's window, broken open by nur mother's strength. It was a slaver's den, where they amputated the demons of their wings before sale. Countless corpses, which El was afraid they'd be added to once the Onyx Knights found them.

In order to hide El among the demon slaves, Jeanne had cursed her own child. She had taken a scissor and rammed it in a demon's corpse. Over and over, until the blood poured like it did with no human. Lifting the corpse, she had scattered it over El. It turned nur hair gray and dimmed nur's holy radiance, before the decision to ...

Jeanne herself had cut off El's wings.

By now El's hand had started shaking. Sofiel took the quil and pulled El closer, letting nur cry out on her shoulder. She tried to soothe nur without really knowing how. Perhaps all ne needed was the chance to cry, but that could hardly be enough to remedy this pain. Nothing to take it away.

Ne should have the chance to be a child, but that thought wasn't supposed to be happening. El was their savior, sent by Michael to take down their enemy, right?

El let go of her and smiled, but it seemed pained. Ne hesitated to continue writing, to her understanding. Slavery or not, it wouldn't have been a good life from there on.

The doors opened and in came Gabriel. "El, are you done? Good, come now."

Really? She couldn't just let the schedule slip for one day? No, shouldn't think that. Don't let needless hostility grow.

Sofiel stood up and inclined her head. "Lady Sofiel, if you would permit us some more time, please? El has finally opened up about the past events."

"Oh, never mind. El has classes now, perhaps learning how to express power better will speed up recovery. I would prefer El to be ready for war before Charioce raids yet another sanctuary."

Gabriel urged El to dry nur tears and ushered nur out of the room, to the waiting scholars. El hadn't even finished eating.

If all that had happened to El was some basic demon blood that made nur hard to track, then maybe Gabriel was a little too particular about the purification. Perhaps El nurself would be able to dispell whatever magic got in the way of nur's regeneration, if it wasn't human heritage altogether. Not that Gabriel was interested enough to find that out, and Sofiel didn't dare break the topic with her. It wouldn't lead to anything anyway.

· · · · · · ·

Azazel knew what every single tool in this room did and how to best use it. He probably knew better than them how to use it, and he certainly knew better about security. They were wrong about the snakes he could conjure, but what would the point of resisting be? They'd just replace anyone he with others and he'd waste his energy on nothing, like usual.

"This could all be over if you just named a few of your allies. Their true names, of course. We'll have a nice summoning party after that and then you'll have mates in your lovely new home."

For all his humiliation, he had just enough pride left to point that out. "That's not very enticing to make me talk."

"Well, of course we're going to handle you demons as the filth you are, but I'm sure you have more than just demonic allies. Ordinary citizens normally don't even know when the king leaves. Not all warships have him, you see. So, you had to have insiders whom would fall under human law. I simply thought we'd start simple and then move on to the complicated things."

He'd had the information of Amira's whereabouts, and he'd had the knwledge of how dangerous Jeanne was. He'd messed that up too. If he had no wasted time with Favaro and Kaisar, he could have had Amira in his grasp and escaped without problem. Just go the other direction from where Jeanne was. Now Mugaro was the child of Jeanne d'Arc. Morbid angles provided more ways the future could've gone wrong — he could have stuck close to Pazuzu, maybe they would have won if they'd taken her on together. Mugaro wouldn't even exist.

Jeanne had been the beginning of his downfall. From there on, it was degradation only. Even if he fooled himself, the fight with Belzebuth had ended because Bahamut hit him with a blast, he'd only finished the job — Belzebuth was his kill, but the chance for victory won had vanished in Bahamut's breath. He couldn't truly win, like he once had.

Between tightening the screw that dug into his side, the torturer droned on about things like the bomb, the gas, their set up, the location of their base. It didn't matter. The one way he could make things worse was by betraying those who might have escaped still.

A break came when Charioce's silhouette apepared in the doorway, followed by ... Rita?

Flanked by his guards, Charioce stopped before him. Rita wasn't chained and half behind him.

Azazel tried to push spite into his voice, but it came out nothing but hoarse. "Did you sell out at last?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We simply have a bit of a hostage situation," Rita said. "He doesn't have much use for you, so you're in no position to complain."

What the ...

"Are you out of your mind?"

Rita shrugged. "He has a use for me too, so this is really redundant. Either way, let's get this over with, I don't care and won't start anytime soon."

"Or you might just let me think this does not bother you," Charioce said. "That could be a ruse, so I won't increase the torture."

Rita cast a dead look over Azazel. "You've got little left to increase. Well, if you feel like dishing on him so you won't dish on me, go ahead. He'll regenerate, and that's why we're here. Cut the chase already."

Charioce nodded at the torturer, who apparently had been instructed before. The torturer muttered something about a waste of sensitive limbs, but that didn't slow him down. He stepped forward with an sword, tore loose the wires and janked his black arm free. Azazel clenched his teeth as the sword cut into his joint. It didn't detach so easily at a mere human's strength.

"My sincerest apoligies, your majesty, the black stuff is tough," the torturer said. "Any time now."

After four more chops, his lower arm fell into the torturer's hand. He brought it before Charioce.

"Do it," Charioce told Rita.

She shrugged. "It's on your head if this goes wrong."

Rita slowly drew a sigil on the floor, stood up, placed the tip of her umbrella on one of the core points and said, "Put that in the center."

The same was done to his other arm. Rita left the spell on the first to brew and stood sideways. She locked eyes with Azazel for a second, then bit down.

Nothing happened with the lost flesh. Azazel's bones already started regrowing, but it would be a few days before the arm was whole again. A few days without the wires. They'd just invent something else. He knew he had, when need called for creativity.

Moments passed. Azazel sensed it before the black hand moved. Within a blink, black snakes exploded from it, only to be contained by a shield of green power hijacking Rita's circle. The snakes lashed against the inside, impervious to pain, while the arm at the center boiled and expanded. Hard shapes pushed against the thick skin from the inside, like an insect crawling out of its pupa. Horns broke through skin, like the two horns he had lost, but they were attached to a beastly skull.

Emerging was a malformed goat, black and hairless with jutting extensions and glowing white eyes. The skin was tight on the skeleton, not unlike a zombie, but it didn't rot.

Azazel forgot the pain, just for a moment, and stared along with everyone else.

In that moment, the white hand tore out of Rita's grip and launched at Charioce, exploding into black serpents too. Hindered by the guard, Charioce had just enough time to surround himself with a sphere. The serpents relentlessly attacked it, while the arm began to mutate too.

"Stop it!" Charioce commanded Rita.

"I can't!"

Two Onyx Knights tore the blob into a force field of their own and closed it in, until the serpents vaporized and the flesh burst into green fire. That done, Charioce lowered his shield.

"I thought you would be smarter than this," Charioce told Rita.

"You thought right, these things are independent from me."

"It rather felt like an assassination attempt, and we knew he cannot do what you just did. You might have been counting freeing him for help," he said.

"In that shape? You have your knights, you have a dragon and you have Merlin. What's easier to accept, that I'm a stupid genius, or that I — and independent zombie controlled by no one — might be right about some zombies being independent?"

Leave it to Rita to hold down a glaring contest with Charioce, and have him turn his eyes away just a fraction before she did. Even Rita had more success against Charioce than he was.

"Arrange the other one to be moved to another hall. We may have a use for it yet," Charioce said.

"Got one for me too?" Rita asked.

"Of course. We might not be able to do much with a demon's blood, but it is useful to know you can create independent life."

He stalked out the dungeon without another look at either. Rita cast a last, unreadable look at Azazel before a guard pushed her along.

Whatever Charioce tried to brew, it would fall apart without Rita eventually. She could just escape, she was smart enough. If she didn't, Azazel might have her life on his conscience too, more than he already did.

· · · · · · ·

The Lidfard housekeeper appeared every morning to clean the sheets and bring breakfast. The friendliness the woman paid Belphegor when having no idea of her demonic nature was both welcome and unpleasant, the latter because she knew it wouldn't exist if not for the fog. Company meant prattling a lot about her family, her work for Kaisar, and the worries she had about anyone seeing her here — out came the assurances she personally had no issue with sex workers but the stain it'd be on the Lidfard reputation, you see. She didn't want that to happen to Kaisar again, the poor sod, as she called him. Belphegor bit down her tongue every time to force a smile and agree, promising she'd be ever so careful not to taint his name. Calling him a savior felt off.

She had her coat hidden in a closet where the housekeeper didn't reach, while her regular clothes had been washed. She'd accepted dress shifts after the first night. Changing clothes was the most momentous event of the day.

Left was laying around in excruciating boredom, and boredom made her dwell on dead faces. She tried to force her thoughts towards plans instead. Big things like rebellion were unrealistic, but escaping the city might not be. The question was whether she'd go to Cerberus or the underground first to see whether who still lived.

On the third day, she asked for something to do. The housekeeper brought her a few things to do with her hands and was pleased to find Belphegor could stitch — she'd learned this ages ago because both cloth and wounds could use it. Making artistic patterns wasn't her thing, but it was new and distracting, so she took that on.

Kaisar took four days since she'd last seen him to make another appearance. By then, Belphegor had built up enough frustration so her first words were more snappy than intended. "And look who remembered I exist."

"I, uh, have been busy. We're getting a lot of new people to make up for the losses."

Ah, training new people to keep hers in line. The only thing she wanted to know about that was how many soldiers and knights her friends had managed to kill. Not that they'd made even so much as a dent.

"I brought some pain killers from the royal doctors, though I don't know whether they will work on demons." He put a green glass bottle on the bedstand. The goo inside smelled herbal and bitter, but not foul in the way the cheaper medicines of the slums or red light district did. He'd probably spend a lot of money on this. The juxtaposition between this and giving his knights directions to kill her fellows struck hard.

"Can you stop?"

He frowned in confusion.

"The pretense," she said. "This, all of this. Me, here."

"Why are you upset? You're at least alive!"

"What do you want me to do? Lay here full of gratefullness and amazement that you spared me? You killed my friends all around me."

"It was my job. What was I supposed to do? I'd just be killed along with them if I refused."

She knew that and she hated it.

"Your people have also killed my people, in an attack you started," he said. "That's why I was gone for so long without checking in. Countless of our knights died!'

"Go ahead, tell me more about how we chose to be enslaved and slaughtered. Those countless knights of yours were keeping us from our freedom! All we want is to go home! But even if we did escape, there is no home to go to! You know what it's like to lose everyone, right? There's nobody else in this mansion but you. Imagine that, for a whole nation."

He clenched his hands. "I know it well enough. But you—"

"I what? Wasn't nice enough to the people trying to kill me? We did too much hating?" His eyes widened at that, and she continued. "Some of the women that night joined the rebellion, so I have some idea about you sound. Well guess what, I didn't start this hatred, nor can I stop it by ceasing to hate. It would just keep me a sheep, a thing that lets humans take it. I'll be taken anyway, be it for pleasure, or in your case soothing your conscience. That's all I'm here for, isn't it? I'd be dead on the street with the rest otherwise."

"No! Believe it or not, I would prefer there to be no bloodshed at all. I saw a chance to save you and I knew you wouldn't start a fight here, so that's one life I managed to save. I would prefer more, but that is not possible as of now."

"Oh, it is all? You could have let that dragon kill the king. You could have helped us get to the king, the other day. You could get close enough to poison him, or detonate one of my bombs. You could give me the material to replicate the one from the doctor's mansion. It's not possible though, because you don't want to."

He looked away, either a bit ashamed or convincing himself he was.

"Now I'm in the middle of the upper ring when I'm wanted. I'll probably be safer than elsewhere, but only as long as I don't leave. I bet there's more patrols in the upper ring than down below, right?"

"Yes."

She lay back and covered her eyes with an arm. Below her anger lay fear. What they would do if they caught her, and whether Kaisar would not sell her out when the fire got too hot under his feet. "Can you give me an idea what will happen if anyone, your housekeeper or otherwise, catches wind you hide a demon here?"

"The Onyx Knights are likely to storm the place. Maybe I could get you the materials for the bomb that just knocks people out."

Maybe. She'd had to see it first.

Kaisar said, "And please, try the medicine. If it doesn't work I'll find something else."

He walked out, pausing as if to speak again but deciding against it. Like he didn't know what to make of this situation. That sentiment she shared, at least.

Nothing was simple. Cerberus protected a number of people but was more than willing to literary sell people out to preserve her domain, and she didn't take risks for others. Azazel had looked like a straight forward savior for a while, until his intentions with humankind were thrown in doubt while he did things like assault Nina and the reveal of his past conduct towards humans. Even Nina, for all her sweetness, had somehow spared Charioce.

Kaisar was another complication like that. The guy went from abducting her to helping out to killing her fellow rebels but sparing her, and now had her in his house. He probably wasn't pretending when he was helpful, at least not to her. But neither was he pretending to serve the man who enslaved and annihilated her people.

· · · · · · ·

Cerberus hated her house being crowded, but it couldn't be helped. What was she supposed to do, sell'em to the knight and get a bad reputation? Or sell them to worse? She had room and the miserable lot knew how to be small and quiet, but her privacy was gone.

Delphyne knocked on the door during business hours today. Couldn't be good.

"In," Cerberus said.

Delphyne's heads, main and snakes alike, peaked in. "You've been requested. A rich customer. Suspiciously so. Never saw him before, but he's a pretty strong figure. Smell healthy too, so maybe you'll have fun."

"Pssst. No work talk up here," she said with a nod at Bel's lot, who huddled in a corner playing cards. "Some of these got the phases."

"Oh. I see, sorry."

She followed Delphyne down, but didn't get further than halfway the attic stairs.

The stood at the bottom of the stairs, cloaked up. Only a dim smile was visible below the hood. They were a human, but that's all she could smell about them.

Cerberus bypassed Delphyne's tail and blocked the way. "What do you want?"

They lowered their hood to reveal a kinda androgynous face, but otherwise pretty bland. What was unusual was the hand they held up. On it a purple circle glowed, the writing tiny.

Aw crap, that was a seal of a dark angel. Pretty new, she didn't recognize it, or at least someone who had never been to Styx.

"We talk upstairs." She waved Delphyne off and let the person into the room.

"So, what do you want?"

"Possibilities to explore." The voice wasn't androgynous so much as garbled and mixed. Weird.

"You gotta give me more than that."

The human looked around until their eyes fell on the largest of the refugees. Arachna spent her days cooped up in a corner, quietly spinning useless things. Now she looked up and probably would've liked to turn into the tiny spider that the fog made her appear as.

"Arachna, right? Come over here," the guest said. "By oath of hell, step forth."

Reluctant and quiet, Arachna took a few steps closer.

"Spin me a thread."

Arachna cast a pleading look at Cerberus, but Cerberus had nothing. Go on, do it.

Wordless, Arachna tipped her lower body forward and wove. The visitor delicately took it and set it on fire. It turned to drifting ashes at once.

"Excellent. The lady Olivia would have your services," they said. "Cerberus, we would be obliged if you inform us where the mayor, the doctors, and the socialites of Anatae live."

"I can get you that information, but what's it for?"

"You shall see," they said. "Please prepare a worthy place for the arrival of the lady Olivia."

· · · · · · ·

As the days passed, the fog grew thicker, and the mirage of his mother got every single detail right. He might be able to spin a logical reason for keeping this thing intact too, just to see where the mirage got the informations to instruct the zombie. He could, but he didn't call for Chabrol to figure it out.

She—it was so glad to learn he was the king, and that it was back in the castle to live in luxury. It feasted on rotten dishes and scraps as if it was royal food, it called the names of long gone and it could have conversations with him in the same ways as his true mother had. His mentor, his carer, his very first advisor.

In that way, it was also useful one as a sounding board. At the evenings, it sat at the heart and knitted. It would talk to him about the day, complain about not being able to leave, and want to know all about how he did. Most of the time it spoke in ways as expected, and was able to repeat advice from the past, but sometimes it didn't feel like enough. He couldn't always tell where the fog failed, or where his memory did.

It came to the point where he brought up a personal thing. "What if I told you I met a girl?"

"What if indeed? I would have a lot of questions, but you don't tell me enough."

"I met a girl. She is a dragon, and my enemy. I locked her in the labor camp, where she will die once I rise Dromos in its full glory. What do you think?"

The mirage hesitated for a long moment before saying, "That's wonderful, dear."

Ridiculous. If anything was a charade, this thing here was.

But then she said, "Do you know your enemy?"

Oh. A very good charade. It wasn't what his real mother would have said, if she lived still, but it was nevertheless put his mind on track.

Nina was a simple girl, who had her doubts already on the righteousness of the demons. She hadn't gone off track until running into Azazel. No one ever might have known she was a dragon if not for that. A child, who only wanted to be a child. Nina was easy to understand.

"Do you know whom to drive out, and whom to kill?" the thing with his mother's voice continued. "Because remember, we are one nation under the sun, we cannot be divided from within."

Common words to her, but now they took on a terrible context. He had always thought it was the gods and demons alone that had to have their filthy fingers pried out of the earth. But within him now lay a wish to fall into the arms of a half blood,

Perhaps she wasn't the real enemy he stood face to face with. It was his own desire.

It wasn't that he wanted her for himself. He didn't even know what he wanted about her, really. There wasn't a good reason for his heart to speed up at the sight of her, to get get lost in her thrall. There was no rationale on emotions, no matter how much he tried to force it. Self indulgance was at work.

"What do you think I should do with her?"

"Invite her home, introduce us, and let us find out how well she fits with the family."

"I cannot do that, she is our enemy."

"Then why does she live?"

Chris closed his eyes and wondered what he even hoped to achieve? I'm in love with the enemy lingered on his tongue, but he didn't say it.

Not that it mattered. He had thrown aside so many things. The early waves of guilt had burned to shreds until nothing bothered him anymore, and he could do the same with these simple flares of romance. It would just take some time, starting with ridding himself of this thing, and soon he wouldn't need the zombie master anymore either, and then he could see whether he wasn't keeping any of them alive because of Nina. Because of what base humanity she tore him down to when he should be a greater human, a giant spirit amongst men.

· · · · · · ·

The dungeons were always filled with cries since before Charioce XVII took place. There had been a brief lapse with XVI, before he'd been assinated, otherwise it was practice to get as much information as possible. Most of the time, nothing useful was produced.

He'd never agreed with it and vehemently clung to that and he wanted better ... but he had to admit now this didn't send him into the same anger as when he'd seen it done to Amira. He'd never really been able to imagine her as a demon or even a thief, so she'd been a lady, and that was much easier to unite with her being an angel too. Rita had said she was both angel and demon, but that hadn't meant much, when she was the way she was. And Rita had been a child, so impossible to kill when unlike Favaro, he had proof of her deception and malice at that time.

Why he sought out Azazel now, he couldn't tell himself.

The official reason he had given to go down here was to retrieve a sample of a monster, so the new recruits would be able to train on something interest and fresh — the other powerful demons were either dead already or reserved for the arena, and they weren't risking transporting one to the castle now.

The monster was somehow sprung from Azazel, blood brought to life by Rita's magic. They kept it in a hall next to Azazel. The thing was black, leathery and goat like, with serpents ghosting around it. It lay nailed to the floor with massive pins. Smaller cages stood around it, contained already harvested miniatures that didn't grow well.

Dias being such a massive man, he'd be able to carry two. Kaisar planned to carry one as well, but his attention was on the other hall.

"Dias, take three out, alone. I have to go see him."

"Are you sure?" Dias asked. "It's gonna do our reputation no good if our captain's cozying up with demons, regardless of your medal."

"If the guards ask where I am, tell them I'm confronting my father's killer. It should be no problem, the king is already aware of my situation."

There were no guards at the torture hall's last door, because the only ones able to resist him were the Onyx Knights. There was a shortage of them, as there were of regular soldiers — a shortage that would increase of Azazel in an aggressive mood decided to send out his serpents.

Kaisar stepped into the cold room, which was lit only with pale, teal light. Azazel was at the center, hanging from a metal frame on wired hooked through his shoulders and back. His arms had been torn off. By now the flesh had grown shut, but a pool of purple blood remained.

Equally broken was his pride. When Azazel looked up Kaisar could see hopelessness. Nothing seemed left of the arrogant demon he'd met on the Gregor.

Before Kaisar could figure out what exactly he wanted to say, Azazel said, "Kill me."

When a decade ago he'd set up Azazel for Jeanne's attack, even as he fell to his death, Kaisar had owned the moment. Azazel was not his father's killer, not even a bounty hunter, just a devil. That's what he'd decided, because devils were lower than any other being. He hadn't ever imagined life would lead him to a point where this same demon was strapped down in that same castle, practically begging for death. Even if he had still cared for the vow of revenge on the graves of his parents, this wouldn't have cut it.

"There's no need for you to die. Listen, lady Belphegor survived and Favaro is around too. They'll find a way to break you out."

"Are you all insane?" Azazel spat. His voice came out hoarse. "Kill me already!"

"No."

Azazel took in a deep breath and a single black snake manifested before him. It shot at Kaisar to wrap around his neck.

"Kill me, or I'll kill you."

"If you still wanted to kill me, you would have done it years ago," Kaisar choked out. "And if you really wanted to die, you'd have used this snake this grab that blade over there, or anything else."

Azazel closed his eyes. The snake tightened around his throat, but when Kaisar didn't so much as move, it let go and vaporized.

"They're all dead because you kept Charioce alive. Another chance. Every day you give him another chance and my people die," Azazel said in an utterly broken voice.

"You deserved that chance," Kaisar said.

"You never were in a position to give me a chance. You would die at my power whether or not you'd set up Jeanne to land a blow. You were more than willing to see me dead during the one choice you had, and you were right. Tell, knight, how your bloody crown is any different from me? Other than it being your kingdom."

"It is not like that!" It broke out and would have carried him away — how dare he imply ... how dare he ... if ... No, he wasn't going to give into this. He could understand why Azazel and Belphegor were angry, but he wouldn't fall to senseless hatred again. He'd come too close to killing Favaro, too many times, to allow that to happen again. "I want there to be peace between the three tribes. It has to be better than before, and it will be if we all just set aside our differences. I'm sure we can all come to that point, sooner or later."

"Better? It's worse now. If you want better, than let that chance exist and save my people. Kill Charioce."

"Azazel, death won't solve any of this, on either side," he said, but the words came out with less conviction than he wanted.

The demon's face drew into such hatred, it struck Kaisar for the first time Azazel had never really hated him before. As sadistic and contemptuous as he'd been, it had only been personal within the confines of the game. Azazel and his old toys. This was hatred, and no matter how much Kaisar would reason, the base instincts told him to run.

Worse than that drive what what Azazel said next, "Tell the dead about those chances you're giving them."

Kaisar couldn't answer this, didn't want to. He didn't need the foundations of his honor and pride a knight shaken. Not now.

When he met up with Dias, he grabbed a cage and rushed out of the dungeon. Dias didn't ask anything but the concern was clear enough. Maybe he was right, this would taint the honor of the knights if anyone heard what he'd said back there. Pity for a demon? Criminal.

The things in the cage writhed and shrieked.

The way things were, he couldn't tell whether sparing Azazel was mercy, or killing him would have been. He wanted to avoid as much death as possible, as a good knight should, yet he was about to use Azazel's survival to teach his people to kill demons.

It would only be dangerous demons, he told himself. There weren't much dangerous demons left, he knew better.

· · · · · · ·

Kaisar's hairs weren't perfectly coifed for once, there actually were stray hairs. "You look gloomier than usual, captain."

"I visited Azazel today," he said.

"And?"

Kaisar took a chair and sat in it, forward as he stared at the ground. "He wanted me to kill him."

Across the years, Belphegor had known more than a few demons who had killed themselves to escape their misery. That Azazel would be one of them seemed absurd, but then again, her initial impressions of him hadn't been the whole picture.

Regardless, she had to do something despite this infernal injury. Anything. Kaisar looked very much like he wanted to say more, but she wasn't up for it. Not this topic.

"Is your housekeeper gone?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm going to walk around." She gently lowered her legs to the ground and increased pressure on it, ignoring Kaisar's remarks on staying in bed.

The muscles were stiff and painful, but if she shifted weight on the wall she could stand without crying out. Pain must've shown on her face though, as Kaisar got into her personal space. Just to support her by her arm, but she dropped back on the bed and glared at him.

He gave her space and she tried again, working her way step through step. It did no wonders for her broken bones, but she had to move, had to do something, or she was left with dying faces in her mind.

Kaisar trailed after her.

"Go to bed, I won't steal anything."

"I don't actually sleep here. I must be available at all times at the castle, so I am in the knight quarters," he said. "Currently I am on a break with Dias in charge."

In other words, he was just here to see her. If he felt guilty, she'd have liked a more concrete expression than fretting over her walking around, but she wasn't going to make a point of it as long as he didn't hand her over. If she wasn't quite sympathetic enough anymore, maybe he'd get rid of her. She hadn't figured out the jumble of his standards, but it probably hung up on conditional chivalry.

The rooms were typical up here. Bedrooms, some kind of sparring room, some kind of foyer and ... ooh, a library. Now that was a pleasant, distracting surprise. She staggered in and sat in the nearest chair, trying to catch her breath. She'd have to make a proper crutch soon, because this was a library and she was going to be here every waking moment, damn it all.

Kaisar entered too.

"If you're going to linger, could you get me a few books?"

"Which do you want?"

"Anything related to science, if you have them."

He had to look for a while and ask, because he had no idea what even qualified as science. Warfare and technology and healing could overlap, but not always in ways she could engage with. Let alone if her plans involved a better bomb, or sabotaging magic flow and mecha.

"May I ask, how many demons are there like you?" Kaisar asked. "I mean, the kind that does not seek to destroy but to build."

"Millions that you never would have met. They simply do not have the magic needed to leave hell on their own."

Her eyes fell on a book about the history of the Orleans Knights. A few shelves down was a history of the kingdom, accompanied by one on economical and agricultural advances. Those books were in better health, clearly of little interest to the owners. She pointed them all out and he gathered them, putting them on the table next to her. She started with the one of the Orleans Knights, skimming over records and deeds to reach the integration of the mecha.

"But you've left hell, to make pacts with humans. I wonder what you saw in humankind, despite our fears for hell."

"I saw passion and innovation brought together, to match my own. There have been humans who have done glorious things with the craft I lent them." She nodded at Kaisar's metal hand. "I actually provided the inventor of those with the magic needed to plan joint movement of such a device. You know, once I took so much pride in what I brought forth. I loved what humankind could accomplish. So weak, so frail, so shortlived, yet so driven by legacy and progress. I was proud to help your kind proceed with what my kingdom suppressed. Now, more than a few things I've helped develop are part of our oppression. Harnessing sources to fuel those ancient armors is something I took part in too, for example. Me and a rare team of other innovative demons, just about nineteen. We could've been more ..."

She trailed off to more dead faces, and quickly focused on the book again.

"Ancient armors?" Kaisar frowned, and it was the first expression she saw from him that wasn't that odd, burdened look. Genuine curiosity was something she'd gladly indulge; especially since it put her mind somewhere productive.

"The mecha. Or automatons, as Paracelsus insists they must be called. They're ancient technology that your people use but cannot reproduce. I was never very interested in them, I was after their astronomical devices and generators. But now your king has found a way to power these things with Dromos, I think I ought to have a look."

She laid the book open before him, pointing at canister that held channel stones for mecha. "Get me one of these, as well as one of those green rocks. Or do I have to first make you feel more guilty for killing my friends?"

"I could ge the canister, but I don't have any access to the reserves that the Onyx Knights keep."

"Then buy a slave," she said. "And help me pry the rock out of the collar."

"I thought you were against slavery?"

Her eye twitched. "Let's get this straight : I've been a slave before I got to Cerberus's place. People like you being all uppity and moral about not buying slaves didn't help us at all. Buy a slave and try to do this : don't give them orders. Just don't open your mouth at all if you feel some kind of impulse to be a slave master," she said. "Alternatively, pay them to take your orders."

She sat back in the chair and waited.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," she said.

He held out a hand. "Will you at least let me help you walk back?"

She couldn't shake the impression he asked for a favor, a way he could feel less bad that wasn't so risky or unfamiliar. If he did have some sting of conscience, that could be useful. She'd have to see first. Maybe if she could get him to take a few more risks, she might actually have a better ally. An excellent ally, actually, if her goal was to break into a prison.

· · · · · · ·

"Seconds, please!" Nina said eagerly, holding out her bowl to the supervisor. As always she was ignored, and that was better than the response had been on other days. Nina had been asking for seconds every day, smiling without falter even as she never got anything. Jeanne had thought it was dense optimism, but the longer it went on the more it felt like Nina was just very practiced at staying bright.

Nina sat back down with Jeanne, her stomach rumbling. She was absurdly strong when it comes to lifting things, but only initially. While still stronger than a human, her endurance started to slack of in a speed much faster than anyone else. It wasn't difficult to guess why.

"Here," Jeanne said, holding out her bit of bread.

"Are you sure? If you keep sharing, you won't last either, right?'

Jeanne took her hand and pushed the piece in it. "I will, I've done it before. I can see you're one of those who won't."

Nina hesitated, but her hunger won out and she devoured it in one bite. Up close, small things like her jaw opening further than a human stood out. She'd said she ate about five times more than a human, once. Jeanne wasn't sure how to break that topic, but altogether worried more for her health.

"Are you sure you don't want to escape?" Nina asked. She'd said it a few times so far, but every time someone had been nearby. Jeanne cast a glance around, but the guard had moved away.

"I do," she whispered. "You need to stop speaking of this near guards, okay? They quarantine trouble cases."

"Oh. Right."

"Yes, I do want to escape. I've drawn a limited map over the years, and your strength might help me bypass a few blockades I cannot handle alone," she whispered. "If I get out, I must find my child."

Whispers were around Nina had been a resistance member of some kind. She would not have mentioned her child, if not for wanting to quell any ideas Nina might have over dragging her into that. Rebellion was not what lord Michael wanted for Jeanne.

"You're a mother?" Nina asked. "So you like kids. Did you ever help a little demon kid escape?"

"No, not that I recall."

"Or maybe a holy chimera something, like two years ago."

El ... El had survived?

"Can you tell me more about that child?"

"Mute, looks very human, but has two colored eyes and is very nice and plays the ocarina. She's a friend of mine and I met the other kids too. They said you had brought Mugaro in. She's got a pretty weird power, but I didn't see it myself, unfortunately."

"Are you sure the child wasn't a boy?"

Nina nodded. "That's what everyone else thought too, but she says she's being a girl now. Why'd you help her? Mugaro's never really explained that, though Cerberus said something odd about her being a hybrid."

Jeanne couldn't make much sense of that, but still, the question to ask whether her child was alright choked on her tongue. She didn't want to give herself false hope.

"Do ... do you know where this child is now?"

"I'm not sure what happened to Mugaro, she got pretty scared from Cerberus's talk about some lady named Amira and she ran away. But Azazel went after her and said she was fine, she was just staying with some pastor. That's all I know."

What.

"Azazel went after her?"

Nina cringed. "Oh, right, uhm ... yes, that's the Azazel who invaded Anatae. Anyway, he was really worried and I'm not sure whether he got to explain anything to Mugaro about the past or anything. When he talked to me about the past he was kind of a dick, but I'm sure he was nicer to Mugaro."

Kind of a dick was an understatement given what she'd heard and seen of him. Keeping her tone neutral, she asked, "What is Azazel's relation with Mugaro?"

"I think dad? After he saved her from the slavers, he took her in and took care of her and kept her safe and all that, and Mugaro likes to be near him and looks up to him, so I think that qualifies as father. Mugaro can't really say it cause she's mute, but it looks close enough. Cerberus thinks he just keeps Mugaro around cause of her being special but I don't think he had a clue. He really didn't want Mugaro to be in danger and Cerberus doesn't know what she's talking about. Not that Azazel was really forthcoming with thing he should have told me, but the only secret about Mugaro was that she existed. I wasn't supposed to tell the rebellion about Mugaro Azazel thought she might get in danger, but then Bacchus and Hamsa didn't know. Or forgot cause they got drunk again."

By all gods above, what.

El was mute somehow. How that might have happened already festered at her imagination. Azazel ... had taken in her child. What on earth for? Or what in hell?

"Jeanne, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

"No ... I just have a lot to think about."

It had come full circle. Not only was her king her enemy and eagerly killing gods, now she had to believe that fallen angel cared for her child? Was El alright? Was Nina reliable? Who was Nina anyway? Jeanne never asked why anyone was here, usually. Nothing mattered in here, but if she was to get out with Nina and Nina was a demon ...

At the end of the day when alone in their cells (save for the guards at the end of the hall), Jeanne risked eavesdroppers to get some answers. There was a lot she didn't expect to learn, but one simple thing she could start with.

"Nina, why are you here?"

"Oh, that's, uh ... I kind of tried to kill the king," Nina said. "I joined with Azazel and Dante's rebellion, but it didn't work."

That was bold. More than she allowed herself to imagine nowadays, given what happened when she had defied the will of Charioce XIII. No matter. She had closer concerns.

"Are you sure the demon you met was Azazel?"

"Yeah. At first I was hunting him for the bounty, but the Orleans Knights thought I was with him and tried to kill me. He saved me when I fell and then I changed into a dragon and things went from there, I saved him too and then he joined the rebels and so I did too. I'm able to resist that green stuff so they finally had a chance."

Pour on some more absurdness, why not?

The girl's look and demeanor suggested nothing of lying, joking or malice. Demon matters aside, the ability to resist that terrible green power was not something to take lightly. Only El had ever been able to do so as far as she knew. What about this woman was the same? She had a hard time pegging her age before her cheerful demeanor slipped through, but she was toned and sunburned, having little in common with her frail child. She didn't sense anything holy emanating from her. In fact, she could be wrong but there was just a touch of demonic power about her.

Worse yet, she didn't like the sound of the knights just killing someone on a suspicion. What was going on, had they gotten rid of Kaisar too? Was he banished or worse?

Dear Michael. Something was really wrong out there, moreso than she'd thought when Charioce put her here.

"Jeanne, not that I mind talking, but why are you suddenly curious about my stuff?"

"I think ... it may be that Mugaro is my child, El."

"What? Really?"

She didn't like telling this story, but Nina had been forthcoming and perhaps her one true ally. Suspicions of Nina were limited to her physical nature, rather than any treacherous tongue. She might deserve a little honesty in return, even if it was a painful history to share. If Jeanne wanted to confirm what she suspected, she would have to tell Nina about El anyway.

"Once, I was chosen by the archangel Michael to rise as a saint for this kingdom, and as a vessel for the remanifestation of Zeus. We believed I was the holy knight destined to defeat Bahamut ... I was not. I fell into sin, and was forgiven yet. I vowed to spend my life as a knight, up until Charioce XVII began invading heaven. He would tell me why only if I swore loyalty to him and used my fame to sway the doubting masses to his new way. I refused and was cast out, no longer to be anything but the farmer I had began as. In his mercy, lord Michael gave me El. In his cruelty, Charioce XVII separated us. It is not an easy story. Do you want to hear it anyway?"

Nina hesitated long enough for Jeanne to consider resigning to bed, but she said at last, "Tell me everything, please. Of Mugaro ... and of the king."

· · · · · · ·