Chapter Seven
Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory
Nova Babylon.
It is the commercial hub of the Lucifaad Territories, and thousands of devils from across the Underworld come here to exchange currency, raw materials, products, and sinful entertainment.
Its natural environment and geographical location have bestowed Nova Babylon the great fortune of being the critical nexus that links Lucifaad to its northern provinces. Its populace of nearly two million souls quickly makes it one of the most densely occupied cities in the underworld.
The ancient city now played host to a bloody war between agents of House Nebiros and the 56th Legion. Its dense population and loyalist ties made it a significant staging ground for an insurrection that increasingly grew out of control.
The insurgents of Nova Babylon are the most well-coordinated cell in the Lucifaad province, tormenting the local garrison to such an extent that even the intervention of several cohorts from the 56th Legion was ineffective.
Venelana Gremory, Zekram Bael's venerable daughter, steamed with fury at the news of another attack on her men.
This was the third strike on her detachment this week, and the casualties suffered by her Cohorts were beginning to strain her command structure.
She walked into this damnable city with 9,000 Legionnaires and over 100 senior officers barely two months ago. Sirzechs estimated that deploying three Cohorts to Nova Babylon and the garrison's preexisting 40,000 militia drawn from Renegade territories would be enough to quell Loyalist activities.
But in reality, Venelana's arrival only seemed to stoke the fires of insurrection against her men.
Twelve senior Centurions from her Cohorts died, and another twenty were critically wounded. Over the last few days, the casualty count climbed to 2,000 Legionnaires and 3,000 garrison militia.
Reinforcements for her battered Cohorts were trickling in from their core territories, but it was becoming clear that House Nebiros was winning this war of attrition.
Venelana lacked proper intelligence on her enemy, and earlier reports estimated that the insurgents numbered a little over 500. However, these assessments were proven false after multiple coordinated attacks on her garrisons and a pitched battle between her honor guard and 1,000 Nebiros agents outside the government quarter.
Nova Babylon's commander, Gozzeg, was killed in the attack leaving Venelana to take charge of its garrison before the whole damn city tore them apart.
She was frustrated by the lack of cooperation from the civilian population.
Every one of them was either complacent to the Loyalist cause or too scared to say anything, and Venelana was willing to bet on the former rather than the latter.
They desperately needed reinforcements to quell this insurrection before it spiraled out of control, but the Renegade Legions were spread thin across the theater.
Venelana departed her private chambers for the war room, where her surviving Centurions and Primus Legionnaires were gathered. Her tempting figure was perfectly molded by her ruby-red armor, allowing her to flaunt her luscious features while maintaining some protection.
As Venelana glided into the war room, her officers crossed their arms in salute, but she quickly waved them off.
"At ease, all of you." A chair at the head of the war room was quickly pulled out for Venelana by one of her trusted attendants. "Thank you, Frederic. Your dismissed."
The bespectacled Devil bowed his head in reverence and shooed the rest of her house's attendants out of the war room. Plates of refined entrees were neatly organized on the table, and each officer received enough servings to satisfy their stomachs.
However, the tension in the room was so thick that no one dared to make a move for their dinner.
"Go on and eat all of you." Venelana glanced at the dozen senior officers with a placating gaze that managed to put all but one at ease.
Centurion Kornath of the 56th Legion's 5th Cohort was no stranger to Venelana Gremory. He was a native son of Gremoris, House Gremory's homeland, like most of his Legion. He served long enough to recall when she was a Bael, and her antics still worried him to this day.
Venelana did not suffer mood swings in the traditional sense, but she did lay traps for those who had let her down by luring them into a sense of calm.
Her stunning grin was akin to a predator waiting for her prey to settle in before moving for the kill, and tonight's victim was a Centurion from the 6th Cohort that had failed to keep his Centuria from falling apart in the market district earlier that day.
It was not because he had lost many Legionnaires to the ambush.
Kornath and several other Centurions were guilty of that as well.
No, the fool wasted his time gallivanting in the local brothels and leaving his second to take charge of the patrol routes.
Twenty Legionnaires from the 5th Cohorts, 1st Centuria, were dead because their leader was out getting fucked in a brothel.
Kornath had no clue why Centurion Gurzallon thought it would be a good idea to draw additional attention to himself by making a play for the luscious stack of cooked meat, tempting him to make a final life-altering decision.
Splashes of red scattered across the war table, and Kornath barely flinched when Gurzallon's exploded in a cloud of blood and gore.
What remained of his corpse was a steaming pile of fused armor and burnt flesh that grated on Kornath's sense of smell, but he dared not move for fear of drawing his Lady's ire.
"Now." The placating smile was gone, replaced by a venomous sneer and a pair of violet orbs brimming with infernal energy.
"I feel as though I need to remind all of you of our situation because certain…." Venelana sneered at Gurzallons corpse with open contempt. "…Individuals have seen fit to test my patience."
Venelana paced around the war table, dragging her clawed fingers from one chair to the next.
"Our predicament is precarious and fluid. This entire city could unravel beneath us at any movement, and we will be consumed by a wave of insurgents yearning for our deaths if we continue the status quo."
The Gremory halted behind Kornath's chair, clutching his shoulders tightly and prompting a cold sweat on his brow. "I am asking for your very best in the coming weeks because if our Rebellion loses this city, our siege of Lucifaad will collapse, and I do not want to drag out this Civil War any longer."
Kornath silently exhaled a sigh of relief when Venelana released her grip and returned to the head of the table.
"Are there any questions?" Silence was all that greeted her, but it was the response that Venelana desired. "Excellent."
Waves of consuming infernal energy dissipated, and more than a few Centurions breathed a sigh of relief. Venelana sifted through a stack of reports from the local garrison before focusing on one of her field commanders.
"Uradoch." A female Centurion bearing the emblem of the 5th Cohort stood on her heels, her crimson hair marking her as a descendant of House Gremory. "How did your men fair? I understand that Gurzallon's Centuria wasn't the only one ambushed today?"
"Casualties were high, my Lady," Uradoch informed. "Ten of my Legionnaires were killed in the commercial district. However, these attacks were far more uncoordinated than previous attempts. My men killed twenty insurgents, but none affiliated with House Nebiros."
"Draw the Legionnaires from Gurzallons Centuria to replenish your numbers." Venelana directed. "I'm sure those soldiers would appreciate a commander that won't abandon them for a bloody brothel."
While Venelana questioned the rest of her Centurions about the Centurias' morale and combat readiness, Uradoch nodded and found her seat. Kornath caught his sister's eye, sending her a comforting nod to placate her worries.
The war meeting dragged on for hours, as numerous Centurions suggested differing tactics to combat the insurrection. Their ideas weren't fresh or groundbreaking, but they continuously pushed for a different strategy before more of their Legionnaires were killed.
Most were pressing for more aggressive methods to curtail the insurgent's movements by instituting a longer mandatory curfew and setting up more checkpoints within the city. A select few still hoped to receive assistance from Nova Babylon's Nobles, who suffered greatly from the occupation and insurgent attacks.
The bloodshed deteriorated the city's economy, and the reigning Noble, Arnath Sachia, a descendent of the extinct House Satanachia, attempted to maintain stability within Nova Babylon.
Arnath was an extra demon with a penchant for commercial trade, and his support would guarantee the loyalty of the civilian population. However, his citizens were free to choose what side to follow while he maintained a neutral stance in the war.
Kornath did not envy the Noble's position, but eventually, Arnath would have to pick a side, and he wasn't sure if he would choose Venelana and the Renegades.
While the Centurions continued their seemingly endless debates searching for a solution, a shimmer caught Kornaths attention. His gaze shifted toward a contemplative Uradoch, who subtly gripped the dagger strapped to her right forearm. However, before the siblings could intercept the interloper, they vanished.
Kornath blinked in confusion, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but his Praetor's voice cut into the bickering.
"Silence." All manner of conversation halted, and all eyes focused on Venelana.
"I grow tired of this endless debate." The Gremory stood to her feet, claws sliding across the ornate table with a dangerous shriek. "It is obvious that our tactics are insufficient, and to rely on Lord Arnath invites chaos…We require someone with a different perspective."
Venelana's expression changed to one of open amusement that confused her underlings. The Gremory Matriarch glanced off her shoulder towards a humanoid shadow that slinked away from the darkness.
"I expected you here a week ago, Cyrus."Venelana's voice lost some of its vitriol as a figure encased in the familiar armor of House Kimaris emerged from the shadows.
"Apologies, Lady Gremory. My men and I were preoccupied with a Nebiros cell in Tophet." The Kimaris heir replied. "Our arrival was delayed further when we discovered a Skinwalker hiding amongst one of your son's Centurions."
"How is Sirzechs?" It had been some time since Venelana had seen her eldest son.
"He still retains the same vexing personality." Kornath was surprised to hear such blatant disrespect of Lord Sirzechs from their guest, and Venelana's bark of amusement only further perplexed him.
"Sirzechs enjoys your company." Venelana remarked. "You're one of the few who can stand by his side without quivering in their boots."
"His opinion of me is not a priority, unlike his…contemporaries, Lady Gremory." She twitched at the formal greeting as Cyrus removed his helm, allowing specs of black hair to flash before a pair of crimson orbs settled upon Venelana. "Regardless, my Cohort stands ready to assist in counterinsurgency efforts."
"Where are your men?"
"Waiting outside the city walls," Cyrus informed. "I didn't want to raise any alarms with our arrival, so my men will enter the city under the guise of returning patrols."
"Good to hear." Venelana gave a cursory glance to the dark corners of the war room. "I don't suppose you came alone?"
"Please." Cyrus's expression turned bitter as a silky voice answered from the shadows. "Our father wouldn't allow his only son to leave home without me."
Another humanoid figure emerged from Cyrus's shadow, but this one was in House Kimaris's prestigious armor. Kornath had never seen the Shadow Lord's Dubhra Sligeach up close, but his sires were adept in using its terrifying form.
It possessed a featureless mask, and cords of hardened carapace ran down every inch of her body. Razor-sharp spikes extended from the base of her elbow, and her arms were encased with seemingly endless veins of muscle and carapace.
Dubhra Sligeach embodies the visage of the old Demons, and few could hope to stand against such martial prowess.
"Child. I haven't seen you in years." Venelana greeted Ghislaine warmly, wrapping her in a hug that she returned with equal affection. "You still following in Cyrus's shadow?"
"Someone has to watch his back." The Nekoshu's carapace melted away from her face, exposing her silver hair and a pair of Kimaris-bred crimson eyes. "What are our orders?"
Venelana beamed at Ghislaine's statement and hauled both Kimaris sires to the war table by their forearms.
"We have work to do."
l==l
Arkias opened his eyes, breath heavy and unsettled. His crimson hair was matted over his forehead glistening with perspiration. The rest of his sleek and thin face was scarred by his tribulations in the Blighted Marshlands, a memento that Lord Cyrus said was an honor to experience.
It didn't feel like it at the time.
His gaze darted to his surroundings, and the familiar comforts of his war tent settled his ailing thoughts. Lord Cyrus's neutral voice echoed in his mind with instructions.
Maintain your composure.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Settle your heartbeat.
It was jarring how easily Arkias took to Cyrus' direction when all evidence to the contrary suggested that he should be consulting his young Lord. Despite most of the Cohort being over twenty years his senior, Cyrus' words contained an insight that could not be overlooked, even if many questioned how someone so young could know so much.
However, the results spoke for themselves.
His mind felt clearer, free of the Legion tactics that Cyrus described as antiquated techniques and an inflexible doctrine that only helped the simple-minded.
Arkias' body felt lighter, stronger, and more durable due to the extreme conditioning and brutal environment of the Blighted Marshlands.
The 10th had been christened as Headhunters under that harsh environment. The swamp was the perfect testing ground for Cyrus to push his men to the breaking point, and he found them all lacking in spirit and devotion.
A few Centurions tried to undermine his command, and they were all given the privilege of being demoted in rank and regulated to sentry duty.
The hardships undertaken by the 10th Cohort eclipsed their training under the 66th's dogmatic Immunes. Centurias were regularly disarmed of their Griycium spears and forced to fight hordes of Gaiseadh until support had arrived.
A few of their number were seriously injured in each attempt, but Cyrus was quick to send in reinforcements before a permanent casualty could be incurred. Arkias and his men breathed a sigh of relief when these near-suicidal isolations were tossed out in favor of forced marches up and down the swampland.
Then things were ramped back up, Centurias were randomly divided into ten squads, and the Blighted Marshlands were cleared out for war games.
The objective of each exercise was simple.
Win by any means necessary.
But achieving victory was difficult for each squad to obtain because, for many Legionnaires, this was their first time working with one another.
Many found themselves begging for a reprieve, but Cyrus gave no compassion to his Legionnaires.
Ghislaine found herself cautioning leniency time and time again, but each attempt went ignored. As the Cohorts Primus Legionnaire, it was his duty to constantly waylay his subordinate's fraying morale.
The Kimaris heir broke down his Cohort, giving them false hope for success before snatching it from their hands. Cracks in command began to form three months into their brutal training before the Legionnaires had enough.
Some felt that Cyrus was overtly harsh, and none of them could understand what they had done to deserve their Lord's ire. Others believed that he took great pleasure in their suffering and accused him of being a sire of House Naberius.
Arkias and his Centurions subsequently silenced these rumors before they reached Cyrus. There was a motion to protest his leadership before Centurion Zorizar argued in his favor.
His dispute was simple in nature. Where was Lord Cyrus during these trials?
The answer settled all debates.
For all his cruelty, Cyrus never allowed his men to venture into the swamp alone. Every mile marched, every trial encountered, and every horror teeming inside the Blighted Marshlands was endured by Cyrus.
Their Lord did not flinch in the face of the Gaiseadh. He did not indulge in more rations than needed and endured under the same sweltering heat and icy winds as the rest.
All trials that a Noble never suffered unless they sought it out.
Nobles had a penchant for spending their journeys within the safe confines of their Argent tents, rarely venturing out into the harsh wastelands their Legions crossed until they reached their destination.
Cyrus refused such luxuries, pitching up his own tent while hearing the cautionary advice of Lady Ghislaine and Primus Arkias.
Their concerns went unheeded, and their Lord has walked by their side through every step of their journey.
A silent question began to linger in the minds of each Legionnaire.
When was the last time a Noble walked amongst them?
Never.
Lord Cyrus is a peculiar character.
Before donning his helmet and strapping his Griycium spear to his back, Arkias meticulously fitted his Legion armor to his body, ensuring that every component was securely fastened.
A Legion courier passed him a situational report on the 10th Cohort's latest raid on the insurgents local to Nova Babylon.
He and his Legionnaires were entering their second week inside the confines of Nova Babylon, but the situation had not improved to his liking. The city was a maze of sub-districts and regional zones that fell under the influence of multiple Nobles, some of which weren't even in the city.
Arnath Sachia held overall command of the civilian areas, but a few of these boroughs limited even his power. Devils are creatures that take pride in their possessions, and this often extends to their neighborhoods.
Nova Babylon was proving to be his most formidable challenge in rooting out the scores of House Nebiros agents plaguing their captured territories.
Arkias gave the missive a perpetual stare, taking great care to analyze those Legionnaires listed on the casualty report. Six Guardsmen of the 2nd Centuria suffered minor wounds, while a seventh was critically injured.
The 2nd's Centurion, a mountain of a Devil named Silgemez, led twenty Guardsmen on a direct assault of a brothel in the slums. Initial contact was made just outside the establishment, and the Legionnaires clashed with several insurgents before breaching the target building.
Aside from a suicide attack that killed the culprit and ripped one of Silgemez's Guardsmen's leg off, everything appeared to have gone according to plan. They arrested several conspirators and a Devil with ties to a local Noble House native to the Market district.
However, as Arkias reached the end of the report, his eyes widened at a section written by Silgemez himself. A critical detail concerning one of the captives was concealed behind an arcane spell meant for Cyrus alone.
Arkias wasted no time reaching his Lord's pavilion, quickly picking out the command tent at the center of the 10th Cohort's barracks in the government quarter.
On Cyrus' instructions, the Centurions were allocated lodgings meant for Nobles, while the remainder of their Guardsmen were assigned modest quarters that most were not used to experiencing.
Arkais found his Lord mulling over a dozen other reports from his Cohort while eyeing an overhead view of Nova Babylon etched on the war table.
Cyrus appeared and felt older than he actually was. One could be forgiven if they mistook him for an adolescent on the cusp of manhood when he was only eight years old, a consequence of unlocking his ancestral power at such a young age.
At the onset of the 10th's first week with Cyrus at the helm, the Legionnaires had to constantly remind themselves that he was their superior.
It didn't take long for them to remember their place on instinct.
"Arkias." Cyrus greeted his Primus before seeing the scroll slide across the war table.
"You need to see this." Crimson eyes regarded him with curiosity before they dropped toward Centurion Silgemez's report. Cyrus scanned the document with a narrowed gaze before waving his hand over the magically concealed section.
A fire in his eyes could not be ignored, and Arkias made a point to stare at a random spot in Cyrus's command tent. A sudden swirl of emotion consumed the pavilion before it was snuffed out completely.
"Where is Lady Gremory?" The sudden inquiry wrestled Arkias from his thoughts as a pair of crimson orbs bore into him.
"She resides within the government quarter, directing her Cohort from the palace." Cyrus' snort of amusement caught Arkias somewhat off guard.
"She demands results but can't be bothered to leave her ivory tower." The Primus, at a loss for words, speaking ill of a Noble no matter the circumstances, was an affront that could lead to a Devil's death.
It was just another quirk on their Lord's lengthy list of oddities. Cyrus pushed off the war table and rummaged through a wardrobe holding a mix-matched collection of clothing ranging from aristocratic attire to 66th Legion armor.
Arkias ignored the relieved sigh as Cyrus slid a concealing hood around his head. His Lord despised attention, an unusual attitude given his status as a Devil Noble, and would frequently emerge from his command tent wrapped in carapace armor.
"Make for the palace and have Lady Gremory meet me in the detention center," Cyrus smoothed out the minor kinks in his armor and turned towards Arkias. "Do you know where my sister is?"
"Lady Ghislaine is in her tent." The Primus shuffled in place, drawing Cyrus's curiosity.
"…Doing what?" Arkias remained silent, unwilling to further involve himself in Ghislaine's eccentric behavior.
The woman frightened him far too much.
"Go to the palace," Cyrus let out a frustrated exhale. "I'll handle my sister."
"As you command." Arkais saluted his Lord and darted off to the government quarter, leaving Cyrus to contemplate the insanity of the last few minutes in relative peace, albeit with a shadow in his wake.
"Karal." A Night Warden stepped out of the darkness. His Griycium spear was held tightly in his hands, and a black cloak covered most of his armored form.
Cyrus handed the document to his bodyguard, who diligently read its classified contents. "Head to the detention center and lock it down. No one gets in, and no one gets out."
"Yes, my lord." Cyrus burst from his tent, making a beeline towards Ghislaine's pavilion, as the Night Warden vanished into the shadows in a blink. Two Guardsmen assigned to his protection detail trailed his stern, mindful of his every move and critical of his surroundings.
He traversed the camp, exchanging respectful nods with his Legionnaires while watching for Ghislaine's tent. He found his destination because her Night Warden was outside the pavilion looking particularly irritated.
The Night Warden, a raven-haired devil named Sarkoth, was more lenient than the rest of Cedric's elite guard. She was closer to Ghislaine's age than the rest of her compatriots, and her designation as the Nekoshu's bodyguard was both a blessing and a curse.
Ghislaine irritated Sarkoth by bringing Legionnaires into her tent for...sapphic activities when her itch needed scratching. The Nekoshu did not allow spectators during her lust-filled antics, which conflicted with Sarkoth's responsibilities.
The Night Warden's posture, a mix of maintaining her obligations and sexual frustration, was the personification of outrage. Cyrus motioned for his protection detail to wait at a distance while approaching Sarkoth.
As soon as he came into view, she let out an exhale of relief at his approach.
"Warden," Cyrus greeted the bodyguard with a courteous nod, ignoring the screams and groans of carnal pleasure behind her. "Who's she with?"
"Centurion Mernith." Cyrus snorted with amusement at Sarkoth, throwing the off-duty Centurion under the bus.
Mernith led the 3rd Centuria, and her men were on a much-needed furlough after two months of constant action.
He did not mind the Centurion experiencing the pleasures of the flesh with Ghislaine because there was little Cyrus could do to dissuade them. He was still getting acclimated to the Devil's lack of moral complexities, and shagging one another at any hour of the day was commonplace in their downtime.
Ghislaine's only mistake was not settling her lust earlier.
The padded floor was covered with various articles of clothing and armor, producing a trail of fabric and carapace that led to the bed, which was currently...occupied.
Ghislaine sat on the edge of her furnishing, naked for all to see, and her eyes closed in blissful ignorance. The…Centurion was bare most of her clothing from the waist up and currently servicing his older sister…extensively.
The silver-haired beauty tightly gripped her bedsheets and let out a heavy breath, the hitch in her voice raising with Mernith's decisive actions.
Cyrus shuffled awkwardly in place. He nearly had his eyeballs ripped out the last time he disrupted her...sessions, not because he looked, but because he interrupted her…climax.
He really hated these people sometimes.
Mernith's nails clawed into Ghislaine's delectable thighs, and the Nekoshu's back arched, making her breasts stick out even more than usual.
Her Nekoshu ears started twitching with every jolt riveting through her body. She screamed as loud as her throat would allow, forcing Mernith to grasp her heaving breasts for balance.
Ghislaine's eyes adjusted as she saw a fiery brunette woman bathed in her own fluids, a stunning grin on her face, and her breath heavy with each exhale.
Mernith's lips licked her toned body all the way up till they met Ghilsaine's. As their lips touched, they clutched one other's hair and clashed in a savage exchange. After several minutes of passionate embrace, Ghislaine tore her lips away, causing Mernith to groan heatedly.
"Enjoy the show?" Ghislaine's eyes ebbed away from her lover to the object of her sisterly affection.
"Not particularly." Cyrus's curt tone caused Mernith's lust-filled haze to vanish as she turned to see her Lord standing with a dissatisfied expression.
Incredulously, the Centurion's training kicked in, and she sprung away from Ghislaine, saluting Cyrus while his sister's fluids dripped from her chin.
Cyrus stared at the Centurion with exasperation in his gaze.
A piece of him wanted to run Mernith and her Centuria through the crucible again for the sake of it.
But more pressing matters took priority.
"You're dismissed. Centurion." Mernith quickly threw her armor on and escaped the tent like her life depended on it.
It didn't, but she didn't need to know that.
All the while, Ghislaine stared at him in amusement before an article of clothing was thrown in her face.
"If you were so uncomfortable." She began while sliding her delectable legs through a pair of breeches. "You could have waited outside for me to finish."
"Then you would have kept going," Cyrus countered."And I am not in a patient mood."
"When are you ever in a patient mood." Rather than answering, he waited for her to finish getting dressed before handing her a pair of finely crafted daggers.
Ghislaine made a show of taking her knives by cupping his outstretched hands in hers and stepping into his personal space.
"Where are we going?" She whispered, hot breath falling upon his cheek.
"The detention center," Cyrus informed, untangling himself from her grasp. "Silgemez came back with prisoners this morning."
The Nekoshu clicked her tongue in annoyance. "This bastard better be a Nebiros Skinwalker, or I may tear your balls off, Cyrus."
"It's not a Skinwalker…." Ghislaine's eyes brimmed with momentary fury before his following words froze her solid.
"…It's a Fallen."
l==l
A Grigori agent within their borders might be more than a simple source of concern.
The Great War did not end; it merely shifted into an uneasy stalemate as the three factions faced a world devoid of God and Samael.
This wouldn't be the first time a Fallen Angel was found snooping around in places they didn't belong. Each of the three factions had a passive espionage network consisting of assets deeply embedded in one another's territory so they could keep tabs on one another.
A foreign spy infiltrating their borders and being apprehended during a raid on an insurgent safe house, on the other hand, converted a minor espionage allegation into a major political crisis that threatened to rekindle hostilities.
Nova Babylon was quickly turning into more than what Cyrus bargained for.
The fact that the captive crow was a crucial figure in the Grigori did not help matters. Behind a heavy set of magically induced bars, the Fallen was confined in chains that sapped her divine energy.
Ghislaine stood at his side, and for once, her easygoing expression was replaced by pure iron. His sister had a poor impression of the crow considering she was the perpetrator of the scar hovering above her navel.
Her eyes were filled with a potent rage that felt disturbingly out of place. Ghislaine's judgment was compromised for the first time, and her subsequent acts may be unpredictable.
"How long has it been?" Cyrus watched the emotion play out in his sister's eyes.
"Long enough," Ghislaine replied with a clipped tone. "The Crow led a pathfinder sortie for two Grigori Legions pushing for Uvall. My Cohort and I intercepted her team just outside the city limits."
Cyrus frequently overlooked that Ghislaine was nearly a century old and had participated in the Great War's violent conclusion. He wondered how many physical and mental scars that conflict had etched into her psyche.
"She…" Ghislaine hesitated, eyes watering as a flood of repressed memories overcame her. "…She tore us apart. I lost half my Cohort in an hour, and if Jade hadn't shown up, I would have died on some frozen field."
"Penemune." The name tasted like ash in Ghislaine's mouth. "The Butcher of Uvall."
The Fallen raised her head instinctively, locking eyes with the Nekoshu, who returned her stare with contempt. Penemune held her gaze before dismissing the enraged Ghislaine with a huff and finding the ceiling far more interesting.
A flood of evil arcana threatened to erupt from Ghislaine, and she was moments away from breaching the cage and tearing the Fallen a new one when Cyrus intervened.
Seconds before Ghislaine could activate her Dubhra Sleagh, Cyrus wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her out of Penemune's sight. He needed the fallen alive and well if he was going to find out why she was here in the first place.
"Get off me!" Ghislaine barred her fangs, but Cyrus pressed his frame flush against her.
"I need you to calm down." She growled at him, her teeth inches away from gnawing into his cheek. "Ghislaine!"
Her arms slipped free from his hold, but Cyrus shifted his hands and pinned them against her chest. His right leg curled around the back of her knee and confined the limbs together.
"Get off!" Ghislaine's tenacity swelled tenfold, nothing was working, and he could sense the Night Wardens inching closer to them. A pulse of arcana kept them from interfering, allowing Cyrus to go in a different direction.
"No." He leaned closer, pushing the crown of his forehead into Ghislaine's and mingling his stabilizing arcana with her fraying network. The Nekoshu's nature as an empath allowed Cyrus to sync their heartbeats and stabilize her nerves. "Focus on me. Not her."
"Breath, Ghislaine. Match my breathing and relax." Her emotions were driven by the mental scars of the Great War, and some of those traumas were replicated by the fallen confined in chains.
Cyrus continued to pour his soothing arcana into her system, slowly but surely, the fury and anger washed away.
As the last remnants of silence delivered their final pulses, Ghislaine's eyes regained their former light. She blinked once, then closed and leaned their heads tenderly against one other, their breaths mixed into winded yet content peace.
Her posture was despondent and listless, but Cyrus would have none of it. He gripped Ghislaine's chin and forced her to look him in the eye.
"You still with me?" The Nekoshu nodded in acceptance, unable or unwilling to find her voice. Asking Ghislaine to remain in Penemune's presence was asking too much, and right now, his sister didn't need to be anywhere near this Fallen.
"Sarkoth." The Night Warden emerged from the dark, her focus darting from their imprisoned crow to her charge at random intervals. "Take her for a walk."
Sarkoth nodded and gently took Ghislaine by the arm. The Nekoshu hesitated at first, but a whispered plea from Cyrus settled all debate.
He watched his sister vacate the room, and only when they disappeared did he release a sigh of relief.
The Fallen found his reaction…amusing.
"Come closer, little devil." A velvety voice echoed from the isolated chamber, and Karal stepped into the light with a heavy grip on his Griycium spear. The Night Warden understood the risks that came with engaging the Fallen directly. Even in her passive state, the power rolling off Penemune's frame was damn near palpable.
Cyrus couldn't quite comprehend how Centurion Silgemez didn't recognize who he was transporting to the detention center.
The Devil was luckier than he realized.
He stepped into the crow's line of sight, allowing him an unfiltered view of Penemue's sinful looks.
She looked no older than her late twenties with long, flowing violet hair that reached down to the small of her back. Her bright violet eyes and pale skin accentuated her perfectly angled jaw and heavenly features. The loose fabric from her clothing perfectly concealed her enviable assets and flawless skin.
Penemue was the definition of sex, but that was the entire point of her creation, whether or not her creator wanted it to be.
"Crow." His clipped and severe tone only seemed to amuse Penemue.
"You're different from the rest of your kind." She began with a tilt of her head. "Far more…balanced than I'm used to handling. It would be best if you let the girl try her hand. She looks like she needs to relieve some stress."
"You would've liked that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course." Penemue spread her arms out in jest. "The pleasures of captivity can only be truly enjoyed when someone's trying to kill you. The last time I was in Nova Babylon was at the head of an army. Now I'm here acting as a tourist."
"I doubt the tourist angle would have worked much longer," Cyrus stated. "Someone like you was bound to make a mistake sooner or later."
"Please, little Devil." Penemue disagreed, standing to her feet and straining the iron on her restraints. "Your kind are easily influenced by their baser instincts. All of you are overconfident, naive, and amusingly abrasive."
"Not all of us." She clicked her tongue in amusement at Cyrus's remark. Penemue gradually leaked her pheromones into the air during their banter, hoping to convert him into a chew toy.
Nothing worked on him, but that stout resistance only intrigued her further.
"No. Not all of you." Her violet eyes bore into his crimson orbs with interest. "What's your name, little Devil?"
"Cyrus." He didn't see the harm in divulging that much information.
"Of House Kimaris?" The shadows subconsciously licked at Cyrus's frame, whether or not he wanted them. "How is your father? I haven't seen him since we crossed swords at the Siege of Heaven."
"He's preoccupied with Bashalum and his Loyalists." Cyrus eyed Penemue with suspicion. A question was gnawing at the back of his mind as his gaze fell on her restraints.
Penemue was one of the most potent crows in the Grigori's employ, with ten wings signifying her status. The Fallen remained bound by her free will, not because these bindings kept her in place.
Her…perceived vulnerability had alarm bells ringing at the back of his head.
Cyrus felt like he was being played.
"Why are you here, Crow?" He began. "You could break out of those bindings at any moment. Why allow yourself to be taken?"
"Maybe I like being in chains." Penemue's wicked grin would have most sentient beings weak at their knees.
"Spare me your patronizing words," Cyrus rumbled out. "I'm not one of your toys, and I have more important things to do than trade banter with you."
"Can't humor a woman?"
"I don't see a woman." Cyrus bit back with venom. "I see an annoying fly."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Penemue rose to her feet, shattering the shackles fastened to her wrists with practical ease. Karal grasped his Griycium spear and was only seconds from striking her down when Cyrus halted his motion with a glance.
If the Fallen wanted to kill either of them, they would have been dead long before they walked into the room.
Penemue slipped through the iron bars with a satisfied grin as she rendered the metal into dust. Cyrus found himself face to face with one of the most formidable Crows in history, and most devils would have already fled for the hills.
He didn't.
A dainty hand traced Cyrus's jaw, and he stopped himself from cringing on instinct.
"You remind me of one of my sisters," Penemue remarked while her free hand grasped his shoulder. "She has the same look in her eye that you do…A calamity she carries with her at all times that's…mystifying."
Penemue delved into those crimson orbs and found a spirit that didn't belong to the body of a devil. Cyrus was genuinely captivating, and a piece of her wanted to spirit him away to Erebus for…thorough examination.
But alas, she wasn't here to make enemies of devils.
Well, not these devils.
A cough drew Penemue's attention away from Cyrus, and her gaze fell upon a familiar… friend.
Venelana Gremory stood at the entrance with a less-than-pleased expression. Two of her Praetorian guards joined Karal in surrounding the formerly captive Fallen with Griycium spears.
"Do let go of my Nephew, Penemue." The Gremory admonished. "I'd hate to cut that pretty little head off."
Penemue gently withdrew her offending hands as Venelana closed the distance. She gently ushered Cyrus behind her, putting valuable space between her nephew and the Fallen.
Elerin would have her head if she found out the Butcher of Uvall was within arm's length of her only son.
It was best not to tell Elerin if she could help it.
"Leave us." Venelana ordered her Praetorians while Cyrus gestured for Karal to do the same. The Night Warden severely disagreed with his Lord's command but reluctantly acquiesced.
Once Karal stepped out of the room, Venelana conjured a privacy spell around the unlikely trio. Penemue removed the dirty rags from her exquisite frame before a shimmer of arcana basked her in Fallen threads.
Cyrus thought her new attire to be entirely disgusting and ineffective. In his opinion, she dressed more like a whore, but he would never express it for her to hear. The knowing glance from Penemue indicated that even his private thoughts weren't safe.
"What did you find out?" Cyrus was seconds away from answering Venelana's inquiry when he realized the question wasn't meant for him.
It was directed at Penemue.
The revelation that Venelana Gremory was working with a Fallen Angel surprised him.
Maybe she wasn't as lethargic as he thought.
"Satanael was in Nova Babylon." Penemue supplied. "He left last night after speaking with Viktor Nebiros for-."
"Viktor is here?" Cyrus interrupted, drawing a sharp nod from Venelana.
"Your father sent you here because I asked him to." The Gremory Matriarch informed. "Your efforts in Tophet and the other loyalist towns have proven to be the only effective countermeasure to Nebiros insurgents. You are here to help me cut off the head of the snake."
"And what about her?" Cyrus gestured to the Fallen Angel. "Why is a Cadre willing to work with us."
"Because Sataneal wants to instigate another Great War with Heaven, and he believes the Loyalists can help him," Penemue replied with a stretch of her arms. "Azazel doesn't want a continuance to the violence, so he sent me here to make contact with Venelana. She previously worked with us for prisoner exchanges after the Siege of Heaven."
"So, is this a joint operation?" Both women let out a chortle of laughter at his assumption.
"No," Venelana replied. "Officially, she's still in Erebus acting as Azazel's secretary. A very fitting role, in my opinion."
Penemue flipped the Gremory Matriarch a nasty glance but did not comment on Venelana's remark. "Unofficially, I'm here to bring back any Fallen assisting the Loyalists for trial. Azazel doesn't want to jeopardize relations between our people by having rogue agents sabotaging his peace efforts."
"If Sataneal is gone, your presence is no longer required."
"If only it were that easy." Penemue waved her hands and produced a still image of a fallen angel speaking intently with Viktor Nebiros. "My fellow Cadre and I aren't the only Fallen in Nova Babylon."
"Hadriel." Cyrus didn't recognize the name, but Lady Gremory did. "I was wondering when he'd resurface."
"I've never heard of him."
"Few have," Penemue replied. "He spent most of the war in Erebus coordinating our logistics branch and was very good at his job. He is a liaison between Staneal and Viktor while maintaining the latter's supply network."
"His presence would explain why Nova Babylon's insurgents have been so well equipped." Venelana frowned in thought, she had hoped that Penemue would have had better news, but that was not to be.
"We need to head back to the palace…." Venelana tore down the privacy bubble and motioned for them to follow. "…We have work to do."
Penemue was first to follow, brushing against Cyrus's arm and offering him a smoldering wink. He scowled in response and soon found himself trailing behind the Gremory as the Fallen concealed herself from inquiring eyes.
This civil war just got a lot more complicated.