Chapter Seventeen
Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory
The Tower of Babylon.
A moniker bestowed upon the daunting Spire that casts a long shadow across the whole of the Underhive.
A name filled with more grief and terror than simple words could illustrate, it is etched into the final memories of the unfortunate killed in its bloody campaign and burned into the misery of those still thrashing in the dungeons dug into the bedrock beneath the high walls and ramparts.
It started as a detention center for local dissidents, but its location at the very heart of the Underhive made it a prominent seat of power for the Inquisitorious. The Lord Inquisitor resides within the black tower, and since the beginning of Lucifaad, it has served as the shining example of oppression and fear.
The Spire has four substantial wings spreading out from its base, and each has a distinct role in monitoring Inquisitorious operations. Their functions meld together in a complex symbiotic link, and each is critical to maintaining their authority within the Underhive; without them holding the district would be damn near impossible.
The organization wouldn't collapse with the tower's destruction, they had plenty of holdings on the upper level, but its command structure and organization would be severely crippled, paving the way for Ekko and his Firelights to take control of the Underhive.
The closer Cyrus and his followers drew to the Spire, the more disturbing their journey became. The surrounding buildings had been turned into immense piles of rubble, their foundation stained by the ashes of confessed 'traitors' brought back from a purge.
Each building was accompanied by a stake where these so-called traitors were bound by magic and crucified atop a brazier.
Hundreds of these braziers burned erratically, spewing a noxious fume across the nearby streets. The air itself stunk of death, and all was silent save for the crackling flames and the terrible cries of a crucified Devil suffering in their last moments.
The Spire's outer wall loomed in the background with hundreds of Inquisitorious soldiers manning its ramparts, and not one acknowledged their victim's tormenting cries.
The Spartan kept his eyes forward as the distance between himself and the Inquisitorious Stronghold lessened with each passing moment.
The soil reminded him of a Covenant glassing a few months after the initial bombardment. Buildings were reduced to rubble, and whole swaths of civilization burned with scorching heat.
Vi, in no small words, clarified that the destroyed buildings were once homes to thousands of Underhive Devils, and when he asked why the Inquisitorious tore them all down, her answer only enhanced his hatred for them.
"To send a message."
Cyrus looked down at the skeletal remains of a mother and her infant child.
His rage soared.
And the shadows beckoned with need.
Cyrus bit down on his wrath before it could take him whole, expelling all emotion and focusing on the task at hand. He formulated stratagems, of which many were immediately cataloged when they became redundant.
You have formed a capable Lance.
A passive look back confirmed the malevolent entity's words. Ahri was always a certainty considering her Vastayan nature, but Vi and Caitlyn were uncoerced passengers on this crazy train Cyrus was conducting.
The gravity of his actions tonight could throw the entire Underhive into an uproar. It was no guarantee that destroying the Inquisitorious seat of power would bring prosperity to the city, and in truth, Cyrus suspected that it would only lead to more anarchy.
But that was an issue for another day.
"They follow me out of forced servitude or vested interest." Cyrus retorted. "It was not my charisma but a lack of options that brought them to my side."
Do not sell yourself short, Reclaimer. You inspire these creatures to your banner; there is no greater example than the soldiers you left behind.
"They are a means to an end." Cyrus proclaimed to the darkness. "Nothing more."
Your words are poison. You cannot deceive me, Reclaimer, and there will be a time you cannot fool yourself.
Cyrus hoped never to experience such a moment.
His thoughts strayed toward the 10th Cohort.
"Arkias?" Cyrus reached into the void, and within mere moments, his Primus answered.
"We're ready, my Lord."
"Everyone?"His stubborn sibling spoke for Arkias.
"Everyone, Cyrus." Ashara communicated. "The twins included."
Joy.
"Make sure they stick to the plan," The Spartan stressed. "This is a raid, not a drawn-out siege. We get in, kill everything inside, and get out. No exceptions and no arguments. No matter what you find inside."
"We won't deviate." Cyrus felt Rose's voice brush across his ear. "But when this is over, we need to talk."
"All of us." Sapphire's discernible voice joined the symphony, and he couldn't ignore the barest hints of grief in her tone.
He had his work cut out for him after this.
"All will be settled, sisters." He tried to assuage their worries but doubted its effectiveness until they were face-to-face. "I will set the anchors, and when I give the word, unleash hell."
"As you command." Cyrus pulled away from the shadows upon Arkias's confirmation.
A pattern of footsteps increased frequently, and a trio of warm bodies matched his sedated pace. The Spire loomed just ahead, and his companions sought some form of strategy from his lips.
"So, do we have a plan?" Ahri questioned with tentative concern, her brows curling with mild interest even as Caitlyn and Vi stared at the back of his head.
The distance to the Raptor stronghold was diminishing rapidly, and soon the outer guards would spot the intruders treading on their territories.
Vi didn't fancy throwing down with the Inquisitors amongst the ruins, and they knew this corridor better than anyone in Lucifaad.
"We're walking through the front door." Vi blinked once, then twice in genuine disbelief as she glanced at Ahri and Caitlyn.
"That's not a plan. That's suicide." She countered. "The four of us versus about three thousand Inquisitors and Satan knows how many Jackals protecting Barracus. That is bound to lead to disaster."
Cyrus spared the trio an even look. "Who said anything about four?"
A smog of darkness crept in from all angles, snuffing out the toxic waste in a wave of shadows. Ahri watched the creeping fog morph into creatures of the night, bearing fangs and claws that could cut through Griycium armor with ease.
Caitlyn faltered, but when he glanced in her direction, she picked up her pace and matched him step for step. Their relationship was shaky, but it seemed to now be centered on demonstrating that she was just as capable as Ahri and Vi.
Cyrus focused on the Spire entrance, his mind racing with thoughts until a strategy finally began to take root.
"Pay attention. I'm only going to say this once." The women perked at his commanding tone. "Ahri, you're on perimeter duty. If any try to flank us, it'll be up to you to turn them away. Vi, you're the spearhead. I want you cracking heads and keeping these Inquisitors off balance at all times. The more carnage you cause, the easier our time inside. Caitlyn, hold that Lance tight and keep your shots on target, prioritize officers, commanders, and anyone with a voice to rally these Inquisitors. We go in hard, and we go in fast. No hesitation, no mercy. Am I clear?"
"As you command." Ahri acknowledged while Vi and Caitlyn sent him stern nods of confirmation.
"Good."
Cyrus flexed his muscles and pulled at every shadow within a half-mile radius.
Spherical black wisps floated in the air, producing a swarm of Dubhra Garrachs that littered the blighted landscape. The shadowy creatures manifested into a dozen different beasts of Hell, snarling and growling into the night.
A single Dubhra Garrach assuming the shape of a Cerberus pawed at the ground, and with a guttural tone, it howled into the shadows. An Inqusititorious sentry entering the second hour of his guard duty felt a deep sense of fear crawl up his spine.
He stepped forward, eyes scanning the environment while his arms blazed with infernal fire.
"Dargath?" The Acolyte whispered to his fellow watchmen. "Did you hear that?"
"How could I not." His companion replied, their arms grasping at the ram-shackled machete strapped to his waist. "We should alert, Zorken."
The firey Acolyte nodded, his feet stepping down from the ten-meter watchtower on the perimeter wall. A creeping silence overtook all specks of his awareness, and he could feel dozens of eyes bearing down on him as he reached the base of the observation tower.
"Orgal!" The Acolyte jumped at his companion's voice. "Be quick about it. There's something out there."
Orgal took a deep breath, dismissing the gathering flames from his palms, and focused on his elevated heart rate. It wouldn't do to present himself in front of his boss in such a panic, so he closed his eyes to the world and fought down his beating heart.
In his delirium, Orgal missed a muffling cry of terror from the watchtower, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a snarling set of razor-sharp fangs.
"Ah!" The Acolyte shot out his arm, basking the shadowy creature in flames that only amused the beast. His composure broke, and he stumbled backward into a lithe arm wrapping around his neck.
Orgal was silent as Vi snapped his neck in two, cutting the Acolyte's strings and letting his body slide to the ground. Her only acknowledgment of his existence was spoken in a single word directed towards an onlooking Ahri.
"One down." The Vastayan rolled her eyes at the Brawler's bleeding confidence and flashed her a bloodied dagger.
"We're tied, fat hands."
Cyrus glanced away from the pair's byplay and ordered his Dubhra Garrach forward.
Dozens of shadowy creatures scaled the outer wall, eager for fresh meat.
"Find, Barracus." The Spartan's voice was low and guttural, but the monstrosities understood every word he spoke. "Kill the rest."
The beasts growled with approval, dismounting the towering rampart and slaughtering those unfortunate enough to cross their path.
It didn't take long for the Inquisitors to realize their precious stronghold was under attack.
A shrill alarm echoed throughout the Stronghold, freezing Acolytes solid and alerting their veteran Hierophants.
War was on their doorstep.
"TO ARMS!"
Caitlyn ascended the main rampart, reaching a vantage point where she could see dozens of initiates bursting into action as a swarm of Dubhra Garrachs flooded the central courtyard. Senior Acolytes called upon their trained brethren and charged into the meat of their attackers, trying to blunt the main horde before it overwhelmed their position.
The Sharpshooter zeroed her Lance on an Acolyte barking out directions to the new blood. Her eyes dilated, her breath steadied, and with one burst of arcana, a beam of ionized plasma slammed into the soldier's throat.
A jarring shock overtook the fresh Inquisitors as they watched their leader fall on his face, blood squirting from his severed throat.
"One down." Caitlyn echoed Vi's previous statement, much to the woman's silent amusement.
The pink-haired Brawler wrapped an arm around her shoulders even as a swarm of Dubhra Garrachs rushed past them. "We'll make a killer out of you yet, cupcake."
"It's time." Ahri stood beside her master as he fell to a single knee and dug his fingers into the ground below.
The shadows beckoned to his will once more, and an explosion of dark tendrils slithered across the ground, searching out the designated entry points for his Cohort.
His Legion.
One by one, the anchors were set.
"Legionnaires." His voice carried across the dark corridors of the Shadow Realm. "Whom do you serve?"
One by one, the Legionnaires answered the call.
"The Lord of Shadows!"
l==l
Ashara felt her skin crawl as the smell hit her. There was a foul taste in the air, and she knew she would not get rid of it until she left this place. Perhaps even then, it would linger, the scent of burnt metal and blood always on his tongue.
She jumped toward an Inquisitorious Acolyte, stabbing her War Scythe forward and slicing the Inquisitor into chunks of flayed meat. She was the only member of House Kimaris to utilize the War Scythe.
It suits him well.
Waves of heat washed down her side as Legionnaires of the 6th Centuria stormed into the corridor, unleashing their Lances into a group of stupified Inquisitors.
"Secure the corridor!" Their Centurion, Torvoth, urged his men onward even as a handful of Acolytes tried to cut them off.
The entire Cohort was spread evenly across the Spire, and Ashara had little doubt that the rest were running into the same amount of resistance.
Their strike force had spent the last few days training for this operation, and each Legionnaire studied the Spire's internal floor plan to the letter. Within mere seconds of infiltration, they had annihilated hundreds of Inquisitors and secured a substantial foothold.
"Welcome to Babylon, lads." Arkias's familiar baritone voice filtered into the communication sigil. "Tonight, we will be performing a radical destabilization of the Underhive via the destruction of this Spire. The Inquisitorious has had a stranglehold on this district since the old days, but it's time for a new order—a new regime. You have your orders. Do not disappoint our Lord. Good Luck."
The 6th Centuria's objective was to take control of the northern wing and its logistic facilities. Lord Cyrus wanted to utilize the Inquisitor's onsite explosive materials and equipment to level the entire facility, and Ashara was more than willing to make that happen.
But the Inquisitors weren't about to let them have it without a fight.
"Look out!" Ashara ducked her head, narrowly avoiding a blast of sweltering fire as it soared over her head. She closed the distance between herself and her supposed killer with blistering speed.
Her movements drew inspiration from her beloved sibling's favored combat doctrine.
Fire and maneuver.
It was a style of warfare that Ashara honestly preferred over the stagnant and tedious dogma mimicked by these Inquisitors. As per Lucifer's predictable combat doctrine, they attacked with reckless abandon, attempting to pulverize the Legionnaires through sheer force.
Torvoth and his men skirted their defensive line, maneuvering past their kill boxes and slicing through weak points wherever they lay. A few of his Legionnaires had fallen, but that was the Forsaken way: stoic in the face of death.
A small price to pay for the satisfaction of slaying the lapdogs of Lucifer.
Torvoth fought at the head of their advance at all times. This brazenness was a caveat from Lord Cyrus's leadership and Torvoth's inclination to serve as a stalwart example to his Legionnaires.
It served him well by Ashara's estimation.
The approach to the main logistics center was fortified by a vast open space and a pair of projecting bastions flanking the outer gateway. The perfect killing ground for the Inquisitors should any invading force make it this far into their stronghold.
Ashara wondered if the Seeker in charge ever thought he'd have to use it.
Once their defensive line weakened, the 6th Centuria would advance into the teeth of the killing ground and butcher every Inquisitor in sight.
Torvoth found his chance when an overzealous Inquisitor sporting the rank of Seeker fell for a classic feint and ordered two hundred Acolytes to storm their weakened position.
"For the Seeker!" They bellowed and screeched in a rage-filled manner, bringing a smile to the Centurion's lips.
It was a hopeless effort.
Torvoth's Centuria outnumbered their assaulting force 2 to 1.
They were selling their lives for a victory that would not come.
Five Acolytes charged at Torvoth, ignoring his men in an effort to bring down the Centurion. Ashara would have commanded the same.
She slew them all with a slash of her War Scyth, bisecting their meaty bodies and scattering the ground with bits of flesh and metal.
Death hung in the miasma. Torvoth weaved his arm, pouring a stream of arcana and drawing them into deadly spears of pure energy. He closed his fists and unleashed a surge of magic lances into a group of Acolytes taking cover behind a barricade.
They collapsed, some clawing at the fist-sized hole in their throats while others pawed at the gaping tears in their guts. All bled out within mere moments of each other.
The 6th advanced on the main complex, probing their way to the unseen flanks of each bastion and blasting them apart with concentrated arcana. The men inside fell silent, and Torvoth ordered his Legionnaires onward.
They fell upon the remaining Inquisitors like embers in a forest, slaying them where they stood and securing the precious cargo their Lord desired. Ashara spared an ear to the communication sigil connecting the 10th Cohort's command structure as the last Inquisitor fell.
Ashara was amazed at how easily the commanding officers disseminated and applied information.
Their tactical acumen as an organized force far exceeded the capabilities of other cohorts. Ashara wondered what terror Cyrus could sow with an entire Legion at his beck and call.
One day she might find out.
"Vezgo, report?" Arkias's voice greeted her ears.
"We're cleaning up stragglers in the West Wing. We should have it secured within the hour."
"Silgemez?"
"South Wing is ours. I'm dispatching teams to assist Kortar in securing the perimeter walls."
"Tavitz?"
"East wing, secure. My unit has sustained casualties, and I've set up a CASEVAC outside the communications complex. Need a reserve Centuria to back us up."
"Phaeton, utilize the East Wing anchors and support the 8th."
"Copy, deploying now."
"All Centuria's are directed to move their wounded and dead to the communication complex for evac," Arkias ordered before turning his attention to the last remaining Centuria. "Torvoth, is the logistic wing secure?"
"Affirmative, we're securing the ordnance. ETA three minutes."
"You have two. Make them count."
"Understood." Torvoth disconnected from the communication sigil just in time to see two of his Legionnaires drag a man through the wash of blood and corpses. The fool struggled against their tight grips, but nothing he did would save him now.
The Legionnaires arrayed the man before Ashara, forcing him to his knees and tearing off the hood adorned across his skull.
"Who's this?" Ashara hissed with distaste. The blood from his fellows covered the rank on his collar, but the sneering expression only fueled Ashara's suspicion that he was a Noble.
"The Seeker in charge." The Legionnaire answered.
"I don't suppose he'll tell us if Barracus is here."
The Seeker was braver than most.
"You may take my life, Traitor, but you shall never win this war." He spat bloody phlegm onto Ashara's boot. "You will die. Struck down by the might of Lucifer and his Leg-Hrk!"
The Seeker's rant was silenced by the tip of Torvoth's Lance cutting across his throat.
"I hate fanatics." Torvoth collapsed his weapon and began relaying orders to his Legionnaires. "Scour the corridors for nova charges, then rig this complex to blow. I want this place to be a graveyard with our name written all over it."
"Yes, Centurion!"
The Legionnaires fell to command, and as Ashara wiped the blood from her Scythe, her thoughts became occupied by the scenery below.
She stood amongst scattered corpses and smokey haze.
A new sight and one she had no wish to see continue any longer than it already had.
"Sister?" Her youngest sister's sweet voice echoed in the night.
"Sapphire." Ashara shook her head free of all doubts. "Everything ok?"
"Yes," Sapphire answered. "I'm helping our advance teams clear the Dungeons. It is…difficult."
Ashara believed her. She doubted the Inquisitorious was known for its compassion regarding prisoners. One needs only look outside to confirm her suspicions.
"Do you need help?"
"No, Rose and I will get them out of their cells. After that, I'm not sure what to do."
"Follow the Centurions," Ashara repeated in a gentle, almost motherly tone. "They're rough around the edges, but they know what they're doing."
A small melodic laugh graced Ashara's hearing. "…Kind of like someone we know."
"Exactly." Torvoth waved her over to a gathering of senior leadership, eager to proceed to the next phase. "I have to go. I'll see you both back at camp."
As Ashara pulled away, Rose's voice spoke amongst the fading shadows. "Take care, sister."
"You too."
The Kimaris steeled her expression and joined the 6th Centuria in their quest to leave the Tower of Babylon a smoldering crater, but all the while, she couldn't ignore the tragedy befalling her siblings.
This war will leave its scars on everyone.
l==l
Chaos.
Cyrus lived for it.
He thrived in it.
When the first Inquisitor tried his hand at slaying the Kimaris heir, Cyrus repaid his bravery by showing him his own heart. The next opportunist was cut open from shoulder to the gut via his shadowcraft glaive, and another was sliced open by a backhanded flourish that scattered his entrails.
The sounds of war echoed throughout the Spire, and he kept a close watch on the communication sigil for any signs of inadequacy.
It never came.
Arkias was a brilliant tactician, and his talents were wasted on Legion doctrine. Cyrus could trust him to oversee the remainder of the operation while he focused on more…violent pursuits.
With every step taken, an inquisitor fell, and his Dubhra Garrach feasted on the poor fools that evaded his wrath. The Kimaris stepped over the bodies of fallen Acolytes as his strike force advanced, never once wavering as they collided with wave after wave of Inquisitors.
Caitlyn stuck to the fringes of combat accompanied by a pair of wolf-like Dubhra Garrachs with explicit orders to remain by her side. The shadowy canines barked and snarled with bloodthirsty desire but remained in place instead of charging headlong into the melee.
Her sights centered upon a grizzled Hierophant rallying the disorganized mass to his side. A beam of ionized plasma slammed into his torso, punching a hole through his left clavicle and incinerating his heart.
"Beautiful shot, cupcake." Ahri's teasing nickname would have earned her a sharp retort in any other situation, but Caitlyn was too focused on sniping an Acolyte firing down a stream of demonic bolts from the overhead rafters.
"I aim to please." The Sharpshooter retorted, displacing from her perch and sprinting along the right flank. An Inquisitor's shattered body smashed into the metal railing along her path. The indents submerged into his cracked helm came from their local Brawler's bludgeoning knuckles.
Vi was experiencing the closest thing to heaven a Devil could ever hope to experience. Cyrus's direct assault was straight up her alley, and the complete disregard for restraint was music to her ears.
The only factor stopping Vi from turning to deflect an oncoming Lance was a gust of wind brushing her left cheek as she violently dispatched an Acolyte. Cyrus wrapped an arm around her would-be attacker's throat and pulled the Devil's jaw in a grotesque invert, snapping his neck and snuffing out his wretched life in a haze of darkness.
"Kill him!" A solitary Hierophant charged toward Cyrus in a drug-addled rage, enticing a group of Acolytes to his cause.
A black tendril extended from his wrist, burrowed into the Hierophant's torso, and tore through skin and bone. Cyrus flexed his wrist up and to the right, using the pierced Raptor as a humanoid battering ram and slamming him into his fellows.
"ARGH!" A pair of Inquisitors tried to push his exposed flank, but Vi snapped a heel that crushed the top of the first Acolyte's skull. Her foot was withdrawn just in time to duck beneath a mighty swing from the second Acolyte and bury her fingers into his abdomen.
A focused pulse of arcana gathered in her fingertips and pierced the Devil's guts, disemboweling him where he stood. Vi upped the ante and drove the soles of her boot into the Acolyte's sternum, sending him flying backward in an orgy of gore.
The survivors fell into a reckless charge, with three dead in as many seconds. Lances were leveled, and demonic blades were flashed with killing intent, but their fury was a minuscule wave in a tsunami of darkness.
"Having fun?" Vi quipped as she and Cyrus fought back to back.
"You and I have very different definitions of fun." He sidestepped a demonic spear and drew its owner into a clothesline that shattered his jaw. The injured Acolyte was immediately set upon by a single Dubhra Garrach and had his life snuffed out by a single bite to his neck, snapping his spinal cord in two.
"Come on sunshine, anything that gets the blood pumping-" Vi parried a fury of strikes from a dual-wielding Inquisitor, catching her left blade by its handle and driving the crest of her forehead into the Acolyte's nose. A spurt of blood was joined by a gasp of anguish when Vi broke her left hand and slammed her knee into the bandit's stomach. "-Is a good time as far as I'm concerned."
"Less talking, more killing!" Ahri flashed by on a beam of light, a trio of ki daggers slamming into a group of Inquisitors and detonating in a cloud of piercing arcana that quickly tore through their skin.
The Vastayan swerved between the mass of Inquisitors and Dubhra Garrachs, picking off Acolytes that put up stiff resistance and kept large groups from forming into a cohesive force. Vi or Cyrus efficiently dealt with those few who slipped past Ahri and made a beeline for the upper levels.
The main level was swinging in their favor. The sheer volume of Dubhra Garrachs kept the disorganized mass of Inquisitors from regrouping, and the added pressure from his Cohort was a bonus as far as Cyrus was concerned.
Their morale was never going to last long.
"Their breaking." True to Caitlyn's words, the Inquisitors made a retreat for the upper levels, but a mob of Dubhra Garrachs constantly harassed their withdrawal.
"Ahri." The Vastayan slid to his side with a pleased smile, and specks of blood splattered across her visage. He had a feeling that none of it belonged to her. "Take Caitlyn and head for the dungeons. My Legionnaires need another healer to help treat any prisoners you find. Play nice. My sisters are down there."
And he didn't need any more issues out of anyone tonight.
"I always play nice," Ahri replied with a grin. "Come along, cupcake. Time to save some lives and make daddy proud."
"I'm not calling him that." Caitlyn's quip went ignored, and Vi watched the pair disappear down a hallway along with two dozen Dubhra Garrachs. The remaining mass of shadow vermins skittered across the ground, gnawing at the deceased Inquisitors left behind.
"What are we doing?" Vi asked while wiping specks of blood from her cheeks.
Cyrus glanced towards the upper levels, where the screams and shouts of combat echoed in the darkness.
"We're gonna kill Barracus."
l==l
Killing is an art with deadly consequences, and Cyrus has become a master of this vicious craft over the course of his life. When a human being takes the life of another, they will never forget the time, place, or victim where a piece of their humanity was forever lost.
His first kill was a boy on the cusp of manhood gripping an MA37 with brown eyes wide in terror. His clothing was a decrepit collection of articles that barely staved off the freezing winter nights of Actium.
Cyrus cared not for the boy's age because whatever terror or hesitation laid in his visage was disregarded once the Spartan caught a glimpse of an assault rifle in his hand.
Instinct, training, and pure ruthlessness led to him putting three ballistic rounds into the adolescent's skull and snuff out his life before it could ever truly begin.
This callous contempt for the Insurrectionist is driven by the fact that, in Cyrus' line of work, indecision might end well in his death and the slaughter of a million others.
He never spared a second glance for the Covenant he laid low, and in the few instances he came across Insurrectionists, he went out of his way to grant them a quick death.
They were human, and inflicting torment upon his own people was not in his blood.
Devils, however, are an entirely different subject.
At least, they were supposed to be.
The silent pleasure he took in watching them die no longer existed.
Now they just looked…human.
Cyrus found his journey to the top of the tower devoid of all resistance. The Inquisitors were preparing for a last stand or had taken flight altogether.
"Barracus wouldn't leave," Vi answered the unspoken question. "He's too arrogant to run."
Case to point, Cyrus reached the Spire's main command room and there stood the proud Lord Seeker himself. On either side were a dozen or so Jackals, the cream of the crop for Inquisitorious ground troops.
Evidently, Vi knew her prey well.
"How long have you been hunting him?" Cyrus dipped his head toward the command room.
"Long enough." Vi's gaze turned fatal, but a tinge of grief laced her voice. She raised an arm and wiped away the tear trailing down her bloodied face. "He killed Vander."
Cyrus shifted his jaw. He understood that need for blood, that vengeful desire to correct a terrible slight inflicted upon her.
The details were uncomplicated. Barracus killed her father.
That called for retribution.
And Cyrus could help her find it.
"Let's not wait any longer."
A silent hush consumed the chamber once Cyrus strode into the room.
His crimson orbs peered through the darkness.
Haunting.
Glaring.
Analyzing.
Barracus was your run-of-the-mill Noble, but his bodyguards were another story altogether. Their uniform was as black as night, and their carapace armor reflected the overhead lights, but their masks drew his full attention.
The mechanical apparatus would cycle chemicals that kept them enraged, and they were Berserkers in all but name.
Ruthless, savage, and absolutely bloodthirsty.
They reminded him of fucking brutes.
He hated them on appearance alone.
Vi's gunmetal orbs locked onto Barracus. She wanted first cracks at the Lord Seeker, and by the looks of it, so did he.
"Violet." Barracus drawled out. "It's been so long. When I heard that Victor finally snatched you up, I almost cried. I was certain we'd never be able to see each other again. But now I see you've found…different company."
Cyrus felt the Lord Seeker's eyes glance him up and down, craving a response from the Kimaris.
He received none.
"He's not so bad." Vi retorted, cracking her knuckles. "He hates Inquisitors just as much as I do. In fact, I think he enjoys killing them more than I ever could."
"And does the fabled Heir to the Kimaris throne have anything to say?"
Barracus was used to the banter before a fight. It was a common trait shared by nobles, and Cyrus despised it more than anything else.
He hated talking.
So he let action speak for him.
The Dubhra Garrach steppedforward, and the shadowy creatures bore their fangs. The thrill of the hunt was a sentiment that he was intimately familiar with, and these creatures enjoyed the anticipation of a kill as much as he did when stalking Covenant.
No matter how many Devils Cyrus killed, nothing came close to the joy of killing a Covenant Field Marshal or Prophet.
He supposed nothing in this world ever could.
Cyrus closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.
When they finally opened, a single word echoed throughout the chamber.
"Vi." The Lord Seeker's gaze curled with confusion, but they widened in monetary shock the very moment Vi acted. Her feet kicked off the ground, leaving a cloud of dust as she introduced her shoulder to Barracus's gut, torpedoing them through an observation window.
The pair smashed through the glass panes and plummeted toward the central courtyard.
Cyrus knew he wouldn't see Barracus again unless it was in a body bag.
The Brute is eager.
The Kimaris didn't waste his breath on words, jolting off his heels and driving his Dark Javelin into the nearest Jackal's torso, spilling the floor with a swath of fresh blood. He wrenched the Devil over his head with practiced ease, sending the Jackal spiraling into the darkness for his Dubhra Garrachs to feast upon.
One of his comrades tried to expose his flank, but a Chimera barreled into his side and ignited a full-blown clash between Jackals and Dubhra Garrachs.
A hydra leaped above Cyrus, colliding with a Jackal bearing a razor-sharp blade protruding from a device affixed to its wrist.
"RARGHHH!" A metallic wail drew Cyrus's attention, and he narrowly avoided a skewering by an overzealous Jackal. He ducked underneath the poisoned blade, grasping the mechanical helm and smashing his knee into its visor.
A wailing screech of pain echoed with the clash of bone and metal as the Jackal stumbled back, grasping at its face. The chemicals pouring into its helm dissipated into the air, revealing a Devil with his facial features deformed by the synthesized substance.
Cyrus couldn't stop the twinge of disgust as he buried his Dark Javelin between the Jackals exposed plates. A glance at his companions revealed how little they cared for their own lives.
He would have found a sentiment respectable if it wasn't born out of reckless anger that sapped all logic from their processes.
These Jackals were no better than tools to be discarded at any time; in that sense, he pitied them.
But not enough to spare their lives.
As he tore through another pair of Jackals, a tremendous crash shook the Strongholds foundation, drawing the Spartan's interest as he flicked the blood from his Javelin.
Cyrus stepped over his recent kills and peered over the shattered window. He found Vi and Barracus settling their differences the only way they knew how there.
With unrestrained violence.
Your pink-haired companion is…aggressive.
Aggressive didn't even begin to describe her, but it was a good starting point.
Feral and unrestrained roars from Vi preceded her constant assaults upon Barracus without hesitation. Every bone-crushing blow and the faint noise of knuckles striking flesh echoed across the abandoned Stronghold.
An inkling of doubt crawled into Cyrus's psyche as he watched Barracus counter an overhand right from Vi with a vicious uppercut. The Brawler extended her demonic wings, reorienting herself in the air long enough to spit a glob of blood into Barracus's face and re-engage her hated foe.
He promised Vi not to interfere in her bout. Even in the unlikely scenario, she bit off more than she could chew. Cyrus almost denied her request but relented once Ahri started whispering into his ear that she needed this to happen.
But Vi wanted more than a pound of Barracus's flesh for killing Vander, and nothing would stop her from achieving this goal.
Not even Cyrus.
A pair of footsteps entered the ruined conference room, carefully stepping over the bodies of Jackals and Dubhra Garrachs.
"Spire's secure," Ahri said, her hands grasping the broken window sill as she tried to pear the battle raging below. Her delicate features cringed at a brutal exchange of fists between Vi and Barracus. "Is our girl winning?"
The Brawler sought to answer the Vastayan's question for Cyrus, grabbing Barracus by his collar and throwing him into the far wall.
"She's not losing," Cyrus answered, his gaze narrowing as Barracus pooled a potent amount of arcana into his wrist. A blade of pure infernal energy protruded itself from both arms and shot toward Vi.
Caitlyn whirled her Lance around to engage Barracus, her fingers clutching the war spear and eyes lining up a clean shot until Cyrus issued a stern warning.
"You do that, and she will never forgive you." A Devil's pride is dangerous, emotionally charged, and likened to a simmering volcano. Vi's life over the past decade was building up to this moment, and taking that would drive her mad.
Caitlyn's grip hesitantly loosened up, her gaze wincing as Vi tanked a haymaker to the cheek. "Then what do we do now?"
"Trust her to win." The Vastayan remarked with a wry smirk, exuding more confidence in Vi than Caitlyn held.
"And if she loses?"
"She won't," Cyrus answered, descending towards the factory floor while Vi went to town on Barracus's face.
The Brawler unleashed a devastating combo that crushed the Seeker's cheek, sending Ihim writhing back in pain while clutching his jaw.
Most of the 10th was undergoing the final sweep of the Spire, and more than a few caught sight of the impromptu brawl between Vi and Barracus.
One Legionnaire acting as a spectator turned into ten and then a hundred. Arkias was about to order them away when Cyrus appeared and touched his shoulder.
"Let them watch." The Kimaris ordered.
Arkias stared at him with momentary confusion but relented to the command."Yes, my Lord."
"What's going on?" Zorizar and the other Centurions joined the pair.
"Settling old scores," Cyrus answered.
"Who are we cheering for?" Centurion Vezgo asked.
"The woman."
The Centurions shared a look but did not comment further. Their gaze joined the rest of their Cohort in watching the grudge match play out.
A dozen Dubhra Garrachs joined the Legionnaires in forming an impromptu ring around the two combatants. The creatures had chunks of meat stuck between their fangs, and the Guardsman watched on with blood-stained armor.
All of them were eager to see Barracuss dead.
They merely awaited his final command.
Ahri and Caitlyn quickly joined Cyrus on the ground floor, their eyes never straying from Vi's battered form. Several cuts and avulsions were scattered across her arms and face, a testament to Barracuss blade work, taking bits of the Brawler's skin piece by piece.
With little else to contribute, Cyrus found a comfortable spot atop a stack of large crates and settled in for a lengthy stay. The grudge match wasn't about to end anytime soon, and he was patient enough to give Vi all the time in the world.
Cyrus crossed his arms and dipped his head forward, watching the fight with an analyzing glare.
The echoes of combat are familiar to his weary ears, and in some ways, he finds the striking of fists against flesh comforting.
They remind him of his training days upon the fields of Onyx.
When circumstances were far more straightforward.
But this wasn't the time to daydream.
"Cyrus?" The Kimaris heir looked to the side and found a familiar shade of silver climbing up to meet him.
"Ashara." Cyrus made room for his sibling, scooting to the edge of his perch and allowing her to sit beside him. "Any problems?"
"No." Ashara glimpsed over the brawl below, wincing as their favored champion suffered a grievous blow to the rib. "Can she handle this?"
"She has no choice."
Barracus is a cunning warrior. He couldn't contest Vi's devastating blows, so he slipped underneath every strike and jabbed at the Brawler's unprotected flanks.
He was too skilled, too crafty for Vi to match, and in theory, she should have lost this battle long ago. However, her tenacity and stubbornness afforded her a durability that would have made the fabled Beelzebub clan proud.
Vi had to beat Barracus.
Otherwise, her heart will never heal.
l==l
It was a nail-biting experience for Ahri to watch Vi square off against Barracus, more so for Caitlyn if her wincing expression was anything to go by. There were more than a few occasions when they were both tempted to intervene, but Vi constantly picked herself off the floor, bloodied but not broken.
And every time, she rose to the roar of approving Legionnaires.
"On your feet!"
"Don't give him another inch!"
Something had to give, and Barracus ended up paying for a simple lapse in concentration.
Vi slid past a lethal jab to the cranium and buried her fist into Barracus's stomach. The impact reverberated through the Seeker's body, shaking his bones and causing streams of blood to spill from his lips.
"AGHHH!" A hate-filled scream echoed throughout the Stronghold as Vi slammed Barracus's face into the bloodied floor.
Cyrus shifted in his perch, his eyes glancing over the ailing Barracus with a critical gaze. He choked on his breath, and his hands grasped at broken ribs in a vain attempt to stave off the needles of pain crawling up his sides.
Vi didn't give her a moment's respite, flipping Barracus onto her back and raining heavy blow upon blow onto her shattered face.
There was no mercy, no hesitation, and no quarter given.
His Cohort approved.
"Atta girl." Ahri didn't know Arkias well, but to see the unflappable Primus so willing to support Vi scored him a point in her book.
The Cohort roared, and Dubhra Garrachs howled into the night.
A hearty grin befell the face of every Legionnaire, and one by one, they stepped away to finish their assignments.
What came next didn't require their attention.
Arkias was the only Legionnaire that stayed, taking his place not far from his Lord's side as Vi's bloody assault continued.
Every blow struck was an emotional hammer of rage and hatred she had bottled up over the last few years. Her sentiments were expressed not in words but in a violent action that Cyrus knew all too well.
He was tempted to let Vi kill Barracus, but he needed his mind sound and unspoiled enough to divulge whatever secrets were held. Afterward, whatever happened to Barracus would be left to Vi's imagination.
To that end, the last thing Cyrus wanted was to be stuck interrogating a brain-addled Barracus.
"Ahri." The Vastayan acted upon his words within moments, her lithe form gliding through the air and torpedoing itself toward the rage-filled Brawler.
Vi reached her bloodied fist back and would have pulverized Barracus's already bruised face were it not for Ahri's hands wrapping around her arm.
Any protests from Vi were stifled in a wordless grunt after Ahri swung her hips and threw her into the hands of a waiting Chimera.
"I'm not done yet." Vi viciously snarled as a potent surge of infernal energy gathered in her right arm. Her rage projected in a demonic mist, and she smashed her elbow into the Dubhra Garrach's abdomen. She drove her feet into the creature's hind legs, breaking its knees and forcing a terrible shriek of pain to echo throughout the chamber.
"Arkias." The Primus perked at Cyrus's voice. "Keep a squad with you. I need to calm her down."
Cyrus appeared in a blink, ducking beneath a devastating haymaker and stepping into Vi's guard. He restricted her movements by pressing her against a row of decommissioned machines. His forearm braced against Vi's throat while his free hand fought innumerable attempts to force him back.
"Vi." He spoke with practiced authority, momentarily dragging the Brawler from her blind rage and forcing some semblance of sanity to leak back into her psyche.
Cyrus leaned back just in time to avoid a series of lashing headbutts from Vi. None found purchase, but the attempts drove Cyrus to press his forearm further into her esophagus, sapping the oxygen from her lungs.
Vi's blinding rage simmered down, but her loathing stare never lost its vigor. Her lips spewed promises of threats and bodily harm, but Cyrus would have none of it. He twisted her arm and roughly dragged her out of sight, sparing Ahri a glance through his grimacing visage.
"Watch Barracus…." His mental command ghosted against Ahri's ears, freezing her in place. His eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of a trailing Lucifuge. "…And keep her here."
"But-" The Vastayan pushed out a hand, freezing Caitlyn. Ahri gestured toward the swarm of Dubhra Garrachs, each of them eyeing the Noble with naked interest.
A piece of Caitlyn wanted to test their fortitude, but Ahri quickly interceded before her pride could influence her into committing a horrid decision.
"Give him some time." Arkias stepped forward. A squad of Legionnaires trailing his stern. "He'll calm her down."
"How would you know?" Caitlyn demanded.
"Intuition." Ahri nodded in agreement.
"Trust Cyrus, Cait. V will be fine." Ahri watched the wounded Barracus attempt to scramble away.
Arkias swept his legs before he could find his balance and sent him crashing to the ground once more. A Legionnaire stepped forward and slammed his boot onto the Seeker's shoulder, pinning him in place.
"Take a breather, Barracus." Ahri leaned on Arkias's shoulder. "This won't take long."
At least, she hoped so.
Cyrus shoved Vi into a darkened room and nearly had his head taken off by the irate Brawler when he closed the door behind them. His patience was beginning to waver, but he understood her anger, even if it was misplaced.
"Calm down." His orders only seemed to embolden her boiling wrath, but the difference between her earlier assaults and the current one was clear as day. The blinding rage was replaced by a calm fury he was far more accustomed to handling.
It was the same look he possessed whenever a Covenant target managed to slip through his fingers and deny him the satisfaction he so desperately wanted.
Cyrus stepped back from Vi, and the shadows beckoned to his will. A surge of demonic energy leaked into the chamber, dominating the waves of infernal arcana spilling from VI's arms.
"You promised me, Barracus." She uttered with barely contained bitterness.
"I gave you a chance to beat him…." He cooly replied. "To stamp out the demons that have plagued your mind under one condition. A condition you nearly broke, making the entire reason we came out here useless…."
Vi dismissed his words with an annoyed snort, and before she knew it, Cyrus was on her. He crossed the distance between them in a blink, his entire frame looming over the Brawler, forcing her to stare directly into his unflappable eyes.
She tried to meet his impervious gaze, but the power behind those crimson orbs bore into her gunmetal eyes with a natural authority.
His blood sang with a need to dominate, and her eyes capitulated in subservience. The power of a Noble was not one to be trifled with, and Cyrus hated how easily he could subjugate these people, but most of all, he despised how simple it was for his Devil side to take over.
Seeing someone as stubborn as Vi so quickly subdued should not have been possible, and yet it came to him easy.
As it should.
The Devil within spoke with shameless authority.
Cyrus refused to be swayed by his demonic persona, so he took a deep stabilizing breath and expelled it before it could further affect his psyche. He stepped back, relinquishing control over Vi and giving her some breathing room.
"…You can kill Barracus when I'm done with him." Cyrus started, his voice light and yet no less daunting to her ears. "Not before. Am I clear?"
Vi's gunmetal orbs rose to meet his with a steady gaze. "Yes."
"Good." He turned on his heels and threw open the door separating them from the main chamber. "Now go see, Caitlyn. You had her worried for a time."
"Don't you mean cupcake?" Vi retorted with a levity of sarcastic humor that he had grown accustomed to hearing.
"I'll leave the stupid nicknames to you and Ahri, fat hands." Cyrus didn't glance to see her owl-like expression nor witness Vi's lips curling into a cheshire grin.
"There's hope for you yet, sunshine." An unamused groan escaped Cyrus's lips as he stepped through the doorway, his mind trying to reoccupy itself with the task at hand even as Vi stared at the back of his head in amusement.
He hated that nickname.
Ahri's eyes lit up with silent relief once Cyrus and Vi stepped into view, surrounded by a host of Dubhra Garrachs. The shadowy creatures trailed after their master like a swarm of lost puppies, eagerly awaiting his commands.
He spared Caitlyn a stern nod before turning towards the unlikely cluster of Legionnaires and Vastayan. A Legionnaire was keeping Barracus pinned in place while Ahri applied bits of healing magic to his more grievous wounds.
The Vastayan provided enough care to keep him conscious and alert but also subdued enough to make Barracus rethink an escape or violent reprisal.
"Problems?" Cyrus fell into a low crouch, his demonic aura seeping into the ground as he stared into Barracus's eyes.
"Nope," Ahri replied, removing her boot from Barracus's chest and allowing Cyrus an unblocked view of the Lord Seeker. He tried to put on a brave face, but underneath this ironclad façade was a bubbling sense of terror at what was to come.
It wasn't hard to imagine why.
Barracus had spent his whole life in charge, and now he was with a Lance through the shoulder, surrounded by Legionnaires, Rebels, and a very pissed-off Vastayan.
It was highly likely that Barracus had always been an interrogator in these predicaments, not the intended victim.
Cyrus waved his hand, and the Legionnaire stepped back, allowing the Seeker to sit on his knees and try to muster what little confidence remained in his wretched soul.
"I'm not talking." Cyrus felt amusement crawl up his throat, but he stamped down these emotions with practiced ease. Without a word or even the slightest glance, a Dubhra Garrach appeared from the corner of Barracus's vision and drove his claws into his shoulders.
"ARGHH!" The knife-like appendages pierced meat and bone with minimal resistance, causing shales of pure agony to crawl up Barracus's frame.
"What I seek is information. That's it." Cyrus insisted, placing a hand upon his wounded shoulder with faux care. "The only question is how long it takes, and I have plenty of time to give…."
Cyrus slammed his hand atop the crown of his head, forcing him to stare back at him through her blurry eyes.
"…But you don't." His fingers cut into his scalp, and a pulse of lethal demonic energy splintered across his face in a web of black tendrils. Dark vines branched across the surface of his cheeks and made a beeline for his cerebral cortex.
Cyrus didn't need to conduct a standard interrogation when he could rip the information from his brain. Barracus struggled mightily, but there was nothing he could do to deny Cyrus what he sought.
Flashes of a heated conversation shot to the front of his mind, and he struggled to make sense of their words.
Cyrus sifted through the meaningless talks of bureaucracy and politics until he came across the face of one Zaorama Nebiros.
The piece of shit father to one Viktor Nebiros.
"How long do we have?" Barracus inquired with a hint of concern that Cyrus couldn't place.
The memory was foggy, but the detail was precise enough to suggest it wasn't older than a few days. Cyrus poured his arcane into the memory and picked out a laboratory with more than a few test subjects floating in a red fluid tank.
"What the hell am I looking at?" Cyrus murmured to himself.
"I must deliver my report to Rizevim. We need a game changer if we mean to win this war." Zaorama brushed off his apprehension and approached a single test tube astride a massive pillar he did not recognize.
Cyrus was about to move on when it made its presence known.
Wait. It spoke in a whispered voice. The pillar…focus on it.
There was a severity to the spirit's tone that brokered no argument for Cyrus, so he once more delved into Barracus's mind. The memory returned with a rush of foreign feelings its owner was experiencing but ignored these sensations for the object that had drawn the entity's attention.
The Lord Seeker eyed the nondescript statue that he couldn't quite describe, but the dark entity recognized it for what it was.
And it screamed a terrible sound.
CALCABRINA!
Cyrus found himself thrown into a swirling abyss amidst the planes of darkness.
His mind exploded with an unkempt rage that knew no end.
Calcabrina was one of the Malabranche.
They are living Demonic weapons of hell that are not to be trifled with.
So why the fuck are the Loyalists toying with the harbinger of madness?