NMHA Ch. 37 - Branch
A/N: Not much to say here, just got stuff to do, things to work on, a project that's coming in full force shortly here if it hasn't already. Fun, fun, fun!
That being said, here's the next chapter. It's a little shorter than the last few, but that's just the nature of stories, yo.
Luna licked her lips, hands working furiously as she stared onward, a thin sheen of sweat beading her brow.
He was so fast! How the hell was he so fast!?
She dodged out of the way of his next attack, and spun around to try and snatch him from the sky, but was stymied by his companion, who knocked her away before she could do anything.
The pressure was on, and Luna lashed out, hoping to catch one or both with wide-reaching attacks, to give herself a moment to br-
Her eyes widened as he appeared in front of her, a blur as his hand grabbed onto her lapel.
Then her alarm as a head slammed into her.
Then his companion grabbed on and did the same.
As Luna staggered backward, stunned, her foe grabbed on again and proceeded to headbutt her again.
Again, his companion followed up his headbutt with one of her own.
Again.
Again.
It was getting hard to think straight, her vision was starting to blur-
Again.
Again.
Each headbutt caused the brunette's temper to ratchet up another notch before she finally exploded.
"Okay, what the fuck!? What are you doing!? Stop wobbling me!"
The young man beside her shifted, head swiveling toward her with a smug grin on his face, turning his attention from the game entirely. Even so, the paired characters on the screen continued to ceaselessly attack, their infinite combo loop already confirmed.
His glasses glinted. "As you wish~"
A moment later Luna's character went careening down and off the screen, followed by an explosion and a "Game!" sounding from the monitor.
Georg was all too pleased as the brunette bolted to her feet and very clearly was trying not to throw her controller, arm holding the controller trembling as it slowly rose.
"What's the matter? It's only a game." Luna had a sweet tooth, but that saccharine tone made even her want to puke.
"Then why the hell do you have that shit-eating grin on your face?!"
Said 'shit-eating grin' on the host of Dimension Lost widened. "Because it's fun seeing the salty tears of my victims, especially when I proceed to three-stock them. Repeatedly."
He exited the victory screen, returning to the character select menu, before he asked another question, all too cheekily. "Want a run-back?"
His glasses reflected the light once more as he lifted a finger to the bridge of his nose and pushed them up. "Unless you're too chicken to keep going."
Luna lifted an index finger, then lowered it. Thought about it. Then proceeded to lift a longer finger, prompting Georg to start laughing again.
She had her pride as a Striker Siblings player dammit, and this asshole was trampling all over it! She knew she couldn't even be mad at him either; the guy could easily make the big leagues, and that just spoke to his dedication toward the game.
There was always someone better, and though Luna had certainly been outclassed before, never had she been so continuously humiliated by another player.
Especially since he enjoyed it.
The brunette sat back down, tears in the corners of her eyes and lips tightened together in a pout as she re-selected her prior character.
As she watched the game load up the next match, she couldn't help but wonder why she subjected herself to such torture.
The things she went through to make connections...
"What the shit!? God damn it, stop fucking teabagging me! Isn't 0-deathing me enough!?"
He was popping off now, dancing in place with his controller in the air as his characters crouched repeatedly on the screen.
"Ahahahaha! That's right! Scream for me, bitch! Show me the true depths of your despair!"
(Fifty-six humiliating defeats later...)
"Man, you almost got a stock off of me that last set! You learn quick!"
She was dead.
"I actually got a little invested right at the end there, your neutral game really picked up right then."
She was floating away.
"We gotta do this again some time, that was more fun than I had in a while."
She could see her body, sprawled against the ground in defeat.
"...Uh. Excuse me, anyone home?"
Nope. She was dead.
She felt his foot nudging her side.
"Huh. Guess I got a new test subject to play with."
Luna bolted up fast, stiff as a board. "What?! No! Fuck that!"
"That got you up quick," Georg smiled, TV and game console nowhere to be found even as faint wisps of a strange mist dissipated into the air where they once sat. "Seriously though, it's nice to find someone who actually knows how to play Striker Siblings in the supernatural world. You have no idea how many Devils I've contracted to play some games with me, only for them to have no skill whatsoever."
He put a finger on his chin and glanced up, lips pursed. "...Though recently I haven't even been able to do that. Did someone put me on a contract blacklist?"
"Given you're apparently the embodiment of bad manners in Striker Siblings Clash? I wouldn't be surprised."
He smiled kindly. "Then Devils need to get good. The weak should fear the strong."
Luna stared at him with mouth half-open and eyes half-closed. "...Are you serious?"
"Oh, absolutely." Georg twirled that hand in the air, a can of beer appearing in it in a puff of mist before he tossed it her way. She caught it, before floating it back his way.
"I don't drink."
His eyes widened, and the hand returned to his chin, this time cupping it between thumb and index. "Really? Even after I destroyed you both emotionally and in Clash?"
After a moment of thought, Georg shrugged and took the can in hand, a knife briefly appearing in the other to punch a hole in said can before letting the leaking liquid pour down his throat.
The brunette just watched in disbelief. Georg, the master magician, the descendant of Faust, and the host of the Longinus-tier Sacred Gear known as Dimension Lost... was a toxic elitist gamer currently shotgunning a beer.
'Ulan, what the hell is this?'
"Creative liberties."
'The fuck?'
"Ignore that, I don't have anything to add here."
"So did you put some thought into what I'd brought up last time?"
"Oh, you mean about joining your little posse?" Georg hummed, before shrugging. "Not really. I'd been doing a bit, then I thought up an array pattern and had to test it out. That... might have taken longer than I'd anticipated?"
"All week long?"
"Yep!" the bespectacled mage beamed. "So let's just go into this assuming that your food for thought hasn't changed much from before."
"Oh for the love of..." She'd expected to be dealing with a semi-respectable person, yet here she was.
It was not lost on her that Luna used to be a lazy ass, either.
"Let's be serious here for a minute, alright?"
"Well... you did put up with me for a few hours." Georg hummed, but then nodded. "I suppose I could oblige."
So he set his shoulders, straightened his posture, and dropped his smile for a focused frown.
The cheery, happy-go-lucky, sadistic gamer that she'd been chatting with before was nowhere to be found, instead Luna found herself speaking with a mage, a prodigy, and a Longinus Gear Wielder, eyes sharp and calculating as he gave another, slower nod.
"Let's take this someplace more suitable for a meeting between two up-and-comers, shall we?"
The mage held up a hand, with the lavender mists of Dimension Lost curling around them, a veil that quickly blocked at least Luna's sight, as well as the chatter from around them.
Once the mist cleared, the brunette recognized that they were no longer in the same city as before.
Rather, they were overlooking a wide waterfall.
She recognized it.
"The Niagara Falls?"
Georg smiled, pleased. "Indeed, and currently we are in a bounded space, so it's just the two of us and the water."
"How romantic," Luna replied dryly. "So, why here in particular?"
"I like the sound of the crashing water. It helps me think."
More mist appeared around them, this time taking the form of a table and two chairs... plus two beers.
"I... thought I mentioned I didn't drink?"
"You did." Georg's smile widened, a hint of the troll shining through as Luna rolled her eyes. They each took a seat, and upon doing so the black-haired mage spoke again. "So part of the reason why I didn't think too much into some of the points you spoke of last time was because I felt they were more prudent to address directly. No use running around in circles, after all."
"How so? I thought I laid out a good argument regarding why it'd be worthwhile for you to join us."
He reached over and grabbed a can, popping it open to take a drink. "It wasn't bad, that much I will admit. But you raised a couple things that I feel as though I should contest. Firstly, the idea that things are going to start blowing up in the coming years."
Luna tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Simply put, what do I get out of taking part, rather than being an outsider, to laugh at the poor fools who get themselves killed for grudges that should have been laid to rest long ago?"
He continued drinking, a cheery expression returning as he did.
"You mean aside from stepping out of your ancestor's shadow?"
The can in Georg's hand crumpled, amber liquid spilling out onto his clothes as the force of his sudden grip ruptured the can of beer. Or rather, it would have, if Luna hadn't recognized that might happen and readied Worldweave to slough the beverage to the ground instead of seeping into the mage's clothes.
Georg was a surprisingly cool-headed individual, even considering canon. But if there was one button that would set him off, it was bringing up family. She knew at least that much.
Apparently it worked, given the coldness of his reopened eyes and the sudden tenseness in his posture.
"Yes. That," he ground out, vanishing the can in another burst of mist and leaning forward. That cheery expression was now a stiff grimace on his face. "That's reason enough in my book to get involved. But in case you haven't realized, that's just a reason for me to step out into the limelight in general. Why you, and not that pleasant fellow Cao Cao who suggested I put my skills to use defending humanity?"
"Wait, you've met him?"
Georg hummed, eyes narrowing faintly. "Yes. How do you know him?"
"Same way I know about things taking off in roughly eight years or so." Luna traced circles on the table, before stopping. "He ends up leading a faction of 'heroes', but what they'd do is more akin to terrorism. Assaulting a peace summit, gang-pressing legions of magicians into footsoldier roles, nearly destroying the Shinto Kyoto faction for reasons I have yet to even understand, among other things. All for the sake of power."
"I'm sure there's some bias there, coming from a Devil."
The brunette scowled, leaning forward somewhat to stare at the mage. "This is in the eyes of an outsider, someone who had zero supernatural experience before waking up as part of it. I might have the body of a Devil, but I assure you, my spirit is still very much human."
Georg listened to Luna's words carefully, before closing his eyes and humming, dropping the matter of her origins. "I assume I am part of that 'hero' faction in the world you've seen?"
"You would be their main enabler." The Worldweaver wouldn't lie. Not here. "The Hero Faction wouldn't get away with half the shit they pull were it not for the bullshit-tier tactical advantage that Dimension Lost provides."
Georg's eyes reopened, and a smirk crossed his face. "So you're saying you want to poach me before I become, as you put it, a terrorist?"
"Yes."
He shrugged, cutting in even as Luna made to continue, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright. I'm game. Consider me, at least tentatively, a part of your party."
"If you-" The mage's words caught up with Luna. "Wait, what?"
"I don't know the reasoning behind those attacks, but I'm not going to do anything like that unless I have a damn good reason to. Too much hassle; I want to enjoy myself, not work myself to the bone." The black-haired man smiled. "Plus, history is written by the victors, and I will admit I'm not overfond of losing to begin with. Particularly in such a... significant manner as joining the losing side of an insurgency."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. Why? Did you think I'd need more convincing to ditch Cao Cao to join you and your lot?"
"Er. Yeah, actually." This was going too easily; it made the brunette suspicious. "What gives?"
"You're way more interesting." Georg ran a hand through his hair and chuckled, reaching for the other can of beer. Luna let him have it. "Plus, Cao Cao was utter shit at Clash. Always on the offensive, always rushing headlong in. Sure, he's pleasant enough and his power is inspiring in its own right, but if his gameplay is any indicator of his gameplan, then I can see how he would lose a war."
He took a sip, holding up a finger to suggest he had something else to say, before continuing.
"You're right when you said he'd rely on me as a crutch for his utter disregard for defense. He'd make a good field commander, sure, but a faction leader? Talk about a bad punchline."
"So... those games of Strike Siblings were a test?"
"Of course not! I wanted to play some Clash and bully a bitch. No more, no less. That it doubled as a test is completely unrelated but convenient all the same."
He smirked at the deadpan glare the brunette gave him. "Oh, you're still aggressive enough that I could - and did, hahaha - lead you around by the nose, but you learn quickly, and you can change up your game style on your feet. You're adaptable, and even if you're not nearly in my league you gave me something that actually approached a decent game, especially that last stock. As long as you don't let your temper get the better of you, of course~"
"Jackass," she muttered, eliciting another laugh from Georg.
"That I will not deny. I can tell you channeled that temper into trying to beat me too. Not just humor me like most do, but to actually win. I respect that drive to reach the top. Cao Cao's got a similar drive, but between you and him, you eke him out by virtue of flexibility and the fun factor."
"Fun," the brunette deadpanned, to which Georg nodded and took another long drink from his can. He continued once he finished his swig.
"One way or another I figured I would be pulled into the grand supernatural games, so might as well be this way. Sounds more enjoyable than winding up in some static, established faction anyway, or one that gets completely panned because its leader is a tunnel-visioned moron. Just hold up your end of the bargain that Georg will become a bigger name than Johann Faust, and I don't think we'll have any problems. Hell, I'll even make a magician's pact with you, since you're a Devil! As long as I get an equal say on the terms, of course."
He held out his free hand. "Deal?"
Luna stared at it, mind whirling.
"What's the catch?"
Georg grinned. "No catch."
"No, seriously. What do you want?"
"Entertainment." A bloodthirsty gleam entered the black-haired gamer's eye. "Plus a consistent individual to play halfway-decent Clash with. I wouldn't exactly be able to do that were we to become enemies."
"And you'd make a magician's pact and join a group that wants to try and change the world for... entertainment and games?"
"Yep!"
'Bullshit.'
The thought of having to play him again and again sent a shiver down her spine, but even so that was a very small price to pay for the services of Dimension Lost's wielder. If that really was his intention.
She couldn't tell whether or not that was the case. But she wasn't so inclined to believe it would be that simple. Not after dealing with big names in the Underworld.
"I... I'm not gonna lie, I thought I'd have to fight tooth and nail to recruit you, and even now I find it hard to believe you'd make such a decision on such asinine logic," Luna replied, voice laden with disbelief. Her eyes shifted to the side, and one jacketed arm rose up to scratch the thin scar climbing up her neck with a single finger. "I had lines of arguments set up and everything."
"Well consider this a lucky break; use those lines on someone else instead." He flapped his outstretched arm in place. "So you gonna leave me hanging, or what?"
...If this was a lucky break, then she was going to take it.
Her hand reached out to take his.
"Then... welcome to the family, Georg."
But Luna would be keeping a very close eye on him all the same.
As Diodora walked back down to the Astaroth holding cells, he noted Isaiah stalking past, face scrunched up in a mixture of frustration and introspection.
Seeing how Isaiah had gone down with a more determined expression, he wondered.
One hand reached out to grasp him by the shoulder, firmly but not harshly, glancing down at the kid.
"How did it go?"
Isaiah shifted, that expression of his deepening until he replied, seconds later. "She's... angry. And scared. And I think she's being angry so she doesn't cry."
"You know the difference?" the teal-haired Devil pressed.
"When you get hit, you either want to hit back or run away. Or hit back because you can't run away." The blond's face darkened. "I've been hit enough times in 'practice' to know that."
Diodora frowned. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."
The pre-adolescent shook his head. "I don't either. She's an exorcist, right? Aren't exorcists supposed to be completely..." he took a moment to fish for the right word, "-immune to that sort of thing?"
"There's nobody that can't be hurt. Only a differing amount of what each person can take. And different avenues to hurt them from." Diodora hummed. "Though I have to wonder, did she read the reports on the Holy Sword Project that I had given you?"
"That's when she started shouting." Isaiah confirmed even as he cringed, arms tightening at his sides. "That's... also when I left. I didn't want to stay."
"I do not blame you." The Devil knelt down and put a hand on the blond's shoulder. He smiled. "Get some rest. You remember how to find the kitchen if you get hungry, right?"
"Mh." Isaiah nodded, but even so he recited the extra line. "And if I forget, I just ask one of the servants: they're here to help."
"Good." The Devil's smile widened briefly, and then he stood. "Sleep well, Isaiah."
The child swallowed, but nodded. "I... okay. Thanks."
As the blond started walking off, Diodora continued onward, stopping after a few more seconds of travel.
"I'm surprised you didn't just show up since Isaiah was here. You're not usually that considerate."
"Why, Dio-boy, I'm hurt!" Indeed, out of the shadows stepped the teal-haired Devil's patron and mentor, clutching a fist to his chest with tears literally streaming down his face in small, wavy rivers. "Not being called considerate, the nerve!"
How he managed to do that, Diodora had no clue. He wasn't sure he wanted to, either.
"Unless it amuses you or has some meaning behind it, you never are. You're brazenly irreverent to the other True Children, yet you let a brat barely into his pre-adolescence come to terms with his new situation in peace. What gives?"
Rizevim's fake crying stopped immediately as he gave the teal-haired Astaroth a grin. "No need to rock his world any more than you're already doing. Besides; you're way more interesting than he is."
"I'm flattered."
"As you should be." The son of Lucifer huffed, crossing his arms and looking away with a closed-eye pout. A moment later, one eye opened, staring at the Astaroth neutrally. "So, what's the plan with the girl?"
Carlamine? Diodora lifted a brow. "Why do you care?"
"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you relish in your mentalism." The white-haired Devil moved, sweeping up beside Diodora to poke at his head, above the ear. "That feeling of being in charge of what's up there's been giving you trouble, hasn't it?"
Diodora's nose flared briefly, even as he met Rizevim's gaze without flinching. "I'd say I handle it just fine."
"But do you, really?" The Prince of Devils tilted his head from side to side. "You do plan on mindbreaking that poor girl if she keeps up the act she has been."
'How did he-'
No, that was a question that Diodora knew would not be answered easily. He just knew, like he knew many things. He realized Rizevim's finger was still up against his head, brushing it away. "And you have a problem with that?"
"Of course not! Believe me, if I wanted to I could - and would - do the same with the rest of the world. Buuuuut the fun in having mindless thralls wears out fast. I doubt you'd ever be satisfied with what you get for more than a little while."
Diodora lifted a brow and sneered. "Whoever said that the idea was supposed to be fun? I would do so to prove a point. No more, no less."
"The body doesn't lie, so your tent suggests otherwise." Rizevim's pursed lips, unimpressed stare to Diodora's face, and finger now pointing downward elicited a snarl from the Astaroth heir as he shifted his clothes. "I'm just saying, Dantalion himself got so caught up in the high of control that he went completely blind to some pretty important details. I'd be disappointed to see you go down the same path that got him killed."
Almost as if on cue, a memory came to Diodora's mind, of someone he'd not seen in years and had, at least once, called a friend.
("Don't become like him. Please.")
'Didn't Luna once have a friend that was like that?'
The implications lined up, perhaps a little too closely for him to dismiss out of hand.
Or... was there something else to Luna's own story?
He stood there for several seconds, before he finally spoke again.
"I... will keep your advice in mind."
Rizevim watched him continue onward, but Diodora heard his 'mentor' mutter something to himself as he went to determine his verdict for Carlamine.
"...I wonder..."
Stepping inside the cell, Diodora was welcomed to a far different scene. Instead of the young exorcist glaring at him like he'd done something wrong, she was staring at the ground, as though deep in thought.
As he closed the door, the brown-eyes of the blond flicked upward, face curling into a sneer.
Diodora ignored it, instead choosing to pull up a chair and sit down, meeting her gaze evenly.
She looked back down, staring at the ground.
He let the silence stretch on, before finally Carlamine broke it. "You work quick."
The teal-haired Devil let one brow rise slowly. "Oh? Do tell."
"Those reports. They're good. Really good. It really looks like they were even signed off by Father Galilei himself, God rest his soul-" The array around her shone, and she cringed as the feedback loop did its work. The light, and with it the pain, faded quickly enough, but it was clear that even using His name would elicit a reaction.
"You think I faked the reports?"
She grit her teeth.
"Doctored them, certainly. Though one thing really stood out to me when Isaiah showed me the reports."
Diodora was silent, and the blonde took it as the opportunity it was. "'God is dead'. It's mentioned a few times throughout the paper, but I know a lie when I see it."
"Yet you didn't when I lied to you about what happened with the brats."
"Yeah, well considering what you did to the rest of the facility, I'm not holding you to high standards. Especially now that you've proven yourself a terrible storyteller to boot."
No, she hadn't been listening like she seemed to be at least a bit more amenable to now. There was a marked difference between the two. Yet even now, she was deluded.
"I mean, come on! God is dead? Really? Did you really think adding those three words into the report would shake me so badly as to believe everything you say? I know better, Satanspawn."
"So what you're saying is that your belief that I did the right thing purging those mockeries is wholly contingent on a single phrase in the reports?"
That was exactly what she was saying, he knew.
"It shows that you doctored them. A child like Isaiah might not recognize it, but I do. So if that's faked, then anything on there could be. You might have even butchered the kids in the pictures yourself for all I know. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what happened."
'Such foolishness.'
"And the fact that I made a pact with Isaiah to confirm the validity of these papers?"
"Also a lie. It's easy for something like you to fool a child."
Yet she was fooling herself without even trying.
Diodora closed his eyes.
"Have you ever heard of 'confirmation bias'?"
"Huh?" Carlamine looked taken aback by the question, the confusion in her eyes answering for her. "What do you mean?"
"A logical fallacy. You take evidence that supports what you believe to prove other points for what you want to believe. 'God is not dead'. Yet the reports state He is. Ergo, the reports must be false. Then you ignore anything that challenges the point."
"I know the Truth. I know the Word. I know the Gospel. I'm not going to believe in the lies of the Adversary."
Diodora scoffed at that. "More like you aren't willing to see the other side of the argument. Either because you're too arrogant to think that you're wrong... or too scared to think that the world might not fit your view of it. Either way, you double down. Just like you are now."
Carlamine leaned forward, a growl rumbling its way from her throat. "I am no coward."
Diodora challenged it with a lean of his own, but without the growl. "Then why did you start shouting at an eleven-year-old for showing you images of his mutilated siblings? Why did you get angry, instead of talking it through?"
There. A twitch, ever so slight in her eye. He'd hit a mark.
"Because he's a fool for believing your filth in the first place!"
The Devil's lip twitched, as though trying to refrain from becoming something ugly. "Keep telling yourself that. The only fool I see here is you."
"I'd rather die a fool, than be the puppet of a Devil like the boy you seduced."
She still wasn't listening.
But there was something there, all the same.
Isaiah's words came back.
("I think she's being angry so she doesn't cry.")
"I never said I wanted to puppet you, only to make you see reason, to accept the truth."
"There is no truth to be learned from you!"
His hand clenched into a fist.
Luna's words echoed.
("Don't become like him. Please.")
Was he?
"So you deny, deny, deny, and spout out the words you were taught to say. You say you know the truth, you say there's nothing to be learned from me. But you and I both know better."
He leaned in. "You? You just don't want to admit that you're afraid of being wrong."
Carlamine's eyes flashed, and she spit in his face.
His vision went red, and his body moved on its own.
The exorcist's chair fell over, a low keen coming from her as she realized she was on the ground. Diodora's clenched fist stung from the impact.
He got a savage sense of satisfaction from it, a gleeful thrill of catharsis even though he was trying to not cross the line.
It was so hard to tell where that line was these days.
Diodora let his lips twist upward, into a cold, cruel smile as a hand rose to wipe away the saliva. "I gave you your chance. I even gave you another. I gave you time to come to terms with the truth, and I even gave you the opportunity to speak with one of the kids to get their side of the story. You had your chance. You blew it."
He hauled her back into a sitting position none too kindly, grabbing the seat and pulling it back into a standing position, her head lolling from both her wavering consciousness and the forcefulness of his pulling the seat back up.
The teal-haired Astaroth did know one thing, even if the line was blurry for him these days.
He'd make this fool girl see sense one way or another.
("That feeling of being in charge of what's up there's been giving you trouble, hasn't it?")
Diodora would never admit it, but perhaps Rizevim was correct. Even now, there was a not insignificant part of him that wanted to strip Carlamine away until there was nothing left but her obedient husk.
It would be so easy too. So easy to shatter her worldview. So easy to break her. So easy to make, as his mentor has mentioned, a thrall of her.
Even now, she still wore her garb, and as he stepped around her slowly and examined the way she was coming to after his sucker punch, another, more sinister thought occurred.
'...It'd be so easy to put that mouth to other uses.'
("Don't become like him.")
Someone who shared a similarly sorry story thanks to the Underworld said that, hadn't she?
Someone who had been abused. Exploited. Worn down, and subsequently abandoned. Disposed of, even.
He stared at the dull green eyes, dazed and unfocused, eliciting a brief image within his mind of another who had once had those same empty emeralds.
Exploited. Worn down. Abandoned. Disposed.
Like her.
But what does that matter, especially these days?
A hand rose, the air around it shimmering with his magic, his mentalist arts.
Another thought struck, almost contradictory to what he'd thought before.
'How is what you plan to do any better?'
It isn't.
Was he really going to let himself go through with this?
'Why not?'
He held himself to a higher standard than that, Morningstar dammit!
Sure, that was honorable and all. But when did that standard ever work in his favor? When did his 'standard' actually earn him any sort of real victory?
'When did your 'standard' save Tara?'
One hand clapped against his lifting arm, grasping it tightly as he drew it back, the hand curling into a fist coming to rest, pressing his knuckles into his own forehead.
He could feel it from that hand, that mental pressure. The destructive intention behind it.
His eyes squeezed shut.
He wanted to.
No.
She deserved it.
Not here.
It'd be so easy.
Not now.
Why wouldn't he just follow through? Rizevim was right; he had every intention of making her see and admit truth, even if it broke her!
'But that's not what knowledge is supposed to do. It's supposed to help, and heal, and lead. So why do you want to go against that!?'
Because she should know better! She probably even does and is just being a cowardly, stubborn bitch!
'Or did you plan to follow through because you're tired of trying, and breaking Carlamine is the easy way out?'
That cause Diodora to freeze outright, another realization striking him tangentially.
Had he been trembling?
Was it out of rage, or something else entirely?
He didn't know.
"I'll..." he cleared his throat, to remove the strain in his voice with marginal success. "I'll deal with you later."
Diodora turned to leave, not looking back at those slowly refocusing eyes as he walked briskly away from the holding cell, the door slamming shut hard behind him.
"Out of my way!"
The Astaroth vaguely recognized a yelp as he pushed aside one of the servants in his storming - 'running away', the back of his mind whispered treacherously - to his room to think. He heard the clatter of something hitting the ground and shattering.
But his own thoughts were too awhirl to pay that servant the heed he knew they deserved.
"Another raid?"
Ruval fought off the urge to rub his temples as Pierre handed him another paper. A casualty report, including the loss of capital, he already knew.
"It appears as though other groups of Outlanders have received word of the goods flowing between communities and become... envious."
"It appears, as though said groups are intruding on Phenex borders to make these raids," The Phenex Flame of Sinai growled. "Those three autonomous regions are directly adjacent to our own for a reason!"
His Queen tilted his head. "Do you believe that this may be foul play?"
"Perhaps. It is certainly suspicious; I only announced the Phoenix Initiative to the Assembly a month and a half ago." Ruval stood and started pacing. The fact that these convoys were being attacked, despite the guards he'd started with, in his own territory to boot, and that the only thing left behind were corpses, he had reason to believe a number of facts.
Firstly, whoever was performing the raids had experts. They knew better than to let anyone get away or get communications out; blocking communications and sniping down runners gave the raiders plenty of time to round everything up and skip town before word came in of their attack.
Secondly, the locations of the ambushes varied, but the frequency did not. That suggested a coordinated effort, though whether that was just for plunder or for a far more sinister reason Ruval did not know.
Finally, there was the matter of optics. By performing these ambushes on his already-established territory, the perpetrator was also challenging Ruval's fledgling rule, whether intentionally or not. Even now, other houses were side-eyeing these attacks and reevaluating the security of the Phenex household. Thankfully, it hadn't spiraled out of control yet, but three ambushes in the span of a month required his direct attention and action.
"Pierre, what's the possibility that we're dealing with old war veterans?"
The butler hummed, running the numbers in his head before replying slowly. "Not... insignificant, milord. Especially during the days following the ceasefire of the Great War and the ending of the Civil War, soldiers went missing without explanation in droves, particularly in the Outlands. Likely due to a number of houses backing out of deals with their soldiers, so they chose to preempt. It is easy to believe they may have formed a unified front of their own, perhaps to the highest bidder."
Soldiers turned mercenaries or bandits. And if the raids on his trade convoys was any indication, they weren't the kind who discriminated between civilian missions and military ones.
In other words, deplorables. He'd have to suitably dispose of them.
"Lord Phenex."
That wasn't Pierre. The lord of the Phenex household's gaze shifted, and recognized the long, wavy blond hair of his first brother. "Rexen."
The smiling face of the Phenex's media tycoon stepped into the office, pulling out a seat for himself before settling in, blonde locks floating gently down alongside him.
"Did you hear about the raid, brother?"
"Yes, I was the one to sign off on the veracity of the report. I thought you'd received it yesterday?"
"I just got it now." Ruval held the papers in question up.
Rexen pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side, holding a hand up to his shoulder, palm to the ceiling. "Peculiar. I had it marked as top priority."
That didn't bode well.
Ruval tapped a pen on his desk slowly, mulling over the implications of his brother's words.
Saboteurs?
Turncoats?
Bureaucracy?
Regardless, it was problem after problem at a worrying pace.
"What is the general mood of the newsrooms?"
"Questioning your effectiveness as a ruler, obviously. As if you hadn't been doing a fine job over the past half-decade. Controversy sells, and the otherwise untouchable Phenex Flame of Sinai showing weakness in matters of security is quite the controversy. Especially given how this 'Phoenix Project' of yours is a joint venture with the Belial household."
The smile on Rexen's face suggested ice wouldn't melt in his mouth. "There are those who still see the Belials as upstarts undeserving of their seat, so attacking you and by proxy the Initiative hits two birds with one flung feces."
"I assume I am expected to make an announcement?"
The lifted brow and crossed arms from Rexen told Ruval how idiotic of a question that was.
"Right, of course I am," the young lord of the Phenex household drolled. "As though I don't have more important things to do like actually put a stop to these raids."
"You've grown cynical, brother."
Ruval felt his chest puff as a huff of laughter escaped him. "I've always been cynical, I'm just willing to express it to my family more these days."
"So it would seem." Rexen's smile widened slightly, even as he spread his fingers wide and waggled them. "Still, Lady Leviathan has been proving most beneficial in heading off the worst of the rumors."
"Be sure to send her my regards and appreciation for her support."
At his brother's nod, Ruval tapped the pen to the desk one more time before lifting the back end of it to his temple.
"This is the third raid, correct?"
"Yes, milord," Pierre confirmed.
"Is there some way to predict when the next one will hit?"
"I'm afraid not, milord, beyond the current frequency of their raids."
"Then I suppose I'll need to start taking direct action."
The long-haired blond rejoined. "So how should I spin the coverage when your direct involvement regarding the raids becomes known to the public?"
"If a King does not lead, how can he expect others to follow?" Ruval smiled. "If I elect proxies to manage something as serious as a direct challenge to my rule, it looks lazy and weak. I lazed around long enough before I took lordship over the family, so I do not intend to do so now."
"That, I can easily work with." Rexen bowed low in his seat. "By your leave, Lord Phenex?"
The smile on the oldest brother's face vanished. "We're brothers, Rexen. Please, dispense with the formality. We are in this together, are we not?"
"Water of the womb, brother." The media mogul stood back up with his smile firmly in place even as he stepped away, hands back in pockets. "Take care."
Ruval watched Rexen leave with a furrowed brow, but he just sighed and shook his head. His middle brother was always something of an enigma, but there he'd been all but blatant.
He wasn't particularly happy with the way Ruval was steering the ship. Had Rexen as well become too settled in his role to see the necessity behind Ruval's actions? Or did he see them, but was still struggling to come to terms?
It had nearly taken the life of someone he... cared for, to come to the realization himself, after all.
He glanced over to his Queen. "Pierre, summon Tanya, Albus, John, and Lam. I have a mission for each of them."
"Separately?"
"Yes. I believe cell-based operations would be most prudent at this point in time."
In the event that there was a leak, he'd know.
Once he figured out what was going on; for his family, for his people, for the future of the Phenex and all those beneath its wings, he'd act.
He felt the tug at his Peerage bond after about nine days.
For most, they wouldn't recognize it.
As someone who'd trained with his Peerage and learned the intricacies of their bond, however, Ruval could recognize the instinctual request for a Castling.
Rooks tended to have enhanced strength and durability, at the cost of magical potential.
Yet it wasn't a conversion of magical potential into physical prowess that lowered a Rook's capacity.
What many Kings didn't realize, or otherwise paid little heed to, was what that magical potential went into.
An internalized well of mana, converted and stored for a single purpose;
Castling.
Ajuka had outdone himself with the Chess terminology on that one. The bodyguards and main damage sinks of a Peerage having their mana pools retooled to exchange places with their King at any time helped offset their unenhanced speed and allowed for a new avenue of tactics.
Ruval would know: he'd been Castled against by Diehauser in their Rating Game, and the Belial's skill in doing so had played a major role in Ruval's eventual exhaustion in that fight.
The blond smirked. He'd take a note out of Diehauser's book; why not adapt something that works to his own uses, after all?
He stood up, and walked over next to the seat, letting his eyes drift shut as he focused on that bond...
and
pulled.
His ears heard the sounds of battle, of Devils shouting and yelling, some in fear, and some in relief as he spread his wings.
His skin was touched by cool air, subsequently warmed by the ghostly pinions shining behind his back.
His eyes opened to a convoy, overturned with Devils running, panicked, and others with swords and guns.
Even now, he noticed one of the armed devils, a mercenary from the looks of his garb, lifting his weapon to shoot down a fleeing merchant.
The mercenary would never shoot that shot, twin lashes of flame disarming him in a brutally literal sense.
"Shit-" he never got to finish his sentence either, as his body erupted into white flame, immolated in an instant.
More mercenaries approached, weapons in hand as others began to loot what they could from the convoy and fall back.
They wouldn't escape.
A beat of his wings unleashed a storm of feathers, superheated plasma that speared through the heads of those who approached with lethal accuracy,
If the force of the impact didn't kill them, then the shearing heat would.
Yet none of those flames touched the convoys.
The fires belonged to him, as did the convoys. Thus, one would not burn the other.
He turned around, a blade of that same plasma in hand as he bisected a mercenary who thought himself clever enough to try and make a sneak attack while his attention was in the other direction.
"Retreat! Get what you can and get out!" one of them cried, before they too were turned into so much ash on the wind.
Yet even the winds became a deadly foe. With the sky itself now an enemy of the mercenaries who dared attack the convoy, fleeing also proved a daunting affair. Many were cut down in an instant, turned into so many pieces of meat by the windstorm that made the treetops thrash about in so many directions.
Those were the lucky ones. At least they escaped the flames, unlike those who fell down into the forest, blazing yet unmarred by Ruval's fire. The screams as they burned joined the roar of his birthright.
Said Phenex Flame of Sinai smiled, though it lacked humor as he held up a hand and snapped his fingers.
Yet despite the summons, nobody came.
The smile dropped, and he let his eyes drift shut as he extended his senses, letting the fire devour the mercs fleeing on the ground and the winds cut down those who thought to take wing.
His senses extended, then paused as he recognized the feeling of his second Knight.
Ruval's eyes reopened, and he finally moved from his spot in the direction of the Knight he'd stationed to overlook the convoy, in the event that the Rook was disabled before they could Castle into him, wings taking him into the air.
Apparently the hidden sentry had been found.
Thankfully, it was Albus instead of John; Albus was easily the more skilled of the two in direct battle.
Even as he heard the sounds of clashing blades, he could tell that his Knight was struggling.
But from whom?
Ruval felt a burst of wind as a black-haired young man, appearing no older than twenty, landed next to him, green eyes flickering red as he bared teeth of elongated canines and held onto a stump where his lower arm had been, blood freely streaming from the wound. Said lower arm was clutched to his chest, but it was clear from expression and visible fatigue that he was not the winner of whatever fight he'd broken away from.
"Lord Ruval," he said, exhaustion seeping through his voice. "It is good that you are here."
The Phenex pulled out a vial and passed it over to his Knight, who caught it in his mouth and started drinking it, pressing the amputated limb to his stump. "How were you found?"
A 'tsk'. "My hiding spot wasn't good enough. I underestimated their lay of the land."
Ruval stepped forward, eyes flicking from side to side, searching for any assailants in wait. "And your arm?"
"Their leader." Albus let his eyes shut, expression settling as the winds around him began to curl inward, hastening the recovery process that the Phenex Tears had begun. "I have pride in my swordsmanship; I may be no Okita Souji, but I still could give him a challenge. I was completely outmatched here, all the same. I am lucky to have gotten away with a severed arm, rather than a severed head."
A swordsman who might be even better than Sirzechs's Knight?
Speaking of which...
"That's your primary arm." At Albus's nod, Ruval continued. "...Did he claim your sword?"
"I did."
Someone stepped out of the treeline, deciding then was a good time to make their entrance. Masked, clothed until only the eyes were visible, the mercenary leader held a blue katana up, studying it closely, while what was probably their own sword was sheathed and locked.
"A fine weapon," the merc continued, voice low in volume but firm. "I can see its previous owner tended to her well."
Ruval lifted his own projected one up, pointing at the heavily garbed mercenary. "And if I were the one to lend it to him for the duration of his time in my Peerage?"
"A blade's owner is its wielder - who that wielder bends knee to is of no part in that relationship beyond whom the owner's liege sets them against."
The blue blade in turn lifted to match the Phenex's, the mercenary's head tilting slightly to the side. "And so this sword is now mine, that I claimed it from your Knight."
Immediately, Ruval was struck with a feeling of foreboding.
"You feel it too?" Albus muttered, readying a sphere of bludgeoning winds in one hand.
"I do." He would not deny it - whoever this was, even if the amount of power they released was low, the certainty of their presence indicated a truly dangerous foe. Little wonder that the ambushes over the past two months were successful: the person before them was no mere veteran of one of the two Wars. "You're lucky to have survived, Albus - retreat and assist the survivors."
The black-haired vampire needed no further recommendation. He released the wind magics within the palm of his reattached hand, and spread batlike wings to leave the area.
So that left the veteran and the Phenex.
"You're no ordinary Devil."
"Nor are you. No ordinary Devil would try to reach out to the Outlands."
"What can I say?" The blade of flame lengthened and thickened, becoming a greatsword as Ruval adjusted his position. "I had a revelation."
"It explains why your fires are white now - only the Original Demon himself looked more like an angel."
Eyes flicked down to the blade of plasma in Ruval's hands.
"That's not your true weapon."
The Phenex twitched, nose crinkling ever so slightly before schooling his expression.
"I don't use that unless I need to."
The mercenary's eyes darkened.
"Arrogance."
Then they were directly in front of Ruval, what seemed like a single step carrying the mercenary the full twenty yards between them, hoisted-up blade lazily dropping in a kendo vertical swing, yet the Phenex's instincts screamed at him of danger.
Ruval sidestepped, swerving away with blade held horizontal to cut as he passed. Albus's lost katana slashed. The Phenex's weapon was cut in two.
"Disgraceful."
Before he could react, the nobleman's face lit up with pain, a palm he hadn't seen crashing home before driving him into the ground head-first.
His back followed shortly, driving the wind out of him for a moment.
How had the mercenary scored a hit so easily?
Had Ruval trained to take hits too well, that he'd forgotten how to instinctively turn his body to fire?
Or...
Ruval rolled back onto his feet, producing another sword as his wings spread and fired, more white feathers shooting outward to barrage.
The graceful blade in the mercenary's hands turned into a blur, flashes of azure intercepting every feather to land. They rushed forward, and met the Phenex's flame once more.
This time his plasma weapon held, but only barely. Ruval could feel the katana slicing through.
It wasn't the blade though - it was just a katana; well crafted and enchanted as to remain sharp, oiled, and durable, but a katana all the same.
So how was it that Ruval's defenses were failing him?
The Phenex growled, lifting a foot to kick the mercenary away, readying himself to charge and press the advantage.
He blinked as his balance failed him, barely refraining from falling over again thanks to a hand slamming into the ground for support as he looked down.
'What?!'
Where did his leg go?
He felt something fall onto his back, and Ruval knew immediately what had happened.
How did he not see the slash?
How did he not feel the cut?
The Phenex got back up, dismembered leg bursting into flames and reconnecting with his whole body before he reformed, whole once more.
So how did he still feel something hot and wet trickling down his leg from where he'd lost it?
He couldn't look down though.
Against someone like this, he couldn't look away.
"Bring out your weapon."
"Why are you so insistent that I do so?"
"I seek a true duel. There's no honor in this; this is just a joke, and it's starting to anger me."
Honorable? After convoy after convoy raided and killed? Ruval snorted, before baring his teeth in a snarl. "Anger you!? Hypocrisy! What honor do you get from murdering civilians seeking only to better themselves!?"
"None." the merc lifted their head. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I do not take joy from doing so, but needs must in an unkind world."
So they'd attack the mission of someone who's trying to make a difference? "In case you hadn't realized, I am trying to change that!"
Those golden eyes narrowed as the mercenary's voice rose, sharp and surprisingly passionate. "Then bring out your true weapon! Words are cheap, but the song of battle is always earnest. So stop half-assing it and come at me with everything you have! Show me your spirit, Ruval Phenex! Prove to me the strength of your conviction!"
His response was to explode, surroundings blasting outward with the force of his eruption, yet the mercenary was unfazed, one swing of their sword dispersing the flames as though it was so much dust.
Ruval took the opportunity to swing in with his usual plasma blade.
The thin bead of sweat that trickled down the merc's face in such close proximity to the white-hot fires, even if their gaze was as steady as ever, brought a smirk to the Phenex's face.
They weren't untouchable.
Neither was he.
"Against an enemy too craven to show their face?" Ruval murmured quietly, to the mercenary. "Not happening."
His defenses were no good against this foe, it seemed.
So he went on the attack instead. His blade flashed, flicked, danced, its universal 'edge' proving a distinct advantage as the merc responded. Yet where before he had been pushed back, Ruval was now the one pressing forward.
Perhaps it was something to do with the flames that threatened the mercenary, roiling over like great white waves, threatening to crash into and consume them both.
Ruval paid them no heed. They were his, after all. The golden-eyed adversary, on the other hand, was constantly harried and sidetracked, forced to remain on the defensive lest he be bathed within the sea of fire swirling around them.
The gaze was still steady, despite the pressure, so Ruval added even more, abandoning all pretense of defense to kill this brigand.
No mercy for those that would threaten him and his.
No hope for his foes, for he could pursue them endlessly, and bring their end in a moment.
No salvation to the ones he found guilty.
All would be purified in his flames.
He would burn them all down to the ground-
The blond snarled, lifting his blade in an upward slash, before it happened again.
His balance failed him.
No.
Wait.
Why was his vision splitting?
Why was his mouth filled with the taste of iron?
...Oh.
He was the one splitting.
The pain of his body's natural regeneration kicking in acted as a focus, and it let Ruval bring himself back together to follow up the upward slash with an overhand smash, a roar ripping from his throat as he swung downward on his foe.
White flames mixed with flecks of black, his weapon crashing down onto the ground, a geyser of fire erupting upward around the force of the impact, turning everything nearby into so much ash.
Everything, that is, except...
"...You missed."
The mercenary stood several meters away, blue katana stabbed into the ground by their side in favor of their original weapon, a straight-edged sword whose blade glimmered flawlessly in the flickering light of the white fires around them, having been drawn to aid in cutting through the maelstrom that the Phenex had unleashed. That did not mean they were unscathed, however - Ruval could see that his flames had burned away some of the mercenary's coverings. Even now, straight red hair - copper rather than crimson, drifted back into place just above their shoulders.
They were familiar, that blade and that hair, though the blond could not say how.
"Not entirely," the Lord of his household smirked, lifting his weapon back into a ready stance even as one hand lifted to wipe away the blood dripping down his face in a straight line..
"No." Ruval got the impression that the mercenary was frowning. "You... defy expectations. I was expecting a swordsman and flamecaster, not a barely-leashed force of nature."
"I did not become Ultimate-class by lazing about."
"You became an Ultimate recently, for certain. You lost control momentarily."
Ruval's smirk fell away. He'd noticed? "...So I did."
"Why? I am aware you are not one whose sin is Ira."
"I despise hypocrisy. Did you think I would not be angered by the likes of you?"
"Yet you are a hypocrite all the same."
"You're mostly correct. I used to be."
The mercenary's eyes widened, but a fraction, almost too quickly to be noticed. "You don't deny it?"
But Ruval did. "I don't think I ever did. I merely decided to do something about it these past six years."
His candor seemed to take his foe aback for a moment, even as the blazes around them continued to rage.
Finally, Ruval spoke again, after several seconds of silence. "Who in the pits are you?"
The mercenary ran a hand through their hair, before they chuckled.
"Who am I? A ghost of the past, nothing more."
There was something at the back of Ruval's mind, a tickling, as though a memory long buried was coming to light.
"One of the old guard, then."
The golden eyes crinkled as though pleased, before striking again, other hand lashing out, flinging something at Ruval.
Even as he lifted his blade, Ruval felt the projectile sink into his chest, and it was almost with a laugh that he recognized the blue edge now running him through.
His foe lowered their hand. "Keep it. I've decided I prefer my original weapon anyway."
Ruval held up a hand, both in a call for his foe to stop, as well as to direct his flames, paying no heed to the blade currently embedded inside him. "You never answered my question. I know what you are now. But not who."
The mercenary spread their wings. "Hm. Perhaps you would, had you brought out your true weapon when I challenged you."
"I won't draw that against a brigand like you."
"Perhaps I am nothing more than a brigand now. But I otherwise remain unchanged; I do what I must. I will continue to do so."
The flames rushed in again, but they never reached their target, the mercenary's true blade slicing through flames as though they were never there, flying upward as a circle formed behind them. Even then, the winds around them failed to slice or push, any attempts to do so stymied by that straight-edged sword.
A blade to bleed fire, a sword that splits air.
'What am I missing?'
Ruval could tell the difference even now. The mercenary had used Albus's katana with mind-boggling skill, but with a weapon that had clearly seen many years of familiarity and use the gap was clear as day.
He could only chuckle disbelievingly. He'd been challenged to use his full strength, yet his foe had not been doing the same.
'Such blatant hypocrisy.'
"You've earned your project a reprieve. At the very least, I will need to gather more fighters for the ones lost tonight." Golden eyes met sapphire orbs, before... softening? "Make your respite count, alright?"
Then they vanished into motes of light, leaving Ruval alone, frustrated, and confused.
Especially on the last question.
'What was that about?'
A/N:
Meet Georg. Considering the bland character he is in the series (Seriously, the wiki has nothing except 'loyal' and 'coward' as his character traits, the hell!?) I figured I'd give him some more color.
So it came to me at work, that he'd be this sort of character. Characters like Hatake Kakashi, Kisuke Urahara, and Satoru Gojo are beautifully campy, genius bastards, so I decided I'd channel some of that energy for Georg. Hope you all like it!
Then there's the continuation of the Diodora line. Simply put, I wanted to emphasize how he's a deeply conflicted character, and I hope I did so without being too on the nose about it.
Finally, Ruval. His isn't so much a battle against the self now as it is a battle against the world he is trying to change, having taken up Luna's place. I believe it's a good, natural progression from what he was before.
In any case, this chapter was long overdue. I've been sitting on it for a little while, but it seems like this is as far as I can go with it.
Hope you enjoy, as always! Tempura Wizard out.
