Only in Death Does Duty End - Repost

by LaEmporoar

Spartans are the protectors of humanity. Headhunters are the sword of humanity. Both are required to fight for their species unto their dying breath. However, when death finally comes is that duty maintained? Does it continue as long as the mind can remember it? Regardless of the answer, a Headhunter must find a way to continue his duties. Even if he is no longer human. - Repost

This is an unofficial repost cause someone asked for it and the author deleted it from his profile a few months ago. - LaEmporoar

Only In Death Does Duty End

By: Cypher1597

Spartans are the protectors of humanity. Headhunters are the sword of humanity. Both are required to fight for their species unto their dying breath. However, when death finally comes is that duty maintained? Does it continue as long as the mind can remember it? Regardless of the answer, a Headhunter must find a way to continue his duties. Even if he is no longer human.

Status: ongoing

Published: 2021-06-30

Updated: 2023-04-08

Words: 114938

Chapters: 18

Rated: Fiction M - Language: English - Genre: Suspense - Characters: OC - Reviews: 476 - Favs: 869 - Follows: 1,118

Exported with the assistance of FicHub

Only In Death Does Duty End

Chapter 1

Only in Death Does Duty End

Chapter One

The Shadow Lands, House Kimaris

The Underworld was once a feral land where terrifying creatures and vile beasts wandered unchecked and unspoiled.

It would forever be altered by the arrival of Lucifer and his 72 Pillars.

His followers were few compared to the millions of Angels he once commanded, but the formerly beloved 'Star of the Morning' did not leave Heaven empty-handed. He took the knowledge necessary to raise a civilization that could one day challenge the tyranny of heaven.

Lucifer raised a force of over one million devils cultivated from the genetic makeup of his 72 followers and the body of his comatose wife, Lilith. In a manner of days, he founded the sprawling city of Lucifaad and established a burgeoning civilization called the Infernal Empire.

This dark seat of power became the foundation of Lucifer's kingdom, and within a century, his 72 Pillars created dominions that varied in size and splendor.

The lands of Gremoris are a lush countryside where all levels of Devil Society can flock to its pastures for safety or employment. House Gremory has presided over these territories and has become, in essence, a beacon of stability for its unruly society.

The frozen wastes of Seracan are dominated by House Sitri, where the most sophisticated Nobles constantly delve into the arts of arcane science from within the confines of their towering spires. They test the boundaries of real space to understand their enigmatic homeland's ever-puzzling secrets.

From the island fortress of Agreas to the fiery plains of Beliarus, the 72 Pillars dominated the Underworld in a unified front that would challenge Heaven's power for a Millenium.

Until a bloody civil war destroyed this harmonious front.

Clans that once took up arms for their Satan overlords now strike out against them in a rage that has not been seen since the Great War.

Many Houses have sought to maintain their neutrality with minimal success.

The families with a dominating influence within Devil politics found themselves in the unenviable position of choosing a side either by circumstance or strength of arms.

However, one realm remains separated from the brewing civil war consuming the Underworld.

The Shadow Lands is not for the faint of heart, and only the insane would dare enter its territories without an army at their back. The infamous fog of shadows has beaten even the most determined of Devils, with even the great Zekram Bael and Malroth Abaddon unable to endure its terrible nature.

However, one among their number found success, where others failed.

It was a Devil of unimaginable scale, commanding an inexhaustible Legion that tamed the eldritch terrors that roamed its shadows.

He founded a House built upon empathy and malice, passion and scorn, sensible courage and irrational vengeance.

He created a family tempered in the fires of the Great War.

He is the 66th Devil.

Archduke Cedric Kimaris.

Lord of the Darkness and protector of the Shadow Lands.

In the millennium since the foundation of Lucifer's 66th Pillar, none have walked this territory without the guidance of a Kimaris Clan member lest the Chimeras prowling in the desolate fields tear them into pieces or the tendrils of darkness drag them into the endless night.

However, there are those chosen few who have bested the lethal shadows and basked in the glory of House Kimaris' teeming and magnificent countryside that contrasts the inhospitable environment surrounding it.

These intruders are so captivated by the divergent estates that they are left at the mercy of the Shadow Land's invincible Legion.

For generations, the 66th Legion has defended their homeland with a fervor that rivals the tenacity of Lucifer's Despoilers.

No matter the odds, the Black Guard of House Kimaris has never been found wanting.

Under Lucifer's command, none of the Legions genuinely held his admiration more than the 66th 'Black Guard.'

The First Shadow Lord executed Lucifer's will without hesitation or failure, and his death was a consequence of warfare and not the failings of the 66th.

The Legion still patrols their ancestral home, and their numbers have waxed and waned over the centuries, but they remain a potent fighting force that scours unwanted outsiders and deviants alike.

An impenetrable darkness has always shrouded these lands, and not even the prestigious clans of Bael, Agares, Sitri, and the long-defunct house of Lucifer have ever pierced its protective veil.

A veil that continues to withstand the test of time and the foolish insurrections of outsiders.

Cedric watched his Legion scour another attempt by Rizevim's lackeys to breach the lands of shadow with mild amusement.

For decades the children of Lucifer have been at each other's throats.

In their arrogance, the descendants of Cedric's former Masters chastised their underlings so utterly that the 72 Pillars took up the sword against them in a fury.

The Infernal War between Loyalists and Renegades has ravaged the underworld so utterly that House Kimaris can no longer stand idly by and let the civilization Lucifer created be torn asunder.

It is a war that Cedric wants no part in, and he would rather maintain his neutrality than throw his lot in with a failing regime or fight for a cause led by Zekram Bael and his pawns.

Alas, in a time of war, everyone must decide their loyalties, and the Renegades were lucky to receive his assistance.

"My Lord." A monotone voice belonging to Cedric's many attendants called out to him. "It is time."

"So it is." Cedric turned towards his red-skinned companion, clad in the blackened carapace of the 66th Legion Honor Guard. "Is everyone back?"

"Yes, my lord. Lady Jade and Ghislaine have just returned from patrolling the border." Eleamus placed a wrapped parchment atop Cedric's desk. "I have the after-action report ready, but I imagine you'd rather be present for your son's birth. Lady Elerin may not be in a forgiving mood if you continue to delay."

"As you say, old friend." Cedric closed a logistics report from his Legion's Prefect and immediately vacated his private quarters with a skip in his step.

A son.

He could scarcely believe that House Kimaris would finally receive the blessing of a male heir after all these years. Cedric loved his daughters more than anything else in this mortal plane, but he always wanted a son.

And the fates finally gifted him one.

It didn't take Cedric long to find the birthing chamber. Even in the maze that was his home, all he had to do was follow the anguished screaming of his first wife as his son made every attempt to prolong his own delivery.

Leaning against the chamber door with stern expressions etched into their features were two of his eldest daughters, Jade and Ghislaine, a magnificent yet lethal pair of temptress's who exalted the virtues of House Kimaris.

Ghislaine was the welcomed consequence of a fling during the Great War's final millennia. Her Nekoshu traits showed brightly as her bushy tail swished back and forth in anticipation of her newest sibling. A pair of bright amber eyes set firmly in her sockets reminded Cedric of her mother more times than he could count.

It's a shame she passed not long after Ghislaine's birth.

Standing not far from her half-sister was his eldest, Jade.

Her luscious black hair falls to just above the small of her back, revealing a lean and seductive countenance. A pair of emerald eyes are set graciously within their sockets, glancing between the contrasting heights of her youngest sisters as they stuck their heads into the room with barely restrained glee.

Rose and Sapphire were a rowdy pair of twins who practically lived off their antics around the castle, and their exploits left many of his guards and attendants exasperated. They were barely five years of age and already causing problems for everyone in the clan.

Sapphire, contrary to her name, retained hazel-blue eyes with pink hair done up in two buns on either side of her head.

Her sister possessed the same eye color, but that's where the similarities ended. In contrast to her twin, Rose had thick, stark white shoulder-length hair with crimson red at the tips. She already showed signs of a significant growth spurt and stood three inches above Sapphire.

Both would undoubtedly lead all his daughters in amassing broken hearts and shattered bones. Cedric pitied the fools or fool who managed to vie for their attention because they would be in for a lengthy and infuriating life.

A furtive glance from Jade alerted Cedric that his final offspring was missing.

Or at least that's what she wanted him to believe.

"RAARGHH!" A pair of tiny hands wrapped around his head with a sharp blade pressed against his throat. Cedric could practically feel the amusement rolling off of Jade and Ghislaine as their twelve-year-old sister attempted a faux assassination of their father.

"Surrender and die!" That's not precisely how Cedric taught her to demand an enemy's capitulation, but it was a work in progress.

"Now, now, Ashara." The Shadow Lord struck the jagged blade away and snatched his daughter by the scruff of her neck. "This is not the time or place to play our little game. Your brother will be here soon."

The little Devil hung from his fingertips, allowing him an unabated view of his daughter's pouty facial expressions. Like her sister Rose, Ashara possessed thick shoulder-length hair without the crimson red tips and pale grey orbs.

Ashe, as her sisters sometimes called her, was seconds away from a random tirade before Ghislaine disciplined her with a light strike to the back of her head.

"Keep calm, you little monkey." The Hybrid chastised as Ashe rubbed her pulsing skull. "Now grab your sisters and trust your mother doesn't see you acting up."

"Speaking of," Jade chimed in softly, eyes never leaving Elerins laboring form. "Where is Arwen?"

Cedric's second wife, Arwen Kimaris, was the mother to Ashara and the twins. Her absence was temporary at best, but keeping track of one another was difficult with the castle's current state.

"She'll be here," Cedric replied heartily. "Elerin will kill her if she misses Cyrus's birth."

Jade and Ghislaine perked at the name, eyes searching for deception in his crimson orbs. When neither found their father lying to them, Ghislaine was the first to speak her mind.

"I didn't think you decided on a name yet?" Cedric sent a cursory glance to both his daughters.

"Do you disapprove?"

"Nope." Both Jade and Ghislaine echoed their sentiments in unison, subtly exchanging objects with one another. Both his eldest daughters had a bad gambling habit, and he had hoped they would set aside their pride in favor of the brother's arrival.

A false hope for two devils whose lust was only eclipsed by their pride.

When they were younger, Cedric wished he'd sent one of his Night Wardens to retrieve them for training during their 'prolific' activities, which on more than one occasion escalated into a more…..expansive engagement.

Since discovering these wanton acts of unrestrained lust, he ensured the pair would never waste his precious time again by imparting a painful lesson of etiquette upon them.

"Sorry, I'm late." A dainty hand snatched Cedric's own, and a familiar intoxicating fragrance graced his surroundings.

Arwen Kimaris was an ethereal beauty, much like her sister wife, Elerin. Both were former members of the long-deceased Valefor Clan, and they were his pride and joy for most of his lifetime.

Like most Devils, he valued power above all else and mixing the blood of Kimaris and Valefor provided potent offspring. The fact Cedric was able to take both daughters of the Malephar for his own without complaint from the other Clans spoke volumes of House Kimaris' power.

He was a lucky man in more than one way.

"You're just in time by the sounds of it." Arwen had a sly smile cross her face as the screams of labor began to subside. Cedric dragged his second wife towards Elerin's bed, pushing aside the nursing attendants just in time to see the newest addition to their family.

Elerin's flowing black hair pooled around her pillows as she held a precious bundle of quiet life in her arms.

Rose and Sapphire bounced on their feet, climbing onto the bed and pawing at their youngest siblings' delectable cheeks. Christie did her best to restrain herself, but she was little better than her younger sisters.

"He's beautiful," Arwen commented softly, eyes dancing with a deep fondness for Elerin's youngest and only son.

A cursory glance towards his eldest daughters allowed Cedric to see their eyes light up with intense affection. Jade and Ghislaine were hard women to please as their Legionnaires could abide by, but his son had found a key to their guarded hearts with his presence alone.

Cyrus was going to be good for this family.

Cedric only hoped he would get to see it, but Elerin didn't seem to care in the slightest for the coming battle turning her arms towards the twins in a barely restrained sense of joy.

"Come here, little ones. That's your little brother." Sapphire and Rose each sported innocent smiles while providing his cheeks. "Cyrus is one of us, a precious gift and a substantial responsibility. You must always be good to him, always take care of him, understand?"

A beaming Christie joined the twins, and it didn't take long for the rest of the Kimaris family to gather around their newest addition with motions and words that could only be described as loving.

On that night, Cyrus Kimaris was born into a world of Devils and Angels.

None could truly know that his actions would dictate the course of history.

For in those crimson orbs laid the memories of a life dedicated to protecting the beating hearts of humanity.

In those eyes laid a Spartan with indomitable willpower hardened by years of struggle, genocide, and war. The scales of which surpassed even the brutal imaginations of the most bloodthirsty Devils.

A Headhunter was born that night, and the world would learn to embrace the darkness.

Not in fear.

But in adulation.

For where there is light, there is shadow. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow.

The restructuring has begun, and while I can't say I'll be back in earnest, I will be uploading all the redone chapters one by one. Some will upload within hours of each other, and some will take several days until we catch up to the culmination of Lucifaad.

There will be an odd amount of changes in the storytelling, with sections removed, moved, or condensed altogether.

Regardless my goal of bringing down the chapter count from at the end of the Lucifaad Arc from 30+ to somewhere in the low 20s by again removing, reimagining, or condensing sections into somewhat larger chapters was a success.

I hope this change helps smooth out the storytelling, but that remains to be seen. As of now, I have already removed every chapter and will begin the mass reupload, so be prepared for that inevitability.

In other news, I graduated from the police academy, and my first day on the streets is tomorrow. I hope I don't make the news.

Be safe out there, everyone. I'll see you all again.

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Shadow Lands, House Kimaris

Fire.

Brimstone.

Pain.

Death.

"Come here, little ones. That's your little brother. Cyrus is one of us, a precious gift and a substantial responsibility. You must always be good to him, always take care of him, understand?"

Death was supposed to greet Cyrus with open arms, not deny him at the onset of his own salvation.

"Why isn't he crying, Mother?" A young, untempered voice echoed in Cyrus's mind, followed by another identical speech with a slightly lower tone.

"Aren't babies supposed to cry?"

"He's a Kimaris. We don't cry for paltry reasons. Both of you should know that above all else." A male voice filled with authority and power that Cyrus could feel reverberating in the darkness.

"Be calm, Cedric. He's just tired, is all. Nothing for you to worry about" He could hear the anxiety in the woman's serene voice, and its very tune nearly placed him back into a restful slumber. "Let him rest, and he'll meet all of you soon enough."

"He's beautiful, Elerin. I am envious of you." Another woman's voice greeted his ears, ethereal and angelic in sound.

"Come now, Arwen." A pleasant giggle from the newly crowned mother nearly sent him into the jaws of slumber. "He's as much your son as he is mine. Jade, Ghislaine, come closer. He won't bite you."

There was shuffling in the background, and Cyrus could feel a pair of phantoms brush against him.

One woman possessed a tone that was soft-spoken and captivating.

The other was boisterous and provocative.

"He's so small." A hand brushed against his cheek, and Cyrus instinctively batted the limb away. "And fiery! I think I'm going to like him."

"Hands off him, Ghislaine. Clearly, he doesn't enjoy being touched by an animal."

"You seem to enjoy it, Jade." The teasing and overtly sensual tone in Ghislaine's voice set Cyrus on edge.

She was a woman that needed to be watched, and he wouldn't be surprised if Ghislaine and Jade often came to blows with one another.

"Both of you, be silent," the Patriarch growled out. "I will not have your deviancy or antics disgrace the image of yourselves in your brother's mind. The last thing I need is for him to realize his 'elder' sisters are immature."

Too late for that.

The voices soon turned into a mixture of delight and contentment, which he was unwilling to participate in.

Cyrus couldn't comprehend any of this.

He was supposed to die on that Forerunner installation and greet the gates of Elysium or the void with open arms.

For all Cyrus knew, Eliza was granted that reprieve, and he was left to toil in the darkness at the mercy of whatever deity had decided that his life was theirs for the taking.

"Look at your sisters, son. All of them. When you grow, you will become the heir to our household."

Ghislaine decided at that moment to open her mouth, all but confirming that she was the problem child in this… family.

"Thank Satan for that. I can't imagine the twins or Ashe taking up the mantle if Jade were to step down or kick the bucket."

"Fuck yourself, Ghislaine." The voices registered to Arwen and Cedric burst into hearty laughter while Elerin's soothing voice turned into a reprimanding tone.

"Ashara!" The twins joined their sister's rebuke in near-practiced unison.

"Yeah, fuck youself, Ghislaine!" Arwen's humor dissipated when her precious twin daughters cursing resounded throughout the chamber, followed by Elerin's cutting glance of promised retribution.

"Jade, take your brother," Elerin demanded without hesitancy. "I have words and discipline to hand out to your sisters."

The Matriarch of House Kimaris passed the burden of responsibility to her eldest daughter, who graciously accepted the duty and high-tailed it out of the chamber.

Jade had been at the receiving end of Elerin and Arwen's discipline in her youth, and that was a memory she never wanted to visit again.

Still, she couldn't keep the smile off her face as she heard Ashara's tell-tale screaming for mercy. Their parents took discipline seriously, maybe not as harsh as the Bael Clan, but still, it was in its own way memorable.

"That is your family, Cyrus," Jade softly murmured, adjusting his tiny frame in her arms. "They're idiots, but you'll soon realize they're our idiots."

He seriously doubted that.

l==l

Cyrus wasn't supposed to be here, or at the very least, he wasn't supposed to remember his past life.

It was a curse and a blessing to recall his struggles in the rundown streets of Ferax, the capital city of Actium.

His past life wasn't anything to talk about. No one cared about a street urchin trying to survive in an uncaring city, especially when he was one of thousands.

Cyrus was lucky that an ONI Agent took a minor interest in him, snatching his adolescent self from the clutches of Ferax's underworld and tossing him into the training grounds of Camp Currahee.

After all those years of shedding blood, sweat, and tears, Cyrus graduated and became a Spartan. For most, it would be the beginning of a fantastic journey that the naïve and blood-driven cadets foolishly believed they could tell their grandkids in the future.

The fools hadn't realized that their first mission would be their last.

It was happenstance that Cyrus became a Headhunter with two others that were his family in all but blood.

Tragically, he could only recall their names and designations.

Sierra-B312 Casey and Sierra-B291 Eliza.

The names sent a content sensation reverberating down his spine, but he found only sorrow with every recollection.

Cyrus would never see them again, and the circumstances surrounding their separation would be forever lost. The only detail he can readily remember was the dozens of confrontations with humanity's mortal and proven enemy.

The Covenant.

The word tasted like ash in his mouth, and the first time he bared witness to the glassing of a UNSC outer colony was one of the few instances where wrath consumed his very being.

Humanity's war against the Covenant left no stable survivors, no jubilant songs of triumph, and no rays of hope to cling to in those early desolate years. Cyrus can recall his feet crushing the remains of shattered cities and hollow human skulls.

It was a sight that, even in this life, would never leave his memories.

Arcadia.

Jericho VII

Iota.

Paris IV.

Heian.

Every deployment to these shattered colonies succeeded, but they were little more than pyrrhic victories.

And for humanity, every victory was paid for in human lives and human blood.

Blood that no longer ran through his veins.

Cyrus wasn't human anymore.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and he fell into an apathetic silence for months when the truth was finally unveiled. Nothing his parents ever did brought him out of his silent shell, and he was aware that his odd behavior bothered his so-called siblings.

But he didn't care.

All the training in the world that Lieutenant Ambrose, Chief Mendez, and every demanding ONI instructor in Camp Currahee instilled in Cyrus could not prepare him for this situation.

Staring into his mother's azure blue eyes should have calmed the nerves of every newborn child.

He could see the woman's love and adulation for her youngest offspring, but he could not bring himself to care about any of them.

Cyrus was blessed to be spared the horrors of early childhood as time passed within a blink of an eye, and he was well into the preoperational stage of his development.

In the beginning, Cyrus hadn't realized the significant differences in his upbringing. For a time, he believed he was in a renaissance era of the homeworld, but that assumption was slashed when he registered the extra appendage and ears on Ghislaine's body.

All of which the woman frequently showed off, marching around the castle grounds in her birthday suit when basic human etiquette would have Ghislaine admonished for her misconduct.

His first assumptions about House Kimaris being a renaissance-era clan bore prudence at first. The attendants around him felt human, but a dismissive statement from Ashe when he inquired about their existence confirmed his suspicions.

"Yes, Cyrus. They're well and truly human, but don't bother with them. They won't be here for much longer."

The crass nature of her statement was the first of many indications that things around this castle weren't as they seemed.

For years the family kept him and his younger siblings isolated inside the safety of House Kimaris's Fortress Monastery. They only allowed Cyrus to roam the gardens under the watchful care of Ghislaine and Jade for a meager few hours before shuttling him back inside.

His isolation resulted from a civil war between the great houses of which Cyrus had not been given a formal education. It was only through the soft-spoken demands made towards his 'mother' that she promised to educate them on their race.

The final straw that opened his eyes to his new world occurred five years into his birth when his father once again departed for the city of Seracan on the periphery.

Cyrus rightfully presumed they were all still human at the time, but that notion was quickly dismissed.

From Cedric's back extended two bat-like wings, and his body swiftly became encased in black carapace armor from head to toe. The ancestral power of House Kimaris revolved around drawing power from the shadows around them, turning their bodies into pure unadulterated killing machines that excelled in every aspect of warfare.

Many have fallen to the blades of Kimaris, and many more will follow.

The spectacle astonished his family, but all it did was prompt Cyrus's pupils to narrow in apprehension as he scrutinized every contour of Cedric's anatomy for a flaw that could be exploited.

All around him, the pleasant smiles of his family, along with the cheers of his father's guardsmen, crashed against his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he found a human servant coiling in fear, and at that moment, he came to a single potent realization.

House Kimaris was not a renaissance family of a long-forgotten age.

Friends and family no longer surrounded him.

The enemy surrounded Cyrus, and they bore human skin as a mask of their true forms.

They were demons of the night that no doubt preyed upon the weak and the helpless.

They needed to be stopped.

They needed to be killed.

But Cyrus couldn't kill all of them, so he chose to cut the head off the snake.

Negative sensations and emotions hammered him like a tidal wave, and he could feel a set of eyes boring into the side of his skull.

Ghislaine was an empath, and she had grown accustomed to his aura's constant outpouring of stillness.

So when his aura shifted into a volcano of pure wrath and fear, her lungs became smothered by negative emotions. A migraine assaulted her psyche with potent force, and only Jade's quick hand steadied her collapsing form.

"Ghislaine," Jade wrapped an arm across her taut shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Cyrus." She murmured out, forcing Jade to lean closer as another bought of pain assaulted her senses.

"What?" Jade watched crimson eyes burn with agony and indignation, snatching Jade by the collar of her tunic.

"Cyrus!" All eyes in the courtyard fell away from their Patriarch and onto the youngest member of House Kimaris.

Ashe stood to his right, her shoulders brushing against his own as she glanced at him.

At a glance, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary from his usual quiet temperament, but underneath the façade, a storm brewed.

"You ok, brother?" Ashe placed a hand on his right shoulder, turning her full attention toward him.

He didn't acknowledge the concerned words that fell from her lips. An all-to-familiar haze consumed his mind, and Cyrus ran on years of instinct and training alone.

Heat signatures detected…..contacts…..unknown.

Recommendation…..eliminate with extreme prejudice.

Cyrus was unarmed, and his eyes scanned his environment, searching for the closest weapon. Not seconds later, he found a jagged ceremonial dagger hanging off Ashe's belt.

The….child turning towards him in concern gave Cyrus an open window to execute.

A strike to her stomach will leave her off balance, allowing him easy access to her blade.

Objective…..kill Cedric Kimaris.

The guardsmen were too far away to stop Cyrus's assassination attempt, and most of his family was left off balance and unable to react in time. Arwen became the soul object standing in his way, but her attention was frayed with confusion.

And confusion on the battlefield bore deadly consequences.

Civilian presence…..negligible.

Allied presence…..unavailable.

Devils are creatures of emotion that constantly feed on the seven deadly sins. Some took to them more than others, but no matter what, every Devil had to indulge in themselves to prevent an internal implosion of their most potent sins.

For House Kimaris, they indulged in two sins more than any other.

Wrath and Lust.

And the former coursed through Cyrus's veins like a shot of adrenaline, enhancing his vision and slowing time almost to a crawl. He was moments away from acting upon his wrath, and only three members of House Kimaris were aware of this incoming breakdown.

Elerin stood off to Cyrus's left, too far to intervene.

The twins stood cluelessly in her path, blocking her interference in its tracks.

Her gaze trailed from Cyrus toward a steely-eyed Cedric.

He scrutinized the buildup of emotion before realizing that any chance to head off this catastrophe had long since passed.

Two pairs of crimson eyes stared at one another for the barest of seconds, and Cedric found nothing but wrath and fear in those identical orbs.

All of which was directed solely at him.

Ashe never saw the blow to her exposed abdomen, but she did feel the oxygen exiting her lungs and the choke of air as she collapsed to the ground. Cyrus palmed her hanging blade and shot towards Arwen, whose ethereal white gown fluttered in the wind as she and many others barely comprehended the events unfolding in front of them.

Arwen's weakness was and always would be her children, both hers and Elerin's.

It was a flaw well known in the underworld, but only a fool would try to cross one of the Brides of Valefor.

None truly understood that this frailty was one borne of a problematic upbringing filled with war and bloodshed on the biblical scale. Arwen and her sister have sought to rebuild the family lost in the final days of the great war, and they often overlook their children's most egregious faults.

Ghislaine's lust.

Jade's pride.

The twin's gluttony.

Ashara's envy.

And Cyrus's wrath.

The Brides of Valefor are a deadly pair, but at that moment, a near millennium of warfare became subsidized by motherly concern, and that failure cost Arwen flesh and blood.

Ashe's dagger bit into her right thigh, slicing through flesh all the way to the hilt of the blade. She could feel the jagged edges dig into the innards of her thigh before the blade ripped free, allowing blood to erupt from the gaping wound and drain down her leg.

Arwen's cry of anguish was echoed by the horrified screeches of her hysterical daughters. Cyrus suddenly turned on his heel, kicking the Kimaris Matriarch in the abdomen and sending her crashing to the floor.

Success…..The devastation of mankind's adversaries. Crucial.

Failure…..Death. Tolerable.

"MOTHER!" Ashe found her feet torpedoing towards Cyrus to try and put distance between him and Arwen. Instead, she only found herself eating a nasty right hook while tendrils of shadows leaked out of him.

The guardsmen were caught flat-footed and scrambling to intervene, but all resistance towards Cedric was eliminated.

Jade carefully placed Ghislaine lightly on the ground, scrambling on her heels and shooting off toward Cyrus. She couldn't understand what the hell was going on, but now wasn't the time to ponder questions.

Only action remained.

l==l

Elerin pushed past the twins, who could do nothing more than look on with wide and terrified eyes like the rest of their servants. Neither had gone through the necessary training to be anything more than spectators.

That would no longer be the case, but many things would no longer be the same after today's events. All of this was happening too fast, and even Elerin's tempered experience in the great war could not prepare her for today.

Of all her children, Cyrus was, in every essence, the most straightforward child she had ever taken care of.

The twins were rowdy and aggressive.

Ashe was incapable of sitting still for more than a second.

Jade's arrogance was matched only by Ghislaine's satirical personality.

All of her children had their faults, but Cyrus was different from the rest of his siblings.

He never demanded extra attention and never cried when neither she nor her partners were available. His eccentricities should have been off-putting, but Cyrus was her youngest child, and he was precious to her in every way imaginable way.

Her youngest son darted after Cedric with speed and ferocity that should not have been possible for a newborn Devil. Most didn't develop their ancestral powers until the age of ten when their house would nurture them into the gifted warriors they were meant to be.

He shouldn't have been able to tap into House Kimaris's nocturne energy so soon, but she could see it licking off his arms like a shroud. The demonic power caking the gardens destroyed all the carefully crafted flowers and plants she had spent years cultivating.

But the loss of splendor no longer registered in her mind.

For the first time in the decades since the end of the great war, Elerin felt fear crawl up her spine. Where she had failed to adjust to Cyrus's rampage, Cedric was more than capable of meeting their son's wrath.

And that frightened her.

"Cedric!"

Her husband clashed with Cyrus like a meteor falling from the sky.

Ashe threw her body over Arwen's immobile form while the twins dove for cover behind whatever solid object they could find.

Jade and Elerin were tossed haphazardly through the air, forcing both women to dig their heels into the ground lest their faces scrape the concrete floor. The attendants and guardsmen were thrown from their feet, and only the Praetor Eleamus maintained his base.

As quickly as all hell broke loose, it subsided all the same.

The dust settled, and Elerin stormed into the colorless cloud, fear wracking her body as the two men in her life struck a deadly blow.

Thankfully, there was no reason to worry about Cedric's lethal nature.

The Lord of House Kimaris was not so old that he could not tame a rampaging child.

Cedric easily disabled Cyrus's armed limb, using the child's momentum to slam him against the ground.

The sheer impact alone should have knocked him unconscious, and Cedric rightfully assumed that to be the case until he registered a pair of burning crimson orbs staring right through him.

His own flesh and blood regarded him with more hatred and anger than even his worst enemies could muster. Cedric's nocturne anchored Cyrus against the shattered concrete, but that didn't stop the churning rage in his son's eyes.

Soon the Black Guard of Kimaris surrounded the miniature crater, uncertain of their lord's next move. No one dared to breathe as uncertainty rolled off their liege's taut and lethal frame.

"Eleamus," Cedric's voice rustled the Praetor from his inner musings. "Take him to my chamber and prepare the medicae for Arwen."

"As you command." A trio of hands descended upon Cyrus's limbs, but his hate-filled gaze never strayed from Cedric through it all.

Not when Ghislaine and Jade stormed out with him in a mix of sorrow and anger, not when Ashe stared at him like he was a stranger, and not when the twins looked on in concern.

The rage in Cyrus's eyes would forever stay in Cedric's mind until his dying day.

There was something wrong with his son, and he doubted he could do anything about it.

But he would damn himself to oblivion before he could look into Elerin's teary eyes and leave her with another gaping wound in her heart.

Cedric would die before allowing this tragedy to stain his family any further.

He would find out what was wrong with his son, no matter the cost.

He had to.

l==l

"How's Mother?" The daughters of House Kimaris gathered around the Medicae's room, baring Ghislaine, who refused to leave Cyrus's side.

"She's had worse, my dear," Elerin settled Sapphire's worries along with the rest of Arwen's daughters.

Jade spent considerable time assuaging the twins while watching Ashe, who mindlessly toyed with her dagger.

Her mother's dried blood had yet to be cleaned off, and Jade made a point to take the weapon off her hands while her mother comforted the twins.

"Jade, take them to their room and put them to bed." Elerin directed her eldest daughter. "Once they're asleep, come to your father's chamber."

Jade mercifully didn't resist the order and shuttled her sisters to her private room. She doubted anyone could sleep alone tonight after the day's tumultuous events.

The last few hours had been memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Arwen was immediately ferried to the Medicae's room, where they employed healing magic to clean the wound. Cyrus inflicted tremendous damage and trauma to the affected area, and Elerin spent considerable time repairing the nerve damage.

She continued to assist their senior medicae in patching up Arwen's wound, and while her sister was a capable warrior and weathered major injuries before this one cut deeper than the rest ever could.

One of their children inflicted the wound, attacked his sister in a bout of madness, and dared to assassinate the family patriarch. Elerin couldn't explain or understand it more than that because her husband quickly shuttled him away.

In most cases, it mattered not the reasoning or age; if a devil drew blood against his own family, they put to the sword.

Eleamus and half a dozen Black Guard stood vigil outside Cedric's private chambers. Ghislaine was the only one with the necessary abilities to assist their father's machinations.

No one except Elerin, Jade, and Arwen was allowed into his chambers until further notice.

Every vestige of the territory felt the effects of Cyrus's demonic outburst. Even now, Eleamus was forced to deploy their entire Legion to curtail any concerns amongst the lower populace.

The infernal energy was potent, too potent in Elerin's mind, and she could only hope Cedric found a cure for Cyrus's madness before it was too late.

If word got out that Kimaris's male heir went on a rampage that wounded a matriarch, that would cause issues with the renegade council.

The civil war was rapidly approaching its final stages, and the 66th Legion was due to arrive in Acheron in the coming weeks.

This deadline would most likely have to be extended, and Sirzechs would inevitably take notice.

Elerin's breath caught as she strode into Cedric's chamber. Her husband's workshop was always a mess, and at its center sat Cyrus, quietly observing his father with that malevolent stare.

A barrier of pure nocturne energy surrounded him, one that she recognized as Cedric's favorite binding spell. The barrier drained her son's ancestral energy leaving him caged and seemingly powerless.

Cyrus didn't seem to care or even acknowledge Ghislaine's attempts to gain his attention.

"Hello!" The Nekoshu threw out her arms in frustration. "What the fuck is going on with him?"

The chamber doors swung open again, and Elerin turned to find an equally frustrated Jade. "I would like to know as well."

"Cedric?" Her husband had been suspiciously quiet as he toyed with one of his contraptions that fit around the crown of a humanoid skull.

Cedric exhaled deeply. All the tension in his body seemed to increase tenfold, and Elerin traced a finger along his broad shoulders.

"How's Arwen?" The grief in his voice was plain for his wife and daughters to hear.

"She'll recover," Elerin supplied softly. "But I don't think this is a wound she can laugh off."

"A small mercy," Cedric stepped towards the barrier, and Cyrus matched his movements. "I… have an idea of what happened."

"Spill it, old man," Ghislaine waved her dainty hands in front of Cyrus, but nobody was home. "Because, believe it or not, he is my favorite. I'd hate to choose between Jade and our pet Cerberus again."

"Shut it, Ghislaine." Jade reprimanded harshly before turning towards the family Patriarch. "Continue, father."

"As you know, we are creatures of emotion, and we indulge in it more than any species on the planet. The consequence of failing to meet those needs lead to what you see now in Cyrus. Pure and uninhibited wrath." Ghislaine leaned against the barrier, eyes crinkling in confusion.

"Those emotions need to have a catalyst, though." She rationalized. "Without it, there's nothing for the negativity to base itself on. It's why Cyrus, of all people, shouldn't be affected so heavily. The boy's as expressive as a rock, inside and out."

"So the question is," Jade chimed in. "What was the catalyst?"

Elerin thought back to the gardens and the odd sensation crawling over her when Cedric unleashed his nocturne form, and she began to piece the evidence together. Her son was only ever curious about his people and spent a lengthy amount of time inquiring about the nature of Devils.

She hadn't taken his requests seriously.

Cyrus was too young to comprehend the very nature of their race, and explaining to a child what their existence means is a waste of time and energy.

Now, Elerin regretted never paying closer attention to him. Maybe if she had, none of this would have happened.

Jade looped her hand between her mother's languishing arm and leaned into her shoulder.

While the twins and Ashe were her children, Elerin gave birth to Jade and Cyrus, establishing a bond that could not be described in words. Despite his general aloofness and age, Cyrus was a part of this family.

That alone was enough to see this catastrophe to the bitter end.

"It was father," Elerins attention shot towards Ghislaine. "When Cyrus saw the infernal energy in full force, he lost control of himself and became filled with an enormous surplus of wrath."

"But what was the reason?" Ghislaine shook her head at Jade's response.

"I don't know," the Nekoshu admitted. "The only person with that answer is him."

All eyes centered around Cyrus, and Cedric finished tinkering with his device. The Patriarch had much of the same idea, but Ghislaine's words confirmed them.

"Jade, Ghislaine." The pair practically snapped to attention. Cedric glanced at the contraption in his hand. A prototype he was modifying for Ajuka as an interrogation device for captured Loyalist officers. "Hold him down."

"Elerin," Cedric held out his hand for his wife to take. "I need to join our minds."

"Anything." Elerin took his hand without hesitation, and Cedric dropped the barrier with a nod toward his daughters.

Cyrus was ready to pounce, but Ghislaine halted his movement by wrapping her right arm around his neck and keeping him in place. Jade straddled his stomach and trapped his arms to his side with each of her thighs.

"Tell me this will work." Ghislaine inquired as her father strapped the prototype to Cyrus's skull. The prototype needed a test run, and Cedric needed an unsolicited peek into Cyrus's

It was the only way to save his life.

"It will."

It had to.

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Shadow Lands, House Kimaris

In the millennia since Lucifer first shaped Cedric and the 66th Legion, he has only ever been struck into silence once.

Lucifer was keen on creating a pillar dedicated to patrolling the shadows of the Underworld and preserving their species from the darkness.

Creating such a House necessitated crafting a Devil who did not blink in the face of its own mortality nor wither under the gaze of more powerful beings. This vigor and resiliency needed to be exemplified in its Legion, and Cedric Kimaris ensured that the 66th would never fail in any task handed to them.

While he would become one of the most vicious and formidable Legates under Lucifer's command, he and his Legion were not untouched by

The death of God was supposed to be a triumph for all devils, but in reality, it was little more than a pyrrhic victory.

Witnessing his fall at the hands of his once-favored son sent a psychic backlash that ravaged the minds of all who once bore his touch.

There was not an angel, Heavenly and Fallen, who did not openly weep at their father's fall outside the gates of Heaven.

Despite all the madness, fury, and brutality that all three sides willingly orchestrated during the Great War, no set of eyes was without tears.

These feelings were compacted when the psychic blast utterly annihilated Lucifer and the other Satans. In that moment of anguish, the forces of Heaven and Hell were at the complete mercy of the Fallen.

It is only because Azazel lost his taste for war that the surviving Legates organized a withdrawal from the steps of Heaven, ensuring Devikind didn't cease to exist on that terrible night.

In the century since the conclusion of that brutal conflict, House Kimaris has maintained a passive role in Devil politics. Cedric lost his appetite for war without end and directed his Legion to defend their ancestral home until their blades were needed.

House Kimaris has outlasted dozens of other prestigious pillars by sheer willpower and the superiority of their warriors. The Black Guards of Kimaris are second to none of the surviving legions in discipline and viciousness.

They do not flag or fail their duty to the Shadow Lands or the Underworld.

The 66th has only known one commander, but Cedric vied for an heir to take the mantle.

Jade only desired the role of clan head, Devil politics were her foray, and she cared little for leading a Legion into battle. Ghislaine's half-breed nature made the possibility of her ascension impossible for the other Pillars to stomach.

The twins and Ashara could not take up the mantle because Arwen was his second wife.

Cedric was prepared to mold his untrained and undisciplined son into the perfect Lord of Shadows.

However, it seemed destiny had chosen to gift Cedric a son that was no stranger to the night.

No stranger to war.

The Lord of Shadows, accompanied by his first wife, navigated the extensive collection of detailed memories trapped in their son's deteriorating mind. Cyrus's emotions were overloading his psyche, and he was little more than a boy running on wrath alone.

But that fury was driven not just by the sight of Cedric in his demonic form but by unbreakable willpower driven by a hatred for a single name that reverberated throughout Cyrus's mind.

Covenant.

The word tasted like ash in his mouth, and Elerin's vice-like grip on his hand only intensified the dire circumstances. Memories of a past life haunted their son, and as they walked through the halls of his mind, they found themselves lost in a storm of rage and fear.

Cedric knew that countless deities quietly observed their underlings residing on numerous celestial bodies outside their realm.

All divine powers drew strength from their followers and places of worship, creating a territory that belonged to them in the stars.

He wondered if the gods these Covenant worshipped basked in the glory of this humanity's genocide in their name or hid in shame for the crimes their congregations wrought.

Elerin's silent tears openly wept as she watched her son survive the decadent human streets of a metropolis, the scale of which he had only seen in the avenues of Lucifaad.

Cedric had to keep the indignation in his heart from leaking out. Adding more negative feelings into Cyrus's psyche would only hamper their progress further.

Reluctantly he wiped Elerin's tear-stricken cheeks clean, drawing her attention away from the heart-wrenching sight. "Now is not the time for sorrow, my love. Our son needs us, and we must pull him from the abyss."

"How?" The concerns of a mother should never be ignored, only extinguished.

"Somewhere in this void is Cyrus." Cedric nodded towards a flickering red light in the distance. "He is consumed by wrath and fear. If we are to free him from his shackled mind, it must be with direct confrontation."

"You mean to fight him," Elerin stated, seeing past his choice words.

"I mean to free him." Cedric's words did not appease his wife. "At this moment, he believes his actions are the only ones available to his frightened mind."

Cedric took a deep calming breath. He could taste his son's fear even in this airless void. "While I confront Cyrus, you will remain here. Once I have bested him, he will return to the center of his mind, and you must be there to catch him. If you don't, he will be overwhelmed by his recollections, and his mind will be lost to us forever."

"I don't care how you do it. Just bring me back my son, Cedric." If he failed tonight, the fire in her eyes promised pain upon more than just his physical self.

Valefor Mothers did not take kindly to losing a child, no matter the wounds their offspring inflicted upon them. Cedric had little doubt that Arwen would be just as furious if he failed tonight.

"I will, Elerin." Cedric placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I promise."

He did not waste any more words on his sorrow-filled wife, turning on his heel and marching further into the void. His path was filled with scattered memories, each with its own story.

Cedric felt like a voyeur, and despite the relative necessity of his action, it did little to appease him. Despite being a Devil of the underworld, he still possessed some 'reasonable' traits.

They weren't all utterly malevolent in some respects.

Cyrus still regarded himself as human, whether it was through shame or ignorance. Humanity is a phenomenon when it comes to handling emotions.

Devils are the culmination of every prominent feeling imaginable and are often hypocrites in their own right.

It is not odd to meet a devil who abhors senseless violence and moments later indulge in their lust for combat by slaughtering those in their path during a simple sparring session.

Devils are creatures of sin, and their actions are often influenced by such when they fail to appease their needs accordingly.

Humans reject, suppress, or redirect sins that they feel are uncontrollable because they are easily corrupted.

A devil is only tainted when they fail to promptly placate their sins, and all devils thirst for several cardinal sins throughout their lives.

Failure to appease a sin can drastically affect a Devil's psyche.

Sloth makes Devils lose focus and become neglectful of their duties.

Greed turns Devils into avatars of excess, leading to a thirst for materials or consumption that is often unavailable to them.

The sins that dictate the carnal desires of House Kimaris are two of the most polarizing and debilitating to a devil.

Wrath and Lust.

This knowledge was gathered from the innumerable recollections that dotted Cedric's path. Cyrus was accustomed to suppressing and redirecting all of his wrath against the Covenant, the genocidal zealots on a one-track mission to annihilate his former species.

Now that they were no longer within reach of his fury, Cyrus turned into the docile creature they were used to handling. It was little wonder why he was so effortless to handle during his newborn stage.

He waited for his next prey to show itself.

Cyrus hadn't realized that the enemy he longed for shared the same blood as him.

For all his ability to casually dismiss their family's love and affection, Cyrus was shaken by the truth that the people he had spent five years quietly examining were biblical Devils.

Humanity is not ready to face the reality that they do not walk this land alone. Their minds are too fresh, too feeble to properly understand that their creation was genuinely due to the labor of an all-powerful being.

But his son is different.

When Cyrus looked upon his true form, it wasn't dread at the realization a demon could masquerade as a human. It was the real fear that Devils actively preyed upon humanity like meat, driving them to a butcher like lambs to the slaughter.

In every memory, Cyrus acted with an unnerving calm, never overextending himself into a reckless decision, but that was when he was a member of humanity and not a devil.

His newfound existence and the rush of emotion he was used to curtailing overwhelmed his ill-prepared mind and turned him into a rampaging beast.

It was little wonder why Cyrus had chosen to throw caution to the wind and attempt to assassinate Cedric without caring for his own life.

"DEMON!" A creature lunged at Cedric from his blind spot, and it was only through his martial prowess that he avoided a gruesome bisection of his left shoulder.

"YOU WILL NOT ENDANGER THE GREAT JOURNEY!" Cedric's right arm formed into a sharpened blade that barely halted a follow-up downward strike. The azure-clad alien's two-pronged blade sweltered with plasma, its blistering properties scratching into his sword.

Cedric gripped the creature's right forearm, pulling it close and planting his legs against its torso. He launched the alien away from him with extraordinary power, sending the Xeno sailing clean across the void and into another of its ilk.

The Shadow Lord stood on his heels, glancing in every direction as the 'Elites' encircled his position. They were Cyrus's foremost adversary, and his son's opponent took great pleasure in massacring humans to a man.

"Suppose I need to kill all of you to get to my boy." Cedric mused to himself. The barest of smiles graced his handsome features before his demonic form consumed his skin. "I'd be more than happy to oblige."

These particular aliens were Covenant Zealots, elite advance teams Cyrus had encountered during his service to humanity. He may have been a nightmare to these creatures, but Cedric was more Demon than his son could ever be.

And if Cyrus could butcher these insects without issues, so could Cedric.

With a bellowing roar, the closest Zealot charged with reckless abandon locking swords with Cedric and pushing against the Devil's indomitable strength. Cedric reoriented his balance as the alien broke off their deadly embrace, leaving him open to a stab at his abdomen.

He morphed his free hand into a massive jagged blade, bisecting the alien in one fell swoop. His comrades only snarled in a fury, and the single combat Zealots were accustomed to fell into an uncoordinated melee.

The Shadow Lord had gotten used to the sour taste of blood, and within mere moments, he basked in the blue essence of ten Elite Zealots. The creatures were arrogant and undisciplined, more than likely a causality of Cyrus's warped recollections.

His mind was rapidly deteriorating, and Cedric had no time to waste on petty creatures.

Cedric dashed through dozens of recollections, ignoring the memories that gnawed at his curiosity. The red light blinking in the distance grew in size, and it wasn't long before he found himself staring at a gargantuan gate reaching into the void.

Hundreds of armored beings stood at ramrod attention before the gate, all of whom stood at an incredible height that stretched just above five inches of Cedric's stature.

The Demon could rightly describe these beings' finely crafted armor as efficient and deadly at a glance. Their helms possessed visors that shone a brilliant golden color and compacted their heightened forms in segmented armor that fit their mechanical appearance.

A white eagle emblazoned on its visage stared back at Cedric, and an uncharacteristic shiver crawled down his spine.

'As per Naval Code 45812, you have volunteered for UNSC Special Project, codenamed SPARTAN III. You have been called upon to serve. You will be the sword of Earth and all her colonies. We begin tomorrow. ' An ethereal, feminine voice boomed in the abyss, and the gates gradually swung open.

'You will become the best that we can make you.'

'This duty will become your life.' The armored beings disappeared into the void, and their numbers dwindled until there was little more than a handful.

'This life will become your tomb.'

As the gates rolled fully open, Cedric bore witness to the memory that continued to haunt Cyrus.

A beautiful emerald orb encompassed an orbital view of a machination beyond his wildest dreams. The distance between the ship and the celestial body was considerable but not enough to mar its sea-washed sunset oceans and plains of pure pastures.

It was an Elysium but not one of God's making, as far as Cedric could comprehend. Its majesty alone made him want to protect its image if only to bear witness to it once more in his natural life.

And the Covenant burned it to the ground.

Cedric snarled in outrage as their gargantuan craft marred its cherished surface, and for what seemed like hours, he sat in stunned silence as the creatures burned its surface until only glass remained.

"I wish I knew this planet's name so I may visit it someday." The Demon did not expect a voice to answer his inquiry.

"Minab." The word resonated in Cedric's mind, but it felt like a ghostly whisper uttered into his ear.

The sight of a Covenant glassing captivated him so utterly that he did not realize only one armored entity remained barely a few feet behind him.

This one was different from the rest of his kin.

Where their armor was regimented, his was customized and possessed far more protection at a more thorough glance. A contraption spewing a bright blue color was strapped to his left wrist, and his shoulders were protected by separate shielding pieces that differed in size.

However, it was the helmet and its blackened visor that caught Cedric's full attention. Its color was so darkened he felt as though he would fall into a bottomless pit staring into it, and for the first time in centuries, he felt small under its whithering gaze.

This 'Spartan' was a being made for a single purpose.

War.

Much like Cedric was crafted for.

"Like, father like son." The Demon murmured to himself quietly, but Cyrus heard every word.

And he vehemently disagreed.

Cedric was ill-prepared for the calculated strike to his throat, followed by a vicious overhead kick to the temple. He was slingshotted across the void, scraping against an invisible floor before smashing against the gargantuan gate.

Guess they were doing this the hard way.

"I am not your son." Cedric pushed off the ground, slowly turning his right arm into its enormous jagged blade.

"You are, Cyrus." The Spartan growled with disgust. "You may have the memories of a past life, but through your veins is my blood and your mother's."

"Takes more than that to be a parent." Now it was Cedric's turn to snort in amusement. "I know what you are."

"Oh, and what am I, Cyrus?" Cedric stepped to his right, mimicked by his son, who matched his gait.

"A threat to my people. I've seen past your honeyed words and faux truths." Cyrus drew a single combat knife from his chest piece, holding it in a natural reverse grip. "You mean to enslave my race until we are but cattle to feed off of."

"We are not the Covenant, Cyrus." Cedric's eyes pleaded with his stubborn son. "We do not want to butcher the human race or enslave them to our wills. We mean only to survive in the current climate as much as your people."

It was a lie, plain and simple. The human attendants that comprised nearly half of the castle's staff were descendants of Christian hostages that his Legion had taken as slaves during the Great War.

Slaves are integral to Devil society, but this way of thinking was amended after the Great War. The three factions made the surface of Earth neutral ground with only select territories governed by the biblical powers.

These slaves would be an even more critical part of their society if Ajuka's machinations were fully realized. Cedric's people had taken too many casualties during the Great War, and the civil war was grinding their race toward extinction.

The Astorath Clan Head was devising a system to imbue demonic energy in mortals, turning them into devils that could save their race. It was a radical idea but a necessary outcome to prevent their extinction.

To fully realize this dream, however, the old guard must be deposed, and the rebels must claim victory for the future of their race.

If they don't, then it could mean the end of everything.

"If you were to kill me, you'd do nothing but murder a single head of a singular Devil household. It is futile to even consider." In hindsight, that was the wrong thing to say to a boy who had spent his entire life combating the inevitable.

"Didn't stop me from fighting the Covenant." Cyrus strengthened the grip on his knife and turned his hips outward. "And it won't stop me from killing you."

"You don't mean that." Cedric tried once more to appeal to Cyrus. "I am your father. I love you. Your sisters cherish you. Your mother adores you with all her heart. In the five years you have been with us, you can't stand there and tell me you don't care."

"It doesn't matter. I have a duty to uphold. If you die here, I put a prestigious household to a treacherous people into chaos."

"That's the wrath in you, Cyrus. It's overriding your logic and turning into the unfeeling beast Ackerson always wanted." The visibly Spartan flinched at the reminder before schooling his features.

"How do you know that name?" Cyrus growled out with a tone of pure indignation.

"I know more than you could possibly imagine," Cedric answered.

"You've seen my memories." The Spartan spoke it more as a statement than a question. "I've killed for less."

"You've already tried." Cedric retorted, stepping towards his wayward son. "Or did you forget you failed assassination attempt? Did you forget hurting Ashara and slashing at Arwen in your wanton rampage?"

"That….." Cyrus paused as the memory hit him like a freight train. "Was a mistake I will not make twice."

Cedric stopped himself from smirking. Barring Ghislaine, Ashara spent the most amount of time around him, earning a bond with the Kimaris Heir that affected Cyrus deeper than he initially realized.

There was a chink in the armor that Cedric could exploit, and he wasn't about to let it go so easily.

"Say you did kill me," the Demon began. "You would have died not moments after. How would Ghislaine, Jade, or Ashara feel when that happens? What about your mother or the twins and Arwen? Have you ever thought for a second what would happen to them?"

Cyrus's grip on his knife loosened as the emotional toll he inflicted upon his family weighed heavily on him.

The rage consuming his soul waned with each passing word.

Cedric saw his opportunity to strike and prevent a bloody encounter.

He stepped forward. "What if I hadn't hesitated? What would have happened to you?"

He hated every second of their conversation, trying to convince his son of the fallacies of his suicidal and needless mission. There was no logic even with his hatred consuming him, and for the barest of seconds, Cedric thought he had made a breakthrough.

But the words spoken next shattered this belief.

"I would have found death."

Cedric froze.

The crux of the issue that he had overlooked returned tenfold.

Cyrus yearned for an ending to the pain and suffering he had endured over a decade of war and neglect.

He was still a young man by human standards, not even allowed to drink in some cultures, yet he had endured more than any of his race could imagine.

'Only the dead have seen the end of war.' An archaic statement with more truth than most realized the first time they heard it.

Cyrus craved an ending, but Cedric had one final card to play.

"Cyrus," Cedric's demonic carapace peeled away, revealing crimson eyes that burned with fondness. "Death only has meaning when there is a life to live, but you haven't experienced one. For years you have placed others' needs before your own and endured more than most could ever dream of in their nightmares."

"Let us give you what you haven't had in decades. A family." The Lord of Shadow's tone was pleading with sorrow, and he mustered all he could into one word.

"Please."

Cedric would never get a response, for the wrath that had been momentarily abated returned with a vengeance consuming his son whole, warping his body into a demonic beast.

"NEVER!"

Cyrus's armor cracked under the demonic influence, transforming the inside of his helmet into a burning skull as flames coated his entire being. His sin had consumed him whole, exploiting the emotional toll that Cedric had inseminated earlier.

With a narrowed gaze, the demon lord's carapace reformed, and his determination hardened as he glared at the pale imitation of his son in open contempt.

"I will save you." The demonized Spartan shot at Cedric like a cannonball smashing into the Shadow lord with the momentum of a falling meteor.

Cedric found himself pinned to the ground and weathering several strikes to the temple before wrapping his left arm around Cyrus's. A five-inch blade formed from the shadows surrounding his right arm, and Cedric jabbed at the burning skull.

Cyrus retaliated by jamming his knife into Cedric's shoulder, piercing his armor, and forcing him to kick out from underneath the Spartan's massive weight. The Shadow Lord concentrated demonic energy around his left index finger before firing a blast directly into Cyrus's sternum.

The Spartan went sailing backward, reorientating his balance and landing feet first. Cedric wasted no time pressing his advantage, unleashing a devastating strike to Cyrus's torso that chipped pieces of his armor off.

If Cedric were to spare his son's mind from the madness, he had to kill him before it fully consumed him.

"Elerin's gonna kill me after this."

Cedric narrowly avoided a reckless jab at his cheek and inserted a shadow blade directly below Cyrus's right ribs.

"ARGHH!" The Spartan was forced back when a heavy blow impacted his temple, followed by a brutal assault on his shoulder, separating bone from muscle.

The Shadow Lord unleashed a flurry of strikes that cracked the Spartan's armor. Pieces began to fall off, revealing the corruption hidden underneath.

Cyrus's flesh was replaced by complete darkness with no natural pigmentation, and Cedric could see the bones underneath.

His son's mass and muscle withered away until there was nothing but pure demonic corruption.

"Lucifer, guide me." Cedric charged forward with renewed purpose.

He would win this fight and save Cyrus's soul.

Or die trying.

l==l

Elerin stood amongst the shadows in silent concern, Cedric would no doubt do everything he could, but there was little chance that her son wouldn't walk away without injury.

That's how her husband was; if Cyrus were anything like his father, he'd struggle to the end.

She and Cedric explored their son's memories before his departure. Many were of a people that didn't exist yet, fighting wars that she hoped would never come to pass.

The Great War left its scars on everyone, and even with its conclusion over a hundred years ago, its effects reverberated around the planet. Humans, Devils, and Angels equally suffered during its most deadly hours, and its climactic ending at the gates of Heaven only exasperated the issues at hand.

Elerin's maternal instincts and innate curiosity led her to explore Cyrus's memories further. Her son was plagued by a life that, from its onset, was tarnished by his family's passing when he was little more than a child.

It was a tragic accident that took the lives of many unfortunates and left Cyrus with nothing but the debts his family incurred and the clothes on his back. There was little wonder how he ended up on those forsaken streets alone.

That would not happen to him.

Elerin wouldn't allow it.

Her eyes wandered until she came across the last memory in the sequence. The details of Cyrus's final deployment to another planet would forever be lost to her.

Still, there is a reverence for this memory that captivated Elerin more than any other because it was his final thought before death welcomed him with open arms.

As her mind worked through the recollection, she found a blurred-out image of three women. One was so small that Elerin could clutch in her hands, yet she exuded an intelligence that rivaled Ajuka and Falbium combined.

The name Chamber repeated in her mind.

The final image that flashed to the front of Cyrus's mind was of two women clad in the same bulky armor as her son.

They were young.

Elerin could see the youth in their cheekbones and eyes despite their augmentations. If she had to guess, they were little more than twenty years old, no more, no less. The exact same age many of the devil youths were when they were sent off to fight in the Great War.

Two names came to her mind as she analyzed their blurring features.

Eliza and Casey.

Elerin softly exhaled. The more time passed, the more these precious memories faded under his deteriorating mindset. While this piece of Cyrus seemed to bring him pain, she understood that there were some memories he would not want to replace so easily.

"Hurry, Cedric." She muttered, clutching her left arm as a cold shiver crawled on her skin. "We don't have much time."

As though fate would have it, an implosion resonated throughout the void, and Cedric's voice touched her mind.

"CATCH HIM!"

Elerin stuttered in confusion. "What?"

"Above! CATCH HIM, ELERIN!" The Matriarch's eyes shot to the black sky and found a small object approaching at incredible speeds.

Her eyes recognized it as her wayward son, and she sprang into the air, arms outstretched. She barely shielded his tiny form by wrapping her limbs around him in a protective cocoon.

Elerin pulled Cyrus into her chest as his mindscape shattered around them. There was little she could do but hold onto him tightly as they fell into the abyss.

"Mother?" The word came out as a whisper, but Elerins keen ears picked up the foreign word as it fell from his tiny lips.

Cyrus, the petulant child that he was, never called her mother. Instead, referring to Elerin as Ma'am at every social interaction should have broadcasted how odd of a child he truly was, but she didn't care.

Not now, not ever.

"I'm here, child." Her hands brushed against his raven hair, placing a chaste kiss on his weary forehead. "And I will never leave you."

Cyrus said nothing, his palms wrapped around her midsection as he allowed her to pull him closer. Elerin would be crying and cheering in adulation if the circumstances were different, but that would have to wait.

A pair of stern arms snatched her waist, and a familiar chest was pressed against her back. Her husband, ever the savior and dramatic gentleman, unfurled his wings and carried them both in his arms.

"Thank you, love." Elerin placed a lingering kiss against his cheek, calming the growing storm in both.

"Was there ever any doubt?" She had not the heart to scold him for his ignorance. "Let's go home."

Cedric carried them into the overhead light, unlike an angel ascending heaven.

There was much left to be done to calm the hearts of their worried family, but for now, everything was right in the world.

l==l

The Shadow Lands, House Kimaris

Two days later

Cyrus awoke with a start, pulse elevating and eyes blinking away the crust ladened between his eyelids.

A cursory glance at his surroundings informed Cyrus that he was in the safe confines of his room. A realism that he did not expect after his previous actions.

The haze of fury disappeared into the void.

Cyrus had never lost control of his emotions before in his life. The very idea that he was why Ashara and Arwen were wounded gnawed at his heart. He didn't have the best understanding of the emotion known as guilt, but he understood that hurting those two brought an unquestionable amount of negative emotion to him.

"Cyrus." A warm hand grasped his left shoulder, and those damaging sentiments washed away like water on stone. "You really gotta learn how to control yourself, pumpkin."

That insufferable tone and nickname could only mean someone had infiltrated his quarters without his knowledge or awareness.

"Ghislaine," Cyrus said with exasperation. "Even wounded and exhausted, you still somehow find a way to distract me with your annoying antics."

The exquisite Nekoshu slid against him, planting her right arm just above his head and precariously looming over him.

"Come onnnn," Ghislaine poked at his nose with a giggle. "You know you like it."

"I prefer silence." His sister pressed her sizeable chest further into him. "And personal space along with it."

"I bet you do." Cyrus rolled his eyes and turned away from his vexing older sister. "But it just so happens I lost my favorite sibling to an unfortunate circumstance that I am chalking up to puberty."

"I am your favorite because I have yet to say yes to anything you want."

Ghislaine had a knack for manipulation through honeyed words or the physical assets god or satan had blessed upon her magnificent figure. Devil women were unnaturally exquisite beauties, and even his martial mindset took notice.

His eyes trailed her form, and Cyrus wasn't surprised to find her wearing as little as possible around him. Unless there was a formal meeting that required more refined tastes in clothing, Ghilsaine's go-to apparel left her sleek and toned abdomen exposed for the world to see, along with cutoff slacks that ended just above mid-thigh.

He wasn't surprised at the natural reaction to bask in her physical qualities, but most didn't realize the slight discoloring where her belly button resided. They were far too distracted, but Cyrus never was.

The first time he brought it up, she looked at him like he had grown another head before the purest grin graced her lips. Ghislaine had a habit of smiling at someone without reason. Most mistook it as them earning her attention when it was just her natural reaction.

Unfortunately, those who were not family were unaware that her grins were disingenuous. The curled lips directed at Cyrus differed from the rest, glowing with genuine delight.

Ghislaine has dubbed him "her favorite little pumpkin" and has spent considerable time in his presence.

While Ghislaine gazed inexplicably into his eyes, her expression and movements sharpened. She leaned over Cyrus, allowing her white mane to pool around him in a protective shroud.

She grasped his chin and gently turned it to the left, searching for something amiss in his eyes.

"How do you feel?" Her tone was neutral, yet that told Cyrus all he needed to know about how his actions had affected her.

Cedric…..his Father, was right.

His wanton rampage accomplished nothing except damaging the integrity of this family and worrying those few that, at the very least, earned a spot in his consciousness.

"That depends," Cyrus began slowly. "How are Ashara and Arwen."

The door to his room swung open, and both turned their heads on instinct, finding their sister Jade in a simple green tunic that only enriched her splendor.

"Better than you are." The green-eyed woman stormed over to his bed, shoving a visibly annoyed Ghislaine to the side. Jade gave Cyrus a once over, seemingly confirming her worries, before sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Arwen's already recovered, and Ashara is inching to punch you in the face. Demonic and Sin overload or not, I doubt she'd ever let you get one in for free."

"Overload?" Cyrus questioned in confusion, and Ghislaine mistook this as a sign of his lack of memory.

"Yes. Your firsthand exposure to our ancestral power became a catalyst for your rampage. You lost control of yourself in a desire to test it against a superior foe. It's not the weirdest way to unlock your clan's power, but hey, Devils are anything but normal."

Cyrus sat in stunned silence. His father hadn't said a word about the true nature of his rampage, leaving him both ashamed and confused.

What was the old man playing at?

"Weird is an understatement regarding this house," Jade retorted. "I mean, look at you, he's barely had it two days, and you're already grooming him."

To the uninitiated, Jade's words would have been taken as scolding or demeaning, but Cyrus was not a novice to their conversations.

"Tch, tch, tch." Ghislaine tsked at her elder sister. "Careful now. I may sleep in here tonight if you keep that up."

"You wouldn't dare," Jade remarked with little confidence as Ghislaine turned her head and leaned against him, hand playing with his raven locks while a Cheshire grin split her face.

"Wouldn't I?"

Jade and Ghislaine had a… less than reputable relationship by human standards. Cyrus constantly reminded himself that Devils are very… open-minded to one another, even to family members.

Now obviously, there were limits to these liberties.

Most humans and other species can't stomach the thought of a parent sleeping with their child, but as Cyrus would learn later, when a Devil's sin of lust kicked in, there weren't many things they wouldn't do to satisfy it.

In most situations, so long as your partner met your basic desire, such as gender and age, you could satiate it.

And in Ghislaine's own words.

'When the lust gets going, the tough get fucking.'

Cyrus really hated her quips, and he most definitely disliked being used as a chew toy for their next tryst. Lord knows these two aren't exactly subtle about their amorous adventures in their rooms, which, unfortunately, we're right across from his.

He had to get used to the loud banging and shrieks of… pleasure.

Cyrus noticed Jade's lingering eyes going from Ghislaine's chest to her delectable thighs, and she was no better. The manner in which Jade sat against the headboard gave Cyrus and Ghislaine a generous view of her exquisite legs, which did wonders for the sister curled up to him.

"How's everyone else doing?" He inquired out loud, hoping to curtail their lust before they started going from eye banging to actually banging each other.

"They could be better," Jade admitted, eyes turning away from Ghislaine and standing on her feet. "We're having a meeting downstairs, I'll tell them your awake, and we'll all come to your room."

"No." Cyrus's retort froze the hand curled in his hair.

"No?" Jade repeated uncertainly.

"No," Cyrus leaned forward, prompting Ghislaine to follow him. "I'll be down in a moment."

Jade was ready to tear into him with all the fury of a concerned sibling, but a cutting glance from their sister stopped her in her tracks.

"I got him, "Ghislaine vehemently started as Cyrus extracted himself from her protective clutches. "Just tell them we're on our way."

"Are you sure?" Emerald eyes burrowed into his back as he slowly removed his sleepwear.

"Yes, now go." Ghislaine's tone left little room for doubt, and Jade quietly exited his room, leaving her two siblings in private.

Cyrus stared at his childish form in bemusement. He may have been a little over five years old, but devils matured faster than humans, and when they unlock their clan's ancestral powers, it accelerates the process.

Two days ago, Cyrus at least looked similar to his age. Now he stood just above five feet tall with a somewhat athletic build.

At least now he had an idea of why Ashara and the twins, who sat at 12 and 9 years old, didn't look anywhere near their actual age and were more like middle-aged teenagers, albeit far more beautiful and physically mature than their human counterparts.

Cyrus struggled to put on a clean black tunic. He nearly cursed in indignation before a warm hand grasped his tunic for him.

"Arms still sore?" Thankfully Ghislaine had tabled her sarcastic and troublesome personality for the compassionate sister person she rarely brought out.

He wished she had kept it more. At least then, she wouldn't be nearly as irritating.

"It's still numb." Cyrus supplied pointedly.

Ghislaine shook her head in amusement. "Well, dad did take it clean off while fighting the corrupted part of you. I imagine there are innumerable side effects to that."

"So I've noticed."

With Ghislaine's assistance, Cyrus finally finished putting on fresh clothes before exiting his room, hand in hand with his sister. She dragged him through House Kimaris's fortress monastery, passing by numerous attendants and guards along their path.

The human attendants shied away from him.

He had never felt more worthless in his life.

The echoes of his outburst still crawled into their minds, and Cyrus had to work hard to appease their worries.

But first, he needed to placate his family.

As the pair approached the dining room, Cyrus prepared for every scenario he could think of. Rejection, fear, or anger was his primary assumption of their initial greetings.

That's not exactly what he got.

"Cyrus!" Two torpedos slammed into his sternum, and he had to fight off their grabby hands before he fell flat on his back.

Evidently, the twins had missed him.

Dearly, if the flowing tears were anything to go by.

Rose had seen fit to bury her face into the crook of his neck while Sapphire mirrored her sister's position. Cyrus looked past his tear-stricken siblings and found the rest of the family sitting at their dinner table.

At its head sat Cedric, and seated on either side of him were the matriarchs of House Kimaris. Ghislaine ruffled his hair and joined the rest of their family at the dining table, sliding herself into an empty slot next to Jade.

Arwen observed the teary-eyed reunion with a collected figure, but Cyrus did not miss her hand tightly clutching Cedric's. He couldn't blame her for dreading his reaction, he didn't exactly have the best relationship with Arwen, and that was before he stabbed her.

Cyrus had his work cut out for him, and as he extracted himself from the twin's vice-like grip, Ashara's shrewd eyes stared into his soul. A pair of grey orbs promised retribution for his actions, and he knew what she wanted from him.

Cyrus politely declined Ashara's invitation to teach him how to handle a dagger alongside her, forcing her to look elsewhere for a potential sparring partner.

Now there was no politeness in her eyes, and Cyrus would pay for his actions on the training mat he had pointedly avoided.

"Girls." Cedric's voice ricocheted throughout the chamber. "Take a seat. You can speak to your brother later in private."

"Yes, father." Arwen shuddered in relief when her children finally let him free, and he felt himself wince as Elerin quietly prevented Jade from making a scene in his defense.

Damn it, Cyrus could already see the battle lines being drawn and the divide growing between the family. Ghislaine, Jade, and Elerin made up the camp that would inevitably come to his defense, while Arwen and Ashara didn't precisely favor him at the present moment.

His actions or lack thereof, along with Cedric's mediation, would dictate if House Kimaris fractured or prospered into the future.

"It's good to see you awake, Cyrus." Cedric's smile put his son at ease. "Fortunately, this meeting isn't about recent events but an upcoming issue."

Cedric stood on his toes and began circling the table in deep thought. Eventually, he stopped next to Jade, handing her a parchment sealed by the insignia of the Renegades.

A crimson Eagle with the insignias of the four great houses was carved out and replaced by the Latin phrase.

Ad inferos per aspera.

Through adversity, into hell.

"Read it."

Jade followed her father's directive and tore open the parchment. Cyrus strained to conspicuously read the missive, picking out the words Primarch and Cedric before the document slipped from Jade's hand in disbelief.

A foreboding sensation crawled up every member of House Kimaris, barring Cedric, who sought refuge admiring the landscape of his homeland.

"Well," Ghislaine was the first to break the silence. "What is it."

"Primarch Azuraki is dead."

The words sent a reverberating shock through the elder of House Kimaris; Ghislaine cursed to herself while the Matriarchs sat in stunned silence.

"Whose Azuraki?" Cyrus inquired.

"Azuraki was the appointed military commandant to the Renegade faction." Ghislaine supplied bitterly. "A faction our house is aligned with in spirit, but we have yet to declare for them openly nor deploy our Legion in support."

"Not that Rizevim and his lackeys have thought otherwise." Jade spat out furiously. "They sent a dozen raiding parties into our territories before they got the idea to fuck off."

"Rizevim has little interest in government or military affairs." Elerin supplied. "Bashalun Beelzebub is the commander in chief in his stead, and he has a hard-line approach that has forced our hand."

"It is one of many reasons we have finally taken up the call to arms." Cedric boldly stated. "If the loyalists win this conflict, they will reopen hostilities with Heaven and the Grigori. That cannot happen."

"Weren't we close to deploying our Legion to Lucifaad alongside the rebels?" Cyrus spoke diligently.

"We were," Arwen murmured. "But recent events delayed the Legions deployment."

It wasn't lost on Cyrus as to what the Matriarch was referring to, but Elerin silently disapproved, and her daughters even less so. Cedric sensed the boiling indignation of Jade and Ghislaine and intervened before tempers flared.

"What happened in the past," Cedric's cutting gaze bore into all parties. "Stays in the past. I will not have my family at odds at a time like this."

Everyone backed down under the Patriarch's weighted stare, silence reigned across the room, and Sapphire quietly shuffled in her seat in discomfort. Cyrus watched Rose place a calming hand on her twin's shoulder, followed by a reassuring wink that placated her nerves.

He could practically taste the tension in the room, and Cedric was unwilling to break it for what felt like an eternity. A mute conversation between himself and his wives seemed to appease Arwens silent anger, if only for a moment.

"With Azuraki dead," Cedric began promptly. "The political dynamic in the Renegade faction is at a crossroads, and Zekram does not have the authority to take command."

"What about Sirzechs or one of the other Tribunes?" Cedric shook his head at Arwen's inquiry.

"They do not have the experience or support of the houses to take the mantle of Primarch."

"Then who does?" Ghislaine's question cut deep into Cedric, and Cyrus eyed him with curiosity before realization hit him.

"They asked you, didn't they?" His sister's eyes crinkled in confusion before she reached over and snatched the parchment from the table.

Ghislaine's eyes diligently scanned the document, zeroing in on the declaration on behalf of Zekram Bael, the surviving Tribunes, and every Prefect in their armed forces. The support for Cedric Kimaris to take up the mantle of Primarch was unquestionable.

"They have, and I am accepting the responsibility of Primarch effective immediately." Cedric returned to the head on the table, pushing aside his chair. "Tomorrow, I depart for Lucifaad to meet the commanding Tribunes with our Legion…."

Cedric's gaze swept over Arwen and his siblings. "….As discussed, Arwen will remain here to look after the children and the territory as head Matriarch. Elerin, Ghislaine, and Jade will accompany me to Acheron."

Acheron is the foremost territory held by the rebellion, acting as their forward operating base for coordinated assaults aimed at the loyalist capital, Lucifaad.

The fighting inside those territories was some of the fiercest in the war. Towns and provinces were changing hands daily, and the casualties were skyrocketing on both sides.

Cyrus's musing was interrupted by Ghislaine's sudden declaration.

"We should take Cyrus with us." Her statement drew a raised eyebrow from Cyrus. She disregarded the incensed grimace from Ashara and Arwen. Both had different reasons to protest Ghislaines suggestion, but Cedric was the only one she had to convince.

"And why should I bring a child to the frontlines of a civil war, Ghislaine?"

"Because he just unlocked our ancestral power, and as recent events have shown, Cyrus needs a teacher."

"The twins or Ashara, alongside Arwen, can handle his education." Cedric's retort was well-founded, so she attempted a different approach.

"That is true, but we are the only ones who can handle him if he goes off the rails." Cedric paused in thought, barring Arwen, the twins and Ashara froze under Cyrus's potent demonic energy.

Arwen would have her hands full containing him if he lost his composure during training. A furtive glance towards Elerin earned him a sharp nod from his first wife.

The relationship between Arwen and Cyrus had taken a tremendous turn for the worst, and his wife did not trust his safety to anyone here.

Not even her sister.

"Fine." Cedric exhaled through his nose. "We'll bring him along, but while we are there, Cyrus is your responsibility Ghislaine."

Ashara's snort of outrage drew Cedric's attention.

She pushed off her seat and placed both hands on the table with barely concealed resentment. She had been pushing for weeks to join her father but was denied every opportunity.

"May I be excused?" It didn't take a genius to realize why she was furious, but Ashara was not blinded by rage to foolishly challenge her father.

"You may." She wasted little time exiting the chamber, ignoring the half-a-dozen eyes glued to her back in concern. "Arwen?"

"Come along, you two." The Matriarch received the unspoken demand and dragged the twins off to bed, shooting Cyrus a missive glance before following in her irate daughter's footsteps.

This did not go as expected.

l==l

Hours later, Cyrus found himself pacing anxiously inside his room while Ghilsaine watched in mild amusement.

Their father quickly dismissed them before Cyrus could speak to him regarding their…..situation. Jade had enough of Ghislaine and her antics for the night, retreating to her room and leaving Cyrus to contend with their vexing sibling.

"Cyrus," Ghislaine wistfully curled into his bed. "Come to bed already, your making too much noise right now."

He shot an annoyed glance at his overtly erotic half-sibling.

Ghislaine's Nekoshou traits covered most of her bare skin, but there were still patches exposed enough to inform Cyrus that she was, in fact, naked.

Damn devils and their severe disregard for tact.

If she wasn't warming Jade's bed or vice versa, she would pull a poor servant or guardsman to spend the night with her. Most of the time, it was little more than a spooning session with rare occurrences of carnal pursuit.

Ghislaine's lust was her most potent sin and was second only to Jade's. Cyrus didn't even want to entertain the major sin of his younger siblings entering his brain. He would rather be left ignorant of that knowledge for as long as possible.

"If you desire silence that much, I'm sure Jade would be more than willing to open her door to you." Ghislaine rolled her eyes at Cyrus's callous retort.

"Don't wanna." Her pettiness earned her a groan of frustration. "Now, come to bed already. I can taste your uncertainty, and sleep can do you well."

"I just came off a two-day coma, Ghislaine." Cyrus shot back harshly. "I don't exactly need more sleep."

What he needed was to resolve this tension coursing through his body, and the only possible way to do that was by exerting his frustrations in the training room. Ashara was undoubtedly still destroying everything in her path, and right now, Cyrus figured she could use a living outlet rather than a fake one.

Besides, he still needed to mend their relationship, and resolving their issues sooner rather than later was better for everyone.

Cyrus took no more than two steps towards the door before a warm hand snatched his shoulder. Ghislaine slithered her way from his bed and nicked him off his feet, sending him flying backward onto his bed.

A weight settled on his lower stomach, and a pair of well-built corded thighs trapped his arms against his side. Cyrus briefly struggled against Ghislaine's anaconda grip before relenting with a muted curse.

His unaugmented body and the severe lack of physical training left him at his sister's mercy. Cyrus didn't particularly enjoy this conclusion, but Ghislaine's cheshire grin left little doubt that she did.

"Trust me, pumpkin." Her silky voice brushed against his right ear as she pressed her sizable chest against him. "She doesn't want to see you right now."

"And you know this how?" Cyrus countered with an edge to his voice.

"Are you serious right now?" Ghislaine leaned back with a bemused expression. "I'm an empath who can feel her fury whenever she thinks of you. Along with a tidge of lust."

Cyrus didn't quite catch the last part of her sentence, but he didn't care. He was devising a strategy to free himself of this very uncomfortable position.

Ghislaine took notice of his less-than-pleased expression and the rising increase in wrath. Cyrus was a devil whose anger could devour whole cities if left unchecked, so she steadfastly disagreed with any notion of leaving him behind.

Ghislaine is the only one capable of forcibly calming him down.

The Nekoshu focused a share of her life energy directly into her palms. The essence spread to each of her fingers, exhuming a light blue substance filled with her inner tranquility.

Ghislaine pushed her aura into Cyrus's body with practiced ease, snuffing out his wrath with a tidal wave of harmony.

The tension in his nerves gradually dissipated, and Cyrus felt a calming sensation overtake him. This feeling was quickly replaced by shame, and Ghislaine felt his whirling emotions change hands again.

Her brother was an…..oddity, but this revelation was not new because of her mastery of senjutsu.

Senjutsu is the power to control the very flow of life energy and ki in sentient beings. Utilizing it can strengthen an operator's internal and external bodies or cause vegetation around them to bloom or wither.

It also allowed Ghislaine to sense the auras of other living creatures without excessive effort, and Cyrus's ambiance was damn near foreign to her senses.

His very existence was an enormous oddity that piqued Ghislaine's inquisitive nature because Cyrus's soul was older than it should be. And as she stared into his diligent crimson orbs, she found the same level of intelligence that made her curious and momentarily petrified Jade.

The question regarding Cyrus's foreign nature was tabled due to his otherwise subdued personality.

She made up her own excuses in time, but with his sudden outburst and her father's severe distaste for the truth.

Ghislaine knew how to uncover the silent truth.

She hoped that Cyrus wouldn't hate her for it.

The hybrid's lithe hands settled on his shoulders, and Cyrus's eyes twinkled in confusion.

"What are you doing?" Confusion momentarily replaced fear as Ghislaine gradually leaned forward again, molding her full body weight against him.

"You'll find out soon enough." She stated promptly without worry, completely contrasting with Cyrus's rising heartbeat.

The apprehension coursing through his veins was quickly consumed by bewilderment as Ghislaine's near-permanent sultry lips embraced his own set. An involuntary gasp allowed her to explore his inner cavity, but this carnal moment had its purpose.

Her senjutsu intertwined their auras, linking the siblings as one beating heart. Distant memories from another life flashed at the front of Ghislaine's mind.

The Nekoshu's exploration of Cyrus's soul felt eerily like an invasive surgery, and as his sister approached a cherished memory, the Spartan inside him lashed out.

Ghislaine was ill-prepared for his retribution. Cyrus snaked his arm free of her ensnarement and pulled the back of her white mane hair.

Cyrus flexed his hips and rolled her over. A shriek of fear fell from her lips as his hand snatched the dagger hidden beneath his bed.

The Headhunter placed the blade just below her chin, and for the barest moment, Ghislaine felt dread overtake her.

The fury in Cyrus's crimson orbs wasn't the same madness she had experienced two days earlier. In that incensed gaze was the same cold, calculating persona she had seen when they welcomed a new member to House Kimaris.

Demon.

This was the only time Ghislaine experienced real unadulterated fear over her centuries-spanning lifetime.

Cyrus was not a Devil to be trifled with.

Because buried beneath that persona of tolerance and unending patience is an uncompromising killer whose iron-clad resolve is second to none.

On that night, the Headhunter awoke from his self-imposed slumber, and if Ghislaine wasn't careful, she would be the first of many to feel the extent of his fury.

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The Shadow Lands, Kimaris Territory

Ghislaine's decision-making could often be described as reckless and foolish, but she rarely suffered consequences that could be considered severe.

However, tapping into her brother's mind may not have been the smartest idea.

"What. Did. You. Do?" The seething fury in Cyru's gaze gradually dissipated as he fought to regain his composure.

It would be incredibly hard to convince Cedric why his second eldest daughter was a bleeding corpse in his room, but Cyrus was inching closer to testing his luck.

Ghislaine tried to express no resistance, but the blade digging into her jugular made it problematic. The only option was to clearly explain her reasoning and pray he understood her thought process.

Otherwise, this situation would explode in a flurry of her own blood.

"I linked our minds," Ghislaine admitted wholeheartedly. "Just a tiny incursion to satisfy my curiosity is all. I didn't tear open your head and start playing with your insides as our parents did."

"You couldn't trust the word of your father?" Cyrus retorted with a spiteful tone.

" Our father ." Ghislaine berated with an equal amount of venom. "Don't forget that he is half the reason you exist in the first place, Cyrus."

The blade inched ever deeper into her skin walkers, forcing Ghislaine to lean back and carefully reevaluate her following words.

Her mocking remarks may just be her last.

"The old man commanded you to leave it be," Cyrus stated firmly. "Why keep prodding at an issue that doesn't involve you."

"When you were born," the Nekoshu began tentatively. "Jade and I noticed something different about you. Our parents were too blinded by their adoration and didn't see it until recently. There was an edge….an aura almost. It didn't fit the innocence of a newborn child, Devil or not."

Ghislaine swallowed as the dagger settled just below the external vein. "Jade was confident you were a skin walkers-changer from House Nebiros. They have a predilection for infiltrating other Houses by fixing sleeper agents through a clan's offspring. It wouldn't be the first time those mongrels attempted to insert themselves inside our family hierarchy."

The Necromongers of House Nebiros excelled at infiltration, making them the perfect assassins and saboteurs for the loyalists.

When the Civil War started, Nebiros skin walkers were routinely sent into neutral territories to coerce or manipulate minor devil houses into serving the regime's cause.

Should these houses fail to rally under the Bashalum's banner, a series of unfortunate events would plague the ruling family until an accord was reached.

By accord, Ghislaine meant total allegiance to the satan clans, but those fools still had the gall to march into the Shadow Lands.

House Kimaris only devoted itself to Lucifer, and his death severed any ties between their clan and House Lucifer.

"I convinced her that you were different with a unique set of quirks, but after your outburst. We… didn't want to take that chance anymore." Ghislaine bowed her head in shame, an emotion that contrasted with her careless personality.

Crimson eyes narrowed in suspicion, and realization dawned on Cyrus of what precisely Ghislaine's action entailed.

This ambush wasn't just a moment of curiosity born of Ghislaine's impulsive nature. His elder siblings planned this incursion to uncover the truth of his rampage, which left a gnawing question.

If he momentarily incapacitated Ghislaine.

Where was Jade?

Shadows emerged from the corner of Cyrus's vision, but the moment he took his attention off Ghislaine, the Nekoshu made her move. She raised her feet and kicked off his hips, sending him back into two pairs of murky tendrils that immediately restrained him in a web of shadows.

A warm body pressed against Cyrus's back, and a limb glided to the dagger in his right hand. The blade was ripped from his grasp and haphazardly tossed toward an agitated Ghislaine.

"What took you so long?" The Nekoshu rubbed the thin cut along her esophagus, tossing one of her spare tunics over her torso.

"You told me you had it under control, remember?" Jade pronounced abruptly.

"I did, but I didn't think he could overpower me so easily." Ghislaine ghosted her right hand over the minor laceration with a concentrated dose of senjutsu.

"Did you find what we were looking for?" Jade eyed Cyrus with suspicion. As much as she loved her brother, the possibility he was the culmination of a Nebiros experiment was likely.

A few months before his birth, one of their skin walkers changers managed to infiltrate their territories and breach the palace before Eleamus and their guards killed him. It was the closest an outside force had ever come to breaching their fortress-monastery in the millennia since its construction.

"Cyrus is clean," Jade glanced at Ghislaine in disbelief.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ghislaine stressed, waving her arms and removing Cyrus's restraints. "There's not a spec of their mana in him. Our brother is just… odd."

"And his memories." Jade was now grasping for straws because their actions went entirely against their father's directive.

Cedric ordered the pair to leave Cyrus alone for the time being, and they knowingly spat on his directives to sate their own curiosity.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Jade turned away and cursed to herself, missing the subtle wink Ghislaine sent a frankly flabbergasted Cyrus.

Whatever confidence Jade mustered quickly fell under a shroud of humiliation. She couldn't quite believe the possibility he wasn't an inception of a Nebiros scheme, but her sister would never lie to her.

Jade wished the world would swallow her whole because now she had to contend with the excruciating scenario of begging for her brother's forgiveness and mending their fractured bonds. Ghislaine may have gone through with the plan, but she remained adamant that Cyrus wasn't a threat to their family.

However, as the heir to House Kimaris, every potential adversary needed to be screened, processed, and analyzed without delay. Jade has never left anything to chance, and there was no exception regarding the family's security.

Cyrus rubbed at his wrists, eyeing both women with barely restrained contempt. The pieces to their reasoning were easy to pick up on, and he couldn't blame them for their ignorance.

His actions in the gardens and his sudden lack of control would scare anyone with half a mind.

Cyrus didn't expect this kind of initiative or patience from Jade or Ghislaine.

The pair had every opportunity to crack open his mind during his coma, but they waited until Cedric took his attention off him to execute their plot. The Spartan in Cyrus admired their patience and strategy, while the Headhunter in him loathed that he was taken entirely unaware, once again blinded by rage.

But that didn't mean he wasn't pissed right now.

Jade stepped forward, mustering what little courage remained to apologize for their brazen actions. "Cyrus, I-"

"What would you have done if I was a Nebiros sleeper agent?" Jade stammered in uncertainty, unable to find the proper words to explain what she would have done to him if such a scenario had presented itself.

Ghislaine, however, had no such reservations.

"We would have killed you." Ghislaine cringed when Cyrus sent a scathing glance in her direction. "A Nebiros sleeper agent has no free will because they aren't sentient. Every decision they make is made by the pull of a Nebiros skin walkers-changer. Only death frees them from their shackles."

Jade followed her sister's words, attempting to relieve some of the burden off Ghislaine's shoulders. "After, father exited your mind. I brought up the likely scenario you were a sleeper agent that prematurely executed your directive to Ghislaine. Father disagreed and lied when we inquired what caused your rampage."

"And you didn't trust him because our father has a weak spot for his kids?" The sheer audacity it took to go against a House Patriarch's orders was well-known by Cyrus.

The hierarchy inside the main houses was a dictatorship that revolved around its head. No clan member was permitted to go against their orders under any circumstances and to do so invited retribution.

Devil culture was the essence of might makes right, and both his sisters knew the price they would pay if Cedric discovered their ignorance.

Cyrus could respect the courage in their actions, especially if it were done not for their benefit but for their families.

Still, his fury was palpable, and he made his displeasure known with a voice made of pure steel.

"Get out." Both women flinched at his harsh tone, and Jade had no heart to speak any more words in his presence.

She was the first to exit his room with a shame-filled gait in her step as her body melted into the darkened hallway.

Ghislaine paused at the door, searching for words to ease his frustrations.

She naively believed her senjutsu could provide him some peace, but the moment she tried, a withering glare sent her into retreat.

Once Ghislaine disappeared, Cyrus took a deep calming breath. There would be a reckoning between them in the future, but as of right now, he didn't want to talk to any of these 'Devils.'

He hadn't been able to properly digest the disbelief of discovering his 'family' weren't aristocrats from the dark ages.

No, they were the entities parents would often utilize to scare their misbehaving children into obedience. Mythological creatures that looked, smelled, and possessed human traits, but in reality, they were anything but.

They were Devils.

And so was he.

The Spartan gradually sat in front of his mirror, clutching the hidden dagger that Ghislaine left behind in her hasty retreat.

The reality that he was no longer human became an undeniable circumstance that catalyzed his rampage. He dedicated his life to Humanity, fulfilling that responsibility in every regard until his last breath.

Was his duty to Humanity genuinely null and void with his passing?

Or did it extend to the next chapter of a far different life?

Cyrus gazed into the mirror, picking out the crimson eyes that stared back at him with an intensity that had never wavered, even in the face of certain death on numerous occasions.

The Covenant may have destroyed his Spartan body and sent him into the confines of a different cadaver, but they never broke his spirit.

He'd killed thousands of genocidal aliens and butchered his way through hundreds of insurrectionists, all in a bid to extend the human race's doomsday clock.

From the shattered heights of Arcadia to the glassed-out remains of Minab, Cyrus never faltered or shied away from his duty to Humanity.

And he wouldn't start now.

A familiar voice from a man whose iron will and dedication shaped the cadets of Project Chrysanthemum echoed in Cyrus's mind. Chief Mendez was an unrelenting taskmaster who mixed physical and mental doctrines until they seamlessly blended as a potent training system.

'One day, Spartans, you'll wake up flat on your face with no weapon, no ammo, and no MJOLNIR to save your lives.' A decade later, Cyrus can still recall Mendez tearing into Beta Company because of their lack of imagination.

The Chief often ran war games between the Cadets and ODSTs to exalt the essential needs of teamwork and initiative. Where their predecessors in Alpha Company excelled, Beta faltered once their carefully crafted strategy fell apart.

'On that day, you will recognize that the most potent weapon in your arsenal isn't your firearm or physical attributes. It will be the organic matter trapped between your ears, and when you realize that, you will become unstoppable. If there's a problem, solve it. If there is an obstacle, remove it. Nothing can stand in your way, and nothing will stand in your way .'

Cyrus quietly mused to himself that there were three objectives that he needed to address.

Objective One, evaluate these Devils and determine if they threaten the human race.

Cedric partially answered this query already.

During the Great War, his Legion took thousands of humans from their homes and turned them into slaves. The only saving grace that House Kimaris had was that their human attendants were not treated harshly, but the same could not be said for other Devil households.

That would be corrected either through words or blood.

Objective Two, uncover the geopolitical landscape of Devil politics and how to manipulate it.

These devils are a martial people whose political system resembled the ancient feudal societies of Earth but with a substantial focus on military doctrine and a near-obsessive desire for power. These are traits that Cyrus could easily exploit for his own gain, but first, he needed an education on Devil society and its expansive history.

Objective Three, secure the future of Humanity by any means necessary.

Cyrus would not tolerate anything less.

Unfortunately, he lacked the power, influence, and knowledge to complete his prime directives.

With newfound determination, Cyrus stood on his toes and resolved to begin his crusade tomorrow. He could achieve little in this untrained form, but that issue can be promptly resolved.

A good Headhunter needs to be patient with his prey, and his sights were sent on an entire species.

All Cyrus needed was time and opportunity, all of which were out of his grasp.

For now.

l==l

As Cyrus would learn, Devils have a flair for the dramatic.

Over thirty thousand guardsmen of the 66th Legion were neatly organized into a parade formation six rows in width and almost a mile long. Surrounding them were hundreds of thousands of bystanders, who stood at rapt attention as the Patriarch of House Kimaris presided over his Guardsmen.

Cyrus carefully scrutinized the Black Guards of House Kimaris as he and his sister galloped past their formation. Each guardsman is wrapped in a black traveling cloak covering their finely crafted carapace and shrouding their features in imperceivable darkness.

He could pick out a five-foot-long lance comprised of an underworld alloy called Griycium. The spear appears to be tuned for close-range combat at a glance, and an uneducated adversary would rightly assume the 66th Legion possessed limited long-range capability. However, a Guardsman can focus their demonic energy into the weapon and fire ionized plasma at targets up to 600 meters in distance.

In their left hand was a black handheld shield that provided their user protection from head to the lower torso while also containing a hitch to mount their energy lances on.

In short, the Blackguards of Kimaris present an intimidating foe for any to face in open battle. The Legion's reputation in the underworld is second to none, and they have carved their name into the very stones of history with their triumphs in the Great War.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Ghislaine's comment drew Cyrus's attention away from their soldiers.

"Dangerous is more appropriate." He found no beauty in the Guardsmen of House Kimaris, only a potential adversary. A whimsical smile crossed Ghislaine's seductive features, and a silent hum fell from her lips.

"You'd better get used to them because you will take command of the Legion sooner or later." Cyrus frowned in discomfort, eyeing the rows upon rows of devil soldiers.

"I'm not a commander, Ghislaine."

"Not yet, you're not."

Cyrus and his family remained at the head of the procession while their father inspected almost every single one of his guardsmen. Cyrus, Ghislaine, Jade, and Elerin were each given a black horse to sit on while the rest of their family stood silently in front of them.

He found it amusing that Devil's even cultivated warhorses, considering they all retained wings and could easily outpace the stallions. But, as with all things, horses signified a higher social standing and were permitted solely for the image instead of practical means.

The members of House Kimaris were garbed in finely crafted formal wear with a light grey coloring with shades of black, signifying their house's primary colors.

It was evidently a long-standing tradition for the Patriarch of House Kiamris to vigorously inspect his Centurions and their cohorts before a deployment.

Usually, Cyrus didn't care for any of this, but his elder siblings made it a point to stand on either side. Despite the tense conversation that took place no less than twelve hours earlier, the pair went about like it had never happened.

Whether this was to prevent Arwen or Elerin from becoming curious at their sudden icy relationship, he would never know.

Ghislaine found the whole procession a complete waste of time, and for once, Cyrus agreed with her.

"How much longer is this going to take?" The Nekoshu mussed loud enough for only Cyrus and Jade to hear.

"Last time, it took around two hours." Jade's reply earned a sigh of frustration from his sister. "Right now, we're sitting around hour number one."

"I don't know how long I can stand these dramatic proceedings." Ghislaine made the unfortunate mistake of speaking too loudly.

"You are an example of our House, Ghislaine," Elerin sharply hissed. "So do keep your back straight and your comments to yourself."

The Nekoshu cowed under her mother's scolding remarks, emitting a humorous chuckle from their siblings. Cyrus, however, remained intentionally silent because Ashara was staring holes into the side of his face with an unreadable expression.

He tried to apologize for the harm he inflicted upon her, but she pointedly ignored him. Once it became clear that he would get nowhere in his confession, he abandoned any thoughts of clearing the air between them.

Between Ghislaine and Jade, Ashe was the only one who had stood by his side from birth until now. Even if he didn't want it, her constant presence instilled some form of bond that mirrored his own with their elder siblings.

Cyrus couldn't rightly explain how such a thing was possible.

He surmised that during the haze that was his time as a newborn, he subconsciously formed a connection with those family members that spent the most time around him.

It would explain why he didn't particularly feel anything for the twins or Arwen, even if they adored him to no end before the incident.

Thankfully for Cyrus's ears, Cedric wrapped up the ceremony with a grand speech exemplifying the qualities of the 66th Legion. He found the entire address an amusing prospect of sending nearly ten thousand men and women into the jaws of war with false promises of glory and honor.

As the Legion marched, so did the assigned member of House Kimaris. Cedric gave Arwen a yearning kiss and embraced his youngest daughters, who failed to keep the tears from their eyes.

All the while, Cyrus awkwardly stood between the invisible cage Jade and Ghislaine created around him.

"Not one for heartache, boy?" Ghislaine murmured into his ear.

"Father isn't dead yet," Cyrus retorted, driving his elbow into her side and forcing her back. "They cry like he is walking into certain death."

"They cry because they care," Jade scolded, turning her emerald eyes toward them in mild derision. "A virtue that both of you should exhibit."

Ghislaine raised her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, we're following him into the fucking war. As far as I'm concerned, I'll save my tears for when he actually bites the dust."

"I'm delighted to hear that my demise could provoke such an emotional response from you, daughter." The Kimaris Patriarch approached his gossiping offspring with a somber Arwen tucked into his neck. "Take your brother to the honor guard and keep an eye on him."

Cyrus bristled at the suggestion that he was a careless child, and his hands instinctively clenched. Ghislaine tenderly gripped his shoulder, infusing his frayed nerves with her calming essence.

"Guardsmen!" Eleamus's voice echoed across the territory, and every Guardsman responded with the roar of twelve thousand spears smashing into the ground below.

"Air adhart gu Cogadh!" As one, the 66th Legion marched into the long night amongst the silent well-wishes of their families and friends.

This civil war would be their first taste of conflict for a few Guardsmen, but for many, this would be little more than another brutal campaign under their belts.

While Cedric said his final goodbyes to Arwen and her children, Ghislaine dragged her younger sibling to the Legion's honor guard. Jade followed in their wake, eyeing the rank and file as they marched in formation.

The territories of Acheron were, at minimum, a three-day journey from the Shadow Lands, and the Legion would have to take the treacherous route over the abandoned marshlands of Berith.

The House of Berith was one of the few Devil clans to forsake their ancestral home due to the costs of the Great War. The casualties inflicted upon them left their coffers empty, and their Legion decimated to barely a handful of soldiers.

It was a journey that Cyrus was looking forward to.

The affluent confines of their fortress-monastery had begun to grate on his nerves, and walking unfamiliar lands was a welcome change to his otherwise stale life.

He never did enjoy the comforts of abundance.

l==l

The Blighted Marshlands, Berith Territory

After two days of sluggish marching, the 66th Legion camped on the outskirts of this desolate marshland. The Centurions hounded their subordinates every step of the way because hiding within the dense foliage were creatures born out of nightmares.

They were eerily similar to the Sangheili in stature but remained a feral collection of beasts that hid in the shadows with razor-sharp teeth and claws. A few unfortunate Guardsmen separated from their compatriots were never seen again save for their dying screams in the distance.

"Glad we're out of that fucking nightmare," Ghislaine tossed her form-fitting top onto her bedding. "Can't believe the old man made us travel through the marshlands."

"Our father," Jade emphasized while stowing her weapons. "Made the decision because we need to reach Acheron in a timely manner. The Loyalists have been conducting raids along the frontline for weeks, and with Azuraki dead, those raids will turn into full-blown incursions soon."

"Tell that to the twenty guardsmen we lost to the Gaiseadh ."

Cyrus watched his elder siblings fall into one of their patented arguments from his bedding. He was forcefully lodged with the pair by order of their father for protection.

Two honor guards from the 1st Cohort were posted in front of their tent, and Ghislaine continually expressed her ire for this security detail with vitriol.

Cedric dismissed her griping and directed her attention to Jade, who pointedly looked elsewhere. The pair argued over random and otherwise inconsequential topics during their march.

Cyrus suspected that their constant disputes stemmed from their actions against him days earlier.

For her own reasons, Ghislaine lied about what she witnessed and covered for Cyrus and his oddities.

Jade wouldn't understand unless she experienced what the Nekoshu saw firsthand, but the point remained that they both lost what inkling of trust he had in them, and that frustrated Ghislaine above all else.

The Spartan was preparing to turn in for the night, but the flap to their tent swung open, and Eleamus's carapace helmet poked in. Jade was the first to demand an answer to his sudden interruption, and the Praetor diligently responded.

"Lord Cedric requests his son's presence." All eyes immediately snapped to Cyrus, who grumbled to himself as he tossed the warm blankets off him.

"Did he say why?" Ghislaine's inquiry held a hint of concern.

"He did not." Cyrus wrapped a black cloak around his adolescent form. The marshlands were impossibly cold during the night, and he did not fancy experiencing the frozen winds on his cheek.

He strode past his siblings without a word, each sporting inquisitive and concerned expressions. Jade wanted to say something to Cyrus but paused halfway through, opting not to draw attention to herself.

A wave of chilling winds bit at Cyrus's clothing as he exited the tent behind Eleamus. The marshland's frozen nights were as infamous as they were inhospitable, and a thick fur cloak shielded every guardsman from the harsh elements.

The encampment was a cacophony of ironworks, marching soldiers, and hushed conversations. Cohorts were assigned perimeter duty while the rest entered a mixed state of moderation and combat readiness.

Those few who weren't distracted with their duties stared into Cyrus's back with trepidation or caution. The rumors surrounding the hair of House Kimaris reached far and wide through the ranks of the 66th Legion.

Most Guardsmen felt a freezing chill creep up their spines when they looked upon him. Even the vaunted members of the elite First and Second Cohort, the Shadow Keepers and Sons of Kimaris respectively, were affected by his presence.

Cyrus ignored the whispers and the mixed gazes the best he could, and thankfully for his sanity, the Centurions growled at their underlings to get back to work.

Eleamus was not blind to the attention drawn to his master's heir apparent, but he declined to comment. He had little interest in the rumors or speculations that plagued every collection of soldiers.

The pair finally reached Cedric's war tent, guarded by several of his Elite Night Wardens. Their numbers seldomly exceeded twenty, but each was an army in its own right.

They differentiate themselves from the rank and file with thicker, more ornate carapace armor and forgoing the handheld shield given to every Guardsman.

A Night Warden's only armament is the ionized lance and the skills they have acquired over centuries of warfare.

They are a handpicked cadre of Black Guardsmen assigned to protect the members of House Kimaris at all times. Each is honor-bound to obey the Shadow Lord's commands, keep his secrets, counsel him when invited, and remain silent when not-their brutal and efficient training results in only one of twenty candidates surviving the selection process.

After selection, they take their oath of complete servitude to House Kimaris, and no matter the circumstance, there is always one Night Warden in the shadows of those they protect.

They are led by a demon called Zakan, who has served alongside Cedric since the Shadow Lord's inception a millennia ago. Many have moved to remove the older Devil from his prestigious status as the First Warden, but none have matched his ferocity.

As Cyrus moved toward his father's tent, his path was unceremoniously blocked by a pair of crossing lances. He could practically feel the restrained anger rolling off Eleamus as his eyes bore into the Night Warden to their left.

"Zakan?" Eleamus's warning tone put Cyrus on edge. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Lord Cedric is currently in a war council." Zakan and his compatriot slowly retracted their lances under Eleamus's withering glare. "Remain silent until the proceedings are finished."

Cyrus became a spectator to a battle of wills between the First Warden and the Legion's Praetor. He was no stranger to rivalries between different military branches; the rapport between ODST and Spartans wasn't exactly cordial.

Neither Devil was willing to back down. Zakan refused out of an overzealous desire to protect his Lord, and Eleamus out of indignation at the Warden's perceived insolence.

"I understand." Cyrus's words drew the pair's attention, allowing cooler heads to prevail before the demons could come to blows. "May I enter?"

Zakan nodded sharply toward Cyrus, and he wasted no time entering the massive war tent. Eleamus chose not to follow in his wake, opting to wait outside for his own reasons.

Cedric's command tent was everything a military leader needed. The interior was sparse and contained little decorations or extravagant fabrics. At its center stood a topographical map illustrating the exact position of Rebel and Loyalist forces. Surrounding the table was a bed comfy enough to smother away the stress of leadership and enough luxuries to keep them occupied.

Cyrus's gaze settled upon his mother, who stood in quiet vigil as Cedric conversed with the Tribunes now under his command. His crimson gaze found half a dozen devils that gave off waves of potent and dense demonic energy.

There was a power that Cyrus was not accustomed to dealing with, and despite their red holographic forms, he still felt the sheer energy weighing down on his shoulders.

The Covenant would have worshipped them as deities to their misbegotten religion.

As Cyrus approached his mother's side, he caught the final words uttered by a blonde-haired devil bearing the insignia of the Phenex House on his right shoulder.

"….37 th Legion have taken position east of the Aranda river. We have lost Acheron's western territories, and the 2 nd Legion is in full retreat." A crimson-haired devil bearing the emblem of the House of Gremory spoke up.

"That is no surprise Lord Phenex. With Primarch Azaraki's death, House Agares is in shock. We cannot rely on the 2 nd Legion until their heir has returned from the human world."

While the Tribunes gave their reports to Cedric, Cyrus scrutinized the features of each high-class Devil, and the knowledge he acquired from the litany of records kept in House Kimaris's archive came in handy.

Names ghosted to the front of his mind as his eyes registered each Devil standing around the war table.

Sirzechs Lucifer, the commandant of the 56th Legion and tribune of the Northern Taskforce, comprised of the 7th, 16th, 44th, 59th, and 71st Legions.

Zekram Bael, Patriarch of the 1st Legion, commanded the Southern Taskforce involving the 3rd, 62nd, 36th, and 8th Legions.

Ajuka Astaroth was appointed commander of the 29th Legion by his father, the late Lord Astaroth, and was subsequently in charge of the Western Taskforce consisting of the 30th, 47th, and 34th Legions.

Zargath Phenex, Patriarch of the 37th Legion, commanded the Eastern Taskforce comprising the 32nd, 68th, and 50th Legions.

Lastly was the sole woman of the gathered tribunes in the form of the infamous Serafall Sitri. She commanded the reserve Taskforce led by the 12th Legion alongside the entirety of the 13th, 65th, and 24th Legions.

Each Devil is a mixture of the old guard and new blood. Zekram, Zargath, and Cedric have centuries of experience leading men into battle, while Ajuka, Sirzechs, and Serafall brought a fresh perspective with near-unlimited firepower.

Truly Cyrus was amongst gods and demons now.

"What is clear." The aged features on Zekram Bael's face betrayed the power in his voice. "Is that Azaraki overplayed his hand and has placed us in a precarious situation. I cautioned him to avoid directly engaging with Grayfia Lucifuge and her Incaris Legions."

"It matters not what Azaraki's action has done to us." Cedric retorted sharply. "What matters now is plugging the gap in our line. We may have the loyalist territories surrounded, but that does not mean we should underestimate their forces. You, of all people, should know that Zekram." The Bael growled at the subtle jab but said nothing in return.

"With Lord Glasya-Labolas and his Legions occupied with garrisoning our territories, it falls to use to handle this predicament." Cedric turned his attention to a patiently waiting Serafall, who studied the war table.

"Lady Sitri, dispatch the 24th and 65th Legions to close the gap between Lord Phenex and Lord Bael's armies. I do not doubt that Bashalum will seek to exploit our momentary weakness with 3rd and 4th Incaris Legions."

"As you say, Primarch," Serafall replied before biting her lower lip. "Where should I commit the rest of my reserves?"

"Have them reinforce our Northern Taskforce. Tereaku Leviathan will seek to remove Sirzechs Legions from the siege at Tophet. I want you and your Legionnaires ready to fight when that happens."

" It will be done." A pair of pink orbs danced towards the Gremory Heir. "It'll be nice to serve alongside you again, Zechs."

"I look forward to it." Cedric ignored the byplay between the tribunes and turned towards the rest of his council.

"Is there anything else we need to discuss?" Several heads shook no, and Cedric breathed a muted sigh of relief. "Good, my Legion and I will be arriving within the next few days, and I expect you and your Praetors to be present in Acheron upon my arrival."

This was not a request for them to disregard, and none were willing to challenge Cedric's directive.

"We are adjourned." With his final piece said, the Primarch dismissed his war council for the week, and the pressure in the room began to subside with each tribune's departure.

After what felt like hours, Cedric's attention fell upon his first wife and only son. "I apologize for the delay. This civil war is far more precarious than I first believed."

Elerin placed a soft hand on Cyrus's shoulder, a comforting smile gracing her lips before Cedric pulled her gaze.

"Give us the room, Elerin."

The Matriarch reluctantly released her grip at her husband's command and exited his tent to make use of herself elsewhere. Cyrus followed her retreating form momentarily as Cedric sought to engage him in conversation.

"Have you been to many war councils?" The Primarch noticed the hesitation to converse about his past so openly. "Not to worry, Cyrus, no one else can hear you outside this tent. In here, we can speak openly without the worry of unwanted listeners."

"No…..I have not." The Spartan replied hesitantly.

His time as a headhunter did not afford him the capacity to observe his superior's strategy on anything less than a tactical level.

"Most of the time, it's little more than navigating politics between Houses," Cedric remarked, motioning towards a cluster of chairs at a separate table. "Take a seat. I have questions, and so do you."

Cyrus sat opposite his father, scrutinizing his surroundings for a snare or trap on pure instinct. Cedric summoned a red wine on instinct pouring its contents into a pair of opulent chalices.

"Your mother still worries…." Cyrus's brows furrowed as a chalice was pushed in his direction, and Cedric snorted in amusement. "…. You're a devil, Cyrus. We are not as restrictive as human society."

"So I've noticed." Cyrus thumbed his chalice with a concerted gaze before drinking its contents. A soothing sweet aftertaste graced his taste buds as his father mimicked his actions.

A tense hush reign over the Kimaris men for some time. Neither desired to extinguish the silence and focused more on their drinks than on one another.

Eventually, Cyrus grew tired of the delay and directly engaged Cedric with poignant words.

"What do you want to know?"

The next words out of Cedric's mouth gave him pause.

"Tell me about the Covenant."

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Blighted Marshlands, Berith Territory

The Covenant.

Cyrus was almost sent into a state of intense wrath and agony by merely mentioning his mortal enemies. Cedric would have to be ignorant not to see the vitriol coursing through his son's veins.

Every word pushed into existence was spoken with such fury it threatened to overtake Cedric entirely. A low-born devil would have fallen to the ground by the emotion's pure weight, but he was the Patriarch to House Kimaris.

"Not a day goes by when I don't think about them. No one was safe from their reach, not the men, the women, or the children. Everyone was a heretic to be purged as far as the Covenant were concerned."

Cyrus's hands were curled in on themselves, his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands, threatening to pierce flesh and shed blood.

However, his withering gaze and the gathering of demonic energy all around him drew Cedric's attention. Unlike his rampage a few days earlier, the black tendrils surrounding Cyrus were far more controlled.

"….I hate them." The Kimaris heir spoke with venom as he locked eyes with Cedric. "I despise the Covenant with a passion that runs deeper than whatever ill-conceived animosity your people have for the Angels and Crows."

"Our people were at war for close to a Millenium, Cyrus." Cedric retorted while nursing his chalice. "I would hope that someone so knowledgeable in the horrors of conflict would understand our blight."

"Do not compare my people's war for survival to yours, Cedric. The Great War began because of the whims of a petulant child." The Primarch's narrowed slightly, but Cyrus pushed ever further. "I know the reason Lucifer wanted to strike out against the heavens wasn't for the perceived notion of removing the underworld from God's so-called tyranny."

Cedric was not outraged at the accusation.

The Great War was fought to serve the Samael's lust for power, but it was difficult for any devil to go against his desires. Implanted in each of the 72 original demons was an unquestionable thirst for their father's attention so that none would question his motivations.

It was similar to a red haze that snuffed out any thoughts of rebellion against Lucifer. None dared to voice their concerns even when he ordered their Legions into the jaws of total annihilation without hope for victory.

This cloud fell at the seams when Lucifer and the other Satans were killed during the siege of Heaven, and for the first time since their creation, the surviving Houses began to think for themselves.

This newfound autonomy was the entire justification for the Civil war against the Loyalists. None of the surviving pillars wanted a return to the old ways, for all had grown tired of being treated as cannon fodder.

"I see you have already begun searching for your own answers." Cedric mused to himself with a small smile. "However, that information is not common knowledge, boy."

"Knowledge is power. Hide it well." Cyrus's crimson orbs gave nothing away, pressing the Primarch to draw his own conclusions.

The answer was obvious in hindsight.

The only devils who retained that knowledge were the high-class devils that belonged to the main houses of the 72 Pillars. Elerin and Jade were out of the question, especially since only one Kimaris clan member would willingly give Cyrus that knowledge so easily.

"Ghislaine." Again his son gave nothing away, which was a credit to his composure more than anything. "She is too quick to appease you."

Cyrus refused to acknowledge whether his assumption was right or wrong, snatching the chalice and drinking a mouth full of wine.

Cedric would have words with Ghislaine later. While educating Cyrus about their people's history was important, it remained a fundamental fact that Elerin's duty was to educate her son.

"… Yes." Cedric tentatively acquiesced to his son's previous accusation. "Our conflicts were fought for differing reasons. Lucifer sought to institute his rule over the planet, but Heaven and the Grigori stood in his path. The comparisons are-"

"Nonexistent." Cyrus cut into his father's words with finality. "One was fought for survival, the other for domination. There is no comparison."

Clearly, this was a subject that his son was unwilling to compromise on, and Cedric sought to redirect this conversation before it became too heated.

"As you say." Cedric leaned back, motioning his hand and refilling both of their drinks. "Now these…..Elites, as you call them. While piecing together your mind, I found a reminiscence of them toiling in the darkest corners of your consciousness. What are they?"

"They are called Sangheili. Elites was an acronym my people gave them because of their combat prowess and unquestionable fearlessness in battle. I have never seen an Elite retreat in the face of certain death. Their culture demands that warriors never turn their backs on their enemy….." Cyrus glared at his chalice. Memories of his encounters with the military backbone of the Covenant flashed in his mind. "… They are an adversary I both respected and despised."

"But they were not the only enemy you faced, were they?" Cyrus shook his head at Cedric's inquiry.

"No." He began. "The Covenant consisted of half a dozen other alien species, each with its own specific function. The Unggoyy were weak alone but vicious and near innumerable in packs. They are the mainline infantry that can easily overwhelm any who oppose them."

"…..The Kig-Yar were expert marksmen and support specialists, covering their allies with an impressive energy shield." Cyrus continued. "The Mgalekgolo were their heavy shock troops, capable of wiping out whole platoons of marines by themselves…."

The Jackals and Grunts were adversaries he could easily handle, but fighting a Hunter was always difficult. Their strength alone could easily crush a Spartan with a single strike, and the plasma cannon strapped to their arms only heightened their lethality.

"… The final two species I came across were called the Yanme'e. They served primarily as skirmishers or mechanics for the Covenant and were among the few I rarely encountered in the field…."

Cyrus hesitated when he recalled the final race that made up the Covenant military, and Cedric took notice. Not a word was spoken for moments on end, and the Patriarch tried to find his son's listless gaze.

Cedric did not want to pressure his son too much. It was clear to him that Cyrus was severely affected by his trials as a human, and no matter how many years passed, his soul would hold onto those scars for eternity.

"….The last species were called the Jiralhanae. Brutes was what my people called them, and the nickname was well earned by those animals. They placed a greater emphasis on brutality above all else. Where the Sangheili were willing to offer you a warrior's death, the Jiralhanae cared not for how you died…." Cedric flinched at the chalice rupturing in Cyrus's hand, and wine began to drip from table to floor listlessly. "… All they wanted was to kill and turn you into their supper. Some took their time and enjoyed your screams as they consumed your flesh raw."

Truly, the Covenant were as brutal as they were fanatical, and Cedric almost wished he could face those creatures on the field of battle. Alas, the opportunity would forever be lost, and he would have to contend with imagining crossing swords with them.

A question gnawed at Cedric's curiosity while he summoned a second chalice filled to the brim with wine for Cyrus. At first, he hesitated to ask any more questions, but he found some audacity while downing a mouthful of wine.

"When did you first face them?" A pair of crimson orbs shot up to meet Cedric's own, and the answer instantly fell from Cyrus's lips.

"On a planet called Pegasi Delta."

Cyrus did not have the heart or desire to revisit his first combat deployment against the Covenant, and whatever explanations he was willing to give dried up.

The passion he spoke with gave Cedric an inkling that a tragedy had taken place on that planet. Whatever occurred carried enough pain that Cyrus was unwilling to explain himself, and there was no greater pain than a soldier losing their brothers in arms.

"Sìth shìorraidh." Cedric tilted his chalice in salute and drank the rest of his wine. Cyrus did not partake, pushing his drink aside and standing.

"Are we done?" At the slightest notion of dismissal, the Spartan turned on his heel and departed the command tent.

Cyrus unknowingly strode past the cloaked shape of his mother, who stared at his receding form with concerned eyes. He tightly wrapped his loose cloak around his frame as he exited the tent, seeking protection from the freezing elements.

Tomorrow they would reach the provincial capital of Acheron, and his training would finally begin.

l==l

Avernus, Acheron Territory

The Acheron territory previously belonged to House Andromalius, but its members and the entirety of the 72nd Legion were annihilated in the final stages of the Great War.

House Agares took ownership of the territory and renamed the capital city Avernus, a vassal protected by the 2nd Legion during the Civil War.

That was until they were routed from the field following Primarch Azuraki's death at the hands of a House Nebiros assassin. Now the territory plays host to the most brutal fighting of the civil war, and regions are changing in hand with each passing day.

Avernus quickly became the focus of the Renegade's efforts in breaching the impregnable territories of Lucifer, and dozens of their Legions flocked to its towering walls as a beacon of rebellion.

Ghislaine cared not for the Renegade faction and their needs. Her focus was solely on Cyrus and teaching him the martial prowess of House Kimaris.

And to say he took to her teachings with ease would be an understatement.

The Shadows practically fell under Cyrus's control without opposition, contrasting the supposed complexities with mastering their houses' ancestral power.

Ghislaine gathered up several Guardsmen from the 66th's First Cohort, and at the onset, the veteran Legionnaires were wary of crossing swords with the heir of House Kimaris at such an early age.

That hesitation evaporated when Cyrus openly questioned their reputation as Veterans of the vaunted First Cohort and offered to ask members of their sister Cohorts if they were too cowardly to face a child.

Ghislaine could not help but give Cyrus credit. He'd already perfected the art of motivating devils by openly doubting their pride as warriors. Now the only question in her mind was whether or not it would bite him in the ass later.

The Guardsmen sent their youngest and least experienced Legionaire as the first to spar with their future Lord, and Cyrus made the Devil pay for her inadequacy. Cyrus embarrassed his opponent with such speed and ferocity that Ghislaine could see steam blowing out of the lead Centurion's ears.

It didn't take long for the rest of the Guardsmen to want a piece of Cyrus.

The resulting spars between Legionnaires and Clan heir were not as one-sided as Ghislaine had predicted. Her brother put up stiff resistance against the more experienced devils and even scored hits against several of them.

Cyrus was impossibly good by her standards, but a wealth of experience separated him from the Veteran Guardsmen of the First Cohort. There were clear physical limitations between a child of only a few years and a fully grown devil with a few centuries under his belt.

By the sixth spar of the night, Cyrus was beginning to exhibit symptoms of exhaustion. His limbs were sluggish, and his demonic energy fluctuated under intense fatigue.

The Nekoshu wearily eyed her youngest sibling as he came to blows with a Centurion named Ciaran, one of the longest-standing veterans of the 66th Legion. He also performed the menial task of drilling his fellow Guardsmen in their downtime when their performance was lacking.

When the Centurion roared, two pairs of black wings erupted from his back, and he charged at Cyrus with clinical precision. The Kimaris heir manipulated his demonic energy and formed a phantom sword from his right arm. He swayed to the left and struck Ciaran in the back with a powerful swipe just beneath the middle of the Centurion's spine.

Ciaran grunted at his strike, pivoting his momentum and landing a glancing blow on Cyrus's left shin, stumbling the boy's balance. The Centurion advanced on him once again, unleashing a flurry of strikes that Cyrus barely dodged or parried.

"Tsk…" Cyrus clicked his tongue before leaping back a considerable distance, only to be thwarted by Ciaran's lightning-quick dash. The black wings on the Centurion's back made it difficult for the Spartan to distance himself.

The Headhunter swung around and dove low to dodge the Centurion's slashing spear, allowing the Lance to crash into the floor below and create a crater not inches from his feet.

With each blow he launched at Cyrus, Ciaran's strikes were being parried and counterattacked with growing difficulty. The Kimaris heir had to fight the snarl of irritation as his arms and legs began to tire from the constant action.

Ghislaine observed from the sidelines, ignoring the amusing chatter from the other Guardsmen watching the spar with an equally keen eye. The mystery surrounding the oddity of the Kimaris heir was a subject of interest in the Legion, and the Nekoshu knew that her Legionnaires liked to talk amongst themselves.

A few Centurions within the 66th, we're concerned that Cyrus was either a loose cannon or incompetent, negligent of the fact he was merely a child even by devil standards.

Ghislaine hoped that by inviting members of the 1st Cohort to their nightly sparring session, the concerning rumors surrounding her enigmatic sibling would come to a close.

A subtle glance in their direction settled these concerns as the spar between Cyrus and Ciaran concluded.

Cyrus had acquitted himself well while facing the Centurion, but his body couldn't react fast enough to a significant blow from the Guardsmen's Lance.

The spear landed just underneath his chin, and the kinetic force behind the strike was enough to send him skirting across the training ground floor before he came to an unceremonious halt at Ghislaine's feet.

"….Shut up." The shit-eating grin plastered across her face only grew in size, and it vexed Cyrus to no end as he rubbed at the fresh bruise along his jaw.

"I think that's enough for one day, boys." Ghislaine casually waved off the Legionnaires. "Come back tomorrow for round two. I'm sure my brother here could use the lesson."

Ciaran nodded in respect towards Ghislaine and gathered around his subordinates for their departure. The Nekoshu waited until they exited the training ground before turning her attention toward a mildly annoyed Cyrus.

She tossed him a waterskin filled to the brim with fresh water, receiving a curt nod from the boy while he enjoyed its contents. Once he was finished, Ghislaine handed him a refreshing towel courtesy of one of their attendants standing silently in the shadows.

"You're getting better," Ghislaine's encouragement was met with a derisive snort. "Trust me. I've never seen someone take to our ancestral power so easily."

"Still lost," Cyrus expressed while wiping away the blood from his chin. "I'm too slow, my reactions are adequate, but my movements are sluggish."

"You're five!" The Nekoshu retorted, snatching the wet cloth from him, and began dabbing at a laceration along the right side of his forehead. "Devils may mature faster than most sentient beings, but that doesn't mean you'll be ready out of the womb to start cracking skulls."

"That's not good enough."

A rustling noise came from behind Ghislaine, and Cyrus looked past her shoulder to find their eldest sister entering the tent. Jade had spent the last few days by their father's side, and very rarely did she deign to grace them with her presence.

The relationship between the three Kimaris children had hit a few rough patches, but Jade tried to mend the issues between herself and her youngest siblings.

Cyrus didn't particularly like his eldest sister, but he didn't exactly extend any courtesies to Ghislaine either. And yet, the Nekoshu was eager to change his attitude towards her by guiding him through their shared ancestral power.

He could do without her constant need to irritate him.

"Know your limits, brother." Jade strode towards the bickering siblings with a cool expression. "You will exceed your physical limitations with time, but until that happens, you must adapt to them. Stop forcing yourself to commit an action you cannot perform."

"What she said." Ghislaine gestured toward Jade with a condescending smirk.

"I know." Cyrus rolled his eyes in exasperation and made to exit the training tent while sporting a nasty cut when Ghislaine linked their arms together. "I thought we were done with training."

"We are, you ungrateful bug." The Nekoshu placed a hand below his chin and the other against the laceration on his forehead. "It doesn't mean you need to go out there with this nasty cut on your head."

Cyrus had to battle the impulse to shove Ghislaine away with every passing second as she poured her life essence into his wounds. Her intentions were pure, but how she manipulated his body into fast-tracking his healing was a jarring experience.

It almost felt like being violated on a molecular level, but a lulling sense of relief consumed that sensation.

Cyrus nearly shook with relief when her hands finally fell from his healing wounds and onto his shoulders. He didn't say a word when Ghislaine planted a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"Mwah, is that all better, my little bug." He severely disliked his sister when she called him that.

"Yes," Cyrus growled, removing her hands from his shoulders and turning towards a pensive-looking Jade. "How much longer are we going to be here?"

The 66th was camped outside the city of Avernus and maintained a hardline perimeter alongside the personal Legions of the other Tribunes.

Lords Sirzechs, Ajuka, and Lady Sitri, alongside the 56th, 29th, and 12th Legions, respectively, were the first to arrive at Avernus, followed by the other belaying Tribunes.

In the two weeks since they arrived at Avernus, the Renegades struggled to remove the Loyalist forces from Acheron, and during this time, the 66th Legion was held in reserve.

Cedric did not want to commit his best asset to the war and instead coordinated the Legions already in contact with the enemy.

The 37th Legion and parts of the 24th and 65th Legions broke the deadlock after routing a Loyalist vanguard near the Aranda river, pushing their opponents back into the territories of Lucifaad.

With the threat eliminated, the Renegades could again turn their attention to the loyalist capital, and only now did their father opt to deploy the 66th Legion.

Cedric was drawing up a cohesive battle plan for his subordinates from within the confines of his command tent, and their mother was constantly at his side.

Elerin didn't have an in-depth tactical mindset, but she brought a wealth of knowledge concerning the border of Acheron and Lucifaad from her early days as an advanced scout under the tutelage of the long-deceased House Andromalius.

"The Legions are preparing for an assault on the loyalist stronghold at Gehenna. If we take that city, our Legions will have a clear path to the capital." Jade supplied. "While they are executing this prerogative, Ghislaine and I will be in command of the Second Cohort."

"What about me?" Cyrus was foolish enough to think he would be assigned to a cohort, let alone fight in the coming battle.

"Father has deemed fit that you stay with the camp prefect to maintain our supply lines and learn the ins and outs of maintaining a fighting legion." Jade's comments ignited an exasperated feeling in Cyrus.

He never thought he'd be regulated to logistics duty in his wildest dreams or nightmares, but he had no place on the battlefield.

That notion hurt his pride as a Spartan more than anything else.

"Understood," Cyrus bitterly accepted the duties designated for him. "When do we leave?"

Before either of his siblings could answer, a faint commotion outside the training tent grew into a frenzy.

"… Nevermind." The devil sisters shared a whimsical look before Jade rolled her eyes and exited the tent leaving Ghislaine to drag their younger sibling along. The Nekoshu beckoned him out into the camp by wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leading him out.

Cyrus could hear the soft clangs of Guardsmen mustering into position, but the full extent of the fuss outside became apparent when the pair emerged from the obstructing confines of the training tent.

Eleamus stood on top of a vast pavilion with a panoramic view of the entire camp, and the Praetor could be heard for miles thanks to the use of infernal energy to magnify his voice.

"All Centurions, muster up your Cohorts and fall into formation! We move for Gehenna! Air Adhart Gu Cogadh!" Eleamus's words ignited a unified response from the Primus Legionnaires to the Centurions and on to the soldiers themselves.

"For the Lord of Shadows!"

Thousands of Guardsmen and attendants from every Cohort began tearing down their tents and extinguishing their lingering campfires as soon as the Praetor's order went out for all to hear.

While serving as a Spartan, Cyrus had never observed the deployment of an organized military detachment. A grand majority of his time was spent amongst the confines of an ONI prowler with only the barest of troop complements made up of two squads of ODSTs.

He imagined that UNSC Marines and Army troopers went through the same orderly chaos when the ground elements received their orders.

"Earth to Cyrus?" The Spartan's thoughts were waylaid when Ghislaine pulled on his cheek. "Stop daydreaming. Father is going to want us in the courtyard alongside him."

Cyrus shook free of Ghislaine's grabbing fingers and sent her an aggravated glance before stepping towards the assembling yard.

The Civil War was about to reach a crescendo, and Cyrus wanted a front-row seat to the carnage.

l==l

The Fields of Sulphur, Lucifaad Territory

Gehenna.

Cedric hadn't seen it in years.

The 66th Legion and its Renegade counterparts were forced to contend with Lucifaad's dangerous ecosystem. Hazardous gases and ferocious native fauna were just one of the many obstacles Cedric and his Guardsmen had to endure.

Along their route, Lord Gremory and the six Legions under his command captured the city of Tophet, laying the foundation for the siege of Lucifaad. If Cedric and his Legions conquered Gehenna, all obstacles between the Renegades and the Loyalist Capital would be eliminated.

Sirzechs rushed to rendezvous with Cedric and his Legions taking with him a small bodyguard and leaving Lady Sitri in charge of the Northern task force.

The towering walls of the Loyalist stronghold were a welcome reprieve compared to the Fields of Sulphur that polluted the border between Lucifaad and Acheron.

Cedric ordered his Legion to hold their formation behind a large rolling hill two kilometers from Gehenna's manned walls.

The anticipation practically leaked from his men as they enviously stood in place. Behind the 66th were a hundred thousand Renegade Legionnaires eager for Loyalist blood.

But discipline took precedence over belligerence in Cedric's Legion, and that concept also fell upon their sister Legion.

No one wanted to draw the ire of their Legions Praetor, least of all Eleamus, who none of the Black Guardsmen wished to aggravate.

Centurions commanded with harshness and terror at every level, maintaining their Cohort's focus on the Guardsmen next to them, not the Loyalist Dogs cowering upon their walls.

Eleamus marched in between the organized ranks of his Legion, scrutinizing every inch of his Guardsmen as he walked amongst them.

In the next few hours, the Cohorts would disperse into pairs for a coordinated assault upon the walls of Gehenna. Thus, this may be the final time they were united under a single banner until the siege ended.

Cedric stood at the head of the Legion's formation, unbowed and undaunted by the responsibilities now laid before him.

His wife was the only one in his immediate family at his side. Jade and Ghislaine were at the head of the 2nd Cohort, and Cyrus remained with the camp prefect organizing a proper staging ground for their siege of Gehenna.

Breaching the towering walls would be just one of many objectives for the 66th and its allies to fulfill. Cedric wanted his Guardsmen into the city by the night's end, and Sirzechs would prove to be that deciding factor.

Sirzechs is second to none in terms of sheer power, and he is far and away more formidable than any other devil in Cedric's service.

He is the product of Houses Gremory and Bael, one of the few instances where mixed breeding between Devil Clans produced adequate offspring.

The Shadow Lord was counting on Sirzechs raw power to breach the city gates without committing his Legions to a grueling siege.

The only question in Cedric's mind was whether or not Sirzechs could come through.

"Can you do it?" The Shadow Lord appraised the crimson-haired Devil next to him.

Sirzechs had reached their designated rendezvous outside of Gehenna a few hours earlier, and now they stood side by side amongst several Loyalists Legates and Officers awaiting their orders.

"I've never expanded my infernal energy to that degree." The Gremory answered with caution in his voice. "My control is substantial, but trying to bring down the city walls may be…..volatile."

" Gremory… " Elerin emphasized his clan name with purpose. As House Kimaris's Matriarch, she possessed as much political authority as Cedric, and it also helped that Sirzechs mother was a close confidant of hers.

"… It's a yes or no question."

The Crimson Devil's confidence wavered under the Matriarch's penetrating gaze, but Sirzechs pride wouldn't allow him to concede to the woman so easily. Cedric was silent through the exchange, and he didn't feel the need to intervene on either of their behalfs.

After a few moments of silence, the Gremory heir managed to find his backbone gathering waves of infernal energy within the palm of his hand. The other Legates kept a respectable distance between themselves and Sirzechs, reluctant or unable to withstand the overwhelming demonic force around him.

" I can do it." Cedric gave the Super-Devil a glance of approval before centering his gaze upon the walls of Gehenna. From this distance, his eyes could perceive the growing panic on the garrison commander's face.

The Shadow Lord did not recognize the Devil in charge of the Loyalists, but it did not matter who had assumed command of Gehenna. What mattered was that they had retained their devotion to the ignorant and foolish Satans who dared to lead their race into extinction for the glory that did not exist.

"The Legions are ready." Eleamus strode to his Primarchs side, brushing past the First Warden and disregarding the infernal energy gathering around Sirzechs.

"Good," Cedric glanced towards the thousands of Legionnaires under his command.

The Black Guards of Kimaris would lead the vanguard while the 37th and 68th Legions, under the Houses of Phenex and Belial, covered their flanks. Once Sirzechs tore down the walls, the 66th would exploit the breach, and their sister legions would follow.

However, Cedric's Guardsmen were overwhelmed with the same feelings of dread and apprehension that afflicted most soldiers before the beginning of a major offensive.

They needed a rallying call, and only his Praetor could sufficiently rile up his Guardsmen for battle.

"Eleamus." The Praetor snapped to attention. "Spread the word."

The crimson-skinned retainer of House Kimaris removed his helm and raised his ornate Lance high in the air.

"Guardsmen!" Thousands of Legionnaires from across the 66th Legion gazed upon their Praetor, and all responded to his call by beating their Lance into their chest.

The impact of Griycium colliding with carapace triggered a chain reaction of fear and curiosity among the Loyalist and Renegade armies.

"The night is our kingdom!"

A cheer spread through the ranks of the 66th Legion, and it spilled into the hearts of their sister Legions.

"The Primarchs eyes are upon us! And we cannot fail in his sight!"

When the Renegades heard the harsh but captivating words of the Kimaris Praetor, they were swept up in a maelstrom of fervor that threatened to consume them whole. Eleamus had a penchant for riling up the Guardsmen before a final charge, and as the infernal energy gathered around Sirzechs, the beacon of rebellion shone brightly in the night.

"Storm their ranks!" The vigor in Eleamus's voice reflected the mindset of all his underlings, and once again, a cheer echoed through the Renegade Legions. "Spare not one of them!"

"Lift high the black banners of our Lord!" On instinct, the Legion Signifiers raised the banner of the Shadow Lord into the sky, drawing another fervor of shouting.

"It is not yet our time to fall into extinction, but these Loyalist dogs would see our race put to the sword!"

Cyrus emerged from the prefect's tent to an exhilarating scene. The fervor that had taken control of the Legions had spread to the staging ground, where the attendants set up a massive encampment.

There wasn't a Renegade within miles that wasn't affected by the Praetor's words, and Cyrus felt an influence threaten to take hold of him. Eleamus used his magic to drive his Guardsmen into a frenzy, and only the senior leadership remained unaffected.

Witnessing thousands of Guardsmen shout and cheer with reverence was a thrilling sight to behold.

Sirzechs ignored his environment and devoted all his concentration to the increasing ball of pure demonic energy in his hands.

Pulling the energy that settled beneath the surface of his skin, Sirzechs raised his foot and slammed it into the landscape below him. His cyan orbs danced with a crimson hue and locked upon the gates of Gehenna.

"This night will be remembered for eternity!" Eleamus raised his Lance towards Cedric as Sirzechs power of destruction reached a breaking point. "Now follow our Primarch into the pages of history!"

A ball of pure red expanded into a solid beam of demonic energy and slammed into the Loyalist walls disintegrating Gehenna's impregnable walls and the soldiers stationed upon them.

"For the Rebellion! For the Primarch!"

As one, three Legions charged toward the charred remains of Gehenna's walls, breaching its failing defenses and butchering all who dared to stand in their way.

Sirzechs ability ignited a shudder felt across the entire battlefield, and the Loyalists withered under the massive assault.

Where the Loyalists felt fear and the Renegades experienced ecstasy at the super-devil's infernal power, Cyrus felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. The force in the Gremory's hands reminded too much of a Covenant glassing, and he fought to keep down the fury in his gaze.

The Spartan offhandedly added Sirzechs to a growing list of Devils he would have to contend with in the future.

Cyrus was the first to turn away from the increasingly one-sided battle. He had duties to attend to, and as far as he knew, the war would conclude in the coming weeks.

How wrong he was.

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Antora, Lucifaad Territory

A year went by like a dream for Cyrus.

The 66th Legion may have been on campaign, but he spent most of his time sharpening his reflexes and absorbing the knowledge necessary to master his ancestral power.

Ghislaine was his main point of contact in that regard.

Her comprehension of his family's Ceàird sgàil, Shadow Craft in the common tongue, was second to Cedric.

She applauded Cyrus for his perseverance while reprimanding him for his sub-par understanding. Her teaching method mirrored Cedric's, emphasizing ruthless manipulation of the darkness and subjugating it to his will.

However, he felt an odd sensation overtake him each time his infernal energy mixed with the shadows. Ghislaine characterized the darkness as a living entity that resisted them at every turn, but he did not feel such defiance.

On the contrary, the shadows cocooned around him in a protective shroud, wanting and craving his demonic essence. When Cyrus tried to impose his will upon the darkness, it disappeared, alarmed and confused by his actions.

The Spartan had to contend with a perplexing mix of emotions and sensations, but he eventually manipulated the shadows to his will like any other scion of House Kimaris.

Ghislaine either misread or ignored the strange reactions, preferring to move on to more sophisticated techniques that demanded tremendous knowledge and vitality to execute.

The Nekoshu pushed his adolescent body to the breaking point, motivating him with scathing inadequacies that nipped at his pride as a Devil and a Spartan.

He achieved minimal success in mastering the techniques known as Sgàil Folach and Dubhra Sleagh - Hidden Shadow and Dark Javelin - alongside a few demonic spells of varying functions.

Still, Cyrus was far from matching Cedric's martial prowess, especially with his complete mastery of House Kimaris's potent demonic form.

Dubhra Sligeach, Dark Carapace, is the backbone of the Kimaris arsenal.

It encases its user in a hardened exoskeleton and transforms them into a traditional Demon by Devil and Human standards. Few weapons can pierce its outer shell, and each time Cedric takes to the field, his Dubhra Sligeach strikes fear into the hearts of all who stand against him.

The older members of House Kimaris, such as Ashara, Jade, and Ghislaine, were a notch below Cedric's capabilities. Its youngest, such as the twins and Cyrus, were still milling about in the novice territory, but Cyrus was making startling progress out of that tier.

It should have frightened Ghislaine somewhat, but her endearment only seemed to grow with each successful test. Cyrus had other responsibilities within the encampment by Cedric's order, which saved him from being suffocated by the overly affectionate Nekoshu's attention.

He spent his duties shadowing the Legion's Camp Praetor and understanding the critical aspects of warfare logistics within a Devil Legion. Unlike humans, Devils didn't need to consume daily amounts of food or water to keep their bodies from crashing.

They could go weeks, if not months, without any nutrition so long as they satisfied one of their sins.

Azol, the camp praetor, explained this process as vaguely as possible because it was an insignificant detail in his mind.

Cyrus's queries regarding this subject were immediately answered after he stumbled upon Ghislaine satisfying her sin of Lust with a female Centurion from the 5th Cohort.

He would eternally wish he hadn't walked in on her deviancies, but Ghislaine's shameless antics aside, Cyrus was given an exceptional education on a Legion's organization and its inner workings.

By the end of their first month together, Cyrus subsidized more than half of the camp praetor duties, allowing Azol to treat their increasingly over-extended supply chain.

The Lucifaad campaign was entering its second year, and the civil war only seemed to escalate in brutality after the razing of Gehenna.

Cedric's desire for a tactical victory by flattening the border city en route to Lucifaad met with initial success.

The razing of Gehenna severely impacted the morale of many Loyalist Nobles whose holdings lay at the vanguard of the Renegade assault.

Dozens of small towns gradually fell under Cedric's control without bloodshed or resistance. The ruling nobility wisely capitulated as Renegade Legionnaires approached their gates, and they had no inclination to watch their homes burn under the Shadow Lord's gaze.

This campaign of rapid dominance finally came to a head in an open field fifty miles east of Lucifaad called Ashfell.

Ten Incaris Legions drew a line in the sand after weeks of rearguard action. Bashalum ordered his Praetor Grayfia Lucifuge to halt Cedric's progress and turn back the Renegade Legions before they reached Lucifaad proper.

Cedric drew his forces from Lords Gremory, Phenex, and Baels Corps, gathering a full strength of fourteen Infernal Legions upon the amber fields of Ashfell.

Over a million Devils took part in the battle, and the 66th Legion lay at the forefront of Cedric's relentless assault upon the Loyalist battle line. Infernal bolts and demonic energy filled the skies over Ashfell as Cohorts slammed into one another in a blood-filled rage.

The battle was not limited to the ground; specialized units took to the skies in an effort to establish air superiority for their respective sides.

A flashing light briefly obscured Cyrus's vision, and the scene was so visceral that he found himself momentarily lost under the blazing beams of a Covenant Cruiser.

These moments were few and far between, but they continued to plague him even as the battle concluded.

Cyrus watched from the safe confines of a triage center five miles from its epicenter as thousands of Renegade Legionnaires streamed into the camp with vicious wounds. Some were missing limbs, others had their skin peeling off their bodies, and a select unfortunate few were irreparably damaged by a demonic power that fused their armor and flesh into bundles of frozen ice.

Grayfia Lucifuge was a nightmare on the battlefield, and her battle with Sirzechs Gremory became a legendary display of ruin and ice that would be reviewed for millennia.

After two days of vicious fighting, the Renegade flag flew over the blood-soaked plains of Ashfell, but the cost had been heavy.

Over two hundred thousand devils were killed or wounded in the battle, leaving the victor to deal with the piles of their dead kin.

Cedric ordered the dead be cremated with full military honors, a politically motivated decision given that several of the Loyalists who perished possessed ties to the Noble Families who had surrendered to the Renegades.

Whether the political maneuvering worked was irrelevant, propaganda would ensure that the Shadow Lord's reputation for butchery and mercy reached the ears of Loyalist Nobles and soldiers alike.

As Cedric's Legions marched on Lucifaad, their path was blocked by dozens of fortified redoubts and outposts designed to bleed their overall strength before reaching the capital.

Bashalum's delaying tactic differed from his stubborn personality, but the full extent of his strategy wasn't realized until Cedric's Legions settled in for a prolonged siege of the capital.

The 66th and a pair of Lord Phenex's Legions were stationed at the town of Antora, a city ten miles from the capital, functioning as the primary staging ground for the siege of Lucifaad.

The Loyalists hadn't bothered to put up a fight and allowed the 30th Legion belonging to the House of Forneus to walk in uncontested.

Bashalum did not seek the glorious final engagement he was known for, and Cedric became concerned that the Loyalist Primarch was being counseled by one of his least temperamental Praetors.

Grayfia Lucifuge was a candidate considering the political and martial influence she gathered during the Great War, but Bashalum regarded her as little more than a failed bodyguard seeking redemption.

The architect of the Loyalist exodus following Ashfell remained unknown until Cedric's Legions were victimized by a series of small-scale ambushes aimed at their Praetor and Primus Legionnaires.

House Nebiros had their paws all over these sudden and violent attacks on Renegade OFficers. Their agents were deeply embedded in the occupied cities, and Cedric's Legions had difficulty rooting them out.

Several overzealous cohorts exacted vengeance on the local populace when their Primus Legionnaires were killed, inflaming tensions and prompting an influx of furious civilians to join the loyalist cause.

At least, that's what Cyrus inferred while spectating the war council led by his father. Cyrus had just returned from overseeing a stream of weapons and armor from the forge works of Tophet.

The council consisted of every Tribune, and their Praetors gathered around a detailed war table of Lucifaad and the surrounding territories. Cedric sat at the head of the table, with Lords Gremory and Bael on either side.

Elerin and Cyrus remained steadfast over Cedric's shoulder, quietly observing the war council as the Tribunes deliberated over the past week.

"These attacks on our outlying patrols and supply line are becoming increasingly frequent." Instead of exchanging pleasantries with his fellow Praetors, Zekram Bael delved into the reasons for this emergency meeting.

The commander of his Legion's first Cohort had been killed by Nebiros agents, and the Noble was outraged at the loss of his most seasoned field commanders.

"Why are we incapable of locating these insurgents?" Lord Phenex commented. "We have almost two dozen Legions searching the city and the outskirts, and we have come away with nothing but more casualties."

"House Nebiros is one of the few clans proficient in unorthodox warfare." Ajuka Astaroth, the Renegade's chief tactician, stepped forward. "Their skinwalkers are a dangerous asset, and we lack the means and personnel to route them out."

"Our Primus Legionnaires are their primary targets," Sirzechs added. "House Nebiros knows that attacking one of us or our Praetors is a useless gesture, so they are targeting our Cohort Commanders. Several of my Captains have already been killed by skinwalkers and insurgents embedded with the local population."

"House Nebiros knows the internal workings of our Legions to the tee." Cedric drew all eyes as he strode towards the war table. "I fought alongside Viktor Nebiros during the siege of Heaven. His talents lay in deception and speed of movement, all traits our Legions are not accustomed to adapting to."

Viktor Nebiros. The name pricked at his memory.

Cyrus had found a kindred spirit amongst the Devils in Viktor Nebiros. He'd never spoken or met his fellow clan heir, but Viktor's style of warfare was leagues above standard devil doctrine.

House Nebiros was one of the few Devil clans that did not adopt a traditional Legion organization. They separated their forces into dozens of teams that acted independently of one another.

Cyrus surmised that the only chain of command the agents retained came from Viktor himself. This loose command structure prevented any information leaks and kept their enemies off-balance.

Their modus operandi revolved around sowing fear and confusion amongst their foes. It is common practice for skin-changers to ensure that communication between their targets is cut off, isolating Cohorts and exposing them to infiltration.

It is rare that Nebiros agents voluntarily fight a force able to withstand their might. They prefer to attack weakened or isolated units and refuse to give quarter or mercy to their adversaries.

They were an exceptional force during the grinding war of attrition that was the Great War.

Demonic Legions rarely engaged in otherwise dishonorable tactics, leaving asymmetric warfare to House Nebiros.

Nebiros skin walkers discovered and relayed vital intelligence to their Legions that proved critical to several Devil victories over their heavenly cousins. However, their efforts remained obscured by the triumphs of the 66th and the 1st Legions.

Cedric and the other Praetors tried to pool together their minimal knowledge of Nebiros tactics to devise a counter-strategy, but every counter had been matched.

Viktor Nebiros proved that Devil combat doctrine was obsolete, and even the clever tactical mind of Ajuka Astaroth was left reeling in confusion.

"There must be someone in our ranks capable of routing these insurgents." Zekram Bael spoke out, earning the council's attention. "Our position in Lucifaad is precarious. If this disease isn't stamped out, we will be forced out of the territory, and the war may drag on for another century."

Cedric's eyes wandered in thought; few Legionnaires in their ranks had worked alongside House Nebiros, and even fewer possessed a keen understanding of their motivations.

Ajuka was trying to mold their elite cohorts into effective counters to Nebiros skinwalkers, but their rigorous training and dogmatic mindset left little room for adjusting to unfamiliar tactics.

The Renegades needed someone with a fresh perspective on the situation, someone who could look beyond their conventional strategies and was accustomed to operating on a tactical level.

Cedric's gaze inevitably wandered to Cyrus, whose crimson orbs bore a hole into the war table.

Elerin caught his eye again a few moments later, and the two exchanged knowing glances as Cedric drew everyone's focus back to him.

"Tribunes. I believe I do have someone capable of remedying our situation…." Elerin pulled her son out of his daydream just as Cedric called his name.

"… Cyrus ."

l==l

"I have no fucking idea how we got here."

Cyrus silently agreed with Ghislaine's statement as the pair stood at the head of the 66th Legion.

"This is… insanity," Jade remarked and turned towards him. "Did you have any idea this was going to happen?"

"Not a fucking clue."

The war council erupted in indignation at Cedric's declaration that his male heir possessed an understanding of Nebiros tactics.

In a matter of seconds, Cyrus was commissioned to the rank of Primus Legionnaire and given the task of molding one of the 66th Legion's cohorts into an effective counter-insurgency unit.

The sudden promotion completely blindsided him, and he'd almost joined the other Tribunes in their protest, but a dose of potent infernal energy from Cedric quieted all disputes.

"My son will handle what we as Tribunes have been incapable of managing. Cyrus will be promoted to Primus and choose one of my cohorts to lead. This is not a debate. This is an order."

An hour later, the entire Legion was postured before Cyrus in a parade formation for his selection. All thirty thousand were eager to fulfill their Primarchs directives, but only one Cohort would be honored to be Cyrus's personal guard.

"You have the pick of the litter," Ghislaine commented lazily.

Cyrus glanced up towards her, she was leaning provocatively against a Griycium spear earning an exasperated glance from Jade, who stood to his right. The Nekoshu was putting on a show for the whole camp to see, but thankfully their Legionnaires were disciplined enough to keep their eyes forward.

The same couldn't be said for their attendants or Jade.

"If you keep leaning on that spear, you'll end up flashing the whole camp." Jade's chastising remarks earned a condescending glance from Ghislaine.

"Is that why you can't keep your eyes off me?" The Nekoshu neglected to wear anything more than loose clothing that showed a generous amount of delectable skin.

Cyrus wisely ignored his sisters by play and stepped towards a patiently waiting Eleamus.

"My lord." The Praetor gestured towards his Legion. "Have you made your decision?"

"I… Have." Cyrus was hesitant to choose which of his father's cohorts to take as one of his own at first.

The First Cohort seemed the most logical choice considering they were Cedric's finest warriors, but Cyrus found them too eager to please.

The same could be said of most 66th cohorts.

They were all finely tuned machines bred for a conventional style of warfare but not the kind Cyrus was storming headfirst into. He needed a cohort filled with fresh recruits and mindsets that Legion doctrines hadn't poisoned.

Only one Cohort fit the mold he was looking for, and it was also the most unlikely to be chosen out of the ten candidates.

"I want the 10th." Cyrus's declaration silenced all commotion in the camp, and Eleamus's eyes widened considerably at the selection.

Ghislaine and Jade's argument also came to a screeching halt, and he could feel their eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Each detachment of the 66th Legion had a nickname, and the 10th was appropriately dubbed "The Forsaken" because of its propensity for losing its best Legionnaires to death or transfers to more elite Cohorts such as the 1st and 2nd.

Of all the units Cyrus could have chosen, the 10th Cohort was the most unlikely of choices to be his vanguard, and the other Primus Legionnaires could scarcely believe they had not been selected.

But he seemed to be the only one to realize that the 10th was a factory that constantly churned out fresh talent.

Talent that he was staking his life on.

"Arkias!" Eleamus recovered from his stupor and called forth the 10th Cohort's stunned commander. "Step forward!"

Primus Legionnaire Sezran Arkias started his service with the 11th reserve Cohort before transferring to the 10th after the Great War.

He'd been in charge of the Forsaken for only two years, and the Legion's more experienced Cohorts had easily overtaken them in victories and honor.

It was no secret that they were at the bottom of the litter in choices, and the 10th wasn't expecting to be selected as Cyrus's personal Cohort. Their shock resonated with the rest of their sister cohorts, but none dared to question their Lord's command.

Eleamus stood taller than the rest of the Legion, and his voice boomed for all to hear. "Our Lord has chosen the 10th as his iron fist. Does anyone disagree with this nomination?"

None spoke in disagreement. Only a fool would deny the privilege of becoming a High Lord's honor guard, and Arkias was no fool.

The Primus Legionnaire glanced over his shoulder towards his Guardsmen, who stared back with muted disbelief. Their black cloaks billowed in the wind, revealing finely tuned carapaces with the 10th Cohorts insignia emblazoned on their shoulders.

None within the 66th Legion respected the 10th for good reason, but Cyrus either didn't know or didn't care about their reputation. Arkias subconsciously gripped his spear a little tighter, threatening to shatter the Gricyium lance in hand.

They would not be found wanting.

"The 10th stands ready to execute our Lord's commands." Arkias banged his lance against his shield, an action that 3,000 Legionnaires of the 10th Cohort mimicked. Griycium shields smashed against Pretrium lances, and a sound of grinding steel echoed across the encampment.

"Hmm," Ghislaine purred with amusement at the 10th's unified response to Cyrus's choice. "I think they like you."

"The rest of our Legion disagree." Jade carefully observed the tightened postures of the other Cohorts. "They feel slighted, angered that the 10th was chosen over anyone one of them."

"They'll get over it, Jade." Ghislaine leaned against Cyrus, earning a scathing glance from her sibling. "It's not like this is the first time the Legions took issue with a selection."

Many veteran Cohorts, such as the 1st and 3rd, privately objected to Jade's choice of the 2nd Cohort as her personal guard but did not overtly condemn her choice. But Jade's Cohort proved her faith by operating with distinction while deployed into the Blighted marshlands.

Bandits and mercenaries raided their caravans on the suspected orders of Bashalum Beelzebub. Cedric sent a third of his Legion into the marshlands to clear it out and look for evidence of the Satan's involvement.

They found no verification of Bashulum's meddling, but the campaign demonstrated that Jade's decision to adopt the 2nd Cohort as her own was sound.

Tharathon, the 2nd's Primus Legionnaire, and Jade had a symbiotic relationship; their shared temperament guaranteed that the 'Sons of Kimaris' perfectly matched their future Matriarch.

It remained to be seen if Cyrus could establish the same rapport with the 10th.

Eleamus dismissed the Legion, but Arkias and the 10th Cohort remained rooted in place, not out of disrespect to their Praetor but because they awaited their Lord's command.

Ghislaine sighed dramatically and wrapped an arm over Cyrus' neck, flaunting her enticing physique. "You have your work cut out for you, little brother. I hope you're up to it."

He untangled himself from the Nekoshu and looked to Jade for assistance. The last thing Cyrus needed was for Ghislaine to humiliate him in front of his new Cohort.

Jade silently took Ghislaine by her arm and pulled her out of sight from the 10th. She was joined by Eleamus, who spared Cyrus a respectful nod before falling from view.

The Spartan was beset by over 3,000 Legionnaires who anxiously awaited his command. The grounds for their selection were well-known, and each of them pondered what their futures would be like under him.

Cyrus stepped forward. His crimson eyes peered into the souls of every Legionnaire in the 10th. He searched for weaknesses in posture or expressions, and there were more than a few who stood out to him.

Devils are emotional beings that display their emotions on their sleeves. They could carve their faces into granite all they liked, but their eyes told the same story.

Most of his species found it nearly impossible to disguise their emotions; they were far too potent to be concealed, and suppressing their sentiments posed a risk to themselves and others.

Cyrus was no exception to this rule, but he refused to share any more similarities between himself and his….people.

The Spartan shoved these stray thoughts to the back of his consciousness, focusing entirely on his new private army. While Cedric was in charge of the 66th Legion, the 10th was Cyrus's personal unit, one he could instruct, command, and discipline as necessary.

It was time to make this new chain of command clear for everyone.

"This Cohort will be trained to MY SPECIFICATIONS ." Potent demonic energy licked at Cyrus's frame. "I will only accept those willing and qualified to meet my standards. If I find you lacking, you will be transferred to another Cohort…."

The 10th's few veteran Legionnaires silently begrudged this ultimatum. Being forcibly transferred from one's Cohort was deemed a tremendous humiliation.

Cyrus was playing on a Devil's pride.

"… Your training as Legionnaires will not help you. Everything you have learned under the tutelage of our Immunes will be inadequate…."

The Legions were eerily similar to the Roman army of ancient times, with a few adjustments to account for a Devil's unique capabilities. Their wings necessitated aerial combat, and their Lances functioned similarly to firearms, albeit with notable limitations.

The Devil's war doctrine was a baffling mixture of modern and ancient tactics, all crammed into a somewhat seamless army made for conventional warfare.

A doctrine easily exploited by those with an in-depth knowledge of the Demonic Legions such as House Nebiros.

To achieve his goal, Cyrus needed to erase the indoctrination and teachings these Legionnaires had already undergone.

The severe lack of experience and veterans is one of the primary reasons the 10th was selected as Cyrus's personal guard.

But first, he had to break them.

"… I will mold you into guardsmen capable of hunting these Skin Walkers and any who serve under them, but it will not be celebrated. You do not take the field for superficial indulgences such as recognition or honor…."

Arkias felt the outrage growing within his Cohort. Every Devil that joined Samael's Legions did so to execute enemies of their Lord with honor and glory that would be recognized for millennia.

Lord Cyrus condemned such beliefs as fallacies.

And just as the 10th's contempt for their new commander reached a fever pitch, an all-too-familiar sensation overwhelmed them.

Fear.

A tidal wave of shadows spilled out of every inch of Cyrus's flesh, splashing between the Cohort's formation like a consuming tidal wave.

"… You take to the field for one purpose and one purpose alone…."

As tendrils glided across carapace and war lance alike, none dared to move a single inch.

Not the Centurions.

Not the Fresh-faced Legionnaires.

And not even the Veterans of the Great War dared to draw their Lord's ire.

"… To execute my will above all else…."

A pair of Azure orbs flashed with amusement and adulation off of Cyrus's flank.

Elerin shadowed her only son when Cedric did not need her by his side, and these moments of personal time were few and far between.

It was unheard of for a Noble to command a Cohort at such an early age; not even Sirzechs was appointed commander of a Cohort until he was sixteen years of age. Cyrus was ten years younger than the Gremory, but he was different from the rest of his ilk.

A Spartan's mind nestled inside a Devil's body.

The possibilities were endless, and Elerin was eager to watch Cyrus bloom into the greatest her kind had to offer.

But he needed an army at his back, and the 10th would become his vanguard into the future.

The shadow's bent to Cyrus's will and his demonstration over House Kimaris's ancestral power stunned Arkias.

Not long ago, many of the Legion's officers enjoyed the little Lordling's training sessions with Lady Ghislaine and Matriarch Elerin.

Ghislaine often asked her subordinates to spar with Cyrus to gauge the difference in skill between the Centurions and himself.

Arkias only observed one of Cyrus's sparring sessions, and he demonstrated an aptitude that suited his station. Still, Cedric remained the only member of House Kimaris that proved capable of subjugating the shadows at his beck and call.

At least until now.

Darkness engulfed Arkias, and demonic whispers brushed against his ear, daring him to shift or balk so they may feast on his flesh.

"… If I find you lacking in spirit or skill. If you decide that your age and experience give you influence over me…."

Each and every member of the 10th Cohort felt icy fingers gripping their hearts in a vice-like grip as Cyrus took one step forward. His remarks were spoken in a deep, ominous tone that would eternally remind Arkias and his men the price of defiance.

"… You will die…."

Cyrus had minimal tolerance for these devils, a sentiment borne out of his distaste for most of them due to their gross indulgence in sin. It was possible that some didn't justify his contempt, but for now, they were faceless creatures that deserved neither pity nor admiration, and they would either conform to his way of thinking or die in the process.

"… It's your will against mine, and you will lose."

He would not tolerate dissension or failure.

Ghislaine managed to extract herself from Jade's confinement just as Arkias and his Cohort were dismissed from the rallying field. Cyrus momentarily glanced in her direction before returning his gaze to Arkias as his men dispersed.

He had put on quite the act to alter his Cohort's impression of him. Cyrus did not want the 10th to view him as a boisterous child beyond his depth.

They needed to see him as their commander above all else, and while his actions may have ruffled a few feathers, he was more than willing to take a popularity hit to draw a line in the sand.

But damned, was he tired.

"I think that went well." The Nekoshu's easy grin fell when Cyrus collapsed, and she dashed forward just in time to keep his skull from crashing into the floor.

"Should have known you exerted yourself too much." Ghislaine's exhaled in amusement. "Fucking idiot."

"At least he's our idiot." Ghislaine's ears perked up at Jade's voice, and she turned to see her sister and mother approaching them. " He's learning at an astonishing rate, and I wouldn't be if he could match us in a few years. I didn't think he had a grasp on our Sgàil just yet."

"There's a lot we don't know about, Cyrus." Elerin said as she fell to a knee, threading a hand through his raven locks before coming to a silent conclusion.

"Come along, Ghislaine." Elerin gently grasped the Nekoshu's shoulder and gestured for her to carry Cyrus. "I'm sure he would appreciate waking up in his tent rather than on a dirt floor."

"As you say mother, but I doubt the little shit would appreciate the labor involved or say thank you." Ghislaine turned Cyrus on his back and carefully adjusted him in her arms. He was heavier now than the countless times she would carry him to bed, but he never whined or sought attention.

A trait that his family didn't realize was a blessing as much as it was a curse.

Ghislaine leaned his head against her collarbone, enjoying the peaceful expression etched into his face before turning towards her mother. "I don't suppose you could make that stew of yours?"

"I'm sure I can manage." Elerin's enriching laugh tingled at the back of her daughter's mind. "Now, move along. I have a meeting with your father later tonight."

Jade and Ghislaine exchanged knowing looks that Elerin pointedly ignored. What she and Cedric got up to in private was their business and no one else's.

Besides, they wouldn't take very long. Elerin wanted to spend time with her son before he departed from the camp with his Cohort. She didn't know when or where she would see Cyrus again. He demanded that he be allowed to take the 10th on a prolonged training cycle to the Blighted Marshlands, and her idiot husband agreed.

So all she could do was savor her time, even if Cyrus slept through most of it.

The following morning, the 'Forsaken' marched into the Blighted Marshlands with Cyrus at the helm. Ghislaine tagged along, unwilling to let the Gaiseadh feast on her idiotic brother in his sleep.

Cedric watched their departure from the skies, returning to his tent when his son finally fell from sight.

For nearly a year, the 10th Cohort was isolated from its Legion, spending seven months within the harsh confines of the Blighted Marshlands.

The civil war reached its third year, and the casualties continued to climb as both sides traded stunning victories and crushing defeats. Through it, all whispers reached Cedric's ears that the 10th had their numbers nearly cut in half.

Whether it was by attrition or Cyrus himself remained a mystery to the curious.

Reports became scattered amongst his spies that small pockets of Blackguards from the 10th were seen entering small settlements for several days before returning to the Marshlands. Cyrus led these random incursions for reasons unknown that baffled his agents.

What was clear was that each incursion severely impacted Loyalists' insurrections in the immediate area. Cedric's local agents would report that Cyrus had made an entire Nebiros cell disappear in little more than a few days leaving behind traces for the garrisoned Legionnaires to pick up on.

Cedric's men attempted to communicate with the 10th, but all efforts were stonewalled or ignored entirely. Cyrus had no desire to connect with Cedric's men and continued to lead his Cohort as he saw fit.

Still, this sighting confirmed that Cyrus and his men were back on the grid.

And Cedric couldn't wait to see what came next.

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

Nova Babylon.

It is the commercial hub of the Lucifaad Territories, and thousands of devils from across the Underworld come here to exchange currency, raw materials, products, and sinful entertainment.

Its natural environment and geographical location have bestowed Nova Babylon the great fortune of being the critical nexus that links Lucifaad to its northern provinces. Its populace of nearly two million souls quickly makes it one of the most densely occupied cities in the underworld.

The ancient city now played host to a bloody war between agents of House Nebiros and the 56th Legion. Its dense population and loyalist ties made it a significant staging ground for an insurrection that increasingly grew out of control.

The insurgents of Nova Babylon are the most well-coordinated cell in the Lucifaad province, tormenting the local garrison to such an extent that even the intervention of several cohorts from the 56th Legion was ineffective.

Venelana Gremory, Zekram Bael's venerable daughter, steamed with fury at the news of another attack on her men.

This was the third strike on her detachment this week, and the casualties suffered by her Cohorts were beginning to strain her command structure.

She walked into this damnable city with 9,000 Legionnaires and over 100 senior officers barely two months ago. Sirzechs estimated that deploying three Cohorts to Nova Babylon and the garrison's preexisting 40,000 militia drawn from Renegade territories would be enough to quell Loyalist activities.

But in reality, Venelana's arrival only seemed to stoke the fires of insurrection against her men.

Twelve senior Centurions from her Cohorts died, and another twenty were critically wounded. Over the last few days, the casualty count climbed to 2,000 Legionnaires and 3,000 garrison militia.

Reinforcements for her battered Cohorts were trickling in from their core territories, but it was becoming clear that House Nebiros was winning this war of attrition.

Venelana lacked proper intelligence on her enemy, and earlier reports estimated that the insurgents numbered a little over 500. However, these assessments were proven false after multiple coordinated attacks on her garrisons and a pitched battle between her honor guard and 1,000 Nebiros agents outside the government quarter.

Nova Babylon's commander, Gozzeg, was killed in the attack leaving Venelana to take charge of its garrison before the whole damn city tore them apart.

She was frustrated by the lack of cooperation from the civilian population.

Every one of them was either complacent to the Loyalist cause or too scared to say anything, and Venelana was willing to bet on the former rather than the latter.

They desperately needed reinforcements to quell this insurrection before it spiraled out of control, but the Renegade Legions were spread thin across the theater.

Venelana departed her private chambers for the war room, where her surviving Centurions and Primus Legionnaires were gathered. Her tempting figure was perfectly molded by her ruby-red armor, allowing her to flaunt her luscious features while maintaining some protection.

As Venelana glided into the war room, her officers crossed their arms in salute, but she quickly waved them off.

"At ease, all of you." A chair at the head of the war room was quickly pulled out for Venelana by one of her trusted attendants. "Thank you, Frederic. Your dismissed."

The bespectacled Devil bowed his head in reverence and shooed the rest of her house's attendants out of the war room. Plates of refined entrees were neatly organized on the table, and each officer received enough servings to satisfy their stomachs.

However, the tension in the room was so thick that no one dared to make a move for their dinner.

"Go on and eat all of you." Venelana glanced at the dozen senior officers with a placating gaze that managed to put all but one at ease.

Centurion Kornath of the 56th Legion's 5th Cohort was no stranger to Venelana Gremory. He was a native son of Gremoris, House Gremory's homeland, like most of his Legion. He served long enough to recall when she was a Bael, and her antics still worried him to this day.

Venelana did not suffer mood swings in the traditional sense, but she did lay traps for those who had let her down by luring them into a sense of calm.

Her stunning grin was akin to a predator waiting for her prey to settle in before moving for the kill, and tonight's victim was a Centurion from the 6th Cohort that had failed to keep his Centuria from falling apart in the market district earlier that day.

It was not because he had lost many Legionnaires to the ambush.

Kornath and several other Centurions were guilty of that as well.

No, the fool wasted his time gallivanting in the local brothels and leaving his second to take charge of the patrol routes.

Twenty Legionnaires from the 5th Cohorts, 1st Centuria, were dead because their leader was out getting fucked in a brothel.

Kornath had no clue why Centurion Gurzallon thought it would be a good idea to draw additional attention to himself by making a play for the luscious stack of cooked meat, tempting him to make a final life-altering decision.

Splashes of red scattered across the war table, and Kornath barely flinched when Gurzallon's exploded in a cloud of blood and gore.

What remained of his corpse was a steaming pile of fused armor and burnt flesh that grated on Kornath's sense of smell, but he dared not move for fear of drawing his Lady's ire.

"Now." The placating smile was gone, replaced by a venomous sneer and a pair of violet orbs brimming with infernal energy.

"I feel as though I need to remind all of you of our situation because certain…." Venelana sneered at Gurzallons corpse with open contempt. "… Individuals have seen fit to test my patience."

Venelana paced around the war table, dragging her clawed fingers from one chair to the next.

"Our predicament is precarious and fluid. This entire city could unravel beneath us at any movement, and we will be consumed by a wave of insurgents yearning for our deaths if we continue the status quo."

The Gremory halted behind Kornath's chair, clutching his shoulders tightly and prompting a cold sweat on his brow. "I am asking for your very best in the coming weeks because if our Rebellion loses this city, our siege of Lucifaad will collapse, and I do not want to drag out this Civil War any longer."

Kornath silently exhaled a sigh of relief when Venelana released her grip and returned to the head of the table.

"Are there any questions?" Silence was all that greeted her, but it was the response that Venelana desired. "Excellent."

Waves of consuming infernal energy dissipated, and more than a few Centurions breathed a sigh of relief. Venelana sifted through a stack of reports from the local garrison before focusing on one of her field commanders.

"Uradoch." A female Centurion bearing the emblem of the 5th Cohort stood on her heels, her crimson hair marking her as a descendant of House Gremory. "How did your men fair? I understand that Gurzallon's Centuria wasn't the only one ambushed today?"

"Casualties were high, my Lady," Uradoch informed. "Ten of my Legionnaires were killed in the commercial district. However, these attacks were far more uncoordinated than previous attempts. My men killed twenty insurgents, but none affiliated with House Nebiros."

"Draw the Legionnaires from Gurzallons Centuria to replenish your numbers." Venelana directed. "I'm sure those soldiers would appreciate a commander that won't abandon them for a bloody brothel."

While Venelana questioned the rest of her Centurions about the Centurias' morale and combat readiness, Uradoch nodded and found her seat. Kornath caught his sister's eye, sending her a comforting nod to placate her worries.

The war meeting dragged on for hours, as numerous Centurions suggested differing tactics to combat the insurrection. Their ideas weren't fresh or groundbreaking, but they continuously pushed for a different strategy before more of their Legionnaires were killed.

Most were pressing for more aggressive methods to curtail the insurgent's movements by instituting a longer mandatory curfew and setting up more checkpoints within the city. A select few still hoped to receive assistance from Nova Babylon's Nobles, who suffered greatly from the occupation and insurgent attacks.

The bloodshed deteriorated the city's economy, and the reigning Noble, Arnath Sachia, a descendent of the extinct House Satanachia, attempted to maintain stability within Nova Babylon.

Arnath was an extra demon with a penchant for commercial trade, and his support would guarantee the loyalty of the civilian population. However, his citizens were free to choose what side to follow while he maintained a neutral stance in the war.

Kornath did not envy the Noble's position, but eventually, Arnath would have to pick a side, and he wasn't sure if he would choose Venelana and the Renegades.

While the Centurions continued their seemingly endless debates searching for a solution, a shimmer caught Kornaths attention. His gaze shifted toward a contemplative Uradoch, who subtly gripped the dagger strapped to her right forearm. However, before the siblings could intercept the interloper, they vanished.

Kornath blinked in confusion, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but his Praetor's voice cut into the bickering.

"Silence." All manner of conversation halted, and all eyes focused on Venelana.

"I grow tired of this endless debate." The Gremory stood to her feet, claws sliding across the ornate table with a dangerous shriek. "It is obvious that our tactics are insufficient, and to rely on Lord Arnath invites chaos… We require someone with a different perspective."

Venelana's expression changed to one of open amusement that confused her underlings. The Gremory Matriarch glanced off her shoulder towards a humanoid shadow that slinked away from the darkness.

"I expected you here a week ago, Cyrus."Venelana's voice lost some of its vitriol as a figure encased in the familiar armor of House Kimaris emerged from the shadows.

"Apologies, Lady Gremory. My men and I were preoccupied with a Nebiros cell in Tophet." The Kimaris heir replied. "Our arrival was delayed further when we discovered a Skinwalker hiding amongst one of your son's Centurions."

"How is Sirzechs?" It had been some time since Venelana had seen her eldest son.

"He still retains the same vexing personality." Kornath was surprised to hear such blatant disrespect of Lord Sirzechs from their guest, and Venelana's bark of amusement only further perplexed him.

"Sirzechs enjoys your company." Venelana remarked. "You're one of the few who can stand by his side without quivering in their boots."

"His opinion of me is not a priority, unlike his… contemporaries, Lady Gremory." She twitched at the formal greeting as Cyrus removed his helm, allowing specs of black hair to flash before a pair of crimson orbs settled upon Venelana. "Regardless, my Cohort stands ready to assist in counterinsurgency efforts."

"Where are your men?"

"Waiting outside the city walls," Cyrus informed. "I didn't want to raise any alarms with our arrival, so my men will enter the city under the guise of returning patrols."

"Good to hear." Venelana gave a cursory glance to the dark corners of the war room. "I don't suppose you came alone?"

"Please." Cyrus's expression turned bitter as a silky voice answered from the shadows. "Our father wouldn't allow his only son to leave home without me."

Another humanoid figure emerged from Cyrus's shadow, but this one was in House Kimaris's prestigious armor. Kornath had never seen the Shadow Lord's Dubhra Sligeach up close, but his sires were adept in using its terrifying form.

It possessed a featureless mask, and cords of hardened carapace ran down every inch of her body. Razor-sharp spikes extended from the base of her elbow, and her arms were encased with seemingly endless veins of muscle and carapace.

Dubhra Sligeach embodies the visage of the old Demons, and few could hope to stand against such martial prowess.

"Child. I haven't seen you in years." Venelana greeted Ghislaine warmly, wrapping her in a hug that she returned with equal affection. "You still following in Cyrus's shadow?"

"Someone has to watch his back." The Nekoshu's carapace melted away from her face, exposing her silver hair and a pair of Kimaris-bred crimson eyes. "What are our orders?"

Venelana beamed at Ghislaine's statement and hauled both Kimaris sires to the war table by their forearms.

"We have work to do."

l==l

Arkias opened his eyes, breath heavy and unsettled. His crimson hair was matted over his forehead glistening with perspiration. The rest of his sleek and thin face was scarred by his tribulations in the Blighted Marshlands, a memento that Lord Cyrus said was an honor to experience.

It didn't feel like it at the time.

His gaze darted to his surroundings, and the familiar comforts of his war tent settled his ailing thoughts. Lord Cyrus's neutral voice echoed in his mind with instructions.

Maintain your composure.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Settle your heartbeat.

It was jarring how easily Arkias took to Cyrus' direction when all evidence to the contrary suggested that he should be consulting his young Lord. Despite most of the Cohort being over twenty years his senior, Cyrus' words contained an insight that could not be overlooked, even if many questioned how someone so young could know so much.

However, the results spoke for themselves.

His mind felt clearer, free of the Legion tactics that Cyrus described as antiquated techniques and an inflexible doctrine that only helped the simple-minded.

Arkias' body felt lighter, stronger, and more durable due to the extreme conditioning and brutal environment of the Blighted Marshlands.

The 10th had been christened as Headhunters under that harsh environment. The swamp was the perfect testing ground for Cyrus to push his men to the breaking point, and he found them all lacking in spirit and devotion.

A few Centurions tried to undermine his command, and they were all given the privilege of being demoted in rank and regulated to sentry duty.

The hardships undertaken by the 10th Cohort eclipsed their training under the 66th's dogmatic Immunes. Centurias were regularly disarmed of their Griycium spears and forced to fight hordes of Gaiseadh until support had arrived.

A few of their number were seriously injured in each attempt, but Cyrus was quick to send in reinforcements before a permanent casualty could be incurred. Arkias and his men breathed a sigh of relief when these near-suicidal isolations were tossed out in favor of forced marches up and down the swampland.

Then things were ramped back up, Centurias were randomly divided into ten squads, and the Blighted Marshlands were cleared out for war games.

The objective of each exercise was simple.

Win by any means necessary.

But achieving victory was difficult for each squad to obtain because, for many Legionnaires, this was their first time working with one another.

Many found themselves begging for a reprieve, but Cyrus gave no compassion to his Legionnaires.

Ghislaine found herself cautioning leniency time and time again, but each attempt went ignored. As the Cohorts Primus Legionnaire, it was his duty to constantly waylay his subordinate's fraying morale.

The Kimaris heir broke down his Cohort, giving them false hope for success before snatching it from their hands. Cracks in command began to form three months into their brutal training before the Legionnaires had enough.

Some felt that Cyrus was overtly harsh, and none of them could understand what they had done to deserve their Lord's ire. Others believed that he took great pleasure in their suffering and accused him of being a sire of House Naberius.

Arkias and his Centurions subsequently silenced these rumors before they reached Cyrus. There was a motion to protest his leadership before Centurion Zorizar argued in his favor.

His dispute was simple in nature. Where was Lord Cyrus during these trials?

The answer settled all debates.

For all his cruelty, Cyrus never allowed his men to venture into the swamp alone. Every mile marched, every trial encountered, and every horror teeming inside the Blighted Marshlands was endured by Cyrus.

Their Lord did not flinch in the face of the Gaiseadh. He did not indulge in more rations than needed and endured under the same sweltering heat and icy winds as the rest.

All trials that a Noble never suffered unless they sought it out.

Nobles had a penchant for spending their journeys within the safe confines of their Argent tents, rarely venturing out into the harsh wastelands their Legions crossed until they reached their destination.

Cyrus refused such luxuries, pitching up his own tent while hearing the cautionary advice of Lady Ghislaine and Primus Arkias.

Their concerns went unheeded, and their Lord has walked by their side through every step of their journey.

A silent question began to linger in the minds of each Legionnaire.

When was the last time a Noble walked amongst them?

Never.

Lord Cyrus is a peculiar character.

Before donning his helmet and strapping his Griycium spear to his back, Arkias meticulously fitted his Legion armor to his body, ensuring that every component was securely fastened.

A Legion courier passed him a situational report on the 10th Cohort's latest raid on the insurgents local to Nova Babylon.

He and his Legionnaires were entering their second week inside the confines of Nova Babylon, but the situation had not improved to his liking. The city was a maze of sub-districts and regional zones that fell under the influence of multiple Nobles, some of which weren't even in the city.

Arnath Sachia held overall command of the civilian areas, but a few of these boroughs limited even his power. Devils are creatures that take pride in their possessions, and this often extends to their neighborhoods.

Nova Babylon was proving to be his most formidable challenge in rooting out the scores of House Nebiros agents plaguing their captured territories.

Arkias gave the missive a perpetual stare, taking great care to analyze those Legionnaires listed on the casualty report. Six Guardsmen of the 2nd Centuria suffered minor wounds, while a seventh was critically injured.

The 2nd's Centurion, a mountain of a Devil named Silgemez, led twenty Guardsmen on a direct assault of a brothel in the slums. Initial contact was made just outside the establishment, and the Legionnaires clashed with several insurgents before breaching the target building.

Aside from a suicide attack that killed the culprit and ripped one of Silgemez's Guardsmen's leg off, everything appeared to have gone according to plan. They arrested several conspirators and a Devil with ties to a local Noble House native to the Market district.

However, as Arkias reached the end of the report, his eyes widened at a section written by Silgemez himself. A critical detail concerning one of the captives was concealed behind an arcane spell meant for Cyrus alone.

Arkias wasted no time reaching his Lord's pavilion, quickly picking out the command tent at the center of the 10th Cohort's barracks in the government quarter.

On Cyrus' instructions, the Centurions were allocated lodgings meant for Nobles, while the remainder of their Guardsmen were assigned modest quarters that most were not used to experiencing.

Arkais found his Lord mulling over a dozen other reports from his Cohort while eyeing an overhead view of Nova Babylon etched on the war table.

Cyrus appeared and felt older than he actually was. One could be forgiven if they mistook him for an adolescent on the cusp of manhood when he was only eight years old, a consequence of unlocking his ancestral power at such a young age.

At the onset of the 10th's first week with Cyrus at the helm, the Legionnaires had to constantly remind themselves that he was their superior.

It didn't take long for them to remember their place on instinct.

"Arkias." Cyrus greeted his Primus before seeing the scroll slide across the war table.

"You need to see this." Crimson eyes regarded him with curiosity before they dropped toward Centurion Silgemez's report. Cyrus scanned the document with a narrowed gaze before waving his hand over the magically concealed section.

A fire in his eyes could not be ignored, and Arkias made a point to stare at a random spot in Cyrus's command tent. A sudden swirl of emotion consumed the pavilion before it was snuffed out completely.

"Where is Lady Gremory?" The sudden inquiry wrestled Arkias from his thoughts as a pair of crimson orbs bore into him.

"She resides within the government quarter, directing her Cohort from the palace." Cyrus' snort of amusement caught Arkias somewhat off guard.

"She demands results but can't be bothered to leave her ivory tower." The Primus, at a loss for words, speaking ill of a Noble no matter the circumstances, was an affront that could lead to a Devil's death.

It was just another quirk on their Lord's lengthy list of oddities. Cyrus pushed off the war table and rummaged through a wardrobe holding a mix-matched collection of clothing ranging from aristocratic attire to 66th Legion armor.

Arkias ignored the relieved sigh as Cyrus slid a concealing hood around his head. His Lord despised attention, an unusual attitude given his status as a Devil Noble, and would frequently emerge from his command tent wrapped in carapace armor.

"Make for the palace and have Lady Gremory meet me in the detention center," Cyrus smoothed out the minor kinks in his armor and turned towards Arkias. "Do you know where my sister is?"

"Lady Ghislaine is in her tent." The Primus shuffled in place, drawing Cyrus's curiosity.

"… Doing what?" Arkias remained silent, unwilling to further involve himself in Ghislaine's eccentric behavior.

The woman frightened him far too much.

"Go to the palace," Cyrus let out a frustrated exhale. "I'll handle my sister."

"As you command." Arkais saluted his Lord and darted off to the government quarter, leaving Cyrus to contemplate the insanity of the last few minutes in relative peace, albeit with a shadow in his wake.

"Karal." A Night Warden stepped out of the darkness. His Griycium spear was held tightly in his hands, and a black cloak covered most of his armored form.

Cyrus handed the document to his bodyguard, who diligently read its classified contents. "Head to the detention center and lock it down. No one gets in, and no one gets out."

"Yes, my lord." Cyrus burst from his tent, making a beeline towards Ghislaine's pavilion, as the Night Warden vanished into the shadows in a blink. Two Guardsmen assigned to his protection detail trailed his stern, mindful of his every move and critical of his surroundings.

He traversed the camp, exchanging respectful nods with his Legionnaires while watching for Ghislaine's tent. He found his destination because her Night Warden was outside the pavilion looking particularly irritated.

The Night Warden, a raven-haired devil named Sarkoth, was more lenient than the rest of Cedric's elite guard. She was closer to Ghislaine's age than the rest of her compatriots, and her designation as the Nekoshu's bodyguard was both a blessing and a curse.

Ghislaine irritated Sarkoth by bringing Legionnaires into her tent for… sapphic activities when her itch needed scratching. The Nekoshu did not allow spectators during her lust-filled antics, which conflicted with Sarkoth's responsibilities.

The Night Warden's posture, a mix of maintaining her obligations and sexual frustration, was the personification of outrage. Cyrus motioned for his protection detail to wait at a distance while approaching Sarkoth.

As soon as he came into view, she let out an exhale of relief at his approach.

"Warden," Cyrus greeted the bodyguard with a courteous nod, ignoring the screams and groans of carnal pleasure behind her. "Who's she with?"

"Centurion Mernith." Cyrus snorted with amusement at Sarkoth, throwing the off-duty Centurion under the bus.

Mernith led the 3rd Centuria, and her men were on a much-needed furlough after two months of constant action.

He did not mind the Centurion experiencing the pleasures of the flesh with Ghislaine because there was little Cyrus could do to dissuade them. He was still getting acclimated to the Devil's lack of moral complexities, and shagging one another at any hour of the day was commonplace in their downtime.

Ghislaine's only mistake was not settling her lust earlier.

The padded floor was covered with various articles of clothing and armor, producing a trail of fabric and carapace that led to the bed, which was currently… occupied.

Ghislaine sat on the edge of her furnishing, naked for all to see, and her eyes closed in blissful ignorance. The… Centurion was bare most of her clothing from the waist up and currently servicing his older sister… extensively.

The silver-haired beauty tightly gripped her bedsheets and let out a heavy breath, the hitch in her voice raising with Mernith's decisive actions.

Cyrus shuffled awkwardly in place. He nearly had his eyeballs ripped out the last time he disrupted her… sessions, not because he looked, but because he interrupted her… climax.

He really hated these people sometimes.

Mernith's nails clawed into Ghislaine's delectable thighs, and the Nekoshu's back arched, making her breasts stick out even more than usual.

Her Nekoshu ears started twitching with every jolt riveting through her body. She screamed as loud as her throat would allow, forcing Mernith to grasp her heaving breasts for balance.

Ghislaine's eyes adjusted as she saw a fiery brunette woman bathed in her own fluids, a stunning grin on her face, and her breath heavy with each exhale.

Mernith's lips licked her toned body all the way up till they met Ghilsaine's. As their lips touched, they clutched one other's hair and clashed in a savage exchange. After several minutes of passionate embrace, Ghislaine tore her lips away, causing Mernith to groan heatedly.

"Enjoy the show?" Ghislaine's eyes ebbed away from her lover to the object of her sisterly affection.

"Not particularly." Cyrus's curt tone caused Mernith's lust-filled haze to vanish as she turned to see her Lord standing with a dissatisfied expression.

Incredulously, the Centurion's training kicked in, and she sprung away from Ghislaine, saluting Cyrus while his sister's fluids dripped from her chin.

Cyrus stared at the Centurion with exasperation in his gaze.

A piece of him wanted to run Mernith and her Centuria through the crucible again for the sake of it.

But more pressing matters took priority.

"You're dismissed. Centurion ." Mernith quickly threw her armor on and escaped the tent like her life depended on it.

It didn't, but she didn't need to know that.

All the while, Ghislaine stared at him in amusement before an article of clothing was thrown in her face.

"If you were so uncomfortable." She began while sliding her delectable legs through a pair of breeches. "You could have waited outside for me to finish."

"Then you would have kept going," Cyrus countered."And I am not in a patient mood."

"When are you ever in a patient mood." Rather than answering, he waited for her to finish getting dressed before handing her a pair of finely crafted daggers.

Ghislaine made a show of taking her knives by cupping his outstretched hands in hers and stepping into his personal space.

"Where are we going?" She whispered, hot breath falling upon his cheek.

"The detention center," Cyrus informed, untangling himself from her grasp. "Silgemez came back with prisoners this morning."

The Nekoshu clicked her tongue in annoyance. "This bastard better be a Nebiros Skinwalker, or I may tear your balls off, Cyrus."

"It's not a Skinwalker…." Ghislaine's eyes brimmed with momentary fury before his following words froze her solid.

"… It's a Fallen."

l==l

A Grigori agent within their borders might be more than a simple source of concern.

The Great War did not end; it merely shifted into an uneasy stalemate as the three factions faced a world devoid of God and Samael.

This wouldn't be the first time a Fallen Angel was found snooping around in places they didn't belong. Each of the three factions had a passive espionage network consisting of assets deeply embedded in one another's territory so they could keep tabs on one another.

A foreign spy infiltrating their borders and being apprehended during a raid on an insurgent safe house, on the other hand, converted a minor espionage allegation into a major political crisis that threatened to rekindle hostilities.

Nova Babylon was quickly turning into more than what Cyrus bargained for.

The fact that the captive crow was a crucial figure in the Grigori did not help matters. Behind a heavy set of magically induced bars, the Fallen was confined in chains that sapped her divine energy.

Ghislaine stood at his side, and for once, her easygoing expression was replaced by pure iron. His sister had a poor impression of the crow considering she was the perpetrator of the scar hovering above her navel.

Her eyes were filled with a potent rage that felt disturbingly out of place. Ghislaine's judgment was compromised for the first time, and her subsequent acts may be unpredictable.

"How long has it been?" Cyrus watched the emotion play out in his sister's eyes.

"Long enough," Ghislaine replied with a clipped tone. "The Crow led a pathfinder sortie for two Grigori Legions pushing for Uvall. My Cohort and I intercepted her team just outside the city limits."

Cyrus frequently overlooked that Ghislaine was nearly a century old and had participated in the Great War's violent conclusion. He wondered how many physical and mental scars that conflict had etched into her psyche.

"She…" Ghislaine hesitated, eyes watering as a flood of repressed memories overcame her. "… She tore us apart. I lost half my Cohort in an hour, and if Jade hadn't shown up, I would have died on some frozen field."

"Penemune." The name tasted like ash in Ghislaine's mouth. "The Butcher of Uvall."

The Fallen raised her head instinctively, locking eyes with the Nekoshu, who returned her stare with contempt. Penemune held her gaze before dismissing the enraged Ghislaine with a huff and finding the ceiling far more interesting.

A flood of evil arcana threatened to erupt from Ghislaine, and she was moments away from breaching the cage and tearing the Fallen a new one when Cyrus intervened.

Seconds before Ghislaine could activate her Dubhra Sleagh, Cyrus wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her out of Penemune's sight. He needed the fallen alive and well if he was going to find out why she was here in the first place.

"Get off me!" Ghislaine barred her fangs, but Cyrus pressed his frame flush against her.

"I need you to calm down." She growled at him, her teeth inches away from gnawing into his cheek. "Ghislaine!"

Her arms slipped free from his hold, but Cyrus shifted his hands and pinned them against her chest. His right leg curled around the back of her knee and confined the limbs together.

"Get off!" Ghislaine's tenacity swelled tenfold, nothing was working, and he could sense the Night Wardens inching closer to them. A pulse of arcana kept them from interfering, allowing Cyrus to go in a different direction.

"No." He leaned closer, pushing the crown of his forehead into Ghislaine's and mingling his stabilizing arcana with her fraying network. The Nekoshu's nature as an empath allowed Cyrus to sync their heartbeats and stabilize her nerves. "Focus on me. Not her."

"Breath, Ghislaine. Match my breathing and relax." Her emotions were driven by the mental scars of the Great War, and some of those traumas were replicated by the fallen confined in chains.

Cyrus continued to pour his soothing arcana into her system, slowly but surely, the fury and anger washed away.

As the last remnants of silence delivered their final pulses, Ghislaine's eyes regained their former light. She blinked once, then closed and leaned their heads tenderly against one other, their breaths mixed into winded yet content peace.

Her posture was despondent and listless, but Cyrus would have none of it. He gripped Ghislaine's chin and forced her to look him in the eye.

"You still with me?" The Nekoshu nodded in acceptance, unable or unwilling to find her voice. Asking Ghislaine to remain in Penemune's presence was asking too much, and right now, his sister didn't need to be anywhere near this Fallen.

"Sarkoth." The Night Warden emerged from the dark, her focus darting from their imprisoned crow to her charge at random intervals. "Take her for a walk."

Sarkoth nodded and gently took Ghislaine by the arm. The Nekoshu hesitated at first, but a whispered plea from Cyrus settled all debate.

He watched his sister vacate the room, and only when they disappeared did he release a sigh of relief.

The Fallen found his reaction… amusing.

"Come closer, little devil." A velvety voice echoed from the isolated chamber, and Karal stepped into the light with a heavy grip on his Griycium spear. The Night Warden understood the risks that came with engaging the Fallen directly. Even in her passive state, the power rolling off Penemune's frame was damn near palpable.

Cyrus couldn't quite comprehend how Centurion Silgemez didn't recognize who he was transporting to the detention center.

The Devil was luckier than he realized.

He stepped into the crow's line of sight, allowing him an unfiltered view of Penemue's sinful looks.

She looked no older than her late twenties with long, flowing violet hair that reached down to the small of her back. Her bright violet eyes and pale skin accentuated her perfectly angled jaw and heavenly features. The loose fabric from her clothing perfectly concealed her enviable assets and flawless skin.

Penemue was the definition of sex, but that was the entire point of her creation, whether or not her creator wanted it to be.

"Crow." His clipped and severe tone only seemed to amuse Penemue.

"You're different from the rest of your kind." She began with a tilt of her head. "Far more… balanced than I'm used to handling. It would be best if you let the girl try her hand. She looks like she needs to relieve some stress."

"You would've liked that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course." Penemue spread her arms out in jest. "The pleasures of captivity can only be truly enjoyed when someone's trying to kill you. The last time I was in Nova Babylon was at the head of an army. Now I'm here acting as a tourist."

"I doubt the tourist angle would have worked much longer," Cyrus stated. "Someone like you was bound to make a mistake sooner or later."

"Please, little Devil." Penemue disagreed, standing to her feet and straining the iron on her restraints. "Your kind are easily influenced by their baser instincts. All of you are overconfident, naive, and amusingly abrasive."

"Not all of us." She clicked her tongue in amusement at Cyrus's remark. Penemue gradually leaked her pheromones into the air during their banter, hoping to convert him into a chew toy.

Nothing worked on him, but that stout resistance only intrigued her further.

"No. Not all of you." Her violet eyes bore into his crimson orbs with interest. "What's your name, little Devil?"

"Cyrus." He didn't see the harm in divulging that much information.

"Of House Kimaris?" The shadows subconsciously licked at Cyrus's frame, whether or not he wanted them. "How is your father? I haven't seen him since we crossed swords at the Siege of Heaven."

"He's preoccupied with Bashalum and his Loyalists." Cyrus eyed Penemue with suspicion. A question was gnawing at the back of his mind as his gaze fell on her restraints.

Penemue was one of the most potent crows in the Grigori's employ, with ten wings signifying her status. The Fallen remained bound by her free will, not because these bindings kept her in place.

Her… perceived vulnerability had alarm bells ringing at the back of his head.

Cyrus felt like he was being played.

"Why are you here, Crow?" He began. "You could break out of those bindings at any moment. Why allow yourself to be taken?"

"Maybe I like being in chains." Penemue's wicked grin would have most sentient beings weak at their knees.

"Spare me your patronizing words," Cyrus rumbled out. "I'm not one of your toys, and I have more important things to do than trade banter with you."

"Can't humor a woman?"

"I don't see a woman." Cyrus bit back with venom. "I see an annoying fly."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Penemue rose to her feet, shattering the shackles fastened to her wrists with practical ease. Karal grasped his Griycium spear and was only seconds from striking her down when Cyrus halted his motion with a glance.

If the Fallen wanted to kill either of them, they would have been dead long before they walked into the room.

Penemue slipped through the iron bars with a satisfied grin as she rendered the metal into dust. Cyrus found himself face to face with one of the most formidable Crows in history, and most devils would have already fled for the hills.

He didn't.

A dainty hand traced Cyrus's jaw, and he stopped himself from cringing on instinct.

"You remind me of one of my sisters," Penemue remarked while her free hand grasped his shoulder. "She has the same look in her eye that you do… A calamity she carries with her at all times that's… mystifying."

Penemue delved into those crimson orbs and found a spirit that didn't belong to the body of a devil. Cyrus was genuinely captivating, and a piece of her wanted to spirit him away to Erebus for… thorough examination.

But alas, she wasn't here to make enemies of devils.

Well, not these devils.

A cough drew Penemue's attention away from Cyrus, and her gaze fell upon a familiar… friend.

Venelana Gremory stood at the entrance with a less-than-pleased expression. Two of her Praetorian guards joined Karal in surrounding the formerly captive Fallen with Griycium spears.

"Do let go of my Nephew, Penemue." The Gremory admonished. "I'd hate to cut that pretty little head off."

Penemue gently withdrew her offending hands as Venelana closed the distance. She gently ushered Cyrus behind her, putting valuable space between her nephew and the Fallen.

Elerin would have her head if she found out the Butcher of Uvall was within arm's length of her only son.

It was best not to tell Elerin if she could help it.

"Leave us." Venelana ordered her Praetorians while Cyrus gestured for Karal to do the same. The Night Warden severely disagreed with his Lord's command but reluctantly acquiesced.

Once Karal stepped out of the room, Venelana conjured a privacy spell around the unlikely trio. Penemue removed the dirty rags from her exquisite frame before a shimmer of arcana basked her in Fallen threads.

Cyrus thought her new attire to be entirely disgusting and ineffective. In his opinion, she dressed more like a whore, but he would never express it for her to hear. The knowing glance from Penemue indicated that even his private thoughts weren't safe.

"What did you find out?" Cyrus was seconds away from answering Venelana's inquiry when he realized the question wasn't meant for him.

It was directed at Penemue.

The revelation that Venelana Gremory was working with a Fallen Angel surprised him.

Maybe she wasn't as lethargic as he thought.

"Satanael was in Nova Babylon." Penemue supplied. "He left last night after speaking with Viktor Nebiros for-."

"Viktor is here?" Cyrus interrupted, drawing a sharp nod from Venelana.

"Your father sent you here because I asked him to." The Gremory Matriarch informed. "Your efforts in Tophet and the other loyalist towns have proven to be the only effective countermeasure to Nebiros insurgents. You are here to help me cut off the head of the snake."

"And what about her?" Cyrus gestured to the Fallen Angel. "Why is a Cadre willing to work with us."

"Because Sataneal wants to instigate another Great War with Heaven, and he believes the Loyalists can help him," Penemue replied with a stretch of her arms. "Azazel doesn't want a continuance to the violence, so he sent me here to make contact with Venelana. She previously worked with us for prisoner exchanges after the Siege of Heaven."

"So, is this a joint operation?" Both women let out a chortle of laughter at his assumption.

"No," Venelana replied. "Officially, she's still in Erebus acting as Azazel's secretary. A very fitting role, in my opinion."

Penemue flipped the Gremory Matriarch a nasty glance but did not comment on Venelana's remark. "Unofficially, I'm here to bring back any Fallen assisting the Loyalists for trial. Azazel doesn't want to jeopardize relations between our people by having rogue agents sabotaging his peace efforts."

"If Sataneal is gone, your presence is no longer required."

"If only it were that easy." Penemue waved her hands and produced a still image of a fallen angel speaking intently with Viktor Nebiros. "My fellow Cadre and I aren't the only Fallen in Nova Babylon."

"Hadriel." Cyrus didn't recognize the name, but Lady Gremory did. "I was wondering when he'd resurface."

"I've never heard of him."

"Few have," Penemue replied. "He spent most of the war in Erebus coordinating our logistics branch and was very good at his job. He is a liaison between Staneal and Viktor while maintaining the latter's supply network."

"His presence would explain why Nova Babylon's insurgents have been so well equipped." Venelana frowned in thought, she had hoped that Penemue would have had better news, but that was not to be.

"We need to head back to the palace…." Venelana tore down the privacy bubble and motioned for them to follow. "… We have work to do."

Penemue was first to follow, brushing against Cyrus's arm and offering him a smoldering wink. He scowled in response and soon found himself trailing behind the Gremory as the Fallen concealed herself from inquiring eyes.

This civil war just got a lot more complicated.

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

Cyrus was in a state of pure delirium.

His consciousness faded in and out, manifesting into a numbing sensation. In other moments he felt his body floating through an imperceivable darkness.

His mind drifted, and his senses played tricks on him.

One second, he was back on the streets of Ferax; in another, he was knee-deep in Covenant bodies trying to climb out of the suffocating space.

A haunting voice in the darkness beckoned him forward.

I HAVE WALKED AMONG MEN AND ANGELS

The message repeated over and over in a timeless loop. Something called to Cyrus, seeking to drive him into the same madness it exuberated.

A rough hand dragged him from his toiling slumber, and a pair of amber orbs glanced down in concern.

"Time to wake up, brother." Ghislaine comfortably whispered into his ear, allowing the tension in his arms to whither a fade as Karal watched their Fallen guest closely.

It took Cyrus a few moments to remember that their environment was no longer the cushy Government quarters but instead the district where the forgotten lived.

It's also where Viktor hid his insurgents.

The slums district was one of the most dangerous assignments for a Legionnaire during the 56th Legion's occupation of Nova Babylon. The Centurias assigned to this sector were often forced to deploy en masse to avoid unnecessary casualties.

The negligence of Nova Babylon's Nobles only escalated the anarchy within the slums. In the past, Legionnaires were sent in to pacify any foolish devil that dared to stake their claim as sole ruler of the district.

Patrols would tick up in frequency, and martial law would be enforced until the Nobles deemed their soldier's efforts to curtail the insurrection adequate enough to order a withdrawal. That directive often only came after the body count was sufficient enough to remind everyone in the district of their place in the city's social hierarchy.

Beneath the boots of their lords.

The slums were ripe pickings for rebellion, and Cyrus knew that the Skin Walkers were using this district as a staging ground. His main problem was obtaining reliable information that constituted a significant deployment.

To send the 10th Cohort blindly into that viper's nest would do nothing but get most of his men killed in the process. The slums were the largest and most densely populated district in Nova Babylon, and 3,000 Legionnaires alone weren't going to cut it when push came to shove.

Venelana would not dare to march on the slums without sacrificing the majority of her garrison, and Viktor Nebiros had enough spies within their ranks to assure that every conventional sortie into the district would fail.

But he couldn't predict a new Cohort arriving in the city practically unannounced and a Cadre sent by Azazel himself to curtail his efforts.

Penemune managed to locate one of their main encampments deep within the slums, but Cyrus wanted a visual confirmation of Viktor Nebiros and his Fallen collaborator before committing his men.

Karal and Ghislaine severely disagreed with his decision to trust the Fallen Angel to this extent, but Cyrus would have none of it. He didn't tolerate inaction on his part, and as his Cohort had come to understand, there was no chance that Cyrus would send his men into the abyss without scouting it out first.

He appeased the duo by allowing them to join their reconnaissance mission as long as they remained silent.

A decision Cyrus was slowly starting to regret on account of Ghislaine's constant griping. Karal's role as Night Warden made this task a breeze since he could quickly shift into his shadow and still maintain his duty as his protector.

Ghislaine was much more difficult to handle.

"I don't like this." Cyrus shot his sister an annoyed glance.

The trio were wedged within the confines of a claustrophobic alleyway within the slums district, desperately trying to avoid as many eyes as possible.

Viktor almost certainly had lookouts stationed amongst the civilian population, and even a fleeting sight of Legionnaires could set off an alarm and drive the Nebiros back into hiding.

That could not happen, and Ghislaine's vocal distrust of Penemune constantly hampered their attempts at subtly. It certainly didn't help that his sister spent most of her time glaring at the back of the crow's head and not watching her surroundings.

"You don't have to like it," Cyrus scolded under his breath, drawing an amused glance from the Fallen. "But you're going to deal with it."

Penemune's nature as a Cadre was a closely guarded secret, considering the Fallen's reputation as a Devil-Killer. Her deeds during the Great War solidified her infamy among the Legions, earning her the nickname "Butcher of Uvall."

Ghislaine's brimmed with silent fury and a flash of pain at his cutting words. "I thought you, of all people, would understand my… our position."

The Devil's hatred for their Fallen counterparts could be understood considering his own prejudices concerning the Covenant, but the enemy of my enemy was my friend in this circumstance, even if that saying cut both ways.

However, Cyrus didn't care if his men inevitably disagreed with his decision to work with the crow.

As far as his Centurions were concerned, Penemune was a low-level mercenary on Venelana's payroll, and she was afforded certain luxuries.

Fallen Mercenaries were a common theme in the Underworld during the Civil War, but the Loyalists didn't employ these mercs because the entire reason for this internal conflict was to reengage the Great War.

Employing Fallen Mercs went against their ideals and quite possibly would make them out to be hypocrites. This was why Hadriel willingly working with Viktor Nebiros, even in secret, was cause for alarm, and that suspicion was only escalated by Satanael operating inside the city.

It didn't make sense on a political scale, but right now, all that mattered was tearing down Viktor Nebiros's insurgent network, and if that meant killing a Fallen Angel in the process, then Cyrus was all for it.

"I do understand." The Spartan stressed. "But we don't have the luxury of arguing against this judgment. It was made long before we arrived here, and Cedric has already signed off on this operation."

"Just keep her away from me," Ghislaine's words struck a chord within Cyrus. He didn't have time for her attitude and severe lack of discipline right about now, so he opted to remove her from the equation before she became a bigger problem.

Cyrus grew tired of appeasing everyone around him.

"Head back to the camp and get the Cohort ready for deployment." The Nekoshu went to argue, but the admonishing glare kept her silent. "Once we receive confirmation that Viktor is inside the slums, I will need every Legionnaire to lock down the district."

Ghislaine hesitated, trading uneven glances between him and Penemune before growling in frustration and disappearing down the alleyway. He kept silent, but the Crow bristled with amusement at their argument.

The pair traveled wordlessly, dodging civilians and armed insurrectionists alike before scaling a two-story building overlooking the sprawling district.

Cyrus was just getting used to the quiet before Penemune decided to open her mouth. "Your sister doesn't seem to like me."

"I can't imagine why." He glanced at the Fallen from the corner of his eye with discontent. "You butchered her Cohort in a field outside Uvall. She has every reason to hate you."

"But you don't share her sentiments."

"I was barely a twinkle in my father's eye back then. A hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge." Cyrus didn't miss the hypocrisy in his words considering his own eternal hatred of the Covenant.

"A hundred years isn't long enough for a devil to forget." Penemune admonished with a coy smile. "Maybe a human considering their short life spans, but you wouldn't know anything about that, little Devil?"

This conversation started to delve into areas Cyrus didn't want to visit. Her words constantly alluded to the stark difference between himself and his kin.

"Enough talk, Crow." He needed to head off this line of thinking before Penemune started hitting the nail in the coffin. "The sooner we snatch Viktor and Hadriel, the sooner you'll be back in Erebus, and I can return to the front."

Cyrus was in the midst of turning away when a hand gently seized his shoulder. Karal nearly jumped from his shadow in retaliation, but a burst of arcana from his charge kept him in place.

Penemune's slender arm slithered across his shoulders to respond to his placating actions until her side was pressed firmly against his. Cyrus sneered at their close proximity, but she again ignored his discomfort.

"Is all this cloak and dagger not your forte?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"It just so happens that I do." Her eyes and demeanor shifted into pure compassion and understanding he was ill-prepared for. "Are you sure you're a Pureblood?"

Penemune wasn't probing for the sake of her amusement.

She challenged the assertion that one of his parents hadn't decided to partake in the forbidden fruit of bearing a Hybrid.

It wasn't the first time someone doubted his legitimacy as a true son of Kimaris.

"Completely." Cyrus rebuked her inquiry and extracted himself from her grasp. "Why do you keep asking me these questions?"

"You don't act like one." All manner of taunting was absent in Penemune's voice. "Your tolerance of me is astounding because most of your kind can't stand a Fallen. It's suffocating for you devils, and your natural instinct is to butcher me until nothing but sacks of meat remain. However, with you, it's different. Why is that?"

"Irrelevant." He put some distance between them, but the Fallen could find the slightest hitch in his step that only seemed to embolden her further.

"I say otherwise, Little Devil, and I'm certain you know what I'm talking about. You're just neglecting to share."

"What gave you that idea?" Cyrus reproached, earning a cheshire grin from Penemune. "Was it me constantly dodging the question with silence?"

"Something like that." He stepped into her guard, momentarily surprising the Fallen before her expression fell at ease.

"Then let me rephrase it for your tiny brain to understand." The Spartan spoke with disdain that surprised Karal as much as Penemune. "My personal life is immaterial to the mission, so let's focus on that instead of me."

"As you wish." She gave in to his demands but did so of her own accord and not because he demanded it. "Follow me. The insurgent camp isn't far from here.

Penemune turned on her heel, stepping off the edge of their rooftop and billowing her wings at the last moment to avoid colliding with an adjacent structure. Cyrus expanded his arcana, manipulating every speck of darkness in plain view, and shadowed the Fallen's flight path.

She led him into the easternmost parts of the slums, where the district's lawless nature became evident in the oddest ways. Cyrus was used to the racketing of civilians going about their daily lives, but you could hear a pin drop for miles in this isolated section of Nova Babylon.

Fear was a prevalent emotion that seeped into the very walls of each rundown building and cracked roadway. Insurrectionists patrolled every inch of space, their civilian attire marred by poorly maintained carapace armor and the horned helmets covering their faces.

Cyrus easily avoided each sweeping patrol, ducking in and out of the shadows before anyone caught a glimpse of his figure.

Penemune led him to a corner building a hundred meters from a makeshift checkpoint guarding the main encampment. Unlike its tranquil surroundings, the encampment occupants seemed to revel in the regular debauchery fit Devil nightlife.

The two glided through the building, clearing it of insurgents, before crouching behind a series of windows to observe the campsite from a safe distance.

Cyrus kept count of their manpower; by now, he'd already reached nearly two hundred militants. Not for the first time, he silently wondered how Penemune got this far without triggering some response.

Penemune's perceptive violet orbs noticed his silent musings.

"I was invited by a retinue of officers under Viktor's command for my…." The Fallen gestured to the black-feathered wings attached to her back. "… Exotic physique."

The scowl etched into Cyrus's expression brought a mesmerizing mirth to Penemune and further soured his mood.

In hindsight, he should have known that the only reason a Devil would ever tolerate a Fallen was their desire to satiate their lust. These creatures are far too easily subdued by their sentiments, and quite honestly, it annoyed Cyrus's militant mindset.

"And Sataneal didn't notice your presence." One would think they could make out their colleague suddenly attending their….festivities.

"Well, he was busy with a nice pair of tits in his hands," Penemune muttered under her breath, drawing an unimpressed glance from Cyrus.

While she waited for a shift change at the checkpoints, he pulsed his arcana and linked his mind with his sister. Ghislaine finally reached the Legion's encampment and prepared them for immediate rapid action deployment.

A staple tactic of the 66th Legion was to utilize a technique called Caiseag Sgàil, Shadow step in common tongue. This method creates temporary portals stable enough to transport men and equipment over a limited distance. It requires two Kimaris users to sync their arcana and conjure a connection between these gateways.

One of the many skills that made the Black Guards of Kimaris stand out amongst their sister Legions.

"Ghislaine." Cyrus felt a dark haze consume his vision, and within mere moments he found a pair of familiar crimson orbs staring back at him. "Are you in position?"

"The Cohort is ready and waiting." The Nekoshu replied. "Lady Gremory has tasked her Cohorts to storm the district once we've made contact. You have 12,000 Legionnaires ready to take this Loyalist Stronghold. You need only pave the way for us."

"Understood. Standby for deployment." Cyrus momentarily disconnected the connection and turned towards Penemune. "How many Loyalists were inside the camp during your… prolonged stay?"

"A little over a thousand." The Fallen supplied without hesitation. "Outside the perimeter are around six hundred guards meant to keep an eye out for people like us, but they did a shit job tonight."

"Their mistakes are to our benefit, and it's up to us to exploit them." Black tendrils of darkness expanded in all directions seeking out every Insurgent toiling within the confines of their encampment.

Penemune placed their total manpower at over a thousand, but as Cyrus latched onto the shadows of each Devil, he found the exact number closer to fifteen hundred.

He utilized their shadows like beacons in his mind, mapping out the estimated details and size of their encampment to deduce the most effective locations to deploy the 10th and establish a chokehold around the insurgent base.

Viktor and his officers were in a heated discussion at the heart of the encampment. The Nebiros Heir was leaning over a war table with beads of sweat trailing down his forehead and a startled look that put Cyrus on edge.

He manipulated the black tendrils into one, allowing him to hear the exact nature of Viktor's anxiety.

"I want the watch doubled." Viktor bit out with strains of fear in his voice. "If that fallen angel bitch shows up again, our position here will be compromised!"

An Insurgent officer stepped forward, drawing Viktor's attention. "What if she goes to the Kimaris boy? He wouldn't hesitate to attack our stronghold even if a Cadre gave him the information."

"She wouldn't dare." Another officer spoke up. "The six-winged whore would be accused of espionage, and her presence violates the temporary cease-fire agreement signed by Azazel and the Renegade Government."

Cyrus snorted at the Insurgent's misinformed opinion. They believed the crow to be a Fallen agent, not a Cadre that could flatten the district in a blink. He was set to return to his previous task when the same officer threw out an inquiry.

"What about Hadriel? What are we to do with him?" The Spartan's eyes subtly narrowed on Penemune.

"We should kill him." A red-haired insurgent announced with glee before her compatriots shot down her assertion.

"We were fortunate that the Fallen whore only slaughtered twenty of our men before she escaped into the slums yesterday." Now that was a bit of new information that intrigued Cyrus, but before anyone else could go into detail, Viktor dismissed his officers and retreated into his cabin.

According to Penemune, she didn't make contact with the Insurgents and managed to slip away before anyone was the wiser.

Clearly, that was a lie she perpetrated, but the reasons for her deception were… peculiar.

The Spartan found it increasingly odd that there was no mention of Sataneal and his coincidental departure overlapping with another Cadre infiltrating their stronghold.

To further confound his perceptions of Penemune, Hadriel was seemingly held captive instead of acting as a collaborator he and Lady Gremory were led to believe.

Cyrus quietly contemplated the odd circumstances as he placed the final pieces to his Caiseag Sgàil for the Legionnaires to utilize.

Why would Sataneal willingly work with the Loyalists?

There was no conceivable logic to the Fallen angel's actions.

Even though Sataneal holds a profound animosity for his Heavenly kin, he still sided with the wrong faction.

At the very least, Cedric and the other Praetors would uphold the deal on principle, while the Loyalists would stab him in the back at their first opportunity.

So the question remained why is Sataneal working with the Loyalists?

Hadriel was little more than a logistics wizard, but Sataneal was one of the Grigori's best field generals.

Cyrus found many reports detailing his actions during the Great War. His contemporaries and rivals held him in high regard, but his fanatical loyalty to Azazel set him apart from the rest of the Fallen.

However, this loyalty was supposedly rattled after Azazel withdrew his forces back to their homeland when victory was within their grasp. From then on, there was little activity from Sataneal besides participating in a few skirmishes along the border.

There was a piece to the puzzle that Cyrus was missing, and his mind raced to fill in the missing parts.

In his distant past, he hunted and interrogated Insurrectionist leaders and agents. Locating these deviants required understanding their impulses and motivations, leading them to take up the sword.

To know your enemy, you must understand why they fight.

Cyrus glanced towards Penemune as her words echoed to the front of his mind.

" Sataneal wants to instigate another Great War with Heaven, and he believes the Loyalist can help him."

Sataneal…..

The Loyalists….

Their goals align….

But they also contradict one another….

Wait….

"Penemune." The Fallen's attention was torn from the encampment, and an effortless smile graced her succulent lips.

"Oh, you're using my name now. We must be making progress in our relationship." He ignored her taunting remarks and subtly gestured a signal that only Karal would understand with his right hand.

"When did Sataneal leave?" Her brows furrowed with confusion.

"Yesterday after I departed the encampment." Cyrus shifted his left foot back, drawing a curious glance from the Fallen, but otherwise, she remained passive.

"And why is he working with Viktor?"

"Because Sataneal is a fool that wants to start another Great War." Penemune shrugged off with a smile. "Why is that so hard to understand, little Devil."

"It wasn't."

At the slightest twitch of Cyrus's finger, Karal slipped from his shadow and fell upon the Fallen Angel, taking her entirely by surprise.

The Night Warden dug the center of his Griycium spear underneath her chin and drove her into the far wall forcing Penemune back with a vicious snarl.

"What are you doing!"

A black tendril dug into her throat, and Cyrus glared at her with a piercing stare, silencing her outrage in one fell swoop.

"You lied to me about Hadriel." The Spartan whispered just loud enough for her ears to pick up. "Viktor had him locked up in a cell when you told me he was a collaborator. "

"I can assure you that-"

"Let me paint a picture for you, Crow. Hadriel is a two-winged fallen who's good for logistics and nothing else. He is weak enough to be considered an ant, but his talents are useful to Viktor. If a Cadre approached the Loyalists, they would use that meeting against you to throw the Devils into a frenzy."

Cyrus was damn near certain that Bashalum would use the attempt at political interference from the other factions to his benefit.

Devils are prideful creatures, and the mere thought that the Angels would interfere in their business was a crime they would not stand for.

The Renegade's entire philosophy is to achieve peace by any means, but it only works so long as Heaven and the Grigori stay out of the Civil War. That's why Venelana is willing to work with you in silence, and that's why Cedric signed off on it.

Azazel can disavow the actions of a soldier but not a former high-ranking member of the Grigori, and he would sooner kill Sataneal than let him within an inch of Devil territory.

The resignation in Penemune's eyes only seemed to press home the reality of their situation.

"You're not here to arrest Hadriel for treason. You're here to pull him out before he gets killed and his death brings another Great War. Sataneal was never here, just like you're not supposed to be."

He didn't doubt for a second that Lady Gremory and Cedric knew the true purpose of Penemune's presence. In fact, he would go so far as to believe that this entire operation was meant to quietly clean up a failed infiltration by Azazel's agents and that every accusation against Sataneal was window dressing to get him onboard.

Cyrus and his men were being strung along at the end of a string, and he hated every second of it.

And despite herself, Penemune couldn't help the chortle of amusement from exiting her lungs.

"You are different, little Devil." Penemune relaxed her posture, and Cyrus allowed Karal to loosen his spear away from her clenching throat. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Why the deception? What was the point in all of these charades."

"It's as you said. My people aren't supposed to be here, and it's easier to explain trying to apprehend a rogue collaborator than an agent intentionally placed to intervene in a Civil War." The Night Warden eased up, allowing the Fallen more gasps of air to fill her starving lungs.

"Hadriel supplied your father critical information on Viktor's network for months…." Cyrus had to commend Penemune; that was the first time she spoke without lying out of her teeth.

As a reward, Karal was dismissed, allowing the Cadre her personal space and time to recompose herself before continuing.

"… When you traveled into the Blighted Marshlands, Azazel approached Cedric and covertly offered his support. He accepted, but he would only allow a few of our agents into Devil Territory, and if he found out that others were operating without his approval, we would be in for another Great War…."

Cedric's ultimatum didn't surprise Cyrus, but he kept his thoughts to himself as Penemune continued.

"… Hadriel and I were sent to assist your counter-insurgency operations. He ingratiated himself into Viktor's camp, and I spent time in Lucifaad and Nova Babylon gathering vital intelligence on Bashalum's troop movements. Hadriel was caught two days ago, and I came here to get him out, but we are operating at the edge of a knife. If my involvement was discovered-."

"Then the entire war effort would be compromised by your involvement." The Cadre nodded at his summarization of her motives for the deceit. "Loose lips sink ships."

"Correct, little Devil." Cyrus turned his back on the Cadre and used his arcana to signal Ghislaine to prepare their men for deployment. Deception or not, he wasn't about to let Viktor slip from his grasp. "What now?"

Penemune took a tentative step forward when he refused to answer. Cyrus was starting to become more than an aberration in her millennia of dealing with Devils.

"We do what is required," Cyrus glanced at her from the corner of his crimson eyes. Demonic energy began to build up around the Insurgent encampment, startling its occupants as shadows started to lick at their perimeter.

The Kimaris heir emerged from his hiding place in full view of the two dozen militants on watch duty. They were so enthralled with his appearance that they overlooked the large pools of shadows forming in the darkness.

"Halt!" One of the rebels hollered. "Who goes there?"

A war horn bellowed in the night, and the clatter of Griycium Spears and Carpance armor echoed for all to hear. The insurgents on duty were helpless to save themselves, as Ghislaine, her Night Warden, and several Legionnaires from the 66th Legion slipped from the black puddles and butchered them to a man.

Ghislaine rushed to Cyrus' side as Arkias and his Cohort stormed the encampment, leaving more corpses waiting for Cyrus to step over.

"Miss me?" The Nekoshu teased, pointedly ignoring the Fallen Angel at his side.

"Barely." Ghislaine took his words at heart with a knowing smile, and within moments the trio worked in seamless harmony alongside their Night Wardens, clearing entire sections on their own before Legionnaires arrived to assist.

Cyrus drove his arm through a belligerent insurgent's chest, observing the audible clash of arms echoing throughout the encampment. The 10th Cohort was wading into the meat grinder, but it wasn't easy to ascertain where he was needed most from his current position.

The Kimaris heir dropped to a knee and splayed his right hand against the blood-soaked grounds. He scoured the encampment for Arkias's shadow and found his Primus fighting alongside the 1st Centuria to the south of his current position.

"Arkias…." The Primus Legionnaire flinched at his lord's commanding voice brushing against his ear. "… I need a status report on all Centurias."

Cyrus no longer possessed the pitch of a child stumbling through the darkness. His speech was a caustic whisper, neither loud nor abrasive, but capable of instilling terror into the souls of those who did not find comfort in the darkness.

"The 1 st and 2 nd Centuria's have broken through the outer perimeter and are pushing for all points of ingress," Arkias slammed his foot into a dying militant's throat and yanked his spear from their stomach. "Centurion Mernith is maintaining our rearguard and reporting several incursions by Loyalists patrols returning to base. Viktor Nebiros and his officers have garrisoned their forces around the command building. It's a heavy slog, but we're breaking them down bit by bit."

"Understood. Ghislaine and I will be with you shortly, maintain pressure, and keep them occupied."

" Yes , My lord ." Cyrus pulled from the shadows and watched his Legionnaires fan out toward their objectives. The insurgents were fanatical but ill-prepared to face down a veteran Legionnaire in a straight-up fight.

"Come along, Ghislaine," Cyrus glanced at his fallen compatriot. "You as well, Crow. We have loose ends to tie up."

Viktor Nebiros and his Skin Walkers die tonight.

l==l

Amidst the imperceivable darkness of the Shadow Realm, a voice haunting and low echoed through the night.

An entity as old as time itself watched Cyrus with great interest, perceiving his thoughts even as he sought to hide them behind his fragile shell.

This… Devil was different from the others, a contradiction of raw emotion and constraint that beguiled what his race indeed was.

But… the entity already knew that.

Soon Reclaimer, Soon.

An ancient pretext from a long-dead people etched a warning into the stars.

We exist together now, Reclaimer-two corpses in one grave.

Be wary of what toils in the darkness.

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

"INCOMING!"

Arkias and his Legionnaires narrowly avoided a series of demonic nova bombs that detonated along their route toward Viktor Nebiros's GHQ. Centurion Zorizar managed to drag his Primus into cover before becoming the IED's only victim.

"Contact right! Contact right!" Zorizar alerted his Centuria towards an incoming wave of Loyalist Insurgents pouring onto the avenue from the adjacent buildings. His directives would have perplexed the uninitiated and put them in disarray.

When Lord Cyrus repurposed their martial curriculum with simplistic language that was rudimentary in substance, his Cohort were… novices at best.

Their 'Squad tactics,' as Lord Cyrus dubbed them, centered upon communication and flow of movement through small 'fire teams' of no more than twelve Legionnaires. Adaptability and ingenuity were each Squad Leader's trademark skills to meet their Lord's criteria.

It was difficult for Arkias's Legionnaires to match Cyrus's expectations at first.

His strategies completely contrasted standard Legion doctrine that relied on a cohesive fighting force bound in a phalanx that, while protective, negated the maneuverability and adaptability their Lord was looking for.

As Arkias would learn, there was more to warfare than standing across an open field hacking at one another or exchanging demonic bolts from their lances.

Their style of 'warfare' was archaic and useless, in Cyrus's own words.

And for not the first time in months, Zorizar was thankful for their Lord's teachings.

The 1st Centuria attempted to navigate an exposed junction when the Nova Bombs were activated. Their previous doctrines would have sent the entire Centuria into the Loyalist kill zone, with Arkias leading the retaliatory strike as the vanguard.

The insurrectionists planned for this reckless charge, but the 10th Cohort wasn't your typical Demonic Legion. It was also partly due to the inexperience of Militant bombardiers that allowed the Guardsmen to walk away from the initial ambush unscathed. Turning a trap into a pitched skirmish, the Loyalists had little hope of winning.

Demonic bolts from Legionnaire lances crashed into the adjacent structures, smashing into concrete and burning through insurrectionist flesh.

The Centurion carved a fist-sized hole through a Loyalist insurgent's abdomen with his war lance, allowing his intestines to pour onto the ground. Zorizar had to give these fanatics credit. Few willingly throw themselves into Legionnaire steel with the barest of armor and weaponry at their disposal.

But fanatical loyalty was a lethal double-edged sword. It left its constituents with no rational thought or combat awareness, leaving them susceptible to their own emotions.

As Zorizar slaughtered his third militant in as many seconds, it dawned on him that his Centuria was on the verge of being overrun by the Loyalist's sheer numbers.

He refused to lose his men to these zealots because of his pride.

During their trials in the Blighted Marshlands, Lord Cyrus destroyed his Cohorts' pride, and if Zorizar returned to his Liege with half a Centuria, the crucible would be the least of his troubles.

"Fall back to the south!" Zorizar's order echoed across the Centuria's formation. "1st Squad, cover the retreat!"

Principales Tharnon, a native son of the Shadowlands, perked at his Centurion's command.

He knew Nova Babylon better than most members of the 10th Cohort.

His family regularly visited the commercial city to trade their wares and bump shoulders with business moguls from the leading houses.

In his youth, Tharnon ventured into the slums to sate the adventurous bone in his body, and the district's stench was still as nauseous even decades later. This knowledge was put to the test when Zorizar placed his squad at the forefront of their push into the district.

Principales Tharnon and his Legionnaires spread out into a delta formation, allowing the rest of their Centuria to find cover inside the structures just south of the claustrophobic junction.

"How many are there?!" Munifex Dolrann Azgath leaned his lance on his war shield's lip, bracing himself against a stray demonic bolt while covering the rest of his Centuria.

"Doesn't matter. Keep fighting!" Tharnon commanded, gunning down a pair of Militants clutching primed Nova Bombs in each hand. The suicide bombers fell face-first into the dirt, and his Legionnaires had seconds to brace their war shields and feet before a resounding blast echoed across the junction.

*BOOM!*

The concussion blast and flying shrapnel stopped short of reaching his squad's position, and Tharnon shook off the specks of blood and dirt clouding his vision just in time to hear Zorizars commanding voice.

"Tharnon! Get your ass back here now!" Azgath and a pair of Munifex Legionnaires were the first to break formation. Dodging retaliatory bolts from insurrectionist lances, Tharnon pulled the rest of his squad alongside him.

As Azgath vaulted over a shanty wall, a Munifex from 3rd squad took a demonic bolt to his Griycium helmet. A medicae rushed to his side, removing the helm before it could melt into the Legionnaires Skin.

Azgath's attention was drawn away from the grisly sight when another Principales, Galmod, slid up next to him.

"Rough night, kid?!" Even in the midst of combat, Azgath could always count on Galmod's wisecracks. He had a distinct repertoire as one of the few commanders in the 1st Centuria with a laid-back disposition.

"Better than the Marshlands!" Azgath quipped back. "We lose anyone?!"

He breathed out a sigh of relief when Galmod shook his head.

"Arkias is drumming up a plan to get us moving towards the GHQ. Zorizar wants us to flood the side streets and alleyways, but Arkias isn't willing to risk another ambush."

"So, what are we doing?!" Tharnon appeared out of the corner of Azgath's vision, firing off a burst of demonic bolts that joined an orchestra of red beams going back and forth.

Galmod added his war lance to the fire, providing the necessary cover to allow Tharnon to dive into their shared shelter.

"Nice of you to join us!" Galmod greeted his fellow Squad leader with an easy grin. "What're our orders?!"

"We're on suppression duty!" The Principales replied, wiping the mud from his eyes. "Lord Cyrus is taking a strike team behind their lines now!"

"So what?! We're staying here to get shot at?!" Azgath roared over the cracks of lancer fire and riveting blasts of nova bombs.

"Basically!" Tharnon replied. "We need to spread out amongst these structures on our flanks. We're digging in here and grinding these insurrectionists into dust!"

"Works for me!" Azgath tapped at the trio of Munifex's to his left. "You three stay on my ass! We're finding a better vantage point to kill us some Loyalists!"

Tharnon watched half of his squad peel off from the makeshift barricades to a rundown structure barely holding together. This wasn't the first time the Centuria was knee-deep in shit, and it wouldn't be the last.

There was rarely a dull moment in the 10th Cohort.

l==l

Cyrus could feel the… entity scraping against his mind with each instance he utilized Caiseag Sgàil . It was the only technique in his family's arsenal that brought his psyche within the confines of the incomprehensible plane of darkness called the Shadow Realm.

Cedric warned him to keep his guard up while navigating through this treacherous dimension, for the members of House Kimaris are merely visitors treading upon lands that they have no dominion over.

When Cyrus first accessed this otherworldly dimension, he was immediately beset by a voice whispering into his ears.

Embrace us.

These encounters were expected, according to his family. Ghislaine and Jade are the foremost perpetrators to utilize these methods since their positions as commanders of the 2nd Cohort validated the use of this near-forbidden technique.

These temptations went ignored like all things toiling in the darkness, but no matter his indifference, Cyrus felt a shadowy hand grazing against his shoulders. Then during a routine training exercise with Ghislaine, it spoke into words that froze him solid.

You belong to the darkness, Spartan.

Cyrus could not escape the shiver of dread that ran along his spine weeks after the benevolence delivered those haunting words. He expressed his concerns to Ghislaine, but she did not grasp what he described.

Experiences differed based on their user.

For Ghislaine, she was beset on all sides by honeyed words from her long-deceased mother. Jade was besieged by the voice of their Father and the suffocating responsibilities of being the House's future Matriarch.

His experience was jarring, but there was little Ghislaine could do to temper his worries. Cedric was the only one with a deep understanding of what toiled in the darkness, and he was leagues away fighting a pitched war with the Loyalists at the walls of Lucifaad.

Cyrus welcomed the familiar sounds of warfare as he staggered behind his Night Wardens. His pace faltered as the shadows consumed every ounce of vitality from his limbs.

Ghislaine slung an arm across his shoulder, permitting him to restore his balance.

"Cyrus." She whispered, eyes filled with a sisterly concern that was foreign to Cyrus not decades earlier. "It happened again, didn't it?"

His silent and exhausted nod had every maternal bone in Ghislaine's body on high alert. She desperately wanted to return him to the Cohorts barracks, but Cyrus's cutting glance stamped out that notion.

Ghislaine reluctantly linked their arcana, allowing the Nekoshu to flood his reserves with her potent and brimming life force. Cyrus would be back on his feet in mere moments, but until then, the Night Wardens were forced to maintain silent vigil over their charges.

And there, Fallen guest.

Penemune stood by with a dimly lit heavenly spear in hand, noting with an amused expression that the Night Wardens shied away from her weapon whenever she adjusted her grip.

"Crow." Cyrus bit out, drawing Penemune's attention away from the slightly distressed bodyguards. Put the spear down. "You're causing my Night Wardens to contemplate killing you already."

"They are more than welcome to try, little Devil…." The Night Wardens brimmed at the Fallen's dismissive tone. Penemunue considered most devils to be entertaining creatures she deigned to grace her presence.

Still, it would be remiss of Penemune to allow her hosts to feel less than comfortable in her presence.

"… But I shall acquiesce to your demand." The Fallen dissolved her light spear, watching Cyrus's ailing body regain vigor.

"Come along now." Penemune strode up to his side, a sarcastic smile tempered by a cautious glance, and playfully nudged Ghislaine out of the way. "We wouldn't want all of this animosity to be for nothing now, would we?"

Cyrus cautiously eyed the Cadre as she smoothed out the kinks in his battle-worn armor. Her efforts were meant to placate his companion's distress, but it stoked their distrust for their Fallen guest.

Karal and Sarkoth had to fight the urge to bury their lances into the small of her back on instinct, and only after she turned away from Cyrus with a pleasing smile did they breathe a growl of frustration.

Ghislaine was no better; when Penemune hip-checked her out of the way, she hissed with blatant scorn. A pair of black tendrils extended from the Nekoshu's upper back, ready to pierce the Fallen's spine, but a cursory glance from Cyrus tempered her mood.

For now.

Penemune guided the Devils deep into the militant Stronghold, slaughtering several patrols seeking to reinforce the battle line with Zorizar's 1st Centuria. Ghislaine was particularly brutal, ripping the arms clean off an insurgent while maintaining eye contact with the amused Cadre.

As each strove to outdo the other, a competition of sheer wanton savagery ensued between the Devil and the Fallen, leaving an untold number of butchered militants painting the streets with their traitorous blood.

Cyrus was content to let the Nekoshu run wild if only to give her a proper outlet for her temper. Ghislaine's Night Warden was less than pleased with her recklessness but maintained her solemn duty of protecting her charge's exposed flanks when she became lost in her rampage.

Their party didn't take long to reach the impregnable fortress that was Viktor Nebiros's GHQ.

Penemune immediately set upon the few militant guards protecting the main entryway. Her brilliant violet irises swelled with a poisonous degree of divine arcana, and she unleashed a beam of tainted light that vaporized ten insurgents with a single flick of her arm.

The only trace of their existence was the waist-deep smoking crater and the destroyed remains of their fortification. Insurgents poured out from buildings in search of retaliation, but they were soon met with Griycium steel.

Ghislaine was the first to charge into the fray, her crimson eyes wild with blood lust as she tore into the insurgent ranks. Cyrus was not far behind, stabbing an insurgent grunt through the heart with his lance and kicking his decomposing corpse off the tip of his spear.

Karal and Sarkoth paired up into a beautiful symphony of violence, butchering teams of insurgents as they sought to overwhelm the interlopers with vast numbers.

Penemune proved a trump card in her own right, blasting apart clustered groups of militants from above while simultaneously dominating the skies. Her motions possessed a grandeur that underscored Heaven's warfare doctrine throughout the Great War.

It was as majestic as it was brutal, and Cyrus paid close attention to her fighting techniques as he slew a trio of Militants who attempted to separate him further from his crew.

A demonic claw brimming with infernal energy crossed Cyrus's vision at the last possible moment, and he narrowly avoided a lethal strike to the abdomen by morphing into the shadows.

His presumed killer's wild hair and snarling teeth were a dead giveaway to who or, more specifically, what they were.

Few creatures in the underworld could match the ferocity of a Nerbiros Skinwalker, and much like the Navajo legends, their base form resembled a vicious animal native to the Underworld's environment.

"Skinwalker," Cyrus snarled under his breath, and the seven-foot-tall lupine beast grinned back with a ferocious curl.

"Come, Kimaris ." The Skinwalker beckoned him forward, its voice profound and unsettling. "It is time to meet your ancestors."

Cyrus offered no retort, and the lupine creature stalked forward. There was to be no backup for either of them, Ghislaine was facing down her own Skinwalker, and his Night Wardens paired up with Penemune to keep a large group of Loyalists from overrunning their position.

This would be a skill, strength, and endurance test between Skinwalker and Spartan.

Just the way Cyrus liked it.

The Skinwalker roared a throaty growl as it charged forward, red eyes glinting with a bloodthirsty grin. Its fury was unmatched, bestial in nature, and few could stand firm against its tremendous roar.

It sought to use its superior speed to undercut his defensive guard, swiping down on him with poisonous energy licking from its claws. Cyrus fell onto his back while manifesting his Dubrha Sleagh in his right hand. The Spartan thrust the Dark Javelin forward, penetrating the creature's left sternum and hurling him ten meters back, giving Cyrus crucial breathing room to maneuver.

"RARRRGHHH!" A scream of anguish rumbled through the Skinwalker's vocal cords as he slammed his hands into the ground splitting the Earth in a fury.

Cyrus shot forward, arcana coursing through his legs to give him a much-needed boost. He carefully blocked a swing from the Skinwalker's left claw, momentarily exposing him to the creatures salivating jaw.

He pulsed a concentrated burst of demonic energy that blasted the Skinwalker's head backward, preventing him from sinking his teeth into Cyrus's neck. Infernal energy pierced the lupine creature's right eye, stumbling back and exposing him to another stab from Cyrus's Javelin.

The spear cut through thick fur and bone, eliciting another howl of anguish that drove the Skinwalker to his knees. Cyrus used this opportunity to directly manifest a Caiseag Sgàil portal behind the creature.

Cyrus removed his Javelin with a great heave and lashed out a jolting kick that pushed the Skinwalker toward the portal. The creature's upper frame sailed into the darkness, but Cyrus had another trick.

The Spartan deactivated his Caiseag Sgàil once the Skinwalker was halfway in, cutting him in two and sending his torso sailing through the darkness. The rest of the lupine creature spasmed and died like a snake with its head cut off.

Cedric would have been proud of such ingenuity, but he was not here to revel in his only son's skill.

With the Skinwalker dead, Cyrus looked to his allies and found them mopping up what little resistance remained.

Ghislaine turned her Skinwalker into an ornament, using multiple Dark Javelins to pin him against a two-story building content to leave him as a gruesome reminder of what House Kimaris was capable of.

Penemune and the Night Wardens had slaughtered well over a hundred Militants, some of whom were piled on top of one another in a gruesome display of violence.

The GHQ building came into sight moments after the group pressed onward, and Ghislaine made a point of announcing their presence with authority.

His sister manifested a ball of potent Infernal energy within her palms and aimed at the militant Guards protecting its twelve-foot-high walls. The fools had only accomplished dying tired as the black sphere shot through the air and slammed against the GHQ's fortifications.

*BOOM!*

The sentries were vaporized into naught, but ash and a massive crater were all that remained of the GHQ's western fortifications. The path toward Viktor Nebiros was beginning to open, but he wasn't their only objective inside the militant Stronghold.

Cyrus needed to ensure Hadriel was retrieved without too many prying eyes asking questions.

He may have trusted some of his Legionnaires to keep their mouths shut, but soldiers tended to spill secrets at inopportune times.

Operational security was why Cyrus didn't take Zorizar's 1st Centuria with him, but now only one question remained.

Viktor Nebiros was finalizing his preparations to escape the Stronghold, and Hadriel was held in a separate location.

They needed to split up, but Cyrus intended to kill Viktor himself, and there was no way in hell that he would send Penemune along with Ghislaine.

That was asking for a headache and a city-sized crater.

"Ghislaine," The Nekoshu was admiring her beautiful handy work with a content smile when Cyrus called after her. "Take Sarkoth and Karal to secure Hadriel. Penemune and l will handle Viktor."

Ghislaine's smile fell in an instant.

"What?!"

"My lord, I must protest this decision."

The usual suspects erupted in outrage at his instruction, but Cyrus had no patience to deal with their discord.

Time was of the essence, and if they were to secure both primary objectives before they could slip the net, all routes needed to be covered.

That and Cyrus didn't entirely trust that Penemune and his sister wouldn't kill one another while he was away.

"Are you fucking insane?" Ghislaine hissed. "Cyrus, I am not leaving you with this fallen whore! She's going to stab you in the back! I'm staying!"

Cyrus had grown tired of this deliberation and constant arguments surrounding his judgments. Ghislaine's constant need to second guess his decisions slowly grated his nerves.

"You will do as I have commanded!" Ghislaine flinched at his harsh tone but maintained her composure. "If you have an issue with how I run this Cohort, go home."

The Nekoshu bristled with fury, and she was mere seconds away from escalating the conflict when their Night Wardens stepped in their line of sight. Penemune stepped off to the side, content to watch the fireworks with an amused grin playing on her lips.

"My lady," Sarkoth intervened just as Ghislaine was ready to blow another gasket. "It would be best to have this conversation in a more… private setting."

The Night Warden shot a suspicious look towards Penemune, but the Fallen raised her hands in mock surrender. None of them were fooled by her attempt at appeasement; her Cheshire grin gave far too much away.

Ghislaine bared her fangs at the Cadre before returning her attention to Cyrus.

"This is far from over." The Night Wardens were next to receive Ghislaine's venomous gaze. "Come along, you two. I need to work out my anger before I stab a bitch."

Penemune mockingly waved goodbye to Ghislaine as she stalked in the opposite direction. Thankfully, his sister kept her focus on the task presented to her, but Cyrus suspected that the Cadre's antics did not go unnoticed.

"Focus, crow." The Spartan scolded the Cadre. "We have a job to do."

"Well, by all means, little Devil." Penemune beckoned him along, ignoring his narrowed eyes at the long-overused nickname. "Follow me into the GHQ. You may learn something about Fallen combat doctrine that makes it superior to your kind's way of warfare."

Cyrus was beginning to regret ever coming to the god-forsaken city.

….Ow.

l==l

Viktor waited for them alongside several elite Guards Cyrus recognized as House Nebiros Immortals. These Devils were veterans of the Great War and were the personal bodyguard for the main branch of House Nebiros.

Their skills rivaled his family's Night Wardens, but Cyrus had made a point of sparring with Karal outside his sister's influence. He was confident these Immortals couldn't match the training Karal and Sarkoth put him through on a nightly basis.

Cyrus was more than willing to test that theory.

The Nebiros heir brazenly made the courtyard to his GHQ, the setting to his final stand, and Cyrus wasn't sure if it was pride or madness that led Viktor to believe a clustered battleground would be in his favor.

It may have been due to misinformation about his opponents.

As far as Cyrus knew, Viktor and his Immortals considered Peneune a six-winged Fallen. They failed to realize she could wipe the floor with the whole damn city, and no one could stop her.

In short, the Nebiros brought a stick to a gunfight.

"I've been watching you, Lord Cyrus." Viktor began with a small smile. "I'm a big fan of your work. No one in the Renegade Legions has been able to give me a challenge for well over a year, but in a few months, you've graced me with difficulties I had not foreseen."

Cyrus stared back with even eyes that didn't betray his feelings. Whether or not Viktor realized that he only considered him as little more than another name on his list didn't seem to resonate with the pompous Devil.

No matter how much Cyrus found Viktor's tactics… admirable.

The Spartan was enjoying the nostalgia of facing down a foe that used the other half of his brain more than once.

Viktor's tactics seemed to have taken a page out of the insurrectionist playbook, with the constant need for brutalizing ambushes that killed civilians and Legionnaires.

Penemune went ignored by Viktor while he rambled on about honor and a slew of other useless traits that Cyrus found incredibly hypocritical, considering his style of warfare.

Amid his rambling, the Spartan glimpsed an… exotic figure standing in Viktor's shadow.

It was a Nekoshu, draped in House Nebiros colors, with nine thick silver tails immaculately flowing in the bated wind that drew Cyrus's scrutinizing gaze. Her outfit consisted of a stunning dark purple winter coat that flowed smoothly into her tails, leaving an effect on most Devils that would have made them weak at the knees.

By his estimation, the Nekoshu was around Ghislaine's age, though it was more similar to his sister's appearance and not her actual age.

Cyrus was still adjusting to the concept that Devils stopped physically aging after their thirtieth year. After that, it was merely a question of how many millennia they would see before death came calling.

He would have pegged the Nekoshu as one of Viktor's attendants if it wasn't for the pools of raw arcana that easily matched, if not surpassed, the Immortals.

Her exotic features complemented her fair complexion and thick black mane, but her brilliantly defined amber orbs stole the spotlight.

A distinct and exotic color that was actively staring into Cyrus's crimson eyes. He belatedly realized that he had earned her full attention almost as soon as he entered the courtyard.

What is this woman?

"The Nekoshu is a Vastayan." Penemune answered his silent inquiry. "Their kind were bred in the sanctuaries of Halahbran before your people burned it to the ground. House Nebiros took her in to be Viktor's bodyguard since he can't fight worth shit."

Cyrus was unsurprised by the Cadre's rebuttal to Viktor's combat aptitude. His skills and effectiveness stemmed from his mind rather than his arm, and he saw no reason to put himself through the meat grinder when he could easily send others in his place.

The Vastayan were an ancient order of war maidens bred in the sanctuaries of Halahbran to serve Yasaka and the Youkai Assembly. Each Vastayan was adept in senjutsu and ki, allowing them near limitless potential in combat that was only restricted by who they were. They sold their services to the highest bidder to all three factions during the Great War, but this mercenary-like approach became their undoing.

One of their retainers killed one of Samael's favored sons while serving a Cadre, and the Vastayan became the sole object of his wrath. He sent House Nebiros to wipe the ancient order off the face of the Earth.

Yasaka and her Youkai could only watch in horror as Halahbran and its ancient holdings were torched. It was the price for her people breaching the neutrality pack signed by the Youkai and the Devils.

House Nebiros was lauded for their actions by Samael, but they also felt it necessary to keep at least one Vastayan alive for their own interests.

"Is she loyal to him?"

"Only by circumstance," Penemune supplied with a shrug. "The Vastayan are known to form an unbreakable bond with the first person they see after birth. The bond effectively turns the Vastayan into a loyal bodyguard, and they are compelled to follow their Master's directive. I'll give you two guesses about what bastard she was bonded to."

Cyrus didn't need to play the guessing game to figure that out.

"You seem to know a lot about her." He commented.

"I've had a… conversation or two with Ahri in private." He pointedly ignored the salacious smile adorning her exotic features. "The girl has a good head on her shoulders. She just needs a wake-up call…."

"… And someone to cut the leash from her neck." Penemune grinned at his remarks, but Cyrus wasn't here to make friends or start pulling his punches for the sake of some woman who had been dealt a poor hand.

He wasn't known for being a gentle soul, and if this Ahri stood in his way, he'd give her more than a wake-up call.

"HEY!" They had evidently offended Viktor by disregarding his monologue. "DO YOU MIND? I AM TRYING TO SPEAK HERE!"

Cyrus answered Viktor's demand in the only way he knew how.

By trying to kill him in a single stroke.

The Spartan lifted his right arm and unleashed a powerful beam of infernal energy that roared directly toward Viktor's forehead.

"Argh!" The Nebiros heir lost his balance in a vain attempt to avoid his coming demise. It would have taken a miracle for Viktor to prevent a quick and anti-climatic death at Cyrus's hands.

Ahri ended up being that miracle.

Waves of azure aura sprinkled across her lithe arms before launching bolts of arcana carved into his infernal beam. Cyrus watched his demonic assault wither and dissipate until every trace of its existence was atomized.

A mischievous grin played upon Ahri's supple lips earning a narrowed gaze from the Spartan.

Nothing was ever easy.

"KILL THEM!" Viktor's composure shattered at the blatant assassination attempt. "KILL THEM ALL!"

The Immortals drew their spears and charged down the regal steps with a purpose. They would fulfill their Lord's command without question or hesitation, and Cyrus would have found such loyalty admirable if his gaze was stolen by the Cadre taking a step forward.

Her eyes grew cold as wisps of corrupted divine energy clung to Penemune's fingertips. She had been waiting for this precise moment of retribution for the past few hours, and Cyrus would be damned if he took it away from her.

"The Immortals are mine. You play with the Vastayan. See if you can convince her to play ball with us." Cyrus did not feel inclined to disagree with Penemune's words, and she didn't wait long enough to hear them anyway.

The Cadre's midnight wings extended from her back, and within a blink, she'd torpedoed herself into the lead Immortal's chest with her fists digging into his sternum.

Penemune wasn't holding back anymore.

"After her, you fools!" Viktor commanded. To the Immortals credit, they didn't hesitate to give chase after the Cadre as she smashed their companion through several buildings.

Leaving Cyrus to contend with the Nebiros and his bodyguard.

Ahri wasted no time in pressing her counterattack as waves of arcana covered her entire body, and she charged directly for Cyrus. He narrowly parried a burst of energy bolts with his Javelin before reversing his grip and turning the spear into an infernal missile.

The Nekoshu slipped underneath the Javelin, allowing her Master to tank the concussive blast as it slammed into the wall behind him. Cyrus cocked his arm back, aiming to smash Ahri's collarbone into paste if it weren't for the Nekoshu's lithe nature, allowing her to dodge his devastating blow by a hair's breadth.

*CRACK!*

With the force of a thousand men, Cyrus's punch fractured the ground below, causing webs of concrete to jut out across the courtyard. His narrowed gaze momentarily caught Ahri's smug grin even as the concussive blast sent her sailing through the air.

The Nekoshu twisted her body at an angle that permitted her to touch down on her feet. A moment of silence befell the courtyard as both combatants eyed each other with contrasting expressions.

Cyrus glanced over her lithe form with reservation; he'd never faced a foe that exhumed elegance like her. Jade was a close second, but there was a grace to Ahri's movements that left him at a loss for words.

She was a beautiful creature that he should be more than willing to….

Wait….

Cyrus pulsed his arcana, dissipating the Nekoshu's fragrance that had seeped into his Skin during the brief moments of proximity. A flash of pink crossed her amber orbs, and he snarled in annoyance at the blatant attempt at manipulation.

"Hmmm." Ahri's voice was a sensuous melody, and not the first time did Cyrus begin to worry that this Vixen was toying with him. "I was hoping that would work on you."

"Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment." The Nekoshu's smile widened considerably.

"Careful now, little devil," Cyrus growled in annoyance. "Your fatalistic tendencies are showing."

"I hate that moniker."

The shadows warped and quivered all around Cyrus as he contemplated a time when his adversaries didn't talk every time a fight broke out. He sorely missed the alien guttural growls of a pissed-off Elite or the short-lived prattling of grunts running for their lives.

A line of potent arcana grazed his cheek.

"It's rude to keep a girl waiting." He did not grace her with a verbal reply; instead, his silhouette sank into the darkness and vanished from view.

Ahri tensed with anticipation, flashing her ki to hone in on Cyrus's aura, but she found nothing but an empty courtyard.

For the barest moment, doubt began to creep into Ahri's mind that the little Devil had retreated before a flash of movement caught her attention. She flicked her arm in that direction, sending a stream of aura bullets that tore through concrete and darkness.

The Nekoshu dashed towards Cyrus's suspected hiding spot with a pair of ki daggers in both hands, but all she found was broken concrete and shattered walls. Frustration leaked into her visage at the diversion, and her voice made her sentiments known as she glanced in all directions.

"Come out, little Devil!" She bellowed with a slight edge to her tone. "I promise I'll make it quick."

Ahri's eyes widened when several bolts of infernal energy whizzed past her head and impacted the wall behind her, and as she turned to retaliate, a hand reached around her exposed neck.

"ACKK!" Ahri's oxygen supply was cut in half, so she extended her left arm to form a ki dagger and slashed it toward Cyrus.

He loosened his grip and kicked at the small of her back, sending her sprawling to the ground. The Nekoshu collected herself quickly, rolling onto her side and firing off a stream of aura bullets that he parried with a slash from his Dark Javelin.

Ahri snarled with contempt when Cyrus chose to go on the offensive. A stream of potent arcana settled into his legs, and his frame shot forth at critical speeds. Javelin collided with ki daggers, and a battle of wills broke out between Spartan and Vastaya.

'What's with this kid?" As she narrowly averted a brutalizing thrust to the midsection by erecting a defensive barrier, Ahri's mind was plagued with uncertainty.

The Kimaris heir proved to be more than she could manage, and even the Immortals would have struggled to cope with his ferocity.

This was not the first time Ahri had to face an adversary who could match her wits, but it was the first instance she had to deal with a Devil that was so… stable.

Cyrus's eyes never lingered, his movements never faltered, and he matched her strikes with a balance of pure aggression or passive retreat. Young Devils were prone to a wandering gaze when faced with an unattainable beauty, and even in combat, they were subject to their desires.

Ahri's pheromones should have gone unnoticed long enough for her to slip a ki dagger underneath his ribs, but her distraction lasted only a few measly seconds.

This little Devil was different, more vigilant, and more methodical than his kind had any right to be.

Ahri would have found it intriguing if it wasn't for the fact her object of interest was trying to run a Javelin through her. She slid between his legs and dipped underneath an overhead stroke, slicing the backs of his knees before coming to a complete stop.

The biting ki daggers dug into flesh and bone, eliciting a grimace of pain from the Kimaris heir.

A triumphant grin plastered Ahri's face as she lunged at Cyrus with ki daggers primed and ready. Her arcana cast an azure hue throughout her body, accelerating her fast enough to try and bury her blades into his shoulders.

"Got you!" When her prey's entire form evaporated into a black fog, the Nekoshu's victorious expression faded, and her ears perked at the tiniest exhale barely feet behind her. "Shit."

An ornate javelin pierced through Ahri's ribs, forcing blood to spill from her mouth.

"AAIIEEEE!" Viktor awoke from his unconscious state to a terrible scream from his bodyguard. His blurry eyes widened in terror when Cyrus pulled his spear from the Nekoshu's back, leaving her a bleeding but still conscious mess.

"Immortals!" The Nebiros cried out for his remaining bodyguards as he ran for the sizeable gap in the wall that the Cadre left in her wake. "Immortals, I-!"

Viktor smashed headfirst into a clothesline from hell courtesy of Penemune, who stared down at his writhing form with blood caking her entire body.

"My apologies." The Fallen grasped the Devil by his neck. "I didn't see you there."

Penemune pulled her arm back and threw his wounded body into the courtyard's fountain, shattering its ornate foundation and covering him in bloodied water.

"What took you so long?" Cyrus inquired as the pair stalked toward the wounded Nebiros.

"I was playing with my food." Penemune shot him a pleased grin that contrasted her bloodied face.

There wasn't a doubt in Cyrus's mind that any of it was hers.

He hummed in mild amusement before planting his foot onto Viktor's chest and pressing down on his sternum. The Noble screams of anguish were momentarily halted by the Javelin hovering not inches from his left eye.

"Any last words?" Penemune queried in a mocking tone.

"I can-ackk!" Cyrus cared little for decorum, piercing the Devil's retina and pumping infernal energy into his Javelin.

Blood penetrated the skin of Viktor's cheeks as pressure bubbles began to form before the Noble's head imploded with a subdued puff.

Penemune shot him a furrowed look laced with some measure of disappointment. "Really? He didn't even get to say anything."

"I didn't ask him for his final words. You did." Cyrus dismissed his Dubhra Sleagh and strode away from Viktor's rotting corpse.

"It's a common courtesy, Little Devil. You could at least…." The Fallen's words trailed off into the void as Cyrus's ear perked at a pattern of shallow breaths, and his gaze turned towards its source.

The Vastayan was still alive, albeit critically injured, after having a Javelin run through her back. It certainly didn't help her outlook that Cyrus had laced his weapon with Dubhra Nimh, poisoning her bloodstream with a potent taste of his infernal energy.

Ahri's essence was being eaten away with each breath she took until she was eventually nothing more than a husk of Skin and bone.

And yet, the woman persisted.

Even in her unconscious state, Ahri's body continued to fight an unwinnable battle as her aura chipped away at the demonic energy that grew in mass. By his estimation, she had no more than another 30 minutes of life, all of which would be spent bleeding out in some random courtyard with no one to see her off.

Cyrus grimaced as he observed the anguish on her immaculate countenance and made it no more than a step away before his consciousness got the better of him.

Something he didn't think was possible.

"What are you doing?" Penemune shot him a curious expression as he carefully grasped the unconscious Ahri by the scruff of her neck and slowly pulled her into a bridal carry.

"Girl needs medical attention," Cyrus replied with a shrug. "She's got half an hour before she dies of blood loss."

Penemune was momentarily at a loss for words as she stared dumbly at the Kimaris heir.

He ignored the flabbergasted Cadre as his ears picked up on the sounds of combat fading away. Already he could see the banners of the 10th Cohort advancing towards the GHQ, and Penemune was still in sight.

All objectives had been cleared, and it was time for the Fallen to depart with her wayward kinsman.

"Retrieve Hadriel from my sister…" Penemune caught a glimpse of glowing crimson orbs.

"… And go home. " A blink later, shadows engulfed the Kimaris boy, leaving the Crow alone in a deserted courtyard.

A Cheshire grin consumed the Fallen's visage as she stared at the vacated spot where Cyrus stood not seconds ago with the Nekoshu in hand.

"You are different, little Devil." She murmured to herself as her midnight wings extended from her back. "And I can't wait to watch you grow."

Penemune shot towards Hadriel's location, intent on verbally sparring with Ghislaine before taking her leave.

All the while, her thoughts were consumed by the most peculiar Devil she had ever met.

The Cadre silently wondered if Azazel needed a permanent liaison in the Devil territories.

After all, she wouldn't mind a dalliance with the House of Kimaris.

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

Debriefings are one of the few instances where Cyrus enjoyed peace.

The tedious nature of military briefings was a welcome change of pace from the oddities that plagued his new life. He found solace inside any war room, and his gaze constantly wandered over meticulous battle lines and Legion figurines that separated Loyalist and Renegade forces.

When a dialogue began, the Tribunes and attending Legates were never saddled with useless talk of glories or other miscellaneous subjects that didn't need to see the light of day.

They were always short and to the point, relaying vital information without issues or fanfare.

However, Cyrus could have gone without the constant praises for Viktor Nebiros's death and the subsequent dismantling of his network.

The atmosphere in the war room was… suffocating by his assessments.

He desperately searched for an opening to dismiss himself before he lost his damn mind. It certainly didn't help that his right hand had burned something fierce since Viktor's death.

Cyrus tried to ignore the fiery sensations, but his patience began to whither as time passed. He undid the straps keeping his gauntlet in place and peeked at the back of his hand.

Crimson eyes narrowed with suspicion at the tattoo marring his pale pigmentation.

The marking was barely the size of his forehand, and he didn't recognize the letters or symbols etched into his skin.

But he had a sneaking suspicion his newest guest would.

Cyrus ignored Ghislaine's pointed look and deftly slid the gauntlet back into place just in time to receive a beaming smile from his father.

"Congratulations, my boy." Cedric's tone was spoken with such admiration that it caused Cyrus to shuffle awkwardly in place.

"I only performed my duty." Venelana rolled her eyes in amusement.

"Come now, child." The Gremory Matriarch began. "Your actions have ensured that the Loyalists have lost their ability to sabotage our holdings in the Lucifaad territory. Our Garrisons and Legions already report a complete breakdown of militant activity in their respective holdings."

Venelana grasped his shoulder tightly. "This is a victory worth celebrating long into the night."

That was not Cyrus's prerogative.

The Kimaris Heir was ready to take his Cohort and return to the frontline as soon as possible. He passionately despised downtime, preferring to keep himself and his men battle-ready at all possible moments.

Cyrus was moments away from protesting any festivities, but Ghislaine intervened, wrapping a hand around his mouth and muffling his words.

"The 10th Cohort will be more than willing to partake in this celebration."

Ghislaine had committed the ultimate betrayal.

Cyrus would have to kill her to save himself any future embarrassment she was no doubt planning during this 'celebration.'

Arkias and the other Centurions remained silent, unwilling to intervene on their Lord's behalf. Those Legionnaires from Venelana's Cohorts exchanged uncertain looks before opting to maintain their neutrality.

Cyrus jabbed his elbow into Ghislaine's tit, eliciting a yelp of pain and a glare that promised retribution at an unspecified time. He matched her withering stare before turning towards an openly amused Cedric.

"Primarch, my men and I have been away from the Legion long enough. We do not require a trivial celebration when we could be ending this conflict." He ignored the yelp of offense from Venelana at his demeaning statement about her parties.

"Your protests have been taken into account." For the barest moments, Cyrus could imagine a cessation of this ridiculous gathering. "And promptly ignored…."

Truly his family was filled with nothing but traitors to the cause.

"You and your Cohort are to remain in Nova Babylon until further notice," Cedric emphasized this directive with a stern gaze. "Tomorrow, you will receive guests. Their safety is your priority."

From counter-insurgency operations to a bloody babysitting duty, this briefing was becoming more and more irritating with each passing second.

"And who," Cyrus began with a clipped tone. "Are we protecting?"

Cyrus was ill-prepared for his father's following statement.

"Your sisters."

"All of them?"

Cedric's grin widened at his reluctance.

"All of them."

His stomach clenched with anticipation.

Cyrus had not seen Ashara or the twins in years.

They may have kept a correspondence every now and then, but the relationship was somewhat strained since Ghislaine acted as a proxy between them.

Ashara, in particular, hadn't gotten over Cyrus shredding a chunk of skin from Arwen's leg all those years ago, and there was little doubt in his mind that his sibling would seek retribution.

"I will prepare our arrangements," Ghislaine snatched his Primus Legionnaire by the shoulder. "Come along, Arkias, I'm conscripting your cohort!"

Centurion Zorizar watched his commander be unceremoniously dragged away before turning to Cyrus for permission. The Spartan reluctantly dismissed his subordinates to fulfill his sister's instructions.

Regarding Ghislaine's antics, the 10th had an unofficial rule: find Cyrus before executing her directives.

It would save him and his Legionnaires any future headaches.

With his Centurion's departure, the only remaining occupants of the war council were Cyrus and Lady Gremory's delegation.

The debriefing continued on like usual, situation reports were given to Cedric, and in return, he provided an update on the Siege of Lucifaad.

Which was going exceedingly poor.

Cedric ordered his Legions to breach the walls of Lucifaad a week earlier, and it would have led to a breakthrough were it not for the timely intervention of Grayfia Lucifuge.

Her presence alone countermanded Sirzech's raw power and turned a potential conquest into a bloody stalemate.

Already she was responsible for several loyalists' victories, and even when a triumph was out of reach, she made their forces pay in blood.

Sooner or later, someone would be to remove the Lucifuge from the board.

Permanently.

And Cyrus was more than happy to oblige.

"Anything else?" Cedric received only silence from Cyrus and the other Primus Legionnaires. "Then this council is dismissed. Lady Venelana, I bid you farewell."

"A moment of your time, Primarch." Cyrus interrupted Cedric's dismissal, freezing the other Centurions and Lady Venelana in place. "In private."

The Gremory Matriarch exchanged furtive glances with Cedric before quietly exiting the room alongside her subordinates. Once the doors closed behind them, Cedric allowed the stern expression to ebb away.

"What is it, my child?"

"You played the Fallen situation close to your chest." Cyrus thought about getting straight to the point but opted to take his time bringing up the Lucifuge.

The Primarch replied with a stern countenance. "Do you disapprove?"

"No," Cyrus admitted with a shrug. "I'm all for operational security, but that problem nearly blew up in our faces."

" Hadriel is lucky you pulled him out before Viktor went to work on him ."

"We were lucky," Cyrus corrected his father's words with finality. "Working with the Fallen didn't do anything for us then and even more so now. We should cut ties before they get any ideas."

" I already have . Azazel was less than pleased with my decision ." Cedric confessed but refused to comment at the levels of anger the Governor-General laid onto him. " He hoped this cooperative would enable him to establish a liaison between our peoples , but I denied it much to Penemune's chagrin….You made quite the impression on her ."

"Don't tell Ghislaine that." Cyrus scowled at the mere mention of Penemune and the inability to go more than a day without hearing her name again, but fate continued to play with him. "She's a ticking bomb whenever that Crow is around her."

"She's a ticking time bomb around most Fallen, Cyrus." Cedric's attention was drawn towards Eleamus, who whispered into his ear. " Is there anything else? The other Praetors will be arriving soon ."

Cyrus straightened his back and allowed a steady exhale to flow through his lungs before dropping a metaphorical nuke onto his father.

"I request that my next assignment be the capture or death of Grayfia Lucifuge." There was a long silent pause as Cedric's eyes narrowed. Cyrus remained steadfast under his father's intense gaze, matching it with an unbowed visage.

" Do you know what you're asking ?"

"Yes."

" Then you must also know it's suicide ," Cedric stated with certainty. " Grayfia shelters inside the Eternal palace , and she leads Bashalums Infernal Guard. That alone is a drastic endeavor , and I'm not even accounting for the half a million Loyalists inside Lucifaad ."

"This prolonged siege is doing nothing more than dragging this war out, and it cannot continue at its current trajectory."

" I agree , Cyrus." Cedric countered with a heavy sigh . "But we have no assets inside the city to rally these dissidents to our cause. Let alone a means of supplying them with arms and intelligence to act upon. I have agents assigned to finding a path into the city, but -"

"Then cut me loose." Cyrus leaned forward and interrupted his father.

Cedric's brows furrowed incredulously, " What could you accomplish where a thousand of my field agents have already failed ."

"Your operatives are amateurs who spent the last two years chasing Viktor's shadow." Cyrus's low opinion of the Renegade intelligence network was a well-known fact, and Cedric actively fought to keep Ajuka's field agents out of his son's way. "I killed Viktor, and the Vastayan we captured was a part of his inner circle. If anyone in the territories knows a way in, it's her."

" And if the girl doesn't know ."

"Then we spend the next hundred years smashing into these walls, praying that the Loyalists break first." Cyrus met Cedric's steely gaze. "If we don't break this siege, Heaven and the Grigori will smell blood in the water."

"Azazel and Micheal would never allow their soldiers to intervene in our affairs without their permission. They want peace more than anyone of us."

Cyrus almost growled at his father's stubbornness.

Cedric didn't trust either of the Angels, but he did trust that neither could commit to another great war without guaranteeing their own extinction.

Too bad there were idiots no matter what faction you were a part of.

"Tell that to Metatron and Kokabiel." Cyrus pressed onto the Primarch's argument. "Either of them would gladly kill their boss to start another Great War."

"Bloodthirsty heathens." Cedric snarled under his breath. " Their influence grows by the day, and both are eager to avenge God's death , but that does not motivate me enough to send you into the viper's nest."

"What other choice do we have? With Viktor's death, my talents are wasted commanding Legionnaires. I belong in the field, not sitting behind battle lines watching soldiers tear each other apart."

During his deployments with the 10th Cohort, one of Cyrus's biggest gripes was the constant need to observe his forces from the rear in its earliest days.

Legionnaires were prone to falling back to their former tactics, and to avoid any institutional issues, the Spartan was forced to scale back his efforts to accommodate his men's lack of experience operating in fluid squads.

It was both frustrating and eye-opening for Cyrus to truly experience what it was like to lead and organize a proper fighting force.

Still, his Legionnaires were not yet accustomed to his style of warfare, and he wanted to bring a swift end to this Civil War before Heaven or the Grigori got involved.

Should such a thing come to pass, the carnage wouldn't be limited to just the three biblical factions.

Humanity was a chew toy manipulated by Devil and Angel alike during the Great War.

The Bubonic plague that ravaged an entire continent and killed over 200 million people was a massive conspiracy to keep humanity unaware that their species had been utterly devastated by the Great War when the fighting inevitably spilled onto the plains of Earth.

In reality, the casualties nearly eclipsed half of the human race, and it was only by the sudden termination of hostilities that humanity didn't cease to exist during the middle ages. It vexed Cyrus that the three factions sprinkled some magic onto the entire conflict and quickly forgot about the slaughter they inflicted.

They didn't care about the mountains of bodies they had stacked upon the altar of their misbegotten war, and Cyrus swore to himself that such a thing would never happen again.

He would never sacrifice human lives for the pride of any Angel or Devil.

Cyrus watched the emotion on Cedric's countenance as he silently contemplated his options. He could not come to a resolution because of an internal struggle between Primarch and Father.

But like all things in war, passion must be dismissed.

Cyrus was counting on that.

"Talk to the Vastayan." Cedric let out a resigns dechale. "If she has a way in, then we'll pull a few Centurias to follow you-"

"No." Cyrus interrupted. He could not trust this operation's authenticity while restricted to a command position. "We do this my way, alone and without a Night Warden or Ghislaine looking over my shoulder."

"Your mother would never allow that."

"Then don't tell her." Cyrus fought against looking over his shoulder. Mothers have a sixth sense when it comes to deception from their children. "I'll perform my duty and ensure your family is safe inside Nova Babylon."

" Our family, Cyrus ." Cedric reminded with a severe tone. "Don't forget that."

"As you say," The Spartan acquiesced, but Cedric's gaze remained unphased. "Do we have an accord?"

"I'll greenlight the initiative." Crimson orbs bore into Cyrus with an authority that befits Cedric's station. "But only if the Vastayan has a way inside. Even then, I want a detailed report on how you intend to operate inside the city. If your grand strategy is to wing it, you can consider my answer a no."

"You'll have it all by tonight."

"Don't make me regret this," Cedric warned, already preparing for the massive shitstorm Elerin would throw his way.

"You won't." Cedric's spectral form winked out of existence, leaving Cyrus silently glancing over the war table.

Dozens of distinct symbols matching the banners of each Legion and its subsequent allegiance were laid out before him.

Eventually, his gaze turned to the Eternal Palace, where a white figurine represented Grayfia Lucifuge.

A black tendril severed the finely crafted sculpture's head.

l==l

Cyrus avoided being pulled by Ghislaine to discuss the… celebration and all its insignificant details.

He returned to the barracks to inform his Centurions that the Cohort was being placed on a 48-hour furlough. All Legionnaires were free to explore the commercial district and spend their time however they saw fit.

It didn't take long for the barracks to empty out as 3,000 Legionnaires took to the streets to either get hammered or blow their money on the salacious workers native to the red-light district.

Either way, his path toward the infirmary was sparse of any Legionnaires, baring the select few who chose to visit their fellows still recovering from the raid of Viktor's GHQ.

The casualties suffered by the 10th Cohort came out to around thirty wounded, with no fatalities amongst any of the centurias.

The raid was a complete success on those terms, but unfortunately for the wounded, they would spend the next 24 hours confined to their beds. He made a mental note to give these poor souls an extra two days of furlough for their troubles.

Cyrus personally visited each of his wounded Legionnaires, noting how the light in their eyes brightened when they saw him.

His reputation inside the Cohort started off on a sour note, but time and actions had a way of altering people's perceptions of one another.

Fast forward more than a year and nearly six deployments, and you couldn't find a member of the 10th Cohort who didn't idolize their commander.

Cyrus did not let the adulation go to his or their heads; there was a fine line between devotion and fanaticism, and he frequently discovered that fanatical followers made mistakes.

By the time he was finished, he'd finally made his way to a cell under guard by four of his men.

"My Lord." Legionary Ornal of the 1st Centuria snapped a salute alongside the other veterans.

"Problems?" The Devil shook his head in negatory.

"None whatsoever, my Lord." The Devil shook his head in negatory. "She's been as quiet as a mouse since waking up."

Cyrus peered past the steel bars and found a pair of amber orbs. All traces of amusement vanished from Ahri's gaze, replaced by a cautious undertone.

Her clothes had been confiscated by Lady Gremory's personal tailors, leaving the Nekoshu in loose rags that barely maintained her modesty.

A perturbed expression ate at Ahri's visage because she had rightly expected to die in that courtyard, but Cyrus had other plans for the Vastayan.

And he wanted a private conversation.

"You're dismissed, Guardsman." Cyrus locked eyes with the Veteran. "Enjoy your furlough."

Ornal hesitated, and the surrounding Legionnaires likewise shuffled awkwardly in place, Cyrus's brows furrowed in momentary confusion at the sudden lack of obedience.

"Problem?" He inquired with an edge to his voice.

"No, my Lord." Legionary Tycus, another Veteran, spoke up for Ornal. "We just don't trust her, is all."

Cyrus could understand their hesitancy.

The Vastayan were considered cutthroats and renegades amongst Devils because of their long history, but Cyrus didn't need protection from the Nekoshu.

He needed answers.

"Then trust me, Guardsmen." Ornal shared a glance with Tycus, and reluctantly, the Legionnaires were convinced that discretion was the better part of valor.

The Veterans bid their lord farewell and returned to their barracks, each sparing a withering stare of contempt toward Ahri before falling from view.

The Legionnaires believed that would be the last time they ever saw the Vastayan alive, and all thoughts regarding their prisoner were lost in the amenities of Nova Babylon.

How wrong they were.

l==l

Locks came undone, and metal screeched against metal, but the shrieking sounds never tore Ahri's gaze away from her captor.

Viktor's death was neither tragic nor noteworthy in the Nekoshu's mind. Their relationship was strictly professional on her part, and she barely tolerated the Nebiros and his arrogant demeanor. She performed her duty, just as her ancestors had done for the other House Nebiros heirs, warming Viktor's bed and slaying his foes when required.

Ahri settled for a doomed existence, but fate had other plans.

She failed to protect her recently deceased Master, and now this… oddity was the next pillar of her long life.

The Vastayan are, in the most basic terms, bodyguards, and their allegiances are connected to those who bear their mark, so it would be far more accurate to call Cyrus her new Master.

By killing Viktor, the Kimaris unwittingly tied their fates together, and now here they stood, bodyguard and Master.

She wondered if he hadn't noticed the archaic marking etched into the back of his hand. The displeased expression and his constant need to flex his fingers was an answer enough.

Cyrus stalked towards her bound form, undoing the gauntlet safeguarding his right hand and presenting the unmistakable mark of Halahbran etched into his skin.

"What is this?" Cyrus inquired with a low voice that Ahri's ears barely picked up.

"The mark of Halahbran." The Nekoshu hummed with delight at his confused expression, standing to her feet and pulling on the steel bindings keeping her in place. "Viktor had one, and now so do you."

"What does it do?"

"It binds us." Cyrus's gaze turned pensive, forcing Ahri to explain further. "A Vastayan is an extension of her Master's will, and we are bound to a soul for every moment of our existence. When you killed Viktor, you became the bearer of my mark… and now we are bonded in mind and body, so to speak."

"How do I get rid of it?" Ahri's head turned in momentary uncertainty before an amused grin graced her lips.

"You could try killing yourself…." His head snapped towards her with a narrowed gaze that dried her lips. "… Or me if you are so inclined."

Cyrus briefly stood there with an unreadable appearance that revealed nothing regarding his current sentiments.

Ahri anxiously pulled on her restraints, awaiting his final damning verdict.

If Cyrus chose to end her life and spare him the thought of being bound to her, she could do nothing to stop him. His marker prevents her from committing an act against him, even to defend herself.

It turned the Vastayan into a tool to be exploited by their Master, and for this reason, the Devils slaughtered her order so thoroughly. A fallen angel took one of their maidens in, and while performing her duties, she slew a Devil Noble close to Lucifer.

But that was a story for a different time.

Ahri felt naked under his impenetrable gaze, unable to verify his thoughts on their current predicament.

Cyrus didn't trust her, and she didn't need to be a psychic to know that, but he also saved her life which further perplexed the Nekoshu's opinion of him.

A clack of metal pulled Ahri from her internal thoughts, and she felt the weights on her bindings loosen before falling to the ground in a heap.

Cyrus gave her a final narrowed gaze before turning on his heel and issuing a single command.

"Follow." Ahri did as instructed, ignoring the dirt and loose rocks digging into the souls of her feet as she kept pace with her Lord.

The unlikely pair emerged from the detention center to various glances. The few Legionnaires in the 10th Cohort barracks stared at the Nekoshu with blatant suspicion.

While among the Devils, her kind were called every foul epithet under the sun, which Ahri did not find surprising given her order's mercenary-like stance and the history between their people.

As they ascended a lengthy set of pearly white stairs toward the Governor's palace, Ahri came face-to-face with a silver-haired Nekoshu glaring visceral daggers into her soul.

"What's she doing here?" Cyrus gave the irate woman an even glance.

"There's been a new…." He struggled to find the correct words that wouldn't upset his elder sister. "… Development."

"What does she give good head?" Her scathing remark brought an equally aggressive response from Ahri.

"She…." The Vastayan advanced on her fellow Nekoshu with fury leaking into her tone. "….Is standing right here, and if you wanna go a few rounds, I'm more than happy to oblige."

"You wouldn't last five minutes with me, girl!" Both Nekoshu were nose to nose now, and Cyrus noted the underlying tension between the two as they stared daggers at one another.

He wouldn't be surprised if they ended up sleeping together by the end of the week.

However, his attention was diverted towards Ghislaine when a violent concentration of infernal energy pulled into her hands.

Ahri was likewise preparing for an all-out brawl with his elder sister regardless of how much she was out of her depth.

Ghislaine flashed her internal energy, seeking to rip this… interloper's head clean off.

Cyrus intervened before they could come to blows, pulling Ahri into his chest and putting himself between her and Ghislaine.

Without hesitation, he drew the Vastayan into the clutches of a Caiseag Sgàil .

Both he and Ahri phased out of sight, missing the bewildered expression plastered onto Ghislaine's visage and the subsequent loss of grace as she tumbled down the stairs.

Crimson orbs scrunched up as their owner smashed into the concrete before coming to an unceremonious halt at the feet of an overtly amused Lady Gremory and her entourage.

"Fuck you, Cyrus!" Venelana's grin widened as she grasped her former ward by her shoulders.

It was never a dull moment when House Kimaris was nearby.

l==l

Darkness momentarily consumed Ahri's vision as her golden eyes adjusted to her new… environment.

There was no path, no distinct landmarks, no buildings, and no people for what seemed like miles.

Only an empty, darkened space brimming with poisonous arcana that licked at Ahri's freezing limbs. Her body instinctively sought out the closest blanket of warmth, and she desperately pressed herself against Cyrus.

His arms kept Ahri in a cocoon, protecting her from the vicious tendrils that recognized this new visitor. A burst of infernal energy sent these siphons retreating into the darkness allowing the Nekoshu to feel life return to her limbs.

This place wasn't meant for life to survive.

"Where are we?" Ahri failed to keep the trepidation from her voice.

"The Shadow Realm."

This plane of reality can only be traversed by members of House Kimaris.

There is a history to this dimension that has been lost to antiquity, but dragons and beings of incredible power once called this place home.

Now it is tended to by the members of House Kimaris, but make no mistake, they are little more than caretakers.

Cyrus can feel the malevolence crawling up his skin, and every fiber of his being demanded an immediate exfil.

But, this was the best place to verify Ahri's usefulness.

The Vastayan felt his hands brace against her shoulders, and the warmth she took shelter in disappeared in a chilling fog.

"Take a seat." Cyrus produced a pair of darkened thrones for both Spartan and Vastayan to sit upon.

Ahri eyed the ornate chair with suspicion, her hand traveling up one of its blocky arms before finally settling herself into its oddly comfortable cushion.

"Why are we here?" The Nekoshu questioned, crossing her leg over the other and wrapping her arms around her torso.

"Privacy," Cyrus informed. "I hoped to have this conversation in the government quarter, but my sister is unhelpful. I need you to prove that you can be an asset, not a burden."

"How?"

"You spent your whole life by Viktor's side, and he operated out of the capital before being sent to Nova Babylon. Tell me about Lucifaad."

"It's a cesspool, plain and simple." An uncharacteristic sneer marred Ahri's seductive visage. "The social hierarchy is a joke, and the Nobles spend most of their time shitting down the throats of their constituents for their own amusement. The Nobles of Nova Babylon are tame in comparison to Lucifaads. Inquisitors patrol the Underhive, throwing their weight around like the pretentious pricks they are, and when things get out of hand, Bashalum sends in teams of Putrid Sons to cleanse the population of its… deviancy."

Cyrus could picture the brutality inflicted upon the Underhive population. While Nova Babylon was a powder keg ready to explode because of their local government's inadequacy, Lucifaad was far worse.

Bashalum had little respect for the lower classes and regulated them to either cannon fodder for his armies or labor for his factories.

Cyrus banished the thoughts of Devils and their plights to the back of his mind. "How did Viktor get out of the city? Earlier reports placed him inside the Eternal Palace after our Legions laid siege."

"There's a passage to the Underhive twenty leagues north of the walls. It's not the most stable corridor, but it's adequate."

That placed its location just a few miles north of Sirzechs siege camp and likely just out of range of their lookout patrols.

"Do the Loyalists know about it?" Cyrus inquired, leaning into his throne and ignoring the tendrils of darkness creeping down the lip of his chair.

"Only Viktor retained knowledge of its locations." Ahri curled in on herself as a wisp brushed past her leg. "Something about not trusting his subordinates not to abuse it for their own reasons."

"Can you lead me to it?" Ahri nodded, her eyes trailing off towards a hissing tendril before a flick of her wrist sent a stream of aura bullets crashing into its spine.

Cyrus snorted with amusement at the shadow creature's shriek of pain and idly noted the deep growls emitting from the other Dubhra Garrach .

These organisms populate the shadow realm and seek to kill any who tread upon their land. They manifest in different forms but almost exclusively appear as sharp tendrils that bask in the shadows.

A wave of his hand kept the Dubhra Garrach from slicing Ahri into a dozen fleshy bits, and with a curl of Cyrus's hand, they were sent back to the shadows. The Nekoshu gave him an unamused sneer at the subtle tries at intimidation.

"Yes…" She began with a deep exhale, shivering at the mere thought of the passageway's tight corridors and weak support beams. "… But it's not stable enough to fit an entire army if that's your end goal."

"What about two?" The simplicity of his statements through Ahri off-balance, and she leaned into her chair in disbelief.

In all her time amongst Devil Nobles, not once did they willingly put themselves at risk unless they were confident of success. Nobles are conceited bastards who only focus on themselves at every waking moment.

"Are you not bringing some of your Centurions?" Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. There was no way in hell Cyrus was about to walk into Lucifaad with just her by his side.

"Not immediately," Cyrus replied. "I trained them to be a surgical hammer designed to ground our enemies into dust wherever they may hide, but they aren't intended to thread a needle this precarious. When the time comes, I'll bring them to me."

"So you're just going to leave them behind?" Ahri's lips turned into a frown as she felt the emotion coursing through her veins.

With the mark of Halahbran connecting them on an emotional level, Ahri was permitted to feel her new Master's sentiments or, in this case, lack thereof.

Cyrus exemplified an emptiness that completely contrasted a Devil's overtly emotional creatures.

Throughout their conversation, his thoughts of Ahri were bordered on indifference.

There was a small inkling of skepticism, but otherwise, his thoughts were blank to her senses.

But as their conversation shifted toward his Cohort, his sentiments changed into mixed emotions.

There was an affection for his soldiers that didn't surprise Ahri. It wasn't uncommon even for Devils to eventually care for those who fought under their command but linked to that emotion was an oddity that Ahri couldn't quite place.

To the Vastayan, it felt like shame, which baffled Ahri to no end because she couldn't understand why such a paradox brewed inside him.

"They'll be fine without me," Cyrus supplied, pulling Ahri from her confusing search. "I didn't spend the last year fighting alongside them just to watch them be slaughtered on a hopeless assault upon the walls of Lucifaad."

Again, he surprised Ahri in ways that she didn't think possible.

Cyrus didn't hesitate, and that shame was slowly ebbing away until it was gone or locked away behind his current overwhelming thoughts.

His eyes brimmed with a decency, no a sincerity, that went against everything Ahri knew about Nobles.

Cyrus was meant to be arrogant, he was supposed to be unconcerned for the lives of his underlings, and he was expected to look upon them with disdain or indifference as he did her.

But he didn't do any of that.

His dialogue with the Legionary's standing guard over her made much more sense now.

They protected Cyrus, and even if he were the most powerful being in the universe, those Devils would still put themselves between their Lord and whatever fool or god came after him.

The Kimaris Heir treated them with a morality, with a care that justified his Legionnaire's undying loyalty and their need to safeguard him under any circumstance.

Cyrus is a Devil with a heart and integrity not born of accident or station but of pure desire to be genuine amongst those considered inferior to his will.

He is an enigma so complex that were it not for Ahri's mark; she would never know what he was truly like.

With a deep exhale, the Vastayan perished any thoughts about his motivations and set her sights upon his intentions towards Lucifaad.

"What exactly are you looking to do inside the city?" It wouldn't do Ahri any good if her new Master went off and got himself killed.

"The same thing Viktor did in Nova Babylon."

"An insurgency? You'll need friends inside the city to pull that off."

"Not just an insurgency," Cyrus replied. "An insurgency takes time and planning, all of which are not a luxury for me. I need names, supply depots, rally points, barracks, everything, and anything that keeps an army fighting."

"That kind of information is locked within the Inquisitorial Spire, and getting inside is damn near impossible, let alone suicidal." Ahri's gaze shifted with interest. "But I think I might know someone who can help."

"Who?"

"Vander of House Nebiros," Cyrus's mind worked overtime to recall the dossier he had written up. "He was the polar opposite of his brother, and his family disowned him when they discovered he'd been smuggling rations for the poor sods living in their squalor. He had extensive knowledge of the Inquisitorial Spire before his death."

"If he's dead, how does that help me?"

"Because everything he knows was passed onto his daughter, and she's been killing Inquisitors for the last three decades before an Inquisitorial Strike Team finally captured her. Rumors suggest she's working for a group of dissidents called the Firelights. Viktor was set to interrogate her, but after you destroyed one of his cells at Tophet, he diverted his attention towards Nova Babylon. If you're lucky, she's still alive and might be willing to help if we break her out."

"How long ago was this?" With Viktor dead, Vander's daughter was sitting on a ticking time bomb.

The Inquisitors might kill her once word got around that Viktor was dead.

"About a week, give or take."

"Then we don't have much time." Cyrus stood to his feet, grasping the Vastayan by her arms, and pulled her towards him.

With a burst of infernal energy, he manifested a portal back to the underworld underneath their feet.

Ahri landed face-first into a pristine marble floor while Cyrus made a more subtle and less painful descent upon the soles of his feet.

"You really know how to treat a woman." The Nekoshu rolled onto her back, shooting him a vicious stare that promised a slow and painful death if he embarrassed her like that again.

"Karal." Cyrus ignored Ahri's scathing glances and seemingly called out a name into the void.

Her heart froze when a figure clad in finely crafted armor appeared from Cyrus's shadow.

"Yes, my lord?" The Night Warden fell to a knee and momentarily eyed the Nekoshu.

"Get her clothes and whatever supplies she needs. I need her ready for departure by tonight."

"Your father won't be pleased if you leave Nova Babylon early, my lord," Karal warned as he ascended to his feet.

"You leave him to me, Warden," Cyrus replied. "I'm assigning you to safeguard Lady Arwen and her children until my return."

"As you command." Karal would do as he was instructed despite his reservations. His attention fell towards their….guest with a sharp gaze. "Come along, Vastayan, and mind your tongue."

Ahri returned his suspicious stare with a smile bristling with sarcasm and annoyance. If she were stuck with this stick in the mud, she would have fun with it.

"Ooohh, a field trip. I can't wait." The Nekoshu shot to her feet and skipped after the irritated Night Warden.

Cyrus envied Karal's babysitting duties for once.

At least he didn't have to deal with a family reunion.

l==l

The artificial sun showered Nova Babylon in glorious light, even as the echo of trumpets announced a new guest.

On either end of the main avenue leading towards the Governor's palace were scores of Legionnaires from the 56th and 66th Legions.

It was an honor guard that would welcome the remaining members of House Kimaris to the city of Nova Babylon. The Nobles around Cyrus were anxious as they gazed upon the large procession of Night Wardens and Legionnaires from the 8th Cohort.

Moments like this made Cyrus cherish his family's ability to utilize their Caiseag Sgàil . The ability to travel vast distances at a moment's notice was a boon not to be wasted, but Cedric cautioned delving into the Shadow Realm for menial purposes.

There were entities in that plane of reality that the Primarch didn't want to risk awakening.

Cyrus explained that avoiding a massive procession was a priority, but Cedric denied his wishes. But for this case, employing such a technique was worthless. Arwen and Elerin could not utilize their family's shadowcraft since they were of Valefor blood.

The twins were adept users but were still novices regarding their family's Caiseag Sgàil. Ashara was likewise inexperienced because her teachers were deployed to the frontlines while she was stuck at home.

Arwen's children had their training neglected, yet another point of contention between Cryus and Ashara.

She was seven years his senior, but somehow he'd surpassed her martial prowess in a few short years.

It no doubt stung her Devil pride, but Cyrus was hoping that Ashara's maturity would win out after two years apart.

Fat chance of that happening after he stabbed her mother in the thigh.

The twins didn't begrudge their little brother because they didn't take to their lessons as Ashara did, but Rose and Sapphire always proved to be the more amiable of his siblings. Cyrus could do no wrong in the twins' eyes, and whoever stated otherwise suffered a grievous injury or an annoying prank.

And as Cyrus pondered these thoughts, his gaze centered upon the banners of the 66th Legion's 8th Cohort.

He recognized the standout hair color of his sister Sapphire and Rose's mop of silver hair with red tips. Both possessed an endearing smile and expressive eyes that threatened to tear up.

However, this raw emotion was superseded by gunmetal grey orbs that did not stray from his gaze.

Ashara was coming for blood, and nothing Ghislaine or Jade said would convince him otherwise.

Cyrus exhaled a deep sigh of acceptance.

Now he had two sisters pissed off at him for differing reasons.

Cyrus stood off to the Gremory Matriarch's left, placing her in prime position to block Ghislaine's venomous glare.

The trio lingered at the summit of a lengthy set of marble stairs in uncomfortable silence.

A half dozen luminaries from Nova Babylon's Noble houses and several high-ranking officers from both garrisoned Legions stood respectfully behind them, placing precious space between themselves and the simmering Nekoshu exuding violence.

They were here for the ceremony and would no doubt depart for their homes and stations once they'd paid the proper respect to their Primarchs family.

Venelana's gaze never strayed from their oncoming guests, but she would be remiss not to address the elephant in the room between the two Kimaris.

"Ok, I'll bite." Venelana's exasperated sigh was enough to draw Ghislaine's attention. "What's the problem?"

"Aside from letting me fall face-first into these goddamn stairs." The Gremory inched away from Ghislaine's venomous tone on instinct. "Nothing at all."

"And here I thought you lost your balance." Cyrus's snort of amusement at her reply earned him another silent promise of retribution.

Venelana glanced at him from the corner of her eye, demanding an explanation for this sudden tension between the siblings.

"She was trying to kill an… asset." His placating explanation did nothing for his sister's mood.

"Asset my ass!" Ghislaine retorted with a snarl. "Where's the Vastayan bitch at so I can claw that pretty face off."

"Her location is not your concern." His defiance only stocked the flames of fury rolling off the Nekoshu.

"But it is mine, Cyrus." Venelana interceded before Ghislaine could reach around and smother her vexing sibling. "I trust you know what you're doing, but having an unsupervised Vastayan is not advisable."

"Karal is monitoring Ahri," Cyrus informed without delay. "If she gets out of line, he will handle her."

Venelana would have left the conversation at that, but her gaze was drawn towards his right hand, tightly clutching his thigh armor.

Cyrus refused to meet her eyes as she grasped his forearm and removed the gauntlet covering a marking that the Matriarch easily identified.

"Did she bond with you?" A Vastayan bonding with their Master was assumed to be an old myth amongst the younger members of their race, but Venelana had been around long enough to know fact from fiction.

"Yes." Cyrus did not attempt subterfuge, but that was because he saw no need to conceal such knowledge.

Venelana's grip was swiftly replaced by Ghislaine's, and all of her fury was disregarded by an overwhelming sense of maternal instinct.

"She marked you?" The Nekoshu murmured with impotent rage and inspected the marking with a critical eye before glancing toward Venelana. "Is this thing dangerous?

"Not to him." The Noble advised with a placating tone. "The Vastayan is bound to him and is obligated, if not downright forced to follow his commands. Whatever they may entail."

"Mom's going to be pissed when she finds out you got tatted up."

"Then we don't tell her anything about it." Cyrus snapped back, missing the amused glance from Venelana and the nocturne energy collecting in his blind spot.

"Yeahhhh," Ghislaine drew out with a shit-eating grin as a familiar visage entered Cyrus's shadow. "Good luck with that."

"What do you me-" A lithe hand snaked around his shoulders before cupping his right cheek and turning Cyrus towards its owner. A pair of azure blue orbs bore into his soul, sapping away any resistance that manifested in a single stroke.

"Tell me what?" Elerin Kimaris, in all her glory, roughly pinched her son's cheek.

"Mother," Cyrus bit out with scrunched brows. "I thought-"

" I would stay in the siege encampment while my entire family visited Nova Babylon." The Kimaris Matriarch pulled on his cheek once more. "You must be mad, child, if you think Cedric could keep me from this occasion. Speaking of…."

Cedric lingered in the shadow, allowing his nocturne energy to consume his surroundings and forcing all to bow before his presence.

The 10th Cohort's centurions and legionnaires recognized their Master's essence and kneeled with their heads bowed and their spears clutched a little tighter.

"My Lord!" Arnath Sachia immediately left the gathering of Nobles and approached the Primarch with haste. "Welcome to Nova Babylon. Its citizens and amenities are yours to command."

Cedric eyed the Noble with momentary amusement, taking great pleasure in watching the vain Devil squirm in his breeches amongst one of the original Pillars.

"Thank you, Marquis," Cedric allowed his demonic presence to ebb away. "But my time here is temporary, and I prefer to spend it with my family."

His momentary concession drew the other Nobles to Cedric like moths to a flame, and Elerin watched her husband bat away their exaggerated greetings with all the grace of a career politician.

The Matriarch clutched Cyrus's shoulder a little tighter, delivering a silent message of patience to her son before striding off to help Cedric fight off the Nobles.

A mop of raven hair obscured Cyrus's vision, and two lithe arms locked around his midsection before a familiar fragrance flooded his senses.

"Hello, brother."

"Jade." He slowly returned the familial embrace and felt his eldest sister's tense frame loosen up. "I didn't know you were coming."

"You didn't know 'we' were coming, did you?" Jade whispered, unhooking her arms and grasping both shoulders tightly. "I suppose it'd be too much to ask what day it is?"

"Not particularly." There was an amusement in her emerald gaze that Cyrus couldn't quite place. "You gonna tell me?"

"No," Jade replied, exchanging an anonymous glance with Ghislaine as she closed the distance between them. "It's a surprise mostly because you're an idiot."

Cyrus frowned in response, but his attention was drawn away to the fast-approaching procession that had seemingly crossed the two-mile distance at an expedited pace. Arwen was the first to come into view, ignoring all others to embrace Cedric and her sister.

"Cyrus!"

Sapphire's sparkling smile followed after her mother, grabbing Rose by the arm before racing after their brother. Cyrus was taken aback by their sheer delight, and his guard slipped for the briefest moment.

What should have transpired next was a reunion that mended the wounds plaguing the Kimaris family.

But there are some wounds that even time cannot heal.

A curled fist flashed across Cyrus's vision, and instinct alone saved him from a crushing blow to the skull.

A voice somewhere in the mass of noise demanded he restrain himself.

But that voice went ignored as instinct superseded all other thoughts, wrapping his arm around the offending limb before flipping its owner over his shoulder and onto their back.

Cyrus ignored the feminine roar and curled his free hand into a fist that smashed against his attacker's face. He couldn't finish his initial counter because he could feel hands clawing at his arm, keeping them in place.

His eyes centered upon an exposed throat, and without hesitation, he pulled back his arm again to deliver a retaliatory strike aimed at her pharynx.

Devil anatomy was more robust than a human's, but the Spartan knew that a ruptured esophagus was a slow and agonizing way to die.

"Enough!" Several voices rang out in unison, and Cyrus deftly recognized them as his siblings when several arms pulled him away from his attacker.

The fury instantly dissipated from Cyrus, and his blinding instincts cooled until he finally recognized the gunmetal orbs staring back at him with silent rage.

At his mercy lay Ashara.

She was no longer the teenager on the edge of maturity but a grown woman. Her silver hair was barely long enough to reach her chin, blood dripped from her lips, and her chest rose and fell with heaving pants.

In her right hand was a familiar dagger with blood dripping from its edges.

His blood.

Cyrus reached to his side and felt the red liquid slowly drip from a deep laceration that managed to pierce his ribs.

"I told you I'd get you back." Ashara was hauled to her feet by an irate Cedric, followed by an unreadable Arwen.

Elerin fussed over his wound even as Ghislaine and Jade tried to put themselves in the line of fire should another melee break out.

Sapphire and Rose remained by his side, stuck between worry and fear for what would come next.

Cyrus could only stare at the sister he'd fully intended to kill with a narrowed gaze.

Every muscle and fiber of his being shuddered with frustration as the adrenaline finally wore off.

The sheer audacity Ashara showed by spilling blood gnawed into his Spartan pride, and this unstable emotion was only multiplied by the volatile emotions Devil's were susceptible to.

This animosity needed to end.

Before he killed Ashara.

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

Cyrus listened to the matriarchs of House Kimaris verbally tear into one another on behalf of their quarreling children.

He'd never heard or seen the Valefor Matriarchs come to blows over any issue, but the confrontation between himself and Ashara was the final catalyst to their boiling tension.

Lady Gremory stood by as a neutral and somewhat captive audience while the Night Wardens maintained vigil out of duty rather than necessity.

Their argument spilled into the hallway, where their children sat in morbid silence, divided on either side between their respective mothers.

Elerin criticized Ashara for overreacting to events outside Cyrus's control, but Arwen countered by condemning Cedric for codling Cyrus and neglecting her children in favor of his only son.

It was an old argument with the same unceasing pattern.

With their parents preoccupied, it was up to Ghislaine and Jade to take charge of their younger brethren. Ghislaine stood close to Cyrus while Jade monitored Ashara. The twins were off to the side, waiting with bated breath for the calamity their family faced to culminate.

From the moment the pair came to blows, neither Kimaris was willing to let the other slip from sight. His paranoia and her boiling resentment were a volatile combination that neither Jade nor Ghislaine was keen to see ignite.

But this… dispute needed to end.

And Cyrus would have it finished on his terms.

Burning crimson met pale grey.

Not hers.

The moment he stood, she responded in kind, mimicking every breath and movement as they drew looks of alarm or panic from their siblings.

"Hey now, what are we doing?" Ghislaine was the first to intervene, immediately placing herself in front of a stern-faced Cyrus with her hand splayed across his chest.

Jade looked on with interest but was content to watch her brethren continue this line of thought.

The twins weren't sure what to do at first, but they slowly came to their feet by Ashara's side. Neither Rose nor Sapphire wanted to see their siblings come to blows for the second time in as many hours, so they put themselves in a prime position to intervene.

"Settling a score," Cyrus whispered low enough for only Ghislaine to hear. He stared past her towards the brewing bundle of anger that was Ashara. "Training room, five minutes. Don't be late."

"Oh, I won't be, little brother ." He disregarded her chastising tone and stalked off toward their intended destination.

Attendants and Guardsmen alike shied away from the Kimaris heir out of fear for the mighty waves of demonic energy rolling off him.

The Devil side of Cyrus demanded he claw that condescending smile clean off, but he'd become adept at keeping his volatile nature in check.

It was time to solve this… familial tension the best way Cyrus knew how.

Through violence.

l==l

"They're beating the shit out of each other." Jade internally cringed as Cyrus's fist smashed into Ashara's left cheek, spinning her head and leaving her vulnerable to a nasty knee to the solar plexus.

Blood and spittle shot out of Ashara's mouth, but she refused to be placated so easily. Her head snapped up, driving the top of her skull directly into Cyrus's jaw and stunning him backward.

Ashara snatched his right arm and yanked Cyrus towards her to execute an axe kick aimed at his throat. He batted away her heel and drove his shoulder directly into her abdomen, taking her off her feet and placing himself in a full-guard mount.

"I don't think he and I have ever gone this hard." Jade hummed at Ghislaine's comment as the pair watched the grudge match play out with concern, and their expressions were the definition of grimacing with every brutalizing blow.

Neither one was holding back, and the twins shifted in their seats in discomfort and silent anger. They had planned to drag Cyrus around town to spend much-needed time together, but Ashara shot that idea down.

Cyrus was forced to disengage from the full mount when Ashara managed to trap his right arm in an arm lock. He victimized Ashara by elevating her and his trapped limb into the air before slamming her into the ground.

The Spartan allowed the Devil to find her breath as her lungs gasped for precious oxygen.

"Rarrggh!" Ashara deflected a series of palm strikes with a mighty roar and sought to take Cyrus's head off with an overhead right.

He ducked underneath the strike and drove a fist into her ribs.

Cyrus countered a roundhouse kick to the skull by wrapping an arm around the offending limb and slamming his elbow into Ashara's nose.

She tanked the devastating blow and surprised her brother by kicking her free leg off the ground and wrapping it around his neck before yanking him to the floor.

Infernal energy flashed, and Cyrus found himself at the mercy of arcana-laced fists raining down upon him. Gunmetal orbs blazed with fury as several strikes managed to break through his guard and impact his cheeks and chin.

This was the brutalizing scene a certain Vastayan faced while searching for her master.

"Get off him!" Ahri acted on instinct, pushing a dose of ki into her legs to give her that extra speed boost. Ashara raised her fist for a final strike just as a heel nearly smashed into her chin.

Cyrus enveloped his arms around Ashara's frame, pressing her chest against his and sparing her from tanking a devastating kick to the jaw.

"Calm down!" Ghislaine appeared next to the Vastayan, wrapping an arm around Ahri's neck and keeping her in place.

The twins shot from their seats and joined their sisters as they crowded around the simmering fracas.

"All right! All right!" Ahri allowed the tension in her limbs to subside, and Ghislaine gave her a narrowed glance before pushing her away. "What the hell was going on!"

"A training session," Jade answered cooly, suspiciously eyeing their guest. "Who are you?"

"Ahri." The Nekoshu's temper flared out under the elder Kimaris's attention. "I'm Cyrus's bodyguard."

"You're not a Night Warden, I recognize."

"That's because she isn't." Ghislaine scoffed at the idea of Ahri being a Night Warden. "She's a Vastayan, one of Viktor's whores our brother deemed to keep in his company."

Ahri was kept from a harsh retort by the six-foot amazon of a Devil stepping into her personal space with a narrow gaze.

"Is she a problem?" The ordinarily quiet Rose inquired, easily towering over the Vastayan with her impressive height. Sapphire matched her twin's aggressive posture, albeit at a much smaller five-foot-seven.

"No." Ahri was surprised to hear Ghislaine coming to her defense, but it quickly died with her following statement. "She's still a bitch, though, so keep an eye on her."

The twins were in the midst of a thorough interrogation, but Jade beckoned everyone out of the arena.

"Why?" Ghislaine's question was answered when her gaze fell on Cyrus and Ashara.

The fury that had built up was receding, and all that remained was remorse that needed to be addressed with words rather than violence.

"Let's give them the room," Jade took Ahri by the arm and silenced the Vastaya's protests with infernal energy. "You and I need to have a conversation."

Cyrus ignored that future problem and focused on the black haze dissipating from his eyes. He stared at Ashara, whose heartbeat matched his receding pulse as both came down from their adrenaline high.

"Are we done?" She inquired, wiping the blood from her nose and lips. A drop of blood impacted Cyrus's armored chest. "Or are you just tired?"

"I'm sorry." The sudden confession threw Ashara for a loop, and she leaned back enough to stare into his crimson orbs.

"Do you even know what you're sorry for?" His furrowed brows brought a chortle of amusement from her. "Of course you don't."

"Are you not angry about that night?" Cyrus spoke with confusion that earned another bark of delight from Ashara.

"Oh, believe me. I am fucking furious that you took a chunk of Mom's leg off, but that isn't why I'm still pissed at you."

"Then why-"

"Am I still angry?" Any amusement in her grin vanished. "We lost you, Cyrus…."

Ashara let loose a deep exhale, and her piercing grey orbs bore into Cyrus's with a mixture of disappointment and resentment.

"… When you left us, Sapphire lost the one person in the underworld who never once chastised her, never once looked down upon her! Rose lost that calming voice that always had the right answer to her problems! And I!…."

Ashara's throat tightened, and the slightest tear impacted Cyrus's cheek.

This… visceral reaction was entirely unexpected, and he had no idea how to proceed.

"… I lost my best friend." A sinking feeling pooled at the bottom of Cyrus's stomach. "Before that night, we did everything together. Do you know how much it hurt to see you walk away from us?!"

A treacherous piece of Cyrus wanted to tell Ashara that he emphasized with her words and immediately apologize for his transgressions, but he couldn't allow that.

These Devils were his enemy, and he refused to be compromised by his familial ties any longer.

It was painfully apparent that these people could subjugate Humanity and shackle them into slaves to do as they pleased.

Cyrus would not allow these Devils to chain Humanity to their desire, and he willingly threw himself into their army to understand how they operated and use their dogmatic principles against them.

When Cedric gave him the 10th Cohort, he understood that they were little more than cannon fodder in their current form.

He corrected this problem by venturing into the howling dark to turn these stubborn Legionnaires into a potent fighting force.

But he didn't realize how easy it was to forget they weren't human. The Legionnaires ribbed at each other like marines and competed against one another like rival branches in the UNSC.

Cyrus had to constantly remind himself that these Devils weren't human, and to keep himself from developing biases; he sent out a full Centuria without their spears against a horde of Gaiseadh .

This suicidal venture was dressed up to Arkias and his concerned Centurions as a training maneuver, but in reality, it was a calculated attempt to make these Devils hate Cyrus so utterly that any foundation for trust would be shattered.

It didn't work.

Cyrus could barely maintain his composure as the Gaiseadh smashed into their ranks and nearly broke their formation in two.

Centurion Zorizar proved his mettle by reorganizing his men into a tight cluster that deflected every attempt by the Gaiseadh to eviscerate them.

In that moment of helplessness, Cyrus didn't see Devils but Legionnaires… HIS Legionnaires holding the line against impossible odds.

He barely concealed his internal regret while directing a relief force to intervene before the Gaiseadh killed anyone.

Cyrus tried to convince himself that, logically speaking, these Devils were more valuable to his plans as capable soldiers instead of disregarded cannon fodder.

To make matters worse, the Legionnaires interpreted his constant willingness to stand guard among the other sentries and his utter contempt for a traditional Noble lifestyle as a way of suffering alongside his men.

In reality, Cyrus undertook these altruistic actions because he didn't know any better.

He hated how his Cohort looked up to him with veneration and loyalty.

He remembered taking a Centuria into Tophet to teach them how to scour a city for its deviants by blending in with the populace.

That was a mistake as well.

"Could you spare a coin, mister?"

A child clothed in a bundle of rags approached him with her hands held out.

The girl looked so desperate and lost that his face replaced hers for the briefest moment.

A battered, bruised orphan of Ferax begging on the streets of a rundown district that half the city either didn't care for or didn't know.

Cyrus remembered walking away from the girl, trying to forget the dismayed look on her face in some vain attempt to keep himself from treating these people as more than just future adversaries.

He didn't want to know these people, and he didn't want to walk among them as one of their kin.

If Cyrus ever truly accepted the Devil part of him that yearned to be let loose, he feared losing what it meant to be human.

What it meant to be a Spartan.

Ashara stared at him with begging eyes that yearned for a response that could improve this confrontation.

She didn't get it.

"No." Cyrus's impassive attitude ignited a fury in her gunmetal orbs. "I don't."

Pain blossomed across his jaw.

"You colossal fucking asshole!" Curled fists slammed into his face with each resounding word. "We're supposed to be a family! We're supposed to look out for each other! Why don't you fucking care about any one of us?!"

"You wouldn't understand." It was a miracle that Ashara didn't kill him right there.

"Then fucking tell me!" She snatched him by the collar and snarled at him with barring fangs. "Tell me what I must do to make you care even the slightest bit for us?!"

"There's nothing you can do." Ashara's mind froze in disbelief, staring at him with tears staining her cheeks.

No matter how much she thought otherwise, the problem lay with Cyrus alone.

He'd given this family the cold shoulder for over two years, and despite it all, his parents and siblings had given back nothing but love and support.

"Fuck you, Cyrus…."

Something inside Ashara died, and he flinched when a familiar dagger was stabbed into the ground not inches from his head.

"… Consider this a birthday present." The venom in her voice was shaken by sorrow. "I hope you choke on it."

Cyrus stared at the decorative ceiling, lost in a haze of regret that he would give anything to be rid of. He waited for the footsteps to dissipate and a resounding slam from the arena's doors before grasping the ornate dagger mocking him with its presence.

He lay there for hours before someone finally entered the training room looking for him.

Ahri managed to evade further interrogation after Ashara stormed out of the arena and barreled past everyone around her with tears in her eyes.

Jade and Ghislaine followed her in concern, and the twins figured that discretion was the better part of valor and left Cyrus to his own devices for now.

This left Ahri as the sole person to find Cyrus lying on his back while eyeing the blade that had pierced his side not hours earlier. She sat beside him, silently watching the frayed emotions in his crimson orbs before speaking.

"You ok?" It seemed insincere at first, but in Ahri's experience dragging things out didn't seem like a particularly sound idea.

"No." Cyrus relented after a few tense moments of silence. "No, I'm not."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Are you ready to leave?" The question momentarily caught Ahri off guard.

His birthday was tomorrow, and she wasn't entirely sure if his family would just let him leave when they were here to spend time with him.

She hoped he knew what he was doing.

"Yes." Cyrus didn't hesitate to find his feet, sheathing his new dagger in his belt before hoisting her up.

"Then we leave now."

l==l

"Where is he?"

Sapphire and Rose entered the training room only to find it empty and severely damaged. The sparring session between Cyrus and Ashara had left its once pristine faculties marred and severely damaged.

The twins returned to their room to retrieve Cyrus's birthday gift and salvage this night from the constant turmoil.

"I'm not sure," Rose could feel potent concentrations of infernal energy from a Caiseag Sgàil, and by her estimations, they missed Cyrus by a few minutes.

Sapphire nervously clutched the meticulously wrapped present in both hands.

The twins weren't entirely sure what to get their brother at first, but eventually, they decided on a simple picture taken when he was still living in the confine of their fortress-monastery.

Cyrus was different back then but changed after the… incident on the terrace a few years back.

"Do you think he'll like it?" Rose picked up on her twin's anxiety with a single glance. Sapphire was as strong-headed as they came, but her confidence had a tendency to waver whenever Cyrus was involved.

"I'm sure he'll love it," Rose wrapped a comforting arm around her twin's shoulder. "Only wish we had a more up-to-date picture. We're still kids in this one."

The image was taken during an annual gathering with House Kimaris retainers at their fortress-monastery.

Centurions and Primus Legionnaires alike were gathered together from every Cohort.

Rose and Sapphire were expected to attend alongside their other siblings, but Cyrus was being particularly antisocial.

Elerin tasked the twins with ensuring their baby brother remained inside the dining hall and keep him amongst their guests.

Cyrus was obsessed with touring their illustrious pastures for hours on end, and it wouldn't be an over-exaggeration to say that he spent more time there than anywhere else in the castle.

Predictably, the twins kidnapped their brother for a series of pranks that annoyed several partygoers.

Their victims ranged from Legionnaires to their siblings, but their reign came to an end because Ashara started gunning for the trio after Sapphire slingshotted a nasty pair of rotten eggs into her face.

Cyrus guided them into the mazelike bushes of their Botanical gardens, allowing the trio to successfully evade a very irate Ashara.

They hid in those luscious pathways for the rest of the gathering, and that magnificent setting became the backdrop for their photograph.

Despite the image being wrapped up in a tightly constrained present, Rose could easily recall the photograph's every detail.

Cyrus was wedged between the pair of vibrant twins, an indifferent expression etched into that stern visage of his and the barest signs of life in his crimson orbs. Sapphire leaned her cheek onto his sternum, with her bubblegum hair tickling his chin.

Since Rose was the tallest of the trio, she flanked Cyrus's right, wrapping her left arm around his shoulder and pulling him into her side while flashing a peace sign toward their reluctant photographer.

Her Night Warden, a former Centurion called Ornathoz, was kind enough to be their cameraman. He scrounged up an imagery spell and adjusted their stances as needed, much to Cyrus' chagrin.

Rose felt an exhale of despair exit her lungs.

She longed for the days of ignorance and simplicity before Cyrus's demonic energy engulfed his senses and fractured their family.

"Rose?" Sapphire's hazel-blue eyes stared at her sister in concern. "What is it?"

"It's nothing." Rose took her by the shoulder and led her out of the training room. "Maybe he's in his room?

"I doubt he'd go straight there. He's never been the mopey type." Sapphire grabbed her sister's wrist and started dragging her into the hallway. "Let's try the barracks. Maybe one of his Centurions knows where he is."

Rose hoped somebody knew where their idiot brother was.

l==l

"1st Centuria form up!" Rose recognized Centurion Zorizar's gravel voice anywhere, and as the twins strode into the barracks, they found the entirety of the 10th Cohort blazing with activity.

Legionnaires and attendants were gathering their equipment by the hundreds, and several Centurias were already mustering into formation outside their former barracks.

The 10th Cohort was marshaling for a significant deployment, but Rose could have sworn their orders were to remain inside the city.

"What the hell is going on?" Legionnaires saluted the twins and maintained a respectful distance even as they sprinted to their respective Centurias.

"I don't know," Rose scanned the mass of Legionnaires and picked out a Centurion entering the Cohort's command tent. "But I bet Cyrus is with his officers."

Sapphire's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and her legs instinctively kicked into the dirt as she propelled herself toward their intended destination. Rose rolled her eyes in amusement but followed after her excitable twin at a more sedated pace.

"Cyrus!" Sapphire threw open the command tents flaps and scanned the half a dozen occupants inside before her eagerness faltered when she found only Arkias and a few other Centurions gathered around the war table.

But Cyrus was once again nowhere to be found, and suddenly Sapphire felt exceptionally awkward for interrupting what seemed to be a crucial meeting.

Rose preceded her into the command tent and glimpsed towards the Primus Legionnaire leading this procession

Arkias couldn't help the snort of amusement at his Lady's exuberant personality and spared a look towards his underlings. "You have your orders, Centurions. I want your Guardsmen ready to depart within the hour."

The officers saluted their commander and departed while formally acknowledging Sapphire and Rose. The twins waited for the final Centurion to exit before advancing towards an awaiting Arkias.

"Lady Sapphire, Lady Rose." The Legionnaire Commander leaned his weight onto both palms as he presided over the war table. "What brings you to the 10th?"

"Was looking for my brother," Rose explained as the twins stopped across from Arkias. "But why are you all packing up?"

"New orders, my lady. Our Cohort is to rejoin the Legion immediately, and we're assembling for an immediate departure. A few of my Guardsmen are still inside Nova Babylon, but we expect to be outside the city limits by nightfall."

Something felt off to Rose.

On the few occasions she and Sapphire had tagged alongside Jade's Cohort, they'd never seen their eldest sister not participate in coordinating their Guardsmen's departure.

It was tradition to rally alongside your Legionnaires as much as etiquette, so to see Arkias readying his Cohort for departure without their Lord was… concerning.

"Will Cyrus not be joining you?" Sapphire was thinking along the same lines as her twin and immediately spoke of their concerns.

"No, my lady." A tinge of disappointment crossed the Legionnaire's gaze. "He relayed our new orders and left with the Vastayan. I wish he had taken one of us with him, but Lord Cyrus was adamant about his choice. So, we reluctantly accepted his orders."

A cold feeling began to creep up Rose's spine.

She did not enjoy the Vastayan, but that was primarily due to her envy of her permanent bond with Cyrus. The twins knew the specifics, but neither trusted Ahri or her loyalties.

"Do you know where he went off to?" Arkias would be a fool not to notice their anxieties.

"I don't know the specifics." The Primus Legionnaire informed a hint of caution in his tone. "The Primarch designated Lord Cyrus for a personal mission. That's all I know."

"Thank you, Guardsmen." Rose didn't wait for Arkias's departing word and dragged her twin out of the barracks. "We need to find father."

Sapphire scarcely flinched as her sister pulled her up the palace stairway, offering no resistance to Rose's rough treatment. Her thoughts were consumed by treachery, and the far corners of her mind bristled with fear that the worst-case scenario was happening.

"Do you think he left?" Rose's pace faltered at Sapphire's sudden inquiry, and she forced herself to a halt just as they reached the palace doors.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sapph." The older twin scolded her sister for voicing such thoughts. "There's no fucking way he would just up and leave without saying goodbye."

"He did it once already." Sapphire's hazel blue gaze bristled with despair as she recalled Ashara's scathing remarks before they reached Nova Babylon. "Do you think she was right?"

"That he doesn't care about any of us?" Rose growled out. "Of course not! Ashara's just lashing out. She's been angry ever since he left for the frontline…."

Sapphire didn't seem convinced by her twin's justification, forcing Rose to grip her chin and stare at her matching pair.

"… Cyrus cares, Sapph…." Rose tried her damndest to convince herself as much as she was Sapphire. "… Don't ever think or say otherwise. He just… it's harder for him to show it. It always has been."

Sapphire didn't offer a verbal response, sliding underneath Roses' grip and striding towards their father's temporary office. The younger twin glanced back at her sister with uncertain eyes and whispered in a hollow voice.

"I hope you're right." Sapphire shouldered open the palace doors. Their present still clutched tightly to her chest.

An exhausted sigh exploded from Rose's lips as she stared at the artificial sky in a vain attempt to call upon a higher power for help.

Predictably nothing but a howling wind responded to her pleas.

Sapphire wasn't the only Kimaris banking on hope.

l==l

"He hasn't changed!"

Those were Arwen's opening words during the explosive argument between both Valefor Matriarchs. Cedric was a reluctant participant in the unfortunate position of ensuring both his wives didn't try to kill each other.

Arwen still considered Cyrus a loose cannon that someone in this family would have to put down when he lost control of himself.

Elerin was unwilling to let her sister disparage her only son, and in typical Valefor fashion, she escalated the argument in his defense. The sisters' insults and accusations had come dangerously close to erupting into an exchange of arcana-laced fists, but Cedric and Venelana intervened just in time.

He didn't want his family to come to blows, but an escalation in violence had already taken hold.

Ghislaine had to practically beg Cedric not to intervene when Zakan informed him that Cyrus and Ashara were sparring… violently by some accounts. It was only due to Jade's assurances that he didn't walk down there and put a stop to that… session.

Still, what drove Cedric into the annals of misery were the final accusations Arwen was throwing their way.

"You're keeping secrets from me," Arwen's tone was a mix of fury and despondency. "There is something wrong with that boy, but neither of you will admit it!"

"There is nothing wrong with my son! " Elerin's retort caused her sister to explode in rage.

"You cannot be that blind, Elerin!" Arwen can still recall the nocturne energy waves crashing against her skin, let alone the teeth of her daughter's dagger crawling up her leg. "He is a ticking nova bomb. Both of you assured me that taking Cyrus to the frontline would be good for him, but all I see is Cedric using him up like a satan-damned assassin!"

Arwen's damning statement turned Elerin's visage white as a sheet, and Cedric did not doubt that she recalled their journey through Cyrus's psyche all those years ago.

The accusation that they were treating him worse than that idiotic military officer from his past was enough to remove any resistance on Elerin's part.

Cyrus's memories still haunted her, and she had to physically restrain herself from going to him on a whim. Their son enjoyed his personal space, and physical affection was something he was not comfortable with.

"You should have left him in my care, Cedric!" With Elerin going silent, Arwen turned her ire upon her husband. "You have done nothing but turn him into a machine that doesn't hesitate to strike down his own sister!"

"Ashara attacked him, Arwen!" Cedric growled with contempt at the memory of his children tearing into one another. "None of this would have happened if you had kept her calm!…"

He had to remind himself that while Ashara struck first, Cyrus escalated the issue by aiming for her throat.

He didn't hesitate to go for a killing blow, and Cedric hoped it was instinct and not a deliberate act.

"… Leaving Cyrus in your care would have achieved nothing." The Primarch took a deep calming breath and leveled his gaze back onto his second wife. "Ghislaine was the only one willing to go to him after the incident. Ashara couldn't stand to be in the same room, and the twins were too frightened to try!"

Cedric neglected to say that he'd barely convinced Cyrus to recognize Ghislaine and the others as his sisters. He often spoke the term without an ounce of affection, and he hardly considered them siblings in anything more than name alone.

Ghislaine managed to break the mold, but theirs was a relationship that contrasted Jade and Arwen's children.

Cyrus was more comfortable around the hybrid than anyone else in their family, which most likely had to do with the fact that she was only half-devil.

"But I would have done everything for that boy!" Arwen hissed back with fury. "I love Cyrus like he's my son, but your desire to keep him in his comfort zone is why we are here! The boy barely talks to his sisters, and you don't think I know that Ghislaine is the only one he tolerates! Even then, she can barely get him to treat her as an acquaintance! Then you give him a Cohort because of your Praetor's incompetence!"

"Cyrus needed to focus his mind on something meaningful, and we were losing Legionnaires by the hundreds!" Cedric slammed his fist onto the office desk, cracking it in two. "Warfare agrees with him in more ways than you could possibly know, so I gave him precisely what he wanted, and by all accounts, it has proven effective!"

She stared at him in muted disbelief, unable or unwilling to follow her sister's or her husband's line of thinking. Their pride and anger consumed their mindsets, but Arwen refused to continue this argument against two of the most stubborn people she had ever known.

"That's the problem, Cedric." The Valefor Matriarch let out a snort of contentment and stared into his crimson orbs. "You gave him what he wanted…."

Arwen's following retort was barely a whisper, but it acted like a sledgehammer that damned Cedric's arguments.

"… Not what he needed."

For the first time in decades, Cedric was stunned into silence.

She was right.

Arwen watched Cedric slag into his chair, but she didn't linger for a response, making a swift exit and leaving him to deal with a shaken Elerin. Silence consumed their atmosphere, and only the deep exhale from his lungs echoed in the chamber.

"She… She's wrong." Cedric tried to reason with himself, but the words didn't quite reach his eyes, and his voice was drained of all the passion and fury it had so recently exuberated.

"No, she isn't. All we've accomplished is postponing a greater issue." Elerin turned towards him with a distraught expression, her composure wavering with grief. "We failed him."

His pride again made to argue, but all the bitterness that festered inside Cedric viciously crushed it. He had no words for Elerin, and his lack of response only seemed to stamp home her feelings.

She departed shortly after, bearing a desolate look that left Cedric hollow. Now he lingered here, wallowing in self-pity with only a shattered desk and a fractured family to show for his efforts.

The secret Cedric and Elerin had been keeping from their family was now the catalyst for their problems.

Arwen and her children couldn't understand Cyrus's ruined mindset and how much he truly despised many of them coming out of the womb.

There was never a chance to fix what had long been shattered, but Cedric had the opportunity to apply new principles and motivations to his son at such a tender age.

And yet, Cedric had failed all the same.

Cyrus may have taken to his ancestral powers, but he was no closer to accepting that he was no longer the same human fighting amongst the stars.

Cedric couldn't help the huff of amusement at how his one and only son could cause him more issues than any of his sisters combined.

Cyrus was one of a kind, and he continued to prove that in every way possible.

"Father?" Cedric's gaze snapped towards a mop of pink hair poking into the room, and the dejected atmosphere dissipated at the sight of both his twin daughters.

Sapphire strode into the room with a package clutched in her palms, and Rose followed her sister's wake. Both of them were growing into beautiful young women, and Cedric praised the poor sod that would manage to take their hearts.

"What is it, my child." He adopted a placating grin that alleviated the twin's somewhat despondent mood.

"We can't find Cyrus, and we wanted to give him his birthday gift early." Sapphire offered the finely wrapped present to her father, and his eyes danced with amusement.

"Well, I'm sure that I can…." Cedric's heart and voice suddenly froze, drawing alarmed looks from both his daughters.

Sapphire dropped her present and caught him as he slumped forward, forcing her full weight into his side and bracing him against her.

"Father!" Rose lunged forward and helped Sapphire ease him into a padded chair.

Cedric clutched a hand to his heart.

The beating organ suffered the sharp sting of a thread cut from its tether.

The anguish sprang up when Cedric tried to utilize the anchor from his Caiseag Sgàil .

He implanted in each of his offspring a surefire way to locate and, sometimes, teleport to their location given a certain distance.

However, he couldn't find Cyrus's anchor, and that terrified him.

"Ghislaine!" Cedric called out into the void with a demanding voice that immediately received his Nekoshou daughter's response. Sapphire and Rose were forced back as a black shape emerged behind them.

"Yes, father?" The Nekoshou had just come from an intense conversation with Ashara and Jade that left her in a poor mood.

Cedric ripped Ghislaine from her internal musings when he clutched both shoulders with a concerned grimace.

"Take me to Cyrus." She didn't hesitate to activate his anchor, but like Cedric, she'd nearly fallen over in debilitating pain.

Sapphire and Rose could only look on with increasing despair as Ghislaine suffered the same ailment.

"His anchors gone."

A million thoughts ran through Cedric's mind, but the visible shock adorning Ghisalines features only drove home the tragedy of their situation.

Cyrus was leaving.

"Zakan!" The Commanding Night Warden stepped out of Cedric's shadow. "Where is Karal?!"

"Lord Cyrus assigned him to Lady Arwen's protection detail." Zakan relayed without hesitation under the Shadow Lord's livid gaze.

"Damn you, Cyrus." Cedric forced down a furious snarl as he rose to his feet and began barking out orders. "Put the Garrison on alert! I want all Guardsmen to be on the lookout for him now!"

"Yes, my lord." Zakan disappeared into the darkness, leaving Cedric to determine their next step. Alerting the Garrison was a means to an end, and he didn't bank on a random Legionnaire finding his missing son.

"Father, what is going on?!" Ghislaine recovered her breath and drew her father's attention.

"Cyrus is going to Lucifaad!" Cedric supplied as a wave of nocturne energy gathered around him. "I'm heading for the spire to get a fix on him. Find Elerin and search for him to the south. Jade will join you along the way with the 8th Cohort!"

"What about us?" Rose and her twin stood by, ready and waiting to assist, but the uncertain glance Cedric shot her way halted any thought of helping.

"Stay here with your mother." The Primarch wasn't asking or telling them. It was a demand, and no arguments could convince him otherwise.

Cedric vanished in the blink of an eye, and Ghislaine barely gave the twins a forlorn glance before accompanying him.

Rose felt like her entire life was completely upended, and she didn't know whether to cry or curse Cyrus for doing this.

Her blood burned with potent anger, and the pounding in her skull threatened to unleash a terrible fury.

But the muffled cries from her beloved twin silenced that rage and only left misery in its wake. Rose wrapped her arm around Sapphire's shoulder as she hugged her brother's gift, unable and unwilling to let it go.

Cyrus left again, and it felt like it was for good this time.

"What did we do wrong?" The question fell from Sapphire's lips, and Rose instinctively wrapped her in an affectionate embrace.

"I… I don't know."

Grief blanketed the twins.

l==l

As Legionnaires took to the sky in pursuit of Cyrus, he heard the fluttering of their wings and the clanking of their Griycium armor echoing in the distance.

They wouldn't find him. None of them would; Cyrus made sure of that. He ignored Ahri's concerned glance as they loitered not feet away from Viktor's unguarded tunnel into Lucifaad.

"You sure about this?" It wasn't the first time Ahri asked the question, and Cyrus desperately hoped this would be the last.

"Completely." The Vastaya stared at the side of his head with an unreadable expression as if seeking to pry open his thoughts and discover what was ticking inside.

The Vastayan waved her fingers and produced a weightless orb that shined brightly into the cavern's darkened corridors.

Amber orbs returned Cyrus' unphased gaze, and the two exchanged quiet stares for a few seconds before Ahri's eyes softened, and she averted her eyes.

"Follow me." With those words, Ahri ventured into the familiar darkness, deliberately avoiding the decaying pillars as she illuminated their route.

Cyrus made to follow, but an echo across the darkened plains rooted him in place.

"Cyrus!"

There was trepidation in that scream that Cyrus found hard to ignore, and he struggled to set aside the piece of him that wanted to turn back.

Ironically, his Devil side encouraged him to withdraw back into the embrace of those he had never wanted to call family while his Spartan creed urged him to endure.

This war needed to end, and every second that passed was another step toward an apocalypse.

Hundreds of millions of his people would be slaughtered on the altars of sacrifice these factions would erect on their lands to amass as much cannon fodder as possible.

No human being would be spared underneath these godly creatures, and the land would run red with human blood.

"CYRUS!" He glanced backward, managing to discern Ghislaine's distressed features off in the distance.

The Spartan hesitantly ventured into the catacombs, drifting out of sight before her troubled expression could change his mind.

All the while, Cyrus did everything in his power to ignore the pieces of him that would forever despise this course of action.

He had a mission to accomplish, and nothing in this world could convince him to turn back now.

Cedric, Ghislaine, and the rest of his family were Devils.

They are a means to an end.

Cyrus had a family long before these people graced him with their presence.

He had two sisters that stood by him when the galaxy reigned hell upon them, burning planets and leaving corpses in continent-scarring ditches.

Sisters that he would never truly know if they died on their feet or lived to see the seasons pass and the worlds they once called home to teem with life once more.

But that was the tragedy of war.

Only the fortunate received a happy ending, and Cyrus refused to believe these devils could give him what he apparently needed.

He didn't need Ghislaine, and he didn't need the Kimaris family to hold his hand so he could cry on their shoulder.

Cyrus didn't need anyone.

How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?

As long as it takes.

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

Lucifaad.

The cradle of all Devilkind crafted from Lilith's genetic material on the blood of Lucifer himself.

This decrepit city is a massive arcology that hosts the largest concentration of Devils in the Underworld.

It is home to over 12 million inhabitants who were formerly loyal to the Houses of Lucifer, but that allegiance has been fractured over the decades by the brutal treatment of its citizens.

Lucifaad is divided into two halves called the Spires and the Underhive.

This divide precedes the city's political and economic conditions plaguing its people.

The seat of power for each Satan clan is a quartet of colossal spires garrisoned by their subordinate Extra Demon clans.

Each tower surrounds and protects the Eternal Palace, an impregnable fortress that casts a long shadow over Lucifaad.

The Palace is protected by the elite Infernal Guard, where Grafyia Lucifuge performs her duties as guardian of the Lucifer Clan.

Lucifuge rarely departs the Eternal Palace unless Sirzechs is spotted on the frontlines.

Bashalum keeps her on the tightest leash possible to avoid any 'accidents' that would permanently or temporarily remove her from the field.

Cyrus aimed to ensure the former, but contingencies must be established.

While Grayfia's death or capture was the main objective, his secondary function was to undermine the city's defense capabilities, and the best way to accomplish that was to provoke as much chaos as necessary.

And he knew how to bring a city to its knees.

As Ahri walked the decadent streets of Lucifaad, Cyrus hid in her shadow, allowing her to bypass several Inquisitor checkpoints without issue.

Viktor's death hadn't become common knowledge yet, and the Vastayan was milking this temporary ineptitude for all it's worth.

While she delved into the heart of Lucifaad, Cyrus was constantly harassed by the entity stalking him in the Shadow Realm. Even the most basic form of demonic art drew this malevolence like a moth to the flame.

It consistently blanketed him in a wave of shadows and spoke in a low whisper. Its words were often muffled and challenging to comprehend.

However, Cyrus was able to decipher one sentence in its garbled messaging that was practically being clawed into his mind.

I WILL SERVE AS A MONUMENT TO YOUR FAILURES

"Shut up already." Cyrus's growl ghosted over Ahri's ears, freezing the Vastaya solid as a surge of resentment flooded over her.

"What is it?" Ahri inquired in a hushed voice.

"Nothing," Cyrus pulsed his arcana, momentarily dispersing the entity and sending it back into the unknown. "How far until we reach the garrison?

"We're close, and there's no shortage of Inquisitors near-" Ahri ducked into an alleyway, avoiding a heavily guarded checkpoint cutting off access into the adjacent district.

"What is it?"

"There's a roadblock ahead." She dejectedly answered, her amber orbs taking in the sight of several Inquisitors storming into a family home with spears at the ready. "I'll have to go around this lot."

" Just get to the garrison so we can locate Vander's daughter ," Cyrus commanded. He couldn't see what Ahri was bearing witness to, but he needed her to focus on the task at hand. " The sooner we can make contact , the better ."

"Patience isn't really your strong suit." Ahri's skin burned in retaliation for her sarcastic remark. Even the slightest bit of resistance activated the command seal along her spine.

"I have an abundance of patience, but only for people worthy of it."

Ahri forged ahead, scaling a corner building and entering the Novagrad district with a dramatic flair that momentarily drew curious eyes. The Vastayan didn't linger and fled back into the mass of Devils before an Inquisitor came to investigate the disturbance.

"Spoken like a true Noble," Ahri rebuked, sliding through the dense crowds of civilians toward Xalerk Plaza's garrison. "You and Caitlyin might just get along."

"Speaking of, do you trust her ?"

"She was a pompous little shit who gave up her cushy life to be an Inquisitor, not exactly the most trustworthy of occupations, but the girl has a heart of gold. I met her during a raid on one of Vander's suspected encampments. She owes me a few favors, and I'm cashing one in on your behalf."

" Lucky me ."

"You have no idea." Ahri cooed back mockingly, her amber eyes monetarily alight with amusement before Cyrus physically intervened. The Kimaris stepped from her shadow and dragged her into a nascent alleyway before pressing her against the cement wall.

Without warning, Cyrus took Ahri's skull in both hands and spoke in a hushed voice the ancient pretext.

"… Ceàird Sgàil ." The Vastaya managed to discern the final words to his sentence before a hand snatched her heart in a tight grip.

"Argh-!" Cyrus silenced Ahri's cries of anguish by cupping his hand over her mouth and pouring his arcana into her system.

Anchoring his shadow step to a sentient being's soul was a painful process worth the benefits. Cyrus had meant to anchor Ahri earlier, but their escape from Nova Babylon took priority, and he had yet to find ample opportunity until now.

"Gods damn you, Cyrus." Her laboring breath echoed against his skin as he struggled to keep her steady. "What the hell was that?"

"An anchor." The Spartan explained, stepping away from her personal space while keeping an arm on her shoulder. "Should we be separated, I locate you within mere moments. It's… institution is painful."

"No shit!" Ahri hissed back, ignoring the command seal's reprisal. "You couldn't have done this in a cleaner part of Lucifaad. I can literally smell the toxins we're stepping in."

"Find the Inquisitor," Cyrus dismissed her gripes and turned his back on her. "I… I'm going for a walk. Pulse your arcana when ready."

The ire festering in Ahri wavered under the slightest dip in his voice, taking the winds out of her sails and leaving her with genuine concern.

In the short time they'd been together, Ahri had already grown accustomed to the constant waves of serenity that Cyrus seemingly exhumed. It was a welcome contrast to the volcano of volatile emotion that was her former master.

For the Vastayan, seeing and feeling Cyrus act so… uncertain was worrisome.

"Family trouble?"

Their departure from Nova Babylon wasn't strictly the cleanest exit Ahri had ever been a part of, and Cyrus spent most of that journey in relative silence.

"If only it were that simple." She held her tongue as Cyrus's infernal energy displaced from her shadow before melting into the packed crowds of civilians going about their daily lives.

For all the little Devil's reservations, it was painfully evident he cared about this family to some degree. The perplexing issue that tormented him was the shame he experienced for those who adored him so much.

With a resigned huff, the Vastaya turned back towards her intended destination. Her master was such a dramatic little Devil, and she found his fallacies as appealing as they were irritating.

Ahri hoped that this… moment of solitude would help Cyrus for the better.

Lucifaad wasn't kind to the lost or the damned.

l==l

Cyrus found this Underhive to be eerily similar to the warrens of Ferax.

Between the noxious fumes lingering in the air, the toxic waste gathering into hazardous pools, and the constant distrusting stares its citizens gave one another, Cyrus was hard-pressed to remind himself this wasn't the place he once called home.

He emerged from the shadows of a dimly lit alleyway, drawing a few glances but remaining innocuous. Cyrus had to keep his eyes from scrutinizing the apparel these devils chose to wear down in the muck of Lucifaad.

One of the most jarring aspects of Devil society was the wide range of clothing available to their people. Nobles were consistently dressed in a Renaissance fashion, while their subjects could be found wearing attire from as early as the 15th century to the late 20th.

The people of the Underhive were a mix-match of eras most likely brought about for need rather than style. As a result, Cyrus chose an attire that wasn't too dissimilar to his time as an orphan of Ferax.

A ragged jacket covered his torso, and a set of insulated breeches designed to stave off the freezing nights kept his legs from the elements.

Steel-toed survival boots protected his feet, and their hardened material quickly countered the toxic waste. His hands were shielded by a pair of hard-knuckled tac gloves buried in his jacket's outer pockets.

To conceal his identity, Cyrus kept his hood past the brim of his forehead and poured a small concentration of his shadow craft to mask his facial features in a shroud of darkness.

Cyrus fell into the dense crowds with practiced ease, keeping his head forward while his eyes evaluated every Devil that brushed by him.

The citizens of the Underhive were as grim as their environment. Their skin was rough, and their voices held together in a coarse tone. Many slid past him without a second thought, their bodies tempered by the claustrophobic conditions.

Merchants sold their wares in insecure shops, prostitutes plied their trade in back alleys, and vagrants idly scanned the crowds for their next mark. It was everything Cyrus was once accustomed to experiencing when he was a child, but he was different now.

Everything was different.

If he wanted to truly understand the people of Lucifaad, he needed to feel their struggles and raw emotions.

And there was no better place to do so than a bar.

THE LAST DROP

Cyrus stared at the illuminated sign with interest, his gaze falling towards the long line of patrons seeking entry before finally settling on bouncers keeping everyone out.

"Sgàil Folach." A shroud of darkness dissipated his flesh and bones until only the spectrums of a wraith remained. Once the doors swung open, he took his chance, sliding past the oversized bouncers and rematerializing his human form upon the rafters overlooking the club.

Taverns and bars were the beacons of commerce for an Underhive, but it wasn't just for money or pleasure. Information was as powerful a tool as coin in these parts, and knowledge held dominion over all.

His chosen place of commerce seemed to be a popular location for the locals. Patrons filled every space; even the high tables without chairs were fully occupied.

Cyrus could do without the incessantly loud music pounded into his brain, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

The Spartan descended onto the lower floor and appeared amongst a mob of inebriated patrons on the dance floor. His developing physique still sat just below six-feet tall, just enough to look over the heads of most patrons without drawing too much attention.

Cyrus kept a low profile and steered clear of intoxicated customers dancing or drinking the night away. His crimson gaze spotted a few tables where narcotics were being enthusiastically handed about, and several addicts held vacant expressions.

Eventually, Cyrus settled into an isolated chair between two groups of overtly enthusiastic patrons sharing several shots of liquor.

The bartender gave him a once over before motioning towards Cyrus's hood. Reluctantly, the Spartan followed the man's silent command exposing his youthful appearance for all to see.

"How'd you get past the bouncers?" Cyrus glanced over the man's curious expression and relaxed the tension in his curled fists.

"They aren't very good at their jobs," He replied, throwing a glance backward on instinct rather than fear. "Both spend more time staring into space than watching their new guests."

The bartender had a laugh at his quip, cleaning the rim of his serving glasses before replying. "Think my Boss would be interested in that little detail. He dislikes weak links."

"Weakness is relative. They're bouncers for a reason, just like you are a bartender." And just like he was a Spartan. "All of you have capacities specific to your craft, speaking of. What do you recommend?"

Cyrus eyed the top bar liquor with a clinical gaze. He didn't recognize any lower-quality brands, but a few bottles of Irish whiskey momentarily caught his attention. He used to sample whiskey as a street kid out of curiosity rather than any potential indulgence.

Kids could be idiots when they were fucking around on their own.

"For a squirt like you, a sippy cup…." The bartender replied, sharing a humorous glance with another bar patron as he handed her a pair of cocktails. "… But I'm feeling generous. I'll let you pick a vintage drink that nobles tend to indulge in."

Cyrus ghosted over the finely gathered collection, eyeing a familiar brandy his moth… Elerin dabbled in. He ignored the ache in his heart and the subtle attempt by Thierum to ascertain his origins by offering up a liquor that only Nobles drink.

"I don't need that." Cyrus retorted, ignoring the way Thierum stared back. "Give me the strongest drink you have."

"A devil's cocktail coming right up." While the bartender applied his talents to Cyrus's drink, the Spartan glanced over the club and began tallying the armed guards and thugs hiding in the shadows.

A flick of his finger sent a subtle wave of concentrated arcana into the dimly lit sections of the nightclub. The guards detected a minor shift in the winds, which alarmed a few, but his actions remained undetected.

When Cyrus turned back, a cocktail mix was slid into his palms by an overtly eager Thierum. He wasted little time indulging in this little spice of Underhive life and gulped down a mouthful of liquor.

Thierum watched the bitter taste play out on Cyrus's expression. The tightness in his eyes and teeth grinding were side effects of a devil's cocktail. Eventually, the soothing swish of alcohol consumed the Spartan's senses, and his tastebuds welcomed the pleasant flavor.

"Too tough for you?" Thierum inquired with a smile that set Cyrus on edge.

"Not in the slightest." The cocktail was bitter and relied on brute force to instill its alcoholic properties, but he'd drank heavier bottles before.

"You're an odd one, aren't ya?" Thierum palmed a dirty glass and ran a clean rag over its lip.

"So people keep telling me." Cyrus retorted, a hint of vexation entering his tone.

"You an orphan?" He wouldn't be the first sob story to come walking in here, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

"No." Cyrus supplied, savoring the cocktail's bitter taste once again. "I have a… family, so to speak, but we don't exactly get along."

"Most families don't at some point in their lives, so I'm sure you'll figure it out, kid."

"Hmmm." It wasn't precisely sage advice, but Cyrus was here to enjoy his drink and listen to the local chatter.

A couple a few rows down from him discussed a lockdown in the Moonlight district. The details were sketchy, but rumors indicated that unknown assailants attacked a group of Inquisitors in broad daylight.

Cyrus filed that information away for later use if necessary and continued his eavesdropping in peace before Thierum engaged him with an inquiry of his own.

"I got a question if you don't mind." Cyrus nodded in acceptance, drawing his gaze away from a few gangers failing to conceal their expedited pace toward him. "What brings you down here?"

"I need information on the Firelights." Thierum's eyes shied away from Cyrus while he tended to his cocktail. The regulars around him were ushered out by a loose circle of thugs eying the Kimaris as if he were a wolf caught in a snare.

"You shouldn't have come here, kid." The bartender warned.

Things were about to get interesting.

"Why's that?"

" Because this isn't a place for Nobles ." A voice called out from the VIP levels of the club, and Cyrus stared at a single red orb glaring at him with a narrowed gaze. That intense gaze traveled toward the mass of drunkards and partygoers unable or unwilling to move. "Get out."

Cyrus ignored the clattering of chairs and glass as the nightclub emptied out faster than a phantom deploying its lance. His eyes may have been focused on the half-empty cocktail, but his arcana and senses were already tallying the total number of thugs and bouncers forming a loose circle behind him.

The well-dressed Devil, whom Cyrus presumed to be the bar's proprietor or supervisor, swept his palm across the bartop before occupying the open space to his right.

"Who are you?" The Devil asked, sweeping the bartop of drinks and forcing Thierum to step back from the shattered glasses.

"No one in particular." Cyrus dipped the half-empty cocktail in a mock salute that grated on the Devil's nerves. "Who are you, old man?"

"Silco. The proprietor to this…." The Devil waved towards the dance floor, now sparsely occupied by his thugs. "… fine establishment."

"Good for you." Silco's gaze narrowed at Cyrus's nonchalant response, and he made eye contact with a brown-skinned devil lurking in the shadows alongside a few of his men.

It wasn't like Cyrus to be so reckless, but the last few days left him seeking out a conduit for his frustrations. He may have come here looking for information on Vander's daughter, but he also hoped some fool would do something idiotic.

And this finely dressed moron giving him the stink eye was playing right into his hands.

Did this go against everything Cyrus was taught, not just as a Spartan but also as the street kid who grew up knowing infamy was a surefire way to live with a target on your back?

Absolutely.

Did he care?

Not tonight.

"Enough games." Cyrus focused more on his cocktail than Silco's ravings, which appeared to irritate the Devil if the tension in his voice was anything to go by. "The Underhive is vast, but few can enter my domain without tipping off my guards or my runes, child ."

The word struck a chord inside Cyrus, and a feeling of pure unadulterated rage boiled at the bottom of his stomach.

Something as insignificant as words should not have provoked such a violent response, but Cyrus' Devil side craved retribution, and for the first time in his life, he was eager to indulge that vexing part of him.

"I'm many things, old man. A child isn't one of them." The temperature inside the nightclub dipped at his cold statement, but the finely dressed Devil ignored the vestiges of demonic energy leaking out of Cyrus.

"Is that so?" The Devil motioned for two overtly muscled bodyguards to flank Cyrus on either side. "Then you wouldn't mind one of my men escorting you to our back room where we can… evaluate your attitude."

"As you wish," Cyrus lifted his nearly finished cocktail in one hand and flashed the nightclub proprietor a nonplussed glance. "But can I finish my drink first?"

"I would be a poor host if I didn't allow someone their final drink."

"Thank you." The Kimaris drank the rest of his cocktail in a single gulp, slamming it onto the bartop and shattering the glass in his hand. Cyrus ignored the thugs brandishing their magic and stared into Siloc's undamaged eye. "Mr. Thierum makes a fine cocktail, and as a courtesy, I will allow everyone here to find a new source of employment for the rest of their natural lives."

Cyrus's threat was momentarily answered by stunned silence, and Silco glanced about the room with an intrigued glim in his amber orb.

As the Underhive Boss, Silco rarely had to personally deal with arrogant devils who bit off more than they could chew.

His name alone kept the other syndicates in check, and his connections to the extra demon House Kelandora prevented the Nobles from delving too deep into the Underhive.

Silco may not have been the most martial of his race, but his strength relied on intelligence and instinct. This boy was setting off an alarming amount of demonic energy burrowed into the ground below him.

A cursory glance towards Sevika, his right hand, indicated that this… child was more than meets the eye.

He reeked of noble blood.

And their kind seldom graced the Underhive with their presence.

Why the boy wanted information on the Firelights was inconsequential.

An example needed to be made.

Silco did not earn his overall position as Underhive Boss if he permitted an adolescent upstart to disregard his authority.

"There's a hundred of us, boy," Silco responded, leaning against the bar and hovering over Cyrus' slumped figure. "I'd wager you could put up a decent fight but wonder what house saw fit to send you down amongst the rabble. Nebiros? Belphegor? Or maybe it was those fools from House Satanchia."

"I can assure you it wasn't any loyalist house." Silco's unblemished eye flashed with intrigue, and Cyrus caught a glimpse of excitement upon his vicious sneer.

"Even better," Silco's men stepped closer toward their Noble bounty. If the boy claimed to be of a Renegade House, his bounty would be worth more than a few of his thug's lives. "I don't suppose you would make my life easier by telling me which one before I sell your carcass to the Inquisitors."

"Don't worry, old man…." Incredibly a sly grin adorned Cyrus's pale face. "… You're about to find out."

Two words that drove fear into the hearts of Angel and Devil during the greatest war their people had ever seen echoed throughout the nightclub.

And only then did Silco realize his folly.

" Dubhra Garrach." The illuminating lights cracked and broke under the weight of imperceivable darkness, and more than a few of Silco's men flinched under a shower of sparks.

"What the hell!?" Astraran, one of Silco's enforcers lingering in the shadows, felt something slither past his leg, and when he looked down to investigate, a black tendril with sharpened teeth bared its fangs. "Oh sh-!"

The tendril smothered his cries of anguish as rows upon rows of sharpened fangs tore into his throat, spilling crimson blood onto the floor below. Astraran's corpse pitched forward and landed on its horrified face before his cadaver was dragged into the darkness.

The only evidence of his death was the pools of blood spilling down the dance floor steps. Silco heard the muffled scream, but Astraran had already vanished when he turned to investigate.

The next casualty was a thug looming off to Cyrus's right, his hands occupied by an oversized machete before a black tendril pierced his heart and drove him into the far wall.

Sevika turned just in time to see one of their thugs get cut down. Her legs were severed below the knee, and then she was dragged into the shadows where only the damned could hear her screams of anguish.

"To arms!" Sevika narrowly avoided a pair of tendrils piercing her sternum, parrying one sharpened wisp and slashing the other in half.

By now, everyone in the nightclub realized they were being torn apart by the seams. Every dark fissure erupted with black tendrils that ruthlessly butchered the thugs without hesitation.

One of Silco's bodyguards managed to save the Underhive Boss from a brutal skewering but, in the process, ended up taking his place. A single tendril erupting from Cyrus's shadow cut the faithful guardian in half and left Silco scrambling for safety.

Cryus remained motionless throughout the chaos. He seemingly ignored the cries of the dying and the shrieks of the damned, utterly indifferent to the carnage around him. He didn't relish in the fatalities of these thugs, nor did he care for the savagery he inflicted upon them.

They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and made the poor decision of working for a Devil who crossed the wrong Spartan.

"DIE MAGGOT!" Cyrus kicked off the bar top, avoiding a blast of magical arcana to the back of the head. His heartbeat slowed as he gazed indifferently into his attacker's piercing eyes.

One of Silco's men tried their luck at a quick and decisive end to this massacre, but Cyrus's instincts kept the man from a glorious kill.

Cyrus reacted first, stepping into his attacker's guard and driving his hand through the thug's heart. A clench of his fingers ruptured the critical organ and delivered the thug into the hands of whatever afterlife Devils walked into.

"Where'd you run off to, Silco?" Cyrus searched the surrounding carnage for the arrogant Devil who had set this massacre in motion. He stepped over several corpses, ignoring how his Dubhra Garrach's tore into the marred flesh with ease.

After a thorough search across the bloodied dance floor and upper pavilions, Cyrus was forced to concede that Silco had managed to escape his wrath leaving his men to suffer in his wake.

There were still dozens of bouncers and thugs fighting off his Dubhra Garrach, but their will and strength of arms were fading. He charged directly into a mass of terrified Devils, carving a trio of them in two with a simple flick of his Dubhra Sleagh .

The sharpened stave bit indiscriminately into flesh and bone, leaving more corpses for his Dubhra Garrach to feast upon.

The Spartan in him relished in the familiar adrenaline of combat, and the Devil demanded he put these fools where they belonged.

Beneath.

Boot.

Cyrus was more than happy to oblige.

He glanced over the piles of butchered dead and quietly ascended a flight of stairs leading to Silco's office.

He didn't come to this city as a liberator.

That wasn't his prerogative, nor would it ever be.

Cyrus was here to sow chaos.

And unfortunately for Silco, his life would become its foundation.

l==l

Fear was not a foreign concept to Silco, but this… Noble was nothing like the fools he'd spent a dozen lifetimes dealing with.

At the apex of the Great War, Silco fought in the Infernal Legions under the banner of House Nebiros, and his Cohort had the unique distinction of serving under the Shadow Lord himself.

He would be hard-pressed not to recognize the power of House Kimaris.

*BANG!*

His guards flinched at the heavy thud as a body slammed into the double doors separating his office from the main corridor. A beastly roar followed a terrified scream, and the shrieking replaced the rip and tear of flesh.

"We're all going to die." Silco's bark of amusement drew surprised looks from his guards, but none expressed their outrage when a second clap of noise impacted the barricaded doors.

*BANG!*

Silco fished for a cigar in his pocket, pulling the tobacco-laced product from its box and igniting it with a flick of his wrist. The misty contents leaked into his lungs, and he exhaled a deep breath that mixed the smell of smoke with the rancid odor of decaying corpses.

A gloomy mist seeped through the cracks in the doors, prompting several of his men to trip over themselves in reckless panic.

The scuffles outside finally tapered off into a lengthy silence, and not even the beastly roars from the shadowy creatures could be heard.

Heartbeats elevated, breaths turned into lengthy exhales, and fingers began to release a veil of perspiration.

The door gave way at the lightest touch and revealed a row of razor-sharp teeth belonging to one of the most terrifying creatures in the Underworld.

A Manticore veiled in darkness craned its head and let loose a petrifying roar that sent Silco's thugs scrambling for safety. Its massive frame smashed through the entryway, muscling through the low ceiling and knocking the doors clean off their hinges.

Silco endured the wrath of an Archangel laying waste to his entire Cohort and a Grigori Harlequin burying her daggers through his Legionary armor, but the sight of a fully grown Manticore was a sight that could terrify even the most stalwart of Devils.

He expected a massacre to see arms and legs fly across his carpeted floor before the inconceivable ensued.

"Leave." A voice as cold as the lands of Seracan echoed across the chamber. When no one dared move, a humanoid figure appeared in the Manticore's shadow. "Now."

His thugs complied, and Silco watched them slither past the massive beast before disappearing both from sight and mind.

Violet eyes crinkled with confusion, but his attention ebbed away towards the hooded Devil seated across from him. "Lord Kimaris. Your reputation precedes you."

"I didn't realize I had one." It wasn't a statement of ignorance but a lack of care for his reputation.

"Oh, but you do, my exalted lord." Silco retrieved his fallen cigarette and reignited it with a flick of his fingers. "One does not simply unravel decades of meticulous planning without someone noticing. Viktor's untimely death is still circulating amongst the Loyalists, but you can be assured they will seek retribution."

"I'm counting on it." The boy had a certain belligerence that Vander would have liked, but that was dangerous for even a Noble to carry.

"Be careful what you wish for, boy." Cyrus gave off no outward reaction to his demeaning statement. "There are a great many Loyalists that could slay you without breaking a sweat."

"I believe you." The Kimaris relaxed into his seat. "But I'm not here to trade banter."

"Then what are you here for?" Silco wasn't an idiot; he understood why the Kimaris had visited him but needed to hear him say it.

"Information," Cyrus began. "Lucifaad has been under siege for the last few months, but this civil war continues with no end in sight. I intend to fix that."

"And why would I help you?" Silco's eyes glazed with a subtle gleam. "I was once a loyal servant of House Nebiros and had never once balked in that duty."

"Had, Silco." There was a deadly edge to Cyrus's voice, and Silco instinctively leaned away from the dark tendrils licking at his arms. "You will tell me everything I want to know, and the only choice you have in the matter is how you die…."

"… Quickly." A strand of darkness wrapped itself around the crime lord's throat, siphoning the oxygen from his breath and pinning him against his chair. "Or slowly."

At that moment, Silco realized that for all his brilliance, there was nothing he could do to stop Cyrus.

No trick, no scheme, no bargaining, and no manner of bribery to influence the noble's mindset.

Because these weren't the actions of a Devil.

They were the actions of a Demon.

Like many before Silco, he sang like a bird and spilled every important detail one of Cyrus's stature should know.

And in that moment of brief silence, hope for survival tainted Silco's thoughts.

It didn't last long.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

A tendril emerged from the shadows and buried itself into Silco's left eye, slicing through the retina and burrowing itself into the meat of his skull. Cyrus didn't spare him a second glance as brain matter exploded from every orifice, and the Manticore feasted on Silco's flesh.

There was no time to deliberate action.

He had a city to burn.

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

With each step Ahri took towards the Tower of Lust, the putrid odors of the undercity faded into the background. The residents were free of the noxious stench, and she could finally breathe out of her nose without gagging.

Ahead of Ahri laid the colossal citadel that functioned as the Leviathan clan's domain, separating the Eternal Palace from Lucifaad's southern reaches.

Several inquisitorial garrisons safeguarded the Tower of Lust and the surrounding boroughs fortunate enough to be next to the immense spire.

Caitlyn's posting was a nasty little fortress called 'The Pit,' it's wedged between the fault lines of both the Undercity and the Spires, making it a popular target for syndicates, revolutionaries, and the foolish.

Coincidentally it also became the only Inquisitorial garrison with a ridiculously high kill-to-death ratio sitting at one Inquisitor for every twenty dissidents.

Ahri would never know why Caitlyn deliberately assigned herself to such a harsh facility on the outskirts of civilization. Maybe the Noble was looking for a death wish, perhaps she was an adrenaline junkie trying to get her next fix, but Ahri knew that Caitlyn had a few screws missing.

When the Vastaya crossed into Arvias Plaza, she shied away from several Inquisitoral patrols safeguarding a local festival. Nobles had a habit of celebrating their own good fortune, and it wouldn't be odd to see multiple celebrations within the Spires district.

Eventually, Ahri spotted a familiar café through a mass of celebrating Devil's indulging in their lust for attention.

If she remembered correctly, Caitlyn frequented this Café on a daily basis and exclusively sat at a booth overlooking the entrance and both exits.

The former Noble was a meticulous woman who despised being diverted from her strict schedule. After breaking into Caitlyn's house uninvited and making herself at home, Ahri experienced that wrath firsthand.

Ahri still remembered spending an hour taking miniature ice splinters out of her skin and Caitlyn's smug grin.

The Inquisitor would no doubt be drinking god-awful black coffee while contemplating her life's direction with a brooding face.

Ahri hadn't seen Caitlyn in almost half a year. Viktor's duties with the Loyalists split their time between the frontier and the Eternal Palace, leaving precious little free time for the Vastayan in the last few months.

"Well, here goes nothing," Ahri whispered as she gingerly splayed her hand against the cafés glass doors. "Who knows, maybe she got the stick out of her ass."

Fat chance of that.

Ahri threw open the door, disregarding the curious stares from the other diners as her eyes were drawn to Caitlyn's flawlessly styled royal purple hair. It was a stark contrast to her family's silver hair, but the Inquisitor was the black sheep of her family.

"Guess who?!" Two hands wrapped around the Inquisitor's violet eyes, and Ahri's cheery voice was the only thing that kept Caitlyn's dagger from piercing the Vastaya's amused eye.

"Ahri?" The violet-eyed Inquisitor spoke in a bewildered tone, her posh accent a consequence of her upbringing that Ahri found incredibly attractive. Caitlyn slowly sheathed her dagger once her heartbeat and martial instincts came to terms with the lack of danger the Vastaya presented. "What are you doing here?"

Incredulously, Ahri took this hesitation as a sign of endearment and hopped over the booth to land her rear directly into Caitlyn's lap. She enjoyed the stunned expression that turned into panic when Ahri dragged her into the swell of her clothed breasts.

"MHMMM!" The Vastaye enjoyed the shrieks of embarrassment leaking from her fleshy chair and took a deep contemplative breath.

If only Cyrus could be just as easy to get to, then life would be so much more enjoyable.

Alas, Ahri had a job to do, and with great reluctance, she extracted herself from Caitylns lap, relishing the displeased glare she received as the Inquisitor smoothed her ruffled hair.

"Did you miss me?" She questioned her exasperated companion, sliding into the booth opposite Caitlyn with a cheshire grin.

"Like an annoying fly."

It was good to be wanted.

l==l

Inquisitor Caitlyn Lucifuge impatiently drummed her fingers against the table, and her eyes remained fixed on the occupied booth opposite her. The return of one of her close confidants provided no solace or reprieve for the conflict brewing inside the former Lucifuge heir.

A question lingered in the Inquisitor's mind that had plagued her for over ten years.

Why did Caitlyn Lucifuge leave her home for the Inquisitorial?

Her first instinct was to blame her arrogance as the sole reason for her departure from the Lucifuge Household, but fear drove her away.

Caitlyn dreaded the responsibilities that came with the Lucifuge name and the atrocities her family committed for loyalty. Grayfia and her brother Euclid led a campaign of terror against everyone and everything that Bashlaim deemed unworthy.

It didn't matter who or what the target was, only that it was put down with extreme prejudice. The blood of men, women, and children stained the streets of Lucifaad during the early days of the civil war, and Caitlyn was forced to watch with a strained smile.

Lucifaad was suffering under the old regime, and while she didn't want to be a part of the atrocities her family perpetrated based only on Bashalum's word, she wasn't suicidal enough to openly denounce her kin.

Caitlyn registered for the Inquisitorius against her family's wishes, and once the grueling academy was completed, she demanded to be stationed at 'The Pit . ' It was the most dangerous assignment in the Inquisitorius, but it also allowed an unfiltered look into the horrors plaguing Lucifaad's Undercity.

Horrors that her fellow Inquisitors willingly participated in.

Neither Grayfia nor Euclid came to her graduation, the former too busy fighting against the Renegades and the other taking a sick pleasure in hunting low-class devils in some misguided attempt to win his sister's favor.

Did that make her brother a sociopath?

Absolutely, but that insanity seemed to run in every family member of House Lucifuge, barring Caitlyn. She was the family's black sheep, and that lack of missing faculties placed her at odds with her once-beloved family.

How could one be expected to care about those so clearly beneath them in status and power? The Lucifuges had no family in the Undercity, no friends, and no partners to look after when the violence threatened to take the entire section whole.

Her family's lack of empathy was born from an absence of commitment to developing their Undercity. The people down there were forced to work for the leftovers, and it was a wonder why the High-Class Devils kept rolling the dice of chaos with their relentless disregard.

But it's not like Caitlyn did any better in her current position.

The brutality that the Inquisitorious represented ran from rank and file all the way to the top.

Too few Inquisitors in their ranks declined to participate in ghetto purges or ruthless raids that left nothing but broken families and shattered corpses in their wake.

Caitlyin had seen more death than she could stomach, and no matter her decision, there was little chance of the bloodshed ending soon. She was stuck in limbo, a hopeless and directionless midpoint where she could be little more than a bystander.

"You got that look on your face again." Ahri had been watching the melancholy seep into Caitlyn's noble countenance, and she couldn't stand to watch her companion sink into despair. "What have I told you about adding all that stress to your shoulders? You were never in a position to help anyone in the Undercity."

"I remember you calling me a naïve idiot after our first raid together." Ahri barked a hearty laugh that momentarily brought a smile to Caitlyn's expression.

That was almost a decade ago, and back then, Caitlyn wholeheartedly believed that she could help the Undercity by bringing down the dissidents that festered in its shadow.

And yet, all she accomplished was contributing to the lengthy list of victims that the Inquistorious was responsible for.

"And you grew up far too fast for my liking because of it." Neither one of them took joy in their work back then. Caitlyn only had ignorance and naivety as her sole defense, which was pathetic, but Ahri had the justification of being forced to commit those massacres due to her Vastayan nature and Viktor's psychotic outlook.

Speaking of Ahri's master, Caitlyn could sense a serenity to Ahri's aura, which contrasted her continual dread brought about by her connection with Viktor."Where's Viktor?"

Ahri's smile widened considerably, leaving the Inquisitor confused at her companion's overtly bright expression. However, before the Vastayan could answer, their conversation was halted by the arrival of Caitlyn's black coffee and continental breakfast.

A girl had to eat, after all.

"Here you are, Madam." The waitress, a cute little Devil, named Aliya, spoke with a lighthearted tone that contrasted her first meeting with Caitlyn. She nearly had a heart attack when the Inquisitor first stepped into her workplace, looking for a quiet place to eat.

The badge of the Inquisitorious sparked fear in the hearts of the Undercity and the Spires alike, and it took a considerable effort on her part to put the woman at ease.

Caitlyn's breakfast was delicately placed in front of her, earning a satisfied groan from her. Aliya turned towards a smirking Ahri."What would you like today, madam."

"That depends…" Ahri's amber orbs ran along with the waitress' physical attributes, earning an exasperated glance from Caitlyn. "… Are you on the menu?"

"I could be…." Aliya matched the Vastayan's seductive voice and gently slid into her lap, laying an arm around her shoulder and allowing Ahri's hand to wander along her milky thigh. "… For the right reasons."

Caitlyn would have found the exchange amusing if she wasn't trying to enjoy her late-night breakfast. The Inquisitor ended the pairs byplay by stomping on Ahri's foot. It didn't damage much, but it did stop the Vastayan in her tracks.

"She'll take the same thing I'm having," Aliya's attention was drawn away from the beaming Ahri, who reluctantly let the server extract herself from her lap. "Now off you go."

The Vastayan's leering gaze remained rooted to the waitress's rear end, specifically at how her hips swung from side to side. Caitlyn intervened, kicking her right foot into Ahri's shin and earning a yelp of pain.

"What was that for?" The Vastayan reached down and rubbed at the point of impact with a grimacing expression.

"You know Viktor doesn't like it when you flirt on the side," Caitlyn remarked after shoveling down a spoonful of grits. "His gluttony for you is only matched by his wrath when he catches you in someone else's bed."

She experienced this wrath firsthand when Ahri decided it'd be a good idea to crash at her place for shits and giggles. The Inquisitor was less than pleased when Viktor broke down her door like a jilted lover, and only her ties to the Lucifuge family kept the situation from escalating further.

Caitlyn was taken aback by Ahri's lack of revulsion when her erstwhile master was mentioned. She made a point to speak of Viktor as little as possible whenever the Vastayan visited her. Their relationship was the definition of toxic and occasionally abusive by Ahri's own admission.

Maybe she and her master have finally built a cordial relationship since they'd last seen one another. When Ahri would not comment on her honest thoughts, Caitlyn laid the matter to rest and took a healthy gulp of her black coffee.

She really shouldn't have.

"Viktors dead."

Caitlyn choked.

Violently.

"Wha-t?!" Caitlyn coughed out, fighting to clear her lungs of beverage. Her outburst startled the other diners, which also succeeded in broadening Ahri's grin.

"Take a breath, Cait." Caitlyn's airways were cleared as the Vastayan slid into her booth and patted her gently back. "Don't need you choking to death on my watch.

It took the Inquisitor far too long to regain her bearings, but it wasn't every day you found out a member of House Nebiros was dead.

"How? When?" Caitlyn sputtered out.

"He was killed a few days ago in Nova Babylon," Ahri explained. "Word's bouncing around the capital, and the Nobles will figure out their star pupil is a corpse."

Caitlyn was between shock and disbelief, but she pressed onward. "If he's dead, how are you here? You told me a Vastayan's fate is linked to their master."

"I would be dead if I hadn't imprinted on Viktor's killer." Ahri let out an exhale of pure delight at the mere thought of her newest master, and that put Caitlyn on edge. "The fool took me to receive medical attention mere seconds after I'd tried to kill him."

"Who did you imprint on?"

"Cyrus Kimaris," Ahri answered, drumming her fingers on the table with a pleased grin.

"The Shadow Lords, son?" The Inquisitor tried to recall the Shadow Lord's children, but she'd been out of touch with events outside of Lucifaad due to the information blackout the Loyalists instituted a week earlier. "rumors suggested he was assigned to the 66th camp praetor before disappearing with one of their cohorts. You're telling me he managed to kill Viktor Nebiros and his Immortals as an adolescent Devil?"

Only the most formidable of their kind, such as Sirzechs Gremory, Grayfia Lucifuge, and Serafall Sitri, could display such martial prowess at such a young age. If the Kimaris boy was capable of taking on the Immortals and Ahri, then the Loyalists were in deep trouble.

"Well, it helped to have a Cadre in his corner, but that's a story for a different time." Ahri downplayed her master's achievements, but since his kill count that night comprised the bulk of Viktor's skinwalkers and over a hundred insurgents, it was more challenging than it seemed. "Cyrus is many things. A child isn't one of them. He has an… aura that puts you on edge, but other than that, he's as calm as they come. He'll grow up to be quite the eye candy, but that's just for my added benefit…."

Ahri didn't elaborate, taking some sick joy in Caitlyn's stunned silence as the Inquisitor tried her damndest to rationalize the pure absurdity in the Vastayan's words.

After a lengthy silence, Caitlyn summed up her feelings in a single sentence. "I was not ready for this level of insanity tonight."

Ahri shrugged her shoulders, and their conversation entered a lull with Aliya returning with the Vastayan's breakfast.

The pair fell into a content silence for a time. Caitlyn picked at her food in contemplation while Ahri devoured her plate like the uncivilized woman she made herself out to be.

The Inquisitor could feel a storm brewing in the distance, and as she intently stared at her companion, a realization dawned on her.

"Ahri." Caitlyn asked in minor trepidation, drawing her companion's attention ".Why are you in Lucifaad?"

If the Kimaris boy was inside the city, then that was a catastrophe she wanted no part of.

Ahri made a show of cleaning her fingers. A performance meant to irritate Caitlyn and fascinate their waitress if the salacious look was anything to go by.

After thoroughly cleaning her fingers, Ahri leaned forward, ghosting her breath against Caitlyn's ear and sending involuntary shivers running down the Inquisitor's spine.

"My master and I have business in Lucifaad, and you're gonna help me find someone… critical."

"No!" Caitlyn hissed back in a whisper, drawing another amused glance from Ahri. "Hell no!"

She may not have exactly known the Vastayan's line of thought, but there was no fucking way she was going to like it.

"Like you have any choice." Ahri was calling in her life debt, and Caitlyn sorely wished the Vastayan had let her die on that raid years ago.

At least then, she wouldn't have to put up with The constant bullshit Ahri got herself into.

l==l

Nova Babylon, Lucifaad Territory

Cedric stood hunched over the war table, his eyes scanning the figures and markings with a listless frown.

His entire family shared his melancholy state.

Cyrus's departure left a bigger hole in their lives than anyone thought possible.

Elerin and Arwen stood by his side, playing the part of dutiful wives while also pointedly avoiding one another's gaze. The pair had yet to reconcile their differences, and Cyrus's departure ensured a resolution would not be found anytime soon.

Now here they gathered, and Cedric was unable or unwilling to bridge the schism in his family without revealing a truth that was just as harmful as his deception.

Secrets have a price, and the Kimaris household suffered that price.

"Primarch." Zakan, his every trusty Night Warden, entered the war room, mindful of the piercing looks from his daughters.

"Report?" The tension in the room threatened to erupt, and Zakan had no desire to be a part of the Kimaris' latest spectacle.

"We located the tunnel Lord Cyrus used to enter Lucifaad," Zakan reached across the war table and marked a location twenty leagues north of Lucifaad. "However, it collapsed at the entrance. He ensured we couldn't follow him in without delay."

"Personal assessment?"

Zakan pursed his lips in thought. "By now, I reckon Lord Cyrus is far beyond our reach. By my estimation, we could dig out the tunnel network ourselves, but that could take months, if not years. Barring a full-frontal assault upon the gates of Lucifaad, we will not be hearing from Lord Cyrus unless he-"

Several gazes turned spiteful at Zakan's wording, and the Night Warden wisely chose discretion and kept the rest of his opinion to himself. The last thing he wanted was to piss off Lady Ghislaine or Lady Jade.

"Thank you, Zakan. That will be all." The Night Warden made his exit and rushed out of the war room with his tail between his legs. Cedric paid little attention to his offspring or wives in favor of focusing on how to navigate this catastrophe, allowing a strained hush to smother their atmosphere.

"We need to bring him back." Ghislaine broke the silence, drawing looks from her siblings.

Ashara rolled her eyes and let out a huff. "And how the hell do we accomplish that?"

"If I knew I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you now, would I?!" Ghislaine sneered, earning a stink eye from her younger sister, which promised to escalate into another verbal disagreement.

"Enough." Cedric intervened, pulsing a potent amount of infernal energy to keep his children cowed. "Arguing amongst each other does nothing for us, and I won't have my daughters at each other's throats at a time like-"

"Then how about we focus on you and Elerin." Ashara interrupted with a scoff of indignation. "Everyone here knows you're as much to blame, if not more so."

The aggression in Ashara's voice left many of her family stepping back in minor trepidation. Cedric's arguments were few and far between, but any of his children defying him so brazenly required a significant amount of emotional charge.

"I don't like your tone, daughter ." Cedric's mood to a drastic downturn. His family clearly needed a stark reminder of why he was their Patriarch. He could put up with his wives holding him accountable, but he would not stand for his own children disputing him so openly.

Cedric was about to rip into his arrogant daughter when the most unexpected intervention came from his eldest child.

"She's right, father," Jade interjected. "You and mother have been keeping secrets, and this family will fall apart if you don't come clean. Cyrus has always been different. We accepted that because he is our brother, but there was a fundamental difference in how he carried himself after that night…."

"… Cyrus is guarded around the Legionnaires. He spent most of his time as a camp praetor giving everyone the stink eye…." Jade's emerald orbs glazed over with an unrecognized emotion before a huff of disgust fell from her lips. "… Well, almost everyone."

"What do you mean?" Ashara latched onto this open-ended statement with fervor, generating more than a few curious eyebrows that only exacerbated their problems.

"Cyrus only found comfort around the attendants, specifically the… human variety."

Ghislaine bowed her head in despair as the war room erupted into outrage. It was as close to a damning statement as one could make regarding their circumstances. Devils are prideful creatures, and to hear that their own flesh and blood preferred the company of their attendants stabbed at their pride.

She was there when Jade voiced her concerns about Cyrus's behavior to Cedric when his conduct as camp praetor left much to be desired. He ran the Devils attached to his command like slaves while concurrently treating their human attendants with gloves.

The scenario would have turned into a cultural catastrophe if Cedric had not invited Cyrus back to his tent and educated him on the importance of perception. Jade became less suspicious of his behavior, but that cautious eye always remained fixed on Cyrus.

Elerin and Cedric whispered while Arwen sought to keep Chrisite and Rose from tearing into one another. The latter took exception to her sister's admonishing statement of Cyrus and nearly came to blows were it not for their mother's intervention.

Jade kept close to Sapphire, relying on her soothing temperament to calm her younger sister. Cyrus's birthday present was clutched in Sapphire's hands, a relic from long ago.

Ghislaine's hearing focused past the shouts of anger and the simpering of tears onto the hushed words spoken by her parents.

"You need to tell them," Elerin whispered into Cedric's ear.

The Matriarch wanted to end these disputes before they could exact a permanent toll upon their family. Ghislaine glimpsed the conflicting emotions sparking across Cedric's visage and the crushing sense of frustration collapsing upon him.

"His secrets and burdens alone cannot simply be told, Elerin," Cedric emphasized. "It doesn't do them justice."

"Then show them." The Patriarch studied his first wife's expression for any sign of doubt, but all he found was the calm determination he fell in love with all those decades ago.

He'd never been able to say no before and wouldn't start now.

"As you command." Cedric let out a deep exhale that caught the attention of Elerin and his children. All sentiments of sorrow and anger were washed away by a wave of infernal energy, smothering their senses until they could only perceive darkness.

There could be no lies in this plane of reality safeguarded by their family.

Only the harsh reality of truth.

l==l

Ghislaine wondered if her confused siblings were prepared to comprehend what toiled in their brother's psyche.

Even years after Ghislaine stumbled through his collective thoughts, she can still recall the utter loathing of what Cyrus indeed was in those few seconds she broke open his mind.

He loathed being a devil.

He detested the unfamiliar shift in muscles foreign to his martial mindset.

He resented the belief that this new life took away the closure of all the anguish and suffering he had endured at the hands of beings that did not deserve to see the light of day.

But above all, he hated that in this life, he would never know if the first sisters he'd ever had survived that fateful last stand against the Covenant.

Casey.

Eliza.

Chamber.

Those names resonated in Ghislaine's consciousness just as much as they did in Cyrus', and she couldn't help but sympathize with his suffering more than anyone else in their family.

It was why she was so adamant about taking his side no matter the circumstances presented. Cyrus was an outcast, just as she was a pariah of the Kimaris bloodline.

"What are we doing here?" Ashara inquired next to an equally confused Rose; their animosity for one another was lost under this new environment. "Hate this place when father's involved."

The Shadow Realm became a tool of discipline whenever the sires of House Kiamris decided to test their father's patience. In time Rose and Sapphire would come to embrace the darkness much like their siblings before them, but until then, they wisely stuck close to their family.

Cedric emerged from a gathering of shadows alongside Elerin and Arwen. Their expressions were carved into stone, betraying nothing of their internal turmoil. The Patriarch stepped forward, flanked by his loved ones, who each grasped a shoulder in unity.

"You will all have to accept that there are certain things that you will not understand right away. Your brother is…." Cedric hesitated. "… An anomaly. In more ways than you can possibly imagine…."

"… Words cannot express or detail what you are about to witness, no matter what happens. Don't think less of Cyrus." Jade had never heard her father express such anguish in his mannerisms or words, and as she went to confront him, lightning streaked across the horizon.

She and her siblings jumped as thunder clapped from above, and their environment no longer presented the dark void shadows but a landscape as foreign as it was beautiful.

Ghislaine knew this countryside by heart.

Cyrus called it Onyx.

Jade knew this was a memory spawned from a technique House Kimaris called Dubhra Cuimhneachan, Dark Remembrance in the common tongue. It turned the Shadow Realm into a collection of memories gathered from a specific host.

Sapphire slipped from Jade's clutches due to her laboring emotions, and she dashed into the lush trees, utterly enthralled by its beauty.

"Sapphire!" Jade called out to the alarm of her nearby family. "Come back here!"

Not to be deterred, the hazel-eyed girl slid out of sight, much to the chagrin of her family speeds. Rose was the first to start after her, trailed by Ashara and Ghislaine, while the rest brought up the rear.

Cedric did not worry for Sapphire's safety, for this place answered to his will, and there was no danger in this land that he did not directly control. He allowed Sapphire to run off in that direction because there awaited a clearing that would undoubtedly draw her attention.

And then, they could begin.

"Saph! Wait up!" Sapphire ducked in between branches, giggling as Rose fought to keep pace with her at matching speeds. "Seriously! Where are you going?!"

It didn't matter the destination, only the journey. At least, that's what her mother always preached when they were children.

In her youthful exuberance, Sapphire uncovered more of the wonderous landscape, unaware of the mass of children gathering in the distance. As she broke through the forest, she slammed into someone's back, throwing off her balance and sending her flat on her ass.

"Ow." Sapphire rubbed the pulsing pain away and glanced up at the boy she'd just run into. "Sorry."

He paid her no attention, a decision that momentarily vexed the Devil, causing a swell of indignation to gather at the bottom of her stomach. "I said I was sorry."

Again, the object of her ire said nothing in reply, and a fit of rage, Sapphire stood on her feet and whirled to his front seeking to take up his vision. "Hey! I'm talking… to… you."

A pair of recognizable crimson orbs stared through Sapphire towards a podium where a colossal object of unparalleled scope hung in the sky. It was blocky and ugly but exhumed a potent power that reminded her of a heavenly dragon.

"What is this?" Sapphire murmured as her gaze fell back to the clearing her brother was standing in alongside hundreds of other children of similar age.

Rose and her sisters soon joined Sapphire in the clearing, each of them sporting mixed expressions as they stared at the gathering of children in the empty clearing. Ghislaine and Jade came to Sapphire's side, their eyes wordlessly combing over Cyrus' still form.

Jade was stunned at his blank expression, a visage sported by the hundreds of children among them. A question echoed in her mind as she snapped her fingers mere inches from Cyrus' blank face.

"What is all of this for?"

"Welcome, cadets." A voice echoed across the pastures, and the Kimaris siblings narrowed their gazes upon a woman standing on an elevated platform. Her features were masked by darkness, but the commanding nature of her voice was not lost on Jade.

"As per Naval Code 45812, you have all volunteered for UNSC Special Project, codenamed SPARTAN III. You have been called upon to serve. You will be the blade of Earth and all her colonies. We begin tomorrow."

The members of House Kimaris had questions, and now their answers were merely one inquiry away.

But truth is often stranger than fiction.

l==l

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

Ahri was good at her craft.

Since childhood, she'd been trained to fulfill her master's demands in all things, acting as a manipulator, a bodyguard, an assassin, or a bed warmer should the need suffice.

Tonight, Cyrus needed the piece of her that excelled at convincing the stubborn to her line of thinking, but that didn't mean she couldn't prevent their complaints.

Then again, Ahri did find some humor in Caitylns constant bitching.

"I can't believe I said yes to this."

The Vastayan rolled her eyes in amusement but said nothing as the pair traversed the Inquisitor's workplace. 'The Pit' lived up to its reputation in both architecture and brutality.

Everywhere they went, prisoners were being thoroughly beaten for reasons that Ahri knew to serve the interests of the abuser and nothing else. Caitlyn led her towards the Panopticon, where her superior oversaw all activities leading in and out of the prison.

Warden Jakovin had to be the fattest slob of meat Ahri had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting….once again.

"Ahhh, Viktor's pet Vastayan." The Warden's leering gaze sent a chill of disgust down her spine. "What brings you back to my humble adobe?"

"Just escorting Ms. Caitlyn for a prisoner held in your illustrious complex," Ahri retorted, throwing an arm around the Inquisitor, hoping to draw his ogling stare.

"Oh, and who are you looking for?" The Vastayan dug an elbow into Caitlyn's side and forced her to answer.

"A prisoner who's been a guest for over a few weeks. Viktor had her marked as a person of interest." Jakovin cupped his chin in thought and scavenged through stacks of papers looking for the prisoner's number.

"Let's see here, 123? No….656?… No…." Ahri could feel her patience wearing out, and a similar-looking Caitlyn reconsidered her career when Jakovin finally came through.

"Ah, here we are, prisoner 516." The Warden handed Caitlyn a detailed file on their POI. "She's a cranky one. I have to send in a few of my boys to remind her why she's in our care in the first place when she gets out of line. The prisoner is in our isolation cubes. Do you need an esc-"

"That won't be necessary," Ahri interrupted, dragging Caitlyn towards the panopticon service elevator. "Thank you for your assistance. You've been a tremendous help."

"You're wel-" Jakovin's reply was lost in the clattering of metal as the elevator thankfully made with all haste towards the lower levels.

"I hate that guy." Caitlyn's statement drew a look of mild contempt from Ahri.

"You? What about me? His disgusting eyes were all over me, and don't even get me started on his putrid breath."

"At least you don't have to work with him daily." Caitlyn retorted without heat. "Jakovin runs the entire Inquisitorious out of 'the pit,' but he never leaves that satan-damned chair, so we all have to file our final reports in that room."

Their conversation came to a screeching halt as the steel doors swung open, revealing the darkened cells of the isolation cubs. Ahri's ears picked up on a heavy thudding pattern that echoed throughout the corridor.

The Vastayan shared a silent look with her counterpart before the pair walked down the dark passageways toward the sole occupant of this entire prison section. Ahri pulsed her arcana, and a familiar presence morphed into her shadow in seconds.

Caitlyn sparred her an uncertain look at the random pulse of arcana, but an unconcerned shrug tempered her suspicions. Ahri waved her along and leaned into the far wall, allowing the Inquisitor the first crack at their prisoner.

"Did you locate the target?" Cyrus whispered into her ear like a specter prowling in the shadows.

"Yes," Ahri whispered as the heavy thudding suddenly stopped. "Caitlyn is breaking the ice for us, so I presume this is our girl."

"We don't presume anything, Ahri."

"I'm just making small talk, master, that's all." A sharp nod from Caitlyn in confirmation drew her attention. "Alright, showtime. Try not to scare the shit out of our new pal, will ya."

Cyrus didn't comment on the Vastayan's warning as she approached the cell bars. His gaze was drawn between his POI, and the Inquisitor Ahri brought along.

He would have considered Ahri a fool for bringing along the Lucifuge family's black sheep if he didn't know any better. Especially considering Caitlyn's elder sister was their primary target.

Cyrus would have to ascertain whether or not she was a loose end that needed to be severed at a later time.

The woman he searched for was a fierce creature. Pink hair, eerily similar in tone to Sapphire's, was swept to its right, hovering just above her eye. Piercing grey eyes were set pleasantly within their sockets, watching the Vastayan and Inquisitor with a guarded look.

A tattoo of the sixth roman numeral sat proudly beneath her left eye, and small marks of burns and scars were unnoticeably scattered across her arms and face. This woman was a survivor of the Undercity, and Cyrus knew what made them tick.

But first, an introduction was in order.

"Vi, this is Ahri." Caitlyn motioned towards the Vastayan, who waved back with a pleased grin. "Her master is interested in meeting you."

Vi snorted with contempt, eyeing Ahri with suspicion. "What, he couldn't come himself?"

"On the contrary little devil." The Vastayan replied, earning a stare of contempt from Vi. "He's on his way."

A cursory glance into the corridor revealed nothing but bullshit to Vi's perception, and she would have given a heated retort had her instincts not alerted her to a… foreign presence.

It seemingly crawled up and down her skin for a split second before dissipating as quickly as it appeared. During that time, Caitlyn's gaze turned into potent trepidation while Ahri's grin widened considerably.

"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Vi only perceived the Vastayan's smirk, ignoring or missing the fear in Caitlyn's eyes as she stared at a growing shadow behind her.

"Me." A voice ghosted over Vi's ear, and years of instincts took over where most Devil would fall into panic. The smack of her fist impacting flesh was often as satisfying as it was visceral, and Vi was used to her martial prowess triumphing over anyone she'd fought against in such confined spaces.

Their heads would snap to the side, and their teeth would dislodge until another blow severed the connection altogether. A fight would be over long before it began with a concentrated strike from Vi's arcane-enhanced fists.

However, this time proved different from the rest, and the street kid finally met her match in the form of a Devil that was anything but your average Noble.

Cyrus caught each thrown jab with practiced ease, utilizing his magic to negate the volatile effects of her deadly fists.

He crossed Vi's arms and pushed her against the steel bars, where his crimson orbs and pale countenance finally came into view. Vi was taken aback at his youth and the sheer ease he restricted the WMDs she called her knuckles.

She attempted to throw a devastating knee strike upon every man's precious tool, but he countered by placing his inner foot between her legs and restricting her motion.

Their predicament left them in quite an intimate position, but Vi figured he wasn't much distracted by the female form. Not with those crimson orbs staring back at her with a gaze so intense that she felt smaller just by being in his presence.

Those eyes demanded respect that Vi couldn't help but instinctually abode by, and as the seconds ticked onward and their heartbeats settled, she recognized a kindred spirit in that gaze.

This Devil had suffered at the hands of those who believed themselves better.

The intelligence, the anger.

It reminded her so much of Jinx before death took her from this world.

Vi didn't know it then, but that night set into motion events that would lead to the end of the civil war and unlock a new chapter in her life.

A chapter she would forever hold dear to her heart.

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

Cyrus eyed the pink-haired woman with suspicion, a gaze she met with equal intensity. He wasn't sure what to make of her at first.

Vi's personnel file was a comedy of errors that Cyrus knew were deliberately sabotaged, but the reasons for this sabotage remained undetermined. Information regarding her height, origin, and containment rating was well-detailed, but almost everything else about Vi was covered in black ink.

This lack of information alarmed Cyrus, and the possibility that Ahri was walking into a trap became more likely the further he delved into the personnel file. He was close to pulling the plug on the rescue attempt when Ahri confirmed that Vi was confined to the isolation cubes.

That further perplexed Cyrus to the point where he questioned Viktor's competence once again. Vi was classified as the last survivor of Vander's faction, and keeping her alive was… futile.

Still, barring several incidents with the local Inquisitors sent to rough her up, Vi remained utterly unspoiled. She should have been broken into six pieces by then, but there was no attempt to damage her.

From Cyrus's perspective, Viktor had seemingly tossed Vi into a bottomless pit to be either forgotten or looked upon as a prized animal. Either option proved to be a gross miscalculation that went in his favor.

Information was a far more valuable commodity than taking a piece off the board, so Viktor's decision-making regarding Vi was negligent.

Ahri dragged the Inquisitor to the surface, citing a need for him and Vi to work out their issues privately. Caitlyn predictably protested leaving him with the prisoner, but Ahri convinced her to return to the surface with her silver tongue.

Caitlyn would get her moment in private with Cyrus. He hadn't forgotten the loose end she represented as a Lucifuge clan member.

But first, the prisoner.

"Are you Vander's daughter?" Vi strained against the arm restricting her movements, her fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve in a vain attempt to draw blood.

"Who's asking?" The Brawler growled, wincing when he instinctively slammed her back against the wall.

"I am." Cyrus dug his forearm a little deeper into her throat, eliciting a harsh expletive from Vi.

"How about you give me your name first, sunshine." It amazed Cyrus that she could remain defiant despite her violently constricted airways. "Then ill think about answering it truthfully."

The girl was stubborn, a trait he had innumerable experiences dealing with because of Ghislaine's vexing nature.

"Cyrus." He answered.

"You a noble?"

"To a certain degree, yes." Vi remained unimpressed with his veiled answer but let it go in favor of an inquiry gnawing at her gut.

"What do you want with Vander?"

"It's hard to receive assistance from a dead man."

"Watch it, Sunshine." A violent growl graced Cyrus's ears. "That's my dad you're talking about."

"I'm merely pointing out a simple fact, but I'm not here to talk about him."

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?" Vi snapped back, her arms battling against his iron grip.

"You're expertise," Cyrus replied, earning a surprised look from the Brawler. "I'm here to end this civil war before it drags on for another millennium, but I need your help."

"How the fuck am I going to help you with that?" Vi's resistance tapered off as she stared into his crimson eyes with a questioning gleam.

"Knowledge." He replied, letting his tight grip on her arms fall away. "From what I've been told, you know the Underhive and the Inquisitorial Spire like the back of your hand, and I need that information."

" Silco ." He took note of the venom spilling from Vi's mouth. "Did that one-eyed freak also tell you he was responsible for Vander's death?"

"He told me more than that after I trashed his bar."

His words slowly registered in Vi's mind, and the explosion of fury drove her to snatch Cyrus by the collar of his shirt and drag him face to face. "You trashed Vander's bar!?"

"In my defense, they were under the impression I was just another exiled Noble, and I didn't exactly correct that assumption." Cyrus was looking for trouble, and Silco's goons happily obliged him with a very stress-relieving session despite it being one-sided.

Her eyes brimmed with curiosity even as outrage began to course through her veins. "What happened to Silco?"

"He's dead."

A disbelieving silence was all that greeted Cyrus, and he patiently observed the raw shift of emotion in Vi.

Shock, elation, and sorrow morphed the Brawler's visage until a near melancholy smile fell upon her lips.

"Are you… are you sure he's dead?" Hope filtered into her tone, and it grew exponentially with his reply.

"Silco's dead," Cyrus confirmed. "I killed him myself."

The words had barely left his mouth when Vi seized him by the shoulders and dragged him down to her level. Her right hand trailed up his neck and cupped the back of his head before a pair of soft lips pressed into his. Cyrus didn't want to reciprocate the… intimate gesture, but his arms moved by themselves and settled onto her hips, drawing a delectable sigh of approval from Vi.

All of it was entirely unnecessary by his estimations, but he allowed this… show of endearment nonetheless.

He'd long since learned that Devils were odd creatures.

But devil women are complete anomalies.

Decades later, Vi would confess that she would have blown Cyrus on the spot if he demanded that carnal compensation.

But that wasn't something he would ever ask of anyone he cared about.

His repayment style always involved following him into the howling dark without fear or hesitation.

And Vi wouldn't be the first to do so.

Pulling the pink-haired Devil off of him took considerable strength, but she willingly offered her assistance in whatever trial Cyrus faced.

But not without questions.

Vi regarded him with intense scrutiny that promptly turned into modest interest. She balanced her weight on one leg and propped a hand onto her waist."… This problem with the local government. We talking Inquisitorious or the Nobles?"

"I'm talking about everyone on Bashalum's payroll." Silver eyes widened at his admittance. "I'm going after all of them, from Grayfia Lucifuge down to a Loyalist Legionnaire."

"That sounds like a death wish." Vi let out a bated breath before a chortle of amusement exited her lungs. "Ekko would like you."

His ears perked at the name.

Ekko was a jumble of letters he recognized from Vander's personnel file, but his trail went cold a few years back due to either sabotage or bureaucracy.

Just like everything else in this damned city.

"Who's Ekko?" He feigned as much ignorance as his stomach could handle, gods he hated putting on a show for people.

"One of the few people trying to make things right." And those kind of people were in short supply around here. "You want to start tearing this city a new asshole? He's your man."

Cyrus deliberated whether or not he wanted to open dialogue with Underhive freedom fighters.

He wasn't a fan of rebels, but that defense would be hypocritical considering the side his family took in this civil war.

Fuck it.

What did he have to lose?

"Fine…." The Spartan conceded with mild distaste that went pointedly ignored by Vi.

"Excellent!"

But there was one caveat that Cyrus was unwilling to let go of as Vi made to slide past him. His arm shot forward, slamming into the concrete wall and barring the Brawler from leaving the cell.

She rolled her eyes in amusement, but any levity quickly died under his indomitable gaze.

Unwilling to be cowed so easily, she adopted a confident pose crossing her arms and staring back with a raised eyebrow. "Was there something else you needed?"

"Trust is hard to come by these days."

"Do you want a pinky promise?" Vi's tone was confident and sure sounding. She was under the impression that she held all the cards, but Cyrus sought to… adjust this outlook.

"I prefer a more permanent solution." Infernal energy swirled between Cyrus's crimson orbs, and she instinctively shied away from the demonic arcana, but a hand clasped upon her shoulder kept Vi rooted in place.

The Brawler silently prayed that whatever he had in mind wouldn't leave a mark.

"… Ceàird Sgàil ."

Ah, fuck berries.

l==l

Everything burns.

From Vi's skin to her muscles and all the way down to the fucking bone marrow blazed with a searing sting because of Sunshine's bullshit powers.

She despised Nobles because most of them were pricks who could occasionally possess the power to back up their bullshit. Vi dealt with those overbearing assholes almost every day over her life, but Sunshine wasn't the boasting type.

He belonged to the small minority of Nobles that didn't give you a chance to react or think before slamming into you like a sledgehammer from above. If they didn't crush every bone in your body, they'd slide a dagger between your ribs and leave you bleeding out on the floor.

Vi will exact her vengeance on Cyrus as soon as she was capable of walking without wincing at every step.

"Keep up, fat hands!" It took every bit of Vi's soul not to tear Ahri's skull open.

"Fuck you, Ahri!" She snapped back, earning a laugh of amusement from the Vastayan. "You have no fucking clue what the fuck I'm feeling right now."

Cyrus was in for a harsh revelation if he believed Ahri and Vi would get along. The Vastayan made it a point of teasing the Brawler at every opportunity, and Vi often retorted with vicious fervor.

If these arguments annoyed Cyrus, he never let it be known, always keeping a steady pace ahead of the bickering pair no matter how loud they got.

Kind of like right now, since he'd pointedly kept his focus centered upon the Inquisitor that, in Vi's opinion, made a feeble one since she had a bleeding heart.

Noble's are idiots.

"Oh really." Ahri turned in Vi's direction, pulling up the sleeve of her coat and showing off the fresh mark of Kimaris etched into her forearm. "When I got mine, there was a lot less bitching."

"Bull fucking shit." Vi retorted, rubbing at the crook of her neck where a Kimaris brand clashed with her tattoos. "Prim girl like you probably cried, all weepy and shit."

"Guess we'll never know." Ahri rolled down her sleeve and called out to their guide. "How much longer?"

"We'll be out of the Spire district soon," Caitlyn responded, glancing dubiously at the Kimaris Noble, who scrutinized her at every turn. "The Warrens are just up ahead."

The Warrens were a section of boroughs with the unfortunate circumstance of being the only thing separating the Spire Districts and the Underhive. This also inevitably made the Warrens a prime battleground between Inquisitors and locals who'd had enough of the bullshit.

Caitlyn was taking a calculated risk by negotiating this hazardous territory to get everyone out of the Spire Districts before the Inquisitors realized Vi was missing. Once word reached the Warden, suspicion would inevitably fall upon her and Ahri, thus terminating Caitlyn's career as an Inquisitor and turning her into a fugitive with the Vastayan.

As she slid down a mound of trash, Caitlyn let out a dejected huff. She figured that paying Ahri's debt would cost her no more than a night's sleep at worst, but now she was hours away from being hunted by her former colleagues.

Caitlyn didn't want to take up the sword for the Renegade cause, but that ship sailed after Cyrus stepped from Ahri's shadow with Vi in hand.

The Inquisitor pulled on the collar of her jacket as a wave of familiar air impacted her skin. The Underhive had a perpetual frigid climate because of the industrial waste and noxious pollutants dumped into its boroughs.

Caitlyn seemed to be the only one affected by the cold, her hands curling into one another as her breath cascaded into white wisps of air. Ahri and Vi walked with a confident gait, ignoring their changing environment, while Cyrus remained entirely unphased.

The Inquisitor was concerned that Cyrus would drag Vi into the Underhive dressed in her prisoner uniform. That worry was stimied after a group of gangers decided to take a chance on their mix-matched group for some easy loot.

The poor bastards were lucky to be alive, absent a few articles of clothing and several broken jaws.

Other than this admittedly one-sided encounter with the locals, their journey through the Warrens continued with relative ease, and Caitlyn could see the familiar hue of the Underhive in the distance.

"We're almost there," Caitlyn whispered, pressing herself against the far wall as a pair of Inquisitors stalked past their alleyway. "Patrols will be numerous, so keep your heads down and try not to draw any attention."

*BANG!*

Caitlyn should have known better than to tempt fate. A tremendous disturbance erupted in the Borough not far from their location. Cyrus recognized the thumping bangs as boots kicking in doors, and the ease with which he predicted the shrieks of panic echoing in the distance was almost eerie.

"What the hell is going on?" Ahri slid next to Caitlyn, her frame brimming with potent arcana. The Sharpshooter peaked down the street, finding a large gathering of Inquisitors blockading the narrow roadway.

"Shit," Caitlyn ducked back into the alleyway before she could be discovered. "It's a purge."

"Another one?" Ahri came to a knee and pooled infernal magic into her fingertips, forming a tiny sphere of potent energy within the palm of her hand. The spherical object ejected from her grasp into the sky, giving Ahri an overhead view of the brutalizing spectacle below.

A substantial task force of Inquisitors was sealing off several residential structures, and the inhabitants were being evicted from their houses and forced to stand in makeshift firing lines.

Caitlyn had no illusions about what would befall these Devils. To keep the Underhive disorganized and subjugated, the Inquisitorious conducted district purges. The ultimate outcome was a mixed bag of complete success prowess and utter failure.

These purges were just as likely to quell a future insurrection as they did to ignite a full-scale revolution. Caitlyn silently mused that she was traveling with the one Devil in the entirety of Lucifaad with the full intention of lighting the city ablaze.

Alas, it wouldn't do them any good to get involved with this tragedy, not when they were close to reaching the Underhive. Ahri silently agreed with her logic and continued monitoring the Inquisitors from above while Caitlyn scouted a path out of the hot zone.

"I see a blind spot in their perimeter. If we time it right, we can be out of the Warrens in…." Caitlyn's voice tapered off when she found an alleyway devoid of Cyrus and Vi. "… Ahri?"

"Yeah, I see them." A resigned huff fell from the Vastayan's lips as she watched a pair of figures scamper across the rooftops. "We're getting involved."

"For someone who comes off as a cold-hearted bastard. Cyrus is awfully quick to run towards the screaming." Ahri found Caitlyn's summary of her master to be entirely accurate.

However, his oddities made him different from most Nobles, and that alone was enough to keep Ahri's interest.

l==l

Cyrus was being reckless.

It was a foreign inclination that took hold of him at the worst possible times.

Contrary to popular belief, Spartans aren't completely emotionless or heartless. They understand emotions in its most basic form and can cast it aside when duty calls for a sound mind.

In this circumstance, the screams of anguish and cries for mercy tugged at his overall desire to protect those who could not adequately defend themselves. He'd seen the massacres carried out by the Covenant across a dozen different worlds, and each time Cyrus was forced to stay his hand.

And he couldn't bring himself to be a spectator once more.

The people down here may not be human, but after spending half a decade on the frontlines of a genocidal campaign, even Cyrus's dogmatic mindset was overtaken by impulses.

The screams drove Cyrus to scale the adjacent building and perch himself upon a vantage point that overlooked the ongoing atrocity.

The Inquisitors carried out their task with ruthless efficiency, separating family members by gender and keeping the adults in line through a violent mixture of arcane and physical force.

None of them spoke a word, and even as Cyrus casted a net of Ceàird Sgàil into each Inquisitor's shadow, he found them to be as silent as a graveyard.

Just like the Covenant whenever they carried out a massacre.

"How many do you see?" Vi silently inquired, cracking her fingers and loosening her shoulders.

"Twenty-Five Inquisitors in total. Twenty on the street while five more are searching building by building." Cyrus nodded towards a large contingent keeping an eye on the corraled inhabitants. "There gathering all of the civilians en masse to make the deed easier to carry out."

"Fucking animals." Vi saw a few prone civilians staining the pavement with their blood. A few adults sought to buy time for their families to run, but all they did was rush into an early grave. "What's the play?"

Vi was ready to crack some skulls, drawing a significant amount of infernal energy into her hands and knuckles. She was your run-of-the-mill Brawler with a quick temper and even quicker fists.

However, she lacked the subtly Cyrus needed, and a direct assault would get a few of the civilians killed in the crossfire. He required someone with a little more… refinement.

"Ahri." Cyrus activated his anchor, and his voice ghosted over the Vastayans ear.

"Yes, Master?"

"Get up here." Ahri tapped Caitlyn's shoulder and gestured toward the rooftops. The Sharpshooter gave her a withering glare before letting loose an irritated huff and extending her wings.

The Vastayan dug her heels into the ground and propelled herself into the sky high enough to clear the rooftop by several meters. Cyrus formulated the final parts of his strategy just as Ahri and Caitlyn slid next to him.

However, before he divulged this information, he needed to settle a growing concern.

"Wha-!" Cyrus seized Caitlyn by the scruff of her vest and yanked her to his side, prompting a perplexed stare from the Sharpshooter. Panic gripped her heart when he pressed the edge of Christie's dagger into her throat, silencing her cries before they could grace the world.

Vi stood ramrod straight in genuine confusion, unsure of what the hell was going on and why Cyrus chose now to start fucking with their resident Inquisitor.

"Cyrus." Ahri stalked forward with a single hand raised in placation. She would never strike him, even in Caitlyn's defense, but that didn't mean she agreed with this plan. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Cyrus ignored the Vastayan's placating tone and gestured toward the impending massacre. "Tell me what you see?"

Caitlyn's gaze centered upon an Inquisitor roughly handling a child no more than a few years old. Another was driving his pommel into the throat of an aged Devil, snarling back with unrestrained hatred.

"I'm going to make my position perfectly clear to you, Ms. Lucifuge." His tone was casual, but his eyes brimmed with demonic energy that sent chills down Caitlyn's spine.

Vi seemed to bristle at the mere thought of being in proximity to a Lucifuge, and she was on the verge of telling Cyrus to slice Caitlyn's neck when a calmer head prevailed. If Caitlyn were anything like her bloodhound of a sister, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

Maybe, Vi hit the jackpot and ran into the only pair of Nobles in the entire city that gave a shit about the lower class.

It would be the first time in a long while Vi's luck had finally started to turn in her favor.

"My goal is the radical destabilization of the Loyalist Government via the elimination of your sister, by whatever means I deem necessary…." Cyrus pressed the dagger into Caitlyn's skin when she made to use her tongue. "… How I bring your sister down is entirely up to you. Grayfia can be in chains or a body bag, but no matter what happens in the next few weeks, her downfall is assured…."

An Inquisitorial Officer drove his knee into the gut of a teenage girl protecting her baby brother. A flash of fury welled up at the bottom of Caitlyn's stomach as another brutalizing blow to the skull sent her sprawling to the muddied ground. She nearly joined in on the screams of outrage, but the dagger at her throat tempered her feelings

Everywhere she looked, an atrocity was being carried out by people she served alongside. Cyrus made his position as clear and concise as possible for Caitlyn to understand.

"… Your colleagues have made their choice, so the only question I have left is where your loyalties lie…."

He was drawing a line in the sand.

"… Is it with them? Or us?"

It was time for Caitlyn to determine if she could be trusted to make the right decision after a lifetime of meekly obeying commands she vehemently opposed.

It would be reckless of her to throw in her lot with a Noble she hadn't met until a few hours ago.

It was entirely naïve to believe Cyrus could defy a millennias worth of systematic corruption and illogical tradition.

But then again, Caitlyn was consistently berated by her fellow Inquisitors for being reckless and incredibly naïve.

She wouldn't want to disappoint them.

l==l

Killing is one of the easiest things a man can do.

It is an art that has evolved in both brutality and carnage with the passage of time. Since the dawn of human civilization, wars have been defined by their casualties and their victims.

The motives and methods are often choked away by tales of honor and glory to exemplify the carnage, but the end is always the same.

Death. On a scale that can reach biblical proportions.

Humanity has revolutionized the manner by which they slaughter one another, from the concentration camps of World War II to the smoldering megacities of the Hydra System Massacres.

It doesn't take much to commit these heinous acts. Sometimes all it requires is an unfortunate set of circumstances for an ambitious individual to take advantage of, while others were deliberately done to ignite the fury of an entire nation.

And as Cyrus observed two Inquisitors victimize a cluster of children cowering against a decaying fence with jovial bouts of amused laughter, he was reminded once more of how comparable their species were.

Brutality was nothing special to the Spartan.

His very nature compelled him to confront the wicked and the damned in all forms, and in some cases, they flocked to Cyrus like moths to a flame, and he welcomed their ruthless ambition with open arms so that he could extinguish them without hesitation.

He was well-versed in the warning signs of oncoming massacres, and he can still vividly recall stumbling upon his first all too well.

It would forever be one of the few times Cyrus truly felt helpless.

l==l

"Oxide, this is Reaper Six…." Cyrus flinched as a scream of hysterical terror was ruthlessly silenced by the bark of an M7 Submachine gun. "… We once again request an immediate change to the ROE."

Reaper team was dispatched to search for a lost Havoc Nuke acquired by an Insurrectionist cell determined to obtain Acadia's freedom by holding the entire planet hostage.

The UNSC Dusk inserted the Headhunters a few klicks south of a small town on the outskirts of Acadia's capital city.

Initial briefing indicated that an ONI contact residing in the settlement had actionable intel on the Havoc Nuke's location, but before Cyrus and his team could acquire him, the Insurrectionists were already cleaning house.

Reaper team was an hour late and more than a dollar short of preventing the massacre. The Insurrectionists didn't care about collateral and couldn't afford even the slightest chance of risking the Nuke's location, so they decided to torch the town and all two hundred of its inhabitants.

The men.

The women.

And the children.

Massacred without question or mercy.

"They're slaughtering them," Eliza whispered with bitter contempt as a pair of school children were cut down by an M247 HMG. She snarled under her breath and broke radio protocol. "What are we doing here, Oxide? Give us the green light to engage."

"Negative, Sierra." Their handler calmly answered. "This is a retrieval op, not a rescue mission. Maintain your distance and do not engage."

It baffled Cyrus at how easily they could end this slaughter before it reached its crescendo. Reaper team had already infiltrated the town and were posted upon separate rooftops that dominated the entire AO, but Oxide refused to greenlight their intervention.

"This is nonsense," Eliza spoke into their private comms channel, where Oxide couldn't monitor her rebellious thoughts. "They're rounding up the rest of the kids. We should get in there before-"

" Negative ." Casey cut off Eliza with a tone as cold as ice, throwing her completely off balance. "We have our orders, and you will obey Oxide's directive."

An exhale of irritation flowed from Eliza's lips, and she sought assistance from their silent brother. "… Cyrus?"

It was a muted yearning for his support, but Cyrus couldn't bring himself to fall into Eliza's line of thinking. The Insurrectionists had no idea a Spartan Team was on planet, and they couldn't risk tipping off the bombers of their presence.

The terrorists wouldn't hesitate to detonate the Havoc Nuke if they knew Spartans were on the prowl.

Another bark of gunfire, another life snuffed out.

"Casey's right." His acceptance shattered Eliza's resolve before it could properly take root. "Subtlely is our ally tonight, and our job is to save ten million lives, not… Not two hundred."

Eliza was forced to watch the massacre come to a brutalizing conclusion, with her siblings unable or unwilling to intercede. The bodies were stacked onto a pile and set alight before the Insurrectionists scattered into the surrounding forest.

Ultimately, the sacrifice of two hundred souls saved ten million lives.

Reaper Team did not sleep soundly that night.

l==l

The memory continues to haunt Cyrus to this day, and it served as a stark reminder that even in the face of total annihilation, Humanity found ways to inflict terrible anguish upon itself.

Humanity.

Devils.

Two sides to the same coin when it comes to violence.

Could Cyrus really fool himself into thinking they were all so different?

Maybe.

But then his team would have had him hung by his entrails.

No one likes a fool.

No one.

"Cyrus?" A lithe hand grasped his shoulder, and a pair of amber orbs stared intently at the Inquisitors below. "Caitlyn and Vi are in position. Are you ready?"

"Yes." A low growl rumbled from Cyrus's throat as the pair of Inquisitors threw the children onto the street.

They exchanged a hearty laugh at the children's misery and searched through the decrepit alleyway for more strays to abuse.

The purge was reaching its final stages, and the lead interrogator would soon conclude his thorough investigation of the boroughs' treachery.

It didn't matter to the Inquisitors whether or not these poor souls lined up in the street were guilty. They were simply meeting a quota set by their superiors.

Cyrus fell upon the isolated pair of Inquisitors, sliding Christie's dagger underneath one's helm and carving out his throat.

A subtle glance towards the second Inquisitor revealed a wisp of arcana crushing the woman's throat. Ahri curled her fingers into a fist, and a resounding snap extinguished the Inquisitor's wretched life.

Cyrus pulled on his victim's collar, his eyes glossing over the markings erected into the man's chest plate.

He'd hoped to seize an officer from their ranks, but all he obtained were the decaying corpses of two acolytes.

Cannon fodder.

Cyrus dropped the carcass from his hands and ordered his Dubhra Garrach to dispose of the evidence. He disregarded the rendering of metal and flesh being torn asunder to continue his search for a senior officer.

"Hustle up!" An Inquisitor shouted over the wailing of children and the hushed whispers of mothers trying to keep them calm. "I want to be back at The Pit within the hour! Raze these buildings and commence clean-up procedures!"

Several Inquisitors snapped to attention and fanned out towards the residences that once harbored the interned civilians. Their strategy was simple: torch the buildings and slaughter the 'suspected' traitors to remind the local citizenry the price of rebellion.

Cyrus refused to be a bystander once again.

"Found our Hierophant." Ahri drawled out with amusement. "He's closer to Vi and Caitlyn. Should we tell them to engage?"

"I don't think we need to." As he barked out his directives, a shadow fell from the sky and barreled into the Hierophant.

"What the he-!" An arm wrapped around his jaw, wrenching it to one side and converting the ranking Inquisitor into a grotesque humanoid statue. His helmeted skull was twisted backward, and Cyrus could only imagine the Hierophant's terrified expression forever frozen in death.

Vi kicked the Inquisitor's corpse forward, relishing in the stunned silence that followed the resounding thud of meat metal meeting pavement.

"Welcome to hell, fuckers!" Vi bellowed, her voice echoing up and down the winding street. "Surrender and die!"

Caitlyn looked on from above while her partner slammed into a stunned Acolyte. She examined the dazed Inquisitors with a Griycium lance, scanning for a Senior Acolyte to violently remove from the field.

A Griycium lance held firmly in her grasp as she scanned the stunned Inquisitors for a Senior Acolyte to violently remove from the field. When she found her target, a red beam ejected from the end of her lance and slammed into the Inquisitor's helm, frying his visor and blasting a fist-sized hole through his forehead.

All hell broke loose.

l==l

Vi could see the hesitation in their stances. Inquisitors are like a pack of hyenas, eager to swarm the helpless and scavenge what remains without passion or mercy. Their strength lies in numbers, yet they are a cowardly bunch that are easy to break and easy to kill.

There was no greater source of evidence of their craven nature than in the following moments after their Hierophant hit the dirt. They stood in stunned silence, and their flickering gazes assured Vi that his group was unaccustomed to facing such defiance, so she took advantage of their hesitation to give them all a once-over.

The Inquisitors were spread thinly along the roadway. A trio of Acolytes was keeping the civilians hemmed together while the rest were in the midst of clearing out the remaining structures. In short, these poor bastards were in the worst position to engage a quartet of infiltrators who were all trained killers.

Pumping arcana into her legs, Vi into a streak of pure sapphire that tore through the air like a runaway comet. A chorus of debris was kicked up in her wake as she slammed the crown of her right fist into an Inquisitor's helm.

A pair of Acolytes out of the dozen-plus in the street managed to get a few bursts of ionized plasma, but they failed to even glance Vi's sturdy frame.

"KILL THE BITCH!" A Senior Acolyte bellowed for all to hear, but his command drew Caitlyn's undivided attention, and he was rewarded with a red beam slamming into his collarbone. The plasma sunk deep into his armor, rendering flesh and metal in a nauseous mixture of anguish that sent the Acolyte sprawling into the floor in pain.

A secondary beam put the Inquisitor out of his misery, but it also alerted the remaining Acolytes to the rooftop shooter picking off their squad leaders.

"Take them down! Take them down!" The frantic calls for engagement were answered by a shower of red beams slamming into Caitlyn's cover and forcing her into safety.

Vi's momentum kicked a notch as she feigned to the left, avoiding a powerful overhead swipe from an Acolyte's spear. She rewarded the aggressive play by pooling arcana into her arms, seizing the spear, and using its sturdy frame to launch herself knee-first into the Inquisitor's jaw.

"ARGH!" A muffled shriek of pain graced the Brawler's ears, and she capped off her brutalizing strike by driving the sole of her foot through the Devil's visor. The crunch of metal and bone filled the remaining Inquisitors with pure terror they did not know how to handle.

With the Hierophant dead along with several Senior Acolytes, the remaining grunts felt their flight or fight instincts kick in. Most stood their ground, while a select few embraced their craven nature and ran for their lives.

"You're just going to die tired, assholes!" Vi's bellowing words echoed a cluster of black creatures nipping at the retreating Inquisitor's heels. She surged forward, paying no mind to the Dubhra Garrach feasting upon the cowards as she clashed with a pair of Acolytes blocking her path toward the civilians.

Arcana bristled within her extremities, giving her the speed and power to quickly engage the heavily armed Inquisitors. A blinding streak of purple sparred with Griycium lances as the Acolytes fought to keep Vi off balance.

An overextended sweep left an Inquisitor vulnerable to a kidney shot, and Vi ruthlessly took advantage of this opening by jabbing her right hand through his armor and cutting flesh. The Brawler's hand smashed through the Acolyte's ribs, and she upped the ante further by grasping the man's spine and shattering it in two.

"EXRAS!" The Inquisitor's partner cried out in alarm as Vi extracted her arm from his innards, and specks of his spine clung to her bloodied limb. Her brutal execution of the Acolyte left Vi exposed to a swinging swipe from the dead man's partner, and she was sent careening into an adjacent structure.

The decaying bricks gave way to the humanoid missile, and brick fell upon Vi as she battled to regain her senses. The Inquisitors managed to coordinate themselves into several fire teams that either advanced upon Vi or continued to lay down a base of fire upon Caitlyn.

They did not expect a tertiary contact to fall upon their rearguard, nor did they expect it to be a dreaded Vastayan.

"Behind us!" The Acolyte that gave out this warning was the first to die at Ahri's hands. A pink orb escaped her lips and impacted the Inquisitor before he could entirely turn to engage the Vastayan.

Ahri watched her magic play with the man's senses, and it took mere seconds to turn this Acolyte into her personal plaything. The Inquisitor's entire body suddenly seized up before he turned towards his closest companion and treacherously drove his lance directly through her abdomen.

"Trel'gar, what the fuck!" Several Acolytes screamed out in confusion at their companion's sudden bought of treachery, but Ahri wasted no time carving through their ranks.

A flurry of ki daggers flew from her hands, cutting through the subtle weak points in their carapace armor and slaughtering a trio of Acolytes with a spectral blade through the visor.

"KILL HER NOW!" A pair of Inquisitors previously occupied with keeping Caitlyn pinned turned their sights upon the Vastayan as she pounced upon a fellow Acolyte and ripped into his exposed throat. The charmed Inquisitor stepped in front of Ahri, sacrificing his body as a pair of ionized plasma tore through his armor and punctured through flesh.

The Vastayan paid her sacrificial pawn no mind, stepping over his smoldering corpse and seamlessly flowing between the Acolytes with practiced ease.

"Taking casualties!" Inquisitors attempted to implement a cordon to isolate the trio of lethal women, but they were repeatedly hindered by shadowy creatures slicing into their rearguard.

Vi burst from her temporary shelter like a humanoid missile, slamming into an Acolyte before he could fire off a beam into Ahri's spine. She smashed the Inquisitor against the far wall, earning a retaliatory elbow driven in the small of her back.

"Motherfuck-!" Her muscles begged for a reprieve, but she refused to give in to this psychotic bastard. Vi pumped arcana into her legs, lifting the Inquisitor clean off his feet and driving him to the ground.

Vi delivered three powerful blows into his helm before the Acolyte slammed his feet into her back and drove her back several paces. It had been a long time since Vi had thrown down with Inquisitors and even longer since she tasted her blood.

Adrenaline was a helluva anesthetic, and she'd rather be damned to eternity if she didn't scratch out a few more Inquisitors.

"Come on, fuckers!" Vi beckoned her quarry forward, drawing another Acolyte away from the mass of Acolyte's throwing down with Cyrus's little minions. They growled back in barely concealed rage, striding forward with their lances braced for a coordinate strike, but she acted first.

Vi snapped out her right heel and landed a brutalizing kick to the jaw before he could embed his spear into her left collarbone. His companion tried to cleave off her right leg, but a Dubhra Garrach cut at his Achilles, leaving him vulnerable to an arcane-filled jab to the helm.

The Brawler's fist pierced bone and armor, bursting a large hole in the Inquisitor's head and splattering blood and brain matter from knuckle to forearm. A sickening crunch was lost in the mass of dying Acolytes, and Vi quickly glanced at her surroundings to search for her next victim.

In this moment of bloodlust, an Acolyte sprang from Vi's blindspot and swept her knees out from under her, nearly piercing her throat with the tip of his lance.

"Shit!" Vi barely stopped the lance from grazing her skin, but the Acolyte repeatedly slammed the heel of his boot into her ribs to force a bloody abdication.

Blood and oxygen spilled from Vi's lips as she struggled against the irate Inquisitor. Rage and desperation drove the muscles in her arms to new heights, but it was only enough to keep the jaws of death at bay.

"FUCKING DIE!" The Acolyte poured the last of his infernal energy into his lance, and the heated plasma began to build mere inches from Vi's face before Caitlyn intervened.

A sliver of ionized plasma struck the Inquisitor from above, ripping through the side of his helm and spraying blood into the air. The Inquisitor fell on his side, his helm split and sundered into a barely recognizable heap of burnt metal.

Vi grasped her ribs, each breath producing pins and needles of anguish in her lungs until her body adjusted to the momentary discomfort. A tertiary assessment of her surroundings found a cluster of Dubhra Garrach was holding the other Acolytes at bay, buying her enough time to catch her breath.

That was closer than Vi was used to experiencing, and it was clear that she was rustier than first anticipated. The wardens of her former residence weren't exactly the most capable fighters, and spending the last few weeks throwing down with those morons hadn't done her any favors.

Vi's heartbeat settled with a long exhale, and she scanned for her savior on the rooftops above. Cyrus was the first to catch her eye: he hadn't moved from his perch overlooking the brutal skirmish, seemingly content to let Vi and Ahri lead the direct assault while he coordinated his Dubhra Garrach from above.

The Noble shook his head at Vi's silent inquiry and nodded towards Caiyln, preoccupied with gunning down her former comrades. Inquisitors are a loyal bunch, and to see one disavow the Inquisitorious so quickly was a rare thing, but Caitlyn seemed to be the exception to the rule.

"Maybe she isn't so bad after all," Vi murmured as she eyed a trio of Acolytes to add to her limited kill count.

It was time to correct that mistake.

Vi charged into the fray, bursting past a pair of Dubhra Garrachs and crashing into an unsuspecting Acolyte. Her sudden emergence managed to tip the skirmish into a full-on free-for-all. A circumstance that didn't assist the Inquisitors as they fought to regain the momentum.

Ahri kept the Acolytes on their toes, killing their team leaders and leaving their squads momentarily disorganized. When the Inquisitors sought retribution for their comrades demise, Vi would storm into their ranks and bludgeon several of their numbers before they could retaliate. Caitlyn kept their perimeter clean, gunning down several Acolytes who discerned the slightest gap in Ahri and Vi's exposed flanks.

Through it all, Cyrus watched from above, swarming the Inquisitors in packs of Dubhra Garrach and dispersing any coordinated effort by the Inquisitors to take to the skies. His Spartan instincts demanded he joins the fracas below, but Cyrus was not inclined to fight alongside any of the women that had entered his company.

He tentatively trusted Vi, and the 'former' Inquisitor was sitting on a knife's edge, but that didn't mean he could not extend an olive branch. Ahri was physically and mentally loyal to him, but Vi and Caitlyn remained allies, one bound through debt and the other by circumstance.

Caitlyn cast aside her Inquisitorious ties by killing whole squads of her erstwhile colleagues, but that did not mean she was willing to forsake her family.

Blood is thicker than water.

Until her loyalties could be verified, Cyrus was keen to keep Caitlyn at arms length. Ahri could meander all she wanted, but she was bound to his will at the end of the day.

THESE BENIGN CREATURES ARE BENEATH US.

Cyrus wished he could say the same of the malevolent entity plaguing his sanity.

"There is no 'us.'" The Spartan sharply retorted, earning a dismissive growl from the spherical shadow hovering off his right shoulder.

Cyrus had hoped that this phenomenon was simply an intelligent Dubhra Garrach who had taken a liking to the Spartan, but the smothering influence pouring from its tendrils of darkness shattered that notion.

WE ARE CONNECTED RECLAIMER. YOU CAN NOT DENY MY EXISTENCE.

"I don't need to deny anything," Cyrus replied. "I don't know what you are or where you came from, but I know that your advice is unwanted and unneeded."

He turned away from the entity, uncaring for the licks of darkness grazing against his skin. Cyrus didn't care for its presence or constant badgering, which provided nothing but a continued desire to examine his own head for signs of mental instability.

MY PRESENCE IS NECESSARY. THE MALEBRANCHE MUST NOT BE ALLOWED TO RETURN.

"The what?" Cyrus peered out the corner of his eye, but the spherical shadow was no longer present, and a sweeping glance at the decrepit rooftop only revealed empty space. "Spend the last few weeks prodding my mind with riddles, and now you want to hold your tongue."

He banished all thoughts towards the malevolent spirit and returned his attention to the receding conflict below. Most of the Acolytes now lay dead or dying, and Vi applied the finishing touches to the surviving Inquisitors.

Ahri took up the position of medicae, applying a thin layer of invigorating arcana to the more critically wounded civilians.

Cyrus seized control of the situation almost effortlessly, a consequence of leading over 3,000 Legionnaires for well over a year.

"Caitlyn!" The Sharpshooter piqued over the rooftop edge at his beckoning. "Secure the perimeter and make sure there aren't any reinforcements headed our way."

The Lucifuge executed his command without hesitation, scampering to a higher rooftop and scanning the empty streets for any lingering Inquisitors. Cyrus didn't wait to verify whether Caitlyn followed his directive, for he was already turning towards their resident Brawler.

"Vi, police these bodies." He gestured towards the innumerable corpses staining the ground with their blood. "If any of them are still breathing, then fix it. The fewer eyewitnesses, the better."

Vi flashed him a toothy grin before digging her foot into an Acolyte's torso and tossing him over. The Inquisitor had long since passed from the jagged slash across his exposed throat courtesy of the Vastayan.

Cyrus's attention inevitably fell upon Ahri and a woman who had stepped forward to assist the Vastayan in caring for the wounded. A glance at the civilians showed an anxious mob gathered around several corpses lacking the Inquisitorial armor.

They were unable to save all of them.

"How many?" Cyrus inquired to Ahri as she poured a concentrated blast of rejuvenating magic into her wounded patient. More than a dozen civilians were lined up along the road in a makeshift CCP, and several were suffering from a multitude of injuries ranging from concussions to deep lacerations.

"Fifteen injured, four of them critically, and two dead…." A wail of sorrow down the line caused Ahri's expression to tighten. "… Make that three dead."

"Triage the wounded and save who you can. We need to leave before someone comes looking for these Inquisitors." A few dead Acolytes wouldn't illicit a significant search, but the sudden disappearance of a Hierophant alongside his entire section was an entirely different matter.

Cyrus could only assume their time was limited, and staying here longer than needed would get everyone killed.

"Give me five minutes," Ahri requested, her amber orbs betraying her calm demeanor. His martial mindset demanded an immediate extraction, but his heart wanted to buy the civilians as much time as possible.

Ultimately, Cyrus made a compromising decision that placated his heart and mind.

"You have three. Make them count." There was no debating this command, and Ahri knew not to take the small victories for granted.

Cyrus wasn't used to compromising, and the sheer fact that he was willing to delay an immediate exit of the alleyway was an anomaly.

There was little conversation between him or any of his companions. The hushed whispers exchanged between the civilians and the sporadic wailing of a still-living Inquisitor being brutally put down by Vi kept everyone on their toes.

Cyrus searched through the Hierophant's armor, obtaining parchments sealed by the Inquisitorious mark and several correspondences between the dead Inquisitor and his commanding Seeker. He wasn't surprised to discover that the nature of this purge contained an underlying motive.

Seeker Gorgrith was the commanding officer of the Warren District, and he reported directly to the Lord Inquisitor himself.

The oldest correspondence was a direct missive from Lord Inquisitor Barracus, ordering an immediate purge of the 22nd Borough to capture a local Firelight speaking out against the Loyalist cause. Their location was detailed in a memo from one of several informants in the Spire District, and her capture was a primary objective.

Gorgith retasked the local Hierophant to search for the dissident with orders to use force as necessary.

The decaying corpse at Cyrus's feet deemed an entire purge of the Borough a more reasonable use of force, and he would have succeeded had Cyrus and his companions not intervened.

The Spartan searched through the Hierophants belt and found personal items belonging to his wife and child. It wasn't the first time Cyrus encountered a family man orchestrating a massacre of children, but he didn't care about that minute detail.

Cyrus's priorities were beginning to converge, but first he needed to get these civilians into the Underhive.

Their days living in the Warrens were over after tonight.

The Spartan was second from stepping away from the Hierophant's corpse when he noticed a loose parchment lodged in the Devil's armor. He pulled at the piece of armor encompassing the paper and dragged it from its makeshift sheath.

Cyrus unraveled its contents and found a faded picture of the Firelight agent. The depiction was tainted by the Hierophant's blood, but a name could still be deciphered just below its bottom edge.

Eclipse

It was more than likely a moniker to throw off any Inquisitors that might recognize it, but the agent's sketch was enough to at least compromise their mission. Cyrus glanced over the nearby mass of civilians, but there was no way to discern who was the Firelight agent among them.

Cyrus slipped away from the butchered Hierophant just in time to hear a sudden clapping of boots from the rooftops above.

Ahri's three minutes were up.

Caitlyn jumped off the roof, extending her wings to glide towards a patiently waiting Cyrus.

"How many?" The reluctant sigh from her lips didn't fill him with confidence.

"Too many," Caitlyn didn't need to supply Cyrus with an exact number to the oncoming Inquisitors, and he didn't hesitate to start barking orders.

"All of you pay attention." The Spartan's natural voice was enough to draw the attention of everyone in the blood-soaked streets. "I need a headcount."

The Devil assisting Ahri at the makeshift CCP spoke up for her people.

"There are eighty-five of us." She answered while gently laying one of her patients back down.

A few civilians possessed war lance taken from the dead Inquisitors, but Cyrus doubted they knew how to handle them. At least sixteen of them were children of adolescent age, many sporting fresh tear marks courtesy of their current ordeal.

Cyrus internally grimaced. Trying to sneak nearly a hundred people into the Underhive would be damn near impossible. Their odds of making it through without casualties were low unless someone stayed behind to harass the Inquisitors.

Vi was out of the running because she knew how to get to the Underhive, and Ahri was needed to keep the critically wounded alive. Caitlyn couldn't hold back a horde of Inquisitors by herself, leaving only one realistic option.

Himself.

Nothing was ever easy.

"Vi." The Brawler perked at her name. "You're the spearhead and know this town better than anyone. Scout ahead and make sure our path is clear…."

"On it." The Brawler shot down the street, and Cyrus returned his attention to the civilians.

"… Caitlyn, you're on rear security. Keep the Inquisitors off your tail…." The Sharpshooter nodded in acceptance, and Cyrus turned towards the final piece of the puzzle.

"… Ahri, stay with the civilians." The Vastayan went to protest his directive, but he cut her off before she could plead her case. "I need you to keep the wounded alive. You're the only one capable of seeing them through the night."

Ahri swallowed down the bitter taste crawling up her throat. She knew where his line of thought was heading, which went against everything a Vastayan stood for, but Cyrus was as stubborn as they came.

She reluctantly obeyed his demand and began ushering the civilians down the street toward Vi's lingering form. Caitlyn brought up the rear, and once the final ragged Devil passed her, she realized that Cyrus was not among them.

She spared the Kimaris a curious glance as he made no move to join their convoy and called out to his rooted form.

"What are you doing?"

Cyrus didn't bless her with words at first, for a mass of raw demonic energy began intermingling with the surrounding shadows. Eldritch monsters in the shape of the dreaded Chimera native to the Shadowlands emerged from the darkness, and he made his intentions clear without a glance in her direction.

His parting words sum up every Spartan, from his cousins in Project Orion to his siblings in Beta Company.

For Spartans were truly meant for one thing alone…

"Evening the odds."

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

A Bloodbath.

There was no better word to describe Grayfia Lucifuge's surroundings as she surveyed the blood-soaked streets of the Warrens 22nd Borough.

These streets were the scene of a district purge, but it was intended to root out Underhive dissidents. The casualties at her feet were not insurgents, but Inquisitors billeted to 'The Pit.'

The entire area was shielded by a red-hued magical barrier, its arcana blotting out the hanging artificial sun and keeping the unwelcome away. Grayfia ignored the Inquisitors on guard duty, and her reputation alone kept them from halting her short of the barrier.

Dozens of Scribes from the Inquisitorious Tellacarn Division examined the corpses and surrounding structures for any information regarding the massacre's perpetrators. Their focused gazes never once strayed toward the heir to the Lucifuge clan, and they went about their business while subconsciously avoiding Grayfia.

The Inquisitorious knew that the Silver-Haired Butcher was only summoned if the situation threatened to spiral out of their control, making her presence a hindrance to the Acolyte's morale.

The last time the Inquisitorious called in Grayfia was to put down a significant insurrection not years earlier. Investigating a District Purge outside standard protocol and that fact alone put all of them on edge. They appreciated her support, but many Inquisitors preferred keeping her out of the loop.

But this one was different.

"Lady Lucifuge." Grayfia recognized the voice as Seeker Gorgith of House Kelandora. A veteran Inquisitor who spent most of his career patrolling the Warrens and, on occasion, the Underhive. These corpses belonged to his command, and he personally requested her assistance in this investigation. "Glad you could join us."

"You shouldn't be." Grayfia retorted, her voice as cold as a passing blizzard. "Why am I here, Gorgith?"

The Seeker's eyes strayed to her right, where a trail of bodies led towards a corner street a hundred meters to the south. A significant amount of blood was seeping into the junction, but its source was obscured by a scorched four-story structure that was set ablaze during the fighting.

"It's best if I show you." Gorgith stepped over a tarp-covered body and led the Lucifuge into the aforementioned alleyway. "I can any questions you have while we walk."

"How many men did you lose?" Grayfia didn't hesitate to start pursuing the Seeker for answers.

"Two sections worth, about ninety-five Inquisitors of varying rank." Gorgith supplied, his expression turning sour. "Two Hierophants were among the deceased."

Which also meant two Nobles were just butchered inside the Warrens.

The Lord Inquisitor would not tolerate this catastrophe, and he would inevitably call for another purge to remind the Underhive and the Warren the price of rebellion.

"Their names?" Hierophants were Junior Officers in the Inquisitorious, exclusively made up of devils from the Extra Demons Houses. Several of Grayfia's cousins were Hierophants in the Inquisitorious, and she dreaded the possibility of bringing to her aunts their offspring's demise.

Thankfully, Gorgith cut this line of thought with his immediate reply. "Zorthrin of House Sargatanas and Irzathas of House Satanchia. No one you have to lose sleep over since they were relatively minor members of their respective households."

Grayfia refused to comment on their lack of status, opting to remain silent while observing their environment. The number of dead Inquisitors was alarming, but her keen eyesight revealed a jarring image.

Laying at her feet was a deceased Acolyte sporting the telltale signs of a lancer scald in the dead center of his helm. The ionized plasma ripped through his faceplate and blasted a fist-sized hole where his nose used to be.

Grayfia would have chalked it up as a fortuitous shot by the insurgents, but as she and Gorgith proceeded into the sectioned-off street, they came across several more Inquisitors displaying the same fatal blows.

Once is a coincidence but twice was a little far-fetched considering the Inquisitor's training and discipline. The former alone would have ensured a quick response to the ambush, and the latter should have kept them calm in the face of danger.

Her internal questioning only seemed to increase as she thoroughly surveyed the massacre. The torsos of several dead Acolytes were gruesomely bent inward, and their cracked helms revealed shattered skulls that spilled brain matter upon the marred pavement.

Even more, Inquisitors almost appeared relatively unscathed were it not for the near imperceivable cuts in their body armor, seemingly tearing their innards apart. The amount of blood spilling from their wounds was too much to be anything less than lethal, and she suspected that senjutsu was involved.

The easy part was figuring out how insurgents kill nearly a hundred Inquisitors without suffering a single casualty.

Grayfia assumed that was why she was brought in, but she'd never conducted a serious investigation before, so this would be her first attempt at brushing up her investigative skills.

"Your men…." Grayfia began, drawing Gorgith's eye. "… Their wounds weren't done by run-of-the-mill insurgents, the accuracy is too precise, and the sheer force inflicted upon their armor suggests a Devil with a knack for up close and personal combat. Do you have suspects?"

"We have actionable intel on the culprits behind this massacre. Two of whom you've come across inside the city." That surprised Grayfia immensely, considering the company she kept and the severe lack of time she spent outside of the Eternal Palace.

"You remember the Vastayan Viktor brought to the celebration two months ago?" She could never forget seeing Viktor's bodyguard expertly assassinate one of his rivals without most of the procession being the wiser. The only people who knew about the successful killing were Grayfia and the attending Satans, but they weren't inclined to intervene.

Watching the Patriarch of House Mammon discover his degenerate son's listing form was far too amusing.

"I believe her name was Ahri, if I recall," Grayfia replied, earning a sharp nod from Gorgith as he handed her a still image of their suspected Vastayan.

"She's our primary suspect because she entered 'The Pit' under supposed orders from Viktor, and not hours later, one of its prisoners suspiciously went missing from the Isolation Cubes."

"Who was the prisoner?"

"A nasty piece of work called Violet." A second photograph was handed to Grayfia; this time, it was a mug shot of a sapphire-haired woman with a harrowing glare. "She was a part of Vander's crew before the purge, and she's been killing Inquisitors for the Firelights for much longer. We captured her in a raid, but Viktor had a standing order to keep her isolated until he returned from Nova Babylon… The trouble is no one's seen him since his departure."

Viktor going missing wasn't surprising.

The vexing moron operated on his own timetable, and he liked to disappear at inopportune moments. However, his bodyguard working inside the city without him was a severe cause for concern.

The Nebiros never allowed Ahri out of his sight because he considered her a possession in every way possible. It sickened Grayfia that she had a first-hand account of watching the Vastayan squirm in her seat at Viktor's wandering touch, but there was little she could do to intervene.

Viktor Nebiros was too critical to the war effort for the Satans to care about some Vastayan.

But Grayfia digressed.

"How likely is it that Viktor didn't send her on ahead?"

Gorgith snorted in disbelief at Grayfia's attempt at playing devil's advocate. "Is that a trick question, my lady?"

"If only it were." A resigned exhale exited her lungs. Grayfia would take no pleasure in hunting Ahri, but her transgressions could not go unpunished. "Anything else I should know?"

"Well…." Gorgith hesitated, his eyes shifting from the bloodied intersection and the Lucifuge. "….As you know, Hierophant Zorthrin was directed by Lord Inquisitor Barracus to search for a Firelight agent inside this Borough. His Acolytes were conducting a district purge, but an intervening party ambushed them. Hierophant Irzathas was stationed nearby and brought up his entire section to reinforce, but they were intercepted."

"Intercepted?" Grayfia questioned while glancing back at the decaying corpses behind them. "Are you telling me all those Inquisitors back there are from Zorthrin's section?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Then what happened to Irzathas?" At that moment, she and Gorgith turned the corner, and Grayfia couldn't prevent the widening of her eyes as her feet settled into the pools of flowing blood.

If the preceding image could be described as a bloodbath, the scene unfolding before she was far more horrifying.

Pure unadulterated carnage.

Nothing could adequately depict the butchered carcasses strewn across the street and the swinging corpses of Acolytes suspended from the streetlights. The Inquisitors in the preceding roadway were slain in a textbook military ambush, and their remains were still relatively discernible.

Irzathas' Inquisitors were damn near mincemeat. Most were torn apart into an unrecognizable mass of meat and bone. The brutality of it all reminded Grayfia of a pack of Chimeras preying on a Legionary patrol out in the frontier.

She would never forget the sight, but one image in particular would remain forever engrained into her consciousness for the rest of her life.

The Hierophants had their butchered bodies nailed to a wall, and their intestines hung precariously from severed abdomens. Infernal energy seeped into the blood-soaked streets, suffocating the nearby Scribes as they fought to keep their lunch from staining the blood-soaked grounds.

Scrawled into the wall were a set of words that Grayfia could recognize anywhere.

AD INFEROS PER ASPERA

Through adversity, into hell.

The Renegade creed proved that the traitors laying siege to Lucifaad had finally infiltrated the city.

"There's a Renegade Noble in our fair city." Gorgith resigned exhale only served to torpedo Grayfia's hopes of an easy day.

This situation was turning damn near-apocalyptic for the loyalists.

"Does anyone else know about this?" An information lockdown needed to be implemented. The entire city might unravel if the populace learned of this infiltration.

"Besides the responding Inquisitors and the scribes, no," Gorgith replied. "An information blackout is in effect, but it won't last. I'm almost certain these infiltrators have made it to the Underhive."

The potent amounts of infernal energy alone confirmed Grayfia's suspicions that a Renegade Noble had orchestrated this attack, and Gorgith likewise held those same fears.

Devil Nobles exhumed a charisma that beckoned the lower classes to follow them like moths to a flame. The sheer influence of the ruling class could not be underestimated, and the Satans used this strength to keep the Underhive relatively in line.

Heavy emotions like anger and fear could shield a lower-class Devil from this influence, but if the Underhive received a sympathetic ear from this Renegade Noble, it wouldn't take much to plant the seeds of rebellion.

The Underhive hosted far too many rogue elements that these infiltrators could take advantage of, and since Viktor reported that Vander was still alive and well, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Lucifaad was a powder keg ready to explode.

This entire city was now a ticking time bomb, and Grayfia would no doubt be called upon once more to serve her master.

"Is they anything else I need to know?" She had to report to Bashalum within the hour, and their chief tactician, Zereikel Asmodeus, needed to start drumming up a scheme to suppress the incoming revolt.

"Yes." A tertiary photo was pooled from Gorgith's vest, and he tentatively handed the still image to a curious Grayfia. "There is a fourth suspect under investigation by the Inquisitorious."

"Who is it?" Grayfia turned over the still image, and her heart fell as she stared into the familiar eyes of her beloved sister.

"Lord Inquisitor Barracus has declared Acolyte Caitlyn Lucifuge Excommunicate Traitoris, citing a confirmed eyewitness account placing…."

Grayifa barely heard the words falling from Gorgiths lips. Her focus was entirely centered on her sister's face.

Mother was going to be devastated.

l==l

"You left quite the mess back there."

Cyrus glanced at a grinning Ahri from the corner of his eye but offered no verbal response. He'd caught up with the caravan of refugees streaming into the Underhive shortly after leaving a finely worded warning for the Loyalists.

His entire objective inside Lucifaad was to cause chaos, and with the city's stability hanging on by a thread, even a whisper of a Renegade agent inside would be enough to start causing problems.

Did that mean Cyrus would come out into the open and introduce himself?

No.

He did his best work in the dark, and these Loyalists would genuinely know what it meant to fear the night when he was done.

"Have any problems getting here?" Cyrus gestured to the ramshackle houses moonlighting as a makeshift refugee camp. Vi led the caravan of purge survivors into its lodgings, and the Devils in charge of the facilities provided ample room where necessary.

"Of course not," Ahri retorted, crossing her arms with a pleased expression. "All eighty-five scared shitless civilians crammed into a camp with probably another few hundred irritated and freezing vagrants."

It was cramped and severely cluttered in some areas, but it was far better than being hunted by a section of Inquisitors any day of the week, so the survivors counted their blessings. Vi was off small talking with the brown-haired woman who had previously assisted Ahri at the makeshift CCP back in the Borough.

Apparently, she was the Firelight the Inquisitors were looking for, and Vi managed to throw her weight around to get the insurgent talking.

Her name was inconsequential to Cyrus.

She was a stepping stone in his plans, and he didn't have time to start making friends.

The Firelights and their principles may conflict with his overall mandate.

Insurgent groups were frequently organized around a particular individual or ideology. As a result, they were volatile entities that could be quickly subdued by assassinating their core leadership.

This Ekko that Vi kept prancing about seemed to be the central figurehead of this resistance group, but she neglected to divulge their purpose in the Underhive. If these insurgents turned out to be a mirror image of the Insurrectionists, he would ensure they never saw the light of day again.

Cyrus was an expert in shattering militant organizations, so this would be the first instance he wasn't actively purging them from the surface.

First time for everything.

"Where's the Lucifuge?" Cyrus examined the throngs of refugees going about their business until he picked out the cloaked Inquisitor standing a few feet behind Vi as she conversed with the Firelight. Crimson orbs briefly met Caitlyn's wandering gaze before she inevitably shrank away from his impervious sight.

Her opinion of Cyrus was still exceedingly poor, but he didn't do himself any favors with his less-than-approachable temperament. Both she and Vi noted Cyrus's blistering scowl and acted to draw his attention away from Caitlyn.

"You mean Caitlyn?" Ahri chipped in, drawing his attention away from Caitlyn as Vi threw an arm around her shoulder and led her towards a makeshift food stand where she could be distracted.

Vi exchanged a subtle glance with Ahri, sending her a sharp nod as she ducked underneath the food stand's tattered awnings.

Their actions did not go unnoticed, but Cyrus thought better of starting another argument with Ahri over the Lucifuge.

"I know what I said." He murmured, leaning against a flickering street lamp with his arms folded. "And I don't need you to correct me."

Ahri's brows narrowed at his dismissive posture, and she subtly conjured a privacy barrier for a conversation he clearly didn't want to entertain. Cyrus could have flexed his authority over Ahri to keep her docile, but he refused to use such 'drastic' means.

His loss.

"Look, I get you're still a little pissed about me contacting the sister of Grayfia Lucifuge after you told me we were coming to Lucifaad to take her down but come on!" Ahri exaggeratedly flared out her lithe arms. "Caitlyn is harmless."

"She killed twenty Inquisitors without batting an eye, and most of them were colleagues she worked alongside for years." His voice and argument mixed into a caustic burn that almost took the wind out of her sails. "Harmless is not a word I would use with Caitlyn in the same breath."

"Then what's the problem?" The Vastayan inquired, her eyes blinking with frustration. "Those fuckers aren't exactly outstanding citizens. I mean, for Satan's sake, I know the Inquistorious is made up of bootlicking psychopaths, and Caitlyn is the exception to the rule."

Cyrus was annoyed at her desire to stick up for Caitlyn, but Ahri's animated defense could not convince him of the Lucifuge's integrity. She rambled on like an infuriating parrot, praising the former Inquisitor and all her qualities that would make her a reliable partner for their plans.

Ahri didn't understand his reservations, which confused Cyrus, considering how long she spent under Viktor's thumb when he was just as aloof as Cyrus.

For a woman who had spent most of her life next to a man that was the beacon of paranoia, Ahri was utterly inexperienced. That or she was playing stupid in the blind hope that Cyrus didn't possess a similar disposition to Viktor.

She didn't have to worry about that because he did have an altruistic bone in his body.

It just wasn't for Devils.

"Well?" Ahri's frustration grew when she realized Cyrus was ignoring her ramblings. She incessantly tapped her foot on the mossy pavement to aggravate him towards capitulation.

It worked.

"My problem…." Cyrus relented after a frustrated breath exited his lungs. "… Is her sudden change of allegiance. Do I believe she has this 'heart of gold' you spoke of? Yes. But that doesn't mean I trust her to watch my back anytime soon."

"Then why string Caitlyn along?" Ahri remarked, folding her arms and balancing her weight on one leg. "Why not cut her loose now?"

Cyrus' Devil side relished in the view of Ahri's smooth thighs gliding through her purple coat's fur. He internally cringed at this lack of restraint even as the Vastayan took notice of this lingering stare.

On his mute requests, all manner of dialogue evaporated.

When Cyrus was momentarily distracted by lust, Ahri could feel the shame boiling inside him. The reasons for such internal turmoil remained unspoken, but she knew that House Kimaris' cardinal sins were wrath and lust, but only one was continuously satisfied.

She allowed him a few moments of respite from their heated argument, more out of respect rather than need. They both stared at the mass of refugees with blank expressions, and the only audible sound was Cyrus' heavy exhales.

"You ok?" Ahri once again pressed her master for answers, but her tone lacked previous contentions this time. Something that Cyrus was internally grateful for even if he didn't speak it into existence.

"Yes." A final exhale released any remaining spurts of desire, and the Spartan was back to his usual self.

Relatively speaking.

"You gonna answer my question?" Cyrus's head dipped in consideration before he inevitably capitulated to her request.

"I'm waiting for an old adage to be tested again."

"And that is?"

"Blood is thicker than water." Confusion momentarily graced Ahri's expression, her attention dancing from a smirking Vi teasing Caitlyn to a stone-faced Cyrus. His statement clicked like a lightbulb, and her eyes widened as the words repeated.

Blood is thicker than water.

What an absolute bastard.

"You're using her as bait." Ahri bit out with a heavy sigh. Not even Devils were inclined to use another's family against them, but that was more out of respect for military doctrine rather than fear of reprisal.

Nobles are described as a fraternity of like-minded entities, and their most surprising attribute is how they permit safe conduct to one another even in this bloody civil war. Nobles dying in combat was rare because devil society relied too much upon their influence to keep the wheels of civilization moving.

It is one of the reasons why the Renegades were stunned by Viktor's terror campaign against their Primus Legionnaires. Such conduct had been considered unethical to both societies in this turbulent age.

How hopelessly naïve.

"She just betrayed the Loyalist cause, and Bashalum will personally order Grayfia to hunt her down," Cyrus explained, his eyes again staring at Caitlyn's back before returning to meet Ahri's gaze. "The Loyalists cannot afford a Lucifuge falling in line with the rebellion. It would damage their credibility and only embolden the Renegade cause…."

She hadn't considered the political ramifications of Caitlyn openly defying her family's masters. House Lucifuge was one of Lucifaad's most prominent extra demon clans, and their name alone inspired terror and reverence throughout the city.

Ahri let out a disbelieving groan at the pure fact she had inadvertently handed Cyrus a match to spark the fire of rebellion in Lucifaad.

Cyrus took note of the sudden realization dawning upon the Vastayan with a wordless grunt. "… At this very moment, Caitlyn is a rogue agent, but when I'm done with her, she will represent a citywide insurrection in Lucifaad. I should thank you for handing me such an indispensable tool…."

Ahri's expression suddenly darkened at his declaration, and for the briefest moment, Cyrus's outline was replaced by an indifferent Viktor. It gnawed at her gut that her current master could be similar to the narcissistic fool who dominated most of her life but also be so distinctly different.

"Is that what everyone is to you, Cyrus?" Ahri said with subdued discontent. "A tool to be discarded when it's no longer useful?"

She was in for a surprise if she thought he would rethink his statement.

" Everyone is a means to an end." Cyrus's voice couldn't be more severe as his crimson orbs stared impassively into her amber gaze. "Even you."

The Kimaris turned on his heels and stalked away from the camp, seemingly done with this conversation.

Ahri watched the darkness practically greet him with open arms until he finally disappeared from sight.

"If I were anyone else." She murmured to herself. "I would have believed you."

Sometimes her master forgets just how deeply entwined they are. There can be no secrets between them because concealing such thoughts from one another is impossible.

And no matter how often Cyrus told himself that he didn't care.

His heart said otherwise.

Cyrus has genuinely turned out to be the most complicated Master Ahri would ever have.

And if she had it her way, he would be the last for the rest of her natural life.

"Where did he stalk off to?" The Vastayan turned to find Vi occupying the space Cyrus had vacated not moments earlier with a contemplative stare.

"Not sure," Ahri halfheartedly replied, stretching out her arms and working out the kinks that had formed in her lower back. "Knowing him, he's probably brooding about some master plan or other menacing thoughts."

Vi hummed in agreement, but her pensive stare remained fixed upon the shadows along the camp's perimeter. This darkness wasn't a natural phenomenon in the Underhive, and the curators running this humble refugee camp were initially alarmed, but Vi managed to calm their worries.

To conceal the encampment from any Inquisitorious retribution, Cyrus had erected a barrier of darkness as an added security measure.

"Is he going to kill Caitlyn?" Vi's sudden inquiry momentarily caught Ahri off guard, allowing her to ask a follow-up question. "She's scared shitless right now, and I already told her he wasn't, but she's worried nonetheless."

Vi wouldn't mention that Caitlyn was a hairs breath away from testing the barrier's constitution out of fear for her own life.

"Well, she's in luck," Ahri motioned Vi to follow her. "Caitlyn has suddenly become a high priority for reasons I can't tell you just yet."

"Can't or won't?" Vi remarked as they slid in between a dense crowd of refugees.

"Why can't it be both?"

"Very funny." Vi didn't need to see Ahri's face to know a shit-eating grin was plastered all over it. "What about me?"

"What about you?" The Vastayan's derisive snort earned a blank stare from the Brawler. "The only reason we pulled you out of 'The Pit" was because you can get us an audience with Ekko, and once that's done, your debt is settled. You can leave or tag along for all Cyrus cares."

"Really?" Vi couldn't believe that he would just cut her loose that easily.

"No, he's gonna fuck you senseless and leave you bow-legged for life." Ahri's sarcastic tone earned her a middle finger from Vi. "Yes, you moron. He'll cut you loose if you want out, and the position of chief head smasher will remain occupied by you alone until stated otherwise."

"That easy?"

"Yes." Ahri slipped between an arguing pair of Devils bitching about something she couldn't care for and ducked into the food stand where Caitlyn patiently awaited them, albeit with a strained expression. "How are you doing, cupcake?"

"That depends…." Caitlyn scooted down a seat, allowing her companions to take a moment off their feet. She hesitantly poked at her bowl of soup before gesturing to it with a slight grin. "… Is this my last meal?"

"What if I told you yes." The Sharpshooter glanced between her warm soup and the grinning Brawler. Her comforting voice conveyed a silent message that Cyrus would not kill her.

"I'd probably start crying." That earned hearty laughter from Vi and Ahri alike, the latter throwing her arms around both women and bringing them close enough for their cheeks to touch hers.

"Ok, enough with the melodrama. I get enough of that from Cyrus as it is, and I don't need it from either of you." Ahri gestured for a round of drinks, and her enthusiasm momentarily dampened when her fingers wrapped around a cup of water.

Right, they were in the Underhive.

She really needed to find a proper drink as soon as possible, but for now, her job was to assuage her favorite Lucifuge's worries.

What Cyrus had in store for her would be an adventure of a lifetime.

Caitlyn would need all the luck in heaven and hell to survive.

While they celebrated, Cyrus stalked the perimeter of the refugee camp. His presence practically kept any Underhive thugs from trying their hand at robbing the settlement blind.

He opted to limit himself to perimeter duty until Vi guided them to the Firelight stronghold. Until then, Cyrus could do little more than be a silent guardian of over a thousand devils crammed into a small encampment.

At least he was afforded a calm silence, and it was a welcome reprieve to finally be left alone with his toiling thoughts.

For now.

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Fort Azalan, Lucifaad Territory

You wouldn't understand.

Those words haunted Ashara more than the memories of that terrible night.

She wanted… no… needed to understand what made Cyrus different from the rest of them.

What made him a beacon of rage and tranquility in the same breath?

Ashara resigned herself to never knowing the answer to that question until her father unveiled her brother's darkest secrets.

It was a… jarring experience.

Cedric didn't realize the unrelenting emotions shrouding each memory perverted by their presence.

All of them lived out flashes of Cyrus's memories through his eyes.

Jade confronted each recollection with an expression made of steel.

Ghislaine welcomed them with open arms as if they were an old friend.

The Twins embraced them with curious eyes, eager to unravel the mystery that was their favorite brother.

And Ashara suffered them just like he did.

She could feel the anger, the hatred coursing through his veins every time he caught sight of the… Covenant. The beasts hunted humanity across the heavens for reasons Cyrus would never know.

She felt every raw emotion he experienced, from the moment his parents died in the orbit of Actium to the exotic installation where his final HUMAN breath was taken.

Ashara didn't share the repugnant dispositions for the lesser race or care about any of them. It would be similar to a human acknowledging an ant or any other insignificant bug that crossed their path.

But when she walked through Cyrus's memories, two prevailing sentiments eclipsed every traumatic experience he endured.

Duty to the Human race.

And Loyalty to his sisters in all but blood.

But it wasn't given to Jade or Ghislaine.

It wasn't offered to the Twins and wasn't presented to Ashara.

That Loyalty belonged to those who fought by his side, and two names rang out in the deepest parts of his mind.

Eliza and Casey.

His Spartan siblings.

Jealousy crept into Ashara at the mere thought that these fallen warriors held more of a candle in Cyrus's heart than anything she could muster.

And just as quickly, it faded into sorrow.

She wanted what they, as Spartans possessed.

A bond that ran deeper than lovers, more in tune than even the most stalwart of comrades, and could not be quantified in words but by standing in each other's company.

By fighting and dying, if necessary, for one another.

Side.

By.

Side.

Without hesitation.

But Ashara didn't have that right.

She didn't earn it.

Not a single member of the Kimaris household did.

The 10th, however, is the exception to the rule.

It's why Ashara entered the Cohort's encampment mere hours after a timeless walk through Cyrus's memories. Rose and Sapphire followed in her wake while their Night Wardens shadowed them with a suspicious eye for everything that moved.

Primus Arkias chose to pitch his men on the edge of a small ravine making up Fort Azalan's eastern perimeter. The reasons proposed to Cedric were lost to Ashara, but she was inclined to guess it was due to the recent issues between the 10th and the other Cohorts.

"My Lady." A Centurion greeted them warmly, more out of custom than an absolute joy. "What brings you to the 10th?

Ashara reached into her chest pocket and produced a parchment bearing the rebellion's sigil. The Centurion looked over the manuscript with interest, but the message wasn't meant for him.

He gave off a façade of understanding and immediately called for an escort detail, but there was a shift in the camp's disposition.

Everyone from Legionary to Centurion, down to the Cohort attendants mulling around the camp, stared at the royal entourage. Their gazes were impassive to the naked eye, but Ashara noted a familiar edge.

Each gaze held no reverence or hatred for the Nobles but a calm, collected temperament that observed Ashara and her sisters with neither emotion nor assumption.

It was eerily similar to Cyrus.

"Is it just me, or is this reception a little… frosty?" Sapphire's observation was far from an understatement in Ashara's mind, but what could be expected from a Cohort with Cyrus as its commander.

"They have no respect for their betters." Sapphire's Night Warden, Vaggos muttered under his breath. An assertation quietly supported by his fellow bodyguards as they scowled at the surrounding Legionnaires.

"They have respect, Warden." The Centurion leading their procession spoke up, drawing the eye of all within earshot. "But Lord Cyrus taught us many lessons in the Blighted Marshlands, but one stuck with us more than the rest."

"And what would that be, Zorizar?" Rose inquired with a cocked eye matched by the Legion Officer.

"Trust but verify." Leave it to Cyrus to carve a bunch of green-nosed Guardsmen into apprehensive beacons that gave everything a second glance.

"What's your name, Centurion?" Ashara inquired with an intrigued eye.

"Zorizar, my lady." The Officer gave a small, telling smile before his gaze dipped toward the parchment in her right hand.

"You've seen this document before, haven't you?"

"I have," Zorizar confirmed. "It's a command order from the Primarch himself, but it's sealed with the Renegade sigil. One was handed to Commander Arkias a few hours after Lord Cyrus chose us over the other Cohorts."

"Does that frighten you?"

"No, my Lady."

Ashara believed Zorizar, but she pressed him nonetheless. "Why?"

"Because we only have one Lord." The Centurion approached the Cohort's command tent, where she saw Primus Arkias preparing a proper greeting for Ashara and her sisters. "We will fall to command like the rest of our Legion, but our loyalty in Lord Cyrus is without question."

Zorizar lifted the tent's protective veil, and again the Kimaris Nobles could feel the weight of the encampment on their shoulders. The Centurion stared at the sisters with a glimpse of cautious hope that they could uphold the same values their Lord lives by.

"Welcome to the 10th."

l==l

Arkias was nervous.

It wasn't a foreign sentiment for any Legionary to experience whenever a member of a Noble house made their presence known. Lord Cedric was an enigmatic figure that every member of the 10th Cohort strived to emulate at one point in time.

That was until Lord Cyrus, the future Shadowlord of House Kimaris, elevated the Forsaken as his personal Cohort. Since then, Arkias and his Legionairys have endeavored to uphold his testament in all things.

But this… predicament was entirely outside his comfort zone.

He was in the midst of debriefing his senior officers when Centurion Zorizar arrived at his command tent with several high-profile guests.

To have three daughters of House Kimaris deign the 10th Cohort with their presence alone should have been a great honor for Arkias and his men, but that was far from the first thing that came to his mind.

Cynical distrust ran rampant through the Cohort's ranks after their Lord's subsequent departure for a mission without their immediate support did not ingratiate the 10th to their masters.

They kept sporadic contact with Cyrus, but all memos were short and lacked finite detail.

The only constant was a final dialogue whispered into Arkias's ear from the land of shadows.

Be ready.

And so the Primus kept his men sharp and distant from the rest of the 66th for as long as possible.

The constant clash of ideologies between the 10th and their sister cohorts made this endeavor effortless. The meticulously crafted combat doctrine Lord Cyrus instilled in each of his Guardsmen, and these contrasting styles have led to resounding friction.

His Centurions were doing their best to maintain the 10th's discipline but keeping their men in line was far more complex than imagined.

It's half the reason Arkias made camp on the eastern perimeter of Fort Azalan. The last thing he wanted was to have one of his men kill or get killed by a Guardsmen from the other Cohorts on the eve of Lord Cyrus's next operation.

He was preparing for an inquiry from Lord Cedric anytime now, but he didn't expect his daughters to show up with a command seal at his doorstep in hand.

It was hard to keep the surprise off his face, but quite frankly, the last two years have been nothing short of… unique.

"Is there a problem?" Lady Rose spoke up from the seat across from Arkias.

"No." That was a lie, but no one called him out for it.

The terms in the Primarchs command seal were brief and lacking in detail.

As Arkias could see, neither Noblewoman was to function in a leadership role within the Cohort but instead act as an… attaché.

A cursory glance towards the Highborn Devils revealed a trio of gazes staring holes into the side of his head.

"I will be frank with you, my Lady." Arkias began, sliding the parchment to the side and trying his damndest to keep his voice from cracking. "Your presence here is not… appreciated."

A flash of Griycium steel shimmered in the darkness behind Lady Ashara, and Arkias bristled with concern.

It was an abysmal choice of words.

"Stay your blade, Warden." Centurion Zorizar bared his teeth, blading his body and stepping closer to Arkias' flank. A dozen Legionairys attached to guard the Primus gripped their Lances while warily eyeing the Night Wardens.

"You know better, Centurion." Even by Devil standards, Ashara's Night Warden was a grim man. Bruker took his oath of protection so severely that his fellow Wardens often mocked him for standing so close to her side in even the most mundane circumstances.

It was a commitment that she appreciated time and again.

The Night Warden dipped his Griycium Lance towards Zorizar. "To disrespect, a member of House Kimaris is to court death."

But now wasn't the time for Bruker's aggressive temperament.

"Get out." Ashara's voice was a whisper, but it served to freeze both Warden and Centurion alike, cooling their confrontation before it could turn violent. Her pale grey orbs swept the command tent and found all but Arkias failing to meet her gaze. "All of you."

The pair exchanged gazes of pure vitriol before conceding to the Noble's command. Arkias watched his Guardsmen linger in place, but a subtle dose of infernal energy leaned from Ashara's entire being.

" Now ." The Night Warden was the first to evacuate the command tent, followed closely by a dozen Legionnaires and a visibly cowed Zorizar. Rose and Sapphire quietly dismissed their bodyguards, who accepted the command without complaint.

Arkias kept his composure even as the total weight of Ashara's infernal energy weighed upon his shoulders.

The Kimaris patiently waited for the tent's flap to close before diminishing her mana.

"Catch your breath, Arkias." Ashara shifted her weight and leaned against the cushion of her leather seat while allowing him a moment of restitution. "And allow me to explain why we are here."

She exhaled a deep breath, the back of her cranium pushing into the headrest with silent gratification. Her pale eyes glimpsed over Arkias's frame once his breathing steadied.

"My brother and I had a… disagreement." Arkias didn't miss how Sapphire flinched at the reminder and tightly grasped her twin's hand. "It led to a series of events that have left me angry, confused, and… heartbroken."

A multitude of subdued emotions rolled off the Kimaris daughters, all directed at themselves and the world beyond. Arkias didn't trust himself to speak, so he kept his mouth sewn shut and allowed Ashara to continue.

"Cyrus is out of our reach for now, and I have no desire to continue watching him disappear from our lives." Her fingers dug into the armrests of her seat with a wavering voice. "My family has been out of touch with our brother since our House joined the Renegades, and I want to…."

"… No…." Ashara paused. Her once trembling tone disappeared and was replaced with a voice of pure steel. "… I need to understand Cyrus, and there is no better expert on this matter than your Guardsmen Arkias, but I will not force you to accept our presence."

If there was one well-known matter amongst the 66th Legion, it was the 10th Cohort being almost unnaturally loyal to Cyrus.

Ashara could not achieve her goal without the trust of Arkias and his Guardsmen. It was something that even her father understood as he wrote out the decree.

They were depending on Arkias to unlock the secrets of their enigmatic brother.

But he didn't have what they were looking for.

"I cannot help you." Arkias felt their sorrow even if they failed to outwardly express their disappointment. "My men and I have spent nearly two years at his command, but he remains as much of an anomaly to us as he is to you. Our first few weeks in the Blighted Marshlands were meant to break us, anoint us if you will, and he made it a point to stamp out all resistance to his authority…."

Ashara's resigned exhale echoed within the tent. Fate was working against everything she wanted once more.

"… But." The dismay crawling up her throat fell, and her downcast eyes rose to find salvation. "If you are to truly understand his oddities, then you must live as he did."

"And how did he live?" It was Sapphire that asked the question, her voice yearning for answers to a question that haunted her dreams. Rose leaned forward with a demanding aura leaking from her hazel-blue eyes.

"Like a soldier."

l==l

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

"Hey, little man."

Ekko would have torn Vi's head off for that irritating nickname at any other time, but he was distracted by one of her patented bear hugs. She murmured something into his ears that seemingly settled the young Devil's posture.

Their reunion was worth every pain Vi had endured over the last few weeks.

At least, that's what Cyrus assumed from his vantage point.

Ahri and Caitlyn followed Vi into the viper's nest of Lucifaads most prominent insurgent group while he lingered in the shadows. He had little reason to trust the veracity of these militants, no matter how many times Vi tried to assure him otherwise.

Cyrus was expecting a pseudo-military encampment, not a safe haven anchored around a massive tree that resembled Onyx's dense forestry. By his estimations, there had to be a few thousand people living down here, with all their basic necessities met.

The Firelights possessed a surplus of essential products and could sustain their fighters while providing these essentials to a vast community. Insurgent groups rarely supplied civilian communities because direct interaction with the local populace could compromise their operations.

The risk of exposure to a counterinsurgency force significantly increased when civilians were thrown into the mix, often because they weren't obligated to the militant's ideals.

These Firelights were playing with fire by actively using this safe haven as their base of operations. There were too many variables for accidental or deliberate exposure to the inquisitorious should they venture this far into the Underhive.

"How does it look up there, master?" Ahri's alluring voice ghosted over his ears. "I can't be the only one captivated by the majesty of this sanctuary?"

"There are about a hundred eyes on you and Caitlyn," Cyrus relayed. "So I recommend observing your surroundings and not admiring the local wildlife."

"It's called multi-tasking, Master." Ahri let out a bored sigh as she glanced at an equally weary Caitlyn. "And it's not like we have anything else to do. Vi and Ekko have been catching up this whole time, and I haven't gotten a word in. I mean fucking hell, it's like this guy doesn't know we're here."

"Ekko knows, Ahri." Cyrus tempered the Vastayan's irritated mood. "He's just unwilling to conversate with you out in the open."

It wasn't just Firelights keeping an eye on his delegation but also hundreds of civilians who stared at the pair of outsiders with uncertainty. They knew Vi exceedingly well and trusted her judgment in allowing these interlopers into their home, but that didn't mean they would welcome them with open arms.

"Well, they could at least expedite this process," Ahri growled in frustration. "We've been traveling at a snail's pace the entire time, and I am slowly losing my patience."

"Keep your composure." The Vastayans expression turned sour, but she kept her opinion to herself. "You'll be inside the command building soon, and until then, make sure Caitlyn doesn't do anything rash. Her flight or fight instincts will kick in soon if you don't calm her down."

Caitlyn had every reason to fear being recognized by one of these insurgents. During her time as an Inquisitor, the Lucifuge brought in her fair share of Firelights, and if one of them recognized her voice, she would be in for a world of hurt. Cyrus wanted to keep her in the shadows with him, but their relationship was still tenuous.

It didn't speak well when Caitlyn would instead take her chances with the Firelights than be anywhere near Cyrus, and he would have forced her into the shadows had Ahri not convinced him otherwise.

"Caitlyn will be fine, Master. I'd be more worried about the Firelight behind me losing his eyes if he keeps staring at my ass." The Spartan snorted in amusement when he confirmed the sight of Ahri's voyeur inclining his head at a certain angle to appreciate her bodily features.

"If you cared that much about his… appreciation. Then you would wear something that doesn't show as much skin." In some instances, this comment would earn Cyrus a whithering glare of damnation, but since Ahri couldn't exact revenge on her Master.

An unnoticed gravity rune was erected on a staircase she had just stepped over, and the subtle glance Vi shot her way indicated she and the other Firelights had noticed the magical disturbance. Her voyeur, however, was utterly unaware since he was busy trying to catch an eyeful.

A subtle burst of kinetic energy erupted beneath the perverted onlooker mid-step, throwing him off his feet and sending him tumbling down the stairs.

Every meaty crunch produced a hint of delight upon Ahri's lips, but she played the part of concerned bystander well, even if the other Firelights weren't shooting her subtle looks of indignation.

The Firelight Commander rolled his eyes in irritation as Ekko and Vi exchanged a silent but familiar glance. Ekko suddenly raised his right hand in a fist, halting the procession halfway up the stairs, and glowered at the Ahri's voyeur with minor hints of utter annoyance.

"Mallack." The voyeur sobered up, abruptly recognizing that everyone's eyes were fixed upon him. "Pick yourself up and tell Fang to meet me in the mezzanine. The Inquisitorious is going to be out in force tonight."

"Yes, commander." Ahri didn't bother to hide the smug look plastered on her face, and Ekko set her a withering glare before starting back up the staircase.

Maybe sending her as his first point of contact was a poor decision, but at least they wouldn't try to kill her on instinct. Nobles possessed an exceedingly low survival rate down here unless they had a direct lineage to the main Devil houses.

"Satisfied," Cyrus murmured with an annoyed huff.

"Oh, you have no idea." Ahri glanced at an increasingly tense Caitlyn, whose attention remained fixed upon the structure looming over them.

"Good. Now stay focused. I'm displacing to a better vantage point, so don't do anything stupid."

"I aim to please, love." Cyrus didn't respond verbally and slid down the face of a colorful four-story building. He phased with the lingering shadows, keeping himself obscured from sight and leaving the hundreds of roaming Firelights and civilians none the wiser.

Ahri and Caitlyn awkwardly trailed behind Vi while she continued to speak animatedly with Ekko. She threw her arm over his shoulder and subtly led their unlikely party towards a collection of balconies mixed in with the enormous tree.

The multitude of hanging terraces afforded the Firelights a dominating view of the valley below, and it most likely operated as their main command building.

It was the most impregnable structure in the Firelights sanctuary, and as Cyrus glided towards its lower balcony, his eyes were taken by a mural sitting at the base of the evergreen tree. Dozens of distinct faces were meticulously sketched and cared for by a caterer applying a new visage to the massive painting. Below the mural sat dozens of lit candles and other miscellaneous objects that acted as beacons for their loved ones.

Cyrus had seen plenty of monuments to the dead, but this was the first intact memorial he had ever seen. As a Headhunter, he was frequently dispatched to locations the Covenant had thoroughly glassed, leaving nothing but ash and shattered cities in their wake.

The veneration with which these Firelights honored their fallen was hauntingly similar to humanity's tribute to any war or catastrophe in its long history.

And you still think they're different from us.

"They are different from us," Cyrus growled to the Devil portion of his consciousness that continued to espouse these treacherous thoughts. They had only increased in frequency since departing the refugee camp, and he yearned for the malevolent entity's return just so this demonic voice would fall silent.

Whenever the malevolent entity blessed Cyrus with its presence, his devil side scurried for safety.

Thankfully, the Spartan's sanity was saved by Ahri's blessed voice calling out to him.

"We're entering the… Uh…." The Vastayan struggled to define the Firelight strongpoint and settled on the most relevant option. "… Treehouse, I think? Whatever, you know what the hell we're walking into. I'll see you inside."

"I certainly hope not."

If everything went to plan, then Cyrus would have no reason to involve himself in the process. Vi described Ekko as an infallible commander who would easily see the potential to work alongside the Kimaris via an ancient proverb that would remain relevant as long as civilizations warred against one another.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

IF ONLY MY CREATORS AGREED WITH YOU, RECLAIMER.

A black orb emerged from the shadows and hovered precariously over Cyrus's right shoulder. By now, he'd gotten used to the phenomenon's existence and offered no outward reaction to its lingering presence.

"Then you're creators were idiots."

A booming chuckle caused a rippling effect through the darkness, but Cyrus was the only one to notice its consequences. Evidently, the malevolent spirit found his scathing remarks amusing.

THEIR TRANSGRESSION EVENTUALLY LED TO THEIR DAMNATION.

It spoke in a forlorn tone, but there was an underlying contempt for those that created this abdominal creature. The entity rarely spoke in anything but riddles or scorn making this the first genuine conversation between Spartan and Shadow.

Cyrus was openly curious about the creature's origins, and there was no greater inquiry gnawing at his psyche than the fate of those who produced such a maddening abomination.

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO CONCERN YOURSELF WITH, RECLAIMER. MY CREATORS ARE NO MORE A THREAT THAN YOU COVENANT.

The Spartan's gait froze, and his eyes glossed over as a torrent of memories assailed his vision.

This creature should have no knowledge of the Covenant or the atrocities he endured in the name of mankind. Cyrus should have ended the discussion there, but his inquisitive inclinations got the better of him once more.

He glimpsed towards the phantom sphere and found three amber orbs looming in the darkness. "How do you know about the Covenant?"

I KNOW EVERYTHING, RECLAIMER. YOUR PAST. YOUR FUTURE. YOU ARE THE SIRE OF MY MAKERS AND INHERITOR OF ALL THEY LEFT BEHIND. MY CREATORS WERE SILENCED BY A WEAPON OF THEIR OWN DESIGN.

"This… weapon." Cyrus tentatively replied. "Is it a concern?"

An inhuman chuckle greeted his ears.

NOT IN THIS REALITY, RECLAIMER.

Cyrus huffed in relieved amusement. "Guess there are small mercies in this world."

"Master," Ahri's voice interrupted their stifling conversation. "We're inside the mezzanine, and you may want to get inside soon."

"For what reason?" Cyrus wanted to avoid an early face-to-face with Ekko until he could verify a collaboration was practical.

"Well… Caitlyn just took a hostage." He blinked in pure disbelief, even as another round of booming laughter echoed in the deep.

Nothing ever really goes to plan.

l==l

"What possessed you to bring an Inquisitor down here?!"

In hindsight, Vi probably should have realized that it was only a matter of time before one of the Firelights figured out Caitlyn was an Inquisitor.

Everything was going well in the beginning.

Ahri managed to establish a typical dialogue, and Ekko was receptive to at least the makings of a joint venture. This initial contact served as an introductory icebreaker to gauge reactions and complaints before an official meeting occurred.

Cyrus didn't want to immediately expose himself to the Firelights or any other dissident organizations in the Underhive.

Patience was integral to his overall plans, and using an emissary was a textbook political maneuver intended to avoid any official links to a single group.

Ekko understood this concept better than Ahri had initially thought possible.

The boy held a keen mindset unmarred by the waves of fury that continued to pulse from every pore in his skin.

Fang, one of Ekko's chief lieutenants, was increasingly suspicious of the innocuous women trying to hide underneath the shadow of a drawn cloak. Ahri tried to play it off as Caitlyn being unconscionably shy, but that distraction barely held its own foundation.

And once the hood came loose and Fang was allowed to stare into that magnificent shade of purple, his temper boiled like a volcano.

Caitlyn barely managed to avoid the stab at her jugular from an adjacent Firelight before wrapping an arm around her would-be killer's neck and pressing an icy finger to his temple.

Now a tense stalemate broke out with Ahri and Caitlyn back to back, surrounded by a dozen Firelights armed with a mixture of Griycium Lancers and swords. Vi stood in front of Caitlyn with her arms spread wide in a bid to prevent more violence.

It wasn't very effective.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." The Brawler retorted with a stern tone. "I mean, look at her. She's harmless!"

Fang immediately took issue with Vi's statement and aimed a Griycium lance toward the Lucifuge.

"That 'harmless' bitch!" Caitlyn twisted her hostage towards the Firelight Lieutenant as he stepped towards her. "Threw Kornavs crew in the Pit two weeks ago, and we haven't seen them since."

That shot down any hope of painting Caitlyn in a favorable light and had the intended effect of riling up the other Firelights.

"Give me the word, boss, and we can put her down."

"F-Fucking shoot her already." Caitlyn's hostage sputtered out in between gasps of air.

"Woah, now! Everybody calm down and take a deep breath."

"You take a deep breath, Vi!" Fang retorted sharply. "Because bringing an Inquisitor here is the dumbest fucking thing you've ever done."

"We should kill them both." That comment earned a Firelight Ahri's full attention, brandishing a pair of ki daggers to skewer anyone who dared take a step.

"Just try it, pumpkin." That Vastayan spoke with a coolness that set the other Firelights on edge. "Because I can guarantee it won't end well for you."

"Vi, get control of the Inquisitor!" Ekko demanded from his seated position as his fingers wrapped around the glowing sword strapped to his waist. Vi immediately shifted to the right and placed herself directly between Caitlyn and Ekko.

Of all the Firelights Vi was worried about, Ekko was at the top of the list.

With Caitlyn taking one of his men hostage, the Firelight Commander would be very uncooperative, which would only irritate Cyrus more.

Vi hoped the Kimaris didn't come in here swinging because she'd seen the violence he could inflict, and the Firelights would be hard-pressed to take him down.

"I'm not an inquisitor anymore!" Caitlyn's declaration earned her a snort of baseless humor from Ekko, and his fingers began to slide into the hook of his glowing sword.

"Only an idiot would take that at face value." Violence was inevitable, and Vi was hopelessly caught in an unwinnable struggle.

That was until Cyrus finally arrived.

His influence beckoned a wave of uncertainty that seeped into the skin of every Devil.

Heartbeats raced, and fear coursed through their veins as an undeniable presence strode into the room.

A humanoid figure shrouded in a black shadow approached the stalemate without hesitation, disregarding the Griycium lances that threatened to pierce its ethereal form.

Many Devils flinched on instinct when the darkness ebbed away and revealed a Devil wrapped in clothing more befitting the dredges of the Underhive than a Noble.

But there was no mistaking his power, his influence.

This Devil was a member of the 72 Pillars, and even the most stubborn Firelight was compelled to kneel in his presence.

The Devils of Lucifaads Underhive were unclaimed, making them easily beholden to the wills of the Ars Goetia Nobility.

However, the four great Satans could not expend the time or effort in subduing the Underhive during the Civil War, and their Extra Demon servants lacked the influence and charisma to subjugate the masses.

It's why the Inquisitorious constantly orchestrated purges inside the Warrens and Underhive.

Fear was their tool of the trade, and it has worked to perfection for decades.

In that moment of uncertainty, Ekko feared that this Noble would forcibly conscript the Firelights into his services, and his hand tightly grasped his blade.

However, before he could strike, the Nobles' influence faded into obscurity, leaving the Devils in a sound state of mind.

This sudden dissipation of power only served to confuse thoroughly confuse the Firelights. The figure pulled the brim of his hood back, revealing a daunting pair of crimson orbs and a youthful visage barely a few years older than Ekko.

"The girl is no more an Inquisitor than I am a Loyalist." The Noble spoke in a neutral yet intimidating voice that demanded respect, and Ekko reluctantly gave it.

"Are you Ahri's master, my Lord?" Ekko gestured his subordinates to lower the weapons, and they gradually followed his command, even if a few would prefer a different set of orders.

"Yes, and I would prefer if the… former Inquisitor remained unharmed."

Ekko's eyes squinted with uncertainty. "For what reason?"

"Caitlyn is the white sheep of her family," Cyrus explained. "Hopelessly naïve and born with a heart that cares for the unfortunate few. She possesses all of their raw power and none of their ruthless nature, but that does not mean she is helpless."

The hostage held in the crook of her arm proved that fact, but Ekko also noted the wary glances she shot her supposed savior's way.

"She's as scared of you as my men are." The Firelight commented and turned back towards Cyrus. "Why is that?"

"I frighten many who stand in my presence for reasons that would drive most Devils mad." It wouldn't be an overstatement to say that Cyrus's mind was the definition of insanity, with two distinct voices that constantly waylaid him at random intervals.

"What Noble clan are you from?" Ekko questioned. "And why have you graced Lucifaad with your presence?"

"My name is Cyrus of House Kimaris, and I am here to enact a radical destabilization of the Loyalist government by eliminating their deadliest asset. One that you have a vested interest in seeing gone."

Ekko dwelt on the Noble's words, and his mind immediately shot to a single name that struck fear into the hearts of every Devil in the Underhive.

"Grayfia Lucifuge?" Ekko inquired in disbelief that Fang and the other Firelights mirrored. His subordinates would have spoken their misgivings if they weren't afraid of drawing the Noble's attention.

"Correct." The impossibility of his statement was lost on Cryus. "Her position inside Lucifaad is as much an issue for you as it is for the Legions laying siege outside these walls."

Ekko had to continually tell himself that a civil war was underway, but the sheer size of Lucifaad made any siege practically impossible to carry out effectively. The city was a self-sufficient metropolis that didn't depend on outside resources to meet the basic needs of its inhabitants.

This… meeting with the Kimaris Lord finally brought the war to his immediate attention, but not for the reasons he had wanted.

"And you want to use the Firelights to take her down?" Ekko scoffed in disinterest. "I don't know if you noticed, but we're not exactly packing the raw firepower to take her in a straight fight, and that's not including the fact she never leaves the Eternal Palace."

"You don't need to worry about the Lucifuge. She's my problem to handle." Again his words utterly confounded the surrounding Firelights. "All I require is the manpower to keep the Inquisitorious and garrisoned Legions occupied while I draw her out."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?"

"I can tell you, but only in private."

A tense silence settled into the mezzanine as Ekko glared into Cyrus's unphased expression. The confidence he was exhuming was damn near impressive after his complete disregard for the scariest woman in Lucifaad.

Fang and the other Firelights stood in rapt attention while Ahri and Caitlyn kept their weapons trained upon the insurgents. Vi came to Cyrus's side, her eyes shifting between the Noble and the Firelight Commander.

She would have said something had Ekko not spoken up, a declaration that stunned his followers.

"Clear the room." Fang was the first to recover, dropping his lance and stepping toward his chosen leader.

"Commander, I strongly oppose this-" Ekko shot a scathing glance towards his second in command that rooted him in place.

"Now, Fang." His tone brokered no argument, and the Firelight wisely followed his leader's command.

"As you wish." Fang motioned for his men to move out, and the Firelights grudgingly exited the mezzanine. Caitlyn let her hostage fall to the ground, enabling the insurgent to depart while giving a withering stare towards his captor.

"Vi." The Brawler turned towards her adopted brother. "Keep your friends company. The Noble and I have business to discuss."

"You got it." Vi knew when to make a hasty exit, so she waved for Ahri and Caitlyn to follow. "Let's do some exploring, ladies."

"Anything to get out of this stuffy room." The Vastayan commented, the ki daggers in her hand dissipating into thin air. "I'm sure cupcake could use a drink or two right about now."

"Fuck you, Ahri." Caitlyn replied with some level of exasperation that earned a hearty laugh from Vi.

"I love you guys."

The slamming doors muffled whatever else was spoken between the trio leaving Cyrus and Ekko in subdued silence.

The Firelight Commander turned on his heel, sat at the head of a long table, and motioned for Cyrus to join him.

The Kimaris slid into the cushioned seat while Ekko grilled him for a miscellaneous question. "I can presume that none of my men outside these were hurt?"

"The only thing in pain is their pride." The Firelight hummed in thought but didn't speak for a few tense seconds.

The incredulous nature of this conversation wasn't lost on either Devil. By sharing a table with Ekko, Cyrus had willingly placed them both on even ground in this discussion, something a Noble would never do.

This was… odd, and Ekko sought to break the ice in dialogue by bringing up a well-known topic.

"When I heard House Kimaris had declared for the Renegades, I assumed this war would reach a rapid conclusion." The war should have ended a year ago, but circumstances outside his understanding prevented such a thing, and now it was entering its fourth decade."

"You were not the only one with those expectations, but reality is often disappointing."

"So is fantasy." Ekko retorted. "Nonetheless, I don't have any reason to assume the Renegades can offer a better tomorrow than the Loyalists. What guarantees do I have that I am not trading four tyrants for a hundred more?"

Anyone else would have lied out of their teeth or manipulated Ekko into joining their side, but Cyrus was different.

Why risk a lie that could easily be discerned when the truth is far easier to utilize.

"I can't guarantee that things will change if the Renegades take the city, but I can assure you a seat at the drawing table when this civil war is over." The Firelight Commander's eyes brightened with interest. "My father is an honorable man; if you contribute to my cause, you will have a place to make your demands public."

"And why would they listen?" It was the ultimate setback for Cyrus' validation, but he understood how to assuage Ekko's concerns.

"They won't have any other choice. Devils have never known peace because the civil war began not scant days after our war with Heaven and the Fallen. The people yearn for an ending to the conflicts that continue to soak the countryside in the blood of their sons and daughters. If the Underhive were to revolt after the Renegades took Lucifaad, then Devil society would collapse."

"What makes you think I have the power to lead a revolt?" This time Cyrus's eyes blazed with amusement that set Ekko on edge.

"Because you have the ear of every insurgent group in Lucifaad, and the Inquisitorious has a bounty on you that eclipses anyone else in the city. You don't get that high of a price unless you've been making waves around town…." The Kimaris rose to his feet, seemingly satisfied with this dialogue and content to offer Ekko parting words.

"… Let me be clear. I am not forcing you into a partnership. I am simply making it known that you are my first choice."

"That's it?" The Firelight replied in genuine surprise. "No threats, no false promises to convince me to throw my men under your banner?"

"No." Cyrus proclaimed. "I'm looking for volunteers. Not slaves. If I wanted that, I would have joined the Loyalists."

The Firelight let out a disbelieving hum and gave the Kimaris a leveled gaze. "You truly are an anomaly, Lord Cyrus."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"I'm sure they do…." Ekko leaned into his chair. "I'll consider a partnership under one condition."

"Name it." There was a change in Cyrus's posture that turned away from the poised stance of a political officer towards a more… violent disposition.

"There is a parasite that has challenged every effort to unite the gangs and insurgent groups under my leadership, and I need him dead."

"What's the target?"

"The same place you're walking into," Ekko remarked. "The Inquisitorious Spire has stood as the prime symbol of oppression for the Underhive. You bring down that Spire, and you'll have more than just my men at your beck and call."

Cyrus didn't hesitate to answer the call to arms.

"Consider it done." The ease with which he accepted the task left Ekko with another bout of genuine confusion.

"Are you… sure you don't want to make a counteroffer?"

Ekko didn't mean to be condescending, but Cyrus was banking on his integrity. Something a Devil should never rely upon, but the Kiamris quickly reminded the Firelight of who he was dealing with.

A hand reached out and grasped Ekko's shoulder, and his gaze trailed away from Cyrus towards a blackened humanoid figure with claws as sharp as any Griycium lance. A predatory smile showed off rows of razor-sharp teeth, and only then did he realize that the Kimaris held all the cards.

Cyrus only allowed him to think he was in charge of the dialogue.

"Do not take my acceptance for weakness, Ekko." The Spartan warning was furthered by the shadowy creature tightening grip. "I simply don't have time to debate the politics of this war, but rest assured, if I find you lacking in spirit or integrity, you will be the first to know. Are we clear?"

Ekko swallowed hard and gave Cyrus a slow nod. "Crystal."

"Excellent." The dark humanoid was sent back to the depths it came from, and the weighted pressure disappeared along with it. The Firelight took a moment to himself and watched the Kimaris make for the exit, but just as Cyrus reached the door, Ekko called out to him.

"I do have a question before you go." The Spartan inclined his head, permitting him to continue on. "Who's the girl? Is she someone important to the Loyalists?

"Caitlyn is the tool that will bring Grayfia Lucifuge out of hiding."

"Why's that?"

"They're sisters." Ekko did a spit take, and his brows widened in complete shock.

"Are you telling me Vi brought an Inquisitor and a Lucifuge into my home?"

"Among a collection of other lost souls," Cyrus glanced at Ekko from the corner of his eyes. "Yes, but Caitlyn has as much invested in a Renegade victory as you do. Her time in the Inquisitorious disillusioned her of the supposed honor her house once stood for, and now she will take up the sword against her own family to save as many lives as possible."

"A Noble with a heart." An incredulous thought for one born in Lucifaad. "I was wondering why Vi, of all people, would come to her defense. "

"Is that all?"

"Just one more." This question had been gnawing at Ekko for a while, and there was no better time to seek an answer. "Why come to us for help?"

"The Firelights are the most prominent group in the Underhive." Cyrus turned towards Ekko, his crimson orbs delving into the Firelight. "Wouldn't you seek the best fighters Lucifaad has to offer?"

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you." Ekko replied as he stood to his feet. "You are a Noble who willingly traveled to the ass end of Lucifaad to meet with 'terrorists.' You're kind, Loyalist, and Renegade would rather die than come here asking for help."

"I am an outlier to the equation known as Nobles. My very being contrasts the indulging values my peers express for all to see…." There was a hidden emotion to Cyrus's tone that Ekko found increasingly, and it only added to the Kimaris' enigmatic disposition.

"… I am, and always will be, an anomaly."

Cyrus stepped out of the mezzanine, leaving Ekko with a single thought that would define just how different the Kimaris was.

"I wish we had more anomalies."

l==l

Cyrus went to work almost as soon as they left the Firelight stronghold.

Idle hands are useless hands, and he wasn't inclined to sit around while time was of the essence.

Vi, in particular, was eager to march on the Inquisitorious Spire.

There was a deep hatred blazing within her eyes.

The kind of hatred that dampened pain and extinguished all forms of regret.

Vi wanted Spire destroyed more than any Inquisitor she'd come across, and that was a circumstance expressing how much loathing flowed through her veins.

It reminded Cyrus of his own internal contempt for the Covenant; in that way, he could emphasize Vi's blight.

But that didn't mean he would let her feelings interfere with his prerogatives.

Before they marched, Cyrus wanted as much information about the Inquisitorious Spire as possible.

Vi understood the Spire's internal workings, but there was more to infiltration than a simple floor layout. They needed outlines on barracks, patrol routes, mustering stations, exit points.

Anything and everything was on the table for this op.

Including his Cohort.

He summoned them one and all to the darkest reaches of the Shadow Realm, far from his family's notice.

And they answered the call without hesitation.

"This is a bold move, my lord." Arkias, his ever-trustworthy right hand, was accustomed to Cyrus's seemingly erratic and aggressive nature.

But this plan to tear down the Inquisitorious Spire was unlike anything he'd seen before.

The strategy was still missing more than a few key points, but the fact remained that Cyrus wanted to utilize all 3,000 Legionnaires of the 10th Cohort on a lightning raid against one of Lucifaad's most impregnable strongholds.

"I have to agree." Centurion Zorizar, commander of the 1st Centuria, interjected. "Our recent campaigns have not prepared us for an operation of this scale behind enemy lines."

"Tophet and Nova Babylon alone were difficult undertakings, but we had local support. This one will be conducted solely by our Cohort, and I'm not sure we'll come out of this unscathed."

"We won't," Cyrus affirmed their growing suspicions before mere skepticism could turn into doubt. "I know the sheer undertaking we are about to wade into, but we don't have a choice. The Siege of Lucifaad has already lasted far too long, and every day we fight this civil war is another day for Heaven or the Grigori's intervention. We need to end this war, and destroying this Spire will bring us one step closer."

"What of our Primarch?" Centurion Silgimez spoke up. "We received orders to reinforce our defensive line at Antora in two days. We'll be charged with treason if we abandon our posts."

"You let me worry about that. Until then, I want everyone combat-ready. As soon as I receive the intel I'm looking for, we'll be boots on the ground. Any questions?"

For a long moment, no one dissented, and Cyrus was seconds away from dismissing them back to camp when Arkias spoke up.

"I have something." There was a weariness to his voice that piqued Cyrus's interest.

"What is it, Arkias?"

"Our Cohort received a few… attaches in your absence."

Cyrus looked Arkias up and down, only to find him pointedly looking elsewhere. When he looked at his Centurions, they were mindlessly occupying themselves, exploring the vast darkness of the Shadow Realm.

That was… concerning.

"What kind of attache?" Cyrus ventured, but Arkias was not the one to answer.

"The family kind." A shade of silver hair broke through the darkness, and once again, Cyrus was face to face with someone he'd hoped to avoid for a bit longer. Ashara shared a long look with her estranged brother before glancing toward their captive audience. "You can leave."

Despite every fiber of their being demanding an immediate evacuation, Arkias and his men didn't move an inch until Cyrus dismissed them with a wordless nod.

They wisely fell to command, leaving their Lord to handle the most persistent problem in his existence.

Siblings.

"Why are you here?" Ashara's eyes briefly flashed with hurt but hardened just as quickly. When she failed to answer promptly, Cyrus released a dismissive snort and marched off, but she wouldn't let him go so soon.

"I want to talk."

"Because that has gone so swimmingly for both of us."

"I'm trying to be nice." Ashara bit down the indignation before it could fester. It wouldn't do her any good here. "I could have brought the twins, but I didn't want to ambush you."

A piece of Cyrus thanked her for not taking that route. The twins were endearing, and while he never had a problem with them, they mimicked their sister's blunt approach with overzealous affection.

And he wasn't in the mood to deal with them anytime soon.

"You didn't answer my question." Cyrus deflected.

"I know everything."

That confession threw him for a momentary spell, and he would have dismissed her entirely were it not for her eyes.

They told a story unto themselves.

"And what exactly do you know." Cyrus would have her say it out loud.

"I know about the Covenant." The words were voiced with the same distaste and revulsion he felt every time he spoke of them.

Cyrus had a feeling Cedric wouldn't be able to keep his past under wraps for long, not since his untimely departure.

Still, that knowledge should have stayed buried.

Cyrus let her words linger for a few seconds before replying. "Knowing and understanding are two different things, and you are incapable of the latter."

"Why?" Ashara uncomfortably shuffled near him yet continued to try and display some form of confidence in her words.

It failed.

"You're a Devil, Ashara. You weren't made to understand. You were crafted in the image of a man who sought to strike out against the heavens."

"So were you."

Cyrus said nothing.

She found a chink in his armor, a similarity between his existence and theirs that, while it didn't match in design, it most certainly corresponded.

Spartans were created to fight the Covenant.

Devils were designed to combat Heaven.

And wasn't that just a novel parallel.

Cyrus kept to himself, but his calm disposition did nothing to hide the broiling thoughts behind the façade.

Ashara knew she could hurl every argument possible at her brother, but he was as tenacious as the rest of their family. She came here to find common ground or, at the very least, insert the idea into Cyrus's stubborn mind.

Mending their broken relationship would take time, and Devils often had plenty to spare.

"I didn't come here argue or even convince you that I understand every wrong inflicted upon you." She let out a hollow chuckle. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to either, but I can tell you this…."

A swirl of black tendrils beckoned toward Ashara, and Cyrus watched blankly as the darkness clung to her form like a second layer of skin.

"… No matter what happens. This family will always love you, Cyrus…."

Ashara slowly returned to reality, but a final note echoed in the vast spaces of the Shadow Realm.

"… Never forget that."

l==l

Vi led the unlikely trio of Vastayan, Kimaris, and Lucifuge into the one place in the Underhive where secrets were hard to keep.

A nightclub called the Velvet Room.

Its proprietor Madame Trixana was a former Legionnaire of the 8th Incaris Legion under House Belphedor. Her tenure in the personal armies of House Beelzebub came to a disgraceful end when she was guilty of treason after providing safe passage to civilians in lieu of executing a full-frontal assault upon the gates of Asatarus in the early years of the Civil War.

Trixana fled to the Underhive, where she would quickly instill herself as one of its more prominent figures. Most believe her club's primary source of income was the exquisite dancers or seductive succubi, who plied their customers for all their worth, but in reality, her primary trade is knowledge.

The Velvet Room is a hotbed of loose lips and short-lived secrets willingly spilled by devils from all walks of life. Inquisitors make up only a fraction of its customers, but those fools often bellyache their problems in the secluded sections of the club.

Vi trusted her word above all else, and if anyone in the city knew where Silco was hiding, it was Trixana. She stopped her companions short of a steel doorway tucked away in the dark corner of an alleyway adjacent to the club's main entrance.

A select few could utilize this route to bypass the club's consistently crowded entryway, and Vi qualified as one of those fortunate due to Trixana's prior relationship with Vander. The former Legionnaire was a confidant to the exiled Noble of House Nebiros, and his death affected her as much as his daughters.

Vi and Trixana found solace in one another's anguish, and the latter consistently allowed the former to stay at her nightclub whenever she wished.

Vi, however, had to adhere to specific guidelines, which needed to be extensively communicated to her… friends? It was hard to figure out where this odd mixture of capable devils was to one another. Ahri and Caitlyn had their own peculiarities that Vi found endearing, but Cyrus was a whole other batch of crazy that kept her from classifying him as anything but an acquaintance at best.

It wasn't easy to make friends with someone who could snap your neck at a moment's notice.

The pink-haired woman splayed her hand against the steel doorway and glanced curiously at her lingering companions.

Ahri leaned her weight on one leg, highlighting her inherent elegance even as she smiled. It was a natural posture, but Vi saw it as a predator quietly awaiting its prey to fall for its snare.

Caitlyn was far more reserved. Her left hand gently touched the hilt of her lance while her anxious gaze glanced up and down the deserted alleyway before eventually settling on the stalwart Noble, who mystified every Devil he encountered.

Cyrus basked in the shadows like a child who welcomed the tender embrace of his mother, and the subtle tendrils that constantly licked at his frames were more than a little disconcerting. He ignored Caitlyn's frightful eyes to give Vi his full undivided attention, and those crimson orbs were as terrifying as they were captivating.

It made her following question that much more embarrassing.

"Have either of you been to a nightclub before?" Vi ignored the disbelieving huff of amusement from Ahri and focused on the more… socially inept members.

"No," Caitlyn quietly answered, earning a confident nod of reassurance from Vi and Ahri for reasons lost to all parties involved.

"Yes," Cyrus spoke up, causing Vi's expression to falter and her eyes to immediately scan for deception in those blazing orbs.

She found none.

"Really?" Caitlyn questioned before Vi could attempt a subtle examination. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes." Ahir nodded at her subtle glance of confirmation. Clearly, the Vastayan held Cyrus's confidence in some form or, at the very least, knew what made her Master tick better than most he interacted with.

"Alright then," Vi relented with a shrug. "I wouldn't peg you as someone who indulged in his lust very often."

"Trust me, Vi." The Vastayan intervened. "Desire is the last thing that's on Cyrus's mind."

"And how would you know that?"

"Trade secret." The beautifying smile playing on Ahri's lips clawed at Vi's innate curiosity, but she knew better than to delve into the rabbit hole.

"I bet it is." The Brawler acquiesced to the silent demand for a change in subject and returned to her first order of business. "This nightclub has its own rules, and we will follow them to the letter. Keep your weapons sheathed, and magic snuffed out. Trixana has wards all over the place to detect all types of arcana, and if she finds us tampering, then it's my ass on the line, not yours. Understand?"

"Yes." Caitlyn and Ahri's verbal guarantees should have calmed her misgivings, but Cyrus's lack of agreement added to her fears.

He just stared at her with an unreadable gaze that unsettled any who caught his notice, but eventually, there was a silent and nearly unnoticeable nod that finally settled Vi's misgivings.

"Stay close." Vi smashed her hand against the steel doorway, and its single-eye shutter slid open at its attendant's leisure. The Brawler leaned close enough to occupy most of the bouncer's vision, but she left enough space for him to glance over her companions.

No words were spoken between the two, but a momentary battle of wills broke out in their narrow gazes. Kelarn was the only bouncer Trixana entrusted with monitoring the VIP access without being tarnished by greed or desire.

After all, Kelarn's obsessions centered around his less-than-reputable thoughts of his boss and what he wished he could do to Trixana. But these dreams would forever be locked into his mind and never grace reality.

Kelarn reluctantly allowed Vi's company to pass through. His heavy grunts of irritation were the only signs of opposition, but his gaze soon turned immodest as the Vastayan's fragrance settled into his senses.

His attention was drawn to Ahri's magnificence and Caitlyn's reserved beauty, and as they walked by, his broad frame tracked their every stride until he was obstructing the entranceway.

A circumstance that Cyrus was less than pleased to experience.

"Move." One word and a single hand sent Kelarn sprawled against the wall with an emphasizing thud. All manner of fury crept into the bouncer's bones with full intent on retaliation, but a single glance of his adversary's crimson orbs silenced all resistance.

As Kelarn struggled against the overwhelming mass bearing down on his shoulders, his heart froze, and his lungs exhaled like a broken machine, spewing out incohesive breaths.

"Come now, love." Ahri's desirable voice ghosted over Cyrus's ear as she draped an arm over his shoulder. "He's not worth it."

Kelarn's pride took a cutting blow at the mere thought of mercy due to irrelevance, but Ahri's words stemmed the Noble's ire. Cyrus slowly lowered the bouncer until his feet touched the carpet, and Kelarn was unceremoniously dropped.

The Kimaris turned on his heel and walked away without a glance backward, earning an exasperated look from Vi and an unreadable glance from Caitlyn. Ahri spared the bouncer a salacious wink and sauntered off hot on her Master's trail with a pleased grin.

"What did I say about fighting?" Vi's admonishments were met with a simple shrug from Cyrus.

"It takes two to fight." Cyrus retorted. "And I can assure you he didn't put up much of one."

"Whatever." Vi dragged a hand down her face in frustration, but she quickly regathered her composure and ushered her companions along. "Keep your hands to yourself unless someone swings at you. Ahri, you're on babysitting duty."

"With pleasure." The Vastayan looped an arm through her Master's even as he growled in displeasure. "Now, let's move before Cyrus ends up killing some poor sod for looking at the goods."

"He was in my way." Cyrus denied taking action in their so-called defense, but Ahri wasn't willing to let his words influence her.

"Oh, I'm sure." Caitlyn and Vi traded knowing glances, but neither commented on the pair's byplay. The Brawler led her companions into the illustrious nightclub. The finely carpeted floors muffled their footsteps as they bypassed private rooms on either side of the corridor. Only a thin drape provided some form of privacy for these secluded compartments.

Caitlyn's eye was drawn to more than a few… performances behind these curtains, but Cyrus's muffled pace kept her from indulging in her curiosity. Ahri, however, had little problem sating her interests, and she subtly pulled back the drapes to spy on the private encounters like the annoying voyeur Vi pegged her to be.

"What exactly are we looking for in this…." Caitlyn hesitated to call this club for what it was out of respect for Vi's friend. "… fine establishment."

"Information," Vi replied, drawing back a seclusion drape and stepping into an expansive room with her arms spread wide. "Welcome to the Velvet Room."

Cyrus glanced over the lightly colored tapestries with a clinical eye. The Velvet room was like any other nightclub he'd been to, containing an expansive bar with no less than half a dozen attendants catering to nearly a hundred guests. Tables and booths were intricately placed in such a way as to maximize space while also keeping parties separated enough for everyone to avoid feeling claustrophobic.

The carpet floors gave way to a marble surface that gave off a resounding clack upon every step. Cyrus would have found that particular noise annoying were it not for the blaring music from an elevated dance floor at the club's center. Intricate orbs of red danced upon the rooftop, showering those below in a beautifying ray of crimson that lit up every inch of space.

It was a colorful and eye-catching spectacle that should have left every patron buzzing with interest and awe.

Cyrus was not interested in these theatrics, and his gaze scanned the dense crowds for resounding issues. Several bouncers in the bar peered at him suspiciously, indicating that their colleague had alerted them of his conduct.

They made no attempt to intercept their group, either out of fear or in obedience to an instruction from above. Ahri incited a reaction by waving at the bouncers, and he would have halted her antics if he wasn't busy scanning the crowd for any significant threats.

"Trixana will be in her office," Vi leaned against an open bar section and gestured to an overhanging room with glass windows. "And I'd rather go with just one of you to keep her from asking too many questions."

"Sounds good to me," Ahri spoke up. "While you play diplomat, I'll look around and see what kind of intel I can ply out of the local inquisitors."

"Who's going with you?" Caitlyn asked, her eyes staring back at Vi with a silent desire to accompany her to see Trixana. The pair had struck up a cordial friendship despite their contrasting backgrounds. Ahri remained Caitlyn's closest confidant, but her constant proximity next to Cyrus kept her away from the Vastayan.

Until now.

"I am." Cyrus proclaimed without hesitation. "Ahri, take Caitlyn and see if you can find anyone stationed at the tower. Once you do, give them a marker."

The word piqued Caitlyn's interest.

"A marker?" She inquired with a furrowed brow.

"Something for later use." Cyrus didn't elaborate, and a sharp nod toward Ahri had her grabbing the Inquisitor by the arm.

"As you command." She wasted no time in dragging Caitlyn off to another section of the bar under the slightest bit of protest.

He watched the pair prey on a group of Inquisitors teetering on the edge of drunkenness while failing at sweet-talking Ahri. Caitlyn took a position close enough to the Vastayan to direct her efforts while watching her six.

"When do we meet her?" Cyrus inquired as he kept his back to the wall next to Vi.

"She'll come to us when she's ready. Your spat with the bouncer drew some attention, but his buddies aren't stupid enough to come after you."

"Hey, bartender!" Vi called out to a bespectacled man cleaning off a pair of glasses. "What's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?"

"Vi?" The bartender blinked once, then twice, before his features took on a disbelieving yet incredibly relieved look. He hastily strode towards the counter, grasping Vi's outstretched hand and pulling her close enough to give her a firm hug.

She returned the embrace by tightening her arms around his torso and allowing him to exhale a deep sigh of relief. Cyrus stepped away from the bartop and allowed Vi a moment of reprieve while he returned to his favorite pastime.

People watching.

Interactions between people can often be amusing, but sometimes there is knowledge in the most superficial conversation. A lack of materials for one business may drive groups to seek out black-market suppliers in another district.

A man bellyaching to his coworkers about problems with his borough's water supply may lead to a local gang's tampering with the reservoirs.

Each and every speck of otherwise useless knowledge was obtained and categorized while Vi struck up a conversation with her compatriot. Most who caught Cyrus's scrutinizing gaze immediately looked elsewhere, leaving him to his internal machinations.

Minutes passed before he opted to return to Vi's side, and once he closed the distance, he felt a pair of eyes boring into his skull. Cyrus traced the firm gaze towards the overhanging room belonging to the club's proprietor.

He could feel the hairs on his skin stand to attention even as the rumbling beat of music and bellicose conversation fell into a muffled silence.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, my Lord." Trixana's voice echoed from nearly every direction, and Cyrus sent out a subtle pulse of arcana to dissipate the barrier surrounding him. His surroundings returned to life in a mere instance, but his attention never left the Devil who dared to infiltrate his mind.

With her connection broken, Trixana opted to wave Cyrus towards her office with an enticing wave of her fingers. The Spartan's eyes narrowed upon the woman's shadow, and within a blink he stood a mere foot away from the woman's eerily calm form.

Trixana's lips curled into a seductive smile, and her emerald orb gleamed as she stared defiantly into Cyrus's crimson orbs.

"It's been a long time since one of your kind has been in the Underhive." Her voice was a sensual melody playing on a Devil's lust with practical ease.

Trixana threaded her syllables and let her tone dictate her intentions, stringing them along and playing with others like a child would a toy.

Cyrus could feel her aroma settling into his senses, and if he were a lesser man, then Trixana could have had him wrapped around her fingers. His mind cleared out of all thoughts, leaving behind an empty husk that threw the woman for a startling loop.

And yet she laughed all the same when she realized just how determined Cyrus was to avoid her temptations. Trixana twirled away, the slit of her velvet red gown flowing alongside her seductive form directly as she sat upon her desk. Her figure-hugging dress flowed to her ankles, but a slit on either side revealed delectable thighs.

Trixana was the pure definition of a femme fatale, as deadly as she was elegant.

"When Nobles come down here, it's usually at the head of an army." Trixana began with a smile. "But here you stand with little more than a single bodyguard. I don't know if that makes you brave or stupid, but I can say with certainty that you have drawn the interest of everyone in the Underhive. I hope that was your intention."

"It was." Cyrus acquiesced, closing the gap between them with two long strides while the shadows licked at his frame. "But I'm not here for a popularity contest."

"Than what are you here for, my lord." It was clear by Trixana's constant reference to his standing that she knew little of his background and only retained the knowledge that Cyrus held a direct lineage to one of the 72 Pillars. "I doubt you came here to tour our humble home, especially not with Vi, of all people, as a guide."

"I disagree. Vi knows the Underhive like the back of her hand, and if anyone can lead me towards my ultimate goal, it's her." She frowned at his response but kept from exploring the subject further.

"Maybe." Trixana acquiesced with a lengthy sigh. "But you'll forgive me for worrying about my little spitfire being around a Noble who desires to take on the entirety of Lucifaad. Your little spat with Silco has a helluva power vacuum, and everyone from gangster to Inquisitor seeks to fill that vacuum."

"Does that include you?"

"To a certain degree." The Devil reached for a pair of wine glasses filled with red wine. She extended one to Cyrus, and he tentatively accepted the silent gesture of goodwill. "Power is often misleading and dangerous, especially to those who viciously seek it."

He shrugged his shoulders but neglected to say anything in response. They exchanged a silent toast and drank the liquid wine in unison. Trixana finished her drink seconds before he did, taking both glasses in hand and sliding them across her desk to be dealt with later.

She crossed her arms underneath her sizeable chest and leaned further against the desk with a stern expression. Evidently, their tense exchange of small talk was now over, and all that was left between them was business.

"What brings you to my humble home?"

"Inquisitors." Trixana gave Cyrus an appraising look.

Only the brave or the stupid would dare ask about the Underhive's hated boogeymen. They were practically untouchable in her eyes because every attempt at bringing them down a peg was met with violent reprisal. The Inquisitorious and the Firelights have been killing each other for decades, but all it did was add to the body count.

She didn't have the best opinion of the local militia, but they were leagues better than dealing with Silco's goons. For the past decade, the routine has been a weekly Firelight raid followed by a section of Inquisitorious soldiers crackdown on a random borough.

It was a vexing scenario that often cost Trixana time and money, but there was little she could do but ignore the random bursts in lost revenue. People aren't inclined to throw their money away when ionized plasma and skin-flaying magic are thrown around willy-nilly.

"And what would you like to know?" Trixana's eyes roved up and down his obscured form. All the while, black tendrils stared back at her as if she were a piece of meat.

There really was a Kimaris stalking the shadows of Lucifaad.

"Everything."

And unfortunately for the Inquisitorious, this predator's gaze was firmly fixed upon them.

Trixana did not envy the crime lord's position.

"Is that why you came to Lucifaad." She scoffed in amused disbelief. "To kill poor old Inquisitors?"

"Of course not." Cyrus retorted, the black tendrils bristling at the mere thought of sinking their teeth into flesh once more. "Their demise is a means to an end. The Firelights want them dead, and I need their support if I'm going to make the House of Lucifer bleed."

"What you want is harder to get than you realize." Trixana began. "The Inquisitorious has a tight grip on the Underhive, ranging from fortresses to outposts stationed on every street corner. Even if I were to give every detail, it wouldn't mean much unless you have a full Legion at your disposal."

"I'm only interested in the Spire."

"The Spire?" She repeated in genuine disbelief before letting out a skeptical breath. "You must be insane."

"More than you know," Cyrus remarked. "And I'm also running out of time, so do you have the information I need, or should I look somewhere else."

"Hmm…" The nightclub owner reached for a stack of folders and tossed a wrapped dossier into his chest. An archaic means of documentation in a time of magic, but sometimes even the oldest methods still work.

Cyrus unveiled the contents to find several photographs linked to detailed markings of guard posts, patrol routes, and command rooms belonging to several Inquisitorious Seekers made up the Spire's detailed internal floor plan. There were still images of manned security gates lining its perimeter and a list of known Inquisitorious Sections permanently listed as the local garrison.

"How long have you had this?" There was no way this information was corroborated over the course of a few days.

No, this intel was packaged for someone else.

"Have you ever hated something so much that you devoted everything to see it put to the torch?"

"Yes." It was the first emotion he ever experienced as a child, and it has stuck with him through the years. He thumbed through page after page, soaking in the veritable goldmine of intel before closing the folder and returning his attention to Trixana. "Name the price?"

"The price?" The corner of her lips tugged upwards into a mirthless smile. "Just one…"

The smile turned predatory.

"… Kill'em all."

He could do that.

Chapter 17

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 8 th ."

"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?

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Lucifaad, Lucifaad Territory

When Cyrus came to Lucifaad, the last thing he expected was to be caught up in a conspiracy of this magnitude.

"What is a Malebranche?"

The question, when asked, brought forth an indescribable rage from the malevolent entity.

They are a disease upon the lands for which I guard. The Malevolence spoke with a frozen voice that betrayed the rage festering inside. They are beings that court madness and bring despair upon friend and foe alike. Lucifer knew not what he wrought when he created such malignant creatures.

"You have a history with them?"

I have more than history, boy. The shadow retorted. It was by my will that prevented Lucifer and his moronic children from being by the madness they so foolishly created. Without my intervention, the Underworld would have become a beacon of insanity and chaos. A madness that has touched your mind.

The malevolent entity's words spoke truth.

Cyrus could feel Calcabrina's power taking root in the darkest corners of the shadow realm. His lessons regarding the weapons born of the Underworld came to mind as he wallowed in the darkness.

The Malebranche were weapons crafted from the crystals of Agreas and inspired by the Sacred Gears Heaven bestowed upon Humanity.

While the Sacred Gears are weapon platforms with a few unique exceptions, the Malebranche are far more… treacherous.

They are living beings fashioned from the desperation of Lucifer and his lackeys in the years before the Great War began.

The Satans created the Malebranche to tip the scales of war in their favor, and they welcomed the newfound power with open arms, but it came at a cost.

The Malebranche exists solely to indulge their carnal desire for blood and conflict in almost every waking moment of their life.

Lucifer was the first to experience their terrible toll upon his psyche, and his violent outbursts cost him a crushing defeat upon the plains of Alinor.

The unquenchable rage began to infect the other Satans, and within weeks, the Malebranche found themselves sealed within near-impenetrable vaults scattered across the Underground.

To use them was to court death itself.

They were too viscous, too corrupting to be of any use to those with a sound mind.

Only the desperate would ever dare bring them to light.

And the Loyalists were truly desperate.

MAKE US WHOLE.

A towering obelisk birthed echoes of madness to the front of his mind. He can still hear the lingering whispers ghosting his mind in between the malevolent entity's rage-filled below.

MAKE US WHOLE.

Flashes of a double-helix obelisk stained with unfamiliar symbols etched onto its surface stained Cyrus's thoughts. He could feel the madness threatening to swallow him whole, no matter how much he tried to ignore its siren call.

MAKE. US. WHOLE.

It was a blemish that did not go unnoticed.

Her mark has already taken root. Cyrus felt a wash of serenity blanket the poisonous song, leaving him sound of mind but absent of calming thoughts. The longer she is left unattended, the more her influence grows.

"What is she?" The Spartan questioned through gritted teeth.

The Malebranche, as you know, were fashioned into weapons for Lucifer and his Satans. The entity's words were filled with abundant disdain. Twelve were created, yet only four saw the light of day. Lucifer held Malacoda, a longsword of unrepentant rage that slaughtered an entire field of angels before his might. Beelzebub and Leviathan took up Cagnazzo and Barbariccia, both of which corrupted the battlefields with pestilence and terror.

"And what of Calcabrina?"

The entity remained silent as the question echoed off the shadows beyond. The muted atmosphere lingered for far longer than Cyrus wanted, but the darkness answered just as he was about to breach the silence

The Leviathan held Calcabrina, but she did not take the shape of a simple blade or staff. Her base form is one that you shall become well acquainted with in time.

The obelisk flashed to mind once more, echoing the same poisonous message as before.

"The obelisk?"

YESSSSS. The darkness spoke with a guttural voice that shook the Shadow Realm. The Leviathan was tasked with keeping the Malebranche under lock and key until Lucifer called upon her, but the Devil was eager to test her newfound power.

"Was it of her own accord?" To this, the shadow laughed a hearty sound.

No. The Leviathan's mind was already suffering the effects of Calcabrinas madness, and it was at this precarious moment the Malebranche was unleashed upon a city struck from the pages of Devil history….

The shadow realm beckoned to the entity's will, unraveling into an image beyond all reasoning until it finally settled upon the sight of a splendid city sitting upon sea-washed sunset gates.

Its exterior is paired with the backdrop of pristine skies, helping shape the urban city into what it once stood for in ages past. Its architectural designs were built upon heaps of glass and light to mimic the aesthetics of the blue skies around them.

… They knew it as Melaka….

Melaka.

The name pricked at Cyrus's memory, piercing through his foggy recollection until his mind recognized the familiar name.

Melaka.

The Emerald City of House Valefor.

The place his mother once called home.

What a beautiful tragedy.

Within moments the streets that once beheld children playing upon their surface were stained with blood.

With madness.

Cyrus watched Devils, taken by Calcabrina's insanity, rupture into creatures that bore no resemblance to either Devil or Human. Their bodies were horrendously damaged, with much of their flesh torn, exposing the underlying musculature below. Their arms were rendered into skins of ruined flesh encompassing a sharp blade-like protrusion.

He watched these creatures, and many more like it, slaughter untold thousands across the city. Its defenders fell into the same uncontrolled chaos infecting the very place they called home.

You have heard her sirens call, and none who have listened to her poisonous song have remained within the realm of sanity for long.

Cyrus winced under Calcabrina's venomous voice once more.

MAKE. US. WHOLE.

He always found the entity's words annoying, but this bitch quickly rose to the top of his shit list.

Do not let your anger fester, boy. The malevolent creature asserted. Calcabrina feeds off your negative energy like a disgusting parasite. Calm your mind, or see your thoughts forever tainted.

Calcabrina's corrupting voice sang with the dark spaces of his mind. Cyrus followed the shadow's advice and tempered his heart with the practiced technique he learned as a Spartan.

Inhale. Oxygen flowed through his lungs.

Exhale. His raging blood cooled.

Inhale. Eyes burning with fury tempered.

Exhale. Mind emptied of all madness.

The malevolent entity allowed Cyrus precious time to recompose himself. It had never graced another being its presence, and in that regard, he took solace in conversing with the boy.

He may not provide the most spectacular conversations at times, but he did not mince words or speak out of turn.

"Do you have a name?"

The lingering shadow turned toward the boy, no, the man he called Reclaimer, with a considering gaze.

It did have a name, once bound to the duty of safeguarding a galaxy. Now, it is only known for its terrible betrayal in the face of a parasite that ravaged its creator's empire.

Did he dare use the same name again?

The answer came easy as the avatar he beheld in days past came to life again.

Cyrus watched the black orb morph into a construct resembling the forerunner architecture he once saw upon his final days at Line Installation 2-4.

It comforted Cyrus to be in the presence of someone who once walked the same lands he did.

He could not have asked for a better companion in the darkness.

"Greetings." The ancilla's metallic voice echoed in the deep. "I am 05-032 Mendicant Bias, traitor to those who once knew me and keeper to those who do not. It's a pleasure to meet you, Reclaimer."

It was here upon the plane of darkness that a bond was set in stone.

It is here that Reclaimer and Forerunner made their pact.

The Malebranche shall not grace this land again.

l==l

Ashara gingerly combed her hands through Cyrus's hair.

Not long after he lost consciousness, they had taken refuge in a secreted bar nestled within the deepest parts of the Underhive.

The 10th were practically up in arms when they found out Cyrus would not be taken back to their encampment for treatment.

Arkias, thankfully, was of more sound mind and convinced his legionnaires that Ashara would attend to their Lord. Ahri tried to take Cyrus into her care, but a stern glance from Ashara kept her in place.

The Vastayan meant well, but there was no way in hell Ashara was passing him off to anyone not bearing the name Kimaris.

She remembered when such a thing was commonplace between them, but the march of time waits for no one.

She missed the old days when times were simple, and the civil war was merely a backdrop in their lives.

Now it was the catalyst to everything her family endured, and she couldn't bare to think about the horrifying name that fell from Cyrus's lips as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Calcabrina.

A nightmarish creature that Lucifer himself feared to the point where he willingly buried it rather than take a chance and use its raw power.

Ashara knew not the horrors Calcabrina was capable of, but her father obtained a firsthand account of the Malebranche's terrible rampage amid the Great War.

She remembered the terrible price her people suffered because of Lucifer's idiocy.

Melaka was once the crown jewel of his new empire, second only in splendor to Lucifaad itself.

Until Calcabrina tore it asunder, leaving only death and madness in its wake.

"Madness," Ashara whispered, pulling her brother closer. "Madness and stupidity."

"How is he?" Sapphire stood in the doorway with Rose not far behind. The twins had just returned from reporting their success to Cedric but did not bring word of their brother's ailment.

That would have done nothing more than complicate matters.

"His fevers coming down, but he is still tossing and turning in his sleep." Ashara laid a dainty hand across his pale cheek, taking minute solace in the warmth held within. "I think he's having a nightmare."

The sisters stared with longing worry at their bedridden brother. Cyrus had always been a beacon of iron will and calm stability, and to see him so weakened was a sight they never wished to see again.

"What did our father have to say?" Ashara asked.

"He was pissed," Rose replied, still clad in their family's sacred armor. "Sapphire and I had to run interference; otherwise, he would have ripped Arkias a new one. I don't think he appreciated one of his Cohorts mysteriously disappearing from their encampment."

"And our mother?" Rose's features turned sour upon the thought, and Sapphire answered in her stead.

"She was… difficult." Her usually bubbly disposition was marred by concern for her brother. "If it weren't for Elerin, she would have dragged us back home."

"I'm surprised she didn't try anyway," Ashara remarked, removing the cool hand towel on Cyrus's forehead. Sapphire stepped forward, grabbing a fresh cloth from the nearby counter and aiding her sister in providing care.

Rose glanced across the sparse bedroom, noting the lack of a certain Vastayan within its confines. "Where's Ahri and his… companions?"

"Resting in the next room," Ashara answered.

"I didn't think she'd leave his side."

"She didn't have a choice in the manner."

Sapphire turned her gaze towards her hot-headed sister with an admonishing tone. "Ashe."

"The Vastayan was getting on my nerves." Ashara defended. "She's very possessive of Cyrus, and she persisted no matter how often I assured her he was in good hands."

"Sounds like someone we know," Rose muttered under her breath, drawing a pointed glance from Ashara.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Rose deflected with an amused smile. "Have you met the Lucifuge?"

"Only in passing," Ashara answered. "She's gone out of her way to avoid us and never strays from Ahri or the other woman."

The trio spoke in hushed tones for a time, trading banter and admonishing the foolish sibling laid helpless before them. But as minutes turned to hours, the twins could no longer linger at their brother's side.

Sapphire laid a bare kiss upon Cyrus's forehead, whispering words of comfort before reluctantly peeling herself free of his comatose form. Rose wasn't nearly as sentimental, but her worried gaze lingered far longer than anticipated.

But time stopped for no one, and they had a Cohort to organize for the coming battle.

"We're heading back to Fort Azalan." Rose announced as a bloom of shadows formed at their feet. "Ashara and Jade damn near lost their shit when we didn't bring Cyrus back to camp, and someone had to run interference. Let us know if you need any-"

"I know." Ashara's determined gaze set the twin at ease. Rose was satisfied with her answer and departed for their encampment, while Sapphire left final words for their sister to live by.

"Take care of him, Ashara." She did not linger to hear her sister's reply, stepping into the darkness and returning to the fort where their chosen Legionnaires gathered.

Ashara's watched the pool of darkness wither into obscurity before finally turning towards Cyrus's slumbering form.

"I will."

As her gaze dawdled across his immaculate form, his eyes slowly flickered to life until she once again gazed upon a familiar shade of crimson.

"Welcome back, dumbass." Ashara teased, much to her brother's chagrin. "Sleep well?"

His reply brought more joy than she thought possible.

"Not long enough."

Oh, how she missed his sarcastic whims.

l==l

Fort Azalan, Lucifaad Territory

Cedric stared at the 10th cohorts Primus Legionnaire with an even expression. Sezran Arkias maintained his discipline despite the gravity of his predicament, which wasn't entirely of his own making.

In some ways, Cedric was at fault for the 10th Cohort's recent dereliction of duty.

When he gave Cyrus complete control of the 10th to mold at his leisure, he did not realize the consequences of his actions until his son's disappearance.

After nearly two years away from the 66th Legion, Cedric was eager to add their numbers to his array of forces. Their experiences hunting down insurgents and Skinwalkers should have strengthened the Legion's martial prowess.

But reality is a cruel mistress.

Since the Cohort's return to the Legion, an alarming number of battlefield infractions have been brought to Cedric's attention.

The 10th was no longer the malleable collection of Legionaries that bent to its sister Cohort's command. Their tactics, organizational structure, and even how each Legionary carried themselves differed from the rest of the 66th.

Cyrus's influence could be seen in the eyes of every Officer and Guardsmen in the 10th Cohort. They entered the Blighted Marshlands as fresh-eyed recruits and emerged as something… different.

Yesterday Cedric ordered his Legion to capture several Loyalists redoubts blocking all Renegade attempts to conduct a proper siege of Lucifaad.

These redoubts were successfully taken by a 6th Cohort after a thorough engagement with several Loyalist Centurias. However, the initial plan wasn't to have the 6th spearhead in the assault.

No, that honor was given to the 10th Cohort, who suddenly disappeared from the encampment on the eve of their operation, leaving Cedric to recall the 6th from its rearguard position and hastily deploy them to the frontline.

It was an embarrassing predicament that was only saved because none of the other Praetors were privy to his strategy.

He would have had Arkias lashed to fucking pole if his daughters hadn't assured him that Cyrus was to blame for their sudden disappearance.

Cedric had half a mind to follow through on Arkias's punishment, but this dilemma was merely the tip of the iceberg.

His family had become increasingly isolated from one another since their stroll through Cyrus's memories. The impact of that venture affected each of his wives and daughters differently.

Ashara and the Twins had spent the last few days living amongst the 10th Cohort against their mother's wishes. They refused to entertain Arwen's demands and quickly ingratiated themselves with Arkias and his men.

He initially wanted to give Rose and Sapphire command of the 4th and 5th Cohorts, respectively, while Ashara took control of the 3rd Cohort. These duties should have assuaged any resistance from the trio, but they upped the ante by demanding an assignment to the 10th Cohort.

Cedric didn't need to guess their reasonings.

His blessings became a formality, but they tempered his youngest daughters for now.

His eldest daughters were a different story.

Jade and Ashara neglected their duties inside the Legion by partaking in long-winded reconnaissance missions aimed at finding a weak point in Lucifaad's defenses.

They wanted their brother back more than anything else in the Underworld, and reigning them in was becoming a constant chore for Cedric.

Thankfully the Matriarchs of House Kimaris were the least problematic of the bunch, with Elerin and Arwen keeping their distance from one another while maintaining their duties.

Cedric's familial problems were compounded by his own responsibilities as the Primarch for the rebellion. His Praetors were anxiously awaiting his orders to commence the all-out assault upon the walls of Lucifaad. None would dare make a move without his approval, but the building tension amongst the gathered Legions would soon boil out of control.

No one wanted a drawn-out siege, especially with reports that Heaven and the Grigori were meeting to discuss an official ceasefire leaking into the encampment. The Great War may have ended long ago, but a rekindling of hostilities drew ever closer so long as the Loyalists held Lucifaad.

Azazel could send all the emissaries and assurances he wanted, but the fact remains that their people stood upon the edge of a knife.

All it would take is one rogue element to undo decades of tense peace, and all three factions would return to butchering one another.

But alas, Cedric had a list of problems, and his most immediate concern was the 10th's rebellious nature.

"Walk with me." The Shadowlord rose to his feet, and within seconds the pair were storming out of Fort Azalan's central tower and striding down a flight of stairs toward its main grounds.

"I don't need to remind you that we are sitting on the precipice of the most important operation in our people's history…." Cedric glanced towards Arkias with a cocked brow. "Do I?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then why are you disappearing from your mustering stations without so much as a fucking word?" Arkias flinched at his biting tone. "My son may be your Lord, but I am your fucking Primarch Arkias. I have built this house from the ground up and will not have one of my Primus Legionnaires neglecting their duties. If Cyrus were within my grasp, he'd be getting the same fucking message. Do you understand me?"

Arkias gulped. Cedric Kimaris didn't have a temper, but by Satan did he frighten the ever-living piss out of him. Arkias had little doubt that Cyrus was in for a world of hurt as soon as he returned to the fold.

Which would hopefully be soon.

Arkias schooled his pale features and snapped his feet to attention.

"I accept full responsibility, my Lord, and await disciplinary action." Cedric rolled his eyes and threw open a set of heavy doors. They marched up a fortified rampart that overlooked the massive war camp outside the fort's walls.

"For Satans sake Arkias. As much as I would enjoy lashing you to a fucking pole, it would do little to solve the issue at hand. What I want is a solution, so tell me what needs to be done."

"My Lord?"

"When I gave Cyrus control of your men, I failed to realize the consequences of my actions." Cedric explained, his hands splayed over the fortress walls as his eyes presided over the Legions encamped before him. "My son has always been an anomaly, and it seems his oddities have influenced the lot of you into miniature versions of himself, but more than one Cyrus is enough for this Legion…."

"… To put it frankly, Arkias. Your Cohort is in danger of being sent back home for reconditioning unless you convince me you have a place amongst the 66th."

"We don't." The Legionary didn't hesitate to respond, drawing a curious gleam from the Nobleman

"Clarify." Cedric inquired.

"Your accusations against my Cohort are correct, Lord Cedric," Arkias admitted. "The 10th is no longer capable of operating alongside our Legion. Lord Cyrus has fundamentally changed our combat doctrine towards a more… liberal doctrine."

Liberal was one way to put it as far as Cedric was concerned, but he allowed Arkias to continue unabated.

"… He has shattered any concept of Legion warfare and replaced them with a fine-tuned, flexible means of combat. During our tenure in the Blighted Marshlands, Lord Cyrus trained our Principales to act independently of our static command structure. It was a difficult process, but we adapted to his teachings and completed the mission you sent him on two years ago."

"So what do you suggest, Arkias?" The Kimaris Lord asked. "Because if I listen to any of my senior officers, your cohort will be on a one-way trip to the Shadow Lands."

"That you let us fight our way." The Legionary pressed the issue as if he was fighting for his own life. "We don't belong with the other Legions on the frontline shoulder to shoulder. Our place is in the enemy's backyard, wreaking havoc wherever possible and weakening their foundation. That is our strength, our creed, but it only continues on your word, my Lord."

Cedric couldn't help the hearty laugh that blessed his lips. Arkias argued just like his son did, with nothing but logic and a sound mind free of all doubt. Whatever reply Cedric meant to give the Legionary was lost when a dense concentration of infernal energy pooled next to him.

He recognized the magical aura and its owner's often vexing presence.

"Well, you're in luck, Primus." Ashara's crimson orbs stepped through the Caiseag Sgàil with her ever-present smile. "Because I have a job for you."

"Where have you been, Ashara?" Cedric demanded with a narrowed gaze.

He'd been waiting on her report after the twins arrived and explained their recent escapade to Lucifaad, much to his and Arwen's great displeasure. It took every fiber of his being to keep his wife from tearing her children a new one, but he was sorely tempted to cut his wife loose when Sapphire explained that Ashara stayed behind.

He silently thanked Satan for delivering his idiotic daughter home and only wished she'd brought Cyrus along with him.

"We have a problem."

Cedric paused, watching the pure emotion leaking out of Ashara's gaze.

The absolute terror he glimpsed set him on edge.

"What is it?" Cedric pressed his daughter for more details, but he was unprepared for the words that fell from her lips.

"The Loyalists have a Malebranche."

The very word itself was spoked in a damnable whisper, but somehow the bustling fort grounded to a silent halt.

Ashara's words echoed across the fort, draining any vitality from the thousands of Legionnaires inside. Guardsmen in the middle of their supper felt an icy claw crawl up their stomachs and tear apart any desire for sustenance.

Attendants performing their menial tasks froze, their limbs shaking at the thought of a damnable horror threatening to consume them whole.

Even veterans of the Great War felt an unfamiliar wave of pure terror leaking into their minds. They knew better than anyone who walked these lands of the Malebranche's unsettling power.

Cedric was at Melaka. He saw Calcabrina's insanity tear the storied House of Valefor apart.

It was one of the worst days in Cedric's tumultuous life, but it also set the stage for the family he had today.

The future of House Kimaris was born from the ashes of Melaka, and almost a thousand years later, the echoes of that terrible purge have resurfaced.

Cedric would not let Calcabrina bring their capital to ruin.

A call to arms went out across the Underworld, bringing every Legion bearing the mark of rebellion to attention.

Its contents contained a single coded message, but it was recognized by every Devil that served in the Great War, and its impact could not be understated.

THE BEACON DARKENS LUCIFAAD.

The Legions mobilized.

But they were already too late.

l==l

The Eternal Palace, Lucifaad Territory

Katarea Leviathan took her first steps into the Eternal Palace, disregarding the sharp drumming of her heels within the enclosed hallways. Her gaze impassively glanced over the empty corridors while scrutinizing every suspicious noise.

Lucifaad had changed.

Bashalum was so consumed by the raging civil war that he did not heed the festering wounds brewing in their backyard. The destruction of the Inquisitorial Spire and the death of its Lord Seeker has forced the deployment of several Incaris Legions to the Underhive, spreading their numbers and undermining the defense of Lucifaad in the face of Cedric's horde.

Bashalum and the other Satans wanted to conduct a thorough purge, but Grayfia and Tereaku cautioned restraint in the face of their growing manpower shortage.

Carrying out a massacre of the Unerhive would serve no purpose to the Loyalist cause at this precarious hour, but they couldn't allow the rebellion to spread unchecked beneath their feet.

To this end, Tereaku took command of the 11th Incaris Legion and enacted a district-wide martial law until further notice. Surprisingly, the locals didn't resist the mandate, but Katarea felt it wasn't because they feared retaliation.

No. The Underhive was simply biding their time.

Bashalum could bluster and fume all he wanted, but their cause was on the brink of catastrophe. Katarea wouldn't be surprised if there were many among their number already prepared to concede to Cedric and his renegades.

She couldn't blame them for their disloyalty.

The Old Guard was no better than a sinking ship with an idiotic captain at its helm.

Katarea wished Tereaku hadn't saved Bashalum's life during the Great War.

It would have saved everyone the headache.

Katarea.

A breathless voice ghosted over the Leviathan's ear, freezing her solid and snapping her free of lingering thoughts. She looked behind her, expecting to find a servant or family member rushing to her side.

The corridor remained empty.

Katarea dismissed the voice as a tired mind playing tricks on her, but she'd barely taken a step before another ghostly sound stole her attention.

Katarea.

This time the Leviathan unleashed a wave of freezing water in the ghostly stalker's direction, shattering mosaic glass and cracking the floors with wisps of slicing liquid.

But again, she found nothing.

"Katarea."

Katarea turned, mouth pulled into a vicious sneer and hands brewing with potent whisps of demonic ice, ready to unleash retribution on this foul insect that dared to call upon her.

Her courage didn't last.

A row of razor-sharp teeth snapped at her face.

Katarea raised her hand, unleashing a hydro jet to its sternum and cleaving the malign creature in half. The bisected monstrosity crawled toward her with two bone-like limbs digging into the ground and propelling it forward.

It bellowed and roared a terrible sound from its humanoid head, but Katarea could see the bits of armor seemingly welded to its grotesque body.

This… monstrosity was once a Nebiros retainer.

"What happened to you?" Katarea kicked at the former Devil's butchered body, rolling it over and studying the protruding bones emerging from its back.

She looked down the hallway, scrutinizing the trail of blood leading further into the palace. Her eyes glimmered with caution as shadows slowly piled into the corridor from adjacent rooms and hallways.

They didn't make a sound, and for the first time in years, Katarea felt a wave of terror climb up her spine.

Then all at once, the shadows screeched a terrible noise.

"MAKE US WHOLE!"

The Eternal Palace no longer belonged to the Devils.

It was now Calcabina's domain.

Across Lucifaad, a death knell has sounded in the deep, for the fate of all Devilkind hangs in the balance.