Chapter Twenty Seven – Bullet
After the Emperor issued the arrest warrant to Müller, the eldest Vander son left Valflame Palace in order to look for Cyrus. He didn't have to look very far, however, as he found Cyrus standing outside the palace, staring off into the distance. Due to Müller's enhanced perception, he could tell from Cyrus' body language that he had been talking to someone, but there was no-one around who'd have and reason to speak with the young Noble.
Much to Müller's relief, Cyrus surrendered himself without any resistance. Both men knew that to lob an accusation as serious as the one Cyrus had at Giliath Osborne, one needed evidence to back it up, which meant Cyrus had no reason to flee and become a fugitive. For the time being, Cyrus decided it was simply easier to follow Müller and be imprisoned within the palace's cells.
At the orders of the Chancellor, Class VII were sent back to Trista, and all of them had made the journey back to the Third Dormitory in silence, with everyone trying to process what they had heard from both Cyrus, and the Chancellor. No-one really had anything to say. Yes, they knew Cyrus had been given orders to assassinate Fie, and didn't attend last month's Field Study for undetermined reasons, but the idea that he had been sent to murder countless innocents under Osborne's orders was absurd.
Yet, Class VII knew Cyrus better than the Chancellor did; they knew there'd be absolutely no way Cyrus would kill innocent people as a form of revenge… At least, they had hoped he wouldn't. The moment Class VII returned to the dorm, discussions began.
"You aren't actually entertaining this hogwash, are you?" Jusis asked.
"Why would the Chancellor lie, Jusis? What would he have to gain by having Cyrus arrested?" Machias responded.
"Hmph, leave it to the Reformist Faction to act like they're saints whenever they imprison one of our own," Jusis scoffed.
"You're on his side, Jusis? Weren't you one of the ones who thought expelling him was the best thing a few weeks ago?" Elliot blinked.
"Look, I'm not going to pretend that the idea of him killing one of our classmates was acceptable, but I cannot believe that he'd go out and kill a bunch of nobodies to exact revenge on the Chancellor… I just don't see such an event happening," Jusis stated.
"Jusis is right. We might not know everything about Cyrus, but there's nothing about him that screams 'merciless killer' who'd harm innocent people. More's the point; if he did do what the Chancellor is saying he did, why would he enter the Royal Palace in a fit of rage, and bring the horrible crime to light?" Gaius pondered.
"True, it would make more sense not to say anything, and keep quiet. Cyrus isn't stupid; there's no way he'd kill a whole bunch of people, and then blame someone else for it," Alisa added.
"Uhh, Instructor? Are you alright? You don't seem all that rattled by what we heard in Heimdallr," Rean said, looking at Sara, who had a blank look on her face.
"That's because I've been aware of it since it happened," Sara responded pointedly.
"What?! You knew, but didn't say anything?!" Laura shouted.
"Why should I? I know what that bastard, Osborne, is like. This is exactly the sort of thing he'd try to pull. He did something similar with the Bracers a couple of years ago; asked us for help, then stabbed us in the back, so I can absolutely see him doing something like this as well," Sara snapped.
"Why is she so angry with us…?" Alisa whispered, looking at Rean and Elliot
Sara's anger wasn't aimed directly at anyone in Class VII. She was just frustrated and overwhelmed by everything that she had discovered throughout the day. Now knowing what she did about Cyrus and the Crimson Yaksha, she knew exactly where Cyrus had gone after he had told her what Osborne had made him do.
She didn't know if Cyrus had planned the whole thing; using the experience of killing defenceless people to create the Crimson Yaksha in order to commit more senseless murders… But even that didn't fit with what she saw in Heimdallr earlier in the day. Yes, she had seen Cyrus, or the Crimson Yaksha, kill people seemingly indiscriminately, but spared others. Then there was what he had said to her about 'burying Sinners'. What did he mean by 'Sinners'? Sara knew that he had deemed those leading the Imperial Liberation Front as such, but why?
"Hey, Nahkriin, does the term 'Sinner' mean anything to you?" Sara asked, leaning back and looking at the purple spectre behind her.
"Starting with the obvious definition, a Sinner is usually a term Humans are branded with when they commit an unspeakable act that goes against Divine Law. More specifically though, a crime that is enacted by someone driven by one of our Aspects," Nahkriin responded.
"Meaning…?" Elliot mumbled.
"Well, I am the Aspect of Gluttony. When someone commits a gluttonous act, they can be branded as a Sinner of Gluttony," Nahkriin explained.
"Just as I thought," Sara sighed, looking at the small platinum ring on her finger, before standing up.
"Hey, where are you going, Instructor?" Alisa asked.
"I need to go back to Heimdallr and speak to Cyrus. I need answers," Sara declared, leaving the dorm.
"Uhh, right. Well, that was weird," Rean muttered. "Hey, Emma? Are you ok? You've not said a word for ages."
It wasn't surprising that Emma had remained silent throughout discussions, given what she had seen in Valflame Palace. Barely a second. That's how long she had seen it, but what she had seen was undeniable; the Crimson Yaksha's horned mask, flickering across Cyrus' face as he shouted at Chancellor Osborne. She knew she had seen it, but the pragmatist in her couldn't readily accept it.
She couldn't accept it, because Cyrus had been present in the catacombs when the Crimson Yaksha appeared. It even attacked him and broke his arm. She knew it wasn't some illusion or magic spell, because her eyes would be able to see through such trickery, and since she was certain Cyrus had no formal magic training like she had received from the Hexen Clan, there was no way Cyrus was a real magic user, like she was.
Without a word, Emma stood up and rushed off to her room, further confusing her classmates, who all shared a confused look, with the exception of Alisa, Gaius, and Jusis. They all thought they knew why Emma was acting the way she was. Who wouldn't be out of sorts when they just found out the person they're in love with has been accused of being a mass murderer?
Crimson Roselia was busy tending to her duties as the Leader of the Hexen Clan, when Emma appeared in her atelier. Given her centuries of life experience, she wasn't that surprised when her Granddaughter had shown up in front of her, and judging by the look on Emma's face, Rose knew there was a lot on the young girl's mind.
"What's the matter, Emma? I can only assume this is important, because I know you wouldn't deliberately ignore my orders a second time," Rose asked, scowling at Emma.
"Grandmother, have you ever heard of the name 'Crimson Yaksha'?" Emma asked.
"No? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?" Rose snapped. "Reignbow Arbiter give me strength if this is some kind of game..."
"No! I just… I need your help to understand something," Emma responded meekly.
"Alright, fine. You caught me in a good mood. Speak, child, and I will do my best to answer any questions you have," Rose sighed.
Emma told her Grandmother about everything that happened in Heimdallr over the last three days, finishing off with what she had seen in Valflame Palace. Of course, hearing everything Emma had to say, it was unsurprising that Rose was a little shocked by what the young Witch had said.
"You must know something, Grandmother. Especially since Vita was involved with whatever the Imperial Liberation Front were planning," Emma said, pleading with Rose to tell her something – anything.
"I'm afraid that you have a right to be worried, child. What you have described to me sounds exactly like the Destroyer's Mask… Ohh, this is a problem," Rose sighed, rubbing her temples.
"The Destroyer's Mask?" Emma repeated.
"Yes, Emma. The Destroyer's Mask, or conversely, the Mask of the Destroyer, is a cursed object of great evil, one that binds itself to its victim and drives them to slaughter and punish others. The ancient relic is even older than I am, but it's power has very clearly increased, not diminished. To be able to feel pure rage and malevolence, and appear on the wearer without them having to put it on… Their soul has already been corrupted to the point where they will die without it," Rose explained, holding nothing back.
"What?! How?!" Emma cried.
"The Destroyer's Mask is a unique cursed object. It is fuelled by malevolence and hatred. The more that those emotions get poured into the mask, the more powerful it becomes; to the point where the user cannot live without wearing it, and giving in to the evil power the relic holds," Rose stated.
"So, what you're saying is…" Emma whispered.
"You should probably come to terms with it, my dear… Based on what you have told me, if Cyrus really is the mask's current victim, based on the user's lifespan after being bound to the object… I'd say that he'll be dead come the end of… October," Rose declared.
After her attempts to interrogate Walter had failed, Arianrhod decided it was best to seek out Renne, and see if she could learn anything more about the Destroyer's Mask. After joining The Society, Arianrhod was the first person Renne opened up to, not just because she, as an Anguis, was technically Renne's superior, but because she was a woman. Her Stahlritter were also another reason that gave Renne cause to trust the Steel Maiden. After all, one of the Stahlritter had also been kidnapped by the D∴G Cult prior to their destruction, and her being offered a place amongst the Steel Maiden's ranks, which ultimately resulted in Renne finding something of a kindred spirit in Ennea.
During the first few months of her time with The Society, all Renne talked about was how her 'Lord Ravager' had saved her from the Cult. Arianrhod had deduced that this 'Lord Ravager' was some kind of god, or something pretending to be a god. She understood why Renne's belief in this being was so fervent. According to Renne, this individual had told Renne of her coming salvation, and all she needed to do was beholden herself to them until her death. Given Renne's situation at Paradise at that time, it was easy for the Steel Maiden to understand why Renne had chosen to start believing in that being.
Much to her surprise, barely two days after Renne had pledged herself to this Lord Ravager, Arianrhod found out that someone had slaughtered the D∴G Cult and rescued all of their prisoners, a pair of Assassins known as Yin and Yang. Right there and then, Renne devoted herself entirely to the being known as the Lord Ravager, and promised to carry out his will.
After learning of this, Arianrhod asked Renne what duties this god had for the young girl. One of these orders was to wait for the arrival of 'Der Zerstörer', the Lord Ravager's 'Will' in this world, and serve him as her god's right hand. It didn't take a genius to realise that Der Zerstörer and the Destroyer's Mask were inexplicably linked. The burning question in her mind was why did the Grandmaster and the First Anguis decided to give the cursed mask to Cyrus Le Guin?
"Renne? Might I speak with you for a moment?" Arianrhod asked, knocking on the young Enforcer's door.
"Yes, Lady Seventh? What can I do for you?" Renne asked, looking at the Steel Maiden with curiosity.
"This 'Lord Ravager' you worship. Can you tell me more about him?" Arianrhod began, entering Renne's room.
"What would you like to know?" Renne responded.
"Well, how did they manage to contact you?" Arianrhod questioned.
"Isn't it obvious? I was chosen. The Lord Ravager must have seen potential in me, and appeared before me in my dreams, telling me to believe in his power," Renne stated.
"And what did he offer you in return for your devotion?" Arianrhod asked.
"My freedom. Like I've already told you, two days after he first appeared to me, he sent agents to save me, and everyone else who had suffered at the hands of the D∴G Cult," Renne said, frowning slightly.
"Yes, Yin and Yang. Ennea has mentioned Yang to me several times since she joined the Stahlritter. But I digress; did your God have a corporeal form in any way? Or was he simply a voice that echoed in your mind?" Arianrhod pressed.
In all the years she had been alive, both as Lianne Sandlot and as Arianrhod, the Steel Maiden had known all about magic, and what it could do – being acquainted with Crimson Roselia and the Hexen Clan also helped – so Arianrhod needed to determine what magic, if any, was at play here. She knew how thought and astral projection worked, so if someone was indeed able to infiltrate Renne's mind and use the knowledge of the cult's decimation to their advantage, she needed to know how they were able to do it, and how they knew of future events.
"I could see him, yes. But, his face was hidden from me," Renne answered.
"What did he look like?" Arianrhod continued.
"I apologise, Lady Seventh, but what are you doing?" Renne sighed, feeling a little frustrated over the interrogation she was being subjected to.
"Someone was able to penetrate your mind and use knowledge of events yet to happen to convince you they are a god. Since you were able to see them, it's evident they have knowledge of magic, but I can't figure out why they sought you out. Don't misunderstand me, Renne, I am not trying to insult you, or your faith; I simply wish to find out who this Lord Ravager is, and why he chose a literal child to serve him," Arianrhod stated firmly.
Renne sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the masked face of the Steel Maiden. Since she could not see the eyes of her superior, Renne had no idea what the Anguis was thinking. Shrugging, Renne responded to Arianrhod.
"Yes, I've thought the same thing too. As you said, I am a 'literal child', so why would a god have need of me? I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that question, but all I can tell you is that, from behind his hooded robes, a stone mask covered his face. Something about his appearance told me that he wanted me to see his appearance, but not his true face. I'm sorry, but that's all I can tell you," Renne said.
"I see… And, has your god spoken to you recently?" Arianrhod asked.
"Only to tell me that I was to await for the arrival of Der Zerstörer the night before I arrived in Heimdallr. I think I need to find out more about this Cyrus Le Guin… What about him makes him so special that he was selected as the vessel for the Almighty's Will…?" Renne pondered.
While Renne was musing away, Arianrhod had shut out all ambient sound and started to focus on what Renne had told her. Hooded robes and a stone mask? As soon as Renne had mentioned that, she knew who she had to go and see.
Two weeks later, news of Cyrus' absence had reached Thors. While Class VII were told to keep the matter under wraps, they knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. After all, Patrick Hyarms was present in the Crystal Garden when the Imperial Liberation Front had attacked, and he witnessed all nine members of Class VII enter the catacombs to give chase to Gideon. Yet, upon their return to Trista, Patrick had counted only eight amongst the members of the class, and started asking questions.
Not only Patrick, but Ferris also. She had been feeling apprehensive ever since Cyrus left her on the first day of the Field Study, and she knew something was amiss when he didn't return to Trista on the Monday evening. The following day, she approached Class VII and asked them where her cousin was. Unsurprisingly, she had been brushed off by Class VII, which only served to aggravate her. She knew they were hiding something, and she was going to find out what it was.
Over the next two weeks, she constantly pressed and probed each member of Class VII (especially Alisa at Lacrosse Club on their Free Days), but no-one would tell her anything. She even teamed up with Patrick, who had since apologised for his behaviour towards her, and was now almost on friendly terms with the youngest member of the Florald family. However, not even the pull of the mighty house of Hyarms could get Class VII to unseal their lips, so Ferris had decided to take matters into her own hands, using the one thing that she knew would force Class VII to, at the very least, acknowledge her.
For the last couple of months, she had been keenly aware of the three spectres that followed Alisa, Laura, and Sara around wherever they went, and where she could see them, it meant she could also hear them, and that allowed her to deduce that all of Class VII, even 'that mutt' Crow from Class V, could see and interact with them.
After finally reconciling with her own spectre – the black phantom that had, by her estimations, terrorised her up until Cyrus had left for Heimdallr – Ferris had learned that all the phantoms were linked, and they also had a hierarchy amongst them. Her spectre, Hevnoraak, was at the top of that ladder, which meant that if Class VII refused to give her the time of day, the three phantoms that were bound to Class VII most certainly would not.
When Ferris entered the Third Dormitory, everyone immediately took notice. There was something about her in that moment that unsettled Class VII. She had an air of power about her. Authority.
"Class VII… For the past two weeks, I have prodded and probed you to tell me where Cyrus is, and you have rebuffed my attempts at every turn. You have left me with no choice but to bring an enforcer of sorts here with me," Ferris whispered, a dark glare on her face as she walked into the living area.
"Hmph, give it a rest, Ferris. You're not Cyrus, so don't think for a second that you have the ability to intimidate us like he does," Machias scoffed, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
"I have no interest in the likes of you, Commoner. I'm here for those three," Ferris snapped, pointing at Alisa, Laura, and Sara.
"Ferris, please. I've already told you I'm not supposed to tell you about what happened in Heimdallr. If I could, I would, but I can't," Alisa sighed.
"I know that, and while I will admit your resilience has been frustrating, I am no longer interested in what you have to say. If you will not tell me the truth, then I'll just force him to tell me," Ferris declared, pointing at Morokei.
"You… You can see him?!" Alisa gasped.
"See and hear him. Now, I shall make him bow to me," Ferris declared.
"Bah! This one is brave, to be sure. Yet, I have slaughtered demons far more terrifying than a small pup such as yourself. You have no power here," Vahlok growled.
"Quite… Which is why he is going to do all the heavy lifting…" Ferris responded, refusing to back down to Vahlok's challenge. "Hevnoraak!"
As soon as Ferris called out the name, the three spectres in the Third Dormitory stiffened. They knew Hevnoraak was the most powerful among them, and they would have to be very foolish to stand up to him.
In the blink of an eye, an almighty black phantom appeared behind Ferris, dwarfing not only her, but the three phantoms as well. He was more than twice the size of Vahlok, who wasn't small by any means, but even the spectre of Wrath knew he was no match for this apparition.
"Brothers… I demand an explanation!" Hevnoraak spoke, his voice carrying absolute authority.
"Hevnoraak…! You really were here!" Nahkriin whispered, looking at the massive phantom.
"Speak! What has happened to the one my vessel calls 'cousin'?!" Hevnoraak commanded, the black mask covering his face adding to the intimidation factor of the phantom.
"He was imprisoned in the royal capital. An order issued by the current Arnor Emperor," Morokei answered.
"Imprisoned?!" Ferris cried. "Under what grounds?!"
"Tch, looks like we have no choice now…" Jusis tutted, rolling his eyes.
Class VII had no choice but to tell Ferris everything. From the accusation Cyrus had made against Chancellor Osborne, to Osborne's spider web trap that landed Cyrus in prison. Not only that, but when they told Ferris about Cyrus' past as the Assassin, Yang, she refused to believe it, so they had to tell her all about that too, including the fight he had with the other Assassin, Ibaraki-Dōji. An event no-one in Trista was about to forget in a hurry.
It had taken the better part of an hour, but Ferris now knew everything. Understandably, she struggled to comprehend everything that she had heard, but in the end she seemed to have accepted what she had been told.
"I'm sorry, Ferris, but this is why we couldn't tell you. His Majesty made it very clear before we left, that no-one is to know about what happened. Obviously, he didn't count on you having a spectre of your own, that is clearly an authority figure," Alisa mumbled, looking at Hevnoraak.
"You disappoint me, vessels. The rings you wear are supposed to be a signal honour; an acknowledgement that you are strong enough to carry us, and work with us. That you would choose to instead tread in silence and secrecy… Perhaps you are not worthy after all…" Hevnoraak spoke.
"The rings…?" Alisa blinked, looking at the one on her finger.
"Yes. They are our connection to this world. The Azure Dragon, Morokei. The Crimson King, Vahlok. The Platinum Star, Nahkriin. The Black Knight, Hevnoraak. Yet… I count only four of us here," Hevnoraak muttered, looking around. "Where are the others?"
"With their vessels, brother. We can feel them, but they are not with us," Nahkriin responded.
"How disappointing… What of the Arbiter?" Hevnoraak asked.
"You know as much as I do, brother. Perhaps a worthy vessel has not been found?" Morokei suggested.
"Nonsense. There is one in this very room!" Hevnoraak snapped.
"Um, excuse me?" Rean interrupted, putting his hand up. "Would this be that 'Arbiter' you spoke of?"
The hand Rean had put up carried a ring, the same ring he had been given by Cyrus after he went berserk in the Old Schoolhouse about a month ago. Hevnoraak approached Rean and examined the ring he was wearing. The black phantom made an amused sound as he inspected Rean.
"Hmm… The Crux of Fate? So, you're the one, are you?" Hevnoraak muttered.
"What can you tell me about this ring? From what I've been told, it activated in Heimdallr, and it stopped me from…" Rean trailed off.
"From?" Hevnoraak repeated, looking at Rean from behind the black mask on his face.
"Uhh, transforming…?" Rean responded weakly.
"So that's what that stink is… Pathetic," Hevnoraak snorted. "You should be grateful, vessel. It seems as though you alone were destined to wear that ring."
"Before you open your mouth again, I would exercise caution, young one. Whatever questions you may have, Hevnoraak will only answer those he deems appropriate," Nahkriin warned.
"I will answer none!" Hevnoraak shouted. "Vessel, you carry with you the stench of the Gral. You are lucky I don't execute you where you stand!"
To drive home the point that he would not be answering any of Rean's questions, Hevnoraak placed a hand behind his back, and pulled out a massive spectral Greataxe. The head of the blade alone was big enough to cleave Rean in two with zero effort from the black phantom.
"Alright, I understand. Forget I said anything," Rean responded, withdrawing into the group behind him.
"Come, child. We are leaving," Hevnoraak commanded, as he and Ferris left the building.
"Right, you three have some explaining to do," Alisa said, turning to the three spectres.
"I'm sorry, but we will not be answering any of your questions. When Hevnoraak speaks, we listen, and when he does not speak, we most certainly do not speak in his place," Nahkriin stated.
"Hmph, if you bothered to listen, he already told you plenty," Vahlok snorted.
"Quite right. Hevnoraak is the voice of our Lord. Whatever he chooses to share, it is done so as if our Lord has spoken the words," Morokei added.
"Then, can you tell us how Cyrus fits into this picture? He gave me your ring, Morokei, and said it was the Ring of the Azure Dragon. It can't be a coincidence that Hevnoraak called you the Azure Dragon," Alisa stated.
"It looks like you were paying attention to Hevnoraak's words. I'm impressed…" Morokei muttered. "The truth is, we do not know how your imprisoned friend fits into things. Before you, we had been asleep for a long time. We have no idea who found us, or why."
"Hmm… It's clear he does know something about them, though. Cyrus does everything for a reason, and now that I think about it, he knew about Vahlok's influence over Laura," Gaius said, stroking his chin in thought.
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked.
"It didn't occur to me until just now, but remember how Cyrus addressed Laura when she was being influenced by Vahlok? He called it 'wrath'. Not 'anger', not 'violence', but 'wrath'. That's a very specific word, and one would only use it if they had a good reason to. Vahlok's Aspect is Wrath…" Gaius explained.
"Wait a second… So that's why he said my jealousy was his fault! He knew that Morokei's Aspect is Envy!" Alisa declared.
"Same with Sara, and calling her a glutton. Nahkriin's Aspect is Gluttony," Laura added.
"Then, what about me, and this 'Arbiter' Hevnoraak mentioned? He called it the 'Crux of Fate', which is exactly what Cyrus called this ring when he gave it to me," Rean began.
"Ok, so we've established that Cyrus is most definitely linked to the rings we all wear, but why? What does he have to gain by giving them to us?" Alisa asked.
"I think we're forgetting the bigger picture here," Emma spoke up, surprising everyone.
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked.
"Azure Dragon, Crimson King, and Platinum Star… We've heard those names before… In Heimdallr," Emma responded.
"The Crimson Yaksha addressed the spectres by those names too…" Machias muttered.
Emma was correct. Class VII had indeed heard those names before, and they came out of the mouth of the Crimson Yaksha, which now caused an even bigger problem.
"Does that… Does that mean Cyrus and the Crimson Yaksha really are connected?" Elliot whispered.
"It's a bit of a reach, given that I don't think I've ever heard him use those names before. Sure, Alisa said he called her ring the Azure Dragon, but…" Rean began. "Laura, did you ever hear Cyrus call your ring the Crimson King?"
"No, never… But, I don't believe in coincidences. If he knew the name of Morokei's ring, then it stands to reason that he knew about the name of both Vahlok and Nahkriin's ring… And Ferris having her own spectre lends far too much credence to the notion. What connection does Ferris have to Class VII? Cyrus," Laura stated.
"So, what are you saying, that Cyrus lied to us about being the Crimson Yaksha?" Machias asked.
"No, he didn't," Rean sighed, realising the problem.
"Oh, come on! How can you possibly stand up for him now!" Machias cried.
"Did anyone ever think to ask him this question; 'are you the Crimson Yaksha'?" Rean responded.
Class VII immediately shared a look amongst themselves. Rean was right; they had never asked Cyrus that question, simply because they didn't think they had to. Yes, he told them Yang wasn't responsible for what happened to Fie, and he had told them the Crimson Yaksha was the culprit. At no point did any of them ask if it was Cyrus behind the mask.
"H-Hold on, guys… Cyrus can't be the Crimson Yaksha, because he was with us when the Crimson Yaksha attacked C. I mean, the monster even broke Cyrus' arm. There's no way someone can be in two places at the same time," Elliot reasoned.
"I have to agree with Elliot. We can assume Cyrus has something to do with the rings and the spectres, but we saw with our own eyes; Cyrus and the Crimson Yaksha were both in the catacombs at the same time," Gaius added.
"Ok, but… That still doesn't tell us why Cyrus gave the rings to us," Laura responded. "There must be a reason for it."
"Hey, Instructor, I almost forgot; you said you went to see Cyrus a couple of weeks ago. What did you talk about?" Machias asked.
"Nothing. I wasn't allowed to see him," Sara sighed.
"Hmm, not really all that surprising. He is now a guest of HMP Blackthorn. It's not exactly a country club where just anyone can pay a visit," Jusis muttered.
"No, but this changes things. I'll see if I can't get Prince Olivert to arrange something for me," Sara said, as she left the building.
"You do not look well, Dragon… I am starting to grow concerned," the individual remarked, looking at Cyrus from behind his prison cell.
"Don't be… I'm fine," Cyrus breathed.
While his words claimed he was fine, his appearance said the opposite. It had been two weeks since Cyrus was transferred to HMP Blackthorn, and in that time, his appearance had changed drastically. His skin had gone incredibly pale, and his veins had darkened considerably, looking almost black in the half-light. His usually bright, azure eyes had dulled, and there were small swathes of gold starting to appear in them.
"You're going through a form of ceremorphosis, Dragon. It's been two weeks since you last donned the cursed mask, and your body is trying to change in order to compensate for the lack of cursed energy. It's trying to bind you to it," then individual stated.
"I misjudged Walter… All this time, I thought I was using him, but it seems he was using me," Cyrus muttered.
"Quite… Even I didn't consider that the object he had given you was the real Mask of the Destroyer… This is as much my fault for not looking out for you. I apologise," the individual said.
"Don't tell me you're going soft on me now… I can't have that," Cyrus snorted.
"Don't push your luck, Dragon. You might be in a cell, but that doesn't mean I won't kill you myself if you can't find a solution to this obstacle," the individual warned.
"Hmph, now who's pushing their luck?" Cyrus smirked.
A loud bang from the far end of the containment wing alerted Cyrus' ally that it was time to make tracks. Without a word, the mysterious individual slipped off into the shadows, and made their escape from the prison.
Cyrus knew who was coming before he saw them. It was none other than Prince Olivert, who had been visiting Cyrus regularly, to make sure he was doing alright. It was a kindness Cyrus repeatedly said he didn't deserve, but that still didn't stop Olivert.
"Cyrus, my dear friend. How are you holding up?" Olivert asked, standing in front of Cyrus' cell.
"Well, I'm not dead yet, so that's something," Cyrus shrugged.
Olivert knew that while Cyrus was cracking jokes, he was struggling. He had noticed the change in the young Noble and was starting to get worried.
"How's that arm of yours? I'm worried it's become infected, and since you refuse to let any of the doctors treat it, I'm concerned it might have to be amputated, if the infection spreads," Olivert said, looking at Cyrus' bandaged right arm.
The arm that had been collateral damage in his fight with McBurn. It had been caught in the blast zone of an incredibly powerful Art, causing severe burns, right the way down to the bone. Cyrus didn't want to worry Olivert, so he always avoided giving the Prince a straight answer. The truth of the matter though was far worse than what Olivert had thought.
The damage to the arm was so extensive that it simply wasn't healing. In fact, the incinerated skin and muscle was starting to become necrotic. Under the thick bandages Cyrus had been given to cover the arm, the skin and muscle had turned black, and was falling apart. If Cyrus didn't do something about the injury, there was a good chance he would die from the infection.
"How's the investigation coming along?" Cyrus asked, once again dodging Olivert's question.
"I'm making inroads. Müller is currently interviewing Captain Rieveldt of the RMP, at your request, but I wouldn't hold your breath, Cyrus. She is, first and foremost, an Ironblood. The loyalty she shows to Chancellor Osborne will far outweigh her moral compass," Olivert stated.
"Yes, I am aware, but Müller isn't stupid. I'm sure that if anyone can see through any possible deception, it'll be him, and Claire will be the one to slip up. Lechter was too squared away when he was briefing me. Claire was the one who couldn't bare to look at me, because she knew I was being used by Osborne," Cyrus responded.
"Is there anything else you can think of that will help us? Father is being kept apprised of the situation by General Vander, and even he has his doubts about Giliath's accusation. Despite his position as Chancellor, I don't think he is aware that you and Father know one another, and I am most certain he has no idea that you are attending Thors on his recommendation," Olivert spoke.
"No, I'm pretty sure he does by now. I made it a point to intimidate Governor Regnitz a while ago by saying His Majesty was the one who advocated for me to study at Thors, and there's no way Carl would keep that a secret from Osborne," Cyrus frowned.
"That's not like you at all, Cyrus. What prompted such a reckless action?" Olivert queried, looking at the pale young man with concern.
"It doesn't matter now; what's done is done. That aside, if His Majesty doubts the Chancellor's accusations, then that has to count for something, right? I understand that he cannot just pardon me for this crime, as that would cause rumours to spread like the plague, which is why I surrendered myself to Müller when he came looking for me," Cyrus replied. "But I'm assuming that he will step in if Osborne overextends his reach."
"Yes, that is correct. I will be the one to do so, however, in order to keep Father's involvement secret, but I'm trying to ascertain what the Chancellor's endgame is here. Executing you will only serve to kickstart a civil war, and plunge the country into chaos. Even with the Imperial Army at his side, he still doesn't have enough power to stand against the Noble Alliance, or the Nobles within the Army who will most certainly defect if such an event comes to pass… Chin up, my dear, we'll have this problem ironed out presently," Olivert smiled as to took his leave.
"Olivier, wait…" Cyrus called out, prompting the Prince to turn back. "I heard Sara came to Blackthorn, hoping to speak with me, but she was refused entry. I wouldn't normally ask this of you, but… Please let her in to see me."
"Of course," Olivert said after several moments of silence. "I shall inform the Warden that Sara is to be permitted access to visit you. However, I must make it clear that Sara, and only Sara, will be permitted entry into Blackthorn. I'm afraid I cannot allow anyone else from Class VII, or Thors to be here."
"I understand. Thank you, Olivier," Cyrus nodded.
Olivert smiled once more as he turned around and left the prison.
After the events in Heimdallr, despite their plan being a relative success, and formally introducing themselves to the world, the Imperial Liberation Front had spent the last two weeks licking their wounds, and regrouping. At the request of Vita, Professor Novartis had been able to help Crow after losing his arm to the Crimson Yaksha. In its place, the Sixth Anguis had manufactured a high-tech prosthetic that looked and felt like a real arm. It was because of the Professor, that Crow had managed to return to Thors and keep his cover intact.
Now that Cyrus had been imprisoned, Crow had decided that it was the right time to follow up on a few issues he and his comrades had faced. The most pressing issue was the matter of the so-called chemical weapons they had acquired from the criminal overlord known as the Concierge of Crime.
The four leaders of the terrorist organisation had called a meeting with the criminal, to demand answers. Which is how they found themselves in an abandoned office building in Heimdallr. On the top floor, in what was once the company CEO's office, the Imperial Liberation Front stood and waited in silence; a silence that was broken by the sound of a door opening on the far side of the room.
"Apologies, young members of the ILF. I have just returned from North Ambria recently and had some affairs to settle there first. Ah, it seems that the fires of revolution are not only burning here, but in the North too. I do hope Miss Storm's revolution burns hot enough to melt all that salt and snow away; it is dreadful up there, even this time of year!" the shadowy criminal laughed as he entered the room and sat down in a big chair, behind an even bigger desk.
"Cut the bullshit, you son of a bitch! You sold us a dud!" V shouted.
"You'll have to forgive me, Vulcan, but I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," the Concierge remarked, a single amber eye burning brightly in the darkness.
Hearing his name took the wind out of V's sails. He had never given the man his name, none of the Imperial Liberation Front had, so hearing it from someone who shouldn't have any clue about his name concerned him greatly.
"How did you…?" G blinked, his glasses almost falling off his face.
"Oh, please… Did you honestly think I didn't know who I was dealing with? My Bratva are very efficient indeed… Vulcan; leader of the now-defunct Jäger Corps, Arngarmr. The same Arngarmr who were slaughtered by Giliath Osborne about a decade ago. Your hatred for the man is what drove you to join the Imperial Liberation Front," the Concierge said, his eye not once moving, or even blinking.
"Don't let him rattle you, V. He's a criminal, it's not surprising that he'd know about your Jäger Corps," S blustered, trying to reassure V.
"A fair point, but my Bratva are so much more than just a network of criminals. Oh, yes… We also have ties to the Church, Scarlet," the Concierge continued, his eye flicking to S. "Born to a very pious family in Erebonia, you were practically raised on the teachings of Aidios. Why, you were even invited to join their highly secret 'Congregation of the Sacraments'… Ah, but that was before Giliath Osborne bought your family's land to build a railway. Struggling to find a new place to settle down, your father became an alcoholic, and died in an accident. You blamed the Chancellor for what happened to your family, and that's how you found yourself joining the Imperial Liberation Front."
"How in Thanatos' name do you know all of this?!" G shouted.
"You disappoint me, Comrade G… A scholar such as yourself, asking such asinine questions?" the Concierge laughed darkly. "Tell me something; why call yourself 'Comrade G'? Following the pattern of your allies, shouldn't you be calling yourself 'Comrade M'? I mean, Michael is your first name, correct? You know, I find your reasons for joining the ILF to be… Dubious at best…"
"I-I beg your pardon?!" G snapped.
"Well, you are a Commoner by birth, yet you opposed the laws and acts Giliath Osborne brought into the country, ones that benefit Commoners, no less. It was you who openly and flagrantly spoke out against the Chancellor, resulting in you being terminated from your position as a Professor at the Heimdallr Academy. As far as I can tell, you are responsible for what happened to your livelihood, not Giliath Osborne," the Concierge stated.
"Wha–?! That is absurd and you–!" G yelled, before C held up an arm to silence him.
"Calm yourself, Comrade G. This man is just trying to get under your skin, and deflect away from the real purpose of our meeting," C stated calmly.
"Oh, believe you me, Crow Armbrust, I have no reason to deflect away from business. Actually, speaking of arms, I heard you lost one, but that clearly isn't the case," the Concierge remarked, looking at the prosthetic arm Crow had.
"We are not here to debate our pasts, or our reasons for wanting to kill Chancellor Osborne; we are here to demand an explanation for the faulty weapon you sold us," C said, his face hidden behind his helmet.
"Like I said to Vulcan, I have no idea what you're talking about," the Concierge repeated, his gaze not leaving C's mask for a second.
"The Ether you sold us! It didn't work!" V shouted.
"Preposterous. I sold a canister to Miss Storm and her Northern Jägers a few months ago, and she reported lethal results… Remind me, Tengri, what was the outcome of that attack?" the Concierge asked, looking to his right hand.
"A whole Jäger squad dead in less than sixty seconds. I can assure you, Crow, my boss does not sell duds," Tengri growled, the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back from behind the Nord man's back.
"Then explain to me exactly how two of our Ether grenades failed to kill! If you're so sure it's a lethal weapon, tell me how someone could survive getting a face full of the stuff!" V snapped.
"I'm afraid I cannot grant you that request; learning about how my Ether is made puts its ability to kill at risk. I cannot have you trying to synthesise an antidote," the Concierge muttered.
"You fucking son of a–!" V roared, but was silenced when a bullet was shot into his shoulder, dropping him.
"Ah! Silly me! I forgot to warn you that Tengri simply abhors those who speak ill of someone's mother. The first time, I allowed you a free pass, but you only get one," the Concierge stated, before standing up and aiming his own gun at V. "Speak ill of my mother again, and the next one goes in your head."
"That's enough. We are not here to kill each other, we only wanted answers, and since you cannot provide us with any, our business is concluded. Permanently," C said, turning to leave the room.
As C was walking out of the room, he found himself staring at the tip of a spear. At the other end of that spear was a woman he had seen once before.
"You do not leave without my Master's say so," Sister Rosaria hissed, pressing the tip into Crow's neck.
"Stand down, Rosaria. I'm not going to kill him… Yet," the Concierge said, sitting back down in his chair. "Mr. Armbrust, I might be a 'gangster' in your eyes, but I am, first and foremost, a businessman. If you are not satisfied with your purchase, then perhaps we can come to another arrangement…"
"I'm listening…" C muttered, turning to look back at the crime lord.
"I'm sure you are aware what the end of the month will bring, yes?" the Concierge began.
"The West Zemuria Trade Conference," C responded.
"Circle gets the square. Now, do you know who's going to be attending said conference?" the Concierge asked.
"President Rocksmith of Calvard, Dieter Crois of Crossbell, and Chancellor Osborne of Erebonia, among others," C answered.
"Very good! Now, this one is for all the marbles; who has the ability to get the ILF access to that conference so they can kill Giliath Osborne?" the Concierge quizzed.
"Let me guess, you?" C responded.
"Ding-ding! We have a winner! Tengri, tell the man what he's won!" the Concierge cried jovially, unsettling the members of the Imperial Liberation Front.
"We have the ability to sneak a smallish force of ILF personnel into Orchis Tower, so you can attack the conference, and kill the Chancellor," Tengri said.
"Smallish? We'll have the Crossbell Police Department and Crossbell Guardian Force to contend with! You think a 'smallish' force will be enough to stop them while we ice the bastard?!" V grunted, still holding his bleeding shoulder.
"Enough, Comrade V. If we plan it right, we won't need a huge army," C stated. "Very well, you have a deal."
"Excellent! I'll leave you to organise your forces, and I'll make sure Tengri has everything arranged for the end of the month. Goodness, am I the only one who's astounded by the fact it's already August? Where does the year go?" the Concierge mused as he watched the four leaders leave. "Oh, there's something else I thought you should know before you leave!"
"What?" C asked, turning to look back at the shade in the office.
"He knows the truth about you. I'd strongly recommend caution, lest you have your plans burn to ashes," the Concierge warned.
C said nothing as he left the office, walking past Rosaria, who had since stood aside.
"You know you're sending them to their deaths, correct?" Tengri asked once the room was empty.
"Of course, and Crow knows that too, which is why he's going to sacrifice Gideon; his weakest link," the Concierge laughed mirthlessly.
"I'm sure Countess Florald will be pleased to see that we are making headway into dismantling Duke Cayenne's house of cards," Tengri muttered.
"Ah, yes! Countess Ophelia, I almost forgot about her! She's been very quiet as of late, hasn't she? I wonder what has caused her lack of 'screen time', so to speak," the Concierge wondered as he stood up.
"She's irrelevant, it's that simple," Rosaria scowled as she walked up to her 'Master'.
"Ah, but the same could be said about you, my dear. However, I have a special task for you, one that isn't irrelevant," the Concierge stated, sliding a photo across the desk to Rosaria.
"Who's this? You want me to kill her?" Rosaria asked, looking at the photo of the woman.
"Absolutely not," the Concierge commanded, becoming deadly serious. "You are to bring this woman to me, and she is not to be harmed. If a single hair is out of place upon delivering her to me, your life will be forfeit. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master. I shall find this woman at once," Rosaria bowed as she left the room.
"It'll be interesting to see how she manages to bring her to me; that woman won't go down without a fight," the Concierge grunted as he stood up and stretched. "Come, Tengri, we have business to attend to in the Deep South."
"Legram, Pakhan? Why are we heading there?" Tengri asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Hopefully, we won't need to visit, but the ruling lord of that town has something I want, and I'm hoping written correspondence will be sufficient enough," the Concierge said as the two men left the room.
"What does Victor Arseid have that you want, sir?" Tengri queried.
"You'll see," the Concierge replied, before going completely silent.
In her attempts to find out more about Renne's mysterious Lord Ravager, Arianrhod had managed to get something out of the young girl. The apparition that had appeared to Renne had worn a hooded robe and a stone mask, and in all her dealings in the magical and mysterious, there was only one being who matched that description; the Hexen Clan's leader, the Immortal Dragon.
When pressed about the matter, Rose was originally against the idea of bothering the powerful entity with 'fantastical nonsense', but relented when the Immortal Dragon himself stepped in, by using his boundless magical prowess to forcibly drag both women to his domain of Fyxestroll Garden.
It had been around seventy years since Arianrod had been face to face with the Dragon. She had no reason to meet with the spirit, despite her own involvement in Project Nemesis, but there was never any indication that Project Nemesis was supposed to include Renne, so the Anguis wanted clarification.
"Lianne… It's been seventy years since I last saw you. Hmph, you haven't aged a day," the Immortal Dragon remarked, his stone mask hiding his face and any expression on it.
"I have Argreion to thank for that; we've been partners for more than two hundred and fifty years, and I suppose your blessings have helped, Immortal One," Arianrhod responded, bowing her head slightly.
"At least you haven't forgotten your place, Lianne. Good," the Immortal Dragon nodded. "Now then, you're here because you want to ask me about Renne, and why she worships me as her 'Lord Ravager'. The answer is simple; she is of vital importance to Project Nemesis."
"In what way?" Arianrhod asked. "And why have you asked her to serve the one who wears the Mask of the Destroyer?"
"Lianne… I would have hoped you'd know better than to try and question me and Project Nemesis…" the Immortal Dragon whispered.
"My Lord… Forgive my impudence, but must also ask you a question about the one who wears the Mask of the Destroyer," Rose interjected, tensing up when her master's gaze fell upon her.
"Isola's child came to you, didn't she? Time and again, that infant continues to disappoint me," the Immortal Dragon growled.
"She is young, Immortal One. She is fully aware of her duties, but knows not when to fulfil them… Please, grant her this small piece of freedom, before she turns to serving you," Arianrhod responded, surprising both Rose and the Immortal Dragon.
"You continue to amuse me, Lianne. You advocate for a child who is more concerned about saving a condemned soul than fulfilling her duties to me and my clan. It would be admirable, if it wasn't a lost cause," the Immortal Dragon snorted. "Let me make this part perfectly clear to you, Roselia; Isola's child cannot save him. As we speak, the Corruption within the Mask of the Destroyer is killing him. You both know there is only one outcome for such an event."
"Why him, Almighty Dragon? As far as I know, he has no connection to our world," Arianrhod commented.
"It is simply fate, Lianne. The Black Records foresaw this happening, just like the Great Collapse, and the War of the Lions," the Immortal Dragon responded, looking directly at Rose, which didn't go unnoticed by Arianrhod.
"Fine. The let's go back to Renne; what makes her so special that you had to bind her to you under the guise of the 'Lord Ravager'?" Arianrhod asked.
"Well, that matter is simple enough; I cannot have her uttering my name to the wrong people. Her Lord Ravager does not exist anywhere, in any record. Those who hear her speak that name will simply dismiss her as a child creating fantasies, or simply assume it's some obscure God that comes from a different land. The reason means nothing to me, but I have need of her in the near future," the Immortal Dragon stated.
Before Arianrhod could respond, she was forced out of Fyxestroll Garden, leaving only Rose and the Immortal Dragon left on the mountaintop.
"Is keeping her in the dark wise, my Lord? You know that if Lianne isn't satisfied with something, she will dig until she gets answers," Rose stated.
"No, she won't. She is too concerned about the wayward soul that is her lost love, and she knows I can take away the safeguards that Argreion provides her with. The Cycle of Rebirth is a powerful bargaining tool, Roselia, you know that," the Immortal Dragon responded.
"It is when you have command over the souls and where they go," Rose muttered.
"Yes, and it seems that, despite her virtue as the fabled Lance Maiden, Lianne still gives in to her basest wants and desires. The fear of death and losing her memories of Dreichels is a powerful motivator to make her bend the knee," the Immortal Dragon snorted.
"So, what do we do now, Almighty Dragon?" Rose asked.
"For now, nothing. My power grows by the day. Soon, I will possess the ability to re-enter the living world, and when that happens, the next phase of Project Nemesis can continue," the Immortal Dragon declared.
Another week had passed by and Cyrus looked no closer to being released than he did before. The month's Field Study was coming up, and he wasn't about to miss it. Time was starting to run out, and with him stuck behind bars, there was little he could do… At least, that's what he had the guards at Blackthorn Prison thinking.
In reality, there was nothing stopping Cyrus from leaving his cell and returning to it with his Flying Raijin ability. The guards had no idea he had such an ability, and now that he knew their rounds, he could easily slip in and out before the next patrol swung around.
With that in mind, he had spent the last week secretly meeting with Reginald at the casino in Heimdallr, planning his next move. Cyrus was starting to get desperate, and needed leverage over Chancellor Osborne if he was to have any hope of getting released. To that end, he decided to work with the best person he could exploit; Governor Carl Regnitz.
After hearing the story of how Machias' cousin had taken her own life because of how her partner had betrayed her, Cyrus knew he had to investigate, especially since the man in question was a Noble from Ordis.
It didn't take Reginald long to confirm Cyrus' suspicions, and when he did, that's when Cyrus decided to start planning how to not only get justice for the dead, but pull Governor Regnitz into his sphere of influence.
Carl Regnitz had been in his office, slaving away over a mountain of paperwork. He had taken his glasses off for just a second to rub his bleary eyes, and when he put them back on, he thought he was hallucinating.
A moment ago, Carl had been in his office, but now, he was in a dank, dingy cellar, with no source of natural light, and only a lantern sat on the table next to him. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Carl gasped in horror when he found himself looking at a body tied to the chair opposite him, a white bag covering its head.
"What in Aidios' name?! What's going on here?! Where am I?!" Carl cried, standing bolt upright, realising he hadn't been tied up.
"D-Dad?!" Machias' voice called out.
"Machias?! What's going on?! Where are you?!" Carl shouted, looking around in a panic.
"I'm here, Dad!" Machias responded, stumbling into the half-light provided by the lantern.
Immediately, Carl ran over and hugged his son. Neither one of them knew where they were, or how they got to the cellar, but both were relieved when they found they were both unharmed.
"What the hell is going on here? We need to go, now!" Carl shouted.
"Ah-ah-ah… I'm afraid that won't be possible… Not yet, at least," a voice spoke from in the shadows.
Both Regnitz men immediately recognised the voice, but there was no way it could have belonged to who they thought it did. Slowly, as their eyes adjusted even more, they found themselves staring at the deathly pale face of Cyrus.
"Impossible! You're supposed to be in Blackthorn!" Carl gasped.
"Oh, please. You think a jail cell could hold me? I am only there at the request of His Majesty. If it were Osborne's orders to arrest me, I'd have left the moment the guards locked the cell. But, please, calm yourself, Governor. I promise you I shall return to my cell once we have finished here," Cyrus muttered, his pale skin and black veins unsettling both men considerably.
"What exactly are we doing here? Are you going to kill my dad as some kind of sick revenge against Chancellor Osborne?" Machias spat.
"We've known each other for five months now, Machias… I'd like to think you know me a little better than that," Cyrus sighed. "You are half right; I am here for revenge…"
"Revenge? You listen to me right now, young man; let my son and I go, return to your cell, and I'll forget this even happened," Carl growled, trying his best to sound authoritative.
"Aw, but Governor, don't you want to know who's under the bag? I thought you would, since this is your revenge party," Cyrus smirked, pointing to the man tied up.
"Speak plainly, boy! I am in no mood for games!" Carl snapped.
"Very well… Now, I am not proud of this, but back in Heimdallr, I overheard Machias talking about a member of the Regnitz family; your niece. Yes, I could have simply barged in, but there's no way Machias would have opened up if I were present, so I stayed quiet… What I found was both troubling, and illuminating," Cyrus began, walking over to the tied up man.
"What are you–?" Machias whispered, as Cyrus ripped the bag off the man's head, revealing his face.
It had been years since Machias had seen the man, so he didn't immediately recognise who it was, but Carl knew who it was instantly. How could he forget the face of the man responsible for the death of his niece?
"Enver?!" Carl gasped.
"Good, so you do remember him…" Cyrus muttered, as the man started to come to.
"Wh-What's going on? Where am I?" the man groaned, as he looked up and saw the Governor. "C-Carl?!"
"You know something, I always wondered why a man, who was the son of a Count, suddenly married a widowed Viscountess who was around sixteen years older than him. Alas, being young, and having my own share of problems, I simply decided to ignore it, and focus on preparing for my travels. Ah, I won't bore you with the details," Cyrus began.
"Carl, please! What's going on?!" the man cried, a look of fear in his eyes.
"What's more, I had always wondered why you changed your name. Now, I'm not so naïve that I don't understand how matrilineal marriages work, but completely changing your name? That's a new one. So, tell me… Why is it the young Count Enver Gortash suddenly became Viscount Rupert Gainsborough when you got married?" Cyrus asked, leaning in and speaking barely above a whisper.
"Cyrus?! This… This is madness! Release me at once!" Rupert shouted, crying in fear.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Uncle. I am not the one who decides your fate today," Cyrus smirked, looking at Carl, the golden hue in his dull eyes glowing slightly.
"Carl, please! Let me go!" Rupert exclaimed, rocking back in his chair, trying to break free.
"It's really you, isn't it, Enver…? Six years, and I've never forgotten your face, or what you did to my niece," Carl whispered, shaking slightly.
"Well, that makes this easier… Take your pick, Governor. Will you grant this man 'Mercy', or will you seek 'Redemption' for his crime?" Cyrus asked, standing with his back to Rupert.
While Rupert couldn't see it, Cyrus was holding Mercy and Redemption in his hands, offering the firearms to the Governor; the guns' metal plating sparkling in the lantern light. For the longest time, Carl stood there, looking at the black and white guns, staring at the names that had been carved into the guns' grips.
"Dad… Don't do it…" Machias whispered, knowing what his dad was preparing to do.
"Don't you want this, Machias? The girl you loved as a sister – who you idolised – avenged for what this liar did to her?" Cyrus asked, looking at his classmate.
"It… I… I don't…" Machias stammered, looking from Cyrus, to his father, to the man responsible for his cousin's death.
"For years, all I could think about was what I'd do to you if I ever saw you again, Enver… You broke my niece's heart, and treated her like an afterthought. Her death destroyed me and my son. It was only because of my work that I was able to keep going. I worked tirelessly, day and night with His Excellency, in order to strip power away from the Nobility, to stop scum like you from being able to avoid paying for their crimes, but it was never enough. Your actions resulted in the death of an innocent young woman, and there is only one course to take for that," Carl whispered.
"I'm sorry, Carl! I didn't mean to hurt Luana, I–" Rupert pleaded.
"DON'T YOU DARE SAY HER NAME!" Carl roared, picking up Redemption and pressing it against Rupert's forehead.
"DAD, STOP!" Machias shouted.
Much to Cyrus' surprise, Machias had leapt forward, snatched Mercy from his other hand, and aimed it at Rupert, cocking back the hammer.
"Machias…?!" Carl gasped.
"I… I can't let you do this, Dad. You can't throw away everything you've worked so hard for. I won't allow you to break Luana's heart as well!" Machias shouted, tears running down his cheeks.
Carl could only stare at his son, whilst Rupert was shaking in his seat, silently praying to Aidios, hoping she would intervene and save him. Meanwhile, Cyrus stood and watched in morbid curiosity, the effects of the Destroyer's Mask clearly influencing his decision making, as he remained silent, watching everything unfold.
"No… I will not allow you to carry my sins for me. I know how much Luana meant to you, but I won't allow you to have this scoundrel's blood on your hands!" Carl cried.
"I'm sorry, Dad, but I won't allow you to destroy your career because of this man," Machias whispered, as he took aim.
"MACHIAS, NO!" Carl exclaimed as his voice was drowned out by the sound of a gunshot.
Carl stood where he was, dropping Redemption, which vanished as it clattered to the floor. The Governor stared at his son in horror, as he watched Machias murder the man who had killed his niece.
"Well, that was a very interesting twist… Props to Machias; I didn't think he had the balls to go through with it," Cyrus nodded, looking at Machias.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you too, you monster!" Machias hissed, turning and pointing Mercy at Cyrus.
"Really? You really think you'll be able to shoot me with my own weapon? Pfft, don't make me laugh," Cyrus snorted as he waved a hand, making Mercy disappear.
The cellar was filled with silence, with the exception of the blood from Rupert's skull dripping onto the cobblestones, each drop deafening to the Regnitz men.
"Machias, you need to get out of here. Go back to Trista and pretend this never happened," Carl began, panic starting to settle in.
"Ab-ba-ba-ba-ba… Hold your horses, Governor. We need to talk first," Cyrus began, blocking the exit with his body.
"There's nothing to talk about, you animal! Machias is going to return to Trista, and I'm going to make sure you never see the light of day ever again!" Carl snarled, grabbing Cyrus by the scruff of his neck.
"For two supposedly intelligent men, you're both incredibly stupid. A Noble has been murdered, and it won't be long before Lady Aerith knows something is up, and will begin asking questions. Ask yourself; who's she going to come to in order to find her missing husband?" Cyrus asked, a dark grin spreading across his face.
"You…" Machias whispered, recalling from Alisa and Gaius about how Cyrus was approached by a woman in Heimdallr and asked to do something for her, only just now understanding who the woman was, and why she wanted Cyrus' help.
"Correct, and what do you think she's going to ask me, Machias?" Cyrus continued, still looking directly at Carl.
"What happened to my husband?" Machias suggested, getting a slow, deliberate nod from Cyrus.
"Exactly right… I'm sure you see where this is going don't you, Governor?" Cyrus smirked.
"You evil piece of work…" Carl hissed.
"However, I can make this all go away… All you need to do is tell Prince Olivert the truth about what happened in Heimdallr six weeks ago. I would imagine Claire told you about what happened; there's no way she could keep that bottled up. She would have no doubt confided in you, and told you the entire truth," Cyrus responded, taking great pleasure in knowing he was firmly in control.
"This was your plan all along, wasn't it? That's why you surrendered to Major Vander without a fight. You knew about this the whole time!" Carl snapped.
"I guess you really are smart, Governor. Now then, for clarity's sake, please tell me what you are going to do once you leave this building," Cyrus responded calmly.
"I… I am going to wash Count Gortash's blood out of my clothes. Then, first thing tomorrow morning, I will go to Prince Olivert and tell him that you were manipulated by His Excellency, and that you didn't murder those refugees in cold blood. That should be enough to get you released," Carl said quietly.
"Very good… As for me, I am going to make sure this man's body is never found, and then I am going to return to Blackthorn, and await my imminent release," Cyrus responded, moving away from the door, allowing both Carl and Machias to leave.
"You had better not screw us, boy," Carl warned as he and Machias left the cellar, leaving Cyrus alone with the body.
"That's 'check', Chancellor…" Cyrus muttered, the dark smirk still on his face.