"White… that is what they call me."
[White? As in, like, the color white?]
"Yes. My Mother said it's because I have beautiful hair of snow."
[Isn't that a little… too half-assed?]
"You think so?"
[Yes. And very racist.]
Silence, just long enough to feel slightly awkward. The girl contemplated deeply, tilting her head, her expression remaining puzzled as though she had only just realized the shallowness of her name.
"Then, why don't you give me a name?"
[Me?]
The faceless boy sheepishly coyed, his shadowed silhouette twisting as his imperceptible gaze landed on her face.
"Yes." The girl stirred, voice light with innocence and quiet anticipation.
"You are the first friend I made. I'd be delighted if you could give me a name."
[You sure? I'm quite chuuni, you know.]
"Chuu… ni?"
[Ah, you don't understand, huh…]
Another pause consumed the next few seconds. The girl curiously stared, secretly anxious of his response.
[Well, fine. I'll do it.]
"Really!?"
Her eyes lit up with a hopeful gleam, brighter than any stars, glimmering in its lonesome within this endless void.
[Yeah, I have the perfect name for you.]
"Oh, already!? Tell me, tell me!!!"
[From now on, you are—]
A drastic shift.
The world phased out of its fabric rendition, turning into something divine. Light shone, its piercing rays swallowed the darkness where the warmth she sought for was rooted.
"What do you fear the most?"
A voice. Alien to her ears, cavernous like a rumbling predator, cold and unnerving like a frozen inferno.
It echoed, each syllable grinding with screeching clarity, yet not so obscenely deafening. It was deep. It held a knowing tone— condescending as though it stood above mortals. It spoke in archaic rhymes— riddles and anecdotes like a god singing the scripts of fate.
Threads— scorched, incinerating, controlling. The air pulsed with a hum of tension, veins of ethereal fire danced across the heavens like roots connecting the world to a false Valhalla.
"You wouldn't have persisted this long. You wouldn't have chosen the light beyond that abyssal paradise."
There is no such thing.
"The you of the past wouldn't have rebelled against the Words of Benevolence."
Shrines of the Ancient ones— progenitors and their vassals. Pristine white pillars in a porcelain palace. An impossibly vast chamber— a cathedral of marble and light. A judicial podium engraved with archaic runes to cleanse those with filth and deemed unworthy.
"Yet, here you are…"
Stood before the divine pedestal that glimmered like the aurora of the sun, a figure wreathed its luminous wings, trailing the iridescent outline of the creator's footsteps.
The Final Arbiter of the Heavenly Domain—
The [One-Eyed Hummingbird].
"Enlighten me, oh cursed one…" The Arbiter asked, his one eye flaring white.
"That thing. That drive… That vision…"
Conjuring threads of the architect.
The lines of correction and twisted scribbles.
"What was it?"
There, at the center, was a woman.
Beautifully toned features, figure sculpted to perfection, a face even the Gods envy. Her hair, paler than snow, almost translucent. Long, flowing like endless stardust cascading the speckled corona of the unforgotten scapegoat. Irises, sharp and bewitching, more radiant than the purest ruby— raw with hatred, cunning with malice, wise with sorrow.
Her form dirtied with blood, draped above the holy sigils, limbs chained in celestial cuffs barely containing something they could not comprehend.
"What drove the Queen of the Abyssal Critters to go this far?"
She lifted her head, eyes ever defiant.
"Why do you endure such futility? What is it that you so desperately fear, keeping you fixated on this pitiful impossibility?"
Hahaha… haha…
A dry laugh— sharp and mocking.
"What is so funny?"
You're hilarious… clown.
"…what?" His eye narrowed.
Does hiding cowardly in this shabby fortress, occupied by senseless overthinking, make you delude yourself into believing you are above me?
Chains rattled, the air thickened, and the ground quivered as she spoke— her grin venomous.
Do not forget who you are talking to.
"There's no use acting tough." He scoffed.
"You're familiars and lineal slaves won't be able to save you from—"
Fool.
The word echoed like a divine statement.
The moment you brought me here, your fate was sealed. You've angered the one person you never should have crossed.
"That pretentious scoundrel is dead."
Oh no, he isn't… He promised me.
"A promise? Is that all you are holding on to?"
Cracks of unrelenting mana streaked the skies. Thunder hummed in the tone of the reaper's footsteps. Cyclones raged in a plea of mercy.
He will rise again.
The cathedral shivered.
He will find me.
Droplets. The heavens wept.
And he will kill you.
"Nonsense."
Her gaze intensified. Her rhythmic sneer shifted— deranged and convinced.
Listen well, last guardian.
The celestial bind snapped.
I no longer have anything to fear.
Another one. The archaic writing beneath her flickered, one by one, shattering like glass.
It's already happened.
"You've grown arrogant, White."
The Arbiter stepped back, wings flaring as his presence sealed the beast back in its cage. His raised fingers darkened, cluttered with condensed power far beyond anything this world could offer.
I've long discarded that identity.
Before her eyes lost their light, the vow parted her lips like the toll of the undertaker's bell.
My name is—
.
Blanche?
"Yes?"
Hm? Weren't you listening?
"Ah, sorry. I was… daydreaming." She said sheepishly, blinking innocently.
"What were you saying again?"
I asked what kind of design you want for the wedding dress?
The question hung in the air— truly unexpected. The golden fire in the hearth crackled softly, veiling the room in a gentle warmth.
"Why ask all of a sudden?"
Blanche tilted her head. Her hair draped across her shoulder like embroidered silk as she strayed her gaze from the book in her lap.
Just happened to pass by a bridal shop in town… and it made me curious.
"…Even if you ask me, I wouldn't know what to say. Never really given it a thought."
She pondered in silence. Then, smiled.
"I want one that you think is good."
Not long after their encounter, the Dukedom was now invigorated, alive with an atmosphere— a mix of a sense of purpose for the veterans, and an underlying fear that many of the novices harbored in their chests.
Without a shadow of a doubt, this mission will be dangerous.
A relatively large subjugation that was to be executed in a matter of hours. Against a foe they have yet to determine or prepare for, and none of them were informed beforehand.
"Our troops ain't exactly in top shape— hell, that's putting it nicely."
Reports a smirking beast— a hulking specimen of a man that threads the boundaries of human limitation. He spoke with a low, gravelly voice, dressed in rough brown clothing one could easily mistake for tattered rags, hardly accommodating his massively muscular build.
An elderly knight donning the hairstyle of the samurais of old— a top knot, though with a balding peak.
His thick, wild beard reached down to his thighs, intricately braided and capped with a crimson knot. Each of his fingers bore the thickness of giants, adorned with silver rings, connected through chained metal links extending up the heavy braces clasped around his thick wrists.
"More than half of the usual faces are unavailable, either tied up with other missions or still licking the wounds from their last."
His most striking feature, however, was the disfigured half of his face.
Scarred beyond recognition by what could only have been a tragic catastrophe, it left muscles and bones partially exposed, creating an unsettling visual as his right eye held only by fragmented nerves and tissues, moves— unblinking and bare to eye witnesses.
{Author's Note: Imagine Yama-jii (Bleach) mixed w/ two face (DC).}
"Indeed." Silk added, supporting his assessment.
"It might pose quite the challenge for new soldiers to adapt in this situation, considering the dire consequences at stake."
"KAHAHA!!! The young master is such a slave driver as always!!!"
Listening to them, the Duke stirred.
"Hmm… As I thought, the operation this time would require my expertise—"
"No, that would not be necessary." Silk sternly replied with finality. She closed her eyes— a sign that her stance will never waver.
"The Lord's safety remains our main priority. But you are also the last line of defense for the estate. With all four of us participating, there would be no one left to protect our people." She continued, tone thorough and empathetic.
"Please remain and be the beacon of stability for the evacuated citizens."
"Well, well, just behave and stay here, Father."
Emerging from a corner of the room, the Heir's voice coiled in the air.
"Why don't you put those absurdly shredded muscles of yours to good use and do some paperwork or something—"
"Liam!!! What is the meaning of this!?"
A voice, obscenely shrilling, rattled within the room as the rugged visage of a bespectacled boy with brown hair and a reddish nose slammed the door open with extreme force.
An Aizen-looking mf entered the fray.
The unending stream of sweat fell upon his treasured uniform as he panted heavily, desperately trying to catch his breath after running a marathon from his office to this one. He frantically rushed in panic and annoyance— each stride measured in surplus as though his life depended on it— as soon as the report reached his ears.
And after all that, what greeted him first was the stupid face of Liam— utterly nonchalant, as he casually poured tea for himself without any hint of urgency.
"Rein, calm down. I'll explain every—"
"How could I calm down!?"
The Heir tried to de-escalate the tension in his shoulders, but Rein interjected.
"What were you thinking— approving of a subjugation mission when all we have are incomplete speculations on this mysterious culprit or their motives!?"
"Like I said, calm down first—"
"This operation could very well endanger the entirety of our region!"
Rein stormed in, slamming the stacked folders he so carefully held between his arms in the table. His eyes burned with righteous fury, almost piercing a hole in Liam's skull.
"Hell, if we fail, the current balance of the entire nation that took five wars to finally forge will crumble to dust! Do you understand that!?"
"Oh, shush~ Cease your paranoia." Liam replied, grinning in amusement.
"You haven't listened to the entirety of the report, have you?"
"You little…!" Rein gritted his teeth.
"I'm being paranoid exactly because of your recklessness! Give me a few more days and I'll definitely catch their trails—"
"That doesn't matter anymore."
"…what?"
Abrupt silence settled between them.
"Lux is now working on this case." Liam stated with utmost confidence, eyes unwavering.
"In a few hours, the answers that eluded us for months will soon reveal themselves as though it's the most obvious thing in the world."
Like a campfire dampened by a hurricane, the mere mention of the young master's name halted Rein's rampage instantly. The assurance and comfort that simple fact brought him was enough to quench every doubt he had lingering in his mind.
A testament of how much credibility the Lux's name alone possesses.
In his moment of heightened emotion and misplaced rage, Rein even failed to notice the presence of three more individuals present in the room— quietly enjoying the show.
The First Daughter of the Dukedom, Silk.
Former captain-commander of Beseigen Kingdom, and the elder brother of the current one, the head captain of the Zancrest order— [Haf Dass].
And in the seat before him, adorned in a pristine white and gold tunic, uniquely grand to cater his status— the esteemed Duke himself.
His long ashen hair was slicked back, tied into a tight band, lending him an air of discipline and regality. Arms crossed, the faint metallic creaking of his prosthetic limb echoed subtly as it shifted. The proud crest of his noble lineage sat, enshrined prominently upon his chest as he stirred— a knight commanding the absolute presence of a king.
In his grasp, a set of folders rested firmly. Documents that Rein immediately recognized for each bore his unmistakable signature.
A silent indication of the gravity of this conference.
"Take a seat. Intelligence unit executive director, [Rudolf Dee Rein Dir]." The Duke spoke, demanding of him.
"I request your input in this operation."
At those words, Rein understood. He straightened his back— a hand on his sword, the other on his chest— and bowed.
"YES, SIR!"
And thus, with all the leading figures gathered, the urgent meeting of the Dukedom began.
Meanwhile…
"Yummm~ This is sooo~ good, Gramps!"
A girl with sky-colored hair gleefully bit into a freshly-grilled chicken barbecue skewer, her cheeks puffed like a squirrel, squishing as she chewed with delight. Smoke curled upwards from the grill, fogging her rounded glasses as she joyfully devoured another bite of what had unexpectedly became her breakfast for the day.
Unplanned, but always welcome.
"Slow down, young miss. You'll choke on your food." The old vendor cautioned, handing her a cup of water.
His voice was deep and scratchy, coated with concern and amusement. His clothes, white and gray, clean as any food merchant ought to keep. His lush, aged beard was tied in a little knot to keep it clear of the grill flames, giving him an oddly adorable charm.
"Thanks— urghkk!!!"
She broke the one unspoken rule of mealtime etiquette, no one mustn't dare cross— talk with your mouth full… and unsurprisingly choked— precisely as warned.
"Seriously… what are you even doing?"
The chastising voice came from behind her.
She felt a firm hand touch her back, rubbing gently to help her recover.
Turning slightly, she saw her companion, a figure towering over her— not just slightly taller, but significantly so. He looked like a man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. Long, flaming red hair tied elegantly into a ponytail, possessing piercing emerald eyes— one seen only in the southern dominion bordering the demon realm.
His wire-trimmed glasses mirrored hers in design, but the rest couldn't be any more different. His composed demeanor, polished appearance, and refined mannerism set him apart from the child who gave off a slightly aloof and carefree impression. His gallant posture alone exuded an unmistakable air of elegance and nobility— one not trained, but raised into.
Although he seems to be hiding this fact— carrying a large pack on his back that jingled like cluttered glass whenever he moved, like many others in this district.
That much was apparent in the keen eyes of the wise store owner, glinting like embers beneath his bushy white brows.
"How may I help you today, Mr. Visitor?" The vendor asked, tone polite and oddly familiar.
Insinuating that this wasn't the first.
"Good day, Sir Rax." The man greeted back. A smile with practiced ease.
"It has been a while, hasn't it? I've returned to this lively town for my research, as always. I trust you'll treat me kindly as before?"
"Of course, of course." The old dwarf chuckled, taking a slight bow.
"You can count on me."
"Lovely." The man exclaimed, his eyes briefly scanning the grill.
"Today… hmm, let's see…"
The man paused.
His lips still, yet telling.
His earpiece quiet, yet humming.
"I'll have three meat skewers— two slightly burnt, one mildly raw… Let's add a few thick cuts of this southern cattle meat, and a few chunks of this liver, too."
At the mention of his order, the old dwarf's eyes briefly widened slightly in curiosity, his stumpy ears twitching beneath his turban as his fingers resumed work like a programmed machine across the sizzling grill.
"With extra sauce, if you don't mind."
"Oho~ So you're a fan of organs, Mister? That's a rare taste these days. You're doing me a big favor, honestly." Rax hummed rhythmically.
"While there have been some Odd Days, this stuff's been sitting around, always the last thing left on the counter. They've been nothing but dog feed lately."
"Dog feed, you say?" The man echoed.
"Are they for a pet, perhaps? May I ask what breed?" The man asked, intrigued.
"Oh no, not a pet. They're strays. I know of three for sure, but there could be more hiding out in their den." Rax answered, waving a dismissive hand.
"As for breeds, forgive me. I am not well-versed in that sort of thing. However, there is a very smart one among them— the one with majestic white fur. I'd wager he's their leader. But that child rarely acts with the pack."
Rax's gaze shifts from left to right, seemingly wary. He leaned forward, his tone hushed beneath the sound of the grill.
"They visit at night sometimes. Although, rather strangely... they don't bark."
The man stood in silence before him, eyes sharp, welling in his thoughts. His lips curved faintly in a distinct smile— a signal with a silent tune.
"Curious creatures…" He muttered.
"Thank you very much— for sharing that… They seem like a very wonderful bunch. I'd like to meet them sometime during my stay."
Without another word, he slid several gold coins over the counter, each one gleaming brighter than the lenses of his glasses… Covertly, he handed the coins to the vendor.
"As a token of my thanks, I'll buy the rest of the liver so you can close early tonight."
"Much obliged, Mister."
The humble merchant's smile curved into a not-so-subtle smirk, pocketing the coins without missing a beat.
"Gill—y."
The man called over his shoulder, eyes straying towards the girl who was still greedily munching on her barbecue.
"Could you please take the order for me? I have my hands full right now." He said, hand empty.
"Got it~ Leave it to me!"
Gilly replied, essentially chirping, her voice cheery as ever, though her cheeks were still stuffed like a chipmunk's. Her taste buds, still on cloud nine.
"Hmm…? Liver, was it?"
She approached the counter and glanced at the requested items, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
"Wait, is this… all? But, there are only two of them left—"
Her questioning gaze was quickly answered by the old vendor's friendly, yet monotonous smile, briefly flickering into something else— something almost imperceptibly sharp, before quickly returning to its civilian warmth.
Pause. Silence.
Rax… that name tickled a thought.
Where have she heard that name before?
"Five more barbecue specials, please!" She declared abruptly, her energy undeterred— dismissing every suspicion she had.
The word "whatever" painted across her face.
"And also a separate order! Assorted meat, enough to feed at least thirty people!"
Rax rejoiced in her response, laughing heartily.
"Now that's the kind of patron I like! Thank you for your business!"
Walking around in town, strolling like tourists with every bit of freedom the world could offer, the two figures spend the next hour checking out all sorts of shops that caught their interest in this vast market.
Clothes. Foods and delicacies. A variety of exotic products ranging from handmade accessories adorably embroidered by orphaned children— to supposedly divine shackles capable of bringing forth a sacred beast.
The latter of which, they ended up buying out of pure curiosity.
{Author's Note: Eisenburg's Layout is a fusion of the old Windows and Chrome logo— four district with a central sphere. And another sphere up top (NW) where the Ducal residence is located.}
Eventually, they decided to split up, each venturing to the outer districts where certain items in their list are… apparently being sold.
Gilly to a tavern due North, and… [Luxandar Wolf Gunblood III] to a small apothecary to the South where the capital clock watches over— or so he was supposed to be. But he happened to encounter a grand clothing store, where he spent the good majority of half an hour staring at wedding dresses.
[Seidenherrscher]
Rare herbs found only in distinct places, dissected monster parts, illegally distributed— It's a place where the resources of the natural world, regardless of their origin or ethical value, are bought, processed, and again, sold.
Sometimes as raw materials for blacksmiths and alchemists— other times as different… products entirely.
This time, however, the purchase was nulled.
There was no one present. Not a sound. Not a hint of any personnel. The elf couple who runs the shop were out, the three dirty children who often help them out as well— despite the store itself being open.
What a precarious bunch.
Eisenburg is a relatively peaceful domain, but it is not without crimes.
Just hidden. Very… very well.
Secluded alley. Secluded shop. There is no telling when some hooligans might take advantage of their absence, especially considering how valuable their goods are.
Speaking of which…
Forget thugs and basic evilfaces, there seem to be less people in these streets altogether. Carriages shifted before they could enter. Bystanders appear to avoid the area— rather instinctively. Even the birds flew in spirals, deliberately straying from the straight path.
…and even those that are here didn't seemed like— normal either.
Mouth foaming, body shivering.
Laughter. Cries. Ramblings. Some were frozen still, a permanent corpse— breathing, yet unresponsive. Many wandered the streets aimlessly like mindless husks. Others stared into the abyss, eyes devoid of light, consumed by something gnawing.
One thing they own in common— perverted smiles. Eerie, unnerving… intoxicated.
Odd days, huh… pun intended.
For a cynical senex, that old racoon sure loves his dad jokes.
A perfect disguise, shadowed by astral origin, and a thick air of suspense— suffocatingly so. A presence that could meddle with the confines of mentality and reason.
[Butterflies of the Moonless Night].
If they are involved this time, then no wonder the intelligence unit cannot find anything to save their lives.
Fantastical beings— ethereal, elusive, branded as whispers of intermediary world. Haunting phantoms carrying the grace of metaphorical beauties. Beings that rose like storms, and had the potential to be great— rival legends and glorified myths— but scarcely utilized in the world of that series.
Truly a shame since it was quite intriguing.
Further down the deserted alleyway, a withered building came into view. It was obscenely quiet despite being a fairly large establishment. Its entrance dreary, unlit, sealed like a guarded mausoleum. A fog of silence extends to its foundations, creeping in slow, maddening coils writhing like a silent viper.
It is easy to dismissed it as haunted, but it wasn't some forgotten ruins— but an orphanage.
One that is ran by the guild, doubling as training ground for the children and novice adventurers. It is normally a lively place— footsteps everywhere, the scent of cooked meals, laughter and clattering weapons— a place teeming with life and vigor.
Maybe, it's nap time for the children? But even so… It is odd that not a single soul is present.
It's here…
Or at the very least… it's close.
This was his aim. A strange impulse of familiarity clawing at the edges of his senses. A similar defiled scent to his own… And for reasons unknown, a nostalgic trail that seems to go past beyond memories.
A past unknown and forgotten.
That fluctuating mana he felt resonated with his own. It's somewhere close, evident through its stronger pulse, trailing unseen channels through a void separated by colors. But simultaneously, it felt paradoxically distant— vague, and opaque, encased in another shell of mystery.
Something's interrupting… Someone…
Perched atop the rooftop of the nearby infrastructures, crouched like a waiting hawk, he pondered, eyes sharpened in an observatory glare. The blinking glimmer of his silver ring— a reminder of the limited time he had left in this casted form.
In his hand was a gray parchment— a blank bookmark as it appears. Imprinted in its border was the image of a spider weaving its web in an infinitely looping vortex.
How very strange…
He waited. A minute passed. Two, five, ten minutes have gone by, and still, there are no changes. No signs from the living, neither from his hopeful visitors— which only confirmed his grim conclusions.
"Anytime now…"
Nothing.
Another 15 minutes passed.
The parchment remained unstirred.
The ring continued its ticking, his visage slowly, yet visibly, fading in a blur bit by bit.
"…that's all the patience I have." He muttered.
"I should've used Chrysos or Onyx instead of stubbornly doing it myself. They're more suited in this menial stuff."
He sighed, scratching his head.
"I better return soon before Gill realize I sent her on a wild goose chase—"
Something shifted.
Convinced in his foregone tale, he rose to his feet, ready to leave. However, as he did, a malicious being made their presence known. A quick flicker rippled shadows in his peripheral. In the corner of his vision, shrouded in a cloak of mystery— a glimpse of the perpetrator presented itself.
Diluted citrine irises gleaming like bioluminescent bait, sharp darkened claws curled like twisted sickles, and bloodlust hidden under a disguise of human flesh.
"I see… Dogs, indeed."
Malice, thick to the point of visibility, flooded through his skin, crawling around his searing muscles like fangs twisting to the marrow of his bones— wearing him down to the weak, helpless child that he is.
Oppressive. Invasive.
The source, filled with a murderous taste— a greedy suspect with a hint of malicious sadism. There were two of them. One with fur, the other with wings.
No footsteps. No warning. Unguarded as he may be, they managed to sneak up from behind… close enough to threaten his life.
It was suffocating— tightening like a leash the closer they get. This pressure… this air of unbridled ferocity reeking of a foul sweetness, and at parts— a scent of nauseating allure that knocks on the doors to his sanity.
Seductive. Addictive. Intoxicating.
It was paralyzing.
To anyone else, that is.
"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~!!! Did you really think that kind of cheap tricks would work against ME!?!?!?"
A triumphant roar sent thunderous shivers through the rough pavement.
" How foolish of you— CHECKMATE!!!"
Echoing within the crowded barracks, a voice soared into the open ceiling like a war anthem, claiming a hard-fought victory that raised ripples in people's pockets. The unrelenting cheers of his compatriots erupted, basking in the gloriously thrilling exhibition… While the others dropped like flies, slumped on their knees as they felt their wealth flickers into dust.
A competitive match, one to test a person's wits. [Chess], as the young master called it.
This simple, yet blissfully complex game that expands to endless possibilities, quickly gained popularity over these battle junkies— of which the Zancrest knights are mostly comprised of.
War veterans carrying scars of valor, losing their absolute shit over wooden pieces— It was quite the amusingly bizarre scene.
Among them, stood out the Duke's Heir, Liam Von Zancrest, and the only one to match his cunning— a man rumored to possess an intellect so high he once manipulated a wyvern into flying backwards.
The Dukedom's feared strategist, Rein the [Red-Nosed Mastermind].
Their battles were the subjects of legends— with the majority of their bouts culminating in one critical moment that would dictate the outcome of their match, and today, too, is no different.
An intense showdown. A vicious back and forth of deathly stares and sophisticated trashtalk, each trying to get under the other's skin— lead them to a trap they deviously devised… However, a certain mishap in the middle of the match had already decided the victor of this war.
"KUHHHH~! I lost again!!! I knew I shouldn't have moved that damn knight!"
Liam frustratingly grunts. Head buried in his palms, this grown-ass man was whimpering like a toddler denied of a candy, gravely lamenting on his previous moves.
Chants of joy rose to the skies, echoes of disappointment and manly cries grew ever so loudly as the betting money was passed around amongst the soldiers. Thinking that the sleep-deprived general would fumble, the odds were 30:70 in favor of the Heir— a grave underestimation.
A high risk that was proven to be well worth it's hefty price for those who dared to challenge the consensus.
One sneaky female knight tried to silently slip away, but immediately learned the severity of absconding the betting pack as she was instantly swatted to the ground by the others, her precious weekly allowance taken away.
"…strange people."
In a dark corner, one recruit— an upcoming cadet possessing faded blonde hair and translucent teal irises, was torn in his thoughts, contemplating this insouciant atmosphere. Bewilderment simmered between his furrowed brows, eyes shiftily scanning the madness within these walls.
They had just been told that they'd be deployed to an extremely dangerous mission later this day, and yet, the air lacked any lilt of urgency.
"Shouldn't they be preparing? Maybe a little training, formation rehearsals, or at the very least, a bit more detailed debriefing of this operation— Anything! Why won't they do anything worthwhile!?"
Lax— far too much for people about to step one foot on their graves, seeming even apathetic towards this unknown threat they're about to charge head-on. Men and women alike— they acted nothing like the dignified knights supposedly hailed as the elites of the elites, but rather like lackadaisical thugs brawling over spilled beer.
"Even the Lord and the director are being too carefree… Do they really understand the gravity of their positions—"
"Relax, kid."
The words rumbled behind him like a beast awakening.
The cadet turned around, ready to brush off their unwarranted concern, only to face plant onto a wall— no, it was the burly chest of an absolute juggernaut whose shoulders alone were thrice the size of his head.
"C-C-C-Captain Dass!?"
Realizing who he's with, the knight became incredibly nervous, quickly lowering his head in incessant apology, sweating a waterfall running down his temples.
"Loosen up a bit, will you? You're not being court-martialed." Haf uttered with a short laugh, guiding the lad's gaze.
"I mean… just take a look at our Lords."
Haf's palms landed on his shoulder in a casual act of comfort, but it felt as though he was being mugged by a black bear.
"They don't just treat us commoners with respect— they talk to us like we're family." Haf started, tone almost sentimental.
"They eat with us. They bleed with us. They don't just sit on their offices and move us like disposable pawns. They're in the frontlines, leading the charge like they were the protagonists of some myth."
Haf scratched his beard, glancing fondly at the ensuing chaos as though it was the most serene thing he's ever seen.
"Makes you want to follow 'em without questions, no?"
He raised his wined mug— closer to a pitcher— raising a cheer, shouting "FIRST ONE TO SNORE BEFORE TWILIGHT PAYS THE DAMN BILL!!!"— a roar reciprocated by all the wasted drunkards in this room.
"I get that it takes time to adjust. The Zancrests ain't exactly your typical rich bastards, after all." He continued, gaze mellowed, and a genuine smile behind his thick stache.
"But, just know this… you don't hafta be so stiff outside of work."
He chugged that ginger ale down his throat like there's no tomorrow, letting out an obscenely long burp from his stinking mouth… Then, gestured for a second.
"And right now, we ain't on the clock." He finished, flexing his muscles.
The knight hesitated.
"…Understood— G-Got it! I will work on it!" He awkwardly replied, still unconvinced. Though slightly relieved, he's not being scolded.
"That's… not really what I'm worried about…"
Mustering his courage, he stirred another conversation.
"Umm, captain… Is this really alright?"
"Hmm?"
His fingers sheepishly lifted, nervously pointing towards the congregation of idiots.
"Oh, you mean that?" Haf casually replied, chuckling, pointing at the soldiers as well.
The cadet weakly nodded.
"A bunch of crazy lunatics, ain't they? Not what you expected from the Dukedom's mighty knights, huh?"
"Y-Yes…" The knight admitted.
"When I entered, I expected something… how should I say it… more hellish? I was anticipating a harsh environment that would push me to my limits, especially during missions of this scale…" He described with a troubled expression.
"But, forget being cautious, they seem to be even more lax than usual."
"That's the point."
"…what?"
"Few years back, it used to be hell working for the Dukedom." Haf stated— nostalgia in his eyes, and a hint of exasperation in his tone.
"The Duke never treats anyone like crap, but he expects his men to be able to do the same thing as him. Problem is, the guy's a damn monster. Keeping up is just straight-up suicide, so plenty of would-be knights— kids with potential, just threw in the towel."
He took a long sip from his oversized mug, gargling more than half of it.
"Except for me and a couple of those hard-boiled maniacs, there was a time the knight order almost shut down because no one wanted to work for us."
The cadet's expression stiffened.
"Then the young master came in, and flipped the whole thing on its ass!" Haf began his grandiose interpretation.
"He brought heart into the cold machine. Created a system in this chaos, acclimating not by his ridiculous standards, but by each individual's strength and weaknesses. He turned greenhorns into real fighters in just a month with that method!"
He boasted as though it were his own, his unshaken confidence laced with a warmth that didn't suit his face.
"They're not slackin'. These fellas did their training every day without a miss. They already did enough, their bodies know how to move even if they don't think about it. What they need now is a loose mind, and deeper instinctual awareness to make use of those things."
The captain grinned.
"That's why we get to go wild like this before a mission— Young master's teaching."
Unsure of what to make of it, the cadet remained silent. Pondering, studying, placing himself in a different perspective— and eventually, coming up with nothing.
"And hey! That same person's the one calling the shots this time. So honestly, ain't nobody losin' sleep over this one."
"Young master… Is Lord Lux that much of a factor that success is already guaranteed?"
"You're askin' the wrong question, kid."
The knight turned to him, curiosity piqued.
"When I said nobody's scared, I don't mean there's no chance we mess up— course we can. But even if we do, it ain't a death sentence." He spoke in riddles, further confusing the cadet.
"The young master is a genius, you know that already. Always two steps ahead, a grin on his mug. He makes everything look easy, like a game so smooth you can miss a few shots— don't matter what monster you're facing— you know you're back's covered."
"Ah, but if you screw up too bad. Well, you're dealin' with me instead." Haf said smiling, his eyes aren't.
"…I see."
"Not buyin' it?"
"Ahh, n-no! It's not like I'm doubting the young master…" The cadet frantically explained, eyes shifting from side to side.
"It's just… I know he's strong enough to take on the royal knights, but…"
"But he's still just a kid, right?" Haf jumped in, taking another large gulp from his pitcher.
"That what you're thinkin'?"
The soldier couldn't answer, his thought having been read word for word. However, confirming this would be a blasphemous act towards one's Lord, possibly leading to his dismissal.
"Y'know. " Haf continued.
"I used to think the same damn thing. Just a kid with potential— nothin' really worth betting on yet. Man, was I dead wrong!"
His eyes flared up like an ecstatic father… or maybe just the wild gestures of an intoxicated man. His grin widened, veins and muscles popping, as he chugs yet another mug.
{Author's Note: He's already red from drinking.}
"I could talk your ear off 'bout how amazing the young master is— Hell, probably take weeks to list the things he has right. But thing is, you ain't gonna get it just by hearin' me ramble."
He placed his hand on the cadet's head, almost grabbing it whole.
"You need to experience it for yourself."
"…experience? Not witness?"
The genuine confusion on his face reminded Haf of his past self— becoming slightly embarrassed by how he acted at that time.
"Yeah. It's not 'bout how strong he is. It's how strong he makes you feel. Of all his superpowers, that's gotta be the scariest 'cus once you have a taste of it, you'll want it every time."
"…so it's addictive?"
"Hell yeah! And you're a lucky son of a gun, you'll see it tonight!"
Just as their conversation was reaching a natural end, cheers exploded once more— along with a pitiful scream blown from herculean lungs.
"NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Beside the table that Edison and Tesla used, there was another war zone raging its fiery ground— the brutish ogre with an ashen mane against one half of the gold and silver twins… However, unlike the one earlier, this was over before it could even start.
"WHY WAS YOUR QUEEN STATIONED THERE!?!?!?!? IT WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE A SECOND AGO!!!"
It was depressingly one-sided— no, a total annihilation that brought the mighty Duke, whose fist was forever etched in the battlefields he was on, down onto his knees in utter despair.
A feat not even the United Alliance in the [Hemispherical War] managed to achieve.
26th of the month of the [Dark Rest]— Today just doesn't seem like a day of good fortune for the Zancrests.
{Author's Note: Dark Rest = October}
Normally, this passage would be a looming death flag, but worry not, for here he comes.
"There are more people than I thought. I hope we brought enough for everyone."
From the direction of the barracks' gates, the mature voice of a handsome gentleman echoed in velvety sprites. A comically large bag in his back, he slowly walked towards the group with an unchanging smile in his lips. His eyes, unseen beyond the cloudy lenses of his round glasses.
It was a stranger bearing a face they knew not— yet none of them engaged, recognizing his demonically oppressive presence that could've brought every single one of them down, begging on all fours, if he ever so desired.
Of course, he wouldn't demand of such trivial matters, but that is how much his stature alone influences others.
An innocent warmth to his people. And a cold, unforgiving oblivion to those who dare oppose his blade— that is who these proud warriors acknowledged as their Lord.
Young, he was. Inferior? Never.
"Gather round, people of the house~!" Said the silver-haired secretary, closely following behind, raising the bags filled with roasted meat.
"There's barbecue for all of us~ Grab your meat portions now, if you don't want to be left with nothing but organs."
And just like that— Anarchy.
With the Duke at the forefront.
"Welcome back, you two." Liam rose from his defeat, greeting the two of them.
The man lifted a hand, removing the thick, round glasses resting on the bridge of his finely shaped nose. Then, a wave of mana flowed— or rather, peeled off like a rippling pond, blurring his visage, distorting the air like geysers of heat.
He shrank quite a bit, regressing to the height of a child. His toned physique thinned into one more fitting of his age. His emerald eyes gradually reverted into a tint of Amethyst as his bright crimson hair transitioned to the ashen gray hair that's the pride of their lineage.
"I'm home… brother."
"There's a lot of noise today. I wonder what's happening inside."
Gazing between the marble pillars, a maid muttered as she walked past the barracks.
Her short hair, raven black fading into dark hazel tips, was adorned with an owl-themed hairclip. Her eyes, imbued with a reddish mahogany hue, drizzled with innocent sparkles, glowed ever-so-faintly of curiosity as her eyes gravitated towards the entrance.
Knights came and went carrying all sorts of equipment she rarely ever saw them use in training, their expressions beaming like children, unlike the heavy air surrounding them— not tense, but the opposite.
Something sharp while being fluid.
"Was there something special today?"
The maid stiffened, beads of sweat dripped from her temples, her contemplation veiled with a sense of nervousness.
"I hope it's not just me forgetting—"
"Stumm."
A soft voice popped out of nowhere, whispering sweet nothings seductively, dangerously close her right ear.
{Author's Note: In her imagination.}
"Ah. Hello, Natt." She replied casually, unbothered… or rather, she looked ecstatic.
The woman— yet another maid, this time rocking a slanted fringe long enough to reach her cheeks— slid beside her, matching Stumm's pace. Her hair, sharing the same charred tone, cascaded to her thighs, waving gently with her every step.
She reached her hand up to Stumm's hair, fixing her slightly crooked headdress.
"What are you doing here?"
"I was on my way back to the Madam's annex." Stumm cheerfully said, scooting closer.
"And you? Were you done feeding the owl?"
Nattre paused. Eyes stilled, gaze tensed. An expression caught surprised.
"…How did you know about that?"
"Hm? I just saw you one night by accident. You were playing with that black owl behind the maids' quarters, right? That was so cute~~~" Stumm explained happily.
"I should've gone with you earlier. I want to feed her too… (Or was it a he?)"
"Owls are nocturnal… (it's a she.)"
Natt's stoic voice changed not a single bit, tone remaining still and quiet. Her earlier surprise quenched quickly— back to her usual composure.
"Ah, right. That reminds me. It was already after midnight when I saw you sneaking that night."
"And you—"
Natt gave her a swift chop.
"—should've already been asleep at that ungodly hour."
"Ouch!" Stumm cried, rubbing her head.
"I didn't mean to be awake! I went to use the restroom, and then when I checked, you weren't in your bed… so I got worried."
"And why were you checking?"
Natt's eyes narrowed behind her fringe. Steps deliberate. Head slightly tilted, her words imbued with an interrogatory pressure her frozen smile silently omitted.
"Eh? Ah… that's… you know…" Stumm stammered, eyes shifty, instinctively fidgeting with her fingers.
"As a… good night charm?" She said as cutely as she could.
The silence nestled between them was deafening.
"I really wasn't trying to assault you this time! Believe me, Natt! I swear by the name of the Guardian Hexe!"
"Don't bring the Guardian's name into this! You'll get us both in trouble!"
Her cutesy act proving ineffective, Stumm panicked greatly. She couldn't have possibly thought that Natt would be resistant to her charms after years of being together, and now, she's left with no other choice.
Overthinking as she always does, eyes frantic, she clung onto her arms like a drowning monkey— desperately holding on like they were the last strands of salvation.
What a strange girl.
"Well, whatever. Let's go back."
With one swift motion, Natt broke Stumm's hold, spun her three times over, and planted her exactly where she was before this whole scuffle, eyes forward, and back straight. Along the way, she also managed to link their fingers together, now comfortably resting between their bodies.
"Un! Thanks!"
Stumm blurted without a moment's delay as though this was all a rehearsed skit.
"It's reassuring to have you by my side. I'm really scared to face Lady Treu alone."
She leaned closer, a tranquil smile on her face as though she was bathed in nature's blessing, her other arm reaching for Natt's. Their feet moved in sync, breathing aligned— their presence a silent comfort for the other.
"Why are you that nervous?" Natt asked, gaze trailing Stumm's bouncing cowlick.
"It's not like you did anything wrong… right?"
Her voice grew weaker each syllable— unconvinced of her own words. Her statement wavered, essentially crumbled, the exact moment hers and Stumm's eyes crossed.
Reddish brown gems stating otherwise.
"…what is it this time?"
Natt facepalmed, a deep sigh dragging her soul out of her lips.
"Sorry…" Stumm sheepishly muttered.
Birds chirped, their footsteps echoed in rhythm as they stride to their posts. And in that time, until they reach the Duchess' annex— Stumm was made to explain her recent blunder down to the very last detail.
.
"Hey, Natt. Who's that person?" Stumm inquired, spotting a red-haired man enter the barracks with Gill.
"Lord Lux."
"Eh…? But they look completely different, you know. And isn't that person much older? How could that be Lord Lux?"
"Even if you asked me that, I won't know the answer… I just know somehow."
[Without further ado… Let the Prelude— Commence.]
.
Humid.
The sight above was opaque. Darker than the abyssal nebula, denser than the eternal core.
A sky curtained in concealed weight. Heavy, suffocating— not only the atmosphere this evening, but their own bodies. Sluggish. Taxed. Drained. The air itself coiled around their flesh, draped across their skin like wet parchment, limbs dragging as though shackled.
A pressure unseen, yet omnipresent.
Mind hazed.
Senses dulled.
It was well past midnight, the town rested under a veil of darkness, but there were those who refused the touch of sleep.
A few more hours, and dawn would break again beyond the horizon… yet, their sweat refused to subside. Not even the cold breeze could rinse away its trail, licking down their silhouette like shadowed nymphs.
It was a freezing night.
A contradiction, unsettling, but not uncommon.
"It's just one of those nights." —They reasoned in their head.
A warm current rolling in from the nearby water system. A distant forest fire— its scorched cinders bleeding within the flow of flickering winds. Or perhaps, it was the passing whim of a mythical beast soaring unseen through the clogged heavens, on its way into hibernation.
The reason could be anything, and none would question it. Besiegen's autumn was a known fickle, after all.
Tonight was no exception.
Then, suddenly, as if the skies sought to quench their anxious minds— it trickled.
Droplets slid down the cheek of a dark-skinned man stood at the edge of the path. His eye— a single orange eye that wore a fox-like slit for a pupil— blazing under dim light. The other hidden under a black cloth obscured from sight. Pale blue hair clung to his forehead as water streamed down his face, seeping into his clothes.
And soon, he was drenched.
It was the sky that wept tonight.
It was raining, but the lack of a visible moonlit trail made it difficult to deduce as much at a glance. Each drop arrived— silent and unannounced, gentle yet foreboding. It carried another layer of cold, and a soothing lullaby.
But with it came the scent— faintly foul, earthen steam, rising from the scorched ground as vapor— a veil of mist formed.
It grew thick, curling upwards. Within moments, it enveloped the whole district. Buildings swallowed, streets erased from vision. It continued to coil like a writhing entity. Denser. Thicker. Prominent as though it held the clouds hostage… Blinding to the point of discombobulation.
Silent.
This is… no longer normal.
"…Wh-What's… happening?"
Silence. Deep, serene silence.
Seconds ago, his comrades had been there. Chatting. Laughing… Breathing. A rowdy bunch who hardly shut their mouths when told. But now… nothing.
Not a step.
Not a breath.
Not a heartbeat.
[Not even the silence remained.]
"Mobuwan? Mobutu?"
His ears, large and canine, flicked like sentient antennas, straining for even the slightest sound.
"Hey! Answer me!"
Repeatedly, he tried to incite a response, his voice growing frantic each time.
However, the abyss never reached out.
A cold, freezing shiver crept up his nape like a poisoned dagger, his flesh rippled as he growled, his instincts screaming in his mind— Danger.
Fur erupted from his skin— pale blue of his hair. It spread all over his limbs, his form shifting monstrously. His muscles bulged, tendons snapped and weaved patterns, bones curving into something beyond human, his nails curled into razor-sharp claws.
A snout stretched into layered jaws, fangs gleaming beneath its gums— deadly maw encasing rows of grinding incisors.
The beast's form, unleashed.
The Lycanthrope's reversed curse. An ability bound to their artificial heritage— the gift of the [Shapeshifter].
One visceral trait only shared by the [Faceless]. A race spoken in muffled whispers— rumored legend with no records. Phantoms without identity, or possessing multiple origins.
But none of this exposition mattered now.
Not when something far worse had just found him— had awakened within the very roots of his existence. Something that embraced no fear for the beast. Something that had been patiently waiting for this very moment.
This influx of uniquely bittersweet mana— an elixir as sweet as honey, fermented like wine— was the sole trigger set for the Queen to bury her fangs into the innermost veins of his throat.
He saw nothing. Heard nothing. But he knew.
"GUAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH—!"
Agony ripped through him like shredded wires. Sharp, searing pain burrowed into his chest, twisting like poisoned threads, drilling through his organs with every pulse, strangling his every breath like a vice around his lungs.
His vision blurred, mouth foaming, his body convulsed into a limp, his lone, orange eye rolling back as the last remnants of his conscious cognition faded into the ether.
Quick and precise. Silent, yet fatal.
At his dying breath, he wondered—
Had his comrades suffered the same fate?
Had this monster, unseen and inescapable, failed to end even one of them?
Have someone escaped…
Someone, to warn their Lord of this threat.
The answer to that, he would never discover.
"The task is accomplished, my dear."
A voice echoed— silken, sweet, dripping with malice as she hummed gleefully— reverberating from nowhere, and everywhere.
[His]— voice did.
"You did well, Blanche." came an immediate reply. Voice— high, smooth, detached.
As his body took a bow, moving removed of his input like a soulless marionette, he caught a glance through the layered veil of twitching mist— the harmless form of a child.
Clad in the ornate black and gold tunic of the Dukedom's royalty, draped beneath a gallant, stark-white cloak— one imbued with the curse of frostbite, bearing the crest of [Aries], Valiant Squire of the Ram. His figure, however small, exuded a tranquil, unshakable presence. A still, unyielding flow, obliged to neither resistance nor acquiescence to the world's current.
A mere cog of insignificance— while also, in that perfect time, the very crux upon which everything might one day collapse.
That voice.
That effortless stance.
The unseen glimmer in those ecstatic eyes, flaring with untamed exhilaration.
That smile.
That dastardly grin that made the air shiver, the earth creak, and the heavens to part with a mere whisper. Vile. Ancient. A serpent's deathly bite, coiling around the minds of those who dared behold it— paralyzing, suffocating, absolute…
There is no mistaking it.
Ouroboros… Jormungandr.
A brief silence fell over the musty field, the air dyed in the stench of the dampened earth and decaying corpses.
"For... give me... Lord... Fenr..."
The child's eyes flickered. Not with pity or terror— but curiosity.
"That thing… is still alive, you know."
The boy tilted his head. His voice carried no hint of worry— nonchalant, unbothered as though it was a normal Tuesday— only anticipation, pointing out the mangled body currently freaking out on the ground.
What was once a proud mimic now reduced to a husk of twitching flesh.
"Oh my~"
The beastkin purred, his deep, husky voice flowing like silk, yet rough as gravel. His words, oddly delicate, spoken in a manner akin to a noble woman.
"Heed no mind to this zombie's senseless rambling."
The body twitched. Veins grotesquely spasmed. Arms jerked from its joints, legs crooked in ways it shouldn't. Neck— inverted. Eye(s)— hollowed. Blood trickled down every orifice, skin peeling like shedded hide.
It rose to its feet, squirming like a dying worm, almost hovering like some exorcist type shit. Smile warped, lips parted, crawling with something distinctively wrong.
The child's gaze did not waver.
"Would that not hinder your duty?"
"Rest assured. That was this fool's last breath in this realm. I've made sure to devour every bit of his soul." The beastkin purred— disturbingly.
"And besides…"
Pause. Unnaturally long pause.
"A tasty meal loses its flavor far too quickly once it is already dead… don't you agree, my beloved Liege?"
He… now [She], uttered with a deep grin.
The child's expression did not change, enjoying the skin-crawling spectacle with the same gleaming eyes, if not even brighter…
Then, the thing before him changed— drastically.
Unsettling is the only word to describe that.
Its grin widened— too wide that it ripped through the skin on its face. Lips shattered, slitted in grooves like a serpent's maw. Its eyes darkened, the sclera swallowed by abyssal black, while multiple new ones bloomed beside them like hellish flowers boring holes in its flesh. Tendrils— protruding flesh and wriggling bones— grew into spires of rugged appendages emerged from its back like a cluster of thorns. Its dark blue hair reflecting the deep see, now bled into a blinding white, cascading down to the length of its ankles.
His form— now [hers].
A vessel reborn. A body sculpted, a skin crafted, righteously, in her own image.
"Kuhu~ I'm afraid I can't share that sentiment."
The child mused in her comment, his tone light— but his eyes, maniacal.
"I am but a frail human— fragile and delicate. I prefer my meals cooked."
Another pause. Grin widening. He tilted his head, voice dipping into something almost reverent. His expression briefly cracked, unveil the specter beneath— dark, malicious, playful.
"But indeed. If we are speaking of prey, I suppose I do prefer to consume them alive."
A chuckle— A final gleeful laugh left his lips, eyes flickering its radiant purple glow— slow, shivering in uneven intervals, crawling with ecstasy barred of conscience— of anything remotely human.
"The taste of fear— Despair. It only accentuates the quality of their core."
"Yup, that's it! As expected of [Qqdtxs]!!!
You understand me so well!"
Two figures. Horrors of different ilk— shared in their coherent lust for that thrill of torture.
One, a demon of primal descent. The other, created from a conscious choice— a being clad in the mortal flesh of the Goddess's most beloved race.
A contract forged in mutual nihilism. A thirst for chaos woven between them like a tapestry of fate— embroidered at a time, at a point of horizons, where even the world of fractured futures has yet to birthed them both.
Then, the skies ignited in a bright shine.
Explosions erupted in unison like distracted firecrackers, ravishing the district. Towering pillars of light— four corners sealing the land within a prison of transparent walls.
"It's time to move. "
The boy lifted his hand in a languid wave. Pulses of mana rippled as the cloak of ice dissolved, crystallizing into a single, pristine orb of caged scripts, placed firmly within the socket of his silver bracelet.
"Go fetch the girl before the pretense begins."
Chains of [Synthesis] sprung from his shadow, writhing like serpents of glass around his back, glinting in the blood-mist air as his form slowly began to dissolve into the fog.
"She's the key to our Ascendance."