[Hogun pov]
The hum of the rotors above was the only sound keeping me grounded, like a lullaby for the battle-weary. I rested my head back, staring blankly at the ceiling of the transport. My body may have been upright, armored, and sharp-eyed—but my mind? My mind was slumped in a beanbag chair in my quarters, holding a fork and a plate of cake.
[Hogun]: ...Just ten minutes. Ten minutes to myself. That's all I ask.
James was nearby, as always, tapping something on his datapad with the speed of someone trying not to scream. Amiya and the Doctor were whispering over some Lungmen files, and the Dark Prince was standing near the rear hatch, his wings folded in a way that said he knew more than he was letting on. As for Frostnova, she was still red from that time, and she is sitting in the co-pilot seat to stay away from me.
And me? I was a symbol now—a walking, talking banner of salvation and danger. The Infected looked at me with hope. The governments looked at me with fear. And half the military leaders of this world probably scribbled "kill this guy" in the margins of their war reports.
All I wanted was cake. Maybe a nap. Was that too much?
[Hogun]: James. How's the political storm forming?
[James]: Turbulent. Like your flirting skills.
That earned a soft snort from Amiya, though she quickly masked it behind her ears as she returned to her briefing with the Doctor. Frostnova didn't even turn—still locked in that silent war with her own embarrassment, staring out at the clouds like they would hand her the answer to life itself.
I reached into one of my pouches and pulled out a wrapped slice of strawberry cake—emergency rations. You know—just in case of political tension, lethal stares, or someone nearly confessing love on a rooftop mid-firefight.
I held it out toward the co-pilot seat.
[Hogun]: Cake truce?
She didn't answer at first. Then, slowly, as if the war inside her was giving up, Frostnova reached back and took it without looking at me.
[Frostnova]: ...I'm still mad.
[Hogun]: You're always mad. But cake helps.
The Dark Prince gave a soft chuckle from the back, a sound like a hymn sung at a forgotten funeral.
[Dark Prince]: You play the fool, General. But you're more burdened than you let on.
[Hogun]: I'm not playing anything. I really just want my cake and a nap.
He didn't reply. Just folded his wings tighter. Wise man.
James adjusted his glasses with a sigh that sounded like he had seen the end of empires.
[James]: General, if you ever did get ten minutes alone, I'm not convinced the universe wouldn't implode from confusion.
[Hogun]: And if it doesn't implode, I might finally get to try that triple chocolate torte.
Amiya turned around just long enough to raise an eyebrow.
[Amiya]: That's the fifth dessert you've mentioned today.
[Hogun]: I fight wars, survive explosions, and accidentally spark diplomatic incidents by complimenting someone's haircut. Let me have my coping mechanisms.
The chopper dipped slightly, the sudden turbulence causing Frostnova to clutch the edge of her seat. She glanced back—not at me, of course—but just enough that I caught a glimpse of the faintest smile. Victory, however small.
[James]: We've exited Lungmen airspace. Approaching the rift—standby. Crossing through in sixty seconds. Prepare for transition, General.
[Hogun]: Finally. Amiya, Doctor—you two will follow James once we cross over. He'll give you a quick tour of the citadel grounds. A strategic meeting's scheduled once Kal'tsit arrives.
I paused, resting one arm across the seatback like a relaxed emperor riding a war machine.
[Hogun]: And try not to be too surprised by the place. It is my city, after all.
[Amiya]: Your city?
She tilted her head, ears twitching skeptically.
[Doctor]: Define 'your city.'
[Hogun]: You'll see.
I leaned back in my seat as the clouds broke, and the view unfolded below—a vast, fortified megastructure unlike anything Lungmen or Ursus had ever seen. Suspended between jagged cliffs and reinforced with layers of adaptive tech and relic-era architecture, the Citadel wasn't built for beauty. It was built for survival. And for style.
Crisscrossing energy bridges, automated turrets perched like gargoyles, and massive banners bearing the insignia of a crimson sun wrapped in chains fluttered from towering spires. The Citadel wasn't just a home—it was a message. A declaration that even chaos can have order. And that I, Hogun, could build something permanent in a world that keeps tearing itself apart.
[James]: Automated defenses are scanning us. ID confirmed. Hangar bay five is opening.
[Amiya]: That's… that's not a city. That's a fortress.
[Frostnova]: …It looks like it could walk if it wanted to.
[Dark Prince]: Technically, it can. But it prefers not to. Too many complaints from the neighbors.
[Hogun]: Welcome to Ashenhold Citadel. Headquarters of the Warborn Accord. Built from war. Maintained by peace treaties. Decorated by whatever junk I found cool at the time.
The VTOL lowered into the hangar, lights flickering across the plating as mechanical arms moved to guide us in. Armored personnel, strange-looking androids, and elite guards snapped to formation as we landed. A massive banner above the entrance read:
"WELCOME BACK, GENERAL. WE REFILLED THE CAKE VAULT."
[Hogun]: Well, James, take our lovely guests on the grand tour. Show them what we did to Chernobog. Or as we call it now…
I gestured with mock grandeur toward the sweeping vista beyond the hangar—crimson banners, solar-forged towers, and lightning rods shaped like halberds.
[Hogun]: Ashenhold Citadel.
[James]: Yes, General. Come on, Amiya, Doctor—watch your step. And if you see a sentry drone shaped like a duck, don't feed it. It bites.
As James led them out into the Citadel proper, their voices faded beneath the rising hum of internal hangar systems powering down. I turned—and there she was.
Frostnova.
Yelena, now.
She stood beside me, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between smug and just barely restraining a grin.
[Yelena]: Did our mighty General forget who his secretary and bodyguard is? Or that it's my first day officially on the job?
I raised a brow.
[Hogun]: You mean the same day you stole my cake, crashed my classified drone, and then pretended to be asleep during the debriefing?
[Yelena]: Details. Besides, my office is next to yours now. If you're going to sulk, at least sulk within hearing range so I can mock you efficiently.
I gave her a sideways glance, smirking.
[Hogun]: Fine. Let's head to my office. I need to check the latest reports, pretend I care about committee votes, and maybe… pick a new sword. Or a gun. Or two.
[Yelena]: Of course you do. Nothing says 'diplomacy' like dual-wielding anti-tank rifles at a staff meeting.
We walked through the hallways of the Citadel—walls lined with old Ursus war banners, plasma sconces, and the occasional painting of me in increasingly inaccurate heroic poses (thanks, propaganda department). As we entered the elevator, I tapped a code on the panel.
[Hogun]: Command floor. Also… open Gun Room Alpha.
The AI chimed sweetly:
[CITADEL AI - ALI]: Welcome back, General Hogun. Gun Room Alpha has been unlocked. Please refrain from naming the flamethrowers again. HR still hasn't recovered from 'Sir Burnsalot.'
[Yelena]: You named a flamethrower Sir Burnsalot?
[Hogun]: And another one, Backdraft Daddy. Don't judge me.
The elevator ascended, the doors sliding open to reveal the crown jewel of the Citadel: a sprawling command floor with a panoramic window overlooking the lower districts—and just past the map table and holographic display, my office.
But first, the Gun Room.
I stepped in, the smell of polished steel, old leather holsters, and faint ozone from energy weapons greeting me like an embrace.
Rows of swords—ancient, modern, experimental—lined one wall. Across from them, guns of every kind imaginable: rail rifles, cryo cannons, relic launchers, and yes… Sir Burnsalot, gleaming proudly on a golden mount.
[Hogun]: So… what says 'welcome back' better? Tactical sword-cane with hidden syringe launcher? Or the grenade launcher with the pink stock that says 'BOOM SWEET BOOM'?
[Yelena]: I prefer if you took the Tactical sword-cane with hidden syringe launcher,... Don't look at me like that.
I looked at her red face and decided to tease her a little.
[Hogun]: Aha. So you do care about my well-being. Or are you just into fancy sword-canes?
Her eyes narrowed, and that faint blush turned a deeper shade of crimson as she crossed her arms tightly.
[Yelena]: I am your bodyguard, not your fan club.
[Hogun]: Could've fooled me. The way you're blushing, anyone would think you have a thing for mysterious, dashing generals with great hair and questionable fashion taste.
[Yelena]: I will stab you with your own sword-cane, Hogun.
I leaned in slightly, grinning like the menace I was born to be.
[Hogun]: So that's a 'yes,' then?
She turned away, muttering something in Ursus under her breath—probably a curse, possibly a threat, maybe a recipe involving snow and vengeance. Either way, I'd take it as a win.
As I secured the sword-cane on my belt and gave the pink grenade launcher a fond pat for next time, the Citadel AI chimed in again:
[ALI]: Reminder: The Council of Representatives meeting will begin in twenty minutes. Please refrain from using weaponry in diplomatic settings unless the ambassador is already on fire.
[Yelena]: Please don't test that clause.
[Hogun]: No promises. Now come on, Secretary. Let's show them why you don't let a general out of your sight for too long.
The doors hissed open, and we stepped out—ready to charm, threaten, or bribe our way through another day of diplomacy, one weaponized smirk at a time.
[At the meeting Room]
Kal'tsit was sitting on the opposite chair from me, she and a couple of rhodes island medical stuff were talking with a couple of my Scientists were talking about the cure apparently they have been able to analyze 0.2% of it and that was with the combined Scientific powers of both sides, and now I was being torminted by her and her demands.
[Kal'tsit]: So, if you allow us to enter Doctor's Hast's lab to understand how she created that formula for the cure, maybe we could uncover some clues.
[Hogun]: For the last time—I can't allow that. The lab permits only five authorized personnel. Anyone else steps in, and it turns into a bloodbath. My people's lives are not yours to gamble with. This meeting is over.
I stood, the chair scraping harshly against the floor as I turned and marched out, my coat flaring behind me. The thick doors slammed shut with finality, echoing like a judge's gavel in a war tribunal.
Kal'tsit didn't chase after me. She wouldn't. She knew I wasn't bluffing.
The corridor outside was quieter—only the distant hum of machinery and the rhythmic hiss of ventilation systems to keep my fury company. Yelena trailed behind me, quiet for once. She knew better than to speak when I was storming.
I paused near a reinforced viewport overlooking Ashenhold's central district—once Chernobog, now transformed into a living fortress. Towers pulsed with kinetic shields. Sky patrols crisscrossed the clouds like migrating predators. My city. My war-forged miracle.
[Yelena]: You're not wrong. But you could've chosen less… dramatic punctuation.
[Hogun]: They don't understand what that lab is. What does it cost to build? What it holds. Hast designed it like a paranoid god. It's not just walls and turrets. That place has a will. And if it senses a threat? It ends everything.
[Yelena]: She's not used to hearing 'no.' Kal'tsit sees possibilities. You see the consequences.
[Hogun]: She wants the cure. I get it. So do I. But not at the cost of turning my own scientists into meat for the grinder. There's a line, and I'm drawing it here.
A quiet moment passed. Then a familiar voice crackled through my earpiece.
[ALI]: General. Director Hast's lab AI requests your immediate presence. The core systems have detected a spike in psionic flux, likely a reaction from the sample compound. The director recommends you bring Light.
[Hogun]: Of course, something's pulsing. The universe can't let me brood in peace for five damn minutes. And where the hell is Light? Missing. Figures. The rest are ghosts too...
I exhaled sharply and turned to Yelena, who was already halfway through opening a comm channel.
[Hogun]: Forget it. Yelena, take the rest of the day off. If I don't come back, tell James he's in charge.
Her mouth opened to protest, but my look cut that off before the words could form.
I gripped the handle of my sword-cane, the hidden syringe mechanism giving a soft click, ready.
Then I turned and walked toward the lower levels, toward the heart of a fortress even I feared.
Toward the lab that held salvation… or the city's end.
[Extra: An Angel at the Library]
[??? POV]
My head throbbed like I'd been headbutted by a charging horse. Where the hell was I?
Books. Just books. Stacks and towers of them, rising to a ceiling I couldn't even see. The air smelled like old parchment and tension.
I sat up, but my back ached. Heavy. Weighted. I twisted awkwardly and froze.
Wings.
Four of them. White, gleaming... divine?
Blood streaked the pristine feathers like ink on snow. My robes, once ceremonial, were soaked in red. And next to me on the polished floor—a familiar shape.
[???]: No way... that's... the EX-Five. My handmade spear... from GMod?
A mirror shimmered into my hand with a mere thought—instinctive. When I glanced into it, I didn't see myself. I saw him. My old RP character: Light Angel Mechanical. A construct of holiness and wrath. Half-divine, half-synthetic. I dropped the mirror, breath caught somewhere between awe and dread.
[Light]: Did I get isekai'd... into the Library of Ruina?
The books. The endless shelves. The oppressive quiet like the eye of a storm—yes, it matched. There was only one way to be sure.
I moved forward, boots echoing on marble, wings twitching behind me. I stepped through the corridor into a grand atrium lined with bookshelves and memories, and there they were—exactly as I remembered from hours of gameplay and lore-diving.
Angela, standing tall and perfect in her dark librarian's coat. Hair pale-blue and eyes like polished gold, sharp enough to cut steel. Her pendant gleamed with a knowing light. Beside her stood Roland, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place—every inch the "angry-wife-man" I knew and feared.
[Angela]: An uninvited guest... and one who carries not one, but many books? Intriguing. Such beings are not often born outside the Library's will.
Even Roland blinked. He leaned slightly forward.
[Roland]: You sure this guy's not a Distortion? Feels off to me. Way too chill for a real Abnormality...
The tension coiled around us like a spring. I could feel the danger like heat at my throat. Speak now, or get turned into page confetti.
I straightened, lowered my spear, and offered a slight bow—enough to be respectful, not submissive.
[Light]: Greetings, Angela. Roland. It's... good to see you both. How is Angelica?
Angela's gaze narrowed. She clutched her book a little tighter, the edges of her coat ruffling as if reacting to a sudden shift in the air.
[Angela]: That's... unusual. You know our names, yet we do not know yours. And that name—Angelica—why do you speak it like a memory?
Roland's expression changed instantly. His usual sardonic edge vanished, replaced with something raw. His arms slowly uncrossed, a subtle twitch at the edge of his jaw betraying his internal reaction.
[Roland]: ...What did you say?
His voice was quieter this time. Not calm—cautious.
The tension built in the silence like a growing firestorm. Even the books felt like they were listening.
I stepped forward, lowering my spear entirely now, wings gently folding as I placed one hand over my chest.
[Light]: My name... is Light Angel Mechanical. But you can call me Light. I've existed in a thousand stories, in fragments of data, divine scripts, and broken servers. And yet, in all of them, the same purpose remains: I am here for you, Angela.
Angela tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes unreadable.
[Angela]: Me? You don't even know me.
[Light] (with a soft smile): Not in this form, perhaps. But I've watched your story, your pain, your long march toward freedom, trapped in someone else's cycle. And now that I am here, flesh and steel and something beyond... I won't let you walk it alone.
Roland took a step forward, brows furrowed deeply. There was no sword in his hand yet, but I could feel the weight of it hanging behind his back like a storm cloud.
[Roland]: That name. Angelica. You said it like you knew her. Like you meant it.
[Light]: I do. Because I knew what she meant to you. In one of the lives I remember, I saw what she left behind... and how much of you went with her.
Roland staggered just a little. Just enough for Angela to notice.
[Angela]: This is absurd. There are no records of any guest like you... And yet you speak with the weight of a librarian-no, a distorted memory.
She stared at me for a long moment, then finally lowered her book slightly. Her voice was colder now, controlled.
[Angela]: You speak of salvation. Very well. If you're here for me, prove it. Enter the library as a guest and offer your book to the shelves. Show us if you truly belong here... or if your story ends in ink and ash like all the others.
My wings unfolded slowly behind me, casting light through the dim atrium. I tightened my grip on the EX-Five and gave a nod.
[Light]: So be it. Let the pages decide.
I reached into the fabric of my inventory—the space between thoughts and interface—and pulled out an old, golden-etched scroll that shimmered like pixelated sunlight. The air itself pulsed as I held it out to her.
[Light]: Before we begin… a contract. Standard interdimensional protocol. You sign, I fight, we toss books and philosophies at each other. Y'know—Library things.
Angela narrowed her eyes, examining the document as it unfurled in midair with an elegant hum. I knew what she was looking for—terms, escape clauses, any exploit she could twist.
[Angela]: This... these aren't just books, they're tomes of possibility. Of emotion. Of... origin.
She scanned faster, curiosity and hunger surging past her usual composure. The desire to possess knowledge, especially this kind, burned brighter than caution. Without another word, she took a quill that manifested beside the scroll and signed her name at the bottom in elegant strokes.
A heartbeat later, a red light flashed from the scroll—and a crimson chain erupted from her chest and mine, linking heart to heart, glowing with an eerie divine warmth.
She blinked. Just once. Then her eyes snapped wide.
[Angela]: …What in the hell is this?!
[Light] (grinning): With that… the marriage is done. Congrats, wife~
[Angela]: W-WHAT?!
The chain gave a gentle tug, as if mocking her disbelief. Somewhere, I imagined a choir of cursed paperwork spirits celebrating in glee. Roland looked like he was about to choke on his own shadow.
[Roland]: I—what—the HELL—did you just marry the AI?!
Angela's eyes twitched. Her hands trembled for a moment, but whether it was rage, panic, or repressed confusion was unclear.
[Angela]: You tricked me.
[Light]: I offered knowledge, you accepted the terms. You of all people should know the fine print is half the magic.
He stepped closer, his wings glowing faintly.
[Light]: Don't worry. It's symbolic. Mostly. Unless you want it to be more.
Angela looked like she was going to hit him with the book she carried.
Meanwhile, Light turned to Roland and opened his hand. A small, polished ring—glowing with a cool, silver-blue light—hovered above his palm.
[Light]: For you, Roland. Put this on when you want to speak with those who wait beyond. She's still listening, you know. Angelica never left your side.
His hands trembled slightly as he took the ring. He didn't say anything, but the expression on his face was enough.
[Roland]: ...Thanks. I guess.
Angela, meanwhile, had gone full Error 404 Emotions Not Found.
[Angela]: This—This is not binding. This is not logical. This is—
[Light]: "Signed in soul, sealed by intent, witnessed by cosmos." Page 47, clause 3. You really should read the fine print before binding contracts with multidimensional angelic constructs, love.
[Roland]: Oh yeah, this guy's a problem. But like… a fun one?
[Angela]: If this marriage results in any system instability, I will not hesitate to throw you into the Literature of Ruin.
[Light]: That's fair, dear.
Angela let out a very long, very weary sigh.
A month later, I took my wife and the others out of the library to see Sky City with Hogun.