Shadow of the Abyss

It took no more than a week to unearth and neutralize the hidden spies within the Maner of House Nier. Tasha's relentless interrogation and Raven's transformation of the captives into Forsaken had swiftly built an army of considerable might.

An army that held enough power to challenge any Ninth Circle. Many of them were Ninth Circle themselves, which required more than a dozen Heartstones to raise them. She had been lucky to have the house Nier behind her.

Despite the vehement objections of Alyssa and Therion, who were replaced near their Master's room with two Forsaken in the Ninth Circle, Raven made the strategic decision to appoint each as a captain within her Valeguard before leading an army of a hundred to Arkim.

It was a bitter realization for Raven that when creating a Forsaken, she could not bring them back to life with the memories of their past lives. It was a disappointment, but in the grand scheme of things, it meant little. She needed bodies, an army. Whether they could remember or not was of little consequence. It was just a mere bonus to their character. That was all.

The Old Duke, Lord Elgar De Nier, had bothered himself to follow, watching her like a hawk as if she had done wrong. 'Well, let him watch,' she told herself, both hard and proud. Eyes towards the outskirts of the city. She ignored the feeling of doing wrong, no matter how strongly she felt. That had been insecurities, and she could not allow such things to get in her way.

Arkim was as peaceful as she remembered it. More now than a month ago. "Therion!" she shouted, and the Forsaken Devil appeared like a vaporous shadow. "Inform the City Watch. Arkim is under martial law. By order of the Dutchess.

Be quick."

"As you say, Lord Commander," he saluted. She nearly cringed at the name.

When he departed in a prismatic bar of light with the signed writ from the dutchess, they moved to invade the city. There would be no prisoners this day. No bouts of mercy. These animals had tried to Kill her Master, and there was simply no path for them but death itself.

Lifting her Vale wrought glaive, she shouted, in a voice that froze the sun, "For the Court of the Black Moon!" "For the Vale!"

The Forsaken at her heel echoed her words, echoed in a harder tone as they entered Akrim, just as the barren horn tore across the air.

Martial Law

Tasha had said it would have been a detriment to all trade in the city, but that mattered little to her. It wasn't her job to care about things like trade. If she cared so much, Tasha would have found a way; simply remembering such a thing, Raven's bone-white knuckles popped, gripping her Glaive.

By the time Therion had returned to take command of his twenty-five men, alongside Alyssa with the same number, that quickly became a hundred strong with the aid of the City Watch bolstering their forces, they had marched off under her explicit order.

In her mind, hundreds of strings connected to each other, connected to hundreds of thousands of combinations of how the enemy could react. Akrim was large. Larger than even Zamphis. She hardly had enough men to combat her problems, Ninth Circle or not.

A plan pulled each string, each action, and reaction together to coalesce in her mind, and before long before she knew it, they had begun raiding several points of interest, dens where imperial family dogs laid their heads. They had expected nothing when men kicked open the door, charging in to stain the hardwood floor red.

They all died like dogs, and their heads were placed on pikes for the ravens to peck at. Brothels, gambling dens, unground fights, clothing stores, and various named houses where a few nobles lived.

She struck with their pants down. Those who tried to fight were easily run through before they could summon their weapons. Those who raised their hands to surrender had the honor to die painlessly. The same could not be said for their remains.

By midday, Akrim was silent, children watching through cracks in the door where they were quickly pulled away by their mothers, frightful by the bloodshed.

All of it left a bitterness in her mouth, a bitterness that turned her stomach.

"My Lady—" The Commander of the City Watch, Ga'ab Sortar, stared but was subsequently taken out of it by the palm that cracked like a whip from Tasha.

"You are addressing The Lord Commander of the Young Master Valeguard." Your next read is at empire

If Ga'ab Sortar was perturbed, he did not show it; nodding indifferently, wiping the blood from off his lip, he placed his status as a Transcendent to the side.

"I was blind, Lord Commander. Will you forgive me?"

As much as it pained her, Raven kept her face like stone. She nodded. "What do you have to say?"

"In the ensuing chaos, ten men tried to escape from the north and south entrance. They have been taken into custody."

"Were my orders not clear, Watch Commander." It was not a question.

Beads of sweat gathered alongside the brow of Ga'ab. "They are close allies of the Duke, Lord Commander. Friends who—"

Raven pulled her attention to the Old Duke, fuming where he stood. "L-Lord Commander, shall I handle this?"

Raven might have given him the face he deserved if she found he could be of help, but… "Your Grandson is being plotted against. And this—" she glanced at the Watch Commander.

"They are from the House of Varon, Lord Commander."

Her gaze returned to the Old Duke. "Can you do what is necessary?" she demanded.

"Of course, girl, I…I mean Lord Commander. Even retired, I am still a duke." Raven gave a nod, though it was not at the Old Duke but Tasha.

"See that he does. Watch, Commander, the headless bodies will be burned; make it a spectacle. Let Akrim see what is to happen to those who plot against the Young Master, Nox De Nier. Participation is not up for debate."

****

"Altair, Altair Altair,' The Vale King said, rolling a bloody hand through his silvery hair. "I do believe I've lost count of the number of times I've killed you. Give it up. As fast as you grow, I grow faster."

As the thousands mouths across the blackness of space gnawed at his flesh, their thousand eyes glaring at him, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, black as ink. He growled, pulling himself out the jagged teeth of these creatures, and glared at the Vale King.

"You cannot win! You have died more times than you've breathed. Stop this madness and surrender yourself to me."

Altair glowered at the man. Give up? Him? He was either a fool or desperate. The pain, the humiliation, he could bear. It was his duty.

His duty to Reina, Syris, and even Raven. To give himself away was no different than betrayal. He had not fallen so low as to disregard the women he loved, the kingdom he had built just because of shame or defeat.

The Vale King's lips tightened against one another. "How long can you hold this belief? It has been a mere week. And I have years. Years! After a thousand years, a thousand cycles, a thousand Dao Cycles, and a Thousand Chaos Cycles, how long do you think you can hold me back!"

How long he could hold out, he could not say, but it didn't matter. That was then, and this was now. And that was all that mattered.

"I will break you!" The Vale King said, forging his sword of Vale to appear in his hand.

Altair wanted to laugh. His shadow appeared more desperate than he was, but he could not blame the man. It was maddening to exist in this hell where even space gnawed at your flesh.

The Vale King, however, was right. He was growing stronger at a frightening rate; as fast as he learned, the Vale King learned just as quickly. A consequence of sharing the same Soul Flame. Perception and Comprehension were roughly equal. No, they were equal. The Vale King only had the luxury of living in the Madness of this strange Realm.

He could only dream of being free, one day, training without distractions to support him.

"Again," He said, reforging his Vale-wrought sword like he had done a million times before and bounded forward like a flood dragon, shrouded by sword intent. Blades of despair and desperation danced, exploding into a black sun devouring light. When he fell, he rose once again, bringing himself from the aimless lake of blood that could drown a man. He rose anew, ready to fight again.

And again, and again. And again. Over and over, they clashed, each time their battle becoming longer and longer.

***

Within the Castle of Sygian, Arsene stared at the letter his little brother had tossed his way and grinned. "Is this your way of formally asking me to a dance?"

Zariel wasn't the least bit phased. He was so boring.

Snatching up the letter, he frowned, lifting his gaze to Zariel. "You want my son to go to Bios? He's not ready yet."

"He cannot refuse the Archon's request. He is not nearly as strong as he believes," Zariel said as if he were not talking about his nephew. Cold bastard. "Plus… I want you to go with him."

"Me? What happened to secrecy? We've only halfway recovered. It will take about a hundred years for this bloody Soul Exhaustion to fade completely."

"Sometimes…" He said in a strained voice. "I think you forget you are not just one person. You are the Second Monarch of Hell, Lord Arsene Snow. You've all of the Nine Hells behind you."