~~~ Fifth of Abadius, 4715 AR ~~~
“I cannot believe you actually went through with this crazy idea!” The smaller cambion raised his voice. Yenlar went to open his mouth, scabbards clinking as he moved his hands to grasp his husband’s. Uvin snatched his hand away from his beloved’s in anger, his hand moved to hold the queen-sized bed.
“Uvin…”
“No, you’re letting me finish.” Uvin’s calm demeanor all but evaporated at his husband’s misconduct. The purple cambion didn’t know what he was specifically upset about. He just knew he felt angry. His husband relented, the coated arm of Yenlar that was sent his way now dangled by Yenlar’s side.
“I know you’re thinking,” Uvin said after breathing, lowering his volume. “That this is the only solution. Have you ever tried contacting the Egoriam Watch?”
Yenlar’s gaze still held his husband’s. His arm went into his tattered coat pocket, golden eyes still locked with blood red. Yenlar’s claws dug out a crumpled note. Displayed to Uvin was a pardon. A pardon that excuses itself. It stated that upon further investigation the establishment of ‘Yenlar’s Sparring School’ is safe and under no danger. It is signed by the captain of the watch.
“This was sent to my school five hours after I put the letter in the ballot.” Uvin bit his tongue at his husband’s words. However infernal the both of them are, lying is anathema to this relationship.
The violet cambion’s posture slumped, anger still within him, but every moment of anger is a veil for sadness. At least for Uvin. Yenlar’s two hands jolted to his husband’s, as he laced his fingers with his beloved’s.
“I know this is a step you don’t want to take, my love.” The larger cambion spoke as bits of the coat’s sleeve brushed against Uvin’s hand. Red met gold anew as Uvin’s eyes moved from the floorboards to his beloved’s eyes. “But for us to get the fuck out of here, this is our best shot.”
Uvin sighed as his husband’s words jerked his eyes to tears. Yenlar cared about Uvin’s wishes. These actions aren’t acting on Uvin’s anathema but on his greatest goal.
“I only need 3 months of salary to get enough to buy rations, a horse for the road, and then we can get to Isger.”
<b>The Kingdom of Isger</b> is a thriving state located to the east of Cheliax. A less cruel code of worship and a more forgiving set of laws embedded the groundwork that flourished in its society. A place of trade, work, education, and prosperity. Still governed by Cheliax, yet not in all aspects. More importantly for the two, prejudice is much less common. Isger was this couple’s haven from all the hate they’ve received. From all the pain they’ve felt. From all the horrors they’ve faced. From the childhood that they both were robbed of.
Uvin didn’t nod. He didn’t want to agree to this. He knew that these men could be the poison to the theoretical well that was their living. But he also knew they could be the purifier.
As merciless as law was, it could help them. As cold and heartless as these knights were, their goal, their sect of law’s sanctity, was all about helping Uvin’s husband. It was all about helping the Riek couple.
Uvin still did not want to agree to this. But his husband already tried everything else. From the city watch to conversations privately with Noble Minkar, to Egorian’s Council. All options failed them.
Uvin’s tear-soaked eyes stared into the black overcoat of his husband as his mind ran. Every option that could have helped, didn’t. Until they met unprejudiced law. These Hellknights caren’t for their horns. Their skin colors. Their eyes. Their connection to The Nine Hells. All was equal in their eyes. To them, prejudice is the base of anarchy.
Yenlar watched his husband’s mind running, his golden eyes moved to meet their wedding portrait. He closed his eyes under the inevitability of having to agree with the very things that harmed Uvin’s childhood. The very things that enslaved his mother. The Order of the Chain took her as she wandered Egorian, snooping for the wrong ingredients. Wrong enough to attract the ire of The Chain. That knife stabbed Yenlar’s heart deeper.
“I know what happened and why you’re against this, all of this, but…” Yenlar knew what he wanted to say to finish the sentence, but his husband’s face faked a smile as Uvin raised a hand to silence his spouse. “No, let’s just…get this over with. So I’ll never have to see this forsaken city again.”
…
“Sirs,” Maralictor Myrav spoke as he sat across the Rieks at their living room table, the wooden chair creaking under his armor’s weight. His monotone voice entered their ears as Uvin stared inwards into his mug of tea. Yenlar held his halfway-finished mug with both hands as he locked eyes with the Maralictor. “You claim social misconduct and abuse by this Noble Miknar, who sits near the Egorian high council. Have you proof?”
Yenlar gripped his mug tighter. “Aside from threats and obvious bribing law enforcement to look the other way,” Yenlar reached into his tattered coat that hung on his chair’s backrest, handing the Maralictor the letter of the Egorian Watch’s response. “They gave this to me after less than a day into my visit, very clearly having done zero investigations.”
The Hellknight officer narrowed his eyes at the letter, his squad stood behind him as though automata, unflinching and unmoving. “If he is right, sir,” One of the Hellknights behind Myrav mentioned as his commander read the letter. “This is corruption.”
“And you’re sworn to protect the society from it, no? One of the more kind Hellknight orders that don’t send people to enslavement camps - like The Chain - or deal with devils - Like The Gate.” Uvin’s choked voice rang as his eyes were focused on the brown liquid in his container. His blood-red eyes moved to view the Hellknight officer. Myrav’s brown eyes wandered from the bottom of the parchment to meet Uvin’s, his weight shifting as his plate clanged. Uvin saw the star on the Hellknight’s plate better. The Scourge’s Star.
“Yes.” The officer''s tone didn’t change but his glare felt oppressive to the amethyst cambion. As though daggers were to shoot from the Hellknight’s eyes. “I’ll have my men investigate this case. If this corrupt Noble makes the Watch look the other way to his assumed prejudice, I’ll have him Scourged.”
~~~ 24th of Arodus, 4720 AR ~~~
He sneered. The pose he held himself in was familiar to Yenlar. He always felt <i>right</i> when he held Reckoning as an extension of his arm: body straight, left arm perpendicular, right arm straight. He snapped to this stance in less than a breath. Without realizing it, he had already conjured Hellfire anew as his right arm felt the silver handle of his trusty sidearm. Sneering was just an intimidation tactic. He knew Archons <i>felt</i> fear.
“<b>What in the hell are you doing?</b>” he heard the voice to his right bellow, pointed shouting. The Aegis remained in the same posture it was in since Yenlar entered the room.
“How. Do. You. <b>Know. My.</b> <b><i>Name?</i></b>” Yenlar’s eyes narrowed, his arms didn’t move, his sharp ears twitched and he felt the warmth of Hell climb up to his eyes as the gold irises turned into a dancing white flame. The Aegis hasn’t reached for its lance. Its eyes blinked out of sync as its gaze moved to meet the same floorboards. <i>‘Shame?</i> <b><i>Weak.</i></b><i>’</i> Yenlar’s infernal mind insulted the celestial.
Its movement felt awkward to watch. An axis spinning, wings flapping, eyes blinking, all of it felt wrong to Yenlar. More human was the sound of a sword swinging into the air, pointing at his neck as his face felt the wind of a movement. He felt the coldness of a sword pointed at his throat. His right dancing-fire eye met a hyperventilating knight, distressed but not enough to flinch. His eyes moved back to the Outsider.
“Answer!” The cambion commanded with a harsh rise in his tone, his arm pushing closer to The Archon, as he felt a cold-iron blade moving higher up his neck. The eyes of The Shield moved from the floorboards and met The Knight Paladin, as it raised one of its arms. <i>“Lower it, Bryann.”</i> It spoke with countless voices. The head of the Lastwallian darted between Her Shield and the Hellknight, her sword arm shaking at Yenlar’s throat. The Cambion wouldn’t even bat an eye. She sneered as the whistling of her longsword being sheathed into her scabbard danced in the air. Its eyes then moved to the Hellknight.
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<i>“You are of My Lady’s men. Or at least a soldier of a commander. They mentioned you plenty.”</i>
“Don’t give me bullshit about Ishurak,” Yenlar’s blade still stood fixated on one of its eyes, as his forked tongue lashed. “An Archon invades my mind and then you know my name because of my Battle Brother? Like Hells.” His white-flame eyes burned brighter as his nostrils flared. “Real reason, my Hellfire burns bright. <b><i>Especially</i></b> through Archons.” His voice turned quiet and menacing as he coerced the celestial. Bryann’s arm reached for her sword again.
<i>“Her Armies are all connected into a gestalt mind, Hellknight.”</i>
“So you know who infiltrated my mind.”
<i>“No. I know only the why.” </i>
Yenlar’s fiery eyes burned dimmer as he raised an inquisitive brow and heard the sounds of footsteps rushing to the door. He never minded them.
<i>“An Escaped Soul visits our land and claims aid.” </i>Bryann’s brow raised beneath her visor at the celestial’s accusation.
The cambion’s eyes returned to a wildfire as he narrowed his eyes again, his gaze stiffened.
“I fight for law, and I know something you virtuous Outsiders don’t.” He spat the sentence as Absolution disappeared from his right hand, yet Reckoning was still pointed at the Archon. Yenlar saw the strike he’ll take, was the Archon to reach for the lance. Reading this entity was harder. It had no<i> body </i>to read. No mouth to gaze and see meaning. No lips it could bite the interior of. It was metal, with wings, eyes, and hands. ‘<i>Beats trying to read the stonework that The Lizard turned into.’ </i>Yenlar heard noises through the wooden door but continued ignoring.
The Shield shook its form with surprising humanity, raising its two sets of eyes to meet fire-eyes. <i>“We fight for the same goal, Yenlar.” </i>The Aegis spoke as Bryann commanded the investigative knights to stand down.
“<i>Don’t </i>say my name.” Yenlar narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
The shield, in turn, beat its wings slower. Ease moved through the metal form, one set of eyes locked with the point of Reckoning. The silver point turned more and more white before combusting into Hellfire. White flames danced around Reckoning''s blade and edge, reaching from tip to handle as some wreathed onto Yenlar’s gauntlet. It didn’t seem to phase the Cambion. The Shield could still see the eyes of the Hellknight before him, fully embracing the name of his rank. The Aegis’ opposition was encased by the foul energies of Hell. It wasn’t visible, but it <i>felt </i>the radiating searing heat of Styiga. It felt the neverending screams of Dis’ damned, it felt the endless falls of Cania and the bone-chill of Cocytus. Worst of all, it felt the looming of Nessus, Asmodeus’ lair, in the Hellknight before him. As though an eye watching, face curved into a ruinous smile hung above the Hellknight.
<i>“As you wish, Hellknight.” </i>All its voices spoke. <i>“We fight to end Tar-Baphon’s rule. Be it through Her justice, or your conviction to The Dark Prince,” </i>Bryann’s eyes narrowed beneath her visor, as her arms were sent to wrap around themselves.
“I speak for order, not for Asmodeus.”
“<i>You reek of him, Hellknight.” </i>
“<b>I </b>use Hell. Not the other way around.”
<i>“Order has been abolished in this plane by the abhorred Lich,” </i>The Archon ignored the Hellknight’s barging. <i>“Do you stand alongside Us? Alongside Her?” </i>All its eyes pointed upwards to meet the ceiling. Yenlar rolled his eyes. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything. Killing Opulence’s only method of divine intervention would’ve made him an enemy of The Knights of Lastwall. The Master wouldn’t be pleased. <i>The Master. </i>
Iomedae helped Ishurak become the paragon of order His Master is today. Did The Master look at Archons the same way? Subjective pieces on the board? To be manipulated for their virtues? Or did he view them as compassionate might, the holy lance unto the discord that is this putrid place? His Aeonic mind was too much for Yenlar to comprehend. It’d take a lifetime to comprehend even one voice amongst his ‘Kin’.
“Yes.” Yenlar’s tone stayed pointed, harsh, and stabbing, but the white flame consumed the weapon as the flames burned out, leaving nothing in Yenlar’s extended hand. He snapped into an at-ease position. “What are your battle plans? Strategies? What am I to do next to help this sad resistance?”
The Archon hummed with…content? <i>“Knight Paladin Bryann will fill you in either tonight or tomorrow.” </i>The countless voices spoke, pitches changing, and languages plenty. <i>“Welcome, Hellknight. You’re an ally to us.” </i>
…
Yenlar threw his belt that latched his two scabbards and pouch onto his waist onto the bed. The room he was given was adequate, and comparing the room to any other of the barracks, this room was of luxury. He wagered eight men and women slept in one room across this dilapidated tavern-cellar-turned-war-room. The barracks in Citadel Dinyar weren’t better, they sufficed enough. That was the only thing that mattered.
The smell of vintage alcohol filled this room, as Yenlar cringed at the spicy smell of fermented grapes. He made his discomfort known by making a dissatisfied noise as he sat on a nearby chair, looking at notes he placed on the desk accompanying his chair. He needed a shower and he knew it. He hadn’t disinfected the arrow wound on his chest, and the plasma of the phantoms he destroyed got through his visor and beneath his armor.
His gauntlets went to snap, as the black steel plate sucked itself into Yenlar’s hand. It turned white with Hellfire as all the metal went into Yenlar’s veins, leaving only black vestments that covered him from waist to toe. He organized the notes before the sound of a door creaking disturbed his planning.
“So about…Iomedae save me.” Bryann’s voice shook as she looked at the back of the Hellknight. A sanguine color horror was bestowed to the Lastwallian. Endless lashes of whip-cracks, deformed flesh attempting to mend stab wounds, burn marks, and axe slices. Channels ran through his red skin, accentuating the muscles but desecrating them via countless ugly deformed tissues.
She blinked twice and opened her eyes wide as the cambion’s horns rose with his craning head, turning his eye beyond his right shoulder. He pushed the chair back, rising to full stature. Yenlar turned around, revealing even more horrifying marks of war. A battle was painted onto Yenlar’s form, brushes were whip cracks, and colors were sword wounds. He was phased by none of them. He raised a brow at her surprise. “Strategy? What of it?” His low voice was dragged through his parched throat.
“Iomedae above, what in the Hells happened to you?!” Her eyes intermittently viewed both his torso and eyes. Yenlar gazed down at his form as well, raising both eyebrows with a shrug of his built shoulders. “I’m a soldier. We win wars through strategy. Sometimes the best strategy is being hit.” He placed his left palm onto his bicep and dragged the black nails onto three deformed scars in the shape of large dots. “Ever fought a Vordine? That’s how we get our ranks.”
Bryann’s hazel eye looked at the three prongs of what she knew to be a trident strike. With how wide the wound was, the trident went deep into Yenlar’s flesh. “Indeed I had the displeasure of fighting Hell’s infantry,” Her eyes wandered to Yenlar’s again as she curled her right elbow tighter, where her helm was held, pressure still held in her speech. “They’re ruthless.”
“How’d you get that eye?” Yenlar pointed with his chin across the room at the human’s violet eye. She furrowed her brows before smiling and shaking her head, all the tension gone. “After you display rage at Our Lady’s Shield, I don’t think you’re in a position to ask me these questions. You’re lucky he didn’t strike you.”
“It.” Yenlar corrected, ignoring her mistake about what emotions he may have felt. Bryann voiced her confusion via a raised brow and a questioning hum. “Archons are agender by design. They are instruments, not people. They <i>were</i> people, judged by Pharasma. Angels get to retain bits of their previous lives, not Archons. Your Shield isn’t a person, it''s a weapon.” Yenlar remembered memorizing this bit of text as his initiation into the Order. All Outsiders bar Angels, Azatas - two celestial Outsiders - and powerful fiends get to hold the concept of individuality. The rest are fodder.
The Knight Paladin exhaled at the Hellknight’s anecdote as she looked around the room. “Where’s your armor?” She asked with her head turning in search. Yenlar pointed at one of the veins in his right arm, a standout from the usual red skin was a glowing line, blinking with intensity. Bryann closed her eyes with exasperation. “So you put your armor inside of you?”
“Perks of it being attuned to your soul.” Yenlar’s silver tongue continued to jab as his lips curled.
“No, I won’t ask.” Bryann leaned on the doorframe with an unamused face, buckling her helm to her belt. “We plan to have a conference in Our Shield’s room tomorrow at dawn. We shared with you the basics. Make of it what you will.” She pushed herself off the door frame as she finished her sentence, and the Hellknight returned to his parchment notes. “Oh, and Yenlar?” He raised a brow before turning his head, “Get decent, please, there are women in these barracks.” He heard before the door closed. All he could muster was a chuckle as he snapped the underset of padded armor onto his person.
Before he could attend the notes with proper mind, his mind whistled again with the familiarity of thousands of voices. The way they caressed his mind was familiar yet alien at the same time, all the voices preluded a dominant one, as though a lighthouse. <i>His Master</i>. “<i>The council went well. We are to fight Dahak’s forces in the marrow. It might be a one-way journey. If I die you are to take all my belongings, rank included.” </i>Yenlar scoffed at this level of responsibility. He tried it once, corrupt by a devil as he was. Paravicars matched Masters of Blades in power and command, but not in area of control. One controls a singular brigade, the other controls nine.
<i>“I wish you luck, Lizard,” </i>Yenlar began. <i>“And I won’t take your rank. If your axe is on the table, I will take it though. Commune with me in my dreams?” </i>Yenlar asked but knew His Master couldn’t respond. He could only hope The Aeon would follow through.