Chapter 7: 7. The Waning Sun of Noon and The Bond of Friends
Day After the Transfer
Demiurge 2
"The day has been rather tame, considering the significance of it."
The words were spoken by his compeer, who stood leaning against the balcony entrance, his attention captivated by the view of Velena's north wing's exterior where the serfs' grounds laid, and his back turned towards the solar's quaint splendour.
Demiurge found no offence in the disregard. The scenery of the garden perceived upon the dominance of his balcony was a soul capture.
It was a view of fountains and bridge-ways built over blue waters and a deluge of flowers along with palm trees spread even. Numerous homesteads built like manoirs stood further beyond it, like a residence sector designed for the affluent and prestigious.
The demonologist supposed it made sense, many of the serfs who took residence in this section of the palace were those of higher positions within the Liaqen's employ, and thus individuals without ménage…or still in the process of forming one.
It was rather impatient of Cocytus to base mass judgment on a location devoid of one.
Besides, the palace was never in the absence of order. This was more so during the daytime when duties needed handling and important individuals made visits within Velena.
Last he heard the city was abuzz with excitement and preparations for the night's festive. And he was sure the palace would also follow in kind come dusk's herald.
After all, their leave of the cursed vanir-lands was a course for celebration, more so since it seemed they had managed to flee from the Root-Realms altogether.
Though an orb-world was a rather bizarre place to end up, granted it was a greater mass of earth and water than their anchored lands back in Helheim.
…or so was his conclusion after making comparisons with the ancient records of the olden lands.
"I highly doubt that," He finally decided to reply, his voice easy and clear as he languished upon his feywood-framed couch with cushions covered in indigo wyvern suede. He held a round, short glass of an oval-like design in his least favoured limb, swirling an amber liquid within it.
"I'd think you'd be privy to the happenings lwithin the city, seeing how you rode through it from your estate." He continued, tone kept at a steady cadence, his breath even and heartbeat kept at a constant rate.
"I was rather occupied with Irisviel back then."
Cocytus finally turned away from the balcony's view, a slight pull of fatigue on his face. Gone was the joy he had harbored during their first meeting today; the affairs of the day had tempered it, especially the announcement of the Militaur's minuscule increase in funding despite the demand to bolster their numbers.
Demiurge was still unsure if the vehemence that had echoed in the Fenrilan's voice was born of the fact that such a decree would negatively impact the army's campaigns or simply because he did not want to dedicate more time than necessary to the army.
...because if it was the former, the privileges granted by the king should be enough to void the Militaur's budgetary issues.
Granted only if the army's upper echelons were willing to put in the effort. Though his friend's reaction certainly did not inspire much optimism in the administrative and innovative capabilities of the warmongers.
Save for one, of course.
Cocytus moved to the couch opposite his, the manner of his gait lax and unguarded. He had discarded the blazer and waistcoat of his lavender suit, leaving his white sleek shirt the only deterrent for the room's mild shiver.
"You say things like that and I start wondering if you two have also come to the eagerness of the royals." His was a jest response, though it was not unprompted as the Fenrilan's words did contain such risqué insinuations.
His friend's cerulean eyes almost bugged out of their sockets at the words, yet the warrior was quick to calm and muster a defense. "That was in no way the meaning behind my words." He said, then sighed before settling himself onto the couch, his body relaxing into the furniture's soft comfort. "Yet if you were to ask me what the missus was saying, I'd be hard-pressed to provide you with an accurate response."
Demiurge's lips did twitch at that, the amusement simple and common.
Love.
It was such a queer thing to him, an emotion of contradiction and self-sabotage to the point where one would think it a curse of sorts. Yet in the same sense, it was something beautiful and profound, an unspoken connection that went beyond mere emotions.
He had seen it in the king and queen; granted, the royals were an extreme example. Yet theirs was the most potent of affections, and just being in their mere vicinity inspired envy within those unsworn.
And the demonologist was often victim to it; however, his lust for the merger was an extremely conditional affair, an influenced sired by the taint of his birth.
…the remembrance of his depraved genesis brought a cold rage to his chest.
He brought the distilled wine to his lips and took a sip of it, the strong taste and burn of it scorching away the feelings his heart had mustered.
"I'm rather surprised that Irisviel allowed you free roam." He decided on a tamer subject, leaning further into the couch's embrace as his right leg settled upon his left. Graceful. "I was sure that she'd hoard you until your child's birth."
Cocytus shifted, a bleed of dissatisfaction shading his emotions somewhat. "Ah, yes. I too was hoping that would be the case; it could have been a great excuse for straying from the army's workload, especially with these recent developments." He scowled at that last part—the bitterness of the meeting still seemed to be eating at him.
Demiurge would have thrown a few suggestions at him, but he really could not afford to be absorbed in any other matters, much less the army's.
'I'm sure Intamohtar Punito will think of something.'
There were not many people whom the demonologist respected purely for their intellectual excellence; the number barely exceeded ten. Yet, the Intamohtar was among the highest on that list.
Cocytus reached for the glass Demiurge had left for him and downed the iskra in it in one swift gulp.
The demonologist raised a brow at the inelegant display, an expression that saw the warrior scoffing at him. "Don't give me that look. You don't know how warped my diet has become after Irisviel found out about the baby."
"That bad?" He feigned a sympathetic look, though he doubted it beguiled his friend. Still, the large man ignored it and focused on his curious question.
"That isn't the worst of it. Irisviel has the fanatics come by the estate every day to check on the child's condition." Cocytus shook his head. "And she keeps thanking them with sacks of gold might I add."
This would have been an absurd tale if Demiurge was not privy to the madness of the trio— the queen, the valkyrie and the caster. He was quite sure that wasting coinage on frivolities was a hobby of theirs.
The pursuit of their dreams was that much of an idiocy-veil it seemed.
Yet still…
"I'm guessing she finds little solace in the assurances of the family's physicians?" This was not a question born of deductive curiosity but the mere fact that the queen was prone to doing the same thing.
The pontiff had made it a habit to frequent the castle to dispense faux blessings of fertility upon the queen, who found comfort in the charade.
The brighter side of it was the holy man thought of the tedium ventures as divine tasks, thus he accepted no favour in exchange.
Though privately, Demiurge suspected that the pontiff simply enjoyed the company of the royals due to his odd obsession with the king's future…or deluded future.
One could never tell with fanatics.
Cocytus gave a resigned nod to his query, his hands making a beverage out of his vintage Lumina from Klifgrepp on Niðavellir. The warrior filled his glass and gulped it down like it was a cheap brew.
…before going in for a third pour.
"You truly make it difficult for me to feel sorry for you." He said, a swift and silent cast of [Vile Caress] sprouting multiple scale tendrils out of his right hand that shot forth to snatch back his vintage bottle. "I'll have you know that this thing is a relic from the times before the realm devourer."
He had thought Cocytus would be deliberate in the liquor's consumption. A miscalculation on his part.
"Every vintage bottle is from the time before that catastrophe." The warrior was impassive to his actions. "Unfortunately that doesn't make them any flavorous…or potent."
"I suppose I should have expected that response from you." Demiurge sighed, then something piqued his interest. "Speaking of catastrophes, did you ever come by a working agreement with the cathedral?"
The human settlements ravaged by the undead suffered more damage than they had initially suspected. It was not just casualties and injuries, but the lands were thick with miasma that promised famine and natural undead rising from the ill-maintained urnfields of these primitivepeople.
Purification and land enrichment rituals would need to be performed to return the grounds to their prior state.
"Don't even remind me of that…" Cocytus groaned. It was an exaggerated reaction, the demonologist felt. "But yes, I managed to talk them down to sending a few clerics to aid with healing and cleansing. Some regular fanatics also volunteered to help with the relief efforts, though I suspect they might have a few sermons planned to take advantage of the victims' vulnerabilities."
Despite the words, there was little concern within the Fenrilan's tone... At least no concern Demiurge sensed. As for himself, he was rather indifferent of the faith's doctrine, and the disregard was not flavoured by his demonic blood.
He gulped the remainder of his iskra and savoured its festered refinement— his friend had been wrong in his opinion of the liquor lacking any marvellous qualities— before letting out a mimicry of a contented sigh.
"That should lessen the burden on the Militaur and help with connectivity. From what I'd been able to gather, the natives of these lands are rather simple in their livelihoods and beliefs. It shouldn't be difficult to win them over."
That was not entirely true. Such naivety was only isolated to the rogue peasantry. Those who suffered under the mistreatment of the nobles were more wary...more so of strangers with faiths so different from the common ones.
A side effect of the many cults that had become common in recent decades.
The Fenrilan gave a scratch to his bearded chin, shooting him a queer, if somewhat amused, look. "It's unlike you to be this optimistic about the capabilities of us warmongers, even in regards to simple affairs," he jested. Then a grin came to his features. "Are you sure you don't have a betterapproach concocted, one that will not leave room for disagreement on their part?"
Demiurge's brows furrowed at Cocytus' jape, an expression that caused the warrior to erupt into an irksome guffaw.
Still, his friend was not wrong, at least about the first part. His appraisal of the Militaur, and the Aigroqir for that matter, was rather low due to the incompetence of many individuals in their ranks when it came to writing reports or judging situations outside of combat.
He shook off the annoyance. "The king has made it clear that he won't tolerate any forceful means of vassalage." Of course, that did not mean he could not manipulate their actions like a shadowed marionette.
But that was just semantics; his liege's intentions were clear and absolute. Besides, this tender approach was only reserved for the rogue villages and the dark elves. The other nations enjoyed no such privileges, and he had already been decreed to manipulate them as he saw fit through the proxy of Eight Fingers.
Cocytus' laughter petered out as a cautious curiosity took over his face. "About that," He stated, a wary tone in his words…almost as if taboo was on his tongue. "Isn't King Arathron being a tad too lax with the approach regarding this world?"
The demonologist brought a naked hand up to his nose bridge and gave a theatrical push to his round spectacles. Ponderous. "Numerous sweeps have been done of the lands, and aside from the inner part of the great forest west, there's little danger within our immediate surroundings. And as for the king's nonchalant attitude, I suspect this realm is not unfamiliar to him."
"And what of your opinion of it?" The question came too quickly for it to not have been the true query.
He gave a long look to his friend, his gaze critical and assessing. He decided he knew exactly what the true purpose behind Cocytus' inquiry was— the instincts of a father, if one were to ask him.
Though that did not make the concern any less irksome to entertain.
Slowly, ever so patient, Demiurge rose from the couch, smoothing out the phantom creases in his marvelous orange-lined suit. His grey gaze flickered toward the balcony and further beyond Elgroth's influence into the wilder lands where starved plants reigned and mountains crowned with fallen snow stood unconquered.
Clear blue skies and a bright, warm radiance untainted by the remnants of old miracles graced the heavens. And the air was rich with nourishment, scented clean and fresh by the lone filter of nature.
Based purely on mundane perception and magical ignorance, this world was a paradise close to perfection…
He took it all in before exhaling an uncharacteristic sigh. "I wish we could have been born anywhere that wasn't Vanaheimr. Mayhaps then we could ascribe better judgment and see beyond the comparison of it."
The vanir-lands had turned foul in the absence of the gods' meddling, now filled with all sorts of vile dimensions and fey-horrors. Although Elgroth was isolated from its madness and creatures, that did not mean they were unaffected by osmosis.
…as was the case with the cursed-unfortunatesthey harboured.
He turned to his friend. "I'm not as optimistic as the king about this world— though I doubt the royal is either— but I think this is a better place than any of the tree realms." He paused, remembering all he could about Midgard before resuming, more certain. "Yet I feel it's not absent of greater dangers... even outside the infernal beings that plague the kingdom west of us."
Cocytus did not sigh at his answer, but the relief was perceivable in his shoulders. "That's good to hear."
"I will repeat my earlier statement: you really make it difficult to sympathise with you, Cocytus." Demiurge shook his head, though his disappointment was faux.
After all, he knew the difficulties of being a cursed-born— albeit his curse was an intentional circumstance of his sire— and understandably, did not want his godchild to have to suffer the same fate.
The Fenrilan had the decency to look ashamed and a bit chastised. "Apologies, friend. It's just… well, it's not necessarily something positive. No matter our acceptance in view of it."
He nodded in agreement with those words, not particularly offended by them.
Much as many wanted to believe it not, this was, in fact, the unfortunate truth of man's society. Those who had suffered a foul birth could never be seen in a desirable light— mostly due to the malefic aspect of their curse.
Demiurge's own curse bore no significant depravity, all parts in thanks to his pater's experiments and in-depth knowledge on the infernal. Yet it shaped his existence so profoundly that extrication would be no different from death, if not worse.
For, after all, he was, at his very core, a half-demon. Body and soul.
"Horrid days are those we left behind, my friend." He stated, giving a glance to the noon sun. "Now we can indulge in the fancies of free men."
"How kind of you to shroud debauchery in poetry."
He shrugged at the Fenrilan's dry words, "It is too great a day to not have it significantly celebrated, no? Freedom for freedom."
False words would be saying that he did not look forward to the evening. He was sure that Isaac would have a fine selection waiting for him at the family manoir.
…and Demiurge was truly starved for pink sin.
Cocytus stood from the couch as well, something benign shading his aura as he walked toward him. "You know, Irisviel actually asked me to invite you for dinner...to celebrate both the night and your role as our child's godfather at the estate."
"Rejected. I refuse to suffer the embarrassment of being presented like an item to your wife's compeers." The demonologist's tone was clear and unamused.
Twice he had suffered Irisviel trying to pair him with her friends— the Yggdmillennia and Edelfelt to be specific. Exceptional talents the both of them, but extremely immature women for his liking.
The warrior's hand settled on his shoulder. "Surely you don't expect me to disappoint my pregnant wife, do you? Beside, Artoria is an amazing woman. I'm sure you two'll hit it off."
It was not the first time the demonologist had lamented his middling talents in Mana Sensory…or being blindsided by his friend.
Demiurge could feel Frost Aura temporarily corrupting his Mana Network with its [Wraith Shards], and thus eliminating any chance of escape from the warrior without extraordinary work from his part.
He looked at his friend's hand for what felt like the longest time, wondering if he truly wanted love if it meant being a slave to another's whims... before turning his gaze to the man in question, whose face was split into a wide grin.
"Know that this will not be without retribution, Cocytus." There was no shame in admitting defeat, but he would be sure to pay this humiliation back by a factor of four.
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Information [Magics]
1. [Veil Caress]: This is a 3rd-tier infernal spell that enables the caster to summon black, sinuous tendrils from their upper limbs. These tendrils act as extensions of the caster's body, providing enhanced reach, dexterity, and strength. The tendrils can shift in properties, becoming as hard as steel, as flexible as thread wool, and as swift as the wind when expertly controlled.
2. Mana Sensory: A unique ability that allows an individual to detect, interpret, and analyze the presence and flow of mana (or magical energy) in their surroundings. It also goes by the name: Abnormal Intuition.
This ability can sometimes integrate itself into one of the five primary senses.3. Frost Aura: An extremely cold shroud inherent to individuals with an extreme ice affinity. The shroud also has a domination effect in matters of cold and ice. I.E the aura is capable of appropriating control over foreign ice.
4. Mana Network: This is a complex, interconnected web of mana pathways that exist within the metaphysical bodies of magi or magical creatures. This system facilitates the flow, transfer, and manipulation of mana, acting as the fundamental infrastructure for all superficial magical activities.
5. [Wraith Shards]: This is an advanced utilisation of Frost Aura that allows the user to inject phantom shards of ethereal ice into a person's metaphysical body. These shards interfere with mana flow, thus making spell casting a difficult endeavour, and also allow for easy and concise tracking.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone