 
Advent of Silver

By Atilla K. Zengin

Copyright 2013 Atilla K. Zengin

Smashwords Edition

### "If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them."

### \- Thoreau (Philosopher, 1817-1862)

# PROLOGUE

Ignorance, greed and power are the three major factors of war.  Since the beginning of history, humankind has waged wars throughout our world's continents, claiming lands, pillaging their civilians and slaughtering thousands upon thousands within mere decades.  This is seen as an 'Act of War', which society sees as a justifiable excuse for violence.

Politics – systematic government laws which built the very foundation of society.  Democracy, Dictatorship, Monarchy – this is a way of life for humanity, civilians in a functioning society, backed by economies providing trade and jobs. Many forms of politics are mostly selfish, introducing 'nobles' who rank higher above average folk, systems catering to their needs as a priority.  It promotes assertion, constantly wanting greater than other parties.  A system - that holds traits of the three factors.

Religion – a system of faith and worship, believing in an almighty presence. It is looked upon as higher than politics as it's the very foundation of life existing in the early ages of the world. Consisting of many historic appearances, many believed it to shape the world as we know it. It changed history; many see it as an epidemic - directing it on a course which will forever persist within our lives. Calendars adapted to this way of life, changing according to the birth related to God himself. Religion is interpreted in many ways, branching off into many beliefs because of this. Religion promotes love, happiness and forgiveness – violence, conquer and control may follow.

These human structures still brought us war. Constant warfare started raging throughout the world.  It brought us to a 'World War' - a 'war to end all wars.'  Nothing changed, as it was followed up by a Second World War.  Politics clashed, as their ideals were not met eye to eye with other parties.  Religions argued as their beliefs did not bode well with other theology.  Humankind were at each other's throats, slaughtering mercilessly, for they do not share the same opinions, nor do they share the same outlook on the world – and for this, they must die.  Humanity ages to the twenty-first century. Advancement in technology, medicinal methods and society was less barbaric. Trials were held more often for the convicted rather than putting them straight to the rope or fire.  Overall living was an improvement, as time has educated us on our way of life, how to appreciate the gift of time – as time was humanity's greatest gift - a gift which has countless possibilities, the very essence of life itself.  Education was more accessible to the world, embedding knowledge into the brains of society by becoming more self-aware of Humanity. Opportunities were more than ever before, allowing people with potential and aptitude to become something in life, to become greater than we were before; knowledge, generosity and yielding.

Despite humanity's efforts, society didn't change much - the very roots of mankind were still yearning, a strong ambition to demonstrate one's true beliefs, regardless of humanity's efforts to evolve.

Year 2051 was upon humanity, and a Third World War had erupted.  Mankind's efforts of creating a better future which provided better technology was used for advanced warfare – war like never before.  War had evolved, just like humans had.  More gruesome than ever before, the same minds that have created technology for the better future now create weapons of mass destruction which wipe entire nations off the map, weaponry that annihilates entire fleets of soldiers in seconds, hailstorms of bullets which pierce through the solid foundation of structures housed by civilians - collateral damage was at its peak. It was all but a mind game – who will be the first to launch a nuclear strike to the opposing nation? It was inevitable, it didn't matter who sent the first strike, it didn't matter which nation would disappear off the map first - for destruction was on a global scale. Humanity was on the brink of extinction and the final war would have finished what they had started - what they had been molded by and the very trait of what mankind had carried - no matter how far we intend to run away from it.

Until, that day came. That one, world-changing day was upon us. Amidst the raging war; the battle that shook the Earth and were to surely bring us total annihilation – stood a soldier. It was a soldier who stood in the battlefield screaming with warfare and violence. Covered in the blood of his comrades, his nations' enemies, and the blood of innocent civilians with children among them caught up in the apocalyptic battle. The soldier, who swore to fight and swore to be brave for his nation, fell to his knees and wept.  Even as he wept, the world around him still fought - the war of the world's end still raged on, countless people - both soldiers and civilians - dying.  His world and his people, whom he cared about, meant no more. Then, the soldier stood. He rose to his feet with the world still shaking beneath him as he pulled himself up, the screams throughout the battlefield still ringing in his ears, but it did not faze him.  He looked up to the black sky, enclosed in smoke and fire and shouted a plea, filled with anguish and despair.  For anyone, anything that could end this war, end this suffering that has struck upon this world, end the violence and the death. He did not care if it was God who heard him, he did not care if it was a squadron still on the battlefield who heard him.  He just wanted it to end.

He got an answer.

Beyond the smoke filled sky - still littered with embers and falling aircraft - emerged a presence. It was an unknown entity from this world, and perhaps beyond.  The soldier's pleas for mercy have been heard, but not from his comrades.

...And not from God.

The being promised to bring an end to mankind's wars and humanity shall never be divided again. From that day forth, the entity promised a change.

The change created a whole new world. A world we never knew could exist - a world that no human could have ever achieved.

The continents in the entire world were shifted and merged into each other, creating one Super Continent.   Advanced warfare-weaponry were dispersed and vanished into thin air.  Any means of rapid transportation which greatly aided warfare were dismantled and dissipated. Religious books were no exception, as they dematerialized from the face of the earth – the new earth. In addition, the unknown entity had one, last gift.

The new world was introduced to magic, as it was embedded into this new realm, breathing life into everything it touched. It offered many new opportunities, a new chance to coexist with humanity itself, a new life - a life that was asked for a very, very long time. When the entity finally left, so did the war. The violence, the screaming, the pleas for mercy...

Everything stopped.

The nations around the world - now all neighbors to each other - signed a peace treaty.  Previous conflicts were now a part of the past, a part of the old world that used to exist.  Everybody did their best to rebuild their cities that are all now at a whole new geographical location. Conventional weaponry are now as they were dated back before the Birth of Christ – which now was nonexistent in the current world – swords and hatchets are strapped on law enforcement's hips, replacing firearms.

Many people were in disagreement with the changes, as the new rules of the world were an inconvenience.  It was a drawback to businesses which relied on such technology. People had no choice but to adapt, yet some shunned the entity which caused the change for a new world. Nobody ever discovered the truth on what the entity was which arrived in our world, not even who called upon it. Some say it was an act of God, and the purging of all religious books was a sign of disdain caused by worship towards him. Some also say it was an extraterrestrial being who has been watching over us, for either bad or good intentions.  Whatever that phenomenon was, it saved humanity.

Ignorance, greed and power were still there. Deep, deep within humanities' hearts, it still lurks. It took approximately ninety years for that evil trait to resurface again, and wreak havoc upon the world.

# 1

The ceiling was glossy, as were the floors and walls of the cell that contained the prisoner – reflecting what little light the narrow room emitted.  He spent hours at a time staring at his reflection, lying on his back, attempting to reminisce of how things ended up the way they were.  As he stared, the reflection glared back, his silver eyes hollow – they silently judged him.  He constantly fought off the continual shame which devoured his conscious which had been nothing but an empty shell since he'd been locked up in there.  It changed nothing; the majority of his life was filled with constant running and cruelty. Loneliness was a problem, too.  The reliability of others is a necessity in this extraordinary world, a world which promised everyone a second chance.  He was an exception, however, his twenty years of experience in life had not been what everyone had been gifted - nothing of the sort of regular folk.  He pondered on those events as those silver eyes stared deep back into him, contrasting with his fair skin, as if demanding to understand his true self and his true purpose in life.  It wasn't his fault for what had happened, both present and past, he always wanted to be a normal person who simply fulfills their life's purpose - be it important or not, and die quietly.

Disorder was his life structure.

He grew tired of the ominous company his own eyes gave him, diverting his head away to look at the cell door now being opened. The door was big in his room which had four walls - the door acting as one of them as it slid open from above, revealing two guards outside his cell. As expected, two guards were customary to escort prisoners to their recreational purposes. But, not enough for someone like him.  Those simpletons were clueless to not know what this prisoner in particular was capable of. If he wanted to, he would have them writhing on the floor in pain in a matter of moments, or if he wanted to – dead.

One guard stood by the now open door with his black gloves by the sides of his waist, blending in with the rest of his armored pitch-black uniform, while the other made his way to the prisoner, his expression was unreadable beneath his helmet. The guard approached him with cuffs in hand - not ordinary cuffs either, these cuffs were made of rare alloy – unbreakable, even the sharpest swords or most potent magic would struggle to even scratch it.  The guard prompted the prisoner to hold out his hands, he obeyed as he stretched out his rough, calloused hands as the guard cuffed him.

Most of the guards never spoke to inmates, either acting under strict regulations or simply didn't have any interest in communicating with cutthroats and dead beaters.  Even though this particular prisoner was innocent, simply a man doing what needed to be done, it made no difference. Behind the walls, criminals are criminals.  Once you're in there, nobody cares about your story and what you've done, everybody is on equal grounds – in a shithole where nobody wants to be, where you either die or are released with nothing left to give to the world.  Despite the silent guards, he knew where they were going anyway; he'd been here long enough to know the whole routine. It was five o'clock, the same time every day for dinner.

The guards escorted him through the main hall with light blinding the prisoner's eyes; he struggled to adjust to the much brighter light than the cell.  They strode on, eventually passing the nursing room on the left and barely spotting the regular nurse who gave him a brief smile. It was Holly who was on rotation that day, one of the only few people who he got along with as they have surprisingly enjoyable conversations when she treats his split and bruised knuckles on a regular occasion.  The other nurses have never been as amusing as her, their shaken and anxious hands as they worked even while treating the simplest injuries was annoying.  He didn't even want to think why they behaved in such a way, he'd seen the countless men gawking at their mediocrely-pleasant faces - shuddering as they sneak a few words into their ears when the guards have averted their sight. He returned her smile with a brisk one and continued to look ahead, right where the central guard station was.

Through the sturdy glass, he spotted several guards with their helmets off and their batons still by their hips as they played a round of cards. Two were still seated at their stations, watching their feed and on occasions looking back where four guards sat in the center of the hub, wanting a piece of the stake being played throughout the day.  The guard on the prisoner's right flank let out a sigh; he was clearly frustrated as he slowly veered towards the window which separated their own gambling hub and a high-security detention center. Not losing too much distance from the prisoner, he spoke loud enough for his coworkers to hear.

"What would happen if Warden Nespirk would see what you're all doing right now?"

One of the guards crouched over on the ground, fully into the high stakes game he was betting on waved a hand behind his back, not even bothering to turn around as he spoke, "Our Lady is upstairs talking to some guests apparently, so we're cool." He threw a card down and continued, "And even if she comes by, we have Rog standing guard by the main stairs.  All we need to listen out for is an owl's hoot - that's the signal."

The guard who was escorting the prisoner shook his head and made his way back to his right flank, "Idiots." He muttered.

One of the guards in the hub who was previously by his station slammed his palm on the table in front of him, "See!" He looked to the guard sitting beside him, "It's a stupid plan, why would there be an owl here? That's why I said to have him bark like a dog, it's more realistic."

The guard crouched on the ground shrieked and threw his hand of cards while the guard opposite to him laughed hysterically - most likely losing his bet - then sneered, "Yeah, because a dog could just waltz into a high-security prison! That would more than likely raise an alarm, not warn us.  Poor Rog has already had his ass handed to him last week for what happened, the bastard was about to burst out in tears."  He had another look of the layout of cards beneath him and let out another curse.

The guard's ears opposite of him perked up. "Yes, because of you, Will. Warden Nespirk caught you watching dancers from the 'Magical Poles Weekly Highlights', right in here. What was your excuse?" He started collecting his winnings of gold coins from the floor. "Apparently," the guard continued, "you literally just walked in right before her to find out that Rog had been watching erotic dancers. What are the odds? Even as she confronted him, you begged him behind Nespirk's shoulder to take the rap for you."

A guard who was watching the camera feed gave into curiosity and turned around and asked, "So, what was his punishment?"

"She made him slow dance with a mop-" a loud but short interrupting giggle erupted from Will in front of him, "...and made sure it was damn good, better than the dancers themselves. She had even invited the whole current rotation to stop for five minutes and spectate."

"If you ladies are done gossiping," the prisoner said, his cuffs chimed as he twisted his body to the group of guards beyond the glass, chafing up against the navy-blue jump suit extending all the way to his wrists, "I'd like to go to the cafeteria.  I really don't need to witness this circle jerk of a group you have here."

He looked forward towards the stairs leading down to the cafeteria, and the stairs opposite that takes one up to see that bitch of a warden and her council.

Will finally stood up - still loathing his loss - turned to the prisoner and gave a crooked teeth smile.  "Oh, you're here, Jericho?  I don't think anybody here even noticed you - you know, since you're nobody now." He grinned and let out a dopey, unattractive laugh. It was one of the guard's entertainments - when they would actually interact with him - to poke fun at Jericho. He was looked upon highly by well-respected people in society; lesser people were no exception - a charismatic and influential character. Scholars would see Jericho as a role model, who excelled in sword fighting even at a young age - a 'child prodigy' they called him, for one day he will become somebody with purpose and ambition to inspire others.

And this is where he was now.

'Inspire others'? He knew it was bullshit. He himself needed inspiration.

Jericho returned a smile and stared right at him. "Strange," he countered, "if that's the case, then why does it seem like your wife can't keep her eyes off me?" He saw Will's eyes start to burn, satisfyingly; he continued, "I mean, I've been noticing every time she pops in to give you her home cooked meals. What a nice woman you got there. Her meals look delicious I might add, better than the rat shit they give me here." His smile widened, "Have her drop by my cell next time. I'll make sure it's worth her while." He turned again towards the end of the hallway, indicating to the guards that he just wanted to leave and eat in peace.

Jericho looked over his shoulder to see Will with his hand on his baton, resisting the urge to pull it out and beat him with it.  Jericho wasn't intimidated in the slightest.  Under the right conditions, he'd pull out his baton before he could even think to, and shove it up where it's not the most pleasant.

Jericho angled his head, still a smile on his face - one that kids do to drive adults insane, "So what if I'm a 'nobody'? At least I'm not dumb enough to not even realize that I'm being cheated in a card game." He nodded to the direction of the guard who was victorious, who now had his color drained from his face - his eyes followed Jericho's down towards his black sleeve, a corner of a playing card protruding out of it. Will's eyes went back to Jericho's red with fury and \- what it looked like to be - embarrassment.

The guard on Jericho's left flank, silent throughout the whole conversation, finally spoke. "Enough, we're leaving now." He tugged on Jericho's arm urging him to move forward, he happily obeyed, having had enough of those dimwits. The rest of the guards inside the hub were still giggling to each other, more than likely trading banter between themselves – Will being their main victim. Will shouted after Jericho as the guards beside him finally escorted him towards the stairwell he was longing to travel down.

"Watch your back, asshole! You'll get what's coming to you, tonight." He shouted, anger tearing through each word he spoke.

Jericho twisted his body towards him, making sure he saw as much as he could, his face was cheerful as he said, "Sorry if I got you all pissy for what I said about your wife. I just assumed if one of your fellow guards inside that hub right now is allowed a share, why can't I?"

The look on Will's face was priceless to say the least, especially as he precariously darted his eyes across the room, wondering if what Jericho said was true.

The guard at his right side twisted on his arm, making sure it hurt as he demanded, "Shut up and keep walking."

They reached the staircase, traversing downwards onto the platform and cascaded down the marble steps, the same shiny surface the majority of this 'establishment' possessed.

Finally, they reached the doors opening into the cafeteria.  Carefully, while one watched Jericho contently, the other guard removed his cuffs.  Weight lifted off from Jericho's wrists, his shoulders were now comfortably at his sides instead of being hunched over. At last, with a delay, he could finally have his third and final meal of the day. He felt relieved as he walked through the opening, into the cafeteria.

Right out of the frying pan, and straight back into another fire.

~

Unlike Jericho's cell, the cafeteria was brimming with light, the rays of sunlight poured into the skylight that spread throughout the roof.  Against the furthest back wall was where the canteen is found - the first thing he laid his eyes on when he got there. Guards were positioned a level above on the mezzanine, carefully monitoring troublesome inmates who get a tad hot tempered when hungry – Jericho being no exception.

The cafeteria was loud as usual; bellows of laughter and shouting, muffling the sounds of more quiet groups who prefer to have no company at all.  He made his way towards the canteen, weaving through the little free space not occupied by tables and chairs and almost getting into brawls when grazing shoulders. After twisting and turning through the fortresses of benches, he made it to the canteen - grabbing a tray and made haste to the servings. The dinner selection was the same as it always was – stale bread, beef jerky, cups of bland yoghurt, this weird yellow potato mash thing...it was actually his favorite - meaning the taste didn't entice him to grab the closest guard's baton from their hip and beat himself with it.

The man serving never looked anybody in the eyes; he kept his head down and continued to serve the queue with sweat brimming off his olive skinned forehead. Satisfyingly, he got his meal. Now, he just needed to find a seat.

He traversed again through the narrow pathway, shifting and twisting as he walked down to find an adequate seat to eat. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure leaning over someone who was sitting at an already occupied table.  A small, fragile man seated at the table – Mork, seemed like he was being harassed by a stocky, capacious inmate – Nik. That guy was your typical-alpha male who apparently 'runs the show' inside these walls. Despite that, Jericho never had the pleasure of engaging in a conversation with him.  The guards in particular didn't care for petty verbal abuse; they only stepped in when things got physical.

Dread clouded Jericho's thoughts, _Sigh. Why now?_ He couldn't be bothered with it. He walked close enough to hear what they were on about.

"You mean to tell me..." Nik said as his hands sprawled further and heavier against the steel tabletop he was leaning on, pushing a carton of milk that Mork was previously enjoying off it – causing Jericho to cringe, "...that you of all people, was not involved with the testimony held against us? You mean to tell me that what I've just recently heard from my sources is false?" Mork had his hands on his lap, either out of comfort or petrified that Nik might break them if left on the table. Besides the trembling that shook his body, he still spoke loud and clearly as he looked up to Nik and said, "I'm not implying that your 'sources' are uninformed, but clearly they are mistaken." He cleared the lump in his throat with a heavy swallow as he waited for the reply while Nik stared him down, not backing off any distance from his personal space.

Nik's palms that were once flat on the table, closed into fists.   "Do you realize who you are talking to?  How about I loosen up that tongue of yours with a knife?"

"How cliché..." Jericho said behind Nik.

Jericho didn't know about Mork, but he himself knew who that guy was. At least what the word that's gotten around had told him – a big time gang leader from one of the biggest gangs in the southern continent.

Nik peeled his eyes off Mork and found the source of the voice.

Jericho didn't have to step in and help Mork, but neither did the latter when he found Jericho bloody and beaten on the floor a few weeks ago.  He didn't expect to get jumped on his way back to his cell from the courtyard when he was horribly outnumbered.  Mork was kind enough to offer him a hand up and gave him his own personal handkerchief to stain with blood.  Oh, but that group definitely received Jericho's token of gratitude over the course of a few days later - one by one, when they least expected it.

Nik turned towards him, his eyes following up and down his body - sizing up his prey. "What the hell do you want?"

Jericho never took his eyes off the tipped-over milk carton since it hit the floor.  Milk was oozing out of its beak, creating a stream on the marble floor, leading down towards the table beside them.  At the corner of his eye, he noticed Nik's eyes following his, and then glued back to his face.

"Did you hear me? I'm talking to..."

His words broke off when he realized Jericho wasn't listening to him as he made his way to the milk carton on the ground. He picked it up in his hand, more or less saving a few gulps left before it emptied entirely out onto the floor.

Nik's face was glowing red, and just before he could open his mouth, Jericho finally broke his silence.  He clicked his tongue, "Tsk, what a waste of calcium."  He gently shook the carton in his hand, the remaining milk swirled inside.

Nik had enough, he began to stalk towards him, gritting his teeth as he spat, "If you're deaf, then it looks like I'm going to come right up clo-"

"Calcium is an essential nutrient when it comes to your bones," Jericho said, cutting him off again, still looking intently at the spoiled carton – he continued, "you never grow new bones, so it's absolutely vital to always keep your bones healthy."

Nik continued to stalk towards Jericho, no longer talking. Perhaps he was sick to death of being cut off, or he was just too pissed off to talk - the latter was most likely contributing to the former. Nik almost closed the gap; Jericho continued to speak – eyes still on the carton.

"Without the proper doses of calcium, your bones become weak. And if you have the slightest doubts about your current bone health at this moment, you should be worried..." He finally took his eyes off the carton and looked straight into Nik's eyes, burning with rage and filled with irritation. "...because I'm most likely going to break them."  
He splashed whatever milk was left inside the carton - which that asshole had the nerve to waste - straight into his face.  Nik shrieked and backed away – desperately wiping the sticky milk off his eyes, coughing from the milk that went up his nose, now exiting out from his mouth.

Faster than he could react, Jericho lunged right before him - his knees bent and ducked low - going in for the finishing hit as he cocked his hand back.

"So there's your daily dose of calcium!" As the last word left his mouth, his fist collided right underneath Nik's chin.

That guy really did need milk.  Jericho felt his bare knuckles overpower his mandible – feeling it break and shatter as he drove his fist further upwards - flinging Nik backwards into the table behind him, sliding through the whole length of the table and ruining everyone's dinner, before landing on the floor at the other end.

...And spilling two cartons more of milk in the process.

# 2

Jericho was in cuffs yet again with a guard on either side - both holding a strong grip on his arms, escorting him through the main hall. He expected it nonetheless, it was the least moderate thing to do when he shattered an inmate's jaw and incapacitated his mates.

It wasn't his intention for it to go down like that, but his bum-chums had to interfere – leading to Jericho bending one's elbow the wrong way, and the other sent hurling into the mezzanine's support beam, smacking the back of his head so hard his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

It also wasn't his intention to head-butt one of the guards when they tried to restrain him - breaking his nose in two places unevenly enough for the gushing blood that would have pissed out of his nose not being able to flow through, causing it to puff up with blood and had to rush to nursing, else he would have choked on his own blood.

They ascended the staircase; the guards were in a blitz to get to their destination, Jericho nearly tripped on the steps as they dragged him along.

He knew exactly where they were going, where the majority of troublemakers visit when they've stepped out of line.  Usually, the guards would haul the shit-stirrer out from where they were and throw them straight into the Pit – a dark, cold room with room space as much as a shoe box. For punishment, they would lock them in there for days at a time – sometimes weeks - with minimal food and water rations. There was never a time someone misbehaved after spending time in there, ever.

But that wasn't where they were going – no, it was a place that's arguably worse than the Pit. It was a place where your will to live will be shattered, your pride diminished and caused your strength to deteriorate - both physically and mentally.

Halfway down the corridor, up the staircase, the guards came to a halt, forcing Jericho to do the same. They both looked anxious as they talked among themselves; their speech was shaken and jittery while rehearsing what they would say.

They stood in front of a traditional wooden door, staring at the handle replaced by an ornament of a lion's head. Jericho's eyes wandered off beside the door, following the lines of the wood grain surface, until he saw it. A wooden sign, its edges were smoothed and the entirety of it laminated. In the center, was a name carved into it.

'Liatha Nespirk. Chief Warden.'

Finally mustering up the courage and after multiple rounds of _scissors, paper, rock_ , the defeated guard knocked on the door three times, each time slower than the other.

A female voice spoke beyond the door. "You may enter." Even after all the stories he'd heard, Jericho had never met the Warden yet. Her voice already sounded bossy, containing traces of discipline and restraint. Yet, somehow...it felt nostalgic.

He pondered amongst the thought while the guard turned the lion's head and swung open the wooden door.

The Warden's office was spacious, glossy wooden floorboards throughout the room, accompanied by old fashioned furniture. At the back of the open room were multiple monitors – all of which contained footage of the many security cameras throughout the prison. Each screen was set to a different section of the prison with each screen divided into four. In front of the screens was a large mahogany desk with two velvet chairs. On the desk were stacks of paperwork, all neatly piled on the sides of the desk – one side free, where a coffee machine was perched on. Two mugs were placed beside them, both empty, perhaps already been drank from. Behind the desk sat the Warden. She maintained a high posture as she sat - a pen in hand and a clip in the other. Her hazel eyes rose leveled to Jericho's as she stared at him intently.

Heartbeats went by, and their eyes were still locked.

That's when Jericho realized why he had a sense of nostalgia - why he had another wave of the feeling when he met eyes with hers, her delicately freckled nose just beneath her face in perfect complexion with her light brown hair that rested gracefully on her black tunic.

It was the very reason why he was locked up in there...and she had no idea.

One of the guards behind him spoke, "Warden Nespirk, sorry to disrupt your work, but if you've reviewed the footage of the cafeteria area..."

She waved her modest hand; traces of ink were on her palm, "I'm aware. Please leave us in privacy, stand guard outside the doors." Her voice was elegant yet demanding – but young, her overall appearance looked youthful. She couldn't be that much older than him, _how the hell is she a warden?_

The guard wavered at her response, "M-madam, this prisoner here is a threat to your safety. I strongly advise-"

The warden stood up, revealing her height to be not at all impressive. Jericho himself is one-hundred and eighty centimeters and judging by her height she could probably barely head-butt his chin. Not that he'd let her try, anyway.

"And I strongly advise that you heed my instructions. Or are you implying that I can't take care of myself?" Oh, she was a bitch alright. Jericho felt reassured he didn't judge her character wrong, it would be hard to considering the amount of rumors he'd heard - one now being confirmed earlier, causing the nostalgic unease.

The guard quickly fixed his posture with his hands firmly behind his back as he spoke, "I'd never do such a thing, Warden Nespirk. We will be waiting outside until you deem necessary. My apologies," the guard signaled the other then walked right out, leaving Jericho alone with the Warden.

And to his surprise, she smiled as she broke the silence. "I believe we've never met. I've heard about you, but had never got the chance to greet you in person." She sat back down in her recliner, waving a hand to one of the two seats in front of the table, "Sit."

Jericho said nothing as he walked over and sat down, the old fashioned velvet chair barely held his weight – creaking as he seeped into it.

Warden Nespirk started to rearrange the piles of paperwork on her desk as she spoke, "Care for a coffee?"

It was a tempting offer. He hadn't had coffee since he'd been there, and had to fight off a horrible migraine every day for weeks - caffeine withdrawal is something he wasn't keen on experiencing again.

He winced. "No thanks."

She clicked her tongue and finalized all her movements on her desk, "Pity. The gods were courteous enough to preserve such technology instead of stripping them from us like they had done with others. You should learn to enjoy what we have left."

Jericho huffed. "Praising gods in a godless world? That's rich."

The Warden drummed her fingers on the table, ever so carefully observing him. "Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs, despite The Coming of The New World – which eradicated all texts related to religion. I don't see a problem if we're not harming anybody. _You_ , on the other hand, have. Yes, I've taken a look at your reports, Mr. Zeschar. Would you rather be a killer than believe in an almighty presence?"

The words struck him as hard as his memories did, if this bitch knew what he actually killed for...

"As you said, everyone is entitled to their own beliefs. And I believe my act was justified." Jericho said as calm as he could while he attempted to cross his arms – only reminded that he was still in cuffs.

The Warden kept her composure, her thin lips were parallel to her narrowed eyes, twisting her chair slightly to her right, "Yes, the typical excuses I hear quite often. Believing killing is the right way to fix things, not at all sympathetic of their actions, neither to their family that killers seem to forget they have. If you've done the right thing, you wouldn't be here now sitting in front of me."

If only she knew who he had killed, who he had been killing for, it'd be a different story. He had done the right thing, yet he was still right in front of her - staring at her familiar face, peering into her memorable eyes. The eyes she shared with her. His heart plunged at the thought.

Outside, he showed no emotional change.

"Surely I didn't come here to trade banter," Jericho said, changing the topic, "I figured we would speak about relatable topics, you know...like the fight in the cafeteria?"

She twisted her chair towards him, folding one leg over the other, "As you must know, fighting is unacceptable in my prison, especially assaulting my fellow guards. I don't care what kind of deadbeats you decide to beat senseless, discipline will always follow."

"Gonna throw me into the Pit?"

"This time, no - it's your first offense so I'll be easy on you."  _Well, apparently all of my last brawls were kept on the down-low_ , "You'll be placed in yard duty tomorrow morning."

"Can't wait," Jericho said in the most sarcastic voice he could muster.

Warden Nespirk replied with a smile. She then called for the guards, who came in immediately – most likely eavesdropping – and were asked to escort Jericho back to his cell.

"It was nice to finally meet you, Mr. Zeschar." Warden Nespirk said to Jericho, as he was hauled up from his chair by guards.

"The feeling's mutual," was all he said as he was escorted out of the Wardens office, back to his cell.

~

Liatha Nespirk was now unaccompanied, seated in her chair as she stared at her door – never taken eyes off it since the prisoner left.

Just another prisoner in her establishment; nothing had changed and nothing will come of it. Another prisoner who also believed killing is justified makes him no different from the rest. She clenched her arm rests, as her arms were sprawled along them.

_Scum...each and every single one of them._ For as long as she lived, criminals alike will be brought down to justice, and the streets will be filled with people with eased minds, knowing they're safe.

It was her decision to act and become a Warden at such a young age. A twenty-year old female warden seemed impossible for some, but she made it happen. She quickly climbed through the ranks of criminology, absolute commitment to law and control – a perfect world, just like the gods had intended it.

The gods have already done their part by banishing deadly war materials and attempting to unite everyone together by colliding all of the continents into one. Mankind needed to do their part also – rid evil of this world, eradicate heinous acts for good. That is why she swore an oath; to make sure no criminal will ever walk the streets among the innocent. And when they were captured, they are to be never able to escape these walls. Just like that prisoner, who had broken out of prison and into her home that one night, ten years ago...

...And slaughtered her family.

Only Liatha and her younger sister survived, as they were both in the attic when everything happened. They were soon after adopted into a foster home, into a somewhat loving carefree family. When Liatha left for training, she had no choice but to leave her sister, Senna, who Liatha had just recently found out that she had been missing for over a year.

Liatha tried to look for her little sister everywhere. She sent scouts out on her last known whereabouts out of her own expense, she tried to speak to the foster parents but the house was vacant. Senna was the only thing left in her life that gave her a will to live, a will to stand and fight the evil in the world that still lurks – from the remnants of the gods.

Liatha will rip the world in two if it meant to find her sister.

~

Hours went by as Jericho continued to lie on his bed – face down. He didn't feel like staring at the ceiling that night. Instead, he stared at the creases of his pillow.

He still couldn't shake off the feeling from earlier - the feeling that breaks him down into nothing. Liatha was a spitting image of her, the former being more mature, of course. They were both beautiful - as painful as it was to admit for Liatha – and had the same eyes; hazel lined with yellow. One of the rumors circulating about her was that her sister is missing, about the same time he was sent there, and she looked so much like her...There was no mistake.

Senna had never revealed her last name to him, but he could connect the dots himself - to the realization that Warden Nespirk is her sister.

A tear ran down his face, he watched it as it dropped into a crevice on his pillow – the teardrop slowly broke off and split into a stream.

What a sick world he lived in.

Liatha seemed to have no idea that he knew her sister or her whereabouts. She couldn't know - not then and definitely not anytime soon. Senna wasn't ready to face her. Perhaps when he got out in a few years' time, he could tell the Warden where to find her.

Jericho himself wouldn't be ready to face her...

He began to feel remorse for Liatha. The feeling of not being able to contact family stings - the feeling of loneliness is abhorrent. You start to realize how big the world is - how empty it can be. A world that was apparently was brought to salvation by the gods, halting war at its peak and uniting nations...yet it could do nothing to help Senna. He himself had to do that. Everyone was still stuck in a loop, defending themselves from evil.

A second tear trilled down his face and onto his pillow, hitting the wet spot exactly where his first tear fell, doing exactly as the first when it made impact – the same break, running through the exact same damp streams which spread throughout.

Just like the world had given a second life, yet history is repeating itself – leading into despair. _The gods...? What a joke. No god would do this. _

Jericho grew tiresome of his misery-filled day as he closed his eyes, not bothering to wipe off his tears at all, and dreamt of that night.

That horrific night nine years ago changed his life dramatically...even bigger than The Coming of The New World in its entirety.

# 3

9 years ago.

Jericho's mother held his hand as she led him into the elevator; her hands trembled slightly as she selected the floor – one-hundred and seventy-two. It was a huge tower, soaring even beyond the clouds – which belonged to his father, Baal Alastor.

He was the founder and CEO of the continent's most powerful and richest bank. After the continents collided, nobody made the initiative to improve trade throughout the new world. Stocks performed poorly and economies were failing miserably. Baal simplified trading throughout the continent – compiling sources from every nation, creating a functioning system which increased money flow and trade simplicity.

Doing so made him one of the richest men in the world. All nations on Earth are depositing their shares to his bank, _Alastor Corp_ \- outranking and outclassing every other banking corporation with ease, even sending some into bankruptcy.

He was a great business man, but a horrible father. And husband.

Horrible is actually a severe understatement.

The elevator started to climb, as they reached around the fifteenth floor, his mother began to talk him through it, "Remember what I told you, Jericho," she ran her fingers through his black hair, identical color to hers, "Don't say a word once we're inside, only speak when I tell you to. If things go bad, I will tell you to go back downstairs and you will do so, understood?"

Her hands were cupped on Jericho's cheeks, he slid his hand over hers, almost breaking out in tears as he said, "But...what if he hurts you?"

She knelt down, her light silver eyes met his darker shade – hands still cupped on his face, "I promise, no matter what happens. I will protect you, Jericho, always." She kissed his forehead and held her lips there for as long as she could.

She stood up, staring at the elevator doors which would open in less than a minute, right into Baal's office.

Jericho was still staring at his mother - her elegant, long black dress barely scraping the floor - many of his features were inherited from her; no matter how many times he looked at his mother, it always amazed him, and how well she maintained her grace. She was as beautiful as stars in the purest dark.

Her name was Veela Zeschar. And that was the last night he had seen her face.

The elevator came to a halt, the screen above the doors indicated they've reached the one-hundred and seventy-second level - sounding a _ding_ noise as the doors started to open.

They both held their breaths as the opening doors revealed Baal's office; the elevator took them directly into it with no hall access. Veela took a shuddering breath as she held her head high and walked right in, Jericho was close behind.

The office was enormous. It was littered with an abundance of tables, lounges and desks – yet it had a vast amount of free space. There were no walls, instead replaced by windows with the night sky beyond the glass, showering the office with darkness, only the moonlight and the multiple candles scattered throughout the office were reflecting what light they gave off onto the slate tiles covering the entirety of the floor.

They both stuck close together as they neared a corner, they both felt light and warmth coming out from whatever was beyond. Heat and light – it was a fireplace.

They rounded the corner to behold yet another spacious area. Wide-stretched windows from the floor right to the ceiling spread throughout the whole room – following the culture of the other rooms they had passed.

Veela's heart skipped a beat when she saw Baal. His arms were crossed behind his back as he glared out the window – clouds spread across beneath as far as the eye can see, lights illuminated through the clouds as the city of Lycur – Capital of the Northern Region – enjoyed their night time entertainments.

Veela spoke with clenched fists. "I'm giving you notice that we're leaving, both me and Jericho – far away from here, far away from you."

Baal did not turn around, he didn't even flinch. He continued to glare outside the cloud littered sky, as he spoke with his back turned, "Are you now? And for what reason are you leaving?" Veela's voice started to raise slightly, Jericho felt the intensity – the pain in her voice as she spoke, " _Bastard._ Have you no remorse for what you've done!? Even before all this happened, you were always a vile person. It makes me sick to my stomach. It was a mistake to agree to all of this, I can't bear it anymore." Jericho could see the tears starting to gleam in his mother's eyes – the same goes for himself.

He never found out what his father had done so bad, so horrid that his mother - that had been unwillingly bound to him - decided to leave. It still haunted him.

Baal finally turned around. His middle aged face gawked at Veela – emotionless as ever, his beard masked his strong jaw structure – a face showing very little, if not none, resemblance to Jericho.

He looked disinterested as he spoke, "You're as foolish as always, my Veela." He started to pace further down the room along the window, looking back again outside before turning his attention back to her, "Still spouting irrelevant nonsense that I do not wish to hear, nor do I care. You are bound to me, attempting to flee is meaningless."

He stopped pacing alongside the window; Veela tensed up as he finally - for the first time in their conversation - looked her in the eyes. His pure black pupils were scorching through her, as if reminding who he was...who she belonged to.

Veela stood firmly, fighting at the urge to break and cower in weakness before him. She was no longer bound to him; she wanted to be free and wouldn't give up until she did so.

"I'm taking my son and leaving to the South. This is my farewell, Baal." Veela announced.

A sinister smile spread across his face, revealing light wrinkles on his forehead. "Veela, your words and your ambitions to me are pointless. And right now, so are you," he said while stalking towards her – his sinister smile grew even darker.

Veela turned to Jericho, who was close by her side. "Jericho, go, now."

He didn't. He was so frightened of his father, he couldn't move – the thought of what he was going to do to his mother pressed heavy on his conscious.  
She started to weep, the dismay in her eyes now replaced with sorrow, " _Please_ , I need you to-" There was an overwhelming force that pummeled into Veela – sending her flying across the room, she slid across the tiles, tumbled and smashed into the glass window. The area impacted revealed a large crack.

Jericho's heart stopped.

His whole world slowed around him, in his peripherals was Baal – his hand still up from the strike he had given her. But it wasn't a physical hit; it was something much more powerful, something crueler...

It was his magic.

Jericho shouted after her as he ran for his mother, broken and beaten on the floor as she laid there, her body not moving an inch. Tears streamed rapidly through his eyes, blinding him as he ran for her, desperately calling for her – wanting her to leave _with him._

As if an invisible wall had appeared, Jericho slammed into nothing. He fell to the ground; his nose throbbed as he looked up to see what was blocking his way – nothing.

His eyes shifted over to his father, who still had his hand held up like he was orchestrating a power he was harnessing - a power that wanted to kill his mother.

Baal had never broken his smile since it spread across his face - that evil, destructive look.

Baal lowered his open hand slightly, enough so Jericho could look him right in the eyes as he challenged him, "I'm going to kill her, Jericho," His smile grew wider, "unless you defeat me – right here, right now – I'm going to gut her like a pig. What do you say, my son? Will you fight?"

Every single inch of Jericho's body shook with fear. He was petrified of his father, the one who right then was going to shatter his life into pieces.

Jericho slowly stood up with his teeth bared. He wasn't going to let that happen, he would never give up on his mother. His eyes were glazed, yet honed as they met his fathers; silver eyes met the deepest of black - life versus death.

Baal threw back his head and let out a wicked laugh.  "That's the way! I knew my son was a fighter!" He raised his thumb to his mouth - and to Jericho's shock – bit down hard, causing blood to ooze down his wrist. He then unclamped his teeth from his thumb, and spat. The spit was aimed right for Jericho as it hit his left hip, the entirety of it being blood. He shrieked and jumped back as the blood began to glow bright, shining in a blue hue as matter began to transform. The blood that was once liquid mended and shifted, expanding into a whole different structure.

It was the structure of a sword.

Its weight was heavy for the eleven-year-old body he possessed – the straight double edged blade inside the bronze scabbard almost touched the floor, holstered at his hip, the broad black grip that was too big for his hands stretched down underneath the cross guard.  
The room shook as Baal began to shift his own weapon. At his back was a glowing aura, slowly molding into another long sword. He reached over his head, slowly grabbing the hilt, feeling all what he just created. He unsheathed the blade - looking much more comfortable in his hands rather than Jericho's – and held it in front of him, single-handed.

"Raise your sword and fight me," it was all that Baal said as he took stance, still only using one hand to grip the hilt.

Jericho's knees where shaking so violently he thought they'd snap off. _Stand and fight_ , he thought to himself as he looked back to his mother who still hadn't moved an inch.

He took a shuddering breath. It was all he had to save his mother. He would never give up on her.

He unsheathed his sword, the blade glistened – reflecting the light illuminated by the fireplace, hints of red glowed on his hilt. This was where he made his stand. Baal smiled wickedly, his teeth bare as he taunted him, "Kill me before I kill your mother, Jericho."

He wouldn't do that. Jericho would never let him, because she never gave up on him.

Jericho launched into full assault, swinging his too big for his sized blade outwards – colliding with his father that was easily blocked with a single hand.

Baal pushed his sword down onto Jericho's as he struggled to keep his sword high as Baal did. Baal's face was full of excitement, like he was actually enjoying sword fighting with his son and attempting to kill his wife. "Don't disappoint me, _boy._ Fight me with all your might." _Monster..._

Jericho retracted his sword from Baal's, sending sparks flying throughout, then swinging it towards him – his left side this time – which was again easily countered by Baal. Jericho kept it coming, a flurry of steel and sparks as fast and hard as he could, as much as his child's body could manage. Baal was laughing throughout the whole battle, mocking him, _taunting him._

His blows started to become weaker than what they already were, his speed turned sluggish with every strike he collided with Baal's sword. His lungs were burning, feeling like it was filled with glass shards with every breath he took.

He wasn't strong enough, and he _hated_ himself for it.

Baal's sword aimed straight for his face, with what little strength he had left, he managed to parry it – Baal's sword veered off to his left as his own was held up high. He failed to see Baal's fist come straight for him after he parried, as it connected right in the nose.

Jericho fell to the ground, his sword flung out of his grip as he grasped his face, his eyes burned red with tears, blood leaked out from the gaps in his fingers. He heaved himself up onto his elbows.

He couldn't fight anymore.

Baal walked over to him - still bearing that corrupt smile on his face as he kicked his elbows out beneath him causing him to fall flat on the ground, smacking the back of his head on the tiles in the process.

He stepped over him, pacing towards where his sword laid – a sword which his father made from his own blood. He held it firmly in his hand by its hilt as he stalked back to Jericho, still lying on the ground, sobbing quietly, still trying desperately to keep the blood from pouring out. Baal leaned over his body, Jericho tensed – not knowing what he would do - only to see he was placing the sword back into its sheath holstered onto his hip, the blade chimed and clicked as it slid back into its place.

Baal straightened up and looked down at him, he was no longer smiling, "Get up and start over." Jericho still laid there, unable to talk with a lump in his throat – talking would only cause him to burst into tears.

"Get up." Baal repeated.

He didn't move. Baal growled as he heaved Jericho up by his hair, each and every single limb in his body was aching as he was pulled up to his feet.

Baal leaned in close to his face. "You're pathetic - a weakling. I'm about to kill your mother and this is all that you can do?"

He felt even weaker when he began to cry, not able to fight off that lump in his throat as he wept loudly, not caring anymore how his father portrayed him.

"Please, let him go..."

Jericho's cry stiffened at the voice as he turned his head and saw his mother. She was climbing back to her feet, ever so steadily pulling herself up - blood leaked down at the back of her neck, trickling through her dress. Jericho still couldn't manage to hold in his sob, "M-mother...I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry I couldn't protect you..."

Baal sneered, "Still kicking are we, trash? That's bad news for you, now you'll have to see what I'm about to do."

Baal turned towards the window, his hand still gripped in Jericho's hair as he dragged him along the floor like a carcass. Jericho didn't protest. He didn't have the strength to move anymore, and not only physically.

He had no will to live anymore.

His mother stood to her feet in an instant - hyperventilating, " _What are you doing?!_ "

His father continued to stride on, not even stopping to speak, "How much do you love your son? So much that you'd die for him?" He yanked Jericho as high as he could hold...and peered outside the window.

Veela's voice was trembling, "Baal, please..." Her plead broke Jericho's heart; he had never heard her like that before.

Jericho closed his eyes. He knew he was going to die.

Baal's dark hollow eyes met hers; piercing any hope she had glinting in them. He swayed Jericho's body to the left, turning to look right – where the lively city beneath was. "This building is just over fourteen-hundred meters tall. How long do you think it would take him to reach the ground?"

Jericho only heard his mother fall to his knees and plead, " _Please, please...Don't-_ "

Suddenly, a whoosh of air rang through Jericho's ears, he heard his mother scream as he felt himself soaring through the air – breaking through glass as he propelled backwards.

He opened his eyes to see himself staring back at him. Shards of glass were reflecting all around him, descending slower than he was. The reflection not only showed him, it showed the night sky, the endless clouds he was now on level with, plummeting through the pitch-black veil of the sky.

Darkness enveloped light.

~

Veela couldn't do anything when Baal held up her son by the window, she felt helpless. Her son had to fight for her, her own battle that she had gotten herself into. And now, because of her, her son would suffer.  
As soon as she saw his body smash through the glass, she was already on her feet running. She did not even look at Baal when she ran right past him, right where Jericho was thrown...

...and jumped right out after him.

She soared through the skies, plummeting down to catch up with her son. Every inch of her tensed up, as she willed her thoughts into a state of tranquility – a state of mind that would help her reach her son in time, a method where she could propel herself forward much faster than he was falling.

She mustered up all her strength, all her focus, and set it off all in one go.

She had used magic to save her son.

~

Jericho continued to decline through the darkness of the night, his body still turned upwards facing the top of the tower, watching the night skies littered with stars. He took them all in and embraced them. They were beautiful.

Then, suddenly he recognized a star he knew well, bursting through the clouds towards him. It was falling - a shooting star.

It was his mother.

In mere moments she collided into him, her arms grasped around his body – both of them spiraled down the sky into the city below.

He was in disbelief, shouting over the sheer wind rushing past his ears. " _What are you doing?!_ " He couldn't help to stop his tears from flowing again. As they left his eyes, it splattered across his mother's.

The starry night was spread out behind her as she smiled. "You are going to live, Jericho, for my sake...and the world's!" She grabbed his hand and placed a small green crystal on his palm, closing it – entwining her fingers along with his, "This will take you somewhere safe." Her words were almost swallowed by the gale.

Tears continued to flow towards the night sky, shimmering with light – resembling the very stars themselves that were spread throughout, "What about you?! I don't want to leave you!"

She knew she wasn't able to. The Warp Crystal she gave to him only allowed one person to travel at all times, she knew this, but...

She knew that she made the right decision.

Veela held his face in her hands for the last time, matching his eyes in both color and gleam. She kissed his forehead for the last time – as long as she could, before she looked deep into his eyes again, and said her final words. Jericho had never forgotten them.

"I am your brightest star in your darkest night."

Jericho's body started to dissipate as it shone bright – bright as the stars themselves – only rivaling the glow of his mother's.  His body had begun to dematerialize into a new plane. He screamed and shouted for his mother, for her to come with him. But deep down he knew it was impossible.

He never took his eyes off her the whole time he disappeared.

His tears hit the ground of the city of Lycur...moments after Veela's body had. 

# 4

Jericho was unsure of what awoke him.  At first, he thought that it might have been that horrible nightmare; tears were still arid on his cheeks. He wondered if it were from the night before or the dream.

He also thought – which was more likely a plausible theory - that it would have been the loud footsteps and chatter from outside his door.  It was multiple voices, minimum of five people, they were talking amongst themselves and their words were inaudible.

He was still in the same position from when he fell asleep – uncomfortably leaning on his forearms with his head buried in the pillow, saturated with his sweat and tears.  Jericho groaned as he rolled over to face the cell door.

And as soon as he did, it opened.

Light flared through the opening door as it split horizontally in two, Jericho was unfazed by the radiant light that seeped into his pupils - squinting in disturbance rather than discomfort.

His visitors were not rather surprising when Jericho saw Will surrounded by his lackeys, as the two sliding gates locked into place in the floor and roof.  Amongst the group was the guard who had his nose broken from Jericho, half of his face was heavily bandaged.

"Didn't I tell ya I was gonna visit tonight?" Will sneered, baton in hand.

Jericho hunched himself up from bed and placed his feet on the cold marble floor as he sat on the bed, turning towards the group of seven guards - with Will right in front.

Despite the nightmare Jericho had just awoken from, he forced a smile, "Damn, you got me all excited. I thought your wife finally showed up, but I'm sure you gentleman won't disappoint with the entertainment you will all be bringing me tonight, will you?"

The rest of the group grasped their batons out from holsters, itching to use them as soon as possible.  Will looked back to his group in satisfaction, thinking about the ass kicking that was about to go down.  Will returned the courtesy to Jericho, "Oh, we can't disappoint you now, can we? Let's enjoy ourselves."

Jericho clenched his quilt.  _Shit._   Seven guards shouldn't be a problem for him, but they got him unprepared and unarmed.  He could probably dispose of a few guards, but he wasn't ideally confident that he would emerge victorious.

_Think._   _The cell door is still open, so maybe I can run out there to create space?_  No, he didn't want to alert any more guards, seven was already a handful.  Maybe he could just accept the beating and move on with his life.  It shouldn't be all that bad; he'd been beaten black and blue many times before, slowly educating his pain threshold.

But that wouldn't be fun for him, would it?

Jericho stood up from his bed, still half asleep as he tilted his head to crack a few stiff joints in his neck, then outstretched his hands to create as much tension in his pectorals as possible, "Show me the night of my life."  Jericho challenged.

Oh well, he most likely wouldn't have been capable of falling asleep again after that horrible dream.  This was a great opportunity to ease his boiling blood.

One day he would face Baal again, and the next time would be much different.  He will suffer for what he'd done - once he got out of this shit-hole, of course. The first objective was to travel to the north where Baal resided.

Let's see how many guards he could break before he did.

Finally, they all rushed forward – two of them on both of his flanks while the rest ran straight for him.  They were attempting to completely trap him in the tiny room as it was.  He was ready for anything they threw at him; they weren't the only ones who think they are in for an easy fight. Just before they got into proximity...the ceiling caved in.

No, something _fell through_ the ceiling.

Everybody stopped and looked towards the rubble and debris just outside Jericho's room, behind the smoke and soot was a silhouette of a person.

"Who goes there?" Will shouted - his attention was completely fixated on the scene.  Jericho would have taken advantage of the distraction and taken him out if it weren't for his attention to be drawn to the figure behind the smoke as well.

Slowly, the smoke and debris dissipated – revealing a man.

Judging from his deep blue pants which led down to his black and white sneakers, and his black suede jacket only revealing his cream shirt, he was definitely not an inmate, or a guard.

His overall structure was sturdy, which was helped by a massive sword strapped diagonally to his back – its red hilt was soaring above his head, which possessed a young but very familiar hardy face underneath the short, orderly-kept beard.

A face...that resembled Jericho's remarkably.

~

The stranger looked around the cell and took in his surroundings.  It didn't take him very long to do so; he had already been there before.

It was good news, he thought.  He calculated the trajectory perfectly, right in front of the prisoner he wishes to see - the prisoner he wishes to free.

He spotted him instantly amongst the room - looking exactly how he'd imagine him looking, vastly resembling him.

It was like looking into a reflection of clear water.

The seven prison guards who surrounded him were all gobsmacked – as they should have been.  He figured seeing someone crash down into a ceiling of a prison wasn't an everyday sight. The sight of the guards annoyed him, very much so that he took it upon himself to clear out the room.  It would take little to no effort to do so.

He immediately dispersed an immense amount of energy, so much force that it ripped the guards off their feet and sent them spiraling in the air and connected against the sleek walls of the cell, he spotted the face-bandaged guard fly face-first into the wall and hearing a satisfying crack as he collided.  He made sure to not harm Jericho, of course.

The latter looked directly into his eyes, whose eyes matched his own.

~

Jericho couldn't speak.  He knew exactly what the source of power was from when the stranger sent the guards flying across his cell, not even moving an inch.

It was magic.

And his face... it felt like staring at your own projection.

The stranger spoke, his voice echoed throughout his dank cell - it sent shivers down Jericho's spine, "I've been looking for you for a very, very long time."

Jericho swallowed down the numbness of his throat. "Who are you?"

The corner of the stranger's mouth curled upwards, that familiar smile – those familiar eyes stared intently at his own. "My name is Dantanian, and I'm getting you out of here."

~

Alarms were booming throughout the facility as guards rushed to their allocated stations, waiting eagerly for the escapee and intruder who were bolting through the corridor which held the inmates.

Volk, the Security Deputy and the warden's right hand associate, sprinted frantically up the stairs past the main corridor, up and around the staircase and charged straight for the wooden door that lead to Nespirk's office – grasping the lion head as he flung the door open.

Volk shouted, "Warden!" Panting hoarsely, "There has been an intruder in the facility, and he's attempting to escape with one of the prisoners!"

Volk was too panicked to notice that Liatha was already gearing up.  Her black tunic was lightly layered with leathery armor with her short sword strapped to her side, additionally bearing a few knives around her belt.

She knelt down to lace her black boots and spoke, "Not exactly easy to miss someone crashing down through our roof and into my facility on my security feed."

She eased up back onto her feet and glanced at the monitor, she saw Jericho and someone who resembled him - possibly being his relative – sprinting through the cell hall.

She turned back to Volk. "I want every goddamn guard in this prison to put an end to this antic display. There's nobody who escapes from my prison."

She would be damned to let a prisoner escape.  That was what had made her suffer in life in the past, and she committed to never let that happen under her control...

...Over her dead body.

~

"So, are you going to explain what the hell this is about?" Jericho nervously asked as he ran alongside the complete stranger who offered salvation, "Who are you? Obviously you're related to me, but..."

Dantanian kept his words as tight as possible. "Everything will be explained once we get out." He ran in lead of Jericho, swiftly weaving around the corners of the long corridor.  _How does he even know his way around this place?_

"And _how_ are we going to do that? Do you have any idea how well-guarded this facility is? And even if we somehow even managed to get outside, sentries would pick us off before we can even catch a breath."

Dantanian's eyes slid to his, still keeping one eye forward as he bolted through the maze of twists and turns, "Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Then, at least try to."

They rounded a corner when they spotted a guard, who was surprisingly alone; perhaps he was on his way to his designated station to stand at.  He turned his head and realized he was looking at the culprits, his eyes shot wide in shock as he reached for his baton, but Jericho wasn't planning on letting that happen.

Jericho turned his head to Dantanian, "Let me hand-"

He wasn't there, before he even realized Dantanian was already lunging towards the guard with his enormous sword cleaving through air as he unsheathed it from behind his back and swung. Jericho's eyes felt deceived as Dantanian was somehow _behind_ the guard, the latter was frozen in motion – hand still on his baton at his holster.  Blood trickled down the guard's abdomen – no - _a lot_ of blood gushed down as his upper body now slid off its former lower half, making a thud as his torso hit the ground, closely followed by his pair of legs.

Jericho was more livid than shocked when he stared at Dantanian's back as he slid his sword back into its sheath, the hilt now clicking back into place.

"Why did you kill him?" Jericho asked, as calmly as he could, biting down the disgust. Dantanian didn't even falter. "He got in our way."

"You didn't have to _kill_ him.  They haven't done anything wrong. They're a lot more innocent than I am."

Dantanian pivoted his body towards Jericho, his mirroring eyes now sketched onto his, "I assumed you wouldn't care."

"You assumed wrong." Jericho stalked past him, "I appreciate this whole rescue, but I'm not going to work with you if you're going to kill these guards."

Dantanian's hands slid into his jacket pockets. "If it bothers you so much, then I won't kill them."

Jericho sighed in relief. "Thank you.  Now, what's the plan?"

"On the east side of the prison, there's a wall that runs across the outskirts.  If we breach that wall, it's going to lead us out of here."

Jericho walked back to the butchered corpse of the guard, knelt down and grabbed his baton from him. He holstered it in his elastics of his waistline, "Can't we just get out the same way you got in?"

"I used a completely different method to break in here.  Unfortunately, it was a one-way trip." Jericho made his way back to Dantanian's side, "We can't leave just yet. I need to retrieve my sword from the armory first."

Dantanian nodded, "Understood."

They hurried on – the facilities alarms were still roaring throughout.  Jericho was now beating any guard senseless he found on his way with his newly-acquired baton, it ached against his wrist as he swept one's ankles off the ground and slammed it into his ribcage on the floor.  He hadn't used any weapon since he'd been imprisoned. He had forgotten how good it felt.

The last time he had used a weapon was when he beheaded a man - the very reason why he was locked up in prison.  
Countless minutes and broken bones later, they reached the armory – and to their surprise - was completely unguarded.  They must have used all their resources on stations surrounding the prison, both inside and out.

The armory door was the only thing that didn't surprise them.  As expected, it was a sturdy door with both a retina scanner and fingerprint required to unlock it... _Great._

Jericho studied the mechanisms, "Maybe if we could drag one of the guard's bodies here, we could use their prints to open the door.  The armory would only give access to sentinels.  Luckily enough, I've just happened to knock the wind out of one just back over th-" "Stand aside," was all Dantanian said, and Jericho did so as he stretched his arm out towards the armory door, his face hardened with concentration and strain.  Jericho's senses picked up what was coming before it even happened; it sent tingles through every nerve in his body.

Then, Dantanian's palm tensed – creating a wave of force that completely annihilated the door, its middle section was completely caved inwards.

Dantanian lowered his arm - its entirety pulsating with magic, "Who's bothered to go through all of that?"

Jericho huffed. "I find it hard to disagree with you."

Dantanian turned towards the outstretched hall, just beyond was their destination. "I'll continue onwards and clear the way for you." He noticed Jericho's reluctance, "Don't worry, I won't kill them." He added.

Jericho nodded and they went their separate ways.  He crouched through the destroyed door and made his way inside, he couldn't help but look back and take another look at the damage Dantanian had done.

That door was anything but fragile.  It would have taken a vast amount of force to break through the door, and Dantanian did.  His magic was absolutely incredible. If only he had that power all those years ago...maybe he would have been able to save his mother.

As soon as the escape is over, he will ask Dantanian about magic – to train him.  It was a necessity to learn it if he wanted to kill his father.

He stalked through the armory and eagerly searched for his name on one of the many deposit boxes along the walls, until he felt a presence in the room.

He whirled around to see Warden Nespirk standing in the ruined doorway he had just entered from...

...With his sword in her hand.

"I assumed you wouldn't be able to part without your blade," the Warden said, gently caressing the black hilt of Jericho's sword, "and I also assumed it would be much more fitting to cut you down with the very sword you murdered with."

Jericho tried his best to hide his consternation. "Are you sure you're even able to wield a blade such as mine, Liatha?"  He taunted, passing his baton from one hand to the other – spinning it as he caught it.

Liatha unsheathed his sword. "It's 'Warden Nespirk' to you." She spouted.

~

There was no way in hell Liatha would let the prisoner escape; she knew exactly what he would do once he'd escaped from his cell.  So, she took it upon herself to retrieve his beloved sword from the armory and ambush him there.

She held the sword high, gripping the hilt with both of her petite hands as she pointed it at the escapee, heartbeats passed by as she calculated the perfect time to strike.

Suddenly, she felt anxious - almost shaky.  Uneasy aura was leaking from the sword she was holding - its very essence seeped into every single pore covering her arms. Her whole body quivered.

"So you feel it too, huh?" The prisoner said, slowly lowering the baton in his hand.

Liatha was astonished. She didn't realize she was showing her disillusionment - the sword's hilt was clanging from her shaking hands.

The prisoner's strange eyes beamed toward hers. "You think I carry that around because I like to? You have absolutely no idea what that sword is.  You're beginning to show me that you may have a bad habit of being too quick to judge."

Liatha shouted with her teeth bared, "Silence! How dare you stand there and criticize me amidst what's happening around you, regardless of my stature and your impotence. You're not leaving here alive." She sprung off her feet and whirled the sword straight for his face.  
He merely dodged – the blade merely inches from his cheek as he effortlessly titled backwards - she quickly counteracted as she swung the blade from the opposite side, he dodged again, declining his body as the blade whooshed above his hair.

"You plan to kill me?  Isn't that a bit hypocritical?"  The prisoner said after darting back.

"This isn't murder; this is an execution."  Liatha retorted.

Her next attack was easily dodged again, her temper rose.  That cocky bastard wasn't even bothering to parry with his baton, instead he was simply eluding her constant attacks.

"As I thought," he spoke, still weaving in and out of Liatha's fury of steel, "you aren't able to wield it."

"Shut up!"  She shouted through the breaks of her panting and continued her unrelenting waves of strikes - the sword's essence still crept on her skin.

"Do you feel it, Warden?  Do you feel the sword yearning to break through your inhibition that holds back your fears?"

Warden Nespirk raised the sword above her head, "I said shu-" she was interrupted by what she saw in front of her.

Standing where once the prisoner stood, was Senna, exactly as she remembered her; shortly cut brown hair and her identical eyes – hazel.

She suddenly stopped breathing.  _Surely this is an illusion...from this sword?_   She did hear the prisoner say something about _fear..._

Is this my fear?

The image of her sister distorted, revealing the prisoner with his baton soaring right for Liatha's temple.

~

Jericho caught Liatha by the back of her collar on her tunic – breaking her fall - and slowly lowered her semi-unconscious body to the floor.

"My first time wielding this sword was the same as yours." He spoke softly, as he seized his sword from her grip; her fingers were still tightly wrapped around the hilt. Was it from dedication or fear?  He wondered.

"I never realized how horrible fear was, until it cost me my mother's life.  Once you realize it, it's too late.  The fundamental reason of why you feel fear from that exact moment suddenly stops existing – the very urge and commitment to protect who you love becomes null - so what's the point to fear anymore?  What's the sole purpose for you to react in such a manner, fearing one of your loved ones is going to be harmed, if there's nobody left?"

He began to pace back towards the blasted open door, but came to a halt.

He didn't know what went through him that made him say his next words.

"I'm only saying this because I somewhat feel responsible," he looked over his shoulder towards Liatha - her brown hair was splayed on the ground as she lay on her side with her back turned towards him. "Senna..."

Both of their hearts sank to the very bottom of their being as that name left his mouth.

"Don't look for her."

It was the last thing he said as he finally head out of the armory with his cursed sword at his hip, and made haste towards the stranger who had freed him.

~

"Run into trouble?" Dantanian said, casually leaning on the corridor wall with roughly a dozen knocked out guards around his proximity.  If anyone ran into trouble, it was him. Yet his appearance showed he was unharmed.  Jericho quickly scanned over a few bodies, searching for signs of life.

Good, at least he didn't kill them.

Jericho made his way to Dantanian's side, "No, something just needed to be done."

Dantanian nodded as he shoved off the wall and pointed at where he was just leaning, "Beyond this wall is our way out.  It's roughly eighty meters thick, but as soon as we're through it's already past the perimeter of the prison."

Jericho almost choked, " _Eighty_ meters?  And how are we going to get through it?  Dig?"

"I'm sure you already know what I'm capable of." Dantanian outstretched his arm, flexing his palm in a quick motion.

"Yeah, sure, you can blast through doors, but this is a thick wall.  How many of those blasts of yours would you have to use for us to get through?  _Ten? Fifty?_   We don't have time for that, staying in one place for too long gives the guards a hell of a good chance to surround us easily." The air started to become thin as a familiar atmosphere flared around them, Dantanian's focus narrowed, with his free hand he gripped firmly around his pulsating wrist.

"Just one," Dantanian announced.

Shouting was heard from across the hallway, closely followed by hammering footsteps – guards were rushing towards them, _a lot_ of them.

Jericho's body was trembling from the humming aura that enveloped Dantanian, "Whatever you're doing, make it quick!"

Shock and awe was a severe understatement to describe how Jericho felt the moment Dantanian unleashed his accumulated power.

An immense beam of light expelled out of Dantanian's palm, so intense it shook the whole structure around them - the very ground beneath their feet cracked as debris lifted upwards - it almost felt like lightning had struck directly on the floor beneath.

The wall surrendered to the overwhelming power as it caved in, the massive beam of light surged through the giant hole it had created in the wall and the innards crushed as the unabated power burrowed through to their freedom.

Dantanian exhaled, as rubble fell to the ground and a long tunnel now stretched out before them. That was insane – dangerous, even.  Jericho didn't even want to begin to think what would happen if everybody on the continent would have power such as this; it was arguably more dangerous than the infamous WMDs that had been banished.

Dantanian took one last deep exhale before he turned to Jericho, "Lead us through, I'll be right behind you."

Jericho didn't dispute as he ran straight towards the dark tunnel, its walls were sleek throughout – the power that Dantanian used had carved a perfect cylinder.  He didn't have time to admire as he pushed forward with Dantanian now close behind him.

Dantanian quickly pivoted back towards the entry of the tunnel, "We don't want them following us, do we?" He said and threw up his hand towards the roof of the tunnel.  He emitted a shockwave - making sure not too hard that might actually cave them all inside - to send the roof crashing down, sending rubble to block the halfway point of the tunnel.

Just ahead was the exit to the tunnel, Jericho's heart skipped a beat when he saw the moonlit sky. It was different to see a sky outside of the prison walls. He was so used to seeing it in the courtyard, and for some reason it looked awfully dull there - the ivory moon had a grayish tone and no signs of warmth in its entirety, the stars at no time shone with the dazzling light that gave him hope... a reason to live.

But the sky outside was different.  As he finally emerged from the long tunnel, it embraced him – the moonlight kissed softly on his blue jumpsuit, causing it to mix into a deep purple - and the stars...

The stars shone with breathtaking light all throughout the night sky – Jericho's beacon of hope. _'I am your brightest star in your darkest night.'_

He knew, deep down, that his mother Veela was somewhere out there - guiding him, constructing a path that was beneficial for her son. He wasn't too sure if she would have wanted him to avenge her death, but perhaps he will ask for her forgiveness when they would next meet...

...Because now, Jericho was going to hunt Baal down.

# 5

Jericho warmed his hands by the make-shift campfire he and his companion had lit amidst the spacious forest they had reached after an hour of running, a fairly remote distance away from the prison. A wealth of tall trees surrounded their camp as the moonlight trickled through the tree top leaves; its luminance gleamed on the many shallow streams that ran as far as the eye could see.

Wildlife were vigilant at that early time of morning, Jericho's ears were perking up frequently from the howls and bristling bushes adjacent to the steep mossy hills encompassing the area. It was wise to stay alert of wildlife in Eurynome - the southern part of the continent - even before The Coming of The New World as it harbored the most dangerous wildlife in the world.

It was an eventful night, and Jericho was exhausted from all the running. Despite the pronounced pursuit by the law, a rest was needed.

It was also a good time to learn at last, who his savior was and his motives.

"I want to know everything that I don't know, every single detail." Jericho said. His hands rested beside him on the log he was seated on – his sword was leaning against it between his outstretched legs.

Dantanian was seated across from him seated on an aged tree stump, his glare diverted from the crackling embers emitted from campfire to Jericho's.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're more than eager to figure out what's going on. I'll tell you everything." Jericho tensed, his fingers dug into the bark of the log as he prepared to hear him out. Dantanian's facial expression turned grim as he exhaled, "My name, as you know, is Dantanian. Dantanian Zeschar, your elder brother."

Even though Jericho found their resemblance striking, it still shocked him to his very core, "I've never had an elder brother."

"That's what you were told. It was hidden from you, courtesy of our father, of course. In fact, my very existence of relative ties to the Zeschar family is hidden." Jericho opened his mouth, but Dantanian already knew what he was going to say as he cut him off, "Why? I don't know. I've never figured that out. If I'm still curious enough to know when I find him, I'll ask him before I kill him."

"So, you want to kill him, too?" Dantanian broke his stare with him as he glanced down at the campfire's shadow dancing on the grass. He clasped his hands together beneath him. "I... heard about Mother, a few days after it had happened. At that time I was still in the hands of my caretaker in Fenrir, as soon as I heard the news I left to train, to become strong enough. I trained intensely for years, finally drawing out magic which was dormant in my blood – in yours, too." Jericho remained silent.

"After I thought I was strong enough, I went straight for Baal, not wasting any time. He was far stronger than I had imagined...I had to retreat and come up with a better plan. I had nobody that I could trust anymore to help me. That's when I learnt of you, Jericho, the only person who I can turn to, and the only one who shares my motives."

Dantanian's fingers tightened over his hands. "But it's more extreme than I thought. I've learnt that Baal is planning to somehow bypass the embargo of modern weaponry, and using it to gain control of the continent."

Jericho jolted up from his seat, there was absolutely no way that was true. "Bullshit! The ban hasn't been lifted since it was introduced. It's obviously something that we humans are not capable of understanding."

"Do you sincerely believe that someone like our father isn't capable of bypassing the law? He's clever as he is demonic."

Jericho sat back down and remained quiet for a moment longer, taking in what he had just heard. Finally, without looking at Dantanian, he asked, "How strong is Baal?"

Dantanian unclasped his hands apart and reached his right arm over the campfire...and held it there.

The flames didn't scorch his arm, instead it gently cloaked it – no, it merely diverged around - like a boulder in a rapid-flowing stream, "This arm is synthetic. I've lost my own in the fight I had with him." Dantanian revealed.

Jericho was amazed; even in that day and age it was rare to see people with biotic limbs. You had to be very wealthy or somebody important to attain such technology, that was all thanks to the event that happened almost a century ago which made the price of technology skyrocket. Dantanian retracted his arm from the flame with not a single char on it from the heat. "I believe if we both fight alongside each other, we can finally erase that monster from this world."

Jericho folded his arms over each other. "How much do you know about our mother's death?"

"I know she fell from Baal's tower, also she wanted to leave him for something he'd done." Jericho leaned forward. "Do you know what he done?"

Dantanian's eyes flickered with enigma. "No."

Jericho became frustrated. He _still_ had no idea what Baal had done so horrid that his mother finally mustered up the courage to leave him, "So, you've freed me from prison," Jericho said, "now what's your next move? And on that note, how the hell did you break in?"

Dantanian had the straightest face as he said, "A catapult."

Jericho's eyebrows stooped. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Dantanian said, returning Jericho's frown with a smile, "But I'll explain that later." Dantanian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small disc-like object, small enough to fit firmly in his palm. The disc then emitted a holographic image – a map, displaying the entire continent. Its dark green atlas radiated off the side of Dantanian's face.

"As you know," Dantanian said, pointing at the top of the continent, "Baal resides here, in the City of Lycur in the Seraph region." He then shifted his outstretched index finger to the very bottom of the map, "Currently we are here, the Estate of Hatiel in Eurynome. If we want to reach Baal, it's a hell of a hike."

Jericho studied the map; his eyes were fixed on the map as he calculated the travel. "No kidding, it will take us a while to arrive at Lycur. What's the actual distance?"

"Twelve-thousand kilometers, give or take."

"What is it with you and these huge distances? This time you can't just blast our way through like you did in our escape from prison."

Dantanian nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so, the distance would take us several months to traverse." He held up his hand, " _However_ , once we reach the first major city on our way, Kyrion, there will be a 'shortcut' for us to take."

A cool breeze gyrated around them, the trees above rustled as leaves swept up from the ground and drifted about, some aiming straight for the fire between the two brothers – the leaf's blade combusted off its stem as the burning inferno consumed it. 'Go where the wind takes you,' is a philosophical approach for life believed to be a positive outlook on your overall life experience. Nobody seems to tell you what happens when the wind blows you straight into a fire.

Jericho watched the stem incinerate, its entirety turned into ash and crumbled from the heat of the blaze – this may be how his life would turn out if he decided to go with the wind.

Or, maybe it will be just like Dantanian's synthetic arm - jumping straight into the fire with confidence - utterly fearless of the fire's capabilities...

...Fear.

Jericho stood up from his seat and took a step towards his brother, "I'll go with you - to stop Baal, together."

Dantanian smiled as he also stood up and strode towards Jericho and offered his opened calloused hand, "For a better future."  
Jericho clasped his hand with his brother's, firmly tightening as he stared into Dantanian's mirroring silver eyes and smiled, "For the sake of the world."

# 6

"I urge you to reconsider, Warden Nespirk."

The prison's stables were brightly lit that morning, stacks of hay shone golden in every stable throughout the quarter where dozens of horses were posted.

Volk stood just outside a particular stable where Liatha was readying her horse. He had heard the news that morning at her meeting with the council present when she had announced her temporary resignation as warden. It had shocked everyone in the meeting, nobody expected _The_ Liatha Nespirk to drop her position so soon – even if it was temporary. It would be difficult to find an adequate replacement for her, the very walls of the prison resonated with her absolute discipline; the Hatiel Correctional Facility wouldn't be the same without her.

She didn't reveal her reason for leaving, despite the curiosity of the council and her guardsmen. Liatha fastened her saddlebags on her mare; they were filled with clothing and supplies. "There's no need for concern, Volk. I've made multiple arrangements for my departure to ensure the operation here runs smoothly."

Volk took a step closer, the hay beneath his foot crunched as he spoke. "I don't mean that...I mean about _your_ safety. You've been acting strange since the prisoner escaped, and I have a strange feeling that-"

Liatha's chestnut-brown hair whipped around as she turned to cut off Volk, "You've been a great deputy to me, and I thank you for that. However, this is my life and my concern. It's something that I need to do. Do you understand?"

Volk slowly nodded as she climbed onto her saddle and gently patted her mare as she led it outside the stable – Volk followed closely.

Liatha flashed him a smile, "Don't miss me too much. I won't be gone for too long." She said. Volk stiffened and kept his arms firmly by his side. "I assure you, madam, that I will do my best to keep this establishment in order during your leave. You have my promise."

A laugh escaped through Liatha's mouth, she didn't realize her eyes were watering. She was really going to miss this place. Since she settled in there as warden two years ago, she hadn't ever left. She was constantly being pestered to take leave and go on a holiday, but she always flat-out refused – she was fully committed to her job, and never took days off.

"Perhaps when I come back, Volk, maybe you should take a break. It must be exhausting to keep up with my solemnity all the time."

Volk returned her smile with a grin, "Perhaps, Warden Nespirk."

Liatha took a deep breath and looked out to the outstretched road leading out from the prison gates - the Estate of Hatiel. It was a vast region of woodland areas and deserts, as well as many rural suburbs and cities. She held the reins in her hands and looked back at her prison for the last time. She remembered the first time she set foot in there like it was yesterday - the day her ambition would finally thrive - to never let any criminal escape from her prison.

But it happened, and it was Jericho who escaped - someone who knew her sister - had escaped. She dug the heel of her black leather boot into the side of her mare and leapt straight into a gallop, racing into full speed out into the world not held in captivity.

'Don't look for her.'

That prisoner knows about Senna, she couldn't sleep last night over it. _Why him?_ What was she doing with a murderer? There was even a possibility that...

She gritted her teeth to the thought of her sister killed by Jericho.

Before Liatha had left, she dug through the archives of the prisoner's criminal past in the facility and found Jericho's file and made a grim discovery. The victim of Jericho...the man who he killed, was actually Senna's foster caretaker.

Liatha was going to find Jericho, and learn where her sister was. Her previous attempts in the past to find her never worked, this time is different - this time, Liatha herself was going to search for her.

Wind swept through her black tunic as she galloped, fluttering against the draft, not slowing down at all. Every second counted to fill the gap that Jericho and his companion had made since the night before.  
She hated herself for allowing it to happen; she had made a vow to ensure no prisoner escaped under her rule, to make sure nothing like all those years ago would happen to anybody.

The sunrise peered over the horizon, rays of sunlight pierced through the cast of trees by the roadside as she made her journey.

Her name was Liatha Nespirk - a former Warden of the Hatiel Correctional Facility - that had set out on a mission to reprehend the prisoner and find her sister. She had no idea how drastically her life would change on this journey.

# 7

"What are we going to do here?" Jericho said, with his mouth full of mushed apple as he chucked its core onto the grass.

The riverbank was large as it revealed itself from the grove they had walked through, its length spread out further than Jericho could see, the shore at the other end was notably somewhat reachable.

Dantanian perched himself down by the riverside, he outstretched his arms behind him as he leant backwards, "Taking a break. We've been walking non-stop since dusk."

True, they hadn't even slept. After they finished up at their camp, they immediately left on their journey to Kyrion, only stopping once for Dantanian to give Jericho clothes he had stashed further away from their camp. It was well needed, he couldn't just wonder around with his prison jumpsuit still on and he didn't have time to retrieve all of his belongings in the escape, so he didn't hesitate to take the outfit Dantanian had offered him - the dark grey skivvy fit well, the black jeans were a perfect length and his white kicks had plenty of toe-wiggling space.

Their travel so far was very tight lipped, the only exceptions were the occasional; 'I need to take a leak,' or, 'Watch out for snakes while I'm taking a piss.' There weren't really a large variety of conversation starters. Maybe the time they spent now was a great opportunity to bond a little - they were brothers, after all.

Jericho plopped down right beside his brother - the latter's focus on the daybreak sun, its rays glistened on the river - shimmering with its glow. Jericho followed his perception.

Despite Jericho's constant fear of his father coming back to haunt him, he always tried to find time for simple things like this - whether it be relaxing at parks or going on walks until he became lost, it always gave him a sensation of tranquility. He always thought it was strange, it never occurred to him why it was so satisfying to be isolated when all his life he hated being alone.

He shifted his eyes to Dantanian, who was still gazing at the lake.

Jericho wondered how his brother coped in life, was he more fortunate or did he suffer more? It felt out of place to ask then.

"Where did you get your sword?" Jericho said, breaking the silence – his voice being descant with the echoing kookaburra calls.

Dantanian looked down towards where his sword lay beside him, it was generally longer than most traditional swords which made mastering the weapon a lot more difficult.

After a moment of thought, Dantanian replied, "From a merchant in Fenrir."

Jericho felt that answer had a sense of bitterness, almost like he didn't want to answer that question.

Just before he tried to speak again, Dantanian expressed his interest this time. "I doubt that sword of yours isn't as basic to buy from a merchant."

Jericho looked out towards the lake. The sun was still peering out from the horizon; he could feel the warmth from the sun rays hitting his skin.

"Our father mended this sword from his own blood. He gave this to me on the day our mother died. It was intended to fight him with it."

"Why do you still use it?"

Jericho tilted his head back and gazed upon the dimly lit blue sky – clouds were beginning to disperse and open up for a clear forecast, "Because if he gave this to me for that very reason, then I'm determined to kill him with it." He said.

Dantanian exhaled as he laid back on the meadow with the grass prickling against his knuckles as he rested his hands against the back of his head, "If only it were that easy to do so."

Jericho sighed as he plucked out a fistful of grass from in front of him, slowly releasing his clutch and allowing it to drift with the soft draft that swept through the riverside.

As much as the truth hurt, their plan was undeniably flawed. Reaching Baal was one thing, but gods above knows what was going to happen _if_ they even reached Seraph, he was sure Baal was capable of becoming aware if they're anywhere near his region. And, if Dantanian had already fought him once before and lost, what was their new plan now? Was Jericho really going to make a difference if they teamed up?

His head swiveled behind him to see his brother still laying down – his eyes now closed – and watched his chest calmly expanding and compressing.

It was strange to take in that it was his brother after all that time of not knowing his existence. He wondered why his mother didn't mention anything about Dantanian, despite how apparently Baal was the one who ordered his existence hidden.

At one question at a time, he will become closer with his brother, hopefully once this was all over he could actually settle down as a family.  
The thought of that almost put a smile on Jericho's face.

And yet, a lot had happened, and a lot more was about to begin. His eyes once again drifted towards the lake when he spotted a dragonfly.

Its wings were transparent, matching with the deep blue of the lake. It gently hovered over the water, creating ripples beneath it.

"Strange," Jericho muttered. "That's the fourth dragonfly I've seen today, it's rare to see even one in August."

To his surprise, Dantanian shot up from his laid-back position, looking skeptical as he asked, "You've seen four?"

"Uh...yeah, three back when we were walking, and one now."

Dantanian fixated his eyes on the dragonfly, " _Or_... maybe you've only been spotting the same one."

"What do you mean?"

Dantanian placed his hand on his lap – his palm faced upwards as he stared intently at the dragonfly. Jericho kept his eye on the dragonfly when he started to see the ripples beneath become more rapid, its ring shaped pattern became more of a multi-sided star. The dragonfly seemed to become aware as it suddenly flew in the opposite direction.

Instantly, Dantanian clenched his hand into a fist and the water beneath the dragonfly – the ripple now becoming a torrent of water - shot up right into the dragonfly, it encompassed the insect entirely, becoming a small sphere of water.

Jericho was amazed that magic could do that, too. It seemed like there was an infinite potential to that power, he was even more eager to learn it.

Slowly, the sphere of water drifted towards the two brothers, the dragonfly inside was swirling around, unable to take flight. The sphere reached Dantanian, and he reached his hand inside the sphere of water, pulling the dragonfly out from sphere – the latter now obeying the laws of physics and sloshed back down onto the grass. He held the dragonfly by its abdomen with his index finger and thumb as he closely inspected the insect.

Jericho still had no clue what was going on, "What's the issue?" He asked.

"This is the issue." Dantanian crushed the insect's abdomen between his fingers and – to Jericho's astonishment – sparks shot out.

"This isn't organic at all, it's mechanical. It's used to spy on people." Dantanian revealed. "Shit. We better go."

They stood up and holstered on their swords, Dantanian took lead, "Looks like our break is over. We need to get to Seraph as fast as possible."

Jericho shouldn't be surprised, he thought. He was an escaped criminal; the law is bound to be looking for him by now. Still, it made him feel self-conscious to be out in the open, though it was unavoidable. It's not like he was able to lift his bounty; it was going to be like that until he got what he wanted, and maybe then he will happily oblige the idea of going back to his cell.

The thought of Liatha crossed his mind, he wondered if she heard him when he told her about Senna. He didn't regret it, though - the thought itself sounded selfish but he was glad he got it off his chest.

The image of that day still gloomed over him every day, he didn't mind being a little selfish to ease the constant pressure on him all the time.

~

After half a day of constant hiking and taking no more stops, night had fallen. Jericho didn't know about his brother, but he was starving. All he had was two apples and a bunch of berries he found a few hours prior which made him sick, despite Dantanian's warnings not to eat them. The forest wasn't too polite, either, when all it had offered when he needed to wipe was sharp, brittle leaves. He did his best to hide his waddle for the past hour.

Dantanian suddenly came to a halt in his tracks. Jericho didn't realize he stopped until he was a few steps away, "What's up?" Jericho asked.

Dantanian pointed ahead, fairly high up on top of a slope, "Lights. Can't you see them?"

Jericho followed his direction and saw it as well, there were _a lot_ of lights actually, he must have been too focused on being hungry and walking in such a way that his grazed cheeks didn't come into contact with one another.

Dantanian pulled out his map and studied the hologram, "Interesting. It's an unmarked location, could be a small town."

Jericho didn't hide his excitement, " _Finally!_ Let's go."

It was exactly what they needed after over a whole day of walking with no sleep and minimal food. He was hoping for a warm meal, especially soft and delicate toilet paper.

Dantanian placed the map back into his jacket pocket, "It's odd - every single legitimate town should always be marked. I wonder why this one isn't..."

"We won't know until we get there."

# 8

Becca returned back behind the bar counter after several rounds of serving drinks. It was a Thursday night booming with customers eager to get wasted on cheap local liquor. She'd been working at this shady tavern for two years since then, so it was no surprise how busy it got at that time, and it wasn't like there was another place to get pissed in the small town - Loray.

She sighed as she redid her hair-tie holding up her auburn hair in abundance – wincing at the feeling of split ends she had gained from long hours at work and constantly styling her hair as her manager expected her to do so. She didn't mind too much anyway, it wasn't really somewhere she wanted to be on the long term but it paid only a smidge lower than average, the hours were kind of fair and she only got groped once every few days.

Hopefully in time, she could travel to other places like major cities. She grew up in this small town all her life - eighteen years of it should drive anybody to the point of madness of wanting to see other places.

A man crudely shouted from across the tavern loud enough for Becca to hear over all the perpetual yelling and jeering emitted from the crowd, "Another round for this table!"

Becca snapped out of her daydream and in a flash filled half a dozen tankards with beer and slid them onto a tray, "Coming!" She yelled.

Skillfully balancing the tray of drinks, she made her way to the table with a group of unpleasant men who obnoxiously shouted every few seconds for whatever reason.  She smelt their sour body odor and liquor rich breaths escape their mouths in laughter as she leant in to hand out their beer, and spotted the entrance sliding door open - revealing two customers. Both looked fairly young, maybe the one with the beard was an exception – his sizeable sword strapped to his back made him look more menacing than he should be, the other man had one holstered to his hip. Both had silver eyes.

It was difficult _not_ to notice that. Even from across the tavern, Becca could clearly see their matching silver eyes in the poorly-lit inn.

She didn't realize she was still at the table she had served until one of the men spoke from his seat. "Who in the hell are those guys?"

The man sitting next to him gulped down his fresh mug, "Not a clue, mate. They look like outsiders to me."

Another man who was sitting across the table sneered, "They shouldn't be here, just pisses me off looking at them."

Becca made her way back to her counter before she somehow got caught up with those shitheads in another argument like the last time, she looked over to the newcomers' way and the eldest-looking one held up two fingers – two drinks.

She filled two tankards and walked towards their table, spotting the younger man pigging out on the bowl of peanuts on the table in an inelegant manner, the man looked up at her when she placed their drinks on the table and spoke, "Can we get menus to order?" He said.

Becca tried to look as sympathetic as possible. "I'm sorry. Our kitchen's closed at this time." The man let out a groan loud enough for the elder beside him to give him a hard-nosed look. She continued, "How about more peanuts?"

"Yeah, why not, bring 'em through." The man obliged with a beckoning hand.

Becca returned with three more bowls of peanuts and made her way back to her counter. Now that she had a chance, she could start chipping her way through of all the dirty dishes that had piled up in multiple sinks.

Lukewarm tap water ran through her fingers as Becca swiftly scrubbed the various plates and cups, water sloshed about as she sorted through the damp plates in the rack. She couldn't help but wonder who those men were.

It had been a very long time since she'd seen new faces around, since Loray was a small, unmarked town. Usually, people who stumble upon this place merely ask for directions for Kyrion and be on their way, it was rare that outsiders settle down here for even just a while. Everybody in Loray knew each other's faces which makes those two stick out like a sore thumb.

Perhaps it's because there was really nothing to do or see there, so it gave no reason for outsiders to visit. All it did was raise suspicion – like this town didn't have enough of that already, courtesy of their conspiracy theorist-lunatic of a mayor.

She turned her attention towards the newcomers just in time to see one of the foul men from the table she had served before those two had staunched up to their table.

"You're not welcome here." The man said, with alcohol in his bloodstream slurring his words. The rooms' chatter quieted as heads began to swivel towards their table.

The younger man with silver eyes didn't look his way when he spoke from behind his mug, "Weird, 'cause a sign said 'Welcome' on our way in."

"Lookie here, fellas, this outsider's also a smart ass."

The elder man with silver eyes spoke calm, yet threatening words. "We don't want any trouble, leave us be."

"You've already asked for trouble by coming here, mate."

Becca grasped her tabletop as she watched the younger man ignore him, throwing more nuts in his mouth. She thought she should go over there and get that drunkard off them. They didn't need to be treated like that.

The drunkard stooped his head close to younger silver-eyed man. "Oi, don't igno-"

It made Becca's stomach turn in disgust when she saw the silver-eyed man turn towards the drunkard and spat out a chewed-up peanut straight into his mouth. The drunkard choked as he began heaving over the neighboring table, spitting over and over - almost puking onto the table. The silver-eyed man spoke. "I don't have the energy right now to put up with your shit. Go back to the hole you crawled out from, or I swear, I'll make something as simple as coughing a _blessing_ after what I'll do to you."

Becca found herself between the two of them.  "You heard the man, asswipe." She said.

The drunkard grunted as he bared his teeth at Becca for a moment, then after a squabble with his own sense he walked off – muttering nasty words as he walked back to his table of his alcoholic-vessels.

Becca sighed in relief and turned towards the newcomers, "Sorry about that. This town finds it difficult to accept strangers."

The somewhat juvenile, delinquent-looking man wasn't all that threatening up close - he showed a gentle smile as he replied. "Don't feel responsible for other people, and thank you for stepping in."

Becca returned with a smile as warm as his. "So, what brings you guys here anyway?"

The eldest one spoke. "My name is Dantanian, and he's my brother, Jericho. We're travelling to Kyrion and just wanted a place to rest."

Becca fumbled with the apron strap on her shoulder. "Well, we have a few rooms here available, and it's cozy and affordable, even complimentary breakfast." She offered.

Jericho nodded gratifyingly, "Sounds great."

"I'll organize it right away then." Becca said.

~

The next morning's sky was strewed with clouds and the sun's radiance was slightly seeping through the small gaps, just enough light to see the open field of grass and dirt where Jericho performed his warm-up stretches. He was in much of a better mood than yesterday with a full belly and a good-night's sleep. Straight after breakfast, Dantanian took the chance to train Jericho.

Dantanian stood a few meters in front of Jericho. His arms were crossed as he spoke, "Today will be simple and all I want is a basic understanding of your abilities. It would be difficult to teach you magic without understanding your knowledge and capacity of fighting."

Jericho's knuckles cracked against his neck as he swiveled his head back and forth, "Gotcha - no fighting, no magic."

"It would be rude of me to underestimate you, since I _have_ heard of your 'triumphs' that occurred in Eurynome that even spread to Fenrir; the undisputed champion of 'Sword Mastery of Glasc City' - both public and underground - and the infamous man who singlehandedly took on the 'Weevol Gang' with a member count of forty-six and won. I'm sure you know the rest." Jericho shoved his hands into his pockets, "Seems like you've done your homework." He complemented.

"Well, I had to track you, and you left quite a messy trail. All I care about is the fact that you can hold your own, but can you do the same against me?"

"That's for us to find out." A smile spread across Jericho's face.

Dantanian reached over his head to grab his sword as he yanked it out of its scabbard, "Come at me with everything you got. Do not hold back, do not hesitate..." he held his sword out sturdily in front of him – his face was split in two behind the blade, "...or you will die."

The tension in the air rose, a calm wind skimmed through the area, sweeping up clouds of dirt – the tall trees on their right gently waved and the joyful child shouts from the town behind them zeroed out of their minds.

Jericho hardly knew his brother, but he knew for certain that Dantanian was serious - the look in the latter's silver eyes showed that, it was exactly how Jericho looked when he's serious...

...as serious as he was one year ago, when he watched a man's head roll on the floor.

Jericho unsheathed his sword.

This wasn't different than any other encounter he'd experienced; many times he had death-defying moments of battle with people, and many times he had stared death into its eyes.  
He owed all of that courage to his master - Tabbris. He was Jericho's teacher for not only the technique of the sword, but a tutor for life. He was aware of his mother's death and his father's situation, and took it upon himself to become a father-figure.

Jericho stood firmly as he slid his resting foot backwards against the gravel, properly positioning himself for the strike.

He won't fail Tabbris, he won't lose to Dantanian and he certainly won't fall to Baal.

Jericho inhaled, and then darted towards his brother – sword held high.

Both of their swords clashed as Dantanian repelled Jericho's first strike, immediately parrying the next four slashes and evaded a thrust by sidestepping to Jericho's right, the latter reacted quickly – spinning into a pirouette and cleaving the air as Dantanian hurled himself into a backflip - as he exited his revolve in the air - he nimbly swung his sword single-handed towards Jericho, meeting his sword as he insufficiently parried, causing Dantanian's blade to graze his shoulder.

With a hand on his shoulder, Jericho retreated back, unveiling the blood as he studied the hand grasping the injury.

"I cut that shallow on purpose." Dantanian said as he lowered his sword, only to raise it higher as he continued, "Next time, it'll be deeper than that if you don't pay attention."

Jericho pondered as he was still fixated on his hand, when was the last time he was bested in a sword fight? Ever since he was trained by his master, every other opponent he had faced had been no equal to him - whether it was highly-trained guards or gang members.

_What kind of training has Dantanian gone through? And who trained him?_ Ever since the fight started, his technique and sword form looked increasingly familiar.

"Well," Jericho said, now clenching his bloodied palm into a fist, "you weren't bullshitting when you told me that you've been training."

Dantanian said nothing as he stood across from Jericho, his sword still held high in front of his solid stance that looked identical to the stance that Jericho had just taken.

The next thirty seconds of the fight were of no avail to Jericho as Dantanian either parried or dodged every single strike he threw at him - no matter how fast or how unpredictable he tried to be - it seemed Dantanian was always one step ahead of him, both mentally and physically. Jericho suffered from a potentially fractured forearm when Dantanian had slammed it with his hilt when evading a pierce strike – it was the first time ever someone had dodged that move from such a minimal distance.

His left arm shook from the impact as he gripped both hands on the sword, mildly panting as he studied an opening on Dantanian.

"You're slowing down." Dantanian pointed out.

"How hard has this fight been for you? 'Cause you must be seeing things."

Jericho almost regretted saying that when Dantanian lunged towards him and swung his colossal blade downward - meeting Jericho's sword held out horizontally above him – the sheer force of the attack sunk his feet into the dirt beneath him.

"You're open." Dantanian said as he quickly retracted his sword and sent a swift and powerful kick right into Jericho's gut – sending him soaring and crashing down into the dirt.

Dirt dug into Jericho's fingers as he clenched his hands in a struggle to pull himself up - struggling to breathe from that kick that knocked the wind out of him.

It had never happened to him before, the last time he got such an ass kicking like this was from Tabbris himself.

Dantanian only watched him as he slowly heaved himself upwards, coughing as he picked up his cursed sword and gripped it firmly.

~

Dantanian thought he might have overdone it a little bit when he saw how bad of a shape Jericho was in. His breathing was ragged and his left forearm was already showing color, he already had a good understanding of Jericho's level now – exactly as he expected it to be.

"I think that's enough for today," Dantanian said. "We should rest up and-"

" _Not yet._ " Jericho panted.

Dantanian only sighed as he took stance again and waited for his brother's next move. He saw through Jericho's next attack, effectively blocking the weakened blows from Jericho - that now grazed the dirt ground beneath before meeting with Dantanian's sword.

Jericho must have been exhausted by now. None of his attacks were coming from hip height; they were all swinging from below and aimed upwards. The area started to become hazy with dust that was kicking up from his attacks.

Dantanian didn't realize they were completely surrounded by dirt until a cough escaped from his throat and his eyes squinted from particles of dust breaking through his eyelids. Jericho continued to relentlessly send strikes as dirt followed his sword's path.

That was when Dantanian realized he was doing it on purpose. Jericho darted back and began to run in circles around him – sword limp in his hand as the tip grazed the ground - kicking up murky clouds of dust. His sheer speed was impressive for the state he was in; creating afterimages close behind following his rapid sprint in circles was a clear display of the latent magic power in his blood. Having that much energy and coming up with such a tactic, it was remarkable.

Behind the dark smog of the giant dust cloud that surrounded Dantanian, a proud smile was stretched on his face.

Jericho was nowhere to be seen behind the thick smoke. Dantanian focused and carefully observed any signs of movement, or any giveaway of his brother's location. Then, he spotted a shadow to his left – immediately dashing towards it - he carved his sword through the dust cloud and...

....Jericho was not there, only streaks of dust gently dispersing off his sword. Right at that moment, Jericho burst through the cloud of dirt behind him, only giving him time to turn around and lock eyes.

Anticipation, dedication and triumph were exhibited in those eyes of his. He was mid-air with his sword on course straight for him.

Dantanian had no time to speak; only to think, _he got me._

~

_I got him!_ A victorious scream shouted inside Jericho's head as Dantanian stood wide-open within the vortex of kicked-up dust. There was no way in hell Dantanian could react quick enough to evade. Time slowed down as he swung his blade at his target, he followed his blade slowly inching towards Dantanian...until it completely stopped.

Jericho's body in its entirety was suspended mid-air and mid-swing.

A crushing force slammed into Jericho, thrusting him backwards and sending him spiraling into the air. He flung into the nearby forest - slamming his back into an oak tree, only to break completely through it and smash through another tree.

And another.

And another.

And another.

The last tree took the impact this time when Jericho slammed against it - bouncing off and collapsing onto the forest floor. A flock of birds fled from the branches above. He groaned as he heaved himself up onto fours, clasping a hand on the back of his head as he looked up towards where he heard calls for his name.

He didn't realize how far he was thrown until he saw Dantanian - a small figure in the distance - vaulting over collapsed logs of trees and dashing towards him.

Dantanian finally caught up, bursting into a laugh as he spoke, "Well, I think I _may_ have gone a little overboard..."

"No shit." Jericho cursed under his breath as he clumsily stood up.

"It's remarkable. You're at a level I never expected you to be at. Your body reacts in such a way when fighting against foes that are a challenge to you. It'll be a walk in a park to teach you magic."

"How are you so sure of that?"

Dantanian looked behind him, "Considering that I just sent you through half a dozen trees and you're still in one piece, it's safe to say that you've got natural magic resistance. It'll be the first thing I teach you."

"You're this strong," Jericho said as he sheathed his sword back into its bronze scabbard, "and you still couldn't defeat Baal?"

Dantanian fell silent. It was Jericho who spoke again and broke the silence. "Next time, I'll be there – fighting by your side. I swear it."

Dantanian paced towards him and clasped his still shaken hand on his shoulder, "Thank you." He said.

The two brothers eventually made their way back to the town Inn, where they ate their fill and Jericho took a nap in his rented dorm when night fell. They both had their own separate rooms that Dantanian paid for in gold, the standard payment nowadays after all forms of cryptocurrency - that was once the primary economy for trading - had a worldwide collapse when the last World War broke out.

In his dorm, Dantanian undressed out of his attire and began washing his face at the sink that was located in the corner of the room. The bathroom didn't have its whole room; rather it was merged with the bedroom. You get what you pay for.

Cold water splashed across his face as he couldn't help but think of what was to come ahead. He never thought he would have gotten this far - finding Jericho and attempting to defeat Baal once again. It all felt like a dream. He enjoyed having company for once.

" _Enjoying your time with your_ brother _?_ "

The ceiling light flickered as the sinister voice spoke inside Dantanian's head. Upon hearing it, he immediately froze – his hands were still clasped on his face as water trickled down his wrists, "Get out of my head." He demanded.

The voice laughed. " _You know that's impossible, my Dantanian. My presence will never fade no matter how much you resist, for we are the same – one entity._"

Dantanian looked into the mirror above basin, revealing a face that didn't seem to be his own. He slammed his fist right into the reflection – shattering it completely. Shards of glass erupted past his face, he caught a glimpse of his reflection from the dozens of shards as they whizzed past his vision.

It was a familiar sight.

# 9

The following day, the two brothers were back outside on the field again for a second round of training. This time, Dantanian would be teaching Jericho a covert technique - magic resistance. "Magic had entered our world almost a century ago," Dantanian spoke across to Jericho, "when it had done so, it acted as a veil that surrounds this world. It is how the entities spy on us and remains a constant iron-grip on their bans. Any means of creating a weapon or anything that conspire with war will expire instantly. But, magic is not only around us; upon first entering our world, it also entered a very small number of humans."

The information was all new to Jericho, he pressed, "So that means..."

"One of our ancestors was one of them. It seems to pass down bloodline – possibly a recessive gene."

It was a plausible theory; a few of the one-percent in the world who have magic abilities tend to have history of magic in their family. The Coming of The New World was a recent event, so it was maybe too early to tell since only three generations have come since then.

"What about the veil you explained?" Jericho asked. "Is that what Baal plans to bypass? And how did you learn of that?"

"Yes, that's right." Dantanian explained, "He spilled it all out to me when we fought last – thinking I would die anyway, so it wouldn't have mattered."

Dantanian cleared his throat. "Well, enough chit-chat. It's time to show you the basics." He stood firmly – exhaling as he emitted a transparent yet blurry sphere around him. Its entirety brimmed with a blue glow and hummed with a low frequency, "This is what you're going to learn."

Jericho tensed up; he _still_ wasn't used to seeing magic. "Is that a barrier of some kind?" "Against magic, it is." His body softened up as he let down the barrier, disappearing completely, "In our sparring session, what I had used against you was hardly my magic, it was just a glimpse of it. It was not a strong attack; it's just that you have no magic resistance."

"How do I learn it? I don't even know the basics of magic."

"That's true," Dantanian agreed. "You've had no practice with this gift of ours, you're in no shape to be casting magic on that level as of yet."

Jericho was startled. "So, then how the hell are you going to teach me?" He said, looking as confused as he could to prove the whole thing pointless.

Dantanian only smiled as brilliant white light surrounded his body.

~

Becca delicately sipped her soft drink as she watched Jericho and Dantanian from the roof of the tavern.

The sun's glare warmed the back of her neck while she watched the two with awe. The field they were at was a fair distance ahead, but still near enough to observe the two, it was the exact same spot she had used when she watched them yesterday on her break as well.

Magic within beings were rare in this world; she had only ever encountered one mage in her life when she was younger. She could see Jericho constantly being thrown through the air by his elder brother. No matter how many times Dantanian threw a wave of magic at him, he always kept sprinting back even more committed than before. She wondered what sort of training they were doing.

Becca wiggled her straw with her tongue in the empty cup.

She still didn't know who exactly they were and what they were up to; all she knew was those two really fascinated her.

The white light radiating off Dantanian looked almost heavenly.

~

Jericho crashed into the dirt for the umpteenth time after being hit by his brother's magic – shining white light which burnt his skin with every hit. He stumbled as he stood up and rushed at Dantanian again with extreme focus.

"All you need to do is tag my shoulder." Dantanian said as he unleashed another wave of light, it crashed right into Jericho sending him soaring through the air.

He continued to shout across towards Jericho, "No matter what being it is; be it an animal or human, insect or parasites – in the most dire situations we evolve to become stronger, even if that means pushing ourselves to the very limit of breaking."

Jericho wiped his mouth of dirt, panting heavily as he tried to focus.

It was hard. It was difficult to understand this power. Jericho hated being so weak he could just be thrown around like a ragdoll. He tried and tried to muster up the magic within him, but there was no answer from it.

He was blown away again by Dantanian's light.

"Jericho," Dantanian shouted across to him, "how do you expect to defeat our father if you can't perform a simple technique? Or, are you just going to be hopelessly weak, just like the time where you let him kill our mother?"

Jericho took a moment to register what Dantanian had just told him.

His blood boiled.

'You're pathetic - a weakling. I'm about to kill your mother and this is all that you can do?'

It was that night where everything changed, how he was no longer a small child anymore, only a broken man with a sword.

How dare he.

Jericho stood motionless as a silent rage crept up inside him - his fists were clenched so hard that blood trickled down through his fingers from his fingernails digging into his palm.

How dare he.

"Don't doze off!" Dantanian shouted, throwing another wave of magic.

The tremendous sized wave of light crashed directly into Jericho – only to break off around him, not moving an inch.

He began to walk towards Dantanian, the latter sending out another wave of light which Jericho batted away effortlessly with his arm, redirecting it towards the sky. The bundle of light exploded mid-flight in the sky – lighting up the area and casted a shadow beneath Jericho as he spoke. "... _Let him_ kill our mother?"

Dantanian continued to send countless strikes of magic towards Jericho, all which dispersed against the deep white barrier casted by the embodiment of fury. Jericho continued to walk straight towards Dantanian, who was no longer using magic anymore – only slowly lowering his hand - watching his younger brother approach him. Their faces now met, only inches away from each other. Dantanian could now see those burning, glossy silver eyes.

Jericho's voice was coarse as he spoke. "Where were _you_ during all of that?"

Dantanian spoke softly, as if not trying to wake a fierce beast in its slumber. "Jericho...I..." Jericho violently gripped Dantanian's shirt by its collar – staining it with blood from his hands, his knuckles were grazing his throat as he shouted, " _Where were you during all of that?!_ " Dantanian's face softened when he saw the disparity on his brother's face. "...I was with you the entire time."

With the hand gripping Dantanian's collar, Jericho turned and heaved it over his shoulder, Dantanian slammed into the dirt ground with Jericho kneeling beside him – still grasping with a shaken hand.

"You know _nothing_ of the nightmares that night has caused me." Jericho spoke, holding back the lump in his throat.

Dantanian did nothing to fight back. He only slowly turned his head away from Jericho. "I'm sorry." He said.

Jericho let go of his brother, he slowly stood up and turned his back towards him, "If only I was."

Dantanian continued to lie on the field for the next hour after Jericho went back to the Inn.

# 10

Jericho's knees dug uncomfortably into the hard mattress inside his dorm as he clumsily attempted to change his bed sheets to the newly fresh sheet Becca had kindly left him on his nightstand.

If there was one thing Jericho struggled at, it was changing bed sheets. He frustratingly crawled from one corner to the other every time the elastic flew off each corner side – only to fling off the opposite end after he secured a single corner.

When he was younger, it was his mother who had always done it for him. She had done it so damn quick - possibly with her eyes closed. Jericho started to suspect if it was the work of magic, since there was no humanly possible way someone can do that without the help of godly powers.

There was a brief knock outside his door, followed by a soft voice belonging to Becca. "Sorry, I've forgotten to bring you a clean pillow case."

At least _those_ were easy compared to bed sheets. "Sure, come in." He said while still struggling with a stubborn corner.

The door swung open and the floorboards creaked as she made her way into his room, making eye contact over the basket in her hands to Jericho's slumped position over his bed. A sweat trickled down his temple with an elastic corner underneath his foot.

Becca tried her best to hide her smile. "Do you need a hand with that?" She offered.

"No, I got this." Jericho swiveled around and planted his feet on the floor, "It's ten o'clock at night, what are you doing still working?"

Becca walked across the cramped room and placed her basket down on the dusty cupboard across from Jericho's bed, fishing out a fresh pillow case and chucked it at Jericho, "I had to work some overtime cleaning, you have no idea how much stuff drunk men throw up."

Jericho caught the case and began to exchange it with his old one, "I'm sure you've had an eventful night."

Becca leaned against the cupboard. "And I've noticed you've had an _eventful_ morning."

"You saw us this morning?"

"Let's just say I've got _eyes_." Becca said with a grin. Jericho returned it when he successfully fitted his new pillow case, throwing the old one back at Becca.

"We've got quite an adventure ahead of us," Jericho began, "I can't say what's going to happen. I only know he's all I have, and I'm sure I'll soon love him like a brother he is to me." Becca stared intently at the back of Jericho's head while he reattempted his sheets, "What is your story, Jericho?"

After a few moments of silence of him fixing his bed, he spoke. "My story is the type not to be told to inspire young people, or anything to brag about. There's a very fine line between an interesting horror-filled story and a life full of nightmares; one of them is fiction, one of them is not."

Jericho finally pulled the final stubborn sheet corner over the mattress and smiled in triumph as he turned his head to Becca, "There are some stories that are never made to be heard, only to be told through the character's actions."

Becca picked up her basket and made her way to the door, just before reaching it, she spoke, "There is something that exists within this world that turns your nightmares into your wish-filled dreams."

Jericho remained quiet as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her, only peering back in just before the door closed. "We call it _'hope.'_ "

Jericho sighed as he ran his hands through his black hair and slumped down onto his bed, the mattress sunk in with his weight - causing all four corners of his bed sheet to fling off.

He didn't bother fixing it.

~

The small dorm was pitch-black at this time of morning, only slightly illuminated by the full moon cloaked behind the thick fog that surrounded the town of Loray. Shadows of branches from the oak trees adjacent to the inn pranced on the wooden floorboard while crickets constantly chirped.

Three in the morning was reticent. It stirred thoughts in Jericho's head - lying on his poorly made bed with his hands tucked beneath the back of his head. 'Tonight' was the last night they would spend in Loray, his brother told him over a quick and awkward conversation that they will set off in the morning. Being in one place for too long while wanted by the law was not a great idea, so Jericho agreed.

Jericho slid out a hand beneath him and studied his hand. He used magic for the first time ever. It felt strange, but at the same time - ordinary. He couldn't explain it.

He felt bad for how he attacked Dantanian, if only they had met on different circumstances it would have been better - actually knowing each other from birth as intended, living happily with their mother.

He thought maybe he would apologize in the morning.

His eyes diverted towards the basin mirror by the foot of his bed, even in the darkness he could see those ominous silver eyes staring back and avert his eye contact...

...But Jericho's eyes were still peeled directly onto the mirror.

Confused, he concentrated - straining his eyes to see more clearly – trying to regain eye contact with the phantom eyes, only to see something totally different.

It's what the phantom eyes were looking at.

An enormous weight slammed into his chest, his airways became blocked as his heart thumped through his chest – rivaling the amount of pressure that crushed his body – his body became completely paralyzed. In the reflection, it showed outside of his window something he had never seen before. It was a knight – the striking onyx black armor worn was breath-taking, it screamed sovereignty. The knight was mounted on such a majestic beast. It was an ebony horse, yet it governed wings - a Pegasus.

The dark knight slowly descended down from the skies – the full moon spread out behind them in full glory of their presence - the knight's pitch-black eyes made contact with Jericho's through the demon-like horned helmet basked in the moonlight. Amidst the absolute awe Jericho felt, the whole scenery hit him, there was only one word in his mind – the only word anybody could think of when seeing something like that; _'Death.'_

The paralysis expired from Jericho's body, right at the time he shot out of his bed and ran to the window. He slammed the window up and frantically searched to see where that thing went, but it was gone.

His heart still thudded through his chest. It felt like the floorboards were vibrating beneath his feet because of it. He slowly sat down on the cold floor, breathing in and out as relaxed as he could. _A bad dream, it had to be._ He didn't remember closing his eyes, but it surely couldn't be real.

He wiped his damp forehead with his sleeve and embraced the silence for a moment longer before getting up and slumping back onto his bed. He placed a hand on his heart and continued to control his breathing, constantly repeating in his mind that it was only a dream.

Its eyes were burned into Jericho's head. It was black like coal, with such intensity it felt like witnessing a bloodshed-filled war. Yet it felt so familiar, like there had been history between each other, and that was a threat...an invitation to war.

Jericho pulled his covers over himself and shut his eyes, not wanting to gaze at his reflection anytime soon.

# 11

Dozens of volcanoes continually erupted beyond the steep charred-black mountains that surrounded the castle. Even from a great distance, the sinful souls could be heard howling and wailing from the bottom of the gigantic volcanoes from the molten lava that poured down onto them – eternally suffering. The sky was pitch-black throughout; no light was shed on this land. Buraq's hooves touched down onto the vastly wide bridge leading to the castle, the onyx knight dismounted off the fabled steed and walked along the tall bridge. Seas of fire and blood splashed across the bridge's foundations, the onyx knight did not turn head when a bloodcurdling scream shouted from beneath him, his iron boots clanged along the dark hazy floor.

Beside the large gates that sealed the castle's entry stood an enormous Minotaur – the gatekeeper. Its footsteps boomed across the ground while it grabbed hold of a chain which appeared too big even for the Minotaur's size, the creature reeled down the chains and the wooden gates flung open. The knight's black gauntlets clattered as he signaled the gatekeeper's ease when it bowed as he walked through the gates.

The entrance led into the main chambers, dozens of soldiers were lined across both sides of the chamber, all slamming their spears into the floor in sync. The spacious and silent chamber echoed with a respectful chant as the onyx knight walked up to the steps beneath the throne, upon reaching the top of the stairs, he knelt.

The knight's voice was deep and distorted behind his helmet, "My Lord."

The man on the throne placed down his glass on the arm rest beside him, his shoulder-length black hair shifted as he glanced at the knight, "Is there something to report, Omarion?"

With his head still arched, the low-light that the antique chandelier emitted elegantly basked Omarion's horned helmet, "The one we seek - they have found _each other._ "

The exalted man in the throne rested his cheek on a fist, "I see, what an interesting turn of events. I would have never imagined him taking such extreme measures after he fled. Tell me, Omarion, is the other aware?"

"By no means, my Lord, I believe there is an act of manipulation."

"How _bizarre_ , it's hard to believe. I shall send word to our counterparts that reside in their realm. If that is all you wish to report then you are dismissed, Knight."

Omarion bent over and placed his forehead on the velvet floor with his hands sprawled on either side, "Thank you, my Lord – The true most merciful."

The soldiers chanted once more and slammed their spears downward as Omarion had made his exit out of the castle and into the open space of Purgatory - the sound of tormented souls and crackling infernos now sang throughout the ashen atmosphere.

Omarion noticed that he did not hear the castle gates close as they were supposed to immediately after his departure. Preparing for punishment for the gatekeeper, Omarion turned around to face the Minotaur.

What he found was an adolescent female sitting atop the beast's shoulder, she freely kicked around her legs like a child with her heels digging into the Minotaur's chest repeatedly – followed by steam of temper poured out of the beast's nostrils.

Omarion was hardly surprised, "Ifrit, stop being a nuisance to the gatekeeper and get down here." He ordered.

Her too-beautiful-for-purgatory face brightened when she flashed a smile at Omarion and the gatekeeper, "Aw, come on. He knows I'm just playing". She roughly flicked the Minotaur in the head, causing the giant beast to slingshot off the bridge – its hooves kicked up debris as it slid across the platform and clumsily fell off straight into the rapid stream of lava and blood.

Ifrit gracefully landed back onto the ground after losing her seat. Looking apologetic, she spoke. "Okay... _that_ , I didn't mean to do. I guess I'm still not used to my strength."

Omarion heard the Minotaur's roars of fury, "He's going to be absolutely livid when he gets back up here." He began to take lead. "Come, take a walk with me."

Ifrit's corundum-lined armor clanked as she jogged to catch up to Omarion's swift walking pace, she whipped her brown hair out of her face as she turned to speak to him. "I heard you went to the living realm. I just wanted to ask how it was, you know, since you never take me with you." Omarion maintained his stride. "Unnecessary, it hasn't even been long since you were there."

"I was just curious..." Ifrit groaned.

"There are numerous limericks and phrases humans say, many of which include curiosity as a bad omen."

"True, but we are not human."

Beyond the bridge was a barren wasteland, filled with hurricanes of fire, massive walls of flames that trapped the souls of the dead and relentlessly scalded those confined within the inferno walls. Omarion stepped through a wall of fire, brushing off the embers with a flick of his gauntlets – Ifrit was close behind.

Omarion called out loudly over the sound of the rough wind and crackling fire, "Maalik!"

When the one Omarion sought did not appear anywhere amidst the infinitely-expanding wasteland, he called again, " _Maalik!_ "

The ground in front of Omarion and Ifrit burst from beneath, molten rocks flung in multiple directions when a giant ball of flame erupted. The flame dispersed and revealed a man with no eyes, only blank skin where the two should be resting. In his right hand he was holding a bone – a human femur - which he tossed to the side when approached by Omarion.

"I do not see a reason why I need to call twice when I need of you, Maalik." Omarion said. Maalik cocked his head, "When your hearing is drowned by the screams of the damned - each and every single one of them shouting their loved or despised ones' names - it becomes difficult to hear _my_ own name being called."

Ifrit tried her best to hide her discomfort when a cold shiver shot through her spine, the intense heat from the fiery tornadoes wasn't helping, either.

"The favor I have asked of you - have you seen anything so far?" Omarion asked.

"I have not seen anything that you currently seek, however if it and when it does come through here...there is no reason why I would not reveal it to you."

Omarion nodded, "Very well. I'll take my leave."

Wasting no time, Maalik's body transformed into flame and flew into the far out wasteland. Omarion walked out towards the bridge, spotting the Minotaur at the end of the bridge licking clean of the lava that sizzled on its fur.

Omarion turned to Ifrit and extended a hand, "I'm heading back to the quarters now, if you would like to join."

Ifrit had her back towards him, still gazing upon the hundreds of thousands of swirling fire vortexes that viciously dominated the wasteland.

She broke her state of trance. "Omarion, why did he have no eyes?"

Omarion lowered his hand and followed her gaze. Compared to how long the others have been here, she was still new. There was many things she didn't understand, or doesn't want to understand, perhaps will never understand. He was placed in charge of her well-being – Ifrit, the apparent successor of their Lord - was someone that needed to be nurtured and guided to a path of domination and chaos, the very reason of existence for the residents of Purgatory. He still didn't see what his Lord saw in her, she was the very first being to be taken from the realm of the living and join the ranks of Omarion alike.

Omarion stepped to Ifrit's side, her gorgeous features were lit bright red from the raging infernos beyond the bridge, and her eyes sparkled like crackling embers.

"There are limits of what one man can see, no matter how hollow their heart is and how black their soul is. When you are responsible for ensuring the suffering of countless souls with no means of absolution, even among the most wicked will eventually feel repentance."

Ifrit turned and stared deep into Omarion's black eyes. Her words were traced with ordeal from her own personal experience.

"You underestimate the wicked." Ifrit said.

# 12

Jericho's eyelids felt like they weighed a ton while he drowsily dressed and holstered his sword by his hip. After that terrifying experience he witnessed, he couldn't recall if he actually slept or not, only barely drifting in and out of slumber time and again.

He timidly looked over to the window with a yawn still loud in his mouth - once that bared nightmare-fuel now had bright sunlight pouring into the room.

After getting dressed and spending fifteen minutes searching for a missing sock, and another five minutes theorising that the mysterious knight he saw was there for a sole purpose to thwart his daily commute by stealing a sock before finally finding it underneath his half-assed bed sheet, Jericho made his way to Dantanian's room.

He reached his door at the end of the gloomy hallway and gave a brief knock before swinging the door right open, revealing the back of Dantanian, throwing a shirt over his head. A non-audible gasp escaped Jericho's mouth when he saw what was on Dantanian's back.

It was a black ink tattoo of a ring. It encompassed his entire back, letters and symbols he didn't recognize were transcribed around the edge of the circle, with another layer closer to the middle. Before he could observe the whole tattoo, Dantanian had slid his shirt over it, followed by his jacket before turning around to greet Jericho.

"I-I'm just checking to see if you're up." Jericho said, "That's good. You told me yesterday that you made some arrangements for today?"

Dantanian didn't seem bothered at all, "It's still going to be a long journey to Kyrion, so I've got us some horses. Their handler was selling them for a mere seven grams. It was a deal I couldn't pass up."

"Come to think of it, I didn't get the time to grab my gold from the prison when we escaped..." "Oh, yeah," Dantanian leaned over to his bedside table and chucked a pouch at Jericho, "I was going to give you that earlier. It's about a quarter of a kilo, should do you well if you need to spend it."

Jericho's astonishment didn't fade from the moment he felt the weight of the pouch, "A _quarter_ of a kilo? This is way too much, why not-"

"Relax." Dantanian said while fastening his sword to his yet-newly discovered inked back, "I've just given you your share of what I've earned. After all, what's mine is yours."

"I appreciate it, thank you. I'll meet you downstairs."

He started to walk out before Dantanian called him back, "Jericho."

He turned by the door, "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday." Dantanian apologized.

"I haven't thanked you yet for breaking me out of prison, despite how stupid that was. Let's just call it even."

They both smiled, Dantanian looking the most relieved one when he spoke. "Even it is."

An hour later, they both saddled their horses with supplies they had purchased prior and set off north to their next destination – Kyrion.

~

"So this is Kyrion, huh?"

Jericho held his newly-bought smartphone in his hand, watching an introduction video to the 'Illustrious City of Kyrion'. The steed beneath him trotted at a steady pace; matching the speed of the horse Dantanian rode on.

Dantanian peered over to Jericho's screen, "Lively place, isn't it?"

Jericho turned up the volume when he heard an announcer speak: " _Our residents at Kyrion have the luxurious opportunity to live the captivating life and thriving culture of our city. A dream city built for the future - untouched by war and free of radiation._"

"Their heads grew in size when they took precautions in the war," Dantanian spoke, "Admittedly; they were clever enough to develop a dome made with lead that covered the entire city. The nuclear fallout had never even tasted their atmosphere."

"You're talking about World War Three?" History was never Jericho's strong point.

Dantanian nodded, "World War Three was not very infantry heavy. It was just a fireworks show – only the fireworks being nuclear WMDs. That city in particular was lucky enough not to be hit directly, although the lethal doses of radiation should have killed everybody in that city, but that's where the lead dome came in. It was never meant to protect them from the initial blast – nothing would have - it was only there to give the residents hope that it would never land directly on them. Kyrion, or whatever that city was called before The Coming of The New World, had a stroke of luck..."

"...And then something _visited_ our world and changed everything." Jericho added, "Strange, if they bothered to invoke magic in our world, add regulations and even go as far to shift our entire continents for world peace, why leave pockets of lethal radiation in some areas?"

"Nobody knows anything, Jericho. Why they chose to come to us, why they banned anything that could cater to war, why they banned all religious text and destroyed all history before their arrival. Life in itself is fabricated."

After leaving the town of Loray, the beaten paths led to a wide-open road of tar as far as the eye could see. Many people were seen along the long stretch of road, travelling to their destination via what they call the Highway. Many believed they were once used to transport automobiles. "If we want to get there within two days, we need to start galloping." Dantanian said.

Jericho quietly nodded and picked up pace. When Dantanian looked over to Jericho, he asked, "What's on your mind?"

"You were telling me a few days ago, how Baal wants to lift the ban on weapons and use them. If he goes through with it, what will happen?" Jericho asked.

"If he succeeds in lifting the ban on weaponry and uses nuclear warfare, then it's the end of the world." Dantanian answered bluntly, "There are still many unused WMDs Baal can manipulate, and use them in the correct areas to maximize fatalities. We can't defend ourselves, not even with magic."

Jericho gripped tightly on the horse's reins. He would never let that happen.

Dantanian sprung his horse into a full gallop, he shouted out behind him towards Jericho, "I bet my horse is faster than yours!"

Jericho snapped out of his thinking and spurred his horse, "Are you kidding? You're going to describe to me how my horse's ass looks like to you!"

In full speed with the taste of wind on both their tongues as they taunted each other, they set off to the vast and populated city, Kyrion.

~

"Sorry Miss, I've never seen them before. We rarely get visitors."

Liatha Nespirk held the hologram projecting from her watch in front of the resident of Loray's face, "Are you certain?" She asked. "They both have distinguishable features. Try to recall." The senile man shook his head, "I can't help you."

Liatha switched off the image and handed the resident a card, "These men are a serious threat to national security. If you see or hear anything about them, I urge you to notify me."

The man's front door creaked as it slammed shut in front of Liatha's face. Flustered, she descended down the steps of the aged porch and breathed in the chilly night's air.

"You were lookin' for somethin', lass?" A tawdry voice spoke from behind her.

She turned to meet a man who looked like hadn't had a shower in days – perhaps ever. His unshaven beard was untamed and riddled with dry, coarse hair.

"Yes, I am actually." Liatha answered.

The man snorted, "So was I, but a pretty thing like you walking around just did me right."

A sleek compact stun gun slid out from Liatha's sleeve, "Or, perhaps you are looking for fifty-thousand volts to discharge through your balls? Keep in mind, it won't be the _tingly_ sensation you're looking for." A current of electricity crackled across the stun gun's electrodes.

The man took a step back, "Far out, lass, don't have a _tit fit!_ What are ya looking for?"

"Tell me if you've seen these men."

The man stared at the projection for a few seconds, then - what looked like to be – his eyes almost popped out of his skull, "Yeah, I know 'em! That younger lookin' one there is a tosser, alright. Ran into the pair the first night they rocked up here."

"Where are they now?" Liatha pressed.

"They were spendin' their time at the inn. I think the sheila Becca would know where they are." "Where's the inn?"

The man stretched his finger to the middle of town and Liatha immediately mounted her mare and followed, not wanting to waste any time. If Jericho was there, she couldn't afford to lose track of him, this was way more personal than capturing an escaped convict. She had questions about her sister.

"Oh, you're welcome, you bloody mongrel!" The man shouted angrily after Liatha, only to have her give him the bird in return.

It had been four grueling-long nights of searching for Jericho and his companion. She visited every town within fifty kilometers of proximity with no avail. She had last spotted them at a lake three days ago using a _dragfly drone_ which tracked their every move – that was until one of them crushed it to bits.

Upon arriving at the inn, Liatha dismounted off her mare and secured it to the nearby post before walking through the entrance. Her hazel eyes darted across one side of the room to the other – scanning every individual who were all huddled together, either sculling their drinks or can barely keep their heads above the table.

The woman behind the counter caught her glance – a red-head barmaid - that was hastily spinning a tray full of glasses as she filled each one to its rim. Liatha made her way to the front bar, squeezing tightly through the poorly placed tables and chairs. When passing through the last pairs of them, she spotted a rogue hand stretching for her rear. Having anticipated that, Liatha met the hand before reaching its destination with her own – flicking the taser out from her wrist and jammed the arc of electricity right into the man's forearm. The man's squeal was heard throughout the whole tavern, followed by the sound of laughter from his table and him impacting the floor when he fell off his seat.

The young woman behind the counter admirably nodded at Liatha when she approached, "Wow, I might consider getting one of those myself."

Liatha took a seat on the high stool in front of the bar, a man to her right - in fear of being electrified - immediately left his seat and took off.

"Quite handy, I know." Liatha said. "Are you by any chance someone named 'Becca'?" "Who's asking, lovely?"

Liatha unpinned a thin clip from behind her coat, a holographic image emitted from the clip resembling a card. It showed her identification.

"Liatha Nespirk – Chief Warden of Hatiel Correctional Facility, authorised by National Eurynome Security Bureau to investigate a matter at hand." Liatha announced, "If you are in fact Becca, I require your cooperation."

Becca's expression was distraught. She spoke after setting down her half-washed mug. "Oh, um...okay, yeah. Sure. I'll be taking my break shortly, do you mind taking a seat and waiting for five minutes?"

Liatha looked behind at the obnoxious crowd of drunks, "Here? Not happening. I'm sure you can accommodate for a more private room upstairs."

"Yes, of course! I apologize." Becca pointed towards the stairs, "Upstairs, the fourth door on the left is an unoccupied room. I'll be up there soon."

Liatha stood up from her seat, "Appreciated."

After stepping over the electrocuted drunkard, she made her way up the steps and into the designated room. It was smaller than she had anticipated; there was a single small window in the corner of the room which viewed a park-like area with towering trees, a sink in the opposite corner of the room and a bed along the side – which for some reason – had its bed sheet half-ripped off the mattress. Instead of taking a seat on the somewhat looking comfortable chair beside the wardrobe, she chose to wait standing with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Eventually getting restless, she began to pace back and forth in the room just before Becca flung the door wide-open and carefully closed it behind her.

"Sorry for the wait. How can I help you, Warden?" Becca's voice had a hint of tension.

Liatha held up a hand, "Please, just address me by my name – Liatha. I'm looking for a certain individual. A witness said he and his companion stayed here."

Liatha closed the awkward gap between the two and showed her the image emitted from her watch. Becca's reaction had already given Liatha an answer.

"Yes...he has stayed here - Jericho." Becca confessed. "They left this morning, somewhere to the north."

"Who was his companion?"

Becca hesitated at first, but then confessed after taking a short breath. "His name was Dantanian, an elder brother to Jericho."

"An elder brother, you say? How peculiar..." The name struck familiarity in her memory.

"I'm sorry, but..." Becca shifted on her feet, "why is it that you're looking for them? Have they done something wrong?"

"That man...he broke out of my correctional facility four nights ago. He is now a Class-Four wanted criminal throughout Eurynome. It's unfortunate to hear such a lunatic took shelter here, he's dangerous and not to be trusted."

"Jericho...is a criminal?" Becca could hardly believe it.

"No," Liatha answered, "Jericho Zeschar is a _murderer_. He brutally killed a caretaker from a foster home."

Liatha bit her lip thinking about what could have happened to her sister.

"Ms. Nespirk," Becca addressed her softly - almost talking under her breath - she gazed out the small corner window, "do you believe in the phrase: 'The eyes are the window to the soul'?" Liatha stammered, "Y-yes, I do." The question threw her completely off guard. She didn't expect there was many people who still exist that believe in any form of superstition or spiritual beliefs.

"Jericho's eyes..." Becca began, "I did not see a hint of hatred in them, there was not a trace of malice, and there was no sign of envy. What I saw was much more significant, an emotion that defines you more than any other."

Liatha didn't know if it was the stuffy air in the room, the length of time she had been travelling on the road or how Becca's voice sounded during that sentence that sent waves of eeriness throughout her being.

"What was it?" She asked – unintentionally whispering.

Becca's eyes diverted from the window and gazed directly at Liatha's soft features – captivating long brown hair resting on her shoulders and back, her lips were blossomed in anticipation.

"I saw _nothing_ , but solitude." 

# 13

"There it is." Dantanian spoke.

Jericho mounted off his steed and stood at the cliff's edge beside Dantanian. The cliff stood tall and far from the huge, sprawling city of Kyrion. Dozens of skyscrapers lit up the dawn-set sky with its stunning lighting and image projections showing numerous advertisements. The ground was not to be seen through the countless buildings set atop all alongside the ocean. Even from such a far distance he observed, the entire city didn't fit in his peripherals.

It took the two brothers three nights of travel to reach the city by using the highway, frequently passing travellers and merchants taking the same route.

"It's...huge." Jericho stammered, "What were you looking for here again?"

"A method of reaching Seraph more conveniently, I know it doesn't make too much sense for you right now, but I'll go into more detail once we reach there. There's also an _event_ that we're going to participate in."

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Jericho asked.

Dantanian walked back over to his horse, "Once we reach the entry, we leave our horses and walk to keep a low profile. It's a major city, so there's definitely a possibility that we're wanted there, as well. We blend in with the crowd."

The road they followed down the ridge widened and merged back onto the main highway, leading right into the city. They were greeted by a cool sea breeze when passing by the long-stretched overpass that twisted and bent from the mainland to over water, eventually leading back down to the open entrance of the city.

The city was crowded with people. The roads were filled with horses and carriages obeying the road laws by stopping at lights and giving way to pedestrians. The sidewalks were cluttered on both sides of the roads – both which had people walking briskly in both directions constantly grazing shoulders with strangers - Jericho's hood shifted as it happened to him from a middle-aged woman talking loudly on a cellphone.

"I already hate this place." Jericho groaned, shifting his thrown-over hoodie back into place. "This is more of the 'cooperate' and 'business' side of the city, not the tourist side. I'd be worried if someone actually enjoyed being around here."

Jericho's eyebrow rose in the shadows beneath his hood, "I've been meaning to ask; how is that you know so much about so many things?"

"Let's just call it big-brother's knowledge." Dantanian answered.

"I also saw that weird tattoo on your back."

Dantanian stopped at the cross walk at the end of the street, he waved his hand over the sensor and stood with the crowded group that were waiting to cross the wide road – as were the group at the other end.

"I know you saw it." Dantanian finally answered.

"Dantanian," Jericho began, "we may be brothers, but it seems like we're completely different people. I get that. But, it doesn't help when you keep so many secrets."

Dantanian looked towards Jericho and said something that was incomprehensible over the sound of the pedestrian lights blaring green and a mob of people stomping their feet.

Jericho kept up with Dantanian's stride, "Huh?"

Dantanian sighed, "Never mind. Look, when the time is right I'll explain everything, I promise." Jericho was about to dispute with his reasoning, but the sight of two police officers shut him up. They were easily spotted from their navy-blue uniform, both of them fitted with armor paddings and batons strapped to their hips. The officers were crossing from the opposite side of the road towards them in the middle of the crowd.

Jericho didn't need to warn Dantanian. From the feeling of the rising tension in the air, he knew he also spotted them. It would be too suspicious to walk back since they were nearing the middle of the intersection so crossing the road was the only option. Dantanian subtly shoved Jericho to the left of the crowd to avoid detection, matching the hasty pace of other pedestrians. The brothers neared the middle of the intersection – their group now pummeling with the others - the color of navy was now lost in the sea of dark business attire.

Jericho kept his head down and forward, never keeping his eyes off the floor. His heart raced so intensely it reverberated through his jacket and boomed into his ears – the sound amplified when a firm grasp tugged on his shoulder.

He looked up and stared into the face of the rugged-looking officer and his partner by his side, Dantanian stopped at a distance to observe. All four were standing in the middle of the road.

The officer spoke. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remove your hood. There's a policy regarding suspicion which forbids the use of any clothing that masks your identity."

Jericho's mind raced, _shit. You gotta be kidding me._

The officer urged, "Is there a problem?"

Jericho flicked off his hood, "No, not at all. Sorry 'bout that, just kinda chilly out here."

The officer retracted his hand from Jericho's shoulder, "All is good. It's not a policy that is too widely known, so it's common that-"

The officer stopped mid-sentence with a jarred expression. _Shit. Here we go._

"You, uh, got some wicked eyes there, mate." The officer complemented.

Jericho swallowed hard, "Yeah, I get that a lot." He timidly spoke.

The pedestrian man began to flash red on either side, Dantanian still stood in wait a few meters behind Jericho. Hooves began to canter on the tar road.

The officer turned to leave, "You're good to go. Keep your hoodie off."

Jericho spared no time to quickly jog across the remaining distance of the crossing with his brother right by his side.

" _Hang on, just a sec!_ " One of the officers shouted from across the road.

Jericho froze, slowly turning around to face the two officers walking towards him – one of them signaling the traffic to halt.

The officer had a hand behind his back, and one resting on his baton. "What was your name?" The sound of electricity crackled in Jericho's ears – there was a stun gun behind the officer's back.

The gig is up.

"Sorry, could you repeat your question?" Jericho needed to buy time. _Think. What is the best option going to be?_

The officer no longer had a soft look in his face. The distance between them grew too close for comfort, "Your name... _fancy eyes._ "

Without thinking, Jericho went straight for him. Before the officer could comprehend, Jericho heaved himself in the air and kicked the officer straight into the chest with both feet. He crashed right into his partner - who was now screaming in agony - as the stun gun caught onto his clothing when they both hit the ground.

Jericho shouted when he ran past Dantanian, "Make a run for it!"

They ran and weaved through the dense crowd of shocked onlookers in any direction they saw first. They both slid to a stop when a section of the ground in front of them opened up and a motorized drone flew out from it.

The drone hovered in front of the two; it emitted a strong light directly on Jericho's face.

" _Class Four-E criminal confirmed – Jericho Zeschar – wanted for prematurely withdrawing from captivity, orders to detain on sight._ "

"A law-drone..." Dantanian said, he immediately unsheathed his sword in a flash and sliced it in two, "We need someplace to hide, _now_."

Jericho leapt over the carcass of wires and metal, "Then find a place! I don't even know this city!"

Buildings nearby flickered with red and blue lights, sirens were heard ringing from a distance, five drones emerged from a corner of the street ahead of them – flying at full speed directly towards them.

Dantanian ran towards them and threw a destructive bundle of light towards the law-drones – hitting all five causing them to explode into molten scrap metal. The light arced and smashed into the road leaving a crater of debris. Onlookers fled screaming and fleeing to safety, horses panicked and bolted away – recklessly dragging their carriages along, turning them into wrecking balls, smashing into nearby cafés and crowds of people.

"We can go in there!" Dantanian shouted, pointing at a narrow alleyway right beside a turned-over carriage.

They both vaulted over the wired fence at the entrance of the alleyway and slowed down when they ran deep enough inside. Jericho leant against a wall and slumped down onto the ground – catching his breath.

"What a fantastic plan you just had!" Jericho yelled, still trying to catch his breath, "Let's just _waltz_ into this city with hoodies on and blend into the crowd like we're in some game, _then_ when we get caught, we just blow shit up."

Dantanian spat on the ground, "I really don't want to hear your bitching right now. Nobody asked you to dropkick a copper."

"How the hell are we going to travel across the whole damn continent as wanted criminals anyway? Is that something we just missed, or assumed it'd be a walk in the park? It's a..." Jericho clumsily jumped up and paced slowly, his eyes were glued on the tallest building in the city.

"Y-you're kidding, right...no way..."

Dantanian followed his gaze towards the tower, and was beyond disbelief.

Jericho's face was projected on the tallest building in the city, for the whole population to see.

'Attention!

A wanted criminal is engaging in terrorist activities in the city

Please obey all instructions by law enforcements and remain indoors

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPROACH HIM – he is considered dangerous

Please wait for further instructions.'

"That's...how can we...?" Jericho sat back down, desperately trying to figure out how they were going to make it out of this.

"Whoa, you're in a heap of shit, aren't yous?" A voice spoke behind them.

Jericho and Dantanian both quickly turned around and partially unsheathed their swords, a man wearing ragged clothes appeared half-way out from a manhole, he held the lid above his head – gesturing his hand not to attack, "Relax! I've got a way out for you guys."

Dantanian's hand hadn't left his hilt just yet, "What do you mean?"

"You guys want to travel without being seen, right? There's a way for that underground, very low-risk - for some coin, of course."

Jericho huffed, "Seems like I don't have much a choice anyway."

~

The cramped tunnel was pitch-black with a shallow stream of water beneath them, each of their footsteps echoed and sloshed through the water. The stranger led ahead with his dim flashlight lighting up the path. The tunnel was so confined that they were almost crouching to avoid the back of their heads scraping the rough roof of the tunnel.

"Don't tell me that it's going to be like this the whole damn way." Jericho said to the stranger. "'Course not," he answered, "It's actually a spacious place where I'm taking you. The name's Josh, by the way."

"Jericho's the name, and this is my brother, Dantanian."

"Those are some funny sounding names there, bud. What kind of trouble you got yourself in, Jariko?"

Jericho had to consider that this person saved their souls in order for him not to give him a boot up his ass for being a smart ass, "I don't feel like sharing." He said.

Josh snorted, "Right." They finally reached the end of the cramped tunnel, which led to a drop down into a more wide-open area. The room was filled with electrical equipment, and what seemed to be cone-shaped objects and barricades of some sort. At the far side of the room was a metal door, Josh walked up to it and knocked six times before a peek hole slid open – revealing two shady eyes - before unlocking the door with a _clank._

"Welcome," Josh said, signaling the brothers to take the lead, "to Salamanders' Den."

# 14

Underneath the thriving city of Kyrion, a district was brought together by the outlaws of the region – Salamanders' Den. Here was where they functioned behind closed curtains, free from harassment by the law, a society run by thugs and criminals which was somewhat their home. Despite being ruled by outlaws – ironically - there were rules and ethics that the members must follow, most of which attempting to meld together some form of brotherhood among the illicit. The very fact that the district still exists, is substantial evidence that the rules weren't being broken.

Jericho winced at the loud bang from the solid entry door slamming shut and observed his surroundings, "I can't believe how I've stooped so damn low, it's a joke, really. If only I could actually laugh at it."

The room was an enormous hall, so large it was hard to comprehend how a place this spacious existed underground. The place was as luxurious as the flyer said; from not one law-abiding citizen to be seen, to rats scurrying along the edges of the hall riddled with cobwebs. The hall was filled with long tables and slabs stretched from one side of the spacious hall to the other, it was packed to the rim with not an empty stool seen in sight.

To Jericho's disgust, it looked just like the cafeteria at the Hatiel Correctional Facility.

Josh chuckled, "Yeah, right. Pretty sure I saw your mug on the tallest building in the freaking city. Face it, you're not the ' _goodie-goodie_ ' you thought you were." He threw his odious arm around Jericho's neck, "You're one of us now!"

Josh laughed and pulled his arm back before Jericho had the chance to take it from him, walking past the dense seated crowd, "Well? C'mon, I'm gonna show you how to get across the city." Dantanian followed, "No point in dawdling."

Jericho reluctantly followed behind Dantanian, constantly looking over each shoulder. The environment gave him the creeps. It felt like bugs crawling up his skin from beneath, the atmosphere was malignant, almost toxic. He could feel each person's malevolence emanating off their vibe when he walked past a table, it made him sick to his stomach.

There were many stalls alongside the seating area with shady individuals selling stock, ranging from high-grade theft equipment and weaponry – which Dantanian stopped at and had a browse - leaving Jericho alone with the weirdo he was meant to follow through this godforsaken hellhole. Josh led Jericho to a narrow corridor, leading to a door guarded by men, "Our boss is just ahead."

Just before entering the corridor, a large _bang_ was heard, like someone slammed their fists on a table. Jericho turned to investigate, only to be caught with such a pleasant surprise, he couldn't help but smile.

" _You_ , how dare you come here?!" The angry man shouted, now recognizable in Jericho's eyes. It was one of the thugs Jericho had beat down in Glasc City a year ago. He could never forget his weirdly shaped mouth and weak chin.

"What a surprise!" Jericho exclaimed, "And here I was having a shitty day, 'till you showed up and made it a hell of a lot more entertaining. How have you been, sunshine? Still kicking it with the Weasel Gang?"

The ex-gang member furiously swiped off his and the currently seated thugs' food and drinks off the table in a wild fit, "It's ' _Weevol_ '! And not after you busted into our hideout and ambushed us. You got our leader locked up in prison after he sold our clubhouse, and the rest of us went our separate ways, because of you!" He slid a hatchet from under the table and stalked towards Jericho - the whole hall's attention was turned towards them - laughter and anticipation filled the air.

"Whoa, whoa, mate; this isn't the right place..." Josh said, attempting to calm the situation. Jericho couldn't be happier, "If you want to get stomped on again, its fine by me." He drew his sword and held it cockily in front of him, "Come at me."

The ex-gang member charged right at Jericho, "I'll slice you into-"

The ground beneath him shot up in a rod-like shape, slamming right into his jaw, blood spurted out of his mouth as his tongue was jaggedly bitten off from his own teeth.

Giving Jericho no time to realize what the hell was going on, the same thing shot up beneath him – quickly reacting - he evaded the attack and retreated back. The rod-shaped concrete that came out of the ground twisted and pursued Jericho, he narrowly dodged the attack, concrete slammed into the wall beside him, digging beyond reach.

Jericho's mind raced. _This is...magic?! Somebody is manipulating the ground, bending it to their will._

Suddenly, the wall beside him exploded, revealing the snake-like accumulated concrete coming right for him. He quickly counteracted by throwing up a wall of blinding-white light right ahead of it. The abundance of rock and gravel slammed up against the shield – shattering into pebbles and rubble. His entire body shook with adrenaline, it was the first time ever he actually used magic in his life from his own will.

"I never expected to come across a mage here." A large, solidly built man spoke. Jericho recognized him as one of the guards who stood at the boss's door, "You have a weird type of magic, too. We have a no fight policy here, and you just broke the rules. Get the hell out, before we put those magic skills of yours to a real test."

"Hang on just a sec!" Jericho argued, "That dumbass there started it. He lunged at me." Jericho pointed towards the Weevol member, who had his hand cupped over his mouth.

"What the hell happened here?" Dantanian asked, with a newly-acquired pouch fastened to his waist.

The guard shot his hand upwards, "Stay out of this!" The ground started to rumble beneath Dantanian.

Jericho knew what was going to happen and warned his brother, "Get back, now!"

Dantanian slammed his foot down onto the protruding rod of concrete before it even got halfway out the ground - his entire leg was wrapped with light – he perfectly shoved the concrete back into its place, only the cracked outline showed.

"You think that caliber of magic can catch me off guard?" Dantanian said - his vibe flared with intimidation.

The guard looked flustered - unable to talk - his vision was still glued to the smooth concrete floor that should have been erupted. His reaction perfectly mirrored the thugs seated at the tables; multiple jaws were wide-open in awe, the sound of a chair scraped against the floor when a man seated at the far back had left his seat and disappeared.

"My, my, what a lively afternoon," A voice spoke beyond the corridor, followed by heavy footsteps.

A man in a long black coat came out from the corridor, his brown slicked-back hair suited well with his short goatee that surrounded his chin and met with his well-groomed mustache.

He clasped a hand on his guard's shoulder, "That'll be enough. Send these two men through to me."

The guard argued, "But, boss, they're shit-stirrers!"

"Let's just hear them out, won't we? You can happily throw that trash lying on the floor out of here, though. I won't protest."

He turned towards Jericho and Dantanian, "I'll see you gentlemen in a few moments. Let my guard escort you to my quarters."

~

"We need a clear walkthrough to the north-west end of the city, if that's what you're asking – Leon, was it?" Dantanian addressed.

Leon continued to fiddle with multiple pieces of oddly shaped metal scattered on his desk, all in various sizes and shapes, fitting them together in his hand like some sort of puzzle piece.

He kept his eyes on the material as he spoke, "It can be arranged immediately, once you pay the fee."

Jericho folded his leg over the other in his seat beside Dantanian, "How much are we talking?" The pieces of metal in Leon's hands satisfyingly _clicked_ in place, "Twenty grams, each." Cussing under his breath, Jericho fished into his weighted pouch and tossed gold coins on the desk.

Jericho turned to Dantanian, who looked startled. "What's the issue? Thinking of bartering?" Dantanian didn't answer. He only silently observed the now somewhat completed 'puzzle' Leon was putting together - a sleek design of steel which resembled an 'L' shape.

"Is that...what I think it is?" Dantanian asked, breaking his brief moment of silence.

Leon fitted in a spring shaped object into the horizontal section of the 'L' with a screwdriver in his hand, "You seem to know your history well. I put these together all the time when I get bored, really."

Jericho was clueless. "What's it supposed to be?"

Dantanian answered, "A gun."

"That's an actual _gun_?! How the hell are you even capable of having one?"

Leon began to insert multiple small cylinder objects with pointy ends into a sleek cartridge, he laughed under his breath, "Are you stupid, kid? No one is capable of having these weapons." Jericho gritted his teeth, "What kind of an idiot do you take me for? Are you denying what I see with my own eyes in front of me?"

" _'My own eyes..._ '" Leon spoke softly enough for the sounds of two metal plates being screwed subtly masked his comment. "Alright, no need to be so uptight. I'll show you what I'm talking about."

He smoothly slid the slim cartridge he filled previously into a vacant slot underneath the gun's grip, and then with his bruised and scabbed hand, he gripped over the horizontal barrel and slid it backwards before it shot back into place. Immediately after doing so, the weapon started to dissolve – deep purple fumes oozed from its insides - it slowly became transparent enough to see Leon's grin from behind it before vanishing completely. Not a trace was left.

"The veil that surrounds our world is amazing, isn't it?" Leon spoke, "It was all laid out, disassembled on my desk - all the parts essential to create a dangerous weapon that has been outlawed. It did not disperse when I had fit its barrel with its receiver, it did not disperse when I had fitted the trigger, not even when I had loaded a full magazine of ammunition. No, that would be too simple. Instead, it somehow recognizes it only when it's a functional weapon. Is that not incredible? How can such a rule exist, where it actually notices when something is wrong? Is it really the work of magic, or is it _god_ who is _watching_ us?"

Jericho maintained a straight face and struggled to keep his eyes from rolling. Any means of superstition didn't only annoy him, it bored him. Despite his struggles in life, he found it pointless to dwell on pointless beliefs like a god. He didn't want to cling on anything or anyone. He just wanted to be himself.

Jericho cleared his throat, "Who knows. And not to burst your bubble or anything, but I hardly care about any religious theories. How about that way out of here now, if you don't mind?"

A smirk grew on Leon's face, "Don't mind me, I've just gotten a little excited to find people who possess magic, is all. I don't have the opportunity to talk about this very often."

He pushed his chair back and stood up - prompting for a handshake. "I'm sure you've got a lot to do now anyway, since you guys are running from the law. It was a blast to meet you both." Jericho shook his hand, following Dantanian, "Thanks for the help, your guy really saved us back there."

Jericho walked out the door and met yet again with the bodyguard he scuffled with – not surprisingly had a ghastly look on his face when Jericho greased him off briefly before walking past him.

The bodyguard entered Leon's chambers and shut the door behind him, "Leon, you saw it too, right?"

Leon walked over to the edge of the room and slumped onto a recliner, "Obviously. What do you think I've been telling you stubborn bastards all this time? Not everyone wanted to listen to my 'rambling' about fairy tales."

"Do you think it's near?"

Leon deeply inhaled and exhaled, stretching out on his red velvet couch. "I've heard about it many times before from my Father, a long time ago. There was a certain prophecy he used to tell me; 'The ages that are gazed upon by the argent eyes before rendering judgment.' It's definitely a sign, but who knows. That's not what bothers me, though."

"What is bothering you then?"

Leon sat up from his lounge, "I've never heard of _two_ pairs of silver eyes."

# 15

Scorching flames simmered off Ifrit's obsidian shield, her ears rung from the deafening roar from the colossal-sized dragon that faced her. The plateau shook from the sheer force of the dragon's claws digging into the ground when it had landed to face the one who brushed off its breath of fire.

With its noxious claws, the dragon lunged at Ifrit, missing by a hair when Ifrit dashed to her right and counter-attacked with a swing from her sword - the steel penetrated the aged bone – cleaving off a single claw. Enraged, the dragon continuously swiped its claws at Ifrit, its hind legs dug into the plain with every strike.

Ifrit flanked the monster and leaped, stabbing and deeply wounding the dragon's tail. Ifrit was caught off guard when it had whipped and slammed its tail into her, her feet were flung off the ground and sent soaring for the cliff's edge - the dragon beat its wings towards Ifrit which created a strong gale propelling her even further. She only barely stayed on the plateau by digging her sword into the ground; rocks from behind her boot tumbled off, falling into the hellfire below.

She felt her hot breath within her helmet while she caught her breath, then charged straight at the dragon behind her shield, dodging and batting off the streams of flame the dragon breathed. The monster lifted and slammed its claw into the ground, the ground erupted beneath Ifrit – a pillar of molten lava seared her gauntlet when evading the attack, but it did not stop her assault.

She swiftly sheathed her sword, the embers from the ground started to converge to her hand, conjuring a spear made purely from the fire the dragon breathed. The spear travelled at extreme speed, meeting and piercing the dragon's left eye. Its roar of agony trembled through the air, Ifrit felt the ground shake as she slid beneath the dragon and drove her sword upwards into the dragon's belly, gutting it entirely and emerging from the tail's end.

Aware that it was outclassed, the wounded dragon beat its wings and clumsily took flight into the pale skies, retreating from the grounded knight. Ifrit gave chase – wings as black as the night skies broke out from her armor - she took off into the sky, her shadowy wings beat, creating a sonic boom.

Almost instantly she had already reached the dragon – jetting straight past the wounded beast and stopped above it - before flying down and crashing into the dragon with her sword. They crash-landed beside one of many volcanoes in the vicinity with her sword firmly lodged in the dragon's throat. Ifrit's dark wings dispersed with her command.

"Who has given you permission to use your wings?" Omarion asked, walking over to the gigantic corpse.

After catching her breath, Ifrit answered. "I couldn't let it get away."

Omarion stood by Ifrit's side, observing the deceased dragon, "Remember where that power stems from, Ifrit. We are forbidden to use those powers for a reason. Regardless, I've suspected many things of you, but never once I've ever thought you were the ruthless type. The task was to defeat the fire dragon - yet when it had retreated - you chose to pursue and kill it."

"You've suspected wrong." Ifrit denied.

Ifrit took off her helmet and scorched gauntlet, she was horribly burnt from her forearm to her fingers and her delicate face was sullied from smoke. "The dragon was in agony. If I didn't chase it down and kill it, it would have suffered a long, painful death. It was...mercy."

"Was it rude of me to assume ruthlessness?" Omarion asked.

To Omarion's surprise, Ifrit laughed. "No," she said, "of course it's not rude."

It was Omarion's duty to keep Ifrit under frequent training schedules to become a stronger warrior, all to benefit the Lord's army. Since the flow of time is omitted in this particular realm, days would not come to pass in Purgatory - causing Ifrit to almost lose her mind when she first arrived a few years ago from the living realm's time period. There is no need for hunger, thirst or sleep, only training was Ifrit's number one priority.

"Still, that was my eighth dragon slain and I'm struggling. I have a ways to go." Ifrit mentioned.

"It's only natural," Omarion reassured, "You are not a pure-blood like us. Your movements, basic instincts and fighting capabilities are to be learned, not inherited."

Ifrit sighed, "So much effort for so little. There are _millions_ of ones like you that exist here. I can't understand how I'm worth the time."

"It's because you are important to me, my child." Spoke a voice beyond a cloud of soot. Omarion immediately knelt – followed by Ifrit, "My Lord!" Omarion beseeched, "What brings you here?"

The Lord walked over to the two knights, his voice was calm over the violent sounds of erupting volcanoes, "I dislike being cooped up in there all the time, I decided it was best to refresh my mind."

He spotted Ifrit's scorched hand planted firmly on the ground – subtly shaking from the excruciating pain that shot up her arm when kneeling to the Lord.

"My, my, that wound does not look pretty at all, does it?" Spoke the Lord, closing the gap between the two.

Ifrit held her head up, her eyes tangled with the pitch-black depths of his. "I'm terribly sorry to be such a hindrance, my Lord. The dragon bested me for my lack of experience. I have no excuses."

He knelt by her and gently grabbed her hand, his grip was as cold as ice - somehow soothing to the wound that covered her arm and it became wrapped in light – light that was never seen from the Lord's dark powers before. Her arm was no longer burnt and her pale white skin shone healthily.

The Lord still held her arm in his grasp, "You – Ifrit, the name I have bestowed onto you - are very important to me. I never expect atonement from you, only commitment that you will meet my expectations."

Ifrit bowed her head, "T-thank you kindly, my Lord."

"Splendid." The Lord stood back up, "I do warn you, Ifrit, my expectations are great."

Omarion spoke, "My Lord, I will contribute my heart and soul in assisting Ifrit."

"Continue to do so."

The Lord took his leave, allowing both Ifrit and Omarion an atmosphere to relax. For some odd reason, amongst the mixed feelings of fear and doubt, she couldn't help but feel warmth from her Lord.

It made her miss home in the living realm, very much so.

# 16

"Could you believe that I actually found some? These are military-grade hardware." Dantanian spoke while he handed his brother a small weighted pouch.

Jericho held the small robotic spider-looking like object between his fingers, " _Medarachs_ , I remember using them once or twice when I was training with my master, Tabbris. They sure do work wonders."

"That old man sure did have a tough training regime." Dantanian said.

Memories raced through Jericho's mind - Tabbris, his mentor who had taken him in and nurtured him from a young age when he had no one to turn to. Jericho hadn't seen him in years ever since he left on his 'spiritual journey' - Tabbris had called it - to go out and take the world by its horns. "He sure did." Jericho reminisced with a smile heavy on his face.

Jericho and Dantanian had accessed an old underground motorway, it was a stretch of long road within a cylinder tunnel that travelled all around the entire city with many exit points, hidden from above - it was perfect to traverse without being seen by authorities. The system was used in pre-war times, but was now abandoned with many still unfinished construction work throughout the tunnel, forcing the two to constantly change course from one side to the other. It was almost pitch-black, only the poorly lit torches on the walls every thirty meters or so barely illuminated the path.

"Sure would be great to have our horses right about now." Jericho mentioned.

"We're about halfway now, anyway."

Jericho groaned and stretched his arms outwards, "Sure wouldn't mind a nap right now, either." He yawned and didn't wait until it had finished before speaking again, "I think _now_ you can finally tell me why exactly we need to get to the north-side of the city. The address you've given me doesn't show up on any directories."

"Just hold out until we get there." Dantanian answered bluntly. "We won't be staying there for long, there's that event I told you about earlier that we need to attend."

Jericho came to a halt – Dantanian had also when he noticed.

"I'm not taking another step further until you tell me where you're taking me." Jericho demanded. "I'm getting fed up with your tightly-shut mouth, is there a reason..."

Jericho's mind took a sudden race. _How could I have missed that...?_

"Dantanian...what did you just say before about Tabbris?" Jericho asked.

Dantanian's face was riddled with confusion. "Huh?"

"Just a minute ago, you were talking about him like you knew him personally."

Dantanian scoffed his reply. "Don't be a dumbass."

"Tabbris hated it when I called him 'old man'. He said it reminded him of his age since he was so in denial about it. He told me I was the only one with the balls to call him that."

" _Tch_ , you're overthinking this way too much.  I was talking in a sense you were familiar with." "I'm beginning not to trust you, Brother." Jericho said, his voice sounded distant.

Dantanian's expression turned somewhat sympathetic, his identical eyes softened when he spoke, "Jericho..."

Suddenly, the road Jericho was standing on cracked - and before he knew it - the ground beneath him gave in and he began to fall straight through the ground. Dantanian ran towards him and extended a hand, only scraping Jericho's fingers when he fell straight through the fissure.

Jericho fell ten meters down into the hole. The area where he landed seemed not too different than the motorway before.

"Are you okay?!" Dantanian shouted from above the hole.

Jericho stood up and patted the grime and dust off his pants, he checked for any injuries on his body from the impact – only a few scratches on his hands. It surprised him at first, but remembering the training he did with Dantanian - throwing him through trees and coming out in one piece - he wasn't all that shocked. Even without using magic, it seemed his body had become somehow aware enough to instinctively protect him.

Jericho coughed from the grit in the air, "Yeah, I'm good! What the hell was that?!"

"Seems we didn't really care about our surroundings, there was a sign literally right where you were standing that warned us of weakened structures!"

Jericho studied the area around him. It looked like another tunnel system, only slightly narrower than the one up top. However, strangely enough, there was much more lighting.

"I'm gonna have a look around for a way out!" Jericho shouted to Dantanian, "Have a look from up where you are."

"I could just jump down and search with you?!"

Dantanian offered. Jericho turned down his suggestion, "No, it's fine! Just don't go too far, I'll be back up soon."

Jericho didn't wait for an approval from his brother and continued onward into the tunnel observing his path. There were some minor differences from the motorway above. Along the sides there were walkways for pedestrians to travel along, the lighting casted shadows that settled along the road, it also didn't seem to be under construction – it was already completed, and much older.

As Jericho continued to travel along the road, there wasn't an exit to been seen anywhere. Everything looked identical from the last few steps he had taken. It became annoying to constantly walk in what seemed to be always the same place. The atmosphere then started to become eerie, Jericho felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his body briefly trembled from a cold shiver.

Something didn't feel right.

He kept his ears perked up, listening intensively to every faint sound the tunnel produced – squeaking from rats scurrying beyond the concave walls, a breeze softly brushing the floor beneath his feet, the sound of covert footsteps behind him...

Jericho yanked out his sword from its scabbard and swiveled around. He held his sword firmly in front of him, "Whoever you are, you're not very good at hiding."

"You sure are the perceptive one." A voice spoke in the direction Jericho was facing, yet no one was to be seen.

The shadows casted on the road rose above and began to take form, behind the shadowy cloak emerged a man, his sinister vibe made Jericho feel queasy.

His darkened skin complexion harmoniously blended in with the shadows exuding off his face, "It's to be expected, after all. You are indeed Baal's offspring."

Jericho's sword remained held up high, "The only object that should block light in this tunnel is that catwalk, and the shadows that were cast on the ground didn't match the position and shape of the railing.  You basically hid as a puddle of water on a sunny day."

The mysterious man nodded in appreciation, "Well done. You played me like a fool, _Jericho._ " His face and voice jogged Jericho's memory, "You...you work with Baal, don't you?"

The man emerged from the darkness – the shadows were still flickering off his reconstructed body, "It hurts me deeply that you don't remember me clearly, so allow me to refresh your memory. My name is Omarion. I am the Vice President and Assistant to the Chairman of Alastor Corp. I've watched you grow over these years, Jericho, and seeing you all grown up and strong does indeed bring me joy."

Jericho huffed, "I don't need any appraisal from a turd like you, and I'm out to pay my _father_ a visit from me personally."

"To end his life, am I wrong?"

Omarion continued to speak when he saw Jericho startle, "It is unfortunate, since Baal is no longer in Lycur, you will have no way in finding him to exact your revenge..."

Omarion's face turned darker than the shadows cast behind him, "...And no way to find out what he had done so horrible, it drove your deceased mother to leave him."

The shadows cast throughout the tunnel dissolved when Jericho's sword, gleaming with light, met Omarion's concealed sword – the latter's eyes were squinted from the luminance over his cross guard.

Sparks flew when Omarion forced his sword against Jericho's and spoke, "It seems you're too enraged to say anything, but I get the message – those argent eyes of yours are piercing through mine, they look like they want to say something. But instead, your sword is doing the talking." Jericho's hands shook violently on his hilt, and the sword pinned against Omarion's clattered. Jericho couldn't get any words out, only the thought of carving him up raced through his mind. Omarion spoke through the cross of steel, "Have it your way. Do your worst, _ghost of Veela._ "

~

Dantanian knew Omarion was there, he could never mistake the ominous feeling of his resonating aura through the air, he could feel it in his stomach. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the tunnel as he ran back to the hole Jericho had fallen into.

The dark voice entered Dantanian's mind, " _You also understand the importance of those two not making contact, don't you?_ "

Dantanian continued to make haste, "You don't need to invade my mind to tell me that, I know it already!"

" _There's a possibility that all may be revealed to your counter-part, and your plan will become void. Do not fail me, Dantanian._"

Dantanian spotted the crevice Jericho fell into, "This was never about _you_ ; this is for me and my brother's future!"

The voice became loud inside Dantanian's head, so loud his ears rung. " _You really are the same as you once were, so naïve. How long will you leave him in the dark, before it destroys you both completely?_"

~

Omarion slid back from the parry dealt by Jericho's sword as the latter chased him down and followed up with swift attacks.

Omarion pondered as he kept Jericho at bay, _Interesting, he has grown much stronger. That bastard Tabbris has trained him well._

Omarion leapt back and planted himself along the concave walls, a wave of light was thrown from Jericho, colliding against the wall and knocking Omarion down back onto the ground.

_To be expected, his element of magic consists of pure light. He seems to have some control of it, but it's obviously not mastered. There are holes everywhere in his techniques, from his form to the properties of his magic._

Omarion landed back onto solid ground. "I'm not authorised to kill you, Jericho. However, I was never instructed not to inflict mass amounts of pain."

Shadows that were cast along the walls of the tunnel formed around Omarion, "I think it's time I got serious and demonstrated how outclassed you are."

~

All of the shadows that Jericho cast behind him were ripped and slid over to the cloak of shadows that surrounded Omarion - his dark gaze was the only part of him visible.

Jericho surged forward and slashed his sword through Omarion's body - only for it to not cut anything – Omarion's shadowy body stayed intact.

Omarion's voice was distorted beyond the cloak, "Are you not aware? You cannot cut which has no form."

The shadows disappeared and re-emerged behind Jericho, followed by a powerful strike slamming into Jericho's back causing him to crash into the wall, sliding across and crashing into the ground.

Jericho shook off the impact and went straight for the shadows again - his entire being glowed with light - the blade's edge flared bright before clashing right into Omarion. As Jericho made contact, the light dissipated, and Omarion's laughter grew.

"Amusing, to think you can reach me. Light does not exist within shadows."

Jericho's body became bound by tendrils of darkness that were emitted from Omarion, it slithered up towards Jericho's neck and began to squeeze tightly – as was Jericho's hand around it, desperately gasping for air.

Omarion's distorted voice reached Jericho's ears. "Your pitiful light will not reach me, and instead you will embrace the darkness that will overcome you."

Jericho dropped his sword from his hand to help his other trying to free himself from the vice grip of the tendrils. _Think Jericho, think. How the hell do you get out of this?_ His grip tightened around the tendrils, but it was not loosening.

He realized something. _Hang on...how am I able to touch these tendrils? If my sword went straight through his body, are there times where I can touch his physical body?_

The ceiling above trembled and a handful of rocks chipped from the ceiling fell onto Omarion, _bouncing_ off of his shoulders.

It was worth a try. He was running out of time.

Jericho attempted to focus all of his magic into his squinting, oxygen-lacked eyes.

"Ah, there they are." Omarion spoke, "Those godforsaken eyes, they're trying to tell me some _thi_ -"

Magic shot out both of Jericho's eyes and a laser of light pierced through Omarion's body. The tendrils around Jericho's neck finally let go, falling back down onto the tar road.

Jericho grabbed his sword and stood up, his entire body was strained, it was hard for him to breathe and his blade held out in front of him looked like there were two.

Streams of smoke were evaporating out from the holes of Omarion's shadowy body. "You really are full of surprises, Jericho." Omarion complemented.

"What...the hell...are you?" Jericho asked between his breaths.

"What am I?" Omarion's form started to disperse; shadows that were once bundled now freely twirled through the air.

Jericho felt a cold whisper into his ear from behind him, " _How far down the rabbit-hole are you willing to go?_ "

A forceful blow struck behind Jericho's neck - pain surged through his body - weakening and his legs became jelly. His body began to collapse, what it felt like an eternity to hit the floor when the side of his face became cold from the ground.

The coldness of his cheek became numb when everything went black.

# 17

Jericho awoke from the sound of light footsteps faintly echoing within the cylinder tunnel he laid in, the side of his face was numb from the coldness of the ground.

Even though he had awoken, he continued to lie still, not moving an inch as the soft footsteps grew closer, finally coming to a halt by his feet. His ears perked up to the chimes of a steel chain...

...Handcuffs.

There was a possibility that the law enforcements may have found him, but it seemed very unlikely since the old tunnels should be deserted - only to be used by the thugs of Salamanders' Den. Even if they did, the possibility of finding him there is slim - thanks to the pit he fell into, he wasn't even sure if anyone else knew about the hidden tunnels beneath the already underground.

His sudden awaken and contemplation had almost made him completely forget why he was knocked out.

Jericho heard the sound of a _click_ from the cuffs – strangely enough – he didn't feel either of his wrists bind in anyway. His mind raced – it could be Omarion still with him, he didn't want to begin to think what Omarion would do with him.

He felt hands clutch his left wrist. He needed to think of something, fast.

As soon as he would feel the cuff around his wrist lock into place was when he would make his move. He could still feel his right hand free, a big mistake from the one who decided to cuff his weak arm first.

His left wrist tightened from the cold metal _clicking_ into place.

Jericho nimbly whirled onto his back, simultaneously throwing out a fist from his right hand. His punch connected dead on target, he felt the impact on his knuckles - the impact was just as severe when they had hit the ground. Long, chestnut-brown hair was spread out on the floor.

Jericho got to his feet.

Holy shit...

It was Liatha. Jericho had just punched Liatha Nespirk in the face.

It wasn't a jab either, he didn't hold back when he had violently decked her right in her small and delicate nose.

Shit...shit...

Jericho stood frozen for a solid minute, looking down onto the face he now recognized. _What the hell is she doing here?!_ He suddenly felt weight from the handcuff around his left wrist...the source of the weight was coming from Liatha herself.

She never intended to handcuff Jericho, only to bind them together... _Clever girl._

He knelt by her side and brushed the hair off her face and examined her injury, a small drizzle of blood trickled from her now slightly crooked nose onto her upper lip. She was definitely not going to be happy about her new look.

He had so many questions; where his brother was, where Omarion went, why Liatha was there...They can be all solved later. Right now, he needed to get out of that place. With the chain now uniting himself and the warden, he heaved her up and carried her on both shoulders. The path ahead was still well-lit enough to see where he was going.

Liatha's warm, faint breath fluttered against Jericho's shoulder blades.

He could have attempted to severe the chain that linked the two together and left her there while he made his escape – if it were regular handcuffs, not the kind used at her facility. Even if he could, he knew deep down that if he did that, he wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror again.

He knew exactly why she's there. While Jericho was running away from the answers, Liatha is running straight at them as tenacious as she can without a worry in the world about any repercussions she may suffer or obstacles she hurdles over. She seemed like the type of girl who would never rest until the crumbling world is mended back together by her own hands.

If only Jericho were like that.

Instead of wanting to piece the world back together, he would rather find another place to call his own sanctuary and completely ignore that the world where he once was is falling apart.

'Do your worst, ghost of Veela'

Jericho's grip tightened across Liatha's arms and thighs. He wondered if that was how people saw him now - forever living in the shade of his past.

With his mind lost in thoughts, he failed to react to Liatha's leg swinging up directly between his legs.

Excruciating pain shot through his entire body, he lost balance from Liatha's weight shifting off his shoulders and fell onto his knees. He quickly turned towards her but was driven down to the ground from a tackle. She mounted him before raising her dagger and driving it downwards directly towards his neck.

He threw his left arm towards his right - causing the chain to intercept the blade's path – wedging the dagger in between the chain's gaps.

It was an effort for Jericho to speak over the gut-wrenching pain, "Calm down, Liatha!"

Her teeth were bared beneath the dry blood that coated her upper lip, "Where is my sister, you damn cutthroat?!"

Jericho struggled to answer, still yanking tightly on the chain that was being pushed down from Liatha, the blade's edge barely protruded from between the chain.

" _Answer me!_ " Liatha shouted, "What did you do to her?!"

"I didn't harm your sister," Jericho answered. "She's somewhere safe right now."

His wrist strained against the force pushing down onto the chain, the dagger's edge inched deeper into the chain, now almost revealed at the other end.

"You're a damn liar!" Liatha screamed.

Jericho bridged his body upwards and rolled Liatha over with her dagger still lodged between the chains now no longer between them.

Jericho pinned her wrist down with his free hand, "I've done nothing wrong, Liatha. Stop treating me as an enemy!"

Her body squirmed beneath him, " _Go to hell, you criminal scum._ " She spat. "I have every right to treat you as my enemy. You're a lowlife who killed my sister's caretaker! Do I have no grounds to accuse you for her disappearance?!"

"I get that!" Jericho answered, "I get it, alright? But there are many things you don't understand yet and there's a lot I can't tell you right now. I'm...sorry for the hardship you've gone through concerning your sister, but I can _help_ you."

"I don't need your _help_!"

"I know where Senna is."

Liatha suddenly stopped squirming.

"Like I said, she's in a safe place," Jericho continued, "I can take you there right after I find out where my brother went. I'll let him know to postpone our trip for a couple of weeks to take you where she is."

"Where is she?" Liatha asked sternly.

"Right here in Eurynome." Jericho answered.

"Eurynome is a big place, be more specific."

"I can't, I'm sorry. You just need to trust me."

Her hazel eyes burned with fury, " _How_ can I trust _you?!_ "

His silver eyes soothed with composure, "Because I'll never let another one of you down ever again."

Liatha swung her legs inwards and pushed Jericho off of her. She got up, still enraged, and asked Jericho, "I don't understand. What do you mean by that?"

Jericho stood up and yanked her dagger out from the chain and held it in his hand, he slowly carved his palm with her dagger and held his sliced hand outwards.

"Think of me as you want, Liatha; a criminal, a liar, a killer – I don't care. But what I want you to understand is that I'm a man of my word. I swear it on my life and blood, that I will take you to your sister once I've resolved my problems here."

Droplets of his blood hit the ground of the deepest depths he had ever been – his blood now stained the undergrounds of the country he swore upon.

~

Liatha didn't know what to think about all of this; she didn't know why she was following a criminal and why on earth she agreed to his terms. She stiffly maintained Jericho's pace at a distance furthest the chain between them extended as he searched for a way out the underground. All this time and distance she had travelled to search for him, she never expected it to turn out like this - to work with the man who she had imagined killing with her bare hands - but so be it. Liatha thought if there were any way to see her sister again, she would take it.

Her eyes wandered towards Jericho's sword holstered at his hip, it sent goose bumps down the back of her neck.

"So...." Jericho asked reluctantly, "... how did you end up finding me?"

"For someone who has been on the run, you've left quite a messy trail. You're not very bright at hiding." Liatha said.

Jericho chuckled, "I'm aware of that. My brother is almost as bad as I am."

"I figured it was your brother who helped you escape from my facility. Perhaps breaking into and escaping from prisons runs in the family."

Jericho turned to Liatha – still maintaining his stride, "Who knows? I hardly know him, anyway."

"You hardly know your own brother?" Liatha asked.

"I had only first met him when he crashed down through the roof into my cell."

It was all too strange, Liatha thought. There was an abundance of conveniences that somehow all connect with one another, mostly the fact that the man who knows Senna's whereabouts ended up in her own prison.

"Either way," Liatha began, "it was a somewhat fortuitous happening that all this occurred, it could even be a godsend."

Liatha almost saw Jericho's eyes roll from the back of his head, "Here we go with that dumb shit again."  He said.

She tugged on the chain hard enough to jerk Jericho's shoulder out of place, "It's quite amusing that you ridicule my beliefs, when you, Jericho, are named after an angelic deity. I'm quite accustomed with Angelology, so I've heard the ancient tales of that particular Angel."

She could have sworn she heard him insult her under his breath.

"That's my mother's doing, she was pretty obsessed with those types of things." Jericho stated. Liatha smirked, "Well, _she_ sounds like an interesting person. I wonder how she feels about you becoming a murderer."

Liatha felt the atmosphere tense around her.

"Too bad you can't ask her, she's dead." Jericho answered bluntly.

Despite her hatred for him, she felt remorse. "I'm sorry. I, too, have-"

"You know," Jericho said, cutting Liatha off, "for someone who hates my guts, you are quite the talker. I'm actually beginning to enjoy our conversation, _Warden._ "

"Oh, please, don't get the wrong idea," Liatha countered, "I'm merely passing time until you find a way out. I'm still at the verge of running a sword through you."

"Riddle me this then, _Warden_ , my brother's name is Dantanian - any idea what that means, since you're so good at knowing about Angels and stuff?"

Liatha pondered on the question for a while, and then she answered. "It sounds familiar, but I don't recall a meaning or any origin."

"You're useless." Jericho said.

Liatha became flustered, "Excuse me?! How dare-"

"Shut up for a sec." Jericho said quietly.

" _Don't_ tell me to shut up, you-"

"I said shut up." Jericho cut off Liatha again, "I heard something."

They both came to a halt when the underground road widened, along the sides were doors that lead to who knows where and ladders that were cut short from the top.

A voice was heard from the corner of the open space, "Hey, boys! We got some stragglers!" Half a dozen doors flung open revealing armed men – lowly bandits - each of them talking amongst themselves, happy they had a new meal.

Liatha was glad she was standing behind Jericho - she wouldn't want him to see how petrified she was - her knees were already shaking from the laughter and horrible faces the bandits bore. Jericho clapped his hands together, "This is perfect! One of you can now tell me a way out of this place."

One of the goons laughed, "Sorry, mate, not happenin'. You're gonna give us what you own, and we'll only break a kneecap or two." His threat was followed by more laughter amongst the crew of at least nine bandits.

Jericho looked behind to Liatha, "Well, it seems we're in quite a pickle, Warden. Mind unshackling these cuffs?"

Liatha masked her panic, "You see, in any other case I would have obliged, however..." "However...?" Jericho yearned.

"It seems I don't have the key." Liatha said while she patted down her leggings.

Jericho's face hardened. "You really are useless."

" _Stop_ calling me useless, you goddamn asshole!" Liatha retaliated.

The group of bandits drew in closer, the man in the front of the crowd spoke. "I'm going to have to interrupt your stupid lovers quarrel and politely take all your shit."

Liatha shocked herself from how perplexed she became, " _Lovers?!_ " She blurted. "That's absurd!" She turned to Jericho, "Look, I don't have the key, but I'm sure if we keep the distance minimal between you and I, we won't need to-"

Jericho swiftly picked her up from the legs and threw her over his shoulder, she began to yell at him while she slammed her fist into his back, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" "Yeah, yeah..." Jericho said calmly, simultaneously patting her leg to calm her down like she's some sort of house pet, "You can bitch all you want to me later. Right now, this is the only solution."

Laughter erupted from the crowd of bandits, a bald man from the center of the crowd spoke, "You runnin' away? That ain't gonna work, mate!"

Liatha couldn't see what was going on from where she was - every time she attempted to swivel around on his shoulder he would just shove her back into place.

_That asshole..._ Liatha thought. _I swear I'll have his head for this._

"Who said anything about running away?" Jericho said to the thugs.

Liatha slammed her fist into his back for the umpteenth time, "You intend to fight them with me on your shoulder?!"

She felt Jericho's hand brush against her shin to unsheathe his sword. He sounded baffled as he answered, "Huh? Obviously, I can't fight them if you're on the ground constantly tugging my wrist. If anything, this is _your_ fault for keeping us linked together. It's a pain in the ass that these are the unbreakable cuffs, otherwise I would have sliced it right off."

"This is rich! He's actually going to do it!" A thug shouted.

Liatha was in pure dismay. There were so many thugs attempting to rob them and Jericho was so calm...too calm. His shoulder was sturdy and unwavering. She couldn't feel the slightest fear in him, _is he insane?_

Liatha sunk her nails into the back of his neck, "I swear, if you _dare_ swing your sword around with me like this, I will-"

In an instant, her body was crushed from the sheer acceleration from Jericho's assault – she would have flown right off if it weren't for his arm tightly braced around her legs. Still hanging from behind Jericho, she didn't believe her eyes - Jericho's leap had sent them right behind the group. She saw a bandit's leg dismembered from the knee downwards, his agonizing scream echoed throughout the tunnel.

" _What the hell was that?!_ " A bandit yelled.

The bandit beside him stared right at Jericho, "He's so damn fast! He's gotta be using some sort of trick!"

"If you get up and leave now," Jericho said, "you will have enough time to get your mate the medical attention he needs. Or, of course, we can keep fighting."

Liatha's whole body trembled against Jericho's. The feeling of magic smothered against her. _Who really is this man?_

"Surround him!" A bandit yelled.

"Of course, we're going to continue fighting..." Jericho said, holding his sword in front of him. The remaining bandits abandoned their still-shrieking companion and formed a circle around them, one of the bandits that faced Liatha grinned maliciously, "Once we're done with you, that lass you got there is ours."

Jericho didn't protest. "Have her, she's useless anyway."

_His head..._ Liatha thought, _on a pike._

A bandit from Jericho's right charged straight for him, his sword was parried too close for comfort, causing the bandit to lose a couple of finger tips. Another one charged directly from behind, just before Liatha was about to shout to warn Jericho, he speedily turned, stepping to the bandit's right flank and cutting right through his hamstring. Liatha's head began to spin from all the quick movements.

"You dumbasses," A bandit shouted, "attack him all at once!"

"Aw, come on now, that's just unfair. You'll need to - at the minimum - _double_ your group to have the slightest chance." Jericho taunted.

Liatha couldn't believe her ears. She had to ask him to see if he wasn't bluffing, "How do you intend to protect me if they're coming in all directions, you maniac?! You're going to get me killed!"

She kicked her leg when she felt a strong pain shoot up her thigh - a sharp pinch from Jericho before he ordered her, "Stop squirming so damn much, you're making me lose my footing."

The circle of bandits closed in for the kill, charging in every direction possible to attack from, Liatha gripped her arms around Jericho's tightly, she shut her eyes and screamed. " _Jericho!_ " Even with her eyelids shut, they burned from the sheer light that shone from Jericho's body. It was almost like magnesium was set a light at the ridges of her pupils. A thundering noise was heard when the ground beneath her shook violently, she slowly opened her dazzled eyes – retinas feeling scorched - her vision was blurry and faded, but she could clearly see that they were no longer encircled.

Liatha didn't realize how tight she was clutching Jericho's arms until she felt how sore hers were when she had finally let go. She had never witnessed magic like his ever before, it was something totally different than the mages she's acquainted with thus far – the very feeling of its aptitude felt somewhat arcane.

It was enough for her to appreciate the fact that he was with her at that very moment.

Her body began to bounce when Jericho paced, not even glancing at the half a dozen bandits flung into the walls around them, he stopped at a thug who was still conscious.

"So..." Jericho spoke to the bandit while sheathing his sword into his bronze scabbard, its cursed essence faded from the eerie vibe that crept on Liatha's skin, "...how about that way out now?"

# 18

Jericho led Liatha in the direction the beaten bandit spilled out. Apparently, the doors they emerged from connected to an old sewerage system that would lead them back out to the city they both longed to see. The odor was rancid and danced precipitously within their nostrils; it wasn't a surprise when Jericho heard Liatha gag a few times – he himself was too macho to give into the domain of weaklings who made a fuss over smells, so he ignored the tickle in his throat. His head was too full to worry about the smell of this place. He was still in contemplation of what had happened before he was knocked out cold. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't figure out how and why Omarion was in a place like this, and not only that, predicting Jericho would eventually travel through the underground, let alone Kyrion.

He had no idea of the whereabouts of his brother, he found his phone smashed in his pocket – thanks to that asshole Omarion - so he had no way of contacting him. They hadn't planned anything like this to happen, so they never prepared a certain area to meet up if they had ever split up.

To top it off now, Liatha showed up out of nowhere, right out of the blue and demanded her sister's whereabouts when Jericho himself needed answers too. He was also dumb enough to make a promise he's not confident about. How he was going to explain to Dantanian that his old warden is now tagging along...it's beyond his knowledge.

He needed to lie down and get some rest to figure everything out, from his old past coming to haunt him to people missing in action.

Liatha's voice was pitched from her tightly-shut nostrils, "How much longer until we leave? I can't stand the stench."

Although Jericho agreed, he didn't show it. "Stop winging. I hope you choke on the stench, my stomach still aches from when you whacked me in the sack."

Liatha's fingers left her nostrils and ran up the bridge of her nose, "You ruined my nose, you imbecile. If given the chance, I would have kicked hard enough for you to never produce an offspring as horrible as you."

"As horrible as me, you say?" Jericho asked. He turned around towards Liatha and wrapped his arms around himself, mimicking in the highest pitched voice he could muster, " _Oh, save me, save me, Jericho!_ "

Liatha didn't fall for the taunt, "It was a slight inspirational boost to get you motivated." She countered, Jericho made a face that said obviously enough he wouldn't buy it.

"There was one particular point that happened in that event that I would like to touch on." Liatha mentioned, "Where did you learn of that magic?"

Jericho frowned – both from not understanding the value of the question and Liatha's odd curiosity – and asked, "Why do you ask?"

"It's something I've never seen before," Liatha said, "and I've come across many mages in my life. I've seen many who can do something elementary as manipulating water, to ones who create matter from nothing. But never have I seen a mage who cloaks himself in light."

"There was one thing that really stood out to me, too." Jericho said, turning back to lead the way yet again.

"And that is?" Liatha asked.

"It was the first time you called me by my name."

The sewer system began to widen and the appalling smell became fainter, the vague darkness of the underground started to lighten up little by little. Jericho spotted a ladder at the end of the shaft, rays of moonlight trickled down from the manhole above, he let out a relieving sigh at the sight of it.

"I was starting to believe that we would never get out of here." Jericho said.

He heard Liatha scream.

The sound of her scream was distressing enough for Jericho to partially draw his sword when he turned to investigate, his hunch was right. A bloodied arm around Liatha's chest and a keen dagger at her throat, the bandit who spilled his guts out to Jericho was standing behind Liatha with an expression of desperation, his breath was ragged and short from the wounds he suffered and the wrath he bore.

"You move a muscle and I'll slit her throat!" The bandit yelled behind Liatha's ear.

Jericho had always seen Liatha as so mature and valiant, it had made him always forget her age. However, now with a blade at her delicate throat with a petrified expression, he remembered that she's only just a girl.

He let his guard down...again. He stood there motionless by command – as well as defeat. "Slowly take out your sword." The bandit demanded.

Jericho abided, he stayed silent as he slowly unsheathed his blade, remaining eye contact with the bandit and not deviating to Liatha's for assurance...and shame.

"I'll do as you say," Jericho said, dropping his sword on the ground, "just don't harm her. It's me that you're pissed at, right?"

"Shut yer' trap and walk backwards." The bandit tightened his grip over Liatha, she winced from the pressure.

Jericho held his hands out and slowly retreated, with every step he paced he desperately brainstormed any possible solution for this hostage situation – he wanted her out unharmed and unscathed.

"You'll get nothing out of this...he's a thug just like you." Liatha said, her voice was trembling from the cold steel against her throat.

The bandit pressed the dagger harder against her skin, "Shut your damn mouth, you stupid bitch."

Jericho watched her blood trickle along the surface on the blade and ooze down her neck, _Think. If Liatha could do something on her end, it could open up a window of opportunity for me._

Liatha continued to speak, "Or what? You'll do nothing, you coward!"

The bandit twisted her arm behind her back, "You talk too damn much. How about I cut your throat up so that won't be an issue anymore?"

_Liatha's dagger...I still have it._ With the bandit's attention turned towards her, he began to slowly lower his right arm towards his back.

"People like you....you're the reason...." Liatha struggled to hold back the tears that swelled up, "People like you are the reason why I'm a warden!"

Jericho gripped the dagger's handle.

Liatha cried out. "So, do it then! Prove to me once more that I've chosen the right path in life – a path that dedicates my life to ridding demons like you! Prove to me that every bit of air that you gasp is an insult to my existence!"

The hurled dagger had landed its target.

The bandit shrieked and pushed Liatha away, pulling on the hilt of the dagger that had been lodged in his cheek. Jericho sprinted towards him and tackled the thug to the ground, beating him senseless with his fists. The bandit screamed when Jericho had retracted the dagger from his face before dropping it and continuing with his fists until he no longer drew breath. But he didn't stop - blinded by rage - he continued to mercilessly pummel his face in until he ran out of breath.

Jericho un-mounted from the corpse and stood up to attend to Liatha, who was on her knees. He slowly approached her and squatted down behind her.

Still out of breath, he put his bruised and bloodied hand on her shoulder, "Hey, how are you coping?"

Liatha shuddered. "Don't touch me." Her voice was no more than a whisper.

He retracted his grasp. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Liatha spoke with a shaky voice. "I was...saved from a criminal by another criminal. How humiliating is that?"

He remained silent, still passive by her side.

"And to make it worse," Liatha continued, "I've chosen to follow someone like you – out of pure desperation - just to find my sister...Is that fair?"

She turned around with tears heavy in her eyes, " _Is it?!_ "

Jericho looked down. "Nothing in this world is fair, Liatha."

She sprung up and grappled Jericho to the ground, snatching and re-seizing her dagger from his grasp and pointed it towards his chest.

Tears rolled off her cheeks as she shouted at Jericho, " _You're all the same! Only acting for your own benefit with no responsibility, you make me sick to my stomach, I hate you! I hate you so damn much for making someone like me confide with someone like you!_"

He finally understood.

Looking into her glistening eyes finally helped Jericho understand, all this time...she wasn't angry with him, she was just angry at herself. She was angry because she had let Senna down, she was angry because the type of person Jericho is, she was angry because that type of person was the only option to finding the sister she had let down so much already.

How selfish of him.

All this time he was thinking about only himself. When Liatha was held captive, he wasn't concerned about her actual safety; he just didn't want to let _himself_ down for not being able to protect Senna's sister, either. He didn't give a damn about how Liatha felt.

He lay there - face damp from fallen tears - with a dagger between him and a sorrowful girl who's distraught by someone so selfish. He was disappointed that he dared to wonder why this were to be.

He thought how disappointed his mother would have been.

Jericho slowly brought his hands up towards hers, clasping his palm around her fingers that were wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. Her tears didn't stop when her eyes softened as he caressed her shaking hands with his – they were such pretty, small and fragile hands. Her shaking hands calmed between his...

...before he plunged the dagger into his chest himself.

~

Liatha screamed.

Her hands were no longer calm upon the shaken hilt pierced in Jericho's chest. His blood was splattered on her tunic, staining the blouse underneath. Unlike her ragged breath, his was sluggish, wheezing with each struggled breath.

Liatha didn't want to believe it happened, she timidly placed her hand on his chest beside the hilt, making absolute sure that the blade was indeed intact with the stained hilt she gripped so tightly.

She was scared. Despite her training to endure the rough endeavors she would encounter in prison and elimination of a criminal if necessary, she could have never done this by herself. "How...how can I fix this?" Liatha spoke frantically.

Jericho languidly opened his eyes – eyes of silver that were lined with the acceptance of dissolution. He didn't speak.

She released her hands from the dagger's hilt, "Say something! Your death is not my concern. Still, it will not be I who takes it from you. Don't you dare devote that burden onto me!"

Jericho's eyes shut. He swallowed hard as he spoke softly, "A pouch...in my jacket pocket." She hastily dug her hands into Jericho's jacket, causing her hands to become damp from the blood that seeped through. She fished out the pouch and emptied the contents into her palm.

It was three robotic insects - about a centimeter in circumference - which greatly resembled a small spider.

Jericho struggled as he lifted his arms up and gripped onto the dagger's hilt, "When...I pull this out...place them around the open wound."

Liatha seized Jericho's arm. "Are you insane?! The blade is the only thing stopping mass amounts of blood loss."

"That's why...I need you..." Jericho panted, "...to be quick."

She gripped the Medarachs tightly in her clenched fist, "Okay."

Jericho winced from the pain when he attempted to slightly retract the blade from his chest, " _Count down for me._ " He groaned.

She held her hands near his in preparation to do her part.  "Three..."

Jericho inhaled.

"Two..." Liatha breathed.

His grip tightened.

She closed her eyes. "One..."

He yanked the dagger out of his sternum – blood splashed off the serrated, blood-coated blade – his anguished scream was silenced when he had passed out.

Liatha carefully placed the Medarachs around his deep wound with her shaking hands in a triangular formation. Simultaneously, the Medarachs bit down into Jericho's skin with their alloy fangs which made Liatha jump.

"It's fine..." Jericho said, surprising Liatha that he had already awoken, "...they're just injecting sedatives and bactericide."

Each Medarach began to weave in and out between his wound, effectively stitching his gaping wound back together. Liatha observed in awe as the nanotech gracefully sewed his injury, webbing back and forth and tightening the wound until both ends had finally met. The Medarachs formed a line along the stitched laceration; they then locked into place, rooting themselves into his wound to hold it all together.

She sighed in relief. Her entire upper-body was drenched in blood, her rose cheeks were darkened and the strands of hair that hung by her face were stiff from the blood.

She looked down onto Jericho's pale face, his breathing was faint and his chest expanded delicately underneath the Medarachs.

Liatha finally had time to gather her thoughts. She had no idea what the hell he was thinking when he did something as reckless as that – she speculated he didn't, either. If he died there, she would probably never find Senna in this vast, unforgiving world. Not only was she accompanying the very man who is likely to be the cause of her sister's disappearance, she had also saved his life right after her almost taking it from him.

The look Jericho gave her right before he stabbed himself struck her somewhere she had no idea existed; she still couldn't explain what had gotten into her. He looked at Liatha like he somehow understood her, or somehow accepting who she is, like he had known her all this time.

It irritated her.

"Explain yourself," Liatha asked, "what were you expecting to get out of that, you imbecile? Is playing with people's lives always a game to you? Acting in your own way which involves me without my consent is unforgivable, you think you..." Liatha had to stop before the lump in her throat gave out.

"Sorry, but..." Jericho spoke, "...I know you're pissed and all...but I think I need to rest a little."

Pain throbbed through her arm when she slammed her fist into the ground, "You don't get it, do you?!" Her voice became fragile from the tears she could no longer hold back.

"When you thrust that blade into your own being...it wasn't a selfless act." Liatha continued, "I hate the fact that you don't see that! I hate the fact that you fail to recognize that! You...when you had done that...it was like you had thrust the blade into _my_ chest, as well."

She received no response from the unconscious convict who lay by her side.

Liatha tugged on his collar and brought his face to hers – his head hung in front of him, "Are you listening? You better be, conscious or not, I will talk through into your subconscious dreams if I damn well have to. I despise the man whom you claim to be, there's a million and one thoughts I've got on my mind to say to you that will cause my voice to become hoarse, but I will not refrain to tell you this."

She leaned in closer to the point where she felt his faint breath brush against hers, "I hate how you handle your losses so effortlessly, and that I can't do the same. You can continue on with life without looking back while I live mine based on the past."

" _You're wrong..._ " Jericho whispered – Liatha's eyes widened when they had met his.

"I try so hard to become the person who I want to be...and it's not even half the person you are." Jericho said, before falling out of consciousness again.

# 19

The unfamiliar environment Jericho awoke in felt somewhat cozy. He lay tucked into a warm quilt in a spacious bedroom, the dark walls along the room hung many portraits of faces he had never seen before and there was an antique-looking clock by the foot of the bed.

His body shuddered with pain and fatigue when he attempted to sit up on the bed. He ran his fingers down along the center of his chest and felt the small bumps of the Medarachs that had attached to his wound.

His attention turned towards the door when he heard the knob twist, revealing Liatha in casual attire and a glass of water in her hand.

"I see that you've finally awoken. It's been over a whole day." Liatha said as she made her way towards the bed and placed the glass on the nightstand beside it.

Jericho leaned over and grabbed the glass of room-temperature water before sculling the whole thing, "Where are we?" He asked.

Liatha answered with tight lips, "At a friend's place."

Jericho had too many questions to ask. "How did we get here? What happened? And how the hell did you manage to exit the tunnel with me being unconscious?"

"I'll be asking the questions," said Liatha, "how are you feeling?"

Jericho was thrown off guard from the question. "I'm...fine. Why do you ask?"

"Good." It was all Liatha said before she cocked her hand back and slapped Jericho in the face, his cheek stung from the impact, a bright red hand-mark had made its dent.

He rubbed his cheek with his heavy and drowsy hands.  "Should have seen that coming..." He said.

Liatha placed her aching hand on her hip as she began to scold Jericho, "You deserve worse. What you did was overly irresponsible, stupid, inconsiderate and detestable. Don't ever force me to do something like that again." She held her stern pose over Jericho.

He spoke, still rubbing his cheek. "I know....I get it. I'm sorry. Right now, we should at least act like a team." His eyes widened when he remembered Dantanian, "Shit, that's right! My brother is still missing...or I'm missing - one of the two, I guess."

Liatha ran her fingers through her hair, whipping it behind her shoulders. "Please refrain from describing us as a _team_. I agreed that I'd only help you find your brother in that instance."

"I'm not leaving here without my brother." Jericho said, "You're joking if you think-"

He stopped talking the moment a grey wolf walked into the room that nearly matched Liatha in height. Its grey-white fur was thick and coarse beyond its deep blue eyes, all supported by strong and large paws that were plodding on the floorboards.

Jericho was in awe. "Whoa...Is that your own pet wolf or something?"

" _Who are you calling a pet, boy?_ " A voice spoke inside Jericho's head.

He freaked out – he could have _sworn_ he read the wolf's mind just then. The wolf's eyes almost looked human.

Jericho looked over to Liatha with an eye still on the wolf, "Hey...what was in that water you gave me?"

She looked puzzled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jericho put his hands on his face, deeply inhaling and exhaling. "I think I've officially lost it, after how many years."

Jericho heard laughter.

He looked up from the cup of his hands and saw Liatha with tears in her eyes – her hands were tightly dug into her sides as she hysterically laughed, almost forgetting to breathe. She finally spoke after many attempts to fight off her giggle.

"You-you are just such an unbelievable fool." The dimples on her cheeks exposed when her smile on her face was bright – it was something Jericho had never seen before from her. She looked like an entirely different person.

Jericho was still so confused. "I don't know how you pulled that trick off, but it worked damn well."

" _Don't let the lady fool you, this is not a trick._ " The voice spoke again inside Jericho's head. "Alright, alright," Liatha wiped a tear from an eyelash. "I'd like you to meet Gusion. He's not a simple wolf, he communicates telepathically."

Jericho got out of bed, "A literal _talking_ wolf?! That's crazy..."

The vivid voice spoke in Jericho's head, " _We live in a world that is vast – teeming with mysteries and peculiarity - silver-eyed one. So, why only question a beast who has the ability to commute with humans?_"

Liatha caressed Gusion's fur behind his ears, "That's a great observation. Aren't you just full of wisdom?"

"How did you just hear what the wol-... _Gusion_ said in my head?" Jericho asked.

"His voice is not only projected to you when he speaks, he chooses who exactly he wants his voice be heard." Liatha said. Her hand moved from the top of Gusion's head to his neck, gently scratching his coat.

Jericho retrieved his sword from beside the nightstand and began to fasten the blade to his hip, "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Wolf, but I can't stay. I have something to do."

Gusion spoke, " _An attempt to delusively seek the stray, I presume?_ "

It didn't occur to Jericho how difficult it would be to try and find Dantanian. "Yes," he answered hesitantly.

Gusion turned towards the door, " _There is an alternate way to pursue the one whom you seek. Follow me, child._"

"Take this opportunity while it lasts." Liatha said to Jericho.

As weird as the whole situation was to him, he really had no choice but to go with the flow. Jericho scratched his head as he followed Gusion and Liatha out of the room and entered what seemed to be the main hall – a spiraling staircase was seen directly in front of the double-door entry, there were at least eight different rooms visible on their current floor, it was possible a whole lot more were upstairs.

They stopped before a door at the far end of the floor and - without even touching it – the door swung right open. Even though it was subtle, Jericho felt it was magic that had opened it – the source was Gusion. It really showed Jericho there were a lot to learn about magic, who wields it, what it is capable of and how to control it. It seemed like this world would never run out of surprises for him.

The room was empty, except for a strange looking basin dead-center of the room. The windows just below the ceiling poured in sunlight into the room casting shadows that resembled a harp. "It's just a sink? I don't understand why you've brought me here." Jericho said.

"That's no ordinary 'sink.' Don't insult him." Liatha scolded.

" _This pedestal holds the key you desire in order to find the one you seek,_ " Gusion spoke. " _Everyone possesses their memories deep within themselves, yet it's difficult to recollect certain occurrences such as; sounds whilst you were unconscious._ "

"Sounds while I was unconscious..." Jericho repeated.

Liatha spoke, "Think back when I had found you completely out of it, there's a slight possibility you may find a clue to your brothers whereabouts if you listen to conversations that had occurred when you were not conscious. That's assuming on what happened, of course...I don't recall you ever telling me what happened there."

"There's a good possibility, yes," Jericho agreed. "It's worth the shot, so how do I go about doing this?"

" _Submerge yourself in the water that rests in the dais._ " Gusion ordered.

Jericho stared into the clear water in the basin, "What, like, shove my head in it?"

"That's exactly right, for about five minutes." Liatha said.

Jericho stepped away from the pedestal, "Very funny. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Liatha, but I'm not drowning myself today."

Gusion wagged his furry tail, " _Do not fret, silver-eyed one. Just as dreams have a different discernment with time; your body will experience it much differently._"

"So I'm going to be dreaming?" Jericho asked.

"It is how it displays your concealed memories." Liatha answered, "Dreams were always the gateway to unlocking old memories."

Jericho stared back into the water and his reflection stared back, the water showed calm ripples throughout the basin, the latter being completely still which gave no reason for the water inside to ripple.

This was no ordinary water, magic emanated from it.

He gripped his hands around the basin and prepared.

"Alright," Jericho breathed, "here I go."

He dunked his head into the water.

~

Liatha anxiously tapped her foot repeatedly on the floorboards beneath her while she watched Jericho submerged within the water. She had used the same method when she was searching for Senna. Unfortunately, she had no luck.

" _Do not be so impatient. It has only passed the two minute mark. Let time do its job._" Gusion said.

"His brother's name is Dantanian." Liatha informed.

Gusion huffed out hot air from his moist black nose before lying down with his paws in front of him.

Liatha explained, "I had no idea what that name meant at the time when he told me yesterday, I couldn't understand why. This morning I had a check through your library and made a discovery."

Gusion's eyes focused on hers when she turned her attention towards him, "The reason why I didn't know of the name is because it does not originate from Angelology...it originates from Demonology. He is named after Dantanian – the fallen Angel who appeared as a man with multiple faces."

~

Jericho found himself on the planet closest to the sun – Mercury. The plain was boundless and deserted, and the nearby sun was overpowering to the orbiting rock and dwarfed the planet in size. Luckily, Jericho's ethereal body did not feel the sun's heat - it only shone through his projection with its fiery hot plasma. The whole scenery was prodigious - Jericho couldn't take his eyes off the colossal star that would have blinded him if he were in his real body. A voice from behind snapped him out of trance.

"How far down the rabbit-hole are you willing to go?" Omarion was heard talking, before the sound of a body collapsing onto the ground.

Jericho turned around and came to the realization that the whole cosmic scenery was nothing in comparison compared to this sight.

Dantanian was seen standing over Jericho's body – hand still outward from the blow he had inflicted.

Omarion spoke, "That was a little bit too harsh, wouldn't you agree?" His cloudy projection flickered against the deadly wind that blew across the rocky planet.

It felt like Jericho had lost the sense to feel raw emotion within the form he had taken, as soon as an abundance of questions entered his mind, it merely shoved them back into the back of his head, keeping him focused on the situation.

"How silly of me," Omarion continued, "to dare question your degree of cruelty when you have been leading this boy astray. It takes a great deal of momentum to accomplish what you have done already, even going to the extent to impersonate his non-existent brother. How long will you continue to delude this young man as you see fit?"

"Until I get what I want." Dantanian answered.

"What you've done thus far has been reckless to say the least, breaking laws both in society and above. You've become somebody I barely recognize anymore – a person who has not only conflict with the world, but conflict within _yourself_. You've spent years chasing narcissistic desires with nothing to show for, no result and no fulfillment. You're still just like the one who lies between us."

"Your words don't mean anything to me, same goes for everyone else's a very long time ago. I'm too far ahead to stop right now, not until Baal's dead."

"Oh, but you do need to stop, don't you? You can barely comprehend what you're fighting for anymore, or who you are. You took on the name 'Dantanian' for a reason that I understand well. But I'm not fooled, you are who you are, no matter how much you run from the past. Simply acting in such a blood-lusted way doesn't write over the slate you've been hanging onto your whole life. It's ironic, I called the young man the ghost of his mother, but you're a different case."

The whole planet started to shake violently, cracks emerged throughout the whole terrain – the very planet itself began to fall apart and drift into space - all of their ethereal projections began to dim. Jericho drifted towards the sun as he watched the two drift away into the deepest depths of space.

Floating upon the planetary rock, Omarion spoke his final words. "Jericho...is _your_ ghost."

~

Jericho pulled out his head from the blistering cold water, gasping for breath as he panted over the podium, gripping the sides of the bowl.

"Well?" Liatha asked from behind him, "Did you receive any information?"

Jericho didn't know if he was out of breath so badly from being submerged in water for so long or that he's in hysteria from what he had just seen. He remained hunched over the bowl, his reflection was unsightly – his face was pale white. Cold water slowly dripped off the ridge of his nose back into the bowl.

"Damn it...." Jericho grumbled.

His knuckles throbbed when he threw his fist into the bottom of the basin, " _Damn it!_ "

_It couldn't be real...It had to be some mistake._ Even if it was Dantanian who actually knocked him unconscious, there were still many possibilities to explore, and he couldn't be faking to be his brother since they look completely alike – their resemblance is uncanny. His brain throbbed from all the information he just took in such a short amount of time, he needed to relax and think it through. Dantanian was his brother; there was no denying that.

It felt like he was alone again.

" _What did you see, child?_ " Gusion said, now gaiting towards Jericho.

His moods were fluctuating, he would become angry for a split second, and then become confused the next, then betrayed the next. He had to get out of this place, anywhere is better than here with that damn pedestal.

"I need to go outside for a bit." Jericho said while he turned towards the door.

"What happened?" Liatha asked, "At least tell us what you've-"

"No!" Jericho cut off Liatha, "I shouldn't have done that stupid thing in the first place. Leave me alone."

Their shoulders grazed when he exited the room, he turned left and threw open the double-doors into the city of Kyrion.

# 20

This side of town was a lot different from where Jericho previously experienced.

The afternoon in the inner city retained a vibrant amount of people, the adjacent buildings showed chromatic holographic sponsors and advertisements, for both entertainment and employment. Street performers were stationed by many corners at intersections showcasing their rare quirks, attracting dense crowds that flocked towards the amazement of magic. Although the city seemed somewhat social, the mass amounts of people wearing VR goggles were unfazed by others around them as they roamed the city in virtual reality.

All of that didn't interest Jericho at this point in time, the only exhibit that did was the café he stumbled across. He had already been seated at a table by the window for five minutes, still waiting to be served.

An automated waitress finally appeared; its wheels skidded to a halt by his table. Its voice box was programmed to sound like a young female. "May I take your order, sir?"

Jericho groaned, "Oh, great. I hate being served by robots."

"I'm sorry, are you experiencing any difficulties with your service, sir?" The waitress asked. "Just order me a coffee, please."

"I am detecting agitation in your voice. We here at _Coffee Lounge_ strongly recommend avoiding caffeine at this present time to prevent further agitation. Would you like a smooth chocolate milkshake instead, sir?"

"No, just give me a damn coffee." Jericho ordered.

"An order for one banana milkshake is coming right up, sir." The automated waitress sped off to the next table.

Jericho slammed his head on the table - it would have hurt if his head wasn't already throbbing with a thousand thoughts already. It felt all too fishy to begin with; a long-lost brother saving him from prison to stop the evil that Baal was planning to wreak havoc upon the world - it was all too sudden. If that dream he had was actually what had happened, then that meant Dantanian wasn't his brother at all – if Omarion wasn't full of shit, that is.

But how could that be when he and Dantanian were so alike? Their resemblance is undeniably bound by blood, both in appearance and character. Dantanian – if that's really his name - knew all about his mother and father, too.

Surely he had a reason for what he did, he _must_ have.

Perhaps he had no choice, since Omarion had somehow tracked and found them both; his reason for being there was still unknown to Jericho. Omarion didn't accomplish anything out of that confrontation, unless he's a total sadist who thrives on instilling pain and fear into people's minds...just what Baal enjoys doing.

'...And no way to find out what he had done so horrible, it drove your deceased mother to leave him.'

Omarion knew what he didn't, and that's what infuriated Jericho. He lifted his sore head from the table and rubbed his shut eyelids with his fists.

He couldn't even begin to think about what he was going to do about Liatha, either. Out of all things to happen along the way, her appearance was least expected. However, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He knew deep down that eventually she would come looking for him, it's only natural for her – he'd be disappointed if that weren't the case.

What disappointed him at that very moment was the fact that he saw Liatha more trustworthy than Dantanian right now.

He took the moment to appreciate the fact that Liatha actually helped him recover from what happened underground. Her friend Gusion seemed genuine and appeared as someone who could help.

Allies – it's what Jericho really needs right now. From the crisis between Dantanian and himself, Omarion, Baal – who wants to apparently rule the world - and the promise he had made to Liatha, he really has his hands full.

The automated waitress rolled up to Jericho's table with a tray attached in front and his milkshake sitting on top of it. It struggled to come to a complete halt and stubbed Jericho's toe. The waitress slid the tray onto his table, "Thank you for your patience. Here is your strawberry milkshake, sir."

Jericho was fuming, "How is artificial intelligence so stupid, even in this era?! We spent over a century of research for this?!"

"I'm sorry, are you experiencing any difficulties with your service, sir?" The waitress asked. Jericho jumped up and grabbed the milkshake and prepared to heave it right at its robotic head, "I sure am right about now!"

"There are no difficulties." A voice spoke behind the waitress.

It was Liatha. She walked up to the waitress and inserted a gold coin into its tip slot, "A tip for your excellent service."

She sat down opposite from Jericho and pinched his beverage, "I happen to adore strawberry milkshakes."

"Am I really that easy to track or have you just become accustomed to stalking me?" Jericho asked before slumping back into his chair.

"Both," she answered after taking a sip through the striped straw. "However, I prefer the term 'investigating' rather than 'stalking.' Also, I commend you on your bravery – perhaps stupidity - to venture out in the city when you're a wanted man."

He _totally_ forgot about that.

"Don't worry," Liatha continued, "I've taken the liberty of contacting the National Eurynome Security Bureau and have your notoriety revoked."

Jericho stared out the window, "Mm-hmm." It felt odd to him that his past was so easily dismissed - coming from Liatha, especially.

"Care to explain what you saw?"

He turned his attention back towards her, "Care to explain your curiosity? Why do you even care? Is this some sudden change of heart?"

Liatha swirled her straw around the tall glass, now only holding froth at the very bottom. Jericho was close to asking how she finished that so damn quickly before she answered, "There were a lot of things I had to think about last night. It's difficult for me to trust you at all, let alone leading me to my sister, it's quite the predicament I got myself into. You need to find your brother and I need to find my sister; we've seemed to reach an impasse. Stubborn as you are, I've chosen to only assist your search so we can begin mine more quickly. Does that satisfy your question?"

"No, I... I'm just shocked." Jericho said, leaning his arms on the table, "The very fact that you have agreed to help me is surprising. I thought I had to try a lot harder than that."

Liatha pushed her glass to the side, "Let's just say that yesterday the impression you gave was enough for me to conclude that – despite you being a criminal who's a total loser – tolerable." Jericho found it difficult to hide his smile. "That may be the first and _only_ appraisal you will ever give me. I'm truly blessed."

Liatha returned the smile, " _Appraisal?_ I think your depiction of flattery is impaired by the amount of times you've fallen unconscious."

Jericho stared at her empty glass. "How does a refill sound?" He offered.

~

"I see..." was all the words Liatha could say after she had heard Jericho's story.

They were both back at Gusion's place after Jericho had described his dream to Liatha at the café, she insisted to let Gusion into this.

He told them both about absolutely _everything_ , from his mother's death to his brother's betrayal. "That's why I'm stuck," Jericho explained, "I don't see a clear path anymore. I don't know if I can continue on to go after Baal or stay here and sort this issue out with Dantanian - who now apparently is named after a deceiving demon, according to Liatha."

Gusion pondered, gently wagging his tail. " _Baal Alastor...I know of that name very well. I've always had the suspicion that man was up to no good. And this Dantanian fellow is not trustworthy, as you can tell. What will you do now, Jericho?_"

Jericho considered deeply before he answered, "I have to find Dantanian first. I _need_ to understand what his goals are...and who he is."

Liatha pitched in, "According to your lucid dream, Dantanian mentioned something about killing Baal. Obviously he shares the same goal, so if there are leads to Baal, wouldn't you find him there?"

Jericho nodded, "Let me think...he mentioned some sort of event when we first reached the city. Is there anything happening tonight?"

Liatha folded one leg over the other as she slumped down onto the only sofa in the room while she pulled out her smartphone and briskly scrolled through apps and web pages.

"The only thing that really stands out is the Grand Ball that occurs tonight," Liatha mentioned, "it says here that the event is 'strictly invited only', that consists of a large number of investors." Jericho leaned against the red-painted walls, "Meh, doesn't sound like a lead."

Gusion briefly sneezed before speaking into Jericho's mind, " _There's a possibility that there is a representative of Baal who is attending since it consists of investors, does it not?_ "

"That's right!" Jericho agreed. He excitedly walked over to Gusion and roughly caressed his fur coat between his ears, "Who's a good boy? You're a good boy!"

A large paw gently batted down Jericho's sprightly hand, " _I am neither 'good' nor a 'boy', but I cannot deny the appreciation of an excellent pat on the head._ "

"Then it's settled," Liatha said as she shoved her smartphone back into her small leggings pocket. "We will attend this ball and find any connection to Baal with high hopes Dantanian will be there too."

"I think we're forgetting something..." Jericho mentioned, "How are we supposed to get into this event? It's for high-classed bankers and investors."

Liatha's thin lips curved upwards. "Leave that to me. We have a few hours before this event starts, I suggest that you venture out and purchase suitable attire for the event."

She began to walk up the spiraling staircase when Jericho called after her, "What about you?" "I've already got a suitable outfit." She answered before disappearing upstairs.

"How does she have an outfit already here, ready to go?" Jericho asked Gusion.

" _She has resided here for a period of time, a long time ago._ " Gusion started to trot away towards the staircase, but Jericho had to point out the elephant in the room.

"Gusion," Jericho began, "this whole situation...my supposed brother being named after a demon, Omarion's abilities...yours as well. It's beginning to make me realize how little I understand of this world. Answer me one thing, Gusion; is this truly magic, or is there something more phenomenal?"

The grey wolf stopped in its tracks and turned its head towards Jericho – his vivid blue eyes pierced deep into his soul, " _You were once asked this question by the malicious, and I will ask it again with an addendum - How far down the rabbit-hole are you willing to go, before you find the rabbit already caught within the wolf's jaws?_ "

~

Jericho's inept hands fidgeted with the black bow tie in the reflection of the antique mirror that was rested on fragile mount, placed in the corner of the room. His un-tailored blazer fit adequately enough for the cuffs to show his white shirt underneath, only slightly grazing past his wrists, and his pants stopped short above his ankles. It was the only attire he could get in such a short amount of time and with a certain budget, considering he hasn't got an income, he had decided to be somewhat smart with his funds, or in other words, being a total tight ass.

Jericho had already been dressed for forty-five minutes. He became curious of how Liatha was going since she's been upstairs for at least three hours now. His curiosity got the better of him when he had left his room and jogged up the spiral staircase – almost stacking it from the slipperiness of his new white socks. The second floor of the spacious townhouse was basically empty. The hall Jericho walked across only bore a dresser that was awkwardly crooked up against the red-coated wall. He stopped at one of the six doors in the hall upon hearing a hairdryer blaring beyond it.

He knocked heavily enough for the sound to overwhelm her hairdryer's, it shut off before he heard Liatha speak beyond the door, "Who is it?"

"Are you harboring another criminal other than me, or is Gusion capable of knocking with his paws?" Jericho answered.

"The door is open, smart ass."

Upon opening her door, he was greeted by a sweet scent of lavender and soft citrus perfume that had overpowered the low-lit room, shadows flickered on the walls from the various scented candles sprinkled around her room. She rose from her seat that faced a mirror atop of her colorful dresser with a miniature lamp along the rows of makeup.

Jericho's heart skipped a beat when he had laid eyes on Liatha. Her vivid emerald green dress charmingly exposed her cleavage and her long chestnut-brown hair resting on her narrow shoulders were exquisitely wavy at the ends, her face was neatly contoured and her hazel eyes were conspicuous behind her deep green eye-shadow and dark eyeliner. She stood tall from her dazzling white heels that she had already fitted, decorated with jewels.

He felt his face heat up.

"If you're here to ask me how long I'm going to be, please save it. I despise being rushed for events." Liatha stated.

Jericho's face was full of colour, "I...that's fine, I just...wanted to see where you were _at._ " He tightly shut his eyes closed after his voice cracked on the last word.

She clicked her tongue at the sight of his tie, "Your tie is horribly done, you oaf. Come here." He walked over to Liatha's reach and she began to skillfully fasten his tie, her green painted fingernails fiddled beneath his chin. He'd never been this close to Liatha before, without attacking each other, of course.

"How's your wound?" Liatha asked.

It took a few moments for the question to register in Jericho's heated head, "...I plucked the Medarachs off before I got dressed..."  He felt like his sentence was unfinished.

"What's with the dumbfounded look on your face?" Liatha asked - her eye contact remained focused on his tie.

His hard swallow expanded his neck, uncomfortably tightening the grasp of his poorly fitted tie, "Your nose is a tad crooked." Jericho said. It was the perfect scapegoat.

His tie tightened even stronger - this time it was Liatha's doing. "I _wonder_ why that is?" She asked with hostility.

"Let me fix it for you." Jericho offered.

"Does your method require you touching my face?" Liatha enquired.

"It does..."

"Then I don't want you to 'fix' it."

"There's going to be a bunch of rich men at this event, how will you catch the eye of one with your goofy nose?"

"Shut up," Liatha spouted while she made the final touch to his tie, "like I'm going there to meet my future husband or something."

Jericho satisfyingly brushed his pertinent bow tie. "Oh? Have you already got one, Warden Nespirk?"

"I don't need a man, thank you very much."

"Ever had one before?"

"So, what is this method that you have conspired to straighten my nose?" Liatha said, changing the topic.

He huffed as he brought his hands to Liatha's face, delicately bracing her freshly dolled up face with his two thumbs by the ridges of her nose, "Breathe easy, it will only hurt for just a bit."

She timidly shut her eye lids – further revealing her dark green eye-shadow, "Could you provide a countdown? Like we did before, you're counting this time."

He gingerly tightened his brace against her nose, "Alright, we'll start a count down. One..." Jericho immediately applied force to Liatha's nose, the raw crack her nose made when it clicked back into place was as loud as her squeal. She instinctively threw up her knee and corked him in the leg.

She yelled at him while Jericho caressed the bruise she had just inflicted, "Asshole!" Liatha scurried back to her mirror and intently inspected her newly-straightened nose, she immediately admired the work.

"I'd thank you," Liatha said as she turned back around, "but I then remember it was you who had ruined my nose in the first place."

"I was never expecting one in the first place anyway..." Jericho said while he scratched the back of his head.

After successfully fulfilling his curiosity, Jericho left her alone. "Well, I'm gonna wait downstairs with Gusion...maybe we can play fetch or something until the event starts."

Liatha sat back down onto her stool, "You go do that."

Jericho jogged back down the staircase – missing a step only five steps down - he decided to walk slowly for the next few steps. Gusion was seen trotting across the front of the house, Jericho called out for him.

"Gusion, you ever played fetch?"

Gusion's grey fur glinted underneath the bright chandelier when his head tilted slightly, " _Fetch?_ " "Yeah, fetch." Jericho arrived at the bottom step and walked over to Gusion, "You know...I throw something and you go and grab it?"

" _Is the objective to retrieve your possession you had previously held?_ " Gusion asked. "Well...yeah. I guess that's what it kinda is."

" _Very well, then. Let us commence a game of fetch._" A bright green hue glowed between Gusion's jaws, the light expanded horizontally and stretched almost as long as the wolf. The form of light regained colour – a colour of bronze with black at the very end.

Jericho's jaw dropped...it was his sword.

"How the...?" It was all the words Jericho could muster.

" _I presume this is an adequate 'fetch'. You must be wondering how I've obtained your possession you have previously held. It is quite simple – it was always in my current possession, just held in a different space. I had the impression that your plan was to bring your sword along with you to the event, so I've been meaning to show you this technique._"

"A technique...?" Jericho asked.

Gusion dropped the sword onto the carpet from his jaws. He sat back up and gently wagged his bushy tail.

" _Allow me to teach you, silver-eyed one._ "

~

Since Jericho had left her room, Liatha had made no finishing touches to her face. Instead, she only stared into the mirror, adoring the way she looked tonight. She never had the time for such events as these - let alone a simple party. She spent too much time cooped up in her correctional facility.

Liatha had forgotten what it was like to enjoy and spoil herself with charm. Tonight, she wanted to forget about all what was weighing down on her shoulders, she wanted to break free of her stresses and worries just for this one night, she thought it was even possible with Jericho accompanying her tonight.

Fun was what she wanted right now...happiness can wait.

# 21

The doors to the Grand Ball along the main street had opened an hour ago and dozens of lavishly dressed couples slowly crept forward in the long queue to the front reception and into the already bustling ballroom. Amongst the posh chatter at the bottom end of the queue, was the sound of pianos and violins – classy music that hummed in Jericho's ears.

"Repeat the name I have given to you." Liatha ordered as she shifted on her high heels beside Jericho.

Jericho rolled his eyes before he answered, "Lance Conyngham. I've told you that I've memorized that stupid name already, _Vivienne Conyngham._ "

"Goodness..." Liatha said, batting her eyelashes, "The sound of us bearing the same last name almost made me hurl."

" _You_ suggested we act as a married couple," Jericho retorted, " _I_ suggested that we were to have a public open relationship, in which I'm having an affair with your sister-in-law."

Liatha laughed in a posh manner and playfully hit Jericho's shoulder in response to the numerous whispers of gossips - thanks to Jericho's loud voice - as they shuffled forward in line.

Liatha scorned Jericho with a whisper, "Idiot! Don't be so obnoxious!"

The flamboyant line continued to move up, edging them both closer to the entrance of the giant hall looking as exquisite as the reception he had once attended in Lycur, a very long time ago. This particular venue dated back into the eighteenth century, the entirety of the building was practically untouched from its vintage paintings seen past the lobby and ornaments carved on the outside. Many say that there are old facilities still existing within that can no longer be utilized in this present time.

Jericho inhaled long enough for his diaphragm to swell, "I can already smell the lobster..."

"So that's what that overwhelming smell was." Liatha said as she continued to sniff the evening air.

"You've never smelt lobster before?" Jericho asked.

"I've never tried it in the first place."

They were eventually next in line and the couple ahead was occupied by a lengthy discussion with the man at the reception, Jericho calmed his heart rate with long breaths and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Their plan on getting in was schemed completely by Liatha, and if it didn't work then they were going to look like idiots, worse than they are now.

"We're next," Liatha said as she lifted her right elbow, "let's link arms."

He obeyed, sliding his arm between her elbow and ribs and instantly catching the scent of lavender and citrus, "Of course, _Mrs. Conyngham._ "

They ascended the small steps covered with red carpet and stopped before the receptionist. His slicked-back hair swayed as he looked up from his list, "Good evening. May I have your names, please?"

Liatha answered first, her southern accent was unusually thicker. "Mrs. Vivienne Conyngham." "Mr. Lance Conyngham." Jericho followed.

The receptionist smiled, "Thank you, Mister and Missus Conyngham. Now, allow me to check the invitations."

It was right there at that moment, Liatha scoffed so damn loud, the rest of the queue heard it.

To hell with the queue, Jericho could have sworn he heard it echo through the whole city.

The receptionist looked up from the list, with the look of confusion completely overpowering any other emotion he bore. "I'm...sorry, Mrs. Conyngham?"

She daintily held her hand over her chest as she spoke, " _Excuse me?_ Disgraceful, even upon repeating my family name the second time, you do not recognize it? How shameful you must be!"

Still perplexed, the receptionist apologized. "I humbly apologise, Mrs. Conyngham...but I am instructed to inspect each guest-"

Liatha cut him off with her posh attitude, " _Guest?!_ Not only do we receive poor treatment by forcing us to wait in a queue, but we are also apparently 'guests'? This is completely inadmissible; we, the Conyngham's, condemn you for such peasantry acts!"

The face Jericho wore was hard enough for the receptionist to probably think it's because of his disrespect, little did he know, it's his 'wife' that he's hostile towards.

Liatha's emerald dress fluttered as she spun around and spoke towards the queue. "Ladies and gentleman, if you displease events that are uninformed and ignorant, I'd advise we all go home now. It seems our status will not be taken seriously!"

"What a shame, I expected this event to be diligent and cultured!" A man's voice shouted from the front of the queue.

"We have a drunkard already...how displeasing." A woman said to her spouse.

"We demand recognition, you cretins!" A man shouted from the back of the queue.

The receptionist began to plead. "Please, forgive me for my lack of knowledge, Mister and Missus Conyngham. I apologize for any offensive remarks. So please, carry on through with excellence."

Liatha barked out her final sassy words before walking through the entrance with her 'husband.' "You're a pathetic excuse for a high-classed receptionist, shame on you."

Jericho looked back at the discouraged receptionist and the now-insulted crowd, "Impressive..." Liatha flicked her curled hair over her shoulder, "Is that flattery I hear?"

"Sure as hell not to you, I'm commending the absolute discipline that guy had. If that were me, I would have punted you off the stairs."

Liatha dug her elbow into Jericho's ribs with their arms still linked, "Get used to it. We are snobby rich people tonight, I advise you to fit the character for the time being."

The spacious ballroom was colourful with fancy attire huddling around the long tables riddled with delicious-looking food at both sides of the room, a band consisting of violins and harps were performing waltz music for the dozens of couples on the dance floor in the middle of the ballroom, the melody was so authentic – breathtaking, even. Photographers were stationed at the sides of the dance floor, capturing the waltz dances. The event was filled with the uptight 'rich and fabulous', many were mingling with other rich guests or acquaintances involving their business or leisure. As Jericho timidly looked around he sooner realized that he really didn't belong in a place like this at all, despite his previous experiences with fancy events. He and Liatha made the silent decision to make their way to the food table, surveying the area at the same time. While still being linked with Jericho's arm, Liatha distinctively hid her inept skill of wearing high heels and masked her undisciplined limp as best as she could.

Liatha inspected the line of people along the table while asking Jericho, "See anything or anyone who catches your eye?"

"So far, it's that big bowl of marinated prawns on the corner on the table that's eyeing me out." Jericho said while subtly shoving an elderly man - reaching for his objective.

Liatha sighed. "You need to keep your eyes open."

Jericho threw a small, already-peeled prawn into his mouth, "Oh, my eyes are opened alright. These are goddamn delicious."

Jericho extended his saucy fingers to Liatha. She rejected his offer of prawn with a wave from her modest hand.

He urged when she rejected, "Try it."

Liatha backed off when the prawn almost made contact with her red lips, "I don't want to." " _Vivienne, darling_ , please try this prawn for my sake. Imagine the guests' reactions when I create a scene if you keep refusing to eat it."

Liatha scrunched her face when she ripped the prawn from his fingers with her coated fingernails, "You're such a petty man."

She delicately took a small bite from the prawn and kept a straight face when tasting it – of course she enjoyed it greatly, but showing her satisfaction to Jericho would only make him gloat. "It's an exquisite taste...but nothing special." She said in-between dabbing her lips with a embellished serviette.

Liatha reached for an empty glass across the table – shifting her weight – her right ankle rolled in her heels and staggered to her right before Jericho caught her by her elbow.

"Are you alright?" Jericho asked.

Liatha threw his hand off of her, "Of course I'm alright. It's just that this floor is a tad slippery." A blatant lie, she just hardly ever wears heels enough to get used to it.

Jericho took two glasses from the table and placed one each in front of both of them and started to pour Liatha's glass with red wine, "Well, since you're being a moody bitch, how about taking the edge off with some booze?"

Her lips stained the glass as she took a sip and spoke after taking a huge gulp, "I'm not moody, it's just...a different environment that I need to get used to. Saying that, I suggest we shouldn't take our time getting accustomed with the environment. Instead, we search for connections of your father."

"He's not my father." Jericho stated bluntly as he finished his glass, "It never even felt like he was to begin with, and not in parenthood sense. His whole vibe just didn't make sense to me...you know that warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you're bonding with family? That wasn't there at all with him, all I felt was hostility."

"You're making assumptions of non-relations off pure instinct?" Liatha asked.

"With the way shit is going now – talking wolves and Demonology being in the mix - it feels like anything is possible right now."

Liatha turned from the table and spectated the waltzing that took place, the harmonious melody that played made it seem like everybody dancing was gliding along the floor, gracefully moving with their partner.

"Warm, fuzzy feeling, you say?" Liatha recited quietly.

"What's that?" Jericho asked with a mouth full of prawns.

Despite her mood, she smiled. "It was nothing."

After momentarily choking on the tail of a prawn, Jericho wiped his mouth and turned to Liatha. "I'm gonna go take a leak. Either stay here and look around, or do it while you explore." Liatha's eyes narrowed, "We've been here for only ten minutes."

"I know," Jericho said as he plucked lint off of his cuffs, "but that damn queue was like half an hour and I had no time to go since I was spending time with Gusion before I left...why the hell am I even explaining myself to you? Whatever, I'm taking a piss."

Liatha called out after him. "Try not to slip and fall on those glossy bathroom tiles - god forbid - you'll be doing me a favor."

A man with a well-groomed mustache beside Liatha spoke, "My, aren't you both a lively couple?"

Liatha smiled gleefully as she poured herself another glass of wine before answering, "He's having an affair with my sister-in-law."

~

After relieving himself, Jericho washed his hands with the ice-cold water the basin provided in the spacious dead quiet bathroom, the scent of vanilla whiffed into his nostrils when he had smothered his hands with a bar of soap. He wasn't too sure the chilly feeling overcoming him was from the cold water running through his fingers or something different, his breath condensed on the wide mirror that stretched along the wall and the hairs on the back of his neck stood stiff. He tightly turned the old-fashioned tap off and stood quiet for a moment.

A hot breath of air which felt like fire in the icy-cold room rushed past his ear, he immediately spun around and faced only the bronze-coated walls. It felt like no ordinary hot air, it was someone's breath – and that's not all, it wasn't just a simple exhale - it whispered something. " _Help..._ "

The whisper came from the bathroom entry this time.

Jericho saw a shadowy hand clinging onto the door frame before losing grip and disappearing behind the wall. Goosebumps shrouded Jericho's body, it definitely didn't seem human.

With steps weighing a ton, he walked outside the bathroom to investigate the old building's hallway of framed abstract paintings and spotted the shadowy figure at the end of the hall.

He couldn't make out who it was from that distance, only that it was definitely a female with the long hair she bore. The figure seemed to slowly float above the carpet and shift into the wall beside it.

Jericho followed the figure and reached where it had disappeared into the wall. It was beside a door that was clearly labeled as a fire exit. He braced himself and quickly flung open the door, only to be greeted by a steep, spiraling staircase – the bottom was so dark that he couldn't see the last flight of stairs from where he was.

The voice he heard sounded genuinely distressed. Whatever that thing was, it clearly wanted to show him something, and it definitely needed his help.

With his new phone in his hand for a torch, he slowly descended the staircase. The entire stairwell was chock-full of dust and cobwebs, despite it being so easily accessible it was surprising that it had been so neglected. Maybe it was for a good reason.

When he had finally reached the bottom, the temperature felt like it had a sudden freezing cold shift – Jericho's teeth started to chatter. He stopped at the door adjacent to the last step of the stairwell and placed his icy hand on the doorknob and turned it.

Beyond the door was a massive open space of some kind of lot consisting of multiple levels – at least three - with oddly color-coded areas. The entirety of the floor bore pairs of parallel lines and solid pillars throughout. Jericho jumped at the sound of the door he just came through shut close.

" _...Salvation..._ "

The shadowy woman stood at the dead-center of the lot, her entire body was still not visible at all...

It was almost like she was entirely made of shadows.

" _...Salvation..._ "

The source of light diminished when Jericho dropped his phone.

More shadowy figures emerged from the ground - dozens at a time - all chanting with one accord. The word sounded increasingly demonic with each repetition. " _...Salvation...Salvation...Salvaation...Salvaation...Salvaation...Saalvaation...Saaalvaation...Saaalvaaaation...Saaalvaaaaation...Saaalvaaaaaationnn..._ "

Jericho overcame his state of horror and began to withdraw his sword - just like Gusion had taught him. He brought his hands to where his sword was usually holstered and clapped his hands together to begin his summoning.

Nothing happened.

Confused, he looked towards his hands and started clapping madly, desperately searching for the reaction he had when he previously attempted the technique. When his hands meet, he is meant to feel the matter between his hands before separating his grasp and summoning his sword, that's the easiest way to use the technique. But right now, he's too petrified to even concentrate on that feeling.

The shadows were now in the hundreds.

Jericho made a run for it, running straight towards the upper level of the lot. He avoided the ramp that had shadows crawling out from it and instead dived in between rails that separated the lower and middle level floor. He sprung up from the concrete ground and kept running – whispers and screams were still blaring around him.

Jericho frantically continued to clap his hands together, " _Come on...you piece of shit technique!_ "

With no avail, he endured and kept at it while the shadows behind him were merely inches away, running on all-fours like rabid animals. He continued his stride and desperately called out for his sword as he slammed his hands together one last time, " _Get out!_ "

A bright green hue emitted as he separated his hands, his sword finally showed itself inch by inch. He gripped the hilt as soon as his hand reached the end and yanked his blade out of its sheath, he skidded to a halt and - with lightning-fast speed – pivoted around and swung his blade at the yearning shadow. The blade cut the shadow clean in two before the two halves burst into a rancid cloud of ash.

One after another, the shadowy people rushed Jericho from all sides and met with his steel one by one, each of them erupting into clouds of black ash in their demise. The entire floor became flooded with black fog with Jericho's swift feet wading through it as he fended off the salvation seekers. The relentless assaults from the shadows gave no breathing room for him and proved difficult to muster up any of his magic. Instead, he maintained his volley of omnidirectional slashes and – for some odd reason - it made his heart waver with each strike he inflicted.

Jericho began to hear different sounds – cries, howls and weeping, all of which came from the dozens of remaining shadows. It sounded like real living people in pain...he felt contempt.

The mourning shadows closely surrounded Jericho, the sounds of pain pierced amplified in his ears.

Jericho stopped attacking.

~

Liatha stuffed her face with lobster and prawn in the most dignified way she could muster. Now that Jericho was gone, she could do so without being judged or pestered by him.

She hadn't moved from the large dining table and continued to survey any potential links to Baal and scull half a dozen glasses of red wine, the only other activity was the waltz that is currently happening, but it's not like she had a partner or anything. Her shoes made it all the more difficult to move as well, so it was best to stay put.

She did think it would be fun, though.

With a fair amount of alcohol in her blood-system, her hand stumblingly reached for the bottle of wine, slightly knocking the neck and almost capsizing the bottle if only an elderly man hadn't seized its balance.

"May I, madam?" The man asked. His aged wrinkles creased beside his slanted eyelids when he smiled, his suit was pristine – it made Jericho's look god-awful.

Liatha returned the smile, "That would be appreciated."

His withered hand poured wine into her stained glass and re-inserted the cork when it had emptied. He passed the glass to Liatha and spoke, "Excuse me, but I believe our introductions are due after pouring a lady a glass. My name is Maxwell Intret."

His eyes were the purest of black.

"Vivienne Conyngham. It's a pleasure, Maxwell."

"May I ask, Vivienne, what is your current status in this business?"

"I am a Conyngham," Liatha said after taking a long sip. "That alone makes me eligible for this event. And you?"

His chuckle was the typical 'rich person laugh', "I see. I hold a spokesman position with Alastor Corporation. I trust you've heard of it."

Her red lipstick stretched behind her glass. _Bingo._

Liatha batted her eyelashes, "My, of course I've heard of the most successful bank in the world. May I ask how Mr. Alastor is coping?"

"Your consideration is admirable, Miss Conyngham, was it? He is a busy man as usual. Currently he is out of town for business. I expect nonetheless."

"It's _Mrs._ " Liatha said, "And it pleases me to hear so."

"Ah, forgive me for my assumption. You bear no ring so I assumed as much. Where is the lucky man, may I ask?"

"Who knows? He's probably screwing about somewhere, that pathetic excuse for a husband." Maxwell cleared his throat, "I see. Forgive me for my intrusion. I will now take my leave. Do consider visiting my private table up on the balcony. Your attendance would be gracious." Liatha curtsied, "I will consider it well, Maxwell. Farewell."

His grey hair soon became lost in the crowd moments later and Liatha attended back to the table. She was satisfied that it was _her_ who found a lead before he even got a chance, that should show him who's really the useless one out of them.

She did begin to wonder what's been keeping him since it had been a long fifteen minutes, and she's sure his bowels are not made of rubber.

Liatha sighed and washed down her smidge of concern with the remains of her wine.

~

Jericho wasn't attacked.

For the entire minute of him standing still, the shadows did not strike - only tumbling to their knees and hands while they wailed endlessly.

In the center of the dark and wailing circle, he felt sick. He could clearly see their faces now; only their teary eyes could be seen beyond the dark blank face they bore.

It felt like they were begging for mercy...and mercy was death.

His voice succumbed from the sudden speech after a long moment of silence, "Who are you supposed to be?"

Throughout the echoes of whimpering, a single voice spoke. " _We are sin...You are virtue._ " Jericho had no words to reply to the woman he had first seen in the hallway, her pitch-black eyes met his.

" _We seek...silver._ " She spoke.

The pressuring eye contact made Jericho blink, the dozens of other shadows followed the woman's gaze. They were all seated on their knees with their hands resting upon them.

" _We seek...God._ "

All of the shadows placed their hands on the floor and rested their head between them.

" _We seek...you._ "

His hands shook as he brought his hands back together – dispersing his sword back into limbo. Even though they did not tell him, Jericho knew what they wanted.

Jericho exhaled calmly and closed his eyes, his body began to hum with his prodigious magic, a veil made of light surrounded himself and the group of shadows.

When he opened his eyes, he and the remnants of black mist were the only ones left in the empty and silent lot.

He hunched over and spewed.

Never in his life had he ever experienced something that outlandish, he had come into contact with restless spirits. For a split moment, when he felt the presence fade after coming into contact with his light, he felt remorse – sadness, even.

It was almost like he had once known those people.

Behind the warm feeling he felt when sending them on their way, there was a sinister feeling to it as well, similar to what he had felt when coming into contact with Omarion. There was a possibility that he's behind all of this.

For someone to play with matters like these...it's inhumane, surely no person could have even the slightest enjoyment from that.

He began to doubt that.

~

Now that all of the guests had finally arrived, the receptionist made sure to double check all the current names on the list have attended. Not a single invite had been ignored; it was deemed a successful event.

He left his stand atop the stairs and began preparations to close the doors before he recognized a familiar face – a guest.

Although his appearance was slightly different, his silver eyes were hard to forget. "Ah," the receptionist spoke, "I believe it was Mr. Conyngham? I do not recall seeing you leave the premises. Also, your attire is no longer applicable to this event. Would you care to explain yourself, sir?"

The person who he believed to be Mr. Conyngham did not reply and climbed the gradual red-carpeted steps. The receptionist spotted what it seemed to be a sword strapped to his back; the former began to descend down the steps to meet him halfway.

"Sir, what is the meaning of this?"

The reply he received was not of words, but of large serrated steel.

~

After his extra-long toilet break, Jericho finally resumed his prestigious visit at the Grand Ball – no longer was it creepy whispers - melodic tunes consisting of violins hummed through his ears once again.

The dining table was in view beyond the multiple groups of civil conversations scattered about, he recognized a familiar looking tipsy woman frolicking about. The familiar face smiled brightly when Jericho had approached her.

"Yay, my _hubby_ has finally returned." Liatha's giggle was reticent behind her voice.

He didn't want her to know what had happened down below just yet, he figured there was no need to cause any panic.

Jericho crossed his arms, "Looks like you've been having a blast, _Vivienne_. Did you spot anything suspicious with those drunken eyeballs of yours?"

"Idiot, I'm not..." Her sentence was interrupted by an abrupt hiccup, "...drunk. And what if I told you that I _have_ a lead for you?"

"Okay, then let's hear it?" Jericho beckoned.

Liatha held up a single finger, "First, you will tell me I am not useless as you say I am."

Jericho grasped her hand and steered her finger to her own blushed cheek, "No. _First_ , I will tell you that you have a smudge of butter on your cheek from your pigging-out session."

Liatha shoved his hand away and discreetly wiped the small lump of butter with her thumb, "Stop touching me whenever you see fit." She said after poorly wiping the stain away – a small smear of butter was still visible on her cheek.

"Could you just tell me what you know?" Jericho was getting impatient.

He became even more impatient when Liatha ignored him and turned her attention to the dance floor. On the stage behind the currently playing orchestra was a band setting up laptops and microphones to play their piece of music.

"I want to dance like they are." Liatha said quietly, still observing the merry couples dancing. "We didn't come here for that..." Jericho's gaze unwillingly followed hers.

She returned her attention to him, her hazel eyes burned with tenacity above her lips that pouted in displeasure, "I voluntary agreed to assist you and attend this stupid event filled with stuck-up snobs. I deserve to get something out of this."

Jericho sighed and waved his hand towards the crowd on the dance floor, "Then go and find a man willing to dance with you." He suggested.

The audience clapped when the orchestra played their final string and bowed for the end of their final act. The band that was previously setting up to play was high and ready - the lead singer retrieved the microphone from the stand and began to move with the starting bars of instrumental music.

Liatha placed her hands on her hips, "You're a sorry excuse for a gentleman. I was stupid to even consider that _you_ would be the man who takes my hand for just one dance."

Even though he hated to admit it, even internally within himself, he felt stupid.

Jericho caught a glimpse of a young couple joyfully joining the dance floor after the man took the smiling lady's hand. He sighed and made a decision before it had changed again.

Jericho extended his hand to Liatha in offering, "You're a goose...you know that?"

She accepted his offer by placing her modest hand upon his, "Don't get the wrong idea. I would never have suggested this being sober."

With their hands linked, Jericho guided Liatha to the center of the dance floor and faced her. His fingers entwined with hers and he placed a hand on her waist that curved seductively underneath her emerald dress. The female vocalist began to sing along with the soft piano notes and smooth drum cymbals – Jericho and Liatha began to slow dance along with it. Jericho couldn't help but chuckle, Liatha inquired upon hearing this.

"What do you find so humorous that you must laugh whilst we dance?" Liatha asked as she kept up with Jericho's lead.

Jericho cleared his throat after his momentarily laughter, "I can't believe I'm dancing with a woman who I've knocked out twice."

"You think I find it easy to accept myself dancing with one of my former prisoners?"

Liatha struggled to keep balance in her heels and stumbled, annoyed, she left Jericho's hands and attended to the straps on her heels. After successfully unstrapping her heels with her tipsy fingers, she _modestly_ heaved them across the sidelines of the dance floor and regained her grasp in Jericho's hands.

Jericho shook his head and continued his lead that seemed much smoother, "Classy, _Vivienne._ " Liatha's green eyelids loomed when she smirked up at him, "Look at the man who I'm dancing with, my image is already ruined as it is."

He tightened his grasp in between her fragile fingers, "Touché."

At the sound of the tempo of the song suddenly becoming energetic, Jericho challenged Liatha. "We're about to kick it up a notch, you think you can keep up?"

Liatha accepted. "I could ask you the same thing, _Lance._ "

Over the soothing vocals, the melody transformed. The uplifting beat consisted of a chill electronic beat that wobbled melodiously – Lance's pace became swift and balletic - he took a step back and spun Vivienne around rhythmically before returning her back to his hands and striding along with the beat.

He didn't care showing his beaming face to her at all.

~

Liatha was glad that she saw he was enjoying this as much as she was.

His movements were slick and charming along with the beat, she felt like an expert with his lead. "I never expected for you to be this acquainted with dancing," Liatha said while being spun for the umpteenth time.

He spoke to her closely after he had reeled her back in. "I'm not just some sword-hacking brute." The lights in the room began to dim over the dancing couple, bright lights shone from both sides of the dance floor. Multiple machines placed on the stage began to function, emitting enormous bubbles that shimmered colorfully when slowly floating past the bright lights.

The hundreds of bubbles began to glide about on the dance floor, floating past the ecstatic couple in pure felicity.

Blood began to rush into Liatha's head – it was true bliss. As she danced barefoot with the man in her grasp, she didn't care about any of her problems and responsibilities that slowly creep into her conscious, she didn't care about whom she was dancing with. All of her smallest doubts and worries began to fade within the vortex of enthrallment. At that very moment, she was no longer Liatha Nespirk – a woman who had fled her previous life to pursue answers for her dilemma. The man she's dancing with was no longer Jericho Zeschar – a man who was previously a prisoner at her facility.

They were both Vivienne and Lance Conyngham – just for this instance, this one moment, that's who they were.

She embraced it with passion.

As the electronic beat died out and the pianist's notes became stretched over the slow cymbal beats, the music came to an end. Bubbles that still remained on the ground popped one by one and the lights in the ballroom became bright once again.

After the lights became bright and the last bubble disappeared, the Conynghams had also.

Liatha began to feel queasy. The alcohol had finally caught up with her, with the help of her rapid dancing and constant revolutions within Jericho's arms. She left the dance floor and pulled a chair out from an empty table and seated to re-strap her heels.

"Somebody's wasted..." Jericho teased as he pulled out a seat beside Liatha.

She rubbed her temples as she groaned, "I don't see how it's possible to feel as if I'm moving when I'm obviously seated still..."

Jericho pulled out his phone and grinned, "What a great chance to snap a photo and show all your old work mates how wasted their warden is."

Liatha quickly sprung up from her seat, "You were probably hoping to have that photo for only yourself, creep."

"Tell me what you saw before, Liatha." Jericho's expression turned serious.

"I didn't _see_..." Liatha's expression mirrored Jericho's, "...I spoke. Have you heard of Maxwell Intret?"

Jericho shook his head, "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, he apparently works for your fath-... _Baal's_ bank. We exchanged a few words and he formally invited me to his 'private table' that resides on the second-floor balcony."

Jericho got up and made haste to the center staircase beyond the dance floor as soon as Liatha had told him, she struggled to quickly keep up with him with her, yet again, unmanageable high heels.

Liatha whispered to Jericho when she caught up with him. "What are you going to do? I thought we were going to see if Dantanian would show up."

"I have a few questions to ask," Jericho said as he began to ascend the staircase. "Surely he knows a few things, whether it's about Baal or Omarion, he must know something valuable." After Jericho jogging up the staircase three steps at a time and Liatha taking it slowly to ensure her ankles remain intact, they reached the top of the staircase. The high-class relished in their private hubs accompanied by friends and escorts, the hub Jericho was searching for was in reach at the far corner that was directly over the stage.

Maxwell was seated on a circular sofa that resembled a semi-circle, full bottles of alcohol were aligned across the in-built table, he was the only one in the hub, yet it seemed like there were more people there.

Upon spotting Liatha, he welcomed her with a smile. "Hello, Vivienne, it's truly a delight to see you once more. Would you care for...?"

His offer of champagne was disrupted by the sight of Jericho. His face projected pure terror – dropping the bottle of champagne and staining the blue carpet.

He rose from his seat and slowly crept back to the balcony, "...You...it's you..."

Jericho took a step inside Maxwell's hub, "You know of me? Then my hunch was right. I have a few questions I'd like to ask, Maxwell."

Maxwell pressed his back up against the balcony railing, "Your _eyes_...it is like they said...Silvers' Advent."

Jericho was puzzled, " _Silvers' Advent_? What is that supposed to mean?" He continued to close the distance between the two.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" Maxwell heaved one leg over the railing on the balcony. Jericho came to a halt seeing this.

"What the hell is your problem? I just want to talk to you." Jericho took another slow step. Maxwell jumped off the balcony.

Screams filled the ballroom as Jericho ran to the railing and looked over, the fall wasn't high enough to be fatal, but it sure was reckless.

"Do you believe this guy?!" Jericho said to Liatha, "What a nutcase!"

Maxwell fell smack-bang in the middle of the stage, he was hunched over on the floor and grasping his right leg. Shocked onlookers scampered away from the stage. Maxwell slowly stood up and frantically searched for the way out.

Not happening on Jericho's watch.

Despite Liatha's immediate slander, Jericho vaulted over the railing too, landing much more gracefully than Maxwell did – only scuffing his shoes from the landing. He's fallen from a greater height than that before.

"You've only made things harder for yourself, Maxwell." Jericho said, "Now I'm all the more curious on what you know."

Maxwell attempted to stand back up; his leg gave out causing him to fall on his behind with his back facing the back-row curtains of the stage. He yelled out, "Get away from me, you monster!"

Jericho leapt up the front of the stage and looked down onto Maxwell...

...Coughing up blood onto the end of a colossal sword that had penetrated his body from behind the curtains.

Amidst the screams of terror and countless thuds from the stampede escaping the ballroom, Jericho froze.

Upon the stage was a play acted out by silver eyes emerging from behind the curtains – a sword heavy in his hand from the weight of a corpse impaled on his sword. The play had reached its climax, he retracted his blade from the body and Maxwell laid limp on the stage – a pool of blood streamed down and dripped off the stage.

Dantanian was the main cast.

Embedded with pure fury, Jericho charged straight for him. He dashed along the stage with a fist cocked back. Dantanian's aura ignited, magic slammed into Jericho causing him to soar straight above Dantanian's head. Jericho controlled his somersaults in the air, his rotation stopped when his feet had planted onto the roof – propelling himself forward straight for Dantanian again. Mid-flight, Jericho brought his hands together by his waist and summoned his sword from the depths of limbo and brought down his sword onto Dantanian.

Silver eyes locked when their swords met as Jericho crashed back down, the stage broke in two from the pressure of his attack, nearby tables and chairs were blown away by the blast – Liatha was no exception as she was tossed across the room from her previous spectating position. Jericho landed behind Dantanian, immediately swinging into a pirouette and aimed his sword at his target. Dantanian weaved the attack and slammed his fist straight into Jericho's diaphragm - stinging his old wound – launching Jericho off the ruined stage and crash-landing onto the dance floor.

Jericho tried to rise but immediately fell to his knees, clenching his chest with a heavy coughing fit.

Liatha ran to Jericho's side, "Jericho, calm down! It doesn't need to be like this!"

Jericho's breath was wheezing, he got up on a single knee and looked at his former companion. "What are you trying to do...?" Jericho preached to Dantanian.

Dantanian remained silent on the stage.

Jericho yelled, " _We're brothers, aren't we?!_ " His shout echoed throughout the evacuated ballroom. "I finally had someone I could trust, someone who understood...We were meant to save the world, weren't we, Dantanian?!"

Despite Jericho's words, Dantanian never looked at him – his gaze was beyond Jericho. Dantanian's silence alone was deafening.

Jericho clutched his sword from the ground and stood, "Answer me!"

Dantanian turned his back towards them and walked back across the shattered stage.

Jericho ran straight for him and yelled, " _Dantanian!_ "

Dantanian started to glow and dissipate, his entirety glowed green and became more transparent with each passing second...until he vanished entirely.

A teleportation crystal – Jericho knew it the moment it begun transporting him.

He fell to his knees.

~

Liatha knew that Jericho was too enraged to even notice who Dantanian was staring at.

When her eyes were locked with his, her mind suddenly lost control of its thoughts. His blare, yet subtle stare made her feel so small in this strange, infinite universe. Her sense of time took a sudden shift when she became lost in his silver – seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days.

'Do you believe in the phrase: 'The eyes are the window to the soul'?'

The soul she saw was transcendental, yet ordinary, like it had once gazed upon something otherworldly and lived to tell about it. There was no hostility in those eyes of his, just like Jericho's.

But it was different.

When Liatha had looked Jericho in the eyes the first time they had met, his vibe was empathetic. It was a look of acceptance for what he had done throughout the entirety of his life that he has lived thus far.

Dantanian's stare...was nothing but of shame.

Her heart clenched from the sight of it. Whoever that man was supposed to be, he clearly cared for Jericho deeply.

# 22

Jericho flicked through the pages of one of the many books resting upon the table he had collected in the center of Gusion's library room in the very early-morning hours.

The existence of this room was not mentioned for some reason, Jericho had stumbled across it when he couldn't sleep and decided to take a stroll outside – instead he found an amazing collection of books, all of which relating to what he desperately sought answers for. Despite the room's small size, there was not a hint of wall seen beyond the tomb of bookcases surrounding the room.

The collection consisted purely of Angelology and Demonology.

After what had happened the previous night, he needed to understand more clearly on who Dantanian is – or was. So far, the numerous books he had skimmed through were all complex passages that he couldn't decipher, either he wasn't skilled enough or the translation was rough. It was no exception for the current book he was reading; _'The Growth and Blossom of The Zaqqum'_ , he shut the ancient hard-cover and slid the book over opposite to him, pushing it a bit too forceful and causing it to plunge onto the carpet floor. He groaned as he slid his seat from out the table and walked around to pick it up from the floor, catching a glimpse of the door opening.

It was Liatha. Oddly enough, she was still awake at that time of the morning. Her once charmingly-curled hair was now in a mess with multiple strands of brown hair sticking out from multiple ends, she bore an expression that was obvious she had just woken up, the green cozy-looking _onesie_ made it all the more obvious.

"If you are to read Gusion's books," Liatha spoke quietly in the chilly room, "at least care to show some respect to his collection."

Jericho carefully placed the aged book back onto the table before he asked Liatha, "Why are you awake?"

"I'd ask you the same, but I'm well aware why you aren't capable of rest. Now, apply the same logic to me." Her pink slippers scraped against the carpet as she walked over to browse one of the many bookcases beside the door, her voice remained hushed as she spoke from either respecting the library's space or the current hour of morning. "I've spent quite a bit of time in here when I was younger and read almost every single book that rests upon these cases. Tell me what you want to see."

He thought about rejecting her offer and telling her to go back to sleep, but he was stupid to assume even for a second that she would listen to him, so he agreed, "Something to do with...symbols, markings, too. There's something I need to understand."

"Emblems..." Liatha spoke softly to herself as she walked to the other side of the room and combed through the many spines until she extracted a book from the lower shelf. She placed the book on the round table louder than she would have liked to and pulled out a seat beside Jericho, "Why particularly symbols?"

Jericho began to slowly scan the old pages as he turned through them, "I'll explain it if I end up seeing it."

"You dunce," Liatha's eyes began to scan the pages with him. "If you tell me, it would be easier to find it."

He turned another page, "Look for something that resembles a large circle, inside a larger circle." "That's not specific, draw it out for me." Liatha insisted.

Jericho silently declined by continuing to turn pages, scanning them intently. There were many symbols and markings that he had never seen before, many of which including a lengthy summary of what it meant beneath the drawings - he didn't bother with reading them, though. Suddenly, like lightning had struck, something occurred to him. He shot up from his seat and asked Liatha, " _Hang on_ , how the hell are these books able to exist? All religious texts should have been purged almost a century ago!"

Liatha pressed her finger onto her lips, signaling Jericho to keep quiet. She gave him an answer after she had prompted him to sit. "I had the same question when I had first discovered this library. I asked Gusion why that is...he did not give me an answer, it remains confidential." She gained control of the book Jericho once had and continued the search, "If I could guess, these are exceptions because they are not technically religious texts. Since there is no preach to worship in these books – they are pure biography."

"Exceptions...I had a previous experience with one, too." Jericho said. He prepared to tell Liatha the story of Leon before he caught a glimpse of a familiar symbol.

He grabbed Liatha's hand before she could turn another page. "I think that's the one."

They both peered in closer to the drawing, it was the same as Dantanian's – a ring with letters and symbols transcribed around the edges of the circle.

"I saw this on Dantanian's back," Jericho told Liatha, "I always had an odd feeling about that every time I thought about it."

Liatha pointed at the text beneath the drawing, "Strange, take a look at the verse written here. I can't make out what it is."

'Those who are etched by the Marking of Blasphemy,

Shall traverse and shatter the pendulum,

The safe keep will be ravaged,

And their minds shall be crushed.

Such is the price to pay for restitution for those who seek redemption.'

Jericho pondered as he continued to study the text, "A price to pay, huh?"

Liatha nodded. "It sounds like a contract to me."

"A contract with who exactly?" Jericho asked.

Liatha's voice was no longer reticent, "The devil."

If Jericho had heard that before he had arrived in Kyrion, he would have called her crazy. But now, it didn't seem that farfetched to him - it was somewhat believable.

But _still_ , Dantanian making a deal with the devil himself should be the least probable.

"Judging by this," Jericho began to speculate, "if it really is some sort of contract, then that means that he actually is my brother and not an imposter, and he just became tangled with the unknown."

Liatha quietly stood up from her seat and once again began to rummage through the many other indexes stored in the room and retrieved four books, each from different bookcases. She laid them out beside Jericho's previous pile and sat opposite towards him. "Silvers' Advent," she began, opening the bronze book she held, "that's what Maxwell had mentioned when he saw you – your eyes, really. I'm quite positive that you're just as curious to find that out as I, aren't you?"

"That's what I've been searching for, too," Jericho said as he gradually leant over the table to peek at the pages between Liatha's fingers. "In all my life, with these eyes, I've had both many compliments and insults, but not once have I heard those words..."

Liatha remained quiet as she silently flicked through the pages, her expression seemed to turn somewhat anxious – her lips rumpled when she had subtly bit her lip. She looked up from the book and glared with strained eyes, "...How was Senna coping when you had last made contact with her?" She asked, not breaking her eye contact.

The question made Jericho feel uneasy. He felt Liatha's eyes gazing at the top of his head as he read his current page. He looked up at her and reassured her with a jittery smile. "She was doing just fine. She mentioned her big sister a whole lot, I'm sure she missed you."

"I still don't know what to say to her..." Liatha began to vent, "I feel like a failure for not being able to find her. I wonder if she's disappointed in me..."

Jericho speculated that alcohol still had to be in her system, since there was no way he could possibly imagine Liatha talking about her feelings like that. Masking his bewilderment, he began to console her. "Dumbass, what girl wouldn't be happy with a sister like you?  You're the most strong-willed woman I've met so far, have a good look at where you are right now and tell me you aren't trying your hardest. You've left your life behind, Liatha, for this."

"I guess so." Liatha agreed with a soft voice, she sighed and began to take her leave. "Don't get the wrong idea," she spoke with a now stern voice as she opened the door – her hazel eyes were glazed, "this doesn't mean we are friends to chat about our issues, it's just that Gusion is a terrible listener."

Jericho grinned and said his farewell, "Figures as much. Thanks for the help, Liatha. I'll pick up from where you left off."

The door clicked softly when she had left, followed by her grazing footsteps sounding in the hallway. Jericho leant back in the wooden chair with his arms dangling over the rests and dazed at the dim roof.

He hadn't forgotten the promise he made Liatha, but he wanted to. She doesn't show it, but Jericho can tell she was beginning to have confidence in him. She was willingly sitting through the shit-show of a life he was currently going through, formidably standing by him until he'd sorted out what he needs to solve, even going as far to get involved with his past life. She was doing all of this for a promise he couldn't deliver. Liatha's faith was soon going to crash directly into Jericho's despair.

He felt sick for condemning Dantanian for his manipulation, when Jericho himself was just as damn bad.

# 23

The revolving doors to the wealthy bank cooperation spun as the exalted man dressed in a suit entered into the lobby. He walked through the familiar environment and strolled straight past the receptionist desk, he heard a native voice speak when he had done so.

"Welcome back, Mr. Alastor." The receptionist greeted.

The greeting was acknowledged, but not exchanged; he arrived at the elevator beyond the lobby and selected floor one hundred and seventy-two – Baal's personal office.

After the lengthy climb to his selected floor, the doors opened and Baal entered. He took off his blue blazer and hung it on the hanger by his cabinet, the fireplace switched on detecting his presence. Sounds of glass' chiming rang from the bar alongside the lounge area.

Omarion poured an extra glass upon Baal's arrival and spoke from behind the counter. "What a pleasant surprise, Baal. If you had told me you were returning so soon, I would have made adequate preparations for you." He slid a half-filled cup across the counter bench where Baal began to be seated.

Baal wrapped his fingers enameled by gold rings around the cool glass after he took a seat on the high-stool, "It turned out to be a pleasantly short trip, and the business in Ezek is laughably basic." Baal said as he took a sip of the hard liquor.

Omarion's dark smile came to surface, "There's a lot you would be keen on hearing. Just as you had asked, I had made contact with Jericho. His resistance was amusing, yet troublesome. Judging from my perspective, it seems he is not aware of the current situation, I almost felt sorry for him."

"Not aware?" Baal asked, "Then it seems our Shells were correct with their information they had passed down onto us. Tell me, did you see the other one?"

Omarion's smile had not faltered. "I had the pleasure to actually converse with him. They are so alike and at the same time, distant. Apparently, he has re-named himself to be known as, 'Dantanian.' Just recently, he had crashed the event we had planned months ago and assassinated Maxwell. It struck me as unusual since Maxwell knew a few things about our goals, and he is the type to squeal when under pressure."

Baal's dark eyes fixated towards the windows – the daytime light poured down onto Lycur. He chuckled before he said, " _Dantanian_...I understand what he has done now – considering that alias. How foolish, I couldn't recognize that certain factor when he had confronted me. If it's already at that point then I deeply regret only plucking his arm off."

Omarion asked the inquisitive question. "You had an encounter with him? I have not heard of this, Baal."

"Do not fret, I did not mean to hide this from you," Baal rectified. "That fool decided it was best to challenge me when he became cocky of his new-found powers. He was outmatched, of course - causing him to flee. It was a great distance he fled."  
"Forgive me for my prying," Omarion begged to pardon, "but where was I in that time of events?"

"You were not here, and neither was I." Baal answered.

"I don't understand."

Baal finished the rest of his liquor and strolled towards the window – the opaqueness of his tightly-fit shirt and loose red tie blended with the outer-reflection of the city. "You are already aware of the contract that was invoked by Dantanian. The understanding of how we have not experienced his encounter first-hand should be blatantly obvious."

Omarion remained behind the bar, his elbows rested on the glass counter. "I see. So it is impossible for us to experience his visit. My, the way that works is ever so tricky."

"That is why we exterminate one of them; otherwise it's too much of a hassle. I only require one of them alive." Baal suggested.

"Which one would you rather alive?" Omarion asked.

"It doesn't bother me."

Omarion walked over to Baal's side, now concertedly admiring the great view. "They are _both_ your sons after all, Baal."

Baal's shirt rippled slightly when his arms folded over each other, "It's whoever chooses to hinder my plans first, Omarion. I expect at least one of them dead in six days. I trust you to rid me of this nuisance since I'd rather not get my hands dirty just yet – not until I have full control of those warheads."

"It will be done," Omarion agreed. "I wasn't aware of your plans already being so far ahead. Have we gotten approval for the Absolution?"

"In about a year's time, I predict."

Baal's hunger grew when he silently observed Lycur in all of its glory, from the structures to the meager inhabitants – it wasn't enough. A crude smile exhibited on his diabolical face when he thought about all the glory when he brings total domination into effect. The whole world will soon bow down to him just as they should be, and his son will be buried beneath them.

The last remaining light of this world will soon extinguish.

# 24

Jericho found nothing.

He hadn't left the library since he first entered thirteen hours ago, except going out to raid the fridge just once. He tediously searched through all the old texts constantly for anything relating to 'Silvers' Advent', with no avail. His eyes felt like they were set ablaze, his head throbbed from the nonstop reading in a dim room, two empty cartons of chocolate milk were knocked over its side, thanks to previous events. An indiscriminative book now had blotches of milk through a couple of pages. The loud thunder and heavy rain outside could distinctly be heard from the desolate yet filled library.

Jericho groaned and stretched his rigid limbs out on his seat and stood up, piling up the dozen of books on the table into a stack in his arms and began to plop them all back into their respective shelves, if he could be bothered enough.

He heard the door creak open, followed by a scratch on the carpet floor. Gusion entered and sat by the door, observing the mess as he spoke scornfully. " _Oh, pay no mind. There's a _maid _occupying this household. Use any of the facilities in the most chaotic manner to your heart's content._ "

Jericho peered at the wolf above the pile of books in his arms, "I had never taken you for a sarcastic one, Gusion." He commented

" _It must have rubbed off someone._ " Gusion responded.

Jericho gave a weak laugh, "I'm trying to be confident that you're not implying that _someone_ is me."

Gusion perked up an ear, " _May I ask; what are you searching for?_ "

Jericho set down the books and intently glared into Gusion's eyes with his bloodshot retinas, "What comes to your mind when you see these? What does it mean to you?"

" _Silver, of course,_ " Gusion claimed. " _However, I'm assuming you are not referring to only its distinctive colour._ "

"That's right," Jericho stated, "the brief meeting I had with one of Baal's men, when he saw me, he said: _Silvers' Advent._ "

Gusion's muzzle stooped low, his telepathy grew distant. " _I see. So you have perceived those words – that legend._"

Heavy books and tomes flattened on the ground, followed by Jericho's footsteps as he walked towards the grey wolf and knelt – staring intently into its white-blue eyes.

"Please," Jericho pleaded to Gusion, "tell me what I don't understand. Don't leave me in the dark."

Gusion's eyes did not even blink, only a whine escaped from his snout before he began to explain. " _'The ages that are gazed upon by the argent eyes before rendering judgment, is indeed the era which he shall vanquish.'_ " Gusion's eye contact broke when he had trotted across the library to pick up the fallen books – still speaking with tomes in his muzzle, " _It was a legend that was uttered to me when I was merely a child. They – we, believed that one we heard in legends would ultimately appear, yet here you are, Jericho._"

Jericho felt the blood rush out from his head, words leaving his mouth became challenging. "Surely...that's not directed for me...is it? There are others like me, right? An old legend such as that..." He searched rapidly in his mind for a better explanation.

Gusion's tail wagged after triumphantly sliding the last volume back into its allocated shelf, " _There is none other like you. You are the man of legend, and only you._" Gusion shuffled back towards Jericho – instead of his normal seated position - he chose to stand broad on his fore and hind legs when he spoke, " _It was your mother's will._ "

Jericho didn't want to believe what he had just said. His fists clenched by his sides and he began to speak, "You don't know what happ-"

" _You were kept alive, Jericho,_ " Gusion mentioned, cutting Jericho short. " _Your heart remains beating for a reason, you exist in this world for it. Your mother gladly discarded her life for your survival and embraced it with open arms, knowing what she had done was the right thing for humanity, and even beyond._"

Jericho's anger and confusion grew steadily. He couldn't focus on the words spoken by the wolf that resonated into his mind, and the sound of droplets of rain drummed down onto the tiled roof. He himself didn't understand his purpose to live, yet he now had others planning it for him. Jericho wanted to live by his own words, not others.

'You are going to live, Jericho, for my sake...and the world's!'

" _Jericho,_ " Gusion began, " _you-_ "

Jericho gritted his teeth before he shouted abruptly. " _Enough!_ "

Gusion's ears folded back from the sudden noise, Jericho's tense stance softened as his shoulders sagged, he spoke again. "I don't want to hear it...I'm sorry."

He left the room without looking back at the rattled wolf that was still standing rigidly. The stairs creaked underneath his heavy, hasty footsteps. He heard a call for his name, only for it to go through one ear and out the other as he shoved open the front door and ventured out into the gloomy rain.

~

Drenched, exasperated and muddled, Jericho roamed unhurriedly in the cumbersome overcast of rain that veiled Kyrion in a murky darkness. Thunder boomed through the granite clouds above, intermittently illuminating the wet skies with its harsh flashes of light.  The holographic projections along buildings in the distance flickered with the colliding drizzle; the suburban streets that he roamed were quiet with petrichor rich in the air.

Hurried footsteps were heard patting against the wet, puddled road behind Jericho - he once again heard his name called much louder this time.

"Jericho!" Liatha yelled out. She slid to a halt when finally in range of non-shouting distance and questioned, "Stop being such a child. What was that absurd hollering about?"

When he continued to walk, she shouted out for him again. "Stop running away from things!" Her voice reached him when he came to a halt.

"You know nothing about me," Jericho spoke softly enough for the booming rain to drown out his words, "so stop pretending like you do."

Liatha began to yell. "What uptight, pretentious nonsense! What's the matter with you?"

"The deal is off," Jericho declared.  "You no longer need to help me, and I'm not helping you. You'll find Senna in Glasc City."

Her arm tugged on the back of his – he fought off her forced revolve. "Not possible.  Do you not remember the promise you made? You swore it on your life, don't dishonor yourself."

Her hand remained intact - clutched on his jacket - he remained with his back faced to her. "There was no promise made to myself if I've never known who I was in the first place." Jericho explained.

She tightened her grip and yanked harder on his jacket sleeve, "What are you even on about? Jericho...do not do this to me, I need to find my sister, why are you being so selfish?!" Finally succumbing to her constant yearning, Jericho turned to her with his glazed silver eyes – gleaming with tears of temper - his voice rumbled louder, and her heart sank further below than the rain could ever fall when he shouted those words, " _Because she's dead!_ "

He snatched her arm and tugged, "She's _dead_ , you got that?! Are you happy now?! Senna's gone and there's nothing I, or you can do to change that fact. Have fun chasing a ghost like I've been doing myself this whole goddamned time, Liatha."

He loosened his grip around her wrist and shoved it away, turning back around and continuing to go where ever the wind took him. The rain relentlessly continued its torrent.

"...You're lying..." He heard Liatha whisper behind him.

Her following words became inaudible over the thundering roars booming in the clouds above, the puddles beneath his every step splashed – he only kept his head forward and down.

However, when he heard the painful, anguishing scream blare and echo through the air, reverberating through each and every single droplet of falling rain, it was louder than the thunder themselves.

# 25

The lively sunshine greeted the monumental harbour of Kyrion when the sun rose above the horizon at six in the morning as daily commute began to occur. Sailboats settled on the sea became moored, restaurants served breakfast and devoted businesses welcomed their first customers along the docks – puddles were still remnant from the previous downfall, the crisp sea-breeze drafted along the harbour and the noisy seagulls squawking and chirping were ringing in the air.

Fresh salty-air inhaled through Jericho's nostrils – breathing in heavily then sighing just as excessive. The damp dock he was seated on creaked from the calm tides beneath. With legs dangling off the wharf, he pondered profoundly about what had happened the previous night. Thinking back on all of it felt like a dream to him, he regretted every single word that had carelessly left his mouth when Liatha confronted him. The entire night and morning he spent sitting on that dock was spent on nothing but repentance, he knew it would happen the time he had promised Liatha the whereabouts of her sister. He was never dishonest, only manipulative...That's what he'd like to think. It didn't change the certain fact – the fact that he had somewhat earned her faith in him, only for him to completely crush that.

What an idiot.

Yet again, without even trying, she had exposed Jericho for his instability. She didn't deserve any of what he had done, not anyone at that.

In contempt of his rage at that time, despite his disregard for affliction, it destroyed him to say those horrible things to her. He wanted her to always be like when she had introduced him to Gusion - vibrant and full of enjoyment – a whole different face was seen behind the mask she had always bore. He broke her heart instead of breaking that mask once more.

Jericho had to recall the last time he had spent the time to mourn over someone else other than himself, and that was a long time ago. As it stands right now, if he could have ever had the chance to rewind time to fix one single mistake...it wouldn't be to save his mother.

It would be to retract those words that would destroy a life just as much.

With aching legs that hadn't been used for hours, Jericho stood up and began to walk back to Gusion's place, and face his problem head on.

...Just like she would do in this situation.

~

Jericho arrived at the soggy footsteps of Gusion's house; it was at that moment where his anxiety began to spur. It took only three deep inhales and exhales to rally up the sliver of courage he currently retained.

Upon opening the door, Jericho spotted Gusion's bushy tail bobbing down the spiraling staircase, before the grey wolf revealed its entirety. His composure was surprisingly calm - bearing the same look in his eye when he began to speak into Jericho's mind. " _I see you have made your return. Please, do make sure you dry yourself off well, I prefer to keep this household dry._" Jericho did just that, he carefully removed his soaked jacket and hung it on the fancy coat hanger that – for some reason – a wolf had a legitimate use for it.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday," Jericho began to apologize. "You have every right to be mad at me, and if you want me to leave that's totally fine."

Gusion momentarily chuffed, " _It is not I who expects an apology. Liatha was the one who made haste for her room - bawling as she went._"

Jericho had no reply. He clenched his fists and looked down at the floor in disappointment. " _Liatha...is a strong-willed woman,_ " Gusion mentioned, " _I could not even fathom the caliber of what would had to be done, or said, for her to break down in tears like she had resulted, Jericho._ "

"It was just me being a heartless prick," Jericho admitted - an abundance of shame swept through him. For someone such as Gusion who had spent years with her to say he had not seen her like that before, it was truly a shameful accomplishment. After shoving those negative emotions aside, Jericho asked, "Is she still here?"

" _She has locked herself in the room since. I've attempted to commune with her – but alas, no avail._"

With his body moving with dissent, he rigidly walked up the stairs and made his way down the corridor – her room was in view.

He slowly crept up to her door with light footsteps, hoping not to reveal his arrival just yet. Jericho tightened his sweaty palm with his rattling fingers and took another breather. Then with his hand still clenched, he carefully brought it up and knocked a single time.

No answer.

He wondered if that was a silent unwelcome or she simply didn't hear it, so he shut his eyes and knocked once more.

No answer was heard.

He thought to just call her name, but that may aggravate her, so he decided it was best to just slowly open the door and take a quick peak. Luckily enough, the door was unlocked.

He cringed when the door creaked not even an inch in before continuing in a slower manner, his heart pounded when he prepared to see her distraught face. After extending his arm furthest it could go, he peered into the room.

She wasn't there.

He walked in, instantly being hit in the face from her perfume still lingering – the scent of lavender and citrus hit a soft spot in his memory. Her room didn't seem anything out of the ordinary; clothes were still hung in her wardrobe, valuables were left behind and a single candle was still lit. He silently admitted it was a relief she wasn't there.

Jericho strolled over to her dresser and extinguished the small ember with a moist finger, the flame suffocated – smoke floated upwards and dissipated when it reached the mirror - that was when something caught his eye. There was a small photograph wedged into the corner of her mirror; he delicately removed it for a closer look on what it was.

His heart skipped a beat.

It was a live photo of Liatha and him dancing. The photo captured the moment of her being spun around and reeled back into his arms back and forth as the sequence played repeatedly. She must have dug around the official website for that event and searched for the relevant photographers. It seemed like she really did enjoy that night, it's probably one of the only few times she actually had a chance to unwind and have fun – regardless who she was accompanying. For her to cherish a moment such as that...it made him want to apologize to her all the more.

He wanted to show Liatha her sister's grave personally, and tell her the full story on what had happened.

With the photo respectfully wedged back into its original position, Jericho turned to exit the room to let Gusion know she wasn't there. He thought maybe she went for a walk or something to clear her mind. No matter where she was, he was still definitely going to see her. Jericho left the room and as he began to close the door, he spotted a note left on her queen-sized bed.

This was worse than he thought. He quickly re-entered the room and clutched the small envelope in his hands and prayed – prayed that she hadn't done anything reckless or harmful, he prayed to any god who would listen and swore to himself he would take full responsibility. With shaking hands, he opened the unsealed envelope and began to read the contents inside.

His wide-opened silver eyes glared at the words written so intently, the paper began to set alight. On the blazing paper was written:

'My dear Jericho,

Do you value her life, or will you welcome an additional ghost to chase?

There is an abandoned warehouse facility on Spectacle Island. I expect to see you there by 8pm latest.

I'm sure that you do not require an explanation on what would happen to your maiden if you're a no show, now do you?

You have already let one Nespirk down, let's try to prevent another.

Yours truly,

Omarion.'

~

With dusk approaching the seas and the moon great in the sky, the high tides crashed into the surrounding rocks of Spectacle Island – an isle once used for storing naval munitions and preserving historic artifacts of war many years ago, served now as only a deserted isle with vacant storehouses that were once loaded with now ancient weaponry that vanished when The Coming of The New World began. The entire island was cloaked in darkness with only the moon generating luster; the only exception was the large red-tiled roof storehouse in the middle of the island where Liatha was being held captive.

Inside the storehouse was empty except for the couple of high-structured racking that met the roof beside the wide-open warehouse floor, along the walls were markings and grooves from the previous caches of armaments.

Liatha was held at the back-end of the warehouse in darkness – her limbs seized by the phantasmal tendrils of shadows casted on the walls and ground with her neck enshrouded by the same.

Leaning on the nearby racking was Omarion with his wrist extended - examining the time on his chrome watch, the hands on the black face pointed towards the gold 'VII' and 'X'. He announced to himself, "Only ten minutes until the deadline, exciting." He turned his attention to Liatha, "Are you as excited as I, Ms. Nespirk?"

She couldn't speak, even if she wanted to. Her face remained blank as she stared at the murky ground; the words that Omarion spoke failed to register in her mind. Her current situation was irrelevant, she didn't care at all when she had blacked out and mysteriously ended up in this unfamiliar environment – no, it was insignificant compared to what she had just faced.

The entire time she had been separated from Senna was a far cry from what she had imagined it were to be, there were doubts in her mind but there was still the hope that she fiercely clung onto.

That constant yearning for hope in her ambitions crashed in that very moment. She replayed that scene over and over in her head in Omarion's captivity without a care of her tangible self – losing both her spirit and faith. Everyone she knew had called her strong, Jericho included – it didn't help at all. The worst part about being strong is that no one asked if you were coping.

She wouldn't mind if she died right at that instant.

Omarion's arms returned to his chest and folded over the other after he flicked his wrist, "This is such an inconvenience. I expected to find Jericho at your residence since it would have been a much smoother process for both of us – including you. Instead, he wonders off somewhere without any knowledge of his current whereabouts, forcing my hand to hold his lady captive instead."

Omarion looked to the red doors to his left – the only entry into the storehouse - expecting Jericho's entry any minute now.

"It's not a far distance from your residence to here, so I'm beginning to wonder if he's not coming at all," Omarion speculated. "There's a possibility that he did not receive the message, or rather, he chose not to come."

He looked back towards Liatha – her gaze was still completely blank, void of emotion. He asked, "What do you think, Ms. Nespirk? Has he failed to receive the message, or does he not care?"

When he got no reply, he leant back further on the racking – his sword strapped to his hip rubbed against the steel frame – and continued, "I understand your desire to remain quiet, and I do admit it was rude of me to intrude on your mourning. However, from where I'm from, we must embrace pain to utilize as fuel to reach our destination."

Omarion quickly pushed off the beam and stood up straight, his arms were no longer crossed and his attention was towards the door. "He's here." He announced.

The red doors slowly creaked open - revealing Jericho – the darkness outside shrouded his appearance, only the silhouette of his stance was exhibited.

Omarion welcomed him with a grim smile, "Welcome, Jericho, I almost believed that you wouldn't-"

Omarion cut off his sentence and quickly counter-acted Jericho's abrupt assault – a flash of light slingshotted from the entrance and plummeted into Omarion. Their swords collided with Jericho's pushing heavier, brilliant light filled the dull room causing the shadows to dispel, the tendrils that had pinned Liatha against the wall shrieked when it had dissipated, setting Liatha free. Omarion succumbed to the force and was thrown back into the bulky racking behind – smashing through and warping the steel frames.

Liatha remained on her hands and knees. She spotted a small crystal being thrown in front of her view. She heard Jericho shout over the sound of the racking collapsing, "Liatha, snap out of it! Use that to get the hell out of here, now!"

She recognized it as Gusion's Warp Crystal; its green tint sparkled from Jericho's luminosity. Liatha remained still with her eyes glued to the crystal, she asked Jericho hesitantly, "...And go where?"

Jericho's words cooled his temper as he spoke, "Élan Cemetery at Glasc City, head there. I'll be there soon after you."

Her voice remained quiet. "I don't need you to."

Jericho looked away with an obscure semblance, he watched Omarion lift himself up from the rubble and spoke once more. "Liatha, the closest thing to be cared for is to care for someone else. That's what I've come to say."

She silently obeyed and activated the crystal – it glowed in her hands and shone from out the gaps of her fingers. As she slowly de-materialized, she observed his prowess as he stood in front of her – his readiness of his stance and his request to shield who he cared for with fierce determination. She remembered the time when Jericho told her; ' _I try so hard to become the person who I want to be...and it's not even half the person you are.'_

If that was the case, then he sincerely needed to re-evaluate his understanding.

~

Omarion picked himself up from the rubble of metal and wood on the ground, he laughed chillingly before he spoke. "Excellent; such an unforeseen turn of events, you made quite the entry and even managed to guide her out of danger. It deserves an accolade."

Jericho held his sword high – the blade shone brightly over the black hilt. "I didn't come here to talk, Omarion."

"Are you not even going to hear me out on why I have gone through the trouble to lure you all the way out here?" Omarion enquired.

"No," Jericho answered. "All I want to hear...is your last breath."

The ground beneath Omarion darkened; strands of shadows rose and wrapped his arms and sword in darkness, his pitch-black eyes widened as much as his smile did when he spoke, "My last breath? _Ominous..._ "

Jericho charged forward in a full-sprung leap, he slashed his sword downwards to meet with Omarion's body – the latter jumped backwards, avoiding the attack. Still in motion, Jericho continued his swing until his sword made contact with the concrete ground – the tip of his sword dug into place - and in a rapid movement, he vaulted over the hilt of his sword with both hands, throwing his legs spiraling into the air and collided them into Omarion's face. Gravel danced about when Jericho yanked his sword out from the ground and chased Omarion, constantly striking his sword leaving Omarion only to be on the defensive and parry his relentless attacks. Their swords came to a halt when Omarion retaliated and slammed his sword against Jericho's – the former's face was brimming with excitement as he spoke. "Yes, that's the demeanor I've been looking for; totally driven by emotion - empowered by it. Your magic is responding with it. There's nothing quite like a sword that is wielded by pure hate and malice!"

Tendrils of squirming shadows shot out from beneath Jericho's feet, only missing their grasp by an inch when Jericho had leapt into the air. Omarion saw this as an opportunity to catch him off guard and heaved his sword at Jericho's legs. Responding to this, Jericho lifted his knees higher and lowered his sword to guard his side – Omarion's sword clashed against his right beneath his feet. Jericho planted his feet upon Omarion's blade and drove his sword straight for Omarion's head – the latter reeled his head backwards, Jericho's sleek, honed blade only grazed his cheek before leaping off of Omarion's blade and back onto solid ground.

A trace of blood slowly dripped down Omarion's cheek and splattered on the ground, staining the concrete. "Most impressive, in such a short amount of time you've become much stronger than our last encounter. That's thanks to your latent abilities..." Omarion mentioned, his eyes diverted to Jericho's sword, "...and the sword Baal had constructed for you, how fortunate." Omarion wiped the blood from his cheek with his patterned sleeve, "Let me enlighten you a little, Jericho. Baal had made that from his _blood_ , yes?"

Jericho remained silent, but intrigued.

"Let's say that Baal and I are 'alike' in some sense," Omarion continued. "What would that mean? I'm implying that we possess some of the same abilities."

The shadows that were casted on the ground started to mutate in a frenzy manner, there was no shadow on the floor and even on the walls that were not susceptible to Omarion's scheme. After a matter of seconds, the shadows rose from beneath the ground and out from the walls – resembling human form cloaked in shadows.

Jericho didn't fail to recognize the shadowy figures from the Grand Ball in Kyrion. He could never forget the mournful looks on their faces.

Omarion raised his hands by his sides as he announced, "My blood has seeped into this land and has awoken all the restless spirits that reside on this island. This facility was once used for war, I do wonder of all the lovely stories these soldiers could tell us."

Jericho's grip tightened against the hilt as he shouted across to Omarion, "So it was you responsible for these things at the ball! What have you done to them?"

"I have given them a purpose to exist as they have been yearning for, for so long." Omarion answered, "Their purpose is your demise, Jericho."

Omarion waved his hand towards him, and the dozens of shadows followed – launching into a full assault. Jericho held his ground and endured the barrages of swipes from their claws, endlessly surrounding him and attacking him in rotations. It became too much for Jericho - every shadow that attacked before dispersing into fumes had begun to manage inflicting at least one injury onto him – his hilt began to rattle from his shaking, agony-filled hands. He felt the warm sensation of blood seep through his shirt in multiple locations.

Without warning, all of the attacking shadows darted away to the sidelines – revealing Omarion facing him with his hand raised and facing towards him. A compelling amount of magic began to swirl all around Omarion and converged to his palm. The sheer force of its power completely overwhelmed Jericho's perception; he stood frozen from its influence.

Omarion spoke beyond the vortex of power, "I'll be greeting you in hell soon, Jericho." He then fired off his accumulated torrent of power.

The wave of energy sped towards Jericho, he reacted by instinctively attempting to block with his sword, holding it in front of him vertically and infused as much magic he could muster into the hilt, projecting a barrier. The magic erupted upon his lesser barrier when it had made contact with his blade, the explosion the magic had enforced threw Jericho off his feet and sent him crashing through the wall behind him and landed outside the storehouse – cold wind whipped his face from the chilly night-air on Spectacle Island.

Fractured and winded, Jericho stumbled up to his feet and readied for Omarion's next move, it was hard to see through his blurred vision into the storehouse's hole in the wall. A hand reached out from the shadow beneath his feet, clamping on with iron-grip onto his shoe – he didn't have time to shake it off when he noticed Omarion coming through the sooty hole in the wall.

Omarion mercilessly swung his sword at Jericho, it veered off course when Jericho barely parried it and kicked off the shadow hands grasping his ankle. Jericho leapt back a few paces – every small movement he made ached pain through his whole being, he could feel a cracked rib beginning to pierce his lung. Jericho still held his sword in front of him strongly - the blade subtly shook from his heavy, winded breathing.

Jericho gritted his teeth when Omarion sheathed his sword and spoke to him, "Still in one piece after a direct hit from a spell of that magnitude? I've underestimated you. I did not expect you to grow this resilient so soon, despite that constant burden to your powers that you choose to hold."

After pondering on his words, Jericho hesitantly asked, "What do you mean, 'constant burden'?" Omarion's loud footsteps on the concrete echoed throughout the quiet, desolate isle. The distance between him and Jericho grew further and further, finally ceasing when Omarion stopped in his tracks. The crashes of the huge waves were heard upon the foundations of rocks that surrounded the island. Omarion looked up into the sky as he spoke, "The blood infused in that sword of yours is responsible for your slow growth in strength. Baal created that sword for that very reason – limiting progression. It not only saps the strength of your magic, but destroys your will and courage from within. With this information, would you still continue to possess and use such a weapon as that?"

Jericho continued to take steady breaths with shaken legs. He stiffened up as he replied – biting down on the pain that surged through him. "...Is that what you think is valuable information to me? Don't make me laugh, you smug prick."

Jericho wiped his bloodied mouth with his hand and stared at the stain reddened on his thumb. "He created this sword for me when I had to fight for the sake of my mother - for her safety and his defeat – I wasn't able to do either, but there's still an opportunity to do one of those things. I couldn't care less of all the detrimental impacts it causes me, as long as I get to erase Baal out of existence with the weapon he challenged me to..." The following words were yelled from his aching body, " _...everything else is meaningless!_ "

"I see..." Omarion said as he slowly shut his eyes and crossed his arms, "It was the answer I was expecting, yet however, it still is disappointing. You are painfully predictable and it's depressing to hear that you choose to die in vain, rather than fight in valor. Then so be it. Although, before we part ways, I would like to share some knowledge with you. As much as it seems the opposite, I dislike being left in the dark."

Omarion stretched his finger towards Jericho, "You are much more valuable than you think you are, and if Dantanian hadn't suddenly appeared, we would have never chosen to kill you. The sole purpose of your existence was never in your hands, it was only to be exploited. Your destiny was chosen, so was your disposition – the very thoughts in your head do not belong to you. You are the product of servitude, Jericho, and even your mother was very well aware of this fact. Your existence..." Omarion waved his hands around him, revealing the damned souls that stood on the roofs around them, "...is to vanquish."

Omarion read the bewildered look on Jericho's face and replied to it, "You do not need to understand my words, only heed to them – the place where I will send you shall give you all the time you will need to realize who you are, and what you have lost."

With a flick of a wrist, Omarion signaled his soldiers to attack all together. From the rooftops and the courtyards, thousands of shadows began their assault towards Jericho – the island swarmed with the creeping feeling of malevolence until it was nothing but darkness.

That's when Jericho remembered...

It's only in the darkness when you can see the stars.

# 26

6 years ago.

"This is bullshit!" Jericho yelled, knee deep in the large pond he was currently training in. "How am I supposed to stab a fish with my sword underwater, _without_ creating ripples on the surface?"

Tabbris tapped his foot upon the boulder he was leaning against as he watched Jericho train under his supervision. He'd told Jericho a thousand times to watch his language and not to complain about the methods of his teachings, but as always, Jericho continues to do so.

His thick, white moustache ruffled as he reprimanded Jericho with a lecture. "I've already told you how to, you spastic. It goes through one ear and out the other with you. You're too much of a hothead to grasp the idea of absolute concentration, patience and efficiency."

The tension of the water fluttered when Jericho had driven his cursed sword into the bottom of the pond; the school of orange fish quickly dispersed and reformed their pack after the water became calm – the only exception being the far-end of the pond where the large waterfall was creating a constant stir in the pond.

"For the whole three years I've been trained by you," Jericho mentioned – still focusing on holding his sword perfectly still above the stiller water, "this has always been the most annoying routine ever. I hate doing this!"

Tabbris's eyes burned into the back of Jericho's head, "And why is it that you hate this?"

The water surrounding Jericho swished about when he had turned to face Tabbris – his sword still tightly gripped in his grasp. "Because it makes me feel stupid, that's why! I hate feeling this damn useless."

"What is making you feel that way?" Tabbris enquired.

"These dumb fish are." Jericho turned back around and prepared for another attempt.

Tabbris pushed off the boulder with his foot and stood straight, then walked to the bank of the pond and called Jericho, "Get out of the water for just a minute."

With a puzzled, yet relieved look, Jericho obeyed and shimmied out the shallow pond. His soaked pants dripped down onto the grass when he had arrived at land and began to squeeze excess water from his inside-out pockets. Colorful birds now began to land on the shoreline of the pond with Jericho's absence and quenched their thirst.

When Jericho was done, Tabbris asked, "Notice how I've just called you to me, do you feel any different?"

"I don't get it..." Jericho returned.

"What went through your head when I had asked you to come here, and why? Was it out of respect for your master or of general curiosity on what I had to say?"

Jericho slowly answered after pondering over the question for a moment of time, "Probably...both, I guess?"

"So you _felt_ obliged and curious. Knowing this, do you feel any different, as you are standing right now?"

Jericho rolled his eyes. "No. What are you even on about-"

Tabbris's robust fist pummeling Jericho's cheek cut his sentence off early – losing his footing - he tripped and splashed back into the pond, becoming completely submerged in the clear, cold water. Jericho immediately rose back above water – splashing about wildly as he scrubbed his eyes free of water before madly giving Tabbris an earful with an already swollen cheek. " _What the hell was that for, you crazy old man?!_ "

With throbbing knuckles, Tabbris beckoned to him. "Now that I've whacked you one, how do you feel?"

Jericho raised his clenched fist above water with his voice still raised as he shouted, "Pissed off, obviously, and sore!"

"With those emotions intact, do you feel different as a person?"

"No, I don't at all!"

"So then why," Tabbris's voice boomed across the pond – the many birds once surrounding the pond now fluttered away into the morning sky, "do you let something as small as fish define who you are?!"

The once tempered water now settled when Jericho stiffened from Tabbris's lecture; his silver eyes widened as they ached for insight.

Tabbris took a deep breath for self-composure before admonishing Jericho with sincere words, "Your emotions are your intangible drive for interpretation; they are there for your guidance and well-being. But as soon as you let those exact emotions control you, and tell you who you are at this very moment, don't ever think for a second you can say to yourself you understand who you are in life. I yearn to understand who you are, I know what you're capable of and I acknowledge your merit – your prominence exceeded well beyond my expectations. It is an absolute honor to be held responsible for your upbringing – your very foundation."

Tabbris knelt and reached a hand for Jericho's. He asked, "Will you let every little thing in this world define who you are, or will you take a stand and truly ask yourself..."

'...who you really are, and who you want to be?'

# 27

"What is the meaning of this?!" Omarion exclaimed as he shielded his eyes from the brilliant light and held his ground from the intense shockwave that erupted from the middle of the courtyard. Shrieks and squealing escaped from the thousands of shadows that drowned the island in darkness when they had been completely vanquished by its formidable luminance. The waves surrounding Spectacle Island that were once violent turned calm, soaking in the light shimmering from the center of the isle.

The intensity finally settled and Omarion was finally able to lower his arms from his shielded face and observe in awe on what he was casting his eyes upon.

Veiled in light, Jericho stood - immense pressure exuded from his vigorous stance. His legs were shielded by greaves, with a gauntlet and upper cannon fitted for both arms on his mail and his chest plate were exhibited in all its silver glory.

Omarion's thoughts raced. _What's going on? Only mere seconds ago he was on the verge of death, yet he has somehow summoned all of this power so suddenly. That light which shrouds him...I can only just make it out as some sort of armor protecting him, it almost looks like..._ Omarion's face whitened when he had come to the realization of its origins – his next words were audible, "...The armor of the Archangels...!"

Underneath the immense pressure of Jericho's leap off the ground, the entire courtyard cracked and caved in – yielding to the strength from only his legs - the deep crater quickly filled with water and eroded the nearby foundations. Omarion could only see the blur of Jericho rushing past the side of him – his sword now crumbled in his hands and blood gushed from his ribs. Omarion's mind continued in woe. _What?! That's not possible!_ Omarion turned behind him with his hand applying pressure to his deeply-cut wound, he spotted Jericho just in time - enough for him to call upon the remaining shadows of the land with a command, the dozens of shadows stood firmly in front of Omarion and countered Jericho's next blindly-fast assault.

Blood splattered through the air, the claws of the shadows now cloaked in Jericho's blood as he was stopped in his tracks. His wounds were horrific - profusely bleeding from multiple lacerations.

Omarion took no chances and retreated – leaping backwards and landing atop a roof. His hand still clutched his side as blood slipped through his palm. The shadows stood firm behind him and the safe light from the moon in the background shone bright. Omarion surveyed Jericho – the latter standing with his head stooped low and motionless – his light did not diminish just yet. _That reckless assault cost him dearly,_ Omarion speculated in his thoughts.  _Even with his powers as forceful as it is right now, it should slow him down. Still, I need to understand why this power of his had awakened so suddenly – the armor of the Archangels is not a feat anyone can achieve._ With his head still looking towards the ground – Jericho slowly raised his sword high until the point of the blade stared right into Omarion's black pupils. Omarion could now clearly see an ancient text transcribed on his pauldrons written in gold writing, he translated the text on what it meant in English.

'Vanquish'

Omarion had to act now before Jericho could achieve anything else beyond his recognition. He retracted his bloody hand from his wound – the sticky blood now becoming black with malevolent shadows that he conjured.

With the power rising between his hands, Omarion spoke to him above high-ground. "It is like I said, Jericho, you really are full of surprises! But don't get full of yourself - your death is still imminent!"

Just before Omarion could leap off the rooftop to unleash his attack at point-blank range, something stopped him – physically stopped him - it was a hand grasping his arm. Omarion believed it to be one of his shadows and turned to face them, "How dare you-"

It wasn't Omarion's shadows.

From where they once stood, were beings of pure light that towered over Omarion – the five shadows that Omarion had once commanded behind him had become something different.

"H-he..." Omarion stammered, "He _purified_ my shadows into..."

The beings of light wore the same armor that Jericho emitted – heavenly forged and ornamented with gold transcriptions. Despite the burning sensation Omarion endured when he stared at them in awe, his black eyes became blessed with white light.

Omarion took a slow step back – the heels of his shoe almost slipped off the edge of the rooftop. He spoke with a shaken voice, "...his own Angels..."

Instantaneously, the five Angels seized Omarion by his limbs with an iron-grip, Omarion resisted with all of his might – his voice became disoriented under the influence from such clarity, " _No! Release me, I won't...let this happen!_"

His light filled eyes stretched towards Jericho – the latter's sword still high in the air, the moonlight gleamed off the edge of his blade. The Angels lifted Omarion off the rooftop, and slowly began to rotate him forward...

...Facing Jericho's sword.

Seeing this, Omarion resisted to the utmost extent of his dwindling powers, shouting like a madman in their grasp. "Inconceivable, this can't be happening! You are all below _us_ , every single being in this world and the next are incomparable to our supremacy! I will never-"

The Angels holding Omarion captive began to fly, soaring down from the rooftop and towards Jericho.

Omarion's resilience never wavered - he still fought and yelled with wind blasting his face, "I won't accept this! I won't be killed by the likes of you!"

He watched Jericho slowly raise his other idling hand up towards his already extended hand and used it to clutch his right forearm for extra reinforcement – he was prepared for Omarion's impalement.

With the Angels' grasp not loosening; Omarion froze – staring at his imminent death. Jericho finally looked up from the ground - his silver eyes were honed, staring not only at him but at the depths of his soul. Those very eyes – purely of silver and none other was what Omarion was born to hate, what he was taught to hate and what he thrived hating on, the very essence of Jericho's existence was an insult to his origin.

Through all that rage, burning passion and convulsion in that thought, he felt surprisingly at ease when his body had been impaled upon Jericho's sword.

~

Droplets of blood dripping from Omarion's mouth sputtered onto Jericho's face. With his sword driven through Omarion's body, the weight finally took its toll and Jericho casted down his sword, kneeling as it dropped until Omarion had also taken a knee with the blade impaled through his being. The conjuration of armor that had surrounded Jericho faded along with the mysterious Angels that held Omarion in their grasp.

Both remained on their knees facing each other with Jericho still grasping the hilt. "Jericho..." Omarion began to speak – his pained voice strained, "...I'm glad we have finally reunited...I'm blessed to be saved by your light."

Jericho tried to answer the puzzling statement Omarion had said, he could barely even move his lips to speak with his current strength. When his armor had vanished, his remaining vitality had completely faded - only his hand firmly gripped on his hilt remained intact.

Omarion wheezing and coughing did not stop him from continuing his speech, "It has been so long since...we have met face to face. I truly am sorry...for disappointing you in the time of need...and for failing to resist his influence."

Omarion's vibe felt like a totally different person, yet it wasn't - like he had been the same person as always and only acting as another. Jericho began to speculate it was perhaps his sword's doing, but that didn't make sense. Omarion had told him before the sole purpose for the sword is restraining his powers, there's no possibility that it could transform someone's beliefs. A tear slid down Omarion's cheek – mixing with blood and trickled off in diluted red streams - his words felt like they were from the heart. "Your mother did not deserve that horrible fate...I will forever mourn for Veela and your well-being..." Omarion's coughing of blood did not cease as he continued, "...What Baal had done for her to break the bond was a cruel ruse indeed." Jericho held his breath as Omarion's body shimmered and became ethereal – his being began to dissipate into the air, "However, as much as you yearn for that information...it is the least of your worries right now. Dantanian is the embodiment of your destruction. Find him before he kills both his..." He vanished with his last words, "...and _your_ light."

# 28

Ifrit's gauntlets clanged as she brought them together in front of her and slid her right hand backwards, grazing her palm and summoning an arrow created with fire - a bow blazed by her outmost hand. With her right arm reeled all the way back and two fingers holding tension on the conjured string behind the heated arrow, she exhaled calmly and studied her target – a lone volcano that rested upon a mountain seven-hundred meters away.

With her breath and heart rate steadied, she released her fingers and fired the arrow, her brown hair whipped from the vortex of wind created by the force of the fiery arrow - the path that the arrow had travelled was left in destruction. The sheer speed of the arrow proved difficult to keep track of until it had pierced the volcano in a matter of seconds, creating a tremendous explosion upon impact – lava erupted from the summit and the foundations of the volcano crumbled - until it was no more than a large pile of molten rocks.

Ifrit blew her hair out from her face with a meager exhale from a pouted mouth and looked over her shoulder at Omarion for approval. "I don't hear any criticism," Ifrit began, "so I'm thinking that was a good job?"

The brilliance of the explosion had cast a red tint on his obsidian armor – standing with his arms crossed with no blade by his hip - he silently observed Ifrit's training for the day. When her words finally registered in his head, he responded, "It was admirable. However, I am expecting you to completely annihilate it, not merely break it."

Ifrit grinned with expectancy. "There it is. I was waiting for that – three arrows ago, actually. Are you getting bored, or something?" Ifrit asked.

"My intention was not apathy," Omarion explained.  "My mind was in another place."

Ifrit rose an eyebrow, "You? Distracted and/or preoccupied? It must be something heavy on your mind. Care to share?"

Even though Omarion had never shared his own personal thoughts with Ifrit - whether it is out of boredom or general interest – he had never intended to do so. However, he felt obliged to share his thoughts with her in this particular occasion.

"It seems my Projection in the living realm has ceased to exist." Omarion announced to Ifrit. Ifrit began to choke on her words, "What?! Are you sure?" Her eyes darted from side to side as she became perplexed in her own thoughts, "I can't even begin to accept that someone stronger than you exists in the living realm..."

"You're mistaken." Omarion corrected, "My Projection does indeed bear my name and face, but our difference in power is comparable to heaven and earth."

"So, what's the point of them anyway?" Ifrit curiously asked.

"Since we cannot physically exist within the living realm, they serve as our eyes and ears – what they perceive is what we receive. They are said to be the very essence of our being and who we truly represent, you could also say they are our souls."

"But didn't you visit the living realm before? Like, as physically yourself?"

"I did," Omarion admitted. "But only in spiritual form. Not to mention it's troublesome, the moment you are spotted by a being of the realm, they are induced into a state of sleep paralysis - a countermeasure we've been using for millennia."

"So _that's_ why that happens." Ifrit said. "You know that's been an unexplainable phenomenon since the time I was still in the living realm? We all thought it was just our minds playing tricks on us."

"Wrong, it is when Demons visit the living."

Ifrit's fingers inside her gauntlets wiggled as she held her hands up mockingly. " _Ooh_ , spooky!" "Knowing this," Omarion continued, "it still remains worrisome that he is capable of such feat." "He...?" Ifrit enquired, "Is this the man whom you've told me about?"

"The man who is the very reason why you are training to your full potential," Omarion answered.  "He has begun to retaliate."

An intense roar filled the ashen skies; Omarion raised his head to gaze at the mighty dragon that soared liberally, cutting through the dark clouds with its vicious talons and wings.

With his gaze still fixated, he spoke, "Even with my Projection departed, I do not feel sorrow. When we establish our Projections into the living realm, they may take on our appearances and sometimes our names, but not our personality. The person he was...he was nothing like me, yet he symbolized who I would be if I were..."

Realizing he was approaching solemn territory, Omarion revised his words. "...someone else." Ifrit walked to Omarion's side and followed his perception, "Not trying to sound selfish, but I have to admit it's glad to hear someone else other than me also has their inner-demons to never visit again. I once knew a man just like you, Omarion. Maybe one day I could tell you about him, I have a feeling you'll like him."

Omarion disagreed, "I strongly doubt that."

Ifrit responded by digging her armor-braced elbow into Omarion's side, "You are both the same, you know - all manly and tough on the outside with a marshmallow heart."

Omarion's eyes glared at her from behind his horned helmet, "What in blazes is a _'marshmallow'_?"

"Something I really wouldn't mind putting over one of these fires right about now..."

Omarion patted Ifrit's gardbrace, "Well, enough chatter. We're going to the next volcano to polish your archery further."

Ifrit let out a long groan and slouched beneath his grip, "I've already destroyed a hundred of them today already..."

"Ninety-two," Omarion rectified, "and there is no such thing as 'today' here, remember that." Ifrit slumped slightly as she began to travel along the desolate and destroyed land, the nearest volcano could be faintly seen in her peripherals. "It's such a long walk to the next. I swear we should find another quick way to travel - like taming a dragon or something."

For the first time in ages, a smile widened behind Omarion's helmet as he spoke, "What do you think I'm doing right now?"

# 29

The wooden bench was frosty – cold enough to permeate through Liatha's leggings when seated, biting down on the urge to shiver constantly beneath the lukewarm sun that inadequately warmed the chilly morning that grew in Glasc City – Élan Cemetery was no exception. The plethora of deceased trees rooted alongside the footpath behind her thwarted the sunrays that sparkled on the dewy grass beneath her shoes.

Just over a week had passed since she arrived in the city so suddenly. The decision made for the travel was not evoked in her thoughts; she could hardly remember finding the cemetery the first night she came. Thankfully, she was well aware of the hotel she is currently sleeping at and the once-a-day meals she consumes. The rest of her time spent was on the lonely bench she always sat on for hours on end, with the tombstone in clear view.

'Senna Nespirk.'

Liatha had yet to say a single word at her grave, let alone approach it. The space she is currently seated at is comfortable for her to merely stare at her tombstone in clear and utter silence.

It would have proved difficult to know what to say to her or on what to do – how to react was her biggest mystery. The deafening moments she sat in reticence were diametrically opposed to the muted turmoil of her mind. The thousands of words she wanted to speak became the millions of thoughts that tortured her judgment and deteriorated her from the inside out.

She would have never thought anyone else could have harmed her as much as she could herself.  
Liatha felt her weight shift on the bench from someone sitting beside her after hearing a subtle creak from the drenched wood, the weight remained still for a short period of time before Liatha broke the deafening silence.

She did not need to look to know who it was – she didn't turn her head when she demanded, "I want to know everything – how it happened, why it happened..."

Judging from the periodic moment of time between his answer; she knew it was safe to assume he couldn't take his eyes off the tombstone, either. She didn't know if it was because either she hadn't slept in days or her emotional trauma that she could feel sincere sympathy from his presence.

"I'll explain everything from when I had first met her." Jericho said.

~

1 year ago.

Jericho shuffled the sleeved cards between his hands as he waited for his opponent's next move. The cards on the table were laid out in a strategic formation on his side on the field, and his opponent's side of the field had many more cards that were faced both down and up. The game attracted a small crowd around the small-cornered table in the lively pub due to its hefty wager placed.

Jericho peeked at his back-row of cards while he asked, "Well? I'm waiting, hurry up and make your next move – not like there's anything useful you can do."

His opponent was chafed, "Shut yer' trap, you cocky shithead."

"He's playing mind games with you, Warren," A spectator said behind him - peeking at his hand, "He's obviously bluffing."

Warren pointed at a single card on Jericho's side on the field – tapping it with his sweaty hand as he announced, "I choose to attack this card, get it off the field."

"Okay then," Jericho shuffled through the decks in his burial pile and retrieved a card, "then I choose to banish this card to protect my fighter from being destroyed."

"You can't do that!" Warren blurted out.

"Read the card description, dumbass. This is why I hate playing against scrubs."

After muttering insults to him, Warren waved his hand to Jericho to indicate his end of turn. Jericho drew a card from the top of his deck and added it to his hand. He studied the field briefly before announcing his next move, "My fighter over here attacks your remaining card on the field."

Warren's face glistened with sweat shone when he sneered and flipped a face down card up, "Too bad, my trap shuffles all cards on your field back into your deck!"

Jericho countered, "Too bad," he flipped one of his own faced down cards up, "this card here negates any traps activated. You can slide that fighter right off the field and into your burial, thank you."

The riled up men behind Warren grabbed his shoulder and shook him wildly while shouting at him, "He got you, ha! He got you good!"

"And with my other fighter, I choose to attack you directly." Jericho announced, placing his hands on the table. He smiled up at Warren as the latter stood up and shoved his chair out from underneath, "With your health now at zero, guess that means I win."

"I'm not paying you shit!" Warren angrily shouted with a fixated posture, "I just got a bad hand, is all. I would have won if you didn't get lucky."

Jericho began to pile and shuffle his remaining cards on the field back into his deck, "Don't blame your luck for your shitty, third-rate cards you choose to use in your deck. Your cards have no synergy, nor structure. I played by the rules fair and square. Pay up, you butt-hurt loser." "Have you forgotten where you are?" Warren asked as he looked around the room, "This is the hangout for the Weevol Gang. It's _us_ who decides who wins and loses here, and I say you get the hell out."

"I'm well aware of where I am. I heard you big shots wager big amounts of coin, so that's why I came to this shady place in the first place. Never knew you guys were such pansies, too." Warren clutched his coin pouch in his hand and taunted Jericho, "You want your prize? Then come get it."

Jericho was about to do just that, before he heard a female voice amidst the crowd. "You suck, Warren."

She revealed herself after shoving multiple guys out of her way to stand at the front. Jericho internally freaked out upon seeing how young she was – sixteen at most.

What the hell was she doing in a place like this?!

"Give the man his money that he has rightfully won, and stop being such a sook." The girl said. The crowd seemed to be rooting for her.

Sparingly, Warren only scoffed and heaved the pouch at Jericho - catching it with one hand – the hefty coin inside rattled.

After Warren walked off, the girl looked at Jericho and smiled. "You seem good, how about me and you have a round?"

" _Oh?_ " Jericho belittled her with a smile, "I don't think a girl like you should be making bets. I would have to go easy on you, but I really suck at sucking."

"Don't worry your pretty little eyes," she said as she began to shuffle her deck, "you'll be real good at _sucking_ once we're finished here."

The crowd erupted into excitement and hype for the match, laughing amongst themselves and even making their own personal bets. Jericho couldn't help himself as he ran his fingers down the bridge of his nose, laughing at her witty comeback.

Still laughing, Jericho accepted her challenge. "Alrighty, you seem interesting and confident enough. I'm Jericho, what's your name?"

"None of your business," She said - finishing shuffling her deck and laying it on her right-side of the field.

"So then, what's the wager, Ms. _'None of Your Business'_?" Jericho said while he re-shuffled his deck.

"That nice pouch you just received from that loser would be nice."

"Then I'll have your name." Jericho declared.

Her thin lips curved beneath her small-buttoned nose, she flicked her brown hair off of her shoulders and began to draw her starting hand. "Looks like you won't know my name any time soon." She challenged.

Jericho drew his starting hand too and waved to her, "Ladies first."

"You're too kind." The girl said. She picked two cards from her hand and placed them face down on her side of the field, then placed a fighter card face up. Jericho knew that particular card and deemed her deck to be somewhat good. "That ends my turn." She announced.

Jericho drew another card and placed it face up on the field. He examined both of the fighters' attack power on the field before he declared, "My fighter attacks yours."

She grinned as she flipped a card face up from her back-row, "My trap destroys any fighter that declares an attack. You're not winning this that easily."

Jericho slid his fighter off the field and into his burial before placing a face down card on his field, "Figures as much. I end my turn."

The girl grinned when she drew her next card from her deck and placed it on the field. "You're in for it now. This card allows me to place another four fighters on the field straight from my deck."

The crowd was in awe – a voice spoke from it, "Whoa! Her entire field is full of fighters while that guy has none. He might lose it all in one turn."

"Not quite," the girl corrected. "Since we both start with eight-thousand health points and the total attack of my fighters equals to seven-thousand eight-hundred, that means he just barely survives with two-hundred health points. That's only if he has nothing to counter, or do you?" "Nope," Jericho said, "I got nothing to save me from that. I'll take the hit."

The girl shuffled her cards in her hand, "How boring, I thought you had more to offer. I end my turn."

Jericho drew his next card and looked at it with a disappointed look. Upon seeing this, the girl commented. "Not quite the card you needed? I guess you're done for."

"Nah," Jericho said, throwing down the drawn card on the table, "I hoped for a longer battle, but I think I may have won it."

The girl's eyes widened when she saw the magic card face up on the table. She stammered as she spoke, "T-That's one of the best _and_ expensive card in the game...How did you get that, or even afford it?!"

"Oh, it was expensive alright. But it makes my money back, doesn't it?" Jericho pointed at all of her fighters on the field, "You know what this magic card does, I've destroyed all of your fighters on the field, and now I play a fighter from my hand and attack your health points, unless you have a counter?"

The girl frowned, "No. No I don't."

"Then I end my turn."

She bitterly drew her next card and scowled at her luck before placing another face down card on the field. "I end my turn." She declared.

Jericho drew his next card and announced, "I sacrifice my current fighter on the field for my higher-leveled fighter, and I attack your health points. That ends my turn."

"What a close match, if either takes one more hit they lose!" A voice shouted from the crowd of people among the many conversations between them.

The girl took a deep breath and drew her next card – her face became brimmed with excitement, it seemed she drew the card she so desperately sought for. Jericho reacted to this and announced, "I activate my trap that I've set face down."

"And that is?" The girl asked – her newly found confidence was still intact.

Jericho's triumphant grin mocked hers, "Each player empties their entire hand to the burial and redraws the exact same amount of cards."

And just like that, her confidence disappeared. Her next draw didn't seem all that well judging by her expression. The girl sighed and placed her hand on her deck, "I forfeit."

The crowd went wild with excitement as they cheered on Jericho and even the girl's defeat – patting her on the shoulder in acknowledgement of her earnest attempt.

"I gotta admit," the girl began, "you are far better than me. You need to teach me how you became so good."

"My skill is to be inherited, not taught." Jericho teased. "But I'll try my best anyway. So, what's your name?"

Jericho had never forgotten how her hazel eyes mellowed when she smiled so warmly at him, her look of innocence and charm was mesmerizing as she told him her name. "My name is Senna." "That's a hell lot better than your other name." Jericho playfully threw his wagered coin pouch in the air and caught it with the same hand, "So, Senna...what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Senna re-shuffled her deck and challenged Jericho once again, "You know the drill."

~

"Ha! Your effect has become negated." Senna announced – totally absorbed in the intense card game.

The crowd that was once there eventually dispersed after multiple games, leaving only the two seated at the lonesome table in the now quiet pub coming close to midnight.

"True, but you still take the damage." Jericho declared.

Senna sagged into her chair in defeat, " _Ugh_ , I lost again?! What do I need to tell you for this loss again? I've forgotten."

"I think I asked if you had any siblings." Jericho recalled, carefully balancing as he leant back on his wooden chair.

"I only have my sister. Right now, she's in Hatiel as a law enforcer or something like that...I'm not sure, really. We haven't really seen each other in years since she was busy with her training or studying. We have our occasional phone calls, though."

Jericho raised an eyebrow, "And what would your sister - who's involved with the law - think about you tangled with gangs?"

"I've told you already. I'm not involved with the Weevol gang, it's that-"

"You're _seeing_ the big shot of the gang, who happens to be double your age," Jericho said, cutting Senna off. "I still can't wrap my head around that."

"I never asked you to understand it." Senna said. "It's my life and it's me who chooses who I want to be with."

"You're _sixteen._ Worry about finishing school rather than dating men. What's the point of it anyway, Senna? Is this for some sort of _bad boy_ fantasy that you're currently phasing through now? Because I'm telling you right now, it's not what you think it is."

"First off, you don't know me, so don't judge me on who I am. Secondly, you're being way too nosy about my private life."

Jericho was about to retort before he reconsidered his reply. He took a long sigh and gave up, "You're right. It was rude of me, I apologize. It's just that I've seen all of this – the pubs I've been to around the continent always had that one girl in their group who they used to-"

"If you're trying to say I'm their _groupie_ or some stupid shit like that, I'm going to stop you right there." Senna stated. "I have respect for myself, even though it may not look like it to you." Jericho slowly nodded as he lowered his head. "I would have never assumed that."

The wooden stairs creaked from the heavy steps that descended half-way down the staircase, Jericho turned to look to see who it was. It was a fairly tall and large man with a scruffy beard, his presence alone was enough to disgust Jericho. He leaned over the railing and called to Senna, "Enough pissing about and come to bed." Jericho shuddered from the sheer revulsion.

He did his best to hide this fact when he turned his attention back to Senna – who was smiling as she said her farewell. "That ends our night, it sucks I couldn't win but it was fun, Jericho. See you soon, maybe."

Biting down his antipathy, Jericho said his goodbye. "Yeah, see you soon."

Senna traversed up the steps and was greeted by the man's arm tightly wrapping around her waist and ascended up the staircase. The man looked over her head and looked right at Jericho – who was looking right back, their eyes locked with assertiveness as the man's gawk flared with dominance. He was letting Jericho know what was his.

After their glances broke from the two climbing the second floor, Jericho got up from the chair he had sat in for hours and walked out of the pub and into the chilly night.

~

Senna adjusted her headphones that were slightly tangled in her hair as she walked on the busy side streets in the sub-city of Glasc City. The warm sun faintly blinded her sight when it had reflected off of her pink headphones while she untangled them in her hands, finally unraveling cable and hair after tinkering with it.

She inserted a single earpiece and was greeted in harmony by her currently playing 'drum & bass' music and absorbed the surrounding environment she enjoyed exploring. It was the best thing to do since she could not stop thinking about what Jericho said the previous night, it annoyed her that his words made her overthink her current life situation when other's words never seemed to bother her in the slightest. She was fed up with her life as it was; her foster parent was hopeless at raising her and never understood her – never had taken the time to hear her out. Conflict and animosity seemed to make her life somewhat more enjoyable, regardless if that meant becoming involved with a notorious gang, at least they didn't treat her like a child. Liatha was as guilty as all of them, and as selfish as ever. She had never taken the time to know what Senna herself wanted to do in life and set off on her own with her tunnel-vision, seeking out what only she desires most and not others around her. It's something petty as holding a grudge against their parent's killer as well, like enforcing law was going to solve any of those problems in the world...

...Like changing your life and revolving around what had destroyed you, are really going to bring back what you cherished most. She scoffed at the thought of it.

Senna plucked her idle earpiece from its hung posture and was about to insert it before she spotted something – a man sitting outside the cafe she was currently walking past, smiling like an idiot and waving so violently his arm could rip off, and so high you could see him wave from the peak of the continent.

She could vaguely hear Jericho's voice from music blasting in her right ear, but she could still make out his words, "Yo! Funny seeing you here! Nice day, isn't it?!"

She didn't have to answer or even acknowledge him, she could just pretend she didn't recognize him or just didn't hear at all. After all, he's still just a stranger she had met only last night. But that's not what she felt doing at all. She began to question the warmth she began to feel was either from the sun, or from him.

She gave a brief smile to the waiter standing by the entrance and made her way to Jericho's table and spoke before taking a seat. "Were you talking to me, or all of Eurynome?" Senna asked. "You looked down, so I wanted my greeting to be exciting. It got your attention, didn't it?"

"I'm not down at all, just lost in the music," Senna lied as she took a seat opposite of Jericho; she roughly shoved her headphones into her purse. "You don't seem the type to be living around here, what are you doing in Glasc City?"

Jericho sipped his iced coffee through a straw before he answered, "I stick out that much, do I? I'm just venturing around, really, thought this was a nice city to make some coin since I'm running low and just go where the wind takes me after this. What about you? I'm sure you don't just sleep at that pub."

Senna began to view the laminated menu pamphlet on the table, "I used to live at my foster home, it's just beyond the city so I'm not far away from home or anything. I'm just staying with Bryce for now."

"So that's his name." Jericho presumed.  "Is it better to live with Bryce than your foster home?" Senna's answer was dubious, "I guess so."

"Whatever makes you happy, I guess." Jericho said, "You seem like a bright girl, it would be a shame to see you take the wrong path in life."

Senna crossed her leg over the other and gave Jericho a lordly smile, "You are taking way too much interest in me than you should be, and it's a little strange. Sounds like someone is trying to get in..."

Jericho almost choked when he had sucked his remaining beverage out from his straw, with a few pounds to his chest - he clarified, "Are you kidding? You're _way_ too young for me."

"And how old are you?" Senna enquired.

"Nineteen."

Senna held up her hands in sarcastic admiration, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were such an _elder._ " "An _elder_ who could probably teach you a few things in life," Jericho mentioned, "like staying away from gangs and receiving a good education."

"Why are your eyes silver?" Senna asked, changing the topic.

"I don't know." Jericho answered bluntly.

"You're telling me you never bothered to look into why you have probably the rarest eye color ever? I've never seen anything like it before."

"It's just an iris deformity from birth, nothing really to look into other than that."

After briefly ordering her beverage from a passing waiter, Senna spoke with a glee expression. "You know, for someone who has so many questions about others, you're a secretive person."

"Am I keeping secrets? Hard to say..." Jericho mocked.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." Senna offered.

Jericho shoved aside his empty glass as he pondered. "Interesting, my understanding more about you is definitely a good bargaining chip. How about we meet up again here later tonight and trade our secrets?"

Senna happily obliged. "It's a deal."

~

In the loud atmosphere filled with cheers and whistles, Jericho kept his composure calm in a readied stance behind his sword while facing his opponents in the small cage the underground fight club had thrown them in. Compared to the three men he was facing, his breathing and concentration were fixed - never losing balance of his focus on what happens next.

The crowd was larger than usual, thanks to its abnormal occasion; seven versus one, which meant seven-times the prize money to Jericho. In this fight, the rules are contrived to prevent unnecessary deaths, so if you get cut once it means a loss. The first four attackers were not very bright at all and charged right for Jericho when the bell had rung, it took only four swift strikes – one each – for them to be eliminated. Despite his concentration, Jericho could vaguely see the annoyance on their faces as they stood by the sidelines outside the cage, watching the rest of the fight. Too bad for them, Jericho could hardly take this bout seriously - compared to the rigorous training he had done with Tabbris - those guys were nothing but duds compared to his skills. His training was to hone him for slaying only one monster he sought for, not any lesser, he couldn't give a damn about anyone else in the world – be it murderers, thieves, rapists – why should he even give the slightest consideration to them? He had bigger fish to fry.

An opponent to his left became impatient and launched an assault with a dagger in each hand, slashing them together in a cross when he came into contact with Jericho – the latter easily blocked the two blades with his sword in a vertical form, he swung his sword from its blocked position and cleaved through the attacker's left shoulder for an elimination. His opponent staggered to the ground with his hand clutched on his shoulder in agony, the announcer for the event appeared in the cage as a holographic projection.

His holographic presence hovered over the defeated opponent and announced his elimination as he always did, " _Unlucky! That's a clean hit, you have been outdone! Try your best to exit the cage now without getting hurt and remember: we are not held responsible for any deaths!_"

The remaining two opponents took advantage of the opening the announcer caused and both rushed directly at Jericho, leaping over the eliminated opponent and shimmering through the holographic projection. Jericho couldn't help but smile when he sheathed his sword back into its bronze scabbard and raised his fists, his smile became teethed when he saw their offended grimace when he had done so.

The announcer's projection appeared and hovered above the cage. " _Reminder: The condition to win is a single laceration inflicted onto your opponent! Knockouts are not valid!_" His projection disappeared when Jericho coolly nodded. He was aware, of course, he just craved a challenge.

One of the opponents with a short sword sprung forward and swiped his blade at Jericho - avoiding it by side-stepping; he then rolled when his opponent made a follow up attack. The second opponent now stood behind Jericho - still crouched on the ground from his previous roll – his opponent drove his sword down to the cage floor, narrowly missing his target that had quickly stood and leapt back from his attack. Before the opponent could raise his sword from the ground, Jericho hopped up onto his hands, crushing them between his sneaker and his hilt before Jericho's knee collided into his face. As his opponent tilted during his fall, Jericho drove his foot down onto the blade he was wielding still, crushing the blade's edge into his screaming opponent's abdomen - elimination.

The announcer appeared before the newly eliminated opponent for his announcement. " _You've received a laceration inflicted by your opponent – a clever one, at that – you have been eliminated!_ "

Jericho stood toe-to-toe with his last standing opponent who bore an anxious look on his face, nervously holding his short sword highly in front of him. Before Jericho made his move, his opponent reluctantly brought his blade to his hand and slit his palm, eliminating himself.

The crowd roared over the announcer's statement – his projection present inside the cage - closely followed by two attractive women holding a victorious sign high. " _Yet again, our mysterious silver-eyed youngster has won it again for the second week in a row! Congratulations!_"

Jericho wasn't all too excited, not after how many times he had seen the finale celebration play out, even the girls started to look funny with their fuzzy hologram playing up – stuttering and freezing their ecstatic emotions. He walked out the cage straight after his victory and bothered with what actually mattered and what he was there for in the first place - his payment.

After trading his smirks with his defeated opponents' ogles by the sidelines, he shimmied through the dense crowd of ruffians and thugs to get to the front counter. The usual seedy-looking man was sitting beyond the glass counter, his desk was messy with empty bottles of liquor and ounces of tobacco scattered from his rolls.

Jericho spoke to him through the small hole in the glass. "The fight that just happened – seven versus one – was me. I'm here collecting my wager." He had to raise his voice over the loud heavy metal music playing throughout the settlement.

The man beyond the counter began to count gold coins. "Yer' mate, I saw you. Hard to not notice you coming here every day for the past couple of weeks, those freaky eyes of yours don't help either."

"I got nothing better to do." Jericho admitted.

The man shoved the pouch through the hole. "There's your three grams."

Jericho made off with his earnings and headed off to the exit, the guard standing by opened the door for him and slammed it as he walked through.

He was right, though, what he said to that guy was definitely the truth – he really had nothing better to do in this city, or at all. It's been three months since he left Tabbris back in Fenrir and he hadn't done anything productive for the whole time, he spent a whole two months just traveling and grew tiresome, his funds were no exception to this, either. Jericho figured what better way to make some more coin than to earn it by doing what he does best; card games and sword fighting. But tonight was different, he won't be aimlessly wandering around the city, instead he actually had an objective to see Senna. It made him happy to be interacting with anything human that didn't smell of piss or attempting to murder and/or rob him, merely conversing with her made him feel human again.

After climbing the stairs from out of the eerie underground passageway in a dark alleyway, he took a deep breath of the night air and reached for his jacket pocket to stash away his earnings only to realize he left his jacket back underground. He was only wearing his singlet that he fought in.

There was no way he was going back down there; he's had enough for tonight. He'll just buy a new one, and he most certainly doesn't want to be late for his plans tonight.

Conveniently enough, the café they were both previously at - and now going to be - is considerably close from the underground in the massive city of Glasc. It took him only fifteen minutes of walking through the festive city streets to reach just across the street from the café, he could already see the many customers enjoying their refreshments inside the café and the outdoor dining area, too. It was lively, considering it was seven o'clock at night.

After being led to their reserved table from a nearby waitress, Jericho took a seat in a chair facing towards the street in anticipation of Senna's arrival. Her lateness didn't really surprise him at all; girls were always expected to be fashionably late for their plans. The surrounding tables were lively yet hushed couples or groups of friends enjoying the peaceful atmosphere the café provided. It was times like these when he would almost forget how rotten this world is. Jericho looked down at his attire and adjusted his strapped sword out from underneath his singlet, he thought maybe it was offhand of him to rock up in clothes he had just fought in. A quick sniff of his singlet revealed he didn't smell, but the crowds' foul stench may have rubbed off on him since he had to squeeze through a sizeable crowd. He stopped caring the instant he realized it shouldn't matter anyway, it's not like they were on a date or anything and he's never intended it to be such. Senna's just going to have to put up with it.

Jericho began to question his own mindset on why he found this particular girl so damn alluring, it started to irritate him while he perused through the menu, he had never taken interest and invested any time in anyone besides his master since his mother died – his lack of trust was to blame, no matter whom the person was. It was probably because they're alike, only Senna has yet to realize that certain trait and it is he who fixates on that aspect...it intrigued him - that there were others like him.

Not wanting to order before Senna arrives, he set the menu down and casually browsed through his phone, scrolling through newsfeeds as he waited with his head rested upon his palm.

~

Jericho nervously spun his phone through rattling fingers on the table. The customers in the café have receded in the past three and a half hours he had been seated at his table, waitresses began to close up by stacking the outdoor chairs and began to move the stacks inside, all cutleries that lay idle on the white tablecloths were collected and stowed, and tables began to shift towards the inner awning. He could feel the waitresses' annoyance when they were merely two tables away from his, wondering why he was still there after they told him repeatedly they were closing up, not to mention that he didn't even order anything. They probably thought now he was crazy since he began to silently laugh at himself, still seated.

He was an idiot for even worrying about her safety – thinking something may have happened to Senna on her way here made him anxious, he's so self-absorbed to even think that. It's obvious now that she just stood him up.

He mentally shook off the feeling of a cold shoulder as he stood from his chair, he could feel the relief stem off the waitresses when they walked up to his table and finally finished their job, he didn't have the face to look back and descended the terse stairs onto the city street in the most casual way he could appear. The sun was now hidden beyond the horizon and replaced by half a moon in the dim sky and the streets were chilly and partially lit by street lights, carriages were no longer seen cantering by. Only mere footsteps away from the arranged meeting point, Jericho came to a halt on the footpath from what he saw in front of him. With her brown hair slightly protruding from her thrown-over hoodie – in exception to that – the same attire she wore previously earlier today, he surely recognized her.

It annoyed him that he felt reassured by her appearance, Jericho greeted her. "I know girls usually take ages to get ready, but you need to cut a man some slack."

Her face was concealed by the shadow casted from her hoodie underneath the street lights she walked under, as she silently closed the gap between the two, Jericho got another smart-ass statement out before she could retaliate. "Or is it because you can't tell the time? That's what happens when you slack off from school. For now, you should probably stick to digital clocks-"

He stopped short when she closed the distance and her face was in clear view. Her swollen, busted lip was trembling, brown and purple bruises were visible on her once rose cheeks and her eyes were outlined in black – the black stains beneath her eyes were evident, additional stains shaped when her tears fell from her glazed hazel eyes.

Jericho stood stiff, not able to rip his eyes off from her once beautiful face – now brutalized by a savage. His lips began to quiver as hers did, and his shoulders tightened from the temper that rose within that churned inside his stomach, along with disgust. After several attempts of speaking, Jericho shut his mouth and his hands, biting down on the resentment that tempered wildly.

He fought down the fierce storm of emotions and asked her only one thing, " _...Who...?_ "

Jericho knew the answer before he had even asked, but it was the only word that could escape his tremulous lips and the only speech he could currently comprehend and communicate through his fury.

Senna didn't reply. Her body contorted when she clutched her arm and bowed her head, Jericho could hear from her whimper that she was trying her utmost best to hold in her cry – shuddering from the sheer amount of tears she prevented from flowing - her jumper twisted from her tightening grip upon her arm as much as his heart did.

Senna soon became invisible to him when he ran straight past her; the urge to comfort her was defeated by the desire to destroy - completely consumed by rage. The only thoughts in his head was his regret for his bitterness of wanting to eradicate only one evil in this world when there were many to be abolished, and one does not have the right to breath the same air as Senna.

In this very instant, if all evil in this world were to be laid out in front of him, he would not hesitate for a second to cut all of it down.

~

"Why you eyeballin' me for, mate? You lookin' to get carved up?" The Weevol grunt said, seated on the table nearest to the entry Jericho had just stormed into.

The entire room's chatter stilled when they all realized what was going on, at least forty gang members seated at tables or the main bar currently occupied their clubhouse near midnight. Jericho laid his eyes on the first member he saw – they're all guilty as much as the next one. Jericho hurried to his table and gripped him by his jacket's worn-out collar and asked him, "Where's Bryce?" His voice was monotone, concealing his wild emotions.

"Who the hell's ask-" His retort was cut short from him being pulled out in his chair in a flash by his collar and heaved across the room, impacting against the bar counter – the stools toppled over along with the gang members seated.

"You didn't answer quickly enough." Jericho said with his eyes now piercing through the grunt's shut eyelids, he looked around the now riled up room, "Can anyone of you flops give me a better answer?"

With no answer heard other than the countless death threats and name-calling followed by all the men jumping out of the seats and heading straight for Jericho, it was clear to him that they chose to answer with their fists instead. A thug from the table of the one thrown got to Jericho first, throwing his fist straight for the back of Jericho's head, only to be caught with a single hand and delivered an even more powerful punch directly to the face.

Still clenching the now limp fist followed by an unconscious body kneeling on the floor in his hand, Jericho's next words were no longer questions - it was an announcement. "If you all wanna do it this way, then fine..." His emotion was no longer concealed as his face hardened with temper, "...I'll shake this place up 'till the big shot shows his face."

With that said, his carnage began – relentlessly inflicting as much pain as possible in the shortest period of time to each thug who foolishly rushed him, pummeling his bare knuckles into bone and vulnerable muscle - his fighting lust was long at its peak from the tournament. Countless bodies were thrown through furniture in the rampaging clubhouse; it was a complete bare-knuckle all-out brawl. Jericho _needed_ the pleasure of personally delivering punishment by his own flesh and blood, adrenaline surged through his blood with every blow struck against him and others.

Jericho was overwhelmed by two oversized-men charging at both of his arms and tackling him into a wall, with a third taking advantage of the situation and began to thrash Jericho in his restraint state. Jericho tanked all the hits and heaved his legs up and drove them straight into the attacker's chest – the impact flung him across the room - Jericho's next plan was halted by a loud shout from the top of the staircase at the back of the clubhouse.

"Oi, what the hell is this racket?!"

Bryce stood at the top of the staircase and glanced at the ruined floor with dozens of people knocked out cold alongside broken tables and chairs. Still affixed on the wall by the two brutes, Jericho shouted across to him with a bloodied nose. " _Bryce! Get the hell down here!_"

Bryce frowned when he recognized him after silently studying his blemished face. "You were that guy last night who spent some time with my missus. You started all this shit here?"

"No," Jericho answered, "your boys threw a fit when I said that I wanted to kick your head in." The entire clubhouse remained quiet still with Bryce's presence. "You're a joker, mate. Why you wanna go and do that?"

The two brutes began to struggle against Jericho's resistance. "You're asking me _why?!_ After what you did to Senna...!"

Bryce winced; he wasn't interested in Jericho's reason at all. He began to descend down the steps – the place was still muted, "You seriously came blitzing through here 'cause of some ganga I slapped around?" Bryce asked. "Here I thought you had a personal vendetta, you're a damn joke."

Jericho's gut wrenched when he took in what he had just said - the sickening feeling rapidly became rampant – he began to feel that very feeling not only in his gut, but every limb in his body invigorated with it...

He remembers this sensation intimately.

Bryce arrived at the center of the commotion, only meters away from him as he spoke. "Gotta admit, you done a real good number on my men here, got a few lucky hits in. How about I break your legs so you won't be able to stroll in here like you done ever again?" He smiled as he uttered his next words, "I think I'll do the same to Senna, since you care about her so damn much, I'll make you two a perfect wheelchair couple. Cute, ain't it?"

Even in the present day, Jericho couldn't express the feeling he felt inside him when he finally snapped.

Bryce took a step back when the two stocky men holding Jericho suddenly dropped to the ground, not a portion of consciousness in their minds were intact, leaving him unrestrained...and angry. He could feel his eyes become scorching hot like he had just bawled his eyes out - but not a single tear was shed - his body was brimming with power coursing through his veins, he felt like he was about to implode from the sheer explosiveness of his emotions, he needed to set it off.

And he did.

Jericho couldn't recollect how he did it that day, but from the wall he still leant against he suddenly flashed across the room, striking every single remaining member down to their knees in the blink of an eye. He could still remember every moment of impact, it felt like time slowed down around him – his relativeness to time was inconceivable to theirs. The next thing he remembered was standing in the mass of inert bodies that lay stiff on the ground, it was only himself and Bryce who remained standing – shaken from what had just happened. " _Witchcraft..._ " Bryce uttered, "You're a mage?!"

"And you're next." Jericho declared.

Startled, Bryce made a run for the exit in a frenzied manner, almost tripping over his own feet. Jericho prevented his escape by quickly unsheathing his sword and heaving it into the wall in front of Bryce, stopping him in his tracks.

Jericho spoke with a sinister tone. "You aren't free to leave until you've suffered enough." Bryce cooled his composure, becoming calm and collected. "You sure do talk like a smart ass, don't you?" He yanked out the cursed sword from the timbered wall and armed himself; he was rejoiced in his new found sense of assurance. "But that was a stupid bloody move to give me a free sword, don't you think?! I'll make sure you regret not using this!"

His gleeful, menacing expression came to a sudden halt. His hands that were once tightly gripped around the black hilt now flimsily shook and his legs that were ready to spring were now reserved. In his suspended state, only his mouth trembled as he spoke, "What...is this?! What have you...done to me?!"

"Nothing at all," Jericho denied. "That's all thanks to your desire to kill me, you're way too predictable. It made you want to wield my sword - it called to you. A single grasp of that sword's hilt will infect your mind with your deepest and darkest fears, and your mind begins to race with one question; do I use this sword to fight my own nightmares, or do I use it to take my own life to stop the pain?"

With no response heard from Bryce's quivering mouth, Jericho walked in front of the convulsing blade – its tip a mere fraction away from his chest as he asked his next question, "Wanna go ahead and take a guess on what I chose to do?"

Bryce stammered a plea.  "S-stop, please...I can't take it..."

"Interesting choice of words," Jericho peered into Bryce's petrified soul, "I wonder if Senna said those same words when you beat her like an animal. I'm curious, tell me who you see right now – what you see as your worst fear in this moment."

Bryce began to sputter his words. "I-I don't see a-anyone...but _you_..."

"Stop this, Jericho." A voice pleaded from the entry.

Senna stood meekly by the door, with her head still stooped low underneath her hoodie. Her injuries were still visible underneath the light. She spoke softly, "Please...no more suffering."

It was different from before when Jericho laid eyes on her face, he no longer felt rage anymore – the overwhelming desire to punish whoever's responsible had finally been tamed by the yearning to comfort the girl who never deserved this in the first place. Even his own actions began to make him feel sick.

From Bryce's frail hands, Jericho grabbed the cursed sword by its blade and retrieved it, he sheathed his sword into its scabbard and Bryce fell to his knees – finally free of its curse – and whispered remnants of his vision. "Black wings...white...everywhere..."

Jericho looked down at his feet where Bryce rested. "Disband your gang, leave this place...and never come back." Jericho left him sobbing on the ground and didn't look at Senna's face when he grabbed her arm and led her outside.

~

Senna awkwardly matched Jericho's swift pace as he guided her by her arm, they climbed the grassy hill by the outskirts of Glasc City. Jericho hadn't stopped walking since he asked Senna the whereabouts of her old foster home was and made off with her as soon as she told him - they haven't said a word to each other since then either, as much as she wanted to. She wanted to tell him how bright the stars were that night – so bright - that they lit up the entire sky and cast its brilliance onto the grass they were crossing through. She wanted to tell him how beautiful the view was from their altitude; she could see the entire city in her peripherals and the bright lights radiating from the nightlife. She wanted to tell him how surprisingly warm the air was, considering it's a winter night. She wanted to ask him how he was coping with what had just happened. She wanted to ask him if she could tend to his obvious injuries. She wanted to ask him why he cared so much about her and why he felt the need to protect her. She wanted to tell him she really didn't want to go back to her foster home.

Senna wanted to tell Jericho she wanted to be with him.

But when she looked at his hurried pace, his cold vibe and his stiff shoulders, she couldn't say any of her previous thoughts – but without even thinking, she spoke her mind.

"You don't have to act strong." It was all Senna said.

Her thoughts reached Jericho and he came to a halt with his hand still gripped on her arm, she could feel his firm grip begin to quiver and noticed his once stiff shoulders tremble.

Jericho turned to face her, finally looking her in the eyes with a single tear damp on his cheek, but despite his disheartened appearance, he smiled. "Thank you." He said.

Before she could say a word, he leant over into her small-framed body and wrapped his arms beneath hers and buried his head into her neck, his warmth embraced her and she locked her arms behind his neck by standing on her toes - embracing his warmth back. She realized that was all she was missing to pick up the lost pieces she had been abandoning all her life – tender, love and care. She forgot how it had felt like to be held by someone who cared about you, and you cared about them. She didn't complain that their hug was held for minutes, it seemed she wasn't the only one who really needed it – a single sentence was all he needed, although it didn't move her as much, it really goes to show how long, and how much Jericho needed to hear those few words.

Jericho finally released his clutch, relieving Senna back onto solid ground – his hands still remained intact of her body which now gently rested upon her shoulders. His smile was brim, "Come with me." He offered.

"Come with you where?" Senna asked.

Jericho shrugged, "Anywhere."

Senna raised a bruised eyebrow, "I thought you wanted me to stay at my foster home?"

"I change my mind a lot." He said. "We can go visit your sister. You miss her, don't you?" Senna was shocked. She couldn't believe he would go out of his way to travel for her own needs, uncertainty and appreciation stirred up inside her as she grasped his hand that idled on her shoulder. "You'd do that...just for me?"

Jericho flashed a toothy smile. "Yup, of course I will. I'm travelling across the continent anyway, might as well have another objective."

Senna was overjoyed, no longer was she pinned down by her own doubts of seeing her sister in fear of being deprecated. The thought of simply having Jericho by her side made her feel so much more confident.

Lost in thought, Senna didn't realize Jericho had already started to walk again. He looked back at her, "Let's get you home and we can talk about it tomorrow."

Senna cheerfully nodded her head. "Okay."

On the way to her home, she was able to tell Jericho how amazing the sky looked that night. She pointed out a few of the landmarks she recognized from the view of the city and educated Jericho. He also agreed the night wasn't as cold as it should be and he was comfortable in his singlet. She belittled him on how stupid he was to barge in on such dangerous people just by himself, she became even more annoyed when he just laughed it off and winced when she flicked him in his bruised rib. She didn't even need to ask why he cared so much about her since she was already reassured.

Senna loved the fact that she didn't even need to ask Jericho if she could stay with him.

After frolicking about on the hill, they finally reached the meadow at the top. Senna's foster home was a lone old-fashioned house on a paddock; it was once a farm many years ago. Lights were seen in the household which was surprising considering it was the early morning hours, but reassuring since she could probably slip in unnoticed and speak with her foster parent in the morning. They both stopped at the gate of the white fence that surrounded the household and said their goodbyes.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" Jericho asked.

Senna unlocked the gate as she spoke, "Yes, relax, I'm fine. My foster parent probably isn't even awake, so it gives me time to think about what I'm going to say in the morning."

Jericho sighed – his breath evaporated in the cold morning that had finally caught up with them. "I'm just making sure. Tomorrow, we'll go see a doctor for your wounds, alright?"

Senna rolled her eyes. " _Yes_ , I know. Stop worrying so much, okay?"

Her brown hair waved as she leant in for a kiss - her cold lips pressed firmly against his cold cheek - she slid a hand across his kissed cheek and said her goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Jericho's flushed cheeks creased from his smile. "Yeah...see you tomorrow."

As he remained by the gate and watched her enter her home, he finally felt at ease. The life he currently lived had been for one purpose only; it felt refreshing to exist for another reason other than to kill. It made him feel alive. After seeing her off, Jericho set off and prepared for the next day, where a whole new life began for the better.

That's what he had thought back then...

~

_Again_...She's late again.

It wouldn't worry Jericho in the slightest if yesterday hadn't happened, but he can't help to be on edge now. They arranged to meet outside the doctor's clinic in the city's central at noon, it had been an hour since then – she wasn't picking up her phone, either. Stupid decision, he _should_ have just met Senna at her home and travelled together and guarantee her safety, but at the time it felt like a clingy thing to do, so he avoided it. He regretted it now - staring at every passerby's face crossing through the busy sidewalk was tiresome, not to mention creepy, too. Surely she wouldn't be this late without a proper reason – surely she should know that her lateness would worry him and cause him to panic.

It definitely shouldn't be ignored.

He sighed and reached into his pocket for his phone and tried once more to get in contact with her with no luck, her voicemail began to irk him from hearing it so many times in a row now, he infuriatedly crammed his phone back into his pocket and left the meeting point to find her and give her a stern lecture.

Weevol's clubhouse was his first destination. He strongly doubted Bryce would have the balls to do anything to Senna after yesterday, but there was still a chance – whether Jericho underestimated him or Senna was dumb enough to go back there, he had to make sure.

When Jericho reached the clubhouse, he stood by the door and listened for any activity. It was dead quiet inside, not a single word or any drunken laughter was heard from beyond the door. Even though it was outside the club's hours it always remained occupied, so Jericho deemed it to be empty and began to walk away...

...Until he heard something unusual. It was a sound of something scraping on the floor - long and heavy drags were heard against the wooden floorboards.

It sounded like a body being dragged across the floor.

Avid with panic, Jericho flung upon the clubhouse's door and immediately saw Bryce – his face became ghastly when he saw Jericho - he was in a hunched-over position dragging a broken table into a cupboard across the room. Bryce dropped the table and shrieked, stumbling and falling on his behind, he stammered his words to Jericho. "W-what are you doing here?!"

He wasn't in the clear yet but Jericho sighed with relief.

He looked around the deserted clubhouse and noticed all the furniture was now packed up, with only the bar counter left behind.

"I see you're all packed up and ready to leave." Jericho said to Bryce.

Still startled, Bryce remained on the floor. "Y-yeah, we all split up last night and decided to call quits, this place is already on the market...So what do ya want?! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Has Senna come by this morning?" Jericho asked.

Bryce held up his hands and shook them frantically at his question. "No, 'course not! I'm never talking to her again!"

With a click of his tongue, Jericho dismissed himself. "Never mind, then. I can't imagine a _wuss_ like you having the balls to try and talk to her again, anyway. I'm outta here, hurry up and finish your packing."

Jericho didn't wait to hear Bryce's terrified response and left. He had only one more option left; there's a chance she was still at her home for some reason, maybe she just wanted to stay in and talk to her foster parent. Maybe he was just worrying for nothing, but he couldn't seem to shake off this bad feeling that stirred inside him.

The climb up the steep, verdant hill felt elongated comparing to last night – the constant feeling of stigma last night wasn't tantamount to the intense doubt and fear that was volatile in his gut. There was no wind whisking through the air and along the grass this time around, the sun - which was high in the sky – its rays were not piercing through the adjacent trees, instead leaving the entire meadow in its own eerie shadow in such silence that Jericho could hear his heart race more rapid by the second.

His panic worsened when he began to run.

Straight up the hill, he ran from the tree's dreary shadows it casted and broke into the light when he neared the top of the slope and the farmhouse finally came into view. It was only for a few minutes he ran, but he stopped to catch his breath, hunched over with his hands gripping his knees, it was his anxiety that made his heart beat too fast.

His breathing stopped when he heard a shrilling scream from the home.

His knees buckled inside his grip when he tried to straighten himself up and the endeavor to move his rigid body was arduous.

Senna...

In a frenzied sprint, he vaulted over the tightly-shut gate and leapt into the front yard.

I'm sorry, Senna...

He made haste for the porch, leaping up the whole staircase and tried to twist the doorknob, it was locked. Through the door he could hear the disturbing sounds of whimpers and shrills, the distinct fear in her voice wasn't only heard by his ears but by his whole, quavering body.

...for not being there for you.

He began to repeatedly attempt to kick the door off its hinges - the constant thumps momentarily drowning out the sound of her cries of anguish - the door began to appear weakened through the soaked vision of his weeping eyes. The door was as ordinary as the next; Jericho should never have such trouble with kicking it off its hinges like he'd done with others, but from the sheer heartache and her torment only being on the other side, he felt powerless - just as he did when he couldn't do anything for his mother.

With a hard, raging kick sent from his screaming-self, the door finally broke off its hinges. Jericho barged into the household and laid eyes on what was happening right in front of him. He could have never been prepared for this.

His hand instantly yanked on his hilt, ferociously unsheathing his cursed sword and charged straight for the man standing over Senna's limp body on the ground – her bare skin was ravaged by scratches from fingernails and her neck was covered blue.

~

The blurred vision he once saw now became clear. It was an odd sight.

He watched his entire living room spiral through the air, finally slowing down when he felt his head impact the tiled floor, his vision continued to coil until his eyes were laid upon his beheaded body beside him fall to the ground.

Beyond the decapitated body, he saw someone hunched over yet another limp body on the ground. The man screaming above the body held it tightly, his yells were so vivid that he was sure he wasn't hallucinating right now.

The realization of death became clear when his eyesight once again became distorted with darkness, he died with no regrets.

He was simply doing what he was told to do.

~

Through Liatha's unfocused vision, she noticed the dewy grass became damp from the noon-high sun blazing in the blue sky. The condensation from Jericho's breath showed, however, the weather was still chilly. She hadn't spoken a single word the whole time Jericho explained what had happened.

"She didn't deserve it," Jericho continued, "I didn't want the world to know how horrible life had treated her, so I took it upon myself to hide the fact she was killed and buried her, that's why she was suspected missing. When I got back to her home, the authorities were already there – cuff in hand – and prosecuted me for her foster parent's murderer. Her caretaker was apparently not properly registered - meaning Senna's record never corresponded with his - so they never suspected me for her disappearance. That's when I was transferred to a correction facility and it so happened to be yours. It's funny though, isn't it? I used to laugh at your delusional sense of fate, but I can't deny that ending up in your prison...really was fate."

'If you've done the right thing, you wouldn't be here now sitting in front of me.'

Liatha felt so foolish.

Her role at the Hatiel Correctional Facility was to cultivate her sense of justice in the world, the criminals that were confined under her authority gave her a sense of accomplishment, that every single lowlife criminal locked up in her cells meant the more safe the world was. Her efforts were absolute and her integrity was unbreakable, she had decided from the moment her parents were murdered that this is what she was going to do; it was her purpose in life.

When she had first met Jericho, she thought nothing of it – the typical juvenile who had no right nor place fit for society - and under her rule she would keep him locked up for the entirety of his sentence. She called him a lowlife, a murderer and a burden on society with no knowledge of his circumstances - what he actually had done.

She felt angry, the fact she had to shove down the feeling of empathy for him, and she shouldn't have to. If she's truly been wrong all this time, then he is not the man she thought he was.

"The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew who you were." Jericho reminisced.  "Every restless night when I would think about Senna, I would think about her sister, and pray for her safety. As much as it pained me, it comforted me to finally meet who her sister was. I'm sure she would be so proud of who you've become."

'...the closest thing to be cared for is to care for someone else.'

Liatha began to shake from the amount of tears she held back.

Jericho began to apologize; she could feel his sincere gaze burning her turned cheek. "I'm sorry, Liatha, for everything. I wasn't able to tell you straight away because I had no idea how to tell you. I also used it to my advantage to help me for my own problems."

Liatha remained silent from her lip being bit to prevent bursting into tears.

"And...I'm sorry for not being able to protect Senna." Jericho said.

While she was so fixated on wanting Senna's happiness and security, it was the complete opposite for her and it was Jericho who had picked up the pieces. He took care of Senna, not her. It was Jericho that she should be thanking.

Liatha had failed her own sister.

She felt Jericho's hand comfort her shoulder. "Liatha...?" He asked.

If it had happened before, she would have definitely pushed him away and insulted him – mortifying him for laying his hands on her - but it was different this time. Still restraining her tears, she turned to face him – his silver eyes were vibrant with affinity when she placed her hand on his, releasing the restraint she had enforced onto herself, and wept. She didn't reject his comfort either when he reeled her and held her head by his chest and firmly enclose her body with his arms.

As Liatha cried wholeheartedly in the comfort of Jericho's warm chest, she could've sworn she heard his heart split into two.

# 30

With the sun replaced by the moon's composition in the dusky skies, Jericho felt nostalgic walking through the same streets he had last year with a plastic shopping bag held loosely in his hand. He decided to venture Glasc City again for the day after Liatha went back to her hotel for her much-needed time to herself. It was hard to enjoy the scenery when there were so many questions running through his head, he hadn't properly recovered from his fight with Omarion either – only narrowly surviving by regretfully using Omarion's Warp Crystal that had dropped when he ceased to retreat back to Gusion's, it took every ounce of willpower to use an item that had separated Jericho from his mother. It brought back horrible memories.

The power he had used that night were beyond his wildest imaginations, it felt frightening to reminisce his state when he had assumed that form. It felt like becoming a whole different person - or even a being. It was strange how only suddenly he was able to become this close with his magic.

Coming to a halt on the sidewalk, Jericho placed his shopping bag on the floor and conjured his sword with a clap and release of his hands. He studied it carefully to make sure he hadn't missed anything before. Omarion told him it somehow restricted his power and development, he wondered if that were true. Dantanian had his own sword and it seemed his average abilities were far superior to Jericho's – if that's good or bad, he didn't know anymore. Jericho hadn't seen him since he killed Baal's spokesman for his company. He wondered what Maxwell knew that Dantanian didn't want him to know.

Is Dantanian really connected with Tabbris? Is Dantanian really his brother? What was that ancient verse that was inscribed on his back?

'Dantanian is the embodiment of your destruction.'

And what did Omarion mean by that?

Jericho let out an infuriating sigh as he slammed his hands together to place his cursed sword back into limbo and continued his stroll. Simple questioning and theoretical explanations got him nowhere, he had to remain focused and keep his attention to his goal – slaying his father before he destroyed the world. He was as lost as ever on how he's going to accomplish that. There's still a chance he can pull this off, with or without anyone's help. He will travel back to Kyrion tomorrow and travel to Seraph from there. Perhaps he should cut all ties with Liatha while he's at it. Now that she knew the truth, she had no reason to continue helping him; he didn't expect it, either. He thought he should talk to her tonight about it when he checked up on her.

After all the pondering Jericho had done, he felt different – almost lighter - like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was only natural, he thought, things have been happening way too quickly for him to comprehend, it becomes hard to stop and think about what needs to be done when you're under so much stress.

Oh, no. That's not it at all.

He just left his shopping bag on the floor a couple blocks away.

~

After five frustrating minutes of trying to remember the room number and throwing mini tantrums on every wrong floor he visited, Jericho had successfully arrived at Liatha's hotel room at the outdoor apartment complex she stayed at. He sincerely hoped her mood was better from earlier today and that she wouldn't attempt to kill him for disturbing her, hopefully she wouldn't mind some company for a few minutes. Just in case, he plotted an emergency escape route – jumping off the side railings onto the first floor was his best option for survival.

With this hope in his mind, he knocked on her door and announced himself. "Hey...it's me." His body tensed in anticipation of hearing violent running footsteps rushing to the door, but it was none of the sort. After a few seconds of silence, he heard her placid footsteps on the other side of the door as she began to unlock the door for him.

The door opened, revealing Liatha in a white robe – fresh out the shower – her brown hair was still visibly wet, resting on her shoulder in a single streak. Her fair face was completely neutral; there wasn't a hint of sorrow or elation in her expression.

Jericho timidly held up the shopping bag in his hand with a gleeful expression. "I got you something you may like." He watched Liatha's eyes dart to the strawberry milk carton visible through the plastic bag.

With no reply, she left the door open and walked on inside – a silent invitation. Jericho warily walked into her room and shut the door behind him. He observed her spacious room in awe; it would have been pretty pricey to be staying here for over a week. Liatha silently sat on the leather lounge in the living room and crossed her drenched leg over the other, he started to feel awkward and out of place so he quickly made conversation. "I'll just put this in your fridge or something..."

The kitchen was only just around the corner from the living room. Jericho flung open the fridge and placed the carton neatly on one of the empty shelves. He began to wonder how much she had eaten in the past week.

"I was thinking we should start heading back to Kyrion tomorrow." Jericho shouted from the kitchen.

"If that's what you want." Liatha's first quiet words barely reached his ears.

Jericho walked out from the kitchen so he could properly hear her next words. Her attitude was still too frigid to interpret. "It's...not just for me," he mentioned.  "I just figured it would be better for you to go back home. Maybe you can finally go back to work."

A slow, weak nod from her head was her only response. He realized he probably shouldn't have come here, it was clear to him that she wanted her space. He didn't blame her at all, she's entitled to it. For some strange reason, however, Jericho felt disappointed that there was no way to make her feel better.

"Well," Jericho abruptly said as he began to leave, "I'll come by in the morning and we'll decide it then. Goodnight."

Just before he reached the door, Jericho felt a slackened clutch at his wrist. He turned to see Liatha looking down at the floor – her lowering gaze was filled with desperation.

Her eyes finally made contact with his as she spoke softly. "Don't leave me alone."

It's not that her face was unreadable before, he realized he just couldn't recognize what she was feeling – a strong need for comfort.

Jericho's eyes softened in unison with hers. "Liatha..."

"Don't speak." She said. Her free hand grabbed his as she moved into his space. "Just...stay." Jericho's face flushed as his heart began to pound wildly in his chest, and the feeling of butterflies became rampant in his gut as she slowly moved in closer, inch by inch until he could feel the heat of her face. His lips thoughtlessly braced for hers and his head stooped lower to match her tilted endearment.

He slowly closed his eyes with hers, and was overtaken by euphoria as their lips pressed softly against each other.

Their lips momentarily separated and Jericho lightly opened his eyes to find hers staring right back, he looked at her glossy lips that were pouting in anticipation for the next. He brought his hands up to Liatha's face and cupped them softly around her cheeks – her hands still gripped his wrists with more vigor than before – and leant in to kiss her again, the softness of her velvety lips willingly accepted his.

The kiss promptly intensified – their tongues delicately brushed each other with tender - Jericho hoisted her legs up and she wrapped them around his waist, followed by her arms around his neck. Jericho pushed Liatha against the wall with assertiveness; she embraced the heightened tension with a more eager caress of his tongue with hers. With their lips still locked, he detached her off the wall and settled on the couch with Liatha mounted onto him. His hands wandered all over her yearning body as she grinded so fervently on his waistline, it drove him crazy.

His mind was seething with desire with his body positively reacting to it. In this instant, the only thing on his mind was her and nothing else. All those thoughts he worried about were no longer existent and the unanswered questions that float in his conscious have been buried into the depths of his mind. Liatha was all that was there...and it felt amazing.

It felt like love, and that's why he didn't want to ruin it.

His hands clutched her shoulders and pushed her lips off of him, she stared at him with a startled look and short of breath.

"Is this what you want, Liatha?" Jericho asked as he caressed her shoulders. "Your emotional state isn't all there right now, and I don't want to take advantage of it."

She pondered – still mounted on Jericho's lap. "I don't know...I've been so alone for this past week, I sought needed comfort. Perhaps we may be taking this too far."

"Sorry about that, I should have stopped..."

"No, it was _I_ who initiated it." Liatha stated. "However...despite not stepping past any boundaries, could you consider..."

"Consider what?" Jericho asked.

Liatha's face reddened from her request. "...Could you consider spending the night with me?" Jericho wondered if it was from her expression when she asked that question, or if it was from the actual question itself, but he couldn't help but gleefully smile when she asked him that. Liatha playfully punched Jericho in the chest with her face still heated. "I know that damn ridiculing smile of yours when I see it." He laughed off the attack and yanked on her arm.

That was when he finally saw her smile again, he hadn't seen it since she had tricked him into thinking Gusion wasn't speaking to him and thought he was crazy. He had wanted to see it since then, but there was never a proper opportunity for it.

But now there she was, mounted on his lap with her damp brown hair drooping by his face with her lips still blossomed with the taste of his – her smile was vibrant.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.

# 31

"Please, spare me," the man pleaded at blade's point. "I've never done anything wrong!" Dantanian kept his sword pointed at the kneeling man's throat. "Do you think I'm stupid? This facility is owned by Baal, you wouldn't be here if you were innocent." He threatened.

The man's throat inflated behind the serrated edge from a gruel swallow, "We were all dragged down here to maintain the weapons' prime, which was all that was told. We weren't told what he was planning to do with them..."

With his sword still preserved, Dantanian looked at the massive weapon caches that were laid out in the bottom floor of the facility he had infiltrated. He managed to figure out where Baal kept his weapons of mass destruction and made haste for a plant north of Lycur. His discovery was successful and took matters into his own hands by slaughtering every single person who worked at the plant to ensure the WMDs' security.

Dantanian turned his attention back to the supplicating man. "You blindly followed orders without a care in the world for its repercussions. You're guilty."

"He threatened to kill my family if I didn't comply! Please, show mercy!"

Dantanian cocked his head and asked, " _Mercy?_ " He sliced the man's throat with a quick slash. He stepped over the bloodied, writhing body. "That's a word I haven't thought of in so long."

Inside the facility where hundreds of massacred bodies lay, Dantanian reached over his head and sheathed his bloodied sword then continued onwards for the main weapon threatening the world. The WMDs were all staged in a gigantic room that resembled a hangar; the weapons were arranged in three organized lines. All of them looked alike – a large cylinder tank with fins.

There were thousands of them...No wonder Baal was so confident in his ability to destroy the world. From Dantanian's understanding on how potent these weapons are, it's enough to wipe out the entire face of the earth six times over. Normally, this shouldn't be possible – the embargo strictly forbids weapons such as WMDs - but there was a catch. In order to preserve a weapon that should be subject to the embargo, it must not be armed and unable to function in any way. Whatever Baal was doing to somehow lift the ban, he was keeping them all hidden until his plan succeeded.

That's why Dantanian's here. By deliberately arming all the WMDs that exist within the facility, then by theory, the weapons should all cease to exist before Baal can use them without restrictions.

Dantanian accessed a terminal beyond the caches and searched for a way to do so. Throughout the many brainstorms he mustered, a particular voice spoke to him.

" _You are playing a dangerous game, Dantanian. You will with no doubt anger Baal and your chance will be lost. There are smarter methods to handle this._"

"I told you not to talk to me." Dantanian warned.

" _You've unconditionally discoursed from your initial objective. What of Jericho?_"

"It was a mistake to get him involved in the first place." Dantanian revealed. "He's different than from what I thought he was and it's so damn frustrating. I realized my mistake and wanted to go on my own way, he didn't make it any easier by snooping around and delving into the unknown. I had to silence so many people to prevent him from knowing anything about our past, that's why I want to hurry up and kill Baal. I'll gladly explain everything to Jericho afterwards."

" _You have not only betrayed him, but you have betrayed yourself._ "

The terminal screen dimmed from an on-screen process, and Dantanian saw his silver eyes reflected. "I've already betrayed myself a long time ago, Qareen."

# 32

It was an unfamiliar morning for Jericho.

His nights have almost always been rough with nightmares and the constant unsettlement he carried on his shoulders, the mornings he awoke felt like a task and an unnecessary burden. There were times he had wished to never have awoken from his slumber – to silently pass on with no conscious in mind, a serene alternative instead of suffering from his day by day will to move on and continue to live.

But this morning, it was different.

His wild dreams were not experienced, instead they were placid. From the instant he woke, there was not a hint of stress that constantly pressed into his thoughts, only the warmth that comforted him in his arms. When his indolent eyelids opened, he was welcomed with chestnut-brown hair spread out on his pillow, he found the source of the warmth in his arms to be the woman laying sound asleep beside him – Liatha's tranquil, slumberous face was divulged before him. His hands that were idle around her figure became unfixed as he softly ran his fingers up and down her arm, just to check to see if it was some sort of dream or not, the electrifying sensation he felt at his fingertips had cleared his doubts entirely. The memories of the previous night began to take effect in his mind and remembered her request to stay with her for the night; he had no objections in doing so and didn't decline her need to cuddle.

Minutes went by and he remained awake, silently watching her doze in the most harmonious state he had ever seen her in. He felt like an idiot to not realize it before, but at every passing second that went by, he continued to find features of her face that made her even more beautiful than he knew before.

If there's ever one thing Jericho had done right in his life, it had to be meeting her.

~

"Are you sure you want to come along?" Jericho asked as he fastened his saddle on the black mare he hired, "It's a long way from here to Kyrion. You should really just use the Warp Crystal you still have."

Liatha readied her belongings to strap them into the saddle on her mare before a stern look arose on her face. "As I've previously established, the answer is no. Your constant pestering will not change my decision."

Jericho threw back his head. " _Shit_ , you're stubborn."

After sorting through the lengthy paperwork for the horse rental, Jericho and Liatha began to prepare for the long journey before them. Jericho had spent all morning trying to persuade Liatha to just travel back to Gusion's the easier way, but her stubbornness was beyond his capabilities. He got an earful for attempting to hire a single horse for his own travel - the building being packed full of customers didn't stop her extremely loud lecture, either.

With Liatha's white mare packed with her belongings, she aptly mounted onto the saddle with her hands running from the front to the back of her hair with a hair tie in hand – neatly tying her hair into a ponytail. "You refuse to use the Warp Crystal, so then I shall too."

With a gentle pull, Jericho hauled his horse outside onto the street. "I have my reasons not to use those things, you know that already."

Liatha didn't waver. "I also have my reasons. You're not using it, therefore I am not. That's a plausible reason."

A defeated sigh was heavy in his throat as Jericho climbed onto his saddle and handled the reins. Liatha's next words were no longer sharp and sounded sincere. "Does using them really affect you that much?"

After his fight with Omarion, Jericho had no choice but to use a Warp Crystal that had dropped from Omarion's evanescent body. He at first refused to use it, but his injuries were too severe – unable to even stand was a clear indication to him. After transporting clumsily to Gusion's living room, he remembered passing out and waking up bolstered with bandages and remedies, how Gusion had done it with paws was beyond his understanding.

Jericho began to canter onto the lively street. "I've been forced to use it twice now. Both have saved my life, but I can't seem to forgive the first incident."

The traffic lights turned amber and Jericho stopped with Liatha close beside him, they patiently waited and watched as carriages cantered by the opposing road.

"Magic is new to us and we're still learning every day." Liatha said. "It has advanced since then, we are no longer restricted to only one person transporting at a time, and I've seen demonstrations of the newer crystals that are capable of transporting multiple people at a time." "Like that helps me now." Jericho lamented.

An impatient man shouted behind the two, "Move yer' asses, the light's green!"

Jericho pinned Liatha with a steeled look to prevent her from retaliating and held his hand up to the rider behind him.

After a few moments of silence, Liatha mentioned, "I haven't thanked you yet for saving me on Spectacle Island."

Jericho waved it off. "No worries, it was my fault for your capture, anyway."

"Thank you." Liatha said.

Jericho smiled in gratitude. "You don't ever listen to me, do you?"

Liatha returned the smile. "That's why I'm glad you didn't ask me to come along with you." They both picked up their pace with a gallop once they exited Glasc City and began their long journey back to Kyrion. Along the way, Jericho and Liatha exchanged stories with each other to be up to speed on what had happened for the past two weeks, and general curiosity. There were a surprising amount of knowledge they had already learned about each other, yet they had no idea about the little things – their exact age, interests and disinterests, hobbies and desires. With every night spent camping underneath the stars, came new connections and memories shared - becoming closer with every piece of dialogue exchanged on a personal level. It only took three nights for them to finally become comfortable with one another and re-experience what they had felt that one night of affection they had shared and became a natural occurrence as they travelled – stopping at amazing sceneries and enjoying the view – together. It had passed a week's period when they both became fond of their presence as one, it was too early to call it love, but there was no denying it may blossom into that degree. With every gentle grasp of her face and the many beats his heart didn't bother to enact, there was with no doubt a feeling that Jericho felt within him. It was magic of its own kind.

After nine days of what should have been a grueling experience, yet turned out to be a lover's trip, they had finally arrived back into the night-fallen ports of Kyrion. They disembarked off their horses at the drop off point and hurried to Gusion's place for a good night's sleep.

Jericho followed Liatha up the short steps at Gusion's porch and reached for the key, Jericho grabbed her hand before she was able to. He spoke with a skeptical look on his face, "Are we going to tell him that you and I are...you know?"

Liatha's cheeks flushed briefly and were immediately concealed with a swivel of a head. She then fished out her key and nervously unlocked the door. "Regardless, he will find out eventually. I would prefer him not to know this so suddenly, so keep quiet about it for now." The front door opened and they heard a swiftly-paced trot coming from the far-back room, followed by a grey wolf with one if its pointed ears raised high. Liatha was delighted with their reunion and rushed straight towards him with open arms, "Gusion, I've missed you!" She yelled excitedly and embraced his fur inside her arms.

Gusion's tail wagged blissfully and nestled within the cuddle. " _Your company has been long-wanted, Liatha. I was concerned by your sudden abduction and disappearance, it bothered me greatly. With your safety assured, I am now content._"

Liatha ardently scratched beneath Gusion's snout. "A lot has happened and it will be explained, I assure you," she stood up and casually yawned, "Well, I'm due for a lengthy shower and a comfortable rest. We'll catch up in the morning."

With Liatha's ascending steps beginning to fade, Jericho spoke to Gusion, "Thanks again for healing my wounds."

Gusion sat on his hind legs. " _How do your injuries fare?_ " The wolf asked.

Jericho lazily flopped onto the couch on the other side of the living room. "Meh, the bandages got annoying so I ripped them off on my way there. My wounds have already healed, no idea how it's possible to be that quick."

" _There were other wounds that have been healed, too. I see you have made amends with Liatha._"

"Yeah, she can actually stand my presence now. It's an achievement."

" _My presumption was not entirely based off that fact; it was more the fact being your scent lingering heavily on her clothing._ "

His findings completely stumped Jericho, " _Oh_ , well, _that's_ a complete misinterpretation to what you might think..."

" _Interesting, do tell me on how I've perceived the scenario incorrectly._ "

"Yeah, you know what? It's actually not that important," Jericho jumped off the couch and headed down the corridor to his room. "I really need to get some rest. It's a big day for me tomorrow."

" _Is this for the event you had told me before you set out to Glasc City?_ " Gusion asked.

Jericho stopped before his bedroom door, "Yeah, it is. This past month has been so damn chaotic that I haven't had the chance to focus on what really needs to be done. With everything now at ease, I can finally achieve what I need to do. I can't keep putting this off."

" _So, you mean to travel to Seraph?_ "

"I'm heading back to Lycur," Jericho said, "and I'm going to put an end to Baal."

~

The next morning came quickly enough to annoy Jericho when his alarm went off at a couple of hours before noon. He dressed with a zombie-like mood and left his room to check on Liatha upstairs, hoping she would still be sleeping. His late-night thinking was the culprit of his fatigue – deciding whether to bring Liatha along with him or not was obvious to him, but he knew it wouldn't be easy, knowing her stubbornness. Taking Liatha with him to Lycur would jeopardize her safety and could be a tool Baal could use against him, he wanted to play it safe and prevent any accidents happening. Liatha needed to stay here – at Gusion's – so his mind was at ease.

His stealthy footsteps reached Liatha's room and he slowly opened the door to reveal her tightly tucked into bed and sound asleep, her hair was thrown over her face with her mouth gaped, it was a rare display of cuteness. He swallowed his guilt for leaving her without warning and reassured himself, Gusion should surely explain the situation to her and she would understand his perspective, he was only doing this for her.

After setting off into the busy morning streets of Kyrion, coffee in hand, Jericho browsed through his phone to find that strange address he received from Dantanian. He remembered being told it was some sort of quick method of travelling to Seraph, but it seemed fishy. Even with the feeling of uncertainty heavy in his mind, he found himself right outside the address – a large factory building in some shady-looking backstreet, still close to the dense city. The factory building looked derelict, it was almost like it hadn't been used in decades – the wide-open space situated at its entry seemed familiar to the lot Jericho encountered beneath the grand ball. He walked through the isolated lot and arrived at the front door and saw a buzzer fixed beside the barred door, it rang with a loud _beep_ for a second before it muted along with the reticent side street. After an awkward silence, Jericho heard the dead-bolted door unlock from the other side and cautiously observed as it slowly opened – revealing an ample warehouse floor. He walked through; the only sound heard in the warehouse was a constant clanging noise in the distance, despite the many variations of machinery displayed on the floor.

Jericho followed the clatter and found its source – a man who was standing on a ladder underneath huge machinery, he seemed to be servicing the equipment or providing repairs judging by his tools strapped at his waist side only slightly revealed from his slanted coat he wore.

Jericho stopped a few meters before the ladder to reveal his presence. He spoke over the noise of twines and clicks when no acknowledgement was heard. "Uh...excuse me?"

The stranger's voice was barely heard from inside all the metalwork. "Sorry, just give me a sec..." He revealed his besmirched face after stepping a few paces down the ladder.

He looked to be in his mid-forties, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Jericho, "This is unexpected...I expected it to be Dantanian when I had a look at the intercom. Are you related to him? You must be. Those eyes are a dead giveaway."

Jericho was reluctant to agree - the question of their relation was still unanswered. "Related? Yeah, I guess you could say that." Jericho changed the topic at hand and enquired about what he was actually there for. "Dantanian would have come here months ago. Apparently, he used a 'catapult' to travel from here all the way to Hatiel. Is that right?" After the man stowed away his tools at the cramped desk of equipment beside him, he answered with a proud stance. "That's correct. He certainly did do such a thing – at the hands of my brilliance, of course."

"Shit, he really wasn't joking around then." Jericho said to himself. With this confirmed information, he introduced himself. "The name's Jericho, I'm hoping we can help each other out."

The man held out his grease-stained hand in greetings. "I'm Hamish. If you got the coin, I've got the wares." Hamish winced at Jericho's firm grip around his dainty fingers.

After Jericho silently apologized for crushing his hand, he asked him, "So, where is this mysterious catapult?"

Hamish pointed behind him with his thumb at the huge piece of machinery that he was previously working on. "That's it right there. Spectacular, isn't it?"

Jericho analyzed the huge machine – its metal foundation made up most of its size and on top of the frame was a long bar declined to the floor. He felt a small sensation of magic flowing through the machine and questioned it, "Is this somehow infused with magic? I can feel it just by looking at it."

"You're just like Dantanian, I see. You both are mages, aren't you?" Hamish asked. He answered Jericho's question before the latter answered his, "The Coming of The New World drastically crippled our technology. It's only target was technology that catered to war, however many of them fell into that category – including travel. Since we're stuck with old-age tech, why not actually utilize what that day had left us with? Combining technology with magic is revolutionary, yet still far beyond our understanding. This was the best I could come up with." Jericho pondered. "The Coming of The New World, you say?" Jericho asked out of curiosity, "What's your theory on what happened that day?"

Hamish studied Jericho with a skeptical look before observing the catapult once more. "I'm a man of science, so I try not to think too deviously. Perhaps it was extraterrestrial beings that have been observing us for a long period of time and despised our ways of life, or perhaps a single organism had evolved to the point of beyond our understanding as humans and invoked something we don't understand. It's all theories, of course."

There's never any right or wrong theories about that day, but Hamish's theories seemed somewhat possible to Jericho. If he had heard these theories a few months ago, he surely would have backed them. However, the past events Jericho had gone through contradicts his old beliefs, it was difficult to push all those supernatural events aside and say it wasn't the work of something much greater.

It scared him.

Hamish promptly cleared his throat and spoke. "That aside, are you sure you want to travel via catapult? Dantanian was adamant about not using a Warp Crystal despite its convenience, are you the same?"

Jericho was confused. After a brief moment of absorbing of what Hamish had said, he asked about it. "Dantanian didn't want to use a Warp Crystal...Why the hell not?"

"It's beyond me," Hamish responded, "I had attempted to convince him it was the better solution, but he was completely fixated on travelling via catapult. The accuracy of the catapult isn't horrid in any way – it would always transport its passenger precisely where they have asked - but there's no denying the superiority of a Warp Crystal."

It didn't make any sense at all to Jericho. _What reason could it possibly be that Dantanian refuses to use it? I watched him use it with his own eyes at the grand ball, why the sudden change of heart?_ Before Jericho drove himself into insanity by overthinking it, he pushed it all to the back of his mind.

"Let me ride this thing." Jericho demanded.

"Where are you headed?" Hamish asked while he accessed his computer.

"Lycur, Seraph Region." Jericho stated. "Preferably on the outskirts of Lycur, I don't want to land smack-bang in the middle of the city."

After the payment and pinpointed location was settled from Hamish's GPS map, Jericho followed Hamish's instructions and approached the catapult after it had been rotated appropriately on its turning circle. There was a ladder to climb up to the top of the frame where you are fixed as payload into the bucket. As he began his long climb, he watched as the roof above them began to open – splitting into two. After the roof opened, the sky was laid out bare – the clouds in the sky were dense - it was nerve-racking for Jericho to think he would be soon soaring through the skies in a few moments. As he continued to climb, he misjudged a step and slipped, a quick reaction allowed him to regain his grip with his hands and steady his feet. Hamish shouted from below. "Easy now, I'm not held liable for your injuries!"

Jericho hung from the ladder as he sarcastically spoke down to him. "I appreciate your concern!" He began to fix his position before he spotted something strange in his drooping jacket. He wrapped his right arm around a step to secure his place and fished into the inside of his jacket and felt a small object pinned inside. He flipped his jacket inside-out to inspect what it was – a small black round object that flashed with a red light intermittently.

It looked like a tracking device.

How odd. Jericho hadn't been in contact with anyone suspicious for the past two weeks, it made zero sense for anyone wanting to track his whereabouts. _Who in their right mind would do something like that?_

Oh no...

Jericho began to scale the ladder in a blitz – skipping multiple steps as he leapt frantically to the catapult's peak - he shouted to Hamish as he made his frenzy climb, "How long will this take to prepare when I get up to the top?!"

He heard Hamish shout from below. "A minute or two...Why do you ask?!"

"Just be as quick as possible!" Jericho shouted.

He had to be quick. There was no way he could possibly face that person right now, considering what he'd done. He needed to get the hell out of there before...

...before Liatha tears him asunder.

He reached the top of the frame and climbed up onto its arm, quickly but carefully walking across it to reach the bucket. He almost lost his balance when he heard Hamish yell. "Jericho! I can't send you just yet. I need to attend to a customer."

_Shit! She's here already?!_ "What does the customer look like?!" Jericho asked, just to make sure.

"A woman...she's quite the looker, actually!" Hamish disclosed. "However, for some reason she looks...rather bitter. I'd better not keep her waiting."

Struggling to keep his balance on the catapult's arm, Jericho yelled out. "No, don't open that door!"

Jericho heard the door click at the far-end of the warehouse, followed by the sound of nuts dropping - Hamish cursed and retrieved the bolts from the ground.

Jericho leapt the remaining stretch of the arm and landed into the bucket. The tall bucket prevented him from seeing what was going on down below. His voice echoed as he shouted from inside, "I'm in! Hurry up and launch this thing already!"

"What's with the sudden rush?" Hamish asked. "I was going to quickly attend to my newly-arrived customer."

Jericho slammed his fist into the bucket's frame, "Just hurry up and send me, quickly!"

Finally answering his prayers, the catapult began to start up. He felt the sensation of magic steadily rise from within the bucket and tensed as a spherical barrier surrounded him – completely enveloped within the magic bubble the catapult provided as cushion – the arm began to decline further for its launch.

His eyes failed to perceive the catapult's launch as it flung upwards and sent him soaring out the warehouse.

~

Liatha watched Jericho's launch on ground until the spherical barrier she saw around him became a mere sparkle in the blue skies.

"That damned idiot..." Liatha mumbled to herself.

Hamish approached her with a commerce attitude. "Welcome, madam. How may I help you?" With her head still inclined to the sky, she peered at him. "You can assist me by telling me where that oaf headed off to."

"Ah, so you are his accomplice? That wasn't my impression, since Jericho was eager to leave once you had arrived." Hamish presumed. "Are you also travelling via catapult?"

"No," Liatha replied. She fished into her blouse and showed him a blue crystal. "I by no means intend to use a lesser method of transportation."

"Ooh!" Hamish's eyes lit up, "A _blue_ Warp Crystal, is it? That's one of the latest technological breakthroughs with magic – allowing up to more than one person to transport - it functions via radius rather than recognizing a single entity. That must have been pricey, I bet."

Liatha nodded. "It's what I intended to use with him."

She admired her intuition – her suspicion for Jericho was correct. Liatha couldn't help but feel pitiful to betray his trust and place a tracker onto his clothing but she needed to be sure. It was expected for him to run off without telling her and it turned out to be the case.

Hamish attended to his terminal and scratched his head after a few keystrokes, "My apologies, but I can't give you an exact location. After the catapult is executed, its trajectory is lost. I can't give you the precise location, but I do remember its rough coordinates."

It was all Liatha needed. "Give them to me." She demanded.

# 33

From within the bubble that veiled Jericho, he did not feel any of the sheer amounts of velocity from travelling high in the skies, skimming through the snowy clouds as he stormed through the cerulean skies. Jericho calmly stood within the sphere and observed his awesome voyage - he never once thought one day he could be launched into the sky by a freaking catapult. Through the momentary intervals of bursting past clouds, his sightseeing of passing entire metropolitan cities, wastelands and forests from a zenith was teeming with reverence. It only took roughly ten minutes to be in range for the city of Lycur's presence to be witnessed. His sensation took a sudden turn from the sight of the city's exhibition – Baal's tower peering through the clouds was the first building to be seen. He had never come back to this place since his mother made it her dying wish to get him out of there. For him to come back to Lycur, it felt like he was abandoning his own disposition. It needed to be done – it _had_ to be done. If he refused to ever return, he will forever be living in the shadow of instability.

Jericho became uncertain with his motives - does he genuinely want to save the world, or is he driven purely by vengeance? All that mattered was the outcome – the admission of Baal's death becoming a reality was the only thing on his mind. If he truly was a threat to the world, then Jericho will act with no reluctance.

He finally, once again, had someone to live for, and he wasn't going to lose that again.

The spherical form of magic began to slow down when it had passed the city high above ground and began to descend to ground level. As it touched down on the ground a couple of kilometers from the city, the bubble dispelled and Jericho was on solid ground.

He observed the city from where he stood on the hilltop slope, and memories came rushing back to him.

~

15 years ago.

"Jericho?" Veela called for his attention the third time, " _Jericho?_ "

With his brain finally comprehending his mother's words, Jericho peeled his eyes off the mirror from the passing shop's glass reflection and regained his grip with her hand to make sure he didn't get lost in the busy main street he and his mother were in.

Veela maintained her halted stance. "What's the matter, Jericho?"

Jericho looked up at Veela from her waist. "Am I a normal kid?" He asked.

Veela looked at him with a reassuring expression. "Of course you are. Why would you think something like that?"

Jericho avoided her softening influence. "All the other kids at school don't want to be friends with me. They say I have scary eyes..."

"I've told you why they say those things, remember?" Veela consoled, "People are sometimes afraid of things they don't understand."

"I hate it." Jericho said. "Do you think my eyes are scary, Mother?"

Veela knelt by his face, grabbing and gently squeezing his other hand. She looked at him with utmost sincerity. "They are not scary, Jericho. I think your eyes are wonderful. Do you know why they are silver?"

Hearing his mother's words helped put Jericho at ease. "Why?" He asked.

Veela's saintly smile soothed him even further when she spoke. "No matter how dark it is, your eyes will always glow, and it always shines a path forward for you. It's a very special color." Veela brushed his black hair with a benevolent touch. "Remember, we both share the same eyes, so you should never feel alone in this world."

"But...Father said your eyes are hiding from other people and only we can see them." Jericho said.

Veela's expression that was once brimming with condolence faded. "Did he tell you that?"

"Is it really?" Jericho asked.

Her silvery eyes momentarily tucked away from heavy eyelids before revealing them once again with spirit, "Yes, really."

Jericho's silver became glazed by peering at his mother's. "W-why can't I hide my eyes too?" When he said those words to her, Jericho remembered seeing the pain visible in her eyes just like his. But what stuck out to him the most was how easily she overcame that sentiment and stood back up with a gracious hand held out to Jericho. Her notion somehow was understood by Jericho from a single touch and he instantly felt revitalized underneath her glow. With a single gaze and touch, it felt like both their minds and hearts became one for that moment only.

Veela smiled at her son. "Because if your eyes are hidden – the last traces of silver left in this lifetime – the world will never know the true understanding of hope."

~

An immense explosion that shook beneath his feet interrupted Jericho's remembrance – the source came from a building south of his position, it looked to be a facility of some kind and there were no other infrastructure nearby. From his distance, he could see the white building towering high into the sky as he tried to look for any fires or clear signs of destruction.

The explosion he witnessed didn't seem to feel like it was an accidental electrical fire, since he could feel the sensitivity of the air around the facility succumbing to magic.

If it was a source of magic, then he had every reason to investigate. There were many properties Baal owned on the outskirts of Lycur, so it was possible there may be a connection to him. Jericho knew there was only one way to find out, so he made haste to the remote building.

He reached the facility after a good five minutes of sprinting – fairly out of breath – and surveyed the building. Judging by the architecture, it would have been built in this current era. It looked shady for a gilded building to be built in a distant area like this, almost like there was something to hide in there.

Surprisingly enough, the sliding doors at the front entrance opened without an issue and Jericho entered the lobby.

Death filled the air.

A body was limp over the bloodied receptionist desk beside the floor covered with deceased bodies in a gruesome scene. One of the elevators beyond the lobby continuingly attempted to shut its doors on a body between them. Jericho held his hand over his nose to try and fight the horrid smell from the decaying corpses.

They've been dead for at least a few weeks.

_Were all these people the employees of this place?_ Each one of them had visible cuts to their bodies; someone came in here and hacked them all down with a sword.

The ground shook beneath him again from yet another explosion, the lights in the lobby flickered and the corpses danced along the red floors. Being this close was a lot more intense, he could strongly feel the boundless source of magic responsible for them. The tremors were definitely coming from below him.

A few of the elevators beyond the lobby seemed to be in working order. It wasn't the brightest idea but he decided to use it to take him to the lower levels. He stepped into the elevator after the doors effortlessly opened before him – a good sign it was safe to use – and selected the lowest floor available.

As the elevator descended, his morale did also. Jericho became anxious from the sinister vibe he felt and he had no idea why. There wasn't a single person who made him feel this way, other than...

It couldn't be. He didn't want to believe it was him. He was prepared for this – to go to Lycur and finally settle matters once and for all - there was no doubt in his mind whatsoever. But right now, it's different. The feeling of the elevator slowly descending him down into the depths of the unknown with the feeling of evil in the air caused him to panic. It felt just like the elevator ride up to Baal's tower with his mother.

_No. This time, it isn't going to happen like that._ Jericho is older, stronger and more prepared than he had ever been before. He was never going to feel as hopeless as he did that night ever again. He breathed in and locked his shaken shoulders stiff as he waited for the elevator to reach its stop. Fear still ate away at his conscious.

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slowly opened to reveal even more corpses – bloodied and ragged on the marbled ground. The floor he reached was enormous, the roof looked way too high up to even believe the floor was underground, multiple staircases led up to numerous rooms that circled the entire area.

Jericho walked through the masses of lacerated corpses and reached a door at the far end of the room, he began to hear the sounds of steel clashing against each other.

With a racing heart, Jericho walked through the sliding door and halted before it.

A man was picking himself up from the floor with a greatsword in hand, covered in injuries – sparks shot from his no-longer existent artificial arm.

It was Dantanian. The moment Jericho noticed him, the latter did also.

Dantanian convulsed as he held his injured body up on his feet. His silver eyes were set ablaze when he spoke to Jericho. "What are you doing... _Why have you come here?!_ "

Jericho didn't have the words to respond when he found the person responsible for his injuries. Dantanian failed to react to the torrent of dark magic that slammed into his back, the blast sent him off his feet and he rolled on the ground just before Jericho's feet.

Jericho struggled to breath.

"Fate has a sense of humor," spoke a voice emerging from the hangar, "for the two of you to be reunited to witness the death of your failed attempt to change destiny itself."

Jericho felt Dantanian's grip clutch at his ankles as he lay beneath him, and spoke with a pained voice. "You idiot...you shouldn't have come here! You can still make a run for it!"

It didn't matter anymore. Jericho could never muster up the will to run the other way in the sight of what was in front of him. Every ounce of prowess he built up over the years had been crushed in a single instant, as he was merely his own spectator of the inescapable fate before him.

After all these years...Baal stood before him with a grin just as sinister from all those years ago. Baal spoke. "It's been too long since I've seen your face – that's what I would have liked to say to you, Jericho. But that's not the case, is it? You've played a dangerous game with destiny itself, and _lost_. I have seen it's been quite the adventurous life you have been leading, the new people you have been meeting and the hidden truths you have been discovering about yourself. I wish we had the time to discuss the events that had unfolded, but there are more important matters to discuss, is there not?"

Jericho could only stay mute as Baal continued, "Who really _is_ Dantanian - the question I wager you are concerned about. Did you not find it strange that you had no knowledge of his existence? Are you not skeptical of how he knows so much about not only you, but the very world itself?"

" _Don't listen to him!_ " Dantanian shouted. Jericho wasn't able to peel his eyes off of his own manifested nightmare in front of him.

Baal smirked as he coolly slid his hands into his blazer's pockets. He began to recite a familiar verse. "'Those who are etched by the Marking of Blasphemy shall traverse and shatter the pendulum. The safe keep will be ravaged and their minds shall be crushed.'" His black eyes gawked at Dantanian. "...'Such is the price to pay for restitution for those who seek redemption.'"

Dantanian climbed onto one knee – digging his sword into the ground for leverage - his prosthetic arm was in shambles as sparks shot out.

"You'd be wise to stay down like the good boy you are. I'm still not through with you for thwarting my plans and ruining my absolution." Baal spoke to Dantanian as he snapped his fingers – the _snap_ echoed through the hangar until it reached Dantanian's ears. He fell back to the ground, screaming wildly like there was something trying to tear out his body from the insides.

"You should know well that I can freely control your senses." Baal threatened. "Your pain receptors are susceptible to this, as well as your ability to feel emotion. I will soon show you what it feels like to completely rip the feeling of love and happiness from your being, and leave only despair and heartbreak."

The floor cracked beneath Dantanian's knuckles as it dug into the marble floor. " _That has already been ripped from me, long ago!_ "

"Very well," Baal snapped his fingers a second time, "feel the differences of your emotions no longer existent, rather than those feelings being dormant. I assure you, you will feel the difference."

Jericho looked at Dantanian's emotionless face beneath him and mirrored his expression. It looked like he had given up. _What has Dantanian really gone through?_

"I'll answer that question," Baal said as he peered into his thoughts. "But first, answer mine; who do _you_ think he is?"

Jericho trembled at his directed inquiry. He felt pathetic, hopeless and just like he felt in the tower all those years ago. He pictured himself being just a kid again.

Jericho spoke his first words to his father in years, the feeling of disgust and fear grew in his stomach. "I...he's...my brother...right?"

Baal's smirk reemerged. "No doubt you two are related, yes? The resemblance of you and him are undeniable. However, he is not your brother. He is..."

Baal's toothy smile seared into Jericho's perception, "... _You_. Five years from the future, that is you, Jericho."

The world around Jericho slowed down to the point where he couldn't feel his own heart beat inside his chest, the floor beneath him felt unreal to the point where he felt like he was floating. Through this bizarre singularity's vision, he slowly looked down to the now-familiar person by his feet.

Tears streamed down his cheeks alongside blood, the body of his eleven-year-old-self was laid on the floor – curled up and sulking.

"I've altered your perception to preserve what has been lost." Baal spoke beyond the vortex of bewilderment. "Dantanian is you, and you are Dantanian - who you stare at right now is the same person you both were. The only difference being the familiarity of a certain individual named Qareen. You threw it all away for the sake of her – another voice existing beside yours - it's the very definition of depravity."

His eleven-year-old self continued to wail on the ground, and his twenty-year-old self did nothing but watch in misery.

"I didn't want it to be like this..." His younger-self spoke. "I...I wanted to come back to ask for your help...the only one I could trust. I was so alone, it ached so much and I couldn't stand the pain."

'For a better future...'

He continued to speak between his sobs and his other-self listened intently. "After I met you, I knew I was doing the wrong thing...to only use you as a tool to defeat Baal was dangerous, so I changed my mind. I didn't want you to get hurt. I thought maybe this time I could best Baal and you could better your life and live happy...like Mother intended. My entire life has been consumed by a vengeance that couldn't be settled, I never wanted to be as hopeless as that night that monster killed Mother...it sickened me."

'...I was with you the entire time.'

Everything finally made sense. How he knew exactly where to land when he rescued himself from prison, how his fighting stance was exactly how Tabbris trained him and his knowledge about him, the strange vision on mercury, the reason why he killed Maxwell at the Grand Ball, how he was reluctant to use the Warp Crystal that time. It was all clear now.

Everything that he had done was for him – for Jericho...

...For himself.

His inaudible speech back in Kyrion while they crossed the road played in Jericho's head, he read his lip movement. _'The secret is you.'_

His eleven-year-old self reached his hand towards his elder-self. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry I failed you...I failed myself. Promise me..." Their identical silver eyes locked. "...to never become the man I've become."

His younger-self's body began to shift on the ground and slid towards where Baal stood. With a hand gripped on his collar, Baal began to beat the young boy senseless.

Jericho slowly walked to his younger-self with arduous steps; the gruesome sound of Baal's fist pummeling his juvenile face was overwhelmed by the sight of blood pouring out and leaking onto his hands – flinging the crimson swill about and staining his prestigious suit.

The malicious sight soon became intercepted by strands of brown hair, followed by a tilted vision of the massacre from his body being tackled, a blue radiance began to take form and shroud him in light within a grasp.

The sight of his younger-self came to an end when Baal had run his sword through him, and the blue hue surrounding Jericho darkened until he was no longer there.

# 34

Jericho rested still on the adorned rug he had been transported to in an instant by Liatha's Warp Crystal, he continued to do so even after several minutes passed by and numerous beckons by both Liatha and Gusion – now quietly conversing with one another as she filled the wolf in on what she had overheard and witnessed.

Deep down, Jericho knew Dantanian wasn't who he seemed to be. The trust was hardly intact to begin with, his story was flimsy and the enigma that shrouded him was too obvious to turn a blind eye to. But nothing could have prepared Jericho for something like that to happen. The very thought of Dantanian actually being himself made him feel artificial, he didn't know which one of them could be considered the 'real' him.

It was pathetic to think about. If Jericho went through the trouble to travel back through time, it was obvious this fight he's struggling with now was all for nothing. 'Dantanian' is an illustration of Jericho's future – an inevitable failure.

Even if Jericho still had the most miniscule ember of hope still residing within, the fact he had failed a second time made him lose hope all the more, and that fraction of a flame has been extinguished.

He couldn't see the point of it anymore. It was shown painfully clear to him now that it's a fight he cannot win under any circumstances whatsoever. Trying to change the past solved nothing – the struggle exhibited by his future-self determined that.

Maybe Jericho could understand more if he knew what his future was like.

After the lengthy blank stare at the burnished roof, Jericho broke his silence. "I want to ask you something, Gusion."

Gusion's temperate voice responded in his mind. " _Speak what is on your mind, Jericho._ "

"That sink I used when I was looking for Dantanian," saying his name stung Jericho, "it shows you memories you have experienced but not witnessed, right?"

" _A vague description, but accurate - it indeed shows you such memories in a spiritual fashion. The dreams attempt to recreate the scenario if you were not present. I'm positive it was the same case with yours, too._"

"Then what if those memories were witnessed first-hand, but from another pair of eyes?" Gusion's telepathic voice changed in perplexity, showing that he himself may have never needed to understand it until now. " _In theory...yes. If you are suggesting in observing your other-self's memories, it should be possible. The pedestal is not a work of science, but of magic – two different minds should not matter since you are two of the same - such memories would not need to be interpreted in a dream sequence also, since they have already been witnessed._"

Liatha spoke beside Gusion - her voice was calm and careful. "Jericho, are you sure about wanting to do this right now? I only caught a glimpse, but..." She timidly locked her hands together as she spoke, "You must be going through deep remorse."

Jericho stood without a glance at the two and silently walked to the room.

~

Jericho never grew tired of gazing at his own reflection on the glossy roof of his cell; even as the years passed, he continued to do so. With every day that came, a new reason for self-hatred was harvested from the deep, melancholy mind he possessed.

Five years spent in isolation finally made him realize who he really was – an answer he had yearned for his entire life. His ambitions, qualities and morals were at last brought to light as he stared at the reflected silver eyes.

Worthless, cowardice, miserable, weak - there were no other better-fitting words to describe him and he began to accept it with gratitude. The hope-filled words his mother had told him all those years ago about him being the hope of the world made him laugh, he could never forgive himself for being too scared to save her life when it came to be. Now, he was merely a shell with no life, rotting away in a jail cell until he ceases to exist.

He wasn't strong enough to fight any of it.

Jericho watched the corner of his lip curve upwards through the reflection as he spoke, "You haven't visited me in a while."

He felt the phantom presence nestle beside him on his bed, her voice swirled inside his left ear. "You're not bothered this time?"

His body was paralyzed except for his mouth. "It's refreshing to hear a lady's voice that isn't from that bitch of a warden."

"Whatever your reason may be, it's clearly different from the last time I contacted you. You're not rejecting my presence."

"You're just a voice in my head from my insanity. I can't be bothered blocking it out this time." "Just a voice, you presume?" The left side of his body warmed and tightened. "My existence is genuine. It truly hurts my feelings for you to say that after all those nights I've comforted your ravaged heart."

"You've only made my sleepless nights even worse, Qareen."

Jericho felt Qareen shift from his side and mount his body, his eyes observed only a shade, but he could feel her tepid breath brush his face. "Your eyes are filled with agony, Jericho. Let me help you fulfill what you seek. What is it you most desire?"

"I don't really know anymore." It was always Jericho's response to her the numerous times she visited and offered him.

But this time was different. His hatred was stronger than ever before.

"But," Jericho continued, "I would really like to see that man's face twisted in pain - the one responsible for everything that happened."

He felt her hand caress his cheek – her voice was closer to his face. "A wonderful motive, Jericho, and I can make that happen if you so wish it."

"That's not happening anytime soon. I'm stuck in prison for another few decades and I'm nowhere near as strong as my father. I couldn't protect my mother when she needed me...same goes for Senna, I can't even look at the warden's face because of that. To think we would cross paths in a situation like this..."

"You cared deeply for both, and you seek redemption. You wish to regain your dignity by slaying your father. Will that make you feel better, Jericho?"

Jericho hollowly smiled. "It would."

"With my influence, we can both do that together. Would you like that, Jericho?"

"Yes. I would."

"I can give you the power needed for his defeat, as well as all the knowledge of this world. You will become stronger than ever before, your latent magic will be awoken and there will be no secrets kept about this world from you. With this...you will become almighty. With my authority, your name shall be 'Dantanian.'"

His lips pressed underneath the specter's pressure. She spoke into his mouth at intervals of her endearment. "In order for me to grant this, I need you to entrust me with your soul for my keeping. Will you permit it, my Dantanian?"

Jericho spoke after the long clasp at his lips. "I do."

"Our fates are now sealed." Qareen announced. Jericho saw the specter's eyes become visible and stared into the depths of darkness. "Gaze upon the truth."

Qareen's spectral form became distorted as it warped and became a vaporous black mist. The mist slinked onto Jericho's face and crawled up to his eyes. The mist began to seep into his silver pupils, Jericho's entire body was overwhelmed with excruciating pain, the pain on his back was more severe - it felt like he was being branded - he lamented as the mist became clear.

Silver became tainted by traces of black, and he saw it – the knowledge of the entire world, every corner of the earth and the darkest secrets known to man was now a resting place in his mind.

A mind taught of hope was now contaminated with the notions of evil.

" _The world is despicable, don't you agree?_ " Qareen spoke in his conscious. " _How do you fare – knowing of all the evil in the world you once adored?_ "

Jericho leapt off of his bed, "Never been better. I wish you had come to me a long time ago instead of my mother teaching me that drivel of how the world is filled with hope."

" _With our consciousness now subjugated, do you now see Baal's true intent?_ "

"I do. It's worse than I ever thought it was."

" _There is a reason why I urged you to reconsider my assistance today, Dantanian. I'm sure that you now understand._"

A deafening siren sounded from outside the prison, so loud that it felt like the siren was coming from inside the cell itself.

"The threat of world destruction by nuclear warfare, right on cue it seems." Jericho said.

With a flick of the wrist, Jericho caused the wall of his cell to cave in, leaving a large hole to escape from.

" _Will you head to Lycur?_ " Qareen asked.

"There's no time to waste," Jericho said as he slammed his magic into the investigating guards outside his cell. "I'll pick up my sword from the armory first, and then head out to the nearest town for a Warp Crystal."

Jericho was amazed by how much he had learnt from Qareen. He had known the whereabouts of where their armory is kept, but now he could get there with his eyes closed. He could fill his body brim with magic – something he had never felt before - finally a power he can utilize for Baal's slaughter. He hadn't felt this good in years.

With the alarm still blaring in his ears and pummeling guards with his newly-found magic, he reached the armory and was confident of his capabilities to destroy the secure door. His excitement grew when the mass of white light shot from his hand and decimated the door. After retrieving his cursed sword from a secured case, he left and continued onwards for his way out – hacking and slashing any guard in his way.

Both the nuclear siren and the prison's siren were blaring in accord as Jericho continued his carnage, eventually reaching the outside courtyard and greeted by multiple armed guards surrounding the Chief Warden.

Liatha Nespirk stood between her guards with a sword in hand. "Stand down, prisoner!" She shouted. "Observe around you, you're completely surrounded."

Indeed he was. The walls surrounding the courtyard were guards pointing crossbows at him, guards from inside the facility rushed behind his flank and three capture drones were hovering in the night sky above.

It didn't trouble Jericho at all. "Don't you hear that siren in the distance?" He asked. "That's the sound of a nuclear warhead coming straight for us."

"I've never heard of such a thing. Don't try and confuse us with a strange prudence." Liatha said.

Jericho pointed up to the sky, "Can you see that light that looks completely different than the stars?"

Liatha didn't buy it. "You're not fooling anybody with your petty tricks. Stand down or we will put you down."

"Not happening." Jericho refused.

"So be it," Liatha waved a hand to the guards, "Sentries, fire at will!"

A storm of arrows shot towards Jericho, he emitted a barrier around him, the arrows bounced off onto the ground and the guards stood frozen in awe.

Liatha was the only one who remained her composure. "So, you're a mage, I presume?"

Jericho responded by stimulating the dozen fallen arrows with his magic and raised them above his head. He fired them off back to their respective owners, the sounds of shrieks and yells filled the air. Three guards that attempted to attack Jericho paid dearly with their lives as they were instantly cut down in a swift movement of his sword.

The morale of the guards severely dwindled and they began to turn tail, many of them ran to the surrounding guard towers behind locked doors.

Liatha stood strong amidst the fearful stampede. "Fools, have you no shame?! Stand your ground, law enforcers will be arriving shortly!"

No one obeyed their warden and she was abandoned – her only company being Jericho.

"You should do the same, Warden." Jericho warned.

She stood firm with her short sword held strongly in front of her. "An absurd suggestion, it's out of the question. I won't let a savage like you run amok society, my pride as a warden won't let that happen."

"I know it won't." Jericho agreed. "You're a strong woman...just like Senna was."

Liatha's eyes widened on her paled face, "S-Senna...?! How do you know of that name?" Jericho's silver eyes gleamed with blight. "I know of that name because I know her personally. She was a kind girl. I still share sympathy for her."

"Enough! Your words are clearly trying to deceive me!" Liatha became furious, her thin lips lifted above her bared teeth. "There is no way a lowlife such as you could ever be acquainted with her!"

"It's true." Jericho said with concealed eyes – his silver exposed and stared. "Would you like to know how close we were?" He asked.

With incredible speed, Jericho charged at Liatha and before she even realized, they were face to face. He only saw her eyes widen slightly as she noticed his proximity before he ran his blade through her stomach.

Blood spurted onto Jericho's face from her cough, the sword from her hand chimed as it hit the concrete ground of the courtyard followed by the sound of blood dripping off his blade at the other end. Her eyes were glued to the cursed sword in her being.

Jericho leaned in close to her bloodied mouth. "This was how close we were. Intimate, isn't it?" Liatha's gaping mouth shimmered with crimson, she brought her shaking hands to the blade skewered through her and held it tightly.

"I enjoyed her company until her body was defiled, raped and slaughtered by her caretaker. I made sure to kill him, though; it's the reason why I'm in this place. I'm sure you understand, right? Behind all of those insults you threw at me all of these years, I'm certain you knew I only did what was right. It was sad, but good news for you - you'll no longer be searching for her. It should have lifted a great burden off of your shoulders..."

Liatha looked up at him with weeping eyes, and he only smiled warmly at the sight of it before he spoke again. "...And now you can finally reunite with her."

Jericho yanked his sword out from her stomach and Liatha began to fall as her knees crumpled beneath - tears floated in the air as she made her descend – she watched as the blade's point slashed through her throat in a horizontal motion before she thumped to the floor. She had no strength to cover the gushing blood from her throat with her hands and only lay still – hysterically gasping for air and only to be greeted with blood.

Jericho remained by Liatha's side until her gasps for air came to an end.

~

After seizing a horse from the stables, Jericho made his way to the nearest town in the vicinity – Fansen. The streets of the small town would usually be dead at this time of night, but the deafening siren in the distance made it impossible for anyone to rest. The residents were made all the more jumpy when they spotted a man wearing a prison jumpsuit cantering into their streets and cleared out from his way. They paid him no mind when he used his magic to dismantle the door of an alchemy store.

It was an easy find; the emerald green crystal was the most inconspicuous item in the store. The glass frame that cased the expensive crystal was held high above the counter.  
" _We need to hurry._ " Qareen warned. " _The warhead's impact is imminent; all of Hatiel will be left in ruins._ "

Jericho smashed the glass case and retrieved the crystal – staring at it vehemently between in his palm. "I promised myself that I would never use one of these again."

" _What of that promise?_ "

"I'm not the same man who made that promise anymore." Jericho stated. "But..." He rolled the crystal between his fingers, "I'm fooling myself if I say I'm not afraid."

His newly-gained sentiment didn't waver from dread. With the crystal nesting in his palm, he clenched and pictured his most feared destination right at the source with tightly-shut eyes.

~

"So, you've come." A voice said in the darkness.

Jericho opened his eyes and saw his father standing by the window that stretched throughout his office, his bald head beamed from the ivory moon. "Do you not realize, Jericho? The warhead I had fired at Hatiel would not rain down destruction - thanks to the embargo. I'm sure you must be wondering why on earth I would do such a pointless thing, but your presence here should answer your question."

There were so many things Jericho wanted to say to him and there were many questions also, but at this moment of time, he didn't care for either. The only thought going through his mind was how much he yearned to kill Baal, he drew his sword and readied.

Baal smiled at the sight of his creation. "After all these years, you still possess that sword? My, what determination, you endured its constant hunger for not only your magic, but your willpower also. I want to say that I'm flattered, but I'm sure you didn't keep it just to show me – no – you want to do something much different than that."

The air pulsed against Jericho's skin as Baal conjured his blade behind his back and drew – a single hand on its black hilt held in front of him. "Show me the extent of your resolve after all these years of anguish. I will crush each and every single ounce of hope you hold so dearly." The glass windows surrounding the room shattered when Jericho had released all his power and readied his stance further – a torrent of his pure magic emanated off his sword - radiating light veiled his frame.

Baal was wise enough to use both hands to block Jericho's first strike; the furniture in the room scattered and skimmed right off the skyscraper. Jericho pushed down harder onto the locked swords between them before retracting his blade and swung it again – with more force this time – enough to break Baal's heavy stance, the latter's footing was no longer versed.

"Now I understand..." Baal spoke between the flying sparks of steel, "The reason for your sudden increase of prowess and your unfathomable strength. You are not alone in that consciousness of yours, are you?"

Jericho's eyes glowed as magic began to spur within his retinas and Baal covered the former's eyes with his hand – the magic backfired within his grip - and Jericho was thrown to the ground. With his sword raised, Baal drove it downwards to Jericho's vulnerable body and was intercepted by a wave of light thrown at his face, allowing Jericho to retreat to safer distance. Smoke simmered from Baal's hand from the shielded magic. "Which is it, Jericho?" He asked. Through the shattered windows around them, a dozen missiles were seen launching at the outskirts of Lycur – a trail of flame exposing their trajectory upwards into the night sky.

"Which of the reasons is it," Baal continued, "your reason to fight? Is it purely for my demise, or for the salvation of the world? As I peer into your thoughts, I can see you are painfully confused about this conundrum. I could strip away the unnecessary emotions from you to haste its resolution, but I would prefer you to understand that yourself."

"Why is a reason needed for this...for any of it?" Jericho asked.

"A purpose for an action is essential for it to be an intention."

"You think I care about any of that? Reasons, motives and beliefs...it's nothing but a pointless empty gap to fill. If I've chosen to take this path in life without a logical conclusion, then so be it. In order for my birth to happen, none of that logic had to be intact – I had no say in whether I wanted to exist or not, therefore I will have no say in how I choose to live."

"You speak as if life in itself is fabrication."

"Heh, that's a better way of putting it. I'll be sure to remember that."

"You seem satisfied with the outcome, but does the same bode well with your mother? She had devoted her life for your upbringing, teaching you how to live and to appreciate, and you will throw all of that away with ease? I would say she had died in vain, but that was the truth as it had occurred..."

Baal parried a wave of light thrown with a quick slice through the air, he smiled at Jericho as the latter yelled, "I may have thrown all of that away now...but if you dare say that my mother gave her life for nothing at that time..."

"You should see it clearly now," Baal said as he continued to peer into Jericho's thoughts, "my objective and its method of execution. I have already begun the absolution and the embargo indicted upon this world is now coming to an end as its power now enters its new vessel – which is you, Jericho - the sole purpose of why I have allowed you to live thus far. It was not the case all those years ago, I admit my anger got the better of me and I acted rashly. If your death had conspired, my plans would be foiled. But as we all know, that didn't happen, you were saved by your mother in a sacrificial attempt to retain 'hope' in this world. Veela had thought if she saved you, the world had been saved also. It wasn't the case, your rescue had not saved the world, but doomed it instead – the very thought of Veela dying in vain saddens even me; her life could have proved further in usefulness. I pity her."

Baal raised his hand and stretched it towards Jericho. "And I pity you, too."

Jericho threw up a wall of light to counteract the barrage of darkness, he realized it was a feint a second too late – Baal was already behind him with his sword swung. His blade sliced through Jericho's right shoulder as he attempted to block, it cleaved his arm clean off – dropping his cursed sword.

Droplets of blood dripping off his blade splattered at Baal's feet, he grinned at Jericho's anguished expression. "I also pity you for your lack lustered attempt to attain power by casting aside your soul - all in order to defeat me - it was all in vain. You still do not possess the strength needed to cut me down as you intended, not a single blow was inflicted upon me." Jericho gritted his teeth as his hand began to heat with magic; he cuffed his severed arm and screamed in pain as he burned his wound to stop the bleeding.

"A wonderful display of determination, but it is all for naught," Baal spoke as he signaled to observe their surroundings. "The remnants of the embargo's influence has now almost converged to its final point of contact, your time is up."

A circuit of magic began to encircle Baal's tower, its blue aura pulsated through the air and reacted to Jericho's body – he trembled as the power began to transpire.

"Once its power is embedded inside your being, this world will no longer be under any restriction or influence and its doom will be imminent – hundreds of WMDs will be unleashed upon this world to eradicate almost all life - and I will be among the remaining to rule in sovereignty. I will become their one and only ruler."

"So that's your goal..." Jericho said as he lowered his hand from his simmering wound. "Intriguing, isn't it? To rule over the world with the only one left possessing magic, they will with no doubt worship my existence, as will you – the overwhelming quantity of magic resting in your body will render you completely useless."

In an instant, the aura enclosed and seeped into Jericho's body – the enormous power caused him to collapse onto his hands and knees - the entire world's magic now resided within him.

Baal raised his arms as hundreds of missiles launched from the outskirts, all of them symbolizing the world's end. "Now, call forth any means of strength to raise your head and behold this world's destruction with me!"

Jericho began to laugh.

His laugh started off quiet, but then grew hysterical as he slowly picked himself up from the floor. The sound of his laughter escaped through the shattered windows and circled around the tower.

Baal snickered along with him. "Have you finally succumbed to your broken mind and snapped?" He said.

"No," Jericho answered with a toothy smile, "but I will soon." The marking etched into Jericho's back began to glow.

The space around Jericho began to distort as ethereal chains conjured and bound his body, his presence began to shift to a whole different reality. The small shades of demon-like creatures stood on his shoulders and back as they tightened the chains around him.

"W-what is it that you're doing?!" Baal stammered.

"A last resort," Jericho said – the shadowed chains continued tightening around him, "I can't beat you, but I can always try again in a different timeline. Sorry, but I'm not taking part of this new world of yours. It will disappear...along with me."

Baal was pushed back when he tried to intervene – unable to exist within the current dimension Jericho resided. He became aggravated at his failed attempt, "The Marking of Blasphemy?! There's no way-"

"Anyone has the magic capacity to use it?" Jericho finished Baal's sentence. "True, but what convenience to have the entire world's magic at my disposal."

"To think you would resort to such a method...two of the same conscious minds struggle to exist within the same timeline, it's the very definition of blasphemy! You will end up destroying yourself!"

"So be it." Jericho said. "This is goodbye, Baal. I'll be seeing your other-self soon."

The space around Jericho began to violently shake as his presence shifted into a whole different dimension, he heard Baal shout to him as he made his exit, "Your resistance is futile, Jericho! No matter where you run, where you hide, what realm or what time you escape to – you will never know true liberty! You will forever be in a constant shadow of your past!"

Baal's enraged threats soon faded along with the world he left behind.

# 35

The loud knocks at Ifrit's door of her quarters irritated her. She had only fallen asleep a short while ago after the long training session with Omarion, he was more harsh than usual, too.

After moments of squirming in her bed in frustration and her hopes of her visitor giving up being crushed, she idly planted her feet by the side of her bed and used her sore arms to push off the mattress.

She walked across her adorned room and opened the door, it was Omarion – of course, any lesser demons' contact with her is strictly forbidden, let alone anywhere near her quarters.

Ifrit's eyes were still drooped from her slumber. "What do you want?" She asked with a sluggish tone, fixing her singlet strap on her shoulder.

Even indoors, Omarion's helmet was still intact. The hallway he stood in was murky; it made it difficult to read his mood. He sounded fairly serious when he told her, "I need you to come with me, now."

" _Now?_ " She rubbed an eyelid with a closed fist, "Is it so important for you to disturb my rest? I actually need to sleep, unlike you."

"It is important, yes. I will wait here for you to change into appropriate attire."

Ifrit slammed her door at Omarion's back and walked to her wardrobe. Her armor stand was lazily arranged, she was kind of glad Omarion gave her the opportunity to wear her armor again before he spotted her untidiness. She sluggishly equipped her armor – wincing when her pauldrons and chest plate clicked into place - the thought of putting her helmet on was bothersome, so she left it hung on its stand and left her cozy room.

Omarion said nothing when she began to walk with him in the dark corridor - the four moons spread in the ashen skies provided little light. As well with others, both Ifrit's and Omarion's quarters were located in the Esteemed Sanctum – a citadel located high above purgatory's surface. It always struck as odd to Ifrit, while they were located in a luxurious space high in the sky, their lord would remain on the surface in his castle, surrounded by the constant screams of the damned souls in hellfire. She had never been incited to ask, though.

Curiosity was still always a big factor, so Ifrit had asked Omarion about the citadel itself. Supposedly, it was originally not in their possession, but in Paradise's. When conflict struck some time ago, this was one of the many relicts the lord had claimed from them. "Whatever this is, let's get it over and done with. I really need a nap." Ifrit said.

"I understand," Omarion agreed. "This isn't an event where I'd prefer to savor it."

Before Ifrit could ask, Omarion told her. "There was a favor I had asked of Maalik, it seems he has finally succeeded in his findings."

"And what do I have to do with it?"

Omarion's gauntlet clanged as he opened the door leading outside, "Everything."

A dragon's cry was heard echoing through the pallid sky from the outside veranda. Omarion promptly mounted Buraq for his descend. He turned to Ifrit, "Mount with me. I'll take us both down."

"Nah, I'll pass." Ifrit said as she walked to the veranda's edge – the sight of blackened clouds masked Purgatory's floor. "I'm still half asleep, so I wouldn't mind waking myself up a bit." Ifrit casually walked off the veranda's mouth and fell headfirst into the skies, gracefully scraping the passing clouds with her fingertips until her vision of the ground was clear. She smoothly twirled in the air – no longer headfirst – and prepared for impact. The rocky earth beneath her greaves fractured as she landed, meanwhile, Omarion gracefully landed with his winged steed beside her and dismounted.

" _Whew_ , now I feel alive!" Ifrit exclaimed.

Omarion shook his head at the sight of the dozens of fractures in the ground from all of Ifrit's shenanigans. "It becomes increasingly frustrating every time you do that." Omarion nodded to the fiery tornadoes ahead, "Let's not keep him waiting."

As they approached the blazing, barren wasteland, the heat became fierce – Ifrit could feel herself sweating from inside her mail. It's dreadful to even fathom that souls are bound here for eternity.

Ifrit flinched when she heard a _crunch_ beneath her step. She timidly raised her foot to investigate; she had shattered the rib from a charred skeleton on the ground.

"Good, he's here." Omarion said as he inclined his head to Maalik. "I preferred not to get close to those fires of his."

Maalik stood patiently in wait a great distance from the tornadoes of fire, Ifrit couldn't help but notice his hollowed eye sockets as he greeted them both. "Make yourselves at home. I've adjusted the temperature to lukewarm."

"As much as we appreciate its warmth, we don't plan to stay long," Omarion expressed his gratitude. "Where is the one we seek?"

Maalik pointed to one of the hundreds of tornadoes. "In there. Shall I bring him out now?" Omarion nodded, "If you would."

Maalik waved his hand in a beckoned gesture and a fireball was ejected from the tornado, its trajectory was headed to land between them. The flames eventually dispersed in the air, and all that impacted the ground was a person.

Ifrit stiffened at the sight. The carbonized body was no longer distinguishable as embers still singed, its flesh and skin were melted off its bones, and the eyes of the body looked like burnt coal. Even with all of those qualities hindering the body's identity, it was still recognizable to her.

Ifrit knew who the person was. "Why?" It was all she could ask Omarion.

"I assumed you wanted revenge, so I have given this person to you." Omarion said. "It was a difficult task to find among the many souls trapped within the vortex of fire. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, don't let it fall through your hands."

The charred body twitched at Ifrit's feet, a wheeze escaped its singed vocal chords and its hands began to claw at the ground – painting its sullied blood on the rocks.

More of its blood was spilt when Ifrit had run her sword through its fragile skull.

"Ah, so she sought for revenge." Maalik observed. "That is why you were so fixated on finding that person, Omarion. So, how does it feel, girl? Are you satisfied? If you truly sought revenge, it would have been more suitable to leave him in my possession to repent for his sins for all of eternity, without death. Instead, you freed him from his misery and expelled him into nothingness."

"That's not it..." Omarion said to Maalik – his eyes peered at Ifrit's shaking hands. "It was just like a certain event that conspired between herself and a dragon. Isn't that right, Ifrit? This was an act of mercy."

Ifrit ignored her scabbard and dug her blade into the rocky soil. "Yes...It was mercy."

Omarion stood by her side and stared at the grisly corpse. "This wasn't to slay a mere dragon, Ifrit...this was your own monster. It's surprising to see that this is your outcome."

"I'm not who I once was." Ifrit said. "I promised that not only to myself, but to our Lord, did I not? If I want to forget the person who I was in my previous life, then hanging onto petty revenge would contradict that purpose."

Omarion extracted Ifrit's blade from the ground, he gripped its blade and held out its hilt to her. "You're more mature than I had anticipated. The life you lead now is indeed much different than your previous, I'm certain you are now wholly aware of that. Indeed, you have casted aside your past, but do not ever forget - whatever you have left behind will forever remain the truth of what you bring along."

Ifrit reclaimed her sword from Omarion's grasp - her long brown hair flickered against her chest plate from the whirlwind of the adjacent tornadoes. "I will never forget."

# 36

Jericho felt envious.

He watched the flock of birds fly in formation through the blue skies over the snowy Alps, their wings fluttered elegantly underneath the light snowfall, with each beat of their wings scattering sleet onto the frosty ground Jericho stood in the vast valley, his body shivered each time a flake dissolved on his face.

He wanted to be like them.

Creatures that have the ability to fly through the skies, escaping from their foes who pose threat to them, leaving their foes grounded and trounced of their devious intents. It was only the time being on solid ground when they would feel threatened, however in the skies they were free of harm.

Jericho didn't want to be on the ground anymore. The longer he remained with no wings to soar, the more his prospects began to crumble to the earth – whatever's left of it, that is.

After he saw the truth of what happened – the events that had conspired in his destined future - it made him realize how pointless it all was. There was no reason he could find to keep pushing forward, the very idea of him even trying is a damn joke, with his hopes brutally crushed right before his eyes. His mother should have never held him so high.

He thought his mother should have just let him fall to his death, which would have been a lot easier for everyone else. He couldn't think of even one good deed he'd done – any sort of effort to better society. Everything he tried to protect was destroyed, his hopes were diminished and he became weak when strength was necessary.

Jericho didn't know to feel either relieved, alert or angry when he heard footsteps approaching from behind him. He didn't look back.

"No wonder north-west of Seraph is uninhabitable," Liatha said between her ragged breaths, "It is fifteen degrees below zero, I'm wearing so many layers – including these stupid hand-mitts that don't fit me - and all you are wearing is a jacket. You're truly out of your mind." "Surprised?" Liatha continued even with no response, "Your clothing is still lined with multiple tracking devices; there isn't anywhere your thick head can hide from me. Now, let us return to somewhere warm."

It cut him deeply. Jericho didn't want to reject her offer for comfort, but he had no choice. After seeing what happened, he no longer trusted himself around her anymore.

He felt Liatha's frustration grow when she received silence yet again. "You're as thick as ever." She said - the snow scrunched beneath her boots, "If you stop ignoring me, I might whip up one of my signature hot chocolates for you."

Terror crawled against Jericho's skin as Liatha neared him and pleaded. "Please...let's go home, Jericho."

Jericho turned with his fear-driven body. "Get away from me!" He yelled as he threw out his hand and unleashed his magic. His light carved into the snow between them and split the ground open, the crack spread through one side of the valley to the other – a chasm with its width splitting him apart from her.

He looked at his shaking hand, "With this hand, I..." he brought it to his face to cover his tears, " _I..._ "

His knees chilled when they dug into the snow, it began to slowly melt as he placed his damp hand on the snow. He finally looked up at her on his knees, the sight of her face destroyed him, he shouted with tears still flowing. " _I killed the only reason why I keep fighting this pointless battle!_ "

"So tell me!" Liatha shouted across the chasm. "Tell me what you saw so I can share that burden with you!"

"You were right all along...about the person I am. I'm just a vile person to the core, the murderer you've once believed me to be. I don't contribute anything to society but destruction. You should have never agreed to trust me, even then I betrayed you, didn't I? I took advantage of you for my own benefit, so why do I even deserve your attention? You should have just killed me!"

Liatha began to slowly retreat from the fissure between them and Jericho felt slightly relieved, believing she was just going to leave him alone.

But that relief was short-lived when he realized Liatha was only making distance for a running start. Even in the deep snow, her run was swift - Jericho couldn't believe his eyes when he saw her leap through the air, across the abyssal chasm and land safely on his side. He could now clearly see her reddened nose from the cold beneath her brown beanie – her eyes were also susceptible to the rose colour.

She stood above Jericho, "You..." the slap across his face stung extra painful from the blistering cold, "...damn idiot!"

"What nonsense!" She continued her rant, "You treat the past like it's your future. Yes, I once believed you were such qualities, but I was wrong. In time I learnt that you were definitely not a mindless murderer, and you actually cared for Senna when I damn well couldn't. In the underground of Kyrion, you showed me that you were noble to our cause, even if it was partially a farce – you laid down your life to protect me and saved me. At the Grand Ball, I had the most fun I've had in years and it was because of you. You didn't have to fall for Omarion's trap when he had captured me and just left me for your own benefit, but you didn't, you came to my rescue and the first thing you did was ensure my safety. I didn't..." Liatha regained her composure after fending off her tears, "...I didn't ask for a shoulder to cry on, either, but you were there for me. Do you have any idea how long I had held back those tears? I didn't want to cry alone, so I waited and _waited_ for someone to share my grief, and it was you. Sure, I'm not society itself, but what you've contributed to me is the _world_ , and that's why I've fallen for you. It angers me to hear you spout such bullshit about the person you are, because the Jericho _I_ know is something so much more than you think!"

Jericho could feel her yearning for his eye-contact, but he wouldn't give it. His fingers began to feel numb from being dug into the snow.

"I'm heading back." Liatha's voice now sounded calm, now that her scold had settled. "I know that you carry a Warp Crystal of your own, so please head back as soon as you can. Let me be there for you like you were for me."

Through the blistering cold, his heart warmed with the sparks of words Liatha said to him.

"I love you."

Their romance was obvious, but that was the first time either one of them had said those words to each other - just those three words leaving her wintry lips felt like three million. Her voice had never sounded so captivating; it felt like he was falling in love all over again.

But he couldn't say it back.

He wanted to, more than anything. But he couldn't.

_How pathetic._ Those two words now replaced the previous three, as it echoed in his thoughts while he watched Liatha's shadow casted on the snow disappear.

Jericho didn't flinch when he felt a warm touch grasp his body – a faint breeze of hot breath grazed his thawed cheeks. The weight on his back felt like an actual person was cuddling around him.

A voice whispered into his left ear. "Your eyes are filled with agony, Jericho."

# 37

"Are you not going to evacuate, Mr. Alastor?" The secretary asked.

Every building in Lycur projected evacuation alerts and Alastor Corp.'s tower exclusively emitted the warning with a holographic image – wrapped around the mid-point and base of the tower. The City Council received a terrorist threat only half an hour ago – threatening total destruction of the city - and they had reacted accordingly. There were no clouds in the warm night, so Baal watched the thousands of civilians evacuate the city in an orderly fashion on the roads that lead out to the ridge beyond.

"I have no intent to abide by such trivial matters." Baal answered. "You may take your leave, I will reside here."

The secretary agreed with a nod and disappeared from his office, the _ding_ sound from the elevator was followed shortly, leaving him alone – which would have been in silence if not for the constant alerts sounding from each skyscraper.

Baal made sense of the situation when he saw the green hue glow in his office.

He smiled at the glowing form of magic residue. "So, you've come." Baal said.

The greenish glow settled, and his silhouette now emerged with silver staring right back at him. "Do you mourn his death?" Baal asked. "The embodiment of your future, that is. He really did an outstanding job to ruin my plans by activating my weapons with the embargo still invoked; there is not a single warhead left. You have my admiration, Jericho, well done. Are you not satisfied? Have you now come for your long-sought vengeance? Faking a terror threat to evacuate the city was a bold move indeed, now you have no worries about the safety of others."

Baal couldn't read him.

Usually, he can read a person's thoughts with a mere glance. All he received from Jericho's mind was nothing and all the more. Baal was shocked, but intrigued.

Jericho's mind remained hollow even when he summoned his sword and unsheathed it.

Baal smiled at the sight of his creation. "After all these years, you still possess that sword? My, what determination, you endured its constant hunger for not only your magic, but your willpower also. I want to say that I'm flattered, but I'm sure you've heard this all before, haven't you? I do wonder how events conspired in your alternate timeline. Were the same words exchanged, or were there none at all?"

An exhale of breath escaped Jericho's mute mouth when he exerted and focused his strength, the broadsword responded to his power with a bright glow of white. It was nothing like nine years ago, his child-self held its hilt so poorly and the sword's weight threw him off balance. What Baal saw in front of him was a completely different person, both in power and spirit. The biggest difference, however, were neither of those qualities.

It was his lack of fear that made it a whole new experience.

"If you've come to throw everything away so soon, then it is fine by me." Baal conjured his blade behind his back and drew. He held a single hand on its black hilt held in front of him, "Show me the extent of your resolve after all these years of anguish. I will crush each and every single ounce of hope you hold so dearly."

Jericho sprung off his feet and went for a direct assault, he switched his momentum the moment Baal attempted to block his sword and side-stepped, swinging his sword from Baal's left – swords clashed briefly before Jericho retracted his sword and spiraled into a pirouette - his strike was parried from a swipe of Baal's sword.

"How many times, Jericho," Baal asked as he continued to fend off Jericho's continuous attacks, "how many times have you faced me now?"

With every parry Baal executed, the force of Jericho's sword diverted, smashing each of Baal's windows in his office each time he deflected the powerful blows. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the shattered glass on the floor begin to float off the ground and flutter around the office. Jericho darted back outside of the vortex of mirroring glass, leaving Baal in the eye of the storm. Outside, Jericho began to dash around in a frenzied speed, and the reflective glass created mimics within the circle. Baal became surrounded by dozens of fakes and afterimages.

"This would be your fourth time;" Baal said with his eyes darting around, "the first was nine years ago, the second was your counterpart's attempt in the future as well as his third, and now here we are. You continue to fight against the known future, you contend against the inevitable and you struggle against fate."

Baal's eyes began to squint from the glare emitted from the mirrored shards, each of Jericho's afterimages now shone with light. He dodged a swipe from Jericho's illusionary sword in the nick of time and missed his chance to counteract when Jericho escaped the circle and joined back and blended with the mimics.

It started to become a nuisance for Baal, Jericho's unreadable mind made it all the more worse since he wasn't able to anticipate his attacks – each of his covert strikes inched too close for comfort - it was when Jericho's sword barely nicked Baal's knuckle, he had to end it. A dark wave discharged from Baal, further shattering and dispersing the surrounding shards of glass, he readied his stance to attack at the sight of Jericho.

He was nowhere to be seen. Baal's perception responded to a strike above his head, _from above?!_

Baal held his sword horizontally out above him to protect him against Jericho's heavy swing from above, the gale from tremendous wind caused him to stagger as Jericho swung at full force. Baal was slightly disappointed as their swords clashed, it wasn't nearly as powerful as he anticipated, but at that split second he realized why it wasn't. At the moment Jericho brought down his sword, he immediately let go of its hilt – leaving it balancing atop of Baal's blade – and Jericho was already on the floor beneath his guard.

He knew it was too late - Baal could only hopelessly watch with his hands still above him as Jericho drove his fist directly into his face, pummeling his immense strength and magic with the blow, sending Baal off his feet. He caught his footing and came to a skidding halt right at the shattered window's edge, the sky-high breeze whipped up his blazer from behind.

Jericho caught his falling sword with a strong grip and readied his stance, his stern look of determination and desolate mind did not change.

The tiles stained red from a livid spit by Baal, he wiped his mouth clean with a thumb. The feeling of rage began to grow. "Inconceivable," he began, "even your future-self wasn't capable of such feat, yet you've already inflicted more damage than you or he ever has."

Baal grit his blood stained teeth as he began to shout. "Why do you not speak, or even think?! You have made the effort to face me once more. What is the catalyst?! What spurs you on?! Is it for your own benefit, or is there something you wish to protect?!"

With the latter being said, the concealed depths of Jericho's mind stirred, nothingness endured, but there was a single thought that escaped into the light – a name.

It was all Baal needed, he began to laugh under his breath at its simplicity.

"So that's what it is...or should I say, _who_ it is." Baal spoke, he noticed a slight flinch from Jericho – the name in his mind revealed once more, it was much clearer this time around. "You've seemed to take extra precautions before our bout and secured the entire city to prevent any harm to others, but I will tell you this now; it's all for naught. Let me tell you something, Jericho, there isn't anybody in this world far from my reach."

While standing, he held a hand over the patch of blood on the ground from his spit and began to manifest his magic. He created a hole – a tear in space itself - no light was seen inside the ripped portal.

"I will show you an _example._ " Baal said when he reached into the distorted space.

~

Liatha gently stroked Gusion's snout on her lap as she sat on the couch in silence, and the wolf respected her wishes and laid in silence also. The fireplace was alive and kept the room cozy, as it was also Liatha's wishes after visiting the north-western part of the continent.

Her reddened face had finally returned to its pale color and her eyes had finally dried, her cold fingers were obviously warm otherwise Gusion wouldn't let her pat him.

His patting was abruptly ceased when his ear's perked; he jumped off from the couch and stood high on his hind legs.

"What is it?" Liatha asked.

Gusion's ears continued to twitch, " _I sense a distortion in the air. It's not safe here, we need to-_"

The space beside Liatha began to tear and her retreat was halted by a stray hand escaping the distorted air, it yanked her by the hair and alerted Gusion with a scream. The wolf sprinted and leapt to grab a hold of Liatha, but was too late – he watched her body being reeled in by a hand and the tear in space shut before he could reach it.

The only thing he could do was curse his canine body.

~

Jericho made sure to clear his mind before he confronted Baal, he knew the only way to win was not to think and only act. His mind was already weakened and his spirit was long broken, he thought if he casted them aside temporarily, there was a chance he could win. Baal wanted to torment him, not to hurt him – that was his belief; he knew what he was like. It was working fine – for the first time in his life, he completely shut out all of his suffering and had only one thing to focus on.

It was all over now. That once in a lifetime chance had been lost.

His desolate mind ran rampant when he saw the woman he loved being pulled out of the distorted space – her face being in pain from the hand pulling on her hair.

A dark smile grew on Baal's face near Liatha's.

He was reliving his own nightmare.

It's happening again...

Liatha squirmed in Baal's grip, "W-what is this?! Where am I?!" Her perturbed eyes met his, "Jericho! What's happening to us?"

"At last, there it is." Baal spoke. "The disturbed thoughts that run rampant in your mind - they have finally come to light. Does the sight of this woman in peril distraught you so much?"

A desperate yell turned into a frightened whisper before it escaped Jericho's throat, "Stop..." Liatha whimpered at Baal's tightening grip on her hair. "You've finally spoken and now you're asking me to stop?" Baal asked. "I had assumed you came to me prepared of the consequences. I've told you that I would crush the hope you hold onto, I am merely acting on behalf of my promised threat."

With his grip still strong, Baal began to drag Liatha across the room – the encompassing wind from the altitude whipped up around the destroyed office, "If this is your manifestation of that 'hope', this is how it's going to end." Baal spoke.

'M-mother...I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry I couldn't protect you...'

"It's nostalgic, is it not?" Baal continued as he neared the drop, "How tragic to be experiencing this again, only now you are witnessing it from a different perspective. You stand where your mother stood, and your woman is where you once were."

Jericho's stomach dropped when Liatha's feet dangled fourteen-hundred meters above ground, the only thing keeping her suspended was the iron-grip at her throat with two fragile hands gripping them further.

It was the look in her eyes that was worse than her current situation – a sorrowful acceptance of her death.

Baal loosened his fingers as he slowly released his grip. "How will this come about?" He asked. "You still carry the Warp Crystal you had used to transport here, what will you do with it? It was of green glow, so I'm assuming it allows only one person to transport. Will you cower away right now and leave her to fall? Will you foolishly jump out with her like your mother and save her's instead?"

"...Or will you die with her?" Baal spoke with a free hand.

At the sight of the brown strands of hair falling out of view, Jericho was already on his feet running. In his mind, Baal was no longer there and the threat of the dangerous height was no longer a factor. He only desired one thing.

With this desire and no doubt in his mind, he jumped out after her. Freefalling headfirst into the skies, he concentrated his magic to mantle his legs – thrusting him forward faster - and soon caught glimpse of Liatha falling through the clouds.

He caught up to Liatha's rapid decline and seized her in his arms, protecting her against the gale. She spoke, her words were laced with distress and panic, but he couldn't hear them. He didn't want to.

There was no way he could have left her to fall, and he couldn't imagine parting without her – not before accomplishing something he had been wanting to do.

His eyes flinched at the perpetual gale as he looked into hers, they were wide with hysteria as he prepared to speak the words he couldn't before. The three words she said to him, but he could not return.

It became painful. He couldn't say them, and it wasn't because they were untrue.

The arms that cradled Liatha gleamed with light.

Jericho didn't want it to be only once. He wanted to say those words to her over and over again for every single day he continued to spend with her.

Her body felt distant from his skin by the armor that harnessed his entire body.

Jericho was tired of running, and it was Liatha who caught him as he stumbled and fallen.

She was his hope.

Wings of light expanded, and fluttered.

~

Baal's retinas stung from the blinding light that illuminated as he watched the clouds beneath his view. The misty clouds evaporated, and a being of light flew up into the skies and floated at his level.

His maiden was cradled safely in his gauntlet-fitted arms; the silver armor he wore was breathtaking, and his holy wings of light suspended him in the skies as he gazed down at his foe – a brief exchange - before he turned and flew the opposite direction, the sky split from his sheer speed behind the trail of luminance he left behind.

For the first time in years, Baal had felt fear.

~

As much as she wanted to, Liatha was unable to speak. Her head was held tightly between his gauntlets and chest plate, protecting her against the wind pressure from the flight.

The wind settled as they began to slow down, her stomach rose as he began to quickly descend from the skies and onto solid ground. Jericho lowered his arms and placed her feet gently onto the grass.

Liatha was in awe. She had no words to describe Jericho's transformation - it was like staring at an actual angel sent from above. The wings spread behind his back were incredibly wide – about six times the length he was – and his silver armor was enchanting all the more.

The color perfectly matched his eyes.

"I need you to stay here." Jericho said. His attitude was surprisingly calm for someone who had just leapt out of a skyscraper and sprouted wings.

Liatha observed her surroundings to see where he had taken her. It was no longer nighttime, the sudden daylight stunned her vision and she became awestruck at the discovery of their location. Her correctional facility was in view just beyond a ridge.

"This is... _Hatiel?!_ " Liatha exclaimed, "We couldn't have spent more than a minute in the skies, yet you travelled the entire continent...!"

"Wait here for me," Jericho said, "I'll come back to you. I swear it."

The flora of the meadow field succumbed to the pressure of Jericho's launch as he flew into the air; his ivory wings jetted through the skies and escaped Liatha's peripherals in mere seconds.

In a godless world that everybody lived in today, Liatha still had hope. She continued to have faith in a higher deity, something that truly governed this world - the bringers of hopes and miracles. All along, she was only laughed at and looked down upon for believing such.

But what she saw in front of her was inconceivably godlike.

Liatha had once asked him about the name his mother had given him, and believed it to be only a tribute to the true bearer of that name.

But that wasn't the case at all.

He is _The_ Jericho, the Archangel of Vanquish.

# 38

Jericho was not left alone after Liatha had departed from the stinging cold; his other visitor also had her own negotiations to pursuit. Her abstract body warmed his left arm.

"Is this pointless battle you constantly fight feasible?" The voice spoke into his left ear as he lay in snow, "The answer is obvious, Jericho. How long will you continue to let down your cherished ones? Let me help you."

"Help me?" Jericho asked.

"Yes," the voice said, "you undeniably yearn for happiness, and I can give you the strength for such effort."

Jericho sat up, a fallen snowflake melted at the ridge of his nose. "I've heard about you, Qareen. You are the one who comes to people who have lost the will to live and give them a solution for the price of their soul."

"You are indeed correct." Qareen said.

Jericho stood and held his ground against the strong blizzard, "Agreeing to this, why are you here?" He asked.

"It seems you do not understand. You have already answered that question in your previous statement."

"It's you who doesn't understand," Jericho explained, "there would have been a time where I would have taken up your offer, but that version of me is long gone. I don't need your help or your false visions of hope."

"Your naiveté is astounding. If you did not require my offering, I would not be here. My summoning is impartial to your emotions - the hope you once held has been lost."

"True," Jericho agreed, "but it doesn't mean I don't have something to live for. There's finally someone who changed that, and I'm not going to let that fall out of my hands. I'm sure you know what my goal is, so there's no need explaining – I will end this right now, without your help."

Qareen's voice became riled. "Your words are not a remedy for the true potential of your actions. Jericho, you are a blatant fool if you truly think Baal will fall by your hands alone. You are not ready."

"If I'm not ready now, then I never will be. Maybe I am a fool, but this is my own choice for my own life and I will lead it to my heart's content. If my fate is to die, then..."

Jericho tossed the Warp Crystal in his hand and caught it, "...I'll fight fate until it allows me to live."

# 39

Jericho's wings narrowed as he neared Baal's tower after a rapid flight. His agile assault rendered in the building's collapse, the top-end of the skyscraper succumbed to the force of the slash from his sword and began to topple over and fall into the clouds, the sky was now bare and the high-altitude wind was strong enough to roll Baal's amputated arm on his office floor.

Baal barely blocked Jericho's next attacks with a clumsy repel from his sword, his shaken hand was overcome and he was forced off the floor and into the skies. Jericho gave chase and dived after him, the dark sky lit up with a beam of light thrown from his sword, Baal's barrier protected him from the blast but couldn't cushion the force – now plunging downwards faster than before. Jericho sped up his flight to catch up. With the altitude decreasing, the clouds came to an end and he was greeted by sinister black wings.

Jericho's forceful strike was eluded by Baal's agile flight - striking the pavement floor of Lycur instead – the ground was replaced with a significant crater.

Above the crater Jericho stood in, Baal was suspended in the air with his pitch-black wings. He spoke to Jericho from his stature with an amplified voice. "You've finally come to understand the prodigy you truly are, Jericho! The more you find the truth about yourself, the more fictitious this world becomes. The one these humans call 'magic' is nothing of the true nature they believe it to be. You, of an Archangel status, should despise the use of this power in a world such as this, for this power..."

Baal's severed arm became shrouded in shadows and flourished with regeneration, he stretched his arms out and conjured a cluster of darkness, the red tint from his magic basked the city in its glow and the magnitude from its essence shook the ground beneath Jericho's feet, "...it is the divine power... _ripped_ from the very Heavens themselves!"

The black skies turned red when the accumulation of darkness discharged from the black-winged fiend, Jericho braced by casting an extensive wall of light ahead of him, holding strong when the power crashed into the light and erupted, deepening the crater further and destroying nearby buildings and settlements.

After the smoke had cleared, Baal had already begun to line up his next attack. Entireties of skyscrapers were levitating in the air around him by his command. Baal initiated the berserk attack with a building heading straight towards Jericho - eluding the gigantic building and soaring upwards to close the gap. Jericho weaved the next and planted his feet upon the towering walls and began to sprint; continually jumping onto the next skyscrapers that were heaved at his direction. With the next building thrown at a horizontal angle, Jericho broke through a glass window and aimlessly skimmed through the interior of the building before breaking through the other side and stormed Baal head-on.

Their blades clashed while skirmishing in the air and eventually soared higher into the clouds, jetting and whizzing through the atmosphere as silvery wings battled against ebony wings. Their brutal fight neared the Great Ocean at the opposite side of the world.

Jericho flashed above Baal and heaved his sword with a forceful strike, hurling him straight into the oceans – the pressure from his swing cleaved the ocean in half down to the coral floor where they both landed.

Their battle reinitiated within the towering walls of the ocean surrounding them, each lightning-fast strike inflicted upon each other's swords further increased the distance of the tide walls. "Tell me," Baal spoke over the sound of gushing water raging back into place after their battle had come to a temporary halt, "how does it feel to invoke the power of the gods? After so long of lowly humans using your kind's celestial influence, it must anger you that such a high power is being used so vastly."

"Let's get straight to the point," Jericho declared. "Who are you really? You're definitely not my real father."

"As _heartbreaking_ as it may be, there were many ordinances upon my arrival here - portraying as your father was one of them. You are something much other than I am."

Jericho pressed. "Who's my real father?"

"A dead man, irrelevant," Baal retorted, "yet another ghost you will continue to chase."

"I'm done chasing ghosts," the ocean's rapid return began to bury Jericho's greaves, "and it ends with you, Baal."

Baal's brash grin became concealed from the water's return and Jericho remained submerged within the buried waters when Baal took flight above tide.

Thinking as fast as he moved, Jericho dashed on the ocean's floor in a circular motion, a vortex of water began to stir, and the cyclone promptly pierced through the surface and towered over Baal. The turbulent cyclone rushed Baal and another four cyclones took its place when he narrowly evaded the technique, they boxed him in and struck all at once, ensnaring him momentarily before he dashed out of the water with a flick from his raven wings.

In the concise moment Baal had dropped his guard to break free from the vicious waters, Jericho made his move – his covert tactic of hiding within one of the cyclones gave him the crucial advantage – breaking through the cascade in a fleet and swung his sword at his vulnerable target. Right before Jericho's eyes, he saw victory – the unrelenting nemesis exhibited defeat in his eyes.

A burst of blood was the next display.

In the hands where Jericho held his phantom sword was soaked with blood, and the vestiges grievously fell into the waters. A smidge of its blood was blotched beneath Baal's sinister grin of triumph.

The cursed sword Jericho carried with him since that day, and swore to slay the man who gifted him with it had dispelled into its original form – the blood that had constructed it.

" _Fool._ Did you truly think I have no control over my own creation?" Baal revealed, growing bold from the look of Jericho's distraught expression. His state of shock was the produce of his failure and failed to react to Baal's attack, as his sword cleaved through his chest plate of his sacred armor.

Jericho fell from the skies, stained with two forms of blood. The tension of the water did not break when he clumsily rested his greaves upon it, Baal had also settled onto the ocean – the moon's breadth was spread behind him.

"It has always been the same," Baal began, "your struggle for victory when the outcome had already been decided before your battle had started. Your stubbornness blinded you, you held onto that sword despite its constant burden it comes with. Without a weapon, you have lost this fight and additionally you have lost your ambition to cut me down with that very sword. You've lost this battle twice already, overlooking the many other failed attempts from either you or your other-self, of course."

"Look at you, acting all high and mighty," Jericho spoke, pressing against his deep wound with his hand – the water by his feet became diluted with red. "Don't stand there and lecture me about a loss when it's far from over."

"And with those spoken words..." Baal said as he pointed at Jericho "...you have verified my point. My previous attempts of trying to manipulate your emotions have failed, but now your mind has become susceptible to one I've instilled – arrogance, man's last emotion before their downfall. I know of this very well, it is one of my many favorite negative emotions humans experience."

"Not surprising, a cynical man like you would know nonetheless." Jericho said. "Me? 'Cynical', you say? Are you certain you are not speaking of the pitiful humans your kind guards so closely?" Baal's raven wings shifted as he pointed to the night sky, "Almost a century ago, humankind almost drove each other to the point of extinction due to their altercations. Before the final hammer was brought down, an unknown entity appeared before them and offered salvation – to end all wars – from the ban of dangerous weaponry and to unite the nations by bringing them altogether. Humankind was finally at peace..."

Baal's pitch-black eyes dimmed with vilification, "...is what they believed. The one who contacted the humans was not of this world or realm entirely, neither was it holy. The world became cradled within the claws of the Demons. Salvation, peace – do you truly think that was our goal? No, it was because humankind _bored_ us. Technology evolved and sentiment diminished, no longer were there wars fought by brave warriors on the front-lines, they were instead replaced by materialistic cowards who prefer to wage war from a distance. Pure, unadulterated battles were a thing of the past – the feeling of excitement with crossing swords with one another in battle, the constant strive for accuracy and marksmanship from archers, the exhilarating raids for territory on horse-back - it was those very acts we thrived off and savored delightfully, so why not restore them? Invoke magic upon the world to ban selective weaponry and transportation of our choosing, eradicating religious texts that humans excusably used for war, and combine the continents into one for the ease of travel via horse. We made it convenient for humans to revert back to their glorious ways - all for our enjoyment. That day was not humanity's salvation, it was their doom."

Under Baal's influence, Jericho felt lightheaded – his vision became fuzzy as he continued to stare at the enthralling dancing shadows in Baal's eyes. He could barely hear him talk - the words quietly seeped into his conscious as Baal spoke further. "The very feeling of despair you feel right now is the emotion I thrive off. Display to me the depths of your pitiful remorse that stimulates me so."

Jericho's feet on the water no longer kept him afloat, the tension of its surface broke and he plunged into the ocean. The faint glow from the moonlight was the only light-source in the depths of the ocean as he began to slowly sink, he watched the glow shimmer upon the surface and comfort him with little light it beamed from its scarce rays. He didn't resist his gloomy descend and only watched the passive bubbles float upwards as he did the opposite.

The source of light from the surface suddenly became obstructed by a figure diving down into the depths after him – gulping down the air-filled bubbles within the water as it neared Jericho. Jericho's tears shaped oddly when they had strayed from his eyes, becoming droplets and growing larger with air, the elation in Liatha's face rose as she continued to consume her vitality from his sorrow. She neared him, her hands felt authentic as she grasped his face, her mouth suckled when his tear-swollen eye became a subject to her appetite.

Through only one of his eyes, the murky waters further darkened as his descend deepened, any attempts to shed a tear were intercepted by his beloved's thirst for his misery and the water grew colder with every inhale.

With her thirst quenched, she seized her clutch of Jericho and planted her feet onto his chest. His sinking body plunged further when she sprung off of him and swam to her own escape, leaving Jericho behind without a second thought. He couldn't do nothing but watch Liatha's body become limp as she neared the surface. Streams of blood were crimson within the meager rays of moonlight.

It was at that moment when Jericho accepted his fate. The constant struggle, his other-self, his mother's sacrifice and his own – it was all in vain. His false blissfulness state neglected his feeling of disgust when he became content with his looming death.

The scenery changed when he reached the ocean's floor. He was no longer submerged in water and now rested upon the surface, oxygen returned to his lungs and his armor was no longer weighed down. But, there was something other than returning the surface that stood out to Jericho – something more significant...An old beacon of hope.

It was the stars – billions of shining lights spread out in the skies - their reflection upon the water shone and sparkled with the ocean's tide.

"Are you going to let these hateful illusions break you? That's not the man I've raised my son to be." Veela's mirrored image spoke through the water, it rippled when Jericho's tears dropped into the water.

"Why does my life have to be like this?" Jericho asked as he spoke into the water on his hands and knees. "Over and over again...I keep fighting the same battles, for what?! Nothing changes! I can't keep willing the strength to continue onwards, it's tiring...I can't do it. I'm all alone."

In the reflection of water, Veela knelt behind him and rested her hand upon his pauldron. "There is never a time in this world when you are alone," Veela said, "look at all of these people who have believed in you, even before you were born."

Jericho looked around as unknown people began to appear in the reflection. There were hundreds of faces he had never seen before, but they all shared a similar trait with him.

All of their eyes were of silver color.

"Even with your departure from your home," Veela began, "everybody didn't lose hope and always prayed - for you. We are always watching over you, for you will one day bring us true unity."

Jericho couldn't divert his eyes from a particular face that stood beside Veela – a man...who looked exactly like him. "The guy next to you, is that...?" Jericho asked his mother.

Veela didn't answer his request and only smiled when he asked - the man beside her did also. "For every burden you rest upon your tired shoulders, we try our best to relieve the pain it bears. The world we live in is an unfortunate one, we all understand the responsibility that is always pressured onto you, and for that we apologize. We only believe it to be your task because you're the product of a miracle – a natural birth in a place where nothing of that kind should exist."

"Please, you need to tell me more!" Jericho pleaded. "It's hard for me to fight for all of you when I don't know the reason for-"

"You are still under Baal's illusion, there's no time to explain it to you. In time, it will all be clear. Now, there's something that needs to be settled, Jericho. Put an end to his tyranny." Veela gazed behind Jericho, and his eyes followed – a star fell and shot across the skies.

The soothing, angelic voice from Veela spoke directly into his heart. "The stars sure are bright tonight, aren't they, Jericho?"

~

The ocean shook when Jericho erupted from below the ocean and pierced its surface – extending his divine wings outwards and hovered over the waters. He brought his right hand up and reached for the starry sky and it responded to his beckoned call. From the expanse of space, light began to cultivate to his outstretched hand, the light from the stars themselves began to take form.

The sea raged at Baal's frantic advance and shout, "I won't let you!"

Flashing past the rallying light from the stars, three constructs formed into seals and shot down to earth and pierced Baal – restraining him entirely within the shackles that constricted his arms by his torso. He was in utter disbelief by his containment, "This is...?!"

Baal shouted with fury into the star-littered sky. " _Veela...! Even in death, you continue to defy me!_"

His temper-filled cry was cut short when he laid his eyes upon Jericho's creation – a golden blade that shone above its enchanting silver cross guard, created from star matter. It was his own sword, and it fit much well than that day he was given his first. The gold glow from the edge of the blade dimmed, and the name inscribed upon the slate was now clear:

'V E E L A'

The oceans rend from Jericho's invigorating swing from his sword caused a gigantic tidal wave while he primed himself for the fight's climax.

"By my sword..." Jericho spoke.

His grip tightened on the silver hilt – the golden blade gleamed underneath the shimmering sky. "...and my mother's name..."

No longer resisting against the casted bind, Baal stood with a shuddersome stance against the golden light encasing the being of silver, even with his retinas scorched, he couldn't break his gaze and uttered his final words. "So it really is true...Silvers' Advent..."

"...I will erase you from this world."

" _BAAAAAAAAAAL!_ " Jericho's roar deafened the heavens as his silver wings propelled him forward at lightning-speed and swung his holy sword.

The sounds of crashing tidal waves filled the air around him as the Great Ocean began to settle after its violent shake, the moon was no longer full as rocks and debris floated around its orbit from the gaping ravine by its separation. Baal's severed body began to vanish before falling into the water, dissipating into red mist and scattering into the air.

After Jericho's life-long battle, Baal was no more.

With his vitality diminished, Jericho stumbled, his sword dug through the ocean's surface and he remained afloat. _No, I can't collapse here. The nearest land is at the opposite side of the planet, I'll drown if I lose consciousness._

Jericho controlled his breathing inside his exhausted body, it was the most intense battle he had ever experienced – calling it otherworldly would be a severe understatement. He needed to regain his stamina enough for flight, quickly.

His body flinched at the sudden noise behind him – a clap.

The clapping continued, echoing across the calming ocean. Jericho swiveled around with his body still leaning on his hilt and saw an ethereal figure standing with his hands together at the clap's conclusion.

"Most impressive, you truly are a being of Archangel status – ascended above, perhaps." The man spoke as the image began to show clarity, "I would have never even dreamed of Baal's defeat in this world, let alone the prophecy to come true – Silvers' Advent. I have watched your constant struggles and it's been entertaining, who would have thought you would come out on top after all of your misfortune. As my enemy, you are undeniably worthy of praise. I congratulate you, _Jericho._ "

The crimson image flickered - it was obvious he was intangible in this world, so Jericho didn't feel threatened. He remained leaning on the hilt of his sword. "And you are?" He inquired. "Ah, that's a troublesome question." The mysterious man said. "It's an easy question to answer for others, but for a higher-being like me, it becomes a conundrum. However..."

"...You can call me Marid."

"It's not a hard question," Jericho said, "you can at least tell me what the hell you are and why you've come here. This isn't an easy place to reach and no one has a purpose to come all the way out here."

"Ten points for observation. You really are an intuitive man." Marid said.

"I'm not dumb enough to not notice I'm being mocked, either."

Marid ran his fingers through his fine hair. "Ignore my childish remarks. It's just refreshing to speak with one of your kind after confined for so long." His pitch-black eyes squinted. "The yearning appetite of annihilating you is just as refreshing."

Jericho stood off of his sword and yanked it out from the water. "So you're an enemy, then." Marid held his hands up and grinned, "At ease, as I am now, I am unable to even touch you – for we exist within completely different realms."

"What do you want? You came all this way to have idle chit-chat with me?"

"I've come to see the manifested prophecy with my own eyes. Your victory was a commendable feat, so I've decided to give you some insight, no, _misery_ – for how small you truly are. If you think there will be an easy life to lead after slaying Baal, then you are a misguided fool. He was merely a plaything who had his own motives – unconnected to my own. I know this, for he is my Projection."

"I don't know what you're on about," Jericho declared, "but it's obvious that you're really the one who had been pulling the strings."

"Strings, laws, fate itself – they all bend to my whim. It was by my influence that this world has taken its new form after these pitiful humans almost destroyed it. I couldn't care for such a shambled world as this, so I created my own effigy in the form of Baal. My true desires reside in the higher realms – in Purgatory."

"Purgatory...you mean Hell?"

"However you call it here, it is the same. I would appreciate your obedience to it, in the presence of its Great Lord. The realm your kind resides in – Paradise – is also a subject to my authority." "A Demon Lord...rules Heaven? That's...!" Jericho was in disbelief. It was hard enough to accept the fact he's speaking with such an evil entity, but for that entity to be ruling a place where one calls it true peace after death is insanity.

"I rule over your kin," Marid declared, "it's only a matter of time before I make you one of my own, too - unless you wish to challenge that, of course."

"Have a good, long think on what my answer's gonna be." Jericho challenged.

Marid chuckled. "Hmph...would have been disappointed otherwise. If you so wish to save your home from my clutches then come here and take it from my hands."

Jericho stood face-to-face with Marid with utmost determination. The battle he fought was merely an induction to the true terrors he would eventually face. It was no longer the world that was in danger...

It was now the world beyond it.

"I have a question...and I want it answered." Jericho demanded.

"Let me hear it, and I shall decide if you're worthy enough." Marid stated.

"If Baal's life stemmed from you, then you should have at least some understanding of what he has done, so I ask you this; what was it that he done that caused my mother to leave him?" Marid seemed to have anticipated that question – the unsubtle smile of his grew. "Your mother's own foolishness, that's what. Before Baal's arrival here, Veela was senseless enough to strike a deal with him – a form of a pact. With her obedience, she made him swear not to harm any of the living realm's inhabitants for his time there. He agreed, but was never planned to be truthful. So was I just before – I mentioned I had no connections with Baal's motives, but it wasn't entirely true. There was but one objective I had entrusted him with. A certain family in the Living Realm carried a certain trait in their bloodline which I've sought, and he made arrangements to 'haste' their deaths to quicken their arrival to my realm. It wasn't by his hands, but of another's. It was the first time Baal had used this particular power, so he chose to test its potency by controlling a weak-minded prisoner held in confinement, it was the perfect subject to test their strength and perseverance. After his puppet satisfactorily escaped from his prison, he set off for his mission to slaughter the one whom I wished death upon. After those events conspired, Veela had caught wind of what had happened and confronted Baal of his broken promise...and you know well of what happened next."

"A prisoner who broke into a home...and slaughtered - it can't be..." Jericho stammered.

"I desired the Nespirk bloodline for an addition to my legion. The one you are now familiar with is stale and unneeded, so her life was spared."

Marid wrapped up the topic, "I've answered your question, and with that I'll take my leave. But before I do that, I will ask you a question; will I be seeing you again soon?"

Jericho spoke with an iron-will laced in his mind. "You just gave me a new purpose to fight, so you better believe I'll be visiting you in time."

Marid smirked. "I'll be waiting for you in the afterlife, Jericho the Archangel."

# 40

The faint hum within the spherical barrier of light where Liatha waited patiently for Jericho's arrival soon faded along with the protection it provided, the sunlight kissed her skin in a warm welcome. She saw a bright glow from high in the sky descending onto the grassy plains; the sight of Jericho instantly put her nerves at ease after the long and worrisome wait at the opposite end of the world – an exalted spectacle of an Angel approaching was an unforgettable moment. Sprouting flowers along the meadow began to blossom at his arrival – white lilies bloomed by his silver greaves touching soil.

The sacred armor that had clad his body faded, along with the golden sword he barely held in his limp hand. The intensity from his battle had worn off and Jericho's body had finally caught up with him as his posture began to slant, Liatha rushed to his aid and caught his collapsing body and slowly lowered him to the ground. Her feeling of relief quelled her worry for his deep wound across his chest and abdomen, and allowed him to rest his head on her lap as she sat on her knees.

"You came back to me." Liatha spoke as she ran a tender hand through his damp hair.

"Of course, there's nowhere I'd rather be than here."

A gratified tear rushed past Liatha's flushed cheek, "You're all banged up, idiot." She scorned. Jericho laboriously lifted his head to peek at his wounds, "I've already had my fair share of stab wounds to the chest."

Liatha laughed along with her tears, "I still haven't forgiven you for that."

"You were never meant to."

The mild spring breeze swept through the plains, Liatha's chestnut hair swished behind her head, "You saved my life, again. Thank you."

Jericho entwined his fingers along with hers on his head. "I shouldn't be thanked for that." Liatha tilted her head. "Why do you say that?"

"I wasn't thinking when I jumped out. Saving your life didn't cross my mind, neither did my own life. I just didn't want you falling to your death all alone. Maybe it would have put you at ease if..."

"That didn't happen. Instead, you grew _wings_ and allowed us both to live. It shouldn't matter what it takes to get somewhere, it's where you end up that matters the most."

Liatha smiled at Jericho's frown. "Hey," she began, "I have a solution. The wings you have now are indeed marvelous, but even the mightiest of birds with extreme wingspans can never fly forever. The burdens you carry would make it all the more difficult, too. When their wings get tired, they're never afraid to rest and are always sure to remain somewhere high above ground. So..."

The strands of her hair tickled his neck as she leaned into his face.

"...let me be your perch."

# 41

1 year ago.

Tabbris felt proud.

It had been five eventful years since he found a crying young boy by his homestead in Igurim and took him under his wing. Being a father-figure wasn't an easy task, it didn't help that Jericho was already weary about manly figures either – the trust that needed to be developed was deep, but achievable.

He had tried his best to teach Jericho everything and not just swordplay – values of life, righteousness and dignity were ethics in urgent need of guidance. The first few weeks of Jericho's stay at his home were mournful, he would keep himself locked in his room for weeks and his condition worsened, extreme weight-loss followed. After Tabbris had told him that he was once a dear friend of his mother's, a fragile bond began to take place. Their meals were eaten together, and conversations began to flow – a friendship sprout between the two.

Tabbris admired Jericho's determination of vendetta and agreed to share his knowledge of how to wield a sword. Painful lessons occurred, many lacerations were inflicted, a lot of blood was lost – the crucial and intense moments would have been avoided, but the sight of the stubborn pair of silver eyes never let up.

He believed, too, that Jericho would one day bring true unity – unity even beyond the boundaries of the physical world.

Tabbris was never able to tell him how much of a responsibility he held.

Days flew by, so did weeks and months – it was years before he knew Jericho was ready. Their last spar decided that very decision when Jericho pointed his sword at Tabbris' defeated throat, he remembered the feeling of his malevolent blade well, because it was immediately distinguished at the sight of Jericho's goofy victory face, the smug look of his undeniably pissed him off, but the glint of silver made him feel honored.

Tabbris felt like an old fool – reminiscing the old memories that were bound to be finite - as he watched Jericho wave at a distance from his home. He promised to not shed a tear and kept that promise when Jericho waved his final goodbye and walked onwards towards the bright horizon. He didn't turn when he heard the sound of paws trotting on the porch. " _Was it wise to release him at his current phase?_ " Gusion asked as he rested on his hind legs beside Tabbris.

"He'll do just fine," Tabbris said, "I believe in him."

Gusion lay down and rested his muzzle atop of his paws. " _How are you so certain?_ " He asked. "Look at the way he walks. Tell me who that reminds you of."

" _I know well of whom you refer to._ "

Tabbris smiled as his self-promise broke. "That damn kid walks just like Mikael used to. If he could see him now...I'm sure he would be a proud man." Tabbris turned his attention to the laid-back wolf, "My service is finally over, but what of yours? How long will you continue to monitor your-"

" _As long as it's required,_ " Gusion said. " _It's quite unpredictable as it stands now, but I am not one to complain. I find it humbly sociable._"

The two guardians enjoyed the silence for a little while longer as they watched Jericho become a mere speck in the distance before he disappeared over the horizon.

" _I shall be returning to Kyrion now._ " Gusion said.

"So you should. Thank you, Gusion – for coming out all the way here for a covert farewell. I just felt like I needed company while I witnessed it."

" _Witnessed his departure?_ "

"No," Tabbris corrected, "witnessed the beginning of a living legend."

# EPILOGUE

"Hold up a sec, Omarion." Ifrit urged.

Omarion held up his request to the Minotaur that guarded the castle's entry. It was difficult for Ifrit to relax in the storming environment they stood in – the constant surge of rushing lava beneath the bridge was louder than usual and the soot in the air uncomfortably knotted in her hair. She cradled her new onyx helmet with an arm by her side, in addition to her whole armor. "Nervous?" Omarion asked.

"Stupid question," Ifrit lashed, "of course I am."

"You told me you were fully prepared for this."

Ifrit attempted to calm her breathing from her anxiety and hostility against Omarion. Something as simple as the Minotaur's presence gave her the creeps when it normally never did. It had been a long time since she arrived in this realm; it never occurred to her that she hadn't settled in as much as she thought.

Ifrit tensely peered at her helmet and its whole different look. "Do you think the Lord would mind if I didn't wear this for my summoning?" She asked.

Even though Omarion's helmet was intact as always, he relieved her. "You are not required to wear it now. When you are commanding your battalion, it's a different matter."

"Good." Ifrit savored the exemption to have her brown hair freely hanging over her red cape. "Notify me when you are ready, Ifrit." Omarion instructed.

Ifrit subtly nodded at the gates. "I'm ready."

At Omarion's signal, the Minotaur pulled on the hefty chains and opened the sturdy wooden gate open. Ifrit's nerves rattled as she entered through and into the main chambers, she was all too familiar with the infantry stationed on the sidelines but almost jumped at the sound of their chant.

Still by Omarion's side, Ifrit steeled her nerves and began to climb the steps that lead to the throne – her greaves were unusually loud on the soft velvet. She immediately bowed when she reached the top – Omarion in tow – and rested her head between her planted hands on the ground.

"I have answered to your summons, Lord Marid." Ifrit announced.

She could only hear his voice from her bowed position. "Raise your head, Ifrit. You needn't act so formal, take a look and see who stands next to me."

Ifrit obeyed and raised her head to see a woman standing next to Marid's seated throne. Her eye-catching raven dress was lengthy enough to drag along the red velvet as she walked to Ifrit with an all too familiar smile bright on her captivating face.

"Lilith...? Why are you here?" Ifrit asked.

Lilith's plum-painted lips smirked at Ifrit's abashed face. "How many times must I tell you not to call me by my name? And you question my presence here like I'm a stranger; I'm not going to miss my daughter's granting."

Her mother's appearance embarrassed her more than it should have. It's not a reason of status since Lilith was one of the most esteemed Demons in Purgatory, her reputation is considered illustrious and is known for her history to be one of the very first to be under the influence by their lord.

Lilith's forehead creased beneath her fiendish horns. "I thought you would be _happier_ to see me, we haven't seen each other much since your training commenced."

Ifrit maintained her bow. "No, it's not that Lil-...Mother. It's just that...I wanted to be something much more before we spoke again."

"And you're going to be, today," Lilith proudly smiled. "I've been looking forward to this, Ifrit."

"Indeed we have." Marid intervened. "Recruiting and training a Halfling was something never done before in this realm. You are the first in history." Marid turned his attention to Omarion, "You have done exceptionally well for her supervision and her training. You carry your name well, Knight Omarion, the Archdemon."

Omarion further stooped his head in gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Ifrit," Marid addressed, "have you any idea why you have been summoned here? I'm sure your new armor is a major hint."

Ifrit nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I am fully aware of my promotion to a Knight and will be in charge of my own squadron. Word's cannot express-"

"But have you any idea on _why_ that is?" Marid questioned.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I do not."

"All that we have built here," Marid began, "everything we have fought for – the blood, sweat and tears to build this kingdom – is in peril. An unjust prophecy has unfolded in the Living Realm, and threatens realms beyond it. We are not to underestimate this foe, but I do not permit failure."

Marid stood up from his throne and stood over Ifrit. "With your bestowal of status, I require you to swear an oath. Not to me, but to your greatest enemy."

Ifrit remained quiet – her bow was terribly stiff as she waited to recite her Lord's words.

"I, Ifrit..." Marid started.

"I, Ifrit..." Ifrit recited.

"...Pledge my loyalty to the most merciful..."

"...Pledge my loyalty to the most merciful..."

"...Marid, the one, true Lord..."

"...Marid, the one, true Lord..."

"...The Lord who bestowed me a name - Ifrit."

"...The Lord who bestowed me a name - Ifrit."

"And it is this name I shall hold in reverence..."

"And it is this name I shall hold in reverence..."

"...for I, will no longer identify as Senna Nespirk."

Ifrit's hazel eyes sharpened as she raised her head and dared to stare into the hollow eyes of her savior.

"...for I, will no longer identify as Senna Nespirk."

The story will continue in:

Advent of Silver: Divine Retribution
