Memo 010: (R1)laelaps & Despots.

The chamber rang with the first collision of their blows, a force so heavy the walls quivered as though the stone itself recoiled from their hatred. Sparks spiraled in the air, and for a moment, Nateas’ breath came ragged, teeth bared like the hound Suedomas mocked him to be.

“You never understood,” Suedomas said, his voice smooth as a conductor setting the rhythm of an orchestra. His eyes gleamed cold, calculated. “We may share blood, we may share history—but I was birthed to rule. My veins carry command. Yours carry obedience. That is the law of our existence.” His fingers flicked the air as if plucking unseen strings, and Nateas’ muscles shuddered. Suedomas’ power pressed down like a tyrant’s decree—each motion resonating through Nateas’ body like a note forced from a slave’s instrument. “And you,” Suedomas went on, his smirk widening, “you are nothing more than a dog. Crested and bred to fight. Even your strength, your rage, exists because I allow it. Because I draw the notes, and you dance to my music.”

Nateas spat blood and snarled. “If I am a dog, then I’ll bare my fangs at the master who would chain me. You’ll find I bite harder than you ever imagined.” The ground split beneath their next clash. Nateas lunged with a howl, fists shattering the space between them. Suedomas parried, tailing each strike with his eerie rhythm, each counter a perfectly tuned chord. They moved like two philosophies colliding—obedience and tyranny, loyalty and domination. 

His opponent’s words cut sharper than any blow. Birthed a ruler. A dog to fight. He didn’t let it show—never to Suedomas, never to anyone. But inside, a storm churned. Nateas ever since youth hated it. Hated the race they were. Hated the so-called demonlike blood. Hated the vernacular they carried with pride, sharp and jagged like steel, always boasting of conquest and chains. The endless cycles of carnage and despair their kind spread wherever they went. He never understood the purpose of it at all.

 It's nature.

Yet in the maelstrom of battle, a memory flickered. A faint image. A girl—fragile, human—her eyes brimming with a softness that had no place in their world. He couldn’t even recall her name, only the warmth in her gaze, something alien among the carnage. Why did she remain in his thoughts? Why did that single fragment of humanity haunt him more than the screams of all his kin?

Suedomas sneered, pressing harder, forcing Nateas to his knees.

"You will never understand, slave. Rulership is birthed in the marrow. I was born a sovereign, you—" He spat the word like it was filth, “—a cur.” The image of that human girl returned again, shimmering like a mirage at the edge of despair. And with it, a whisper: Fight not as what they made you. Fight as what you choose to be.

Nateas scoffed under his breath, the sound half-laughter, half-self-disgust. Why now? Why the hell are those words crawling back into my head now of all times? A faint human face—soft, fragile, impossibly distant—slipped across his memory, and he crushed it down before it could take shape. “I’m demonlike through and through,” he muttered, eyes narrowing on Suedomas. “And if beating you means I have to lean into that… then so be it.” It infuriated him—Suedomas, standing there with the upper hand. That shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t that Suedomas was stronger. No. The only reason this fight had dragged this far was the beast girl cowering at his side. Every strike, every defensive motion, every calculated retreat—half of his focus had been on shielding her from slaughter. His jaw clenched, black aura rippling from his shoulders. Protecting her has been shackles. And shackles in my world… get you killed.

Nagisa’s voice burned through his mind like a brand: Protect her. Defeat him. No matter what. “Pathetic,” Suedomas jeered, stepping forward with an ease that mocked the struggle. “All this power, all this fury, and yet you can’t even fight freely. You’re chained—bound by a girl who cowers behind your back. Weakness through attachment. Is that what you’ve become?”

Nateas staggered back, boots skidding across broken stone. His breath came ragged, his knuckles split from parrying blows that rang harder than he thought possible. Suedomas pressed forward like a storm, each strike faster, heavier, as if mocking Nateas’ every motion. —“Protect the girl. Defeat him.”— Remembering nagisa’s command again and again. Nateas blocked with his shoulder rather than abandon his defense of her. Pain seared through his body as Suedomas hand went right through him and right back out. Nateas spat blood and steadied himself, glaring with wild eyes. His chest heaved, fury pounding against the vow forced upon him. His instincts begged him to unleash, to drown Suedomas in carnage without a second thought. Yet the girl’s faint breath behind him anchored his hand. Each step backward carved humiliation into his pride. Suedomas advanced, savoring every falter. His smile split wider, cruel and knowing.

“You should thank her,” he taunted, driving his hand down again, as Nateas barely deflected. “Without that beast girl, I’d already be bored of you. Instead, I get to watch you squirm—watch the ‘demonlike’ weaken into nothing more than a chained hound!”

The ground shuddered as Nateas slammed his heel down, forcing a counterstrike, but even his retaliation carried hesitation. He could no longer fight as he once did—unbound, reckless, merciless. The battlefield became a tormenting paradox: the closer he clung to Nagisa’s order, the weaker he became. Suedomas’ laughter cut deeper than any blade would, filling the air with the sound of triumph. For the first time in his life, Nateas felt himself being pushed back. Not by strength alone—but by the unbearable weight of protecting someone other than himself.

If I say my own name… I know what will happen. I’ll lose myself. I’ll become nothing but a storm that destroys everything in my path. Even her…Suedomas smirked, tilting his head and unrelenting his attacks. “Say it. Call yourself. Let me see the monster you really are. Let me show her what you truly are.”

Nateas’s voice cracked as he whispered, “My name is—”

“NATEAS!!!

His head snapped toward her. Nagisa stood firm, her arm outstretched, with Cammy burning in her grasp. The runes etched along its barrel glowed violently as if resonating with her fury. Her voice cut through the night, strong and unyielding. “I know your weakness, Suedomas!” she screamed, her eyes blazing.

Suedomas faltered, his laughter dying for the first time. His sneer twitched. “You… what did you say?” Nateas stared at her in shock, She wasn’t supposed to intervene like this. She wasn’t supposed to risk herself. Yet there she stood, pointing Cammy directly at the monster who had pushed him so close to the edge. The photo shimmered into existence above Cammy, its frame glowing with a strange golden pulse. Nagisa’s hands shook as she pointed it straight at Suedomas, her voice cracking but loud enough to make the air tremble:

“This… this is your weakness!”

Her voice rang out like a blade slicing through the air.

" your hair!”

The instant she said it, Cammy flickered in her hands, a strange distortion in the world bending into form. Then the photograph appeared, shimmering into existence like something torn from memory itself. Nateas’s eyes widened as he recognized it: Suedomas, standing arrogantly in the reflection of a mirror, his long hair meticulously bound, cared for with the precision of a man who treated it like sacred armor.

The truth slammed into Nateas. The whole fight, Suedomas had been careful — never letting his hair be touched, every motion ensuring it flowed clean and unharmed. His cruelty had no hesitation, his laughter had no restraint, but his hair… it was the one thing he guarded. Suedomas’s laughter faltered for the first time. His sneer twitched into something ugly, defensive. “Y-you—!” His hand instinctively brushed back against the silken strands, pulling them tighter behind his ear. “That is nothing! A meaningless detail!”

But Nateas saw it now. Every dodge, every subtle recoil when a strike neared too close. Suedomas’s arrogance wasn’t vanity alone — it was obsession. His hair wasn’t just pride, it was the tether to his power, the one thing he had been protecting without realizing how obvious it had become. Nateas clenched his fists, body trembling as something inside him shifted. Protecting Nagisa, protecting her courage — it forced him into new territory. He whispered, his voice barely audible at first:

He fixed his eyes on Suedomas. For the first time, the laughter had stopped. And Nateas smiled — a thin, dangerous smile. “You’ve been running this whole fight without realizing it. Guarding the one thing you didn’t want me to see. And now…” He shifted his stance, lowering his shoulder as the wind curled around his fists.

“…I’ll rip it away from you.”

His eyes gleamed, the heat of the fight stoking a cruel joy. “A king always needs a crown. And yours is as fragile as a child’s toy.” He cracked his knuckles, raising his stance. Suedomas bristled, his face twisting in fury, hands brushing at his hair as if to shield it from the revelation.

“Pathetic,” Nateas went on, his voice growing louder, taunting. “Remember back in the old days, Suedomas? When we played E-Card?” His tone dripped with mockery, leaning into the memory like a dagger. “You were always the Emperor, smug, untouchable… and me? I was the slave. The dog crawling on the floor. But even then I knew—” He lunged, his claws flashing for Suedomas’ hair, every strike angled not for the body but for the crown atop his head. “—one day, I’d usurp the King. Gladly. A dog, biting at his master’s throat.”

Suedomas was forced to defend higher than ever, frantic, almost embarrassed at how exposed his vanity had become. Every movement betrayed the truth—he was no longer fighting to win. He was fighting to keep his crown intact. Nateas pressed harder, laughter breaking through his lips as his strikes carved closer, shearing strands loose in quick, humiliating bursts. “Look at you! Terrified to lose what makes you royal. But to me? It’s nothing more than dead weight.” Another swipe—hair floated into the air like black feathers. Suedomas’ roar echoed, both rage and panic mixing, his pride unraveling strand by strand.

The hairs drift in the air like dying embers, a jagged clump severed from Suedomas’ mane. His scream is guttural—less of pain, more of shame. Nateas doesn’t press the advantage; instead, he has the clumps of hair in his fingers, then casually drops them. Nateas: “Heh. That’s enough. A king without his crown is already beaten. I’ll save the rest for another day.” He spits on the ground, then smirks. “Besides, I’ve got other hunts. Don’t you wonder, Suedomas—where’s your ogre watchdog now?”

Nagisa answers before the silence can settle.

Nagisa: “Fed to the Veil. Gobbled up like garbage. Guess loyalty doesn’t mean much when the master’s trash.” Suedomas’ jaw clenches. His eyes widen. Suedomas: “You… what did you say?” Nagisa lifts Cammy, his screen glowing as the shutter sound clicks. She flashes the image back at him, mockingly. Nagisa: “Caught in 4K. Now this is a headline. The veins in Suedomas’ temples bulge. Rage breaks through humiliation.

Suedomas: “You little worm—!”

He lunges, at the blink of an eye, a blur of black and broken pride aiming straight for Nagisa’s throat. But steel intercepts him.

CLANG!

Yuranu plants herself between them, her tail locked against Suedomas’ strike, sparks bursting where steel grinds on steel.

Yuranu: “You’ll not lay a hand on her.”

Suedomas’ smirk wavered into something tighter, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“How many more are there…?” he muttered under his breath, eyes darting at the situation he's in enemies closing around him. “And where’s the fox he was instructed to watch you brats…?” Yuranu raised her hand lazily, as if mocking him. Her tone was smooth, cruel in its certainty. “He’s counting sheep. You know—sleeping like the mutt he really is.” She shook the folded parchment she carried, the seal glinting in the torchlight. “And not just that. I have the document.” Suedomas’ composure cracked. “The… doctrine…?!” His voice rang with disbelief, half snarl, half panic.

the Veylstra Vanguard arrived. The sound of armored boots clanged through the corridors, heavy and urgent, their voices barking out orders. “Sweep the floors! We got a call about a disturbance—lock this area down!”

The tactical unit fanned out, closing in with rifles and swords raised and visors gleaming in the dim light. Their leader glanced over the scene, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “What the hell happened here?” Suedomas turned toward them casually, as if the battlefield were his parlor. His grin widened, voice low and venomous in its amusement. “Ah, the pawns arrive, dutiful as ever.” He lifted a hand, theatrically brushing dust off himself. 

“I’ll leave the doctrine with them. After all, without an interpreter, the text will remain nothing more than ink on parchment.” He raised a single finger, pointing directly at Nagisa. His voice, calm yet venomous, slid across the room like a blade drawn slow.

“But you—” his tone sharpened into something cruel. “You, with your accursed power. I’ll make sure youll know the horror of Suedomas the demonlike. One day, girl, the weight of what of your prying will, will crush you.”

Glass exploded outward as his body crashed through the window. Shards rained in the night air, the figure of their enemy swallowed by the darkness beyond. The Vanguard burst into the room just in time to see the tail of his escape. Their captain’s eyes narrowed. “Target on the move!” one soldier roared. But the words seemed to hang uselessly. The villain was gone. Memo stuck his tongue out at the retreating shadow of Suedomas. “Bleh—! You better run, coward!” he jeered, scrunching his face with exaggerated mockery. “Running away with you hair between your legs. hah!”

His playful taunt barely had time to hang in the air before the restaurant doors creaked open. The sound of heavy boots striking the floorboards followed, crisp and disciplined. A dozen men and women in pale-gray cloaks moved into formation, their polished insignias gleaming faintly even in the dim lantern light.

The Veylstra Vanguard. 

The atmosphere shifted at once, the heat of Suedomas’s threat replaced by the suffocating chill of authority. The Vanguard began fanning out. Nagisa froze where she stood, her fists still trembling from Suedomas’s parting words. Memo frowned, glancing at her before muttering, “...great timing.”

Then came the worst of it.

Among the armored figures, a familiar face emerged—Yano. His sharp eyes and his aura flaring sweeping the room entirely. The only ones to feel it were yuranu, nateas, Cammy and memo. Nagisa fully unaware of the cold and calculating wave of energy suffocating the entire building. His eyes landed on the corner where the wounded demonill Nateas still lingered, his entire body tensed.

Recognition flashed instantly.

“YOU‼️…”

 Yano muttered, his tone a low growl as his hand drifted toward the hilt of his blade. 

"The Demonill.”