Chapter 13 - The Black Swan

Beyond the Alps of Sin, where the Skrids ruled the skies suffocated by the wrath of the wind, lay a barren land. A desert where drought consumed everything. There was not a trace of life. It was impossible to fathom such emptiness in a place so steeped in the scent of life, and yet so close to death.

After all these events, we have yet to consider the perspective of the demons in this unfolding conflict. Unlike the Dominions and the Angels, who had built their nations into kingdoms surrounded by fertile lands, the demons dwelled in this desolate territory east of Ladnoria, in a colossal, gothic-style tower, darker than night itself, at least seven thousand meters tall and twenty-five thousand wide.

From the outside, the tower was adorned with sculptures of shattered angels and skeletal remains of long-abandoned beasts of every kind, lending the place a disturbing majesty. Sunlight barely pierced through the violent winds that carried sand through the air. The tower was divided into nine floors, or nine circles, each illuminated by a faint glow of different colors. And at the top of the ninth circle sat the Demon King, Xael, on his throne before the balcony, gazing out at the desolate view.

"Quite fascinating, this whole intrigue between the angels and the Dominions," Xael murmured, in the presence of two guardians of the circles, who lingered in the shadows, their identities hard to discern.

Each floor had its own guardian, beings whose power was worthy of fear.

"Do you think we should intervene?" asked one of them.

"This time, we have no way of intervening. The Petals are not yet in our hands. Still, it would be rather delightful to play the role of an audience. In the end, the victors will be us," said Xael as he sipped a glass of wine. The faint light of the sun reflected across the crimson liquid, casting his snow-white face and long, dark hair upon its surface.

Meanwhile, high above the shadowed trees of the Guhojre Forest, a path of black ice was forming. Upon it stood Magura, her arms crossed, using the ice as a means of transport. Within two hours she had reached a point where the horizon revealed the protective walls of the angels' nation, alongside their shimmering barrier. Through her mastery over black ice, she could conceal her presence entirely, ensuring no one would sense her approach. With each passing moment, she drew closer to the walls.

"Time to descend," she muttered to herself, dissolving the ice beneath her feet so she could drop swiftly to the ground. The impact thundered through the trees, sending a plume of dust into the air around her. She summoned black ice once again, shaping it into a path across the earth, gliding forward as she advanced toward the walls.

"How much longer must we stand here?" asked one of the three angelic sentries, armored and stationed at the gate of the wall.

"Let me see... one hour and twenty-four minutes more," answered another, glancing at the timepiece strapped to his wrist.

"Booo... what a boring day. How about a game—"

"No!" the other two guards cut him off before he could finish.

"Tch! You're no fun at all. Hm!?"

The guard suddenly noticed a black figure speeding toward the gate at terrifying speed. It was Magura, riding ice as though it were a surfboard, closing the distance fast.

"What? Someone's approaching! Someone dangerous!" one of the guards shouted.

"Quick! Alert the center!" another cried.

"Too late for that," came Magura's voice, sharp and merciless, as her eyes locked on them with a predatory glare.

"W-Who are you?" one guard stammered, fear creeping into his voice.

Without hesitation, she swung her ice. Two guards were struck in the head, collapsing instantly, their blood spraying like a crimson fountain. The third was encased in solid ice, trapped completely. He stared at her in horror, frozen in both body and spirit, powerless to act.

Magura stepped closer to him. "So... it's a woman."

Touching the ice that bound the female guard, Magura absorbed her very form, armor of gold, golden hair, and piercing blue eyes. A brilliant infiltration technique. The real guard, still conscious within the ice, watched in unspeakable terror as her own likeness was stolen before her eyes. With a casual tap of Magura's hand, the ice shattered into microscopic shards, erasing the woman from existence.

Magura opened the fortress gate with ease, slipping inside undetected. From her pocket, she drew a card.

"The Visionaries' Card," she murmured, passing effortlessly through the barrier beyond the gate. The door sealed behind her as though nothing had happened.

Other soldiers spotted her soon after, greeting her warmly, believing her to be their comrade and not the enemy in disguise. She spread her wings, now radiant and angelic, and ascended into the skies, flying toward the Kingdom of Saint Zagra.

Tarnael walked in quiet thought, draped in a white cloak, through the palace courtyard where roses filled the air with a divine fragrance. Water flowed gently from angelic statues surrounding the central fountain, lending a spiritual serenity that blended seamlessly with the garden's harmony. Behind the marble columns, angels plucked golden harps, while others of noble bearing strolled along flower-lined paths, greeting Tarnael warmly as they continued their refined conversations.

He seated himself upon a bench before a statue of a child innocent angel loosing an arrow, from which streamed a thin jet of water. His gaze lingered on the sculpture's details, before shifting to the swans that glided gracefully across the fountain's basin. Yet among those pure, placid birds, one stood apart, its feathers black as midnight. Alone, unbothered by its solitude, the dark swan drifted with untroubled grace.

The music of the harps turned mournful, a melody better suited to the black swan's presence. Notes fell upon the fountain's waters, drifted between the statues, through the leaves tumbling softly to the ground. They brushed past Tarnael's long, golden hair and shimmered before his sapphire eyes, eyes as blue as the waters that bore the solitary swan.

Far beyond, Magura arrived in the Kingdom of Saint Zagra. Folding her wings, she concealed them beneath her armor and stepped into the streets. Her eyes roved across the radiant world before her: the angels' daily lives, their gleaming structures, their elegant garments, their graceful way of walking, flying, speaking. Everything shone with the splendor of a fairytale. And in every sight, every detail, she saw the reflection of another life, the harsh, shadowed world of demons. The contrast was stark. Overwhelming.

"I need to ask where the royal palace is," she muttered to herself. At that moment, her eyes caught sight of a small shop nearby.

She decided to enter, but for that, Magura required a different disguise. Soldiers would naturally know the palace's location, and if someone in uniform were seen asking such a question, suspicion would be unavoidable. She glanced around quickly and spotted a short-haired blond angel dressed in simple brown garments walking past.

With terrifying swiftness, she seized him with her left hand and dragged him into a deserted side alley, far from watchful eyes.

"W-What are you doing?" the angel cried, struggling against her grip.

"Forgive me," Magura said coldly, freezing him in place before stealing his appearance. Moments later, she ended him as she had the guard before, shattering him into nothingness. "I hope no one saw that. Damn! I could've just asked the soldier... Never mind," she muttered, continuing toward the shop.

Now cloaked in her new guise, Magura stepped inside.

"Good day. I just wanted to ask—"

Her words froze as the sight before her struck like a blade.

The shop was filled with embalmed demons. Creatures sculpted from raw negative emotion: some caught mid-scream, others in tears, others still in endless combat. Each display was a grotesque trophy of suffering. Some bore canine features, others twisted forms of beasts, their bodies sprouting extra eyes, claws, or rows of flesh-ripping fangs.

It was a collection of horrors, an exhibition of every expression a demon could wear, captured and preserved for eternity.

"I see you sell embalmed demons," Magura said, her voice cold beneath her disguise.

"It's a profitable business, especially since the creation of the spheres. You know how they're treated here: as ornaments, as material for garments. Sometimes I find it strange, the way people look at these things and think to themselves how beautiful they are. But that's not my concern. Are you interested?" the shopkeeper asked, polishing a dish with a cloth.

"Let me take a look," Magura replied, her gaze drifting across the frozen demons in unsettling detail.

"The Nine Guardians of Hell... and the other demons that fill Virigiel's Tower," the shopkeeper said.

"Excuse me?" Magura asked sharply.

"I mean, the true beauty lies with the Guardians. Hard to capture them, of course. Perhaps angels buy these embalmed demons to understand what it means to suffer, to see emotions beyond goodness, happiness, and prosperity. Don't you think?"

"And why do you think the Guardians are beautiful?" Magura asked.

"They give the impression there's more to them than just 'evil.' I've never seen one with my own eyes, but that's the feeling I get from the paintings. They've always seemed... intriguing." The shopkeeper set the dish on the table and walked toward Magura, who stood studying the grotesque displays.

"'More than just evil,' hm? I wanted to ask you something. Do you know if there's another shop like this near the royal palace? I left an order there," Magura said, still staring at the demons.

"Which royal palace?" the shopkeeper asked.

"What?" Magura's brow furrowed in confusion.

"There are two royal palaces here, one in the north of the kingdom, the other in the east. I have a shop near each. Which one do you mean?"

"Hmm... the eastern palace..." Magura muttered, her confusion deepening.

The shopkeeper studied Magura intently, his gaze sharp and heavy with suspicion. There was something dramatic in the way he looked at her, as if probing past her disguise. Magura did not know how to respond, she could only wait for his answer.

"You are Arkazel, aren't you?" the shopkeeper asked, stepping closer to the counter.

"Y-Yes, that's me," Magura replied quickly, banking on the chance that no such person existed. For once, fortune favored her, the man actually had another shop near the royal palace.

"Indeed. You asked the very same thing yesterday. You told me you would be free today. Your order is ready, though, of course, you'll need to pick it up there," the shopkeeper said.

"Could you give me some directions? I live in a small northern kingdom, and I rarely visit this place," Magura explained, still cloaked in her disguise.

"Of course," the shopkeeper said smoothly, reaching beneath the counter as though for his ledger. But instead of a book, he raised a rifle and leveled it at Magura.

"Yesterday you told me you lived in the south, in the kingdom of Berethia, Arkazel. Or shall I call you by another name, stranger?" His tone was low, threatening.

"Oh, um... wh-what are you saying—? Fine, have it your way," Magura hissed. In an instant, she shattered her disguise. A wave of deathly frost burst from her body, freezing the shop from within. The merchant's eyes widened in terror as he beheld her true form, that of a high-ranking demon.

"I've granted your wish," she said coldly. "You've just seen a Guardian of Hell."

The ice dissolved into water, swallowing everything in the shop and erasing all trace of what had transpired. Only the shopkeeper's notebook remained. Magura picked it up, flipping briefly through its pages until her eyes caught the map of the kingdom. She slipped it into her jacket and vanished into invisibility, cloaked once more by her deadly ice.

Stepping outside unseen, she spread her dark-feathered wings and soared toward the royal palace, unnoticed by all.

"I need to find a way inside the palace," Magura muttered to herself. Her eyes fixed on a soldier standing somewhat apart from the others below her. He would be her target. Carefully, she descended, shadowing him step by step, waiting until he drifted into a place where isolation offered opportunity. Hiding behind a marble column, she ensured that no angel brushed against her, for even the slightest touch could shatter her disguise.

Her gaze followed the soldier intently, studying every motion, every stride he took among his kind. At last, he slipped into a military tent pitched near a shop.

"At last," she whispered, striding silently after him.

Inside, the soldier removed his armor and helmet before settling into a chair beside the warmth of hanging lanterns. From his hand he drew a compass, opening it to reveal a portrait of a golden-haired maiden with eyes as blue as the heavens, eyes painted with boundless love.

Unseen, Magura stood behind him, her cold gaze lingering on the image. She stared as though trying to summon a memory, to provoke some faint emotion long since buried. But then...

"Forgive me," she murmured.

"W-Who's there?"

A spear of ice, shaped into a blade, pierced the soldier's stomach before he could finish. Magura absorbed his form as his body faltered.

"S-Sraela..." he gasped with his final breath.

Magura's expression remained cold as she donned his armor. Encasing him in ice, she crushed it into shards so fine that no trace of him remained.

Stepping from the tent now wearing his guise, she lifted her eyes to the palace. It loomed before her: a colossal structure of five towers capped with golden domes, each crowned by a cross, with a massive central hall rising between them. The wide courtyard swarmed with soldiers who marched, conversed, and went about their duties.

Walking with steady composure, Magura crossed the grounds as if nothing had transpired. She passed the two guards at the courtyard gate, who allowed her entry without question. She continued forward, careful to avoid undue notice, until she reached the palace doors, guarded now by four sentinels.

"Lanciel... you want to see it too, don't you?" one of the guards asked Magura, still cloaked in the slain soldier's form.

"It gets out of control, as always," another remarked.

"Every seventy-seven days. The aristocrats have far too much time on their hands," the third guard muttered.

"I believe you've also been assigned, Lanciel, to watch the ceremony, haven't you?" one of them pressed.

"Y-Yes," Magura replied, doing her best to keep her composure.

"I can tell you're uneasy. Perhaps it's your first time," one of the guards said with a faint smile.

"Go on then, enjoy it. The rest of us have other duties."

They swung the gate open, granting Magura passage into the palace.

The sight that greeted her was overwhelming. Magnificent icons stretched across vast murals; towering angelic statues loomed in solemn majesty. A massive crimson carpet ran the length of the golden-tiled floor. Flower-filled vases lined the hall, their fragrance mingling with the warm, pervasive scent of cinnamon.

It was all utterly new to Magura. She walked slowly, intrigued, her silence both outward and inward. The corridor seemed endless, its emptiness filled only by the gleam of golden suits of armor that stood like silent sentinels.

As she neared the end of the passageway, something unusual caught her attention, her sharp senses picking up an unfamiliar scent, one that struck her with sudden unease.

"What could this be?" she wondered aloud as she decided to follow the trail of the strange scent.

Her steps carried her into a vast chamber deep within the palace, where at least five hundred angels had gathered, in an orgy. They pleasured one another, bodies entwined, stripped of garments, stripped of spirit. To an outsider it was chaos, incomprehensible, yet to them it was a language understood perfectly. A labyrinth of flesh and lust without end.

Magura watched with boundless disgust. In that moment she realized the truth: these angels were no noble, divine beings as they pretended to be. One of the angel-women caught Magura's gaze from the corner of her eye, smirking devilishly even as she drowned herself in the throes of ecstasy. Rage welled up inside Magura, fierce and violent, but she forced herself to keep it under control.

"Lanciel, something wrong?" asked a soldier beside her, mistaking her for his comrade.

"Ah—N-No, nothing," Magura replied, cloaked in shame and hatred.

"I know it's your first time at Yan'Shrafela's orgy," the soldier said.

Magura turned her eyes sharply, intrigued by what she had just heard.

"They say it took Edin'Borghia seventy-seven days to create the angels. And so, in his honor, we celebrate, honoring both his name and that of the Cherub of Life. Seraph Edin'Borghia gave us life, and Cherub Yan'Shrafela gave us fertility. For their gifts, we give thanks, through the ritual of the orgy."

Magura listened silently, offering no reply, careful not to betray her disguise.

"You sure you're all right, Lanciel? I wouldn't blame you. All this erotic energy, it's bound to stir something in you," the soldier said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

He was watching her too closely, his gaze probing past her words, sensing the dissonance in her demeanor. Magura realized he was growing doubtful, and that eventually he would discover she was not his companion at all. Killing him would expose her at once, but if the conversation dragged on, he would surely see through her.

At last, she devised a way out.

"I had a report for the king," Magura told the soldier.

"A report? What did you see?" he asked.

"This stays between us. Tell no one," Magura whispered, pressing a sharp icicle blade against the man's throat.

"W-Who are you?!" the soldier stammered in shock.

"Ssshhhhh. Just guide me," Magura said in a hushed, commanding tone.

They walked together, leaving behind the scene of debauchery. To the other angels passing by in the more crowded hallways, it appeared as though the two were merely comrades strolling together in friendly conversation.

"What are you trying to do?" the soldier asked nervously.

"Just walk," Magura replied flatly, offering no explanation.

"You'll pay dearly for this," he spat.

Their steps eventually brought them into a shadowed corridor, one strangely empty of angels. No voices, no footsteps, only stone and silence. Even the light seemed to falter, swallowed by the gloom.

"Where did you find this place?" the soldier asked uneasily.

"Just intuition. In every royal palace, if you follow the western path long enough, the paths always lead to a hidden corridor. Do you have any precise knowledge of this one?" Magura asked.

"I don't... but I know only high-ranking angels of the political order are allowed to walk here," the soldier admitted.

"I see."

With that, Magura struck, decapitating him in cold precision. She froze the wound to prevent a single drop of blood from spilling, then obliterated the body entirely with her icecraft.

"I'm certain no one will find me here for a while," she murmured.

Magura shifted back into her true form and walked cautiously through the corridor. Torn paintings hung along the walls, shrouded in thick cobwebs, each one reflecting the history and wars the angels had endured across millennia.

"Hm? What is this?" Magura muttered when her eyes fell on a peculiar painting: a baby drenched entirely in blood. Above the child loomed a dragon's severed head, the reason the infant was baptized in gore. What disturbed her most was the figure holding the dragon's head: a woman dressed in crimson gown, with golden hair, but her face was utterly blank. No nose, no mouth, no eyes, no brows. Just an empty void.

"This baby must be Uanamangura. But who is this woman?" Magura whispered. At that moment, the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears.

"How did I not sense them at all?"she thought.

Quickly, she crystallized her body into ice and concealed herself behind another nearby painting. The footsteps grew louder, four angelic soldiers advancing down the corridor.

"Hmm? Do you smell that?" one asked.

"Probably a dead rat," another replied.

"Then a lot of rats must have died," a third added, and they all broke into laughter.

"I could kill them easily... but that would shatter the illusion of my infiltration," Magura thought grimly.

"What's so funny?" came a stern voice from deeper down the corridor.

"Commander Senadael," the soldiers said in unison.

"What happened here?" the commander demanded as he stepped into the scene.

"A rat died here. We took it too seriously at first, and it struck us as amusing afterward," one soldier explained.

"I see," the commander said, his gaze narrowing as he examined the paintings with unusual care. Suddenly, his eyes locked on one in particular: an image of a weeping female angel, alone in an enchanted forest. With a flick of his hand, he conjured a rod of iron and shattered the painting into pieces.

"C-Commander!" the soldiers exclaimed in shock.

"Hmm. Nothing there after all. Perhaps it was just a feeling of mine," Senadael muttered, while the painting of Uanamangura still clung to the wall behind him, disturbingly intact.

Meanwhile, Magura had advanced further down the corridor, leaving behind a trace of black ice beneath a painting, an illusion meant to deceive the angels and buy herself more time. It was, in truth, a flawless infiltration strategy.

As she continued on, her steps brought her before an ancient door, unlike the others in the palace.

"I wonder what could be in here," Magura whispered to herself as she began to open it with careful, silent movements. But before she could pull it fully, a strange sensation stirred within her chest. Something she couldn't quite describe, yet it was undeniably there, clinging to her.

She turned her gaze toward the three mysterious doors flanking this chamber. Her attention lingered on the first one, pressed close against the wall. A feeling, uncannily familiar, washed over her, though she could not understand why it seized her now.

"What could be behind that door?" she wondered, her curiosity burning brighter.

"No... first, I should see what lies here," she decided, pushing open the old door completely.

Magura entered and froze. Before her stretched a hall lined with great tubes, each containing creatures without consciousness. Some were already completed, while others were still regenerating their lost limbs and flesh. Yet at the far end stood a colossal tube, larger than all the rest. Its eerie green glow made the demoness shiver.

"What in the hells is this? I need to report this to Kaliga at once," Magura thought, unsettled.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers softly across the glass.

"I can sense energies inside... I didn't know such a thing was possible. This must be Bakabali," she murmured inwardly.

But suddenly, the cold steel of a scythe crept nearer to her back with each passing second, poised for the kill.

"Hm!?" Magura reacted instantly, twisting aside with instinctive reflex just as the blade cut through the air.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp, as the glow of the green chamber revealed him, Glauk...