Chapter 22 - Miserable

Green clouds were raining chains hung deep into the ground. Suspended between them, Magura gazed downward at a panorama that few, if any, could ever hope to witness. The world itself lay beneath her feet, its horizon curved, at a height of thirteen thousand meters. The cold air slid past the sides of her jacket, while her breath released vapor that crystallized into dark shards of frost. Magura hung amidst the Clouds of Angapotea.

But who was Angapotea, and why had these strange, otherworldly clouds taken her name?

Angapotea had once been a queen of the elven kingdom, married to King Artemidoras, some five hundred years ago. Their people lived in prosperity, blessed with wealth, abundance, and harmony, everything a kingdom could ever desire rested in the hearts of the elves. They thrived in peace: with nature, with each other, and even with the mortal races, especially humankind. War had never been conceived in their minds. They knew not suffering, until that day arrived.

Within their royal tree, where all elven power was concentrated, a single tulip petal hovered above a golden plate. The Petal of the Flower of Darkness. There were six of these in existence, and one of them sealed the grim fate of these magical beings whose very souls were bound to the forest.

On a quiet night, a massive army of vampires descended upon the elven capital. They rode dark steeds with blood-red eyes and predatory features, clad in shadowed armor of crimson and black. From among them stepped a vampire whose attire was more formal, more striking than the rest. He advanced several paces ahead of the legion and drew from his pocket a Petal of Darkness.

The petal flared with a purple gleam, awakening the vampires' most malevolent instincts, enslaving them to the will of wickedness. And then they began, destroying and slaughtering everything in their path.

The elves, overwhelmed and vastly outnumbered, found themselves powerless against the vampires' hunger. They loosed arrows, drew their bows, and sent Garudas soaring between the treetop dwellings. Yet every effort was in vain. That night, the vampires succeeded in toppling Hieldergarn, now possessing three of the Petals of Darkness.

The Tree of Life was engulfed in flames. The elves no longer possessed the strength or dominion they once held in the forests of Zagros. They scattered like ants deprived of their queen, fleeing into foreign lands, bereft of a place to call home.

Only the dark elven kingdoms in the northeast emerged untouched by the vampires' assault. With shameless treachery, they sold out their kin, offering the vampires a petal of darkness they had hidden away. And thus, betrayal gave the enemy three petals, and left the remaining three as the only barrier keeping the demons from drawing nearer to their dream.

"How ironic," Magura muttered to herself, hanging amidst the chains. "To end up trapped like this. The history of these clouds has always disgusted me. It reminds me of what happened to the elves centuries ago. My very existence sickens me."

From that height, the ruins of the elven kingdom were painfully clear. The air was bitterly cold, though not enough to trouble her. Below her stretched the desolate landscape of the elves' once-proud nation, abandoned, shattered, with no trace of life visible from where she hung. Then again, she was thirteen thousand meters above ground. But one must remember: the senses of divine beings are hundreds of times more acute than those of mortals. Magura could distinguish with perfect clarity who crossed the land below.

Her gaze fell upon a flattened clearing, and what she saw left her utterly stunned. There stood Igorus, together with Aldes and Atbara.

"What are they doing here, of all places?" Magura whispered to herself, baffled by the sight.

"The elven kingdom, huh? It's been centuries since I last came here," Aldes murmured quietly.

"Since you refused to burn the forest, Igorus, I brought you to this place of history instead," Atbara said, after teleporting his horse away through his trees to keep it safe from any lurking danger. "Perhaps some elves survived the flames of the vampires, scattered across the world. But I cannot allow your fire to take over my duty."

"Don't worry about that," Igorus replied coldly, his eyes burning with a murderous glare. "My flames are reserved only for you."

"Igorus, it's a misunderstanding, believe me," Aldes said nervously, forcing an uneasy smile. "We've only just learned that your brother had passed away. We were shocked as well, I swear."

"Shocked that your crime has been discovered?" Igorus sneered, his voice dripping with irony.

"It's true we spoke with Kaies," Aldes admitted. "We met with him earlier today for a task Queen Kaliga had assigned us. But we left his chambers half an hour later. He was in perfect condition when we departed. You're a man of logic, Igorus. Don't let grief consume you. Please, act with intelligence, not with your heart."

"No dominion slaughters its own kind. And angels cannot step foot into, nor kill within our territories. That leaves only the two of you as suspects," Igorus said with stubborn conviction.

"How do you know that?" Aldes pressed. "Just because you haven't witnessed it doesn't mean the possibility is small."

"And what exactly are you trying to imply?" Igorus asked sharply.

"That anyone can step outside their nature, even for a moment. The killer has not yet been confirmed, from what we know," Aldes replied.

"If the authorities declare us guilty, you may take our lives in any manner you wish," Atbara said firmly. "We may be beings with darker tendencies, but at the very least, we still hold honor. We would never act without our queen's command."

Aldes glanced at Atbara with doubt, uncertain about the weight of his words. Igorus, meanwhile, studied them closely, listening with rapt attention as Aldes and Atbara tried, earnestly, and perhaps rightly, to persuade him that the death of his brother was not their doing.

"I've given you more than enough time to talk," Igorus said in a calm, steady voice.

A massive flame erupted from his body, taking the form of a blazing aura so hot that nearby buildings began to melt into rivers of molten stone. Deadly vapors swirled around him, cloaking the general's presence in a terror far greater than his form alone. He walked forward through the inferno, the fiery pillars around him rising tens of meters high, like a miniature sun on the verge of unleashing its wrath.

"Tch! So he won't listen, huh?" Aldes muttered, pulling a pack of playing cards from the pocket of his coat.

Atbara drew his rapier from his belt, bracing himself against the storm of Igorus' fury. Overhead, Magura stared down at the titanic blaze beneath her feet.

"What in the hell is happening?" she whispered, unable to shake her astonishment.

The flames intensified further, shifting to a deep crimson as the heat grew unbearable. Aldes and Atbara shielded their faces with their arms, desperate to block even a fraction of Igorus' fire. The demon shuffled his cards and drew one. A three of hearts.

"I expected better... but this will do."

Behind Aldes, a pack of wolves appeared, coated in scarlet fur lunged straight at Igorus.

"Hmph!" With a single sweep of his right arm, Igorus incinerated them instantly.

"Atbara!" Aldes shouted.

In that moment, Atbara emerged behind Igorus, teleporting through the roots of his trees, ready to drive his blade into Igorus' back. But Igorus repelled him effortlessly with nothing more than a sudden surge of heat.

"Did you really think something so feeble would work against me?" he scoffed, doubling the inferno around him. More ruins crumbled, more stone melted.

Igorus turned on Aldes, charging forward. The force of his step tore the earth apart, as if a volcano's crater had erupted beneath his feet. He was mere moments from engulfing Aldes in fire, when the wolves appeared again before him.

"What? I burned them already," Igorus growled, burning them down once more with a flick of his hand.

Yet every time the wolves perished, they reappeared, this time tinted with a strange violet glow.

With a sharp gesture, Igorus conjured a sword of fire to cut them down more efficiently, slicing the wolves apart as their numbers grew, multiplying faster with each death.

"So, depending on the card he draws, he gains a specific ability..." Igorus thought, grimacing as he split another wave of wolves in two.

"Magical Crafts: Third Act — The Death of Agnistos," Atbara declared.

A half-dead figure appeared at Atbara's left side. Igorus' eyes flicked toward it, distracted for the briefest instant as he battled the endless wolves, uncertain what this trick would unleash.

Atbara seized the figure's jaw and forced it open, the sound of cracking bones sharp and unsettling. From deep within its throat, Atbara drew forth a sword entwined with thorned rose stems. At its tip, the grotesque head of a giant bee glared with lifeless eyes.

"The Cursed Blade of Agnistos," Igorus muttered, well aware of the weapon's legend, turning his full attention toward Atbara.

Around him, no fewer than fifty wolves now circled, closing in from every direction.

"Ferni Relica: Third Reveal — Misty Breath," Igorus invoked, and in that instant a monstrous torrent of ash poured from his mouth, disintegrating the wolves into dust. The blazing aura that cloaked him dispersed in the wake of his own power.

"It seems five minutes have already passed," Aldes remarked, shuffling his deck once more.

The Sword of Agnistos, the thirteenth king of the Hybrids, was undeniable proof of his death, at Atbara's own hands.

"So... since you wield that blade, it means you killed the thirteenth king of the Hybrids? You are the reason for his sudden disappearance?" Igorus asked, his voice low, almost mechanical.

"Correct," Atbara replied coldly. "King Agnistos possessed a power that caught my interest. And now, he is nothing more than part of my collection."

As he spoke, Igorus' eyes followed Aldes, waiting for the next card he would draw. With his second shuffle complete, Aldes revealed his choice: a King of Diamonds.

"Looks like fortune favors me this time," Aldes said proudly, as the card's power began to manifest. "Preludes of Kirkou."

Around Igorus, dozens of tall African women appeared, draped in crimson dresses adorned with golden geometric patterns. They walked in a circular rhythm, balancing large hand-crafted jars upon their heads.

"What in hell is this?" Igorus muttered, flames licking across his body as he stared at this strange, alien sorcery of Aldes.

Atbara stood poised, his cursed blade ready, searching for the right opening. Among the women, one figure stood apart. Her dress was blue, her geometric markings black. Unlike the others, she bore no jar on her head. Instead, she held in both hands a still-beating heart, dripping blood as it throbbed violently.

A slow, wicked smile spread across Aldes' face. The woman lifted the heart toward her mouth.

"Tch!" Igorus swung his blazing sword, immolating most of the women in a single sweep.

But the woman with the heart in her grasp remained untouched, entirely unfazed by the inferno. She continued walking toward him, pressing the heart ever closer to her lips.

"Igorus," Aldes said, his grin twisting into something devilish, "the heart she carries to her mouth... is your own."

Atbara seized the moment, summoning a wall of thorned rose-stems that lashed out from all directions, striking at Igorus like a storm of spears. Igorus countered with a fiery barrier, the flames reducing each thorn to ash. Atbara pressed further, he thrust his cursed sword toward the general, and the insect head at its tip opened its jaws, unleashing a swarm of massive bees. Igorus incinerated them with ease, fire erupting from his hand in waves.

"Hm?" Igorus suddenly faltered as sharp roots burst violently from the earth, lunging at him again and again with relentless speed.

"When did he cast this?" Igorus growled, struggling to dodge the relentless strikes.

And then, it happened.

The woman bit into the heart.

"GAAHH!" groaned Igorus as a crushing pain seized his chest.

One of the roots eventually tore through his leg.

"Ngghhh!" Igorus felt both the tearing in his leg and the tightening in his chest at once, forcing him to bend under the sheer weight of the pain.

"Hahahah—NAHAHAHAHAHA!" Aldes laughed wildly as he watched Igorus writhe in agony.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" Igorus growled, rising as though nothing had happened.

"What...?" Atbara reacted in shock.

Igorus' body began to melt into lava, his form liquefying along with the scorched earth beneath him.

"Behind you," came Igorus' voice. But it was already too late.

Atbara turned his head, only for Igorus to seize him by the face and smash him savagely into the surrounding ruins. Atbara tried to counter with Agnistos' sword, but Igorus grabbed him by his robes and hurled him into the ground, the impact cracking the earth wide open.

"Kahhh!"

With speed bordering on light itself, Igorus drove his fist into Atbara's stomach, making him vomit blood from the force of the blow. Then he seized Atbara by the legs and flung him toward the nearest mountain. The collision shattered its peak entirely.

"Damn it! Woman! Eat the whole heart!" Aldes commanded the African woman to devour the heart in a single bite.

Just as she prepared to swallow it whole, Igorus reduced her to ash.

"Haaah?! W-what the fuck just happened?!" Aldes stammered in fear.

Igorus appeared before him in an instant.

"You truly thought such a weak trick would have any effect on me?" Igorus said coldly, unleashing a terrifying torrent of flame. The inferno consumed the ruined kingdom within seconds. It was a living hell, and Aldes found himself just another sinner lost within it. The blue sky had vanished, replaced by smoke and a searing red haze that poisoned the air. To Aldes, the place was grimly fitting.

"It's not over ye—"

Before he could finish, Igorus shattered Aldes's jaw with a sudden punch. The impact hurled him hundreds of meters away. But before Aldes could reset his jaw, he saw Igorus' silhouette looming above him. A vicious kick from Igorus' left leg slammed into his side, breaking every bone in Aldes' arm and spine. The sheer force ripped his body in two.

"Damn it! He's far too strong for us!" Aldes thought, reeling from the overwhelming difference in power between himself and Atbara, compared to Igorus.

The two halves of Aldes' body were hurled across opposite ends of the ruined kingdom. Atbara returned to the battlefield, his landing leaving a crater beneath his feet. Igorus turned his head toward him. Atbara was breathing heavily, still shaken by the injuries Igorus had inflicted.

"Can you still fight?" Igorus asked, his tone devoid of interest.

"Haah... haah... Magical Crafts: Fourth Art — The Death of Abba—KLLAAAAGHH!"

Igorus' fist slammed into Atbara's chest, the force of the blow creating a colossal vortex of air behind him. Atbara was now completely unconscious.

Beneath Igorus' robes, the sphere he carried began to tremble, but he ignored it for several seconds. His gaze remained fixed on Atbara and the scattered remains of Aldes, his expression stoic and chillingly cold.

At last, he drew the sphere from beneath his robes, and the image of the Marshal flickered upon the communicator.

"Where are you, General?" asked Marshal Mildura.

"On an expedition. Why have you called me?" Igorus replied.

"I was attending a council regarding the crime against your brother, and... let's just say something unexpected occurred. A Dominion had painted his wings to resemble those of an angel and began threatening us, claiming that we would all be slain by the angels themselves," said the Marshal.

"He must have been some kind of lunatic," Igorus muttered.

"We have no proof for the moment. But listen closely. There is something far more important you need to hear," Mildura continued.

Igorus listened intently.

"Within Kaies' body, fragments were discovered. At first, they were unidentifiable, weren't they?"

"Yes. We were waiting to determine what they were."

"It turns out they were pieces of an angel's feather," said the Marshal gravely.

Igorus froze at the revelation.

"Your brother, Kaies... was killed by an angel."

"An angel?" Igorus echoed under his breath, his tone carrying disbelief.

"That is what the research center concluded. This whole situation has thrown everything into confusion," Mildura explained through the sphere.

"Wait for me. I'm coming," said Igorus, tucking the sphere back beneath his cloak.

"And now? Do you believe us, General?"

Igorus turned, his eyes falling on Aldes, maimed beyond all measure, yet still struggling to stitch his body back into its former state.

"You demons are tougher than I imagined. I'll spare you this time. But if I learn that you had any hand in Kaies' death, you'll wish you had died instead," Igorus declared. Then he spread his broad, brown wings and soared toward the divine island.

The gale from his wings swept across the ruined kingdom, rattling its bones to the core. Aldes stood, barely upright, watching Igorus ascend into the heavens like the god he was. Then his gaze drifted to Atbara's unconscious body.

"The unlucky fate of a mortal who dares live among gods, eh... Atbara...?"

Suspended by the chains of Angapotea's clouds, Magura could do nothing but serve as a silent audience to Igorus' confrontation with Aldes and Atbara. She watched Igorus soar in fury, tearing the clouds beneath her feet as he flew.

"What the hell happened down there? And what's going to happen to me now? These chains, I can't break them, no more than I could break that cage. Damn you, Father. Damn all demons," Magura whispered, her soul burning with hatred.

"Don't you find this view beautiful?"

A murderous shiver crawled across her flesh. Sweat trickled down her face like rain trailing over glass on a mournful day. And all of it came from a voice. Just a voice. A woman's voice. calm, soft, beautiful, yet carrying the melody of nightmares and death. A voice that enslaved, that bent the will to its command. A voice that could annihilate existence itself in an unguarded instant.

"It's fascinating, isn't it, when events move on their own, without intervention? It gives you the comfort to think, to critique, to weave theories that might be wrong, yet if they touch on truth, they still hold value. Don't you agree, Magura Donogrey?" the voice continued.

But Magura did not dare turn toward the speaker. She knew that even a single glance into those eyes might draw forth a fate bloodier than death itself. She felt like a defenseless goat surrounded by a ravenous pack of wolves. And she, Magura, was the one responsible for the catastrophic attack on the High Kingdom of Angels.

"It's all right, child. Say nothing. I know what you're thinking. Today, I'm in a good mood. Fortune smiles on you. You know me, and I've known you for thousands of years. You're simply... confused," the voice said with a chilling sweetness.

Magura breathed heavily, unable to let slip a single sound.

"The sight before you may be beautiful, but it is also tragic. Tragic, because you may rot away bound by these chains, rusted in elven blood. I understand, my dear. Don't worry. I have a plan just for you," the voice said.

Magura mustered the courage to tilt her eyes slightly, just enough to glimpse the figure beside her, the monstrous presence, darker even than a demon.

"Gaah! Y-you!?"

It was the woman from one of the paintings in the secret corridors of the angels' royal palace. The woman in the crimson gown, with golden hair, and a face utterly devoid of features. Faceless. Nothing. Her gown drifted across the heavens as though she were a siren heralding despair.

"So, you recognize me. Good. That makes things simpler. Magura, I will free you from these chains, on one condition," said the faceless woman.

Magura stared at her in terror, yet curiosity burned to know what this being would demand.

"You will wait here six hundred years. That is all I ask. After six centuries, you will play your role in the plan I have prepared for you," the woman in red said.

"S-six hundred years?!" Magura cried, stunned by the weight of the command.

"You will be rewarded, trust me. Besides, no one remembers you," the woman replied.

"W-what do you mean?" Magura asked, bewildered. "How can no one remember me?"

"You are dead, little one. No one is coming to save you. Don't you recall? Lazarus killed you inside that cage," the woman said.

Magura shook her head violently, struggling to believe the words pouring from the faceless woman's lips. She flexed every muscle, drew breath after breath, desperate to prove she still lived.

"It's useless, child. The clouds of Angapotea are nothing but the graveyard of mortals. Look."

The woman twisted Magura's chains, turning her just enough to face the truth behind her.

What Magura saw defied all reason. Hundreds of skeletons hung suspended from the chains of that cloud, their stench poisoning the air. Tattered garments, decaying flesh dangling from bone. A cemetery strung across the heavens. That was why the clouds glowed green, rot from centuries of torment, from the dead who had hung there for over five hundred years.

"For the gods, the afterlife is the three moons shining above. For mortals, it is these clouds," the woman said.

"I-it's impossible! I am—"

"A god? Khahahaha. It seems not, at least according to the laws of this world. Look over there. Three slain demons," the woman pointed.

Magura was beyond shock. Knowledge was crashing over her like waves, truths beyond the limits of reason itself.

"The clouds fill and fill with sinful souls until the chains snap, and they fall upon the abandoned kingdom of the elves, Hieldergarn. Proof that demons are nothing more than restless spirits without ambition. And you... you are nothing but filth," the woman said with mocking cruelty.

"Filth?" Magura whispered, her mind unraveling.

"As I said, I will give you a reason to live. But you'll have to wait. You will breathe the stench of the dead, hear their cries, their groans, their laments, their screams, for centuries. I would almost envy you. Almost. But I cannot take your place. Still, I suspect this is no torture for you, since you are not just any demon. There is more to you than that. Yet those demons you despise no longer remember you. Those Dominions who once stood by you, no longer remember you. Not even your brother remembers you. One day, you will not remember yourself. That is the fate of a demon. Fitting, wouldn't you say? Still, you have a task," the woman said.

"W-what task?" Magura asked, utterly broken, like a shattered doll.

"You will understand when I release you. See you in six hundred years, little one. Enjoy your suffering..." The woman vanished.

Magura stared at the damned souls, writhing in their chains before her. Voices she could not hear voices perhaps her mind refused to hear, became now the loudest sound of all. Mother! Father! Son! Kill me! Help! The technique she had once used against Theodiel had returned to her a thousandfold. Now she understood what it was to live her own nightmare, to feel her greatest terror not for a moment, but for centuries. A wound of the soul, a torment that killed from within.

Magura thought no longer. She only watched. She just, kept watching...