The iron doors thundered shut behind them, echoing through the stone ribs of the corridor. The air was thick with the murmur of prisoners, their voices bouncing between the dripping walls.
"They're getting invited to see Valor in person?!" someone hissed from the shadows.
"Valor doesn't even talk to people! He sends knights!" another barked.
"What's that fat kid doing with him?! He didn't do anything but get knocked around! Let me outta here! That isn't fair! Let me take his spot!"
Cainan walked down the hall with a loose, almost lazy stride, wrists shackled but head high. Chess shuffled beside him, eyes darting from cell to cell, sweat trailing down his temple.
"So…" Chess began nervously, "how much would you say you don't like people?"
Cainan groaned, "Zero percent."
Chess blinked. "What's… percent?"
Cainan rubbed his temple. "Percent means—uh—like, take a hundred people, right? And imagine I hate all of them. That's zero percent like."
"Ohh," Chess said, nodding thoughtfully but still confused. "So what about the elderly? Like them?"
"No. I only like kids."
An inmate two cells down grinned, "Oh yeah, me too."
Both Cainan and Chess turned, faces twisted in disgust.
"Not like that!" Cainan barked, jabbing a finger at the man. "I just pity them, idiot!"
Chess sighed in relief. "Oh, okay. Had me worried for a second—"
Cainan suddenly leaned into his face. "It's NOT like that! I'll kill you!"
Chess squealed and stumbled back, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He froze, realizing how pathetic that sounded, and puffed his chest. "Hmph. I'm not sorry."
Cainan smirked. "You're not scaring anyone, chubby."
"Dammit," Chess muttered, deflating.
The hallway ended at a heavy, engraved steel door. The knights behind them stopped. "Go in," one commanded coldly. "No funny business."
"The hell do you expect me to do?" Cainan grumbled. "I can't summon my weapon with this stupid collar."
"No need for lies," the knight replied. "Go."
"nO neED fOR liES." Cainan mocked under his breath.
The door groaned open.
Inside, the world shifted. The prison's grime gave way to refinement. Tall shelves lined with relics and scrolls bordered the chamber, and rays of late-afternoon light poured through a massive circular window high above, dust drifting through it like dying stars. The scent of parchment, oil, and metal filled the still air.
A tall, statuesque figure sat behind a grand obsidian desk, it was Primarch Valor.
His presence swallowed the room. His body was slender yet commanding, pale as carved ivory, his complexion smooth and unnervingly perfect. The faintest light seemed to cling to him, sliding across his skin like mist over glass. His face was partly hidden beneath a masterpiece of a mask; a golden visage sculpted into the shape of multiple hands, each one layered over his eyes and forehead, their fingers delicate, veined, disturbingly lifelike. Outstretched wings of the same gold arched from the crown, and behind it rose a shattered halo of jagged spikes, like a sun broken in silence. And it was all melded into his head.
Long silver-white hair spilled down his shoulders, soft and shimmering like threads of moonlight. His attire was abyssal black, tailored with celestial precision — the coat tight across his narrow frame, buttons glinting like onyx. Feathers draped his shoulders, layered in black and gray, whispering faintly with every movement. He looked both divine and diseased by grace, an angel carved from old marble and mourning.
Beside him stood Primarch Yübeel, she was quiet, serene, her black hair falling in straight lines that framed a face half-veiled by bangs. A silver circlet gleamed across her brow, her white dress shifting like fog. Two cursed white wings brutally melded into her back, their tips faintly translucent.
Before them stood a beast-kin diplomat, broad and scarred, his fur bristling. He was mid-sentence — "Your king promised us the power, knowing Almogra, our queen, seeks to expand our regions. Doing that will ensure if another war happens, we will be able to stand strong unlike we were before, when we were nomadic. We shall see if it comes to—"
"—Be silent," Valor said softly. His voice was as smooth as it was cold. "We have visitors."
The beast-kin frowned, but stepped back. His eyes swept toward Cainan and Chess, a stare that lingered a second too long.
Then he brushed past them, or tried to. His shoulder collided with Cainan's. There was a sharp crack. The beast-kin screamed, clutching his arm.
"AGHH—! What the hell—?! Shit!"
Cainan didn't even flinch.
The knights quickly seized the wounded envoy, dragging him out as he shouted over his shoulder, "You little brat! I'll kill you for that!" The steel doors slammed shut.
Silence reigned for a moment. Only the faint sound of rustling feathers from Valor's mantle broke it.
Cainan and Chess stood before the Primarch and his silent counterpart. The air was so heavy it felt sacred.
Then, from behind the mask of gold and hands, came a low, knowing grin.
"Welcome," Valor said, his tone edged with amusement. "Wielder of death."
The chamber trembled with silence. The air itself seemed to bend beneath the weight of Valor's voice.
"You are the one who killed Primarch Steiner, aren't you?" he said, his tone calm but threaded with delight. "The description spoken matches yours. And being bonded with the Rune of Death gives it all away—"
Cainan didn't wait for him to finish. His body vanished in a rush of motion, flame and steel flaring as he drew his red-and-black greatsword, the barbed wire rattling and hissing as it tore through the air. His eyes were hollow, flat, void of thought. The blade screamed downward toward Valor's neck—
"Cainan!" Chess shouted, frozen where he stood.
'Is he insane?!'
But before the blow could reach, a white flash cut through the room. Steel collided. Yübeel stood between them, holding her scythe with one hand, the pale crescent of its blade catching the sunlight. The pole of the weapon was adorned with crow wings that shimmered faintly, and the force of her block rippled through the ground.
Cainan pressed down harder, his dull eyes never leaving Valor's masked face. The Primarch didn't even flinch, he just smiled.
"You're probably thinking I'm going to kill you," Valor murmured. "Since you know how valuable you are to Stroheim, to the king, to the brain itself. The godly, perfect brain, the source of all higher existence. One day, we will look upon it and live. That is our faith. Ascending to godhood! Even if it means forcing Kalhalla to war against Myrrvindraal or tearing your body apart to deliver the Rune of Death to the brain."
His right hand snapped up and struck Cainan in the chest. The impact boomed, throwing him like a ragdoll across the study. He hit the far wall hard enough to crack stone, dust exploding outward.
Then Valor looked down at his own arm and saw it twisted, torn nearly off, dangling grotesquely by threads of sinew and fabric. He stared at it without emotion.
"No wonder he killed that lunk-headed Steiner," he said softly. "This kid's dangerous. Fit to wield the power he has indeed."
Cainan shot to the left really fast, feet scraping the marble, his sword dragging sparks as he moved. He came in low and fast, aiming to drive the blade straight through Valor's chest—
—But Yübeel had already leapt over Valor's desk, her wings flaring like white blades, scythe drawn back. She brought it down in a wide, clean stroke. Cainan blocked it with both hands, the strain grinding through his shoulders, but his eyes were still locked on Valor, unreadable. Then, suddenly, he let go of his sword.
Yübeel's weight dropped instantly; she fell forward, off balance only for Cainan to twist, plant a foot, and whip a kick toward the side of her head. But from Yübeel's arm, a massive crow's head brutally burst, it had a black beak, feathers soaked in light that intercepted the blow. The beast shattered into ash upon impact.
'He's fast,' she thought calmly, landing lightly, her grip tightening.
Chess stared, mouth open. "Whoa…"
Inside, his heart hammered. 'This is way out of my league! Why the hell would Cainan attack Valor himself?! Two Primarchs in one room…that's suicide! Should I do something? Say something? No… if I step in, they'll kill me too. I want to be brave… I really do… but it feels so far away. Dammit, Cainan, you're really willing to risk your life for anything you want, huh? Why can't I be like that… just once?'
The ground suddenly convulsed. Black, rotting brambles erupted from the marble floor, coiling like serpents, lashing tight around Cainan's arms and legs. The smell of decay filled the air. The vines writhed, straining to contain him, their thorns digging into his skin.
Yübeel raised her scythe again, the blade resting just against Cainan's neck.
Valor stood and brushed invisible dust from his coat. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fight you seriously. You don't even know how to truly wield the full Rune of Death yet; it's dormant until you figure it out. But its power remains. It can kill anything immortal in the eyes of man. It destroys all, spells that seal, curses that bind, and even seals that were meant to be held shut forever. The brain made it clear the day of its arrival that the Rune of Death shall be destroyed. King Bastion lost its power due to him possibly sealing himself to protect it when he knew he was about to die, but his plan failed. You have it now. Odd. No rune travels from one person to the next on its own accord. A full rune is controlled by the person who wields it through conviction, along with a runic shard."
He paused, flexing his ruined arm as a swarm of rotten worms emerged from his flesh, stitching the torn limb back together with sickening efficiency.
"But there's a dilemma."
Cainan's eyes flickered back to normal. "I'm not working for you. Let me out."
"Be silent and listen," Yübeel said softly, her voice calm, absolute.
Valor chuckled. "Our king is interested in you, boy. You were summoned from another world, weren't you? Before we deliver your corpse to the brain, he wants to know how. What brought you here, and from where."
Cainan's jaw tightened. "Once I get out of here, I'm painting this room red with your insides."
Valor's tone didn't waver. "Slow down, boy. You're reckless, and you've barely fought any real magic users. Facing me and my bride is a death wish."
"I don't care," Cainan spat. "If I'm gonna outrun my bad luck, I gotta be fast."
Valor tilted his head. "Either way, you die. Reckless fool or frozen coward…it makes no difference."
Cainan's expression hardened. "What do you want from me?"
Valor smiled beneath the golden hands that veiled his face.
"A witch hunt," he said. "An immortal one."
The air inside the chamber had gone dense not from heat, nor suffocation, but from the weight of Valor's voice. "During the Wars of the Damned," he began, tone eerily serene, eyes dim and stretched into an almost saintly expression, "when the almighty brain appeared in the sky with its Seraph's, when the runic shards of reality fell from the heavens and kingdoms tore themselves apart for even one… our king was among them. Before he set out to claim those shards, to wage his war upon the world, he sent hunters to cleanse the filth, to exterminate the witches and steal the relics they used for their rituals. About a hundred were executed. Not all were found. They scattered, called themselves the Coven. They hide now, in forests and cities alike, dressing like you and me, trembling, waiting for the next purge."
Cainan's dull stare never left him. "What does that have to do with me? I've got two jobs. Finally be a king, and kill the brain. I'm not going out witch-hunting for sport."
Valor's grin faltered into something harder, his jaw locking. Yübeel didn't flinch, though her scythe pressed slightly closer against Cainan's neck, the black edge glinting white in the chamber light. Valor's tone sharpened. "There is a Witch Mother. One of the Coven's highest. She's been captured by one of our Primarch brothers and his newborns."
Chess blinked, confused. "Newborns?"
Valor turned his head slightly toward him. "Newborns are the ones who earn the right to leave this prison. They become soldiers for Stroheim, warriors pruned before becoming Primarchs. They were sent with Primarch Aphollo to bind the Witch Mother in an old temple of the gods. She can die, yes, but she always returns in new flesh and a different woman each time. So in reality, she is immortal."
Cainan's eyes narrowed. "How'd you find her if she keeps changing faces?"
He paused just long enough to think, 'Keep them talking, let them think I care… then I'll strike when they ease up.'
Valor answered, his smile crawling back. "Because we took their artifacts. Every cursed tool they held dear. They powered our victories. The Primarchs absorbed their relics, their magic, and their curses."
Cainan's lips curved faintly, tone almost mocking. "So that helmet fused with your skull, and this woman's wings nailed into her spine… those are trophies? Cursed relics?"
Valor nodded with quiet pride. "Yes. Our king found a way to merge soul and relic. A blasphemy that brought triumph. But that Witch Mother's still alive. That means danger. Our cursed relics feel her, like a fever when darkness draws near. That's how we can find her. She's a wound that never closes."
Cainan tilted his head. "So what, you want to go behind your king's back? Instead of handing me over, you're sending me on your errand?"
Valor's face twitched, a rare crack in composure. "It's not just Stroheim's will. I have a son." His voice lowered into something rawer. "In faith and in the brain's name, I sent him to prove himself, to apprehend the Witch Mother. But she cursed him. His blood's turned to ink. He vomits it from his eyes, his nose, his mouth… and it never stops. The longer she lives, the worse his suffering becomes. They are connected through dark magic. She cannot die as long as she's connected to my son. He is a conduit for her survival."
Even Yübeel's composure wavered, her wings folding closer to her back like she didn't want to hear it.
Cainan's voice came quiet, but sharp. "Then let me end him. Take him out of his misery. Better of dead anyways."
Valor's fury cracked like lightning. "That will not happen!" His grin reappeared through the rage, trembling. "Their souls are linked. If she dies, the curse breaks. Kill her with the Rune of Death and my son will finally be free. The artifacts latch onto the soul like serpents. The king paved the way for all of us so it could be done. But as long as the Witch Mother lives, my son rots. I… I just want the brain to recognize him too. I can't…leave him behind. We don't know the day the Brain will show its full glory, but I will not leave my son behind while he watches me and his mother depart from him."
Cainan sighed, expression unreadable. "I'll do it. Let me go first."
Valor chuckled, the sound uncomfortably human. "You still wish to attack me? You think of me as a fool? You'd be ashes before my feet. You don't even know what power your rune holds, it could end this world if you misstep. That's the kind of power the brain itself fears." His grin stretched wider. "I've nothing to fear from you, boy. Not yet while you are a whelp."
He turned slightly toward Yübeel. "Dear. Are you up for escorting our guests to slay the Witch Mother?"
Yübeel bowed her head faintly. "Yes, my love."
Chess spoke up, voice cracking. "Why… why do I have to go? I'm not a fighter…" He instantly regretted it, swallowing hard. 'I sound pathetic. Cowardly.'
Valor didn't even look at him. "You're fodder. Fodder with heart. If you die running into danger, it makes the others brave enough to live. Your body will be used as an extra shield. Fools like you will run into danger to prove themselves only to crumble in the end."
As Yübeel's brambles lifted Cainan and Chess toward the exit, Chess clenched his fists, trembling, trying to swallow the ache in his throat. 'No… I'm not fodder… am I? He's wrong! He's wrong…he has to be.'
The doors closed behind them.
Valor stood there alone, trembling, his breaths uneven. He tried to cry but nothing came. The curses had stolen even that from him. What left his throat was not weeping, but a soft, broken sound of air and memory, like a man remembering what tears used to feel like.
The brambles slithered like living veins, dragging across the blackened stone floors as Cainan was hauled down the spiraling prison stairwell. The air got colder the deeper they descended, the light fading to a dim green hue from the faint glow of runes carved into the walls.
Chess followed behind, eyes darting everywhere, breathing uneven; Yübeel walked ahead, silent, her white scythe trailing against the steps, the crow wings carved into its pole twitching faintly as if breathing.
Cainan's tone cut through the cold. "What's my pay for this job?"
Yübeel didn't turn. "Nothing."
He grinned faintly, teeth flashing. "Ohoho you're soooo dead."
Inside, his thoughts seethed. 'This bramble's draining me. Smart… insurance, huh? Making sure I don't blow this whole place open. Ugh. Nothing's ever easy. Even in a different world, fate still finds a way to piss in my drink. Every step I take just circles back to more bullshit. I don't even know how to use this damn sword properly, I just swing it like I did my old ones back home. Brought here, called a king….Feels fake. Feels like I'm in someone else's dream. It's still terrifying. Being king this fast? I can already feel fate loading the next round.'
The air changed as they reached the bottom pod. The ground here was thick with moisture, the walls pulsating faintly like skin beneath stone. The brambles guarding the gate shimmered with embedded runes. Yübeel raised her right hand, the veins along her wrist turning black as dark magic pulsed through her palm. The vines recoiled, hissing, slithering away from the door like snakes retreating from a flame.
Chess's nose began to bleed instantly just from standing near it. He blinked, startled, and quickly wiped it away before anyone noticed, pretending to adjust his collar, though his hands shook. 'Don't look weak. Don't look scared. Just stand tall. Breathe. Dammit.'
The heavy gates split open.
The room beyond was vast, filthy, and eerily quiet. Broken chains hung from the ceiling like dead vines. Stroheim Knights stood rigid in the corners, eyes hollow behind their helmets.
Three figures sat in the middle of the room, playing cards on the cracked floor. Dice rolled lazily between them.
Yübeel's calm voice carried across the chamber. "Inmates Noov, Vert, and Park. They will accompany us."
The one crouched nearest the cards looked up first was Noov. His skin was light brown, sweat gleaming over his scarred chest. Wild curls of orange and peach hair framed feral purple eyes that almost glowed. He was barefoot, fingers sharp as claws, his only clothing a rough wrap of leaves. His grin was animalistic.
Next was Vert. She sat cross-legged, flipping a sawed-off shotgun in her hands. The weapon rippled in red energy, morphing back and forth between a gun and a brutal spiked hammer. She had shoulder-length dark blonde and brown hair streaked with black, her eyes a burning red, her outfit black leather-tight and chained, her face half wild, half amused.
And then there was Park, who was completely still. Inside of a white astronaut suit, pristine despite the grime of the cell. No one could see his face through the dark glass of his helmet.
Chess whispered, voice trembling, "Whoa… what… who…?!"
Vert stood instantly, loud and grinning, tossing her weapon over her shoulder as it switched forms midair. "Two more to aid our escape?! Awesome!" She pointed at the Stroheim Knights, laughing. "See what I'm seeing?! Two more badasses to help us burn this place to the ground!"
Cainan blinked hard, his usual smirk flickering into disbelief. "A gun…? Here? In a land full of magic and horsemen?" His eyes trailed to Park. "And that suit… my world used those to go to space…" Then to Noov. "And him—eh, yeah, I don't know about him. He looks strong though."
Vert grinned, slinging her shotgun across her back, its metal humming faintly. "Ohh? Since you know what my weapon is, that means we all got something in common."
She snapped her fingers, eyes gleaming red. "We're all summons."