It's been over a decade ever since the pact between Ivan and Flinjik is fully sealed.
None said it out loud, but it appeared that Ivan is more than just a "personal assistant" for Flinjik.
It was just theories or rumors made up by the people that Ivan and Flinjik had a somewhat familial bond. Then, slowly, the evidence presented itself – the God paid more attention to Ivan than to any other angel, Flinjik even taught him some of his abilities that he learnt the way on his supposedly adventurous journey to Godhood.
Such closeness made some green with envy, while some others admired it and wished for such happiness to happen upon them someday.
Ivan paid no mind to these "rumors" and reactions. He always had bigger fish to fry than to be emotional about mere words and expressions of mortals, particularly after his body altered, and he's no longer a mortal himself.
...Though he'd be lying to himself if he said that, he didn't enjoy the admiring eyes from Flinjik's followers. The same pairs of eyes that glued to his figure the moment he emerged.
He's worshiped by them just almost as much as Flinjik's, and he's never been the one to deny himself the satisfaction of such an observable fact.
But it's not enough.
"Almost" was never "enough." And it would never be.
He had to find a way to make it more than enough.
***
Footsteps echoed through the large lit corridor of the castle as Ivan made his way towards the open garden – the heart of this castle, and also Flinjik's favorite place to be in.
His armor pieces clicked together at every step, the typically black metal turning into a purplish blue under the warm light.
Whenever his appearance came into the sight of the other angels, their postures reflexively straightened, a few even saluted.
Ivan was not unaware of this. His face remained cold as it always had, but deep inside, he could feel a sense of authority growing.
Eventually, the long corridor ended at a pair of immense gates, wrought from pale gold that seemed to glow on its own rather than reflect the light from the lined torches on the walls. Each gate bore the relief of a tree in full bloom, branches reaching towards one another as though to embrace.
There were no locks, no handles, just seamless metal that had never known to rust.
Ivan did not slow his stride. And as he approached – the gates opened by themselves. No touch. No sound. As if they've been waiting for his arrival.
The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, the gates closed themselves – quietly. Untouchingly. Like how they first opened upon his presence.
Coming into his sight beyond the gates was a vast courtyard, sprawled beneath a sky with no sun, no stars – just a soft, perceptual glow that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
There was no roof, no walls high enough to trap the light, just the endless dome of pale light – too weak to cast shadows, but strong enough to make everything look slightly washed out.
Flowers lined alongside every path in obedient, manicured perfection. Roses, lilies, orchids. None wilted. None had a brown edge. All smelled sweet in the way perfumes smelled sweet: pleasant, intentional, and slightly synthetic.
Ivan's boots crunched on the white path of gravel as he walked past the flowers without ever glancing at them. The garden was designed to inspire peace, perhaps even awe. He felt neither. The beauty was not for him – it was for those who needed to believe in Heaven, and Ivan was past believing.
At the center of this entire garden stood a fountain, its basin carved with scenes of faceless worshipers that reached towards arms that came from cloudy nothing. The water inside was still. Too still. No ripples. No movement. Like a mirror that reflected rather than something that was supposed to flow and splash.
And there Flinjik was, standing beside the fountain in his white robes, his long blonde hair cascading around his shoulders in controlled waves. His appearance was exactly the same how Ivan remembered when they first met in the forest. Young. Handsome. Yet profoundly empty beneath the beauty he possessed.
"My Lord." Ivan stopped just a few meters away from Flinjik, gloved hands clasped behind his back. "At your service."
Flinjik said nothing, his silver eyes seemed unfocused, as though his mind was wandering somewhere else beyond Ivan's attempt to break the yielding silence. Then, a smirk tugged at his lips. "Isn't this place perfect, my dear?" He placed a hand on the fountain's basin, his depthless eyes gazing down at the reflective water, almost like admiring his own alluring looks.
"Yes," Ivan answered without hesitation – he had long learned that unexpected questions like this were common with Flinjik. "The garden is lovely," He paused for a moment, then, almost unnoticeably, his eyebrows furrowed – like he was annoyed. "And entirely useless."
The air stilled the second those words left Ivan's lips. Flinjik's smirk dropped almost immediately. The God didn't turn around to face Ivan directly, but his dissatisfaction was clear.
"Very well." Flinjik finally spoke, but now his voice lacked the warmth it carried just seconds ago. "Have you thought of why I called you here, my dear?"
"No, my Lord." Ivan's head lowered just slightly, like a servant acting apologetic to his master after failing to meet his standards. "Please, inform this obtuse man with the sagacious thoughts you have in mind."
The mockery was clear, and Ivan had no intent to even bother hiding it.
Finally, Flinjik turned around to look directly at him, his face grimaced for a second, then immediately turning into a mocking expression. "You probably still remember that old greezer in the Northwest."
He started striding towards Ivan's figure, the fabric of his silk robes making swishing sounds. "You see," He said, stopping right just in front of him.
"That man has a lot of resources that he has been hoarding, even if he's weakening day after day and no longer in need of such quantities." He continued, and without any further explanation, Ivan could already tell what Flinjik's intentions were. And they were not of benevolence.
Then Flinjik paused, just for a moment, his unblinking gaze boring into the top of Ivan's head, almost as though he's trying to read his thoughts. Then, a bright smile bloomed on his face.
"Invasive plants do not live on their own." He suddenly changed the subject. At least, on the surface, it seemed. "They stole and hoarded the nutrients to themselves, with no regard for other nearby plants even if they themselves are not truly in need of such resources." He cooked his head slightly, almost expectantly, as he finished with a question. "So, tell me, what do we do to those invasive plants?"
"Remove them, my Lord." Ivan answered without a second thought. Before Flinjik could continue his "speech", Ivan continued. "I'll prepare an elite squad and head to the North West right today, my Lord. You'll receive the news you expected in no time."
Flinjik's motion paused again, but just for a fraction of a second, before his smile widened. "Good... Good." He said, an almost undetectable hint of dark amusement in his tone. He then turned around, once again facing the foundation. "You may go now."
Ivan nodded once before straightening his posture and walking back to the gate where he first entered. However, just right when he was a few feet away from the gates, he stopped. His head tilted sideways, slightly, just enough to let him see Flinjik's figure at the corner of his eyes.
And almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenched tight, his hands moving just mildly closer to the handles of his sickles.
But his motion paused again. Then his body relaxed, in a begrudging way, before finally heading out of the garden.
***
"This is getting really boring." Said one of the two angels standing guard in front of the gate. "When will we finally get to swap shifts?"
"Stop complaining." The other angel, one visibly older, scowled at him. Then his expression hardened, seemingly concerned even. "The opportunistic gods are trying to take over the resources here. We must be attentive every second if we don't want to get killed."
Hearing those words, the younger guard's face grimaced. When he was first selected into the army, he thought the life here would be less harsh compared to the human's world. Turned out, the supposedly Great Heaven was truly not as great as its palette and name suggested.
Perhaps, even worse than the human world, because humans are not as strong as angels, let alone gods, so the stakes were much higher.
Frankly speaking, the Great Heaven is just the same as the human world, but with more dangerous individuals, stronger magic, and prettier colors.
The younger guard yawned again for God knows how many times already in that shift alone. He rubbed one of his eyes, then paused.
In the distance walked a figure in black armor, which turned into a metallic purplish-blue under the pale light of the Heaven's sky. The dark palette caught the young guard's attention immediately, not only because the Heaven's colors were light and pale, which made the black stood out immediately, but also because most angels in Heaven wore light-colored armor, regardless of their designs.
The most arresting feature of his overall outfit was the crimson scarf around his neck – slightly burnt and worn, with some stains of blood that indicated he wasn't exactly a person who would come in peace.
The hue of the scarf stood out easily against the darkness of his armor, drawing the eye to his neck and then upward – to his eyes, pools of deep, luminous blood-red, like rubies held to a flame, framed further by his wavy raven-black hair and pale beige skin. He carried a certain... elegant yet unsettling grace. In both his gorgeous features and the way he unhurriedly strode towards the castle.
Such a dark palette would often be used to refer to evil forces or monsters in folktales, and yet there that person was, clearly an angel because what else could he be? The Great Heaven was strict, and there's no way they'd slip up enough to accidentally let a demon or human inside.
"What are you doing?!" The older guard slapped the younger one's shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. The middle-aged man looked terrified. "That's the Black Angel. Go inside and ring the bell, NOW!"
The moment the younger guard heard the title "the Black Angel", his whole face turned pale.
The Black Angel. The angel of death who's famous for his relationship with violence and ruthless, efficient methods of eliminating his enemies, who served Flinjik, a middling God well-known among his fellows in Heaven for his opportunistic, greedy nature despite his ethereal beauty.
Whenever the Black Angel appeared, it's never good news because Flinjik only sent his best-trained enforcer out when he decided violence was the only way to settle things.
The young angel opened his mouth, clearly about to respond to the older guard. His posture was tense but ready to run inside to alarm others.
For one moment, the young man was alive – tense, scared, but alive. In the next, he wasn't anymore.
The older guard saw it before he understood it. He blinked, feeling the spray of blood splattered across his face. Warm, sudden. The younger's blood.
The younger angel stood frozen for one heartbeat. Two. His eyes were still wide open, but now completely empty.
An arrowhead protruded from his temple, framed by the dark hue of blood that started dripping down his skin.
Then his knees buckled. And he crumpled onto the pale ground like a coat slipping off a hook, the blood pooling beneath him, a stark contrast against the Heaven's light.
The older angel blinked. Then, his hand immediately flew to the hilt of his sword.
But before he could even attempt to do anything, a second arrow took his throat.
In that single moment of panic and confusion, the old man saw a knight charging right at him, sword raised high in the air.
Then everything went dark.
Ivan slowly lowered his hands, and the blond archer behind him did the same with his bow. Ivan's gaze never left the knight's figure. Unhurriedly, he approached the pools of blood and corpses of the two unlucky angels. "How pitiful." He whispered to no one. "But ultimately insignificant."
He looked up at the pale sky. Only a few hours until night. Ivan cocked his head sideways, looking at the remaining member of the squad – the only one who hadn't done any work yet. The assassin. "Take Harold with you," He said, gaze redirected to the knight, now blood-stained. "Find another way to enter the castle. I and Kyler shall wait here until evening, as there'll be no shift swaps until the late hours at night."
A dangerous flicker in his eyes as he continued. "Their guard is the lowest when night comes." And his voice dropped. "Do not mess this up. The God awaits good news only."
The assassin nodded. Then, alongside Harold, both vanished after a turn at a corner of the walls, while the archer – Kyler – stayed behind with Ivan, waiting at the gate.
***
Around the time the pale sky of Heaven darkened, the gate slowly creaked open. Standing in the gateway was the assassin. "The first section is taken care of." He said, wiping away the blood on his cheeks. "Harold is waiting in front of the entrance leading deeper into the castle."
Ivan merely nodded, then strode past the threshold of the gate, his posture straight but not tense, as though this was a walk rather than a siege. He took note of the corpses on the ground as he walked. "I suppose most of the guards are not present around the walls during this time?"
"Yessir." The assassin confirmed, leading both him and the archer to another gate. "This is their resting time, only a few sentinels were sent out to guard the walls, they were not hard to take care of."
The corner of Ivan's lips curled up slightly, then he let out a satisfied hum. "Good." As it should be, this squad was personally vetted by him. They should not have difficulties dealing with a few thrashing worms.
Eventually, the group found themselves standing in front of another pair of immense gates, with Harold standing on one side, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, as if he's impatient.
"Finish them off as quick as possible." Ivan said with a monotonous voice. "Conserve your energy, don't waste it on worms. I'll go to that old greezer first."
All three of them nodded. Kyler, standing behind Ivan, already pulled his bow back, ready to shoot the arrow at the nearest enemy after the gates were opened.
Ivan simply clapsed his hand behind his back, mirroring that pose of an authoritarian figure. "Clear the way." He ordered, clearly wasn't going to participate in the action of "killing worms". "I'll fight that old man myself first."
***
Ivan's steps were measured, calm, as his hands reached out to push open the imposing pair of gates that led him to the final sector of the castle – where the target and his two bodyguards reside.
Three main sectors. The front gate. The main hall. And finally, the throne room.
Such a simple design for something that had been eyed for a long time, yet no one ever managed to crack open the code.
Or perhaps no one dared to.
Not that it mattered anymore now that he was here.
The room was unnervingly dim and empty for it to be a place of a God. At the very far end of the room, sitting on the throne was the "old greezer" Flinjik spoke of. Afarus.
The man looked old – a long beard that reached his stomach, barely trimmed. White hair that only had a little black left around the roots. And eyes that looked like he's seen so much that he didn't even seem fazed by Ivan's intrusion into his throne room.
Beside his throne were his two strongest knights. Both of their expressions were hidden behind the helmets, but it was clear they weren't surprised either regarding their posture.
"You have expected my presence." Ivan said matter-of-factly, like a conclusion he was so certain of. His hands found the worn grips of his sickles, and in a fluid motion, he retrieved them from their holsters on his hips.
Afarus merely tilted his head. "I indeed have." He replied, his voice low, a little breathy, like he was so weak that he was struggling to even speak.
But his piercing gaze told Ivan the opposite.
"Those men outside there." Ivan took slow, short steps towards the throne, like a serpent appraising whether it's facing a prey or a potential threat. "You never invested in them, did you?"
He stopped at a safe distance away from the throne. Close enough to make a move, far enough to react if one of Afarus' knights decided he had enough of his chatter.
"Even this place," Ivan's eyes darted around. "A placeholder. Everything here." He glared back at Afarus. "Have you truly fallen that much, Afarus?"
Afarus said nothing, his eyes stayed completely neutral, yet a flicker of sorrow flashed in his gaze at Ivan's words. Ivan was right. Afarus was no mere middling God. No ordinary middling Gods would ever be able to achieve what Afarus did.
He was so close. So close to becoming not just an Overgod, but a Principle itself. A literal manifestation of Concept. And yet, he's fallen at the last step. Nothing has been the same since then. His powerful army. Gone. His powers. Gone. Mostly. Only the two knights beside him remained after the fall.
And everything in this castle – as Ivan had stated – was placeholders. A futile attempt of Afarus at trying to regain what little image he had left, and yet he wasn't patient enough to rebuild everything once again. It was all pointless.
He stared at Ivan for a long time. "You truly reminded me of myself when I was young." A glint in his bluish-grey eyes. "So ambitious. So arrogant..." He slowly raised a hand and pointed an index finger at Ivan. "...And so doomed to fall."
Immediately, the knight on Afarus' left side charged towards Ivan with an incredible speed – so fast that even someone like Ivan showed a shocked expression – and his sword swung right at his head.
A killing blow meant to end it all. The knight was so fast that Ivan had to dodge instead of being able to counter the attack. And even then, he escaped death – just barely. The knight's sword clashed against his shoulder armor piece, creating a loud sound of hard metal against hard metal – and the armor piece showed cracks.
Ivan panicked for a second, then he quickly pivoted to create distance between him and the knight.
Even after being weakened, that man is still way out of Ivan's league. The idea alone made him seethe, but it was a fact that he could not hide from himself.
The knight did not waste any moment. He charged at Ivan again, this time holding his sword straight, the pointed tip aiming right at his head.
Ivan didn't dodge this time – he met it.
He held his sickles in front of his head, the curved blades forming an "O," and right when the knight's blade slid into the gap, Ivan twisted.
The sickles locked around the sword, trapping it between them. He pulled in opposite directions and moved his body center sideways, the metal groaning as the blade was unable to escape the trap.
He escaped death again, barely. The sharp edge of the sword just a few centimeters away from his head as his body moved sideways.
This position should allow Ivan some kind of advantage now that the knight's weapon was trapped in his, yet his strength made it impossible for Ivan to do anything at all except trying all his might to keep the blade trapped.
The battle wasn't leaning in Ivan's favor at all. And to think he's already struggling while fighting one of them while the other watches, waiting for Afarus' next order.
However, in the next second, a silhouette appeared from the gates and lunged at the Knight. Ivan's keen eyes realized who it was immediately. Harold. His sword rose high in the air, the sharp blade ready to swing down at the Knight.
The Knight initially attempted to pull Ivan forward. To make him his meat shield. However, Ivan didn't give up and continued pulling towards the opposite direction. The Knight had no choice but to abandon his weapon.
He swiftly escaped a Rampager's blow as Harold slammed his blade down onto the hard floor instead. The ground shook just slightly as his sword plunged into the floor with a force so strong the hard concrete showed cracks.
To call Harold a rampager would have made more sense than a knight. Ivan mused.
His eyes darted to the Knight, who now had lost his only weapon. His hands released the force he was pulling on his sword and tossed his weapon far away, ensuring that the Knight couldn't reach it unless he got over both Ivan and Harold first.
The palpable tension was broken by a swoosh in the air.
An arrow.
Its pointed head flew right at the gap of the Knight's helmet which allowed him to see his surroundings.
His body went rigid for a split second. He still didn't quite recover from the earlier attack.
Sounds of boots against the hard concrete. And the other Knight swooped right into the gap. With a fierce downward arc, his own blade met the projectile mid flight with a solid crack. The severed pieces tumbled harmlessly onto the hard floor.
Both Ivan and Harold tensed up slightly. One moment, that Knight was by Afarus' throne, and in the next, he already saved his fellow.
Kyler finally walked into the space with a hardened gaze. "How very... compassionate." The last word dripped with venom as he stopped behind the two taller figures of his teammates.
"Three against two. And one lost his weapon." Harold grinned behind his helmet, still trying to regain some resemblance of confidence.
"Silence." Ivan breathed, crimson eyes still fixed on the two knights. Then his head twisted toward Afarus, who was still sitting unmoving in his throne. "Dropped all your defenses like that." His eyebrows furrowed, studying the God's facial features, trying to read any indicators of emotions. "Aren't you afraid we will pull a secret strike on you?"
A sharp exhale escaped Afarus' lips. It wasn't of concern; if anything, it was very close to an amused chuckle, and that made Ivan's blood boil again. "No." He answered briefly.
Ivan's eyes darted at the other two. A silent agreement among the three men. Then, without hesitation, Harold launched himself at both Knights, his hands gripping the handle of his sword tightly. His hazel eyes, which could be observed through the vision gap of his helmet, gleamed with twisted delight.
At the same time, Kyler's hand quietly reached behind to grab an arrow from his quiver.
When the two Knights braced themselves for a tense battle, the air hissed as a lean figure bolted past them from the distance.
Ivan.
Heading right towards the throne where Afarus sat.
Without wasting another second, the Knight who lost his sword left his companions side and rushed after Ivan's wiry silhouette.
The other Knight stood his ground and met Harold's blow dead-on. The metal clashed against each other with a loud clank, then screeched as Harold grinned down harder on his opponent, trying to overpower the other man with brute force alone.
The Knight tried all his might to resist the force. He placed one hand on the blade, near its tip, and gripped it tightly, while the other remained at the hilt. He tried to push back against Harold, but to no advance.
Ivan noticed this as he briefly glanced over his shoulder. He gritted his teeth. He knew he'd struggle with those Knights, and yet Harold managed to fight one so effortlessly. But then Ivan composed himself before quickly steering his attention back to the motionless God sitting on the throne.
He heard the loud footsteps of the weapon less Knight rushing right behind him, getting closer each second.
And then—
He swiftly turned around to face the bolting Knight head-on. The Knight let out a sound that was quite close to a surprised gasp.
Then Ivan abruptly dived at him. The Knight couldn't stop now with his momentum, and Ivan knew that.
The Knight himself didn't seem to have an intent to stop either. He raised one fist into the air, parallel to his head, and aiming right at Ivan's face.
The distance closed further and further. Until they both were practically inches from each other. The Knight tilted his body to strike better at the other man, and that was all Ivan needed.
He drove himself forward and raised one sickle until it was on the level of the Knight's neck. Then he struck at the gap in the Knight armor, which was the neck junction.
Blood spilled first from the Knight's side, then his iron fist connected to Ivan's nose. An audible crack as it happened.
Both stumbled back, creating distance from the other. The Knight's body language suggested he was finally in distress now, one hand pressing at the open wound on the side of his neck, blood overflowing from which.
Ivan huffed. He didn't even care that his nose was bleeding. What he cared was that he was almost able to finish that man off, but his punch managed to send him backwards at the last minute. How inefficient.
A loud, sudden grunt immediately caught Ivan's attention. The space was completely silent, so he could hear it well. His eyes immediately dart towards Harold and Kyler's side.
The other Knight had somehow managed to resist Harold's brute and started fighting both of them, effortlessly dodging the arrows Kyler shot at him while trying to overwhelm Harold with his swift thrusts.
How useless they were. To lose a fight which they literally outnumbered the enemy.
"Keep your eyes on me." A low voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and when he looked back in the Knight's direction, he had already charged at him.
Panicked, Ivan immediately held his sickles high and attempted to attack the Knight in counter. After all, he had no weapon, it shouldn't be much of a struggle.
And yet, to his very surprise, the man caught both blades with his gloved hands, not caring about the the fact that the sharp edges were cutting deep into his flesh.
Before Ivan can process the absurdity, the Knight wasted no time—He headbutted into the bridge of Ivan's nose. The iron helmet only made the strike even more damaging, forcing a groan outa of Ivan's lips as the soft tissues of his bridge were broken twice in a row.
Ivan's head flew backward from the impact, and at the top corner of his eyes, he saw Afarus' motionless figure on the throne. The old man's face was emotionless, and somehow that made Ivan's blood boil even harder.
Ivan quickly tried to compose himself and regain control of the situation, but before he could even react, the Knight sent his knee hard against his ribcage while pulling Ivan forward by yanking his sickles with his hands, an audible crack echoed in the small space between the two men.
Ivan had to physically restrain himself from letting any pathetic sounds leave his lips, but even then, a gasp for air still managed to escape. And the thought that he was losing to this man alone made him seethe even more.
Without any choice, Ivan finally abandoned his sickles, watching as his grip released the handles and the Knight immediately tossed both away. Then, the Knight suddenly backed away, creating distance instead of lunging at Ivan like he's always done in earlier moments.
Ivan noticed it immediately—The Knight's body was shakier than before. The blood on his neck had dried a little, but still flowing, and now he was losing even more blood from his hands. He was holding up, but not for long.
This was his chance.
His chance to defeat that man. His chance to restore his ego.
But Ivan knew he was in no better state, his ribcage had been broken – fortunately no sharp pieces had pierced his lungs yet – and the pain was getting unbearable. Cold sweats formed at his eyebrows as he tried to think of a way to finish this as fast as possible—
A gasp for air. The Knight's hands flew up and hovered over his throat, but the damage was done.
A dagger protruded from the gap in his neck junction. And as the attacker withdrew the blade, the Knight fell onto his knees, hands clawing at the armor plates covering his throat, clearly to struggling to breathe, before his entire body went limp and he fell onto his stomach on the floor, motionless while the deep wound continued bleeding, creating a pool of luminous red on the hard ground.
Ivan's eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed as he realized who the attacker was.
"Jabez." Ivan's hands clenched into fists as he stared at the assassin, whose fingers was playing with the blood-drenched dagger with a smug smirk on his face.
Afarus sat unmoving on the throne, his face as unreadable as ever. His eyes darted to the other Knight, who was still fiercely fighting with the other two men while knowing that his friend had fallen. "Enough." He said, his voice getting noticeably weaker now, and yet he sat straight. "Our contract ends here."
As the words echoed, the Knight suddenly stopped his motion and stood stiff. Then, before Harold can attempt another charge at him, the man's entire body convulsed, and he also stumbled onto the floor like his fellow.
"What the—?" Harold breathed heavily through his mouth, his armor was heavily blood-stained, both from the slaughter in the lobby and his own wounds.
Ivan didn't even bother to check. He turned to face Afarus with his teeth gritted. "Not so prideful now?" He stormed over to the throne, fists clenched at his sides.
"The prophecy, Ivan." Afarus spoke again, his body trembling now, like he was dying. His voice was extremely low and weak now as he glared at Ivan one last time. "You– are the answer to it. To a prophecy nobody wanted."
In front of the squad's gazes, the old man coughed out blood, soaking his long beard, before his body stiffened. Ivan immediately rushed to the old man, fingers checking his pulses. "Damn it!" He cursed out loud, clearly outraged that the God had died before he could even have a chance to get his revenge.
A binding contract. If one party individually ended the contract, both parties would endure the punishment which both agreed upon signing. And for Afarus' case, the punishment was "death."
"He's dead?" Kyler tried to muffle his whimper as he limped over, the wrist of his left hand turning purplish. A bruise. Already swelling. "This was planned all along?" His greyish-blue eyes widened in awe and disbelief.
"Who cares?" The black-haired assassin snickered, playing with his bloodied blade as he spoke. "Less work for us, that is."
Before he could mutter another word, Ivan had already marched over to him, and—in front of Harold and Kyler—He slapped the other man with enough force to split his lips. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the silent throne room.
Jabez's eyes widened, then his tongue darted out to wet his lip where beads of blood already started forming.
"Where the fuck were you?" Ivan glared at him with a livid expression, a stark contrast to his usual calmness.
"Checking for secret storage rooms." A smirk tugged at the corner of Jabez's lips, but he knew better than to further enrage his direct superior. "Just in case."
Ivan's hand flew up to the man's collar and fisted his hand in the fabric. The two were pretty similar in height, so Ivan was able to stare directly into his subordinate's eyes. "Next time," He gritted his teeth, his voice carrying an unprecedented fury. "It won't be just a lip split if you dare to act on your own initiative without my explicit permission."
Ivan finally let go of the assassin then, instead turning to the gates and walked towards it. "Clean the mess." He said without looking back, fists still clenched at his sides.
Harold let out a gasp for air as he finally took off his iron helmet. His dark brown strands were soaked in both sweat and blood, several spots on his skin turning visibly into a purplish-red hue. "Boss' in a bad mood." Hazel eyes flickered to Jabez as he spoke.
Instead of getting angry, a grin was instead plastered on Jabez's face as he watched his direct superior's retreating figure. "Fair." His tongue darted out to lick away the blood again. "I'd probably have to do all the paperwork after this."
But neither Harold or Kyler laughed, they just looked at one another with an uneasy expression.
It was never a good thing to see Ivan break character this badly.
***
The throne room was lively. Filled with sunlight and laughter, its marble floor reflected the golden light, air thick with perfume and wine. At the center of the guady room, perched on the throne was the king, who was openly laughing and teasing a concubine dressed in expensive silk, hiding her smile behind a fan.
The courtiers stayed silent as the king enjoyed his moments. They all had known too well what kind of man the king was, and none dared interrupt his quality time.
But as the king tried to crack a joke, a other courtier rushed into the space, completly cutting off the laughter. "Your Highness!—"
The smile on the king's face dropped in less a second. The carefree look on his face vanished, replaced by an irritated expression. "What is it?"
"The God's statue in the central square—" The courtier struggled to catch up with his own breath, clearly having been running here with all his might. "It had been broken!"
The silence that filled the room was deafening than any loud noise. The king's eyes widened, his irritation turned into shock and awe. He didn't even pause when he pushed his woman away and stood up from his throne. "What?—" Cold sweats formed at his temples as he shook his head profusely. "No no no... This cannot be." Then his eyebrows furrowed and the look on his face turned into one of rage. "Lead me there. Now!"
Civilians had already been restricted from the central square the moment the king and his courtier got there. All directions guarded by knight's to make sure nobody but the royal got to enter.
The king's face turned pale as he saw the stone head of Afarus' statue on the round, while the stone statue overall stood tall as ever – just without its head where it belonged.
The king said "No" repeatedly, his heart pounding against his chest as despair washed over him. The statue of the Great Afarus had stood tall for centuries—perhaps even millenias. And yet here it was now, destroyed in the span of one night.
"Your Majesty–" The courtier tried to reason with the king. "Please calm down. We'll make sure to track down—"
"NO!" The king suddenly burst out at the courtier, his bloodshot eyes filled with both despair and fury. "No mere human could have done this. This is the work of another God!"
He grabbed the courtiers robes and shouted into his face. "Those bastards have been eyeing the great Afarus for a long time. And they had struck!"
He finally released the terrified courtier. "Call the other nations." The king barked. "To a council meeting. Now."
He looked back at his God's statue. "...Whoever did this, they must pay." He gritted his teeth, nails digging into his palms so hard it drew blood. "Declare war."
***
Kyler had reported back to Flinjik on behalf of Ivan, as he himself had heard.
Whatever, less work for him. Ivan tapped his finger impatiently against the wooden surface of his desk as he sat in his own room.
Then, in a swift moment, he stood up so fast his chair scrapped back, and he swept all the paperwork off the desk, papers scattering across the floor.
Humiliated.
Everytime he remembered that Jabez had saved him, Ivan felt a simmering rage.
He was vulnerable. Exposed to none other than his own subordinate, and that thought alone made Ivan rage even harder.
He had attempted to reassert dominance by physically hurting the man, but Ivan himself knew that it was nothing more than a futile attempt of a fragile man at trying to keep his dignity intact.
Ivan scoffed, but his fingers dug hard into the wooden desk. The image of Flinjik's smug face appeared on his mind once more, and Ivan felt nothing but a need to feed his own desires to control.
That man does not deserve the power. The authority. The spotlight.
A twisted grin plastered on Ivan's face as he started plotting.
If he doesn't deserve the throne.
Then nobody will.
And again, Ivan grew. But not to become a better person.
But to become stronger. To become more powerful.
To become untouchable, invincible—to become the idealized version of himself that he's always wished he was.
And to push himself deeper into the rabbit hole until there was no way back.
However, what Ivan didn't account for was that Afarus' death wouldn't be just "another demise of a God."
It would be the main factor that led to the war that destroyed everything this land had ever tried to nurture—the peace that had been maintained for so long.
The war where he finally got the spotlight, the attention, the validation that he wanted.
And also the war that would eventually result in the inevitable downfall of his manicured reality.