“Honestly, I do feel a bit out of place next to the other Templars. They’re very, hm, how do I say this nicely… straightforward: so pure and honest and loveable that I can’t help but think of them all as my own kids. Except I don’t like kids, so that’s not a very good analogy. Haha!

“I am not that nice of a person, Ascalon. I really don’t understand why you think so highly of me. It’s true what they say—I’m a wicked, wicked man. Do you really want an unsavory sort like me to rule this nation? That sounds like such a hassle~ I’m happy where I am right now, so please don’t talk about boring things like dying. I need you to be alive so I can laze around as I wish.”

- Joshua Yahweh, Templar of the High Seraph

———

Xeros

Curious. Xeros has clearly impaled the knight Templar Joshua’s heart, and yet he is still alive. Still breathing. The wound where the talon struck him has disappeared, and in its stead is a crystalline casing—glowing with the same rainbow hue as wings. Or rather, one wing, for the other shatters into a fine dust and disappears into the wind. Now, the boy’s flight is crude, body struggling to correct his lopsided balance.

Joshua’s face darkens, and he speaks to the Grand General with a tongue full of venom.

“… How did you find out?” he says with a cruel sneer. “It’s the first time, you know—the first time I’ve ever been discovered. My pride’s taken quite a hit.”

His voice is sharp, cruel and mocking; it is jarring to hear such words from one with such a childish figure. Under that jovial facade is a viciousness waiting to strike.

Though burdened his flight may be, the boy’s speed remains unhindered, and he dashes away to safety. “Oh, geez. Flying like this is rather uncomfortable, no thanks to you! But really, isn’t that cheating? You don’t even need wings to fly; I’m a bit jealous.”

Joshua giggles like a raving madman and thrusts his rapier up towards the sky. “Well, this isn’t looking great for me, so… goodbye! I value my life quite highly, thank you very much.”

A light surges from the blades’ tip, and it erupts into a glittering shower of sparkles—drowning the expanse in a harmless, blinding light.

And then the boy flees. Without any hesitation, without any shame, he flies off like a coward whilst Xeros recoils from the flash.

He is speechless. A lump forms in his throat, and for the first time in many a long year, anger overwhelms every facet of his being. His teeth grit; his eyes shake; and pure, unadulterated rage urges him to roar out with the rumble of a man half his age.

And as quickly as it arises, his fury changes into respect. It is rare to find one so boldly impudent, but the Grand General does not condone such behavior. On the contrary, pests like him are the sorts who thrive in this world—the scum and black-hearted willing to commit whatever necessary to survive. The boy is just like Xeros’s younger self, albeit far more annoying.

It really is a shame for a snake to be raised in a pen of rats. His empire would have great use for the Templar’s eloquence, but as an enemy… such a competent foe must not be allowed to live.

Xeros gives chase and bolts after Joshua, closing the distance between the two in a matter of moments.

“Huh? Wait you’re here already—”

He does not have the luxury to finish; a surge of lightning discharges from the Grand General’s palm and nearly incinerates Joshua in a sizzling arc, but the boy is elusive. His one wing only aids in his evasion, movements erratic as Xeros struggles to maintain the connection with the Corvid’s Eye.

It is as if his mind and body exist in two seperate locations at once. He gazes upon his smoke-covered form from the corvatine eye below and directs his own movements as a puppeteer would a marionette. Every action is complex, difficult to control, but Xeros cannot release the manifestation lest he be again subjected to Joshua’s illusion.

But most frustrating of all is the Templar’s refusal to retaliate. If the two clash then perhaps an opening would avail itself, but Joshua’s sole intention appears to be evading the Grand General—to waste his time as long as possible.

This pointless encounter must come to an end. If he must exhaust himself to do so, then so be it.

“The games end here,” Xeros says, halting his assault. “Your insolence has infuriated me for the last time.”

Joshua bids him an amused look and lazily floats in the air, though his form is anything but careless. Not a crack can be seen in his guard, and he readies himself to escape at any second. “Haha, so that’s what your voice sounds like! I have to say, it’s quite sultry~ But, hm, why now? You’ve ignored me all this time… oh, are you mad? Am I getting on your nerves? Well, what’re you going to do about it then? I was careless before, but I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“And neither shall I. Take pride, if you so wish—not many have ever forced my hand to this extent.”

Xeros gathers the red lightning once more, and then he slams it right into his own chest. He grunts upon the impact, blood and flesh alike boiling into bubbling, rancid mess as he endures torrent after torrent of unbearable pain. But with every one of his screams, something begins to take form above him. Something twisted and evil. The Templar needs only a single glance at the unsettling north for his demeanor to change into one of panic.

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Time crawls ever slower. The air fills with dread. Joshua fumbles for his rapier and attempts to lunge at Xeros, but the closer he gets to his body, the more the world ceases to be. The wind, the land, and every soul that occupies this plane of reality—it all freezes.

Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. The clock stretches on towards infinity, and amidst it all lies Joshua, his mind trapped in a singular moment of horror as he is forced to bear witness to a malignant, horrible birth.

Before the boy’s eyes is a heart. It is the Corvid’s Heart. Black ooze flows through the withered tissue, and a layer of pus coats the outside in a sickly-yellow grime.

All color has disappeared, the sun’s warmth transforming into a bitter cold. There is only a dull grey as far as the eye can see.

Joshua is freed from his prison, but it is too late. The heart has already begun beating.

Thump-thump.

There is no escaping the rhythm. The heart beats, and so the world follows.

Thump-thump.

Xeros approaches Joshua and grabs him by the neck. The boy is unstable to resist; his body belongs to the heart’s melody.

Thump-thump.

“Hmph. Good riddance.” Xeros conjures one last talon—

Thump—

And strikes.

Thump.

The talon pierces through Joshua’s chest in one, swift motion.

“Ah,” he sputters as his final wing disappears. “That’s not good. Haha, I always figured my end would be a pathetic one, but… it hurts a lot more than I thought it would.”

His limbs sag, and his voice dwindles to a meek whisper. Eventually, he ceases to move altogether.

It is done. There is no need to materialize the Heart and Eye any longer.

Xeros releases his grip of the corpse and watches as it plummets to the city below: falling, falling.

The Templar of the Seraph… now disgraced. His death will serve greatly in demoralizing the Polus. Xeros wonders just how those winged curs will react when the boy splatters into a sullied, disgraced stain on the ground. The thought amuses him greatly—

“… Ha…”

A sound snaps the Grand General back to attention.

“… Haha…”

The voice is familiar, but that is impossible. He has made certain that the wound is fatal.

“… Hahaha! Wow, that was a close one. Good thing my acting’s pretty good, huh?”

And yet, there is no mistaking that juvenile, arrogant laugh. Xeros quickly peers down to the falling Joshua, but where should be a gaping hole in his chest is the same rainbow casing of before. He does not understand; the boy has no more wings to draw life upon.

Except, there is. The Grand General listens closely, and he hears the faint fluttering of crystal.

And then, he sees a glitter—an obscure sparkle that could be dismissed as a mere trick of the light. But upon a closer look it forms a silhouette.

Of a hidden third wing.

“… This wretch annoys me to the very end.”

Xeros moves to conjure another electric burst, but a sudden heave rises from his chest, and he descends into a coughing fit. His saliva tastes of iron. His lungs constrict, throat closing as he struggles for air.

The Grand General raises a trembling hand and scowls. He has exerted far too much effort for a mere knight; his old flesh is free of wound, yet the strain of Creation steals away what strength remains within.

Hrm. The result remains ever same. The boy’s third wing is too small to take flight. He shall perish the moment his body collides onto the pavement—

A streak of amber blinks past Xeros’s eyes. He has not a chance to react before the once-stilled air fills with newfound life, and bright, vibrant colors return to the monochrome world.

Something unfamiliar courses through him. It is unlike the usual cold; rather, the presence feels gentle—regal and grand.

“Forgive me for the delay, Joshua. I am here now. Rest, and leave everything else to me.”

A new voice makes itself known to the world. Their tone is soft, each word brimming with endless love and compassion, and yet never does it lose its sharp air of authority.

Xeros turns his head towards the source, and finally meets the one he has endeavored all these years to slay.

King Ascalon, the Ruler of Polus.

The Grand General’s frustration, this invasion, and Nokron’s death—herein lies the cause of it all.

“… For so long, I have wondered what I would say to you. Would I yell and curse your name, or would I simply raise my blade? Day after day, endless nights dreaming of this moment, yet all I wish now is to ask you but one question.”

Ascalon holds Joshua in his arms. Compared to the cunning nature of the boy Templar, the King is his stark opposite: a being of good. Therein lies not a morsel of darkness in his figure. He shines with a warm light, of a repulsive purity and innocence Xeros has only seen in one other.

“Why?” the fool asks. “Why us? Why are you obsessed with conquering our nation?”

The King’s words are sincere. He does not understand, and that only reveals his naivety. Is this truly the one who has schemed to bring down Caelum all this time?

“It is not your nation in particular that holds mine obsession,” Xeros says. “Polus is a mere stepping stone. I feel no resentment or hatred towards your kind; this conquest is simply for my own ambition—my desire to see the world united under a single banner. In this new world, one’s worth shall be entirely dependent on their passion and desire to succeed. There will be no inequality, no unfairness derived from birth, and no matter the person all shall be given the chance to thrive. If the world need me cruel to see that desire realized, then I will commit any atrocity.”

Ascalon hesitates. “I see, so that is what you believe. But then why do I not see any desire within you? You talk of grand ideals, yet your heart matches not your words. In my eyes, the one before me is just… a weary, tired old man.”

Xeros does not respond.

The King shakes his head, and he entrusts Joshua with another knight of the Seraph.

The two rulers are alone. There is only one path ahead for those like them.

And that is through the other.

“So be it.” Ascalon unsheathes the astral armament from his back, and he flaunts bold his wings of amber. “If you believe your cause just, I call upon you to defend it with your life!”