Cyrus and Mariline stepped into the shimmering teleportation portal, their forms dissolving into a cascade of light. In an instant, they materialized within the vast expanse of the Dome. The sheer scale of the structure was overwhelming, and Cyrus knew that without Mariline's guidance, he might have spent an eternity searching its labyrinthine corridors.
They advanced with fluid precision, their movements a carefully choreographed dance of stealth and efficiency. Furtively, they evaded the watchful eyes of patrolling agents, neutralizing those with quicker reflexes before they could raise the alarm. Everything was unfolding with an almost supernatural perfection.
Cyrus felt a surge of exhilaration course through his veins, as if he had been transformed into some sort of super-ninja. It reminded him of the countless video games he had played, but the visceral thrill of real-world stealth was incomparable. The act of striking from the shadows, unseen and unheard by his enemies, filled him with an intoxicating rush. Yet, he forced himself to temper his excitement, knowing that indulging in this newfound ecstasy could prove fatal. His singular focus remained fixed on the massive double doors looming at the end of the corridor—their final destination.
With a deep breath, Cyrus pushed the doors open, revealing an opulent chamber beyond. His enhanced vision immediately picked up on something peculiar: Nemesis, the fearsome agent of the Bureau, stood silently behind a figure at the far end of the room. Seated in an elegant suit, a man with golden hair sipped casually from a glass of deep red liquor.
To the side, Cyrus's father sat on a plush sofa, surrounded by an array of carefully chosen dishes and drinks. Despite the lavish spread before him, he fidgeted nervously, his fingers intertwining and separating in an anxious dance.
"Dad!" Cyrus cried out, rushing to embrace his father. But the older man pushed him away, anger flashing in his eyes.
"You fool, Cyrus! Why did you come?" his father demanded, his voice a mixture of fear and frustration.
Cyrus stood his ground, determination etched across his features. "I came to save you, Dad. I've already lost Mom; I couldn't forgive myself if I lost you too." He positioned himself protectively in front of his father, with Mariline taking up a defensive stance behind him.
The golden-haired man set down his glass and began to applaud, the sound echoing ominously through the chamber. "Such a heartwarming scene," he drawled, his voice smooth and controlled. "The first time I met you, I knew you were special."
Cyrus frowned, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at his mind. He had seen this man before, but where? What was even stranger was Nemesis's deferential posture behind him. Knowing Nemesis's ruthless nature and belief in the supremacy of power, it was inconceivable that he would willingly stand behind someone he considered inferior.
"Excuse my manners," the man said, delicately dabbing at his mouth with a tissue. "You can call me Lionore Mandragon."
The name hit Cyrus like a thunderbolt, causing him to stumble back in shock. This was the Lionore he had heard about? The man who had betrayed Leora's father? The greatest criminal Arkania had ever known, the one they called the Immortal Lion?
As his mind reeled, a memory suddenly crystallized. "Yes, at the Bureau headquarters," Cyrus blurted out, pointing an accusatory finger. "When we went to save Lork—it was you. You were the man with Nemesis."
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Lionore's lips curled into a smug smile. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, lazily swirling the liquor in his glass.
"How are you with the Bureau?" Cyrus demanded, confusion evident in his voice.
"Simple," Lionore replied with a casual shrug. "I was never truly a prisoner." He raised his glass, admiring the way the liquid caught the light. "This is the best, by the way. You should try it sometime."
Cyrus's patience had reached its limit. "Whatever. That's none of my business. Here's the primordial canine—now let us leave." He tossed a small box onto the table between them.
His father gripped his shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. "Cyrus, it's not worth it. My life isn't worth such a treasure."
Ignoring his father's protests, Cyrus pressed on. "Trust me this once, Dad. I'm getting you out of this mess." He turned his attention back to Lionore. "I want you to let my father go in exchange, just as you asked. Here's the primordial canine."
Lionore waved a hand, and Nemesis finally stirred, retrieving the box and nodding to his master after a brief inspection.
"Thanks for your cooperation," Lionore said, rising to his feet with fluid grace.
Cyrus tensed, his hand gripping an invisible hilt as he summoned his sword of magic, ready to counter at the slightest provocation.
Lionore, however, seemed in no hurry to conclude their business. Instead, he began to arrange a series of glasses on the table, his movements deliberate and symbolic. "In the past, when a monarch died, their children would often forget about reason and fight amongst themselves for power," he explained, placing the first glass. "Murder," he intoned, setting down another. "Treachery," came with the third. "Betrayal," he finished, completing a triangular formation with the fourth glass.
"Do you have any idea which of the monarch's children usually won these internal battles?" Lionore asked, his piercing gaze fixed on Cyrus.
"The one with the strongest army," Cyrus replied, confident in the logic of his answer. In such a war, the sibling with the most formidable support could easily eliminate the competition and claim the monarch's legacy.
"You're wrong, Cyrus," Lionore said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "It's the one with the most loyal entourage. You are a monarch, but unfortunately one who doesn't know how to choose his allies."
As the words left Lionore's lips, Cyrus felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest. Looking down in disbelief, he saw a dagger protruding from his body, blood already beginning to stain his clothes. His father cried out in alarm but was violently shoved aside, his head striking the ground with a sickening thud.
Blood trickled from Cyrus's mouth as he turned, unable to comprehend the betrayal unfolding before him. Mariline stood there, her face a mask of cold indifference as she withdrew the blade from his flesh. She had transformed into something inhuman—a machine born solely to execute her master's will.
"Come," Lionore commanded, opening his arms. Mariline obeyed without hesitation, walking into his embrace. "Good girl. You've done an excellent job. Even though you nearly caused us significant problems at one point, I'm proud of you."
"Why?" Cyrus gasped, falling to his knees as the full weight of the betrayal crashed down upon him. The physical pain of the wound paled in comparison to the devastating blow to his psyche.
Mariline's voice, devoid of any warmth or emotion, cut through the air like a knife. "From the very first day, I targeted you. I jogged in that filthy park only because Master asked me to. My mission was to seduce you, but unfortunately, Leora was faster. I changed my strategy and decided to play the victim—someone forced to make choices she didn't want. I have to thank you; I had never done anything of my own accord, without Master's orders. But thanks to you, I learned how to make choices. And I have chosen to continue following Master."
As Cyrus knelt there, his life's blood slowly seeping away, he realized that the game he thought he had been playing was far more complex and deadly than he could have ever imagined. In his quest to save those he loved, he had unwittingly walked into a trap years in the making, orchestrated by a master manipulator who had anticipated his every move. The bitter taste of defeat mixed with the copper of blood in his mouth as he faced the grim reality of his situation—outmaneuvered, betrayed, and left with precious few options for survival.