The sky was dark, as usual. Nothing new.

The only thing that was different amidst this never changing clear, yet evil sky was the disposition of people underneath it, or more specifically; around me. Myself, included.

Rage, unbottled.

They say that if you clamp your feelings inside your head and heart for too long, much like any other thing, the pressure will keep building until even the mildest of agitations, variation in the normal course of daily, day-to-day activities will cause it to erupt like a super volcano.

*Fuuu*

The cloud of cigarette smoke left my lips as I scratched my forehead with my thumb, the blotches of blood still clear, and very pungent. However, the usual company of guilt, regret and disgust towards myself and the subject was absent.

The cruel mistress had refused to entertain me today. Or was it me who had pushed it away so much that nothing could quell this gnawing bitterness, anguish in me. Not anymore; not at this moment, at the very least.

Without leaving the support of the wall, I dusted off the ash from my cigarette, and rubbed it down. The sound of cigarette sizzling against flesh, melting the topmost layer and marring it filled the air, followed by a blend of the signature aromas of the nicotine, tar and human flesh.

I looked from the corner of my eye, and the man nailed to the wall was unmoving, his eyes unfocused, distant. Vacant. Even fear of pain, which had filled his entire being until a moment ago, was nowhere to be seen.

I flicked the ash away, letting it drift down like dust on a forgotten tomb. The ember on the tip was still aglow, albeit; faint. I removed it slowly, savouring the hiss as it pulled free from the charred flesh.

A low, guttural moan escaped his cracked lips, but it was weak—a sound that spoke of a soul on the brink of surrender.

'Alive.' I mused, half ecstatic.

'Thank you, Goddess…' A breathless thought.

I leaned in close, my breath cold against his clammy skin.

His eyes, those vacant windows, barely reacted as I brought the cigarette to his face. Slowly, deliberately, I pressed the burning tip against his eyelid, the thin skin sizzling as it met the heat. The sharp scent of singed hair filled the room.

For a moment, there was no sound, just the crackling of flesh beneath the smouldering tip. Then, a muffled scream, broken and pitiful, clawed its way from his throat.

His features didn't move much, but reflexively, his body jerked in a pathetic attempt to pull away, but my slightly grown nails held firm from the flesh on his face, pinning him.

Reminded me of all the butterflies Arthur and…hmm, maybe one of his childhood friends, used to have. Alive, writhing in pain, sewn by metallic strings.

The man's eye twitched violently beneath the cigarette, and a tear – perhaps the last he would ever shed – ran down his soiled cheek, mixing with the blood and grime.

I pulled the cigarette away, the burnt skin clinging to the ember for a heartbeat before tearing free, leaving behind a blackened, puckered wound. He half-gasped, the air rasping through his lungs.

"I—I'll talk…"

But something snapped inside me, a thread pulled too tight and now fraying beyond the edge of sanity.

My blood, already boiling, curdled. Without thinking—no, without caring—the tip of my boot shot forward, and I felt it sink into his chest. The sensation was gaudy, the ribs yielding to a sickening sound as bone shattered and skin split.

I could feel the impact as it drove through his body and then hit the surface behind, pinning him against the wall like a discarded rag.

And then he was dead. His head lolled to the side; his mouth still half-open in a silent scream. I had killed him. The realisation should have hit me like a wave, should have made me recoil in horror. Disgust.

But it didn't. Instead, there was a cold, numbing satisfaction, a sense of release that spread through me like poison.

It didn't feel bad. The thought echoed in my mind, a whisper that grew louder with every passing second in this new reality.

Was it the smothering blanket of rage that dulled the edges of my moral conflict? Stifled the screaming of my nigh-shattered psyche?

I don't know. I can't tell. Everything was hazy, distorted, like looking through a cracked mirror. It was hard to think, hard to feel.

But the pain… the pain was there, pulsing just beneath the surface. Not sharp or piercing, but padded and suffocating, like a hand pressing down on a wound, never letting it breathe, never letting it heal.

It drove me to the brink of madness, this pain, but never fully released me. It clung to me, dragging me down into a place I hadn't known existed, but much to my own horror, it did.

I didn't know I was capable of this kind of rage. In truth, I hadn't known I was capable of any rage at all. I had always seen myself as controlled, composed—a person who could walk through fire and emerge unscathed.

But now, this fire that urged violence was inside me.

And worst of all, I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

The spillage of blood. The stench. It wasn't revolting. It wasn't. And it was scary.

Casting one look at the dead man, I looked back over my shoulder.

"Jack." I called out.

"Yes, young master." The reply came almost instantaneously.

"Dispose of him." I commanded; a cold, unwanted edge to my baritone.

"And ship his head to Melbourne. The address is on the table." I continued.

"As you command, young master Eric." Jack spoke and walked past me.

The sound of sword, or knife, or whatever was faint against the headache. And then Jack was carrying the scarred head of the man with him before placing it in a giant, square shaped metallic box.

"Hey Jack." I called out, my voice quivering.

He didn't turn until he had completely packed the head. Then turning towards me, he slightly bowed.

"Yes?"

The seething rage was there, and it was quelling everything else, yet, I felt like asking something.

"This is not like me, right?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"The lady will be proud, young master." He replied, looking me right into the eyes.

Right…

…it has always been like this. We are alive to serve the lady.

"Hm. Thanks." I replied, turning away from him.

He picked the box and moved in my direction, towards the door.

The bolt was undone and he took a step out. However; he turned and I felt a hand on my shoulder. Squeezing it lightly, he got closer.

"You're better, my dear student." He whispered, in fear, as if talking a touch louder would kill him.

"Calm down. Nothing of what you did will change the humanity inside you."

I turned around and saw his dark eyes looking at me with an affection so pure that I had never seen it before. Almost like a father's.

"You are the most human here." I felt the tip of his nose go red as he punched my chest.

"Be proud of that."

Despite being shorter, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me down, headbutting me ever-so-slightly. "Back to your senses, boy."

A little breathlessly, I choked out a sob. "Mhm."

He sniffled and pointed at his head. "Don't lose it." He spoke before bowing his head. "Praise the lady."

I scoffed and waved my hand as he took his leave too.

No way I was going to say that.

Without washing my hands, I took my phone out, half expecting a text, or anything. But all I saw was a notification from DNB, Oslo branch.

Hmm.

It has been two days since the assassination attack.

With Jack's arrival on time, I was saved. And we had captured a few of the attackers.

Other than me, there were around 7 of them who had attacked the residence too, however; they were made quick work of by mom. 6 out of 7 were captured while the seventh escaped.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Mom said it was an artefact since it completely wiped the man's arcanum signature. While she did throw a fit of anger and utmost frustration, the situation of Arthur and dad both disappearing along with the American heir made her not think much about it.

I have been tasked with handling this matter. I decided to not get ahead of myself, since she gave me this vital responsibility only because we are low on people who can handle this.

Of course, I had also found out who these assassins belonged to. Most of this attack force comprised people from the same family, north of Queensland, Australia. Which meant the Andersons were involved in this.

That begs the question, are they alone involved in this? Or are Whites and Olaniyans also behind this?

I had heard Africa had always chosen to adopt a very neutral standpoint; less neutral than us, but still the middle grounds. They were self-serving, much like us, however; they used their wealth to build their own family, not the continent as a whole.

Whereas the Olvasens have put more focus on developing the continent, or rather, the immediate area of control as much as they could.

So, it means Andersons either did it by themselves in a quick moment of greed, or did it on Whites' orders.

I don't really care much about the politics, but making me do something I had wished I never do, and attacking my girlfriend as well was something I couldn't ignore. At the same time, the rage inside me was ignited because of my own powerlessness.

I had barely defeated a few red cloaks. What was I even going to do? A single white cloak might end me. Much less the heir or the lord.

Is it a good choice to send the head to Australia?

A moment of rationality amidst the rage sparked some kind of sense into me, and I reconsidered everything I had done until now.

"Fuck it, we ball." I spoke out loud, as I took another cancer stick out of the pack in my pocket and brought it to my lips.

"You act weird, human." A voice, much healthier than before, spoke.

"Pathetic as well." She continued.

"Not right now, elf. I am not in the mood to entertain you." I brushed off and got out of the room that was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and stench of bodily fluids.

The door closed behind me as I looked at the plethora of people waiting outside. They were looking at me with an expression that was an alchemy of many emotions.

Already agitated, I frowned at the one nearest to me.

"What?" I snapped.

Deep down, I felt bad, however; anything that barely had some connection to rationality was being targeted and waved off as something I had to avoid.

"I—I, we are here for the cleanup…as you required."

I looked back at the closed door. I had been taking care of the elf after she revealed the difference in passage of time in Eden. Mom didn't seem to mind – or care, most likely the latter – so I continued the practice.

Don't get me wrong, I am not showing her sympathy. I am sure they would've done worse to Arthur – Goddess forbids – if he had been captured like this. However, this was just another act of satisfaction for my sense of self.

Until now.

"Leave it." I spoke and started to walk towards the stairs that led upwards.

"She's been acting too spoiled lately. One day of living in dirtiness won't do anything." I ordered as they nodded their heads before wishfully looking at the door once and following me.

She needs to know she's a captive. Not an honourable guest.

Biting away the biting discomfort, I walked upstairs and out of the damned house.

Even staying there felt suffocating.

After I reached the front door, I looked back, half hoping the white furball would tackle into me and complain about its actual owner not visiting her in years. I waited a few minutes for my best friend, but…

A jolt of pain went down my chest as I turned away.

May Goddess Hestia bless you.

I chanted silently before leaving the veil of suffocating anguish behind.

----------------------------

*********Fjellborg*********

3rd person POV:

Arcanum banged on the bunker walls like the clubbing of a suffocating man and the following moment Finn, Dotun, Zara and Trisha were thrown in every direction like discarded pieces of junk.

The bunker absorbed the impact, however; each and every bone in their body was screaming in extreme anguish.

Maria was standing in the middle of the room, her whole-body quivering from pain. Despite being down to one knee, she refused to completely fall down, her alit grey eyes focused solely on the man in front of them.

"Dear young lords." The one to talk was a man clad in all black as his slit amethyst eyes focused narrowly on all heirs.

"With the incoming dangers, you are bound to face enemies who's arcanum amounts are enough to compensate for the disparity in technique mastery and martial arts. Or the lack of a weapon." He explained, pointing his index finger out.

"So far you have only faced people – your personal instructors who, at first, were scared to hurt you and now, having limited knowledge of their arcane arts or none at all, are unable to keep up with you." He continued, taking out another finger, as if making points.

A plethora of groans escaped everyone's lips.

"The concept of pain has been unknown to you." Albert continued.

"Until now that is, fufu." He snickered to himself as Finn groaned.

Dotun was back to his feet as he stood up and dusted his clothes. Apart from Maria, he was the least harmed so far. It was not a sign of his strength but it was more attributed towards his ability to read between Albert's moves, and where he was holding back.

"This is some bullshit, this is." Zara complained.

"For real for real."

"Come on, don't say that out loud, you bitch."

Albert's smile widened as another blunt blade of arcanum smacked them from upside, crushing their bodies down.

Maria and Dotun rolled away just in time, and while Finn changed his own axis, the area of effect was too great for him.

"God damn it, fuck…" He moaned, feeling the clawing arcanum from Albert, pinning him in place.

"Well, as I was saying, since the concept of pain eludes you." He extended his arms to the side. "I will introduce a new, wonderful world of pain for each and every one of you. Equally."

Albert sneered, his teeth flashing. "Come now, children of Adam."

A blood red sword suddenly manifested out of thin air, forming itself in the blink of an eye.

"Well, that's troublesome." Dotun commented.

"It is…" Maria let out a breathless agreement. Arcanum was bloating underneath her skin, ready to explode. While Dotun was analysing Albert's body movements.

'Baggy clothes. It's hard to see or discern which movement is a bluff and which one is the real one.' He glanced in Maria's direction. 'She's our best bet in landing a hit on Albert. If I can make her land a hit…maybe we all can get a few hours of sleep.'

He tried to string his thoughts together.

After the disappearance of Arthur, Michael and Aksel, everyone has been nervous and somewhat rattled. Albert decided to at least train the heirs so they can survive the multiple challenges that Eden had to offer. Training the lords could come later.

Albert moved, and his arcanum wiped itself off the face of the earth for a few passing seconds.

And despite it being only one second, it felt like minutes inside their mind.

"Cover!" Maria called out as a dense layer of arcanum formed over and around her, and then another, compacting over each other.

What seemed like robotic bugs crawled out of Dotun's skin with small antennas jutting out of their heads. Something akin to plasma crackled from one bug to another, until it had formed a net of protection around him.

Layers of arcanum started to coat Zara, Trisha and Finn.

Finn flicked his hand and the world around him flipped upside down, as he was now standing upside down on the roof.

'Surely he won't be going after me out of every--'

"You are predictable, young master." Albert exclaimed and the following moment the blood red hilt of his sword drove into Finn's arcanum augmented midsection. His eyes rolled back and then he was hurtling downwards like a brick.

Trisha moved in and a breeze of arcanum broke Finn's fall.

"What the hell are you doing Trish--" Zara was screaming at her, however; her own scythe moved backwards, blocking Albert's strike.

"Not bad, miss Zara." Albert complimented. His sword liquified and the sudden change in state caused Zara's scythe to go off-course. She took a wobbly step forward and Albert hit the back of her head with his hilt, causing her to fall on the floor.

As Trisha adjusted Finn, Albert moved once again, swinging his sword at the two, however; Maria arrived and placed her hand on Albert's wrist, her long blonde ponytail frolicking.

[Phase 1: Mergulhe]

The force behind Albert's blow dissipated to nothingness as she turned around and tried to punch him. Smiling to himself, Albert weaved into her blind spot and balled his hand into a fist before striking her.

A long claw suddenly grabbed Albert's hand. His eyes flicked to the side, as he saw Dotun, trying to hold him off.

"Do it!" Dotun cried out.

Maria's hand was aglow in a light blue light as she placed her palm on Albert's mid-section.

[Liberar]

An explosion echoed, causing a plume of smoke to rise upwards.

Both Dotun and Maria jumped back, standing a few feet away from each other, however, the two of them couldn't help but steal nervous glances at each other, despite the tension between their families.

Albert chuckled as he walked out of the smoke. "Not bad, but Miss Maria, do you know why you could land that attack on me?"

"Because Dotun helped me?" She tilted her head quizzically.

Albert's light-hearted laughter ceased suddenly. "No. It was pity."

His eyes started glowing. "I let you land an attack out of pity."

Her hands balled into fists.

"Do not let him play with you." Dotun interjected, his eyes calm, and hyper-focused due to the presence of ambient lighting.

Maria glanced at him and then breathed out before getting into stance once again. She looked at Dotun once.

"Thanks."

"No need." Dotun waved it off. "I just want someone to land a hit so we can finally get some food and rest."

Maria let out a chuckle. "You're too ambitious." She commented as she looked at Albert's serious, hard expression. "As if he's letting us land a hit on him until we faint ourselves."

"Sounds illogical, and for that exact reason, very believable."

Albert was the first to move, interrupting their talks and the bunker was once again a cacophony of sounds, each one indistinguishable from the other.

Behind a glass screen were Blake Anderson and Kwame Olaniyan, overlooking the practice.

Blake was watching the practice with a rather troubled look and his heel was tapping against the ground anxiously.

"Your boy is smart." He complimented.

Kwame's dark eyes looked at Blake. "Are you sure you want to compliment me while you have so much on your plate which needs your attention?"

Blake sighed. "Nothing is going to happen…I am sure of it. That bastard Aksel is done for as well."

Kwame shook his head. "The Olvasens are the sole worshippers of Hestia. Her divine mural would've shattered by now if he was dead."

"His son is alive. That is all we need to worry about." The tapping of his heels got stronger. "I'll send the white cloaks right from the get-go this time."

Kwame's nose scrunched. "Don't embarrass yourself any further. You are putting your arm in the lion's mouth, Blake." Kwame's voice raised.

"On the slightest chance that Aksel is alive, or even if his son- Arthur is, there's nothing but ruin waiting for you." He shook his head and placed his hand on Blake's shoulder. "It'll all be nothing but oblivion."

"Bullshit." Blake's vein popped.

"They don't have an order of cloaks. His older son is a waste with no arcane art and his wife is a sickly woman who hasn't left her bed for ages now. As good as dead! One man isn't alone to end me and the hundreds in my command."

"Oh? His wife and son are useless? Then tell me how your entire order of red cloaks was wiped? And the one who has returned has lost all his memories? He can't remember his own name!" Kwame was getting increasingly agitated. "How is that possible in the presence of someone who doesn't have an art and someone who's on her deathbed, huh?"

Blake took a giant sip of his drink. "I am figuring it out. Most likely Arthur killed Michael and is still roaming on earth, making people think he's vanished."

Kwame looked at Blake's drunk state with pity. "This is pointless."

He stood up and began to leave.

"Lawrence will know about this Kwame." Blake's half-scared threat stopped Kwame.

"He does not own me." Kwame looked down on Blake and raised his nose. "We are in a business relationship. Unlike you, he does not own my honour down."

A frown formed on Kwame's face. "I had agreed to the partnership for the sole reason of not wanting to enter a clash between the Olvasens and Whites. I had agreed with Lawrence that in exchange for natural resources in Africa, he would provide protection and in return we would share nothing else."

Blake wanted to talk but Kwame continued. "Unlike you, who has given control of the sword looming over your neck to Lawrence, I hold my own will. So, think twice before threatening me again."

Kwame spoke with pure words- no leakage of arcanum, no bloodlust, no display of anger, nothing. Just a factual argument.

"You shall deal with the Olvasens yourselves, if they are alive." Kwame spoke as he started to close the door behind himself.

"My family has suffered enough as collateral between those two titans."

Saying that, he left the room, leaving Blake alone.

"Damn it…" He mumbled, looking at the practice with an agitated expression.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now…?"

He spoke to himself.

"Who knew they had someone so strong there…it has to be that arrogant brat, Arthur!" He continued in a drunk state. "That little demon. Did he actually kill Michael? I should tell Lawrence about it!"

As if coming with a very "wise" plan, he picked his phone up.

"If I tell him I have a good enough theory, he will wipe out the Olvasens himself! Hahaha!"

"Damn you, Kwame! Running with your tail between your legs!"

Laughing to himself, he called Lawrence's number.