The journey southward was simple other than the few run ins with beasts. Alisson glanced daily at the pendant he had been given, examining its silver glow, still unsure of what exactly to do with it. He had also been given a small book that hosted the holy scriptures of the Angels.

They reached Ahvaratsu, and Alisson split from the rest of the group; he would make his way into his cell on his own, to maintain the ruse. Once he was in position, he gave the Queen the greenlight to proceed with the final part of imprisonment. The Queendom ruled that Alisson would be extradited to Sidonia for punishment, and the Machavelli would take him and the apprentices back home.

The Machavelli departed with no incident. Ardinand and the other Sidonians would remain.

The ship crested waves and crashed down into troughs. They weathered storms and the inclement emptiness of a journey at sea. The ship would ride down the falls, not to ride back up them, ride up them, not to ride down them. Steps and paths were followed that would never be traced again. The sails caught a wind that would take them off the edge and into the howling black.

Alisson gazed upon the Capital with glazed, dull eyes. All had left him, all he had abandoned, for this one motive. He rose from his sitting position, and took a deep breath. The moonlight would see to the destruction of the outer walls; the traitorous mana would clear his path. His tattered cloak flew in the wind as his Bacilla surrounded him.

The winds continued to blow at the ship’s sails, pushing its crew forward toward a certain death.

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The forest turned men inside-out. Eighteen men walked sixteen paths. Ten heads rolled but only one mattered. Only one smile mattered. Only one.

More than one taste of blood was required. Many would flow through a single vein; but do not forget that only blood will pay for blood.

Only a faithful watchdog can be relied upon to keep peace while you sleep in the midst of your enemy. A circus by the end, with a distinct lack of clowns. The walking corpse kept many in his company that lacked the essentials.

SR only served one purpose. She was a flightless angel, used and discarded like the rest of them. Lay their body across the tracks and wait for the train.

Fidelity. This is fidelity.

The long halls had no lights or ceilings, and occasionally the stampedes would run through them. That’s how it felt to have your body stolen. Trapped in it. Wandering in circles, finding brief images of the outside, brief images of your reason for living. Only love would allow one to last so long.

Love would be the cause of the fires that would burn the land but faith would heal all, even the eternal rage that brewed in him. The exoskeleton only served to keep those feelings within, temper and strengthen the flame, and reflect those that would try to cool it. Indelible rage has no cure.

Throw it to the wind. Destroy those that you have failed to destroy before. Utterly and totally. Do not let them even raise their hand from their mangled corpse. Make them know that it is futile.

You may forget, but they won’t. A friend she was and a friend she will be. The armored fist will crush through all with its raw strength. Whirlwinds never moved so stupidly.

If no one ever paid it any mind, then was it ever there to begin with? Did it ever matter? Was there any value in its existence, in the sweat that was shed in its creation? Did the great dreadnoughts and gunships rain their fire down upon the demon for no purpose?

Above all she will be kept alive by constant pain, but also, hope. Fidelity. This is fidelity.

***

You know, right?

image [https://i.imgur.com/KOl3nFZ.png]