The Trigem Primaere of the Defiants sat on a simple chair made from woven light, his hands clasped on the scepter as he looked over the battlefield. His mask exposed his eyes for all to see, gentle pools of light yellow that shifted over to Demon, engulfing him in a strange sensation as if he were laying on the bed of shallow waters. Demon tensed his relaxing muscles, preventing them from loosening up. He was nearly caught off-guard. The Primaere raised his hand in a gesture of peace and was soft-spoken, neither loud nor overbearing. "Be not afraid. I am Ollanar, the leader of the Defiants. And you are the inheritor of Isaac's legacy, are you not?"
Demon didn't respond, nor did he intend to. His focus remained on the patch of ocean beyond the Defiants's ship, the final trek to the exit. But Squarmo's power surely had no effect under the domain of this powerful interference, the Primaere's Ein already spreading to every inch of the surrounding ocean and sky, enveloping all in its tides. The Ein came in soft waves that ebbed and flowed on his skin. He shifted his arms and legs, checking that they still moved to his will, but the immense yet soft Ein tossed out any thought of running past. He was stuck like a fish in a bowl.
'Ignyres, can you block that Primaere?' Demon asked inwardly.
'Are you serious? My fires are not enough. I need to be resurrected for that.' Ignyres exclaimed.
The limited choices now fell to none. Despair was foreign to Demon; he would not let it be familiar. Marcus, Kragg, and Santen had used ample Ein in every exchange, pouring out their full power against each foe, but their weary gasps quelled as a healthy color returned to their once-paling faces. Restel had clearly overdrawn herself to help them recover, so she was out, useless for the last charge. Kragg gnashed his teeth, digging his sharp claws into his palm. Demon sighed and stepped forward, his feet resting on the tip of the airship. "No." He spoke no lie. Oscar was the inheritor, not him. He had no talent in forging.
"No? No….Peculiar. There is no lie in your words. Quite an intriguing fellow." Ollanar said, his finger scratching on the back of his hand. He tilted his head, studying Demon. "When I was younger, I met Isaac. My admiration for him was beyond measure, for his light shone brightly yet was gentle. It is a great shame what the others did to him. His light was too bright, and the blind feared him; their eyes were used to the comfort of darkness."
"What is blind is your view that he was a benevolent creator." A rushed, stern voice resounded, the waves rising and the clouds churning in response, an overbearing Ein forcing Ollanor's Ein to recede. A new Primaere had arrived. An old man with a brown eyepatch over his aged face walked out of a spatial tear, his figure straight like a sword. Looking upon him, Demon felt he was before a blade pointed at his neck, and others paled from gazing at the Primaere. In a simple brown cloak that parted down his shoulders, strapped on by a golden tassel, the Primaere rubbed his receding gray hairline, frowning. "He withheld many secrets from us and refused to comply."
"Kerak…no one could say for certain what transpired except for the ones who knew the truth. You still cling to what you have been told is right. Despite being a Trigem Primaere, you are surrounded by darkness." Ollanar put his palm on his face, a sadness leaking in his soft voice.
"A thousand years? Has it been that long, Ollanar?" Wheezing and coughing, Carcoatl appeared out of thin air, not as majestic as the others, his appearance that of a leper. His gaze landed on Demon, a slight smile curling from his lips. A message echoed in Demon's mind. 'Don't worry, heir of Isaac. It is the best way.'
"Carcoatl. Is this the board you have set up for us? Your antics are always a mystery." Ollanar stood from his throne.
"How many spies did you place? You aren't injured like us, so you must have been privy to Kerak's movements." Carcoatl walked over, his rotting pale fingers peeking out from his sleeves, a sight many gagged at.
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"Carcoatl, as one of the Primal Council, your duty is to assist me in killing the insurgents," Kerak said. "Or are you with them now?" He matched his pace to Carcoatl's, walking toward Ollanar, clutching his sword.
"Fight me if that is your wish. But we will all die here, you, me, him, everyone. And we all have people we don't wish to lose." Ollanar floated forward, and they all stopped, a mere two feet separating them. No one said a word, all eyes widening at the rare sight of three Trigem Primaeres, the highest powers in the world, meeting so close. Ollanar reached into his dimensional cube, a special space pocket for Primaeres, and pulled a jug and three glasses. He carefully poured an equal amount, not a drop more or less, and left them to the winds to be ferried to the others. His soft voice, measured and steady, lifted the tense mood. "A drink of peace."
"Says the one who wishes to destroy our order. How many nations have fallen to your lies?" Kerak gritted his teeth, turning the glass slowly as if contemplating whether to spill it into the ocean. "What peace when too much blood had been spilled?"
"You spill more of your own blood than any other. I don't offer a peace for all transgressions of the past. I offer the cups for a truce today." Ollanar said.
"And what becomes of Isaac's heir?" Kerak looked at Carcoatl, clear disdain in his eyes.
Carcoatl chuckled and coughed, unbothered by Kerak's insulting glare. He drank the cup of wine, agreeing to the truce. "I have an idea! We can all back off and let the battle resume. The truce is for us not to intervene. Let the younger generations decide their fate. The promise is still the same. If he escapes, you will have nothing to do with Isaac's heir while he is under my protection." He hissed out.
What a shrewd old man. Demon guessed the snail was the one who leaked the information to the Defiants, setting up the so-called board. With a third faction thrown into the mess, his limited choices grew, a great boon for his chances. Another message entered his thoughts. 'Sorry for placing you in danger. But the only way to stop them actively hunting you is to make a display of it. Survive this, and they can no longer openly call for your surrender.'
"Do…you even understand what you're saying? I worry for you, old friend." Ollanar asked, his concern not appearing to be a lie.
"I agree. Or are the Defiants mere cowards who only whisper malice in people's ears?" Kerak goaded, his confidence quite alarming. Where did he get the confidence to beat both Carcoatl and Ollanar's forces? Demon checked Restel's condition. She had been recovering his Ein during the appearance of the Primaeres and was improving. It didn't fare well that the enemy was regrouping, some of the scattered Exalts reorganizing themselves.
Kerak downed his cup in a single swig and gestured to Ollanar, who sighed and poured the wine through a thin slit where the mouth was on his mask, spilling a great many that ran streaks of purple on his golden chin. The three Primaeres rose higher, passing the heights of King Exalts, far away, so far that they appeared as tiny dots. But their voices still reached them, loud and clear. "Begin!"
More Exalts exited the Triheaven Elysium's airship, many divisions flying out in separate lines, all separated by a distance. Their tactic seemed simple enough: attack in waves to disrupt any defenders and push through. Demon slammed the deck and pulled the ship into retreat, hastening the pace to avoid the blockade by the Defiants. The Defiants chased, but the ocean rumbled, and many sea snails, their shells long and coiling into a fine point, intruded between, sending long-ranged attacks. The Defiants slowed, unable to endure the onslaught for the moment.
Demon rode the airship, steering it to the side until they reached a considerable distance from the Defiants' airship, using the same trick of the abrupt turn to stagger many off their tail. He sped the airship back on the original course, the great gale spurring them on. Thirty minutes left. In the middle of the battle, Avila, Avril's sister, wasn't focused on him; her arrows set loose on the people from Triheaven Elysium, many skewering a hapless few. It seemed he didn't need to think about how to spare her.
'Come to think of it. Avril was a slave of the Triheaven Elysium. Not surprising the sister is hellbent on killing them.' Erden remarked, his antler wings continually burning to quicken their speed.
'Hmm. Then, wouldn't she be–' Demon jolted, a scythe resting on his neck. He grabbed at his neck and found nothing, but the feeling was very real, as if the scythe was about to behead him. Knowing the image came from reality, he stood up, ignoring the enemies that Marcus and the others fended off, staring at the figure who flew at incredible speeds, about to catch up to his ship. In her hand, a large scythe gleamed dangerously, the sunlight riding the edge, showing how sharp it was.
The Ein emanating from the figure revealed her power. She was a Grade Nine.