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In my field of vision, there is a dark flower. A twisted vine to suspend a glimmering mirage. Flowers represent life, and spring, and other such things. There is no spring in Nocturne, but there is where I stand; the end of our borders, a separation from desolation and normality. Right now I stand at the final stop in the Ruskula Station - at the end of Nocturne, at the beginning of Yuran: the Iron Dynasty. Except there's no longer even that - that Dynasty. Instead it is just Fraxon versus the Rejected, the miserable abominations that flock to the cold north and seek desperate harbor yet find none; their children instead mire in desperation and pain. They find that life becomes a meritocracy of a singular nature; death - it becomes, live or die, it becomes mettle always. Always fighting for your survival, always believing it will make you so much stronger.

We have become misled. Doesn't that make us evil? Betraying our own? Constantly fighting our own?

We live in sin.

We have abandoned what it used to be, back before the demons were worshiped as Gods - when Azazel Miras reigned, and the creatures of the north spat on all those around them. They raided, they killed, they molested the flesh and pummeled the bones. And yet with one another they were unified. They were ten men each in the body of one, every single Lumirian. And the Fraxons lived in fear. And the Elves of Kuladhan lived in terror. And the mixed beasts and abortions of Yuran did not live at all; they were many once, but then carved away by the claws of a new Reaver: the children of the Darklands.

And that time has come and gone. As Niraliel winds her clock, the human nations progress, and we regress. We will never defeat Fraxon the way we are now. Zachariah is losing. He is dying. He has lost many battles to the combined might of Elessia, Antony and Solaris. And now Justor and Solonor seek to fight for their cause as well, after the horrors that had befallen Yuran. They would not see the same happen to their precious Elves, their "Justoastrians", those heretics that worship themselves despite that they bear the wings of angels.

All of the Gods have failed, it is just that our King - the God who commands us still - has failed the most. And should we be surprised? All creatures have filth. Mortals have much, demons have some. The worst filth is possessed by the angels, in the form of hubris. Was Zachariah not one of these creatures originally? Is he not one still? Do you not see how he flaunts his darkened wings like a beastly chimera formed from Michael's wet imagination? He was never meant to rule over demonica. He was made to rule over man. His nature will never change.

Mine won't either . . . I am the child of demons, the spawn of Kala, a Goddess once great. But she has failed. All of the other children have failed, fallen, become weak. I remain.

"22:46." He sighed. The man looked to the digital post that stated the times for each train arrival - gate 34. Thirty-four. Coming in at 22:45. It wasn't a great discrepancy, but it was tardiness, something that never survived in the military. Being a military man, things like this annoyed him. More and more these days. "22:47," he continued. A minute later, a minute further away from the goal. A voice came in from speakers along the corner of the wall. "Passengers: Ruskula Stations is sad to announce that Gate 34, to Lumiria City, has been delayed by . . . one-hundred and fifteen minutes. Please forgive us for the delay." They said nothing of why. He already knew why. He already knew why the train was late before the minute hit twenty-two, forty-six.

It was because he destroyed the tracks on the way back from Yuran.

He had gone there on a campaign. It wasn't like anything he'd experienced before; there was blood, and war, the conflict of blades against blades - Fraxon mechs fighting enhanced vampire warriors. Demons flooding about and being slain by angels. An experience unlike anything. A violence so vivid.

And through all of it, he had grown. He had become more powerful. One of the most powerful soldiers in Nocturne - and there were a lot of those. He felt that he had surpassed them, all of them. Alistair, Lilith. Once he served as so obedient a Knight, and now he stood above them. His eyes possessed a thousand years of knowledge. His stoic expression carried so many secrets in each contour; an ambition, a plot, a desire for the damnation of others. Yes - Brydent had become great, and violently so. He had become great through sacrifice, apathy, the ability to accept things for the way they were while longing to better them in the long-term.

"Ruskula Stations is displeased to announce that . . . Gate 34's journey has been canceled." The voice stated. A smile flared from the edge of Brydent's lip. He knew why that was too. And of course, the people began to ask. Lumirians weren't passive like the people in Kranila. They got angry, they spoke out, they made demands. And so the crowd voiced: what has happened? Why is the train not coming? What did you do wrong?

"The train set to arrive at Gate 34, from the encampment near Northeast Kranila and headed for Lumiria City - has been destroyed. Initially, the track was obliterated by a spontaneous explosion. The train's crew and passengers made a stop before the train could be flung off-track and damaged. Unfortunately the train itself suddenly compressed and began to retract, killing all of the passengers on board."

"Was the military on board?" Brydent asked, feigning concern.

"Unfortunately we are not at liberty to disclose th--"

"I am Brydent de Valois. Captain of Nocturne. Duke of Gloria en Valle. You are now at liberty." The voice sighed, the Captain's eyes rising. Some others stared at him from the crowd gathered.

"The one leading the crusade along the border of Kranila was, as many of you know, Lord Meldar. A skilled warrior. Unfortunately, it would seem that he was killed too. We have just identified and retrieved his body. It was completely skewed. We believe the cause was--"

"Electromagnetism."

"A strange reaction by the bullet train's material; it ripped off and flung at him." The reaction was cold, quiet. It was necessary for the position considering all of the war and suffering around them. Such announcements had to be frequent.

He smirked. Since they could only hear him, his facial expressions didn't much matter. Lord Meldar deserved to die, and he didn't die due to accident or anomaly. He died as a result of an organized terrorist attack at the hands of Duke de Valois. After the battle for Sinai Point, he had contacted him about the leadership of Zachariah and as a result he threatened to reveal treachery to the King. The entire situation was absurd, scandalous, unrepentant. How could Lord Meldar, a vassal of Brydent's, dare threaten his liege's intentions? He deserved to die.

So Brydent took the earlier departure - he moved for Ruskula several hours ahead of the Count. He would ensure that he did not die in the Captain's presence, but instead a thousand miles away. And it was simple. He manipulated the world's electromagnetic field using his most powerful ability - Axiom. From so far away, he obliterated the train tracks, halting the train and thus increasing his accuracy. He estimated the train would stop at the edge of the tracks, and so he aimed the compression of the electromagnetic field at the same area where he'd destroyed the track. The result was a death cruel for all of those on-board, indiscriminate, but luckily killing Meldar. His alibi was flawless. No one knew he had the ability to manipulate the EM field from so far away.

It was 23:01. He needed to ensure that he did not dally for long. "When is the next train leaving for Lumiria? Get me on board." He looked to the gates and glanced at each train. The voice rose again. "23:05. Please arrive at Gate 29, Your Eminence, and reveal your proof of identification." The speakers would shut off for the last time. He arrived at the gate and revealed his amulet; a material that could not even be manipulated by an electromagnetic, yet one that glimmered like gold. The attendant nodded, bowed and let him in. A displeased man was moved from first class to second. The Duke halted the process. "I don't need superior standards," he said. "I need a seat. Move that man back to his intended position. Buy him one of Lilith's children, male or female. You insult your customers and should make amends." He took his seat, next to some elderly Ysari who tried not to be discreet by staring. What a scene she'd seen.

"We are now leaving for Lumiria. Fasten your seats. Or don't." He rolled his eyes. How the train lines so seemed to vary from this nation to the next. Formality was always followed by sarcasm. And safety regulations were enforced only in jest. After all, who really cared if someone so weak as to die during a train ride continued on? Even on the outside, after gasps of concern for Lord Meldar, surely they had the thoughts in their mind: he deserved it. He was weak . . . and maybe they were right.

(1627/5000 - Final Demon Mark - Mission)

Contact. The moment Max touched Brydent, he clenched a tight grip on the boy's palm. He looked at him with a flare in his eyes, with a Sphere of Influence forming beside his shoulder. He was ready at any instant to kill him. "You know that some people can gain intelligence by physical contact, yes? How do I know that you're not one of them?" It was practically an automated military response; with Brydent, there was little understanding in basic human behaviors, only whether or not X could mean something in Y context; threat, in some shape or form. He would not let go, from that point on. That would potentially allow a spy to get away. Normally he wouldn't mind since he was attempting to dismantle Nocturne's hierarchy regardless, but intel about Brydent was dangerous if floating around. It would make him an easier target. "I do not remember y--" He stopped for a moment. No, actually, he had seen this person before. But it was such a brief glance. If he recalled, the glance only lasted for longer than an instant due to Brydent finding Max attractive. But that happened all the time. He couldn't remember anything more significant attached to the glimpse, and considering it was on his way to the warfront, none of that mattered.

The question Brydent had now was how Max became so courageous. Asking him for information on a soldier of Nocturne? From files? He paused for a moment. A Diabolos named "Gr-", something like that. Gr. Diabolos. Gra? Gru? Gro? Gry? Gre...ed? The name was familiar. "I believe he was a soldier before I became Captain. But obviously he's become irrelevant because I haven't heard much about him." Considering all Brydent really did was gather intel about, and manage, soldiers -- especially the more prominent ones -- he would have surely known about Greed. He knew about the soldiers in Nocturne right now, even the newcomers. Nocturne's military force wasn't massive like Fraxon's, so the prominent ones heavily stood out. There was no recollection about a conversation about Greed, just perhaps a passing by of his file after becoming Captain.

As for the train's destruction being a shame, it was . . . but not for him, considering he orchestrated it. He would agree anyhow. "Yes, a shame. It is a shame that Lord Meldar died. He was my vassal." Except it wasn't really such a shame. The new Count of Gettera was now his adolescent son, Lann. A boy who respected and admired Brydent by no comparison. A loyal vassal. He liked . . . loyalty. It was more important to him than skill, in some respects. "Unfortunately this train attack doesn't set a precedence. Such things have happened many times during this war. They will continue to happen, too. We are after all fighting an Empire four-hundred million strong." It was true. The vast majority of terrorist attacks were actually by the enemy. He had lost multiple vassals in this war, with many of his counts and barons being replaced by young men and women. The management of his facilities and trade routes had decreased in experience.

An awful lot of his new peers were sort of like Max, really. Where Brydent was stoic and observational, this man was strangely boisterous. Succubus juices? Ew. "Seriously? Why didn't you wash your hands then? Now you probably gave me something." If he were to follow Lilith's example, then he knew just how much Succubi got around. A lot. They were probably disease centers. Max was probably a disease center too now. Did he sleep with one? He was doomed. "What is your name? Are you a soldier of Nocturne? What's your fascination with Greed? Why were you touching a Succubus earlier? Explain your actions to me, like you would to an officer. To put it bluntly, I do not take strangers as 'friendly', and you unnerve me." He stared him in the eye. There was something seriously off about him - he felt it. He just didn't know what.

A freak-out. Can't have sex here... can't have sex here! Okay - he suddenly began acting very strange. Was he trying to make Brydent uncomfortable to lower his guard? Cause a scene for some explicit purpose. He rolled his eyes and played along. "I'm actually into the public scene. It's kind of a fetish of mine." Totally true, actually, but this time he said it for the purpose of show. Whatever. Inciting Lumirians wasn't something he cared much about. If Max wanted to get much-needed attention then the Diabolos would gladly indulge him - but only if to ascertain what he wanted. So he stayed silent. Don't worry, the man said to the crowd, we're not together. "Ah, what a deep sting," he said sarcastically. He wasn't very good at sarcasm though - his face stayed exceptionally stoic regardless of what he said. Not the most emotional fellow.

Max was right, though! Brydent wasn't exactly a foreigner when it came to 'the sex'. He actually intended to search out some luscious Mer booty the moment he made it to Luimira. But instead he was halted for the purpose of this weirdo's curiosity - and he was fairly certain that 'sex' was the last thing he'd be getting out of this. Maybe, if things went badly enough, a more sanguine sort of liquid would flow out of Max by the end of this. He just had to evaluate him better - threat or no threat. "That lady sounds boring. Why have mind sex when you can have sex-sex? Doth thou fair maiden not wish to soil her dress? Boring. That's why Incubi are more fun." His lips curved slightly to a faint grin. The most expressive he'd been since news of Meldar's death, of course. "And, riding dragons is old news. Your stories fall short of the mark, bro."

And that included the weird Succubus-Shade one, with the megapunch, the transformation . . . why was the Succubus experimenting with liquids in the CAZ? Things had clearly gotten out of hand while he'd been gone - he'd have to invoke disciplinary action in a moment. Whenever he was done with this giddy little s**t. "I don't think v****a juices need a copyright . . . Max." He retrieved his name from that obsessively bizarre story, at least. "I think they need some soap and disinfectant. Which is exactly what your entire body needs at the moment - and my ears for having to bear witness to that story." Additionally, he tried to simply ignore the strange mention of how the Succubus wanted his meat. He did pay notice to his shifting, though, into someone else. He disappeared from his grasp and bore an unfortunately familiar appearance. "Kumori, that little s**t?" He raised his eyebrow. Brydent wasn't a fan of turncoats and sycophants, and Kumori had the aura and history of both of those. He did his best to avoid him.

He knew this wasn't actually him either - this must have been... a shapeshifter. Which made him wonder if he was trying someone to gauge Brydent, add him to his repertoire somehow. He didn't know how it worked, though. Maybe that was the point of the touch? No... if that was all that was needed, couldn't he have simply tapped him, claimed 'accident' and walked away? He had unexplained motives for doing all that he did. Maybe he really was just an innocent, 'friendly' stranger. "I'm not," he replied. "A friendly stranger, I mean. So of course I'm unnerved." He was honest, at the least. "But I can be - if you can swear to avoid unfortunate appearances. Any glimpses of Lilith, Kumori and Emperor West and I might just accidentally fry you." Accidentally, of course, only.

Now - to straighten the story. "So your name is Max. Shapeshifter I'm guessing - allegedly sexy, though I'll have to call a panel of judges to confirm. You aren't in the military, but lurked in the CAZ and fought soldiers. You know of several more prominent Lumirian figures . . . it seems as if you've been around a lot. And not in the way that implies various genital oddities. It would seem as if you have some sort of motive, too. You didn't bother poking further about Greed. Instead you decided to throw a scene about sex. However I can't help but feel like you're not actually some dangerous spy . . . " He stared at him, almost frustrated. He was just so weird, he couldn't make him out. His motives, his demeanor, they seemed so flexible. Was this just a natural thing for Shapeshifters? Did they shift in more than just form?

He was visibly curious, and mentally boggled. "Ah, s**t. Pleased to meet you, Max. I am Brydent de Valois, Duke of Gloria en Valle, Captain of Nocturne; Master. I missed my train by your interruption, so I suppose you'll have to keep me entertained." He could always just dimension door, anyway. He just liked the free peanuts on train rides. There was something about Ruskula peanuts that just couldn't be beat. That, and dimension dooring implied appearing somewhere where you don't entirely know your surroundings. In wartime, he liked stability, even if it meant taking long train rides. The alternative was potentially porting in front of Zachariah's lunged blade.

"Why are you here, by the way? Leaving Nocturne? You were only just in Luimira, correct? So where's 'next'?"