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Damnation. One whispered to him.

"The Sins of Man were seen as one of the greatest of Axiom's plights..." a Lady whispered. A witch of the wilds, now flocked to by dying refugees; those without the privilege to escape to Nocturne, Kuladhan, Fraxon. "And yet they were nothing when compared to the terror of the angels and demons." Her face was gaunt and ill. Her skin was of sag and wrinkles. And yet there was power in her. Power he could feel - power that may just come alive.

Let the angels and the demons perish. A voice boomed. A different voice . . . a voice of one neither angel or demon, but something else entirely. A creature of different rules. A creature of different morals. A . . .

Bleeding Lord.

Man can become a God, the voice foretold. In Geshan, the Bleeding Lords have begun their conversion. The Red One sits in the altar hall and presides over man with benevolence. With his power, all lifeforms are made sentient. With his glory, all life comes to grace. We will no longer need angels and demons when he reaches his apex state - and you may help him arrive there. If . . . Brydent imagined, they performed some sort of act. And he knew just what that act would be. A merging with the Red, that network of energy. Each mortal that added to the network supplied the Red One with more power. More and more. The population of Geshan was growing, and each living child was inducted into his order; a population of zealots, none of them capable of overcoming him, for as long as they existed in his network he controlled all of their power. If rebellion came, he could dismantle it, then destroy it from above. A God of infinite power in his own circles, and yet inconsequential by standards of angel-demon.

And yet he would become consequential . . . soon. Brydent needed to ensure the threats to Nocturne were kept, well, minimal. He removed himself from hiding, appearing with a gun in his hand, levitating off of the floor with metal flowing around him like the ring around a planet, little moon-like orbs tethered to him.

"Man can become a God, Bleeding Lord," he said to the voice that transmitted through energy. "And Gods can make promises to men like you with little weight on their conscience. They can do so in order to continually expand, dispatching of those who drag down their ambitions. The moment you realize he will not give you what you seek, he will remove of you with the excuse of your disloyalty. He does not ever intend to give you your desire. It is a trick known by demons, those who make contracts. And . . . to inform you, I am a demon." The group grew hostile. That was fine; they were neither Nocturne's nor Fraxon's at this point, which meant they had no value regardless, as hostages or citizens. He fired on each of them, the bullets bending mid-air to ensure a straight shot through their skull. Each of them dropped simultaneously. The old witch stood in shock and fear.

He fired again, this time a sawblade that would remove her head. She cast a defensive spell, but the sawblade, tethered to Brydent was innervated to multiply in power. It ripped through her shield and beheaded her in moments. He holstered his gun and then stepped forward to the hologram-like image of the Bleeding Lord. "Man cannot become a God so easily. But I am . . . Vaet Diabolos. Marked four times in succession, by myself. Capable of shifting the world's magnetic and seismic activity. Are there not already Gods walking atop mortal soil?" He stared, stoic, before disrupting the area's EM and dismantling the hologram. The face grew angry as it faded away.

Deep in meditation, the man had begun to monitor movements within a compressed electromagnetic current; all things surrounding him, the aggression of each movement, each as if a twitch against a bundle of nerves. When a 'nerve' was set off by a large movement, such as a powerful magical ability, Brydent noticed. His reaction was - of course - to make his way to that location and monitor whether or not he wished to be involved. In some situations, his absence was far preferable. For example, any battle with a pure-blooded angel or demon was one that he could not rightfully participate in, save perhaps as a sniper from a distance. Even so it was likely futile. Sure -- there were some demons that Brydent could dispatch by his lonesome, but doing so would exhaust him to the point of near-death. Angels were on an entirely different level. Even if there were five Brydent's, he did not know that he could kill a singular angel.

As such, movements as a reaction to the 'nerve' being driven were cautious and precise. He attempted to gauge the threat level before coming into contact. Furthermore, he used one of the early Vaet Diabolos skills to completely mask his energy and presence. This ability had been quintessential in his campaign in Yuran, as many prominent warriors without such abilities had been found by angels or even by the Emperor and henceforth removed . . . mortally.

The man levitated far above the ground, overlooking the trees. He kept his gun holstered, though his fingers were practically at the handle at all times. Then, as he drew closer, he realized that the man that had been the cause of the disturbance was someone he recognized; Amias, a man he had some interactions with earlier. If he recalled correctly, he had been quite critical of the Pagan last time they spoke, and had inferred that he needed to 'impress' him. Since then, Brydent had pondered upon the man. He was exceptionally talented, especially at staying alive. He had already determined that he was a high threat or a high advantage, depending on whether or not he could secure him. And - considering he'd likely met Lilith already, there was a possibility that she could gain his favor before Brydent could. It had potentially even happened already.

As such, the Diabolos determined upon spotting him that he would go forth with a diplomatic intent. He descended carefully, so as to not alert Amias, then upon meeting the ground he would raise a hand to say 'hello'. He immediately noticed a difference, however. He was not the same. There was a difference to his energy and his composition. He had been . . . touched by Lukhan's back hand. Brydent didn't know this yet, or even surmise it, but he could feel a compulsion far stronger than he'd previously felt. He knew something was different. "Do you wear a new cologne?" He asked, sarcastically. Though somehow it was sort of like he could smell him. Even from a sizable distance. He was rather difficult not to notice - contrary to before.

He rolled his eyes. Always despised pleasantries. Good afternoon, yes yes, all of that madness. He didn't quite care for it. "Indeed. Good day to you." He said quite un-enthusiastically. "We did have something of a similar idea, though my idea stretches outwards to the coastline of Amaranthine. Geshan. Actually rather a close neighbor to our Yuranian foothold, if you think about it." In fact, the city of Geshan was quite directly west of Gloria en Valle, which made the prospect of the Reds far more uncomfortable for Brydent. The worst they could do to Fraxon was invade Bon Sant, but the gate would keep them out. If they attempted San Luna by their navy, the superior Fraxonian navy would destroy them. Nocturne and Aramil were the most at risk by the Reds.

The man paused for a moment as he scanned the energy and composition of those surrounding him. They were only regular humans and Valkyries at the moment. Good. "I have largely been fighting with Elves along the Kuladhan border. Since our initial invasion, our prerogative has been to press into Kusana and enslave their population. The Elves however have proven this task most difficult, as they lie in wait and spring about like feral beasts backed against the edge of a cliff. They kill hundreds of our warriors each nightfall. Talented fighters, I admit, especially as they are being led by their beloved Gods: Justor and Solonor." He had a great deal of respect for the Elves. Their initial stealth only gave the impression of an implied frailty, yet when they actually fought to their best ability, they were some of the most devastating of all combatants.

"Regardless of their tricks, though, I can always find them. My electromagnetic compression allows me to recognize every singular interloper in my field of influence. As such, it does not do well for these Fraxonian warriors to be hidden among the trees." He whipped his gun from his holster and fired, and the bullets completely arced in several different directions, accelerating towards their targets. Several humans fell down from nearby trees, their helmets cracked with bullets breaking through the back: piercing rounds. From Nigel, each bullet was shot as if from a sub-machine gun, though with the precision, piercing power and speed as a sniper. He was exceptionally lethal.

That left only the few blatant Valkyries on the field. He did not mind them being here. He would be able to demonstrate how far he'd come recently - he was much more of a man since the time where he'd shown his mettle to Amias before.

The Clockwork appeared, a silver gear the size of a large man. It began to hover above the ground and all around it felt strange, as if suffocated. Brydent began to weigh down the electromagnetic field around specific targets - the enemies - which would reduce their mobility, making them significantly slower. He kept his hand on his trigger and pointed his gun at them. They stared in anticipation, waiting for a moment to counter-attack or dodge. When Brydent fired, they quickly raised their shields, bullets lancing towards them at extreme speeds and quickly making impact; but as their shields defended against the bullets, the real assault was revealed, and the Clockwork smashed from overhead, bashed against their shields and completely crushed them, burying them beneath its weight. It was bloodied. That was only two Nephilim, however. There was another in the back-line - a Shaman for healing - that remained. Brydent waved at her and magnetically drew the blades from the hands of the fallen warriors. The shields as well, sending them to bash against the Shaman and beat her into submission before the blades lunged into her side and impaled through her. Finally, a bullet pierced through her skull and splintered in her brain. She collapsed with not even a silent scream.

"If you've read any of Wilson Bradley's theories on human evolution, you'll have read the part where he believes that technology will eventually completely replace the need for more traditional weapons. Blades, shields, so on - they will be replaced by guns and mechs. That time is already arriving. How could those Nephilim or those human men have possibly imagined that my bullets would move faster than their voice could travel? Guns and machines are the future . . . and as a Diabolos, that pleases me greatly." The book ended with the statement that humans would rise as a result of this, due to their superior technology and booming population, but Brydent disagreed. If anyone was fit to rule that sort of mechanical world, it was he and his kin. "Pleased to do battle alongside you, Amias. Though I must admit I find it surprising that you've aligned so closely to Nocturne now. I recall you being the type to flit between allegiances, if I may be so bold."

The man was exceptionally intrigued by Amias' idea. He verbally stated as much. "It is a wise and pragmatic train of thought. I am impressed." He did not know much of the Pagans. What little he did know would stretch back to Achaemedes, the original Pagan overlord of Nocturne; the man deposed by Azazel Miras to plant forth the current regime. He had heard that Achaemedes was exceptionally strong, as if a hundred men all compiled into one. He had ripped hills from their earthly seems and flung them at hordes of enemies. He had thrown the great Pagan God of Wind into the deepest trenches of a Yuranian volcano, Achaemedes falling down with him, only to repel and survive the magma. Pagans had always been impressive; they were a race unlike any other, all diverse yet drawn together in some similar fashions. One of these connecting lines was their closeness to monsters. Now, with research far into the future, some knew why this was. It was because Pagans were monsters. They were - technically - the only race of monsters somewhat accepted into society, with Draconians and Kiranu considered simply humanoid.

And he'd heard the legends, too, of where the Pagans came from. The time before. How they had been here since before the emergence of humans, as an eternal race with boundless wisdom. They were fit to lead, and if they could command monsters, then they were surely fit to lead Val'Ghast.

"The Wurm Queen is highly vindictive. Until only recently, there was a strong nation of tens of millions of people in Amaranthine. Its capital was Luray, a bustling city of gems and gold. A city of infinite riches. By the wrath of the Wurms, this entire civilization perished in a matter of months, and now only the Reds of Geshan remain of those people. It is no wonder they have become as they are now; so violent, so ruthless, as they have been crafted by their arch nemesis." The beast of Amaranthine's dunes was of exceptional power. It would not be easy to tame her, even with Amias and Brydent's powers put into one. Still, the idea was perplexing. Controlling a horde of monsters that can fell civilizations; a wondrous thought. The only issue would be whether or not they would be displaced or destabilized by neighboring powers before they could reach their zenith.

And - yes - that was, they, because Brydent had already planted the thought into his head that surely he must be involved in this scheme lest it become a threat to his own power. Gloria en Valle was one of the most populous regions in the world, with over twenty-five million in his domain, and yet it still fell short of Lumiria, Kusana, Fraxon, Lukhan's Landing. Brydent would eventually be forced into the position of a mere loyal Duke if he did not gain more power during the succession crisis of Nocturne. If he could become the King of Val'Ghast, even if only as a secondary ruler, he would be secured as one of Nocturne's greatest authorities - only second to Alistair, assuming he regained the throne.

"You use the word 'we'," he said. "When you say 'we', do you mean Nocturne, or you?" The question was pointed and bold; he did not entirely trust Amias, and his wording - he believed - could only be something to ease Brydent's worries, despite potentially being untrue. "From our experiences, I believe you to be exceptionally clever. Clever people are often the most dangerous. Dangerous is a mixed word. It can mean fear and enmity for a foe, or for an ally, safety and security. For someone like me, it has many such connotations, good or nay. It is because I am . . ." The Diabolos raised his hand and placed it beneath Amias' chin, placing their eyes in contact. A serious moment. The eye-contact was to put power into Brydent's words, and make them true. "Ambitious. Surely you can tell by my demeanor, my voice; that I carry such high ambition. I seethe with it. I bathe in it. I look for opportunities to press my agenda every waking moment. I am not fearful of admitting this, for you surely already know, being so . . . clever, as I said. You must understand why I do what I do - why I have allowed things to progress as they have, bending the knee to Zachariah while laying in bed with his enemies; promising power to Gods, discovering the Thorns of God, seeking information about Geshan, inviting the Yuranian refugees into Gloria en Valle. Nocturne's power has swelled underneath me. I have proven its most loyal and prominent General. And . . ."

He paused for a moment, in silence, placing his palms atop Amias' shoulders and allowing his expression to grow cold, grow stoic, degrade into a nothingness that the Pagan would see for its value. This face was honesty - Brydent's honesty. Smiles and laughter and arduous rage, these were all expressions he performed to conceal lies. "You could have the world's most loyal and prominent General . . . as your King, your ally, your right hand and your left. Or you can have me as your enemy, and surely perish as a result." He did not speak of how, but surely Amias' life was on the line. They would be going to Val'Ghast soon . . . and if Brydent willed it, he could turn upon them all and let no man but himself return from the redistribution of the Well's Souls, leaving the Thorns and angels to handle the wounded, Fallen God.

"If we are to annex Val'Ghast, then we are to annex Val'Ghast. Not Nocturne . . . not you, but both of us. With no one else included in this decision . . . or to reap its rewards. Do you understand me," he looked up, "Amias?"

He rolled his eyes. Amias was either being sarcastic or foolish. Of course Brydent knew. "You're a godless whore, Amias," he said with the least insulting of intentions. "Just like me." He grinned. "And just like me, you want the world. You're a whore for power, and in face of abandoning God, you seek to become one yourself. How can all of this be achieved in a state of idle nothingness? It can't be." So of course - he was always looking to expand himself. From one step to the next, he sought to close the distance of ten leaps, every day of his life. And surely the fact he had lived for so long did not lessen his ambition. He knew much, had seen all; and he was ready to claim it for himself. Brydent was not quite the same. He was the young cub of a young wolf, Alistair, who had been jumpstarted by his social and political isolation. He made no friends, but no real enemies either, only jumping from Duke to Duke and serving their needs well to further his position in the military - and most importantly, he served Alistair, who made him Captain. These combined attentions got him far, and as a result he grew fervent in his desires.

Then the change came, and he was blessed by Zachariah; Vaet Diabolos, a power that descended from the Fallen God Himself. With the wolf in him drowned, Brydent's demon came out, and his beta mentality that led him to endlessly follow Alistair vanished with the time's passing.

Things changed for him - as they did for all Axiom. Amias surely changed much from what he used to be . . . hundreds of years ago; cursed with the blood of Djinn, then blessed with Lukhan's beauty. He was now quite a warrior, Brydent couldn't deny his magnificent impression. Surely as a Pagan and Incubus both, the way Amias seemed was . . . so glorious, like a man who transcended the Middle-Plane and wrapped himself in an angel's harp strings. He was enchanting to be around, and somehow his words compelled the diabolical cub to believe them. And honestly? He couldn't think of a reason to resist. This was the start of . . . either, something brutally precarious - which could spawn great change - or something invariably beneficial. He did not fear either outcome, as the stakes had always been high in the Shadowed Kingdom.

Intelligent, strong, excellent tactician, warrior. Loyal. A perfect partner. "I don't want to be loyal to mere men anymore," he said. It was not a correction of Amias' statement, but instead a declaration of his own. A confession to desiring change. "But instead, ideals. Powers above me. Powers that will live on far beyond the touch of a sword. I wish to be loyal to a future . . . one where I rule everyone and everything . . ." he said, stepping forward, pressing his fist to Amias', his other arm gripping the man's wrist. "Where we rule it all . . . and send Gods to a place farther than Heaven and darker than Hell." He grinned. It would be a partnership indeed, and for his ideal future, he would remain loyal to it eternally. If they created such a Kingdom, and if Brydent declared himself a God, then surely a power like Amias would be necessary. It would become their joint future; mutual dependence, the Kingdom their child, its nature theirs to determine.

But he allowed himself a calm. They were still in the middle of conversation, after all. He let go of Amias' wrist and pulled his fist back. He kept eye-contact. "If you are an Incubus, then you will soon have a demon's soul," Brydent stated, sure that he was correct. Amias was nearly at the level of power required to reach this goal. "You are aware that such a thing is possible, yes? It was unknown until recently, but Emperor West declared his new nature rather openly. Now it's half of what travels through an Incubi's mind . . . killing the vessel of a demon. The other half being . . . sex." He chuckled, then turned his head and exhaled.

It was certainly for the best to move this conversation elsewhere, though Brydent hadn't the faintest clue. Nowhere in this world remained trustworthy. There were voices and ears to hear them in every corner, agents of Gods and other such things. Vysani Etelier, Vakshar est Nocturnum, Saluviel Ellora. Factions. Those who would dispatch threats or voices against Gods.

"We will go where you please, Lord Nicht. After all, you will be the face of our dynasty, and so my actions are at your will and want." He smiled faintly, as if to mock his own statement. He would never kneel . . . except for public appearance.