Alongside the industrial handrails, a beam of mist illuminated the catwalk. Marshal exhaled, his breath steaming in the frigid air. Frost crept along the railings, the skyline a jagged silhouette beyond the haze. Heat pulsed through his core, pushing warmth through his veins—without it, he might have succumbed to frostbite. Meanwhile, his guide, wrapped in a thick coat lined with feathers, marched ahead, completely unbothered by the cold.
The Aviar man pursed his lips. "I think it was this way."
"You think?"
The Aviar grinned. "Yes. You should try it sometime."
Marsh shot him a flat look. "Can you give me a straight answer for once?"
"You're a Monarch of Wrath; does that mean you're always this broody?"
"Will you answer me if I tell you?"
The man flapped his wings, waiting.
"I hate you," Marsh said.
The spy grinned "Now we're getting somewhere." The man pointed down the hall. 'The entrance should be just ahead. Now spill it."
Marsh kept his lips sealed, the spy gawking as though he'd been robbed. "That's not fair. You can't keep secrets."
"I don't remember making any promises." Marsh said.
The spy pouted, at what void only knew. It was true it's not like he signed any contract. There was a limit to what he would tell a spy. But strangely, a curve tilted on Marsh's lips. He take that silence as a win.
Shadow chimed in, a nagging whisper inside his head, "I know I said you should look for a mate, but did you have to pick a spy?"
Marsh sighed. Stupid shadow; just when one annoying voice stopped, another started.
Ahead, much like the functional steel that reinforced the outer layers of the ship, the entrance was a simple slab of bolted metal. It would be difficult to imagine that this housed one of the six demon generals, but General Sylvain always preferred the simple things. Her philosophy was that form follows function, and Marsh wished it would be conveyed to the rest of the woman's life.
"I think she is fun," said Shadow
Fun? A hiss broke Marsh's fangs as he heated up enough to retract some of the frosts from the windows. The charged dust storm outside, like a conduit to his power, flashed, the hall plunging to darkness.
"Ah, how did that happen?" Shadow said. "Guess I'm too strong to be contained."
Marsh rolled his eyes, the stupid figure slinking away like he did with all responsibility. On the plus side, he could see the night sky now, the twinkle of the bustling industrial city shading the dark void below. Once he gets off the ship, it would be the first place he goes—the only silent place in the bustling underworld.
"Stay here," Marsh said.
"Hmm, so you do love me after all." Said the spy.
Marsh scoffed, "I just need a way off this ship."
"I know you can fly. Just admit it—I'm growing on you," the spy said, eyes twinkling.
Marsh's eyes held the spy's for a beat longer than he intended. Something flickered in the spy's gaze—hesitation, perhaps? No matter. There were more pressing matters at hand.
"Wait here, I'll be a minute."
"I get a treat, or—"
"I'll think about it," Marsh pulled open the heavy metal door and glanced back at the grimy bench. "As long as you wait."
The man's expression was indiscernible, his wings in flux at his words. For a moment, he thought he noticed his eyes widen, but he was too focused on his own mission to pay attention, and he closed the door behind him. Whatever his decision, it wasn't his intention to judge.
Inside the cabin, Marshal's uniform was hit by a wave of heat. He wiped the sweat off his brow as his overheated core seared against the uniform fabric. It felt like being roasted alive in his own skin. He huffed and released some steam. It was still boiling, but it felt a bit cooler than before.
"You've never liked the heat, have you… brother?" Said a voice.
Ahead browsing a book, like she had no worries. Rosalind Sylvain nonchalantly flicked a page. And before answering, Marsh checked for anyone else in the room, visible or hidden. He never knew what this half-succubus would prepare for him. But even with the enhanced vision and hearing that surged inside him. It was suspiciously empty. The tall library twirled above, and the weaved steel bridges were like a web of metal that connected and interwove the many floors. So frustrated at his meagre findings, he looked back to the woman.
"I'm not your brother," Marsh said.
Rosalind's long heart tip tail curled the chair, her fangs lined up into a smile.
"You know, we might have separate fathers, but we have the same mommy."
"Shut your trap!" Marsh growled. "Get to the point. Why did you imprison me on this godforsaken ship?"
"My touchy, aren't we? But, regardless, I don't think you would have come if I asked you."
"What! How does that make any sense?"
Rosalind sighed, "I have been inviting you for months now. But no, not only did you refuse to come at my request, you killed any messenger I sent and hid away in that dusty mansion of yours. So forgive me If I had to take drastic measures."
The Valkar woman made her way to a carved table; on top, she rolled out a sheet that spanned just over the edge.
"I need your help," she said.
It wasn't news that he disliked Rosalind, and it already took a lot to refer to the annoying woman as a Demon general. But for her to need his help this badly. Marsh looked the woman up and down. She was his sister, half-related or not.
Distracting him, he focused on the book the woman held and the series of incomprehensible scribbles that marked it. But sticking out, he noticed a vivid picture of a crimson-eyed woman. The scruffy reading: Subject: Valkar. Gender: Female. And status... Rosalind retracted the book.
"Marshal, if you keep staring at me like that, I'll blush." She said.
Tapping the sheet before them, she gestured for him to follow.
"Now, would you please?"
With a sigh, Marsh regarded the table and what looked like a map plastered on it. Like the book, it made even less sense. She an intellectual powerhouse it seemed, was unable to take neat notes. His knowledge, on the other hand, only stretched to a hundred and one ways to gut a demon and how to get away with it. So, giving up on even attempting to decipher the woman's riddles, he looked up.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Rosalind lit up as she heard the words, her tail wagging. Why did it seem like he would regret this?
"Ok, so step one, we need to break into the archive and extract a file."
Marsh frowned. The archive, or as commonly known, the vault. Even he knew about that. Who didn't? An ever-expansive library said to hold all demon history and its secrets. Yet, this woman simply suggested that they enter and grab a file. Much less find the place.
"What's on this file?" Marsh asked.
"You're aware of the Daemon March Project, right?"
Marsh raised an eyebrow. Aware of it, he had to fight the disaster that came after. But why would anyone want that file unless? Marsh eyed the woman, an action that Rosalind noticed.
"Yes, I think I figured out a way to channel it. Abit only in theory at the moment."
Marsh lowered his voice, trying not to snap at what she insinuated.
"You not doing those experiments again, are you?"
"No, no, of course not." She said, the words almost rehearsed as she spoke.
She always hid her tail when she lied, but watching the noodle play atop the table, Marsh had his doubts. If not lying, then what? What was she not telling him?
"Come on, Marshal," she said, her tone wavering ever so slightly. "I've changed. The war... it changed us both. Do you think I would go back to my old ways?"
"You never had trouble before," Marsh said.
Rosalind flicked her lashes, frowning as she did.
"Maybe I wasn't the best big sister, and I know the war made it hard for you to trust, but I promise I'm not that same devil anymore. I hope we can have a fresh start as a family. Just you, me and whatever is left of our-"
A ball caught in the woman's throat, her bright blue eyes like his, worn and tired. Yes, had he forgotten, even she wasn't free from the effects. Losing their home, their city, their family. Only to be slapped titles and told to lead. Cecilia made sure of that. His sister a General, he a Lord. But neither of them wanted this, and he wasn't fit for it anyway, and he couldn't imagine what responsibility she had either.
Marsh stuttered, "I'm sorry for suspecting you. if you-"
Rosalind cut him off, scrambling around the table to hug him.
"I knew you would turn around."
He let himself go loose and returned the embrace, squeezing her a little. He felt her quiver in his grip. Her ice-white tied-up hair rustled as she loosened up. No doubt, she had it tough too. Maybe she was right; they were all each other had now. Family as broken as they were. Marsh's core raced. He wouldn't make the same mistake his father made.
"But could you really trust her?" said Shadow.
Marsh opened his lips but stopped. The heat in the cabin was stifling, making it hard to think clearly. Yes, she mentioned he didn't like heat, so why was it so hot? He loosened his grip and wanted air. But felt a sharp prick in his neck.
His breath hitched. His core faltered, heat fizzling out like a dying ember.
He met Rosalind's gaze, searching for a hint of regret or hesitation, but her expression was calm, resolute.
A cold sting buried deep in his neck.
His pulse roared in his ears. His limbs turned sluggish.
She was still holding the syringe.
"You—" His voice caught in his throat.
"It's okay," Rosalind said softly. You're helping me in the best way you can."
Marsh tried to reason, but nothing came out. Her warm eyes watched him, her twisted lip filled with conflict.
"I can't have you interrupt my process, and this was the best way I knew to keep you out of danger, " she said.
His knees buckled, and Rosalind slowly guided him to the chair conveniently positioned behind him. When? His vision blurred. Peering back, he noticed the giant horned Batrakin pair standing on guard, their breathless bodies like statues. Their white, glassy irises were like mythical abominations devoid of soul. He knew only one creature that had those.
"Yes, my first success: The merge of a Void-Daemon and an Archdemon." She pressed her lips, "I wanted to show you, you know. And I have so much to tell you, so much to share. But-"
Marsh felt his core wind down. Shadow, wherever he was, was likely shutting down with it. He was powerless, weak, and without his crutches.
"I trusted you," Marsh pushed out.
His fingers weakly grasped his sister, the last steam hissing at her. As his strength drained, he felt a sinking realisation—how many times had he ignored the warning signs? His sister, his once bright eyed sister that saw good in everything, everyone. Where had she gone? What else did that war take? What did he fight for?
"I'm sorry, brother." She whispered. "Please don't hate me."
Marsh's fingers twitched, reaching for something—
A weapon. A way out. A reason.
Nothing.
His core dimmed, the last embers of heat fading into darkness…