Mhaieiyu

Arc 1, Chapter 4

Hephaestus' Eye

With a lumbered step, Tokken found himself dragging by to his room, choosing not to leave Chloe alone any further before following any lunatic’s mindless antics. Lunatic was a fair term to describe that doctor, elusively angelic as he may seem. Sending a crippled boy to run his errands? What kind of crazed fool would do such a thing? Idiotic…

It took him three times longer than he would’ve usually to arrive, his immobilised leg feeling more like a dragging brick than a limb of utility. The way back was fairly obvious now that pain wasn't steaming in his mind, so navigation wasn’t an issue. In truth, the layout of the massive building was somewhat self-evident. Metal signs indicating where to go, distance, and approximate time of arrival; go down this hallway, up that flight of stairs, what have you…

After a good few minutes of awkward limping and a mild bout of panic as he nearly stormed the wrong dormitory, Tokken found himself once more in his pre-established little home. It wasn’t much for size, but it had the basic accommodations a worker needed during their stay.

Chloe—whose morose and frightened self had woken up at some point during the day—lifted her head to the sound of the door as it swung open. Upon seeing the boy, she couldn’t but sigh in relief, feeling her tail sway involuntarily much to her disapproval.

“Tokken?” she inquired, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and frustration. Raising his palms in innocence, the teen looked back at her with a pleading smile.

“Yeah, sorry. I got a little caught up, huh…?” He cleared his throat at his awkward display. “I just went to get my ankle fixed. I got some food too — you must be hungry!”

As she stood up to stretch her legs, Tokken noticed, through the abundance of fur in the small depression she had slept in, that Chloe had likely been lying in the same spot during the entirety of his absence.

Tilting his head in confusion, he murmured. “Have you been there the whole time…?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, bluntly.

“Well… why?” he asked as Chloe leapt off the bed and trotted towards him. She seemed to shrink in place as she spoke.

“Ah, well… I was going to get up, but then a big storm came by, so I stayed in...”

“Storm?” he asked, confused at how that could’ve happened without his knowledge. Realising a potentially guilty mass of candidates, he chuckled to himself as he pet her fur carefully. “I think you mean the soldiers. Let’s get you something to eat, okay? I have to get something, too.”

Rubbing her face against his palm, the canine nodded, but not without curiosity. As they left the dormitory, Chloe looked up at the lad, and asked: “Are the people nice…?”

“I… think so? I haven’t met anybody inherently bad yet,” the boy replied.

“Are the soldiers mean?”

“No, not that I’ve seen. They seem pretty lively, and not the bad kind,” he chuckled, giving her a comforting smile. Tokken couldn’t silence the warmth beaming in his being — he felt reliable to the canine. Somebody to turn to whenever stressed. A father figure? A brother, maybe?

“Is… Is the food enjoyable?” Chloe asked, her complexion stiffening as if the matter was of utmost concern to her.

Tokken broke into a laughing fit.

“Hah! Yes, yes. It’s actually better than I’m used to, so I’m sure you’ll like it,” he responded, appeasing the pup. Her cheeks puffed after a few moments as she realised.

“H—Hey! We had good food, you know!”

Raising a brow, Tokken retorted with a tease. “Are you insinuating that our food was worse?”

“What?! N—No, but——“

“Good morning, sprouts!” a noble voice spoke, disrupting their playful banter.

The pair stiffened at the imposing sound, looking up at its intimidating origin. The large, hulking frame belonging to the notorious Head of Men. Alpha, the supreme coordinator and leader to the vast monopoly of the Syndicate’s reign stood before them as though a common event. His sheer wit, will, and ability had to have been resoundingly impressive to land him in such a position: dominating countless war veterans, earning the respect and fear of those around and under him, keeping control and order in a vast, ever-expanding metropolis while simultaneously engaging in blood-soaked battles and wars to maintain and remain atop the throne.

Whether one could call him a dictator or a beloved leader depended entirely on perspective.

Regardless, the fatherly smile and deep-sea-blue eyes he possessed filled them with some ease, his presence already challenging enough to face.

Stuttering through his teeth, Tokken failed to even respond, much to the large man’s amusement. Seeing the canine cower behind the boy’s legs, Alpha chuckled to himself, his bulky fists resting on his sides as he spoke.

“Recruits, you’re late for training! Surely you wouldn’t want to upset the cause?”

“W—Well, we actually aren’t… recruits,” Tokken muttered, almost inaudible.

"Hm? We nay usually attract tourists," Alpha pondered, his voice trailing off as his eyes narrowed, giving the lad a careful look. Suddenly, realisation struck. "Ah, you must be the tailors' son?" he presumed, scratching his rough chin in thought.

The boy's lack of response proved a displeased confirmation.

"I should've figured. By the Goddess, I thought it impossible. You really are your mother's son." Alpha hummed, impressed by Tokken’s untainted visage.

"You know, it's easy to unnerve someone when they find out everybody knows about him for some reason."

"Sonny, there ain't a man, woman nor beast with half a wee brain that knows not of the Tsukis. Rich, kindred lot, they were. Astute by many a measure, too. Regretfully still, what really made those lads and lassies so popular was the massa—— fall! Fall o' the company," the noble crudely corrected himself, the boom in his voice making the two wince. "But fret not for such. We pride ourselves on protecting, especially our youth. You'll be safer than a hungry hawk's dinner!" he laughed uproariously, much to his norm and the pair's concern.

"There's something unnerving about being called a meal..." Tokken murmured, still not able to face the man.

"And what's this? You lack your family's trademark spirit! Where the devil are your bearings? Raise that chin of yours and stand by your name's honour, be damned! How did you survive in the Outskirts on your lonesome, I do wonder?" he queried, straightening his back and raising his head. Stock-still, Tokken tried to reply.

"Oh, I—I actually——"

"Blast! I uphold myself in banter too easily. Sixty pardons, lad," he abruptly apologized, leaving the two abruptly with an almost arrogant gait.

Feeling annoyed yet somewhat unfazed now by the consistently unusual nature of this oh-so busy facility, Tokken simply proceeded into the dining area with his silent companion, giving her some small talk occasionally to help calm her thoughts of the spacious new area. Upon arriving at the dining area once more, the teen led the canine by a counter, standing in a small queue behind a hulking giant of a man. The area seemed far quieter now that the soldiers had been kept busy, allowing the less barbaric workers to get their morning fill in peace.

"What kind of food do you eat, by the way?" Tokken inquired, feeling the need to put in a word or two to also quell his curiosities regarding the inhuman—yet fully sapient—creature.

"O-Oh! Mostly meats. Sometimes greens for medicine when I get sick."

"Does that mean you can eat vegetables, or...?"

"I think so? We usually ate fruits when food was scarce during halting seasons."

"Halting seasons?"

"Yes. Surely you know of them? It's when it gets really cold and things freeze. It's Queen Life's way of giving the land a rest."

Raising a brow, the youth stepped forward as the queue advanced.

"You mean winter?"

"Winter?" she asked genuinely, tilting her head in confusion.

Before Tokken could ask, the gigantic man standing just in front of them turned his head over his shoulder, his mug stern and considerably old with balding, grey hair. His voice matched his body, being rough and deep but not brutish or energetic like that of the Mynotaurs. While his body was humanoid in shape, the sheer volume of his features was simply too dense to be called a human.

"She's from the Outskirts, I'll guess. They have a different culture, shorty,” the giant butt in.

"R-Right, yeah..." the boy gulped, the quadruped almost screaming from the alarmingly large stranger's abrupt intrusion. After a somewhat long, awkward stare, the giant turned towards the pantry, plucking a decently sized plate of food for himself.

"You're a Tsuki, aren't you," he asked, not looking at the lad; his words feeling more like a statement than a question. Giving him an awkward nod, Tokken knelt before his companion, helping her up to the pantry to ease her choice. Trying to keep a keen eye for a so-called 'muffin basket', Tokken gave a small huff before speaking.

"Yeah. Were they seriously that important? Is this a racial thing, or...?"

"Do you have the family heirloom?" the boulder-of-a-man inquired, completely ignoring the younger man's queries.

"Who's asking?" Tokken shot back, giving him a somewhat annoyed glare. Looking back at the juvenile, the giant peered into his eyes with a stern, stone-cold and threatening scowl, giving the teen a cold sweat as he struggled to keep his composure. After a momentary stare-off that dragged for eternity, the mountainous man gave an amused sigh, wheezing lowly to himself. His threatening gestures somewhat lessened, the giant offered the boy a coconut-crushing palm.

"Name's Hephaestus."

"Why are you interested?"

"Victus, shorty. Not even a name exchange, huh?" he chuckled, lowering his hand after being rejected. It wasn't like Tokken to be rude, but the attitude of this Facility felt demeaning to him, and he wasn't going to stand for that. It had absolutely nothing to do with the sheer strength those palms of his likely possessed. Absolutely.

"It's suspicious, is all," Tokken admitted, loosening his stance.

"Fairness. What brought you 'round these parts?" the giant asked.

"Emris and Corvus. Two soldier dudes; you might've heard of them?"

"Who the hell hasn't heard of that rough-housing drinker and his patriotic swordsman? It'd be mightily right of them to give their damn weapons' major a thanks for the upkeep; the fuckin’ leeches," the gargantuan muttered angrily.

"Are you referring to yourself?"

"Yeah. I'm the head of R&D when it comes to uh... 'Weapons manufacturing'. I'm just a blacksmith with some charisma."

"Does that make you...?"

"Head of Arms?" the behemoth finished, conclusively.

Confirming his suspicions, Tokken almost broke out in a manic laughter. How was this even possible? He just coincidentally met some of the highest in command in a single morning? What kind of conspiracy...?

"You guys kind of degrade yourselves when you're so easy to reach…" Tokken mumbled.

"What'd you say?" Hephaestus challenged, grinding his large, smooth teeth together.

"Not a word! You found a dish yet, Chloe?" Tokken asked, turning to his companion, who was trying to hold a plate in her mouth to her reasonable failure. The youngster had to physically keep himself from losing his collected self in laughter as he saw this, ushering the plate into his more capable hands. Looking back at the giant, Tokken noticed how he stared at the folded dagger.

"Fely suggested I speak to you about it. I don't know if I trust that guy, but I don't have much to lose. I doubt even you could pry this accursed-looking thing off me," Tokken said.

"I'd be more than happy to try, shorty. Fely, huh? I'm guessing he sent you on a goose chase?"

"Yup. Muffin basket..." the boy admitted, slouching in exhaustion. The giant cackled.

"Victus... Codger's too young to lose ‘is mind. 'Ere," he offered, reaching high up into a less visible area of the pantry to produce a neatly packaged muffin basket, just as requested.

"Cooks don't like him hogging all the pastries, so they keep it out of reach."

Even Chloe couldn't help but giggle at the ridiculousness of such highly powerful entities, giving Tokken a relieved smile.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

With a swift series of clashes between sword and axe, leaving naught but the sparks to admire as the spectacle became too fast for neither average swordsman nor keen marksman to keep up with, a wolf-like biped fell to his back with a hard thud, his legs having slipped from beneath him with a skilful swipe of a foot. Before the fallen soldier could even open his eyes, a practice sword's point had been placed precariously close, just shy of his face.

"Your weapon of choice is far too hefty," Corvus—standing above the beast—informed, tapping the edge of the blunted steel against the fallen soldier's sizeable cleaver. "Neither battleaxe nor war hammer suit you. We take pride in our agility, Sergeant. I suggest you keep it that way."

Offering the dissatisfied sparring partner a hand to stand, Corvus added. "I'm sure the last thing you need is for your subordinates to lose respect for you. Especially in the midst of battle."

"Yeah, yeah. You're a mighty challenge, y'know that?" the canine growled, standing up beside him with an aching back.

"Hmhm, save such tools for the Mynotaurs, Wylven. Perhaps if you master a more reasonable weapon in time, it might treat you kindly enough for your skills to flourish more smoothly. Maybe even best me in combat?"

"Damn wish, Lieutenant. Damn wish."

After many rounds with numerous different opponents of varying ranks, the angel found himself kneeling on the sandy floors to rest, much to the exploitive amusement of his veteran comrade.

"Busy day, ay?" Emris sniggered unpleasantly, looking somewhat tired himself. He'd clearly seen a brawl or two; his jacket having been set aside to favour his movements. His exposed arms were nothing to scoff at, but they greatly underestimated the sheer potency of his earth-shattering blows. Corvus exhaled, looking to his right to see the other soldiers already packing up before their leave — the majority of the army once present reduced to a crowd.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, the angel responded: "Indeed. It does seem I need some training myself."

"Ye know, as yer superior, I can't let that slip," Emris teased, cockily flaring his sharpened teeth.

"Just your style, I know," Corvus chuckled.

"Fancy a good ol' spar, just ye and I? Pick a weapon; can't promise I'll knock ye with a sword, mind," Emris offered, cracking his neck as if already knowing his comrade’s answer.

"Heheh, alright old man," the winged man teased, riling up his adversary.

"You just crossed the no-turn-back point, shrimp," the veteran jested, putting some distance between him and the angel.

"We'll see who gets called shrimp once your head's lying by my boots," Corvus spat back, a smirk growing on his face as he too walked away, keeping a straight line between the two.

"Try me," Emris challenged, raising his fists high with a premeditated stance.

A short time passed as the pair stared at each other. Emris seemed relaxed, overly confident, boastful. Corvus, on the other hand, looked tense, stern, and prepared. The angel suddenly leaped off the ground with turbulent force, his wings propelling him towards the man with an awe-inspiring, flashing spin. Watching as Corvus cut the distance between them faster than he could blink, Emris gave a small smirk, raising his palm to catch the angel's kick before throwing him against the floor in one quick motion, jumping away to create distance again.

"Not unsheathing that sword?" Emris asked, his tooth-filled grin glaring at the angel as he quickly recovered, running towards him to exchange blows.

With a series of sidesteps, reels and spins, Emris managed to dodge most of his speedy attacks. After a few more missed blows and a failed attempt to juke his opponent, Corvus found himself pushed and knocked down from the incredibly strong, tactful blows and techniques the Brigadier’s palms had to offer. Taking a moment to breathe, Corvus held his right arm, wincing as he stood up to face his opponent once again. Persistence drove the warrior, and he had an ace up his sleeve he knew Emris couldn't very well react to.

"Perhaps. My friend is feeling vengeful today." Corvus simpered.

"Good. Hands up!" Emris yelled, barely giving him a warning before closing the short distance between them. Reeling a powerful jab, the angel instinctively moved his head to the side to dodge. Having him where he needed him, Emris suddenly disappeared—ceasing to exist if not for a fading blur—and reappearing not even a fraction of a second later right beside him, his fist already reeled once more.

Alas, Emris was not also without tricks. His mixed variety of spells was quite literally a bag of aces, and his most used was a devil to counteract for sure. A speedy, short-distance relocation, easy to repeat countless times if one were to master the spell as well as perfected their perceptive awareness. It was nothing short of incredible to see a single man appear a dozen, surrounding his enemy in a lightning-fast series of teleportations. What was most impressive, however, was truly understanding the sheer amount of quick-thinking such an act required.

His body unable to repel, parry, or even evade the blow, Corvus braced himself for impact. As the punch connected, the angel was surprised to feel naught any pain. Opening his eyes, all he could see was the shit-eating, tooth-lined smirk on Emris' face, his body arched so as to keep eye level with the crouching angel.

"I win," Emris teasingly announced, flicking Corvus' forehead. With a low grunt, the swordsman finally unsheathed his ace—the very tool he had devoted his life to—his acutely-tipped sword. Before Emris could prevent any type of escape, the angel threw the sword towards the ceiling, his body suddenly appearing next to it. His wings keeping him from falling, Corvus released the sword from the roof, before pointing it towards his terrestrial foe.

"Don't be so hasty, Em." The angel insisted, determined to make an example of his superior.

There was something strangely invigorating about the thought of toppling the man who had, by birth, claimed superiority among his race. Emris, the Celestial Guardian. A generationally inherited individual with extreme potential that, if nurtured correctly, could forge a fearsome soldier worthy of vanquishing even the Prophet of the Crimsoneers — his direct counterpart.

Throwing his sword towards him with the force and velocity of an arrow, Emris quickly jumped a good distance, the blade piercing the ground with a thundering bang. Just like before, Corvus reappeared by its handle, wasting no time in extracting it from the earth before rushing the Guardian in a flurry of slashes and stabs, the sword reduced to a wafting smudge as it travelled with precision and nigh-on unrivalled velocity.

Emris was forced into evasive manoeuvres with few chances to strike back in between; using his entire body to parry, swerve and spin so as to elude the weapon's calculated strikes. Trapped in a stalemate, neither of the two could see a victory nearing, adding to their frustration and intensifying their acrobatic, dance-like combat.

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Tokken didn't know how he ended up in what could only resemble a crafty grandfather's old working shed, topped with an oil-stained workbench and a wide selection of old bits and bobs, long stowed away in unorganized boxes that would surely do little more than collect dust and rust in time. Save for the obvious displays of dismantled firearms, sharp metals, discarded scabbards, and swordsman’s handles, one might not think much of the old giant's workstation.

The teen, and most especially the creeped out quadruped beside him felt as though the lessons they had received regarding strangers might have been worth considering at such a time. But Tokken, having discovered the man's purpose within the facility, had come to terms with the fact that this dingy mechanic's haven was his next best bet.

Holding his back in pain, Hephaestus approached a wooden, cut-covered table, pushing the myriad of old documents and metals to the floor if only to disturb the silence with several wince-worthy bashes. Muttering nonsense to himself, Hephaestus turned to the boy.

"Coming or what?"

"R—Right."

Tokken cleared his throat, doing as instructed after exchanging concerned looks with Chloe.

Taking the fabled switchblade into his hands, the lad presented the strangely coloured weapon with some hesitance. Taking it, the enormous man couldn't help but squint, the dagger being too small for his ancient eyes.

After a thorough inspection and a slow nod, he flicked the blade open, flinching slightly from the mild disturbance it seemed to radiate. In all fairness, the blade wasn't entirely unusual in shape. It certainly wouldn't befit a nobleman, and it seemed a fair bit excessive for a tool, but it wasn't something entirely out of the norm, especially for crime-doers. Blades of such extravagant shape were undoubtedly made to cut flesh, and its design was most commonly forged in such a way for intimidation purposes, which facilitated a mugger’s job. That said, the crimson-black weapon gave off a noticeably unwelcome aura — glowing with slow, palpitating waves of unnerving luminescence. There was no doubt about it.

"This thing's a Drainer," Hephaestus concluded, breaking the silence as he placed the knife down on the table in thought. Staring at the lad from the corner of his eye, a cold sweat started to form on the giant’s forehead.

"A Drainer?" Tokken asked.

"Tell me, shorty. Who did you get this from?" Hephaestus spat in turn.

"What do you mean? It's the family heirloom——"

"Since when did the Tsukis make pacts with those devils?" Hephaestus accused, turning to face him.

"Excuse me?!" Tokken retaliated, losing his composure.

"This weapon of yours. It's made of Obscure Energy."

"The hell is Obscure Energy supposed to——!?"

"Don't act all naive," Hephaestus warned, withdrawing a battleaxe from the metallic mayhem. "Are you working for 'em?" he threatened, his axe primed for slaughter.

In a surprisingly effective dash, Chloe managed to bite his ankle, the feeling tickling his strangely sensitive body and causing him to clumsily crash to the ground, knocking a variety of junk around loudly. Amused by his fall—and proud of his timid yet capable quadruped ally—the boy became full of himself as he stood over the giant’s bulky body, his arms folded and a smug look on his face.

"I learned they existed yesterday, dude."

"Ngh... Damn kids these days..." Hephaestus groaned, holding his aching back as he slowly stood. Having dropped his weapon, he wordlessly gave up his pointless assault. "I don't know what to tell you, shorty. You're carrying a dangerous-as-shit knife that should be in the hands of our enemies. Maybe we can reverse engineer it or somethin'—— Ghrr! Damned back!"

Taking the accursed blade in his hands once more, he gave it a calmer inspection. Why in the hell was this kid carrying around a Crimsoneer’s weapon? How doesn't he know about it? Is he really a spy, or was his heritage related to them and they never relieved him of doubt? The look on the youth's face was not one of a liar; complete confusion adorned him. Pure, naive confusion.

"What's a Drainer, anyway?" Tokken asked with a sigh. The giant looked at him with a raised brow, impressed by his misplaced boldness.

"It's a uh... a weapon made by Crimsons to keep 'em strong," he started, showing him the strange metals infused into the blade. "If you spill somebody's blood—warm and alive, of course—onto the metal, it'll sponge some of it up and turn it into a weird kind of adrenaline. Helps with healing, strength, the likes. Keeps you quick on your toes, too," the behemoth continued, giving the blade a testing swing.

"That seems helpful, if not a bit macabre..." Tokken uttered, earning a somewhat frustrated grumble from Hephaestus.

"Seems, yeah. But every trick has its quirks," he started, raising the blade a bit closer to his eye.

As soon as the blade was no longer within arm's reach of the youth, it suddenly ceased to exist, appearing once more on the belt of the teen. Giving a puzzled glare, the giant continued.

"Problem is when you use it too much. That adrenaline stuff? It's kind of like drugs. Drives them nuts. Use it too often and you'll become more and more dependant, to the point where withdrawal is nearly impossible and life-threatening." Hephaestus turned away to tinker with the discarded remnants of an old sword as he spoke. "That's why people who use these have a bad tendency of spilling more blood than necessary. It's in their best interest to keep killing to stay alive, see? Perfect Crimson material. Really brainwashes the smarter ones of the bunch."

Glaring at the old giant, Tokken found himself in a rather peculiar position. Looking down at his weapon, he realised just how lethal he could seem with such a possession; and just how bad it looked to walk around with it in view. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, the teen slipped his shirt over the switchblade, keeping it concealed.

"Good choice," Hephaestus muttered, casting Chloe a look of slight annoyance as she boasted her previous victory with a simple look.

Why the hell would my family keep this...? Tokken thought to himself, feeling nauseous at the thought of bloodshed and—worse still—the possibility of lives having already been claimed with this very tool now glued to his most incapable hands. Surely if somebody did use it to such an extent, it would've claimed many a life in the past. For what reason, only Victus knew.

"Alright, best you scatter off now. I've got shit that needs doing," the giant demanded, still exchanging glares with the small quadruped. Tokken nodded, heading out with a spunky Chloe following behind.

His time within the facility had sapped him of his energy. The entire place seemed weirdly task-oriented, grasping their sense of reason with occasional banter; the sheer variety and volume of life also strained his thoughts. The biggest headache was, without a doubt, the three Heads of the Syndicate he had so-fortunately encountered so far. Head of Medicine, Arms, and even Head of Men; three of the highest in command and supreme authorities within the colossal semi-society of the Syndicate.

As unpleasant as they might be, they were surprisingly human in nature. He had anticipated a far more robust, stoic, and even cruel selection of leaders, especially considering the serious and toxic reputation of these battle-born, nigh tyrannical conquerors. Of course, much of this had slipped the boy's ears in his solitary ways. Those that lived deep in the Outskirts would surely not have heard of such high civilization's quarrels, and so Chloe too was unaware of their ruthlessness.

The pair walked in silence for a few minutes, pondering over their individual discoveries throughout the day. Looking down at Chloe, Tokken couldn't help but smile to himself, adding to her curiosity.

"Is something on your mind?" she asked, tilting her head as they walked.

"Just thinking how awesome you looked, taking that guy down," he admitted, closing his eyes in thought as he shrugged his shoulders with a beaming smile.

"A—Ah! I did good? I thought for a moment I might've gone too far..." she wondered, faking her remorse much to Tokken’s amusement.

"Ah, I think he’ll have learnt his lesson."

Soon enough, they stood in front of the Ward's entrance, and as he opened the door to the waiting room, a thought irked Tokken's mind.

"Hey, uhm... You don't have to fight my battles for me. You do know that, right...?"

"Shouldn't I...?" Chloe asked, her ears folding down.

"You could get yourself in danger if you do. Goddess knows how many people I'm going to have problems with carrying this thing around."

"Well, if there’s truly no other way... I'd prefer to. It makes me feel useful, you know?" she tried to explain, her words not entirely honest.

"Well, yes, but..." Tokken tried to convince her, before falling silent. With a sigh and a smile, he faced her. "...Thank you."

Approaching the now-awake receptionist whose eyes, dark and wrinkled with tiredness, disturbed the teen just looking at him, Tokken found himself struggling to speak.

With a displeased, quiet groan, the receptionist spoke.

“Yeah?" he asked haughtily, lacking the professionalism expected from such a position.

"I'm looking for a... Fely?"

"Why do you think you'd need him for a foot injury?"

"I'm here to give him a basket?" Tokken replied, not wanting to humour his arrogance.

"Another one...? Victus' sake... Alright, step over to C2. Don't make noise."

With a roll of his eyes, the boy heeded his instructions, approaching the designated door. With a knock, Tokken entered the radiantly white room. He swore the television propped in the corner of the room's ceiling turned off the moment he walked inside. Standing up from his desk, the excitable, heart-melting medic faced the boy in delight, his mouth watering at the sight of the basket he carried with him.

"Aha! I knew you'd help a poor soul, young man!" he beamed, snatching the basket from his grasp quite abruptly.

"You can’t be that much older than me…” Tokken muttered, too quiet for the content doctor to hear. “Do you drink too much coffee or eat too much sugar?"

"Both!" Fely exclaimed, quickly noticing the nervous canine by his feet. "And who's this little one? What a lovely coat you wear!" he complimented, making Chloe feel more concerned about his intentions. Despite his strange, ecstatic behaviour, the softness of his voice seemed nearly hypnotizing.

"Oh I do love white, I do! What a neutral, peaceful colour indeed."

"Is that all, then?" Tokken butt in, creeped out. With a clap, the doctor nodded feverishly.

"Ah, of course! Did you meet Hephaestus then? Oh, please don't tell me he picked today to be off schedule."

"Yeah, I did. How did you know we'd cross paths?"

"I know my fellow leaders, young man! We Heads of the Syndicate have had to coexist with each other for a little over a decade by now," he nodded, reminiscing. "How did the investigation go? Any luck?"

"It went okay, I guess... How did you know I had no idea what this thing was?"

"Because your parents didn't either!"

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

Splashing his face with cold tap water, Emris looked at himself in the mirror, observing the many scars that littered his old skin. After cleansing the little blood from the day's brawl with his comrades, he couldn't help but smile as he remembered his strengths fondly. Despite his wilting age, he wasn't too rusty. He could still fight, and that thought alone gave him the courage to look at tomorrow with some hope.

Shambling out to the exterior of the building, Emris watched as the lights of the city slowly became more noticeable, the sun's rays fading in the horizon. He definitely worked himself a bit much, considering his real shift hadn't even started and he already felt like packing up. The night shift; the dreaded responsibility of both recruit and veteran alike. Some more hardened individuals even enjoyed the more active periods of their work, having grown attached to the thrill of combat as they bested their impoverished opponents in unfair battles where the house always had another card to play; at least, such was true against the Urchins.

It wasn't nearly as fun when your opponent actually posed a threat. In the grand scheme of things, Emris didn't find much enjoyment repelling such youthful criminals. If only they would back down at his appearance alone, violence wouldn't be necessary...

It came off to the man as quite amazing that they had managed to develop such callused courage towards a growing empire such as that of the Syndicate. Every country worth their weight knew of its existence, and it was a lie to say they did so fondly.

Emris leaped off the balcony, hitting the ground with a rumbling thud before advancing to the city glaring before him. Thinking back to his comrade—the last surviving, unrestrained member in his 'squad’, Corvus, he had to smile to himself at his close-matched experience. If it came down to it, Emris was confident he could fell the angel if faced alone. But things were different during training. Not only was he a better teacher, but also a more recognised battler. He blended authority with respect in such a way that even Emris, a superior, couldn't contend with.

Reaching the fabled filth of the streets that filled the city, Emris found himself at strange peace. While he did enjoy being a leader of sorts, he also appreciated his more lonesome times. Taking a turn for a dead-end alleyway, he took the time to remove a timely-worn silver locket from his coat, grazing a thumb over its roughened textures with a thoughtful smile. Leaning his arm on a fractured piece of wall, he raised his eyes to see a hooded figure stand ominously in the alleyway before him — their skin covered with fur on the few patches it was visible. Flaring a toothy smirk, the Brig placed his precious possession back into the safety of his clothing, giving it a gentle tap.

"I expected you'd be dumb enough to follow. I'm from the Syndicate, y'know." Emris sniggered with a wheeze.

"I know," the figure merely responded, raising his fists.

Recognising the stance, Emris stood tall, arching his back as he broke into a laughing fit.

"Hah! I didn't think it'd be you! Aw, what? Have a grudge or somethin'?" Emris mocked, pointing at him with a mocking gesture.

Cracking his fingers just as he did during their last encounter, Emris started walking towards the still figure. "Don't worry. This time I'll spare ye the trouble of rememberin'."

Growling at his words, the figure shot towards the veteran, his predictability not having changed a bit. As his hood flung off, the dotted ocelot biped roared as he revved his fist, this time anticipating his skilful reaction. Emris continued to smirk, arrogance filling his gaze as he watched the inexperienced thug try to take him down in an act of blind, desperate rage.

Or so he thought.

Just as Emris raised his hands to deflect the attack, a loud gunshot rang through the wall-surrounded area, Emris' chest spraying blood onto the concrete floor as the round burst directly into his ribcage. With a pained grunt, he was forced to take the full force of the beast's blow, making him collide onto the pavement.