Anastasia could hardly see past the bright light that shone into her eyes. A lamp was dangling from the ceiling, yet still aimed directly into her face.

Even as a suit-wearing officer sat himself down in front of her, across a cold metal table, she couldn't see his face.

"You do realize I'm sick, right?" she asked. "You've kept me here in this cold room for half an hour. It's boring. And I'll probably start sneezing at some point. I should sue you."

The entire room itself was murky. Water dripped and leaked from the sides of the ceiling, and with the weight of each step either of them took, the rotten wooden floorboards creaked and groaned.

Even the metal table before them was beginning to rust, its legs weak and already corroding. The same went for the chairs, with the only relatively 'new' object in the room being the table lamp that was aimed at Anastasia, which let off a loud hum that continued to crackle and permeate through the room.

Its light was pure and stark, burning a white glow in Anastasia's eyes.

"I do apologize for that," he said, folding his hands onto themselves. "We were interrogating Lumiel Solaire, the Virtue of Charity. And you are Anastasia Velda. Virtue of..." He paused and stared down at the file before him. "Patience, is it?"

She spat out a sigh. "That's right."

"Now... What do you know about Alexander Lane?"

"Everything. Be specific."

A sigh left the man's lips. He slid a finger through the cloth of his black tie, pulling and letting it unravel on his neck. "Where were you on March 9th? The date Mammon manifested in the World?"

"Home. I was sick."

"And-"

Anastasia interrupted him. "I saw about Alexander on the TV. My friends told me afterwards, but, of course, the first thing I heard was the propaganda that a Demon-Born brought destruction."

"But it's true. Your friend is the spawn of a devil. Your friend was responsible for the injuries of more than a dozen people. This question is more personal, so it won't go on record. But you, Anastasia Velda... Why do you think Alexander Lane should not be executed?"

Anastasia fell silent. For just a handful of seconds, she froze and paused, her eyes fixing themselves on the table before her.

"Alexander Lane..." she began to utter, still facing down. "...is a good person. You've probably only seen him after the incident, so you wouldn't know. You wouldn't understand what he's done for humanity, the extent he's gone for other people. And the anguish he's been through because of it."

And just like she did, the officer went silent for a moment.

The silence in the room was whispered away as he began to chuckle to himself. "Are you serious?!" he finally asked, amidst his chortles. "You want to prevent his execution, and you think your opinion on him will justify that?! You need facts, you need the truth to show what he is! Without that-"

He slammed his fists onto the metal table, and his laughs faded away with a sigh leaving his lips. "God, you're a funny one, I'll give you that. But with the way things stand, he will die. And for your information, I've been monitoring the Demon-Born for years. I understand wholly and completely. More than anyone else. More than you can."

"So then why do you want him to die?"

The officer kept moving and removed his tie, rolling it up over his hand before pocketing it into his suit jacket. "I never said I wanted him dead. I want to hear your thoughts."

Anastasia couldn't see his eyes. But even through the intense glare of the shining light, she knew that she was being stared at. The man's gaze was strong, shining brighter than the light, fixated right on her.

"In all likeliness, regardless of anything..." He pushed himself back against his seat and let himself slouch. At the same time, he grabbed the dangling lamp and lowered it even further to mask his face. "Alexander Lane will probably be executed. Even if the Paladins and the Association do all they can, that might not be enough to tip the scales of justice the way they want."

"But he doesn't deserve that."

"Are you saying he deserves to live, then?"

Anastasia fell silent. "Maybe. But maybe not." She stared up and smacked the lamp down. Its light fell upon the table and cleared her sight.

Now, she was finally met with the man's true face, his true appearance, and true self.

He was a man in his forties, his pale skin in stark contrast to everything else. His hair and eyes were dark, purely black. And his bony hands and wrists couldn't hide the muscled figure behind his suit.

His hair was tousled, somewhat curly, just like Alexander's.

Anastasia continued. "I don't think... anyone really deserves to live. But that doesn't mean those same people deserve to die. Alexander is cursed. And yet... He's survived this long. He has ideals and ambitions. He has reasons to live."

"Those same people don't deserve to die, huh? Would you say the same thing if there had been deaths as a result of his battle?"

"I don't know." That was Anastasia's immediate response. She didn't need to think or process or understand anything in her head. She knew who she was and what she believed, even if that was just unknowingness.

"If I would say the same thing, that would be hypocritical. And that would just mean my ideals weren't really mine. But if Alexander had reason to die... I still wouldn't want to watch him die. So I don't know."

Anastasia continued without thought. "He's my friend. And I don't want him to die. That's all I know."

"Like I said," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "He's a good person. That's rare nowadays. He's kind! And he doesn't make fun of people! Except maybe Leonard sometimes. Plus he's awkward, but the adorable kind. He's also very patient. And he's strong. Not just physically, but he has this tendency of not giving up. He's too stupid to understand when enough is enough. Even when he's battered and bruised, even when he sees his own blood... He doesn't give in to fear or pain or anything like that. He fights for others. Alexander is... good. Plain and simple. So demon or not... He doesn't deserve death."

Another sigh. "You're not objective. You're useless to this case."

The man stood up and began to head for the door, his back already facing her. He grabbed the door handle, and with an audible buzz coming from the other room, it unlocked.

"Even so... I can see why Archibald chose you."

He pushed it open and left, without so much as footsteps to linger behind him.

Now alone and faced with silence, Anastasia pushed herself to her feet. She stepped back and forth, side to side, wall to wall, pacing without anything to do.

Even so, it was only a matter of minutes before she sat back down. Her thoughts shifted and lingered on that officer. That man.

The image of his eyes was still clear. His eyes were like smooth obsidian, almost pitch darkness. And they were weary. He was tired, almost as if he hadn't slept in days. Or as if he was plagued with a fatigue that sleep could never fix.

Anastasia could tell by his magic energy. He was strong. Far stronger than any officer and even each of the Virtues.

At the same time, Xerxes once again sat down before one of the Seven Virtues. He was tired. And so, once again, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his breast pocket and slid a cigarette into his mouth.

This time, it was Gabriel Archibald that sat before him.

It was almost the same image. A cold room built of concrete, and the singular boy sitting on a cold metal seat. Barely conscious, his head was drooping over, just as thin droplets of blood continued to rhythmically cascade down his nose and onto his pale shirt.

His hands were joined together by chains, linked behind his back and behind the chair by icy steel.

"Y'know, I thought a kid like you would know better than to resist an arrest like that."

Gabriel swallowed down his dry saliva. His head was pounding, thumping repeatedly and unceasingly. His movements were slow and without thought. "Xerxes?..." he asked, his voice soft and tired, somewhat hoarse.

"Yep," the chairman said with a smile. "God, they really got you good, huh?" he asked Gabriel, staring at him as he regained full consciousness within his aching head.

"This one asshole... cheated," Gabriel uttered, finally raising his head to meet Xerxes. "He created a Connection behind me while I fought off those other officers. He hit me practically on the brain stem. Then they ganged up on me."

Xerxes pushed his glasses up. "So you understand how it wasn't a good idea to fight them?"

"The bastards deserve it, anyway. They probably got Alexander worse."

"Actually, he didn't. Because, y'know, he didn't try to fight them all. So he just got scrapes and bruises, a couple of punches to the stomach. No external bleeding. And nothing he can't handle, anyway." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a golden lighter.

He cupped his hand around the cigarette. The lighter clicked and lit up with a flame, burning in orange and crimson as it reached the cigarette, lighting it in an instant and quickly extinguishing itself.

"Lucky him."

Gabriel took in a sharp breath, before pulling his hands apart.

The shackles broke and cracked apart in an instant, leaving his hands free, even with the cuffs still around his wrists. "Where's my sword?" he asked, quickly forcing himself to his feet.

He wobbled and tilted to the side as he shot up, but forced himself to regain his balance. Gabriel pressed a finger against the side of his nose. With a strong breath, congealed blood blew out and splattered onto the floor.

"Kid, you do realize you have to wait to get interrogated, right?"

A sigh left Gabriel's lips as he let himself fall back down to his chair.

"So... How bad is the situation?" the Virtue asked.

"Alexander's trial will start soon, even without all the necessary evidence and witnesses. It'll be an ongoing process that'll either last a couple of hours or entire weeks. So... Just be patient."

Gabriel looked up, his icy blue eyes glaring at Xerxes. "Don't you dare let that Demon-Born die."

It was then that a thump echoed through the metal door. Without so much as a second more, a man in a black trenchcoat walked in. The same man that spoke with Anastasia just minutes prior.

Under his black coat, he wore a simple black suit. Wrinkled and decolorized, it was old, used, and weary. Just as his eyes wore.

Even though his eyes were smooth black, they had lost all color. Any sign of life had left his eyes.

Xerxes turned to him and smiled. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Adam? Want a cigarette?" he asked, already reaching into his jacket pocket.

The man simply shook his head and continued his approach until he stood beside Xerxes. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat and remained there, still and motionless, just as he let out a heavy breath.

"Don't worry," Xerxes said, turning back to Gabriel as the boy stared at Adam. "He's not the one who's going to be questioning you. That guy is much less intimidating."

Even with Xerxes' words, Gabriel's thoughts were still focused on the man. 'Adam'. He had heard that name before. Hell, he had probably met him. But... Even as he scanned his memories, he couldn't find a single trace.

No face to match the name.

As rude as it was, Gabriel found himself raising his hand and pointing a finger at Adam. "Wait..." he muttered, his eyes ever so slightly widening. "I've seen you before. Haven't I?"

The man remained silent. In his stead, Xerxes was the one to speak. He smiled at Gabriel. "He's a close friend of mine and your uncle's. Gabriel... This is Adam Lane. He's a High-Grade magician. And Alexander's father."

"You... You're Alexander's dad?!"

Adam finally opened his mouth to speak. "You know what?..." he muttered. "I think I'll have that cigarette now, Xerxes."

- - - - -

Charles Archibald walked with pace and with purpose, even as he stepped into a puddle of murky water.

"Ugh," he muttered under his breath, noticing yet continuing without so much as a single step to stop. He continued to tread down a dark hallway, surrounded by narrow concrete walls.

Archibald brushed past cells with thick iron bars, vertical and horizontal, stretching for a dozen meters wide and filled with nothing but a long metal seat the prisoners used as a bed.

It wasn't long until he reached Alexander's cell.

The entire complex was poorly lit, with the only lights coming from the guard posts, each stationed a hundred feet apart.

Alexander's hands were handcuffed. He sat still and silent, his hands on his knees even as they were chained together at his wrists.

"Y'know this honestly isn't as bad as I thought," he said aloud, his eyes fixed on the dull and dark ceiling. "What Circle are we in?"

Archibald furrowed his eyebrows. "You know we're in Infernus?"

"Yeah, the old guy next to me told me," he responded, pointing at his side with his thumb. "But he doesn't remember which one we're in."

"The Second," Archibald said with a sigh. "But believe me, it's worse than you think. Anything more than a month in here will mess you up."

Infernus was the largest prison in the entirety of the Norteon Union. Its location has been disclosed to the public, but it was never a secret that the entire structure remained underground.

It was built to harbor the most dangerous criminals in the union, the worst magicians, and monsters of any kind if necessary. Just like Hell, the true Inferno, it was built in nine layers, becoming more brutal and more cruel with each level in descent.

Alexander's head drooped over. "Yeah, I know..." he spat out. "I just haven't been sentenced yet, so nobody cares," he said, shrugging.

"Hear that Alberto?!" Alexander called, shouting at the wall beside him. "We're in the Second Circle!"

The only response was a manic groan.

Alexander's chains clinked and clacked as they rose and fell back to the ground. "Best thing is they don't care that I'm a Demon-Born." A slight laugh left his lips. "That's always nice to see."

Archibald stared at him. "I was going to ask how you were doing. But it seems you're genuinely fine."

The Demon-Born steadily nodded. "You think they'll give me a last meal? If they decide to execute me, I mean."

"Huh? Well... yeah," Archibald told him, confused at the boy's remark.

"Yeah, I was just thinking if they'll let me choose it and all. Because I have no idea what I'd do in that case. There's too many options."

Alexander was far from fine.

It was likely that he was to be executed, likely that the next few days would be his last. And regrettably, those few days would be spent split between a courtroom and a prison cell. Each time he had to face mortality, he simply grit his teeth and pressed on. But this... He would simply have to lay down and die.

Dying fighting always seemed easier than this.

"Alexander," Archibald told him. "This is strange to say, but... I've made some promises."

"...Huh?" the boy asked, raising his head to meet the Paladin's verdant eyes.

"I've known your father for thirty years, y'know," Archibald said. "I knew your mother too. So to both of them, at different times... I promised them both that I'd protect you. In case Adam couldn't, in case the world acted against you... I am going to protect you. I will not let you be executed, Alexander. Do you understand?"

Alexander clenched his jaw. "Yeah. I understand." His throat tightened up as he began to mumble. "Thank you, Archibald."

He rubbed his hands over his weary face. "Thank you," he repeated.

The Paladin tapped his cane against the floor, letting its impact ripple in the concrete and echo in the hall.

"Believe in me, Alexander Lane. I'll make it right."

Alexander couldn't help but smile at him. "Yeah. I believe in you."

But without another word, an alarm blared. A light on Alexander's handcuffs burst out, blinking rapidly. And in the next second, the handcuffs burst into more steel, layering over his entire hand and not just his wrists.

His hands were left surrounded, frozen and trapped behind the thick layer of metal.

And with that, the very ground he was on began to buzz.

He stood up, and a circle lit up from the concrete beneath him. And with it, the ceiling itself opened up, a vast hole stretching the walls away and unveiling a shield of stark light above him.

"Archibald..." he muttered, staring down at the ground, his hands weighed down by the heavy iron surrounding them. He looked up at the Paladin. "What is this?"

"Good luck." Those were the only words Charles Archibald had to offer. "I'll get there as soon as possible."

What he stood on was a platform. And it began to buzz. Gears clicked and steam flowed, pressure building up underneath, before releasing. The circle shot up into the air, launching Alexander with it.

He forced in a breath through his teeth.

And before he knew it, he stopped and landed in...

A courtroom. A single instant was enough for Alexander to figure it out.

He stood at the center of the room, surrounded by four pillars of metal in each direction. He didn't know what they did or how they worked, but he understood the purpose. Containment. Even as he remained shackled at his hands and ankles.

At his right and left stood two grand seating areas, each filled with around fifty people. And all of them stared down at him with scorn, disgust, some with pure hatred and malice.

Being a Demon-Born was never a good thing.

But at the sight of all those eyes laying on him, all those thoughts and emotions aimed at him... Alexander truly understood.

To them, he was an enemy. A devil. A being to be cast out and removed from their world, by any means necessary.

Alexander wasn't one to be afraid of too many things. But with so many eyes, so many people glaring at him with animosity...

His heart sunk into his chest.

But it was still beating. And it continued to do so, even as the bench clerk called out to the jury. "The original charges stood as the destruction of property, endangering others, battery counts for all 19 injured, and treason to the Union, among other things... The current case bears the responsibility to determine the validity of the single charge on Demon-Born Alexander Lane: Crimes against humanity."

Alexander's eyes widened. 'What the hell?!'

As much as he wanted to shout that out, his own thoughts were interrupted as the clerk continued. "Prosecutor Richter, you may begin."

He turned and faced the side, and stared at the young man.

Richter had his back facing Alexander, his back facing everything. But he turned, and unveiled his face.

He was a man of olive skin, with dark eyebags already forming under his fine, dark eyes. He wore a simple brown suit, a simple white shirt, and a simple dark blue tie underneath. His dark hair was gelled back.

He was the prosecutor. A young man, already known throughout the world and Union as a legal genius, already recognized by the Attorney General. That was why he had been chosen for this case.

That was why Julius Richter steadily and neatly laid down thick piles of paper, side by side, row by row over his long desk, as if laying bricks over and over.

A heavy sigh left his lips as he finally raised his gaze to the jury of a hundred.

After that sigh, he lifted his head and drew in a deep breath, as if to steel his nerves and ready his mind.

He spoke, quickly walking across the stands of the jury and towards the Demon-Born.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the esteemed and honorable Union Jury... and all those that bear witness to this trial... My purpose here is simple. It is to prove, and that is what I intend on doing. I shall prove to you who this Demon-Born really is. And the scales of justice shall weigh the verdict."

He smiled, turning and meeting Alexander with his sharp gaze.

Richter spoke to him, and only him. "You must be judged, here and now. You, who sows calamity over the very ground you tread on. You, who is evil."