In a room, there were two n.
The room exuded opulence, its walls draped in dark red velvet that seed to absorb the warm, golden glow cast by ornate chandeliers overhead. The ceiling was a lattice of intricate gold filigree, each pattern flowing seamlessly into the next, catching the light like molten fire. Polished wooden floors glead beneath a sprawling crimson carpet embroidered with delicate gold accents. Heavy curtains frad tall, arched windows, their fabric matching the walls but edged with shimring tassels. A grand fireplace, carved from marble, sat against one wall, its gilded mantle adorned with finely wrought candelabras and an ornate clock.
One of the n sat on a couch.
The couch was upholstered in deep crimson leather, gleaming softly under the room's golden light. Its fra was carved from dark mahogany, polished to a mirror-like finish, with intricate gold inlays tracing the armrests and base. The backrest featured an elaborate tufted pattern, each button a tiny jewel-like embellishnt. Plush, gold-trimd cushions were arranged ticulously. The legs, curved and clawed, seed almost too elegant to touch the floor.
And the other man was kneeling before the one seated on the couch.
The man kneeling… His black coat pooled around him like a shadow. Black gloves covered his hands, smooth and unwrinkled. A blindfold wrapped tightly over his eyes, the dark fabric blending seamlessly with the jet-black hair that fell neatly around his face. Perched on his head was a wide-brimd black hat.
It was the man in black who knelt.
Perhaps skinwalker was a more fitting title.
That very sa skinwalker knelt before the man on the couch and faced him, as though he were staring at a god.
The man sitting on the couch exuded an air of relaxed authority, his posture unhurried, as if ti itself had no claim on him. His long black hair, loose and untad, cascaded down his back like a dark waterfall. His skin was pale, almost alabaster, a striking contrast to the rich colors of his robes.
His eyes, as black as the space between stars, held a detached focus. His gaze lingered on the ceiling, devoid of expectation.
In his hand, he absently turned a golden pocket watch, the chain slipping smoothly between his fingers. His grip was loose, almost affectionate. His robes, woven with patterns of black and white, flowed around him.
The room seed to bend around him, his presence imposing yet effortless, as though he were the centerpiece of the world, untouched by its noise.
Then he spoke, his voice casual, bored, and neutral:
"It's been almost four years since we last saw each other face-to-face, Varak. Tell , has life on our world been fun?"
The skinwalker—Varak—didn't hesitate. He nodded his head.
"It was, and still is. Humans... there's so much to learn from them. They are the most interesting creatures in existence."
The man humd, glancing at his pocket watch before responding.
"So, why have you co here? To et in person, I assu it must be of so importance."
Varak nodded again.
"...Heptarch Zoran has fallen in battle."
Finally, the man's gaze shifted to Varak, and Varak felt his entire body tremble. But it wasn't fear—it was the weight of being seen by him.
Varak took a mont, trying to steady his voice.
"The one who defeated him goes by the na Solomon Dragonheart, also known as the Clown, and is a saint. But the one responsible for ruining our chance of gaining influence in Asia by fooling Heptarch Zoran and destroying our plans goes by the na of…"
"Lumine, Jasmine, Celestina, or Anastasia."
The man suddenly cut him off, but as Varak heard the nas uttered in boredom, confusion flashed across his face.
"…No. It wasn't any of them. It was the prince of the Crimson Clan, Azriel Crimson."
"…"
"...What?"
Varak gulped at the sudden shift in the man's tone.
"Azriel Crimson was the one who sohow led Zoran to his death and ruined our plans... The Gospels of the other Heptarchs have also turned blank ever since then."
The man narrowed his eyes, and Varak didn't dare et his gaze any longer.
An entire minute passed in complete silence. Varak's mind raced, ready to speak again, but the man cut him off once more.
"Right now, today... what year is it?"
Looking up at him, confused, Varak responded.
"2149."
.
.
.
.
He smiled.
The man suddenly smiled, revealing his white teeth as a soft chuckle escaped his lips.
"Well, this... this certainly has never happened before."
Varak's eyes widened at the sight, astonished to see such an expression on his face.
Never in all his years of knowing this man had Varak seen him smile. And now, with that smile, Varak felt as though he were staring up at sothing colossal. He felt... small.
"I-I have also dug a little deeper and found out that for two years, Azriel Crimson was extrely quiet, as was everyone else around him when it ca to him... I believe he was actually in one of our facilities—the one with Project New Eden, led by Dr. Arthur. He was one of the subjects there, but... the entire facility, the project, and Dr. Arthur himself were found dead and destroyed, which Lucidiux discovered... and he couldn't rember why he went there in the first place."
"Lucidiux?"
The man frowned slightly, studying Varak.
"Wasn't he the one responsible for keeping an eye on Iryndra?"
Varak, however, looked utterly confused—this was the thousandth ti today he had been confused by the man's words.
"...Who?"
The man's brows furrowed deeper. After a mont, he sighed and leaned back, his posture relaxing again.
"Looks like a lot of things are changing. Tell , Varak, how many Heptarchs do we currently have?"
Varak paused to think before responding.
"With the death of Heptarch Zoran, there should be six... six? ...no, five, I think. I... I was sure there were seven of them before, but... for so reason, it feels like there has always only been six."
The man laughed lightly again, catching Varak off guard.
What was with his reactions today?
Was hell about to freeze over?
"That boy really got you all good..."
Varak stared at the man, not understanding his aning, but he shook his head and pressed on.
"As you've said, if anyone ever kills a Heptarch, I should offer them the position of the one they killed. Though it was Saint Solomon who killed Zoran, I believe it would have been better to take in soone with the potential of the Crimson Prince. But... Azriel refused and instead sent one of his servants with Zoran's head as a... gift."
The man laughed again, his amusent clear.
He was definitely not bored anymore.
"Killing Azriel Crimson right now is going to be a difficult task. I suggest we place a bounty on his head and let the underground world go after him for now. If any of Neo Genesis directly kills him and it's traced back to us, it could delay our future plans. King Joaquin and King Ragnar would likely co for us. I have a feeling Azriel Crimson may want revenge on us for being a subject in New Eden. At least this way, we can draw his attention for so ti away from us."
"...A bounty, you say?"
The man's smile grew, his amusent almost palpable, and he spoke in a more excited tone.
"Yes... perhaps sothing like that would be considered cute for him. Very well, place a bounty on him. As for the price... tell the entire underground world that the reward for capturing or killing Azriel Crimson will be a single thing from —personally."
"...!"
Varak's eyes went wide, and his voice trembled.
"W-What did you just say?"
The man, still smiling, looked at him with casual amusent.
"Make sure they all know it. I'm curious to see who's foolish enough to go after him... and tell them they can request anything from . Anything."
Varak stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief. His entire worldview seed to crumble as the man's words sank in.
"W-Why... why go so far for this boy? We could easily put a heavy price on his head. I'm sure the idiots who think they can go after a prince would do it, and perhaps, if we're lucky, succeed and save us the trouble. But if you... if you put such a price on his head, not only will everyone from the underground world know, but also the Four Great Clans! It's almost like you're declaring war on the prince himself...! Everyone will go mad. Who knows what chaos might co of this?"
Not at a Great Clan.
Not at a guild.
Not at a governnt.
Or anything.
Just a single person.
A prince.
That was how it would sound.
The man's gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as his face twisted into a cold mask.
"Do not overstep your place, Varak. I would show him disrespect if I did anything less than this."
Varak's breath caught in his throat.
...Disrespect?
He cared about the respect of Azriel?
Then the man spoke again, his voice calm but the weight of his words pressing down on Varak, making him feel like a human child who didn't understand anything.
"You worry too much. None of them will ever succeed in killing or capturing him—unless that's what the prince desires. Besides, if you and Azriel Crimson were to fight, you would lose... eventually. Tell everyone in Neo Genesis to flee on sight when they see the Crimson Prince, and let the underground world run like cattle to the slaughter."
Varak's mind blanked.
He... would lose?
A skinwalker would lose against an interdiate?
His face turned pale.
Was Azriel Crimson really an interdiate?
Was he hiding his strength?
But if revenge was his goal, why hadn't he escaped the facility sooner? If he were hiding his strength, he could have easily made his escape.
But how could a kid be so strong?
Varak knew the man would never lie.
He wasn't lying.
So then... what was Azriel Crimson planning?
Varak couldn't comprehend it anymore. Countless theories spun in his mind, each one more ridiculous than the last.
But they were the most logical explanation, and it seed to be the only reason the man would say such a thing.
If Varak would lose, then that ant Azriel Crimson was not who he had thought him to be.
He was a threat.
"Though I have no idea how everything has changed to this point... tell everyone, Varak, that I am personally declaring war on Azriel Crimson. Neo Genesis is not allowed to get involved."
"Y-Yes... as you wish."
The man — the supre archon — glanced at his pocket watch, his expression turning distant.
"Perhaps ti will finally move forward again..."
"..."
"I wonder if we will succeed this ti... my friend."
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