Emir lay flat on his back, hand tucked behind his head, enjoying a brief, well-deserved rest beside an unconscious Aquila.
Judging by his nigh-vibrating body, the tremors had stopped, allowing him to sink into the hard ground without complaint.
He let the tension seep from his muscles, but his mind refused to follow suit.
It was far from still. Far from relaxed.
He thought about many things-too many to count.
Just how was he still alive?
Emir had faced soone far above him in strength, a bastard of a man wielding power two entire sub-ranks higher.
It should have been a guaranteed death sentence. Yet here he was, breathing and intact. Was it because another date had promised him death? Another place? Kar Babel?
Perhaps. And it'd all be thanks to that soon-to-be Starless Star of his.
Either way, judging by the current pace of things, it was a precarious gift.
The benefits of today were as well.
Emir had a few things planned for the Seraphims they killed, but...
"Oh, and before you go, you might want to check out the bodies. I think soone... relieved you of them. Quite the retarded oversight, wouldn't you agree?"
Judging by Judas's words, nothing remained for him to collect.
The bastard annoyed him like no other, more than Arthur even, sothing that he didn't believe possible before today.
Make no doubt about it; if Emir could, he would kill him right that instant, whatever the consequence.
But, unfortunately, he lacked the strength and equipnt to kill a Celestial of that caliber. Truly... it was unfortunate.
In any case, the information about his family... Azazel—a surprise that was.
It turned out that the stories he'd found lying around the archive had so truth to them.
The leader of one of the ten ancient clans, Cecidi Angelus, had been revealed.
A man with many titles. Paragraphs long.
'He' was THE literal devil.
'How fun...'
With such thoughts in his mind, Emir's past words echoed, ringing true more than ever before.
"Even Gods are bound to slip."
Other than Adam-the one who once held Creation-Iblyees was the first Primordial he heard of actually eting death.
That also confird what he learned in the gathering at Setrenc, centing the chess pieces as valid sources of information.
Primordials could die and still survive, only losing an entire major rank in the process. It was a literal extra life.
However, from Emir's perspective, that seed to be a fate not so different from death. After all, would the one who killed you stop once you regressed a rank? No.
They would finish the job.
Besides, the loss of Godhood alone might be devastating enough to break a Celestial's mind, leaving them hollow, unable to function.
This was a fate he would reserve only for his worst enemies, for even he had a conscience, no matter how tiny.
Now... there was Purple.
Emir didn't know quite what to make of her.
Her rank, a sub-rank higher than his own, had caught him off guard, though not enough to intimidate him, only surprise him a little.
In truth, he still could've fought and killed her, ending the threat she posed-paranoia urged him to, deeming her too dangerous to keep alive-but her value made him hesitate.
She was simply too useful to let go.
The cost of sacrificing what he could gain through an alliance was high, and surviving her death would be far from assured.
Purple likely had contingencies in place, ones that would instantly trigger a cosmic bounty on her killer, pooling her vast wealth to ensure vengeance.
It was a risk Emir was too prudent to provoke.
So, rather than risk his life on a gamble he would likely lose, he opted to make his statent another way: by massacring her followers.
Their blood was the red that colored his robe as he made his way to the SOS signal.
He could almost picture her shock when she eventually walked out of her office and found only crimson-filled mush.
A retaliation, it could be, but he wasn't one to kill those unard, both literally and
figuratively.
That was sothing more, sothing that Purple had to interpret herself.
If nothing else, it would serve as a reminder not to play gas with him.
Emir wasn't foolish enough to scoff at fate or underestimate its pull; those who did rarely understood its weight.
Still, he'd never been one to run from it.
Not now. Not ever.
He didn't need his fading star, no matter why or how it disappeared after his supposed death.
After all, he was the fallen prince, a man whom fate had long since forsaken.
'I am my own shepherd.'
Emir smiled.
...Another thought dominating his mind was the death of a hunter group leader.
Maharajah.
His sacrifice was unexpected, to say the least.
It was an event that shouldn't have happened, at least not so soon.
Everything had derailed beyond recognition.
Most of the remaining 'novel,' once assisting his plans, could no longer be trusted.
Today proved that.
The students remained in a scramble, still struggling at the exit even though they should have
left long before Amon ended his battle.
Plot. Character developnt. The.
It all changed.
The 'story' was corrupted, and from now on, any certainty Emir once had was lost.
It was far from ideal, his thoughts reflecting the frustration of it all.
But above everything else, one thing dominated his mind.
Lyra.
Where was she?
She was still missing, and every attempt to locate her had turned up nothing.
No trace of her last known location existed, as if every record had been wiped clean.
All they knew was that she'd veered off course, leaving the path that shadowed Sofia and her cohort before disappearing.
Lyra wouldn't have broken from the plan without reason-especially not against Emir's
direct orders.
She must have had sothing specific she needed to accomplish.
But what? And more importantly, why go alone?
'Wait...'
At that exact mont, when that question echoed in his mind, another na popped up to
answer it, but he couldn't exactly say what that answer was.
It was on the tip of his tongue, extrely faint but true, the syllables just out of reach.
That went against what he was—a walking library of information. But, for whatever reason,
that didn't seem suspicious to him, as if he was sedated, blocked.
Weird was the only way he could describe it.
The mory was there, but... wasn't. A familiar contradiction.
Emir tried again, diving through the corridors of his mind, searching through each ntal
pathway, each shelf.
It was as if his library was subrged and he swam at the bottom, in the dark, pressure mounting with every inch forward.
Then, as he opened another 'book,' a ripple of déjà vu washed over him, tightening into a dull,
throbbing ache behind his eyes-a migraine pressing into every part of his brain.
Finally... he saw it, rembered it.
A glimr, a mory broke through the dark depths, illuminating everything.
'Maria.'
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