Shadow of the Abyss

Far across the Raven Woods of Babels Tower's First Floor, Lord Atticus Ingleblade, powerful arms folded across his chest, his poised silver blue eyes narrowing across his spy on one knee, was unamused by the news he had just received. It had all been nonsense—complete and utter drivel.

A Third Circle capable of flight.

The mere image alone almost brought a smile to his lips. It might have been if he hadn't been aware that his thralls could not lie.

Coldness slithered through his eyes, glinting venomously, as the runic tattoos laced across the left side of his cheek and running down his neck glowed.

Keiran, lying leaning across a nearby tree, raised his head, flipping the dagger in his hand and catching it with the other. "And you said it was the woman by his side that allowed him flight, right?"

The hooded spy nodded. "Yes. According to the Identification Orb. Her name is Syris. However, her status and skills remained hidden, even from the orb."

Keiran grinned. "Pretty?"

"That is irrelevant," said Atticus, unwilling to entertain his fellow inquisitor's more lustrous behavior regarding official business, especially business pertaining to the Upper Moons.

He had heard the stories of Keiran and heard about the women he'd taken; most of them were married or with child when he ruined them.

Keiran drawled, "You're no fun." he said, though his eyes never left the hooded spies. He was still awaiting a response.

The hooded man gulped. "Yes. She is the most stunning woman we've ever seen."

Keiran couldn't help but whistle. "And she's in a relationship with this Altair Blackwood?" he continued, lips arching into a crooked smile.

Atticus ignored his perverted smile and asked, "How did he manage to kill the assassins we sent after him? Did he use any particular types of elements? Swordsmanship or—"

"He's a Third Circle," Atticus retorted, pulling himself off the tree. What does it matter? The report claims him to be a denizen of Earth—a brain-dead bunch of idiots who got lucky being aligned with Genesis when Babels Tower rose."

Atticus merely looked at Keiran. His expression was unyielding, and the look gave Keiran pause. "And when was the last time the High Lords of the Upper Moons personally asked someone to assassinate? An inquisitor like you should understand the implications. So take this fucking job seriously."

Keiran's expression sank. He did not particularly like the tone being taken with him. Atticus might have been his senior of a few months, but he was certainly not his Master of the House of Shadows. Nor was he required to heed the advice of someone from a different house—especially one from the House of Flames. He'd be damned if he listened to any one of these arrogant bastards.

He scuffed. "I merely asked about the woman allowing Altair to fly. What does she look like? Or do you think asking about a description is not important?"

Atticus's jaw tensed, an artery of muscles rising across his jaw. "You're thinking with your cock, not your head, as usual. And it's not the time. We—"

"Piss off…" Keiran hissed, snapping an eye towards the trembling spy, who could practically taste the tormented Mana across his tongue. He gulped. "What the hell does she look like: from her face to her tits to her ass. I want to know. Leave nothing out."

Atticus was consumed by a wave of anger that surged through him like a thunderstorm. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat like a drumroll of fury. His muscles tensed and coiled like a spring, ready to release their pent-up energy at any moment.

The heat of his anger seemed to radiate from his chest, spreading through his body like wildfire until even his fingertips were tingling with its intensity.

He could only turn his back and leave. As a member of the House of Flame, amongst the Upper Moons, Atticus could not command, much less dictate, anyone from the Seven Houses of the Upper Moons. Keiran was free to do as he pleased, free of any restriction from the other houses.

"Bastard…" he muttered, shooting one final glance at the crooked smile of Keiran before shuffling off, his fingers drilling into the flesh of his clenched palm.

****

To his dismay, the setting sun had not been something Altair had been looking forward to. Not when his Kingdom still needed him. He didn't like the idea of handing everything off to Aurora or Thanatos in his absence, but now, with nearly twelve hours of constant travel, he had no choice.

Syris was tired from all the constant flying, leaving him kicking himself for not acquiring any sort of flying amendment. And Earth had a treasury filled with various Armements.

That had left him thinking of the System Store.

"I should have killed those demonic Dragons back in Farwin when I had the chance." he lamented.

Syris smiled, leaning on his back as he carried her. She could certainly still move, but Altair had insisted.

'Focus on recovering your mana,' he'd said sternly, hoisting her onto his back before she could blink.

'Dummy,' she thought, burying her head against his broad shoulders, a flush pressing against her cheeks.

She wasn't even that tired, just a little taxed from overusing her Mana. He probably just wanted to hold her, Syris told herself, brooding on his back.

"Maybe I should have Tasha bring me back a Dragon Soul from the Hells. Emperor Blackwood and his Mighty Black Dragon."

He chuckled, much like a child.

"Boys and there, Dragons, " said Syris, grinning. "Shouldn't you be thinking about securing the Outer Rim?"

"I'll do it on a badass Black Dragon," Altair said adamantly, his smile appearing all the more radiant. He glanced back at Syris. Can you imagine your man on one of these badass creatures?"

"my man? When did that happen," said Syris, giggling.

"I imagine it was the many nights you came to my chambers to stay until morning," Altair said, ignoring the way her arms tightened around his neck. The way you rode me, I'd say you were claiming me!"

[Divine being, Luscious Red, covers her mouth in admiration]

Syris had the grace to blush, fumbling the words to say, "The gods are listening."

"So let them." Altair shrugged. "I'm sure they have better things to do than watch us fuck."

"You give them too much credit, "said Syris softly.

[Divine Being, Luscious Red exclaims you gave them much to credit.]

Syris felt her cheeks flush with heat and her heart race with embarrassment. She stood frozen in place, feeling as though every pair of eyes in the room were fixed upon her, judging her every move. Her body shook with nervousness as she struggled to compose herself and move past the uncomfortable moment.

Altair didn't need his unnatural senses to know he'd humiliated his mate. And even if he knew there wasn't a need for her to be embarrassed, he had been aware not everyone was so open about what lay beneath their sheets.

Perhaps between friends or lovers. But not strangers. Not the Gods watching, judging their every action, their every gesture.

"Sorry…" he whispered. "It won't happen again."

Syris didn't say anything. She didn't need to; listening to the whistling of the winds through the leaves, carrying the lovely aroma of honeydew, pine, and nuts, silence walked side by side with them, following their journey for miles as the sun crested the horizon, sinking deeper and deeper until all that was left was the night, illuminated by most of the stars following the skies like a silk blanket.

There was no moon tonight, leaving only the stars to accompany the masses.

For hours, they aimlessly walked. Through rivers and marches across mountain passes and bogs, they journeyed, lost beneath the bliss of the elements.

"Art…"

"Hmmm?"

"We're being followed," Syris muttered. "They're pretty good. I count seven."

Altair pointed an eye towards the west, marking three shadows hidden beneath the blanket of night. He pulled his eye away, pressing ahead.

"Ignore them. It's probably that idiot who sent those assassins after me… what was the name? Atticus." He smiled when he noticed a faint dusting of rain pulsated across his Almighty Resistance, rippling like rain upon a still lake. The water vanished, erased by his resistance.

From the rain came ashes upon the land, flitting through the air by the winds.

Altair stopped, his body tensed before it recoiled into relaxation. "A fire…" He narrowed his eyes, his gaze crossing the distance to the faintest glow of embers rising into the skies like fire sprites.

"A trap," Syris intoned."Or perhaps a battle?"

Either of which Altair wanted to ignore. Tonight, what had supposed to have been spent in the naked arms of his mate had been interrupted by the Arbitors interference in the trial. Rather than waste energy, plicating enemies or gaining new allies wasn't something he was interested in tonight. Not when it would ruin the silence.

Altair didn't hesitate to turn, heading east… perhaps west or south. He didn't quite know, nor did he care, trusting his instincts.

Syris only laughed, sensing his frustration, when she leaned beside his ear and whispered so softly that not even the gods could hear, "You know… If you wear that mask of yours. You can have your way with me all night long, and no God will be able to—"

Altair had his mask on before Syris could finish.

Flipping her off his back in a flash onto her feet, he said, " Let me go kill these idiots first, and we can begin."

Covering her mouth, Syris giggled, unsure of whether she should tell him she was only joking. Perhaps not. Perhaps she'll tease him a bit.

"As you wish, Emperor Blackwood."

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