Headed by a Snake



The Gatekeepers had mustered just outside the Command Tent. 

It was... somewhat shameful, but Tycondrius had not sensed them until he stepped outside. 

His selfishness in dealing with his personal issues had blinded him, and despite him still minutes away from a life or death situation... he felt... very stupid. 

The Plane of Fire was a battle zone, and its inhabitants were open to attack at any location, any time. 

His Dungeon-Core-powered Command Tent was by no means a safe haven. 

The defensible walls were nowhere near complete. 

He lacked anti-siege weaponry or traps or emplacements, otherwise. 

He only had a single defensive trench-- and that was due to Maltwick's solo project, rather than a concentrated effort. 

But even if Tycon had a respectably sized, moderately defensible fort... 

The Gatekeepers had an entire legion standing by, arranged by companies. Gigantic, armored hellborne behemoths stood alongside mobile hextech machines. 

They were rather high-class units... and admittedly, Tycon would have loved to see their capabilities. 

And fielded in their defense were rows of not just squads or platoons-- but entire companies of armed soldiers. 

Granted, those soldiers were not organized to march... nor did they seem to particularly care to be present. 

They were milling about in their respective groups, laughing and conversing-- greatly diminishing the overall intimidation factor. 

For a moment, Tycon wondered where *his* legion had gone off to, ten thousand strong. 

But, of course, they were mixed into the Gatekeepers' legions. 

Likely, it wasn't a cognizant mutiny. When a trained military force began to arrange in formations, troops tended to form up on their own.

(Or... they would scatter and flee to avoid the responsibility. But there wasn't anywhere to go.)

Tycon spotted Maltwick-- stalwart and noble Maltwick, staring at him from afar.

He rendered his Dig-Captain a salute. 

Maltwick nodded in return, the movement almost imperceptible. 

Anyroad... the most powerful person among the Gatekeepers was easy for Tycon to discern. 

And, at the same time, that person turned to meet his gaze. 

⟬ Raelion, Sky-Rank Archdevil Overlord. ⟭

⟬ ...Probably. ⟭

Overlord.

That was ominous. 

Gatekeeper General Raelion (he presumed) was a muscular, humanoid gentleman with reddish-purple skin. A set of sleek, black horns adorned the top of his head, curved back along with his dark hair. He wore an eyepatch, likely functional as opposed to ornamental. 

He was not the tallest hellborne in his company, but he was near a head taller than Tycon. More than that, Raelion had a regal pair of folded bat wings behind his back, artificially increasing his height. 

In normal circumstances, Tycon might have been annoyed by the fact. 

However, that person, (supposedly,) was a friend. 

Tycon had dealt with friends of the previous-him, many times in his life. Such meetings always turned out well enough. 

Hm. The first one of which was Dragan. 

He sincerely hoped that fellow was alive and well, somewhere.

Using a casual ⌈Shadowfang⌋ to increase the distance traveled by his steps, Tycon arrived in front of the armed and armored Gatekeeper Commander. 

"General Raelion," he said, instilling mirth in his voice. "You look well. Tell me, how have you been?"

The horned General stared down at him silently. The gaze of his fiery golden eye was rather intense. Tycon wondered for a moment if the fellow actually had an Ocular Technique similar to his. 

...After an excruciatingly long moment, Raelion exhaled a deep groan. 

"Ughhh... It's you..." he said, shaking his head. "I am both surprised-- yet not."

Tycon tilted his head playfully, "The pleasure is mostly mine."

"Yeah, yeah," Raelion waved. "Tell me. What's all this?"

"Ah, yes... This," Tycon forced a smile, sucking air through his teeth. "This is... my Command Tent. Powered by a Dungeon Core. Temperature controlled. Small library. Full liquor bar. It's quite nice."

"Uh huh," the General nodded, "I can see that. But I was talking. about. that."

He pointed. 

Tycon did not need to look; he knew where Raelion was pointing. It was at the gigantic hole in the dirt from whence he summoned the ten thousand hellborne of Infernus Invictus. 

As a matter of politeness, he looked anyroad. 

Then... with his life on the line, Tycon feigned surprise. 

"Ohhh. Oh, by the fates. That appears to be... a naturally formed Gate? How... did thAT get there?"

"Owing the Gate to fortune? By the fates?" Raelion narrowed his eyes, "That may be a bit... much. It looks like there's a Spell Formation at the base of it. Say... you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"AhHhh... Is there, now?" Tycon said with a chuckle. "Now that I see it, That... does seem to be the case. How... peculiar?"

"And it looks like someone tried to cover up their work," Raelion mused. "Maybe a... I dunno... a snake?"

Gods. damn. it all...

Naturally, Tycon had deactivated his Battle Formation before attacking the Flamebriar Monarch's territory. He'd tried to erase it too. Unfortunately, its unnaturally high synchronization to the Gate seemed to sustain it enough for a knowledgeable third party to understand its history. 

Try as he might, he couldn't escape his fate of being a genius Formation Master! 

Tycon clenched his teeth, having realized that deceit was getting him nowhere. 

"Raelion, my Realm is in danger."

"Which one?" he asked. 

"The one with humans in it," Tycon clarified. 

What was that even a question? 

The sleek-horned gentleman pursed his lips and bobbed his head up and down, "So your answer... was an attempt at starting another gods-damned Blood War?" 

"It was contained!" Tycon argued. 

"I doubt that," Raelion responded in a monotone voice. 

"You know my methods," Tycon said with tempered insistence, "I had my reasons and I took precautionary measures before taking action. You trust my judgment, no?"

He hoped what he was saying was true. 

Raelion rolled his eyes, "Alright. Fine. What did you do?"

"Murdered a rogue Fae Prince in a Between-Realm," Tycon answered-- "before collapsing it. We saved you the trouble. It was a troubling matter."

He trusted that Lulu did as he asked. She was more than capable of doing so... but she had a general proclivity towards indolence. 

"Yeesh," Raelion shrugged. "Well done, I'll give you that much. Though how you managed to track down the Flamebriar Monarch on top of taking him down... with your body like that..."

"I had help," Tycon frowned. 

"Did you?"

Raelion crossed his arms, closing himself off. His stance naturally widened and his gaze was particularly intent. 

Tycon realized he had made a mistake... though, just how it was a mistake yet eluded him. 

"Show me," Raelion commanded. 

"...V-very well."

Tycon led Raelion back to his Command Tent, away from the General's Gold and Adamantine-Rank companions. 

He even did him a service by holding the tent flaps open, taking special care to that the devilish gentleman's wings would remain unimpeded. 

"Eleven heavens," Raelion cursed. "Is that a f*cking Ice Devil?"

"Franz!" Tycon raised his voice, "Get this good man a drink-- top shelf! The rum, if you would."

"Of course, my liege," Franz said with a bow. 

"Why do you-- no. Why is he addressing you as--" Raelion let out a low groan. "Ugghhh. I don't even wanna know."

"General Raelion," Tycon said, "I'd like to introduce you to my Realm's Hero-- of the most recent generation. Mister Pale?" 

The sandy-haired teenager propped himself up from the cushion he was seated on. 

"Good afternoon, Sir!!" he said with a crisp salute, magical staff-spear in hand. 

"Ohh. Spear Hero, huh? And blonde..." Raelion mused, stroking his thin beard. "Not that hair color is something to judge heroism by, but I was expecting a redhead."

"Hm," Tycon frowned. "Odd. I had the same thought."

The notion seemed to be increasingly rare. 

"The path of a Hero is not an easy one, little brother," Raelion said, saluting with a fist to his chest. "The Gatekeepers can't intervene in the problems of individual Realms, but... if there's a big enough problem, I'm your guy."

"Th-thank you, Sir!" Pale said, bowing deeply. 

Tycon turned to the other members of Pale's party, "The rest of you, look alive. This is General Raelion of the Gatekepers.

"Raelion, this is Troia, leader of my Realm's Holy Country."

[I'm the Hero's girlfriend,] signed the young, angel-winged woman. 

ραпdα---nᴏνa| сom Tycon raised an eyebrow. 

That... was something he needed to ask about-- but under different circumstances. 

"Hallowed Summoner, that's a rare Class," Raelion pursed his lips, nodding agreeably. "For a moment, I thought you were an angel."

[...Thank you?]

Raelion chuckled to himself, "I'm glad you're not. Would've had to kill you."

Tycon wondered about the young lady's hesitation... not that it was important. He also wondered at Raelion's ability to discern a person's Class. That was an effective ability for anyone in a leadership position. 

But, anyroad... 

"This is Kimura, a random whelp we picked up in an arbitrary forest."

The silver-haired monster adopted a wide stance, crossing her arms and puffing out her chest. 

"I'm hella strong!" she claimed. 

She was wrong, of course. But Tycon wasn't going to mention that in respect to current company. 

Raelion turned to him, speaking in a low voice, "So who was it, then? Who killed the Flamebriar Monarch and collapsed his Domain?"

"All of us, together?" Tycon suggested-- "with... the power of... uh--"

"Friendship," Pale declared confidently. 

"Badassitude," Kimura declared stupidly. 

[Love?] Troia signed... innocently. 

"You're joking," Raelion said, a frown crossing his lips, "With just this Hero and his party? I'm surprised you even got through their fortifications. Do you even KNOW how many years that fae bastard has been--"

[Good afternoon, General.]

Jægerin's mental transmission interrupted the General's whining. 

Raelion seemed entranced as he silently stared. 

Tycon was uncertain as to what caught his attention. 

The young girl's diaphanous wings fluttered so quickly, they left afterimages. She had perfect flight control, able to hover a fulm in the air, so her eye level kept even with the General's. 

She handed him his mixed drink. 

The General accepted it with a nod. 

Though the short interaction had concluded, Tycon still felt a lingering tension in the air. 

It was after Jægerin returned to Pale's side that Raelion shut his eyes and took in a series of haltered breaths. 

Several moments passed with the gentleman keeping worryingly still. His breathing steadily grew deeper and more forceful. 

"So..." Tycon began, "Who's in the mood for lunch?"

"Wha?" Kimura tilted her head, "We already had lunch, Boss."

"Then, what about second-lunch?" 

"I could eat," Pale volunteered. 

[Me too!] Troia happily signed. 

[May I join you, Leader?] Jægerin buzzed. 

"Sounds good," Kimura cheered. "Let me help, though! I'm strong at girly stuff, too!"

Tycon wouldn't even trust that whelp to melt butter. 

Raelion opened his one eye.

"Tyrael."

Oh. Oh, no. That was not what Tycon wanted to hear.

Lulu had not lied to him. 

She was a Demon, therefore absolutely capable of lying to him. 

That clever wastrel had chosen not to lie... but to deceive him, nonetheless. 

Raelion was not familiar with Tycondrius. He was familiar with 'Tyrael', a being familiar only to heavenly beings and thrice-ancient lizards. 

But... Tycon was neither going to argue nor apologize to a Sky-Rank Devil Noble. 

"Y-yes?" 

Of course, he was strongly considering doing so. 

"I need to speak with you. Outside. Right now."