Contemptuous Arrest [ Erwin x OC ]

Seventh Endeavor: Memories

WARNING: This chapter includes a mass amount of gore in it; if this triggers or makes you uncomfortable, you are not entitled to read through those parts. Please be cautious of the description and events taking place in this chapter.

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Year 21XX, The Regal Dwelling; Grahmmite

Empty hallways echoed with the constant clicking of uniform boots as they scuffed against polished, marble floors. Numerous silver chains and leather belts adorning a lofty figure clashed raucously with one another as they marched on, hands clasped behind their back and a vacant expression marking their poised features. It was as if the contours of their jawline had been chiseled from stone itself, flawlessly matching the countenance they wore; unmerciful and ridden with loathing.

A soldier clad in similar attire to the towering being immediately stood erect when graced with their appearance, his silver irises narrowed when he proffered a standard military salute.

"Commander, sir!" the soldier bellowed from behind his leather mask, form statuesque as he addressed the figure appropriately.

"At ease, General Faust," the commander demanded, halting in his tracks a few feet from the rigid, male official. "I assume you have information regarding that disturbance I've been preying after?"

Lifting his head up to speak with the commander, Faust stared at the monstrosity of a man before him. However, the commander's face was completely shrouded from the palace's natural shadowing; only his left, polar iris shone amidst his darkened features.

"Activity was erratic in Podorm and Salge, but then, it suddenly . . . disappeared from our radar," the general reported, watching as the commander beckoned the frail man and began trudging in the direction of the throne room.

"Disappeared?" the commander repeated, a hint of intrigue in his gravelly voice. "Explain this predicament, and do not skim on the details!"

General Faust swallowed a minuscule amount of built-up saliva that had accumulated in his rather dry mouth. "Well, Commander Aeshma, sir . . . The coordinate you have been searching for seems to have been eradicated by an unknown force."

"Impossible," Aeshma hissed through grit teeth. "The coordinate is far more malicious and powerful compared to that of normal humans. They are absolute, a being who holds mass destruction in the palm of their hand. There is scarcely a chance their murderous life has been terminated."

"If I may add, sir," Faust interjected with a chuckle, fiddling with his fingers anxiously, "but isn't the coordinate also known for a string of massacres almost two centuries ago? With that being said, are they perhaps unearthly, granted their strength and age?"

Ascending the sloped staircases in the throne room, Aeshma smirked at the soldier's ignorant remark, unclasping his hands and resting them on a sheathed rapier attached to his uniform's hip belt. His navy cloak fluttered listlessly from the antarctic breeze infiltrating the sanctuary-esque space.

"My, someone has done their research correctly," Aeshma commended, looping his fingers around the cutlass to his sword. "I'm surprised your historical knowledge covers such medieval ground . . . But that's the reason I appointed you head of intel studies."

Padding along the rear end of the throne room, Aeshma glowered as his sight raked the desolate lands of Grahmmite sprawling beneath the cathedral-sized windows adorning his royal chambers. The trees were barren of leaves, the rivers deprived of running water, and fissures dotted the bleak landscape; such a masterpiece earned a simper from the commander himself.