Isla stared at the scattered men bustling about the outer courtyard of Adamantium's central castle. They readied themselves for battle with a variety of armaments from the crates and weapon racks, marking the final preparations. Soon, she would materialize to Elysium, beginning the transfer of troops.
She leaned against the warm stone railing, her eyes shifted from one fully-equipped soldier to the next. From helmet to heavy black sollerets, their guises gleamed red underneath the blazing sky. Though not elaborate in design like their King's, their clean cut armor held a careful toted craftsmanship.
The men carried their helmets, their hardened and battle stiffened faces inflaming bloodlust. She felt the electrifying air, the jolts and twinges. Their desire intermingled with hers, squashing her anxiety. She was ready.
"This. Is. Amazing," Ham whispered, his mouth gaping wide.
"Do you think they'll notice anything missing?" Wolfe commented, his gaze enthralled by a crate of daggers.
"Wolfe, you're drooling." Ham laughed while wrinkling his nose. Sweat spots marked the underneath of his arms and down his back.
"I wouldn't try it," Lance intervened, "the last thing we need is trouble with the Arcadians."
"If he does anything stupid, you're free to make him suffer." Varnis yawned while lounging on a bench behind them. His lance leaned against the corner, propped up.
"Aren't you their boss? Trouble with one, brings trouble for all," Lance argued while glancing between the two.
"Hey now, let's not kill me off, okay boss?" Wolfe said without turning his head.
"How much longer will this take?" Isla interjected. She regarded Lance, waiting for an answer.
Lance scratched his head, running the same hand down his face. "Like I know."
"What do you know?" Slate drawled.
Lance glared at him. "You know as much as I do."
"Slate, be nice, he's our ride back home. I don't want to get shafted because of you," Ham cried.
"Shut up fatty."
"Someone's grumpy," Wolfe snickered from the side.
"I don't understand why we have to help this God again. Didn't we make a point last time, never to help?"
"That was only you, smartass. Some of us prefer having a job," Wolfe explained.
"If you hated the idea, you could have stayed home," Ham groaned and shook his head.
"Someone's gotta watch when the God tries to knife us in the back," Slate growled.
Isla sighed. "Yes, I'll stab you in the back when I'm busy fighting my father to death."
Slate jerked her way, his jaw clenched and eyes bulging from their sockets.
"Slate, shut up, or I'll let her do it," Varnis grumbled.
"Damn God. Damn smell," Slate mumbled under his breath before walking away.
"What a colorful individual," Asterick chuckled as he strode up with Lucifer.
Except for their cape coated with red fringe, both Asterick and Lucifer wore similar fashioned armor, blending into the army. Once helmeted, she would lose their positioning with ease amongst battle. Even now, Asterick restrained his hair into a ponytail, his bangs hanging free. The change dropped his age, his appearance youthful.
Their transformation from well-dressed Nobles to battle hardened soldiers forced her eyes upon herself. Even she acquired new armor—albeit forced by Lucifer—leather and sturdy, but providing fare mobility. A perfect fit, he knew her well.
She fiddled with the straps keeping her gauntlets in place. "When do we leave?"
"Soon, very soon," Lucifer said.
"Our last preparations are underway as we speak. Now's your last chance for a quiet evening with yours truly instead." Asterick winked.
"I'm starting to become okay with you getting yourself killed," Isla replied.
"Harsh."
Lucifer's brow furrowed. "When will you learn."
"What must I learn? To be a bore like yourself. We can't have two of you, the Underworld would be out of balance. Can't have that now can we?"
Isla crossed her arms, watching his grand proclaimination attempts. "Right."
"Well then, now that we've agreed on that. What's our next order of business?"
"Lance, restrain your father."
"Physical restraints do little. You need to stop his mouth as well," Lance added beside her.
"Maybe we could weld it shut."
"I was thinking the Mosscrack's secretion. A sticky substance that never fades."
Asterick threw his hands up. "Separate you two!"
"Such a bore, Asterick." Isla smirked at his childish pout. "But there is one thing I must say, before this starts." She dragged a hand through her hair, untangling the snarls. "Perhaps, it's better if you both don't come."
"You know that won't happen." Asterick voiced while Lucifer nodded alongside.
"Then," she paused, swallowing the lodged lump which formed, "do not interfere if my life is forfeited. Promise me this."
Lucifer's brow furrowed and he breathed deep. "Very well, but only as a last resort."
Conversation ceased and Isla surveyed the troops, their preparations stilled as a wailing screech fired, deep and ear splitting. The clamor filled the castle, reverberating against the walls.
Isla winced, suppressing the urge to cover both ears.
"It's time," Lucifer announced as the uncanny howl ended.
She straightened her spine, eyes focused. The soldiers rushed a boxed formation, their rows and columns solid before the adjacent balcony. Seconds elapsed without sound or movement, pure stillness descended upon Adamantium's breath.
He was coming.
Her gaze narrowed upon the balcony. From the shadowed hallway, Calimitrin emerged. His mantle billowed out with swift steps as he descended the stone stairs. An entourage of armor clad Nobles followed him, each adorned with full length capes.
Calimitrin advanced towards her, his squared frame powerful and strong. His crimson eyes never strayed, pinning and condemning her with his influence.
He halted, the stone railing a breath away. Even the minor elevation balked in his presence as he overtopped her head.
"We will fight off the first wave," Calimitrin declared. "The rest of the troops will follow."
Was he mad? Him—the commander—entering battle first. But wait, what did he mean by first wave?
She blinked twice, her thoughts thwarted by the scowl donning his face. "Okay." Her mouth paused, the next words stunted.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm sure we'll be fine."
Calimitrin arched an eye, scrutinizing her, but he absolved his continual prodding.
Isla rounded the corner, traversing the stairs into the courtyard. The Nobles surrounding their King divided, granting her passage. Of course, their King remained stationary, only turning to face her approach.
Their gazes connected, and she searched his for an indicator. They burned brighter. Was it anger? No, maybe not. But standing before him incited neither fear nor nervousness, instead, she felt relaxed. Compared to their first meeting, this odd comfort was baffling. But, why?
"What?" he questioned.
"You are helping," she voiced, the words stunning even to herself.
"Do you think I'd hide in fear?" he stated.
His facial expression remained unaltered by her proclamation. If anything, his gaze dignified a high level of puzzlement over anger, she guessed.
"No. But you have no reason to risk your life on a suicidal mission."
Calimitrin smirked. "You think Gods are capable of killing me?"
A/N: Nearing the end! Only a few more chapters to go.