Within a sealed, silent room sat a man clad in silver robes.

Legs crossed, arms lax, hands forming a zen-like seal, such was the way he sat.

Metatron’s silver Ash danced around the room making various shapes. From the smoke formed a snake, which chased down a rabbit.

From the tail of the snake emerged a lion who turned around and ensnared the snake in its jaws.

From the rabbit’s shadow emerged a mighty Wyrm, a scaled land dragon, a Behemoth, which then opened its jaws and roared the lion away.

The man breathed in, his Ash dispersed and flowed back into his waiting flesh.

The room fell silent, the silver light faded and darkness moved in. He didn’t open his eyes, only called out to the waiting presence standing at the door.

“Speak,” He said with a booming tongue.

“I bring news,” She said with a formal whisper.

The door opened and in came a woman clad, as Metatron was, in simple silver robes.

The man opened his eyes to face her. She was the commander of the Knight’s of Cain Unit who followed him so closely.

“Lucretia of Jupiter has entered the city.” Her words caused her master to tense up noticeably. He wondered, for what purpose was Lucretia here? He could think only of one answer.

“She’s investigating Venus, huh?”

“We knew it’d happen eventually,” Said the female commander, “Indeed, they’d be very foolish not to.”

“We’ve run out of time then.” Metatron stood up steadily. His aura was calm and level on the surface, but a rough edge stood bare to the trained eye. His commander noticed that.

She could sense a spark of hesitation in his voice. Perhaps even Metatron himself hadn’t noticed it, but she had. Venus had aided a member of the Immortal Tribe, as far as Cain’s ilk cared, that marked them traitors to the human race on the whole. Even Metatron, the Metatron she knew, had thought so.

“May I speak freely?” She asked him. The man glanced over his shoulder at her. He could sense the worry in her voice, the lack of confidence in her tone. He nodded his head, he allowed her to speak, and so she did. “Are you having doubts, my lord?”

“Doubts?” Metatron asked in return. The woman shook her head. Perhaps she imagined it, perhaps she should simply not have spoken it. She clapped her boots together and faced him, arms to her back.

“Your orders?” She asked, and then Metatron faced her silently for a time. The word lingered, “do I doubt?”, the question stung in his thoughts. Did he doubt? He couldn’t imagine why he ever would, no, he did not doubt.

“Get everyone into position, we attack tonight.” The woman bowed her head and turned on her heels. Her metal boots clapped loud upon the stone chamber floor as she walked away and closed the door.

Metatron closed his eyes and returned to his meditation, it did not take long for him to realise he could no longer close off his mind. His heart was far from tranquil.

________________________________________________

Rudolph sat in a slump as he faced the wide, octagonal chamber before him.

There, upon the stand at the chamber’s heart, was the pitch black trident. Once wielded by Beatrix, now owned by her son, he knew its true nature.

Platinum Class beings such as them, and the entire Immortal Clan, would not carry just any old weapons on their person, no, not at all. Beatrix’ trident had to be special, and he was more than a little bit suspicious of its nature.

Indeed his hunch had been proven right. He heard the clicking of tumblers behind him and turned to face the chamber door. His wife, Melany, walked onto the floor, her iron heels clapping loudly, distinctly.

“What’s the verdict?” She asked him. Her husband shook his head with a look of frustration. She tensed at the sight of that, his gestures alone confirmed her suspicions.

“It’s a Tyrfing, alright,” Rudolph said with resignation. Even Melany felt a sting of dread at that moment.

Tyrfing, their master had spoken of this to them many times.

The Immortals compared to them were as a mighty serpent, and they were but maggots compared to them.

These ancient monsters had mastered Ash, both the Basic and Advanced forms, to the extreme degree. Their old age, naturally, was to blame for this.

Only Cain’s four pillars and founder could truly compare to them. The Tyrfing was, simply put, the weapon of those people, those immortals. Born from the owner’s flesh and blood, it was a crazed tool that fed upon the slain to increase its power. Such a tool could both be called a living being and not but one thing was certain; it was dangerous.

“Why would Mistress Beatrix let her son have such a thing?” Melany groaned.

“I don't know, but, and this is likely because he lacked Ash before, it is fortunately even now still dormant,” Rudolph replied, “Who knows, maybe she was more evil than we ever suspected and she planned for this thing to consume the kid and revive her in turn.”

His poor jest roused both Melany’s anger and yet also her genuine concern, because while it was undoubtedly insulting to their mistress it could also well be the truth.

Indeed, Beatrix had once told them that a Tyrfing was like a second life to its owner. Knowing this, the Knights of Cain always destroyed any Tyrfing they found or seized it to seal away in a place they called the vault, but they never simply left it with the body of its slain wielder.

The frightening idea that Beatrix might usurp her own child’s body through this tool was not a historically unfounded one either.

“I doubt the Mistress was that heartless, but it’s probably wise to not return this to the boy,” Rudolph gave his honest verdict, and Melany did not complain in the least. They both agreed that this thing should never be returned to Rapture’s hand, not when he had no idea of the danger it concealed.

Whether Beatrix would actually have planned such a thing or not however was something that made the duo quite uncertain. She herself had told them many times of her people’s ways, the only way to put it was “different culture, different rules”. The way they treated love especially was abnormal to put it kindly.

The clan originally consisted of fourteen Matriarchs, fourteen ladies who first raised and then later served Rognir. Everyone in the clan today was a descendant of those fourteen figures and their purest bloodline, the first born, stood at the helm of the clan in each generation that followed.

Under each of these first born, who inherited the title of Matriarch, stood nine hundred and ninety nine other Immortals. Thus ever was the Immortal Clan just fourteen thousand strong in number, and they could never expand beyond that number.

When that number was lacking, a child was permitted to be born, however, if that child was a Gold Class or lesser, they’d be sent to a different Matriarch's hold as a slave. Only the Platinum Class, who could actually become Immortal through their techniques, were treated as people whilst the vast majority of the clan’s true number was in truth made up of these several thousand slaves.

This had happened to more than a few of Beatrix’ own children, but she did not voice any complaint about it, or even act like it bothered her. One could call her heartless, but when her culture in general behaved in such a way how can it not be called normal?

Rapture himself had been one such child and she cared for him, that much was true, but it was not unlikely that she also saw him as a tool, an instrument, as well.

Perhaps living amongst them and their culture for so long had altered her perspective? One could hope so, but perhaps it was too much to hope for.

Whatever the reason, they both agreed that this weapon could not be left in Rapture’s hands.

Rudolph stood up, he faced the weapon and pondered how best to destroy it. Then came a knocking on the door.

“This chamber is off limits, none may enter,” Melany said coldly.

“Yes, Milady,” came the voice through the door, “but...there’s a matter, one that needs your attention, please.” Melany raised her brow. She turned to face her husband, who only shrugged with indifference. She faced the door once more and reached out to seize the handle.

“What is it?” She asked as she opened the door. There, standing before her, was a woman in Venus City’s armour, a common sight.

“Lucretia of Jupiter,” That woman replied, “She’s in the city, the Bronze District Guards sent word.” Melany’s expression warped with unease.

Not long after that she faced her husband, who nodded back knowingly. His acknowledgement permitted her to close the door behind her and set off in haste.

“Where are Amelia and Rapture?” She asked as she pasted the guard.

“They’re in the courtyard, training, as always,” The guard replied. Melany cursed, they could not allow Rapture to be seen, not now. Lucretia was most likely here specifically because of Avance’s matter, and Rapture resembled his father too closely for her to ignore it.

Furthermore anyone with half a brain would question why a new, not to mention male, Platinum Class was walking around Venus so soon after that mess in the Sanctuary.