The waves continued to rage for a few more minutes, but they subsided before long. Only then did Aegis, alongside the two hundred or so survivors that followed him, look back towards the vortex that had replaced what once was the city’s highest authority.
“My god,” The old general said with a heavy gaze. He turned his gaze away, and looked down into the flooded streets. He walked slowly towards the depths of the Bronze District and then, in the distance, he saw it. Cain’s clouds gathered over the city wall, the gates especially. They had no way out, not without a fight.
“We’re in no state to fight,” Said a soldier by his side.
“Yes...but we cannot remain here,” The old general sighed. Cain in front, Cain behind, they could not fight nor could they flee. Aegis stared down into the streets with a solemn gaze. Then he caught a glimpse of something. Soldiers running towards god knows where. He stroked his chin in contemplation, then snapped his fingers, faced the soldier by his side, and pointed towards those rushing women. “Find out where they’re going.” The soldier gave him a curious look. Only after a moment did she realise that those women were most certainly not heading for the city gates. She complied with his command and then leapt down to meet them. They jumped back in surprise, but sheathed their weapons when the realised that the woman was an ally. The woman then turned her head and signalled Aegis and his men to come down. The old man groaned, he summoned his Ash and stepped forward, hence, a powerful cloud of Ash did soften his descent, but even then it still hurt. “Curse my decrepit old bones,” He said, massaging his back as he stepped forward. He saw the woman, now with a brilliant smile.
“They found Lady Ru!” She said, “Everyone’s gathering at the warehouse area, where the food is stored, all the survivors.”
“Oh?” The old general gave it some thought. Indeed, Cain had stopped moving, for whatever reason, it was the perfect time to regroup. Perhaps it was due to that large scale attack they’d used to erase the Gold District? He couldn’t help but think so. “Lead the way,” He said as he turned to face the Bronze Class guardswomen whom he’d had stopped just a few moments ago.
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The city gates stood solid and strong, the bulk of Cain’s force was amassed there. Silver fireballs fell from the sky, every minute, hundreds would die. Amid all this was a man clad in Jupiter’s colours. Hidden together with four hundred Bronze District survivors. He sighed, then lit a purple fire on his fingertips. Ash burned, lighting up the pipe he held between his lips. Like Aegis, he was a “special” existence. The fact that not only one, but two of the four Generals of Jupiter were here, was a sight to behold. Erus must have truly loved his dear little sister for him to dare make a demand so bold. Mortuus-Vir of Pluto, that was his name. He smoked his pipe and peered past the corner. What else was there to do but groan? Aegis was a master of shields, Apollo was a city of archers, but him? He was of a different sort. The injured men and women hiding in his shadow breathed in his violet Ash. Their wounds, it seemed, began to close.
“We can’t fight our way out,” He groaned, “Pull back.” His order was calm, his judgement sound. He ignored the cries, the sorrow, as men and women who were not in his shadow burned to death in their futile charge towards the gate. He found it ironic, Venus had plenty of fishermen, yet none of those fools who over there did go realised that they were like fish running into a cast open net. He began to walk away, together with the four hundred who survived in his purple shadow. His Ash spread out, low to the ground, like a snake searching for pray. He paused his feet and faced the north. Lucretia’s Ash, in a group of roughly thirty, Aegis’ Ash in a group of roughly two hundred, both gathered in the direction of the same building. Naturally, as he sensed them, they sensed him. He took out his pipe and began to step forward. That direction, what awaited him there, was the formation of the last of Venus’ pitiful forces, a force that was only six and a half hundred strong. How could such a feeble thing hope to break through that accused city gate.
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The raging waves calmed, the white pillar of light faded from sight. Everything went quiet, it all fell silent. The winged man, Metatron, placed down his boots upon the stone buildings that formed the city’s Silver District. His gaze expanded outward, taking everything in. He leaked a tired sigh as his men gathered around him in the sky. They saluted, but he ignored them. All he offered was a gesture, with which he pointed them to the distant Bronze District shore. They complied in silence, each and every one of them charged towards the city gates. The rats that tried to flee the sinking ship would find only deeper waters. The man was melancholy as he faced the water. His gaze shifted to his wings a moment later. That woman, the female commander, her face remained engraved upon the surface of his winged form, proof not of her survival, but his own sentiment. He heard a noise. Boots trod calmly upon the wet stone street. He trembled, his Ash expanded out, trying to see who was behind him. He found his answer, soon after. Naturally at first he suspected a survivor, but what he saw there filled his heart and soul with bottomless terror. He turned his head to see past his wings. He saw a black figure, as if shrouded in fog, yet clear to the eye, standing not too far away. This entity ignored him entirely, it was not the least bit interested in his presence.
“I never called myself a god,” the figure muttered, seemingly to answer a voice that was not there. The figure turned to him, it turned its gaze upon him. Tired old eyes peered into him. What Metatron fought, what Cain sought, it stood before him, a God.
“Rognir.”
