The light of the morning sun shone down upon the oasis. The young man opened his two eyes heavy. The pain in his head was not minor, he endured it as he sat up, no sheets to cover his scarcest seen parts.

He grumbled as he held his head in his hands. Then he looked around the tent. He sought his partner, his wife, but she was not to be seen. Beside him lay an empty bottle, beside that lay a spilled cup. That was to his right. To his left, however, he found a blackened stain upon the fur skin rug beneath him. All these things were clear reminders of what he and that woman of his had done last night.

He chuckled, then sat up. His clothes were in poor shape, but he wore them well enough. He peered through the opening of his tent, peered upon the sunlight. There she stood, his bride, Rusalka, hair still wet from bathing, slowly putting on her suit of armour. He stepped outside, yet paused a moment. Whatever it was, be it cheek or something more, he chose a special way to greet her this morn.

“Morning,” He said as passed her by, it was but a moment, yet a firm, albeit brief, grip upon her right buttock, clad in black trousers, half leggings for their structure, caused her to take a clumsy step forward. She gave a surprised yelp, but her shock was brief.

After she processed what had happened she stood tall with a sly smile and then continued to put on her uniform’s arm bracer. She had no gripes, though she did vow to return the favour later.

“Good morning, Alex.” She turned her head as the young man planted his butt upon the stone face of a bronze coloured boulder. The lad looked around, he saw the camp whose goers were just now waking from their exhausted slumber. Then he felt his heart grow sombre. Lucretia’s tent, it seemed, was long gone now.

“She left some time ago...you and I are the late to risers today,” Rusalka said, her face flashing a proud smile. For the mere act of sleeping in to give her a guilty sense of thrill was certainly something abnormal in the eyes of other men, but it made sense to those who had known her for as long as him.

“I can’t believe you’re still standing,” Alexander said with a teasing grin.

“You neither,” She replied, raising her chin and snorting at him with a cold grin. His chest and neck were marked by her, and his collar was broken enough for her to see every sign of it. Should he turn his back upon her, she’d see scratches too. She felt more than a small sense of thrill from this, so much so that she briefly wondered if she really understood it herself. All of these were marks of her, so called, territory, on some subconscious level.

She then turned her head as she heard footsteps on the soil. Before her gaze now stood a squad, four of them Gold Class, two of them not. The people started to gather until they had her tent surrounded from all sides. Then one of the four first women stepped forth, she raised her hand and held a document therein.

“What is this?” Rusalka asked as she reached out to seize the scroll.

“We found it on the spot where Lady Lucretia’s tent was...in the beak of a golden hawk.” Rusalka frowned, then opened the scroll wide. There, depicted within, were four images. The first was a man holding a large sceptre that doubled as a spear. The materials used, shape and length of the spear were all described in fine detail.

“Shame we have no forges,” Rusalka muttered. Then she looked upon the armour the man was wearing. The material and detail of it too was written down, it was sturdy, fire resistant, stylish as well as practical, a good set that had Venus’ own gear beaten by a level or two.

She turned her gaze to the second image. This image portrayed another man, a Silver Class, clearly, using threads of Ash. She raised a brow and soon realised what this was.

She turned to the final two images and her eyes promptly opened wide. The first was a Gold Class, clearly, using chains of Ash and a manifested set of armour and weapon. The weapon in question was that same staff, that same spear. Then she turned to look upon the final image.

This image depicted a Platinum Class, of which, sadly, they had none, bathing in the blood of a dragon. Half his body was covered in a waterfall of dragon blood, and that half was covered head to toe in a set of his clothing turned to scales, spikes and plates, same as Avance and Ahzi Dahaka.

On this image’s back, however, where the neck, spine and shoulders met, was a spot of vertebrae marked in red. The image depicted three smaller ones, each one clearly depicting the results of something striking that infallible weak point. Rusalka knew all too well what she was looking at with this manual.

The name of this particular spear technique was named Ascalon, while the name of the chain technique was Gleipnir. Lucretia, for whatever reason, was offering these techniques to them. The words written at the very top of the document simply read: Make them An Army. Rusalka smiled as she closed the scroll in haste.

“That shameless woman,” She grumbled. She faced the sky, the heavens above, and wondered what was to become of them next. She sighed, then she turned back to face her husband and the crowd.

“Everyone, gather your things, we leave as soon as…” She looked towards her husband with a piercing smile, “As soon as your Lord here is done with his morning bath.” Alexander chuckled, then the masses followed...until suddenly he felt a force lift him into the air.

“What?” Ten, twenty perhaps and maybe more, women lifted him from the stone. He tried to sit up upon a sea of hands that was quickly moving him closer to the lake.

“Oi!” he loudly said as they threw him into the water. He gasped and emerged, spitting water free of his cheeks a moment later. He frowned towards the crowd, then rolled his eyes as they smiled and walked away. He saw Rusalka standing over him, a sly grin upon her crimson lips as she finally clipped on the last buckle of her armour. What’s a man to but return a wry grin?

__________________________________________________

Within the wind of bronze coloured sands fifty six figures did roam. All of them, save but one, were women.

They wore the armour of Venus’ ilk, save for the Princess who stood at their helm. Rapture wandered by her side, his head upturned towards the sky. He creased his brows, then looked over to the princess. Her body, even now, towered over him, he was barely up to her hips in size and scale.

The shriek of a hawk, gold and bright, echoed through the wasteland. They paused their steps, the princess first of all. She raised her arm, let the hawk land there, and then pet it as its body unfurled, transforming into threads of gold that punctured into her flawless skin.

The hawk vanished amid the wind. The princess raised her arm as the last thread of gold fused into her milk white flesh. Not a mark or scar appeared there, to the end it was but flawless flesh.

“Was it...wise?” The boy asked as he saw her standing in a daze. She turned her gaze upon him, though looked at him only with the corner of her eye.

“Was what wise?” She turned to ask him.

“Letting Ru have that scroll?” She raised her brows. Truth be told, she did have an inkling of what his meaning might be, but she did not choose to pry. She cast him a wicked smile, half forced, yet mostly natural. The boy frowned, he was no fool, he knew something was up even if he did not know what specifically it was.

“Of course it was,” She said as she stepped forward, crushing the soil beneath her heel with an audible quelch. “After all,” She said, waving a hand through her golden hair, “What do you think my brother will do when he realises Venus now has our most sacred techniques?” She smiled wide, a gorgeous and playful, perhaps even childish smile, yet, to Rapture, it was as frightful as it was enchanting.

She peered forward into the expanding wasteland. Rusalka could decline her, time and time again, but she’d eventually find a way to place her under her thumb. This offer of power was a kindness, he did not doubt it...but it was also her latest scheme.

“Cunning,” the boy said with a frown. He wasn’t complimenting her, far from it even. She could tell from his expression that he was actually quite angry over this matter. Yet she could not but shrug it off. She took it for a compliment, even though she was most certainly not blind to his sarcastic tone.

“It takes a cunning person to get ahead in this world...little boy,” She said, facing him with her two pretty eyes. Then, she closed them halfway, a sneering grin formed from her lips. “After all...it’s thanks to that same kind of cunning that your father still lives.” The boy froze in place, he wanted to ask what she meant by that, yet all that greeted him was her shapely back.

He scowled, yet followed her, demanding an answer as Venus’ fifty four watched on. They conversed with each other in hushes until a wave of revelation washed over them.

They all thought back to that day, the battle between Cerus Gemini and Avance Mercury and Ahzi Dahaka. They thought it all over in their heads and quickly realised the truth that they’d been too exhausted in mind and spirit to realise until now...it was not Avance who they watched die.