Infinity: Reborn

Spoiler

I'll be taking a short break, probably until the end of the week.

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Lilith watched with clinical detachment as Mammon’s massive jaws closed around Valac’s torso. The dragon didn’t bite down fully—instead, his teeth pierced just deep enough to hold the struggling demon lord in place while keeping him conscious and aware.

Valac’s screams echoed across the plaza as Mammon began to chew slowly, deliberately. Each grinding motion of those enormous jaws elicited fresh shrieks of agony. The dragon’s frost head breathed small puffs of freezing air across Valac’s exposed legs, preventing shock from numbing the pain, while the fire head’s breath kept the wounds cauterized to forestall any merciful blood loss.

“Please!” Valac’s voice cracked as Mammon’s teeth ground against his ribs. “I’ll tell you everything! The location of the Crown of Shadows! The Vault of Screaming Souls! Anything!”

Mammon paused his chewing, both heads tilting as if considering the offer. For a moment, hope flickered in Valac’s eyes. Then the dragon resumed his methodical mastication, and that hope died with a wet crunch of bone.

The crowd watched in absolute silence. Even the most hardened warriors among the prisoners had paled at the display. Some of Valac’s former followers looked sick, while others stared with the horrified fascination of those witnessing their own potential fate.

Valac’s voice rose to a shriek as Mammon’s teeth found a particularly sensitive nerve cluster. “I yield! I submit completely! I’ll be your slave forever! Just please—”

Another deliberate bite silenced his words for several seconds. When he could speak again, his voice had become a hoarse whisper. “I was wrong. So wrong. You’re magnificent. Beautiful. I should have worshipped you instead of binding you. Please, great Mammon, show mercy to this worthless—”

Mammon’s jaws shifted, and Valac’s desperate pleas became incoherent babbling. The dragon chewed with the patience of a creature that had waited centuries for this moment, savouring every drop of terror and agony.

Lilith felt nothing as she observed the execution. No disgust, no satisfaction, no guilt. It was simply necessary—a demonstration that needed to occur for political reasons. The absence of any emotional response should have disturbed her, but now even that realization failed to stir any feeling.

Valac’s voice grew weaker with each passing moment, his words dissolving into wordless sobs and whimpers. Blood trickled from the corners of Mammon’s mouth, but the dragon continued his slow, deliberate consumption.

The other demon lords stood motionless beside Lilith. Belial watched with open fascination, clearly appreciating Valac’s prolonged suffering. Eligos maintained a stoic expression, though his knuckles were white where he gripped his sword hilt. Bael’s face showed no emotion, but his breathing had grown shallow. Even Dantalian, who had arrived during the battle’s aftermath, observed in silence.

Mammon shifted his grip, and Valac’s pleas became a high, keening wail that gradually faded to nothing more than pained breathing. Then, with one final, decisive chomp, Valac’s voice was silenced forever.

The plaza remained utterly quiet except for the wet sounds of Mammon finishing his meal. The dragon swallowed the remains with evident satisfaction, both heads licking their lips clean before settling back to regard the assembled crowd.

The demonstration was complete. Every demon present now understood exactly what defying their new Empress would cost them. They had witnessed the fate of someone who had once commanded this very dragon, who had seemed untouchable just days before.

Lilith stepped forward, her ceremonial armour catching the last rays of sunlight. The crowd’s attention focused on her instantly, thousands of pairs of eyes waiting to learn their fate.

She had delivered enough speeches for one day. Her words about glory and empire and purpose had served their function, planting the necessary seeds in receptive minds. Now came the practical business of administration.

“I have said everything that needed saying,” Lilith continued, folding her wings. “You know what I offer. You know what I demand. You’ve seen both the rewards of loyalty and the price of defiance.”

She turned toward the spire, then paused as if remembering an afterthought. “General Voso will oversee your integration into our forces. The process will be gradual—we’re not desperate enough to arm thousands of potential enemies at once. Prove your worth through service, and you’ll find we reward competence generously.”

Voso stepped forward, accepting his role with a sharp nod. “My lady.”

“Release them in groups of fifty,” Lilith instructed, her tone shifting to purely administrative. “House them in the outer rings initially. Basic provisions and work assignments to start. Anyone causing trouble gets one warning, then they join Valac.”

“Understood.”

“Reinforcements from Lady Paimon and Lady Dantalian’s territories should arrive within the week. Until then, maintain current security protocols.” She glanced at the dragon coiled beside her. “Mammon will patrol the perimeter. I doubt anyone will test our defences, but discourage any thoughts of escape through demonstration flights.”

Both massive heads nodded eagerly, still tasting Valac’s blood.

Lilith looked out over the crowd one final time, noting how they watched her every gesture for clues about their fate. Fear and calculation warred in their expressions, exactly the combination she needed. They would serve, not from love or loyalty, but from understanding that her path offered the best chance for survival and advancement.

It was enough. For now.

“I leave you in General Voso’s capable hands,” she announced, already walking toward the spire’s entrance. “Welcome to Nocturne.”

* * *

The medic’s hands glowed with a soft green light as she examined Seraphina’s shoulder, checking for any trace of the creature’s toxins. After several minutes of methodical inspection, she stepped back with a puzzled expression.

“Completely clean,” the woman announced, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Whatever you used to treat the wounds worked perfectly. No infection, no residual poison, not even scar tissue. I’ve never seen anything heal this thoroughly.”

Seraphina flexed her shoulder experimentally, marvelling at the complete absence of pain or stiffness. Mathias’s potion had been remarkably effective.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding off the examination table.

Vespera emerged from the shadows near the medical tent’s entrance, her expression stern. “Finished pretending you’re invincible?”

“I know I was reckless,” Seraphina said before her grandmother could launch into a lecture. “But I couldn’t just stand there watching those things tear people apart. I had to do something.”

“You could have waited. The golems would have handled everything.”

“How was I supposed to know golems were coming?” Seraphina spread her hands in frustration. “Nobody told me the Empress had them positioned for tunnel attacks.”

Vespera’s silver eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t have known. But you still should have found cover instead of charging into combat with creatures designed to kill whatever they touch.”

“My actions saved lives before the golems arrived.” Seraphina’s voice carried quiet conviction. “People would have died if everyone just hid and waited for rescue.”

Her grandmother sighed, the stern mask slipping slightly. “You got her stubbornness and his recklessness. Your mother’s determination, your father’s willingness to throw himself into impossible odds.” Vespera stepped closer, placing a hand on Seraphina’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

The unexpected warmth in her grandmother’s voice made Seraphina’s throat tighten. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“You’ll worry me until the day one of us dies,” Vespera said matter-of-factly. “That’s what family does.” She released Seraphina’s shoulder and stepped back into her professional demeanour. “I’ve kept the Empress waiting long enough. She’ll want a full report about casualties.”

“Of course. Go.”

Vespera melted back into the shadows between one blink and the next, leaving Seraphina alone outside the medical tent. The courtyard buzzed with activity as crews worked to clear debris and assess structural damage. The acrid smell of the creatures’ blood still lingered in the air, mixing with dust and the metallic tang of spilled weapon oil.

As she gathered herself to leave, Seraphina caught sight of a familiar silhouette across the street. The figure paused, seeming to look in her direction, before continuing toward the dormitory complex.

Mathias.

She hurried across the cobblestones, weaving between work crews hauling broken masonry. “Mathias, wait!”

He stopped but didn’t turn around immediately. When he finally faced her, his expression was shuttered, darker than she’d ever seen it.

“What happened?” she asked, studying his face. “You look like someone died.”

“Nothing,” he said flatly. “Just a long day.”

The response felt hollow, wrong somehow. During their weeks of training together, Mathias had always been reserved but never this distant, this cold. Something had changed between the tunnel attack and now.

“That’s not an answer,” she pressed gently. “You helped me carry arrows this morning, stayed to fight when you usually avoid conflict, even gave me that healing potion. Now you look like you’ve seen something terrible.”

Mathias started walking again, his pace measured but tense. Seraphina fell into step beside him, matching his stride while giving him space to decide whether he wanted to talk.

They passed through the second ring’s restored streets in silence, their footsteps echoing off the clean stonework. The maintenance golems had transformed these areas into something approaching the old imperial glory—functional fountains, swept walkways, buildings with intact windows and doors.

“The potion,” Mathias said suddenly. “Did it work properly?”

“Perfectly. The medic said she’d never seen anything heal so completely.” Seraphina glanced at him sideways. “Where did you really get it?”

His jaw tightened. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me. You risked yourself today in ways I’ve never seen, then gave me something that valuable. That’s not nothing.”

They walked another block before Mathias spoke again, his voice barely audible. “Sometimes the things we’re taught to believe don’t match what we see with our own eyes.”

The admission surprised her. In all their conversations, Mathias had never revealed uncertainty about anything. He approached the world with the confidence of someone whose beliefs were unshakeable.

“What did you see today that doesn’t match?” she asked carefully.

“People.” The word came out rough, almost angry. “I saw people fighting to protect strangers. People willing to die for something they believed in. People who…” He stopped walking abruptly. “People who shouldn’t co-exist according to everything I was taught.”

Seraphina felt a flutter of understanding. “You mean demons. Half-demons.”

“I mean all of it.” Mathias resumed walking, but slower now. “This place. These people. You.”

The last word carried weight she didn’t quite understand, but she sensed the importance of not pushing too hard. Whatever internal struggle Mathias was facing, it ran deeper than simple battlefield stress.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For the training, for today, for the potion. Whatever you’re fighting with inside your head, I’m glad you were there.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders. Not all of it, but enough that his next words sounded more like the man who’d patiently corrected her sword grip for weeks.

“Your grandmother was right, you know. Charging those creatures was reckless.”

“Probably.” Seraphina smiled slightly. “But I’d do it again.”

“I know.” Despite everything, there was almost fondness in his voice. “That’s what worries me.”

* * *

Nyssa crouched behind a broken gargoyle on the second ring’s rooftop, her amber eyes fixed on the half-demon pair below. The conversation drifted up clearly in the evening air, but one detail made her tiny claws dig into the stone.

Aqua Regia.

The golden healing potion Mathias had given Seraphina wasn’t some battlefield scavenge. Nyssa had tasted the divine essence lingering in the air when the half-demon woman’s wounds vanished—that radiant, impossibly pure energy that only came from liquefied Auri.

A “simple scholar” didn’t carry potions worth a kingdom’s ransom. A scholar certainly didn’t lie about finding such treasures on old battlefields, where Aqua Regia would have evaporated back to sacred mana within hours.

Mathias was a spy.

Her wings twitched with excitement. Lilith would praise her for this discovery, would see how valuable Nyssa remained as her faithful servant. They would interrogate him together, uncover his true purpose, and—

No.

Nyssa forced herself to think past the rush of anticipated approval. She couldn’t afford mistakes. One chance to prove herself completely.

First, she needed evidence beyond divine potions. Documentation, communication methods, his real identity. Mistress Lilith deserved absolute certainty, not fairy suspicions.

Nyssa settled deeper into the shadows, watching Mathias’s retreating form with predatory patience.