The Weight of Failure

[The Bhalian Empire]

[ Continued From Here.. ]

Commander Delion stood in the descending corridor of the Crimson Cloud as the landing lights along the floor pulsed red beneath his boots. Outside the thick viewing glass, Bhalia loomed—a jagged sprawl of golden towers covered in vines, fluttering imperial banners, and endless columns of soldiers stretching from the skyports to the city’s ivory gates.

To most aboard, it was a return to safety—to the normalcy of home and hierarchy. But to Delion, it felt like the beginning of his own trial.

The Crimson Cloud groaned as it broke through the lowest atmospheric ring. Massive docking pylons began to unfold from the hangar cliffs, guided by arcanic energy rings, ready to receive the warship.
As they touched down, Delion exhaled slowly through his nose.

His mission was supposed to be straightforward—subjugate Helidor, stabilize the northern half of Muu, and initiate the empire’s greater objective: the imperialization of Continents Muu and Madeira beneath Bhalian control.

Instead, Helidor burned—but so did thousands of his own. And worse... During the sanctioned hunt for the Velkyr, a Mazoku Executioner had fallen in battle.
By the hands of a single human woman.

Delion’s brow creased at the memory, jaw tightening with restrained disdain.

The damage to his fleet was catastrophic. The Crimson Legion was splintered. Whole detachments dissolved. Reconnaissance wings lost in smoke and flame. Over a hundred Joro soldiers lay mutilated in the ashen ruins of the Onyx Trench. Not to mention the casualties brought on by their own captain; The Nissagro elv.. whose strength, while formidable, proved disastrously incompatible with coordinated warfare. Her berserker rampage in Helidor had cost them more lives than the enemy’s front line.

The surviving infantry, fewer than three thousand, had been scattered like embers across a battlefield gone cold.

But what disturbed him most wasn’t the attrition.
It was her.

That human—who not only killed a Mazoku Executioner, but departed with his remains like a trophy, as if to mock their legend and divinity.

“Tactless.. savage creatures.”

Delion’s knuckles tightened behind his back. He’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d watched her in real time—saw how she carved through elite formations with impossible speed and surgical brutality. There was no spell signature. No recognizable martial form. Only foreign weapons and tailored technology designed to tear through Mazoku physiology.

She was fast; her movements were death incarnate. And now, every angle of her face was logged in the high-priority databases of the Muzan Index—flagged red as a national threat.

One he failed to neutralize.

Word would spread. Even if he buried the mission under layers of black-coded protocol, rumors would find their way into the mess halls, the barracks, the temples.

A Mazoku slain.

That kind of heresy didn’t stay buried.

To Bhalia, the Mazoku were sacrosanct—godlike, eternal, untouchable. Their blood was the Empire’s crown jewel, their presence a constant, terrifying assurance of divine rule. A Mazoku Executioner hadn’t fallen in battle in over a thousand years.

And now Delion was the one who had deployed one. Consecutively, without rest. Without proper rotation. Kuran was one of the oldest living monuments of a sacred and dwindling population.

Delion could already feel the blade of responsibility pressing against his neck.

If the Zenith saw fit to make an example… his feared his head would would be adorned on a pike.

–
The landing clamps hissed as the Crimson Cloud settled onto the steaming tarmac of Dock 9. And as the engines shut down, a deep and heavy silence fell upon the ship. One that the Joro commander felt settled on his shoulders as he turned on his heel.

“Prep my council chamber. I’ll be present before the High Palace at dawn.”

“Uhm—excuse me Commander,” came the reply from the Joro adjutant at his side. “But you have not been summoned to the High Palace. According to the homeland reports, it would appear our Zenith is currently, uhn—offland.”

“Offland?” Delion's brow arched, and his blackened his suddenly alit with opportunity.

“A change of plans then.” He said, and a thin smile curled his lips to his pointed ears.

Thousands of his warriors were ash—but if Bhalia was anything, it was a forge of soldiers.

He didn't inquire as to why, or what could have occurred to have caused The Emperor to rise from his throne. It was stunning, but Delion wouldn't waste the opening. In the time allotted, he would mass a new legion before Akundae's return. One Stronger. Hungrier. And larger than what he'd initially been afforded. He was still the acting Commander and Chief of the Bhalian Armada, and until that title was stripped of him, he would move like fire.

“Have the Goblin Tinkerers refit the ship—and prepare for me a new battalion of infantrymen.” He barked as he strode toward the lowered ramp of the ship, his cape fluttering in his urgency. “I want the Vox Mariners within the waters of Edo by dusk, I want a flock of the Cyr Avians Elvs casting a shadow over their soil. Summon the Ulnor Giants.. And issue a partition for another Executioner.”

He stopped at the top of the ramp, eyes gleaming. “And tell the Nissagro and The Frost Jack to report to me at once. We leave in twelve hours.. and shall not underestimate our foe again.”

The Joro adjutant bowed and tapped a glyph on their headset, voice echoing across the Crimson Cloud’s intercoms as Delion disappeared into the firelight of the city beyond.

[Kilik]

After what felt like a solemn severance of her ties to Hethra, Kilik had been summoned by General Delion. Not the most auspicious thing, to be sure, but after her deeds on her last mission, she was sure he didn't have many words of encouragement waiting for her. Yet and still her stride did not bore shrunken shoulders of a sulken head. Instead, she stood with the pride of one who completed their mission, despite the heavy losses suffered; victory was theirs.

Above all else, she had kept her word to her Zennith

A vow that took precedence over whatever tongue-lashing might await her. Her departure from Hethra was...lamentable. But she meant every word. For one to consider themselves a friend to Kilik, their power, not merely their convictions, must be equal to or even dwarf her own. She was a being who moved with purpose, always adjusting the angles in her favor, whether by fortune...or force. She spared no expense, cared little for the risk, and would do what it took to reach the end of this path she walked... though still unsure of its destination, she was beginning to understand it was the journey itself that mattered.

She was learning to trust herself...to trust her strength. Only the strong could garner that from her, only the ferocious could stand beside a dragon. And though Hethra held great potential, it would be light years before she reached a 10th of Kilik's potential. Her lacking...and overwhelming emotions were a liability to Kilik. At this stage in the game, she had no choice but to discard.

She arrived before the General. A hulking mass of blue flesh and bulging muscles. She had almost forgotten how planet-sized he was in comparison to her. Yet, he would find her energy far more present and palpable than before. As if her every breath channeled the quintessence of the cosmos. A waking cataclysm waiting to be deployed.

"Commander Delion, Kilik reporting...sir."

She bowed, and her respect never wavered once.

[The Bhalian Empire]

Upon entering the designated chamber, Kilik found Commander Delion standing beneath a high vaulted ceiling, conferring quietly with a circle of figures clad in ceremonial steel and imperial robes. The scent of cold iron and scorched parchment lingered in the air—this was a war room disguised as a sanctum, humming with strategy and restraint.

Among the gathered council, two faces stood out immediately:

General Roux, the Cyr Elv responsible for Kilik's tutelage in Shinjutsu as a recruit. And General Naii, the Khor Elv recluse who also hailed from the Nissagro's initial training unit. She was one of the few to rise through the Bhalian ranks faster than Kilik herself, and now seated like a spider in waiting with chitinous hind legs folded neatly beneath her.

Their faces were stern—Their voices were hushed despite the rumble of soldier formations outside, and once Kilik made her presence known, their eyes tracked her entrance with measured interest.

Delion raised a hand without looking away from Kilik, his massive form turning slightly toward her like a continent shifting.

“That will be all, General..”

The words weren’t sharp, but final. Roux gave no protest. His eyes burned with quiet disdain, but he bowed his head all the same.

“I will need the very best of the assembled before dawn,” Delion said without taking his gaze from the Nissagro elv. "And I will expect you at the helm."

General Roux nodded before pivoting sharply. On his way out, he placed a hand on Kilik’s shoulder—brief, heavy, and unreadable. No words were exchanged, but something passed between them.

Now, only three remained: Delion, Naii, and Kilik.

“Captain,” Delion intoned, gesturing for her to enter fully.

His eyes, as ever, observed more than they acknowledged. They flicked over her posture, the subtle tremor in her side, the faint unevenness in her breath. He noticed how she masked her pain. Her wounds had not fully mended—and he noted that detail with deviant smile. Perfect.

“You’ve returned from your first campaign... bloodied. But victorious.”

That final word hung in the air like smoke. A compliment on paper—but lined with resentment underneath.

“Your objective was achieved. The Kingdom of Helidor has fallen and The Empire’s campaign across Muu begins in earnest. I believe The Council will surely commend your ferocity.”

He stepped closer now, boots clicking slowly behind his measured words.

“Not many soldiers can boast what you’ve accomplished. Not many women have—or ever will, for that matter.” He let the silence stretch, giving room for the compliment to curdle. He meant it from the core; blind to misogynistic undertones on account of his Joro upbringing.

“Yes... quite the legacy. The Emperor’s Council will be very interested in your performance.”

Only now did he meet her eyes—cool, and unreadable. A practiced mask.

“Though, before we can begin counting accolades, I’m afraid your duties are far from over.”

He turned his back to her with effortless confidence and gestured toward the Khor Elv seated nearby.

“Before we move forward, I want you reacquainted with the soldier beside you.” General Naii lifted one delicate hand in greeting, her eyes half-lidded with predatory calm. “This is General Naii, Overseer of Bhalian Reconnaissance and Espionage.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Naii purred, fingers fluttering in a mock-salute. “It’s nice to see you again, Captain. Though, I did imagine you'd be far more dead by now, with all that fighting on the frontlines.”

[Kilik]

The air in the chamber was thick with the echoes of power. Kilik, her scales shimmering faintly under the artificial light, felt it keenly. Since her awakening, the world hummed with a frequency she hadn't known existed, broadcasting the intent and energy of those around her. General Roux, the great winged warrior standing near the entrance, was a symphony of contained force; his aura was palpable even from across the room – a steady, ancient power that felt like bedrock.

But even Roux's impressive presence was dwarfed by the man seated at the chamber's heart. Delion. Commander Delion. He still boasted the most power amongst the three of them. He was the storm's eye, the undeniable center of gravity in this space. He was the Commander for a reason; his presence was a heavy cloak of authority and raw capability. And yet…

Kilik sensed something from him, something that pricked at her heightened awareness, something she had not felt since their very first meeting. It was small, a fleeting discord in the otherwise perfect harmony of his control, so subtle that to most others virtually imperceptible, yet Kilik's scales picked up on it. A flicker. A hint of something she couldn't name, a vulnerability perhaps, or a hidden depth. But she was here for duty, not intuition. She wouldn't entertain it. A fleeting sensation, she was sure of it. It would be a distraction.

She moved forward, her movements fluid despite the lingering ache in her muscles. She bowed before the great winged general as a standard greeting, a ritual born of respect and military protocol. Roux inclined his massive head slightly. As she straightened, yet as he placed his hand on her shoulder, a gesture of silent acknowledgment or perhaps quiet concern, she couldn't shake a fleeting feeling of angst. It wasn't fear of him; Roux inspired awe, not terror. It was a strange, sympathetic resonance, unreadable, undecipherable, truly so. It hung in the air between them for a fraction of a second before dissipating. Again, she paid no mind. Focus. Duty.

It was then that the Commander himself beckoned her in with a curt nod of his head. The heavy door behind her seemed to sigh shut as she stepped across the threshold into Delion's inner sanctum. The air changed, becoming tighter, charged with the Commander's focused energy. That fleeting sensation from him returned, just for a moment, before being swallowed by the overwhelming aura of his command.

Stepping forward, Kilik inclined her head once more. "You... honor me, Commander."

She said this with a slightly strained tone. It was true, being called into his presence was an honor, a mark of significance. But though she had been in Delion's company for nearly a year, serving under his command, she still found it like crunching on nails, hearing his misogynistic comments. He was a brilliant strategist, undeniable in his power. Still, his view of women remained stubbornly rooted in archaic notions, a constant, grating dissonance against the respect she was expected to show. Still, her discomfort would not undersell the weight of his "compliments". When Delion praised, it was rare and significant, a clear indicator of his assessment of her value. For him, this was speaking as highly of a woman as he could muster.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Naii purred, fingers fluttering in a mock-salute. “It’s nice to see you again, Captain. Though, I did imagine you'd be far more dead by now, with all that fighting on the frontlines.”

"I am pleased to see you as well," she said as she rose from her bow, her voice level, though a ripple of steel underlay it. "So many of your squad perished in the training exams by my... stretching." The word "stretching" was her term for the whole, unrestrained release of her power, a force that could reshape the battlefield and break lesser beings. It was a chillingly neutral description for the devastation she had wrought.

Delion didn't react overtly; his expression remained a mask of steely resolve. He held her gaze, that immense power radiating from him, testing, gauging.

"Fret not," Kilik continued, her eyes now fixed on his, a challenge and a promise in her voice. "So long as I am on the front lines of this war, we will know only victory." It was a declaration aimed squarely at the Commander, a statement of her capability and unwavering resolve.

She watched him absorb her words. A stone-cold face etched with certainty, certainty that only one with genuine pride and confidence could portray. He had seen her power. He knew the truth of her boast.

Despite her still mending wounds, the fatigue that clung to her bones, she would not shirk from a mission given by high command. She questioned internally why it was so imperative for her to be deployed again so soon after the meeting, after the grueling trials, why everyone else was given cause to recuperate fully. It seemed illogical, even reckless. But the Commander had explicitly called for her. She assumed, perhaps even to a fault, that it must be because of the commander's need for her strength. After witnessing her works just hours before, maybe he wished for lightning to strike twice...

The thought hardened her resolve.

He would have his wish.

Taking a steadying breath, the lingering angst from Roux, the fleeting sense from Delion, the ache in her limbs – she pushed it all down. Only the Commander's will and her duty remained.

"I await your orders, Commander," she stated, her voice clear and strong, ready for whatever deployment awaited her.

[The Bhalian Empire]

Delion did not return her salute. Not immediately. He simply studied her—scales still aglow with residual power, posture firm despite fatigue. She was many things, but blind was not one of them. He had to move carefully.

“Your presence honors this chamber, Captain. Your contributions in Helidor were... emphatic.”

His tone was hard to read—measured, polished. There was no warmth in it, but no overt malice either. Only the shape of approval, sculpted by politics and performance.

“Your devotion is noted, Captain. As is your pride.”

He took a step back, his towering form casting a shadow that crawled up the chamber walls like a ghost. His tone was even, but edged with a gravity meant to press down on the bones beneath one’s skin.

“Victory is not a boast. It is a declaration—proven in the ashes we leave behind—and in the enemies we never allow to rise again.”

He passed Naii without looking, his gaze fixed on Kilik now. Not as one might address a soldier, but something closer to a finely crafted weapon. One that, perhaps, had grown teeth.

“Our campaign has accelerated. New fronts have opened across Muu and Madeira alike. You’ve shown what your power can do—The wasteland in Helidor will stand as testament to that for generations." He smiled as he turned to Naii. "Which is why I am giving you the honor of sealing our next victory.”

He gave a subtle nod, and Naii extended one long fingered hand, performing an Ava that summoned a thread of silk into the air. It spun outward with a faint, crystalline hum before expanding into a three-dimensional projection. The mystic strands glimmered with shifting contours, revealing the coastline of Madeira, its storm-wreathed cliffs and inland ridges coalescing into a jagged sprawl. A single glyph pulsed atop a forested range known as the Emerald Ascension—lost to most, hidden behind a veil of perpetual thunder.

“There is an enemy operating within this region,” Naii said smoothly, her voice like venom laced in honey. “The Denkou—a human monarchy of mages. Reclusive. Powerful. Rooted in rites older than most Madeiran calendars”

As she spoke, Images began flickering across the webbed map—scraps of reconnaissance stitched together from Naii’s spider network. Glimpses of Denkoshi battle-magi, elemental rituals, and crystalline defenses shrouded in fog. “They have existed for a long time, especially for humans. And from what I could gather, they operate as a sort of isolationist monarchy—not too allies to speak of.”

Delion looked up now—measured and absolute.

“This is your assignment." He folded his arms behind his back, spine straightening with a commander’s finality. “You will be ferried through the storm and into the Ascension. Your directive is clear: neutralize the population. With extreme prejudice.”

There was no room for interpretation. It was an extermination order.

“Jack will be leading the main forces into Edo. He’ll take the brunt of our armada, but you—” he allowed a faint smirk, thin and cruel, “—you will be allowed a unit of your choosing. But select them quickly, as you will deploy at first light.”

The words cracked like a closing cell door.

“Naii will oversee reconnaissance and field support,” he added, turning to regard the spider-elv finally—though his words remained directed at Kilik. “Should you require it, of course. Though I imagine you won’t. The Denkou are only humans, after all.”

The dismissiveness in his voice was sharpened, almost mocking in its familiarity. Whether he meant the Denkou… or her.

And just like that, he turned his back to her completely.

“You are dismissed.”

Behind him, Naii offered a slow, deliberate wave of her long fingers—equal parts mockery and grace.

“Have fun stretching, sea monster ” she cooed.