Comparable to a shatterable container that was dropped from a paramount height, the ceiling of Praetorium first crumbled, making large shards of glass rain down on the torrid plain. Fortunately, the pieces were not substantial as they were easily scattered by the wind, dispersing them into the air like specks of snow on a momentous nasha.
Upon reaching the ground, they were absorbed by the dirt, not granting them the chance to leave a mark that they ever existed.
Israfel and Jibrail rose from their kneeling positions while they surveyed the proxy dimension with dithery eyes. They then turned away their attention from the ethereal scenery to meet the Emperor's gaze. Uneasiness precipitously appeared on their countenances when they saw the monarch's state.
"Your Majesty! What is happening?!" Jibrail exclaimed in horror as he pointed his finger towards the Emperor's visage.
Laggardly dripping from the monarch's nose and not long after, from his eyes, were the streams of the disturbing darker crimson shade of his blood. The man wasn't able to feel any pain, so he didn't notice such an occurrence.
He hurriedly pulled out a white satin handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face spotless, following the trail of blood. However, the clean up was proving to be worthless since the flow refused to cease.
The blood was tainting the Emperor's previously unblemished shirt with spots bearing its remarkable red colour, soon converting to a browner hue as they dried up on the cloth.
The two Rounds were wondering if Sovereignty had anything to do with the ruler's worsening condition. Withal, they were aware that the skill didn't have a direct effect on the Emperor's physical being.
"I will not last in this condition. We need to hurry and eliminate these demons." The monarch uttered, still doing his best in mopping up the blood that was profusely running down his face.
Although, when he saw that dealing with it was futile at the moment, he merely threw the now filthy handkerchief on the grassy floor of the forest.
"Your Majesty, I agree. Let's go to where the others are this instant. Sovereignty might exacerbate your current circumstance." Israfel suggested, less judiciously and more in a panic, as he waved his hands about.
"My ability isn't the only catalyst for this." The Emperor said as he lifted his right arm, showing the dorsal side of his hand.
The knights simultaneously furrowed their eyebrows once they saw a pentagram, shaped by lines glowing in a smoky leafy-green light, carved on the back of his hand. They both tilted their heads in confusion by virtue of not knowing what the Emperor was pertaining to.
The monarch perceived their bewilderment, so he apprised them with the answer straight away.
"This is the true form of Decarabia, a Demon Noble - The pet of a swift that you've been caring for, Israfel." He announced while taking something off of the back pocket of his trousers.
Israfel and Jibrail's eyes widened upon recognizing the phosphorescent rolled parchment on the Emperor's left grip. The duo was cognizant of the fact that Israfel was the sole person to lose his scroll. Henceforth, they deduced that the scroll was under the Marquiss' ownership.
"The scrolls would only react if the Demon Nobles are assuming their legitimate forms. This one that I'm holding is luminous because Decarabia is its target. Now, my body is presently the host of Decarabia's existence, a mere symbol. Unless we get rid of it, Decarabia won't be escaping my incarceration." The monarch thoroughly elucidated on his situation, dissenting to earn the doubts and fretting of his knights.
Meanwhile, Marquiss Morholt and Sagramore weren't able to hide their grievances, conspicuous on their gloomy visage. They coveted to move in a hustle to meet up with the rest of their crew.
The Emperor was undoubtedly powerful, but to their knowledge, that's with their world as the pure context. The opponents were still Demon Nobles. It would prove to be further burdensome for the monarch to keep the Nobles in check rather than battling the union of the strongest creatures who didn't hail from another realm.
Withal, before they departed, Israfel's mind evoked a troublesome memory.
"Jibrail, do you have a good healing spell?" He asked his fellow knight, whispering to avoid acquiring the Emperor's ire.
"Regrettably, I am not well-versed in healing. There isn't a single incantation connected to healing in my grimoire."
"I'm the same as you, but they will lose it when they see the Emperor with blood trickling down his profile."
Jibrail felt shivers on his skin, albeit mild, upon hearing Israfel's statement.
"I really- really do not want to imagine their reactions." Once Sagramore declared his desire, the possible reaction of Mikhail appeared in his thoughts.
Tired of waiting, the Emperor began to saunter, passing the space in the middle of the two knights, to initiate the gathering of the parties afresh. The Demon Nobles reluctantly followed his steps.
"Why are you having a conversation as if I am not here? I'll take my leave first, so you could talk comfortably among yourselves."
Consequent to hearing the monarch's sardonic consideration, the pair couldn't help but sigh in resignation. They simply proceeded to quickly psych themselves up as they prepared for their relatively short travel.
By their definition of short, they had to cross a desolate land stretching for several tens of kilometres.
All of a sudden, the Emperor gave them a trusting gaze, much to the surprise of the two.
"We will use the scrolls in unanimity with everyone."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Will he be alright?"
"Do not fret, My Lord. I already supplemented his body with recovery magic - He will wake up shortly." Sarakiel reassured Mikhail, who was bothered with the abrupt collapse of his younger brother.
It seemed to have been effective, considering that a sough of relief came out of the commander's mouth.
"You have my gratitude, Sarakiel. I am indebted to you for the second time."
Duke Helian merely wanted to dismiss his superior's show of docility. Nevertheless, an idea unanticipatedly registered in his head, urging him to change his mind.
"You can repay that debt by giving a tad more affection towards your sibling, My Lord."
A scowl made its way to Mikhail's mien just after harking Sarakiel's condition.
"What are you saying? I am expressing it with my own approach." the Knight Commander provided his excuse, which was unconvincing at best.
"Yes, least of the time, when Lord Khamael won't have any knowledge of it." Sarakiel repudiated the older Percival's alibi.
Even supposing that he felt wronged, Mikhail was still remorseful of the actuality pointed out by the Duke, disabling him to reply with a rationalization. Alternately, he sat beside his brother, who was in a trance, after expending a myriad of energy in maintaining the proxy dimension.
Antecedent to Praetorium's disintegration, Haniel and Iophiel combined two of their second-tier spells belonging in the Fihro Cixu to confine Sabnock inside a barred sphere. The proxy dimension bought them enough time to activate their incantations that had a lengthy cast window.
"When are they going to arrive?"
"They'll eventually get here, so have patience."
Surrounding Khamael who was in a peaceful Slumber, the four Rounds opted to relax in quietude, though relax was hardly the correct word. If anyone was amply observant, they would see that Sarakiel was incessantly fidgeting his fingers; Iophiel kept on tapping his foot on the unknowing dirt; Haniel was hugging her knees ever so tightly; the last individual, Mikhail, had a glum look on his face as he carefully surveyed the nearly empty battlefield.
Yes, insignificant their movements might be, they were anxiously letting the time pass with the guise of resting.
Granting all the nonchalant demeanour that they've been exhibiting so far, they retained it deep down in their conscience that trouble was all that's waiting for them. Perchance, The Emperor's composure had grown on their person - The sole reason why they were able to keep their calm in a situation as such.
"Huh? What is that?" Mikhail broke the silence as he focused his scrutiny on Khamael.
"What is what, My Lord?" Inquired Sarakiel, who mirrored his commander's action.
Like a worm wriggling out of a potted soil, Mikhail heeded this movement happening around the chest area of Khamael's knight coat. He then hastily hoisted the unbuttoned coat, revealing a scroll that was lightly squirming.
"The scroll is reacting?"
"That means that another Demon Noble is closing in!"
All of them expeditiously stood on their guard. Mikhail and Sarakiel secured Khamael's languid physique. On the other hand, Iophiel and Haniel shielded the sphere where Sabnock was contained.
Haniel, who was facing southwards, noticed the dust storm accompanied by five figures on the run.
"Coming from the south, five individuals are approaching!"
The three moved accordingly, lining up beside Haniel.
"Summon your Holy Swords. Those five might be the rest of the Demon Nobles. We have to at lea-"
Mikhail was not able to continue speaking when a migraine suddenly assaulted his head. It didn't uniquely dawn on him since the others were under a similar pain.
[[Cease this instant. I do not want to deal with unnecessary bullsh*t.]]
"Did he just say bullsh*t?" The Knight Commander breathlessly questioned himself. "Ha- hahaha"
Mikhail chuckled at the scene, and ensuing was a chorus of laughter among the group. They felt consoled at the familiar ipseity of the message that originated from the Emperor.