WARNING: Nothing explicit, but this chapter does contain allusions to deeply, deeply dubiously consensual sex.
~*~
Zenith held out his armor crystal, watching the azure light dance and ripple within its facets. It had never shone quite so intensely before, but he supposed this made sense. After all, Cyrias had just finished repairing it.
Nevy could do the same, but it would take her much longer; days, not minutes. As Zenith pressed the crystal to his chest, he savagely pushed aside these thoughts. Even after all this time, why did his mind turn so easily to his former crew?
They meant nothing to him. Or they should.
The crystal glowed with white light, and he watched in satisfaction as the light spread across his own body, tracing stark shapes atop his tunic. One by one, the armor pieces snapped in place, gleaming so bright he almost could see the room's reflection in them.
Once the armor finished forming, he picked his cape off the floor and drew it over his shoulders, neatly securing it in place. As it unfurled behind him, he tried to suppress the pathetic sense of relief that drifted through his chest. It took all his effort to keep his hand from rising to his throat; not that he could even touch it now that he was in full armor.
Nobody would see the marks Cyrias had left behind, or all the others across his body. And it didn't matter in the first place, as they would heal within minutes. Still, knowing they were there filled him with a sick, trembling kind of embarrassment.
The exact wrong thing to feel. Shouldn't he be grateful instead? To think his creator had deigned to personally share his Levia.... Indeed, his own white light coursed strong and steady through his core, tinged by the faintest trace of Cyrias's warm golden power. Like this, he would be ready to take on any enemy.
So he told himself, but that didn't explain why every time Cyrias touched him, Zenith had to fight against all his instincts not to flinch away.
His hands were always so hungry and possessive. Nothing at all like the way Theo touched him. So gentle – hesitant, even – as if he was afraid Zenith would shatter if he used too much pressure. Yet when he did hold on tight, it was with a desperation that made every inch of Zenith's body feel so exquisitely alive.
No. Stop. Zenith clenched his teeth so hard his entire jaw ached. Of all the ghosts from his past, this was the one he wished to invoke the least.
"You really are amazing." The sound of Cyrias's voice made Zenith shiver. Furious with himself, he turned around to face his creator.
Cyrias was still lounging on the couch, robes sliding half off his body, wings draped behind him in a careless tangle of feathers. He'd propped himself up on one elbow, chin on the back of his hand, and was gazing at Zenith with a indolent smile.
"Seeing you like this...I can never get enough of it. My first knight. You are my proudest creation indeed. Every other knight I made after you, I tried my best to capture just the slightest of what made you so special, but I never managed to succeed."
Nobody had ever praised Zenith so effusively before. Not even Theo. Yet it only made his insides feel cold and hollow. He couldn't help but think about Sir Azimuth, how fervently she devoted herself to their creator. Did she know he felt this way about her?
Zenith forced back these thoughts. They were wrong. More than anyone, he needed to have faith in Cyrias.
Cyrias was still looking expectantly at him, so Zenith forced himself to answer. "Th...thank you."
His voice came out dry and a little hoarse, embarrassing him deeper. It did not help when Cyrias's smirk tightened, acquiring a mischievous edge.
"You enjoyed yourself that much, hm? Adorable."
Zenith tried and failed to fight down a blush, which only made Cyrias snicker. Taking a deep breath, Zenith spun briskly around and straightened his shoulders. Forget about it. Now he needed to get back to business. Azimuth had asked him for a spar....
Just as he faced the door, he felt Levia wrench through his entire body. A stark, sharp pulse of golden light. This was the workshop's Levia, he realized, and it was – trying to give him a warning?
Cyrias felt it too. He bolted upright, wings unfurling behind him. "What's going on?"
A golden diagram spread before his face, and within it appeared – Zenith blinked – a flat blue circle on the floor. No, wait, it had a face, beady eyes wide with panic.
A mini-medusid? But why was it lying on the floor like a deflated balloon?
"Moony?" Cyrias leaned forward, every muscle in his body snapping taut. "What happened to you?"
"Boss, boss!" Moony wailed. "We got trouble! Intruders!"
"Intruders?" Cyrias's eyes widened. "What are you – "
A new communication circle appeared to his left, much larger than the first. When the image resolved within it, the breath died in Zenith's throat.
A small group of people was marching through the hall. Zenith instantly picked out Sir Equinox's scarlet hair, but he had never seen his fellow knight like this before – stumbling backward, caught in the grip of a man in pitch-black armor.
Victor.
Not just Victor. In front of Equinox, pointing Victor's sword at his chest, was a petite black-haired figure Zenith could never mistake anywhere. And a demon with scarlet horns, walking to Equinox's left. And behind them all...
Pink-streaked hair. Tattered black robes. A staff tipped with a glowing blue crystal.
The world spun around Zenith. He felt as if he was going to be sick. This isn't real. This can't be happening.
But it was. The Levia thrumming through his body would never let him forget it.
How? How could this be? How had they – his former crew, his former liege, his former wizard – found him so quickly? He'd thought tracking the workshop was utterly beyond the Blue Sky's capabilities.
Dimly, he was aware of Cyrias's voice in the near distance, sounding as if it was drifting through water to reach his ears. "Astraeon, you useless bastard! How the hell did you even let this happen? Now I've got to clean up your goddamn mess? Sir Zenith!"
The sound of his own name snapped Zenith back to reality. He stared at his creator, who glared back with naked fury contorting his features. It was the first time Zenith had seen the easygoing seraphim anywhere near angry.
"Take out the trash, will you?"
The sharp, imperious bark almost made Zenith flinch. His voice spilled out before he could stop himself. "What do you – "
"What do you think? Get rid of them! Dump them out of a window or something, fuck if I care. Just get these pests off my workshop!"
Cyrias...wanted him to kill them? Zenith's gaze involuntarily landed on the circle again, watching Theo and the others storm their way down the hall. Just the thought of turning his sword against Theo and Darian made him feel sick to the stomach. Killing unarmed enemies far weaker than himself wasn't the way of a knight, was it?
No, they were not unarmed. Darian had Victor's demonic sword, of all weapons. And Theo had the Star of Miriel.
More than that, Zenith knew his reluctance didn't come from a place of principle. It was mere sentiment. A weakness of which he had sworn to rid himself.
"Well?" Cyrias shouted. Zenith quickly tore his gaze away and faced his creator again.
Careful and deliberate, he sank to one knee and pressed his fist to his chest. Then he bowed his head, letting his hair fall in a pale curtain before his face that hid Cyrias from view.
When he spoke, his voice came out quiet but relievingly steady. Emotionless, just as a homunculus knight ought to be.
"By your will, Master."