The Deicida—Astria's elite force—was forged with a single, merciless purpose: to eradicate the Pantheon and their offspring. For over three millennia, mankind had been shackled under divine tyranny, and now, vengeance had found its sword. The Deicida was divided into five squads, each specializing in a vital role.
Squad One, the final bastion of defense, safeguarded the royal family under the direct command of the Premiere himself. Squad Two, the brains behind the war, dissected enemy weaknesses and uncovered forbidden knowledge. Squad Three, the cavalry, were swift and relentless, charging into battle and reinforcing the front lines. Squad Four, the enforcers, maintained order within the kingdom and its conquered territories.
And then, there was Squad Five—the spearhead. The expendables. The ones sent to die first, clearing the path with their own blood.
---
CREAK...
The door groaned open. My instincts kicked in before reason, and in a heartbeat, my blade was pressed against the throat of the intruder.
"Modred, wait—it's me! Aisha!"
I stared down at her trembling form. Her amber-green eyes were wide with terror, her chest rising and falling in rapid gasps. Slowly, I eased off, but the glare in my crimson eyes remained.
"What do you want?" My voice was cold, devoid of remorse.
Aisha took a shaky breath and dusted off her gown. "I-I came to wake you up for breakfast. You're going to headquarters today, right? You should get ready..."
"...Sure."
She lingered for a moment, then slipped out of the room without another word. I watched her leave, my mind already shifting to more important matters.
'Weird girl.'
I dressed in my standard gear—short-sleeved dark green shirt, black combat pants, and leather gauntlet gloves that left my fingers exposed for better grip. Over it all, I draped the black cloak of the Deicida, its emblem emblazoned on my back—a grim skull impaled by a spear and crossed swords. A reminder to our enemies of the fate that awaited them.
Breakfast with Aisha and her family was an awkward affair. Her father, Carl, tried to engage me in small talk, but my answers were brief, and my focus remained elsewhere. Once done, I left the tavern without another word.
---
Squad Five's headquarters loomed ahead, a stark two-story building in the southern district of the capital. Unlike the lavish halls of the other squads, this place was stripped down to the bare essentials—functional, efficient, and without comfort.
As I stepped inside, the receptionist looked up, her eyes scanning me with a knowing smirk.
"You must be the new recruit," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "The commander's been expecting you."
She wore the standard clerk uniform, but her coat bore the Deicida insignia, marking her position within the squad.
I narrowed my eyes. "And you are?"
"Emily. Receptionist, secretary, and general miracle worker. In case you're wondering, no, I don't get paid enough for this."
"Why so many jobs?" I asked, unimpressed.
She chuckled dryly. "Because no one sane wants to be assigned here. Squad Five has a... reputation. Not everyone makes it past their first battle."
I didn't flinch. "Good. I don't need people slowing me down."
Emily raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she pointed down the hall. "Commander's office, upstairs. Down the hall. Try not to break anything."
---
As I walked the dim corridors, my gaze flickered across the battle-scarred paintings that adorned the walls—scenes of conquest and bloodshed, all bearing the same crimson insignia. One painting caught my eye: the Premiere himself, in his youth, standing atop a mountain of corpses.
So he was one of us once.
Before I could linger, a sudden outburst shattered the silence.
"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE! I'M TRANSFERRING TO SQUAD FOUR!"
The door to the commander's office burst open, and a cadet stormed past me, his face pale with terror. He glanced at me, his expression twisted in pity.
"Take my advice, kid. This squad? It'll eat you alive."
I met his gaze without emotion. "I'll take my chances."
He shook his head and disappeared down the hall. I stepped inside the office.
---
The commander of Squad Five sat behind a battered desk, a cigar smoldering in his fingers. His sharp, steel-gray eyes assessed me like a predator sizing up prey. He wore a black coat, its shoulders adorned with three golden stars—marks of rank and experience.
"So, you're Modred Vayne." His voice was rough, edged with the weight of countless battles. "Liam's boy?"
I stood rigid. "No. I was taken in by the house of Liam. My blood is my own."
He smirked, exhaling smoke. "Good. No room for nepotism here."
His gaze sharpened, the air between us thick with unspoken challenge. "You sure about this, kid? Once you're in, there's no turning back."
I stepped forward, my voice steady, unwavering.
"I swear my loyalty to Squad Five of the Deicida. I won't stop until every last god is erased from existence."
For a moment, there was silence. Then the commander chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a chill down my spine.
"Damn, kid. You might just fit in."
He crushed his cigar in the ashtray and gestured toward the door. "Head to the training ground. Meet your captain. Hope you survive."
I left the office with a singular thought burning in my mind.
'This is where it begins.'
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