Nyxtriel stood on the ridge, arms folded, watching the line of prisoners below silent, dirty, hunched under the weight of pickaxes and orders. Her gaze lingered, as always, on one in particular. Deamon, covered in dust, sweat on his brow, still carried himself like someone who didn't belong there. Because he didn't.
Two days had passed since they arrived. Two days of digging, shouting, and pretending.
She hated every second of it.
"Still staring at lover boy?" a voice drawled beside her.
Nyxtriel didn't flinch. "Rhea."
"You really do like watching him, don't you?" Rhea smirked, arms resting lazily on her spear.
Nyxtriel said nothing. No retort, no glare. She didn't have the energy for fake expressions today. She wasn't here to socialize. She wasn't here to make friends.
Just gather information. Protect him. And destroy anything that threatened that plan.
So far, the only thing she'd learned was that the prisoners were mining mana stones bright, glowing crystals saturated with magical energy that mages hoarded like gold. They were forcing criminals to dig every day, searching deeper for something else. Something worse.
The fragment.
She couldn't let them find it.
But watching Deamon, bent over with the others, calloused hands gripping a pickaxe—it stirred something sharp in her chest. He wasn't meant to be seen like this. Even when he laughed off the pain or made dumb jokes, she could see the fire under the mask.
It made her want to end this charade faster.
"Hey, Rhea," Nyxtriel said suddenly.
Rhea blinked. "Huh. Weird hearing you say my name."
There was no warmth in Nyxtriel's tone. She never bothered remembering names unless she had a reason. This time, she did.
"There's something on your neck."
Rhea frowned, reaching up. "What? I don't—"
A swift chop to the back of her neck and Rhea slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Nyxtriel caught her before she hit the rocks too hard. She looked around no other guards in sight. Lucky. The others had rotated shifts earlier. They were alone.
She inhaled slowly, body shimmering. Smoke curled around her like steam. Her skin darkened, her form thinning, until she dissolved into the shadows.
Silent. Swift.
She moved like a whisper, slipping through the upper guard station and down the slope, heading toward the deeper levels of the island. The air thickened with mana the farther she went. Every step echoed with hums of unseen wards.
Security here was sloppy. Overconfident. They believed chains and stone walls could contain everything.
But Nyxtriel was a demon sword.
She weaved past a lone guard slouched beside a door, his spear propped uselessly beside him. A child could've snuck past. He barely noticed the flicker of smoke that slid past his boot.
The deeper she went, the more she felt it layers of enchantments, old magic, and buried curses laced through the rock like veins of iron. The air pulsed with protective sigils, mana detection webs, and something else. Something older. Something deep beneath the island, almost alive.
Then came the wind.
A sudden gust whooshed through the stairwell, sweeping dust from the floor in a spiral. Nyxtriel froze, vanishing behind a crumbling column just as wings beat through the passage above.
A griffin.
One of the mage familiars. It circled once, talons clicking against stone, its beak snapping with suspicion.
It could smell her magic. One wrong breath and she'd be exposed.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The beast snorted, feathers bristling, then slowly turned back up the steps, returning to its roost.
Only when it was gone did Nyxtriel exhale. Her hands were trembling. That was too close.
She scanned the hallway ahead. This was as far as she could go for now. She'd memorized at least three mana gates and five layered barriers. But there were still more. And above all, the biggest problem wasn't what was underground.
It was what flew above.
The families. Noble bloodline mages. Arrogant, paranoid, and powerful. Their familiars were circling the skies. If she wasn't careful, she'd be exposed the second she left her post.
She had no choice.
Nyxtriel turned back, silently retracing her path. Her body dissolved again, reforming only once she reached the ridge.
She glanced down at the mining fields. The prisoners hadn't noticed anything. Neither had Deamon.
She glanced at Rhea, still slumped against the wall like a broken doll. Nyxtriel sighed.
"You'll wake up soon headache, bruised ego. Be glad that's all it is."
"Ugh... my head..." Rhea stirred, wincing as she sat up. Her eyes locked on Nyxtriel. "Did I fall asleep? What... happened?"
Nyxtriel's arms were folded as she stared down at her. "You fell asleep during your post. While we're supposed to be guarding prisoners. Real professional."
Rhea's expression hardened. "You..did you do something to me?!"
The cafeteria bell echoed through the hall, loud and metallic. It was time to feed the prisoners.
Nyxtriel turned to leave. "Looks like it's breakfast time."
Before she could walk away, Rhea grabbed her wrist. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Nyxtriel slowly turned, stepping forward until they were face to face. She was taller. The glare in her red eyes was cold.
"Let me give you some advice," Nyxtriel said quietly. "Next time you stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I'll personally make sure that pretty little neck of yours is separated from your body."
Rhea's face twisted in shock. "Is that a threat?!"
Nyxtriel smiled faintly. "Who knows? Try me."
"If anything happens to me, I'll report you to Supervisor Elka!"
Nyxtriel said nothing more. She simply turned on her heel and headed down the stairs, leaving Rhea fuming in silence.
By the time Nyxtriel and Rhea arrived to escort Team Two, Daemon was already watching from the shadows of the cell block. Their eyes met. In that brief glance, he understood she had something to tell him. But now wasn't the time.
The prisoners were led through the stone corridors to the cafeteria. The hall was loud with trays clattering and boots stomping. Over a hundred inmates were crammed into long wooden benches, gnawing on dried rations and stale jerky.
Daemon sat down beside William, who leaned in nervously. "Why are they all staring at us? At you, I mean..."
"I guess word travels fast," Daemon muttered. His gaze shifted. Across the cafeteria, men glared with unhidden aggression.
Nyxtriel leaned against a pillar near the exit, arms crossed, keeping an eye on the hall but more specifically, on Daemon.
She caught several of the men stealing glances at her. Their eyes were hungry, mocking. She didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened.
"I guess I won't be eating in peace today," Daemon muttered.
"What do we do?" William whispered.
Before Daemon could respond, a group of prisoners approached their table, cutting off any exit. The leader wore a smug expression.
"Hey, albino bastard," one of them sneered.
Daemon didn't move.
Number 435 stepped forward. The same bald, thick-necked inmate from the day before. His muscles strained beneath his worn jumpsuit, and his meaty hands cracked at his sides. "You beat up my boys, right? Gave them a nice send-off?"
"I didn't know rats came in groups now," Daemon replied coolly.
Some prisoners laughed under their breath. Others held still, waiting for the fallout.
435's smirk vanished. "You think this is funny, freak?"
Daemon slowly stood, looking up at the man who was easily a head taller. He didn't blink. "You want to fight? Pick a place."
"I don't need a place. I'll do it right here." 435 took a step closer. "See, this is my block. My table. My rules."
Nyxtriel didn't move, but her hand hovered near the hilt at her side. She couldn't interfere not directly but every muscle in her body was coiled tight.
"Aren't you going to help him?" Rhea asked with a laugh. "Looks like that big guy's about to crush him."
Nyxtriel didn't answer. The ones going after her lord were just asking to die.
"It's not my concern," she said coolly, slipping into her role. "They're prisoners."
Across the cafeteria, Daemon cracked his neck. "I was just thinking I needed a punching bag after all that hard work," he said, grinning. "Looks like you'll do."
Laughter broke out.
435 chuckled too—until he stopped and locked eyes with Daemon. His killing intent surged, washing over the room like a wave. Guards and prisoners alike trembled.
"Are you talking to me, kid?" 435's voice dropped low.
"That's our boss for you! He's scary as hell."
"That poor guy's dead meat."
The pressure thickened, crushing down on everyone,everyone except Nyxtriel and Daemon. Most hit the ground, gasping for breath.
Daemon just stood there. Unmoving. Unfazed.
435 frowned. He poured more energy into his aura, pushing harder, until the air screamed under the weight. Still Daemon didn't flinch.
And then 435 saw his eyes.
A chill crawled down his spine. He didn't see a man. He saw something else. A monster. A titan. Something ancient and merciless looking down at him like he was a bug.
His hands trembled. Sweat beaded on his face.
"Boss, stop... we can't breathe..."
435 looked down and saw his men on the floor, choking.
BOOM.
A blur. A fist. A shockwave.
435 crashed through the cafeteria wall, carving a hole straight through the concrete. Wind ripped through the space, scattering trays and chairs.
"What the hell was that?!"
All eyes turned.
Daemon stood there, fist dripping blood. And beside him Nyxtriel, the white-haired woman calm as ever, hand extended like she'd stopped the punch.
No one knew what had just happened.
But one thing was clear Their boss had lost.