THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

A swirling black vortex opened in the dimly lit hall, its edges crackling with chaotic energy as Number 3 stepped out, brushing off remnants of lingering ash from his cloak. The eerie silence of the hall was broken only by the echo of his boots on the cold, stone floor. His thoughts churned with irritation, wondering why Number 1 had ordered a retreat when they had the upper hand. His brow furrowed, but before he could delve deeper into his musings, another vortex tore through reality beside him.

Number 1 emerged with a commanding presence, her obsidian wings folding behind her like a shadowy shroud. She snapped her fingers, and a pristine white cloak materialized over her warrior form, concealing the remnants of the battle's scorch marks. Her breaths were heavy, her chest rising and falling beneath the fabric. She reached for her mask, gripping its edges tightly, and then threw her head back, laughter spilling from her lips—frantic, unhinged, and filled with venom.

"David," she hissed, the name rolling off her tongue like a curse. Her laughter ceased abruptly, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. "That pest... That thorn in the side of chaos. His name will be erased from every whisper of existence."

Number 3 observed her warily, his sharp gaze calculating. While her demeanor was as volatile as ever, his thoughts shifted to David. Was David in Lysora County all along? The idea simmered uneasily in his mind.

"Number 3," Number 1 snapped, her voice laced with authority and irritation. "Explain to me how Number 4 and Number 8 failed. Did I overestimate their abilities, or did you send them into an ambush blind?"

Number 3 sighed, knowing her frustration stemmed from more than the loss of their comrades. "They faced an unforeseen variable," he admitted, his tone steady. "A figure claiming to be the Monarch of Light."

"Monarch of Light?" Number 1's voice dripped with skepticism. "What rank was he?"

"That's hard to determine," Number 3 replied, meeting her piercing gaze. "His aura was chaotic, fluctuating between multiple energies. It was... unnatural. But even then, I believed Number 4 could handle him."

"You believed wrong," she spat, her hand tightening into a fist. The air in the hall grew heavy, as if suffused with her fury. "Losing two of our numbers is unacceptable. This Monarch of Light is more than just a nuisance."

Her fingers traced the edge of her mask, and her gaze burned with resolve. "But no matter. Chaos is patient. He cannot outrun his fate."Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Number 3 remained silent, his thoughts a storm of questions and strategies. The Mornach's unpredictable interference had shaken their plans to the core. But more than that, there was something in Number 1's manic determination that unsettled him. For the first time, doubt crept into his mind.

Number 1 straightened, her white cloak settling over her frame like a mantle of authority. Her sharp gaze locked onto Number 3, and she softened her tone just enough to carry a semblance of reassurance. "Your plan was flawless, Number 3. No one could have anticipated this. Not even Chaos itself could foresee the Monarch of Light and David intervening."

Number 3 tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "David?" he asked cautiously, his brows furrowing. "The plan was to strike while the Archon was weakened, not to wait until the Demon's curse had taken its toll. What do you mean by David?"

Number 1's expression darkened, her lips curling into a scowl as she began to pace. "Somehow, against all odds, David healed her," she said, her voice low but brimming with frustration. "The curse was perfect, a creation not of this world. Its power was foreign, insidious—something that would have taken generations to counter, if it were even possible. Yet, here we stand."

Number 3 froze, his mind reeling at the implications. "That's impossible," he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. "The Demon's power doesn't abide by the laws of this realm. For David to heal her... his power must be—"

"Foreign," Number 1 finished sharply, her voice cutting through his musings. "And dangerous. Whatever force he commands, it's not bound to the natural order of this world. It's disruptive, unpredictable."

Her fist clenched, her nails digging into her palm as she stopped pacing. "But it doesn't matter," she said, her voice thick with contempt. "Weak or not, I could have defeated Elara Va Ironblade. Easily."

Number 3 studied her carefully, noting the tension in her stance. "Then why retreat?"

Number 1 turned to him, her golden gaze fierce. "Because victory wasn't the goal, Number 3. Planting the seed of Chaos requires precision, not brute force. If I had crushed her outright while she fought back, the people would have seen her as a martyr. Her death would have been a rallying cry—a beacon of hope in despair. Instead, they will witness her helplessness, her inability to protect her land. That is how you sow chaos—not with death, but with despair."

The logic, while cruel, was undeniable. Number 3 nodded slowly, though unease still gnawed at him. "And now?"

"Now," Number 1 said, her tone steely, "you take some time to reflect and recover. I'll handle the rest. Informing the others. Strategizing. And ultimately, speaking with the Demon itself. It's time we reassess our approach."

Her words carried an air of finality as she turned away, her cloak billowing behind her. The hall seemed to darken, shadows curling at the edges as if bowing to her presence. Number 3 hesitated, watching her retreat, the weight of her words sinking into him.

"David," he muttered under his breath, his thoughts swirling with questions.

****

Number 1 strode down the dim corridor, her thoughts a storm of frustration and calculation. David... a mere pawn becoming a nuisance. And now, the Monarch? Her grip tightened on the edge of her cloak. They had deviated from the original plan—Elara was meant to perish silently, her demise a slow unraveling by the Demon's curse. Explaining this misstep to the Demon would be delicate, if not dangerous. Acting without its consent... risky. But unavoidable. She exhaled sharply, her resolve hardening. Chaos thrives in adaptation. This will be no different.