Headed by a Snake

⟬ The following morning... ⟭

Tycondrius took a deep breath to calm his anxiety.

He and Lone were infiltrating the Basilica, the nigh-impenetrable fortress where the Holy Country's High Oracle resided.

Using his true form to sneak in was not a viable option. The risk of triggering the formations, entering as a non-human, were too great. Worse, there were likely additional and more dangerous formations within the grounds.

...And besides, snakes were not looked upon kindly as of recent centuries.

Entering the Basilica using proper channels would have him waiting for several suns, if not weeks-- longer if his unseen enemies were to act against him.

Those enemies had been an unrelenting hindrance to him in past moons.

Athena Vanzano's holdings in Caeruleum had been lost. Worshippers of the Snake Cult within the city's leadership had twisted their human laws to oppress him.

It was a grievous insult to him. It was infuriating.

He didn't particularly care for the men and women sacrificed. He didn't even know their names.

However... they belonged to Athena. And most things that belonged to Athena, belonged to him. Those hidden enemies took his assets, his coin. They spat upon his well-meaning efforts to bring goods and services to the people of the Holy Country for competitive prices.

Tycon would have his compensation.

Only death awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus.

If he were operating in the Free Nation, he'd have immediately gathered a gods-damned army, and whipped them into a bloodrage to demand recompense.

If he were to get his way in the Holy Country... he'd do the exact same.

He'd raze the city... burn it to its skeletal remains... slaughter both the heretics and those that chose ignorance over patriotism. He'd drive his enemies out of hiding, tear out their still-beating hearts, and spout some drivel about justice and righteousness.

The irony was admittedly enjoyable on the giving end-- rather than on the receiving.

Maybe he just wanted to murder people. For once, he had decent reasons for it.

Tycon raised the visor of his helmet and turned to glare at the Ranger following close behind, "Look alive, Mister Lone."

The Lone Shadowdark was dragging his feet, looking as if he were half-dead, "I'm coming, Boss..."

Though the young man hadn't explicitly stated so, he was in a state of... loss since the previous evening-- after Miss Coraline's departure.

He'd get over it.

...Maybe.

Tycon placed a reassuring hand on his companion's shoulder, "We'll get you a pen and parchment to use in a few suns."

The Ranger let out an exaggerated sigh, "Why would I want that?"

"You can write your girlfriend a letter," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "Or had you not realized she might want to hear from you?"

"Mm..." Lone perked up, "Yeah... alright. Alright!! ...Yeah!"

"Once is enough, Mister Lone," Tycon groaned. "Now... I'll have your thoughts on this place."

Lone glanced up and all around him, at the high columns, wall and ceiling murals, and geometric tile designs of the Basilica, "It's uh... big."

Tycon was hoping Lone would have... possible battle tactics in mind, or at the very least, something relevant.

Still, general observations were fair.

"Anything else?" Tycon gestured.

"I... I'm not sure we should be doing this," He mumbled underneath his breath. "Didn't you say we were supposed to wait to see the Archbishop?"

Tycon rolled his eyes, "The wait to see Natalya Crucis properly is *criminal*, to use Tyrion diction. Worry not. I memorized the layout, the other sun, while you were out gallivanting."

"But... that lady's like... a Church noble? And we're kinda--"

Before he could finish, Lone's shoulder was clipped by a passing Munifex. Unable to keep his balance, the young man slammed his elbow awkwardly and painfully against one of the many marble columns, "Owww..."

"Flame take you, man! Watch where you're goin'!" The armored human glared.

"I advise *you* to watch your language, Munifex," Tycon growled. "And open your Flamescarred eyes..."

The offending whelp looked Tycon up and down before inclining his head, "My apologies, Decanus."

"How about you apologize to my subordinate? He outranks you, as well."

The Munifex cursed underneath his breath but rendered a crisp salute, "I apologize, gentlemen."

"Y-yeah!" Lone barked back indignantly.

"You too," Tycon glared. "Respect goes both ways."

"Aha..." Lone rubbed the back of his head, "My bad, man."

The Munifex looked stunned for a moment, but nodded respectfully, "N-no problem, Sir."

"You look like you have some time, young man," Tycon pursed his lips. "Direct us to Archbishop Crucis' office, if you would."

...

Tycon pushed open the heavy door with slight difficulty. He needed to circulate his mana in order to do so with one arm.

He expected no less from Archbishop Natalya Crucis, for even her doors to be so... oppressively burdensome.

Taking up most of the Archbishop's personal office was a large planning table at the opposite end. It held a large map of the Holy Country, various pawns and pieces shoved about it. It seemed her own forces were marked in red-- her favored color, it seemed.

Everything else in the room was overly large, bordering on tyrannical. The walls displayed crimson-red battle flags and the furniture was made of looming darkwoods, tipped with sharp ornamentation.

...Tycon thought this was the Holy Country, not the... Dark, Spiky-Overlord Country.

The stylistic choices of the Archbishop matched quite well to that of her Centurion, Zenon Skyreaper. Perhaps that was why she wanted that fellow to succeed.

The room was also cold... frigid... matching the character Natalya preferred to convey.

Tycon would have liked to think it was because she knew he'd be arriving.

He doubted that was the case.

Natalya Crucis was seated at her desk, diligently reading some official-looking documentation. Even working on mundane paperwork, she wore a ceremonial suit of blood-red armor, mostly functional in that it was both padded and warm.

"Get the f*ck out or be crucified at dawn," She said... not even bothering to identify the two handsome gentlemen that had just entered her lair.

...By her words, Tycon knew the woman did not actually realize it was him.

Crucifixion at dawn was too polite of a threat.

Tycon bowed politely, "Good morning, Natalya."