Access is not mastery. To fully embody a patron god, one requires intent. Control. Not an involuntary eruption. Without a bonded relationship between a Mawborn and their internal entity, the power controls the vessel. Clearly, Ratelsi had failed in that aspect, treating Oded as a power to surrender to only as a last resort. That's why, despite having killed Broco, she remained trapped in her Mawborn state.
Pulling his glowing eyes away from the floating figure in the sky, Ryken turned to Seraph. "I'm awakening Tarta. You should go join Oberon and Saedi." He pointed toward a distant high roof where the pair's silhouettes flanked a small cluster of Joji drones.
Seraph nodded and pivoted to leave, then hesitated. "Be careful," she said softly, 'We still don't know the full extent of what she's capable of."
Ryken smirked. "Listen to you. Are you actually worried about me?"
She gave a dismissive tch, sprang onto the nearest ridge, and bounded from roof to roof toward the rest of the group. Chuckling, Ryken then remembered something. "Ah, right. Let's get rid of this first." A quick tap to his wrist activated his HoloSmart, sending a grid of webbed light across his frame, dereferencing the digital overlay that created "Traore" until the alias vanished completely. Though he wore the same attire and the runes on his body remained, the man stepping out of the light was entirely in his own skin, returning to the truth of who he was.
Striking and fluidly charming, Ryken exuded a regal confidence—tall, lithe, broad-shouldered, and with a light, apricot-toned complexion. Cascades of tousled brown hair swept past his collarbones, framing a sculpted face uniquely marked by snow-white eyebrows and lashes, amethyst eyes glowing with renewed vigour. Freed from the illusion, Ryken surveyed his surroundings. The Paladins and Jojis were managing the crowd well. Within moments, the street was virtually deserted, leaving him the space he needed. Satisfied with the clearing, he incanted the sacred words:
"Accipe imperium, dea liminum et iudicii, Tarta."[1]
A violent geyser of violet energy exploded from his core, rolling outward in heavy, crushing waves. The blast crushed the earth beneath him into a large crater, forcing Seraph, Saedi and Oberon to shield their faces against the blinding shockwaves and flying debris. Ryken began rising into the air, arms extended in a casting gesture, the radiating energy reshaping his clothing into regal robes. A shadowy cowl fell over his head, illuminated by glowing purple eyes and an amethyst gemstone embedded in his forehead. Radiant white silks embellished with intricate gold lace bordered his open robes, draping across his broad shoulders and bare chest before cascading into a billowing cape and an asymmetrical slit skirt. Accentuated by a golden gorget, an ornate filigree waist belt, and gleaming arm cuffs - each embedded with violet runes - his lower legs were encased in matching golden greaves. Violet ribbons of light swirled in a halo behind the Mawborn's head, orbiting with miniature, glowing spheres. A celestial deity of radiant splendour, this godlike figure commanded attention in the manifested form of his patron deity - Tarta, Goddess of Liminality and Judgment.
Ryken touched down smoothly, his billowing cape dragging behind him as he advanced on Ratelsi. The second her glowing eyes found his, he launched into the air with a deafening sonic boom, reappearing face-to-face with her in an instant. Ryken gave a low, elegant bow and spoke in layered, ethereal voices, a chorus of one. "Your Immortal Highness."
"Oh?" Ratelsi studied Ryken's transformed state with intrigued curiosity, her head cocked to the side. "Mhm. You really are Tarta's vessel," Oded drawled through her lips. "To think that we meet like this… It's almost hilarious." Then a roguish grin split her obsidian lips, flashing elongated canines. "Perhaps you've come to stop me?" she asked, but it wasn't really much of a question. Malachite eyes brightened with manic glee, slitted pupils thinning to needles.
Peeling back his cowl, Ryken raised his head. The wind threaded through his tousled brown hair, lifting the strands in a gale. Expecting defiance or a boastful smile, Ratelsi was instead met with a brutally serious expression. His glowing eyes bored into hers, brows pinched in deep lines, mouth set in a somber frown. Ratelsi gave him a narrowed-eyed scowl. That was a pity look.
"Poor thing," he murmured, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear.
She stiffened, eyes widening at the audacity of his gesture. Poor thing? Why was he treating her like a victim? Make him stop! Ratelsi slapped his hand aside, glaring with monstrous hatred. "Do you have a death wish?" she spat.
Instead of answering, Ryken cupped Ratelsi's chin, forcing her to look directly at him, not letting her turn away. For a second, the venomous malice on her face softened into confusion, lips twitching, eyes darting under the weight of a truth she could no longer look away from.
"You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid of a power you don't understand. That's why you can't opt out." he said. With a gentle tug, Ryken wrapped his arms around Ratelsi, pressing her against his chest and burying his chin atop her hair. A gesture so irrational for what was supposed to be a battle between gods, but Ryken couldn't care less. He'd sensed the void left inside her when Timoth died. Her devastating grief… an emotion Oded was actively feeding on, twisting it into blind, unbridled rage.
"You're trembling, and you don't even know it," Ryken murmured against her hair. "Your body is completely spent. When was the last time you even ate?"
It was such a mundane thing to ask. Ratelsi was utterly thrown, so nonplussed that even Oded's constant, roaring thoughts fell silent - not enough for him to completely let go of the seat of power in her mind, but it was enough for Ratelsi to be fully herself for a brief second. Two godlike beings hovering high in the night sky… locked in a simple, human embrace.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Ryken whispered, tightening his hold around her. "Everything happened so fast, and you haven't even been granted the dignity to mourn him. You want to, but you're stuck, aren't you?"
Ratelsi listened, helpless against the weight of his words. He was speaking the horrors she wouldn't dare say out loud, giving shape to the pain she'd locked away. Eyes wide in disbelief, the tenderness of being held loosened her defenses, and a single tear slipped past her lashes, tracing a warm path down her cheek. Ratelsi involuntarily let out a choked sniffle – and then the dam broke. The composure she'd clung to vanished, bringing hot tears down her face, leaving her sobbing into his chest.
"Aaaggh! Aghh!! Aaaaargh!!" She cried out without restraint, her heartbreak echoing across the entire district.
The rest of the team took in the surreal sight with varying degrees of surprise. "Of all the outcomes I anticipated, a hug was defs not on the list," Saedi said, hefting her Detonator onto her shoulder. "It's strange," Oberon agreed, "but it just might buy you enough time to swoop in." Only Seraph narrowed her eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on the floating pair. "Hm. I suppose the situation calls for it," she muttered, watching how Ryken held Ratelsi while she poured out every ounce of her grief. Ryken simply stayed, absorbing the weight of her pain.
The gut-wrenching wails eventually softened into quiet sobs, and Ratelsi returned the embrace - almost frantically - to anchor herself. But above them, her pennaceous wings flared threateningly, arching their wingtips behind his back. Oded's voice hissed through her lips, cold and imperious. "Have you grown bold, vessel? You placate... you dare to soothe… Such insolence demands correction!"
Her wingtips suddenly lashed out, plunging two inches deep into the meat of Ryken's shoulders. Though they missed his vitals, the metal tore open twin vertical gashes, severing nerves to deaden his left arm temporarily. Thick streams of crimson poured down his back. Yet Ryken didn't pull away. He tightened his grip, drawing her closer as blood welled in his throat and slipped past his lips, dripping down his chin. Leaning into the agonizing pain, he managed a patient smile, letting his blood stain her shoulder.
"This pain is nothing but a fraction of your tempest," he rasped. "Though rest assured… I'm hardly bold enough to challenge your strength, my lord."
"What are you doing, Ryken? Let her go!" Saedi's voice crackled through the comms. Glancing toward the team, Ryken saw the worry on their faces after watching Ratelsi stab him. "Open the portal! I'm ready!" Saedi barked. Ryken gave a small nod, splaying his fingers behind Ratelsi. Fortunately, in his Mawborn state, the portal didn't require a spell—giving Oded zero time to react. The atmosphere shuddered in response, ripping open a gateway. Saedi emerged from the rift, squatting low on a pack of Joji drones, her Detonator locked on target.
"Time to take a nap, lady," she said, and fired.
It all happened in a split second, but Ratelsi—not completely herself—wasn't fast enough to dodge. The blue-canistered dart buried itself into her neck. Annoyed, she reached up to yank it free, but Ryken grabbed her wrists and stared into her eyes.
"Don't fight it!" he pleaded.
"Anytime now!" yelled Saedi, hovering nearby.
But the sedative wasn't working fast enough. At the sound of Saedi's voice. Ratelsi snapped a venomous glare toward the Peculiar. "Be gone, vermin!" She lashed out with her massive wing with terrifying force, launching Saedi into the nearest building. The PART operative slammed against the brick wall, cracking the structure, and began plummeting through dust and debris—until a glowing sphere of orange energy materialized around her before she hit the pavement.
"Gotcha!" Oberon called out, hand thrust out as his peculiarity held the energy shield in place. "You okay?" he shouted down. Wincing, Saedi smeared blood across her face, her fingers coming away red. She sat up with a harsh grunt, holding her ribs. "I'll live! Just a few broken ribs!" she responded. "Damn, that's one hell of a wing slap. Those feathers hit hard as fuck!" Oberon lowered her carefully to the pavement before dissolving the energy shield.
Up in the sky, Ratelsi managed to rip the dart from her neck, but the canister was already empty. Her vision began to sway. "Oh," she blinked rapidly, looking up at Ryken. Though he'd released her from the hug, his hands were bracing her shoulders to keep her airborne. She shoved his chest, but he wouldn't budge. Desperate, she began hammering her fists against him.
"Let go! Let go of me!" she screamed.
Ryken absorbed the blows, smiling. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
When she wouldn't let up, he continued holding her in silence until the sedative drained the fight out of her. Slowly, her eyes fluttered shut, and her body went limp. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ryken flexed his numbed left arm, feeling sensation returning to his fingers. He scooped Ratelsi gently into his arms, looking down at her tear-streaked face. Her majestic wings sagged, and the obsidian sheen of her skin melted into ivory before her natural brown complexion bloomed across her flesh. Her horns faded like smoke in the wind as her Mawborn form receded, revealing the woman beneath - Ratelsi Ozias.
"Good job making it through, Ratelsi," Ryken murmured. "You were fearsome to watch, but I've never seen anything so beautiful." Cradling her close, he began a slow descent toward the ground.
*********
[PART's HQ, Esrossa]
[The Next Morning, Hours After the Operation. 8:15 am]
It's so convenient to close your eyes. It makes us feel like we're avoiding adding trouble to our lives. Choosing not to see what's right in front of us. But how often has history shown us that when you decide to be ignorant or oblivious to your surroundings, predators and those with ill intentions thrive?
Darkness... A friend or foe—perhaps both, she'd known it her entire life. Unlike everyone else, it welcomed her, cradled her, loved her. It offered a sanctuary to simply be herself without remorse. But who was she, really? She'd never really thought about it. A runner. An orphan. A Peculiar. A curse - that was all she was. Even so, the dark accepted her. It always had.
Oh, how clear everything became the moment she allowed herself to see. Maybe, with that clarity, she could've prevented Timoth's death. Noticed Broco's attempt to shoot. Maybe she wouldn't have to pretend to be stuck here now like a chained pet. Ratelsi had regained consciousness hours ago while she was being suspended in mid-air. Whoever they were, they'd been surprisingly gentle when they bound her in heavy chains anchored to the walls. Intrigued, she'd played along, curious to see where the farce would lead. She'd listened to their hushed voices drift through the dark, mixed with the sterile reek of chemical cleaners. Had they sanitized the cell for her arrival? Huh. How polite. Hardly the treatment reserved for a monster who could snap their necks in a heartbeat. That realization alone had fueled her patience to play dead. But three hours had passed, and the boredom was finally getting to her.
Malachite-green eyes fluttered open, only to be stung by the chamber's harsh glare. Ratelsi squinted, her slitted golden pupils contracting as a spike of primal panic stabbed through her migraine. A large, cold containment room with smooth panels for walls. Rectangular overhead lights. Two large windows on either side. Clean. Antiseptic. White. A ghost of a colour. Her breathing shallowed into fast, ragged gasps. The sight of the pristine white walls triggered a wave of nausea, dragging her backwards through time, thrusting her into the hell of her past—fourteen years of her life spent in the Praesidium. Her heart hammered against her ribs, brown skin flushing hot, then ice-cold as memories of needles, rattling metal tables, Acolyte Noemie's scornful voice and her self-flagellation punishments surged to the surface. For a second, she wasn't here—but back there, a subject, a specimen, a sin, completely stripped of her humanity.
No! NO!
Ratels instinctively tried to shake off the panic with movement, forgetting her blood-stained arms were pulled taut horizontally to either side. SHRR-CLANK-CLUNK. The thick chains wrapped around her wrists and forearms, stretching into massive wall anchors, loudly screeched through the containment room. Behind her, multiple chains trailed across her massive wings, forcing the membranes fully open and binding them so she couldn't fold or flap them. Iron links crisscrossed her chest, shoulders, and waist, locking her in the center of the restraint web.
Well, fuck.
Tearing through the iron wouldn't take much effort, but the wrapping style was a dead giveaway. This was a bait setup. The moment she snapped a link, it would signal her awakening, and she wasn't about to greet her captors until she understood her surroundings. Pfft. Such an obvious ploy. Did they actually think I wouldn't notice? Are these people stupid? No, probably not, she conceded with a silent scoff. They did manage to capture me, after all.
Letting out a weary sigh, her pointed ears twitched; her heightened hearing picked up a soft, rhythmic beep. They were watching. Tch. So much for understanding her surroundings first. Ratelsi tilted her head upward, spotting the security cameras mounted high in the corners of the room, their small LEDs pulsing in the white light. She fixed her malachite eyes on the closest camera, letting a slow, dangerous smirk spread across her face, dead certain that whoever was sitting behind that monitor was watching her look right back at them.
"I hope that little red dot means you're getting my good side," Ratelsi called out, her smoky drawl bouncing off the sterile room's walls. "Seriously, does the sight of me in irons turn you on, or do you perverts always watch your guests with your hands on your cocks?" A low, amused chuckle rasped in her throat. The silence that followed stretched thin, heavy enough that she almost considered the room was empty. But then a speaker clicked on, delivering a voice that was measured and dripping with authority. Female.
"How delightfully crude, Ms Ozias. Exactly as I expected you to be."
Ratelsi's grin widened. "I usually prefer my compliments spoken to my face."
"Ah, right. Do pardon my manners. I'll be right with you."
And the speaker clicked off. Moments later, the containment chamber's heavy door hissed open. Four youthful operatives in glossy blue-black bodysuits glided into the room, fanning out into a disciplined formation on either side of the entrance. Tactical straps, utility belts, and weapons sheaths crisscrossed their suits. Polished visors obscured the upper halves of their faces, while high-collared jackets hid their jaws.
Ratelsi narrowed her eyes. Three males and one female. They looked vaguely familiar. But where had they been hiding? She hadn't picked up a single presence outside the door. Before she could ponder it further, the rhythmic, unhurried click of high heels echoed down the hallway.
A considerably tall, russet-skinned woman with an hourglass figure stepped into the room. Instantly, the four operatives saluted, raising two fingers to their collarbones. Ignoring them, the woman marched straight toward Ratelsi, adorned in a tailored crimson jacket with shoulder pads, belted tightly at her waist. Blonde, wavy hair pinned into an elegant updo left soft tendrils framing her round face. A black eye patch covered her left hazel eye, hiding the start of a thin scar curving down to the corner of her bold red lips. Beneath her jacket, a strapless black corset trimmed with gold piping flowed into fitted black trousers. Planting her leather-gloved hands on her hips, she halted her black high-heeled boots directly in front of Ratelsi.
"Eliàna Korsakov," the woman introduced herself. Her Russian accent was subtle, but she rolled the r in her name with a lingering trill.
Ratelsi met her gaze, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her face. A Normie. Yet, this woman radiated unmistakable authority—a strength forged through relentless discipline, blood and sweat. It rolled off her thick frame in heavy tendrils like a protective barrier. And given the other four she'd intuited were Peculiars, they deferred to her; clearly, this woman was the boss here. Ratelsi felt like a caveman discovering fire for the first time. She'd never met such a Normie. Driven by a sudden curiosity, she flexed her shoulders, yanking the hand chains until her hovering posture leaned, lowering her just enough to loom menacingly over her host.
Eliàna raised her head, meeting her eyes head-on, her expression deadpan. Fearless.
A cruel grin stretched across Ratelsi's face, flashing her pointed canines. "I take it you already know who I am, Eliàna." She purred. "Hey, tell me—what kind of Normie are you, huh?" She shut her eyes and sniffed the air around the commander. "You smell… different." She snapped her malachite eyes open; they glowed brighter as she lowered her head. "Wanna spar?"
At the offer, Eliàna's lips curved into a matching smirk. "Ha!" she laughed. Reaching out, she flicked Ratelsi on the head, leaving her blinking, momentarily caught off guard. "You've been brought here against your will after suffering a great ordeal, and this is the first thing you ask?"
Ratelsi's grin died as she leaned back. "Against my will? Sure, if you say so. But…" She flexed her arms violently, making the iron links slam together in a metallic chorus. "You aren't doing a very good job at keeping me here." Her predatory smile crept back, eyes squinting. "Though you already knew that, didn't you? You set this up hoping I'd break them."
"Oh?" Eliàna tilted her head, letting her scrutinizing hazel eyes run appraisingly over the bound Mawborn. "Look at that. Beneath all the vulgarity, there's actually a mind at work. That could prove useful."
Ratelsi's laughter echoed off the sterile white walls, loud and wild enough to make the operatives, who'd been keeping a cautious distance, turn their attention towards her. For a second, she could've sworn one of the males was staring a little too hard. She could feel the weight of his lingering gaze. Could he be that Traore guy? She could feel his presence, albeit faintly.
Ignoring the familiar sensation, Ratelsi dropped her head, her smile vanishing. "You don't know shit about me."
Eliàna just scoffed, her smirk smug. "Oh, I know everything about you, Ratelsi Ozias. Down to the bone."
A small frown tugged at Ratelsi's lips. How much could this woman actually know? What exactly? And how? Did she also know what happened when… Her thoughts trailed off, refusing to remember the night Oded first took over her fourteen years ago. Realizing the conversation was finally veering into the real reason she had been brought here, Ratelsi asked cautiously. "Who are you?"
Eliàna's expression softened, satisfied. She took a step back, sweeping a gloved hand toward the four masked operatives, who instantly snapped to attention with hands behind their backs. "We are the Peculiar Advanced Reconnaissance Team," Eliàna announced. She lowered her hand and turned her full attention back to her captive. "Or perhaps you know us by the title the public prefers: P.A.R.T."
Ratelsi processed the name. Ah. That's why those suits looked familiar. She'd seen them on billboards when flying over the Sector Belt. She'd also stumbled on articles about them on the Mesh's Hourly News feed: an elite squad of high-tier Peculiars deployed for supernatural threats beyond Paladin jurisdiction - dogma breaches, paranormal phenomena, rogue peculiars. She'd never seen one in the flesh, so she'd dismissed the reports as urban legend. Besides, Dogma attacks were mostly localized to the Balun-Sector Belt because of their proximity to Venerum. Unlike Altown.
"P.A.R.T., huh?" Ratelsi mused. "Kinda thought y'all were a myth. Guess not. Who woulda thought?"
"While we strive to keep our operations covert, our existence isn't entirely hidden from the public," Eliàna replied, to which Ratelsi snickered. "And by 'the public', you mean the rich sickfucks funding your little black-ops toys?"
"Precisely those, and the general citizens as well," Eliàna agreed without hesitation. Ratelsi blinked. She hadn't expected the commander to own it so openly. Bemused by her reaction, Eliàna's brows lifted unevenly. "This is where you ask what we want with you."
"I was wondering when you'd get to that," Ratelsi grinned, rattling her chains with an intentionally obnoxious clatter. "Seeing as I'm the captive audience and all, consider me all ears."
As if flipping a switch, Eliàna's expression suddenly turned serious. She stood rigid, lips pressed into a thin line, betraying no hint of emotion. "Take my next words carefully, Ms Ozias. Your exit from this room hinges on two possibilities: coercion or your willingness to cooperate." She held Ratelsi's gaze. "And I assure you, it will be the latter."
"Is that so?" Ratelsi mused.
With two effortless yanks, she broke the chains binding her arms. The heavy iron links hit the ground with a deafening crash, leaving deep imprints in the tiled floor. CLANG. CLUNG. CLANG. One by one, she ripped away the remaining bindings until she was floating in midair. The atmosphere shifted, charged with the raw power of the creature's presence, her wings flapping loudly, beating with such force that a gust of air surged through the chamber, fluttering the commander's jacket wildly and snapping the fabric against her legs. Eliàna's hair was tousled back, strands whipping across her face. She blew a loose strand, impassively smug, as the Mawborn drifted down toward her. The operatives tensed, ready to intervene, but a flick of Eliàna's wrist stopped them dead.
Ratelsi landed inches away, crossing her arms without breaking eye contact. "Look serious enough for ya?"
"Sufficiently serious," Eliàna replied.
Ratelsi's glowing eyes narrowed slightly, half-lidded with disinterest. "You aren't even trembling."
Eliàna smirked, lifting her chin in defiance, and mirrored her posture with crossed arms. "I'm not afraid of you in the slightest, Mawborn, not even reflexively. Not even as a professional trying to compose herself. I'm so unthreatened by what you are that I regard you as nothing more than a brat who doesn't understand the stakes at play here."
Ratelsi arched a lazy eyebrow, almost offended. "A brat?" Her gaze moved slowly up and down, lingering on the faint lines at the corners of the commander's eyes, subtle but visible when she smirked. "You don't look much older than me, lady. Give or take, what? Seven years?"
"I'm thirty-two," Eliàna corrected. "That makes me ten years your senior, missy.'
"Pfft." Ratelsi scoffed, dismissing the age gap. "Whatever. So? What does your fancy little P.A.R.T want with a poor, unsuspecting, underground runner like me anyway?"
"To recruit you, Ms Ozias."
[1] Translate to "Accept control, Goddess of Liminality and Judgment, Tarta."