Wanderer, Bearer of Bad News

I knew this was coming eventually. I knew that behind all the smiles and laughter, he had something to say. I suppose I was taken aback by his kindness, hoping beyond hope that something would go my way for once.

But no. Here I now stand, head to head with the most powerful Devil to ever live, with no way out. This is no doubt going to be the most difficult conversation of the both of our lives, for much different reasoning.

Crossing my arms, as if to try and take some semblance of control over the situation, I answer his question.

"She's somewhere safe."

He runs a hand along his head in frustration with my wood-block of an answer.

"Is she okay? Is- is she hurt, or anything? Have you done anything to her? You're really not giving me much to worth with, here."

I ignore the way his eyes glow at that last question, doing my best to stay calm and confident. I almost forget that he's just as much a lovestruck fool as a monstrous Devil. Poor man is worried sick.

"I haven't hurt a hair on her, physically she's entirely fine."

He sighs and moves back, giving me some fucking breathing room finally.

"I thought the worst. She didn't answer a single transmission I sent her, and the only thing Lord Lucifuge would tell me is that she's in good hands."

While I'm glad Gehrman respects me so much, he's done me no favours. Sirzechs must have been seething over the mental image alone.

A moment later though, Sirzechs seemingly catches onto the wording I used, his eyes suddenly sharpening.

"Why did you specify she was fine 'physically' instead of just saying she's fine? What happened Alistair?"

Trying to find the best way to word my next sentence, I find myself sighing as well.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it, General. You fucked up. Monumentally."

He doesn't respond initially, only giving me a slow nod, permission to continue as he breathes deeply.

"When she needed you the most, you weren't there."

"What? Just- stop being so damn cryptic and explain it already!"

His optimism cracks for a moment, worry seeping into every fiber of his being, making him erratic.

"The Satan's found out about your rendezvous' together, a few days before I went into the city."

All in the span of a few seconds, I watch him go through the stages of grief, his mind cataloguing every possible outcome of that situation and selecting only the worst ones, his power suddenly eclipsing anything I'd ever seen before as the earth stands still.

But then he takes a deep breath, calms himself down.

"What did they do?"

"...To paraphrase, they considered killing her, but eventually settled on 'ensuring the survival of their bloodlines.' I'm sure I don't need to explain to you what that means."

I expected more anger, more fury, a maelstrom of power that would turn the Underworld upside down and leave nothing but destruction behind.

But no. All he does is wilt, like a dead flower he turns hollow. I don't miss the way his eyes keep flicking to me, as if he's contemplating something. I don't doubt it's whether he hates me or himself more for what he unintentionally caused her.

"Of course, they never had the chance. But that's not what matters. What matters is, in desperation, afraid for her life and whatever torture may await her, she ran away and cried out for you to save her."

To my surprise, he whispers the next words out himself, finishing my sentence for me as he stares at his own hand like a foreign object, falling to the floor.

"...but I never came." His gaze turns baleful, still shifting between his own limb and myself, continuing shortly after.

"I know exactly when it happened too!" He shouts, catching me off guard.

"I can still remember it. I thought it was strange when someone kept trying to reach me, but I couldn't answer, I was in the middle of a meeting! It would be bad manners!" He speaks through gritted teeth.

Moments later he glances up at me, defeated, and I can't help but miss the shitty jokes now.

"Did she say anything about me? When you spoke with her, did she...?" He deliberately leaves the question vague, as if he's afraid to say the words himself.

"She said she's started to associate you with the trauma of those events. The feeling of abandonment, the betrayal, and the fear of what they would do to her."

He rests his arms on his knees, millions of thoughts running through his head before he seemingly settles on two words.

"I see."

And as he says those words I can almost see it, the sheer burden of guilt he feels. Like the weight of the world on Atlas' own shoulders, I see the regret bearing down on him. It's tragic, truth be told.

But then, he looks at me again, an unexpected smile on his lips.

"You wanna know something funny? That meeting, the one I lost the love of my life over... guess who it was about?" A finger points in my direction.

"You!" He laughs, but the sound is hollow.

"And, and I can't even be angry at you for it." He says, hand wrapped around his own wrist as the words spill out.

"I kept trying to. I wanted so desperately to hate you, to blame you for everything, to villainize you." He slips a hand into his hair.

"But I can't. At the end of the day, you didn't choose any of this. Hell, you did the exact same thing I would've done, and that only makes it worse, cause now the only person I can blame is myself."

Where there was once a pristine General, an immaculate soldier of immense power, now there's a shell. A facsimile of the great General Gremory. I kneel down to try and meet his eyes, to try and offer condolences.

"I'm sorry, General. For what it's worth, I really am sorry."

Those eyes snap to me, that same forced spark of fury in them yet again, before it flickers away into something else. Agonising self-loathing.

I'll never regret the choices I made when it comes to helping Grayfia. Both he and I agree that I did what was best. But... I can't help this guilt that I feel for doing this to him.

"Would you..." He hesitates. "Is there any way you could get me in contact with her?"

"There is. But you should understand, you could end up making things worse by doing this. There's no guarantee she'll answer."

He brushes aside my warning, bargaining for any chance to salvage things with her.

"Please. I just want to hear her voice. To talk with her again. Maybe, maybe I can explain things to her, work something out!"

Part of me doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to see him degrade even further over the woman he loves. But a more ruthless, pragmatic side, wants to kill any source of competition for Grayfia.

So I send the transmission.

"Master? I thought you were discussing things with Serafall, is something the matter?" Sirzechs cringes slightly at hearing the word 'master', at the warmth in her voice.

But still, he presses on, moving closer to try and talk into my transmission Circle.

"Grayfia! It's me, Sirzechs! I know you probably don't want to speak to me right now, but please, just hear me out. I'm sorry, Grayfia. I am so, so sorry for ever leaving you behind-"

"It's too late to be sorry, Sirzechs. Goodbye."

Frantically, Sirzechs responds.

"Wait, wait just let me explain, please! I wanted to help you, belie..."

He slows down, as if caught in a daze, and I know exactly why. His eyes shadowed, he looks up at me.

"The line's dead. She's gone."

He speaks the words like they're sacrilegious, as if he never believed they'd come from his mouth. Reality hits him like a truck, and I see something I never thought I'd see. A single tear.

Just as quickly as it came, he wipes it away, a smile on his face holding back the tidal wave of emotion that comes.

"That's that, I guess. It is what it is."

He takes a deep breath, looking at the battered manor, the gardens, constantly shifting his gaze to try and keep his mind off of the loss he no doubt feels, before finally he shifts his gaze to meet mine again.

"You must think I'm pretty lame, getting all sad over a girl like that, huh? So much for the First General, eh?" He says. I can't help but think back on memories from before I came here as I respond.

"Did you love her, General?"

Still smiling, he answers, though it drops as he speaks.

"I'd have killed Lucifer himself just for a chance to be with her. I loved her more than anything."

"Then no. I don't think any less of you. Any good man would sympathise with how you feel right now."

I remember what it was like, when my mother left. The way my father, the strongest man I've ever known, cried that day. I've never once held it against him, and I don't hold it against Sirzechs now either.

He doesn't respond to my words, doesn't even give any indication that he heard them, instead choosing to stand up and brush himself down for a few moments before he speaks again.

"Oh well, no use dwelling on the past now!" He says. "Come on, we've still got a long day ahead of us. You've got a date with the High Council, and I'm nothing if not punctual."

He smiles the whole time. I've kicked this man down so much these last few minutes that I can't bring myself to say anything about how fake it is.

I won. Grayfia's mine, there's no competition in sight. A shame then, that the cost of that victory was the heart of a good man.

Preparing myself for no doubt the most awkward journey of my life, I stand straight and follow on after Sirzechs as we leave the Sitri Manor, no choice but to walk the way to Lilith due to the teleportation scramblers.

Maybe we could teleport closer, shave some time off the journey. Truth be told, I think Sirzechs just wants some time to clear his head.

Emergency Quest: Destined Confrontation has been completed.

1500EXP!

x4 Level Up! (12 Stat Points)

x5 Gacha Pulls

x5 Skill Tokens

"You know, Demi-fiend..." He starts, breaking my focus on the system alerts and admittedly pissing me off for his use of that despicable title a few minutes into our walk.

"You never explained why Bidleid wants you dead so badly. What'd you do to piss him off so much? Honestly I think he hates you more than he hates me."

I'm no genius when it comes to people, but I'm almost certain he wants to take his mind off things. To think about anything else but what just happened. I'll indulge him.

"I blew his arm off, forced him to use a Phenex Tear. His pride was ruined." I say, recalling the moment with a smile.

"Damn, really!? How'd you do that? No offense but you're kinda..." He gestures with flat hands, one held much higher than the other. "Far off his level."

"I'll tell you the story if you stop calling me Demi-fiend."

He snaps back in an instant. "Bah, fine. I guess I'll never know."

"Wha- Really? You're giving up, just like that? Over a fucking name?"

"It's a cool title! I dunno why you hate it, I'd kill for something like that. You know how difficult it is to keep a straight face when people say, 'oh no it's the Architect of Ruin, let's get out of here'?" He kicks a stone on the road beside us, continuing on.

"Demi-fiend is short, sweet. Rolls off the tongue. I know mother wishes she had one like that. Honestly I'm convinced they give us these monikers to make fun of us." He laughs as he thinks about it.

"I think I've heard that one, actually. What was it, Flaxen Haired-"

"-Madame of Destruction, yeah! Who the hell says that with a serious face? It's gotta be a big joke the Loyalists are all playing on us, I'm telling you!"

"Maybe. They definitely weren't being coy with mine." I say, smiling. "I guess you're right though, compared to some I've got it easy. Poor woman." Clearing my throat, I decide to keep the conversation going.

"Alright, you've convinced me. I suppose I can regale you with the tale of the Demi-fiend and his harrowing journey. It's a long one, so listen closely."

"Go ahead. We got more than enough time." He replies, eager to hear my legend.

"Our story begins in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, as I found myself surrounded and about to be tortured by a group of Loyalists who'd found me on the roadside..."