The Promise
As Ila walked through the halls of the Zmajcica-g, her mind was on Berith and the strange satisfaction she got from taunting him. He deserves every punch, she thought, a half-smile on her face as she neared the brig. The days of being a feared warlord, leading the Dralathi Empire against the Assurans, felt like a lifetime ago. Now, things were different, alliances had shifted, and loyalties had reformed around a new, far more powerful cause: the Empire.
When Lyra’s voice called out to her, she turned and listened with some amusement. Lyra used to hate me… well, I don’t blame her. We nearly crushed her precious Republic. Yet, hearing the word "hate" spoken in the past tense made Ila pause. Not so bad now, huh? Funny how war changes things, she mused.
Ila’s expression softened as she replied, "Much has changed since then, hasn’t it?" There was a sincerity in her voice she didn’t often use. She still remembered her battles against Lyra’s people, and even though she held no grudges now, the gravity of those times still lingered. I almost destroyed everything she stood for, yet here we are, fighting on the same side.
When Lyra asked her to promise not to let Spotty die, Ila’s demeanor shifted. Her usual lightheartedness turned serious. Lyra's concern for Spotty isn’t misplaced, but she underestimates Spotty’s strength. Still, loyalty runs deep. Ila turned to Lyra, her eyes sharp but calm. “She won’t die," she said, her voice strong and confident. "She’s tougher than all of us, but fine, I promise I’ll guard her life with mine.” The weight of the promise settled on her shoulders, but it was a burden she would gladly carry.
A moment later, Ila’s mood lightened as her trademark smirk returned. She wasn’t one for overly sentimental moments, and this one was getting dangerously close to that. Better to break the tension. She offered a playful suggestion, her voice teasing as she spoke about Berith. “I was going to throw some punches at Berith, our resident punching bag. Want to join me? The sounds and vain threats he makes are quite entertaining.”
She saw the chuckle from Lyra, and it brought her some relief. Good. No need to dwell on grim thoughts when we have a punching bag waiting for us.
Lyra’s Perspective:
Lyra had always been a woman of duty, her loyalty to the Assuran Republic unquestionable. But standing in the corridors of the Zmajcica-g next to Ila, the woman who had once been her greatest enemy, things felt... different. I used to hate her. I really did, Lyra reflected as she caught up to Ila. The animosity between their factions had been intense, and Lyra had once seen Ila as a ruthless conqueror—someone who would stop at nothing to destroy everything she cared about. But now? Now they were allies, part of something far larger than the old grudges of the past. Funny how war brings people together—or tears them apart.
She couldn’t help but acknowledge Ila's growth. There was something about her now, a kind of pragmatism and camaraderie Lyra hadn’t expected. So, when she said, "You’re not so bad, I guess," it wasn’t an admission of defeat, but a recognition of how far they had both come. We’re different people now.
When Ila responded, "Much has changed since then, hasn’t it?" Lyra nodded, feeling the weight of those words. So much had changed. The battles between their old factions felt like another era. Now, they fought side by side for the Empire, for Spotty. And Spotty… The thought of her friend’s injury gnawed at her. Despite Spotty’s reassurances, the image of her standing tall in battle haunted Lyra’s mind. What if this war takes her from me?
Without thinking, Lyra blurted out her request. “Promise me one thing, don’t let Spotty die.” It was an almost desperate plea, something she hadn’t intended to say so bluntly. But once the words were out, she couldn’t take them back. She was worried—truly worried—and there was nothing she could do about it except trust in those around Spotty to protect her.
Ila’s serious look and strong reply reassured her more than she’d expected. "She won’t die." She’s right, Lyra thought, trying to convince herself. Spotty’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. Yet it was Ila’s promise that brought a small sense of relief. “I promise I’ll guard her life with mine.” She means it, Lyra realized, feeling a surge of gratitude she hadn’t anticipated.
And then, in typical Ila fashion, the mood lightened with a casual mention of Berith. Lyra laughed, genuinely amused. “Yes, that does sound fun,” she said, her voice bright with amusement. I could use a bit of stress relief. She’d never liked Berith, and the thought of getting to land a few punches on the traitor made the heavy atmosphere lift.
Funny how things have changed, she mused as they continued to the brig. Once enemies, now sharing in something as trivial as punching a prisoner. But beneath the humor, the stakes remained high, and Lyra knew they’d both be facing the weight of this war sooner than later. For now, though, she was happy to have this brief moment of camaraderie.
Ila's Perspective:
As Ila walked into the brig, she immediately noticed the Spartan IIs doing what they did best: brutal efficiency, even when it came to something as simple as beating down a traitor. Sergeant Markov always had a good aim, Ila thought with a small smirk as she saw him punch Berith in the stomach. She couldn’t deny the satisfaction she felt watching Berith suffer. It wasn’t just about revenge, though that played a part. It was about justice. He betrayed Spotty, betrayed us all, she reminded herself. He deserved worse than a few punches.
“I see you’re having fun,” Ila said, her voice carrying a mocking edge as she stepped forward. Without hesitation, she rammed her knee into Berith’s stomach, feeling his body curl in response. Pathetic, she thought. There had been a time when Berith, with all his powers, would have laughed off such attacks. Now? Now he was just another fallen power, stripped of his strength, at the mercy of their hands.
Turning to Lyra, Ila watched with interest as her former rival stepped up and slapped Berith hard across the face. She didn’t expect Lyra to enjoy it as much as she did, but it was satisfying to see her get a hit in. We may have been enemies, but we share this common goal now.
When Sergeant Alyona Petrova spoke up, questioning if they were just going to keep hitting him, Ila met her gaze with a knowing smile. “For quite some time,” Ila replied, “although I suspect our Empress has some more devious punishment in mind for him after our campaign in Hell is over.” The thought of whatever Spotty had planned next made her inwardly chuckle. Whatever it is, he’s not going to enjoy it.
Lyra's Perspective:
Lyra had never imagined herself standing in the same room as Ila, let alone participating in something like this. Yet here she was, slapping a once-powerful being like Berith across the face and finding a strange sense of satisfaction in it. I didn’t think this would feel so… cathartic. Her hand still stung from the slap, but it was nothing compared to the deep resentment she harbored for traitors like Berith.
Watching Ila knee Berith had been almost amusing. The casual way Ila moved, the confidence—Lyra admired it more than she cared to admit. A lot has changed, she mused once more. Even their conversations had a sense of camaraderie that would’ve been impossible not so long ago.
As Sergeant Alyona Petrova spoke up, questioning the continued beating, Lyra chuckled softly. This is about more than just punishment, she thought, glancing back at Berith’s hunched form. It’s about sending a message. To him and to anyone else who dares betray the Empress.
Still, a flicker of concern crossed her mind when Ila mentioned Spotty having "devious" plans in mind for Berith. What exactly does she mean by that? But Lyra brushed the thought aside for now. Spotty always had a plan, and it wasn’t her place to question it. Instead, she focused on the moment, on the strange satisfaction of seeing Berith squirm. He deserves this and more.
Sergeant Markov's Perspective:
Sergeant Markov wasn’t one for needless cruelty, but there was something different about Berith. The traitor had endangered the entire Empire, had conspired against their Empress—someone Markov deeply respected. As he pulled back his fist from delivering yet another punch to Berith’s gut, he felt no remorse, only a sense of duty. He brought this on himself, Markov told himself, his face emotionless but his mind resolute.
When Ila and Lyra entered the room, Markov offered a respectful nod, though he kept his focus on Berith. He could hear the amusement in Ila’s voice, the way she seemed to take pleasure in this. I guess it’s a bit more personal for her, he thought. Watching her land a knee into Berith’s stomach, and Lyra’s quick slap, Markov couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of unity. Even those who once stood against each other can come together when faced with a traitor.
He wasn’t surprised when Alyona questioned their methods. She’s a bit more straightforward, he mused. But for Markov, this was more than just hitting someone. It was about showing Berith that his betrayal wouldn’t go unpunished, even in the smallest ways. The worst is yet to come for him, I’m sure of that.
Sergeant Alyona Petrova's Perspective:
Alyona watched the scene unfold with mild curiosity. So, this is what it’s come to? A bunch of us standing around, taking turns hitting this sorry sack of bones? She wasn’t against it, but she wasn’t one for long, drawn-out games either. She liked efficiency, getting things done. Watching everyone take turns punching and slapping Berith almost felt… excessive. Not that he didn’t deserve it—he absolutely did. But there were other ways to make a man suffer.
"Are we just going to keep hitting him?" Alyona asked, more to herself than anyone else, but when Ila responded, she listened carefully. “For quite some time,” Ila had said with a grin. That made Alyona smirk slightly. Ila’s got a taste for this kind of thing, she realized. But when Ila mentioned the Empress having something "devious" in mind for Berith, Alyona felt a chill. Whatever Spotty has planned, it’s going to be a lot worse than anything we’re doing now.
Still, Alyona wasn’t the type to refuse a little fun. She stepped forward and casually landed a punch to Berith’s ribs, watching him flinch. Guess I can stick around for a bit longer.
Berith's Perspective:
Berith’s whole body ached. The chains that bound him were nothing compared to the mental torment of knowing he had been utterly defeated. How the mighty have fallen, he thought bitterly, replaying Spotty’s mocking words in his head. Each punch, each slap, each blow was a reminder of his failure—his loss of power. He had once been a force to be reckoned with, someone to be feared, but now? Now he was nothing but a chained prisoner, at the mercy of those he had once looked down upon.
Ila’s knee in his stomach sent a jolt of pain through his body, and Lyra’s slap across his face stung more than it should have. But it wasn’t the physical pain that tortured him—it was the humiliation. The constant mocking, the taunts, the smug looks on their faces. They think they've won, he thought with venom, though he could do little more than grit his teeth and endure.
When Sergeant Petrova questioned whether they would just keep hitting him, Berith’s lips curled into a sneer. "Enjoy it while you can," he muttered through the pain, his voice weak but filled with venom. "Your Empress… she won’t be able to save you when the real powers strike. You’ll all fall, just like I did."
The laugh that followed was dry, more a hollow bark than anything genuine. They don't know what's coming.
But even as he spoke, the dread inside him grew. He had no powers left to summon, no forces at his back. He was alone, trapped, and at the mercy of those he had betrayed. And they’ll make sure I suffer for it, he realized, the bitter taste of fear coating his thoughts.