Chapter Text
I.
Sigh.
A waft of smoke followed, curling around the confines of the dim lit room. Silence filled the space, except the exhales of two beings that occupied it.
Another puff, another sigh, clogged the room in its pungent smell.
"Enough already, Agares. This is the third one in a row", came a stable yet slightly irked voice.
A light chuckle accompanied the deep voice that followed, "Are you worried about me?"
"Of course not", the other replied instantly. "How many times have I told you not to smoke when I'm there?"
The tone was that of exasperation, more so than irritation.
Yet another puff rolled out.
"And when was the last time you were there?"
The light question hung heavily, biting at the silence that followed.
"I do not wish to argue now."
A resigned chuckle mixed with a sigh.
"As you wish, then", Agares conceded. He didn't want to argue either, it was just that the situation was reaching a tipping point too steep to bounce back from.
He took a final swig of his cigarette, before extinguishing it. The last bits of smoke died out as the tip got twisted in the ashtray.
Beside him, Metatron had his eyes fixed on his hand still holding the cigarette butt.
This obsessive idiot, thought Agares.
Metatron had always been like this. His stubbornness was just as much his forte as it was his weakness.
It had been so long since they first met, that recalling the date was like finding a pin in sand. But, that didn't mean he didn't remember it. Infact, he remembered it too well, just like any other memory associated with him.
II.
It was a windy day, dark grey clouds were claiming the sky. A turmoil had been brewing, a rebellion underway. His father never made a fitting king, but his rule wasn't that tyrannical. That said, even though this outcome was expected, it came about too soon.
Someone was behind this, and it was his job to find out. In his response, all he could do was sigh, as he urged his horse towards the location he found from the intel last night.
Agares was the Prince of the Demon Realm, second in line to the throne. But that was just an empty title.
Demons followed two things in life. One, their heart, and the second, strength.
His father had strength, immense enough to keep the others in check, hence he still sat on that throne with majesty. But if he was any weaker, he would've long been expelled from that seat.
Contrary to what one might expect, there were actually many Demon Kings, after all Demons are creatures who live with freedom, following their hearts. This was also why only strength was capable of subduing them. Though that doesn't mean that the subdued would relent. In their own way, they kept on searching for ways to get the upper hand. After all, the title of King was something they couldn't easily concede. The struggle for power, a constant.
Hence, Demon Kings were divided by ranks, the higher the rank, the more powerful that individual was and the more extensive their realms became. Still, more kings kept emerging from century to century, creating their own territories and ruling over them. Therefore, After the Great War of Saints and Demons, his father 'united' the Demon Kings, and, in a gist, ruled them all. The title of King was reduced to merely an empty shell.
He had expected the rebellion to start from there, but reality turned out to be different.
Demons truly were exhausting to deal with. At least, he wished, the one he was trying to find wouldn't turn out as such. Sighing out a puff of smoke, he moved forward.
He found the conspirator behind the riot about four cigarettes later. He lit the one in his hand as he neared the camp, a smirk settling on his lips when he looked at the occupants.
Ordering his men to capture the guards, Agares went in swiftly, his movements nimble. It was too late by the time his opponents realised.
As the last bits of ashes fell from his cigarette, the leader of the lot was lying before him, looking at him with shock, coating the underlying fear. Frankly, he was tired of this look, but seeing the wings spreading out from his back, he suppressed his urge. He could guess who might be behind all this, but a confirmation hurts no one, and it wouldn't be as entertaining to so easily kill.
"Who is the one behind this?", Agares demanded, holding the captive's jaw open forcefully. "Spill, or you shall never fly again."
The Angel trembled in fear. Perhaps he didn't think that he'd be threatened like that. He couldn't even resort to suicide. Cold eyes met terrified ones as a devilish smirk settled on the Demon's lips.
They say Angels are righteous holy beings, prideful of their pure form. A gift from Gods, they claim.
"I will count to three."
But will it still hold when their pride is in danger?
"One."
The Angel looked horrified as the tip of the long sword fell on his wingbone.
"Two."
Blood bloomed on the white feathers, a shining deep red. The sword angled itself, the weight of the edge falling on his wing, cutting deeper, a teaser for what was to follow.
"Three-"
"The C-crown Prince! It was the Crown Prince of Eden!"
Weakling, Agares thought as he moved his sword away, the weight, as it lifted, almost pulled out a sigh out of the Angel. But, just as the Angel could do that, Agares swung his demonic blade straight through his neck. Amusement filled his eyes as he saw the look of horror and betrayal smearing the face that fell.
Red, white and sickening pale, such contrast filled the Demon Prince with a twisted satisfaction, like an artist looking at a piece of abstract art, feeling the accomplishment of seeing the colours play on the canvas like he wanted to.
He flicked his sword, a splash of blood joining the fray, and sheathed it.
Looks like the Crown Prince of Eden is weaving a dangerous net, he thought as he made his way towards his steed, It shouldn't be too late to join the fun.
III.
It wasn't long before a reply to his letter arrived. It was a letter asking for an audience with the Crown Prince of Eden. Private, of course.
He must've been vexed, he thought, as he read through the letter. His handwriting is beautiful.
He folded the letter and carefully placed it in his drawer. Anticipation curled his lips upwards, carrying a hint of satisfaction, something he had almost forgotten the feel of.
A day later, they sat face to face.
A heavy silence hung as each tried to gauge the other's reaction.
It wasn't a grandiose welcome, as two Angels cautiously led Agares and his men towards the meeting room and then asked him to enter alone. Suffice to say, they were as reluctant to share the space with his demons as the latter were to leave him alone. A huff of amusement almost spilled out as he had entered.
The Crown Prince didn't disappoint. Sitting straight, yet wielding an air of leisure, unthreatened. Pristine.
Angelic, he thought, staring at those clear eyes. Never did he fathom that he'd use this term. Never had someone fit this word so well, as if it was made for them.
Both of them were waiting for the other to take the first step, but this silence would get them nowhere.
"Are you trying to eradicate the Demons?"
Agares broke the ice. He was curious about this, of what the Crown Prince was after. His actions were too lax, as if he was preparing a bait. He probably was. He'd be disappointed if he wasn't, he'd heard a lot about the Angel from his investigation and hearsay. He wanted to hear from the man himself.
Metatron looked at him, his lips curling the slightest bit as he said, "Of course not. That would affect the balance I seek."
For a moment his eyes flickered with an emotion, almost like when one gambles on a risky scenario. His ambition, of overthrowing the existing laws to scribe them from scratch, wrapped up in his short but probing comment. It hung in front of him, dangling like that sinful fruit of Eden he had heard of.
With knowledge comes the possibility of the unknown, a thrill unexplored.
Contrary to Demons, Angels followed only one being, whose words were the law. There was no King, just a mere title, so that they weren't looked down on, reduced to a mere religious sect. All the rulers were His messengers, devoting their lives to that cause, preaching of righteousness. The Advocates of Justice and all things Good, they claimed. But that had considerably dwindled.
"The world has forgotten virtue" Those were the words uttered by Metatron the first time they met. "I want to show them the right path."
He had said that, determination coating his eyes as he looked at Agares, hiding his motives behind the sparkle.
Fancy words.
IV.
"So, what do the demons have to do with it?"
A pause.
"Have you heard of the Wall Dividing Good and Evil?"
Two birds with one stone then, Agares thought, amused at the Prince's ambition. Clearly, Metatron's 'balance' needed Evil. After all, what's Good without that?
He held the thought, as he indulged the changed topic. "The ancient myth?"
"Yes, the myth", Metatron replied patiently. "Although it is, infact, real."
Agares stared at Metatron, looking straight at those transparent eyes. Clear, but hiding countless mysteries. They held the gaze for a while, the Angel letting him gauge out the authenticity of his statement.
Legend has it that the Good and Evil of this world was assigned by that wall. But no one knew where it was, or if it even existed.
Yet this man in front of him believed he could find that, his gaze too clear to hide a lie, even for trained eyes like Agares to spot.
He lifted his brow.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Metatron brought his hands together, pale fingers resting on his lap, criss-crossing each other.
"The Wall lies in the Demon Realm. I was hoping you would help me."
The even voice, carrying such a calm conviction, felt dissonant.
"You want me to escort you?", he huffed, amused. "And why, tell me, would you think I would do that?"
Agares knew the question was useless the moment he looked at the other.
Metatron stared at him calmly, his eyes looked at him like looking at an obvious answer, his confidence unwavering.
Agares smirked, he couldn't help it. That guy was mocking him. It felt like he had looked through him, the sensation making sparks flow throughout his body. Was it irritation, or thrill? he couldn't tell.
Metatron knew about the internal power struggle of the Demon Kings, and so he wanted a candidate who could work with the Angels to overthrow the existing ruler. Quite aligned with Agares' aim, to be honest, one he was too lazy to do alone.
And the Angel in front of him knew of his ambitions, using them as bait. Or should he say, he knew very well what all the Demon Kings wished for, the deal already in the making even before Agares contacted him.
Not so Angelic now, are you?
There were pits all around him, a path that Agares would normally never consider. Normally, he would walk away, or maybe demand for something exclusive. But he did not want to lose the opportunity. He was willing to wait for the other, somehow willing to indulge him. A first for him.
If the Wall truly existed, then maybe he'd take it. If the legends were to be trusted, growing his powers with its aid would let him rule over the entire world if he so wished. If nothing else, he could take it as having a fun little outing with a cute white bird. He wouldn't mind a little spar either, if things were to go south.
He, surprisingly, didn't mind going with the flow.
He extended his hand, big, rough, as he engulfed the stern yet smooth white palm in his.
Soft, he thought, somehow already feeling a little reluctant to let go of it.
"A deal it is then", he said after he met the other's eyes. He could feel the hand in his relax just a bit then, bringing a soft smile to his face.
Such a stubborn prince you are.
"Yes, a deal", Metatron confirmed, as if saying it to himself. Then, quickly retracted his hand back, as if he had suddenly remembered about it. Agares looked down at his palm, now empty, yet still holding the weight it carried just a moment ago.
Slightly clearing his throat- a futile attempt at diverting attention, Agares felt- the Angel spoke up.
"Let us sign a contract."
Hastily, yet still sophisticatedly, the Crown Prince proceeded to take out a pair of documents from an envelope, making Agares aware of their presence. He sat up a little straighter, realising that he overlooked it completely, his focus captured by the Angel from the moment he entered–
But before he could dwell on this astonishing little discovery, long white fingers pushed a document in front of him. His eyes lingered on those digits, fair, polished, just like the owner. It stirred something inside him that even he didn't know existed. His eyes followed them back to the now straightening figure of Metatron, those fingers curling around his own copy.
So meticulous.
He cleared his throat, opening the contract to hide his restlessness. His eyes started scanning through the pages, quickly reading through the entire document. He then leaned back a bit, closing it in a swift motion, as he met his Gap's eyes
"Why am I the Eul?", he grumbled, testing the waters.
"Is there something wrong with it?" He received a nonchalant response.
Agares smirked.
"But aren't you the contractor here?"
Blonde eyelashes lifted up, letting those cold, transparent irises stare back at him.
"Would you rather swear the Oath of Existence?"
"You are completely treating me like an object." A reluctant chuckle escaped.
Agares extended his hand towards the pen, the golden petals creating a stark contrast with his fingers, the sharp nails holding the feather-light tip with a practiced restraint. The pen stayed suspended as the Demon wrote his name, surrendering to it's fate, easily breakable.
The same couldn't be said about his contractee, sitting with ease, and looking lightly at him, porcelain fingers laid on top of each other.
Maybe, he was restraining his unease behind that calm. Or, maybe that would only stay as Agares' silent wish, the Angel too regal to follow his whims.
Still, a smirk made its way to his face, his eyes looking at the composed Prince as he lightly put the pen down.
"There. Now we're partners, so to speak."
The pristine brows furrowed at that, lips pursed slightly, stirring the Demon's instinct, his desire to pry them open by force, sucking out the blood that lay underneath, feeling it pulse with life.
Guess that could be called progress?
He never knew his soul would falter as such, losing its sanity in front of this pure being.
He was done for.
V.
He stared at his palm; big, rough, demonic. He remembered those white fingers in his; light, fragile, but with a strength hidden in them as it held his hands, pride coating it's every fiber.
He sighed, pulling out a cigarette from his stash. He needed it.
But, as soon as he took the first swig, regret mixed with the exhale as he felt the lingering smell being washed off with nicotine.
The ashes were extinguished below his feet.
That'd leave a mark, Agare's thought. It would definitely irritate him.
A smirk stretched, twisting his face in a childish glee.
He went back to his castle, he had preparations to do. After all, he had to sneak in an Angel, none other than the Crown Prince himself.
In two days, they set off on a seemingly impossible quest. This being a secret meant, no backups. It was just him and the angelic prince. A smile made its way, twisting his lips up at the thought. His original reason felt secondary.
He was delayed because his father had found out about his little visit. There was an insider. Thinking of that made his fingers itch, wanting to gut the person responsible. It had taken a significant chunk of his energy to fool the Demon King.
He let out a heavy breath. For now, his father would not be making any moves against him, testing his loyalty instead. He was, after all, too comfortable in his blind belief towards the power he held, thinking that was enough to keep anyone at bay. The same couldn't be said about the others. There would be a shift soon.
He took out a cigarette again, taking a whiff of it as he glanced sideways. Metatron was riding on a white steed, dressed in a matching white as his silver-blonde hair danced in the air, turning almost transparent in the sun rays. His fair skin sparkled as light softly fell on it. He felt like a light breeze, one that would be gone the next second if you didn't keep an eye on it. Transparent. Like an illusion.
A breathtaking illusion.
Agares felt like he was dreaming, if not for the warmth of the steed he rode on. The constant shaking motion grounded him.
"Pick up the pace", came a steady voice, so different from his illusive appearance.
At some point, Agares had fallen into a pace behind him, his eyes holding his form for surety.
"I'm only following Your Highness, after all, am I not your escort? Unless-", he teased. "You want me riding by your side?"
Metatron glanced back at him, eyes fleeting yet firm, as he pointedly snapped. "Do what you wish."
"You said it", he laughed back, guiding his horse to match Metatron's pace, eyes filled with mirth and a slight challenge as he looked at him, only to be rewarded with a glare.
Challenging this Angel's bottom line was fun. Seeing his straight eyebrows scrunch up, breaking it's calm rhythm, eyes filling with a chill and exasperation unexpected of his organised self to hold- he would probably never get tired of it.
VI.
It had been five days already, with them riding without rest except at night.
"How long are we going to travel?", he had asked that night when they set the camp. This far, he could guess the location they were heading for, somewhat. A little more and they'd be at the legendary land where the last Great War of Saints and Demons took place.
"Tired already?"
"Not with Your Highness' company."
Metatron sighed at that, a sign of exasperation. Though the light tug of his lips indicated otherwise.
He had started warming up to him. Slowly but steadily, the trust built up. He still remembered their first camp.
It had been a calm night, the stars covering the sky like someone took their anger out on the canvas. Agares was setting up the tents with a sharp glare latched to his back.
Someone didn't know how to set theirs, and so Agares was doing the labour work for them out of the goodness of his heart.
Suffice to say, the other shouldn't be so angry at being called a Princess. Really, where is the insult? He completely ignored his affection that coated that 'compliment'.
Okay, maybe there was a tiny bit of teasing.
Agares took off his shirt, exposing his muscles to the chilly wind as he started to hammer the tent in place. The shirt had glued itself to his body, making it difficult to move in, highly uncomfortable. And, it had been stinking for a while now, as he had opted to concentrate on settling for the night instead of hygiene. Sweat rolled down and instantly cooled, adding to the chill. He tightened his muscles, trying to finish it a little faster.
The gaze never left him.
"Enjoying the view?" He turned towards the Angel, smirking.
Metatron's face was illuminated by the fire, half of his face already felt meshed with it. He was like water, or mist, moulding anywhere, yet somehow his presence remained like a mountain, unshakeable.
The Angel's eyes grew wide, a dramatic change for such a calm man. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked away.
"I will set the tent tomorrow."
"Your Highness has a roundabout way of saying things", he said with a chuckle.
Sadly, the firelight added a red glow to him, leaving Agares to guess if he blushed or not.
VII.
On the second night, Agares set the tent again.
It wasn't because Metatron couldn't, it was because there was only one. He didn't know whether to laugh or lecture him.
It all happened because of a distraught traveller. An apparently distraught traveller. Agares would very much like to add shady in front of that description too, but since Metatron insisted he was good, he'd drop it.
And he got benefits from it, so he wasn't complaining.
They had hunted in the day too. All because someone thought helping that guy was a good deed, and so gave him all the food supply. Though, that guy did look genuine, with a boney figure like he'd fall apart any moment. And, it wasn't like they had a lot to begin with, it was all Metatron's anyway because Agares didn't carry anything except light snacks.
More importantly, he must admit, he never imagined Metatron's choice of weapon would turn out to be that, though it suited him well. A little too well. His form was perfect, years of practice reflecting through it, as he stretched the string tense. Then, he let go, his touch seemingly feather-light, effortless as the arrow flew in a gorgeous arc straight towards its target.
"Great aim."
Metatron smirked, momentarily making him forget his next sentence.
Snapping out of it, he matched that with his own slight one as he circled his hand around his waistband, finding the seam, and then plunged it in.
A sharp little dagger was brought out.
Metatron's expression was colourful, to say the least, ranging from confusion to almost absolute horror to murderous in that moment.
He chuckled slightly, as he leveled his eyes with the other, one eyebrow raised.
Metatron glared. It was amusing.
He wanted to tease him more.
"Does Your Highness know how to skin it?", he probed him, pointing his dagger at the pitiful animal lying on the ground. "Or, is it too much for you?"
The Angel scrunched his eyebrows, an action he loved seeing.
His comment led to Metatron being adamant on doing it. His ears turned into a light shade of red, bringing a little life to his complexion, while his eyes blazed, glowering at him as he accepted the challenge.
Was he… pouting? The Crown Prince of Eden was?
It was unbelievable. His heart was doing something unbelievable too.
He also found out that he was extremely weak to it.
"You, give me the dagger", Metatron replied, pressing his lips together. "I'll do it."
"'You' is not my name, Your Highness."
"What?"
"That isn't either", he chuckled. For such a smart guy, he always had to be told twice before he got it. "Call me by my name, Metatron. Aren't we companions now?"
"Don't be delusional." The Angel looked towards his dagger, "Give it to me."
Once in his hand, Metatron glared at the dagger like it had offended his entire existence by existing in front of him.
"You cannot kill a dagger, you know."
He glares at him instead.
Metatron finally got down to business, dagger in hand. It resulted in them wasting the entire afternoon on that, all because Metatron was too meticulous about it. In his words, "If I'm doing this, I'd complete it properly."
He just didn't want to eat it unless it looked spotless, but his pride won't let him admit that.
He was adorable. Irritatingly adorable.
Cleanfreak Princess, he tried to say it as a jibe, it sounded fond instead, just like what his 'Your Highness's had turned into.
It was driving him insane.
VIII.
He skipped the part of Metatron insisting to make the tent by commenting on the weather.
"By the time Your Highness finishes, we'd be frozen sculptures."
Well, sort of. In his defense, he wasn't wrong.
He noted another thing about Metatron then, that guy couldn't accept it when he wasn't good at something, it hurt his pride, especially if someone pointed it out. So, he put his all to learn, stubbornly. Such diligence, it was adorable. For the second time that day, he had found himself weak because of it. He never thought he'd associate that term with Metatron, but it fit, it fit so well that it surprised him.
Metatron helped. He wouldn't sit still otherwise, and Agares didn't want him to catch a cold while moving around too much in that weather. The tent was set in record time, probably the fastest he'd ever done.
When he told Metatron that, the latter had smiled. It was a beautiful mix of sparkling eyes and confident smile, one that he wanted to lock up, to be directed only at him.
It was unexpected for Agares to have such emotions. He never thought he possessed even an ounce of such passion. He wanted to possess him, a voice from the inside urged him for it. But when he looked at Metatron, at his eyes that held a confidence, a sparkle that hid a mellow trust when directed at him, he wished for him to remain free. Metatron was meant to be that way.
As the last bit of the fire burned between the charred twigs, they stood in front of the single tent.
Metatron, yet again, had his signature frown set in place, drawn even closer this time. A smile unknowingly settled on the Demon's lips, the owner unaware as he stared at the Angel who was boring daggers at the tent like it had committed blasphemy.
A slight tone of teasing escaped as he parted a flap, the small space inside visible, "After you, Your Highness."
The invitation hung, as slowly Metatron turned to look up at him, eyes strangely a little vulnerable. Blood flushed his skin, a shade of red, flowing up to the tip of his ears.
It was so different from his usual embarrassed expression whenever Agares teased him. The usual Metatron wouldn't do that. He would've frowned, then moved away after throwing a single sentence at him.
Though, in the very next second he did exactly that, a little more mortified this time, teeth sunken in his lower lips.
He has probably never shared a room with anyone, let alone squeezed inside a tent, Agares eyes sparkled at the thought of it.
He tried his best to hold himself back.
"You're looking at me like that again.", the Angel pointed, a childish irritation laced with it, his head turned away frowning at that tent, like he wanted to set fire to it by staring hard enough.
He was whining, Agares realised, warmth spreading across his chest like it had never before. Like it had been doing in Metatron's presence, because of him.
"Like what?", Agares asked back, collecting himself by focusing on the conversation, on the teasing instead.
Metatron looked at him like he couldn't believe he denied it. He probably realised it, Agares's feelings, whatever it used to be before that moment.
Agares kept a straight face, almost making Metatron second guess, till a chuckle was heard.
Metatron's eyes narrowed.
"Don't make fun of me", he said, indignant.
"Hard not to do given your reactions, Your Highness."
"Your mind needs thorough cleansing." He rubbed his neck, feeling warmth tickle.
"Are all Angels like this?"
"Like what?"
"A cleanfreak?"
A defeated sigh rolled out, tension leaving his shoulders slightly.
"What would it take to silence you?"
"Hmm", Agares drawled, meeting those transparent eyes, now looking glasslike. He wanted to touch them. Instead, he continued languidly, "Now what might that be?"
The Demon was clearly enjoying himself, unlike Metatron who was dying because of this constant teasing.
Metatron almost clicked his tongue at his response, taking a deep breath as he lifted a flap of the tent.
"Twisted Demon", he threw out, as he swiftly entered.
Agares stared at the place he disappeared to, his mind a mess. The thought of his everyday going something like this filled his mind.
It was going to be a long night.
One without a smoke.
IX.
Little did he know, it already continued like that till the 5th day of their travel.
He recalled how Metatron had made a disgusted face, like he had insulted his entire kin, as he had, putting it very mildly, threatened him.
"Don't. Smoke. Here."
It still kept ringing in his ears whenever he touched his cigarettes near Metatron, instantly losing his will to smoke.
The more he stayed with Metatron, the more his image of him dissociated with the Angelic Prince he had seen him as. Metatron was stubborn, a cleanfreak, obsessive about the weirdest of things. He was kind at times, stupidly so, like an Angel. And then, at times he was cunning, planning way ahead, keeping his schemes folded securely. He felt so close to what Agares was, almost tipping towards the evil he hated.
"You stink", he said, making a disgusted face as Agares came back.
"I need my dose of nicotine to function, Your Highness."
Metatron looked at Agares like he was looking at a fool playing with his life. But, in the end, he just sighed.
"Addiction is a sin", he said, his clear eyes reflecting his demonic form.
Agares moves his hand, touching the corner of Metatron's eyes lightly, looking at his reflection in him, how it dulled their radiance. "Demons are sinful beings, won't you agree, Your Highness?"
The fondness was inseparable now.
Metatron stared at him, a beat, two, then looked away. "Don't address me like that", he said, shaking his hand away.
He chuckled at the complaint, then said in mock hurt, "But I am just an escort, am I not?"
Metatron's expression clearly read, "Stop being difficult." He voiced it as well, for good measure.
Sometimes, he was like this. Like a companion, trusting. Unknowingly bearing himself in front of a Demon, out of all beings. He could never figure out the reason. It felt so whimsical for a man like Metatron to let his guard down in such a way.
"Are you mad?"
But instead of pointing it out, he enjoyed it, making the most of it till he could. After all, moments are fleeting.
"Why do you think so?", the Angel countered, his displeasure evident.
"Then what should I call you? Darling?"
"I'm mad now."
He really was too easy to rile up, even if he didn't show it.
So not Angelic.
X.
The Wall, they had made it.
Agares couldn't believe his eyes as he stared at the white expanse stretching out in front of him. He had heard of legends, of how this wall maintained a boundary between good and evil, how the basis of all Good and Evil existing in this world came to be because of it. Angels preached about it being God's will, while Demons had termed it to be a twisted ploy.
It was said that the Wall Dividing Good and Evil used to have owners, but after the Great War of Saints and Demons it was lost.
"The Tomb of Abbadon", Metatron had announced, when they had entered the cave. Who would've thought that such an inconspicuous cave in the east would hold such a treasure? Given, it was underground.
"Wasn't Abbadon Evil?", Agares questioned, suddenly remembering Metatron's words.
"Your point being?"
"Did you turn dumb now that you've found your objective?"
Metatron was a sneaky bastard, he used such rhetorical questions to make you justify yours. Like he'd let Metatron play him this far in the game.
Agares looked at him, eyes wanting answers, to which Metatron let out a sigh.
"I don't know about anything beyond this."
At least, Agares realised, he now knew how adventurous Metatron could be to come all the way to the deserted east, betting on something he had no idea about.
"I didn't take you to be the adventurous type."
He tried sounding nonchalant. Yet, Agares felt unsettled, somehow that didn't feel like Metatron's usual mode of conduct from what he knew of him.
Metatron looked at him, eyes slightly raised to the side towards where he was.
"I had to, for my objectives. Additionally, I had a backup plan ready."
Agares wasn't completely convinced, and seeing Metatron avoid the topic, it irked him. He decided to probe for the last time.
"Who did you get the information from?"
Metatron went silent. That was all the answer Agares needed. If it was before, he'd have probably laughed. He'd have found such a revelation amusing, something expectedly unexpected. After all, he already knew he wasn't indispensable for Metatron's plan. He just needed a Demon King, and Agares happened to deliver himself right at his doorstep.
But, he was too deep in now, too far lost in the being in front of him to be able to digest the involvement of someone else, breaking the bubble he shared with Metatron. The whole deal suddenly had some ever-present third party.
It felt like eternity passed like that. But, then Agares laughed, a slightly strained one. Amused, disappointed, jealous.
"Come on", he said, just like his usual self. "Let's get this adventure over with."
Metatron stared at Agares, like he knew what was going on, or maybe he was trying to comprehend. Instinctively, he lifted his hand, but then let it fall back.
To blindly follow His words, Agares voiced in the confines of his mind. You must be thoroughly devoted.
I don't like it.