Ready up," Chalice said, adjusting his cloak with a flourish. "We're infiltrating the tower. And a quick warning… Dem Oche's children are powerful, but weak to me—so! I'm going to leave one of them to you! Sounds good?"
Niko opened his mouth, unsure whether to ask a question or just scream—
"Sounds good!" Chalice clapped his hands together like the decision had been made. "Alright, let's go!"
He walked straight toward the front gates, hands in his pockets, posture too casual for someone about to start a war. The two guards flanking the doors didn't even move.
They blinked—and then their eyes glazed over. Their jaws slackened. One slouched in place, the other slowly collapsed against the wall, eyes wide open and seeing nothing.
"What… what did you do to them?" Niko asked, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, nothing lethal," Chalice said with a lazy shrug. "I just nudged their minds a bit. They'll wake up in a month or so—hopefully."
"A month?" Niko muttered, stepping past them carefully. "Right. Definitely never pissing you off."
They entered the tower.
And to Niko's surprise, it wasn't ominous. It was warm. Cozy, even. The floor was lined with velvet carpet, a chandelier swayed above, and the scent of lemon oil and old paper lingered in the air. If not for the armed guards and terrifying owner, it could've passed as a luxury inn.
A grumpy-looking woman stood behind the reception desk, skimming through a thick ledger. Her eyes flicked up lazily. "You two lost or—"
"We're here to see Mr. Oche," Chalice said, stepping forward.
The woman barked a laugh. "You two bums think you can congregate with Dem Oche? Ha! Guards, take them away—"
No one moved.
She blinked. Looked around. "Guards?"
Still nothing.
"Guards!" she snapped again—but her voice had lost its edge. It trembled now.
Then her hands twitched. Her face went slack.
Her eyes dulled.
Another one, gone still.
Chalice sighed dramatically. "Well. She was no help."
Niko caught her before she fell and eased her into a cushioned chair by the wall. "You're gonna run out of people to mind-wipe."
Chalice ignored him.
He stared toward the far wall of the lobby, toward the spiraling elevator chamber sealed by black steel. His jaw set, but he didn't move yet.
Instead, he spoke—quietly.
"They're not really his children, you know."
Niko looked over. "Huh?"
"Dem Oche's 'family,'" Chalice continued, his tone suddenly devoid of sarcasm. "He calls them his sons, his heirs. But they're not. Not by blood. They're taken. Taken and shaped."
Niko was still, watching him.
"There were four originally. Raised in the Pale Arc. Molded by his influence. I don't even know where he found them—some of them were born into royalty, others pulled from the gutter." Chalice's voice darkened. "He sees them as vessels. Puppets for what he calls 'the true light.' That's why they're strong… and why they're broken."
Niko frowned. "And you just left one to me?"
Chalice grinned without warmth. "You'll manage. Besides, you'll want to meet them eventually. Especially the one you're fated to fight."
"…What?"
Chalice didn't elaborate. He simply turned, coat swishing around him like ink in water, and walked back toward the center of the room.
"I was going to take the elevator," he said, stretching his arms lazily, "but it seems today calls for something a bit louder."
And with that, Chalice drew his blade.
Essence crackled to life.
And the tower began to tremble.
The golden crackle grew louder—like thunder tangled with metal. Chalice's blade shimmered as divine energy snaked up its length, humming with raw power.
"Heaven's Radiance," he muttered.
Then, in a single upward swing, he cleaved the very air.
A blinding arc of golden light slashed through the ceiling—and the one above it—and the one above that. A vertical slice cut all the way through the Dark Tower like paper, a molten seam etched upward through steel, stone, and time. From where they stood, Niko could see the sky above, sunlight spilling through like a divine signal.
A path had been carved straight to the top.
"…What the fuck," Niko muttered.
He really didn't know what to say anymore. This man—this strange, ancient, smug creature—had teleported him across the Pale Arc, casually healed fatal wounds, fried guards' brains, and now cut an entire fortress like a layered cake.
Swordsmanship of that level wasn't just trained. It was inherited. It was born.
Then again, Chalice was the Son of War.
So… yeah. That tracked.
Before Niko could move, he felt fingers hook under his cloak's collar. "Wha—"
"Up we go!"
Chalice hurled him skyward like a bag of grain.
The rush of air tore at Niko's cloak. He was still processing the altitude when Chalice launched up beside him, catching up effortlessly in a smooth upward arc. The tower walls blurred around them, each floor reduced to flickering glimpses of stone, light, and faint screams of disoriented cultists below.
"Isn't this much faster?" Chalice called with a grin, wind howling past them.
"You could've just taken the elevator!" Niko shouted over the roar.
"There is no elevator," Chalice replied far too cheerfully. "Just some stupid floating orb that demands gibberish. One time I asked to go to the top and it sent me to the laundry basement."
Niko gave him a long side-eye. This guy…
He had to be insane. Like, completely cracked from living too long. But that begged the question—
"How old are you?" Niko asked.
Chalice tilted his head. "Hmm. Like… seven hundred something?"
"What?"
He waved it off with mild annoyance. "I forgot a while ago. But if I remember right, it's been about seven hundred years since I last saw my father—so, I guess since I was born."
Seven hundred years. Niko blinked.
This guy was an oldhead. A living fossil. No wonder his soul carried that weird weight—it had centuries pressed into it.
"Man," Niko mumbled under his breath, "I'm getting tossed around by a damn grandpa…"
Chalice's ears twitched. "Yeah, well, this grandpa still gets more attention from girls than you ever will."
Niko gave him a sharp look. "Did you just—?"
Chalice held a finger to his lips, then suddenly went rigid. His smile faded. His eyes narrowed.
"There's someone nearby."
Niko's blood chilled. "What?"
"Movement. Coming in fast. Should take us nine, maybe ten minutes to reach the top… I didn't expect anyone to make contact this soon."
He closed his eyes for a beat, then exhaled.
"…He's weak. Probably one of the sons. I'll leave him to you."
"Wait, wha—"
But Chalice had already grabbed him again. "Trust your instincts."
He flung Niko sideways, into the hollow of one of the sliced rooms they'd soared past. It looked like a library or an office, mid-level in the tower, papers and furniture suspended from the violent upheaval caused by Chalice's attack.
Chalice kept flying upward, cape snapping behind him. From above, his voice echoed back:
"You got this, buddy! If you lose, don't even show your face to me again!"
Niko landed with a thud and a grunt. He sat up, cloak twisted, heart pounding.
"Fucking clown…" he muttered. "Arrogant clown."
And yet… there was something steadying about it. Like Chalice wasn't mocking him—just trusting him the only way he knew how.
But Niko didn't have time to reflect.
A sharp wind picked up—unnatural, slicing through the air, sharp enough to whistle through the cracks. Papers fluttered. The ground trembled slightly beneath his boots.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't weak. Not really.
A gale approached, and with it, a presence. Heavy. Watchful. Like the air itself was waiting.
Niko rose to his feet and drew his blade.
He would face whatever was coming.
Even if it meant proving himself to a 700-year-old lunatic.