447 Doub

"(Eh?)" Anthemon flicked his tongue in dissatisfaction, "(It's just a weird eye? That's different from all the other ones.)" 

"The *other* shoulder, hatchling," Tycon sighed. 

On the Letalis Serpentia sets of armor, the left shoulder plate was emblazoned with their guild emblem: the snake skull atop the Vanzano lightning bolts. On Tycon's right shoulder was his designated role, in his case and that of the Letalis Sergeants, an eye drawn in a minimalistic design. 

"(Ohhhh. Got it,)" Anthemon nodded... "(Eh... Why's it gotta be a snake skull? Aren't you a snake, too?)"

"(It's pretty... but a little scary, too...)" Azalea admitted, coiling herself around Tycon's arm. 

"Those that wear the snake skull sigil are under my protection," Tycon warned, "Inform your peers... I trust there will be no issues?"

Tycon had previously revealed himself as a larger, stronger snake. Unless the Shadow Snakes followed a creature or group of creatures stronger than himself, his order would be followed without question. 

"(Yeah! Makes sense! We'll let everyone know!)" Anthemon wriggled in excitement, "(And we get to live, right?)"

"(Um... Master...)" Azalea shyly peeked out of her coils, "(What about the humans that don't wear that?)"

Tycon grimaced, "I do not like repeating myself, child."

He dropped the two, Anthemon clumsily clunking onto the stone floor while Azalea had the mindfulness to display a modicum of grace and self-respect. 

Tycon crossed his arms... "Well?"

The two hatchlings stared blankly. 

Tycon reached for the curved blade on his side. 

"(We must be GOING, Lord!!)" Anthemon slithered away at his top speed. 

"(Have a pleasant stay!!!)" Azalea hissed and bowed her head before turning to chase after the other one. 

Tycon took yet another deep breath... He even went as far as retrieving a piece of dried jerky to munch on. It improved his mood tenfold. 

Those two hatchlings were idiots... but even idiots would prove useful as long as one knew how to utilize them. 

With his snack complete and information collected, Tycon made his way back to the chapel...

...

Stepping into the doorway, Tycon placed his palm over his eyes, "You lot... are you seriously not yet finished?"

The Gates were closed. The floors were slick with devil blood. However, Athena, Tanamar, Lone, and Zenon were still battling the Lesser Iron Golem, now a headless suit of armor. 

Librarian Zenon fired a concentrated blast of wind at the construct. It succeeded in staggering it for a moment but didn't seem to have much effect otherwise. 

She turned back, grinning like a mischievous thief, "I missed, Sir Tycon... Ehehe..."

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I can see that." 

Tanamar and Lone closed with the set of armor, engaging it with holy lance, sword, and hammer. The suit focused on defending against Lone's Shatterspike and ignored Tanamar's furious spear attacks. 

While the Iron Golem's kill-threat seemed laughably low, it had proved quite resilient. 

Tycon turned to Korr, "And they haven't asked for help?" 

"[THEY SEEM FINE,]" The dark-armored Korr shrugged. 

"And why are you and your men just standing about, Salt?"

Sergeant Cecil Salt took off his green helmet, revealing a troubled expression, "Our bullets aren't really effective on that thing like they are on flesh and blood demons, Sir."

"Very well..." Tycon nodded, "Sergeant, be advised... those were devils. As a subsidiary of Guild Invictus, you'd best know the difference, 'lest we run into troublesome issues later on."

"Ah... aye aye, Sir..." Salt shivered and grew quiet in contemplation. 

In the future, it wouldn't be entirely surprising if Tycon was forced to wage war against one of the eleven heavens or seven hells. His forces weren't quite up to par at the moment, but it was always best, looking towards the future. 

"Brother Zenon!!" Tycon shouted. 

Barring Lone and the Shatterspike, Librarian Zenon Skyreaper's magic would be the simplest and most effective way to disable the Iron Golem. 

Zenon dashed to Tycon's side, levitating slightly off the ground as he did so, "What's up, Optio?"

Tycon pointed at the construct, spinning his finger about, "Use ah... lightning-type magic on that thing."

The Librarian crinkled his mustache... "I uh... I don't have any lightning magic, Brother-Tycon."

"...You're a Wind Mage. What do you mean you don't have lightning magic?"

"I... dunno what to tell you, man," Zenon planted his two feet on the ground and bared his teeth, "I just don't."

"Your arm-blades literally spark," Tycon glared. "--with lightning magic."

"I uh... yeah," The tall Centurion scratched the back of his head, "I don't actually know why they do that."

Tycon took a deep breath. Arguing would not bring him the results he wanted. 

"Channel a sphere of wind magic," He ordered.

"Huh?" Zenon raised his eyebrows, "Right here?"

Tycon nodded, shaking his wrists and stretching his fingers. For all intents and purposes, he was only an Elementary Mage-- a Half-Circle Caster at best. However, he understood the fundamentals of elemental mana enough to provide useful advice. 

Zenon held his arms forward and turned his palms up... conjuring and concentrating on a blurry sphere of gentle, flowing wind.

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Typical. A nostalgic zephyr... to soothe the wounds of the injured... to remind us of better times... Tell me, Brother-Zenon... do you still doubt?"

Zenon shook his head, "A good Centurion commands without doubt..."

"Doubt is natural." Tycon shrugged, "Falling prey to it is folly. In a similar vein, fear is natural."

"Fear is a weakness," The Centurion argued. His expression betrayed his growing agitation. 

"Fear is a weapon. It can be honed and it can be wielded," Tycon smirked. "Those who respect your magic... those who fear your abilities... they do not fear your gentle breeze. They fear the unrelenting hurricane. They fear the merciless tornado. They fear catastrophe... destruction... the loss of life you leave in your wake..."

"I... don't understand," Zenon frowned, pursing his lips in confusion. 

Tycon took a deep breath and grinned, "You will."