Demonic Po*nstar System Chapter 691: It’s Done

As the tent flap parted, Eleanora Voss emerged into the dimming twilight.

Five women lifted their gazes toward her.

They had lingered in a scattered half-circle near the tent's opening, near enough to catch any heated exchanges if they occurred, yet distant sufficient to uphold the illusion of obedience. Moreover, the outer guards would have stepped in had they advanced even further, a fact emphasized repeatedly during the almost hour of interrogation.

Their personal interrogations were slated for later, or so they were told. The majority suspected the postponement was deliberate, with the Association aiming to let five restless women gather without oversight, fostering talks that could be eavesdropped on for value. Perhaps incriminating proof. Inconsistencies. That sort of unguarded truth folks share when believing no key figure is attuned.

Not one had taken a seat. Not one had consumed food or drink, or relaxed or performed any of the numerous actions exhausted, war-scarred warriors ought to undertake once battle ceases. They remained upright in the chilly mountaintop breeze, simply enduring, while strain twisted within them akin to taut spring coils.

Eleanora regarded them.

Then came her wink.

Five expressions passed through bewilderment at precisely matching pace, a sight that might have amused in other situations. The gesture failed to register. It lingered amid them like a term from an unfamiliar tongue, affable and cordial yet wholly incongruous from the lady who'd just passed most of an hour secluded in fabric walls with the man they cherished.

"You can go in now," Eleanora declared, her tone's gentleness twisting toward playfulness. "I’ve tortured your boyfriend long enough."

The response erupted without delay.

Calypso's fingers grasped her axe prior to the phrase concluding. Bastet crouched down, ears pressed back, balance moving to her toes in a pose that heralded a pounce mere instants away. Aria's mana surged intensely, warping the atmosphere near her upper body, and the glare in her eyes bore no trace of levity.

Three females poised to strike at a Senior Director of the Awakened Association simply because she'd employed "tortured" regarding Kaiden Grey, without any halting to weigh status, repercussions, or the score of weaponed enforcers positioned close enough for a yell.

Luna seized Calypso’s wrist as Nyx positioned herself ahead of Bastet and Aria with the smooth grace of one experienced in such interventions.

"Let’s check on Kai," Luna snarled, her stare at Eleanora brimming with lethal intent.

The trio wavered. Calypso held her axe firmly for two more beats before releasing it grudgingly. Bastet rose gradually, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Eleanora’s features. Aria's mana subsided, yet the rage fueling it lingered.

They entered the tent. Every one of the five, streaming past the flap with the haste of those compelled to verify personally that their beloved remained intact and unscathed, as the structure engulfed them matter-of-factly.

Eleanora remained solitary in the mountaintop wind, observing their departure.

A subtle, intimate grin formed inwardly on her lips.

’There it is,’ she mused.

Those women worshipped him utterly, with fierce passion, holding back nothing. They’d raze the entire globe surrounding them to shield him, without a second thought for the ruins left behind.

Her instincts concerning him proved correct.

Eleanora pivoted and strode from the tent, her heels tapping on the rocky trail heading to the Association’s advance boundary. From her coat pocket, she drew a compact relic, smooth and shadowy, a communicator absent from routine gear inventories since the dialogues it facilitated were never meant to occur.

She powered it on and pressed it against her ear.

Connection formed after just one tone.

"Speak." The reply came from a woman, icy, conveying the sentiment of a sealed barrier. Lacking salutation or affection, merely one word confirming the link and naught more.

"It’s done," Eleanora replied.

A hesitation. Short and deliberate.

"I am grateful."

"Don’t mention it." Eleanora laughed softly, the noise cozy amid the mountaintop chill. "Vespera Ashborn."

...

The Ashborn property stood fortified with walls, enchantments, and surveillance setups that would render most armed bases seem lacking.

The primary residence served as a testament to ancient wealth and even more ancient influence, each chamber crafted to underscore for guests that they occupied the dwelling of a lineage that molded the globe prior to the Mana Apocalypse's onset.

Vespera Ashborn wasn't within the primary residence.

She resided three levels beneath, in a secluded intel chamber absent from any urban-submitted schematics. The space lacked windows and felt clinical, illuminated solely by the faint luminescence of wall-mounted displays. Scores of screens, configured in a bending formation encircling a lone seat in the core, every unit showing a unique stream. Varied perspectives. Varied times. Varied instants from the recent 24-hour video span, running concurrently.

Vespera occupied the seat.

Over an hour had passed without her stirring.

Her bearing remained impeccable, back rigid, palms on the rests with digits unmoving since positioning. Her breaths came light and steady, rhythmic as a clock, the sort of disciplined breathing ascetics hone over decades, which she upheld effortlessly. No feeling crossed her countenance. No sentiment filled her gaze. She viewed the displays as a lifeless form gazes at its burial vault's lid.

The screens depicted every instant of her offspring's contest from the moment she delivered Magnus the separation documents, unfolding with precise scrutiny.

The top tier revealed Chinedu’s group blocking Kaiden’s unit at a disputed slaying area. The stances were evident to Vespera’s scrutiny.

Chinedu went beyond merely stealing Kaiden’s victories—he had arranged to injure him in the process. Such arrangement appeared casual in recordings but screamed lethal ambush to any veteran field leader.

Had Kaiden confronted them, had he advanced into the disputed territory to claim a triumph he'd pursued, one belonging to him by right, Chinedu or his allies would have sliced him down amid beast clashes and labeled it mishap.

The central tier displayed Mariana’s maneuvers.

Distinct group, identical arrangement.

She maintained her combatants perpetually near Kaiden’s unit in each disputed clash, sufficiently close that one errant move from any party could spark the sort of disordered fray where a weapon strikes the unintended mark and motive stays unprovable.

Clash upon clash, two complete groups had shadowed her offspring like predators around a blaze, snatching his triumphs to incite response and set to render that response deadly.

He denied them satisfaction each time. Her offspring departed unscathed repeatedly, selected fresh objectives, absorbed the taunt entirely. Thus, the directives had faltered.

Yet the directives had been issued.

Attempts were made to harm her offspring.

Vespera recognized Mariana and Chinedu held no grudge against Kaiden. They were skilled combatants and devoted agents, experts who grasped the limits of rivalry battles and avoided breaching them sans permission. They wouldn't assail a peer rival's group with such prolonged hostility independently.

They operated under commands.

His commands.