❖ THE SUN RISES ❖ (I/Dies Irae)

It seemed like she was away more and more. It wasn't that she expected dark mages to take a break, nor did she want a break, but it seemed as much as the growing guild was going out to eliminate additions to the Blacklist, they should have at least been thinning the herd. Were there really this many evil people in the world? Someone like Sivvy hadn't thought about life and human nature in quite this way before, but now that she'd been on the legal side of things for a while now, it was bothersome just how many people devoted their energy to mindless killing and oppression of innocent people. Honestly, she wondered if she'd once been on that side without knowing it. Up until meeting Johann by chance in Hosenka, it'd not been her purpose to examine the motives of the people who hired her for jobs. Now it bothered her to think she might have had a hand in some of the darkest places, back when she didn't care to know the difference between good and evil. Even now the line between the two was blurry and unfamiliar, but the clone was learning.

After a long and successful trip, the ship that the female ambassador for Dies Irae was taking home finally docked at the familiar port of the growing island town. A very seasick dragon slayer hurriedly walked down the ramp to the stationary dock. It was all she could do to hold onto her dignity as an authority figure, but it was only by a thread. She was clearly a bit green around the gills, and let out a thankful sigh once she reached the sandy path that would lead her through town toward the Palace on the hill. Perhaps her nausea would be ignored entirely simply because of the state she was in. Her predominantly white outfit could hardly be called that anymore, considering the amount of blood that spattered it. Normally when she anticipated this much bloodshed, she wore her black powersuit. It couldn't be helped, however, since she'd been ambushed by a rowdy pack of dark mages dressed as clowns and calling themselves the Crazy Harlequin Entourage. She'd slain them without hesitation, of course, ridding the town they'd tried to overrun of the deadly threat they'd been suffering for more than a month. As usual, she was not without a trophy for the guildhall. Clutched in one hand was a fuzzy rainbow afro wig, just misted with blood, but nothing like her clothes and skin were.

One would think it'd be alarming to see a pink-haired girl covered in other people's blood casually heading into town, but the residents of Amber Island were used to it. It was just the nature of the guild that was rebuilding this island, and they felt safer for it. The members of Dies Irae were a force for good and had the power and discipline to carry it out to the end. Sivvy nodded to a swarthy cargo hauler just as a male voice rose over the general rabble of the sea piers.

Sivvy looked around for the source of the shriek. Carmine eyes flitted to each ship in the docks of the growing town, seeing no one appearing to belong to such a noise. It took her a few moments to locate it even with her enhanced hearing because frankly, she hadn't been looking for a dinky little rowboat with two men on the opposite ends of the adult aging spectrum. Now that she saw the brunette, she knew the scene all too well (minus the row boat...did they really row all the way here?). Bags of belongings, the growing excitement that came with starting a new chapter in life. A new recuit with bright eyes and a zest for throwing themselves into the unknown.

The bloody ambassador and the clutched clown wig approached the beach between two of the docks. It was an unusually sunny day for the island, which seemed to match the disposition of this boy. "Hello," she greeted, a small, pleased smile playing on her lips. "Are you here to join the guild? I can lead you there since I'm heading that way anyway."

---

Sivvy, being a stiffly polite and honest girl, fit her dainty-by-comparison hand into his larger calloused one, giving it a surprisingly firm shake. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Sivvy," the pinkette offered him in return, finding the greeting easier to do every time it left her lips. Spouting the whole 'I am designated 7, but you may call me what you wish, for I have no name' business seemed cumbersome now. Had it always been that way and she'd just not noticed? Likely yes. What Dr. Raelin would say if he heard how familiar she spoke with people now. What he'd do if he knew she'd accepted a name, the very thing he'd pointedly denied her and all of her siblings. It did taint her with the conditioned pang of panic, but it had been his choice to release her. She had new parameters to adhere to, and he'd also made it clear she was to conform to what was expected of her in the situations she was placed in. Her new friends hadn't accepted 7, so now she dropped it from her life save for the tattoo of it just under her hairline on the back of her neck.

Turning to do just what she'd told Nico she would, without delay the ambassador would begin leading him to the shimmering palace-like structure crowning the hill. "It is unusually sunny for the island. A nice change of pace," continued the girl lightly, as if she wasn't strolling through town covered in some other people's blood. "Are you here to join Dies Irae, Nico Dixon?" Sivvy asked with a hint of her overly formalness leaking through as looking over her shoulder at him expectantly.

---

Why was he asking about her name? She had said she was Sivvy...had she been unclear in some way? This was a strange response, once she hadn't received before. Carmine eyes began to regard him uncertainly. Why was he saying her name like that, as if it held some special meaning? "Yes, Ambassador Sivvy of Dies Irae. I'm sorry if I was not clear before..." clarified the clone with deliberate annunciation, growing ever so slightly insecure that her new method of introduction was flawed in some way.

The way he was just about bursting at the seams concerned her a little, if only because she didn't understand why. She'd grown accustomed to the nervousness and reverence recruits commonly displayed, balking at both ambassadors' power levels should they be below them, intimidated by the serious and violent nature of the guild. Sivvy was no expert at reading emotions, but Nico's reaction was less nervous and intimidated and more...excited. Like a child receiving their favorite ice cream, or something even greater than that. This wasn't even recognizable bloodlust that the rare recruit displayed, barely able to wait until they could spill some dark mage blood. This was entirely new to the slayer.

Despite her confusion, the pinkette didn't pause or even slow her resolute steps. "There are no other Sivvys in Dies Irae, let alone ones that could grant you entry to the guild. At the moment, other than myself, only Johann von Weiss and Amalie West can evaluate and stamp new members," she needlessly explained, under the impression that this might help the enthusiastic male she had lead along the path that now melded into the stairs that would elevate them to the ornate double doors of grandiose palace they called a guildhall.

---

Most people would find themselves embarrassed by such an outburst, but not Sivvy. She was only curious and confused. A fan? It was still hard for her to understand what he was going on about. Obviously, he wasn't a literal fan, so he meant it as a shortened form of the term 'fanatic', which was someone who was enthusiastically devoted to a particular thing. But it was strange to think that he was a 'fan' of her. In her own eyes, she was still nothing. Even after all she's accomplished, it was barely anything worth mentioning by her personal standards.

Then the slayer wondered what he meant by saying she was 'cooler in person'. Had she come off icy? She'd been told that before, but he didn't seem to be having the appropriate response if that was the case. So, what did being cool in general really imply? Was it good or bad? Judging by his face it was good, and while she did know what a fan was, she couldn't comprehend why or how someone would rave over 'coolness' or how she'd been been put on this pedestal for him. Part of her wanted to ask exactly what she'd done that he, a stranger, had heard about enough to form this opinion. Could it be she was somehow being useful to people without even knowing? Sadly, her developing social skills told her this was not the time to ask all of these things since he was here to join the guild. That would come first.

"You're certainly the happiest recruit I think we've ever had," she admitted with a small smile, slowly growing used to his excitability quickly. Sivvy was nothing if not adaptable and honest. "It is really clean, isn't it?" the clone said with something edging on pride as they entered the Throne Room. "We all pitch in, though it's probably Amalie who keeps it in the best shape," continued the odd girl, her tone warming at the mention of her close friend's name. Within a few quick strides, she'd made her way to the trophy wall, placing the stained clown wig on a shelf. With that out of the way, she was ready to continue the recruitment process.

"So, Nico Dixon, since you know so much about us already, would you mind telling me what you know about Dies Irae and its values?" requested the ambassador in a more official tone, though she was eager to hear what he had to say. It wasn't often that she felt she could skip the lecture about strength, discipline, honor, and the iron fist meant to crush dark mages and all evil from Earthland. If he already knew so much, it was time for a pop quiz instead.

---

"Yes," she nodded in acceptance of his answer, her bloody form turning back to face him. There was a new gleam in her eye, though it wasn't clear what it meant. Her hands clasped behind her back in the way an ambassador in the midst of judging a new recruit does, as if displaying every ounce of strict professionalism might crack weak links. "Just remember, we also must have a lot of discipline and constantly be building our strength," she reminded him, hoping the perky boy would see this guild was not an easy road to take. It required hard work and focus to remain stronger than dark mages who steadily hone their own strength in hopes of defeating any who dare oppose them.

Carmine eyes flickering over him quickly, the gleam in her eye only brightened. "Speaking of strength, it's time to test it," Sivvy said suddenly, bringing one of her hands back around to her front, pointing a palm at him. She didn't speak anymore after that, though her body language made no mistake. She was about to attack him, and she had no plans of holding back. She was curious as to what reaction he'd have, watching him very closely. Her hand began to glow red, as if heat was building within her palm and rushing to the surface of her skin. The trophies on the shelves began to vibrate, chattering against the surface beneath them though not enough to bounce off. Everything in the room seemed to quiver under the pressure of her strength, as it should when a high ranking mage was about to unleash pure destructive power upon someone.

Once she'd paused long enough to build up the proper effect, she released pure devastating force straight at Nico, a small smile tugging at her lips without her knowledge.

Truth be known, it was just as much a prank she was pulling on him as it was a way to measure his resolve in the face of certain death. The pinkette was absolutely aware that attacking him with even a fraction of her power would probably kill him, which is why she'd placed one of her own invisible shields around him as well as over the interior of the guildhall itself. Nico didn't know that, of course. He also wouldn't know that she'd only recently learned how to prank from a man with an eyepatch at the autumn festival and that it was something she quite enjoyed when the opportunity presented itself.

---

Never batting an eyelash at his stammers and blurts, her aimed palm's glow continued to intensify, waves of heat warping the air around it as the building around them shuddered even more. "I hope you survive. This is your entrance trial, after all. Our cemetery is getting a little full, though," she commented lightly just before she released the attack. It was an explosion that surely only some supernatural being could cause like it was the pure destructive force of a Nephilim tasked with keeping other Nephilim in line as well as keeping the world in balance. Particle splitting force ripping forth as if Nico was some sort of grand demon causing trouble or a dark mage that needed every spec wiped clean from Earthland. The shuddering of the building was probably enough to alarm others inside, but not enough to damage anything or hurt anyone. Her large shield contained any damage to the structure, and the invisible second skin she covered Nico in kept him quite alive, contrary to his assumption. If anything, he might be harmlessly blown back a few feet, but otherwise, nothing would harm him physically. Psychologically was another story, but that was exactly what Sivvy was testing.

For a few moments, the ambassador really thought he'd flee. Not that he really could, but he could try. His frantic speech pattern had her worried that he would crumble under her prank and prove himself to be nothing but an overly excited boy that would fall the same way as some previous members they'd had to oust. There were quite a few who joined thinking they had what it took to become a member of Dies Irae, only to lack discipline and honor, or to be unable to attain the strength of both mind and body to continue. They gave nearly all hopefuls a chance as long as they truly seemed to want to rid the world of its dark stains.

As the smoke cleared and the hellacious blast she'd unleashed faded into nothingness, she pulled her shields back and stood before him, awaiting his reaction with a hand strategically positioned over her mouth to hide the prankster's mirth bubbling beneath her stoic expression.

---

Regardless of him realizing it was a prank or not, she was pleased with the result. The corners of her eyes crinkled only slightly as if his cheerful excitement was contagious. Sivvy just let him get the adrenaline out of his system, not even bothering to clarify that yes, she'd really protected everything, and no, she didn't use that exact combo on enemies. If they were dark mages, they would receive the force of her destruction magic unprotected, since she always aimed to kill as quickly as possible. And absolutely, if she hadn't shielded him, he'd have died from what she sensed of his strength. Since Nico hadn't run away or shown any cowardice in the face of what would have been a death unlikely to leave even a corpse behind, the clone thought perhaps he could be Dies Irae material after all. He was eccentric (an ironic thing for someone like Sivvy to think), but he seemed determined enough. Nico would probably make a fine soldier with some guidance and training.

Now that he had sobered and honestly surprised her with how resolute he'd become, the Ambassador knew it was time to finish the process. Her pink head nodded to him in acceptance before she turned her back to him briefly to fetch the box with the swirling magical ink inside a vial from the throne. Pilling out the stopper, her hand coaxed some of the sanguine liquid out where it floated, seemingly alive. "Nico Dixon, where would you like your guild mark, and what color would you like it?"

---

Watching him react once more was starting to become familiar already. She might as well get used to it since once he was stamped, she'd be seeing more of his expressive face. At first, when he turned his back to her she thought he was trying to compose himself again, but instead found him pulling up his shirt to reveal quite the road map of life experiences. Of course, the stoic girl wouldn't react with any gasp or detectable response. However, seeing the wounds in their various stages of healing changed her perception of him. Maybe he wasn't as inexperienced as she thought. The ambassador could relate tot he gouges in his flesh. She had quite a few of her own from battles and from Dr. Raelin's various procedures. Her body might be able to regenerate itself in inhuman ways, but it could never quite get rid of scars.

Questions burned in her mind with an intensity that no doubt matched the flames that caused those char marks. What kind of life had he had? Did he have more experience than she did? Most people did since she'd only been conscious less than a decade and it was likely the average person had been conscious, well, since birth. No matter how much she trained and how strong she became, only living day to day could provide her with the life experiences she was behind on. Nico also seemed to take emotion to an excessive level, a stark contrast to his new boss. How could he be so blissfully happy and have endured dire situations that clearly marred him physically? Did physical wounds not affect the mind? Sivvy might be emotionally constipated, but even she had become more guarded in many ways due to the injuries they caused. Was Nico afraid of fire now? He was capable of fear. She'd seen it when she tested him earlier, but he wasn't debilitated by it. He must also not possess any aversions to pain and violence, otherwise, the young man wouldn't have chosen this particular guild. Well, he probably wouldn't. The ambassador couldn't say every recruit that joined fit their desired mold, and others were downright wrong for Dies Irae. Occasionally they got someone who wouldn't kill despite the militaristic guild boasting a high dark mage kill-rate. The clone already had trouble understanding people, but some were harder than others.

With a waggle of her slender digits, the blood-like fluid left its vial and made its way to his blotched skin, seeping into the hallowed shape of their mark in the spot he'd indicated. It'd turn the color he preferred as well. Job done, the liquid swirled back from whence it came and she replaced it in the box, stashing it away quickly.

Once she turned back to face him, she took an official stance. "Welcome to Dies Irae, Nico Dixon. If you head to the East Wing offices for processing, Helga will complete the necessary paperwork and issue the key to your apartment in the West Wing, should you require it," the pinkette said with a small smile and a shallow bow. She seemed content to let him go about his business until a thought occurred to her. "Nico, wait," she prompted, turning calculating carmine eyes on him once more. "I'm taking you on as my mentee," she informed him with little room for dissent. She could see Nico and Nathaniel getting along together.

She could also see that she could learn nearly as much from her mentees as they would from her. The skills she could offer were vast but were mostly centered on physical discipline. Her martial arts abilities were rarely bested, and though she hadn't had magic very long, she trained so religiously that she had many different ways, physically and magically, that she could bring about death to those who deserved it. Nathaniel sought to learn restraint, something that Sivvy also lacked but endeavored to teach him anyway. By consciously fulfilling her purpose in helping him, Sivvy would also learn it. Maybe it'd be the same with Nico's ability to emote. While she didn't want to become as..intense...as he was, it'd be nice if while she taught him the most efficient way to behead someone, she could glean from him the intricacies of feelings and how to feel and show them properly. Reading about these things would only take her so far.

It was quite an internal conflict, though. Every bit of her psychological programming prior to meeting Johann entirely relied on rejecting any and all emotions and attachments. Dr. Raelin held firm that allowing oneself to feel was to invite weakness. He lectured and beat it into each clone he produced that effectiveness and efficiency was the top priority, and both of those things would suffer if they ever fell victim to something as irrational as emotion. Even now she felt the familiar pang of dread twisting her guts. If the doctor knew just how far she'd strayed from both his teachings and her intended purpose, she couldn't even imagine what he'd have in store for her. He'd assume it was something faulty in her DNA and do some horribly invasive testing and alterations. Just the thought of being strapped to that table, smelling bleach and sterile metals made her skin prickle. Even though she'd not seen him in nearly a year, it still felt like his eyes were on her every waking moment. Maybe they were. Recently she wanted to keep it that way since she feared he'd decommission her. It was bad enough to be locked in the pods at night. Being locked in her pod to be forever trapped in the darkness of her own mind was the worst fate she could think of.

It was too late to change her mind now. She'd already declared Nico her second mentee and it would be bad form to go back on it so quickly. "Training starts promptly at dawn at the trial grounds. Do not be late, or you will have to run twice the distance."

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