The pre-dawn light filtered weakly into the humble croft, painting the rough mud-brick walls in shades of bruised grey. Augustus, having discarded the bulk of his war panoply the previous night, now stood in a form-fitting, dark armor. It was sleek, less bulky, like a second skin of obsidian woven from the void itself, vaguely reminiscent of a dark knight's base-layer, powerful yet unornamented. It was still armor, hinting at immense power, but far more practical for the cramped confines of a human settlement. Eleonoré, tired but resolute, was already awake, tending to Aurené.
"Provisions are meager here," Eleonoré stated, her voice terse, not looking at him. "The goat's milk won't last. We need more than this if we are to remain."
Augustus simply nodded, his gaze distant. They had a few, simple coins Eleonoré had salvaged from her pouch, remnants of a forgotten campaign, but Augustus himself carried a different kind of wealth.
Later, in the heart of the dusty town, they sought out the market stalls. A portly merchant, with a permanently suspicious squint and greasy hands, eyed their approach. His stall groaned under the weight of dried meats, sacks of grain, and dusty vegetables, but his prices were already notoriously inflated.
Eleonoré stepped forward, putting herself slightly between the merchant and Augustus, whose helmet and dark armor drew immediate, wary stares. "Good sir, we require flour, and some cured meat for our journey."
The merchant's eyes flicked to Augustus, then back to Eleonoré, assessing their lack of local knowledge. "Ah, travelers! For you, the finest grain, freshly milled, and prime cuts of cured boar. That'll be... fifteen coppers for the flour, twenty for the meat. A fair price for such quality." His tone was sickly sweet, but his gaze was already calculating how much more he could extract.
Augustus moved, his hand emerging from a hidden compartment on his dark belt. He placed not coppers, but a single, gleaming gold coin onto the counter. It glinted unnervingly in the dim light, heavy and perfect, unlike any coin the merchant had likely seen.
The merchant's eyes bulged, his greed momentarily overriding his caution. "Gold! Good sir, that's... that's too much! Far too much for this!" He stammered, unsure whether to be delighted or terrified by the sheer, unthinking opulence.
"The commodity is specified," Augustus stated, his tone flat, devoid of inflection. "The value is assessed. The exchange is concluded." He simply stared at the merchant, his red eyes burning with an unshakeable resolve from behind his visor.
Eleonoré suppressed a groan. He truly had no concept of mundane currency. He was simply paying what he perceived as a "sufficient" value, which for a void-god, meant simply giving the largest available unit.
The merchant, after a moment of stunned internal debate, quickly scooped up the gold coin. Greed won. He fumbled to bag the flour and meat, his hands trembling slightly, utterly forgetting about change. Eleonoré, knowing an argument about value with Augustus would be futile, simply took the provisions with a tight smile. They were being fleeced, but they had their supplies.
Later, seeking a moment of respite and perhaps warmer provisions, they found themselves in the town's common tavern—a smoky, dim establishment filled with rough voices and the clatter of tankards. Eleonoré settled Aurené, who was now awake and quietly observing the strange new world from her sling. Augustus stood a few paces away, his helmeted form a looming shadow.
Eleonoré approached the wooden counter, where a burly, balding bartender wiped it down with a grimy cloth, his gaze wary as it flicked over Augustus. "We require a portion of your... best ale," Eleonoré began, trying to sound normal, "and perhaps some fresh bread and cured meat, if you have it."
The bartender grunted, eyeing Augustus's dark, alien armor. "Ale's two coppers. Bread's three, meat's five. Ten coppers total, fer the lot. And no trouble." He held out a rough hand, clearly trying to inflate the price for the unusual patrons, though not quite to the merchant's audacious level.
Eleonoré reached for her small pouch, but Augustus was faster. He dropped a single, heavy silver coin – far too much for the meager order – onto the counter. It clattered loudly, drawing stares. "Payment tendered," he stated.
The bartender's eyes widened at the unexpected wealth, but his hand hesitated over the change. He clearly considered simply pocketing the difference. "Er... aye, right. Just a moment, then." He began to fumble, making a show of searching for coins that weren't there.
Augustus's eyes, burning through the slits in his helmet, fixed on him. "The exchange specifies restitution. The provided currency exceeds the agreed-upon value by a significant factor. Compensation for the deficit is required."
The bartender, sweating profusely, now understood. This hulking man wasn't just rich; he was terrifyingly literal. He quickly shoved a handful of coppers and even a few small silver pieces across the counter. "Aye, aye! Here, take it! All of it!"
Augustus scooped up the excess with a dismissive nod, his void-red eyes still holding an unnerving intensity behind the visor. He then turned, moving to stand a few paces away, his back to a crumbling wall, observing the patrons with his usual intensity. Eleonoré, suppressing a groan, simply took the meager supplies offered and settled Aurené nearby.
The air in the tavern was warm, heavy, and less oppressive than the void-laden silence he usually inhabited. Perhaps for comfort, perhaps for function, he reached up and unlatched his helmet.
Eleonoré's breath hitched.
His face, starkly, compellingly handsome, was utterly exposed. It was unexpectedly sharp and chiseled, clean shaved, with smooth skin that hinted at an ancient, unmarred quality beneath his warrior's visage. His dark hair, swept back from his brow, looked precisely like a backwards fin of a shark, adding a wild, almost dangerous grace to his features. His eyes, both of them, glowed with piercing, dark eyes, burning with a cold, ancient intensity that seemed to hold the weight of countless eons, drawing the gaze like twin distant stars. And across his right eye, a prominent, iconic, normal-looking slash scar jaggedly marred the skin, adding to the severe cast of his visage without impeding his sight or detracting from his formidable allure. It was the face of a being carved from cosmic night, terrifyingly powerful, yet undeniably beautiful.
Augustus turned slightly, his red eyes scanning the flickering lamplight of the tavern, seemingly oblivious to the effect he'd just had. "The quality of the local provisions is... inefficient," he observed, his words resonating deeply. "The 'refund' process was also inefficient, requiring excessive caloric expenditure for a basic transaction."
Eleonoré simply stared. Her jaw had gone slack, leaving her mouth agape. A faint, almost imperceptible bead of saliva gathered at the corner of her parted lips, threatening to drip. A warm, furious blush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks. Her eyes, usually sharp with conviction, were now wide, unfocused, and dilated—you know what. She simply stared, utterly mesmerized, a goddess of light momentarily struck dumb by the raw, dark beauty before her.
Augustus paused, his words trailing off. His black pupil eyes, keen and analytical, registered her sudden stillness, her unusual expression. He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of something akin to confusion crossing his smooth brow. He observed her open mouth, the faint blush, the unfocused gaze. It was a reaction he had never encountered. He found no strategic threat in it, only an unreadable anomaly.
Just then, a group of three men, coarse-faced and reeking of cheap ale, swaggered towards their table. They had been watching Eleonoré, their leering gazes lingering on her figure, then flicking to the bundled infant in her sling.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the largest one slurred, his voice thick with malicious intent. His eyes, bloodshot and crude, raked over Eleonoré's form. "A pretty little dove, far from her nest. And a little... squawker." He reached out a grimy hand towards Aurené, a perverted smirk twisting his lips. "Perhaps you need some company, eh, love? Or perhaps we can 'take care' of the little one for you."
The air in the tavern turned instantly cold, sucking away sound. The laughter and clatter died. Augustus, who had been observing Eleonoré's strange reaction, now registered the words, the lecherous tone, the violating intent behind the reaching hand. His eyes, previously analytical, narrowed to burning slits. The void script on his chest began to pulse with a low, furious thrum, escalating with terrifying speed. His features, moments ago compellingly handsome, hardened into a mask of pure, ancient wrath.
"Withdraw," Augustus commanded, the word a deep, vibrating tremor that seemed to shatter the very light in the room. The men, though drunk, felt the sudden, crushing weight of his presence. They froze, a sudden, primal fear chilling their drunken bravado.
The lead man scoffed, attempting to regain his swagger. "Or what, pretty boy? You gonna beat me? HAHAHAHAHA" He took another step, hand still outstretched towards Aurené.
It was his last.
Augustus moved with a speed that defied his immense size. There was no charge, no grand swing. It was a blur of obsidian dark, a sudden, horrifying surge of void energy. The first man didn't even scream. His body simply imploded with a wet, grotesque sound, a spray of red mist and fragmented bone that painted the wall behind him. His companions stood frozen, their eyes wide with incomprehension and dawning terror.
Augustus gripped the second man by the head. No mercy, no hesitation. There was a sickening crunch as the void energy he channeled pulverized bone and flesh, turning the man's skull into a fine, crimson powder that dusted the air. The third man, finally understanding, let out a guttural shriek of pure, unadulterated terror and stumbled backwards, tripping over a chair.
Augustus's red eyes burned with a cold, annihilating fury. His rage, long-suppressed, was a cosmic wildfire. He looked up. The flimsy wooden roof of the tavern offered no resistance to a Demon Lord's wrath. With a single, explosive surge of void energy, a loud explosion followed up with the entire roof obliterated. It didn't just break; it vanished, atomized into nothingness. Not a single thatch, not a splinter of wood remained. The night sky, black and endless, suddenly yawned open above the tavern, revealing distant, indifferent stars.
Below, the tavern lay in ruins, half-destroyed, a gaping wound exposed to the cosmos. The air reeked of void energy, spilled ale, and the metallic tang of newly spilled blood. The remaining patrons were screaming, scrambling, or simply cowering in terror, their faces pale, their eyes fixed on the towering figure of Augustus, now truly unleashed. Eleonoré, holding Aurené tight, watched him, her own expression a complex mix of shock, fear, and a strange, dangerous awe.
The chaos subsided into terrified whimpers. Augustus stood, his chest heaving subtly, the raw power still thrumming around him. He turned, his eyes sweeping over Eleonoré, then lingering on the infant in her sling. He saw her face, still flushed, but now with something beyond mere attraction: a profound, almost primal understanding of the protective beast he was. He saw the way she held Aurené, not as a shield, but as a shared burden, a life they both now guarded.
Eleonoré, her own divine blade now drawn, but held loosely, met his gaze. Her hand trembled, not with fear of him, but from the aftermath of the raw power unleashed. She did not raise it, did not point it at his throat, despite his still-burning rage.
Augustus's gaze sharpened, assessing her posture, her lack of aggression towards him. The void script on his armor pulsed, then settled, as if confirming an internal calibration. His words, now devoid of their prior annihilating fury, filled the sudden, tense silence.
"You did not move to strike," Augustus stated, his gaze piercing, yet holding no accusation. "Your weapon was drawn, but not aimed at a vital point. Not at my throat." He paused, a long, deliberate silence, as if formulating a complex strategic assessment. "Such an act, in the face of my... action... would be logical, given our history. But you did not." His eyes flickered to Aurené, then back to Eleonoré's face. "The protection of the gift, the offspring, is paramount. These... individuals... threatened the child. Such threats require immediate and absolute cessation."
He took a slow step towards her, not threateningly, but with a weighty deliberation that commanded attention. "My previous protocols for interaction with your kind involved only combat or observation. Your current... non-hostility... and your shared investment in the child's survival, indicates a deviation from prior predictive models." He paused again, a long, almost contemplative silence, as if he were constructing a complex theorem. "My designation of your threat level is... fluctuating. Your intent, in this immediate context, is not hostile to my existence. This is a new variable."
Eleonoré simply stared, listening. His words, though still alien in their cadence, were the most extensive she had ever heard him utter outside of a command on the battlefield. This was not a general, but a scientist of destruction, attempting to parse a new truth. He was explaining himself, not justifying, but analyzing. It was the first, fragile bridge.
"The infant requires sustenance," Augustus continued, his gaze sweeping the ruined tavern, then the terrified villagers cowering in the corners. "This location is now compromised. It is Inefficient." He looked back at Eleonoré, his eyes holding an unreadable depth. "A new secure position is required. Immediate acquisition of provisions for the infant is also required. Our collective survival now mandates a different strategic approach. Do you concur with this assessment, Goddess?"
It wasn't a question of permission, but of shared logic. Eleonoré found herself nodding, slowly, eyes still wide. The terrifying protector, the handsome enigma, the analytical demon—he was building something between them, not with words of warmth, but with observations of trust, forged in the crucible of his own terrifying power. The town, now half-destroyed, lay a monument to his terrifying, yet protective, wrath. And for the first time, Eleonoré felt a flicker of something beyond duty binding them, a nascent, terrifying understanding.