Like every other Chevalier, Fiona was born for a specific and concrete purpose: to fight, to wage war, and to kill.
She was not a cold-blooded psychopath who took pleasure in it; everything she had done was to save the world, or at least in service of a noble cause.
Thus, when she was nine and handed a Mana Dagger—ordered to fight her foster sister to the death as her final graduation test—Fiona did not hesitate for long.
Empathy was the first casualty of duty, and when duty failed, death was the most appropriate consequence.
There had never been rigid standards for determining a mission's success; as long as the outcome benefited the majority, the mission was deemed successful—regardless of the methods used.
But could this mission truly be called a success?
The woman asked herself that question while staring at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Project Eclipse had been initiated sixteen years ago, at the exact moment the last descendant of that cursed bloodline was discovered. A monster wearing the form of an innocent infant, designated as Subject-045. Tthe forty-fifth prisoner successfully secured.
Yet this case was different.
Subject-045 was not a war officer, nor was it even capable of realizing its own potential.
As a result, a grand assembly was convened—the largest gathering since the Second Calamity. Nearly all Hunters attended. Executives, high-ranking members of the Twelve Main Families, and even the number one Hunter himself, Ace Hallway—the man hailed as the Messiah after his final strike split the Demon King Bael in two.
That meeting reached a singular conclusion:
"Subject-045 would be tamed and repurposed as an antidote against the lingering remnants of demonic power, assuming any still existed."
It was much like how researchers work with antibiotics: extracting a pathogen, domesticating it, and turning it against its own kind.
To guarantee success, three S-Class Hunters were assigned:
Lyrienna Heathcliff, who had every reason in the world to destroy the creature on sight; Valerie Cloverfox, the honor guard of the Liberation War; and Fiona Chevalier, who would not have hesitated to mutilate the being—even at three months old—if her duty required it.
That was how Cain was 'born'. That was how the 'Vernier family' came to exist.
This was never a simulation of parenthood.
It was a mission—one with a predetermined end.
So when it went wrong?
Lyrienna came to cherish the child as her most precious treasure, shielding him from even the smallest injury or discomfort.
Valerie became his constant companion, preserving his laughter and enveloping him in warm, unseen protection.
And as for Fiona—
She touched her lips, recalling their first kiss.
She had never lied, nor would she ever.
Marking was an excruciating method, which was why Lyrienna and Valerie had refused to attempt it; they could not bring themselves to hurt Cain.
But Fiona was a Chevalier, and for a Chevalier, duty came first.
At the time, she did not wish to ignite further conflict with Lyrienna or provoke a pointless confrontation with Valerie, so she chose what she believed to be a middle ground.
A kiss was not strange.
Lyrienna had kissed the top of Cain's head countless times since he was three; Valerie asked for a kiss on the cheek at every birthday celebration.
Never on the lips, of course—but Fiona had seen parents do that as well, and that was normal.
Wasn't it?
Legally, they were 'parent' and 'child'.
What Fiona had never anticipated was the sensation it left behind: a pleasure that should not exist between parent and child.
At their core, the kisses that followed were driven by that forbidden feeling. They ceased from gentle, affectionate gestures to heated, desperate exchanges—acts of dominance and raw, animalistic desire.
Still, Fiona made certain the line was never crossed; she ensured everything remained within the bounds of what could be called 'normal'.
Some kisses were scheduled—Marking reminders, at least three times a year.
If their frequency increased, it was because the dosage required for the Marking rose as Cain grew older, not because Fiona wanted it.
Truly.
But the past few weeks had unraveled into chaos: the sudden appearance of Gates, relentless monster attacks, and the awakening of his Shadow.
One year prior to Awakening, adult demons were said to be visited by their Shadow—embodiment of their dark side, whispering vile ambitions of conquest and annihilation, or so the Syndicate claimed.
No one truly knew.
Thus, when Fiona was informed—whether by Cain himself or the Syndicate—that his Shadow had awakened under dire circumstances, she rushed to him without hesitation.
For the first time, she felt fear.
What she felt for him wasn't love; it wasn't that pure.
It was desperation—she unwilling to lose its greatest source of happiness. Because every touch, every contact, every kiss from Cain brought new sensations that spiraled into uncontrollable, ecstatic euphoria.
Even the mere scent of Cain was enough to make her body heat rise, her thoughts scatter, and her lower body throb insistently.
The kiss that night was dangerous.
Even before Cain noticed, Fiona sensed someone approaching through her Ether detection.
Yet she could not pull away; she did not want to break free from his embrace—to abandon the fragile paradise where nothing else mattered.
No duties, no missions, no expectations.
Everything ended.
"IT'S ALL OVER."
Those were the words Cain spoke that night, consumed by his Shadow.
"NOW REST.
"
And Fiona—after thirty-six years of service—chose to rest.
In that moment, she shed every identity she had ever worn: Chevalier, Overseer, Soldier. Each title fell away, stripped from her along with her clothes as Cain pressed her into the bed.
That night, she was simply a woman—acting on instinct alone, surrendered, vulnerable, and powerless.
Fiona had lost countless times before, and none of those losses had ever felt pleasant.
But that night, she did not merely lose—she surrendered willingly, allowing herself to be dominated.
It was a sensation that left her terrified, confused… and whole.
Her gaze drifted to the sink.
A bottle of morning-after pills.
Cain, transformed into something feral that night, had not been satisfied with a single act.
Three times? Five? Ten?
She could not remember
That night her mind had burned and melted—her clarity eroded entirely.
By morning, she could still feel the sticky warmth between her thighs; her abdomen felt full, warm, and pleasantly sensitive.
At least Ebony Wood had cleaned up the external mess from dealing with the two archaic-hatted men; the mess inside her, however, was her responsibility alone.
Fiona picked up the bottle, weighing it in her hand.
She should not hesitate.
It was the fourth day of her fertile window; time was running short. One seed—or perhaps more—could have already taken root.
That seed would grow, become part of her, and become life.
And that could not be allowed—not only because it would be an interspecies child despised by all, but because it violated her principles as a Chevalier. A soldier should only conceive when necessary, and no mission demanded it.
But—
…What if Cain wanted it?
Fiona clenched her fist, teeth grinding together.
Then why if he wanted it?
It's not like his opinion mattered, or hers.
Before deciding, she needed to consider whether this would benefit the majority—not her own selfish desires.
Lost in that thought, the phone in her pocket vibrated.
A message from the Syndicate:
[A-Class Gate detected. A party requires your presence.]