Before entering the tent, he enhanced his hearing and listened for any disruption in the natural melody of the camp. The faint sound of breathing could be heard from the inside of the tent, laced with terror and anxiety.
Two guards lay in wait for his arrival in the tent, ready to strike him down when he wasn't paying attention, although their plan was deeply flawed. They wouldn't be able to deliver a fatal blow due to his wings already covering his flanks when not actively attacking.
"I can hear your shallow breathing inside the tent. If you land a blow on me, it won't be fatal, and I can easily kill you with a flick of my wing. I'll let you go if you forsake your commander to his fate," declared Ratella. The breathing grew more anxiety-ridden, and a slow sense of terror crept into their minds.
The two guards soon reared their heads out of the tent, cautiously eying him as they left his vision; the clanking of metal echoed throughout the silent camp. Signalling the commander's imminent demise.
While he was occupied with the fleeing soldiers, ensuring they didn't try to attack him from behind and tracking them with his eyes, a dagger came barreling out of the tent, flying past his cheek as he dodged it with minimal movement. The blade contorted unnaturally, swelling in size just enough to slash his cheek, causing a sliver of divinity leak out of his body.
Ratella slowed time down to catch the blade plucking from its path, as he returned time to its natural course. He inspected the dagger, analysing the odd phenomena that managed to land a blow.
The edict of creation was carved into the bottom of its pommel, a faint azure light coming off the mark before disappearing completely, needing more divinity infused into it to activate its ability again.
Ratella discarded the blade, throwing away a weapon no longer of interest after discovering its secret. He hadn't realised that Edicts could be transferred to a weapon, possibly allowing a person to wield all of them simultaneously.
"Ha! Are you shocked at the weapon's unique power?! You've fallen into my trap, no matter how powerful you are, you'll still fall to my aspect!" An arrogant and pompous voice reared its head out of the silence; the arrogance seemed to be a trend in this camp.
Ratella slashed multiple times at the tent, exposing the interior to his eyes, allowing for no more traps or odd weapons to harm him again. At the desk sat a bald Devil with two regal, adorned horns, gold and crimson. He wore many scars of battle, but there was nothing about him that gave the indication of a Sin or even a powerful aspect.
"Did that blade make a shiver run down your spine, filthy angel!? I plucked it from the battlefield off one of those virtues; he had an arsenal of weapons of varying abilities. Too bad he's too dead to use them now."
The man's obvious taunts did nothing to anger Ratella; they elicited no negative reaction, only pity for his foolishness.
"Did you kill him yourself, or did you just steal it like a vulture?" asked Ratella softly, obvious pity laced within his words. His casual attitude only infuriated the man, putting him on the back foot of the taunts.
"Do you not care about the dead virtue!? I saw his dead body for myself. He was missing multiple limbs. How can you be so careless about a dead virtue?"
"You didn't answer my question, so I'm guessing you are just a vermin picking the battlefield clean like a scavenger. Also, why would I care about a virtue, and are you even sure it was one?"
Ratella put his finger to his chin, seeming to be deep in thought, absolutely baffled by the man's declaration of slaying a virtue. In reality, it was just an act to annoy him.
"I am no vermin! I'll kill you for that. That lance seems precious to you. I'll be sure to take good care of it," shouted the man, lifting himself out of his seat, almost falling over as he did so, inducing a chuckle to escape Ratella's mouth. His eyebrow twisted with an unbridled fury at his laughter.
"Aspect of Blood, Sanguine Kiss!"
Whatever should have happened didn't; nothing changed in the surrounding area. The commander looked down at his hands and Ratella's unscathed state in confusion, his fury only increasing at his embarrassing stunt.
"Did you say the command word right, or was your heart not in it? I knew you were a kind soul all along."
Ratella's smile was growing wider by the second, a flurry of laughter piling up in the back of his throat, taking all his strength to contain it. His taunts had the desired effect on the commander; his earlier killing spree was repaid in full, with the commander getting to witness this pathetic show of "might."
"Why aren't you drained dry of blood?! What are you?" shouted the commander, the fear at his situation finally setting in, dropping to his knees at the failure of his trump card. From the looks of it, it was his only card as well.
"Because I don't really have any blood in my body, the lifeblood of my body is divinity, not actual blood. Also, don't you need an open wound to inflict blood loss on someone?"
"What do you mean? That's not possible to live only off divinity, and I inflicted an open wound with my dagger. I saw it make contact."
The commander was defeated by Ratella without lifting a finger; his earlier arrogance was his ultimate downfall, brought on by weakness and the burden of facing an overwhelming power.
"That little cut healed instantly, and you'd need a lot more to drain a target quickly. You are truly naive, but don't worry, I'll make you die quickly if you answer a question."
"Impossible, no one I've met has healed that quickly," muttered the commander, his mind crumbling at his supposed overpowering might with the Aspect of Blood.
"What sins are commanding you, and where are they?"
His question returned the light to the defeated man's eyes, his earlier spark coming back at the thought of the Sin commanding him.
"Yes! Master Gluttony will be coming this way. You shouldn't have let the guards live; you've caused your own downfall. To be devoured by the strong is the natural course of the world. I pity you!"
"Mhm, excuse me," said Ratella, tapping the man on the shoulder, who was still kneeling on the floor, a hideous melody of laughter coming out of his mouth. "But don't you think your thinking is wishful? You are a traitor now, nothing more than a filthy rat to be devoured by the starved."
"What?" said the man, his voice breaking and cracking against stress flooding into his mind at the realisation he was, as Ratella said.
A dirty rat that had just given him key intelligence in defeating gluttony, thanks to his loose tongue, he was able to prepare for the sin's arrival.
"Please don't worry yourself anymore. You won't meet such a fate. The only fate you'll be meeting is one of oblivion."
The man's newfound hope and joy at his words, thinking Ratella his saviour, soon faded, the light fading from his eyes as his lance pierced his heart, casting his soul into oblivion.
"You are saved from a terrible existence; you should be grateful."
Ratella exited the tent, leaving the commander's body on display for anyone who might return to the camp, a warning of the consequences of being weak.