Location: Central Plaza - General Population Sector
The elevator doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss.
Devon stepped out, and for a moment, he forgot that he was at the bottom of the ocean.
Central Plaza was a marvel of magitech engineering and optical illusion. The ceiling of this colossal chamber—easily fifty meters high—projected a hologram of an eternal twilight sky. Purple and orange clouds drifted lazily, providing the illusion of a vast, open space.
The floor was carpeted in synthetic grass that felt real underfoot. Artificial trees with metallic leaves rustled in the breeze of the air circulation system. All around the plaza, thousands of prisoners from various races—Orcs, Goblins, Beastkin, Demons—mingled. Some played cards, some exercised, while others simply huddled together, plotting new crimes.
"Go on, run along and play," said Eira, shoving Devon's back. "I'll be watching you from the guard tower. Don't cause a scene, or I'll shock you until you're tap dancing."
"Yeah, yeah, Mom," Devon grumbled, adjusting his collar.
Eira walked away, hips swaying, leaving Devon alone in the middle of a sea of monsters.
Devon cast his gaze around, scanning the crowd. His mismatched eyes searched for one specific figure.
"Where is he... that white furball..."
His eyes narrowed, filtering the visuals past the Ogres arm-wrestling nearby. And there, in a somewhat secluded corner of the plaza beneath a shady metallic tree, he saw him.
Stormclaw.
The feline Beastkin sat cross-legged on the synthetic grass, looking like a muscular marble statue. He wore an orange uniform with the sleeves ripped off (likely because they were too tight), exposing his burly white-furred arms. He sat in silence, eyes closed, ignoring the cacophony around him.
But he wasn't alone.
Sitting next to him, with a posture far more relaxed and... chaotic, was a woman. Or at least, a creature that used to be holy.
She had long, messy platinum blonde hair, looking as if she had just woken up after a three-day bender. A dull, thorny golden crown perched crookedly on her head. She wore a prisoner uniform modified into a short dress, and on her back... a pair of large, limp, dull white and gray wings were folded. Angel wings, but dirty and missing a few feathers.
A Fallen Angel. Ikarin.
Devon smiled faintly. He strolled casually through the crowd, approaching the odd pair.
Ikarin was speaking—or rather, rambling to herself—at the silent Stormclaw.
"...and you know, I told that guard, 'Hey, my wings are sensitive, don't pull them carelessly during inspection!', but he just laughed. Filthy human. Hey, Cat, are you listening? Are you a statue or what? Speak a little! Meowing works too!"
Stormclaw merely twitched his ear slightly, a sign that he heard but chose not to care.
"Hey, Big Guy," Devon greeted, dropping himself onto the grass right to Stormclaw's right, interrupting Ikarin's monologue.
Stormclaw opened his eyes instantly. His amber eyes widened slightly upon seeing Devon. There was a very clear glint of relief there, even though his feline face tried to remain impassive.
"Devon..." Stormclaw's voice was heavy and low, like distant thunder. He sniffed the air around Devon. "You... you smell like squid ink."
"Long story," Devon nudged Stormclaw's muscular shoulder with his elbow. "How are you doing? Haven't been made into a rug by the other inmates, have you?"
"Almost," Stormclaw answered briefly. "But I broke three Ogre ribs. They stopped bothering me after that."
"Good. Violent diplomacy is indeed the universal language here," Devon chuckled. He stretched his legs, leaning against the metallic tree trunk. "This place isn't too bad, right? Much better than the stinking sewers at Saint Veren's Gate. At least here there's fake grass."
"Hmph. Still a prison," grumbled Stormclaw, but his long tail curled relaxedly near Devon's feet, an unconscious gesture of trust. "Too bad we were separated. My cell is... noisy."
"The good news is," Devon pointed to himself with his thumb. "I got an interesting cellmate. A crazy Chimera who likes to eat people. You'd definitely get along with him."
Suddenly, a pale face with glowing red eyes appeared in front of Devon, blocking his view of Stormclaw.
"Hey! Hey! Who are you?!"
Ikarin leaned in, staring at Devon with aggressive curiosity. The scent of ozone and... who knows, old bird feathers, wafted from her.
"You know this Mute Cat?" asked Ikarin, pointing at Stormclaw. "I've been trying to get him to talk for two hours! Two hours! And he just grunts! I'm Ikarin, by the way. Prisoner 7701. Fallen Angel, former Commander of the 7th Heaven Legion, now a convict due to an incident of... well, petty arson."
Devon stared at the woman. Beautiful, but definitely had a screw loose.
"Devon," he replied briefly. "And he's not mute, Ikarin. He's just picky about conversation partners. He has standards."
"Huh?! Are you saying I don't meet his standards?!" Ikarin looked offended, her dirty wings flaring slightly (sending a few loose feathers flying). "I am an Angel, you know! Fallen, sure, but still an Angel! A superior race!"
Then, Ikarin's red eyes locked onto one thing. She tilted her head, staring at the side of Devon's head.
"Hold on..." Ikarin narrowed her eyes. She reached out, about to touch it, but Devon swatted her hand away gently. "What is that? A wing? On your head?"
Devon touched the red wing above his ear. "Oh, this?"
"Yes! Why is there a chicken wing on your head? Are you a mutant? Or is that a permanent headband?" asked Ikarin without a filter.
Devon put on a serious face. He gave Ikarin a deep, secretive look.
"Actually..." Devon lowered his voice, causing Ikarin and even Stormclaw to lean in to listen. "My mother... was a Valkyrie."
Silence for a moment. The artificial wind rustled.
"WHAAAAAT?!" Ikarin's jaw dropped. "Valkyrie?! You mean Odin's handmaidens? The ones who collect heroes' souls? The ones with the magnificent wings?"
"Yup," Devon nodded firmly, his face the picture of innocence. "My father was a very charismatic ordinary human. Forbidden love. A cross-dimensional romantic tragedy. And well... the genetics were a bit buggy when they got to me. Instead of getting wings on my back, I got one on my head. Like a Wi-Fi antenna."
Ikarin stared at Devon, then stared at the red wing, then stared at Devon's face again.
"LIAR!" shouted Ikarin, pointing at Devon's face. "That is the stupidest lie I have ever heard! Valkyries don't have red wings! And your mana aura is weird! You're a fraud!"
"Well, who knows, right?" Devon laughed, shrugging. "The world is vast, Miss Angel. There are many things you don't know."
Stormclaw snorted beside him, the corner of his lips lifting slightly into a thin smile. He knew Devon was lying, but watching the chatty Ikarin get confused was entertainment in itself.
"So," Devon looked at Ikarin again, changing the subject. "What's it like sharing a cell with this furball? He purrs when he sleeps, you know."
"Purrs?!" Ikarin glared at Stormclaw. "He doesn't even sleep! He just sits in the corner of the cell staring at the wall like a depressed gargoyle! I tried asking him to play cards, he stayed silent. I tried telling him about my fall from grace, he stayed silent. He's boring!"
"He's a good listener," defended Devon, patting Stormclaw's knee.
"He's a furry rock!" countered Ikarin.
The light conversation continued. Under the fake twilight sky, in the middle of the world's most terrifying prison, three strange creatures—a regenerative human with chuunibyou, a traumatized fighter cat, and a hyperactive fallen angel—sat together on the plastic grass.
For a moment, they forgot the iron collars around their necks. They forgot the monsters waiting in the cells. They were just three castaway souls sharing a shred of sanity amidst the madness.
BLAAAARE! BLAAAARE! BLAAAARE!
A long, ear-piercing siren shattered the atmosphere. The spotlights on the watchtowers turned red.
"RECREATION TIME IS OVER!" the announcement echoed. "RETURN TO YOUR RESPECTIVE BLOCKS! MOVEMENT OUTSIDE THE DESIGNATED PATHS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE!"
Devon sighed, standing up while brushing the synthetic grass off his pants.
"Well, party's over," Devon said. He looked at Stormclaw. "Take care of yourself, Buddy. Don't die."
Stormclaw nodded, towering over Devon. "You too. Watch out for... your cellmate."
"Bye, Chicken Wing!" shouted Ikarin, waving her hand as she was dragged away by the current of other prisoners. "Tell me more about your Valkyrie mother tomorrow! I still don't believe it!"
Devon smiled faintly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked to follow Eira, who was already waiting for him at the gate with a sadistic smile.
The fake sun began to dim, replaced by artificial night mode.