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That’s when he wondered: the scorched flesh, its blackened skin—

Fuck, had Orpheus already fought it?

Was Red on his trail?

“Red, does it look wounded?”

“It’s a literal walking wound!”

“Yeah, I know but like…burn marks. Lacerations, anything that looks wet is fresh.”

Red narrowed her eyes and Fenrir could nearly see the gears turn, the quick assessment in a time of visceral panic that impressed him enough considering Red had never been anything but a civilian all these years.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s definitely been hurt recently.”

Orpheus!

“Red, you’re on it! You’ve found his trail!”

“Told you I fuckin’ would!” Red snarled back. “Now tell me how to kill this thing so I can stay on it!”

“Fire, Red, that’s your weapon.” Fenrir burst into the courtyard, soldiers parting to make way, heading towards the prison tower at a break-neck speed. He took the palace stairs by two, white-washed walls funneling him onward, until he reached the rampart that would take him up and up and up.

“Stay on the call with me.” He shouldered the door open and passed two off-duty guards headed for the barracks. They saluted him out of habit then faltered, glancing at one another as he swept by them. “‘Scuse me, sorry, don’t mind me!”

“How do you know all this?” Red snapped, voice rasping. Then her eyes widened. “Have you fought this thing before?”

Fenrir would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “No, but Daedra told me all about them.”

“Daedra?” Red recoiled, screen shaking like she’d nearly dropped it. “What the hell does she know?”

“Apparently a lot. She knows how to fight a Prometheus.”

“You’ve been trading war stories with our prisoner?” Red’s voice rose with disbelief. Off screen, a soldier yelped. Red threw a searing look over her shoulder, snapping, “Yes, he said the fuel, send word to the tanker, someone needs to get on that—”

An explosion rocked through the speakers, light flaring in three sharp claps before Red’s face cleared the static.

“Guess an artillery tractor is as good as fire.”

Fenrir tried to grin, but it came out a grimace, tightness building in his chest and not letting go. “Almost there, Red, just hold on.”

He took the stairs by twos. Made it ten flights up before he collapsed against the wall and gulped down air. Cold sweat made the screen in his hand slippery, but he couldn’t put it away. Couldn’t look away from Red’s panicked face for the minutes it would take him to reach the top of this hells-damned tower.

“Fenrir, are you—”

“Shut it, Red.” Fenrir pushed away from the wall and began moving again. “If you call me out of shape—”

“The only shape I care you’re in is one still moving,” Red snarled, static cutting their signal as a skull-shattering roar tore through the screen’s speaker. “What the fuck!”

“Almost there!” At the top of the steps, gold bled through the gray. The door to Daedra’s cell loomed, and with it two panicked guards who were already working the lock open.

“Your Majesty—Sire—”

“Let me in.” Fenrir all but fell into the door, shoving his weight into the edge and shouldering it open.

The gate rattled when he collided with it, but Fenrir didn’t care. He was jerking it open before the steel door had fully closed behind him, all but collapsing at Daedra’s feet, screen held up in his hand.

“What in cold blazes—”