Private Masked Greetings.

[The Lady of Deceit]

"The lie must be elegant. The silence must be total."
DEVILMAN


The Lady had not expected company.

Not here. Not in this hour.

The jungle canopy of Rakata Prime shivered beneath the weight of midnight clouds, where the moons cast long, broken shafts of silver through the foliage. Far below, buried in the fetid earth and obsidian rock, the Atramentum's fortress coiled like a serpent in slumber. Hidden from satellites, shielded by ancient technology and dark sorcery alike, it was not meant to be found—let alone breached. And yet, the alarm had come.

Perimeter breach. Silence within three seconds. No trace of attacker.

The transmission had been delivered by Atramentum's inner core, its mechanical voice tight with something almost akin to uncertainty. That alone was enough to stir the Lady of Deceit from her sanctum.

Within the fortress, shadows lengthened at her approach, as if eager to conceal her. She moved without sound, cloaked in a flowing garment of black and violet, the fabric clinging to her as though spun from the night itself. Each footfall was deliberate, measured, predatory. Her mask, a smooth, faceless thing of dark alloy and mirrored lacquer, reflected the dim emergency lighting, casting distorted echoes of the world around her.

She took position along a corridor veined with soft crimson light, a blind curve just ahead—a bottleneck by design, meant to trap and mislead. Her mind, sharp and venomous, unraveled possibilities with predatory clarity. Whoever this intruder was, they had disabled an entire defense grid in mere seconds. Not stumbled into her lair. Chosen to. That alone narrowed the list of suspects, and not one of them inspired anything as dull as fear. She relished the hunt.

Her fingers flexed slightly, the air thick with dark-side energy coiling like smoke around her form. Power vibrated through her like a taut string, her body perfectly still yet brimming with coiled potential. She didn't need to pace. Didn't need to speak. This wasn't a confrontation—it was a performance. One the intruder didn't know they'd already been cast in.

Let them think the way was clear. Let them step through the last threshold, believing they had eluded detection. Let them be bold.

For the Lady of Deceit was already waiting.

​

 

[DEVILMAN]

Rakata Prime – Atramentum – Corridor
Objective: Infiltration
NPC(s): Sage
Vehicles: Devilmobile, Devilwing​

The alarm signaling the entire compound before becoming silent had been by design. Enough for the sensors to detect a perimeter breach before he shut it down. Cameras were shutting down one by one as the Fiend glided from shadow to shadow within the compound. Lights slowly dimming and flickering before dying out completely. Men disappeared into the void as reinforcements scoured the darkness. Each and every one removed from the board by the lone Living Nightmare. All disappearing without a trace of what took them out. Nothing but blood and claw marks left behind.

The Proto-Predator sought to choke the stronghold with fear. The alarm had simply been set off to force the soldiers to move and shift their attention where the Demon wanted their attention to be focused. So it could steal each of them away into the shadows with practiced. No one knew what it was. Why it could not be stopped. Why blaster fire and weapons of all sorts had been useless.

All for the Walking Shadow to continue stalking down the hallways unseen and unknown. An enemy, a predator, that could not be harmed—that could not be stopped. This proper and primordial application of induced panic had allowed the Black Ace to deduce and locate the Atramentum in the first place amongst the dense foliage of Rakata Prime. Fear, retribution, superstition.

Vengeance.

It could not and would not be stopped by anything as meager as loyalty, training, or doctrine. No superior firepower or army would hinder it. The Detective's careful study of the weaknesses of the defense grid and each individual soul ensured its advance as it picked them apart one by one. Cloaking entire teams in shadow to never be found again and choking them off from one another, the Living Nightmare left no trail that it or anyone else had been there.

Except for the blood and bodies left in the wake. And not all the bodies had been found.

The Demon's warpath lead him to a bottleneck hallway. The Black Ace knew this was a trap. It could sense what laid ahead. Sonar waves cascaded over the corridor before feeding back into the Fiend's own sight. Slowly, the shadow of the Fiend cast itself over the red glow of the hallway as it slowly approached closer and closer. If the Lady of Deceit made her move, her attack would cast itself through thin air and shadow, catching nothing.

No longer was there a shadow cast on the wall.

Only one of her soldiers, mask cracked in half, hyperventilating before glancing up towards the corner of the ceiling in fear. The soft red light flickered once more before snapping off, plunging the entire corridor into darkness.

The light of a singular demonic symbol and piercing eyes cut through the darkness now before descending upon the Lady of Deceit. Its claws swiped at her belt, intent on severing her tools from her person, before pinning her against the wall with its supernatural strength. One limb would be enough to hold still both of hers.

Its free limb had its claws sink into her mask, cracking and damaging the surface. It was different from the others the Walking Shadow had encountered. If the claws dug deeper, sooner or later, the Black Ace could tear the mask off or even reach her face underneath before tearing both off in the process.

For now, the threat of further violence hung in the air

"Who are you?" the Fiend interrogated, the dark timber of its command echoing off the corridor walls, "Talk."

The Lady of Deceit had been deceived. With one swift move, the Living Nightmare had the Lady of Deceit in his grasp. And if she tried pushing him away with a practiced application of her biofield, she would find the Fiend immune to her tricks.

The Force would not save her here. It held no power over the Demon. It was beyond such powers as its hollow gaze fueled by a calculating rage tore into her vision from within the darkness. The cracks in her mask grew as he pierced his claws further.

"Before I tear you apart."

Direct: The Lady of Deceit || Indirect: N/A​

 

[The Lady of Deceit]

"The lie must be elegant. The silence must be total."
DEVILMAN


She did not scream.

She did not gasp.

She did not speak.

Where another might have broken into breathless pleas or sharp-edged threats, the Lady of Deceit gave nothing—offered nothing. No flicker of fear rippled through her form as the demon's talons pierced her mask, sending delicate fractures spidering across its gleaming surface. The sound was sharp in the voided corridor, glass and alloy whispering of imminent destruction. But still—silence.

Even pinned, immobilized, her poise did not falter. The air grew colder around them. Not from fear, but from control. A silence that wasn't passive, but palpable. Calculating. The kind of silence that made hearts falter and pulses stutter. She watched him—not with the eyes beneath the mask, but with the mind behind it. And in that quiet, heavy and unyielding, it was she who stared through the Fiend, as though measuring the depths of its hate, its hunger, its vengeance—and cataloguing it for later use.

The Force did not swirl around her. No lightning burst from her palms. No shields formed to protect her. There was no desperate scrabbling for power, no reach toward salvation. Because the Lady of Deceit did not beg the Force to act.

She made it wait.

She allowed it to be silent, as she was silent now, commanding with inaction. Daring with stillness.

The blood of her soldiers was still wet in the demon's wake. Their screams, their failings, their foolish devotion—all meaningless in the grand game. And now she was in its grasp. But even as those claws dug deeper, she did not move. Did not answer. Did not so much as tremble.

Because silence… is power.

And it wrapped around her like armor more complete than the shattered mask. Her stillness was not surrender—it was promise.

The demon's breath seethed in the dark.

She tilted her head, ever so slightly, the sharpest mockery of curiosity. Not submission. Not defiance.

But something worse.

Amusement.

Let him threaten. Let him rage. Let him believe himself the hunter.

The Lady of Deceit had already made her first move.

And it was not with words.

​