Erebus had come back to Hargeon, he didn't really have a reason as to why. Only that it seemed like the place he should be. He wasn't feeling very excited though as he marched through the city, not like he wanted to be at least. He was in Grimoire Heart, and enjoyment and resolve didn't exactly mix you see. To attain power, Erebus had sacrificed the opportunity to strive for an easy life... But had he gotten any of that power back in return? No. He hadn't done a single thing, he didn't like being a runt in the litter and despite his work he was still only the adventurer in the malefic organization. The fodder for Grimoire Heart's army. A cause so reckless the guild pursued; that the Strategist had outlived it's own goals with his entire mission of getting revenge on the person he hates the most. He hated it here in the red's ranks, with no self identity. Perhaps he was edgy for that, or maybe even dull as a person, but screw it all. How could he escape what he had owned into?

Even if he did leave, his bounty was so high at this point, he was practically a wanted fugitive of the highest caliber. Yet he still had not the slightest ability to cast magic. What a joke. The sky was still bright and shiny but Erebus was dreary and pale figured. Daylight shined overhead, darkness hid inside. The sword-wielder stood on the side of the street. A picket fence behind himself. He wanted freedom... Desired it.

But Icarus? Crowley? Theseus? The three alone could obliterate him each with the tip of their finger. Aside from such subtly, Erebus would have no one to remember who he truly was. He didn't even exist anymore, except under the visage passed onto him by stronger heads. He rode in the helm as Strategist, his greatest cover to the public. Just a name with a terrifying, though he wasn't himself, background. The extent of his being.

Strategist, simply because he knew how to get jobs done the fastest, cleanest, and securest. Was the chosen precursor to his tale. But was that all he was? It seemed like so. In fact, Erebus was not one to trifle into asking for any kinds thanks from Crowley or Icarus. The dark-haired boy knew he was meant to die. He just simply hadn't yet, he was not the type to fall so easily. However, despite it, Erebus didn't really feel the comfort in being a slave to the organization either. Maybe later Erebus would try and get a word with Crowley. For now, the young lycan was going to take a seat on the bench. The lycan went from his point to the bench and sat awkwardly.

He pulled out a folded piece of parchment, with a numbered list of dark jobs he could take in this area. Most having been scribbled off the exception being the higher ranked ones. He was unable to take them in the past, but recently that line of work  opened at his door step. He'd make sure to check it out later. Erebus had unequipped his Samehada to sit it to the right of where he was. Anyone would dare thieve it from him, he'd have to fight down to the ground. That is assuming they could raise such a weapon within their hands.

It was then Erebus had realized, he had gained some strength in his time being a secret agent of the dark guild. Admirable? Compared to Caius or Carnage herself, not in the slightest. However strong? Most certainly. Erebus began to gain a shred of hope. Then it all plummeted yet again. He knew this life was one you either die in, or you never enjoy. His mind was made up. He would confront Crowley on it immediately. The lycan stood from his chair, and pulled the Samehada over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply.

"I'll definitely demand to quit. I've overstayed my welcome. I'm-- well, not in this for the guild anymore. I joined for me. Now I gotta give it up... For me. Like John Wick or something... Just have to hope I don't die. Whatever. Men have to be men. Whatever happens, happens."