Why Did Aiden Finnegan The Alchemist In Delcord Betray Allies?

Looking at Aiden’s arc quickly, I think his betrayal springs from a cocktail of ideology, obsession, and practical coercion. He’s driven by an alchemical vision that treats human lives as acceptable losses for a perceived higher order—so in his mind he’s doing necessary harm. Layer onto that a history of being betrayed or betrayed by institutions, and you get someone inclined to preemptively strike before being hurt again. Practically speaking, he might also have been compromised—threats, debts, or leverage that forced his hand and made loyalty impossible without catastrophic cost. Writers also use betrayals like his to test the moral fiber of the cast and to complicate the theme of progress versus ethics in 'Delcord'. I felt annoyed at his choices but also oddly sympathetic; he’s the kind of character you’d love to hate while secretly understanding how he convinced himself he was right.

Traitors who betray their comrades always snag my attention more than plain villains, and Aiden Finnegan is a perfect example of that complicated itch. In 'Delcord' his betrayal didn't feel like a one-off stab for coin or power—there's this steady, corrosive logic to it that makes it believable. I see three braided motivations: a warped utilitarianism, an obsession with alchemy's transcendent goals, and deep-seated personal wounds. Aiden treats people almost like experimental variables; he calculates collateral as if it's a lab cost. That cold calculus makes him terrifying because it reads as sincere conviction rather than mere cruelty.

Beyond ideology, his relationship with alchemy itself is crucial. In scenes where he speaks about transformation, there’s an almost religious zeal—he thinks rewriting the world's rules justifies breaking oaths. When an ally's life or trust slows that project, he rationalizes sacrifice. This is classic tragic-ambition territory: a character who betrays believing the end sanctifies the means. Add to that a backstory hinting at betrayal and loss, and you get someone who preemptively betrays to avoid being hurt again.

I also can’t ignore narrative mechanics—writers often use betrayal to reveal truths about allies and to upend complacency. Aiden’s turn functions both as a plot engine and as a mirror: it forces other characters and readers to confront uncomfortable questions about loyalty, progress, and whether some ideals are worth ruin. I walked away uneasy but impressed with how layered it all felt; he’s the kind of antagonist I keep thinking about while brewing my morning coffee.

Here's the blunt take — Aiden betrayed his allies because his priorities shifted into a different moral calculus, and a lot of pressure pushed him there. On the surface it looks like ambition or a thirst for forbidden reagents, but the clues point to a mix: a looming alchemical disaster he alone saw, personal losses that froze his empathy, and outside leverage from powerful players who dangled what he needed.

There are also hints he was being forced into corners: family or protégés threatened, or deals that bought time at outrageous costs. Sometimes I think he staged a betrayal as the only way to get inside enemy circles — a risky gambit that reads like treachery to everyone else. Whatever the exact mix, the betrayal feels less like cartoon villainy and more like tragic realism — a smart, broken person convinced horrible choices were the only options left. That ambiguity is why the moment still hits hard for me.

There’s a weight to Aiden Finnegan’s choices that made me wince rather than cheer, and I think that’s because his betrayal feels rooted in damage, not just ambition. In 'Delcord' he’s written like someone who’s been boxed into a corner—either by a secret order, a debt, or the cruel rules of alchemy itself. To me, his double-dealing reads like survival dressed up as philosophy: he convinces himself (and maybe believes) that betraying others will prevent a bigger catastrophe or protect someone he can’t openly save.

I’ve replayed key confrontations in my head and noticed how often guilt and pride are tangled in his dialogue. He’ll make cold decisions but pause when the consequences hit home, hinting that betrayal was a last resort. There’s also the likely external leverage—blackmail, a bargain with a more powerful faction, or threats to someone close. Those pressure points explain why someone who once swore loyalty could pivot without being a cartoon villain.

On a storytelling level, this kind of betrayal forces character growth: the allies must reckon with their own blind spots, and Aiden’s complexity keeps him compelling rather than two-dimensional. I don’t excuse what he did, but I appreciate the messy human reasons behind it—the kind that make the world of 'Delcord' feel lived-in and morally gray, which I find addictively sad in all the right ways.

Aiden's betrayal has always nagged at me. I dug through every fragment the story gives — the burnt pages in his laboratory, the whispered footnotes in the margins of Council records, and the quiet lines in his last letter — and the picture that emerges is messy, human, and stubbornly logical in its own dark way.

On one level, he betrayed his allies because he believed the math of catastrophe favoured ruthless action. There are scenes and journal entries in 'Delcord' that show him obsessed with a collapse no one else would admit was coming: a spreading rot in the world's base essences, an alchemical imbalance that would annihilate entire regions if left unchecked. To Aiden, the allies' methods looked sentimental — patching leaks rather than cutting out the rot. He cut deals and made cold trades because he thought he could buy time or access reagents no one else would hand over. That pragmatic cruelty reads as betrayal, but in his mind it was a necessary pivot to prevent extinction. Reading his notes, you can almost hear the arithmetic: lives lost now to save millions later. That rationale sits terribly with me, but it explains the choices.

Then there's grief and corruption tangled into his science. Personal losses — the death of someone close in an experiment that failed — are threaded through the narrative. Grief pushed him into experiments that altered priorities; influence from outside powers (merchant houses, shadow courts) bought him resources and secrets in exchange for allegiance. The texts hint at bribery, threats to people he couldn't afford to lose, and the slow sediment of moral erosion when every success required another unacceptable compromise. The betrayal also reads like a tragic inevitability: a brilliant mind convinced that only singular, decisive action can fix what others won't see. Sometimes the story frames his treachery as a cover, too — a deliberate fall from grace designed to infiltrate enemy ranks — which complicates feelings further. Was it betrayal or theatre? The ambiguity is why the arc sticks with me.

Beyond motivations, the fallout shows why the writers made him do it: it forces characters to confront impossible choices, exposes the limits of trust, and asks whether ends can ever exonerate means. I keep flipping through his notes, imagining the scent of chemicals and the hollow in his chest that pushed him over. It's one of those moral knots in 'Delcord' that I keep revisiting because it refuses to give a clean answer. It still makes my spine tingle when I replay the scene where his mask comes off.