Dwarf of Bronze (ZnT/AU)

[GiftofLove]

I don't even know where to start in how much I enjoyed this update. I very much enjoyed all of it immensely. Eagerly looking forward to finding out what bonded itself to Guiche, and if it's a permanent thing or just a brief glimpse into his future.

Poor Tiff definitely isn't built for battle. Her back is going to kill her after this. I've always liked to see soft characters revel in war, though. Curious to see where this takes her.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

I don't even know where to start in how much I enjoyed this update.

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The beginning?

Eagerly looking forward to finding out what bonded itself to Guiche, and if it's a permanent thing or just a brief glimpse into his future.

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Hohohoho.

Poor Tiff definitely isn't built for battle. Her back is going to kill her after this.

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It's okay, she can ride the giant Wolf if her back hurts too much. Maybe Matilda can make some sort of golem-bra, though?

I've always liked to see soft characters revel in war, though. Curious to see where this takes her.

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It's not so much that she's revelled in it, but more that she cares a lot. And so many people are suffering that she can't take it any more; especially not when she has the power to help.

 

[tEN]

It's fun to see where Osmond came to rest after he was set adrift.


I liked the puzzle too. The proper solution is to smash it indeed.

 

[kairuf]

Well that escalated quickly.

 

[vyor]

Green fire danced across Kenneth's gloved hand and down his arm. The leather turned black as it half-burnt, half-rotted away. If it were possible for a transgression against all that was good and righteous to look smug then the Wight was certainly attempting it. Something, however, seemed wrong. The flames had stopped at the elbow and seemed to have run out of anything else to burn.

Then a silver spike punched its way through the creature's palm. Ethereal light shone forth and took shape; coming into being as blue glass that flickered and shifted as if it were fire. Spikes of it burst out of the creature's arm and wherever it took form the sickly green flames sputtered out and died. In a moment all of the unholy energies were overtaken and the glass-like substance replaced it. Then it faded.

The spike retracted and the now empty corpse collapsed. Kenneth shook off the remnants of his glove and examined his left hand for a moment. He flexed it as best he could, silvery metal shining in the sunlight as gears whirred and joints clicked. Then he turned it so his palm faced him and eyed the aperture in the base of the metal. A metallic spike extended again; tiny runes glowing faintly blue.

"Hmf. Two, three… maybe four." It retracted again as he sighed and hefted his axe; starting to jog towards the next set of Wights. There were two more Ether Spikes contained inside his prosthetic and each would work for maybe ten shots each if he aligned them well and hit closer to the core of the magic. He'd probably need to burn half of one for each dragon; assuming the metal could pierce the scales.

Well, come what may he'd hold until the end... and save as many as he could.

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That magnificent mother fucker.

"I have no mercy left for them."

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He is, understandably, pissed.

Can't wait to see how much wardes regrets this mistake later.

"How easily our pact is broken, son of my son. How easily is family betrayed! It leapt at Jeima this time and Guiche had to exert himself to the full in order to interpose himself at time. To his immense relief Derf was able to block the spear of shadow that became the entity's arm as it reached out for what he could only imagine was the tiny, quivering man's throat. Jeima tried to babble something in his foreign tongue but the monster didn't seem to hear him. That, or it just wasn't interested in listening.

"What did they promise you, that you would cast aside all that I fought for? I did not bind my soul to the very bones of this haven so that you could cast aside your heritage for coin!" There wasn't much time for Guiche to muse on these revelations before the shadow-man struck out at him once more.

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What a stupid creature.

Then he set to work.

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So that's how those 2 forces interact.

Moonlight is hax as fuck.

The First Wolf howled.

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Wolves sound fucking terrifying when they howl, let alone a wolf of that size. Fucking hell that army's moral is gone.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

So that's how those 2 forces interact.

Moonlight is hax as fuck.

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Fire plus Dark versus Light plus Ice.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

"Protect your own!"

Guiche barely managed to get across the accusatory cry before the shadow monster was upon him. Rather than being met by rending claws he was hauled bodily off his feet by a tight grasp on his chin and shortly thereafter was faced with a pair of glowing red eyes meeting his own in a hateful glare.

"What did you say to me, boy? You know not what words you speak!" It raised a bladed shadow tendril, presumably to give Guiche the very shortest haircut of his life, when a flying rock struck it in the side of what he could only assume was its head. Across the room Jeima cowered slightly; bits of fallen masonry in hand and prepared to throw.

"He saved my daughter, grandfather. From a fate worse than death." The shadow monster hesitated; confusion wrought across its features. After a moment it let go of the young noble's neck and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Then the creature changed; shrinking and distorting until it formed a small, distraught looking man whose features were much the same as Jeima's.

"But why, child? Why bring him here? This is your legacy. I left it for you, your siblings, your cousins, your parents. Why bring this outsider, no matter his merits?" Guiche could only stare in shock as the thing spoke. It truly was Jeima's grandfather. He couldn't still be alive, or else he'd have come out to help the village. So, somehow, he had managed to linger here after his death. It was impossible for Guiche to prevent his gaze from moving to the stone coffin in the middle of the room at that thought.

"... it's gone, grandfather." Jeima spoke hesitantly and mournfully; every word causing tremors of sorrow to pass across his ancestor's face. "After you died, we couldn't make any more Runes. The ones we had already worked but… you know they don't last on objects, and we never…" His grandfather nodded slowly. Regret was writ large upon him; in the hunch of his shoulders and the twitching of his lip.

"Of course. I had hoped… I had thought… it had seemed to work, but…" He sighed heavily and frowned suddenly; looking to Guiche and Jeima in turn. "Why have you come? What has happened to my home?" Overcome by emotion, Jeima seemed unable to speak for the moment.

"Wights, good sir." At last he stood; pushing himself upright and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound on his shoulder. It didn't feel like it had hit anything important, at least. "My fami… my mentor is a warrior of your world. He is fighting them while we come here." The revenant's expression turned grave and he turned to the stone coffin behind him. It seemed to take no effort for him to cast off heavy lid and draw out the items enshrined within.

Guiche thought it may well be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was a black, silken, hooded mantle that seemed to faintly shine with an unearthly light. There were faint points of light upon it that didn't move when it did; like the cloth was a portal to another realm entirely. With great solemnity the wraith offered it to Guiche.

"It is the Aurora Requiem. An endless source of Moonlight. Unholy things cannot abide it. There is a cost, of sorts. It is… difficult to explain, and we are short on time. You must merely withstand for as long as you can." Then it looked to Jeima and spoke some of the unfamiliar language that they shared. There was a moment of hesitant silence between him and then the shadow fused back into the walls.

Jeima turned to leave immediately; Guiche having to practically jog to keep up as he did so. For his stature the little man was very fast. In the end he pulled off a handy trick he'd figured out after examining Kenneth and Colbert's various bizarre machine designs; summoning half a Valkyrie. Specifically, the lower body formed around his own.

"What did he tell you?" With the animated legs moving with him he was able to keep up with Jeima and ask about the ancestor's cryptic last words. The little man looked at him and finally checked his pace as they reached the opening to the upper level.

Then he made a two meter standing jump to grab the ledge and haul himself up. Guiche was gobsmacked for only a few moments before quickly stacking his Earths and transmuting a stairway for himself. It was good to be reminded that these people weren't entirely normal.

"It's the words to activate the item. You'll need to memorise the phrasing. We can practice on the way up." Jeima was waiting for him; clenching and unclenching his fists. The encounter had seemed to have an effect on him; Guiche suspected that there had been more passing between them at the end.

"Very well. Thank you for your assistance. We'd best hurry."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Emotion mattered as much as content it seemed, because he'd been told what the phrase meant as well as memorising the pronunciation. His efforts to learn Kenneth's language, fruitless as they had been, had paid dividends here with his ability to pronounce the bizarre syllables that even gave Jeima pause. They weren't from his native language either, although he had refused to elaborate.

Guiche had stood on the hill overlooking the battle and steeled his heart as best he could. When he said the words the mantle had begun to tremble on his back. Points of light had grown and burst forth in a wave of chilling luminescence that had left tears pouring down his face.

Moonlight was the Light of Memory, after all. All of the pain of the past few weeks magnified, every unsaid word and lost moment between him and his father and his brother dredged up and burned into the forefront of his mind. Every possible chance he had to change the outcome was thrown in his face and the anguish he felt burned as a cold fire in his heart, and on his back.

"Ignite, my sorrows; burn, my regrets; shine, Aurora Requiem."

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The howl split the night sky and sent shivers down the spine of every man, woman and child in Londinium. Something about the sound spoke to the most primal part of them; that darkness behind the eyes comprised of every remnant survival instinct that had been needed to drag their distant ancestors safely into the next day. It told that tiny bit in no uncertain terms that the origin of that noise could end them at its leisure.

There was another baleful cry following in the wake of the first as the clouds met the noise and shifted. Intent was carried to nature and it answered the desires of the caller. Vast and alien though it may be the power it wielded was curiously in tune with the forces of the world it had entered. Temperatures dropped sharply as winds picked up.

Within minutes a roaring gale slammed into the walls of the city with sufficient force to shake the stones and very nearly drive the rallying troops from the walls by strength alone. The aftermath was far weaker but it carried with it a biting chill that made it impossible to look over the walls. They tried nevertheless; well aware that something was coming.

Whispers of dark things carried through the men. Of monsters, of elves and worse besides. Many knew that patrols had been vanishing lately; disappearing down to the last man, horse and dog. This impossible weather pattern spoke to their growing dread and transformed it into frantic terror.

Outside, on the hill, Old Osmond watched with an expression of clear trepidation as the blizzard parted around them. Or to be more precise, and at this thought he glanced to his side at the titanic lupine creature standing beside them, it parted around the wolf. If he didn't know better he'd think the monstrosity looked almost smug.

Agnes had told him that it could control the weather, but he'd not really believed it. No lone creature could do such a thing, surely? Yet this 'wolf' seemed to be far more than a tremendous animal. It walked across the snow without leaving footprints, it commanded bird and beast alike to its bidding and now its howl summoned what would have been the worst Winter storm he'd ever seen… if only 'twere actually Winter.

"Well then, Headmaster. I'd say they're suitably distracted. Shall we get to work?" He looked over to Matilda and forced a smile. Even with this terrifying display there were still things for them to do. Although they could starve out the occupying forces that would kill the civilians too, and no matter the strength of the beast or its storm it couldn't breach the walls on its own. He and his former secretary unified their spells with careful coordination as they began to animate the earth beneath them.

Half an hour later, within the city, the few soldiers that could see cried out with terror as an almighty colossus rose into view; rising above the city walls in height and shaking the earth as it pulled itself to its feet. The winds parted for an instant as a stream of small, dark creatures poured through the storm. They were unhindered by the strong winds and that, in fact, was the only warning that they got. For an instant the awful winds stilled and then a feathered missile shot down to claw at exposed eyes and faces.

There was a tremendous rumble as the titan was finally completed and began its slow ponderous steps forward. Construction of two Square-class Earth Mages or not, such a thing would usually be a large and vulnerable target for magical bombardment; ineffective on an open battlefield and easily countered during a siege. However, any time the Reconquista's Officers tried to take the walls and target it a dozen murderous birds would appear out of the blizzard and swarm them.

It was bloody chaos.

Before long the earthen giant was close enough to the walls to demonstrate its true purpose. Rather than moving up and attacking them directly it merely collapsed forward; head smashing into the reinforced masonry and bursting open to deliver its cargo. Dogs streamed out by the dozen and more charged across the plain. Now that their construct had fallen it revealed the holes in the underside of its feet; tunnels that the canines could scramble up, following each other through the darkness, and exit through the head on to the walls.

They had many advantages. The animals hadn't just been battered by razor sharp wind and even sharper frozen hail for over half an hour. Even as they charged out the blizzard split and gave them a reasonable berth. Nor did they have to worry about being attacked on two fronts. Any soldier that tried to focus on the furry, biting horde was immediately blindsided by the feathered, clawing horde.

The rebels were already in full retreat when the First Wolf sprinted up the back of the collapsed giant and leapt into the city.

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On the plain of Tarbes a rout in one direction was already being turned in the other. Guiche de Gramont flicked his mother's sword through the pearlescent light streaming off his shoulders and then contemptuously cut down at his opponent's blade. The green flames on its surface sputtered out as he cleaved straight through the metal and directly into their skull a moment later. White light surged down his sword and purged the hateful energies from the corpse in an instant. As with all the others it died with a bittersweet smile on what remained of its face.

Kenneth had taken down another Dragonwight with the strange glassy bolts that he appeared to be firing directly out of his hands and there was just one left. It seemed reluctant to take wing and was rampaging through the ranks of what men were still trying to fight; keeping them between it and the dwarf. His familiar was circling around and slowly driving it towards him; if the thing had noticed there seemed to be nothing it could do about it.

Suddenly the men parted way for him and there was nothing between Gucihe and the dragon. It glared at him with undisguised hatred burning in its eyes. Quite literally, given the whispers he heard from the artifact on his back. Banefire was, at its core, the manifestation of one being's absolute loathing of life. It felt appropriate that he met it with the cold light of mercy.

The dragon breathed green fire; a tight spray that crossed the distance in moments. Guiche brandished his shield, shining with a white radiance, and Derf drank in the unholy magic. Throughout the battle he'd been cheering and crying with undisguised glee, crying out his appreciation for such a unique conflict. With the cloak protecting his back and the magic-devouring shield defending him from the front all remaining threat from the Wights had been erased.

Whatever the monster had been expecting to happen it clearly wasn't expecting Guiche to come charging through the spray of Banefire given that it recoiled for an instant when he emerged from the stream and handily removed its lower jaw. The stuff still made his skin crawl to come close to it but any that came too near was immediately wiped away by the waves of Moonlight rolling off his shoulders.

He ducked under the wild claw it swung at him and kept going; running between its forelimbs and taking a sharp left so he could spin around and cut through its right arm. Not for the last time in this battle he marvelled at the horrifying sharpness of his mother's blade; limited in its cutting potential only by how quickly he could swing. The trembling dragon collapsed onto its side a moment later and Guiche stabbed it in the side, released and then spun around in place.

Carbonised adamant was amazing at channeling… everything, really. Kenneth had made him a glove lined with some hard black substance so that he didn't die instantly when facing an Air Mage competent enough to use lightning. The trailing cloak of Moonlight had dragged itself across the blade and been sucked into it. There was a final tremble from the Dragonwight before, at last, the Banefire inside of it was overcome.

Guiche pulled his sword out and turned around to face utter silence. There was only one Wight left on the field but, as he watched, Kenneth removed its head and quickly shoved the body through the ground before it could detonate. Just like that… it was over.

They'd taken immense casualties. He couldn't tell how many at a glance but he knew it had to be in the hundreds. Probably more. Guiche had lost count of how many human Wights he had killed, Kenneth had taken out just as many, and even the soldiers had, by working with care and tandem, taken out about as much as either of them. Yet, for all that, so many had died…

The white light shining from his back finally died out as Guiche could no longer sustain the cost of keeping it active. Now that he was no longer surrounded by a nacreous corona it was plain to see that his face was stained with tears. Nobody dared to approach him; all the men milling about and casting fearful glances towards the still stationary airships on the horizon.

A heavy hand touched his shoulder and he looked up into the thickly bearded face of his familiar. Then he was enfolded in a warm hug that smelled only slightly of burnt pork. Guiche shook a little but didn't resist. He'd held on for as long as he had to but the price of Aurora Requiem was quite a simple one. It wasn't even really a cost, as such. More like a hazard, really.

Every second it was active he was bombarded by memories. Vivid and clear in every detail. A constant, unceasing reminder of his failures as a friend, as a master, as a commander, as a brother, and as a son. He'd been crying from the moment it began to burn and even now the words rang in his ears.

"Ye did well, lad." Kenneth released him, and then gently patted him on the cheek. Then he drew a slightly stained cloth from one of his many pockets and offered it to the young man to wipe his face. Guiche did so, and the dwarf smiled at him before turning his gaze to the distance.

"Why…" He had to swallow heavily for a moment, and take a deep breath to prevent his voice from cracking. "Why didn't they join the battle yet? They could have wiped us out by now. Something is… very wrong." His familiar nodded hesitantly, clearly agreeing with his assessment of the situation but still not quite trusting whatever conclusion he'd come to. "Kenneth?" The dwarf's stare didn't break but his shoulders tensed.

"Ah've no idea, boy. But wh'ever th' reason is it cannae be good fer us." The young man sighed and pulled himself to a standing position; raising his sword into the air and lifting the ground beneath his feet with a double-stacked Earth as he did so. Their reinforcements, the other Dragon Knights, had landed and were watching him along with the recruits.

"Men of Tristain!" All of his practice paid off in this moment as he projected his voice in as rousing a fashion as he could manage. The image of his father standing at the head of an army flashed into his mind for an instant before he continued. "We have fought off the first wave, but the enemy remains in our sight! Yet I say to you now… we shall not battle on."

There was a quiet murmur of disbelief, of dissatisfaction, of relief, of cowardice and more. As many different reactions as there were watchers. Guiche continued before the whispering could gain traction. "We shall cede this ground to our foes, and retreat. And we shall do this with honour! For this land we stand on," He gestured down at the raised platform under his soles, "This land is not Tristain." Silence met his proclamation, so he pointed his blade over at the town of Tarbes.

"And this village, its buildings and its farms... they are not Tristain!" All of them seemed confused by his rhetoric and yet fired up nonetheless. It wasn't in what he was saying, which mystified them, but how he said it; with a fire that was belied by the words themselves. "And our pride as soldiers, as citizens, as men... that pride is not Tristain." He was a little more reserved then as he waved his sword and lowered himself down.

Now standing among them, all eyes on him or at least in his general direction, Guiche continued. "You are Tristain. We are Tristain. They are Tristain." He gestured in turn to the soldiers, to himself, then in the direction the villagers had fled in. "If we stay and fight them now we will lose. And we will die, to the last man. It will be a brave and glorious battle! But we will die." His tone and expression were gravely serious at that moment. Words such as 'brave' and 'glorious' sounded almost like curses in his mouth.

"Then they will sweep past us and kill the men, women and children of Tarbes. Then they will charge into the heart of our country and bring ruin with them and none shall know that they are coming until they are already there. Therefore, we will flee. We will run away, and we will warn our countrymen, and then, in the end, we will kill a hundred of them for every man who fell today! This I promise you!" A ragged cheer rose that quickly became full-throated and eager.

"Now then, follow me soldiers of Tristain! Onward, to victory!" And thus, with the most ironic rallying cry in history, Guiche de Gramont sounded the retreat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Zharaqui sighed as she gazed at the scurrying soldiers off in the distance. They were organising to flee, huh? Well, that was disappointing but not unexpected. She'd hoped they would have sent for reinforcements and then dug themselves in here instead. Still, it was workable.

She turned and walked carelessly through the still-wet blood and past the corpses that covered the deck of the Flagship. As the wind shifted the Albionese vessels creaked slightly; that, and the occasional dripping, was the only sound that came from the fleet. The self-styled 'Admiral' of the rebel had wanted to press the attack. She had disagreed. That wouldn't serve her Master's purpose.

Of course, killing him had made the rest of the crew turn on her, and then the other ships had seen the mess and really it all seemed quite sensible if you looked at each step individually but the end result was quite messy. Fortunately, she didn't need the ships to do anything other than float there.

There was, belowdecks, a makeshift forge and piles upon piles of scrap iron. They weren't entirely necessary ingredients in the ritual, all she actually needed was the metal or even the ore in a pinch, but they made things faster. Much faster.

Pronouncing the words was quite difficult even with the blessing of her Master. The runes on her hand glowed with a dark light that twisted and formed a secondary symbol just above the surface of her skin as the space around her began to distort. By the power of the two-fold Void she was invoking something that ought not be within this realm and the world thoroughly disagreed with that.

Little tears appeared in the air as her words transformed; thought became language became intent became action. The pile of metal started to glow red hot and flow together as she spoke to it of heat and motion and, most importantly of all, of hatred. A thing that did not belong began to take form in the belly of the flagship.

Makeshift limbs tried to take shape and failed. Wood warped and blistered and began to crack and dissolve under the increasing heat and the strain on the fabric of reality. For a moment Zharaqui could hear laughter echoing through the rips in space and she rushed as much as she dared; between taking too long and tripping over one of the syllables she didn't know which could cause the most damage.

The laughter began to grow in volume and in variety. Men, women, children and more all united in their amusement over her predicament. It wasn't really an increase in raw volume, however, as much as it was a decrease in the distance between her and the origin. Sweat poured from her brow as the rents in the air grew in time with the undulations of the now spherical glob of molten metal that hung before her.

She wasn't afraid. Fear was not a luxury her Master allowed her. Yet even then she trembled for a moment as the laughter went utterly silent and a pair of bloodshot eyes surrounded by bandages met hers through one of the openings in space. At that instant she spoke the last word. Reality righted itself with a sharp snap as the distortions all around her closed.

Zharaqui knew she had succeeded when the wave of palpable loathing washed over her mind. She didn't stay to observe the results, however; by the time it hit her she was already flying up the stairs on to the main deck and when the first roar of abject hatred sounded she was halfway to the next ship. For the moment all she felt was a vague satisfaction.

However, when she heard the wood shattering as the thing she had made finally broke free of the vessel enclosing it, she allowed herself a faint smirk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

When they heard the sound Guiche noticed that Kenneth was trembling. The keel of the largest ship in the enemy fleet split moments later and a glowing orange-red shape fell out of it. The dwarf had already grabbed him by the arm and yanked the young man down to his level by the time it hit the ground; absolute terror writ large across his face.

"Guiche. Listen. Take them all and run. Don't argue. No questions. Run." His familiar spoke with the greatest clarity he'd ever heard from him. A moment later he pushed Guiche away and unslung his axe once more. The arm that held it was only shaking slightly but it might as well have been spasming wildly for how unusual that was.

A vaguely humanoid shape flung itself out of the smoking crater where the ball of what Guiche could only assume had been molten metal had hit. It landed heavily on all fours and then raised itself up and roared at the sky. The sound left all those who heard it certain of one thing; that whatever it might be this thing was coming to kill them. It wasn't like the Wights, who despised the living and brought ruin and suffering with them.

This creature hated you, personally, simply because it hadn't killed you yet.

"Go. Ah'll hold it off fer as long as ah can." The words shook Guiche to the core... but still, he obeyed. He called out to the soldiers; commanding them to take what they could and flee even as his familiar began to sprint out to meet the oncoming monster. Terror had been snatched from the jaws of victory.

Then a golden airship dropped out of the clouds.

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It was gaudy and ostentatious by its very nature; small and sleek apart from the shining plating inscribed with religious iconography on every available inch of the surface. A smirking man with golden breastplate and matching cloak posed ostentatiously on the prow as his vessel rapidly descended. In his outstretched hand a sphere of light crackled with energy. He released it; the beam of Starlight scything through six vessels and very nearly cleaving them in twain before the energy died out. One by one they began to drop from the sky.

He didn't turn his attention to the ground until he was done destroying the stationary airships. Of course, Iulius had long since realised they were empty but by the time they had hit the ground the damage to the bodies would be sufficiently obscured that none would dare to give him the credit. In truth, he'd been waiting out of sight for some time now in hopes that the dwarf would succumb to the Wights. Sadly, that had not been the case.

Now, though, even he could no longer stand idly by. Wights he could kill in the thousands, of that he was certain, but if their enemy was bringing Ashwalkers to bear then he needed to put a stop to it. One he could handle. Maybe even two or three. But there were several dozen airships and if she had the resources to craft one of the Forge Eaters for every vessel then he suddenly didn't trust their chances. Besides, even if he kept poor company the young man down there showed a fine spirit. Perhaps he might be of some use.

Iulius stepped off his vessel and dropped like a stone.

Thin white energy poured off in thick waves and formed, for a moment, a massive array of shining wings behind his back as he neared the ground. His feet touched down like a whisper as the very air itself caught him and arrested his momentum. It was majestic, and beautiful. On the way from the Holy Land he'd had a mild revelation. Of course he was the most singularly powerful entity in this world. But he'd been wasting that power on... well, brute force.

And that, he mused as the Ashwalker charged across the plain at him, was just plain stupid. It was why those elves had been able to defeat him. He'd been complacent; forgetting his roots. If you tried to power through with raw strength at home then you got killed by the first person smart enough to hit you at your weakest point and everyone had a weak point.

Blue light that looked like glass and flickered like fire and moved like water covered his forearm. It crackled and it cracked and it shot out at the oncoming abomination. The Ether struck it in the leg and invaded it; the energies animating it being forced out and the mundane laws of physical interaction took hold immediately. Since there was no longer any magic for the Ether to act upon it transformed into mere force. The end result being that the glob of liquid metal that used to be its knee was suddenly painted across the burning ground behind it and the thing came crashing down.

This barely slowed it down; a head and shoulders tore their way out of the back like a newborn monstrosity tearing its way out of the erstwhile mother it found itself in. The rest of its mass flowed into position around the rapidly rising shape and within seconds it was moving at full speed with a slight reduction in size. Even Iulius couldn't help but shudder slightly at the sight and the accompanying perfect understanding that although it hated all things in that moment its loathing for him was extremely personal.

That moment of pause had been all he needed, however. A second sphere of Ether caught it in the chest and formed a crater as a blast of fire and molten metal spurted outwards. An instant later a bolt of blue-white lightning tore through the air and hit in the middle of the freshly formed depression; it left a line of expanding fog in its wake and brought the monster to a thunderous, crashing halt.

This was Arclite; Ice and Lightning fused. A flow of energy that consumed energy and thus froze what it struck in sharp lines. Veins of black metal appeared running through the creature as a good portion of its mass was frozen solid by the power surging through it. It stumbled and fell and tore a gash in the ground as it did so; molten steel bubbling around the frozen steel thorns filling it.

Iulius gathered more power as he walked closer. It was thirty metres away and trying to rise. Twenty-five and pulling itself to its feet. Twenty and starting to stumble towards him. Fifteen and now it could move its body properly as the skeleton-like lattice inside it melted. Ten and it broke into a sprint. Five, and he unleashed the second bolt of Arclite into its centre mass.

A burning arm struck him as it lunged into the bolt and he sidestepped as best he could. Even so, it was fast and he'd needed a clear shot. Molten steel caked half his face and burned as it grabbed his right arm. The metal melted in an instant and clamped down as it tore; sufficiently hot to calcify flesh and bone as it ripped the limb apart. All of this happened in the second it took for the magic to reach its extremities.

Iulius collapsed sideways; steam and smoke rising from his flesh and pain assaulting his senses. He stood then; half-blind and in an intensely familiar agony. It was not the first time he'd been burned this badly, though he'd never lost a limb before. Beside him the frozen statue that had been the Ashwalker was motionless; he'd shoved enough Arclite into it to to kill an entire flight of dragons and had totally solidified it in the process.

Golden light shone from him so brightly that it made him hard to look at. He reached up with his good hand and began to roughly scrape molten steel and burnt flesh alike off his face and out of his wounds. It hurt more than almost anything he'd ever felt but pain had long since ceased being debilitating to him. He was one of the Chosen of the Golden King of Zunal. Pain was a luxury that he chose not to indulge in.

Which was very good; as his flesh screamed at him while healing magic flowed into it. On Kelicho, regrowing a limb was the purview of complicated ritual magic that even the most hardened veteran would balk at participating in. But here? His eye finished reforming at that moment and he blinked from the intensity of the light surrounding it as an eyelid began to form. Half of his tongue had just grown back and he ran it across the line of his teeth as they reformed in his gums. Clenched the agonised muscles in his upper arm as a new elbow came into being for the tendons to attach to and bones began to extend out from it.

Yes, he'd been quite foolish. Trusted in power over intelligence, in brute force over precision and in a strength that came and went as it pleased. Yet, as Iulius regrew an eye, half a face, and his entire right arm... immense power certainly had its perks. Not least of which being the look that was undoubtedly on the face of that degenerate Dwarven 'Hero'. That he, of the Golden Legion of Zunal, had so easily slain one of the foes that had made the 'Flamecutter' so very famous...

Wonderful. It was time to greet the young hero and lord his clear and factual superiority over the subhuman. He was certain that the expression he was about on the face of the latter would be absolutely priceless.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Sitting in darkness on an even darker throne a lone figure sighed. He flexed his right arm and idly stared at the way his skin moved for a moment. Then he cast his vision into the ring on his finger. Within, a black sigil had long since formed. Elsewhere, on the forehead of a steaming body, an identical symbol seemed to twist and shimmer. Were it not for the sinister feeling it gave off one might convince themselves the effect was merely a trick of the heat.

"I suppose that some things, one must do oneself."

 

[vyor]

Sitting in darkness on an even darker throne a lone figure sighed. He flexed his right arm and idly stared at the way his skin moved for a moment. Then he cast his vision into the ring on his finger. Within, a black sigil had long since formed. Elsewhere, on the forehead of a steaming body, an identical symbol seemed to twist and shimmer. Were it not for the sinister feeling it gave off one might convince themselves the effect was merely a trick of the heat.

"I suppose that some things, one must do oneself."

Click to shrink...

Well shit.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Edited the last chapter in preparation for the next. Also something else fun by not-me is inbound.

 

[LaughingProphet]

Here, have an Omake that I planned out around the same time the Alternate Summon Aside was put together and I just inevitably didn't get started until the other day.

Click to shrink...

Perfume and Powder​

He'd learned over the years that digging a shallow grave was much like every other task; if he wanted it done right, it was best to do it himself. He had to admit it was a peaceful task in its own ways. The muted ring of the iron spade driving into the earth, the weak crackling of dried, dead roots snapping as the earth was pulled loose and tossed away. In his youth expecting a nobleman to deal with such frivolous manual labor would have been outright unthinkable. There were people for such tedious and undesirable tasks.

He had not been a good man in those days. It had been a life in pursuit of power and luxurious, hedonistic extravagance at the expense of others. He understood that now. The history of the world, tarnished by the fetid dregs of society taking cruel and unforgiving power. There was no place for people like him here.

Times were too troubling for men with aspirations of supremacy. Too scarce for fattening decadence. Too harsh for those unwilling to settle their own tasks; clawing up a hard-earned life was no easy task.

He tossed the shovel aside like a scrap once the pit was sufficient.

"Throw it in." Issuing commands was in his nature. There was no need to quell a skill in being firm and direct in his statements. He was a Hunter, now. The order was less important than the man giving it; none of the others had his eye for the unnatural. It was steady in its watch as they brought the body forward.

It had taken a number of resources to dispose of properly, this one. Several pounds of salt, good cloth that could have served as bandaging for the sick and injured now tightly woven from head to toe. Chains and a solid lock, not iron made but real, proper steel that he sorely wished could have been reforged into weapons and armor. Blood shed before it was felled. That was the most damning.

"Pitch," he grunted to the others. "Burn it. Salt the earth and burn it. Burn it until nothing remains. We are not doing this again."

He stood watch as packs of salt were mixed into the upturned earth and the body smothered in black tar. Any time for theatrics and fanciful ritual was wholly out of the question. Nightfall was fast approaching; being outside the walls would be… inconvenient, if he wished to understate the inevitable. Mortal injury and death often were, he would admit that.

He was not well versed in weaponizing the unusual and occult, per se, but he was gaining a crude sort of proficiency in it.

There was a sharp clack at his waist as the impromptu pyre ignited. Habit led his hand to the handle of the crude, curved dagger tucked into his belt. The metal was warm even considering the blistering heat of the day earlier. More than that it practically thrummed with life against his fingertips.

Something was unquestionably, inescapably wrong now. He could taste it in the air, bile and copper burning against the back of his throat. The body was burning. Dead. The plan was working. It couldn't be that. Deep breath. Focus. Not the dagger, not right now, the rifle.

"Boss? What's-"

The man was silenced with a gesture as he unslung the longarm from his back. It was worn. Weathered, some people said. He'd never owned one when he attended the courts. Unsubtle, he thought he had called them. Ostentatious and overpriced. Yet here it was, his favored weapon when his iron dagger would not serve.

There was a spark of light at the tree-line and a hideous screech as a shambling, twisted form skittered and scurried into his sight. There were shouts from his men. Panic from some. Loud demands that they finish what they started come hell or high water. They struggled to come to terms with the situation and decide.

He was a man of action now. He did not think or pointlessly deliberate. Time was vital and precious.

He advanced.

---------

Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency was certain that claiming to be merely incensed by the travesty before her would be an understatement. When she'd been paired with the Zero she'd already been prepared for the worst. Obviously the ritual would fail. The girl who incessantly ruined the classrooms and studies of everyone surrounding her would be dismissed home. Then she would be paired with someone at least respectable at some less convenient time.

The sheer degree of failure, though, that was beyond her expectations. The blast had devastated Vallière's circle- typical of the Zero trying anything- and uprooted even her own, leaving a smoking crater in the middle of the Academy courtyard. Worst of all she was covered in dirt and dust and her meticulous curls were ruined. She was a glance at a mirror away from snapping her wand in two.

The sudden hysteria that erupted, piercing the embarrassing peals of laughter from her classmates, was a small distraction.

There was a warped screech from within the smoke. She would have scoffed at the notion it could have been human if it were a more pleasant occasion. Even then she couldn't imagine what sort of creature would make such a noise. It was a thought interrupted by a twisting lurch within the cloud, a series of sharp snaps that could only be breaking bone. For a fleeting instant her blood ran cold.

It was a misshapen thing covered in blood both fresh and old alike. It was an impossible form that could only have once been a man, but wrenched and forced into an array of unnatural angles, exposed wounds and flesh overgrown with some sort of vile blackness that swam through flesh as a shark through the sea. Even then in its malformed state it moved strangely, more a marionette more than a living being.

Its maw opened inhumanly wide as it awkwardly shambled from the smoke and out of the crater. She could hear the gasps of her fellow students at the sheer number of teeth it had. It looked more like its ribcage had been shattered and driven upward through its throat to give it more of them than it looked it had simply grown more.

This- this had been summoned. It was a brief consolation that the spell had at least functioned in some manner, overshadowed by the terror of seeing the thing that had seemingly answered the call. Such a hideous thing could hardly be what she would consider a viable familiar! It- It must have been what the Zero had summoned, so hideous and misshapen that only her stunted magical abilities would consider it a match!

Colbert had already brought his staff to bear when a flash of fire and a booming crack split the momentary silence. There were no Musketeers at the Academy as far as she had heard, but there couldn't have been one in the crater. The shriek of pain from the beast was nigh deafening. She'd lost track of when she'd lost her balance, of when she had begun her instinctive retreat and tumbled to the ground.

Another crack of flame and lead from the pit revealed the second shadow approaching, followed by a sharp metal clack and a third shot still as the barrel of the curious firearm extended from the cloud and its wielder followed. He was wounded in some clearly superficial manner, else he would not be standing, but surely he bled into the dark clothing he wore.

No doubt Professor Colbert would have rendered the horror wheeling to face its aggressor into an ashen dust were it not interposed with the gentleman. She felt a hand on her arm as her darling Guiche burst forward to withdraw her to safety with the assistance of his own hulking, thick-skinned familiar. It was a welcome beacon of safety as panicked students scrambled for their own around them.

Even Colbert was measuring the battle with a sharp eye and a set jaw from a safer distance. She had never seen any of the instructors in such a state, much less Jean Colbert. She had never seen a man battle a monster like this without the aid of magic before either.

In fact, as her brain caught up to her now that her horror found itself had been delayed, she'd never heard of a monster of this sort at all.

There was a brief click from the dark-haired man's weapon and a sudden frown as the beast lunged. The butt of his firearm sent chips of bone, teeth, and black ichor across the blast-flattened grass and upturned stone. As large and imposing as the creature was it fell lifelessly to the floor much like any beast shocked by sudden and substantial injury. Its time spent writhing on the ground, snapping wildly at the air with its too-many teeth, gave ample time for the man to reach into the small pouch at his belt and withdraw a number of brass-colored cylinders.

He was in the middle of feeding the handful of them into the side of his rifle when the creature thrashed, twisted, and hurtled into a standing position again by flexing its form within its own skin. She blanched at the sight of skin tearing and dark blood oozing from the fresh, self-inflicted wounds. Based on the sound of disgust and the startled squeeze from her favorite fop felt much the same about the sight.

While clearly a powerful weapon, the odd multi-shot rifle's continued use was untenable now that the beast had closed its distance. It was a show of remarkable caution that there was no misfire as the dark-clad man attempted to gather the distance to retarget, only to have the barrel shoved seemingly every which direction but toward the shambling horror scrabbling and clawing at him. The length and weight of the thing seemed to be objectively hampering his self defense.

It would explain why he seemed to let go as soon as the creature had a firm grasp on it. Wood splintered as it was wrenched it from his hands and flung across the courtyard. It struck Guiche's familiar, an affront that garnered little more than a disdainful huff from the hardy creature. If the Flame Snake had been ready for the opening, perhaps he would have been able to step forward in time.

With his stance staggered from the loss of his rifle, the creature pitched itself into the man and buried a sharp, jagged spike of bone extending from its forearm into his chest. Already it was howling and baying at its victory. Its warped animal mind failed to think he would reach for his knife anyways. Crude, dark iron, hammered into shape by an individual that would never deign to call themselves a smith in any form of the world.

A weapon for a desperate man who cared more to kill monsters than his own physical integrity.

He stood upright, suddenly, hand grasping the horror's arm firmly in place as he plunged the wicked, curved blade into its stomach- she thought that was where its stomach would be- in retaliation. In comparison to his own response of pain, hardly a wheezing grunt of a lung being suddenly and wholly punctured, the shambling thing was veritably screaming as red-hued firelight poured from its festering flesh.

It was panicking. She hadn't been sure of it at first; how could you read fear out of something so grotesque?

For having an ostensibly fatal wound he was still astonishingly swift. She hardly had time to register the withdrawal of the blade before it hacked into the spike of bone like a cleaver. There was a sharp snap as bone and sinew alike split apart. A quick tug of the skeletal lance withdrew it from his chest; a quick jab struck it through the beast's eye and staked it to the ground.

She wasn't sure if it was shrieking or if it was screaming. It flailed against the dirt wildly, screeching like some tainted swine fit for slaughter.

"Gun," he wheezed. His hand had drifted to his chest, blood pooling and spattering the ground beneath him with every breath. It was a mortal wound, she had no doubts of that. Even with alchemical assistance the finest healers in Tristain would find little to do but ease the pain. But…

"Gun. Gun! Bring it to me. Now."

He was still standing. She had been watching the fight with such rapt attention she hadn't seen the Professor rotate towards her and Guiche, as the closest students to the immediate conflict. She also hadn't seen him grab hold of the rifle to return to the wounded fighter. He did not hesitate. He hardly looked to Colbert at all as his weapon was returned. He dropped his sadistic dagger, shoved the barrel deep into the beast's chest and pulled the trigger.

There was a final, terrible squeal before the gunshot ruptured its torso and it fell limp with nary a dying twitch.

The silence was not refreshing but it certainly seemed that the battle had concluded. It was an opportune time for the man to throw aside his weapon, stagger aside, and double over with a fit of hacking, blood-saturated coughing. Eventually the exertion of the affair sent the man falling to his knees. Then, one hand numbly fumbling at his chest while the other mustered what little effort it could to keep him upright.

"Call a healer!" It was fortunate that Colbert had managed to keep his head on straight in the ensuing madness. The higher-year students too, even if their particular standard of focused and ready was to be slightly less shocked and alarmed than the rest of them. She could see one- Kirche's friend Tabitha?- rapidly departing as the first to regain their wits. On the opposite side Vallière quietly ushered yet a third figure from the crater, a seemingly shocked and disoriented red-clad peasant of all things.

Were it another time she would no doubt be volleying insults towards the Zero. She could already think of one about summoning some terrible monster and catching some peculiar nobleman and his servant in the process. She simply couldn't muster the effort this time though. She had been the one closest to the beast when it first revealed itself. Now that the shock of it had faded she still felt numb.

"Sir, you-"

"burn it, burn the body before it gets up-"

"Sir, it is dead, and you are dying. We have a healer-"

"you don't understand." The man's bloody hand fumbled weakly, reaching up and grabbing Colbert by the collar to forcibly drag him down to face him. His dark hair was wild from the rush, drops of blood spattered over his face and the dense but neatly-groomed beard. Everything about him seemed to be dark, really. His hair, his clothes, his eyes. Except for one, as he scanned his surroundings. She only met his gaze for an instant

"can't you feel it?"

One eye, iris circled by a piercingly bright silver light. Each breath cast a cold fog as though he bore winter itself in the height of spring.

"it's here, too."

---------

His recovery was nothing less than impossible. She'd heard more than enough from the faculty at the Academy- her own family, even- to know that men did not simply recover from mortal wounds. She and Vallière had even mutually appealed to Headmaster Osmond directly for a second attempt at the summoning ritual only to be struck down with his definitive proof that they had, in fact, succeeded.

Montmorency was well versed in a number of subjects; history, alchemy, and various applications of Water magic to name only a few. Even with her own extensive comprehension of the world she was wildly uncertain about the entire affair. She could have gotten a normal familiar. One that hadn't come dragging a fight with it- something that should have been impossible in the first place- or even just a base animal familiar from an independent summoning ritual. A frog, even! She would have even been fine with just a frog!

… Maybe a poisonous one.

Still, it had been a week. Vallière's familiar- Saito of something or another- had already gained whatever measure of approval the Zero had to offer. As sobering as the idea was, Montmorency still found the whole scenario frustrating. She hadn't even gotten to talk to her apparent familiar. It was still a foreign concept to her, a man that at least seemed human despite his unnatural constitution and rate of recovery as a familiar. She'd wanted a true familiar, not some gruff mercenary bodyguard or combat-ready butler.

If anything she'd spend enough time deliberating over the matter in front of the infirmary door. She was Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency! How could she possibly hesitate at a time like this? The man may have outright saved her life, and even that was surely understating the matter! She could walk in there, offer him her thanks, and… well, she hadn't quite thought far enough to decide if he would find being a familiar agreeable or not. She wasn't going to find out standing here either.

She hadn't quite mustered the courage to actually knock on the door when he opened it. It was a shock in a variety of ways. Seeing him standing, genuinely of his own volition and without extensive bandaging and a healer at his side… She'd been informed of his rapid recovery but scarcely believed it wasn't exaggerated until now. Even believing that he had recovered at all had been difficult.

Some things hadn't changed. His eye, for one, nor the subtle wisps of fog with each breath he took. But he was alive, perhaps even well, and most certainly not bleeding everywhere. All the factors combined gave him a far more imposing air than she'd readied herself for.

"I have been informed this nation is called Tristain," he began, "is that correct?" He certainly wasn't local; the hint of the accent she didn't recognize said that much. Try not to be offended that this simpleton is bypassing the fundamentals of noble courtesy, he did rescue you from whatever fate that gruesome thing had in mind for you… She nodded her affirmation. There was momentary glimmer of something in his eye as he pursed his lips in quiet contemplation. "Do come in, then. I understand we have matters to discuss." Finally she was invited in. He even held the door politely, befitting a woman of her station.

"Also, I have made tea."

She would admit she had spent a moment questioning what some sort of violent, bizarrely well-groomed vagabond's taste in tea would be. He certainly seemed full of surprises. Recovering from what should have been fatal injuries with nary a sign he was worse for wear. Well-spoken even if the fur cloak and black leather gambeson gave him a threatening, striking appearance. A taste for smooth, hand-prepared tea with a subtle sweetness that left her in a state of significant and extensive contemplation.

"The healer was… pleasant," he stated after taking pause to enjoy the moment. He seemed curiously fond of looking to the window and idling in the breeze. "I have never heard of a nation called Tristain, you know. Nor have I heard of Romalia, or Germania… Perhaps an Albion, once, though undoubtedly not yours." For a moment he looked across to her, before his attention drifted towards the daylight again. "The only Albion I have knowledge of sank into the heart of the world centuries before I was born, and history would have taken register of the surrounding nations of the time. Therefore, I cannot be in the past of my own world."

It was never a statement intended for her to have an answer to. It went beyond a number of basic, polite protocols for a stranger to prattle on as he did without so much as a proper introduction. Still, she held her tongue, in part because of how genuinely delightful the tea was and in another because of the knowledge she was gleaning of his origins. It was information offered freely. Her parents had always spoken highly of those willing to divulge such things without provocation.

"A curious place your world must be, to pull a man from another." He sipped at his tea before a moment's observation led him to add another lump of sugar to his cup. "Even at the height of Kelicho's arcane might there were no mages capable of so much as shifting to another state of reality, much less another entirely. You have something rather impressive here, though I was informed these events are thoroughly unheard of." If nothing else there was a cleverness to match his fighting talents. Even his time recovering had given him opportunity to study his surroundings. "And an academy full of Noble children and heirs, no less. That was a pleasant surprise."

A moment's silence followed. It was a welcome peace after the events of the summoning and the week that had followed. The whole endeavor seemed positively unreal. First being paired with the Zero, to nearly getting killed by what had come out of the ritual, and now having tea with a man who objectively should have been dead. There was no continuation until a sideways glance revealed a thought that had slipped by.

"Ah. Yes, I am very sorry. I have made a careless blunder, I would be greatly obliged if you forgave me. It has been… some time since nobility has been involved with my affairs. We have not even been properly introduced, have we?" It was as though a wave of tension unraveled through her form. Thank the Founder, he was civilized. He'd even recognized the social faux pas without so much as a subtle sound of admonishment or disapproval.

"Indeed, we have not!" She wasn't certain why she was feeling so chipper suddenly. Perhaps it was that damnably wonderful tea. She would have to ask him to make more of that if he was to be her familiar… "As your summoner, I feel obliged to inform you that I am Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir..."

There was a far-off look in his eyes as his ostensibly calm features faltered for the briefest of instants. He nodded to himself after a moment, just in time for her to refrain from a gentle ahem to move him along in his thought process. Contrary to the routine beliefs she had propagated amongst her peers she was not particularly patient. Guiche was difficult enough to feign an indifference towards at the best of times. She could feel the twitch in her cheek under her eye at this alleged gentleman's measured pace.

"Meridin," he finally stated. Her brow had furrowed before the thought occurred to her that it would be a gesture best suppressed. A singular name? No family name, no formal title? She was beginning to question his claim to have interacted with noble families when he rose to his feet. "I was called Meridin Alasdair Sen Keir von Karne once. I was the fourth-born son of a tyrant, and a victim of my own frivolous aspirations. It may be that you never grasp the magnitude of what you have done by calling me…"

There was an unusually intense moment as he stood there metering his words carefully. She met his moment of consideration with one of her own. She had to admit it sounded preposterous to think that she had wronged him, but still she braced for an undeserved admonishment.

"… but you have my gratitude for offering me freedom from a broken home. I would be pleased to discuss the terms of our… agreement immediately with you and whichever adviser you deem trustworthy in such a matter."

She felt a grin play across her face. Perhaps being assigned to summon alongside Vallière was looking up after all.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Guiche couldn't help but stare blankly at the monster walking towards them. There was no other response that seemed to suit the situation. Beside him Kenneth seemed to be practically vibrating with condensed fury and terror both; the dwarven warrior visibly restraining himself from charging across the distance and doing… what, exactly?

The young man had recognised the symbols on the golden airship that was descending. It was a vessel of the Holy Church of Romalia; at the very least, none would dare to fake such iconography. Yet this… he couldn't think of it as a man, no… this smiling thing couldn't possibly be from this world.

They idly picked bits of molten metal out of the visibly regenerating flesh of their arm as they sauntered over without a care in the world and look all the more horrifying for it. A good quarter of their armour was just gone; the vanquished monstrosity had ruined it when they'd torn his arm off. There it was, though… new flesh forming beneath a thick haze of golden light that had stopped his men cold at the sight.

"Well met!" A voice split the air between them as the thing called out. It sounded surprisingly human. But Guiche only knew of one man-shaped creature that could survive a fall of that magnitude and wield magic of that calibre. This, though… it definitely wasn't an Elf, that much he could be certain of. Suddenly, the young noble realised that the… 'man' had ceased his approach and seemed to be waiting for something.

"... ah. Ah! Yes, quite. Well met, good sir. I am Guiche de Gramont, Captain of the Undine Knights and senior officer of this training camp. We thank you for your most gracious rescue in our hour of need." Which he was thoroughly relieved to find out this was. If they'd had to fight an enemy who had just taken out something even Kenneth was afraid of…

"Oh, ye can piss right off to the Depths ye misbegotten son of a Zunali goat! Take one more step towards us and ah'll finish what that Ashwalker started!" His familiar pushed him aside and stepped forward; brandishing his axe and visibly gathering power in the way the earth heaved beneath his feet. The man stopped, face still frozen in a grin that had become more of a hateful death-rictus.

"Can I now? Tut-tut, little hero. We're not on Kelicho right now and you probably don't want to start another war over your little… prejudice." The dwarf bristled at the wording of that statement and continued to glare with unbridled hatred… but, after a long pause, lowered his weapon. Then the man turned and bowed his head to Guiche.

"Iulius Caesar Aurelius of the First Divine Legion of Romalia. General Aurelius, in fact. I was dispatched by His Holiness, St. Aegis the Thirty-Second, to assist the nation of Tristain in repelling the heretics of the Reconquista." That was… unexpected. This man was a mage of unsurpassed power and yet even with the increase in strength that came with the transition to this world Guiche was certain that Kenneth had mentioned the overall destructive capabilities of his homeland's mages was… well, frankly, inferior to their Halkegenian counterparts.

It seemed reasonable to expect one to become equivalent in the transition but such a massive growth in strength was… it was terrifying. He half-suspected the man of being a disguised elf or vampire or lich or worse, given his place of origin. However, he also vaguely recalled Kenneth mention the nation of Zunal.

A fiercely xenophobic military power that was still growing in his homeland. Apparently they had been responsible for a number of massacres and atrocities in their expansion thus far but had yet to truly turn the whole world against them. Even so, their distinctly 'pro-human' policies had caused no small amount of friction. Unsurprising that this man might be welcomed here.

Guiche's thoughts of political discourse were derailed by a point of confusion. He pointed into the mid-distance, at the ground, and turned his head to where his familiar was trying to have a staring match with Iulius; the man having fully recovered his body and turned to slowly reforming the remnants of his armour into its previous shape.

"Kenneth… is that meant to happen?" The dwarf looked over to follow the line of Guiche's pointing. Across the plain the grass was slowly turning black and dying. Tendrils of dead vegetation were stretching out from where the Ashwalker had perished and a slowly expanding circle of darkness was following in its wake. To their credit as warriors both Kenneth and Iulius ceased any pretense of conflict.

"... no, lad. It's not." As he said that a pillar of black flames exploded upwards from the cooling wreckage of the Ashwalker. Moments later a hand parted it; the metal was glowing a pale white and the cracks in the surface… he didn't have the right word for it. They seemed to devour the light. The renewed Ashwalker pulled itself free of the inferno and roa-

his father's face ashen and pale brother eyes blank knife in hand montmorency with blood pouring out of her neck kenneth's face empty hole through his heart wardes coughing up blood and falling to the ground saito's spine breaks as he hits the bannister and spins away louise is knocked backwards in a hail of musket fire tabitha falls mutely from her dead dragon and strikes with a sickening cra-

A struck him in the chin and Guiche came back to his senses. He was on his knees; tears streaming thickly down his cheeks and his throat still hurt from the screaming and he was still screa-

Then a second blow the other direction and he again regained his senses. His entire body felt cold and empty, his hands were trembling and Kenneth had to haul him bodily to his feet. The dwarf was shouting something at him but he couldn't be because he'd seen him die

"IGNITE, MY SORROWS!" At the first shout the shimmering cape on his back became an inferno of white light reaching out and encompassing everything.

"BURN, MY REGRETS!" Like a thick fog meeting dawn the unutterable terror melted in the wake of the soothing coldness that came with the cloak.

"SHINE! AURORA REQUIEM!" And then Guiche was free of it. Kenneth was supporting him and he felt so very cold but he had regained his wits. Looking around he could see the men near him affected by the wave of white light pouring off his shoulders but Guiche had no idea how long he could sustain it. The cloak fed off the user in part and even if efficiency was enhanced due to the abundance of magical energy in Halkegenia it still couldn't last forever.

Outside of the circle of light cast by Guiche things were much more chaotic. Many men who'd ceased fleeing when the Ashwalker had been defeated were fleeing so fast they fell over their own legs every few feet. Others had collapsed into helpless piles of sobbing terror. The monster was still howling at the sky and Kenneth was right there with a grim expression. It can't have been more than a few seconds but it had felt…

"Guiche." The dwarf eyed him as he turned to his familiar; ashen-faced and trembling. "Are ye there, lad?" Slowly, the young nobleman nodded. He checked his forearm and found that his shield had gone silent and trembling.

"Derf? Derflinger! Can you hear me?" The animated object's 'mouth' shivered for a moment before twisting into a hateful expression.

"P-partner. Y-yeah. I'm… I'm here. That thing… I don't know what it is, but it's wrong. There's magic in it but it's twisted… tainted, even. And it's very…" His shield seemed to almost snarl and spit out the last word. "Familiar. We have to kill it, Kenneth! Right now! It's killing the very land around it!"

Guiche felt that the former sword was right on the mark. The plants had decayed and turned to a thick black ash; it was nothing like the sort left behind by a fire, though. Rather, there was a cloying smell of decay in the air like a thousand years had passed in an instant.

"We do. Kenneth, can you fight?" The dwarf looked startled, but nodded. "General, are you with us?" He looked to the golden man and was surprised to find terror written across his face. Even so, the older man nodded after a moment. "Alright. With me, then. This artifact can keep the fear it produces at bay for all of us; perhaps it will have an effect upon the creature."

"Guiche, you can't-" Kenneth's protests were cut off by a bright-bladed sword flicking out of its sheathe.

"I can. And I will. These are my men, Kenneth, and you are my familiar. The General has no authority. I am the senior officer here, and you will follow my instructions! I know you wish to protect me but this is a threat that we must face together!" His earnest outburst seemed to startle the dwarf into a brief silence. Off in the distance the howl of terror ended and the newly reborn Ashwalker burst into black flames. Guiche pointed at it.

"That monster is attacking my homeland, Kenneth. It's poisoning the land, it just incapacitated an entire army and I cannot allow it to get any further! So either help me or by Brimir get out of my way!" A thunderous noise drew their gazes to the creature; it had just taken a shaky step but seemed to be growing more confident in its movements with every successive one.

"... aye. Aye. Yer right. Let's go!" Man, dwarf and boy began to run together; all enmity forgotten in the face of their foe. As they drew closer and the thing began to charge Kenneth called out to him. "Guiche, lad! What's the plan?" The young man tightened the grip on his sword and focused on the monster as hard as he could.

"... the heat aura is gone! Kenneth, face it directly! General, keep it off balance! Give me an opening and I'll bring it down! Derf?" The shield creaked acknowledgement. "Think you can handle it then?" There was a laugh from the animated face.

"If I can't then we're all screwed anyway, partner! Let's do it!" A savage grin found its way on to Guiche's face. That's right. This was it. A pure moment of utter stupidity.

"Let's do it!" He pointed his sword forward as he ran. "For Tristain!"

Then Kenneth launched himself forward and slammed feet-first into the face of the monster.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

This particular bar in La Rochelle was known to be home to a less… legitimate breed of airship captains. In the chaos of recent events many had flocked to this place in the hopes of making a good bit of cash; either by signing on as mercenaries for whatever side would have them or by raiding both indiscriminately. All of those who survived the next few days would come to greatly regret that decision.

The doors slammed open and a young man with piercing yellow eyes stepped in. He was wearing a long red hooded coat, sleeveless, and little else; the arms of his white shirt having been torn open to reveal a wide variety of tattoos in multicoloured ink. When he spoke it was with a voice that didn't match his youthful appearance and at a tone that was highly reminiscent of a snarling dog.

"I require passage to Albion at once." There was a general chuckle from the bar and then a man stood up and sauntered towards the glaring young man.

"I think you're in the wrong place, brat. Try the po-" His sentence ended as soon as he came into arm's reach of the young man. A dagger had appeared in his right hand but it was totally clean. Instead, the fingers of his left dripped with flesh blood. Four perfectly circular puncture wounds were now present in the former human's throat.

"Who here has the fastest ship?" The tone of voice didn't change but the atmosphere had. All of them were frozen. Saito looked around with murder in his eyes until one shaken man pointed at the corpse beside him. That got a glare from the young familiar that caused the fully grown man to wet himself. "If you can fly his ship then step forward now. Otherwise, I'll kill you where you are. And if you lie to me I'll kill you slowly." He had several volunteers and, thus, took all of them. The remainder sat stock still in growing puddles of their own urine until the terrifying demon-boy had left.

Ten minutes later an airship departed. It was utterly foolhardy of them to do so given it was in the late evening and the weather was, frankly, awful. But the port's authorities didn't especially care about the movements of pirates.

Saito stood on the prow of the ship as it rose into the clouds. All of the power in his Air Runes gathered at once and he kicked out; seeming to split the sky as a blade of wind divided the water vapour before him and revealed the night sky so the unlucky new captain of the vessel could set a heading. Then he stared out into the black abyss; fist clenched.

During the sprint from the Vallière's estate, a two-day journey by horseback for reasonable people, his fury had chilled to the perfect state of icy hatred that suited his people. He was busy thinking of inventively horrible things he would do to Wardes if even a single hair on Louise's head was harmed. And if, Gods forbid, she wasn't alive when Saito found her?

Then he'd kill them all of the Reconquista. Every last soldier, every Noble, every person who'd ever supported them, sheltered them, condoned them or even so much as had peaceful dealings with them. He would raze the entire damned continent to the ground if he had to. And in the ashes he would plant the true Crimson Banner so that all future generations could learn the most important unspoken law in all of Kelicho.

Do not mess with the Bannermen.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Fighting the Black Ashwalker felt like fighting against death itself. Or at least, Guiche imagined it must be like this. His skin felt cold every time it lashed out and the dark fire that surged forth with every strike seemed to be eroding the very ground around them. The Moonlight pouring off his cloak was keeping it at bay.

Iulius had shrouded himself in the same energy and was launching bolts of golden fire at it whenever he got a chance. He had to dodge, however, as he had turned out to be far more vulnerable to it than Kenneth. An idle strike had transformed his exposed arm into a withered husk and caused his armour to rust away seemingly from the inside out.

The dwarf, meanwhile, was highly resistant to the direct effects of the unholy magic. Guiche was certain it was due to his nature as a partial Elemental. Even then this beast was tenacious. Kenneth ducked under a wild swing and smashed his axe through the thing's arm but it wasn't even slightly inconvenienced. The surface had exploded in a gout of shadowy flames and the limb had remained intact.

Guiche was having to stay back and surge his cloak every time it made a move in his direction. Without Kenneth's insane vitality and Iulius' unfair regeneration magic a direct hit would be fatal to him even if he could negate the fire. It seemed to shy away from the ethereal white light but wasn't actually damaged by it.

Iulius' golden flames seemed to eat at it for a few moments before the black fire devoured it in turn. The curious blue, glass-like energy that Kenneth had used earlier and the General was trying now seemed to be even less effective. As soon as it came close to the Ashwalker it seemed to corrode and shatter in the air.

He flicked out his wand and summoned a pair of his Valkyries to try and distract it somewhat. They didn't even get close before they collapsed into piles of black rust. Guiche could feel the magic he'd invested in them being burnt away as well; a horrific sensation indeed.

"Derf, are you alright?" The shield had been trembling throughout the battle but wasn't otherwise any worse for wear. Still, he could see a faint tarnishing about the edges of it despite his best efforts to keep the dark fire away from him.

"Holding together, partner! I've been through worse than this!" Guiche suspected that this was a lie but he appreciated it all the same. Iulius deflected a wave of black flames with a wall of Moonlight that suddenly sputtered out halfway through; the resulting shockwave smashed him backwards. The Ashwalker immediately leapt at the most vulnerable of the three; Guiche.

Kenneth was there before he could blink; swinging a forceful punch with a shining blue left arm. It shattered in a blast that was near-blinding as soon as it struck the monster's chest; sending dwarf and beast flying backwards and spinning off their feet. Guiche did something that surprised even himself; charging past his downed familiar and flicking his sword outwards.

The pale blade absorbed Moonlight and passed right through both legs as the face-down Ashwalker tried to lift itself up. This time it seemed to stick as the white light fought against the black fire and it collapsed back down. His sword flashed again; carving white lines through the body again and again. All four limbs had been removed now and the thing was writhing beneath him as it fought to shift its form. Whatever change had been made to it had rendered its body less malleable, though, and the cold-burning liquid metal was solidifying under his feet with each slash of white light.

"Guiche, now!" Derf called out his name and he immediately rammed the spiked shield into the body of the Ashwalker; loosing it from his arm right after and pulling back. He focused his mind and willpower then poured both magic and memory into Aurora Reqiuem; it exploded into a pillar of white light as tears ran thickly down his face for the umpteenth time today.

Beneath him the black fire was forced down and Derfflinger was visibly corroding as he devoured the animating force of the Ashwalker. It seemed to be almost at a stalemate; until Guiche shoved his sword through the shield and beast alike. The magic was conducted beautifully; the rose on his hilt becoming a glorious beacon in the evening light as the entire blade shone from within.

Then his footing destabilised and Guiche collapsed into a pile of foul-smelling liquid. There was no more fire, no more sense of dread, no deep chill in his muscles. It was… he pulled himself up and tried to wipe the metallic goo from his body. Then he saw Derfflinger.

The loyal shield was barely there now. His sword was gingerly removed from it with a twinge of guilt and he turned it around to hold in his hands. Even with a good half of it corroded away around the edges the remains managed to look smug at him.

"Heh… we sure showed it; eh, partner?" Suddenly the animated armament broke into a hacking couch that Guiche was pretty certain was a horrible sign. "Oof… that was a nasty tasting one. But we beat it, didn't we?" The young noble looked around. There was a slowly spreading pool of black something that still partially held the shape of the Ashwalker's limbs. For hundreds of metres in every direction the grass was more than dead. It looked like the ground itself had been transformed into a quagmire of rot and decay.

"... yeah, we did." A pained expression crossed his face as he gently touched the jagged edges of his trusty shield. "Derf… I'm sorry. I've treated you rather poorly. With everything that's happened I don't think I really appreciated you…" The shield twisted in a way that perhaps was analogous to shaking its head at him and smiled.

"Don't apologise. We had a good run, and you've shown me some pretty amazing battles! I've not had someone like you to fight with in... well, a long time. Apart from a little lack in polishing you've been a pretty great partner." There was another round of racking coughs from the metal being in his hands and part of it broke off. "Pretty sure this is it, though. That stuff did a number on me. Not sure how much longer I can hold together…"

Guiche felt… torn. This wasn't the first person he'd lost in battle. There had been plenty of bodies today to keep him company in his dreams. But this felt… worse, somehow. Closer to home. He'd known this might happen and chosen the path anyway. Derf had agreed to it, but… from the beginning he had treated the animated shield as more of a tool than a friend.

"Derf... " What could he say? This was just another in the line of his failures. One of many, as of late. The shield's face contorted into a frown.

"Don't you go feeling sorry for me, kid. I'm a few thousand years old and short more than a few screws. Your dwarf told me I might not even survive the reforging and I was still willing to give it a go! Anything to get a little more excitement in my life. This ain't such a bad way to go. Fighting alongside Halkegenia's next great hero." Derf grinned at him and Guiche felt a little better. That's right. They'd… they'd done it, hadn't they? The monster was gone and, Guiche glanced around quickly before allowing his thought to continue, there were no more threats.

… the day was won. Soldiers in the distance seemed to have recovered their senses somewhat and were gathering again. Ragged cheers were going up; celebrating being alive as much as anything else. He could see them moving to pick up the dead and wounded, pull tents back up and do what they could. Heroes. They were heroes, weren't they? He was a hero.

"Hey, Guiche." The voice was a little quieter. "Go check on your familiar, too. I'll be fine a bit longer." That startled him fully out of his funk. Kenneth! He was about to rush off when he remembered he was still holding Derf and, well, didn't want to jostle him. Nor did he want to put him back down in the… whatever that thing had become. So he tossed out one of his last few Vakyries and passed the shield to it to hold while he dashed over to check on the dwarf.

Saying that his familiar was a little worse for wear would be a severe understatement. There were burns on his face and right hand that were very slowly being healed under a golden glow from said hand and his left arm was… well, it was gone. The entire thing had been shattered down its length and rained to the ground in little chunks around them. Kenneth was grinning from ear to ear, though, and was therefore probably going to be fine.

"We did it, lad!" His beard clacked as he laughed happily and Guiche couldn't help but smile in kind. "We killed the damned thing! Ah've no idea what it was, but we… nay, ye killed it! That's me boy!" His glee was infectious and before long they were laughing together. Then Kenneth awkwardly pulled himself to his feet and examined the damage.

"Not too bad, eh? Feel like ah'm short a few years o' me life but that's what this," He tapped his semi-earthen chest, "Is for. Still… bit of a bugger about th' arm. Red made it. Not sure ah kin rig up a replacement on me own, even with Colbert…" The dwarf shrugged. "Well, 'twere definitely worth it. C'mon, lad. We ought t'see if the Zunali scumsucker is still breathing, even if he is a waste of good meat." Guiche nodded; still somewhat startled by the sheer harshness of Kenneth's invective.

Then, quite suddenly, the connection to his Valkyrie snapped. His head likewise spun wildly to face the construct as he readied his weapon expecting to see a new horror to fight. Instead the golem was merely standing still with the remains of a metal shield falling between its fingers and into the muck.

"Oh, no. Derf…" Guiche hurried over, Kenneth trudging along behind him, and knelt in the muck. The damage had finally overcome whatever magic had been keeping the shield intact and it had split in 'twain. He picked up the two largest pieces in either hand with a heavy heart and then bowed his head in sorrow.

Then…

"... partner?" The young man's head snapped up to look at his former Valkyrie. It appeared to be looking back at him and was radiating confusion. "... you know, I thought that we'd been through the weirdest stuff I'd ever seen but this?" The ex-shield held up his, or possibly her, new hand and stared at it with clear disbelief. "This tops everything else."

Guiche was too busy hugging his new old friend to listen to the rest.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

"Something not going according to plan, Viscount?" Wardes tried to ignore the hatred in Louise's voice as they hovered some few miles distant from the city of Londinium. The conquered city of Londinium. Well, it was already conquered before but now the Reconquista's banners had been cast down, or set alight in some cases, to be replaced with the former royalty's.

He wasn't entirely sure how this had happened given the entire Royal Family of Albion was definitely dead. After all, he'd seen to that personally. Their armies had been crushed by the brutal combination of Reconquista's ruthless tactics and the predations of his ultimate master's unholy servant. There shouldn't be anything left to resist.

But he could see the corpses of the rebels piled up outside the gates, a massive stone golem collapsed against one of the walls and what looked like a black cloud above the city turned out to be, upon use of magic to enhance his eyesight, a swarm of literally thousands of birds; of prey or otherwise. Many still had bloody talons and it was fairly easy for him to link that fact with the lack of eyes in many of the corpses.

Then there was the Wolf. For some reason his brain just added the capital letter on its own. The thing was the size of houses, plural, and it had been roaming around the outside of the city when he'd come into view. Now it was looking straight at him and he could have sworn it even met his gaze. From where she was tied to his saddle Louise couldn't see it but she could tell he was dismayed.

"..." He opened his mouth to reply to her but it felt… pointless. Londinium had been his main hope. Taking her to the Reconquista and staying there for as long as he could in order to keep her away from the Mad King. Now, though… there wasn't much of a choice. All of Halkegenia would be converging on Tristain to help repel Zharaqui's insane assault and if they defeated it they'd be coming to Albion next. Saito wouldn't be far behind him either.

Hating himself for the choice he was making Wardes spurred his exhausted steed to turn and head onward. There was another base to the North where he could commandeer an airship. Then he'd head to his last… well, his last point of retreat, he supposed. It was a bit of a stretch to call it either a 'haven', or even 'safe'.

But, as things stood, Gallia was all he had left.

 

[GiftofLove]

Well, if Serf can take over a plane, why not a construct meant for war? I'm kinda jealous I never thought of it.

Strange that Wardes wants to avoid the Mad King, but is willing to head to Gallia anyway.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Strange that Wardes wants to avoid the Mad King, but is willing to head to Gallia anyway.

Click to shrink...

He has a clear hostage, the world is about to be embroiled in war and for all he despises Joseph he obeys because he's afraid of him. Wardes wanted to use Albion as a smokescreen to keep Louise away but with Londinium falling he feels it's just not safe.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

He has a clear hostage, the world is about to be embroiled in war and for all he despises Joseph he obeys because he's afraid of him. Wardes wanted to use Albion as a smokescreen to keep Louise away but with Londinium falling he feels it's just not safe.

Click to shrink...

Yeah because Sato going Ninja Gaiden on Albion then Gallia is safe. Brilliant logic!

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Captain Alden of the Reconquista airship noted, with some relief, that their target slowed as they approached and even began to fly their own colours; the familiar red flag easing some concerns. Of course nothing remained of the Royalist fleet but with the recent events in the Capitol he'd feared, as they all had, that a secret army was lurking in wait somewhere to sweep them from the isles.

That said army had yet to materialise, leaving the fall of Londinium a terrifying mystery, did nothing to ease the spirits of the rebels. Still, this looked to be a much needed supply run by one of the many airships sufficiently mercenary to be willing to sell to whomever could pay. Right now, that was them.

After an awkward minute or two the two ships were brought alongside and boarding planks lowered peacefully. No armed resistance materialised; indeed, the crew seemed entirely unarmed. Perhaps as a show of good faith, or perhaps they didn't expect much trouble.

"Captain." Alden inclined his head to the leader of the other ship that stepped forward to greet him; noting with a faint sense of trepidation that the man seemed somewhat nervous for some reason. His gaze was fixed firmly on Alden's face and he seemed disinclined to look anywhere else. The crew, too, were similarly oddly tempered; those on deck were few and far between, merely the ones assigned to essential stations, and they all seemed to be pointedly staring away from his own vessel.

A quick glance back at his ship showed all in good order and he frowned before turning to the other man. "Are you alright?" The other captain swallowed heavily and nodded slowly.

"Aye. Just, ah, my first time doing the route, sir." Well, that made some degree of sense. For all he knew he was about to have his supplies taken by force, without payment, and that wouldn't do at all. Alden wasn't a Noble by any stretch of the imagination and he'd joined the Reconquista specifically because of things such as that.

"No fear, my good man. You'll be on your way soon enough. I just need to warn you that the delivery point for goods has altered; some fighting has broken out in Londinium and it's not safe right now." The other man looked quite surprised by this news, and even more nervous if anything.

"Oh aye? What happened? If I may ask?" There was a noticeable bead of sweat dripping down the captain's face as he kept his gaze staunchly fixed on Alden and a growing sense of discomfort was starting to build in the pit of his stomach.

"A few traitorous elements remained. Inciting unrest in the populace." That was the official line, anyway. In reality they'd just lost communication and been unable to penetrate the impossible blizzard surrounding the city. "As soon as the weather clears we'll have it well in hand. Until then you need to go to the encampment in York for delivery."

"Thank you." The voice was soft and harsh, coming from behind him. Alden turned and saw, very briefly, a tableau of horror; all the men on his deck slumped in place with blood pouring from their cleanly necks. An apparition in red stood before him and he saw their hand flicker for a moment before feeling a heat spread across his throat. Then a hand grasped his shirt and casually shoved him into open air.

Fortunately for Alden, he passed out from blood loss before he hit the ground.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

It had taken all of Jakob's willpower to not let his eyes flicker across to the events happening behind the Reconquista ship's captain. The thing that had dragged him here in the first place had sort of just appeared over the side of the other ship and set about methodically murdering every single person on deck.

None of them had seen it coming as he'd leapt silently from kill to kill; cutting nearly all the way through their necks from behind with inhuman speed and delicacy. At this point, Jakob was utterly convinced that the boy was a vampire, an elf, or possibly some unholy fusion of the two. It was the only thing that made sense.

The last thing that he'd done was to go back to the other ship, severing the boarding ramp in the process, and for a moment Jakob thought he was free. That had been foolish of him. Instead, the monster had just torn through the mast with one arm, neat as you like, and then leapt back to their own ship before it had even hit the deck.

"Go." Orders were called out before their master had finished going belowdecks; they swung away from the listing Reconquista ship as the living streamed up to the deck and cried out with confusion and dismay as they discovered the carnage. They had no idea how lucky they were to be merely stranded, floating in the middle of nowhere. With his power surely the boy could have sunk the whole vessel.

As they pulled away Jakob found himself wondering if he'd survive this trip. Things continuing as they had it was likely that they'd all be executed by their cargo at the other end; or upon the return. Maybe they should make a run for it when they dropped him off? Yet even that thought conjured up images of a furious spectre draped in red calmly explaining to his broken self that he'd have died much more quickly had it not been for the imposition of having to track him down.

It was almost a liberating feeling to resign himself to his fate. Perhaps, if all went well, he'd die quickly. Right now that seemed to be all that any of them could hope for.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

Agnès carefully finished drawing an outline of the enemy camp under the light of Matilda's wand. The bulk of the enemy forces were arrayed there and the two of them had left with the wolf's blessing to survey the enemy. Although the creature itself seemed near-divine it clearly was confident in dealing with an army only up to a point.

She could see why. The enemy forces looked formidable. There hadn't been all that many guarding Londinium and the nature of their attack had given them a strong advantage. This would be much trickier.

"Do you have everything you need?" Agnès glanced at the green-haired woman and frowned. Her history was a colourful one, and not in a good way, which made her hard to trust. Knowing they were working with the former 'Phantom Thief' Fouquet was a little hard to stomach. Still… Tiffania trusted her, and Agnès owed that girl so much.

"More or less. I wish we could get a more accurate reading on their overall unit compositions but this will have to do." She'd sketched the layout of their fortifications and taken notes as best she could as to the rough number of troops as well as the location of the command posts. If they could blitz them under cover of night and storm, take out the leaders…

Her thoughts were interrupted by spotting something; a ship floating in from the East. The camp had noticed it and a few of the traitor Nobles in their ranks seemed to be readying themselves. Matilda frowned and stared at the ship; she'd been using 'Far Sight' to pass details to Agnès until a moment ago and had yet to deactivate it.

Suddenly the woman turned pale and began to tremble. One hand seemed to move involuntarily to her throat and the other clenched her wand tightly. Agnès stared at the ship with her own inferior sight and tried to see if she could grasp any sign of what had startled the poor woman so. Then Matilda began to laugh.

"It's over. We win. The war is over." That brought Agnès up cold and she looked from Matilda to the ship; still slowly passing by the encampment as it circled around to the landing site. It was flying the Reconquista's flag, but was it not theirs? The older woman was still laughing; sounding almost deranged in her vehemence.

"I don't know what they did… but they're all dead. Every last one. They brought him here." Before Agnès could ask who was being referred to there Matilda pointed at the ship. A figure in a flowing red cloak had just appeared, strangely visible where he stood on the prow of the vessel. Even more visible as they stepped off into open air.

They dropped like a stone; falling like a bloody comet with a ruddy red-brown light suffusing them as they did so. When they hit the ground it shook and the entire plain trembled. Alarms were sounded, men being rallied and roused as the figure walked calmly out of the massive crater left by their landed; apparently unconcerned by the several hundred metre drop to the ground they'd just made. Matilda's laughter had reached an insane fever pitch but, for the first time, Agnès realised she was also crying.

"It's over…"

And then it began.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

The soldiers guarding the gate to the camp just had enough time to recognise the figure walking out of the billowing dust as a young man in a red cloak when, suddenly, he was gone. There was a moment of confusion as their minds rebelled against them; struggling to recall what they'd just seen as more than an impression of colour.

Then he landed between them and swung out with the two long knives in each hand; the force of his blows enhanced to the umpteenth degree by the shining white light on top of his hand. Their light armour wasn't even able to keep their heads attached to their bodies for more than a second. He kicked the gate and it shattered inwards; spraying splinters over the startled Reconquista trying to rally inside.

Of the first to die none of them saw how it happened. There was just a flicker of red flashing towards them; an already inhuman level of speed multiplied by the power given to him by the familiar runes into something that defied comprehension. Heads sailed into the air with a single dash and a few leisurely swings. They were the lucky ones.

A Noble stepping out of their tent mid-cast found a dagger sprouting from their eye socket. Jeirazh began his work in earnest then; keeping a weapon in his weaker hand and leaving the stronger one free. Screams finally began to ring out as he charged the largest group of men he could see.

Impossible speed or not he could only kill them so quickly and there were thousands of them. He was not invincible to blade or shot and would, in the end, be brought down by a hundred grazing strikes from a thousand desperate men. Thus, he made sure to attack on two fronts at once.

Before him the first group of five were hit. He struck their armour and punched it inwards; trapping men in their own defensive accoutrements and stealing their breath away. This, however, was ineffective. The other dagger was discarded and swapped for a knuckle duster; the boost was necessary but free hands worked best for what he was going to do to them.

Working to his advantage was the curse of his people. Like this, in his true shape, he was like a wisp of fog both physically and mentally. The further he ranged the more confusion spread as those who had seen him attack their allies and friends desperately tried to hold on to their mental image of him to no avail. If he had been Saito in that moment they would have been able to recall him clearly and bring the full might of their army to bear. As it was…

A company was already under arms and starting to move into battle formation within the encampment; perhaps they'd already been prepared when he attacked. Still, they were his first target. As he moved between the tents he didn't hesitate. A babyfaced soldier boy, barely sixteen if Jeirazh was any judge, weakly lunged at him with sword in hand; the clumsy strike effortlessly dodged and turned against its origin. He left the boy disarmed behind him and screaming at the pain of it.

The next one to clearly see him was armoured more heavily and tried to bring him down with a sweeping mace stroke. Jeirazh sidestepped clearly and then tentatively stomped on the mace where it hit the ground. To his glee the metal sank deeper and held his weight just long enough for him to push off it and kick the soldier in the head as he did so; the momentum sent him hurtling through the air with cloak flared behind him like a gigantic crimson bat. This drew even more attention and the army began to spread the word and converge.

There was the company. One hundred odd men, armed and armoured and with shouting Sergeants trying to bring them into order and rally them against him. He stepped up behind the nearest one in a blur of motion, wrapping his jaw around the man's neck and applying pressure until his teeth met in the middle. The dislodged head went flying into the midst of the horrified troops who, at last, got a good look at him.

He stood taller than any of them right now; blood dripping from his muzzle and eyes glowing yellow in the dark. The claws weren't all that effective as weapons, and didn't register the rune benefits in any case, but they helped complete the package. To these men he looked nothing less than a monster. None of them wanted to act or charge; even as fires began to break out behind him and the screams of those he'd crippled on his way began to finally sound out.

It had been less than a minute since he hit the ground.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
​

Sitting in the forest overlooking the encampment, Agnès and Matilda watched the carnage in silence. It was hard to talk through all the screaming. In the few minutes since the red man had landed he'd cut a visible swath of destruction through the camp; marked by scores of dying men. Mostly dying, in fact. It was hard to see from here but even though he must have injured several hundred by now most of them were still moving.

Crawling, in most cases, admittedly but… even so. The only ones that seemed to die quickly were the Nobles that tried to confront the attacker. Their magic was negated with almost contemptuous ease and they themselves were rendered into no more than meat in an instant.

Just then he repeated a pattern he'd done twice already; shooting into the air and leaping sideways, in total defiance of all logic, to land outside the encampment. Then he circumnavigated it in a bloody blur of pain. The purpose of this was clear to see. Many had already tried to flee; running out through the front gate or the two holes in the wall he'd made with his re-entry the previous two times.

"He's crippling them..." Agnès watched the man solidify beside a fleeing soldier and remove one of his legs at the knee before blurring into invisibility once more. He moved too fast for her eyes to follow reliably and in the moments between sightings she felt disoriented and confused. What was she even watching? That confusion faded quickly when she caught sight of him again but even so…

"No." Matilda wordlessly reached out and offered a scrap of red fabric to Agnès. As soon as she took it she could suddenly remember everything. More than everything, even. The disorientation faded as she was able to recall the man between his moments of visibility. Beyond that, though, she could remember on several occasions spotting him in the past; out of the corner of her eye, watching the Princess from a distance. Yet when she'd thought to confront him she'd broken off in confusion as he slipped out of view and she'd just… forgotten.

"... what is… he?" The last word was tinged with a sort of horror as she stared at Matilda; who obviously knew about this abomination already. To her surprise the older woman laughed again, and then sighed.

"I don't know. He saved me. Snapped my neck, then healed it and brought me back. Convinced my former masters I was dead. Gave me the mission; find Osmond, rescue my sister, and return to him. But I…" At that moment Matilda's face went white as ash while she realised something clearly horrific. Then she swallowed heavily. "I disobeyed… I stayed here, and…"

Agnès saw the former thief trembling like a leaf in the wind and looked back to the camp. It took her a few moments to locate the blur of red that indicated the passage of the man once more. He'd just slammed headlong into a shield wall and broken it with sheer force; scattering the overlapping defence like dandelion seeds and literally leaping from flying body to flying body; kicking them down to the ground with bone-shattering force.

It all happened so fast Agnès felt she must be imagining what she was seeing, or confused. They'd moved as close as they dared to, given the distraction of the devastation being wrought before them, but even so…

"He's not crippling them." Having recovered some semblance of sanity, Matilda finally elaborated on her earlier point. "Their wounds are mortal. They'll all die. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming in agony. Every new scream is a blade thrust at the heart of this force." She pointed at those trying to flee despite the screaming wounded littering the plain around them.

"Look at them run. Even though they can see what will happen. Once enough are routing all at once he'll let them go. They'll never be soldiers again. He's broken them." In the midst of the enemy forces a change occurred. The flickering death that had been whittling through the ranks piece by piece ground to a halt. He stopped and faced the largest group of survivors, head on; standing there and waiting.

They gave it all they had. Crossbows unloaded, javelins and spears were flung, even a handful of spells unleashed. It was all pointless. With a slow, calm stride he gradually crossed the twenty metre distance between him and the line as if it was a casual stroll. Maybe it was, for him. Each incoming shot was deflected, dodged or negated without incident and with what looked like minimal effort.

Finally, as he reached the front lines a massive soldier in heavy plate with a two-handed sword broke ranks and charged him; swinging their blade in a brutal overhead cleave that split the air and then, quite suddenly, stopped. There was silence among the soldiers save for the screams of their dying in that moment as they all stared at the same possibility.

The monster had caught the falling blade between forefinger and thumb. It was held there, not straining at all in either direction no matter how the giant of a man tried to pull or push it. Then there was a loud crack as the surface of the blade splintered. Following by thumb and fingertip coming together; punching through the steel to meet in the middle.

That did it. Whatever semblance of morale might have remained was broken by that display. They all turned and ran every which way, as fast as their legs could carry them. Whereupon Matilda's predictions as to the path of the battle were proven to be terribly, horribly misguided.

For the man had picked up a discarded blade of his own, a two-hander he wielded as if it were a butter knife, and begun to work. Circling around, chasing down the fleeing soldiers and striking them down in twos and threes with massive swings that bisected them horizontally, diagonally and in a few rare cases vertically.

These ones weren't left to bleed slowly to death. It wasn't a rout. It was a massacre. Once he was done nobody was standing on the entire plains except for him. He then began methodically moving to the Nobles that had yet to bleed out; cauterising their wounds and forcibly bringing them into consciousness in the process.

"... we'd best go see him." Matilda stood and began to weakly walk out of the treeline. Agnès agonised, but eventually stood and began to follow her. As they slowly approached he paid them no mind whatsoever; merely crushing the throats of the Nobles he spoke to one by one as they gave him answers he clearly didn't like.

As they picked their way through the bodies Agnès couldn't help but pick up one of the discarded blades. She paused here and there to deliver a swift end to some of the more agonised soldiers in their path; going to all of them would have taken so long they'd like as not be dead by the time she reached them. Even so, she couldn't just leave them…

"Matilda." Now she was closer Agnès could see the inhumanness of what she'd originally taken for a man. It looked more like some painter had tried to draw a wolf walking on two legs and wearing human clothing. However, that image was shattered again as, with a crackle of lightning, the shape changed. Fur vanished, eyes stopped glowing, and proportions altered until an oddly familiar young man stood before them.

"... Jeirazh. Sir. I-" A blood-soaked hand was held up to forestall any further comments from her. Matilda stared at the ground, shaking in place.

"Save it. I will admit, I am blindingly furious right now," A statement which, combined with the sudden murderous tone that contrasted the curiously polite voice and mannerisms, made Agnès freeze up on the spot, "That isn't on you. Whatever you have done, you did it for your family and your people. I can't fault you that." Then his gaze fell on Agnès.

"You must the Princess' former guard, Agnès. I'm sorry to say that you've been charged with the murder of Prince Wales, in absentia, and stripped of your rank as a traitor to the crown." The words stung more than she'd thought they would, but weren't unexpected. After this was all over she'd have to present herself before the Queen and beg for whatever mercy she might get. "But, given your accuser has kidnapped the Royal Playmate and proven himself a traitor I suspect you'll be fine." There was a moment of relief, and then…

"Louise?"

"Miss Vallière?"

Her voice and Matilda's had rung out in unison; her own incredulous and the other woman's horrified. At last the link in her head clicked and Agnès couldn't help but point in horror. "You're! That boy familiar! But… how… you're… what are you?" Saito, that was his name. He seemed to take it in stride and smiled coldly; gesturing for them to follow as he began to walk toward the command tent.

"Viscount Wardes asked for Louise's hand in marriage, then kidnapped her after she got cold feet at the wedding. He also tried to kill myself and her sister in the process. An investigation of a number of private letters I'm sure he thinks he burned will demonstrate that he has been a traitor for… some time." Matilda turned a little red at that and Agnès glowered at her.

"This whole time, you knew?" The older woman seemed a little affronted and looked away.

"Well, we haven't exactly been talking about what happened with you, have we? You rather glossed over it all. And I didn't exactly want to tell my little sister what I've…" She broke off and stared at the ground once more; clearly ashamed. Agnès felt anger cooling slowly. It was hard to hate Matilda when she'd been as much of a pawn in this as anyone, by her own admission.

"Regardless, I thought he'd come here. I only just learned of the fall of Londinium and this encampment. No sign of him… your doing?" Saito looked to Matilda, who perked up and nodded.

"Yes. I found Osmond, per your instructions, and explained the situation. Then we came to collect my sister. However, I found Agnès with her and… something else." Saito looked interested, so she continued. "She seems to have summoned a familiar. A rather tremendous wolf, with extraordinary abilities." That brought him up cold and he turned to look at her.

"A wolf… vast size?" She nodded. "Power over the weather?" Another nod. A look of grim, nasty satisfaction filled his face and he began to smirk. "Of course. Of course. This is… haha… too perfect. Let us go and retrieve your sister and the Headmaster. I know exactly where Wardes must be. And Asilah, in her wisdom, has granted us exactly what we need." The name was unfamiliar to her, but by his tone…

"You're familiar with the creature?" Saito nodded, his expression still fierce, as he looked for thing to carry them. It seems he'd startled off all their cavalry during the fighting.

"Of course. He is the First Wolf of Kelicho. Rejoice, my dears. That creature is the closest you'll ever get to seeing a god in the flesh. And my people have a very cordial relationship with his woman." He began to chuckle then; low and dark and full of malice.

And although Agnès knew they probably deserved whatever was coming to them she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the fools that had made this man their enemy.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

Huh, so this is how DMC protagonist look for dudes watching from the sidelines, huh? What is this Saito?! Some sort of werewolf?

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Huh, so this is how DMC protagonist look for dudes watching from the sidelines, huh? What is this Saito?! Some sort of werewolf?

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His species can transform at will into a demi-human form that enhances their physical characteristics to some degree and also has some esoteric benefits. The glowing eyes of his subspecies are actually as a result of an arcane effect that's innate to them.

Nord und West Azekara

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These are subdialects of the native language of that species which Kenneth speaks; North and West Azekara, languages of the people referred to as Azekaran as a whole. There's a variety of differences between the four types; Saito's personal type is well known for being deadly fuckmotherers that live in one of the most awful parts of the world; the Easterns. The kind that Siesta is descended from is known for tiny males and highly attractive, buxom females; the Westerns. Kenneth's wife is actually of a third kind with the most physical deviations from the norm, including immense stature; the Northerns. And Zharaqui is the last kind; Southern. They're extremely attune with the peculiar magic of their people, which is why with the Myozitnirn boosts she's absolutely fucking terrifying.

 

[LaughingProphet]

Some sort of werewolf?

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To be entirely fair, this is a hotly contested concept even in-setting. Truly conventional, baseline Werewolves as we would recognize are a bit out the window for their particular modern times, but the mythology from the Old World still sticks. Relatively popular opinion from the sorts of scholars that put particular consideration in the matter is that they at least have some ancestral connection to Werewolves and other comparable therianthropic entities from the past.

The answer is, admittedly, probably far more complicated and they may be considering the wrong line of research on the matter.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

Yes, I believe that scenes like inspired by Devil May Cry gameplay were result of a speedster ninja build augumented by the Gandalfr Rune. If puny Canon!Saito who's typical "average teen" can be ridiculous and face army by his lonesome ... then Saito who's a lethally dangerous ninja from a species that are known for being hilariously lethal. In short Saito is downright bullshit on par with Dante.

And there is also Wolf of Winter. I wonder how Wardes will feel as a dude responsible for the destruction of Reconquista. In the few heartbeats of his miserable life he's left with when he spots a red blur.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Louise de la Vallière truly had to wonder why any person would have built a room like this. She had no idea who could possibly own the castle, given there was little way for her to tell where they had been going from above, but the art and architecture appeared to be Gallian to her unprofessional eye. Still, even with the peculiarities of that nation this was…

The room was evenly divided by a wall of iron bars; her side furnished as if it was a normal room. She had a bed and a dresser and even a window, also thickly barred, as well as a small area with a curtain for privacy. A large table extended across the barrier, bars running right through it, and had a rising slat in the middle. It was unerring to think that Wardes had known to bring her here in particular. Equally so was the very low number of servants they'd seen as he'd dragged her in here; all of them had seemed quite skittish as well.

There had been an overwhelming urge to stab the traitorous bastard on many occasions but reason had stayed her blade. Firstly, Louise knew she would only get one shot in and she was not very confident in her ability to kill her ex-fiancé regardless of how much she despised him right now. Secondly, she had no idea where she was or how far away she was from safety. Lastly…

Sentiment. Perhaps Saito would have chided her for it. But she still had faint memories of Wardes from when she was much younger; where he was smiling and kind and gentle to the girl that didn't really understand what 'engagement' meant. Then more recent times. Sympathy and pain alongside hers. He had helped her so, had he not? Which is why it hurt so very much to remember those dreadful moments at her estate.

It had happened, though. For all that kindness it had happened. Which was why when the door opened and the man himself stepped in with a covered tray she fixed him with stare full of every ounce of venom that she could muster. However, his reaction was not what she had expected. If anything it hurt her heart all the more to see the faint pain in his face before it forced itself back into a dispassionate mask.

"I don't know how long we can stay here before… before I'm called to my master. Enjoy what freedoms you have while they last." Though she deeply wished to scoff openly at his words the better part of her was chilled by them instead. Some weeks ago she might have insulted his choice of words, but now? Louise knew from the tales of Saito and Kenneth that there were worse fates than mere imprisonment. Worse fates than a simple death.

"... so you are a traitor after all. I had rather hoped you had just taken leave of your senses, Viscount, and decided to force an elopement. A far more romantic notion than treason." In that moment she was every bit her mother's daughter. Sitting calm and firm in the face of her adversary and letting him know just how far beneath her he was. Her particular emphasis had him visibly wince and yet he didn't defend himself.

"I brought you soup." After a long silence he finally laid the tray down; uncovering it. There was a steaming bowl there, with appropriate cutlery, and he pushed it up to the middle of the table. As he opened the slat to push it through the bars he continued. "I asked the cook to leave out the onions." Louise stared at the soup and then gave him a withering look.

"I am very nearly a grown woman, Viscount, and for your information I stopped refusing to eat onions when I was nine. Tell me, has your understanding of me always been so shallow?" She stepped forward and shoved the tray roughly back. The bowl upended itself and soup spilled all over the table before starting to trickle on to the floor. Wardes sighed heavily.

"Louise, you really mus-" But whatever she 'must' do was to remain an unknown as a fire lit in her heart and eyes. Louise stormed up to the bars and grasped them; glaring at the man who would have been her husband with naked hatred.

"You shall call me Lady Vallière or you shall not address me at all, Viscount! I for one can think of no remaining bond between us that would allow you such familiarity with me." Then she spun away and stormed off to stare out the window. The weather outside was dreadful but it was a sight more pleasant by far than that man's face.

"Louise…" She heard Wardes sigh when she didn't respond to him. There was a muttered incantation and then a slosh of water as he presumably cleaned up behind her. Then the sound of wood dragging across stone. "Louise. Please. I didn't want… I don't want… you have to understand, I had no choice." She continued to ignore him for some time. When she did spoke the tone was as if she was speaking to the air itself; devoid of any emotion for any potential listeners.

"My mother says that only cowards lack choice in their actions. It doesn't surprise me in the least that you would count amongst their ranks." He didn't seem to have a response for that. Louise remained thus, staring into the dark sky beyond and pointedly not turning around, for as long as she possibly could. Eventually, however, curiosity got the better of her. She turned around.

Wardes wasn't even looking at her. He was staring into the middle distance between them; transfixed by something visible only in the recesses of his mind. She frowned and stepped gingerly closer. There was something off about him. He'd cast his hat aside and even removed his cloak; both were laying on the ground with no further thought given to them. Now that she really looked at him the man looked simply awful.

His eyes were red and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. She hadn't noticed that during the ceremony. In fact, she was sure he'd looked much healthier then. His breathing seemed to be slightly heavy and the way he sat indicated he was favouring his right side. As if some pain suffused his left.

"You're right. I had a choice. Once. I made the wrong one. Now there are no other paths left to me, and I am rapidly losing value to the one I serve. Once he has you…" Wardes let out a mirthless chuckle. "I suspect I will not be long for this world, my dear. He'll have what he needs then. The legendary Void Mage." Then he looked her in the eyes and she felt her stomach drop into the floor.

"You… what do you mean? Explain yourself at once!" Yet the infuriating man merely chuckled and slowly shook his head.

"I'm not surprised you never figured it out. I wouldn't know the details either, but they were explained to me a few years ago. There are two main factors for identifying a Void Mage." He held up his wand, not the swordwand still sheathed at his side, and waved it vaguely. "First; their magic always fails in some way. They definitively have magic, of course, but they cannot perform normal spells of the Four Elements."

Thoughts were churning like waves in Louise's head as he spoke. How had she never thought of it? Well, because it would have seemed heretical to even entertain the notion. Clearly she was magically able, if not entirely capable, but her spells all failed spectacularly. Why? There was no reason. Unless... "And then the second interesting feature. They always summon a humanoid familiar." What? That made no sense… yet, Guiche... of course, their spells had been intertwined. It was a miracle they had succeeded at all.

"Naturally, my master was, heh, ecstatic when I informed him that two individuals at the Tristainian Academy had summoned humanoid familiars." Part way through the sentence Wardes had let out a curious little laugh that Louise couldn't understand. "Process of elimination meant it was you. Congratulations, Louise." The words seemed to ring hollow. She could see it in his eyes; even he didn't mean them.

"... you said you made the wrong choice. What was it?" If nothing else she desperately wanted to understand how the kind and noble man she thought she'd known had really been this pathetic wretch all along.

"It's… no, it's not a long story, exactly. My mother was a magical researcher, much like…" He shook his head and grimaced as she glared at him. "In any case. She fell into madness. Took her own life. I searched and searched, desperately trying to find out why. All I could find in her journal was the last thing she'd written. A symbol scrawled in her own blood." The story had taken a turn that Louise hadn't expected and she couldn't help but feel some pangs of sympathy for him.

That didn't mean she would show it, however. Much as Saito did she kept her gaze impassive and level. An effect slightly ruined by the fact that Wardes seemed unwiling to look at her; instead appearing engrossed in the ceiling as he leaned back and continued with his tale. "I sought that symbol for so long, Louise. Then, by sheer chance, I found it. A tattoo on a woman's hand. A servant to the King of Gallia." There was a faint trembling that seemed to be filling Wardes; a barely perceptible shaking was moving through his body as he spoke in a soft, dispassionate tone.

Louise found a chill running down her spine with no apparent cause. Something about his manner was putting her on edge. "I spoke to him. And he told me what my mother had found. What he had found. There was a calamity coming that would destroy all of Halkegenia. One which he could save me from. Not only me; but also those I cared about. More than that, he…" And here Wardes' mask finally cracked just as emotion choked up his voice. "He showed me her. My mother. Brought her back to life right in front of me. Perfect in every detail. And promised me that nobody I loved would ever need to die again if only I served him."

Such a blandishment… Louise's heat was torn. If someone told her they could save her mother, restore her to the peak of health immediately… would she be able to say no? Yet Wardes' expression was decidedly not that of a man that had received everything he wanted. "I agreed. And that was a mistake. It had all seemed to make sense at first. There was such an elegant plan… control the nations from within. At first it was just information. But then he asked me to act. At first it was fine, until…" Wardes sighed.

"He asked too much of you, didn't he?" Louise had guessed this part already, yet when he nodded she felt an odd sense of relief. Even so, clearly he still referred to that man as his master. Therefore… "What did they do to you, Jean Jacques?" He was very still for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he unbuttoned his shirt halfway and opened it to show her a small black spot on his skin just above the heart.

"It's called 'Blight'. A magical malady of some sort. Held in check entirely by the willpower of my patron. If he releases that will then it will expand. The effect…" Wardes' face went a little green at the memory he had to recall for this. "Is variable. Either I will become a shambling, undead thing that still acts at his behest. Else my flesh will essentially gain the consistency of weathered glass. My own heartbeat would kill me then." The almost innocuous spot did seem to have a strange reflectiveness to its surface and merely seeing it was making her feel rather ill.

Louise's head was reeling from all of this and the sensation didn't help. She stood and stumbled to her bed; collapsing upon it. There she lay for a time as she tried to sort out her thoughts and feelings. Willingly or no, he'd still threatened her family. Still hurt people. Ones she cared for deeply. He'd tried to murder Saito; who, she now knew, was clearly far more than he appeared to be. That was an entirely different breakdown for an entirely different time.

In the end she sat up and faced him with a sort of melancholy resolve. Because in the end there were plenty of reasons for what he had done, yes. But no excuses. None that Louise could accept from him. Not after what he'd done. What he'd been a part of.

"I understand you quite well now, Jean-Jacques. And I do pity you greatly. Nevertheless." She fixed him with her most steely gaze and stared straight into his eyes. There she saw hope and pain and sadness beyond measure. None of which swayed her in the least. "I cannot forgive you any of your actions. You are as much a coward as I first thought you and when your master kills you for delivering me it will be no less than you deserve."

Nothing else passed between them after that. Wardes eventually broke eye contact first and stood; leaving the room in silence. There was nothing for him to say. He must have known he was damned from the moment he chose this path. Even so; he had to have known it could never end well.

And yet, as Louise collapsed upon her bed and cried into her pillow, she still wasn't sure if she had told him the truth.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

"Evidence from the wreckage seems to indicate, your Majesty, that the fleet was not from Albion. It appears to have been Gallian in design; though flying the flag of the Reconquista." General Tréville relayed the results of the report to the war council with a heavy heart. If this news were true it made them all the more fools for it; voices had cried out for war with the Albionese rebels and Germania in equal measure but nobody had foreseen this madness. The Queen pursed her lips with genteel dignity.

"I see. Details for which we have independent verification?" The Royal Messenger himself, Count Mott, nodded and stepped up with a letter in hand. Its gold-leafed wax seal had been broken of course but he still handed it over reverentially; as he did so the Cardinal Mazarin made the holy sign of Brimir across his chest.

"A letter from Pope Aegis Thirty-Two, your Majesty, delivered by General Iulius of the First Divine Legion. The Holy Church of Romalia has declared a Crusade against the Reconquista in light of past events." Some of the older men in the room groaned heavily and more than one person looked outright ashamed. What an embarrassment this was turning out to be. "He verified the findings before returning in his personal vessel to Romalia, where he will be petitioning his Holiness to change targets."

"A small grace, but not a short journey. With their fleet gone Gallia will be at a disadvantage but they may well have unloaded troops before releasing their abominations upon our troops." Lord Dampierre grumbled out his pessimistic opinion but nobody could contradict him here. The Queen did not sigh but still looked to one of the younger men in the room; the Viscount de Aumal and, to his misfortune, current leader of the Manticore Knights.

"How are young Gramont and his familiar doing? I understand they were instrumental in turning the tide of the engagement." Aumal nodded and glanced at his copy of the repot for a moment.

"Indeed, your Majesty. With the help of a local by name of… 'Jeima', he was able to retrieve some mystical artifact that had been concealed in the town of Tarbes for safekeeping by said man's ancestor. It was inordinately effective against these 'Wights'. As for the pair, they are currently at convalesence within the castle" The Queen nodded and looked over to the Maquis de Turenne.

"Henri, that town falls within your lands, does it not?" The man nodded slowly, unsure of his Queen's point. "Are you especially attached to it?" That made the rotund man scoff slightly and shake his head.

"Not particularly, Majesty. I had to be reminded it was mine when we picked the plain for the muster point. You may do with it as you will." The Queen smiled at him and then gestured for Mott to approach.

"Take note, Count. I hereby grant the village of Tarbes and all the associated lands along with the title of Baron to one Jeima of Tarbes. Unless his family line ceases with no heir apparent they shall retain the rights in perpetuity, regardless of magical capability. Are there any objections?" There was some muttering of discontent but nobody could muster up any true complaints. While the man was common as muck to their mind he had still volunteered a truly powerful item that had indeed saved a great many lives.

"I have heard that the young ladies of Tarbes are possessed of a particular beauty. With a title available, perhaps some of your younger sons might like to join the family?" Mott's suggestion brightened their expressions somewhat; a potential title, however minor, for their second or third sons that came with land of its own that didn't need to be carved out of their own estates would be quite welcome. The Queen nodded, evidently pleased, and continued.

"In addition, I shall be granting the title of Chevalier to Guiche de Gramont and Kenneth Manson alike. I realise that the latter is neither a citizen of Tristain nor even human; however, I think we can agree that they deserve this and more." According to the report the dwarf had managed to lose an arm in the fighting, though it was a little unclear on the details for some reason, which was proof enough of his ferocity.

Although there were a few dark spots in the events that had unfolded which needed to unravelled, particularly regarding the execution of allied soldiers mid-combat, by all accounts both had conducted themselves with immense valour. A vast majority of the tainted dragons had been slain by Ser Manson, and Guiche had ended the initial battle almost single-handedly.

"Very good. Now then, it is clear that we are facing an enemy with grave and unholy power at their disposal. I suggest we reach out to Germania for assistance in this conflict." A titter of consternation filled the room but the Queen silenced it with no more than a quirked brow. "Gentlemen. We face a crisis unlike any in the history of our fair Tristain. As it stands, it seems unlikely that whatever plans King Joseph has for us will stop at our borders. He has demonstrated a willingness to attack without provocation and in a time of peace. There is also good reason to believe he is responsible for the death of Prince-"

She was cut off by a vigorous knocking at the door. Frowning, Count Mott went to open it and berate the servant on the other side for their interruption; only to find that it was no servant at all but a Knight red-faced and gasping for air.

"Y-your… Majesty…" He wheezed and stumbled into the room; grabbing on to Mott for support much to the man's clear dismay. "There's… troop… Knights… approaching gate… Albion flag…" The Queen's expression grew even darker at that word and her response practically dripped with malice.

"Ah, the Reconquista shows their hand at last I see. Aumal, take wing with your best men and apprehend these impost-" Then, much to everyone's clear surpise, the Knight cut off his own Queen with a frantic explosion of words.

"No, your Majesty! Their leader is… it's Prince Wales, ma'am!"

 

[Guile]

Still bringing up the rear, some 10+ chapters behind, but wanted to comment anyway.


Bronze & Sinister:

Oh, Founder the mouth. How had he not noticed the mouth? It was a strip of metal along the top of the shield that moved as it spoke which gave the impressive of a vast, gaping maw.
...
The mouth grinned. Without teeth. How.

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Am now imagining Derf as an old timer with a toothless gummy mouth.

Somehow, as soon as he said it, Guiche realized that was the wrong thing to say. He could feel the perverse glee radiating from the metal under his arm

Click to shrink...

The face when you realize your shield has an armpit fetish.


Bronze & Justification, part 1:

Saito was nowhere to be seen but if he were around he'd likely be helping as well.

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This is worded kind of weird. Is the group of training cadets so large that Saito could be lost in them like a field of wheat?

As their maths converged he took the lead and they both moved toward his office.

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'paths', probably?

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

This is worded kind of weird. Is the group of training cadets so large that Saito could be lost in them like a field of wheat?

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Saito didn't seem to be present but if he were there he'd be doing the same thing as Grandmaster Wardes.

'paths', probably?

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... balls. Fixed, thank you.

 

[GiftofLove]

Well how curious. I rather like that Wardes is an unwilling turncoat. In fact, I rather hope he gets his redemption arc. If only he hadn't tried to murder Cattleyea.

It's really easy to judge someone a coward for not falling down to die when it would be to your convenience, but in their place would your decisions be the same?

 

[Guile]

Bronze & Justification, part 2:

For example, he frequently considered the inanity of the leg-breaking.

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How zen. 'If you meet the Buddha on the road... break his legs. Resume your own buddha nature.'

it shifted black to reveal a slowly growing icy spear.

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'back', I assume.

His own sense of justice wasn't matching up with the situation.

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Good line.

"Every single one of them was fit, and armed. Every single weapon was clean of blood. The Watch say they have reason to believe some, if not all of the killings were performed with magic. You'll be helping with the investigation." Guiche couldn't help but start at that. Really? They were only trainees, and this sounded like a… a skilled and ruthless killer!

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Interesting stylistic choice, with the bait and switch. When you hear about Tabitha and Saito being picked for the mission, you don't find it odd for the 'mission' to be killing some gangbangers, only to come back to Guiche being all 'Geez, we're just trainees, isn't this investigating a killer mission kind of dangerous?'

And I feel like any moment Guiche is going to turn to look at the camera, like he's on The Office.

I'm not sure it's in service to anything, but it's kind of fun on its own merits, so why not?

And then considering how the last scene was 'de Gramont brother meets Sheffield stand-in linked to cold thematically', I kept expecting Francisque to die all through his scene as a kind of episode stinger. But after all, why kill him in his first meeting when you can take your time and make us care about him first instead? That's just good use of resources.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

'back', I assum

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Thank you.

How zen. 'If you meet the Buddha on the road... break his legs. Resume your own buddha nature.'

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That entire section was a delight.

Good line.

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Guiche feeling 'wrong' about the situation is a good sign of his character development, for me at least. Start-of-story Guiche may well have tousled his blond hair artfully and said, "Well, I suppose that's just the price of crime."

And then considering how the last scene was 'de Gramont brother meets Sheffield stand-in linked to cold thematically', I kept expecting Francisque to die all through his scene as a kind of episode stinger. But after all, why kill him in his first meeting when you can take your time and make us care about him first instead? That's just good use of resources.

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My one mistake with him and another was that I didn't have more scenes with them, I think. But it worked out well enough in the end.

Well how curious. I rather like that Wardes is an unwilling turncoat. In fact, I rather hope he gets his redemption arc. If only he hadn't tried to murder Cattleyea.

It's really easy to judge someone a coward for not falling down to die when it would be to your convenience, but in their place would your decisions be the same?

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It's important that he was willing to betray his country as long as it didn't pose a risk to him. Then risks came and he grew reluctant; only to find he was in too deep to escape. Even so, the last line of Louise's section shows she isn't sure if even she buys what she's spouting.

 

[Guile]

Bronze & Ill-fortune:

They stopped the carriage in a small copse just out of sight of town and, as expected, Saito shortly appeared out of the treeline with several travelling packs full of rough, peasant garments.

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How we truly know Guiche has grown as a person; not a complaint to be found at having to put on peasant clothes. And later dirt? Goodness.

He still hadn't quite worked out the sleeping arrangements but suspected she'd likely end up sharing with Saito. The slightly strange young fellow didn't seem to really notice that gender was even a thing, at times; or, at least, Guiche had never caught him looking.

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But muh harem shenanigans

The lead in this case was a source he didn't want to disclose. Namely, the black market dealer from whom Montmorency had acquired her, ahem, ingredients. Guiche figured it was a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

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I can't tell if Guiche is just assuming all black market dealers know about all evil deeds committed in Tristain, or if the guy would realistically know about a mysterious killing.

Maybe she should've made Guiche go first. Losing him wouldn't be quite so much of a blow… oh, and he apparently had some sort of toughness-enhancing spell he'd worked out that probably would have protected him anyway.

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Guiche's main good point in Tabitha's eyes: 'well he can take a lot of damage I guess.'

Still, he was rather glad that Guiche had chosen Charlotte to go with him on this mission. For as much faith as the young man put in Louise's familiar Wardes still felt a lot better knowing someone actually competent was around to keep him out of trouble.

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This reads weird, considering Wardes was just saying the one he would be most cautious of was Saito.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

How we truly know Guiche has grown as a person; not a complaint to be found at having to put on peasant clothes. And later dirt? Goodness.

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Truly, he is the hero we deserve.

I can't tell if Guiche is just assuming all black market dealers know about all evil deeds committed in Tristain, or if the guy would realistically know about a mysterious killing.

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Probably the former. It's Guiche. Though, he might know some of the people who died I guess?

Guiche's main good point in Tabitha's eyes: 'well he can take a lot of damage I guess.'

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Tabi is nothing if not pragmatic.

This reads weird, considering Wardes was just saying the one he would be most cautious of was Saito.

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He's cautious of Saito because he has no idea if he's actually aware of the power of his runes. That makes him kind of unpredictable, battle-wise. Aside from that it's mostly just mage-centric bias. Runes or not, Charlotte does magic and Saito does not.

 

[Guile]

Bronze & Bloodshed:

Guiche held the door for Tabitha and they both went in to sit beside the waiting Malicorne.

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I like Guiche being courtly. Before all the character development, it was probably his one redeeming feature.

but he'd been told to hand over to the Griffon Knights once he had tracked down or identified the culprit

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This reads kind of weird. 'told to hand over the case', maybe?

An instant later she slapped the side of her dragon and begun dropping out of the sky.

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Began.


Good chapter. I don't tend to care about fight scenes much, but Mage combat as you write it (at least from griffon-back) is cerebral. Move, counter-move, combo, etc. I wonder if Wind is a popular secondary element to have? It boosts Fire spells, it turns Water into Ice, presumably it helps Earth spells get off the ground, so to speak...

Likewise, you seem to be coming at the Windstone crisis from the Gallian angle? It's been a while but I thought the Windstones were more of a thing with the Pope. So that'll be cool.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

I like Guiche being courtly. Before all the character development, it was probably his one redeeming feature.

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He's a good boy.

This reads kind of weird. 'told to hand over the case', maybe?

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Hm. I'll think on it.

Began.

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Cheers.

Likewise, you seem to be coming at the Windstone crisis from the Gallian angle? It's been a while but I thought the Windstones were more of a thing with the Pope. So that'll be cool.

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-cue evil laughter-

 

[Guile]

Bronze & Regret:

The sudden change in town,

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What happened to Tristania!?

"Good lad. I recommend you go have a word with your familiar on the matter as well; like as not he's been where you have himself." Guiche considered that for a time. There were half-remembered words from the dwarf that came to mind, in tense moments, that made him suspect that may well be the case. Not to mention one particular epithet he proudly bore…

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We haven't seen Kenneth since the interlude. Is that intentional? More of Guiche coming into his own versus Kenneth dragging him up by his lapel?

The days were harsh here. Far more so than their relatively leisurely schedule back at the Academy; which made sense, considering they were more or less training for war. Undine Knights had originally been a Naval order or somesuch, or at least Kirche vaguely recalled that being one of the endless facts that the Vallière had spat at her, so the fitness requirements were significantly more gruelling than the mounted orders.

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Is manning a ship significantly more taxing than riding various beasts about the countryside? Or are the mounted orders more ceremonial in nature?