Summary: Volke and Bastian are taken to fight Ashera. A fatality occurs.
In all honesty, he should have expected this. He and Bastian were two of the strongest. In fact, he would have been surprised if he weren't picked.
And because of that, they'd be in some rough fights. The two were paired together- their coordination was excellent, on par with Ike and Soren. But whilst Ike was sturdy… Volke was not. Now, Volke was an extremely capable fighter when it came to physical fighting. Barely anything could touch him. But magic was his weak spot. Of course, he could take out any magic users with Peshkatz, but it wasn't long before they figured out his susceptibility to magic.
He whipped out his Peshkatz and did a lethal hit to take out a soldier trying to advance at Bastian. Likewise, the sage used Rexflame to pelt a mage trying to come up from behind Volke. The brunet had to admit the heat from the fire was almost unbearable. The two were a perfect pair, even in personality. Whilst Volke was silent, lethal, and dangerous, Bastian was eccentric, poetic but still equally dangerous.
However, their synchronization did not last long. Enemies began to swarm the two. Volke could no longer take out all the soldiers, and Bastian failed to take out enough mages for Volke's safety.
Now, Volke could and would definitely dodge anything they pelted at him. But in the concern of Bastian… well. If anyone deserved to live, it was the Count of Fayre. His employer. His closest ally.
And then, when the lance was coming up behind Bastian, Volke leaped onto soldier with the fluidity of a cat laguz. However, in that one moment of weakness, the senators' dogs had taken advantage of Volke's lack of guard and Bastian's shock.
He felt the heat in his chest, followed by the searing pain. But hell if he was going to give up here. Quickly slathering on a vulnerary, he charged back into the action. Whilst his moves were a little sluggish, he pulled on all the skill he had to finish off these corrupt people before becoming one of them.
It was over in minutes.
Honestly, he shouldn't have cared that much, to protect Bastian's hide. After all, the sage would have dodged it. But it wasn't much of his choice. It was pure instinct that made him jump. And it was pure instinct that he was dying.
"My dear Volke, what could have persuaded thy to throw away life?" Bastian pressed, already knowing the answer. Oh, he knew all about Volke's view on Bastian and about their lives.
… Well, if anything, he'd let Bastian have his talk.
"… It's nothing," Volke stayed his tongue.
Bastian frowned. That confirmed his suspicions. He was angry. Yes. He was angry at Volke for throwing his life. He was angry at himself for not choosing to take the staff when he could have. But he was mad at Ashera and Sephiran, for they were the cause of this war. The war that killed countless people. Even in that sea of countless people, only two ever mattered. Since one was alive… well. His fury was blinding.
But as he saw garnet eyes slowly dull, he felt his anger seep away and replace with sadness. Volke might not have had much to live for, but in the sage's eyes, they were still friends. Yes. Even if the brunet denied it.
"… Rest in peace, old friend," Bastian quietly spoke, closing the assassin's eyes for him.
Picking up his fallen knife, the man cleaned it off. He'd make sure that Volke got his vengeance.
And when they left the chamber, it was a room full of crimson silence.