NeuroSpark

by Writer Awakened

A tactician chooses his destiny. FE7.

NeuroSpark

- O -

Part I: The Sweat of One's Brow (or, How I May or May Not Have Learned How to Stop Writing Jokes That Are Not Funny Unless the Audience Has Seen the Material Being Parodied...and Love the Bomb)

Chapter 1 (not Chapters 1-10): Beginins (or, The Reason Atlas Shrugged)

(Written for the "Mary Sue Contest" at fe_contest on LJ)

- O -

"It is hard to believe there are yet parasites in this world that oppose the great plan of prosperity we have proposed. So be it. If they will not acquiesce to our wills, we will make them." – Nergal, scourge of Nabata

- O -

He thought he would never wake up, but he did.

He thought the flames would never die down, but they did.

He thought he would be enslaved forever. He was wrong.

He woke in an unfamiliar place, alone, on a soft bed of hay, and as far as he could tell, he was both still alive and still in one piece. He was in a tent of some sort, a large circular one that he knew to be a yurt, or Sacaen tent. Why the Sacaens had such strange names for things, he could not say.

It was all he knew. He couldn't remember anything. He remembered the sensations. Burning. The hellish, skin-rending burning. He felt the flames lick his eyes, cast their dry touch on his cheeks, on his forehead, through his hair. He felt himself burning alive. He remembered crawling, crawling nowhere in particular.

But he could not remember his name. He could not remember where he came from or where he was going, why he found himself lying incapacitated in a strange Sacaen tent, nor why he found it so strange that he was alive.

What happened? And why am I not dead?

He looked at his arms, expecting to see cinders, ash, the blackness of dead skin. However, all he found out of the ordinary was an elaborate black marking on the skin of his right arm. It was a strange marking, like a brand but also like the ink markings found on Sacaens—and at the same time, it was neither. The mark was that of a great chain marked into his being, like a suit of mail cut deep into his flesh, encircling his wrist and spanning the length of his arm up nearly to his shoulder where the mark suddenly cut out. As far as he could tell, it was the only mark he had on him. A quick look underneath his tunic, underneath his cloak revealed no other brands or burns or wounds. In fact, he seemed, at least after a cursory glance, to be completely fine.

He could not explain why he could not move. He tried to lift himself off his bed of straw but his legs would not obey. His arms would not listen. His body refused.

What's happening? Why can't I move? Move, dammit!

"Seems you're in a spot of trouble, there, boyo. Faith and begorrah! You look like a ragdoll lying there with yer arms all limp."

Mark—that was his name, although he did not know it yet—had no idea where this sudden, strange male voice was coming from. Without craning his neck, he couldn't see who it was, but he was somewhat appalled by his ridiculous accent, which he couldn't even place (his best guess was a Bernese peasant folk accent, but hell if he knew for sure).

"Who are you?" Mark offered weakly, surprised that he could move his lips enough to talk.

"Don't ye worry. I'm a friend of yours. I'll get ye back on two fout soon enough. Now, would you please get up from that bed?"

Like a wild horse down a mountain slope, Mark Stuart sat up, his body seemingly invigorated by the strange voice's impatient command.

Did...did I just regain control of my limbs? Can I move again?

Mark wiggled his toes and shook out his hands.

I can! I'm all right! What in hell happened?

He took a quick glance around the yurt. It was a tent, furnished lovingly with the ornate beige-gray weavings of straw made into a basket, which Mark instantly identified as a hamper, and what appeared to be a beautiful Sacaen vestment slung precipitously on a clothesline used for drying clothes on a line, held up by two wooden poles. The garb was stunningly, radiantly beautiful, made of fine shades of viridian cloth with ornate markings of different colors sewn onto it in sharp, waving lines and gentle slopes that encircled it from front to back; not colors that contrasted with the vivid emeraldine shades such as the burning red crimsons or sun-drenched buttercup that Sacaens seemed to like so much, but vibrant, vivacious sapphiric shades of aquamarine and azure that coolly complimented the temperate shade that the rest of the raiment was substantiated by. Mark couldn't find the proper word to describe what the garb looked like, but the article of clothing he would most associate with it would be a robe, a long fitting piece meant to cover the entire body, similar to the ones worn by swordmasters who spent their life slaving on the battlefields with their swords held high, dripped in their enemies' blood.

"Would you please stop gawking at the lady's clothes for just a second, boyo, and look towards the door?"

Oh..think I got lost in thought there for a moment.

Mark looked at the door to see a young woman, dressed in a piece of clothing similar to that on the drying pole.

"Oh! You're awake!" The woman, who I swear looked eighteen, officer, but was probably only fifteen, approached Mark on his bed. "You were out for such a long time...I was afraid you'd never wake."

"Uh...yes...I'm awake now."

Where did that voice come from?

"When I found you, you were in pretty bad shape...that was some crash you were in. Everything was burnt to the ground."

"I can barely remember anything...only that it was hot."

"Well," Lyn said, and she giggled, "I'm glad to see you're okay. What's your name?"

"Uh, it's..."

"Mark? That's a nice name. I'm Lyn, of the Lorca tribe. I live alone here on these plains. If I hadn't been out for a walk and seen your beautiful skin sparkle in the night, I would never have been able to rescue you..."

Uh...

"Bandits killed my family...I'm alone now," Lyn said despondently, and sat at the edge of the bed, looking wistfully down at her lap.

UH...

"They poisoned the drinking water and slaughtered them while they were helpless...I only survived because my father sent me off on a horse...I had to watch as the bandits' axes killed almost my entire clan..."

What is wrong with this chick giving me all this crap? I just woke up! Is this just the standard greeting custom of the Sacaen people, to babble pointlessly about life's greatest tragedies? Am I going to have to tell her about that waking up with that tattoo on my a-

"I'm...sorry to hear that," Mark said at last, almost without thinking, scratching his head as to why she was telling him this now as opposed to...well, ever.

"I'm so glad you could be there to comfort me!" Lyn said, smiling, and she threw her arms around him cheerfully, the way she had done to no man before him and most certainly no man after him.

Suddenly the sound of battle rang out.

"What was that? It sounds like battle! I'd better go check," said Lyn, and she disappeared through the door before Mark could protest.

Well...it's none of my business...

"Boyo! We cannae have her dying now! Help her, would you please?" the mysterious male voice said in a tone both commanding and threatening, and Mark felt something click in his brain.

I have to go save her!

Dressed in only rags and a cloak, Mark nonetheless sprung to his feet, ready to aid Lyn in whatever it was she needed aid in. When he stepped outside, Mark had to shield his eyes from the rays of the hot steppe sun. He didn't know why he was taking orders from the leprechaun inside his brain, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that thinking was hard, but doing stuff without thinking was actually very liberating.

"Lyn!" he called out, and raced with the speed of a gazelle free from its earthly bonds towards the beautiful young plainswoman of Sacae.

"Oh, Mark!" she said, extending a hand to the young man. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. Can I, uh...help in any way?"

"You can't! You must still be injured from before! You mustn't overexert yourself!"

"I'm fine, really. I actually feel as good as new. It's strange, but whatever happened that I can't remember must not have been too serious."

"Please stay back, Mark! I can handle this myself!" Lyn said. "You there!" she called to the bandit standing next to the tent off in the distance. "Name yourself!"

"I am Batta the Beast!" he called out. "The greatest bandit warrior who ever has come to Sacae to pillage and plunder!"

"Mark!" Lyn cried. "I can't take him on by myself! Please, tell me what to do! I'm not sure how to swing my sword by myself. Just tell me what I should do! You can be my tactician! HAAALP!"

A tactician? Like a strategist? Why does that sound...so familiar?

"Um...what should I tell you?"

"You tell me."

"No, what do I tell you."

"Tell me anything!" Lyn said, beginning to grow exasperated. "He's getting closer, hurry!"

He's not moving, Mark noted, splitting his glance between the brave, bold Batta the Beast who stood aimlessly at the entrance to the far-off yurt, and Lyn, who seemed torn between attacking him and not attacking him.

"Um...go attack the bandit."

"With what?" Lyn asked, cocking her head to the side.

"One of your four iron swords."

"Oh. Okay!" Lyn said jovially, and raced towards the bandit. "A thousand curses on you, bandits! Feel the wrath of ten thousand cuts!"

Lyn took a slash at the man called Batta the Beast, who dodged the plainswoman's sword stroke with surprising agility, and with alacrity that could only be called "fortunate," struck a blow to Lyn in retaliation with his axe.

"Ouch!" Lyn cried, taking a step back, wincing in pain. "I couldn't hit him! I think I missed and hit the open tent door behind him instead of hitting him."

The bandit called Batta took another stroke at Lyn, who jumped back out of the way and took several large steps back before falling on her backside.

"Bombs and blast! If only standing in front of this tent didn't give me such a great tactical advantage, I'd come over there and finish what I started!" mocked the brigand, sneering. "You'd better be glad I'm not moving from this spot! Come over here and fight me like a man! Or a woman. Or a woman who dresses like a man. Whichever!"

Lyn growled. "Mark, I'm injured. What should I do?"

"Don't you have some sort of vuln—erk!"

Mark felt a sudden force silence him and he took a step forward without thinking.

"Faith and begorrah! Am I to do everything by myself?" said the mysterious voice, and, for as loud as it was, Lyn didn't even turn her head in its direction. "Would you please go over there and help her out, boyo?"

I have to do something! Mark thought, and without questioning himself or his as-yet-invisible friend, charged to where Lyn was still sitting, trying to pry the top off a small bottle of medicine.

"Mark? What are you doing? You're still hurt, you can't—"

Ignoring her protestations, Mark dashed by Lyn of the Lorca, grabbing her sword on the way by, twirling it around in midair. It felt comfortable in his hands, as though he'd known how to use one his whole life.

"You cannot hope to defeat me!" Batta taunted as Mark closed the distance between them. "Wherever I go, I pay in PURE GOLD BULLION. I am invincible! You do not stand a chance!"

"IIIIIIIIIIIYAH!" Mark screamed, with the conviction of the great Berserkers of the Nabatan west, and leapt into the air, bringing his sword down on Batta the Beast, slicing him in half from scalp to groin. He didn't even have time to scream. His body slid in half, blade slicing through his flesh like the warmth of butter. Despite the quantifiable tactical advantage standing in front of the red yurt gave him, Batta the Beast, the balding barbaric brigand, nevertheless died there, standing in the open door, with the crimson plain of Sacae bearing eternal witness to his failure as a bandit.

"Well done, boyo!" said the voice as Mark stood over his kill, panting. "Didn't think you had it in ye! Mercy, ye really did a number on him, didn't ye?"

"I want answers!" Mark said, angry as hell, and not going to take it anymore. Lyn looked at him quizzically. "Who are you, and why do you keep talking to me? And how do you know about my proficiency with a blade. And why the hell do you have that weird accent? Answer me!"

"Huh? W-What are you saying?" Lyn asked, blushing. "I'm-I'm your-"

"Oh, uh...it's nothing! Nothing, really." Mark lifted up his sword and laughed nervously. "It's nothing, sorry. Just a little tired, that's all."

The mysterious voice chuckled, and Mark quickly spun around to see where it was coming from, but no matter how much he spun around, the voice always seemed to be coming from directly behind him.

"Ye did well, boyo. Didn't think ye had it in ye. Mercy, ye cut him open like corned beef! And cabbage! And potatoes! Well, get ye back to rest. Methinks you'll be havin' ye a right journey what soon."

Who is this voice that's talking to me? And what does he mean 'a journey'?

"Are you all right?" Mark asked, extending a hand to Lyn, who accepted it graciously.

"That was amazing!" Lyn swooned, putting her hand on Mark's chest. "I've never seen anyone handle a sword so adeptly."

"Thank you."

"With your expert swordsmanship and skillful leadership, plus my...moral support...we might finally be able to find those accursed bandits that killed my family!"

And what does that have to do with me?

"Yes," Mark said, and before the evening could fall on the endless plain, they returned to Lyn's tent.

"You can be my ~peerless warrior~, and I can be your...not so ~peerless warrior~!"

That night, when Lyn had fallen asleep, as Mark lay awake on his bed of straw and hay, he again heard the voice speak to him.

"Ye did well today. But you're never going to last long out there the way you are now? You have a destiny, ye see."

Mark felt something heavy fall into his hand, and when he looked over through the dark air he saw a bottle filled with a strange liquid resting in his open left palm. The liquid was bright white, and it was glowing in the dark like a lantern, although the bottle itself was pleasantly cool to the touch.

"W-What is this?" he whispered, but the voice did not answer. It said simply,

"Drink."

"W-What is this? Who are you?" Mark had to restrain himself from jolting upright and loudly admonishing the voice. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lyn. "How did this bottle get in my hand? And what kind of sorcery are you trying to perform on me? Who are you, voice?"

"Oh, give it a rest, boyo! If I wanted to answer so many damned questions all at once I'd bring a codfish to the red light district." the voice answered. "And f'r the love of all that's holy, would you please just quaff the damn draught!"

Still snarling, Mark uncorked the bottle and was answered by the roar of crackling electricity. It reminded him of the sound of a Thunder tome going off, when the bolt of lightning strikes the ground and makes the earth sizzle and burn bright for one fleeting instant. For the life of him, Mark could not say how he knew what lightning sounded like, but the memory was so vivid in his head he could almost taste it.

Here goes nothing...I hope.

Steeling his courage, Mark quaffed the potion, needing several gulps to down the entire thing. A few seconds and he felt nothing. Then the pain hit him. At first it was a dull throb, and then a massive jolt in every muscle in his body. Mark screamed out and tumbled off his bedding, clutching his head in his right hand as his left clenched and unclenched against his will. Bright white sparks of electricity, the same that had surged through the current of the draught, began to rush through his fingertips, and quickly his entire left hand was devoured with sparks.

"Mark? Mark!" Lyn said, stirring from her bed, her hand darting to the hilt of her sword instinctively. "Are you all right?"

Almost as quickly as they had come, the shocks had passed and Mark's hand had returned to normal. "Y-yes...of course. Just had a nightmare, that's all."

This is it...the true power of the NeuroSpark!

"You know, if you need anything, you can always ask me," said Lyn, and she brushed her hair back coyly.

As he fell back to sleep, still in tremendous pain, Mark could feel himself falling in love.

- O -

"That rat basted Noygal thinks he can drive up the proyces on prawnography because it 'facilitates the decay of our youth?' Well, Oi gots just one thing to say to that fat rat basted: Feck you, and feck the mutha that boythed ya!" – Marquess Araphen

- O -

"Rise and shine, boyo."

Mark didn't want to wake up to the mysterious voice. He would rather have woken up with the king, or preferably to the sound of his lovely savior Lyn's voice. But alas, it was not to be. In fact, the yurt was empty when he awoke.

"Who are you?" Mark said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

The voice gasped. "Faith and begorrah! What a fool me! Now I understand your remonstrations, laddie! I never introduced me self! Oi'm Hercules. There's a lot of decay in this place, and I'm here to get you out of here safe. Don't ye worry your little self none."

What kind of name is 'Hercules'? And 'get me out of here?' What does that mean?

"Why are you talking to me? And what did you have me drink last night?"

"Easy there. One step at a time, now. There's a girl out there that needs your help to retake her rightful throne."

"Why should I help her?" Mark argued. "I just met her! She's cute, yes, but why should I care about kingdoms and thrones, and all that? I—I don't even remember who I am! And wait, what do you mean, throne? I thought she wanted to find some bandi-"

"She saved your life, boyo!"

"I'm no fighter!" Mark said. "I'm just a...okay, I don't know what I am. I literally have totally forgotten everything about myself. But strangely, am feeling no short-term memory loss, other amnesiac side-effects, or existential angst about it."

"Oh would you please hush up!" said the voice, and Mark could broach no more argument.

When Lyn returned to the tent, she started upon seeing Mark's awake form.

"Oh! You're awake! So, did you consider what I told you yesterday?"

"Yes, I did. I'll go with you," said Mark.

Lyn clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! Let's go! First, we should go to Bulgar to find any leads. It's the largest center of commerce in Sacae, and a perfect place to start our journey."

And so they set off to Bulgar, and sure enough, when they wandered into the center of the city, they wandered into something eventful.

"Oof," Lyn said, as she walked right into a brown-haired knight walking his horse and his redheaded companion. "Hey!"

"And what have we here?" said the brown-haired knight. "A lovely Sacaen lady in traditional attire? I am in love! :3"

Lyn scoffed. "Where are you from to speak so openly to a woman?"

Let me guess...this clown is going to want to tag along with us now.

"Where? I hail from Caelin, home of men with fire and—and fire!"

"More like home to callow oafs with loose tongues, looser britches, and limp d-"

Mark cleared his throat hastily just as Hercules chimed in.

Ohhhhh. Burn! This lass has some bite to her tongue.

"You wound me!" said the brunet, halfway between faux-insulted and earnestly insulted. "But they say the most beautiful roses hide at their stem the most plentiful thorns, alas..."

"Could you please move out of the way," Lyn said, impatiently tapping her foot on the road. "Your horses are blocking our path!"

"Oh!" said the red-haired man. "Excuse us, miss. We shall move. Come, Sain."

Sain grumbled, but obliged and gently tugged on his chestnut horse's reins.

"Finally," Lyn said, and she and Mark slipped past.

"Wait a minute," the redhead said after Lyn had gone by. "Did she not look familiar to you, Sain?"

"So...lovely..."

"SAIN!"

"W-What? Come, Kent, I was too preoccupied gazing longingly at her entrancing beauteousness to wonder if she—wait, what did you say?"

Kent facepalmed. "Did you see her face? Her eyes...didn't they remind you of something familiar?"

"Ah! Yes! The wench at the crossing! But hers were lusty and hungry, but these eyes were-"

"No!" Kent barked, and Sain jumped half out of his saddle.

"Oh...OH! You don't mean...she is Lady Madelyn's...?"

"Yes!" Kent said, and tethered his horse to a nearby post. "We have to find her!" he added, and ran off, with Sain right behind him.

- O -

"My morphs are the perfect creatures. It is a shame I rely on those...horrible, despicable little girls to gather the ELIMINE I need for their creation. How wonderful that such disgusting little creatures can provide the material for such sublime beings..." - Nergal

- O -

After buying absolutely nothing in Bulgar (Bulgarian goods were apparently beneath the young girl; either that or she had literally no money), Lyn and Mark left town, only for a strange man to approach them on the border of town. But he was not like the bandit from before—there was something decidedly strange about him.

"Y-You're that girl! Lyndis, ain'tcha?" he said. Something in his eyes utterly scared Mark.

"Who are you?" Lyndis asked, disgusted.

"W-Who am...I...I just wanted to taaaaaaalk!" he screamed. His name was Zugu; Mark didn't know how he knew that, but he did. "Elimine loves me, this I know...nnnnugh! ZUG ZUG! MY LIFE FOR THE HORDE!"

The big, ugly bandit with the five-o-clock shadow broke down and started sobbing, and Lyn was forced to trade bewildered glances with her peerless warrior.

"Be very, very careful, boyo...this bloke has more chili in his pease porridge than you might think..."

Okay, Mark replied, in his mind so that Lyn wouldn't think he was crazy, first off, what do you mean by that, and secondly, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

"Open your eyes, man! He's what's called a 'splicer'. All the shooting up of ELIMINE cells made him a bit loony. Had a little bit too much chlorine in his gene pool, get me?"said Hercules.

What is chlorine? And what's a splicer? And what makes you think anyone cares about your stupid exposition?

"Never mind. Just be you careful. He's going to be a lot harder to stop than those other gobs ye fought. Would you please not go easy on him?"

"Right," Mark said, steeling himself. Zug ran away, almost stumbling over his own fat feet, and from the forests about the city appeared four more equally insane, equally cannon fodder brigands, axes glistening with dew. "It's time to take out these bullet monkeys!"

From the walls of the city, the two knights from before emerged, Lyn taking note of them and greeting them as they emerged. But Mark paid them no heed. With his iron sword by his side, he charged headlong at the first brigand who shouted "Whyyyyyyyyy" at him before being sliced to ribbons in one quick stroke.

"That was my special technique," Mark boasted. Suddenly memories of his sword training flashed into his head. They were dark memories, bloody, painful memories, but in this moment, they empowered him. "The unleashed forbidden power of battoujutsu: Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu!"

The second bandit rushed at him and brought his axe crashing down on Mark's head—or he would have, if the tactician had not deftly rolled to one side, in one motion drawing his sword and slashing across the bandit's body. The third bandit posed no more of a threat, as one slash of his axe was answered with a sweeping overhead cut of Mark's sword that cut a bloody notch in his face.

This is easy, Mark thought. I'm a natural at this! How did I learn to do such amazing things? Oh, who cares.

He crossed the bridge, and as the fourth bandit approached him, he leapt high in the air and brought his swift blade crashing down on him, cutting him neatly into two pieces.

Now, only one left.

Standing in the shadow of the mountains, the last 'splicer', Zugu, stood, still stark raving mad, mumbling to himself incoherently.

"Zugu, this is the end for you."

"IT WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A GIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLL!" he cried before he lost his head...literally.

"And here I thought it was going to be difficult!" said Hercules as Mark stood over his kill and swung his sword around unnecessarily as fanfare played. "You're a born natural, boyo!"

"That was amazing!" Lyn cried, as she and her two new knight companions approached him. When she reached her peerless warrior, she threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush.

"Admirable!" the redheaded knight said. "I have never seen someone with skills such as yours with the sword, not even amongst the ranks of the knights of Caelin!"

"Indeed! Alas, verily I say!" said his brunet companion. "I am most obviously impressed upon! If you were a woman, I might offer a kiss, or my hand in marriage...but, um, you aren't, so obviously I wouldn't...no homo."

"I don't think we've been formally introduced. My name is Kent." The redhead extended a hand to Mark.

"And I am Sain. I am in awe of your skills, my friend!"

I already knew your names...I can read, you know.

"Thank you. But, I wasn't that great..."

"And modest, too!" Kent said, now even more in awe. "There aren't many men in Elibe nowadays with such strength and such grace of character! Certainly tacticians seem to be in short supply lately..."

Hercules laughed suddenly and loudly. "Don't bust a nut there, reddo," said he, and Mark had to cover his mouth to stifle a chuckle of his own. "Now, boyo. You'll have to take a slight detour...but you'll get where you're going, I promise ye."

Fine...but when we get to...wherever it is we're going, I want answers from you.

When Lyn and the knights were done with their praise, Kent and Sain explained their mission: how they were sent to find the child of Madelyn and Hassar, the eloped family of Marquess Hausen of Caelin, and bring her back to the castle. When all were in agreement, they decided to head in the complete opposite direction of Caelin to visit a small, rundown shrine that apparently hosted an incredibly powerful sword—and spirits, but mainly a sword.

"Here it is," Lyn said as they approached. "The shrine of the Mani Katti. As legend has it, the Mani Katti was made from the silver fang of a giant wolf that died baying and howling at the moon. Within that sword is the power not only of the wolf's fangs, but also the mystery and majesty of the lady moon herself. That's why they call it the 'Sword of Wolf and Moon'. It's a shame we won't be able to take a weapon like that with us..."

Hercules laughed.

They reached the shrine and heard voices from within. Some mercenary named Glass was giving the head priest of the shrine the business.

"We have to do something!" Lyn said, gasping. "Mark, halp!"

"I'm on it!"

"Sain and I shall work on breaking down the weak wall," said Kent. "Mark, if you could go south and impede the bandits' progress from over the mountains?"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Mark said with defiant snappiness.

"Please?" asked Lyn.

"Of course!"

Mark made his way south to the mountains and looked up the great slopes. There was a bandit doing nothing in particular at the highest peak, and when he walked, a landslide of pebbles and gravel rolled down the mountainside near Mark's feet.

"How am I going to climb up those slopes?" Mark lamented. "I'm going to lose precious time scaling these mountains..."

"Have you forgotten, boyo? Your birthright? Don't you remember your heritage? Just believe you can fly! Believe you can touch the sky! Think about it, every night and day. Spread your wings, would you please, and fly away!"

Mark felt a sudden surge of energy course through his body into his back.

"W-What's going on?" Mark exclaimed, a second before his body exploded with pain. Reeling, Mark fell to the ground, his face planted against the coarse gravel. He could hear the distant sound of Lyn and her two knights gasping.

The pain...my back...it felt like it just exploded!

Slowly, Mark rose to his feet, and what he felt then shocked him into silence. He had something on his back, but not something small or simple—they were wings. Two great, luxuriant ebony wings had emerged like a butterfly from its long pupation, tearing the back of his brown robe to shreds in the process.

"W-What happened to me? Wings? Wow!"

It took him less than two seconds to figure out how to soar high in the sky, high above the mountains, high above the stupid brigands who clambered up the slopes by foot. Below him, Mark could hear, because of his supernatural hearing, Lyn gasping and squeeing in awe of his majestic flight, or perhaps the beauty of his jet-colored raven's wings, feathers slowly falling to the ground in artful arcs.

Let's see how those bandits like...the death from above?

Like a bullet with butterfly's wings, Mark dove from the sky, blade held out, and pierced a bandit's neck in one clean stab, landing gracefully on his feet as his dumb foe tumbled back down the slopes. Another bandit tried awkwardly to strike at Mark, but, using the unstable rocks as footing, he gained an immeasurable advantage at evasion, and holding a sword made him even more evasive. His next strike was true, cutting across the blackguard's body once, twice, and once more for good measure until the cur with the axe was little more than a pile of red ribbons on the rocks.

Victorious, Mark flew high into the air again, the blood on his blade catching the sun and sparkling like diamonds in the late-afternoon light. In the distance, Sain and Kent together had broken down the weakened shrine wall, and Lyn was sitting on a rock, admiring Mark's smooth, graceful flight through the supernal, brilliant azure cloudless skies.

Very nice, boyo. Now let's deal with that scummy mercenary.

Mark landed on the ground in front of the shrine, effortlessly cutting down the axeman who guarded the ingress, and marched forward to meet the man called Glass, who sat like Orcus on his great throne.

"Who are you and why do you think you can defeat me?" Glass said, drawing his sword. "Are you dense? Are you utterly braindead or something? Don't you know who I am? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?"

"I don't know, but I think I'm about to find out!" said Mark. He knew this fight would be his most difficult yet. Not only was he unable to use his newfound wings in such a small shrine, but he no longer had the luxury of abusing axemen either. To make things even worse, Glass parking his fat ass on his porcelain throne gave him an undeniably immense defensive and evasive advantage. The sides of his seat stopped anyone from initiating a side attack, so the only way to fight with him was head-on: directly to his forehead.

Mark began by swiping at the merc with his sword; Glass easily evaded it by shifting his weight on his seat and ducking his head. He returned with a stroke of his own, nearly catching Mark on the chin. The tactician caged around his prey as Lyn and the knights watched, enraptured.

"You are indeed a worthy adversary, my man," Mark said, striking again to no avail; Glass merely raised his blade to catch his and yawned when the tactician found not a single opening to strike his comfortably seated foe.

"As I said!" Glass mocked. "You will never defeat me!"

"Oh, come off it, boyo!" Hercules said. "You'll never defeat him trying to swipe at him like a pansy. Would you please remember what I taught you before? The ElectroShock!"

Thought it was called the NeuroSpark. Hm...

Suddenly, Mark remembered. No, to be more accurate, it was his muscles that remembered. A wave of white-hot electric sparks courses through his free left hand, and almost as if by instinct, thrust it forth, fist held out in front of him. The electricity jumped from his fist and struck the mercenary directly in the chest. Glass cried out in pain, frozen in place by the electric current.

Let's go!

Taking advantage of the situation, Mark rushed forward and with a great heave-ho, thrust his sword through Glass's heart.

"I guess Glass people in glass houses...shouldn't throw stones," Mark said as he let the mercenary drop dead before him, and his allies clapped and shouted "YEAAAAAAAAAAAH!" in celebration both of his victory and his razor wit.

"Oh, and also...guess he had a 'heart of glass'!"

Peals of laughter.

"Thank you!" said the priest, emerging from the back room. "Brave heroes, I thank you for saving me. Here, please lay hands upon our sacred sword."

"All right!" said Mark, and he touched the sacred sword Mani Katti. When it did, it began to glow a strange silver-blue and of its own accord slid from its leather scabbard.

Lyn gasped. "Mark, that's...the legendary sword of spirits! That means..."

"The spirits have chosen you, good sir!" said the horribly generic priest. "It is your destiny to wield this blade!"

"Destiny? What destiny? I didn't choose to wield this sword!" whined Mark.

"Oh, but thou must!"

"Yes, Mark! Please! You're the only one who can use this sword! With your help, I think I might finally be able to pay back Lundgren for all the foul deeds he's committed!"

"I suppose," Mark said, returning the blade to its sheath and hooking it onto his forest leather belt.

They left the shrine behind, and Lyn was smiling and laughing with her two new guardians, but Mark trailed behind them, now wondering what his destiny truly was...

- O -

"Fight for freedom! Do not let Nergal's twisted ambitions get you down! The revolution will never fail! The revolution is you! The revolution is me! The revolution is all of us! And he can't stop us all!" – Hercules

- O -

That night, Mark sat alone by the fire, after everyone had fallen asleep, and stared at his new sword by the firelight.

"Why me?" he said softly. "I never asked for this fate. Why was I cursed with these things? These wings, this powerful sword...is my purpose in life just to kill? Am I resigned now to crawl in my skin, my wounds never healing, always festering at me? Why?!"

In despair, after the world had left him in despair, Mark sat and muttered, "Mudamudamudamudamuda," until he heard a sweet, beautiful female voice come from behind him.

"Mark?"

The tactician heard Lyn answer his low screech to the heavens, and sheathed his blade. With a soft hand he beckoned her to sit beside him.

"Oh—did I wake you up?" said Mark sadly. "Sorry."

Lyn shook her head and sat on the grass next to him. "No, no, it's all right. I couldn't sleep anyway. I kept worrying about you..."

"Thought I couldn't handle the pressure, did you?"

"That's not it at all!" Lyn said, eyes welling with tears. "Please, you must believe me! I never doubted you for a second."

"I believe you."

"Oh, thank you!" said Lyn, and she threw her arms around Mark. He felt himself blush.

I have a mission...I may not remember what my mission is, but I'm destined for greater things...I mustn't be afraid of them. And everyone here is so supportive of me...

"Um, Mark? Do you mind if I ask a question?" Lyn asked, snuggling up to the tactician, hooking her arm in his. "Your skin..."

Lyn nodded in the direction of Mark's arms, which were slightly glowing and glittering in the moonlight.

"Oh, this? I...I don't know," Mark said. "Ever since I could remember, my skin has been this way, shimmering in the moonlight...I'm...I'm so ashamed of it. Because it happens every time I step out into the twil—"

"It's beautiful," Lyn said, swooning. "It's so preeeeeeeeeeetty!"

Mark felt his cheeks flush again. "You're...the only one who's ever loved me despite all my flaws. Even the fact that I'm the only one who can wield this great sword doesn't bother you. I'm such a flawed person, and yet still you love me."

"Your flaws only make you more special to me," said Lyn, and the two shared a passionate kiss before finally drifting off to sleep in each other's warm embraces.

- O -

"Ha...hahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! Why should I fear a parasite? A parasite should fear me!" – Nergal, when asked if he feared rogue agents undermining his Paradise.

- O -

For a week, the group continued their travels until they reached a small village under siege. They approached the gate and a boy's voice yelled out "Don't come in, bandits!"

Shrugging, they continued on until Lyn spotted something off in the distance.

"Look! That's a pegasus over there!"

The group rushed over to where a group of bandits even uglier than before were harassing a cute little girl.

"Yo pegasus fell on us! Yo gonna pay fo that big time, little girl!"

"Meep," said the little girl.

"Florina!" Lyn called out, and raced over to the girl's side. "What happened?"

"L-Lyn," said Florina. "I...t-these men..."

"Did your pegasus land on them again?"

"W-Well, I...y-yes..."

"OH YOU!" Lyn said cheekily, her hands jauntily placed on her hips, and everyone had a good canned laugh and a wah-wah-wah-waaaaaaaah at Florina's expense. Everyone except the bandits, who were dancing mad.

"We'll never forgive you!" said the leader of the group, Miguel. Madness flashed in his eyes in the way that only madness can. "We're going to sell your stupid flying mule and when we've done that, we'll sell you too! Maybe to the black market, maybe to the grey market, maybe to that fat Duke with a wing fetish. At any rate, come on out, warriors! It's time to plaaaaaaaaay!"

Miguel somehow ran about twenty spaces in one turn and reinforcements arrived.

"All right, everybody, here's what to do," Mark said, figuring it was finally time to flex his tacticianizing muscles. "Kent, visit that village there. Florina, go visit that village way up north. Everyone else, go kill shit!"

"Aye aye!" shouted the group, who went to follow their orders, while raving to themselves how lost they would be without his aid.

They had cleared out all enemies but the leader, Miguel, and Mark could tell he was the last remaining foe because Hercules was humming a different tune in his ear than usual.

"Now listen up, boyo. That bandit over there is not playing with a full deck, if you get my drift. You're going to need a more potent weapon if you want to take him out. Luckily, I have bees."

As he approached the bandit leader, he saw a mysterious glass jar fall at his feet.

Inside the jar was bees.

"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!" Mark shouted upon seeing the jar. "What's the deal with bees?"

"Bees, boyo. When the power of 'Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu' just inn't enough."

"As enticing as that sounds, I'm not opening that jar," said Mark stubbornly. "No way."

"Would you please open it?" asked Hercules kindly, and Mark couldn't, apparently, ignore such a kind request.

Mark did so and immediately the bees buzzed louder.

"Now drink it."

"Oh, go to he—"

"Same old song and dance, boyo," Hercules said, now sounding impatient again. "'Would you please' drink the damn bees?"

Mark never thought he'd hear that line ever spoken, but somehow he was unable to resist the command. He downed the bees in one gulp, and, as expected, it wasn't pleasant. As he had drinking the bottled lightning (not to be confused with moonshine), Mark felt an incredible amount of pain surging throughout his body, enough to double him over. Except this time, it was different. This time, HE HAD JUST DRANK A JAR OF BEES.

What is this? Why do I keep listening to this insane guy give me orders in my head? Get out of my head! Get-out-of-my-HEAD!

The bandit leader, seeing an opportunity to strike, charged at Mark.

I can't do this all on my own...no, I know I'm no superman...

But Mark was no scrub. In the greatest pain he'd ever felt in his life, Mark raised his Mani Katti and barely deflected the vertical leaping strike of the bandit's axe.

"Elimine loves me, she loves me a bunch," Miguel sang in his sing-song voice. "WHY WON'T YOU LOVE ME? LOOOOOOOVE MEEEEEEEEEE!"

Mark hadn't the strength to counter the bandit's next blow.

Is this it...is this the end of the line for me?

"Not so fast!" Lyn shouted, jumping in front of the bandit's attack, protecting Mark from the blow and countering with a strike of her own.

I guess I don't have to do this by myself...I have friends who will help me...

"Don't get in my way! I'm dangerous!" Miguel shouted. In one clean strike, he took out Lyn and put his steel axe right in Sain's face. Sain went "oof".

Damn it...I have to get up...I'm the only one who can do this...

Mark clambered to his feet and suddenly realized that the bees, which he thought he'd drank up, now were encircling his left hand. He had a crazy idea.

"Hey, bandit man!" he yelled, and the leader of the brigands turned to look at him. "How do you like...a BEE-BEE GUN?"

Mark thrust his left fist forward and suddenly a WAVE of bees came flying from his hand, swarming violently around Miguel's face.

"Oh god, no, not the bees! AAAAGH NOT THE BEES! AGH! THEY'RE TEARING APART MY FACE LIKE A WICKER BASKET! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLP THE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

The brigand died a horrible, horrible death there, as the carnivorous bees devoured the flesh on his face, burrowed into his brain and ate his consciousness from the inside out. It was probably the most disturbing thing Mark had ever seen.

"After this is done, we must have a great feast at the inn at the crossroads!" Sain said as they left the ruined village behind. "This battle has made me most peckish, in fact voracious!"

"We're finally a group proper," Kent said.

"We need a name," said Lyn, thinking. "Ah! I know! How about 'Mark's Legion'?"

"That's a fantastic name!" Sain said. "The name of our fearless leader and his always trustworthy second-in-command!"

As they journeyed, they shared a great laugh.

- O -

"Inside the jar was bees." – the last segment of this story.

- O -

Over the next few weeks, the group met many new companions. Together, with Mark providing aerial cover now that Wil had given him a bow, they protected a Fighter's wife from more evil bandits, and gained an invaluable ally. When they met a traveling priestess and her frumpy red-cloaked companion, Mark took some time to learn how to use a staff and eventually became so skilled that even the priestess, a pink ponytailed princess proper, name of Serra, complimented him on his adeptitude at, like, heals. In the court of Marquess Araphen (who was quite frankly a bit of a loony), they met another Sacaen by the name of Rath, and they became acquainted with a jack of all trades and chipper bloke named Matthew. Together, along with a quiet monk, a mysterious pair of siblings, and a spunky know-it-all gadgeteer girl, Mark and his allies finally made their way to Caelin. When they reached the border, Lyn pulled Mark aside into a village armory.

"Before we go any further, I want to make sure you're protected. You can't keep charging into battle unprotected." She blushed. "You always need...protection."

"Hmm, that's a good idea," replied Mark. As he walked into the store, he made sure to keep his great black raven's wings tucked beneath his robes.

"Excuse me," said Lyn, walking right up to the vendor. "I want the most expensive armor you have," said she, and she plopped down all her money on the counter.

"But Lyn, what about the others? Do they not need equipment?"

"Don't worry," she said, winking. "I have a plan."

The armorer took Lyn and Mark into the back room and when they arrived, Mark saw what might have been the most sublime piece of armor he had ever seen. The armor was a bright, pure ivory gilded around the edges, with an ornate engraving of a willow tree directly in the center. Though a suit of full plate, with skirt to protect the upper legs, it was nevertheless lightweight, enough to give him plenty of mobility, but sturdy enough to protect him from even the strongest of blows. But what was more amazing was that the back of the armor had a place to fit his raven wings. Mark shook his head, in disbelief that such a perfect suit of armor could have been there, waiting for him to buy.

"How did you get something like this?" asked he.

"Oh, this? A man came by about a month ago," said the armorer, a stout man built like two barrels with a great brown moustache. "Said he wanted to get rid of it. I would have given him two thousand for it, but he parted with it for two hundred! So I says, hey, don't kick a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

Mark was pretty certain that was not how that idiom went, but he just smiled and nodded. Smiled and nodded.

"I don't even know what kind of metal it is, t'be honest," continued the armorer. "It's incredibly strong, but also very light. Honest to Elimine, I think ten thousand is too little f'r such a piece, but...well, just f'r you, this deal. Take it or leave it."

Mark bought the armor and the royal-looking white cape that went with it, changing in the back room and emerging fully garbed in his new plate, his cape billowing majestically.

"You look great!" Lyn said, completely in awe.

"It's all thanks to you...if you hadn't put in all that money..."

"Don't worry about it," Lyn said as they left the store together. "You can find some...other ways to pay me back once this is all done." She giggled, and Mark had the feeling he was going to get quite a workout repaying the favor. And by that he meant he was probably going to have to do a LOT of cleaning. And probably some indentured servitude. And possibly some mortal-soul selling. Ten thousand gold, man. Not chump change.

When they had finished shopping, Lyn and Mark rejoined the rest of Mark's Legion and marched onward until they reached the domain of General Eagler, a Caelin lord who had chosen to throw his lot in with Lundgren.

"I can't believe it...we have to take arms against General Eagler..."

"He must have another reason," Kent said. "A family member, or friend under the sway of Lundgren. He would not stand for this otherwise..."

"GWA HA HA!"

Mark's legion turned at the sound of the boisterous laugh and when they turned they saw a great meat slab of a man in gigantic grey armor walking toward them.

"Now what have we here? GWA HA HA! Is this the 'Mark's Legion' I have heard so much about? Have you all been reading the Manual of Knightly Prowess? You are all so remarkably fit! I could see you all keeping up with me in a THREE-LAP RACE AROUND CASTLE CAELIN! GWA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Sir Wallace," Sain said, looking at the ground. "Must we fight you too?"

"Gwa ha ha!" laughed Wallace. "Gwa ha ha ha! Manly manliness! The Manual of Knightly Prowess GWAHAHAHAHA knightly prowess MANLINESS GWA HA HA HA HA!"

"Is he...quite sane?" Mark said, sharing a glance with Lyn.

Lyn shrugged.

"Gwa ha ha! Bring forth the lass who calls herself Lyndis AND MAKE HER RUN THREE LAPS AROUND THE CASTLE GWA HA HA HA HA GET RUNNIN'! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"By the way he acts, you'd think this was the only thing he talks about," Mark said, rolling his eyes, and of course the rest of the party had no idea what he was talking about.

"I am Lyndis," said Lyn, stepping forward. "And I am no pretender. I intend to take the throne that is rightfully mine and nothing is going to stop me."

Wallace paused for a moment. "GWAHAHAHAHA! GET ME A MUG OF ALE AND MY MANUAL OF KNIGHTLY PROWESS GWA HA HA! At any rate...I can see in your eyes, girl, that you are true...AND FIT TO DO THREE LAPS AROUND THE CASTLE GWA HA HA UNF UNF—WHOA! I THINK I JUST PASSED A KIDNEY STONE! GWA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Someone whack him upside the head!" Lyn shouted, and Mark gave him a solid smack.

"Whoa!" said Wallace. "This is the song that doesn't end—it just goes on and on my friends—"

"OKAY, WHO BROKE THE WALLACE?" Lyn said grumpily, hands on her hips again. "Mark! Fix it fix it fix it fix it fix it fix it!"

Mark smacked Wallace upside the head again.

"HOW MUCH IS THAT DOGGIE IN THE DOGGIE IN THE DOGGIE IN THE—"

This time Mark KICKED Wallace with his big boot, and after the big fellow had spit out a random series of numbers and yelled "Critical systems error! Restarting!", he shook his head and seemed to come around (you could say he re'boot'ed.)

"Whoa. Oy, where was I? Ha ha! Felt like I woke up from a long dream! The hell was I on about there? Well, at any rate, with that hoo-hah and hullaballoo and kerfluffle settled, I think I'll join your little band of merry miscreants and rogue insurrection elements. If that blackheart blackguard blackhead black-eyed blondie Lundgren really is just a foul pretender, I won't feel at all bad about giving him the whatfor and the heave-ho and the dippety doo-dah with my lance! And when all of this is done we can enjoy the lunch of champions: A raw T-bone steak and a bowl of Wheaties! GWAR HAR HAR!"

"Oh, thank you, Sir Wallace!"

"GWA HA HA! You can thank me later, after I've done three laps around the castle! Right now, it's time to promote!"

"What do you mean?" Lyn asked.

"Well, watch this! See how I'm just a lowly Armor Knight now? Gwa ha," said Wallace. "Well, when I use this Crest of Knights..."

"NO!" cried Hercules. "For God's sake, boyo! Stop him, would you damn please?"

"Stop!" Mark cried, and tackled Wallace before he could do...whatever it was he was going to do with the Crest to make him promote. "Don't do it, man! Bad things will happen!"

Wallace looked at him quizzically.

"Uh...I mean...promotion at level NOT twenty? Bad, bad, bad! Wait until you milk all your stat gains, bra!"

"GWA HA HA! This boy has some stones to interrupt me like that! 'Milk your stat gains'! GWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAH! Looks like he's been reading the Manual of Kn—"

"Come on," interrupted Lyn, suddenly impatient. "Let's get going. I want to find this General Eagler and get this over with."

So the group cut through the fog slowly, hiding in the forests and cutting down any enemies wherever they appeared. Mark flew overhead, darting down to slice apart any bandits lying in wait in the mountains, and waited until the rest of the group had gathered where the enemy general, Eagler, was waiting.

"You there! General of this little army!" Eagler said, and he gestured to Mark. "You are the champion of the young lass pretending to be the rightful heir to the throne?"

"She is the rightful heir," Mark said, sharing a glance with Lyndis. "I will fight and die defending her claim to the throne!"

"Then fight me, and prove you are worthy to bear the name of Mark, Lord of Battle!"

Lord of Battle? Is that what they're calling me now?

Mark raised his Mani Katti and rushed forward. Fighting Eagler was going to be difficult, this he knew: Eagler was a Paladin, a holy knight mounted on a horse, and despite the Mani Katti's effectiveness in ripping horses in armor new holes, Eagler's greater mobility meant that Mark was at an immediate disadvantage. The fact that he stood in front of the gate to his castle only compounded the problem. Standing in front of the door not only made his ability to evade Mark's lightning-fast strikes greater, but it also gave his armor a very significant bonus, which meant every blow had to count.

"Eat this!" Mark said, sheathing his sword and quickly withdrawing it in one fell swoop. There was a tremendous flash of light and Eagler staggered back by the force of the blow. "The unbridled power of the Hiten Mitsurugi style of swordsmanship!"

"What tremendous power! Could you be...the legendary assassin? The Hitoki—wait, wait, of course not. What the hell am I on about? Now," said Eagler raising up to his greatest height and readying his lance of steel, his Steel Lance. "En garde!"

Eagler dashed forward and Mark had to duck to avoid the great thrust. Eagler followed up with another series of attacks, at such a range that Mark found it impossible to guard every one. Eventually, one of Eagler's strikes hit home, and Mark staggered back.

"Damn it!" he shouted, stepping out of Eagler's reach and withdrawing his Healing staff from his golden armor. "Forces of healing, I beseech thee...call upon me and set me free! HEAL!"

A swath of blue energy surrounded the tactician's wounds and soon he was back to full strength.

"I-Impossible!" Eagler spat, sweat dripping from his moustache. "You—are you the legendary warrior they spoke of? Do-do you have appendages that stretch out unnaturally? Or the ability to summon a demonic fox of legend? Or, or, are you able to fire a ray of pure ki named after an ancient Hawaiian King?"

"No..." said Mark. "But I do have...THIS!"

He thrust his left hand forward and a bolt of electricity surged into it. With a quick punch he sent all that pure electrical power surging at Eagler, knocking him almost on his assy.

"Now!" Mark yelled, and the rest of his friends charged in to ruthlessly beat down the paralyzed general.

"Victoly!" Mark shouted, raising his fist in the air as his allies dog-piled the poor general.

He celebrated too soon. With a feat of superhuman strength, General Eagler threw all of the fighters atop him off, sending them flying in many different directions. Mark had to take wing and catch Lyn to stop her from flying off into the mountains.

"What was that?" exclaimed Mark.

"You will not defeat me so easily!" Eagler screamed. His body had become surrounded by a bright red aura, and his spear shone a brilliant blue. "I will stand my ground!"

Cursing violently, Mark shot another bolt of electricity at the general, but this time it merely glanced ineffectually off his crimson aura of protection.

Maybe that just doesn't work...let's try something else, then!

Mark dashed towards Eagler, deftly jumping out of the way of Eagler's lightning-quick spear strikes, and leapt high into the sky.

"EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT THISSSSSSSSSSS!"

Mark brought the Blade of Wolf and Moon crashing down on Eagler, but instead of having its intended effect, something incredible happened: the edge of the Mani Katti met the red aura surrounding General Eagler, and the aura repulsed Mark, forcing him back with such tremendous energy that the tactician flew backwards, his head impacting heavy against the hard ground.

Ow! Damn it! W-What's going on? Why are my attacks all doing nothing?

"As I thought," Eagler mocked. "You are all pretenders! Lord Lundgren must be the true heir to the throne if even the young Lyndis's champion fails to triumph over me."

"You're wrong."

Everyone turned to see who had spoken, and it was none other than the "pretender" herself, Lyn, who had walked 500 miles and would gladly walk 500 more.

"Oi, that should have been my line, walking a thousand miles to show up at your door, and all that!" Hercules proclaimed, but Mark mentally shushed him.

"Mark will never fail," Lyn said. "I trust him. And I love him. And he will never lose to a blackguard like you."

"W-Who said I was a 'blackguard'?" Eagler said, but Lyn did not reply. Instead, she charged at him with her iron sword, and of course she was harmlessly repelled by his aura of defense.

"Ow..." said she.

"Now what do we do?" Mark said, scratching his head. "None of our attacks do any damage!"

"Umm..." Matthew raised his hand. "Mayhap...move on to Castle Caelin? I mean, it isn't like he's moving from that spot, right? So it's not like if we just leave for Castle Caelin that he'll follow us or anything. So mayhap we can just leave him be and—"

"No!" Mark said. "I refuse to surrender!"

"Right then. Well, actually, I didn't say surr—"

"But what can I do?" Mark said, in despair, making his best "D:" face. "His barrier is too strong!"

"Oh, must I do everything for you, boyo?" said Hercules, exacerbating their exasperation. "Maybe unlock another one of your hidden powers? But you have to believe me, I'm running low on ELIMINE...sooner or later, you're going to have to harvest some more from those little lasses...but I think I have just the thing to help in this situation."

Mark looked down at his feet, where a strange blue-white bottle had fallen. Mark picked it up and found it was startlingly cold to the touch.

"W-What is this?" Mark asked, and Lyn wondered who he was talking to.

"Just drink it boyo. Just to save us some time, 'would you please drink it'?"

Mark uncorked it and did as he was told. It was like drinking down an entire glacier (still not as bad as the bees, though). Mark doubled over, screaming to the sky in pain, and for a moment he didn't even know where he was. Visions flashed before his eyes, visions of a burning carriage, and behind it, a man in a great black cloak, a man with one eye—no, he had two, but—the vision faded and he was in a room, surrounded by hundreds of identical people, each with the same deep, unnatural ebony hair and bright golden eyes.

Mark suddenly found himself thrust back into reality when Lyn shook him.

"Mark! Mark!" she said, in tears. "Mark, please, get up!"

"Eagler!" Wallace yelled. "How could you? Do you not see in Lyndis's eyes? Do you not see the resolve in her young leader Mark's face? Do you not see his resolve? A man like him is worthy of owning the Manual of Knightly Prowess, not a stubborn old ox like you! You should be off somewhere writing the Tome of Craven Cravenliness and Cowardification!"

"You are a fool, Wallace!" Eagler cried, the power of the red aura seemingly affecting him, because his breaths were becoming more labored and his voice seemed to be weakening. "You...you don't know...that she is true! Her eyes...pah! Her eyes mean nothing! I have seen greater eyes than hers deceive men! I have been deceived ten thousand times over! And...and that busty wench promised me I would be her one true love! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO BELIEVE HER! DAMN IT WHAT DOES HE HAVE THAT I DON'T ASIDE FROM A BIGGER CO-"

Eagler stopped mid-sentence as everyone had turned to look at him. Again. "Er, that is to say...I...I am not in the mood to be led astray again!"

"Eagler..."

"Your prevarications and equivocations fall on deaf ears! En garde, Wallace, I will spare you no more idle words!"

The two old bulls of Caelin traded lance blows, neither seeming the worse for wear.

As they fought, Mark finally found the strength to rise to his feet. His left hand had gone cold.

This power...this chill power...it must save me...or I am doomed...

"EAGLER!" Mark yelled with all his remaining strength. In his great white-gold armor, he limped forward, raising his icy left hand up. "ICE TO MEET YOU!"

With his mouth, Mark fired off a jet of pure, one-hundred percent, unadulterated bullcrap, and with his fist, he fired off a jet of pure, one-hundred percent, unadulterated ICE. Eagler didn't have time to react as the frozen azure melange of water-turned-solid struck him and encased him completely.

"Now, everybody! Lundgren is down!" Mark shouted, and raised his Mani Katti on high. "Let's go for an All-Out Attack!"

"Let me at 'em!" Lyn shouted, and EVERYONE in Mark's Legion charged at the frozen fighter sitting by the castle gates. Everyone including Serra, who had picked up a tree branch and was gleefully taking swings. Erk wasn't allowed because his fire would thaw Eagler out, so he just sat in a corner and had some hurf-a-durf time to himself.

When the comic cloud of smoke had cleared, Eagler's horse had fled (rightly so) and Eagler himself lay on the ground, defeated, lying moribund in a spreading puddle of his own crimson sanguine ichor.

"G-Go," he choked weakly. "T-There is no illness...only..."

"SILENCE! NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES, VILE GENERAL!" Mark said, and beheaded general Eagler with one quick draw of the Sword of Wolf and Moon.

Everyone clapped.

On the way to Castle Caelin, everyone was in high spirits, sharing drinks, jerky, sexual favors, and bread, and they were all laughing heartily. Finally they reached the small village outside of Castle Caelin.

"Lyn..." Mark said when they had almost reached Lundgren."I have something I need to tell you."

"Later," Lyn said, and for once her eyes were steeled with iron resolve. "Now, I have a score to settle. The man who...did something to...someone. I will never be defeated by any man! I am Lyn! Hear me growl!"

Mark's Legion cried out and charged to the castle, their footfalls in unison crying bloody havoc on the ground.

Lundgren was waiting at the gates, which Mark had feared. It was already going to be a difficult fight, Mark knew, but standing in front of such a nice looking castle gate gave him an even greater advantage. As he approached, the tactician tried to decided how he was ever going to hit a man who stood in front of a gate.

"So here we have our little band of fools and fops," the wannabe lord of Caelin said as they approached, Mark and Lyn leading the way. "The legendary warrior tactician and his charge, the so-called Lyndis. How are we to know you truly are the child of Madelyn? You're nothing but a no good, low down dirty belligerent! An imitator! A pretender! A Sacaen dog begging for Lycian scraps at the supper table! Pah! Feh! Lit bombs and matches! Blast and bombardments!"

"I am Lyndis, daughter of Madelyn of Caelin and Hassar of Sacae," Lyn exclaimed proudly. "And I will not yield to a man such as you!"

Lundgren threw a javelin and bowled Lyn over, sending her tumbling to the ground. While Serra tended to her, Mark turned angrily to Lundgren.

"You will pay for your misdeeds, Lundgren! Your underhanded game ends here! No longer will you cheat a good woman out of what is rightfully hers!"

"Oh? And are you going to stop me?" Lundgren laughed, his decidedly evil, bulging, bulbous nose swaying in the wind. "Do you think I will just roll over and die to you because you are the 'Chosen One'? HAH! Don't make me laugh! HAH! OH SERVANTS! Bring in...my 'trump card'!"

Trump card?

The great gate of the castle opened and out came four big, fat knights wheeling what appeared to be a large deep diver's suit on a little cart.

"Gentlemen, behold! ARMOR!" Lundgren said, as the old man removed his old armor (this took a while and was quite disturbing once he got it all off) and placed on his personage the strange diver's suit (this took an even longer while but was decidedly less disturbing).

When he was done, he made quite an imposing figure, with a strange device that appeared to be some sort of giant drill on his right hand and a giant metal glove on his left. This left only his large helmet to place on his head.

"I will exterminate you and finally be rid of you annoying pests once and for all! Foolish tactician! I will kill you so brutally that no parent will ever name their child Mark again! I'll kill you to death!"

"You'll never defeat me, foul Lord Lundgren!" Mark said, and he drew his Mani Katti. "Because I can claim something you will never, ever be able to: I fight for my friends!"

"This is called the armor of the 'Great Father'!" Lundgren said, lowering the great diver's mask over his head and readying the large, drill-like object on his right hand. "And this is a drill! And with this drill, I will pierce not the heavens but your fleshy meatbag stomachs!"

"Sir Jiggles!" came another voice, and the entire band turned to look at the little girl who'd appeared behind Lundgren. "Get 'em, Sir Jiggles! Tear em to pieces!"

"W-What are you doing here?" Lundgren spat. 'G-Get out of here! And didn't I tell you never to call me 'Sir Jiggles' again?! Blast you! Horsefeathers and moldy onions!"

"Kill 'em, Dr. J! Rip 'em to shreds!" the little girl continued happily. She was an extremely strange-looking little girl, with large, dead eyes and pale grey skin. She held a strange object in her hand with a long needle on the end and a tube that looked like it could hold a fluid within it. "Mutilate them! Rend their weak meatbag flesh then piss on their corpses!"

"Silence! Silence! All of you silence!" Lundgren screamed. "Also, AAAAAUUUUUOOOOORRRGGGHHH!"

With a great groan he dashed at Mark, swinging his drill like a sledgehammer and only a well-timed leap into the sky, wind beneath his great black wings, allowed him to avoid the mighty thrust of the Great Father's drill.

"Aaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh !" The Great Father, with his free hand, reached for something at his belt, and Mark had only a split second to dodge as he shot something hard and fast through the air at him.

"The hell was that?" Mark screamed. "Was that some sort of crossbow?"

"Faith and beggorah, boyo! That was a rivet gun! You get hit by one o'those, you'll be ten meters deep in the River Shannon, or maybe sleepin' with the fishes in the great feckin' Loch Ness!"

"The what?" Mark asked, but was interrupted as the Great Father fired off more of the "rivets", and only Mark's inhuman reflexes and adroit dodging skills kept him from being hit.

"Would you please just take out the damn Big—er, Great Father? Remember everything I taught you, boyo! What've ye spent all yer ELIMINE for? That power is within you. Don't believe in me who doesn't believe in you. Believe in yourself, who hopefully believes in yourself!"

"I have no idea what you just said, but it INSPIRED ME! Let's do this, chums!" Mark cried, and shouted out his name as a fierce battle cry. From mid-air he loosed a volley of arrows from his short bow. The arrows clanked harmlessly off the Great Father's diving armor, but they provided just enough of a distraction for Mark to swoop down and take a chunk out of him with his Mani Katti.

"AAAOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUURGH !" groaned the Great Father, and loosed another barrage of rivets into the sky. This time, one found its mark. The rivet struck Mark's left wing, and despite his wing armor, the tactician lost enough of his momentum to send him plummeting down to earth. Only a well-timed flap slowed his descent enough for Kent to catch him on the back of his trusty steed.

"Thanks, friend!" Mark said, leaping back up. "Now, Lundgren! Let's see if you can survive the power of...SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING RYU!"

Before Lundgren could spin up his ferocious drill, Mark cut a large chunk of his armor off in one clean stroke. The would-be marquess staggered back in pain and let out an earth-shaking AUUUUUOOOORRRRRR AOOOOOOUUUUUUGAH UUUUUNNNNNRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH.

He's wounded, thought Mark and he rushed at the false marquess again. Now's the time to finish this, before he has a chance to counterattack!

He couldn't have been more wrong.

- O -

"I-I knew Nergal was an influential man, dahhling—that's why I shacked up with him, you know? How was I supposed to know he was going to—to-*sob*" –Pretty Pink Pauline, "Precious Prostitute," Princess Priscilla's petulant parent

- O -

It wouldn't have been correct to say he didn't know what hit him, because he did. It was the drill, the terrible, heavens-piercing, overdone drill on the Great Father's arm. But it had been so lightning-fast that even Mark hadn't enough time to react as it caught him.

As he lay on the ground, writhing in pain, he saw images of people flash before him. A man, with some sort of towel on his head, working at a workbench, building something, surrounded by energy. A haughty, sexy woman with long black hair, heaving tits, and eerie, leering gold eyes. Two brothers skilled with the sword (he wondered where the woman went). A Sacaen man with a bow and sword (He really wanted that woman to come back!) And a woman (not the sexy one from before, sadly), garbed in a long cloak, whose face he had never seen but was somehow strikingly familiar.

Mark floated there, lingering in the darkness, and then a voice spoke to him.

"Faith and begorrah, boyo!" Hercules exclaimed. "You're not going to give up now, are you? You've come all this way and you're just going to throw in the towel like a Nabatan boxer now?"

What does he mean, "throw in the towel?" And what in faith is a "boxer"?

"Do I need to ask ye kindly to get up, man? Do you even know who you are?"

I...I can't...it's over...

"Then maybe I'll have to ask your body to kindly heal you, hmm? Oi, stupid oaf's body, heal him up proper, would you please?"

Slowly, Mark felt his consciousness return. When he opened his eyes, Lyn was kneeling by his side, Florina was fluttering about, trying to distract the Great Father, and the others were all trying to land a blow whenever they could.

"Mark!" Lyn said, shocked. "You—your wounds!"

"Unnngh...what happened?" asked the tactician, rising to his feet. "All I remember was-I got hit...and then there were tits...and then I woke up. What happened? And where did those breasts go?"

"Lundgren caught you in the shoulder with that...that thing, and...and I thought you..but all of a sudden there was this flash of blue light and these...these...sparkles and then you came to!"

Oy with the sparkles! Does that mean that this whole time, those sparkles I wrote off as being ill-conceived, pointless, and emasculating, were actually my incredible powers of self-healing?

"Okieeee dokie then." Mark clambered to his feet and brushed off the dust. "Getting hit by that blackguard Lundgren's strike was my mistake. And I fully intend to right it. It was my folly to think this would be an easy fight. I take full responsibility for that error."

"Oh, Mark," swooned Lyndis.

"But now it's time to set things right! Lundgren!" bellowed the tactician, and everyone stopped to face him. "I underestimated you once, but never again! You may win the battle against me, but you will never, ever win the war!"

Mark raised his left fist and bees suddenly surrounded it. "Let's see how you like BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE S!" Mark punched his fist forward like a Nabatan boxer and sent a jet of pure, one-hundred percent unadulterated BEES flying directly at the Great Father. He staggered back, the bees hounding him at every turn. He tried ineffectually to swat them away with his man's drill. Behind him, the pallid little girl was lamenting his suffering, her recitations of "viciously murder and disembowel them, Sir Jiggles!" and "rip them three new assholes!" were becoming softer now.

"Ahh, this is what's best in life!" Mark declared. "To crush my enemy, see him driven before me, and hear the lamentations of the Little Sisters. AIIIIIIIIYAH!"

The Great Father met Mark's war cry with a deep, almost pained roar of his own.

"It's time to bring this fight to its SHOCKING conclusion! I feel a creative SPARK coming on!" Mark yelled.

The tactician charged at his foe, firing off a paralyzing bolt of electricity with his left hand and raising the Sword of Wolf and Moon with his right.

"KAMIYA KASSHIN RYU! CUT YOU IN TWO...ANEW!"

With one clean stroke, Mark made to bring the Great Father harmlessly to his knees...and instead ended up slicing his head clean off.

"Oops," said Mark as he landed gracefully. "Well, you gotta break a few eggs, I guess. Not like anyone will really miss him, right?"

As the Little Sister behind Lundgren sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably at the loss of her guardian, Mark's Legion celebrated. Finally, it was over. Finally, after eleven thousand words, Lundgren had been brought tumbling down and their fight was over...OR WAS IT? ...yeah, it was.

"Hooray!" Lyn cried. "Mark the hero emerges victorious!"

"All hail Mark, new Lord of Caelin!" cried Kent.

"Hail Mark," cried Sain. "The only man I'd ever like to fu—uh, er, never mind!"

His legion took turns tossing Mark up into the air together, shouting hip hip hooray and cheering for the new honorary Lord of Caelin, the greatest warrior to ever have set foot in the fiery, passionate canton of Caelin.

After the celebration was over, Mark left the castle and walked out into the mountains, looking for some alone time while everyone else got rip roaring drunk or whatever it was people did at grand galas. There, amongst the craggy mountainous peaks, he heard the voice of Hercules.

"Very well done, boyo. But sooner or later, you're going to have to start harvesting ELIMINE. If you want to beat that big, evil scumbag with the one eye building up his forces, you'll need to match his power one-for-one. But hey, don't let me stop you from enjoying the moment now. Would you please...GO CELEBRATE, BOYO! Ye did it!"

"Yay!" Mark yelled, and turned around to RUN back into the castle for the ceremonies, when he bumped unceremoniously into Lyndis.

"Oof!" Lyn said, falling down.

"Oh my ELIMINE! Er, I mean, oh my Elimine!" Mark exclaimed, helping Lyn to her feet. "Are—are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But you...you were fantastic, Mark! Thanks to you, I can finally live in the castle that's rightfully mine."

Mark shook his head. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Maybe, if no one is looking, I can give you a little present," Lyn whispered in her peerless warrior's ear, slipping her garb halfway down her shoulder and purring seductively. She nestled up to the tactician and did something very inappropriate with her hand that caught him off guard.

"B-But doesn't your grandfather want to see—"

"Who?"

- O -

(Author's Note: Thanks for reading!)