What Came Before

Remilia trudged up the mountain, simply pushing through the looser-packed snow that the most recent snowstorm had brought. I used to go running along the tops of the snowdrifts. Wanted to get this over with … still do. But that had gotten old - the wind was fierce, and she was warmer pushing through the drifts rather than running atop them. Flying was nearly impossible - her wings were powerful, but she was still so light that the harsh winds blew her off course very easily. And, of course, the fact that she was getting so very tired of it all. Why am I doing this? Flan could be in trouble and I'd never know, not until I get back. And who knows how long that will take … She had originally planned on being gone less than a month - take a ship from Amsterdam up to one of the fjords, which had gone as planned, then travel up to the mountain, and return. Simple. Except the mountain she'd chosen hadn't had what she was looking for. Nor had the next … or the next … or the next fifteen. A trip that should've been less than a month had now taken nearly four. At least I left Flan with lots of food … and she's sleeping a lot.

Remilia sighed. Her sister was beginning to fade, becoming less and less aware as time went on. While this meant she wasn't eating as much, or causing trouble, it also meant she wasn't being her anymore, just … just a doll that moved on its own. Remilia shivered and curled her wings more tightly around her thin body. This wouldn't be so bad if I could use magic. But no, no magic for me. Just speed, power, and ruthlessness; no finesse, no elegance, no skill. Remilia sighed once more and considered rising above the drift to check her bearings - a glance behind her revealed that the path she had taken was meandering, a far cry from the ramrod-straight paths she'd made when she first started pushing through the drifts. Deciding against it, she stepped forward, slipped, and tumbled down a rough, rocky slope. She landed heavily, right wing crunching and flashing with pain as bone tore through the leathery hide. Well, guess I won't be flying for a while. Or moving. Or doing anything. I'm sorry, Flandre. She simply lay there, tired, worn, and bleeding, as the tears began streaming out of her eyes.
*

She sat up. Was I asleep or awake? How long has it been? She looked at her wing - the ragged tears and jutting bone normally would have indicated that she hadn't been there long, but she'd been miserly with her supplies, and it could simply be that she needed to heal the long way. Steeling herself, she rose to her feet, standing an imposing 125 centimeters - without shoes, of course. She looked around the tunnel in which she'd fallen and started walking. Not randomly, of course - she moved in the direction the light was coming from. Why didn't it register earlier? Was I just that ready to give up? Questions didn't matter; what mattered is that a light source here meant she might finally be nearing her goal, and that meant she could get out of this forsaken weather and back to her sister.

As she walked, stride unsteady from the pain, she considered what had brought her here. The rumors and whispers, the research, the need for something that could stall her slide into madness. She'd caught herself thinking about leaving Flandre … caught herself actually planning to leave Flandre. Forever. Abandoning her, the only link to her past, no matter how bad it had been. The person she'd sworn to save, to watch over, to help. That had been it; her own desires were one thing, but a foresworn oath was something far worse, and she set about this mad search with all the tenacity of an Inquisition witch-hunter. Of course, few of them ever thought they were meeting with a devil instead of a witch.

Rounding a bend in the tunnel, she came across a door built into the rock. A circular door, with twenty four characters repeatedly inscribed along the outer edge. Two stone wolves flanked the door, two stone ravens perched above it, and two stone men were carved on the door itself, one man holding a blazing torch, the other a strong spear. Remilia smiled, then began cackling madly. I found it. I really found it! The tomb! I found it, finally, I can go in there, take them, and get back to Flandre. She stepped forward and placed on hand on the stone door. Although lacking in magic herself, she hand an instinctive grasp of how it worked, and she could feel the power thrumming through the living rock around her. Simply battering the door down was probably not the best solution, but … I'm tired, hurt, impatient, and I don't care about "best" at this point. I want it over with. Drawing in the ambient power radiating from the cavern walls was her first step. Slowly, mixing it thoroughly with her own power to make it her own and erase any ties to its source, she infused her body with it, forcing her wing to mend, her bones to strengthen. Finally, she let out a ragged breath dripping with power, stepped back, and lunged forward, driving her fist into the door, a massive crack reverberating through the antechamber even before her fist shattered the doorway.

She stepped through the rubble, red eyes adjusting to the change in light levels, then retreated back to the antechamber to grab one of the torches lining the wall. Its light failed when she removed it, but holding it near a lit torch rekindled it, and she pressed onward. The first room was disappointingly empty - a long corridor rather than a room, with benches set near the walls. Two statues, blue-skinned caricatures of humans clad in ragged breeches and shirts stood near the door at the end, but Remilia ignored them after a glance - they didn't hold what she desired, so they were irrelevant. The far door was wooden, old, and half off its hinges; when Remilia reached to open it, however, a hand closed on her shoulder and hurled her back down the passageway.

Oh. Of course. Those would be the "dead guardians." I was expecting Einherjar, not draugar. The two zombies now stood at the ready, barring the passage, intelligent, hateful eyes burning. Remilia stood up, wings flared but otherwise not preparing for combat. She thought of what she knew of the living dead before her - Dead warriors who are unable to rest; weapons don't usually work, impossibly strong, able to increase their size, some can use magic, shapeshifters … they're basically vampires. She released a long-held breath and charge the zombie on her left side, smashing into its solid bulk and rocking it back. Not without cost, however, as she felt her left upper arm crumble under the impact, though the power coursing through her allowed her to fight past the pain and use the arm effectively. Extending her talons slightly, she drove them into the dead warrior's sides in a grapple and flew back, retreating out of reach of the second guardian.

This would be much easier if I were taller. Hurling the draug into the benches on one side of the corridor, Remilia landed on the other set. A quick glance revealed the second guardian staying at its post, though that could not be guaranteed to continue. Her first victim rose from the crushed stone bench and charged her, fists drawn back in preparation for vicious punches. The silence of the fight seemed to magnify the sound of rubble shifting, of flesh-on-flesh impacts. Waiting for her chance, Remilia wrapped her hands around the guardian's neck - at least, around as much of it as she could - and began squeezing, augmented strength crushing through the iron-hard skin of the draug, and even harder muscle. The draug chose a simpler approach, its great fist smashing into the side of Remilia's skull, tearing through part of her neck, snapping her spine, and reducing her head to a pulp of shattered bone and unconnected gore and brain matter.

Remilia's attack did not slow, however, and the draug stared in surprise. In a last spurt of strength, she tore the head from the guardian's body, tossed it down the hall toward the antechamber, then collapsed.
*

Awareness returned, and Remilia woke to find herself lying on a carved stone surface. Her neck was sore, and the entirety of her head burned with pain from the draug's attack. Had it been a little more persistent, I wouldn't have beaten it. Looking around the room as she sat up, she saw the wooden door, the corridor, and the undisturbed body of the draug she had fought. She couldn't see the other; it was probably standing guard again. The room was filled with stone boxes - tombs - and corpses. Many corpses lay on the tombs, but not all. Remilia noted that the section she was in seemed to contain only females. Hopping down from the tomb she'd been placed on, she made her way onward. Leaving an enemy to your rear may be foolish … but I'd rather conserve my strength for any other trials. I should be fast enough to run away from it even if I'm too weak to fight it when I leave.

There was no door leading to the next room, only a short corridor with a right-angle turn. Remilia carefully looked around the corner - and saw two sets of lupine eyes staring at her. Sighing, she stepped around the corner, arms raised to show she was unarmed. As she passed the threshold into the next room, however, the wolves leapt at her. Perhaps they simply hungered too much; perhaps the draugar were particularly exceptional; perhaps they were nothing more than wolves. Regardless of the cause, they fell easily to Remilia's claws, throats torn and bellies split open. Remilia closed her eyes as she heard their pained whimpers; she turned back and shattered their skulls, hoping that was enough to end their pain. She continued through the next door, again made of wood but in much better shape. This room was filled with gnawed bones, stained with blood. And if I'd fallen here, my bones would have been placed here, after I was devoured. Wonderful.

The pattern continued, and she paused as she saw the occupant of the next room, who was not watching her, but was occupied with writing something at a desk by a roaring fire. A tall man, adult, with medium-length golden hair. As she entered his room, he smiled cheerfully, set aside what he'd been working on, and said something. Remilia cocked her head in confusion - not only were the words unknown to her, she could barely determine where one word ended and the next began! The man frowned and tried again, slowing his speech so she could more distinctly hear the words. Remilia shrugged.

"No, I still can't understand you." The man sighed, and grasped a long iron wand which had been sitting on the desk. Remilia's eyes shone with excitement as he raised it, saluting as though it were a blade. Remilia grinned when a jet of flame erupted from the end. A flaming blade. That's one of them. I just need to kill him, take it, and then get the other. Simple. Flexing her claws, she rushed forward, only to be driven back by the man's own blinding speed with the flaming sword. She glared as he smirked at her, his black eyes laughing. Several more times, she would rush at him, feinting one way or the other, but each time the fire barred her way. He laughed then, an arrogant sound, and his form changed to that of Remilia's, only wearing his colors of black and gold, a marvelously elegant silk-and-velvet dress. Remilia's eyes flashed in pain and jealousy as she thought about the relative rags she wore, wool and linen, and she charge unheeding of the danger.

The flaming blade plunged through her chest, but her speed and weight carried her forward - there was no crossguard or lugs to stop her from travelling forward, and she plunged through the blade, through the wand, impaling herself on the outstretched arm of her copy, who gazed in astonishment. Surprise turned to shock and fear as she pulled herself farther along and tore out her opponent's throat with her claws, fastening her jaws to the gaping wound and swallowing as much of the hot ichor as she could, letting the rest flow unimpeded. The other's form shivered and her chest was torn anew as it reverted to its adult form. She pulled herself off of his arm and the now-extinguished wand, then broke open his rib cage and tore his beating heart from within. Stripping his shirt from his body, she wrapped the heart and took it with her, along with the wand, as she continued through the barrow.

She stalked confidently through the corridor as it continued, the path now travelling upward until she reached a door of stone. Breaking through it as she had the first such door, Remilia was rewarded with the open sky. Stepping out into the moonlight, Remilia laughed. This is the entrance, isn't it? I still need to go back and see what's down the other way. Two ravens perched on shattered runestones watched her. Studying her surroundings, she found a pile of broken pottery; pulling out a mostly-intact one, she placed the wrapped heart within and buried it beneath the others, jamming the iron wand through it to mark it and prevent it from being overturned. She ran back through the barrow, moving carefully but swiftly. She stopped at the draugar guardpost. The defeated one remained where it had fallen, and she still couldn't see the other. Steeling herself, she launched out of the doorway and whirled to face the guardian.

It failed to react. It didn't move at all, though she could see its eyes burned in watchfulness. She stepped up to the door, moved to go through it, and it stayed put. She put her hand on it, even broke its arm, and it failed to attack. Confused, but unwilling to leave it be as she had before, she pulled it down and tore its head off. Satisfied, she took a torch, relit it, and continued down the path.
*

Over an hour later, she still walked. She had passed more dead guardians; none had reacted as she passed them. Discretion being her choice now, she let them all be. She wanted to conserve her strength for what she knew lay ahead. Finally she reached a golden door guarded by two apparently-living warriors, one male and one female. As she approached, they gripped their weapons.

"Halt, Blood-Sworn. The time is not yet." Undeterred at her strange recognition of a language she had never studied, Remilia pressed forward. When the man had his sword half-drawn and was about to speak again, she charged, slamming her hand into his skull and killing him instantly. The woman froze in shock, then paled and began to yell out, but Remilia was already spinning to face her, and her claw found her throat. Leaving the warrior to die slowly, she pushed the golden portal open, the doors swinging into the final chamber to slam against the walls. Inside were dozens of stone coffins marked with runic etchings. A tree-branch projected out from the wall to her left, and at the far end of the room was a throne, a powerful white-haired man with one eye sitting in it. As she walked through, she thought about the scene - her, a tiny thing with massive bat's wings, covered in blood and wearing shredded rags, walking through the faded magnificence of a throne room turned tomb, being watched by a powerful warrior, older but still strong, experience making up for any slowing of his body, clad in mail and bearing a long spear.

The warrior stood. "Why have you come, Slayer?" Remilia raised one arm in front of her, then swept it to the side. Nodding, the warrior raised his spear and threw it. Remilia jerked as it pierced her chest, slicing her heart and tearing a gaping wound through her body as it passed through to clatter against the floor. Had she been human, the destruction of her heart and lung, the carving of her ribs, and the sheer amount of blood lost to the attack would have left her dead near instantly. Her left wing flopped behind her, another legacy of the spear's passage, muscles severed. The warrior drew his sword and readied himself.

Remilia charged, claws extended, and the warrior struck her left shoulder with the blade. It passed through easily, and she threw herself to the side has he turned the thrust into a slice against her torso. Warily, the two circled, the one-eyed warrior grim, Remilia with eyes enraged. Eventually, the warrior stepped too close to Remilia's severed arm, and she struck him with it, talons impaling his calf. As he stumbled, she rushed forward once more; off-balance, he could not bring the sword up in time, and it skittered across the floor as she tackled him. Swarming past his arms, she bit into his throat, reveling in the harsh taste of ichor even stronger than that of the golden-haired man. Her arm crawled up and reattached itself to her shoulder, threads of power rebinding the severed flesh. Finally sated, Remilia sat up and looked down at her still-living opponent. She repeated her act of desecration, tearing open his chest to grasp the still-beating heart within and tear it from its place.

Moving unsteadily, she walked to stand in front of the tree branch, and there devoured the organ, swiftly wolfing it down. She shuddered as the power coursed through her. The branch jerked then, impaling her and piercing the floor, and she fell into darkness.
*

When she woke, Remilia Scarlet shook her head. She grasped the spear and made it hers. She walked confidently through the empty tomb, retrieved the beating heart and iron wand from beneath the watchful eyes of the ravens, leapt into the air, flying swiftly for home and her sister.