Death had usually been a painless transition to him.
Death, at his most haphazard times, even brought relief. He remembered the sensation of black, of the endless surrounding dark, only brought about by the burst of light—that he would know he was alive. He'd grown numb to that aching, pitiful feeling.
However, that feeling did not bring comfort to him now. Death had never felt so real to him as he turned the gates of Ylisse— the feeling had never been so tuned to his sense of life. One death could bring him unintentionally back to his own world, to a situation that he knew was an impossibility. He could relent that death was impossible, but furthering such an action would be the equivalent of death.
He could not die; it just wasn't an option.
Walking no further than a couple feet ahead of the girls, he felt strangely uncomfortable.
He was constantly aware of every passerby. Every bump in their clothes. Their expression. Concealed weaponry. The painstakingly suspicious gazes as he walked forward, his armor clattering like a tank.
His sword-arm grip relaxed on his claymore when he'd realized the attention it exuded. They'd retrieved it after leaving the front-post, coaxing the guards into believing the two were capable of keeping tabs on him. He'd hesitated when that happened, re-obtaining his weapons as the guard spoke of their reputation. Severa and Cynthia were regarded as a fairly capable duo, part of a bigger support team that shadowed the inner populace of Ylisse.
Their efforts - in accordance with their group - had been a large factor in the well-being of the city. The guard appeared to be surprised to see them, almost reverant, treating them as unappreciated heroes.
His mouth tightened as he pondered and walked past a merchant handing out brochures. Despite the fact that they were nearing the center of the city, the stagnant, lifeless air from the outside wafted through the population by the droves. He couldn't proceed without reminding himself that the nearest building hadn't been alight, or that he was inducing a hallucination.
That atmosphere reflected even deeper than that.
Every face they passed was grim, frowning, as if each day had dragged on farther than the last. Each citizen, as the undead quickly noticed, eyed him warily as he passed their ranks, tense-as if he resembled the enemy. The world-wide evil had made its mark here. It was apparent, known to every soul he passed.
He'd apparently been silent for a while because he felt a light tap on his shoulder, "You okay? That's not good, worrying is never good for anyone. A lot of Ylisse's populace are a little dreary right now, but you shouldn't let that get to you." The undead looked over at Cynthia, considering how he looked from his helm.
"No, it's not." He finally said, after walking a bit more, "It's just familiar."
After she fired off a confused look, they arrived at a short crossroads that met with several shops. It was considerably less crowded here, and the undead breathed into his helm unsteadily—they had been walking for a long time, and he didn't feel like taking any detours.
"Well..." Severa's reddish hair flashed ahead in little flash, and the could barely match her sudden speed. She'd gauged the atmosphere perfectly. "I think its time we went shopping!" She suddenly exclaimed. The notion made her look ridiculously expectant, as if he were supposed to jump at the suggestion.
The undead froze, an iceberg that refused to move.
"...What."
"Don't 'what' me, tin man." Severa pouted, pointing a slashing finger in his direction. "We're shopping, and that's final. You would benefit from a change of attire, trust me."
He weighed his options before feeling a shove from behind. "Alriiiight! I want an axe."
Severa retorted, "No."
Sooner than he would've liked, and armed without a shred of coin, he entered laboriously into the shop, practically shoved between a curtain and a wall. His eyed scanned the new room. Lines of similar equipment lined the walls to his right, hanging from the shelves in short rows.
He'd never been accustomed to the environment-although it wasn't foreign. There was a price on every sell-piece. An armed guard marked the goods, and the customers, with a watchful eye. He couldn't afford to look suspicious, even if his two companions were making it next to impossible.
"Welcome!" A rosy voice called, "Goods are on sale today!"
The undead immediately regretted the detour. The voice hinted at a bit of mischievousness, and he already felt conned—even if his pockets were only occupied with air.
"Hello, Anna! Shopping for a foreigner here..." Severa charged on ahead, ducking underneath an array of clothing on the way there while hopping happily, "Glad to see your swindling endeavors are running smoothly."
Ah. I knew it. He thought, irrationally pleased with himself.
"Yup," She replied, exclaiming almost too joyfully, "Just as usua-what?"
The undead followed the voices in stunted steps. The ground was bereft of any open, spotless space, where every inch was covered in oddities: ropes, paper, and scraps of gravel. He assumed the owner didn't have a penchant for being organized but, looking for weapons, it didn't seem surprising that customers would outright ignore the conditions of the shop and just... shop.
He pulled himself under the length of clothing. He was perfectly content with his own equipment, but it wouldn't hurt to familiarize with Ylisse's. After all, if he was going to get stabbed in the back, he didn't want his last thoughts to be fraught with ignorance. Nothing could be more unnerving than being impaled from behind and, all the while, trying to deciphering what the hell was killing you.
"Ooh. Look at you...! Aren't you the little armored fellow!" The gaze of what he assumed was Anna suddenly sparked up, ectastic as he cleared the clothing pins. "I'll give you a hefty amount of gold if you're willing to sell that plate of yours-which would be at a comforting price, I assure you."
Her red hair was gridlocked in a large ponytail that ran down the center of her back and sported two lengths of hair down her face, befitting he thought, of a merchant. Unfortunately, her wicked smirk stopped her from being an open-book. The price-tag of a thick breast-plate caught his eye: seven-hundred gold.
He bluffed. "I'll bite. How much were you considering?"
Her eyes dotted around the room at the question. The undead watched her carefully, and shifted his gaze quickly to the surrouding walls. Cynthia approached him from behind, silently shifting her way through the entrance of the room.
She smiled at him, tilting her head slightly off to the side. "How does fifteen-hundred sound to you?"
"I'll pass." The undead said instantly.
"Wha..? Well, why not?!"
The undead smiled in spite of himself. He was sure it was just sheer conjecture up to this point but, as he spoke, and the more he watched, the more he was sure of his answer. He'd been wary of cons, any tricks; Drangleic and his own life were unforgiving to any mistake, and it stretched deeper than combat alone.
"It's obvious that you're experienced in your own wares, and on top of that you should be able to appraise equipment as well," The undead stopped for a moment, juggling several possibilities. "Severa said this: I'm a foreigner. It's clear you had that in mind when you gauged your prices—I'm also sure you've said the same thing to every customer who's arrived here. That's too convenient. I'm sure you've constructed this shop with keeping this in mind..."
He continued, and Anna was silent. "Your least expensive equipment is here, at the back of the shop. The ware is still good but, given the low prices you've set, it would be easy to deceive any customer into believing their equipment is valuable-at least-to the items in comparison. In reality, you can set any price range you wish as long as it-"
"Okay!" Anna suddenly interjected, flustered, "AGH. And I thought I had the perfect setup this time. You got me, you big meanie. Now stop spreading around my secrets! You'll scare all of the little goldmines away!"
The guard behind them shifted. The undead felt almost sorry for him.
"Now that you mention it," Severa started to say, obviously surprised by his sudden explanation, "Who are you, exactly? You're not some rogue. I don't even know your name...?"
The undead tensed. He stared off to a space where he was sure he could maintain his focus. He'd unknowingly been dodging this subject up until now. It was self-evident in his home; that he was nothing-nobody-an undead, and he was just that. His name, his original identity had long faded as he had entered Drangleic. He'd struggled to pinpoint a good alias, but he'd been too distracted.
His mouth widened. Unspoken words itched at him to be released. What kind of explanation would it take, albeit a lie? Was his identity truly that important, or was it really discardable? There was no good answer.
As he finally consoled himself to a ridiculous answer, he felt a looming shift of movement behind him.
No. He thought, Above.
He abruptly stunted his train of thought and pulled backwards, eyeing the entrance with a careful gaze. The shop was located not too far from the intersection of the road, where a dense patch of woodland shrouded the back of the store. It would be easy to approach unnoticed. This sudden presence-painstakingly auspicious.
Severa's intentful look stopped just as quickly. Her hand found her sword, and her eyes warily narrowed. There wasn't a sound as they mobilized around the shopkeeper, warding their weaponry as the roof itself shook lightly from an unknown impact.
There was an assailant on the roof. It was a raid. Undoubtedly.
The three of them rounded to the entrance quickly as the guard rushed past to watch Anna. Switching to his longbow, his fingers instinctively curled onto a firearrow-its tip glowed in the fading sunlight. A cold feeling started to well up from inside him. That uncomfortable feeling that one mistake, one slip, and that would be the finish of it all. He'd would end this quickly.
Before he could pinpoint the exact direction of the assailant, a whistle of wind flashed from his right. He aimed. The longbow grazed his arm as he reflexively turned, lining up the dark figure with the tip of his finger. Mercy and hesitation were fatal here; but he rocketed the arrow toward the figures leg.
That was his mistake.
To dodge, all it took was a split-second.
Unprompted, the figure dove forward, meeting the grass in a crisp somersault as the grass lit a moment where they once stood. He didn't hesitate. It was on reflex, an immediate reaction to his opponents closing position. The undead pulled out claymore. Closing the distance, the figure recovered easily, darting forward in strong, rapid steps.
Out of the corner of his eye the undead accounted Severa burrowing through the thick underbrush of the shop. Nearing the right side, she brandished her sword suddenly, as if coming into contact with someone else.
There are multiple assailants here.
Met with that realization, the undead rushed forward, beveling the blade in a vertical line. He breathed heavily as his mind retched itself into overdrive. This had to end, and quickly. The battleground was utterly silent at the onslaught of enemies. The only sound that could be heard was the clashes of metal, and the eerie gusts of wind, as if the whole city was sucking in its breath.
His sword sparked, sword-to-sword, with the figure. "Rrrrghhhh..."
This... this was it. These people, this depraved, pitiful creature; the splitting image of a hollowed undead. From one exchange, the undead could tell they were bred to kill, made to desecrate those who opposed them. They were one and the same. The afterthought of his hatred.
The undead buried his doubts.
For these risen...
He would kill them.
Drawing backward, the undead watched as his assailant swiped at a gust of air. Successively and without any margin for error, he spun, swiping horizontally in a short dash. His opponent was fast, but faltered there, as if unfamiliar with the movement.
The undead met an uncanny amount of flesh.
Swiping clean through the attack, he transformed into a roll as soon as a burgeoning explosion of fire hurled past him. The attack, by itself, would have been impossible to dodge if the undead hadn't taken into account Severa's location. Thinking that, his free hand curled around a Witching Urn. Hurdling it recklessly at the source, it met its target as an ear-piercingly loud splash rattled the grass.
Time slowed to the undead's heightened senses.
A sharp axe grazed his back as he ripped his blade upward, colliding into another mass of steel. His neck craned forward as an arrow came short on its mark. An axe appeared from his left. Another from behind. A blade met his own, and he grimaced as he was kicked in the chest almost immediately.
In seconds he was knocked backward, dazed as he struggled to regain his sense of balance. Luckily the front of the shop was still vacant of opposition. Anna was out of range of the immediate danger. He sensed the guard scramble up several meters behind him and draw his own weapon, wrapping up whatever opening they had.
All the undead saw was a sea of beady, red eyes as they surrounded the front of the small shop. The strait of the road, their only salvation, had been cut off completely by a sea of weapons in mere seconds. Their only hope was to hold onto the intersection and break for the woods. It was to their disadvantage but, staying here, it was a pure deadlock that they could never hope of winning.
He faltered as he heard a voice—a familiar voice. Turning his head slightly, he couldn't surmount the onslaught of shock that rattled his resolve.
"H-help... me..."
Cynthia limped from the side of the shop, unaware of the force of enemies as she approached parallel to the road. A deep cut ran down the side of her leg; an arrow protruded painfully from her left arm. It was an unnerving, aching sight.
Her eyes were downcast in a painful grimace, shocked as an unsightly amount of blood was fixated to her body. Her usual upbeat posture was completely gone, and she stared ahead, her eyes unmoving as if the rest of the world was tuned out of focus.
He could only register that observation, that one cleft of a thought, before he immediately regretted that fraction of hesitation.
A risen attacked.
It was one, a singular, unmatched risen that dispatched itself from the group and launched itself at Cynthia at blinding speed. His eyes could barely track it; the silver blur of motion that seemingly bent reality to its will. It approached with blistering fast, closing almost a hundred feet of distance faster than the undead could blink.
On impulse, the undead tapped out his throwing knives. Three, thrown in quick correspondence. He wasn't sure if their path had been barricaded, or if he'd missed entirely. The end product was the one and very same-unadulterated killing intent.
The risen raised a short blade high into the air, a slick silver blade of moonlight, and swung down, thoughtless before it would meet its target.
"RRRGGGGAAAHHHA!"
Cynthia was going to die.
Crimson red; a flash of red; black. Every color flashed before the undead's eyes, flickering as he cut through an approaching risen. This was natural. He should've been used to it by now. He'd seen it. A hundred times over.
A flash of blood lit up the world.
Yet, he couldn't stop himself from yelling out.
The living.
The living don't come back.
And, maybe as testament to that, he felt an immense shockwave expand from where Cynthia had been standing. What he thought as the mark of death. A decompression. An elapse of expanding air. Cynthia's body fell limp to the side, and he watched two figures clash, the risen slashing clean into a splash of blood.
But not Cynthia's.
Another one, one still shrouded in dark, cried out from the attack of the risen. The attacking sword had been poised fatally, but now only scratched its original target. The undead found it in his limbs to move.
The risen's body crashed backward. In a fit of invisible attacks, the approaching risen sustained massive, physical damage. And, just like that, the risen twitched to a stop. Dead-as if fought back by an invisible enemy that could not be stopped.
"I was almost scared. Risen assassins. Don't think for a moment you can get rid of me that easily...!" Severa coughed out a fit of blood but, at least, she was alive.
Their battle wasn't done. He was a fool for thinking that.
He didn't have the time to relish in whatever repelled the fatal attack. Regardless, he estimated the chances of the same event occurring again was slim. He could scarcely hear Severa's haphazard breathing as she struggled to stay upright, clutching her torso in pain. The eyes of the risen crowd shifted toward the sudden yelling. He would need to draw their attention-if even for a few seconds-and that was his specialty.
"Stay behind me and don't move until the path of the road is clear," the undead found himself saying, and rummaged through his equipment. "Head in the direction opposite of the crossroads and don't stop."
He turned slightly and saw the guard and Anna simultaneously nod their heads. Their faces appeared to be generally anxious, but he knew it didn't appear to them that they had any choice. At this point, he felt they were more of a hindrance, even if the guard was reasonably equipped.
Thinking that, he placed the first ring since coming here to his left hand.
The Redeye Ring.
His surroundings were naturally dark, but the ring easily shifted it to a transient red. Stopping in the center of the road, the remaining forces stared at him quizzically. The undead was aware of his change of appearance as well-and at this moment, he probably looked no different than any of the Risen ahead of him.
He smiled wryly.
The only way we differ, The undead thought, is who will be left standing.
He slammed his halberd into the the first wall of swords. He spun, quickly utilizing the heavy side of the blade while keeping them at the crest of his hit-zone. A passive row of risen dispatched themselves further back and, through the flurry of weapons, he rolled as a half-dozen arrows sailed past him.
He dragged the risen into his erratic pace as he pressed forward. He spiked his attacks at odd angles and they easily fell back treading the lighter ground of the road and into the grass. Not a single risen fell at his hands but, really, that was never his goal in the first place. In his current state he could easily outspeed the crowd and, as contrary to his original thought, many of the risen could not attack without risking the injury of one of their comrades.
This was all the time he needed.
A silver axe came at him from the side, breaking his consecutive whirling motion and easily disarming him when the weapon came into contact with the halberd's blunt edge. Before he could retrieve it, draw, or dodge—his assault stuttered to a stop when a spear found his way to his shoulder. Then an arrow. An explosion of red fire.
He cursed.
The last spell propelled him to the front of shop-sending splintering planks of wood in every direction as he collided with it. That didn't satisfy the risen, and they pressed forward, forcing the undead further down the fallen walls of the shop.
He grimaced as he pulled the spear from his shoulder; his vision seemed to be swamped in real blood. The shop was a dead-end from what he could tell, undoubtedly, breaking through the back-wall would be very difficult. He was thankful that Cynthia and Severa had escaped though, and the Redring had done its job.
Still, he couldn't ignore the fact that he was close to death.
Realistically, his chances of surviving were vastly slim. Every unit of the opposition were tactically experienced, knowing the ins-and-outs of combat and leaving nothing to chance. Competing with them, even in a one versus one situation, would take a substantial amount of effort. In the face of an army of the creatures however, he couldn't help but smile wryly at the situation. At the very least, he would take them down with him.
Before he could execute his next move however, holding his position at the very back of the store—he heard an ear-piercingly loud scream in the distance. His stance buffeted as he crouched, and he leaned against a pillar of weaponry.
It was still too dark to see outside; he only saw a starry sky of red.
His thoughts flattened. That sound... another enemy?
He swapped his first ring with the Red Tearstone ring. Steadying his breathing, a miraculous amount of strength returned to him as his body glowed into a faint, crimson red. It's effect would remain active as long as his wounds were on the edge of being fatal; it was the only decent trade-off without compromising his estus flasks.
An enemy wasn't out of the range of possibility. The risen appeared to be able to organize themselves into squadrons, meaning reinforcements couldn't be even remotely unlikely. Is that their signal? This building is the worst place I could possibly be in; can I get through the-
"MINNNNEEEERVVAAAAAAA!"
Clack, clack, clack.
The undead snapped from his stupor and equipped his longsword; that voice was obviously not from a risen. That voice... a mount?
"Dammit...!" A tall, black iron figure shouted relentlessly at the hoard ahead, bringing up an axe to his shoulder. "I can't believe risen have infiltrated this far inside the walls. Rotten flesh... I have no choice but to cut you down where you stand! Laurent, Nah. No one leaves here half-alive!"
Immediately, the frontal formation of the risen fell back. At first the undead didn't realize what they retreating from but, as soon as that thought came to mind, a wicked beast blurred his vision and three figures landed onto the dirt road, weapons drawn.
"Even in death, you continue to suffer. I sympathize with your plight. But an enemy is an enemy, and no amount of pity will stay my hand. Come. I can help put an end to your torment once and for all."
"If it's a war you want... I'd be flattered to hand it to you!"
These voices.
He couldn't avoid looking like an enemy if he approached them now; that reaction was inevitable. Their stances immediately fanned out in front of the shop, a triangle that refused to move. A silver axe lead the trio. An unarmed girl and what appeared to be a mage followed his movement, shouting makeshift orders as they readied themselves for the assault.
Their strength didn't go unnoticed-the hoard shifted at their appearance and the undead felt their combined power. The large bird-like creature even seemed unfazed, groaning in a painfully evident boredom.
He recounted the remaining forces of the hoard and concluded that, even with their power, it couldn't have possibly been enough. Versed or not, and even if their most oppressive forces had been dealt with, their numbers exceeded the trio's one-to-five. At the back of the undead's mind a whispering voice reminded him that using this to his advantage could be a possibility. It would be easy to slip out in the midst of the attack.
He couldn't find it in himself to do that.
"Looks like you could use some help..." The undead finally said, stepping out from the dark of the shop, "I'd be happy to ease the numbers for you."
Expertly, only the unarmed girl took the time to glance back. Her expression was slightly pained, as if noticing the undead's wounds. Her hands were curled around a small stone pallid stone, tinted to a shade of faint green, although he quickly realized that she couldn't have possibly been unarmed. That might have been her means of attack.
Firing off a warning glance at the mage, Laurent, she turned back to me and said, "If you can fight, we'd be glad to have you. Just don't get in our way."
"...That's fine by me. I'd rather not stand by and watch."
Taking calculated sips from his estus to assure that the Redstone Ring was still in effect, the undead ran forward, scraping his longsword into the ground as a piercing scream of metal.
"Enough talk." The point-man uttered, "The enemy lies ahead of us."
In response, the girl muttered, "I know that."
The crowd ahead of them stirred restlessly as they approached, as if tentatively picking off the most sadistic way to kill us. Two armed flanks of bows steadied their aim, and the undead closed his eyes as he readied his sword. Their reaction was immediate. When the first arrow left the its origina they charged forward, speaking rapidly as a hail of arrows assailed them.
Closing the distance, an array of fire and metal clashed along the side of the road, and the undead had finally taken a second to relax—just like that moment at Vendrick's Castle, mincing at the pull of the longbow's strings.
As his first strike landed squarely into the first risen's chest, he let himself revel in a little satisfaction.
Maybe, one day, this struggle would be worth it.
...
..
.
"That's rather interesting... it seems your circumstances are fairly peculiar, no? Perhaps it may even seem to be fairly auspicious considering the recent attack."
"I'm not connected to it," the undead answered attempting to sound reassuring, "It'll be easy to for me to bring up some cross-references as well, I've arrived at noon and only from the southern entrance. What you're thinking is impossible."
"I see..." the dark-haired girl, Nah - whose name was surprisingly hard to understand, and had to be spelled out - answered for Laurent. "It can't be helped. I'm sorry that we've been suspicious, and ah, after you've helped us out."
The undead shrugged indifferently, "...I would like to think I'd do the same."
"That's good to hear." Nah smiled.
They were chatting like this awkwardly on Minerva's back.
Minerva was surprisingly large enough to fit all four them. Her slight wings brought about swift, breakneck winds from below them, but it was surprisingly easy to talk despite the wind.
Their initial fight together had been as he'd expected: a fairly quick one. Despite Nah's small stature, she was a dangerous presence on the battlefield, a clear-cut powerhouse of strength. Using her small "Dragonstone" as she had called it, her combat potential was incredibly vast. A dragon had the stakes on that kind of reputation.
Despite that substantial edge in combat however, Gerome and Laurent could have easily balanced the odds. Gerome lead a wicked assault, utilizing Minerva's jarring speed in conjunction with his arsenal of weapons. Every strike had the potential to leave Risen flying and, undoubtedly, that's exactly what happened. Laurent worked well with the other two; his skill was evident.
The undead supposed that he might have a thing or two to learn himself.
The fight had actually been the lesser of the undead's problems. As soon as the last risen had been finished off, he'd narrowly avoided being scorched by his own, even temporary, allies.
Nah had knew he was undead.
He'd retreated back a little hastily, pressed for information. Nah's senses were incredibly keen, sniffing out that, really, his smell had been no different than a risen's. To his relief though, they didn't press him beyond that, and considered the possibility that risen didn't have the capability to speak.
Naturally, only Gerome - the owner of Minerva - had opposed silently opposed him.
"It's okay, Minerva. We'll be there soon, and I'm sorry for this ride to be such an annoying burden to you. I'm aware it's more than you're accustomed to carrying..." He heard him now.
Was that supposed to be an insult?
The undead revealed to the three of them there about his short acquaintance with Severa and Cynthia. After a moment of surprise and debilitated arguing, he ascertained that their relation was mutual-the three of them were part of the "group" he'd heard about.
Their destination was the grand-castle of Ylisse but, at the beckoning of this information, Minerva ceased all forward movement.
"Where are they now?" Gerome questioned, simmering on darker emotions, "You were alone when we arrived. Where are they?"
It took him longer than he wanted to respond.
"They escaped." The undead said, "The two of them were injured, but not fatally. I confirmed it as soon as I got the risen's attention."
"...Despicable. Have you no qualms of leaving the two of them behind!? Alas, Ylisse is under siege, it is unthinkable how you could leave them."
That was certainly a notable argument—maybe even a strong one. Intuitively, he should've realized that the Ylisse was directly under siege, and refused to be lead off so easily. It was... possible. A possibility like that shouldn't have been overlooked and, even if it was the wrong solution, it was a little embarrassing to know that it had never crossed your mind.
"No way." It was Nah who spoke up. "I think it's believable. Besides, I think it would mean ill-will to doubt him after what he's done for us. Severa and Cynthia will make it back alive, I'm sure of it."
Gerome looked like he wanted to ask something else, but stopped. His gaze was hidden behind the soft texture of his black mask, hiding the contours of his face that would've revealed his words. His white hair contrasted heavily with his mask.
This team, the undead thought, must've been through a lot together.
At the back of his mind, the undead pondered on Cynthia and Severa, and the incursion on near the western wall. The crossroads Severa and him had arrived on would eventually lead to a straight-route to the capital building-they were just unlucky fighting the frontal force of the risen at that very moment.
That means Ylisse is already on the verge of attack. Validar... and Grima... will be coming here. Just like Drangleic... Nagi claimed I wouldn't be able to handle this alone. He stole a curious glance at the three of them. This. Is this really enough?
"We've arrived." Laurent said, nonchantly.
"Let's get this over with now." Gerome nodded, signaling Minerva to land, "Lucina is uninformed about the Risen's breach on the western gate. She should be here now."
Wordlessly, the undead analyzed the surfacing of the castle. Guards were stationed at every vantage point of the building, armed to the teeth with long-ranged weaponry and sending out numerous troops out of the fortress' many gates. Their descent continued unnoticed until they landed in an open garden at the roof of the structure.
They dismounted. Meeting the tender grass in a small hop, the undead looked at the surrounding flowers and wondered how odd the sight was. War was on the horizon, and yet such a peaceful place like this would be at the center of all of it. It made him feel particularly... sad. He couldn't rationalize that feeling.
He reorganized a bit of his equipment while Gerome made the preparations to keep Minerva stabilized. His armor was heavily damaged from earlier but, using a small batch of repair powder, all of his equipment was promptly refurnished.
He passed it around when the three of them emitted jealous vibes.
At the moment, he had lost his halberd, two estus flasks, a small amount of green blossoms, and around five lifegems. The cross-road battle had reduced a considerable amount of his equipment-which was irreplenishable-and yet there were inevitably even more to come.
Instilled with knowledge, he followed shortly behind the others.
A long archway preceded the third-floor entrance of the castle, decorated with a large array of flowers and gold trimming. Passing underneath, the three ahead of him nodded toward two guards stationed there; after which they closed a large gate behind him.
He couldn't fathom how beautiful, how regally reserved the floor was. Rich, crystal chandeliers hugged the ceiling at ever intersection of the halls; a long marble fence-line trimmed the side of the hall - which the undead realized - was actually a series of walkways. Down below, he could hardly make out the tiny human titular figures, which numbered an exact two.
"The stair's are this way." They followed Gerome down a short series of passages and down the nearest stairwell; down another. The other two didn't seem to be familiar with the setup of the building either, and frequently took the time to glance around.
Their footsteps ricocheted softly against the marble floor.
"...We've lost a lot of soldiers... Every day gets a little worse for us, while the Risen grow only stronger. Are we simply postponing our demise? The castle defenses are weakening... Please, my friends, I need you here. Find the stones we need...
Nah's face familiarly raised itself into a pained expression and she pulled on Gerome's shoulder, staving us from the foresight of their conversation. Only the thickness of a pillar separated us.
"Does something ail you, Lucina? You look troubled."
The undead held his breath. The silence had never been so apparent since he had arrived here, arrived in the falling city of Ylisse.
"Lady Tiki? I am sorry—I was lost in thought. What are you doing here? I had thought you had taken refuge in Mount Prisim."
"What?!" At this, the three of them gasped. He didn't know why. The source of the voice, Lucina continued on without notice. "But it was heavily defended!"
"Yes, and for that I thank you. Had you not dispatched some of your finest soldiers... I and the Ylisseans in my company might would have never made it this far. Not that we did not suffer our own share of casualties..."
He could feel the mood in the room, this colloseum of air, darken by several shades. "I'm so sorry... I had thought, at least, that Mount Prism would keep you sa-"
Lucina stopped talking.
"Lucina? Is something the matter?"
"You!" Her voice echoed, suddenly closer than he had anticipated, "Near the stairwell! In the name of the exalt, reveal yourselves immediately!"
The four of them all turned to each other. Her perception on the closer perimeter was extremely keen, even though they should have been farther than what should. A radiance of power emanciated from her voice, strong, an unmoveable source of power and deterimination.
Gerome sighed and, one-by-one, we stepped out from the stairs.
"We are here, Lucina. There is no need for the hostilities."
"You... Gerome... what's happened? Why are all of you here, now of all times? Have you all returned from your pursuit of the gems? We cannot perform the ceremony without this information... I must know immediately! Have you not returned from Plegia...?
The undead intentionally dredged a slight space between the group and Lucina, keeping at a good several short paces behind. At this point, confronting her was anything but arbitrary. He'd listen first.
"That's..." Nah spoke up immediately, as if the words were difficult to get out. "We've retrieved two of the gems, already. Only... the boy's team is left to return. We had some luck as we'd had it. It appears to me that Grima's been repositioning his troops."
Lucina resorted to silence for several seconds, fiddling with a blue lock of her hair. To her right, was another young woman-
Wait.
Was that... Nagi?
Lucina continued, emerging from her long silence to Nah's question, "...That's very troubling indeed. However, I am glad you have arrived safely. We would be postponing the Fire Emblem further if it had not been for your presence. The fate of the future lies on our shoulders... we must turn travel to the past to ease our burdens."
Saying this, Lucina, as well as the green-haired girl next to her, took notice of me.
"Is this... a new ally of yours?" Lucina spoke, softly but with a rising tone of caution.
Nah and Laurent looked back at me together, the edges of their mouths pulled slightly. This was a situation he could have not harbored on his own-he was glad. "Indeed." Laurent said, "He is quite versed in the complex atrocities of combat, of which I can faithfully vouch. Our timely arrival would have been quite problematic without."
"He's come to meet you," Nah added.
Lucina tensed, patching a side-ways glance at him as she spoke, "You've come to meet me? Very well... It is an honor to be graced with one so acquiantanced with my friends. You are gladly accepted within the walls of Ylisse."
Thinking back, the undead had only been addressed this formally once, which, as he had remembered, could probably not have been a good thing. The one time where that occurred had been inside the confines of Vendricks Castle; now could possibly be no different.
He tossed that aside and opened his mouth to speak.
"Wait-" The girl, who had been consistently stayed silent at Lucina's side spoke up. The resemblence to Nagi was uncanny, and he had to restrain himself from calling her out. He vaguely recalled that Lucina had referred to her as "Lady Tiki" and ceased any preceding movement to speak.
"Is it really you...? This undead that I have only heard of in my sleep? This... this shouldn't have been possible. Nagi... Nagi... you-"
A chill. A chill spiked deeper into his body, deeper than any blade could ever succumb him to. A powerful presence lurked at the very edge of his subconscious, yet it came from every inch of his surroudings. This castle was heavily fortified. The likelihood of an intruder entering the vicinity was-
No.
His denial had been too costly. Shadowing the heavy white lines of the wall, a hooded figure hazardly approached Lucina. Yelling a quick warning, the undead realized it was too late before the last syllable had left his mouth.
"Lucina, look out! ...Nnrgh!" Taking note of his warning as well, Tiki switched her gaze and dove in at the last possible moment, and cut off the sudden attack immediately.
Cursing, Lucina shouted, "Lady Tiki!"
A sharp, black blade dug out from Tiki's back, painting the floor in a half-circle of blood. This assassin, garbed in an almost midnight black and purple, skillfully sheathed the blade in one swift motion.
In that time, Tiki had been assassinated.
"It's you... I can't believe it... you couldn't have possibly have gotten into Ylisstol. Lucina... run... get away from here as fast as you-agh..." Grasping her hands around the blade of the sword, she fell forward.
"Lady Tiki? Oh no, please... LADY TIKI!"
The four of them could barely contain their shock as the assassin tore off immediately to the right; a quick rotation of speed as the perpetrator aimed for the stairwell.
Wasting no time, Laurent chanted, casually bringing the assassin to a halt when the shortest path ahead was doused in un-quenchable flames.
"Damn you!" Lucina readied her sword-an icy silver streak of silver coveted in gold, "You'll pay for harming Lady Tiki!"
Having failed the attempt of escape, the hooded person turn slowly, bearing along with the sword, what the undead had learned to be a tome. Their face was clothed in a mesh of black and, regardless of how deeply the undead strained himself, he could not make out who it was.
It chuckled.
The assassin, the murderer of Tiki, chuckled loud enough that it silenced everything in the room. The raging fire ahead of us faded away as an ominous voice spoke, like a suffocating blanket of black that absolutely refused to go by unnoticed.
"YOU WISH TO HAVE ME 'PAY'? HOW DEMANDINGLY PITIFUL. YOUR FUTURE HAS ALREADY LONG BEEN SEALED, IT IS FATE THAT IT IS YOUR UNDOING. YOUR FATHERS, YOUR MOTHERS-THEY ARE ALL DEAD. LEAVE THIS FOOLISH CONCEPTION OF YOURS THAT FATE CAN BE CHANGED, AND YOU SHALL BE AT THE HAND OF MY MERCY."
Perhaps, this was his goal from the beginning.
It had only been a day since he had arrived in Ylisse, the forgoing fortress that refused to let the world stomp it out. There was an alluring hope to that kind of mentality and, unknowling, the undead followed that to his very core.
The undead knew his goal. He had treated it as a singular, objective goal up to this point, and refused to acknowledge his experience with Ylisse into his list. However, even in this short time period, he had come to the conclusion that that was never the case from the start.
Ylisse, and the rest of the world, had never strayed in their goals. It had been survival, from the very beginning, at its bones, that's all it ever was. Yet at his inital impression, the undead scoffed at himself. He wouldn't be fighting this battle alone; they were on the same side from the very beginning.
Thinking that, he raised his claymore and imbued it with flames, shouting so loud that it would take a multitude of seconds before the echoes would fade.
"Grima! It doesn't matter to me what fate this world has been destined, or whatever means you've constructed to achieve that. It's irrelevant. Useless. Don't spout out nonsense. For my world and theirs—fate can change."
He stepped forward, tilting the flat of his blade,
"Even if I have to massacre your whole army to do it."
This will be a longer-than-typical AU. Despite what I said last chapter. I am. So. Sorry.
Here are the undead's stats, for those of you who are interested:
Vigor - 30
Endurance - 40
Vitality - 20 (X)
Attunement - 20 (X)
Adaptibility - 40
Strength - 30
Dexterity - 40
Intelligence - 25
Faith - 10
I know. I know. Weird stats. By absolutely no means would anyone invest so much into "Adaptability", at least typically anyway. I've kept most of these stats as "symbolic" references to his actual RL skills. In the Fire Emblem verse, this would mean that he's invested primarily in "Skill" and"Speed" with "Strength" acting as a secondary asset. There is meaning to his "Intelligence" and "Faith" as well.
Onto another matter. I'd like to disclaim right now that I am seriously out-of-tune with the "Future-Past DLC". There could be ridiculous errors that I might have missed. I've done a lot of research, but I'm not confident enough to say it's fool-proof. Just a warning.
I've more-or-less sorted out the pairings. I'm a little hesitant to reveal the hair color of each character so early on (because it might force my hand later by revealing sudden relationships) but its generally unavoidable. I'm sorry if certain pairings are unfavorable for you, but that's how this has to roll. I'm starting to near the point where pairings have to be made. I'm thankful for the suggestions though, I've given an ear to them.
On that note, I'll end it here. Thanks for taking the time to read. I'll try to keep my updates as close-to-weekly as I possibly can.
Again, thanks.
- Sxilenced
