Stuff that should have turned up last chapter, but I am a fool:
Many thanks to Tobilas, for inadvertently inspiring the Elena POV chapters.
Chapter Two: The boy is forced to watch as his life gradually falls into pieces of broken ceramic and glue
Roland found himself in the highly awkward position where he had to choose between letting the Princess ride on the mangy horse, or doing so himself. Either option seemed terrifying, if only because the animal looked ill-equipped for basic functions such as walking.
"Heads you ride, Tails I do." She said behind him, looking equally dismayed by the prospect of sitting on the beast.
"Do you have a coin?"
"Yup."
"Drat."
Roland carefully hoisted himself onto the creature, and looked at the Princess with a distinctly disgruntled look on his face. The Princess herself had mounted Roland's horse with far less than the usual difficulty one would expect with someone as small as her, and was surveying him daintily.
Serves me right for trying to be Mr. Practical. Goddammit, I hope he lasts until we get to the carriage.
They began their journey towards Richter's promised transport. The Princess looked downcast. Roland wanted, he realised, to cheer her up, but his own sense of worry and fear stopped him, with a feeling akin to having a giant rock stuck in one's throat. What made it worse was the awkward silence between the two. This continued for some time until she broke the silence.
"Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question, Sir Roland?"
"Not at all, my lady."
Technically, you already have, but that gag is too old to use right now. And you're a bit too important.
"You were part of the group responsible for destroying the Beast Fiends, am I correct?"
"Yes. That is indeed the case."
"And you eventually became the Master of the Magic Association as well?"
Where does she get her info from?
"Quite."
"So then, why are you here?"
"Come again...?" Roland turned towards her with a confused look. "I don't quite follow what you mean."
"You had the chance," she said, brows furrowed, "to rule over a country. To possess an incredible amount of political clout. To literally shape the world as you wish. Why would you give up such power?"
"I suppose I don't really have the desire to spend the rest of my life ranting about having the power." He replied, with slight smile. "In all honesty, I think I make a better subordinate than outright leader."
"So you quit."
"Left the job in the hands of more capable people, I prefer to say."
"What about the Runic Engine thing?"
DAMN. Where does she get her info from? I need to know, like, right now.
"I had it removed."
WHY. WOULD. YOU. DO. THAT.
She gaped at him. It was literally an expression of abject disbelief.
"You're wondering why?" He grimaced slightly at the memory, before pulling off a glove. "This, and that odd patch of silver in my hair is why."
His hand was normally shaped. All the fingers were intact. The only problem with it was the fact that it was completely blackened, as though it had come into contact with a fire, and had roasted away into so much charcoal. It looked painful.
Good god.
"When I gave up the position of the Master, my hair returned to its original shade, the colour which you see now. That silver streak appeared about a week after that, post a battle against a few Beast Fiends that had survived. During a training battle, my hand morphed into the thing you see before you."
Elena's face looked slightly green at the revelation.
"You almost died, didn't you?" She looked mortified.
"Well, yes, I suppose I came far closer to dying than I would have liked. "
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I seem to have asked you something I shouldn't have."
"No matter. I don't imagine my reasons for leaving have been particularly evident."
The atmosphere between the two did not improve. There was an underlying sense of caution that both of them had, compounded by the events earlier in the day. Both secretly sighed a sigh of relief when they saw Richter, and with him everyone else.
"Roland, I'm afraid I need to you to go on a little scouting mission."
"By myself? Here?"
The carriage had stopped just outside a dense forest, not exactly the sort of place one would generally go for a peaceful drive in. The trees were thickly packed together, and the air was strangely foreboding.
"It looks like the trees move." He said, with a somewhat frightened expression on his face. "I'm sure I've read a book somewhere where the trees eat people and block paths and do all sort of unsavoury things."
"Well, you can't exactly tell Her Majesty we can't go through the shortest and safest route to the villa because you have an unexplained phobia of trees, can you?"
"I suppose not. And I swear, every forest in that series, except maybe one, and nice people lived in that one, had issues."
"We can't help that. Now go."
"Dammit. I'm sure you didn't want to go either." Roland sighed to himself as he crept along the bushes. "Huh? A light... here?"
He hurried towards the glow, thanking his stars that he'd taken the trouble to attend a woodsmanship workshop the year before. A large group of soldiers, maybe twenty or so, were camped there.
Well, that's a good thing, I suppose.
He got up. The soldiers started, and then pointed their weapons at him.
"Uh, I'm on your side." He said in surprise, as he was still in uniform. "You know, here to save the Queen and all that."
Suddenly, they charged.
"He's taking too long." Rina said, looking out the carriage window impatiently.
"I'm sure he's alright. He is my protégé after all." Richter said smoothly, though the worry lines were visible on his face.
And then they heard a yell.
"Don't even think about hurting them!" Roland burst through the bushes, wildly defending himself from the rebel soldiers. His shoulder was wounded, and the disadvantage his corrupted hand put him at was evident. Even so, he was holding his own. His sword flashed about in a deadly arc, cutting down the soldiers in their tracks. He would parry and duck, countering with sharp jabs.
"Roland!" Richter leapt out of the carriage, spearing one of the enemies in the process. Rina herself quickly knocked an arrow to the string, and shot another through the eye. He went down screaming in pain, and continued to writhe there.
"Sorry about this! I assumed they were on our side thanks to the uniform." Roland said, as he avoided a wild swing to his head.
"No, no, quite a common mistake, I believe. It's better this way... gah!" Richter caught two swords on his spear, and then with a thrust, sent the two flying into a tree.
"Well, that's eight down. Only twelve to go."
"You banter far too much."
"And you don't enough, sir."
"What about Sir Gaston and your brother?"
"I don't think we need to wake them up for this. It's our watch after all."
"And that is why I don't like forests at night."
"I'd hardly call attracting attention to yourself and then being molested by rebels the sort of thing that usually goes about in forests, you know." Rina said, trying not to giggle.
"Neither are talking trees. Now all we need would be ancient spirits of things and legendary weapons that glow in the dark."
"What on earth are you talking about? More importantly, how is your shoulder?" Richter cut in, his expression tired, and his palm barely resisting the urge to make contact with forehead.
"It's fine. I'll live."
"I don't doubt that, but you'll worry Her Majesty if she sees you with it."
Rasche let out a snore that cut through the tension between them, and the three burst out laughing.
"At least some things don't change... like his snoring." Rina smiled. They weren't laughing because it was funny. They were laughing because they were alive.
"You're joking."
"I'm afraid not, Elena. It seems that most of our soldiers have defected to Larrouse's side."
"Is there any other information available, Sir Richter?" Her Majesty cut in. "Anything at all?"
"If I may?" Roland looked at the group. Sophia nodded in assent. "I don't believe that the Royal Villa is going to be particularly safe, especially given the recent turn of events. We should head to Shqiperise instead. I have friends there that would be glad to help."
"Friends?"
"Yes. Uh... Lord Alba's son was a close friend of mine in school, and we're still in touch."
"It's not reliable. The villa is far more defensible." Gaston interjected, his voice booming.
"But sir!"
"No buts. We make for the villa immediately."
I know he's an iron wall, but whoa.
Rasche gave the horses a light flick of the whip and the carriage set off at a sharp pace. Richter and Roland, and Rina followed on their horses, acting simultaneously as guards and lookouts.
Some hours later, they stopped at a little hamlet close to the Jotzenchoc border. The mountains and volcanoes of the region were visible in the horizon, and it made Roland uneasy.
Given that we're the ones travelling though open territory, and there is no real cover in this place, we could get attacked at any time. Dammit, why are we coming here of all places? Where are the tactics? The strategy? Sir Gaston, you're a defender! We need to sneak out as soon as we can!
His face was sullen as they walked to the inn, which looked rundown, as befitted a village in so remote an area.
This sort of place is exactly the kind of area that crawls with rebels and insurgents and nasty people. Is he this convinced of the infallibility of the Knights?
It was an interesting contrast of opinions: The General who felt no fear, the Knight who favoured tactics over brute force, and the Princess who relied on books for knowledge.
Inside the inn, it was dark and dingy. Not the sort of place Queens tended to visit. The two royals had indeed worn hoods, and in Elena's case, Rina's clothes, to conceal their identities.
"Oh my. It looks like something out of a period piece." She said nervously, to no one in particular. Roland heard her and let out a small chuckle.
"Yeah, pretty much. Not much money gets to towns like these, so the inns are far from the kinds we get in Royal Carnava."
She instinctively grabbed his sleeve as they walked past a particularly hulking man, who suddenly stood up and stood in front of Roland.
"Can I help you, sir?" He said, face as calm as ever.
Avoid confrontations. Do not annoy Big Angry Man.
"Help me? Sure you can. Don't you remember me, brat?" The man let off a booming laugh and tugged his beard, making a strange gesture at the group in the process.
"Mister Soakes? Is that you?" Gaston cut in, beaming.
"Of course it is! Gahahah!" The laugh was merry and almost heartwarming.
"Soakes, you old reprobate!" Richter joined them with a grin on his face. "Ah, Lily," he said to Elena, "I think you should go to that table there. Garlot and I'll come in a bit."
The three of them retired to a table in the corner, leaving Elena to weave her way towards the rest of the group. The conversation between Soakes and the two Knights looked animated and lively, in contrast with the funereal atmosphere at the Queen's table.
"Whatchu gettin'" A waitress who resembled a whore more than a waitress came up to them.
"Euh... water?" Elena asked, giving her sister a look. Rina concurred, though she had a nagging doubt that the alcohol would be far less poisonous. Roland looked with interest at the jug, and then asked for soup. The others gave their orders, and settled down into the creaky wooden stools.
"Soup?" Rasche grinned at Roland, who stared impassively at his fingernails. They were cracked and grimy after the fires and fighting, and one of them was barely hanging on to the rest of his hand. He gave the nail a quick tug, wrenching it off, and splattering the table with blood. Wincing, he wrapped a tissue around it, and continued to look dully around the room.
The inn was surprisingly quiet, with most of the guests too drunk to do more than snore. In the corner the two Knights continued to speak with Soakes, while gesticulating wildly. It looked exaggerated and artificial.
Something, I don't know what, is clearly going on. Gaston is too experienced to leave out survival to mere chance. He must have a reason for going to the villa that we are unaware of. But why risk the Queen? What kind of situation would call for this?
The group spent an hour at the inn, most of which was spent in contemplating the merits of eating their food, and potentially dying of food poisoning. They left at 5:55pm precisely, not knowing about the telescope trained on them from the nearby Watchpoint Hill.
"I know I'm going to sound like a petulant fool, but seriously, are we there yet?" Elena said, looking slightly green.
"You're not ill are you?" Gaston looked at her with concern.
"No, no. Just tired. And you, sir? Aren't you fatigued from the journey?"
"Just a little. Nothing that could kill me." He laughed at his words, and the journey proceeded in silence.
A few hours later, they arrived at the Royal Villa.
"Whoa." Rasche stared at the huge building, voicing the thoughts that Roland and Rina were harbouring. "That is one hell of a house."
"Indeed it is." Sophia smiled at their agape faces, before going up to the gate and typing in an access code onto a small panel.
"Felinor techonology?" Roland asked, looking with interest at the device.
"Yeah, it is. Dad was a fan." Elena replied. She looked sad, which was a natural state of mind after the events that had transpired the day before. Her eyes had dark rims around them, and looked puffy from a lack of sleep. Her face was pale, and she looked thinner and more fragile somehow.
Good grief she looks like a corpse. Not good. Who the hell thinks corpses look sexy anyhow? They don't.
The little group walked down the path, gravel crunching under their feet, towards the house. Gaston suddenly stopped. He stooped down to look at the stones.
"They've been disturbed. Footprints maybe, but I'm not sure."
A cracking sound came from the mansion, and Gaston looked at his chest in shock. A long wooden stake protruded from the front. The stake had come from some sort of machine attached to the main gate. It had been pure chance that Gaston, rather than someone else, had been hit.
"Oh god no!" Sophia ran to the old Knight, and grabbed on to him. He tottered forwards, and came to his knees. Gaston coughed, spitting out blood, before giving the group a grin.
"This isn't enough to stop the Iron Wall of Carnava. Get into the building. I'll hold them off."
"I'm staying!" Rasche readied his spear, pointing the tip at the direction of the stake. Roland nodded, and drew his sword, before calling out to Rina and the two royals.
" Let's go! Quickly!"
Inside the manse, Roland chanced to look out of the window. Gaston and Rasche were fending off a large group of brown-cloaked individual, who were outclassed technically, but made up for it through numbers. It was a breathtaking display of technique from Gaston who resembled a whirlwind on the field, cutting through enemies like so much butter against a carving knife. Blood sprayed everywhere, staining their armour red, and dying the gravel. Rasche suddenly started and gave a yell before dashing off towards the forested area. Gaston shouted something, and ran after him, slashing the life from another insurgent as he did so. That was the last Roland ever saw of the two.
He turned around to face the Queen who carried two large, beautifully crafted swords in her hands. Both were identical, though the practiced eye would notice that one had significantly more skilled workmanship in the patterns, and looked older, though just as bright and well-maintained.
"These are the proofs of Carnavan royalty. This sword," She said, holding up one of the swords, "Is the culmination of Navillian bladecraft, and the legacy of Lord Erasmus Razi, the founder of this Kingdom. Elena, take it. Keep it safe. We need to split up here."
"Your Majesty, that would be far too dangerous." Roland's face took on an expression of panic, and he stepped forwards.
"I am aware of the dangers. This artefact needs to be kept safe however, and I would have Elena, Richter and Rina do so."
"And I, my lady?"
"You shall escort me. We shall act as a decoy."
You can't be serious.
Richter looked as displeased with the plan as Roland felt, while Elena and Rina looked stunned.
"Very well." He said, frowning. "But I expect that we rendezvous at a safe point."
The two of them, Roland and the Queen crawled along a stone wall that broken in parts. Sweat dripped from their noses, splashing on to the ground.
"We're in trouble."
The rebel forces numbered at least a hundred. It would take a miracle and then a few more to fight them, thus a sneakier escape route would need to be found. Roland's fatigue did not help matters; his vision was clouded by perspiration and the lack of sleep. His shoulder ached from the previous night's battle.
Fight to the death. Give her a chance to escape. That's all I need to do.
A sudden gunshot rang out behind them, and Roland fell, clutching his injured shoulder, which was now bleeding profusely. A man stood behind them, with a massive gun, and a even larger knife.
Compensating for something, are we—Shit!" Roland groaned as the pain grew worse. His vision was reddened from the pain, and he could barely focus.
"A neural agent is on the bullet. It should prevent you from acting for the next half-hour at least... in which time you should be dead from the bloodloss." It was another figure, smaller, but with an even more brutal expression on his face.
You bastard.
"Can we help you?" Sophia rose, drawing her sword.
"I'll be taking that, thank you." He said. The larger man growled at these words, and kicked her in the stomach. He stamped down on her, and she coughed up blood from the impact. The smaller man took the knife and bent down.
What are you doing. Stop. No. STOP DAMN YOU!
Sophia couldn't move with the larger man's foot in her stomach. She could see the smaller man take the knife and crouch. He held it near her face, and with a swift movement, stabbed her eye.
Pain. Hot blinding pain that confused her passed through her body. Instinctively, she reached up to remove the weapon, but that tiny jolt sent even worse waves of agony down her body. She couldn't think. Speak. Breathe. Hear.
Stop it.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
JUST END THIS I BEG YOU!
She was screaming in pain; Roland could hear her voice cracking as the agony grew worse. Then the larger man picked her up, and took the body towards a concrete bunker. Several horrible squelching noises sounded, and everything went quiet.
Time passed, as Roland grew weaker. Somehow, he survived the bullet, and after the effects of the neurotoxin wore off, he was able to dizzily get up, and plug the wound with a piece of his reddened sleeve. The bleeding had lessened – he was a fast healer, thanks to the side-effects of the Runic Engine's corruption. He couldn't stand properly, as his mind was still foggy from the poison. Then he turned to see what had happened to the Queen, after he had completely failed her. A horrible smell was in the air, of decaying flesh and organs.
Oh my god.
He gagged, and then threw up. The smell of the vomit mingled with the smell of the Queen's mangled body, creating a cocktail from hell. The body was unrecognisable. It was a mass of pulpy organs, and with the intestines clearly splattered around. The back of the head had been smashed in, and the brain was smashed against the concrete. The face was barely visible under the blood, and the eyeball had been gouged out. A jelly-like substance trailed down her face – the vitreous fluid from the eye ball. Flies flew around the corpse, and their buzzing was the only sound to be heard.
Roland threw up again and again, until there was nothing left inside. Just the vomit on the ground, mixing with his blood and the Queen's body. Just his complete and utter shame and agony. He collapsed against the wall, and began to cry. It was a horrible cry, cracked and broken, loud and heart-rending.
A/N: Requiem Aeternam ties into this chapter. So, good news, he doesn't die there. And also why the genre wasn't tagged as tragedy in that story ( this is a total lie). And if you haven't read it, you should [INSERT SHAMELESS PLUG HERE].
Another long chapter, to make up for me taking ages to update, thanks to various RL issues. I'm still fairly busy until sometime in January, so I might not be very prompt, but the show will certainly go on. Also, Gory stuff this time (I think). Comments (i.e. reviews) appreciated regarding my writing in this case. If it's a consolation, something this grisly probably won't ever happen again (Roland resolving not to let it). And yes, I've been playing Corpse Party. That might have inadvertently lead to this, er, mode of death.
Reviews are appreciated. No, really. I become a better writer/am inspired to update faster when I read your comments.