Afraid this Horror-arc will be over before Halloween hits, but hopefully it'll be enough to get everyone into the spirit of things!
Chapter IV: Broken Wing
Virion hoisted himself onto the rooftop, grunting quietly as he slid towards the edge facing the street. The upward angle was an ideal perch for cover fire of the front entrance to the tavern across the road. He and Gregor spotted the smoke and had immediately moved to investigate. He was to provide support from the front of the building while Gregor moved around the back.
The windows were dark, he couldn't be certain enemy eyes weren't watching his every move. On the other hand, they could be civilians risking a fire to stay warm. Unfortunately it wasn't up to a Shepherd to avoid the risk.
He crouched behind cover and unslung his bow, laying the quiver down as water rushed past him. He climbed to the front, spotting Gregor at the corner of the tavern. They were too far to exchange words but Gregor nodded and slipped out of sight.
Gregor made his way to the back of the structure, eyes watchful for any traps or surveillance from the surrounding buildings. Nothing jumped out at him. Several blocks north he saw another break in the town gates, forest beyond dark and ominous. He made a mental note. Mercenaries always kept an eye open for extra exits.
He checked around the corner of the back street. Rain was the only thing that moved, back door standing ajar as if in anticipation. He waited for no reason other than gut feel. Sinking lower into a crouch he glanced around again, making sure he himself wasn't about to fall victim to an ambush. Three minutes passed.
When the feeling began to subside he stood.
The door pulled open as man stepped out, glancing around furtively. Gregor couldn't make out details from the distance but he was definitely a merc. Uniform, standard issue weapon, trained movements. But he seemed shaken, scared.
The merc stayed close to the building, walking away from Gregor as he fumbled with his pants. Gregor suppressed a chuckle. The calling of nature: an age-old pitfall of sentries.
He slipped the dagger from his thigh and hunched down, stalking after the other merc. Twenty meters separated them. On principle most mercs were generally bad people, but Gregor preferred giving strangers the benefit of the doubt.
"...Just a raid-and-pillage, huh? Yeah, right..." The merc muttered, glancing around and facing the wall of the tavern.
Doubt restored. Ten meters. Gregor raised the dagger in reverse grip, approaching his target. Glass shattered a block behind them.
The merc jumped, spotting Gregor as he closed the gap and threw the man against the wall. He cried in surprise before lifting off and slamming back headfirst with a strong grip around his neck. The merc went limp, slumping forward against the larger man.
"Not so good for the interrogating..." Gregor muttered, letting him slide to the ground. He looked around for what had made the noise. Rain fell across the empty street in sleets.
Gregor quickly pulled the merc by his arms, back inside the door he emerged from. The pants were still undone but if he awoke that would be the last of his worries. They crossed the threshold and Gregor laid him just inside the door, frisking the pockets. No identification or markings. Faint pulse. He removed a chord from the man's neck, allowing a small scoff. A good luck charm, a talisman he'd seen to ward off the "evil eye." Some mercenaries were more superstitious than priests. Ridiculous...
Glancing around, he cleared his throat before slipping the necklace over his head.
He heard voices from one of the nearby rooms, hunching again as he moved through the darkened kitchen.
Putting his ear to the door he decided the voices were too distant to be in the adjacent room. He opened the door quietly. Empty bar, windows boarded. Empty mugs sat on otherwise bare tables and broken glass littered the floor. Lightning flashed outside and thunder boomed seconds after.
The talking stopped, then resumed from the ceiling. He looked around, orienting himself and making for the entrance where stairs would be. Dim light seeped through the small cracks between planks covering the windows. His hopes that Virion would be able to offer support died as he came to the front door, finding stools and tables barricaded against the entrance.
Crunch. Boot met glass at the foot of the stairs. The voices died instantly.
"... hear that?"
"Was it the glass we set?"
"Might've just been Jack. I'll check."
"Jack?"
Three, male, ages twenty to forty. Capable. Gregor hopped back on one foot, scraping shards from the boot with the pads of his glove. Carefully navigating the minefield of broken glass he hurried to cover on the other side of the bar as heavy footsteps sounded overhead.
"Oi, that you Jack?" A voice called from the top of the stairs one hall over.
"Don't even know...heard something..." Gregor managed to pick out muffled snippets through the ceiling and sounds of rain.
"Yeah, we all...imagined..."
"What if...those... Things?"
Silence fell over the tavern, rain pattering the rooftop.
Stairs slowly creaked. Gregor could place the man's exact location through the thin wall beside him. He kept low, drawing his dagger and placing hand on sword hilt, ready to spring.
"Jack!" A loud whisper came from the bottom of the stairs. The merc's companion was likely hesitant to go any further, unsure of what lay around the corners of the dark halls. Gregor remained silent as glass crunched and the footsteps entered the bar. He huddled against the abdomen-high counter as the steps neared.
"Anything?" A shaky voice from upstairs called. Young. Making the merc less than a meter away one of the veterans.
Gregor knew better than to take a scout who was expected back. Amateurs took the quick and easy kills, but taking this one now would only arouse further suspicion.
"No... Maybe it came from outside. I'm gonna go find Jack, keep watch till I get back."
Not so experienced after all. Still couldn't fathom a scenario where he didn't come back. Gregor slid down the bar parallel with the boots walking on the other side.
"Roger..."
Boots passed and Gregor lunged from behind, covering the merc's mouth and tackling him in one motion. Hitting ground Gregor rammed the dagger hilt-deep between the ribs, collapsing a lung before he had a chance to shout. Gregor pinned the struggling body with a thick forearm, sliding the blade up the base of the skull and severing the spinal cord. Humane. No one should feel themselves suffocate to death.
The merc twitched feebly as blood spilled from his mouth, eyes wide as they stared into the doorway he came from. Gregor wiped his gloves over the man's back, cleaning his blade.
Wetwork was messy business. Gregor learned early: Always wear gloves. Dagger won't slip.
He stood, making for the door and avoiding the glass this time. He did a silly stretch-and-hop to the stairs from the threshold, pressing himself against the wall and recalling which ones creaked. He made his way up, just as slowly as the merc had come down. He only needed one to find out what happened here. Nearing the top he saw firelight dancing across the opposite wall from the open door to the left. Two hushed voices conversed quietly.
He gauged their distance as he stood against the frame. About ten meters. Charging into the room without any idea of layout or obstacles would be foolish, but if they were as shaken as they sounded they'd be staring intently at the doorway. There wasn't much hope of catching them off guard.
"Help..." He croaked quietly, barely audible over the rain. The voices stopped again.
"Help... Me." He uttered slightly louder, hoping his accent would be masked by the lack of volume and rain. "Jack..."
"You hear–"
"I heard it, lad."
Gregor tightened his grip on the dagger. He only needed one...
"You think it's–"
"I'll tell you what it is. I didn't hear the glass or stairs – I'll tell you damn sure what it is, and it's not taking me!"
Gregor frowned at the sounds of charging footsteps. That hadn't been the reaction he expected. He pushed off the the wall just as a sword rammed through it, glancing his shoulder pad and thrusting him away. Gregor grunted and caught his footing, dashing around the corner as the man leapt back from his implanted sword.
"What the–?!" The older merc managed before Gregor pounced, landing on his opponent. The merc caught his dagger-hand mid-plunge and they fought for control, gritting teeth. Poor execution. Not good. One-on-one Gregor probably had the strength to deal with him, but there wasn't just one.
He abandoned the attempt and rolled off the merc just as the other swiped at Gregor with a short sword. He drew his weapon, flexing his hand as the two opponents gathered themselves shoulder-to-shoulder.
Virion ducked his head, trying to make out what was happening. Vague shapes could be seen within the building, but he would be offering as much support as a bag of bricks from where he was. He needed to move.
He slung his bow and lowered himself over the edge of the building.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" The younger man demanded, shouting before finishing his question in a loud whisper. "Where's Jack and Burr?"
"Mokroe delo... Gregor's specialty."
"Never mind that, boy – finish him before more come. We need to get the hell out of here!" The older man scolded, pointing Gregor's dagger at him.
"I just have question." Gregor proposed innocently. The older merc eyed Gregor's bloodstained fingers. "Why you here?"
"It's screwing with us." The boy muttered loudly, not taking his eyes off him. "Can't even talk right."
"What wrong with Gregor's talking?"
As Gregor looked to the younger one the other merc flicked his wrist. Gregor flinched to the side, dagger catching his shoulder just under the pad. He recoiled against the wall, sword braced for an attack as the younger merc moved to finish him.
"What're you doin' boy?! Let's go!" The older merc shouted from the door. The young man looked at his comrade and Gregor lunged. Twisting the sword out of his opponent's hand he drew his own over the man's collarbone, tip pointed directly down to his heart.
"All Gregor needs is information!" He proclaimed, grinning to the man in the doorway. He only needed one.
"I don't know who or what you are," the older merc frowned at him, hand on the doorframe, "But if you're real and if you think any of this matters, you're dead. We're all, godamn, dead. Kill the boy if you want, but we're not far behind–!"
"Gregor hate drama-talk." Gregor interrupted, plunging his blade into torso. Hilt tapped clavicle and the blade slid free again. The young man dropped to his knees and fell forward wordlessly, mouth working silently as blood collected under him.
"Now you see, Gregor is serious man – no more talk of the crazy–"
The man's expression was unfazed as his comrade died meters from him, but shifted immediately to that of abject terror as stairs creaked. Gregor frowned.
The man jerked backwards as if yanked by an invisible cane, disappearing behind the wall. Gregor stared before pursuing taking the stairs three at a time. Bolting through the bar Gregor skidded suddenly; the glass was slick with something dark. He caught the familiar scent of metallic rust and frowned. The second body had disappeared.
"Gregor is like squirrel, forgetting where he putting bodies..." He muttered, glancing around and making quickly for the exit.
He stopped in the back room where he'd first entered. He distinctly remembered the body here. He'd taken the charm from his neck. Left him with feet over the threshold, door open. The door was still open, rain hard outside as the storm set in.
But there was no body. Instead a trail of blood, pooled where the man's head had rested, stretched out over the threshold and into the muddy street.
Creak.
Gregor looked up to the ceiling. Slow, deliberate footsteps made their way across the floor to the stairs.
"Gregor..."
Stairs creaked and Gregor stepped backwards, hand gripping sword tightly. That voice. "No..."
"Gregor, why did you... Why..."
Glass crunched.
"No, Tharja tell Gregor you no blame him – this not real!"
"Help... Me..."
Lightning flashed illuminating a ghastly figure in the doorway to the kitchen, quivering for the split second before darkness took it again.
Gregor stumbled backwards out the door, sword waving. "Not real – not real!"
"Gregor?" A hand grasped his forearm and he spun, sword plunging.
Grey eyes widened in surprise, looking down.
"How... Impolite..."
Virion slid to his knees, hand slipping as he held his side where Gregor's sword rested.
"Negative! I repeat – storm is inbound – breaking off!" Cordelia shouted as rain hammered them. The last few lightning strikes had been entirely too close. "We're coming home!"
Tharja rolled her eyes. "Whatever, get us the hell out of here – they can get the memo when we hand it to them in person."
"–stood, Arch–. –sign of– ...Actual?"
Cordelia shook her head, giving up on communications as she wheeled around. They needed to get out, now.
Frederick scowled, pushing the chalice away from him in annoyance as he stood behind Chrom again. "Think that's the last we're going to–"
"–ait, Cordelia. Isn't– where are the cavalry?"
Chrom glanced to Robin, who frowned.
"What about the cavalry?" Robin spoke slowly and clearly, leaning over the chalice.
"Stahl – Sully, just their horses. Where'd they–?"
Robin looked to Frederick for some tactical explanation for why, if he was interpreting this correctly, their cavalry would be on foot, off mission. Frederick only shook his head in answer to his unasked question.
"Repeat: where are the–?"
"–urgent, Virion– help." Lon'qu's voice broke into the conversation. "Wounded– bleeding out. Ang– Three moving to rendezvous. Clear for –traction?"
"Negative, som– wrong! Moving to investig–Ah!" Cordelia's voice cut off as a cry of surprise sounded through the chalice.
"...Archangel?" Lon'qu tapped the chalice filling with rainwater, crouched in the middle of the empty alley. Gregor carried an unconscious Virion bridal-style nearby and watched the chalice anxiously for the clear to move for the exit. "Archangel, respond. Tharja?"
"Communications might have been lost." Lucina called from the corner, looking up and down the street. "I just saw them that way," she pointed, "could lightning...?"
"No." Lon'qu replied, frowning as he flicked the goblet helplessly. He wasn't a magic-technician. "I didn't hear any thunder after she cut off, just that something was wrong..."
"No matter! Virion need healing!" Gregor called, moving down the alley toward the way they'd entered town.
"Wait." Lon'qu called, cupping the chalice to his ear.
"Gregor won't let–"
"Wait!"
They all looked before Lon'qu jumped back as a hurried voice shouted from the cup.
"Evac – need evac! Now!" Tharja's voice came through loud and clear, filling the command tent. "Cordelia – down. Too many –!" She began to break up as sounds of roaring fire filtered the noise.
"Gods... What are–?!" Lon'qu's voice exclaimed, sounding distant from the chalice, followed by the sounds of boots.
"Run– whatever – ...keep running!" Lucina's voice became louder before fading away as if passing them. "Father, Robin, – don't come! –own way back!"
Skittering scrapes and slapping feet resounded through the water before the thunk of the goblet hitting the ground, going silent.
"Mobilize the auxiliary, I'll move with what we have available." Robin ordered, standing and grabbing his cloak. Frederick looked to Chrom.
"Did I lose command of this mission?" Robin asked loudly, snapping Frederick's attention back to him, "I gave you an order, Captain."
"Prince Chrom–!"
"Has undermined me enough for one day, I think." Hard eyes fell on Chrom who met his gaze evenly.
"We didn't know..." Chrom defended, eyes betraying emotion.
"We could have prepared – moved like I advised. Since when has my tactical reasoning ever been called into question, Chrom? When did I merit this suspicion?"
"I trust your wisdom, Avatar–" Chrom spoke calmly, averting his eyes.
"So I keep hearing, yet I still bear an extra shadow."
"You will bear a hundred shadows if it means my daughter is protected!" Chrom shouted, standing. "And if that means being suspicious of even my closest friends then so be it – but I will be damned thrice over if she must lose her family and loved ones again. I will not let her see the hell she grew up in come to pass. Do you know how hard it is for me, permitting her in battle like this? It's more than... Any father should bear."
Chrom sat again, leaning forward into his palm as he held his side. Frederick moved behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder as he watched Robin. "You are our tactician, and you command our forces. Lucina included. No one merits more scrutiny when it comes to her security."
"Winning this war was never about my duty, Robin. It's about my friends, my family..." Chrom looked up from his hand to watch Robin, eyes wet. "I couldn't bear to... Gods, have I already failed her?"
Robin watched his friend, the mighty prince Chrom, the leader of their country and head of their army, slayer of beasts and men, begin to weep as a helpless father facing the possibility of having lost his daughter. He stared wordlessly, unable to offer criticism nor sympathy.
Donning his cloak he pulled the hood over his head as he departed. Chrom called after him.
"Robin..."
He stopped.
"Whatever... However she... Please bring her home. For me."
Robin turned, stepping out into the rain.
"Not for you."