IX: Hades
"I am quite nervous!" she remembered him exclaiming with a weak smile. His dark eyes had shimmered from the glare of the sun as it peaked beyond the horizon beyond the Irish shores. Their legs had been suspended over the edge of green cliffs overlooking the mirrored hues of the skies in the ocean waters. He had reached for her hand then, and she remembered how perfectly their fingers had entwined together. His weak smile had faltered some into a fondness reserved only for her eyes to see. "To meet the King of the Realm and to ask for his—his blessings, I suppose, though the term is an oddity for one of the darkness to use, if not his approval—for our marriage. Marriage is rare in the Underworld, after all, since soul mates and lovers would already live and remain together for eternity. It might purely be human—marriage—but it has a very powerful connotation, does it not?"
"Aye," she had agreed with him wholeheartedly since her heart had belonged—still belonged, really—to him and him only, "that it does, for marriage is a uniting factor between soul mates and lovers, is it not? I wish to be pledged to thee—with or without my brother's blessing or his consent."
"Here I was—nearly forgetting the matter with thy brother!" he had cried with panic quite evident in his voice. "It unnerves me so—to have a private audience with the King!"
"My love, thou hast naught about which to worry!" she had assured him.
"And why is that so?"
"Dost thou not know?" she had responded with a bright smile. "My brother is not as cruel as in the legends. Aye, he may be associated with evil, but he is a good man. For though he is King of the Underworld, he is quite passive and fair in his judgements. Strangely enough, in spite of his title, he is actually very altruistic!"
"Is that so! Then may he smile upon us, me and my beloved!"
They had shared a kiss underneath the sun, the clear blue skies reflected within the brilliant blue of the ocean waters, and swore themselves to each other then—no matter what happened.
Now Bridget Kirkland, beautiful Bridget Kirkland, wondered when everything had gone astray.
She recalled vaguely meeting a cambion mage, a sorcerer named Merlin, who had been sent to the Surface World by her Brother King to search for his third son—then the youngest child and prince—after the death of his lover, a fallen angel from the Heavens, who had earned herself the fascination and intrigue of the Underworld residents. All that while, his own lawfully wedded queen had abandoned him and his fruitless love.
Then one day Merlin had succeeded in his seemingly futile quest, reporting to her Brother King of a twelve year old boy by the name of Arthur. At first he had seemed entirely human; she could still see the soul in his body—a brilliant blue like the ocean she had admired with her lover some time long ago. She could still recount his appearance from way back then—a small structure with thin and frail shoulders, his tousled blond locks like golden strands of sunlight, his pudgy cheeks and pouty lips, and his ragged clothing—and she recalled wondering what her brother was thinking, making this brat the next king and his successor. Little did she know that her husband—in that point of time back then, her fiancé—had thought the same way then... only much more bitterly and much more maliciously.
She and her fiancé along with the majority of the Underworld had proposed to put young Arthur to the test, challenging the order of her Brother King. The Heavens had regulated this examination, proposing that, if Arthur was to fail in his kingship, he would remain on Earth, living life as a regular human until his "death," when he would then replace his mother as a celestial soldier for the Emperor of the Heavens. With the stakes raised, the King of the Underworld truly could not resist such a challenge. To ensure that the third prince would realise his potential, the King had ordered Merlin to remain with Arthur and to teach him all that he needs to know. A history was fabricated, and a kingdom was erected on an island nation—Britannia, they called it, and Arthur was its angel. Defying her and her fiancé's expectations, Arthur had unknowingly rose to his father's high hopes, and the Kingdom of Camelot prospered at the core of his growing empire as his reign as boy king.
Needless to say, Patrick was immensely displeased with the results, but it was when Merlin had fetched him from the Realm of the Living and brought him to the Underworld when her husband had began to act strangely. With the magic the Heavens had cast upon him dispelled, Arthur had been reverted from his early twenties back to the twelve year old boy she had first seen—no longer a human, not quite a demon or an angel, but entirely a daemon. There were only minor differences in his appearance—the pointed ears that picked up the faintest of whispers, the small fang-like incisors that tore into tender flesh, the feline eyes that served to filter light for a nocturnal hunter, and the loss of a human soul the Heavens had managed to preserve on the Surface World—but his demeanour was still that of a young man.
It was unsettling to see a maturing young man in the body of a child, and she could see well that it had unnerved her fiancé as much as it did herself during the days of his second childhood. However, she never knew how much hate and disgust her own fiancé had harboured towards her nephew. He was already a changing man, and she knew that already. Even now, as her husband, he was changing, and she couldn't stop him... could she?
"Mum?" Jett called to her tentatively. "Is something the matter?"
She gave her son a wry smile.
"Not at all, darling."
"What the hell?" Gilbert gasped the moment they've reached the breached area. Everyone halted behind him and gaped at the massive damage inflicted there. Nearly an entire wall was obliterated, exposing the interior of the ground floor to outsiders, and debris and rubble were scattered about the area randomly and haphazardly. Demons and incubi and revenants and vampires enlisted within the military were either petrified or halfway there, gradually turning into stone, unable to defend the palace in their dismal states. Gilbert turned to a boy whose legs were now solidified within rock and asked of him, "What the hell happened here?"
"L-Lord Beilschmidt," he rasped, clutching onto the fabric of Gilbert's Prussian blue military jacket and pulled the werewolf closer. "I-It's L-Lucifer! T-There is no rebel army—not here!" Stone crawled up his torso the more he spoke, and the boy panicked. "This is a decoy!" he exclaimed, growing more and more confident, as his eyes brightened with tears. "You must protect His Majesty King Arthur!" His tongue had been encased at his point, rendering him incapable of any more warnings, and his flesh now hardened. His heart ceased beating, and his fingers hooked into the fabric of Gilbert's coat. The albino werewolf apologised as he attempted to pry free the material caught on the stone fingers while trying not to break them. If there was a way to reverse petrification magic, the boy would appreciate having all of his fingers afterwards.
"Where's Arthur?" Gilbert muttered under his breath, glancing at the castle. There were only four of them, and if they were dealing with Lucifer, Gilbert would need all of his party members. He couldn't expend one of them to inform Arthur of the imminent threat to his realm, or... could he? "Roderich!" the albino barked immediately. That's right! Roderich wasn't much of a fighter anyway, so he could send Roderich to warn Arthur of what they've learnt. "Go look for Arthur and tell him about this!" The brunet nodded once before scrambling back into the castle.
At the same time, a heavy tremor shook the ground once as a giant cockatrice fell from the skies. A deviant smirk stretched across Gilbert's pale lips as he crowed, "I've been waiting for this, you overgrown chicken! Like hell I'm going to let a fowl get the better of its predator—even if it is some freakish descendant of a damn dinosaur!" Immediately, he pivoted on his heel while simultaneously morphing into his wolf form. "Let's see whose eyes are more dangerous!" he howled as he leapt towards the cockatrice, baring his fangs and snarling. He sunk his teeth into its flesh, making it squawk with miserable agony, as his remaining pack members did the same. When he was thrown off the beast, someone caught him in their arms.
He snapped his head and found Mathias grinning at him sheepishly, donning his hunting garb and battleaxe. Behind Mathias, he caught sight of Berwald wielding a bladed lance and Emil with a short sword. Tino had climbed up the debris, handling a long bow with a quiver of arrows on his back. "Alistair and I were handling central command to take care of the rebel army in town until Seamus came along and reported that he spotted Lucifer circling the palace. I figured that Alistair could take care of the dissenters himself. Even if four percent of the general population was weary of Arthur's rule, not all of them follow or support Patrick; there's no way that even half of them would rise against Arthur. It'll be easy to quell that rebellion in town, but Lucifer... I thought you might need a helping hand with only you, Elizaveta, and Ludwig around. Roderich went to go find Arthur, yeah?"
"Right... But what the hell is Patrick up to?" Gilbert growled even though Mathias couldn't understand him in this form. Still, he nodded his head to answer Mathias' question.
As though answering his unspoken question, a ginger haired woman stepped past the debris, accompanied by Jett and James Kirkland, and informed the two parties, "My husband has become delusional and impatient. He cannot wait to gain the throne, so he decided to take action himself. If the populous does not take to him, then they will warm to him, or so he thinks. If they never grow to love him as they did to my brother, then... all shall perish. My husband is more prideful than even I am." She smiled wryly. "And I'm the bloody Duchess of Vanity. There shouldn't be anyone more prideful than me; I am the fairest of them all!"
"Bridget Kirkland," Mathias addressed her, "what are you doing here?"
"To claim what belongs to me," the Duchess responded haughtily, crinkling her nose in mid-air, as she looked down on Mathias despite the giant being nearly twice her size. "That cockatrice, Lucifer, was a gift from my brother to me—a wedding gift, so to speak—but it seems to have forgotten to whom it belongs. My husband has acted in my place in the Demon Court, after all, and has replaced me in the Council. However, we no longer exist in the Medieval times in which society is strictly patriarchal. I have no need for a husband who does not love me; therefore, I will change with the times." She smiled through the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Everyone could see it. Even though her husband did not love her now, he did love her once upon a time, and she loved him still. "I am a Kirkland, after all, by blood. He only by name, and he stains and taints it." Raising her hands, black fire began to collect around her. "Do me a favour, my lords, and control Lucifer until I can finally bring him under my control. My husband is undeserving of such a powerful creature."
Exhaustion.
They all could feel it; they all could feel that they were all growing weak. Mage after mage collapsed to his or her knees behind the leading trio. Owain clenched his jaw as he felt more and more power being sapped from him despite being the Second Prince. His head throbbed and ached, pounding with agonising pain, as he endeavoured to keep his consciousness. Beside him, Lukas and Vladimir were silently suffering as well. Beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads as their jaws were noticeably tensed.
"So this is the power of the Emperor of the Heavens," Owain whispered underneath his breath. Just a little longer, and they'll have it broken. His father has defied the Heavens once, and they could do it again! They were strong as well; otherwise, balance between the realms couldn't be maintained if they were weak!
Click!
Like the sound of a key undoing a lock, the sound echoed within Owain's mind, resonating and reverberating over and over again. His green eyes widened as he himself collapsed onto his posterior, overwhelmed by the red and brown flames that have been pent up pouring into the Underworld, making their way to the wellspring of eternal torture and suffering known as Hell located in the town square, leading directly to another dimension within the Underworld, guided instinctively and automatically to the flow of chaos. A relieved laugh escaped his lips, dancing from the back of his throat, growing from a low chuckle to boisterous laughter. The mages behind him were taken aback by his sudden outburst before joining their usually indifferent, sloven prince with their own cheers of relief. Lukas and Vladimir exchanged tired, exhausted smiles before lying on their back, too weak to bother sitting or standing. The three sorcerers caught sight of a single white flame flying past the Gate and back into the realm of the living, the Surface World. Owain smiled at the sight.
That was the flame of which Seamus had spoken, he thought to himself. That means, he realised gravely, that Arthur must have confronted Uncle Patrick. Owain knew—he just knew—that he ought to inform Alistair of his discovery, but he was tired, exhausted, and worn. Closing his eyes momentarily, he decided it would be best to just take a nap right now, right then. It might be unbecoming of a prince, but—hey—he was the Prince of Sloth for a reason.
On the other side of the Gate, Kiku fell forward, palms flat on the ground, as he attempted to catch his breath. "Finally," he exhaled sharply, raising his eyes to the open Gate in front of them. "Finally," he repeated. Angelique rested on his lap, exhausted, while Alfred and Matthew were curled underneath one of his nine tails. Jia Long and Neeraja each leaned against his sides. Behind them were miscellaneous mages that Francis had recruited for them, too exhausted to pick themselves from the ground and return to whence they've came. With everyone worn and weary, Kiku didn't know how long he could keep the barrier up to prevent a human visiting their deceased loved one from spotting a fox spirit with five children spirits and an army of magic users, but Kiku decided with a smile that he ought to try at the very least. A white flame soared through the sky in the direction of his master's manor. "Ah," he gasped.
Feliciano Vargas.
Amber eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar white ceiling. His head turned to the side and found an unoccupied twin bed across the room. He wondered, momentarily, where he was. This certainly was not the Vargas estate, yet he didn't feel threatened here. There was a homely feel to this place. Gradually, he sat upright and observed his surroundings. A single window, a bedside table between the two beds, a wooden floor, a single closet and only one dresser, and a door left ajar.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he tumbled out of the room and glanced about the hallway before spotting a staircase leading downstairs. Hand against the wall, he began his trek towards the stairs before grasping as tightly onto the railing before beginning his descent. He had no confidence in his strength right now; it felt as though he had been sleeping forever but, at the same time, as though he had just traversed the entire globe. He felt weak but, at the same time, rejuvenated. It was an odd sensation, he mused the moment he reached the bottom of the steps. His eyes studied his surroundings once more and noted the area as a living room of sorts with old vintage furniture before spotting an opening out of which a delicious smell journeyed into his nose, wafting about the house.
He crept into the new-found area and discovered Antonio cooking at a stove. His footsteps, though light, alerted his cousin of his presence.
"Feli!" the Spaniard exclaimed in surprise as soon as his eyes fell upon the thin Italian boy. Antonio smiled gently, relief flooding his eyes, as he gestured for Feliciano to take a seat at the dining table. "Sit, sit!" he cried in rusty Italian. "I've made some paella! I'll get you a plate right away!"
"Antonio," Feliciano whined in Italian, "where are we?"
"Right now we are at my friend's manor in Rome," Antonio informed sincerely as he set a steaming plate of paella in front of his younger cousin—no more than sixteen years old, he thought glumly, but he's been through so much—with a set of silverware. He then served Feliciano a glass of water and added, "We've gotten you away from the bad people, Feli," upon seeing momentary panic flash across the boy's visage.
"Where's Fratello?" Feliciano asked softly.
"He's... Right now he's making sure that the bad people stay away," Antonio replied reluctantly. Fortunately, Feliciano hadn't caught onto his hesitation and was already digging into the plate of food that he was served. "He was very worried about you; he couldn't stop worrying."
Feliciano giggled and chirped, "That sounds just like Fratello!"
"How much do you remember, Feliciano?" Antonio asked gravely.
The Italian stopped eating for a moment and thought before answering, "I remember some of Nonno's men coming to take me from Fratello, but that's it. I... I feel like there's been more."
"There has been a lot, Feliciano," Antonio muttered under his breath.
"Antonio, did you say something?"
"Not at all, Feli. How do you like the paella?"
The sound of metal banging against metal, clashing and clanging and clinking and scraping each other, echoed in Lovino's ears like earth-shattering thunder. It boomed and roared, scaring a child underneath the covers of his bed just as Lovino clutched tightly onto Hengroen's reins as though the stallion could protect him. His hazel eyes flitted about the concealed dome as Arthur and his uncle battled for dominance with their swords—Arthur with his cutlass and Patrick with his longsword—engrossed in only their opponent. Occasionally, a stream of darkness would flicker from Patrick's hand, and Arthur would counter with his own brilliant blue.
Arthur blocked Patrick's blade from slashing his torso and pressed forward with his weight against his cutlass to break the deadlock. He jerked his head back when Patrick's sword slid up his sabre and attempted to sever his head from the rest of his body, stumbling back a few paces. Immediately, he twisted his wrist to defend against yet another strike, realising that he was being forced into the defensive position. Grounding his teeth, Arthur dodged yet another attack and lunged forward to strike his uncle in the side—not having the heart to injure him in the vitals—but Patrick, sensing his kind heart, barricaded against the attack and whipped his sword against Arthur's neck. Had he been a second slower, the King of the Underworld would have been bleeding on the ground.
Arthur sidestepped another attempt at his heart and parried the attack, slicing his uncle across the chest with a diagonal blow. Patrick hissed with pain before trying—in vain—to return the favour. Arthur rolled to the side and whirled around immediately to slash yet again at Patrick. He stopped upon sighting Patrick pressing the flat of his blade against his beloved Romano's neck. The dark haired demon had taken advantage of the second Arthur used to recover from evading one of Patrick's attacks to rush to Romano's side and pull him off the unsuspecting stallion. Tears of fear and frustration threatened to roll from the brims of Romano's beautiful eyes and down his angered cheeks. Arthur knew that glare in his eyes; Romano loathed his predicament.
"I said it once before," Patrick reminded, "that demons don't have to play fair, Nephew. The sooner you learn this, the better it would be for everyone—including your soul mate. Of course, you don't have much longer to live, do you? Not on my watch, at least. Now drop your sabre."
"Let go of Romano."
"Drop your sabre, Arthur!" Patrick demanded in a deafening screech. "Do as I say!" To emphasise his point, he further pressed the flat of his blade against the boy's olive flesh, and the Italian dared not to breathe lest he cut his own throat. The fury glowering in his hazel eyes faded into fear and terror and horror, yet his heart plummeted as Arthur released the hold on his cutlass. Excalibur faded into particles of light. "Good boy," Patrick praised, removing his sword and dropping Lovino onto the ground. The Italian fell onto his knees, grunting at the impact, as tears of shame began to drip from his eyes. Dammit, he cursed, damn it all! How useless could he be?! Patrick kicked Lovino aside and began to approach Arthur slowly, step by step, twirling his sword in his hand before pointing it at Arthur's neck. "Your life is mine to take, Nephew."
"Then take it as you will, but don't touch Romano."
Lovino's eyes widened, and he shrieked as the black flames that had trapped them began to devour Arthur's body, engulfing him within the darkness. "No, no, no, no!" he cried, the tears flowing from his eyes freely. "Arthur! Arthur!" Don't leave me! Lovino pleaded silently. Don't go! Don't die! The black flames then dispersed, overwhelmed by a burst of brilliant blue, revealing a smirking Arthur despite the fact that his clothes were partially charred.
"Is that all you've got, Uncle?" Arthur retorted smoothly. Within the blink of an eye, he called Excalibur to his hand, flashing in front of Patrick and quickly pressing his cutlass against his uncle's throat. Patrick, too, was quick to react and simultaneously shifted his sword to press against Arthur's throat. "I thought of you as family as often as I could. I thought that if I could save you, Aunt Bridget would no longer have to cry over her dying husband. I didn't want to kill you, Uncle."
"You are a fool, Arthur," Patrick returned. "You and Bridget are fools."
Weary of the other, their swords clashed once more, and their macabre dance resumed before Patrick managed to overpower Arthur by knocking his sabre out of the blond's hand with a twist of luck. The raven haired demon took advantage of the situation to impale Arthur's stomach, and the blond's hiss of pain was overwhelmed by Lovino's scream of horror. Patrick deftly withdrew his blade and splattered the royal blood onto the ground, leaving his nephew to bleed to death, as he marched to Lovino.
"Humans are not meant to be in the Underworld," Patrick told him as he stood in front of the Italian. Lovino reached into his pocket, clutching tightly onto the dagger Arthur had given him. He wasn't sure how exactly it could best a longsword, but he would try... He had to try—even against a demon. "It was a mistake to come here. Now you can't leave without Arthur, but, relax, I'll send you to Heaven, where you truly belong. It's a shame the two of you can't be reunited. Demons don't have souls, after all, and cannot be reborn."
The traitor raised his sword and prepared to plunge it into Lovino's heart.
Blood poured from Lucifer's open wounds from the injuries he had sustained throughout the battle. Gilbert shifted back into his humanoid form, retaining the white ears and bushy tail, in his weakened state and spat out the foul blood in his mouth, wiping his lips and staining them with dark blood. He had just torn into the cockatrice's flesh and lacerated another wound into its neck. Following his example, Elizaveta transformed back into a hybrid between wolf and human, her nails stained with Lucifer's blood, and asked him, "Tired already?"
"I hate roosters," Gilbert growled. "They're too damn stubborn, and this one is overgrown to boot. It's so not awesome."
Ludwig changed back into the form of a humanoid creature as well, joining the two other werewolves, before eyeing the flailing cockatrice attempting to take to the air. Mathias and Berwald had each incapacitated a wing, however, with their battleaxe and spear respectively, covered by Tino's volley of arrows, so Lucifer could no longer take flight in current circumstances. "Just a little longer, Bruder," Ludwig assured tiredly as he struggled to keep himself conscious. He had exerted quite a bit of strength for a young werewolf, after all.
"You fall back, Lutz," Gilbert commanded as he pushed his younger brother in the direction of Emil, who was treating Berwald's and Mathias' wounds, stitching together the injuries—a fallen arm or a lost finger that they could hardly even feel missing—until someone could fully manipulate their dead cells into multiplying and dividing to heal their wounds. It was the curse of being a reanimated corpse, and Gilbert was glad that he had managed to escape that sort of fate. He remembered the first time he had seen Mathias' head severed from the rest of his body—and still blabbering while his body was moving about searching for his cranium!—after a sword fighting incident with Arthur and the other lords. "Take it easy. Lizbet and I can hold out for a little longer, then we'll switch off with you and the Vikings."
"No need," the Duchess stated from behind the battling parties. Black flames coiled around her in a serpentine manner before shooting towards the cockatrice like wiry chains binding the creature to the ground and forcing it down. The black fires swallowed it wholly before dissipating into the air, leaving no remains of the cockatrice. "I've forced him back to his nest to recover—this time, under my command. Patrick will no longer need him since he is no longer my husband and, thereby, no longer a Duke." She smiled at her sons who both returned her smile weakly. "I'm sorry, lads, but it has to be done."
"We're not disagreeing," Jett pointed out good-naturedly with a gentle smile. A trace of grief and despair lingered in his eyes, but he made no further comment.
"Hey, nice one," Alistair greeted the party as he and Seamus carried Owain, whose arms were thrown over their shoulders. Behind them followed Lukas and Vladimir, who were supporting each other. He grinned wryly at Bridget and mused, "Welcome back to the family." Seamus didn't say anything but simply averted his eyes elsewhere, directing his attention to anything but his redeemed aunt. "This lazy sod has something to say here." He nudged Owain in the ribs with his elbow, and the sorcerer winced, huffing in disdain.
"Feliciano Vargas' soul, the white flame that Seamus had spotted with Patrick, has returned to the Surface World," Owain announced calmly—though his voice was more slow and tired than collected and confident. "It means that, for one thing, the Gates are now open and, for another, Arthur has encountered Patrick somewhere."
"Definitely not in the palace," Roderich confirmed as he entered the scene. "I've taken the liberty to track him via witnesses and his scent. He's been to the stables and was riding Hengroen north. The Scribe and Lord Braginsky suspect that he is heading into the Northern Woods."
Bridget frowned. "We have a cottage there in the Northern Woods," she informed, confirming Yao and Ivan's suspicions and speculations. "It's been a while since it was used."
"The Northern Woods?" Mathias repeated. "It'll take us hours to get there on foot!"
"Then take a wyvern," Owain remarked as he raised his hand, summoning his red scaled familiar with a dragon's head and a reptilian body with two forelegs and a barbed tail. It stretched its vast wings, further darkening the land below it, as it landed on the ground. "Belphegor will take you there, but I can't guarantee he will take you back. I just want to get to sleep, so take me to my room, Alistair."
"Forget it," Alistair snapped. "You're coming with the rest of us—except for ye, Peter."
A little boy poked his head out of the shadows, pouting.
"You're much too young!" Alistair continued, calling for a maid to escort Peter to his chambers. In the meanwhile, Lukas and Vladimir would have to remain behind to take to undoing the petrification on the foot soldiers while Owain would help repair the injured Vikings on the way to Arthur's location in the Northern Woods. Lying flat on his stomach, Belphegor waited patiently for all of his passengers to board his back before taking flight.
They did not take to the scene that awaited them well.
"Arthur!" Lovino cried, his voice choking on his breath, as lukewarm tears streamed down his cheeks, stinging his eyes and scalding his flesh, as white feathers descended from the dark sky. The brunet clung onto the Briton from behind. Just seconds ago, Arthur had dashed to his side, sprouting wings and racing to cover Lovino, shielding him from any attacks, and while the King of the Underworld had managed to defend Lovino against his uncle's blade, he was a second too late in summoning Excalibur to his hand and instead took the blow to his shoulder, willingly lacerating his own flesh to defend his beloved, as he glared at his uncle with glowering emeralds, hardening into stones stronger than diamonds, sharpening into blades deadlier than a sword, igniting with a dangerous spark more overwhelming than the lightning that split the sky.
"I'm not going to die," Arthur vowed. Neither Lovino nor Patrick was sure to whom he was addressing. "I won't die; I can't. Not here. Not now. I'm not going to die." He grasped onto the blade with his right hand, seemingly unaffected by the fact that it cut through his gloves and into the flesh of his hand, and extracted it from his left shoulder single-handedly. His mousy blond locks were stained by a faint red tinge at the roots as he yanked Patrick's sword from his hand—the grip slackened from pure terror and appal—mortified of the devil with the wings of an angel in front of him. He buried the blade of the sword that had penetrated his flesh into the dirt ground, forcing it from Patrick's hand. "I refuse to die. Not like this. I won't let it happen." A sorrowful, miserable smile curved onto his lips—remorseful and guilty. "If I die and leave my soul mate alone, who's going to take care of him? I would hope that it's certainly not you, Uncle, with what you had attempted to do." Stretching out his uninjured left hand he summoned forth Excalibur and swung the cutlass across the air once in a downward motion, slicing the air, before pointing it at his uncle. "I'll be the one to save you, Patrick Brian Kirkland—nay, not Kirkland—O'Connor. I'll deliver you from your sinner's pride."
Dost thou not know? Patrick recalled his wife telling him with a bitter smile. My brother is not as cruel as in the legends. Aye, he may be associated with evil, but he is a good man. For though he is King of the Underworld, he is quite passive and fair in his judgements. Strangely enough, in spite of his title, he is actually very altruistic!
"You are just like your father," Patrick mused the moment Excalibur pierced through his flesh, trapping him onto the legendary sword. "Grow up fine and strong, Arthur, my nephew, into a befitting king." Blue flames poured from Arthur's hands, travelling down Excalibur's hilt and down its blade, swallowing Patrick entirely. The older demon laughed bitterly, recalling how brilliant the ocean blue was the day of his proposal, as he realised he was drowning in the same brilliance. Just as soon as Arthur retracted his weapon, however, Patrick stretched out his hand one last time and, from it, shot an arrow of black flames puncturing Arthur's heart. "Ahh, but, even though you and I have both stated this before, I will say it again: I have a sinner's pride. I won't go down without a fight, my dearest nephew." No soul was released as Patrick's body disintegrated within Arthur's blue flames; a demon, after all, had no soul to save.
"Arthur!" Lovino shrieked, clamouring to his feet, scrambling to the fallen king's side as the white feathers dispersed, scattering by the winds like petals of white flowers or flakes of winter snow. "Arthur!" he cried. The tears rolling down his cheeks dripped off his chin like glass marbles, crashing onto Arthur's pale skin and shattering. Arthur turned his dying gaze to Lovino and smiled faintly. The emeralds were soft and dull, the dangerous red in his hair fading away to that beautiful mousy blond, and his smile was gentle and tender and kind and warm and adoring and affectionate and everything Lovino didn't ever want to let go. When Arthur stretched out a hand to cup the side of Lovino's face, the Italian grasped it immediately and squeezed tightly. "W-What did he do to you?"
"Tried to kill me is all, and he got a bloody good shot, too," Arthur answered weakly, wiping away Lovino's tears expertly with his thumb. "Bastard always had a sharp eye. At least he went first between the two of us. He can't do you any harm now, my lovely spitfire." His emeralds watered, reflecting Lovino's light like windows of green glass, as he mused aloud, "You're so beautiful, Lovino."
"Dammit, this isn't the time to get my name right!" Lovino snapped, unsure of what or at what to be angry and enraged and infuriated.
"Ah, that's right," Arthur acquiesced. "You can go home now. The Gate should be opened. I'll send for Gilbert and Mathias. With this, my contract to your grandfather should be fulfilled as well. You can live in peace now, darling. Smile."
"How can I?!" Lovino hissed. "You're dying, bastard! Do you understand what kind of situation you're in, dammit?!"
"I'm over the moon, actually," Arthur confessed sheepishly, rubbing Lovino's reddened cheeks with the pad of his thumb gingerly. "I've managed to protect you—just as I've promised. I love you, Lovino. I will always love you, my most beautiful spitfire."
"I don't even know if that's a compliment!" Lovino spluttered. "So stay with me! Explain everything I don't know to me! Be by my side forever and ever, got it?"
"Yes, of course," Arthur vowed with a wide smile, peeling his hand from Lovino's face and taking with it Lovino's hands. He pressed a gentle kiss onto the knuckles. "You have my word, my promise, my heart and soul—well, my essence, more like... You can have it all, Lovino. I'm a King, so you can have whatever you'd like. If you wish me to live, I'll live. If you wish me to live with you, then I'll do it; I'll stay by your side forever and ever."
"Then don't you dare close your eyes, bastard!" Lovino choked out, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest. It was painful, actually, like someone or something was engraving a mark over his heart with a thin but sharp blade or with a burning needle that was set aglow by a match flame. Still, it was nothing compared to what Arthur must be experiencing. Lovino couldn't imagine it; he couldn't fathom it.
"It's getting rather difficult to do that, luv..."
"Keep them open, dammit!"
"I'm trying, but... I'm actually quite tired."
"What the hell is going on here?!" Gilbert's voice barked from overhead.
Lovino turned his head upwards and found a red dragon soaring above the two of them. Arthur smiled weakly. "Looks like help is on the way," he observed before closing his eyes. "Everything... will be okay."
"Arthur!" Lovino exclaimed, startled.
"Just... Just resting, luv." Arthur smiled at him once more. "Remember... that everything will be okay... and to smile."
Gilbert and Mathias then leapt from the wyvern as they approached the ground, followed by their pack and family respectively as well as the rest of the Kirkland family—minus Peter. Gilbert immediately pried Lovino away from Arthur in spite of the boy's struggles and shoved him to Elizaveta and Ludwig while Mathias checked Arthur's vitals. "He's not doing so well," the revenant informed the others. He and his family began dressing his wounds with what they had brought with them from Emil's kit. "He's on the verge of death at this point. It looks like Patrick got to his heart with some black flames, and they've contaminated his body like poison."
Alistair whistled, the noise piercing the air, before the surface rippled and a fiery phoenix descended from above and perched on his shoulders. Borrowing the red flames from the legendary creature, Alistair knelt and ran a glowing hand over Arthur's wounds, sealing them shut. "I can't do much more; I'm the Prince of Wrath—not a healer," he grumbled bitterly. "We need to get him to a specialist immediately."
"What happened to Patrick?" Bridget asked as she stepped forward, kneeling in front of her nephew and running her fingers through his hair. Her eyes watered with tears of remorse and sorrow. "Oh, he looks just like his mother... I don't wish him her fate while he is still so young."
"Ashes," Seamus observed off to the side. He stood where Patrick was located previously, kicking scorched dirt. "It looks like Arthur has cremated him."
"What shall we do with the boy?" Owain addressed the others, glancing at Lovino, who was being restrained by the two werewolves.
"Arthur said that we ought to erase his memories the day we prepared to break into the Vargas estate, three days before we actually commenced the mission," Gilbert spoke from the side reluctantly. Lovino stared at him with wide hazel eyes filled with disbelief. Red eyes broke away from Lovino, guilt wrenching at his conscience, as he continued to speak as though explaining himself and his words, "He knows too much for someone who hasn't signed his name in the Black Book. If we do that, then he can return to normal, everyday life. Arthur said that he would do it himself."
Owain nodded in agreement before glancing to his brothers, cousins, and aunt for their agreement. Mathias was frowning and gave no response, only observing with conflict evident in his eyes. "I can do that in place of Arthur," the Second Prince informed the albino. "How far back do you want to go?"
"No!" Lovino cried, fear shadowing his heart, weighing it down. "No, don't do this!" he pleaded with his lover's older brother. "Please! Please no!"
"Before they've even met," Gilbert answered relentlessly and mercilessly, steeling his own resolve against Lovino's protests. "Before any of this ever happened. Before he knew of the existence of the Otherside. Before he met any of us. Everything and anything that has to do with everything he's not supposed to know, everything that's not supposed to happen to him, everything that has to do with us and with Arthur, erase it all. Make it so that—to him—we never existed... Arthur, especially. He doesn't need to remember Arthur; it's better that he forgets him."
"No, no, no, no!" Lovino struggled in vain as he attempted to wrench his arms out of Elizaveta and Ludwig's hold. They tightened their grip immediately, and when Lovino looked into Elizaveta's eyes, he saw nothing but pity. She didn't want this either. He turned his head to Ludwig and found that the blond was glowering adamantly at the ground, unable to make sense of the situation as well. Lovino glanced at Gilbert and noticed that the albino was now averting his eyes from the Italian entirely upon realising that Lovino was expecting an explanation for his decision. His back faced the Italian boy just as soon as he began shrieking, "Don't do this! You don't want this either, do you?!"
"It's not about what I want!" Gilbert barked fervently and feverishly—spitting out his words in a hurry. "It's about what has to be done! It's to maintain the balance of the universe!"
"No! It's not!" Lovino screeched. "It's not that, dammit! You're just spewing shit by now, you albino bastard! Look at me and say that you want this! That all of this shit makes you and everyone else fucking happy! Look at me and say all of that bullshit! Look at me, dammit, and tell me what you really think!" Owain gripped Lovino's face with a single hand, forcing Lovino to stare into his dull jade eyes, apathetic and passive with only a faint trace of sympathy. It wasn't the first time he has done this, Lovino could tell. "Please don't," he begged of the auburn haired Kirkland. "Please..."
"Your soul..." Owain gasped as he stared into Lovino's eyes. Immediately, he hardened his eyes and steeled his resolve.
"Please," Lovino persisted, "don't do this. I don't want this. This doesn't have to happen. Please, please, please don't—not this—please don't do this!" Lovino glanced beyond Owain and caught Gilbert burying his eyes into the palm of his hand. His mouth moved in the same pattern again and again, yet no sound came out of his lips. Still, Lovino could make out the motions.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Arthur, Lovino."
Ludwig and Elizaveta stared at the ground, ashamed and guilty, while Mathias and the Vikings fiddled with the first aid kit. Even Alistair, Seamus, and Bridget and her sons were turned away from the scene.
"Please," Lovino whispered quietly. "Nobody wants this..."
"I'm sorry," Owain apologised quickly before his eyes flashed, "but look into my eyes. You'll forget all about this anyway. You won't hurt any more."
Remember that everything will be okay and to smile.
"Arthur," Lovino murmured under his breath.
I'll stay by your side forever and ever.
"Wake up."
You have my word, my promise, my heart and soul.
"Open your eyes."
I love you, Lovino. I will always love you, my most beautiful spitfire.
"I never got to tell you how I feel about all of this shit, dammit!"
You can go home now... You can live in peace now, darling. Smile.
"It's not home without you, Arthur."
I love you, too, goddammit.
"Fratello, did nothing really happen?" Feliciano inquired curiously in their mother tongue for the nth time in the living room of Antonio's friend's manor. They had just finished off the rest of Antonio's paella with five children and a Japanese man whose expression was grim throughout the entire meal—even when he thanked Antonio graciously for the meal. "How did I get here?"
"Didn't you run away, idiota?" Lovino returned offhandedly in Italian. For some reason, it almost felt strange to speak his native language. It was as if he hadn't spoken it in a long time, but that had to be impossible. "I don't remember coming to rescue you. Maybe that dumb tomato bastard did."
"Really?" Feliciano pressed further. "Antonio said that you rescued me together with him and his friends and that you were just away to make sure all of the bad guys would stay away."
Lovino growled under his breath. "I don't remember any of that, Felici."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," Lovino repeated for emphasis. "Aside from that, is that Japanese bastard the friend you've been talking about?"
"I don't think so," Feliciano replied shortly after a moment's thought. "Antonio asked where a person named 'Arturo' was. I think that's the owner of the house and that Kiku works here."
"Huh, must be a filthy rich bastard." His eyes flitted to the children playing in front of him. "Are these all of his kids? Jesus Christ! Someone needs to show this bastard how to use a fucking condom!"