A/N: I'm back! had a few busy weeks with work, training, hobbying, etc... This chapter is actually only half of what I had planned to put in it, because I got a lot more written for it than I had expected to get done.

So fun RPG story. I run multiple, MULTIPLE Warhammer 40k rpgs. In one of the parties, we have this character named "Alpharius" (I'll give you 18 guesses which Legion he is from). Now, "Alpharius" and his Night Lord buddy were planning an assassination mission in a city that the rest of the warband was encircling. They were on a shrine world, so the ecclesiarchy is prime leadership in most of the planet. The devised plan was to assassinate the head ecclesiarch of the city while he was giving an impassioned speech to the people to whip them into a frenzy to fight the incoming cultist hordes. Night Lord fails to climb the basilica overnight, ends up hiding in the tunnels. "Alpharius" does the gargoyle pose above, waits for his moment and, when the time is right...

Superhero landing. Specifically, the player announces he is attempting a superhero landing. Flawless execution ensues.

"Alpharius" leaps off the basilica roof and slams down between the ecclesiarch and the Sister of Battle commander. Decapitates the Sister with his power sword, and fires an overcharged plasma shot directly in the the ecclesiarch's face. Immediately turns on the stunned crowd of civilians and bellows "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

Panic breaks loose, everyone stampedes. "Alpharius" slips out amidst the chaos and goes back to the tunnels and leaves the city. Meanwhile, the Night Lord goes to provide back up when he hears the screams start. His aim was to fly (using jump pack) high above the basilica and drop like a comet, throwing grenades and firing his bolter as he goes. Rolls for it. nat 00. Faceplants into the side of the basilica at about jump-pack-kilometers-per-hour. Knocks himself unconscious. "Alpharius" has to drag him back into the tunnels.

This is why I love rpgs.

Reviewers-
Ragna-
I never put too much effort into arguing the why's and why not's of an H-game. They are exactly written to make sense.
Guest- I mean, it depends on your definition of fun...
ManwithaPlam113- Claudia has the advantage of years on many of the Shields. That, and they can't ALL be morons. Somebody has to be the voice of reason.
Anderel Tyrant- Nah, they aren't getting 40k reinforcements. And Virtuos isn't a full keeper of secrets. Though he is pretty damn powerful.
FrancisVamp0822- Although Alicia's mother story is OC in this story, when you think about it every Shield should hate Olga. She was kind of the leader of the demons for a long time. In a hyper-realistic story, Olga would be in chains in a dungeon for months before they brought her out, assuming she wasn't just executed. And even then, she'd just get blamed for everything that happened.
V- eh, that's your choice. It really isn't that childish to refuse to work alongside "literally Hitler." I mean, Olga had spent a century leading the demons into Eostia, as far as they know. That's pretty damning.
The Storm Master 567- Without spoilers, you are fairly spot on with forecasting Claudia's relationship with him. I meant, Louk (and all Inquisitors in 40k lore) are basically Lawful Evil. Most of the Shields would claim Lawful Good or Lawful Neutral at the worst. Or, according to some people, Lawful Stupid. :D
Lorenzo98- Louk's giving that information out sparingly. Knowledge is power, after all. And if he goes about terrifying everybody before the daemon even strikes, it will just aid the daemon. He's got to be careful.
SomeGuyOverHere- I spent a good three days while in a prelicensing class sketching out my plan for making Kaguya more important as a character. She'll end up being pretty sweet. And honestly, Rhaskos doesn't have a story yet. I just happened to need a human buddy for Louk and was watching the Spartacus series for the umpteenth time.
Superdragonisgod- Chaos is going to get a lot more than Vult by the end of this.


Barracks Square, Ken

Magnus had assembled every Black Dog in the city. Six hundred stood in ordered lines fifty wide, filling the drill square with ranks of polished chainmail and dark tunics. Their weapons gleamed with cleaning oils, and not a man showed a hair out of place for this unexpected, ,yet well-practiced formation. Banners of blade and red hung limply above the mercenaries, each carrying the pennants of individuals companies and their respective leaders. Four such companies stood present in Ken.

Sappers under the command of a man called Khoros the Axe occupied the front of the formation. Each carried a sturdy battleaxe, with a broad round shield slung over their backs. Three hundred strong, they formed the core of Ken's defenses. Each man stood nearly as tall as Louk himself, and showed the muscles to cleave their axes through orc-flesh without difficulty. Their reputation from the field was one of vicious determination and tenacity in the field.

The second company of one hundred and thirty followed Eisley Surefoot, an archer of some renown who hailed from Ur. The strange sight of the beastkin had piqued Louk's curiosity, and guarded interest, but it took only a cursory examination to conclude that Eisley was no twisted mutant or spawn of wretched corruption. Her skin was dark as a Nocturne native, obsidian fur sprouting near her elbows and continuing up to her shoulders and throat. He imagined that same fur extended down her body, covered as it was by a leather hauberk and skirt. The humanity faded even more to her face, a hawk-like structure of bone and cartilage that too-closely resembled a beak. Large, round eyes blinked unwaveringly as she stood with her company, flicking back and forth with lightning speed as she took in her surroundings, missing nothing. Her archers wore light leather, some nothing more than hide or fabric as their fancy pleased them, but each carried a longbow and a knife. There were plenty of other beastkin in her company, he noted. Yet there wasn't another in any of the other companies. He had not seen them before in Vult's ranks, for that matter.

Third in ranks were the ronin of Thorn, a contingent of seventy swordsmen, each armed and armored in personal preference. Their armor was exotic, curiasses and scales, helmets fashioned to show the faces of monsters. Each one sported a banner attached to their backs, bound by rope and leather, each unique to the person wearing it. Their commander went by Yosai, though none outside of his company knew if that name was his, or merely a title. The ronin were an enigmatic bunch, according to Magnus. Small bands of them had made their way out of Thorn and joined the Black Dogs, but they operated more as auxiliary units than standard line troops.

Last in the formation stood the pikemen of Tagilli, one hundred men with spears three times their height. Armored in heavy plate, they lacked maneuverability, but had the reach and discipline to keep the foe at bay. Even a charging Ork couldn't barge through a hedge of steel spear tips. Each man had fashioned his own pike, cutting down the tree from which the shaft had been forged. Fighting in five ranks deep, they excelled at holding a vital point on the line, or if called to fight at Ken, the gate. Tagilli's pikemen were stout and courageous men.

Six hundred men. With the Bladestorm added, he had just over one thousand men to call upon. The numbers were far too few. More would come, in time. A start was better than nothing. Every army needed a core of veterans, and these would do. Assuming they were malleable to his needs. Commendable loyalty was not easily broken; if these men accepted his words too readily, he feared there would be a whole other concern in the coming war.

"All men and women stand accounted for" Magnus reported, returning from the cluster of officers. "Fourteen are in physician's care. One is returning from leave."

"Thank you" Louk told the man. Magnus had impressed him so far. Smart, studious, and not given to theatrics. Holding his tongue during the council of Shields had earned him a measure of respect that Louk doubted he would pass out again among these people. Over the course of the meetings Magnus had been accused of malfeasance, dishonesty, and several other things that could have very well led to conflict. Through it all he had remained calm, professional, and refused to let the jabs get to him.

On either side of the drill square, clusters of civilians milled in the shade of the barracks arches. Nobles, officials, onlookers, nearly all the important people of Ken had come to view the source of the irregular summoning of the mercenaries to the White Citadel. Those informed of the recent events had particular interest in the man who was not a Black Dog, yet stood at the head of the mercenary ranks. He spotted the head of the Church, surrounded by simpering cardinals and priests. Guildsters and traders of wealth, inspecting him and his exotic appearance as if calculating where he might have hailed from, and how new trade routes might be achieved. Most of all, he counted the jealous eyes of noblemen, seeing in him a competitor for power or influence. While Celeste allowed many into the White Citadel, a private audience with the Goddess Reborn was rare, and word that he had achieved such a thing had apparently spread throughout the city.

Their presence complicated things, but he could not send them away. Someone would raise hell, and he would have even more nonsense wasting his time. Better to let them suffer for their curiosity, he decided.

Fecking nobles.

"Call them to attention."

"Sir." Magnus saluted stiffly, then gave the order to the herald, who blew three sharp notes. As one, the Black Dogs snapped to call, straightening their postures and adopting the stern, thousand-yard stare of a professional soldier.

"Eyes" Louk shouted, and the sea of shifting gazes settled on him. "My name is Louk Shannegh. You do not know me. I am not a Black Dog, nor am I a mercenary of any kind, nor a soldier. I am a hunter. And you will be joining me in the hunt I lead."

Confusion bloomed on many faces, mercenary and not. They did not know where he was going with this news. Content to leave them a moment for their uncertainty to weaken their resolve, to shave a sliver of defensiveness from their will, he cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm on the paved ground. It was rather dusty on the drill square. Not from lack of use, though. The paved stones had all worn smooth from countless hours spent marched upon in drill and practice.

"I serve the Goddess Reborn, Celeste Lucrose, as do you. Our oath is to defend the people of Eostia from any threat. Most recently, that threat took the form of the Dark Queen, Olga Discordia. Vult himself led an army into Garan to capture her, and just two days ago, I brought her to the gates of Ken itself and delivered her to your Goddess."

A smattering of applause rose from the galleries. Louk paused a moment, letting his irritation show plainly on his face at the interruption.

"In a good tale, that would be the end of it. But this is no tale. The invasion of Garan was not without cost. Vult has been lost, as have the men and women that accompanied him into the wastelands. Not a soul will return."

What had been applause vanished, replaced with horrified gasps and exclamations from the attendees. Even a ripple of murmurs spilled through the Black Dogs warriors, though those were quashed quickly by officers. A sudden whisper tugged at his thoughts, the nagging sensation that something had changed, and he glanced up in the direction of the feeling. High above them, nearly lost in the gleaming white light reflecting off the White Citadel, stood a pair of women. One pale as paper and clothed in white, the other a rich brown and clothed in black. They were watching him. Well, then. Better Celeste know his words as he spoke them.

"I wish I could tell you they were slain, and their bodies laid to rest in honor. But I can't. They are not dead, but devoured. A great evil has been unleashed in Garan. An evil long held in check by the power of the Dark Queen herself. It is a power that not only kills, but corrupts, changes, twists. It is an abomination the likes of which this world has never seen. Vult's army was swallowed whole by this evil."

Lifting his arm, he gestured to Magnus. "The Bladestorm, fellow warriors, have sealed the border in hopes of preventing any more of your brothers and sisters from losing their souls to the evil in the north. But they cannot hold the border alone. I call upon you, as warriors and defenders, to make a decision. It is not an easy one, I admit. It is one that requires faith, and belief in powers you have never encountered before. For a time, the Black Dogs have been your identity. Whether you are bloodied veterans or new recruits, the Black Dogs were what you aspired to be. They were the pinnacle of achievement, of respect. But no longer. The name of Black Dogs is going to mean something very different in the months to come, when the evil pours from Garan."

At his prearranged signal, Magnus reached up to the patch of the Kuroinu that pinned his cloak over his shoulder. Ripping the patch free, he hurled it to the ground.

"I ask you to renounce your the name Black Dogs. In faith, you will take up a new name, one that will stand as a symbol of light against the coming darkness. Many years ago, I served along a force of warriors of legend, soldiers whose prowess set the most wretched creatures to flight, and vanquished monsters and gods. They are called the Templars, and I ask you now to take this name, to fashion a new legend in its honor. War is coming to Eostia. It will be a war unlike any this land has seen before. It will be brutal, it will be horrifying. The demons of Garan are nothing compared to what is to come. I need soldiers for this war, soldiers of courage and honor, that will not bend or break when terror comes to claim them."

One of the officers stepped forward. Khoros the Axe, his dark scowl etched like marble. Knowing the man's intent, Louk fell silent, and motioned for him to speak. He knew this would have to happen at some point. Better to get it done with now, while all were present.

"You were in Garan" Khoros confirmed, his voice loud and boisterous. The voice of a man determined to lead, to rule. "But what in hell's teeth are you blabbering about? Evil? Vult and the others gone? And now you're demanding we take up arms against our own? Bah!"

"I only ask you continue your duty" Louk replied, maintaining an even voice. "I will not send you to war. That war will come here on its own. What I ask is that you open your minds to the possibility of fighting a new foe, an enemy you would not expect."

"And why should we listen to you?"

Louk studied the man again, inspecting his stance, deciding how to proceed. The simplest way would be to kill him. Get it over with, then and there. How his men, and the other companies, would react remained out of his reach, however. He did not dare something so drastic without assurances. Another way could make this work.

"Because the Goddess herself tasked me with taking charge of the remaining Black Dogs in Eostia until such a time as a new commander can be secured." Which was blatantly untrue, but they wouldn't know. The rumors of his meetings with Celeste could serve him here, he knew. None would risk contradicting Celeste, and without any concrete proof of his lie they could not challenge him.

"Should you prefer a more visceral reason," Louk patted the hilt of his sword. "I am sure a demonstration can be arranged."

"Aye, that it can." Khoros lifted his axe. "I serve only those I trust, and I don't know you. Take a blade, and let's see if your mettle is worthy."

"I don't need a blade" Louk sneered. He caught a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye. Maia had snuck into the wings of the drill square. Standing slightly to the side, she remained detached from the nobles save for a portly and unsightly young man that clung to her shadow. The man was… ugly, to put it mildly, with stark yellowish-blonde hair and a porcine face and bulging belly that spoke to a life of excessive appetite. The red-haired mercenary ignored the man, choosing instead to study Louk with sullen animosity.

"So you're not just an arrogant ass, but an arrogant fighter too? I'm not putting this axe away, boy."

The intended insult brought a grim smile to Louk's mouth. He stepped forwards, drawing closer to the man. "Come on, then. Black Dogs, stand to. Observe, but do not move from your post."

"Those men aren't yours to command" Khoros growled. Charging forwards, he swept his axe in a savage blow. Louk spun into the arc of the swing, catching the shaft of the weapon between Khoros' hands, and threw his body under the man's shoulder. Heaving upwards, he hurled Khoros through the air, sending the man flying several feet, his axe wrenched free and safe in Louk's hands.

"Anyone else?" Louk tossed the man's axe to the ground in front of his command. None answered his challenge. Pointing back at the staggering Khoros, Louk drew their attention. "Khoros has right to question what I say, but I tell you this. In the days ahead, faith will serve you better than knowledge. Your service does not change. Your duty does not change. Protecting the weak, defending the innocent. That is what I call you to. So I ask you, men and women of Eostia, whom do you serve: the Black Dogs, or your Goddess?"

Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, Louk waved his hand high, indicating the two figures standing high above the barracks. The mercenaries all glanced up, and surprise showed on many of their faces at the sight of Celeste. A few muttered oaths eased out from the ranks.

"Eisley Surefoot stand with Eostia" a sharp, chirruping voice announced. The beastkin commander produced a saxe knife with a flourish, ritualistically bringing it to touch the pommel to her forehead before extending it, hilt first. "We hunt for Goddess."

Goaded by her declaration, Yosai barked an order in a foreign tongue. His ronin drew their blades in a wave of flashing steel. Raising their blades aloft, they offered salute, and Yosai stepped out from their ranks. "We serve the Goddess Celeste Lucrose" he stated. "Long may she reign."

Tagilli's voice piped up from the rear. "Aye to that!"

Turning back to Khoros, Louk watched the man as he stomped back to pick up his axe. There was no shame in the man's eyes, though he did have the quiet anger of an unfinished feud. Perhaps he would be a problem in the future, but for now, his compliance was all Louk needed.

"Khoros?"

The man bit back a snarl, reluctantly bowing his head. "I will serve the people of Eostia."

"Good." Louk returned to stand beside Magnus, who had remained still through the whole show. "As of this moment, your identities as Black Dogs are no more. You are the Templars now. Final details will be passed down through Magnus of the Bladestorm." To this side, he continued, "dismiss them."

The herald blew the correct notes, and the mercenary officers leapt to work, summoning their corporals and setting about the task of returning their warriors to duty. Louk watched them silently, judging their worth, noting faces that beared remembering. Like the ones he had accompanied into Garan, these did not dawdle. Not a one appeared overly fond of the drill square, and all made haste to clear the barracks.

Once they had departed, he turned to greet the cluster of bodies slowly making its way over to him. Maia reached him first, her determined strides leaving the portly man struggling.

"Maia" Louk acknowledged her with a nod. "See to the men, Magnus. Meet up with me tonight, and we shall discuss how to proceed."

"Sir," Magnus replied. He bowed to them both, pointedly offering respect to Maia before turning to leave.

"So you're taking over the mercenaries now," Maia growled, staring past Louk at the retreating Magnus. The fire-hearted woman had thrown the most accusations and insults during their meetings. Evidently she felt some regret at choice words. Not towards him, of course, but at the man who had been unwittingly roped into this new game.

"If you listened, I am merely preparing them for whoever will be next."

"And if that is you?" She flashed a challenging glare, her hands dropping to her hips.

"I assure you I have no interest in commanding an army."

"And yet you seem so keen on dragging us into some gods' forsaken war."

His reply held off as the chubby nobleman caught up. Gasping for breath after even as short a walk as halfway across the drill square, the blond man panted fitfully, grasping at his side as he looked them both over. "Really, Maia, you could have waited for me. You must be Louk Shannegh. I have heard of your arrival. Michelle Pantielle, son of Michael Pantielle. Surely you've heard of my family. We are quite well known through the seven regions."

"I'm new here" he stated.

"Ah, well, you appear to have met my lovely Maia." Michelle went to put a hand on Maia's arm. She casually sidestepped the gesture, a hint of disgust crossing her face. Maybe Louk wasn't the only reason she had such a sour face, then.

"We are well acquainted. Maia and I have been in close discussion with Lady Celeste and the other Shields."

"So it is true, that you have become a confidant of the Goddess herself." The nobleman's surprise wrinkled his face like a rotten fruit.

"He has found his way to her ear" Maia admitted grudgingly.

"Well, then she shall have good counsel I would wager while you are away, my dear."

Maia's eye twitched. Louk suppressed a chuckle; seeing the mercenary as the object of such a man's affection certainly explained some of the attitude. But this news of her leaving… that was not so good. He needed as many of the Shields here as possible. Consensus and agreement was needed. If the leadership fractured, they had no chance.

"Going off, then?"

"I thought to go inspect the border myself, and then see to Rad. It is a fairly lawless place to begin with, and my being away so long will not have improved things."

"You should at least stay through the council" Louk cautioned. "There is still much to be done."

"And you have made it abundantly clear that my presence is unnecessary" Maia hissed, an icy tone in her voice. "I am sure that you will not miss my being there."

He held up his hand, placing it between Maia and Michelle. "If you don't mind, sir, I need a moment with Maia."

Keeping ahead of his hand, Maia walked quickly away from the noble. Louk followed, his hand hovering protectively, ignoring the startled sputtering of the blond man as he tried to understand how quickly they had separated from the conversation.

"Your lover, then?"

"Shut up" Maia snapped. "The godsdamned leech won't leave me alone when I'm in Ken."

"How'd that happen?" His question was one out of genuine curiosity, though he had an idea. Weak men often idolized women in power, imagining a fantasy of domination and control. To a slob like Michelle Pantielle, Maia fit the bill to a t. Or a tit, he mused, allowing a flicker of a glance over her sizeable chest.

"Oh, he saw me at one of the galas that Celeste made me go to. It was held in my honor, on being made a Shield. I wanted nothing to do with it, of course. But it was tradition, and so I endured hours and hours of being ogled by noblemen and having to suffer through little shits like Michelle."

"You should not ride to Rad. Not yet. Give it a day."

"I would rather not" she said with a scowl. The rising anger in her tone warned him that this was not a fight he would win. Not in this setting. He shrugged, accepting the answer, knowing that he had a limited window to change her mind.

"Then ride well, if you must."

"Is that the sort of goodbye you have on your home?"

"I'm not used to horses" he admitted. She scoffed and took a step to the side, putting distance between them.

"That may be the first thing you've said that I believe" she grumbled. "I'll take my leave. You have someone who wants your attention."

He trailed her indicated path and spotted a tall and broad-shouldered man waiting at a respectful distance away, his hand resting on the pommel of a broadsword sheathed at his side. Though not in full armor, he wore ceremonial mail under a decorated hauberk bearing his family coat of arms, a symbol he had seen on Claudia's armor. The top of his head shone against the sunlight, surrounded by thinning white hair and a bushy beard. His eyes remained sharp, however, and the well-kept muscles under his clothes spoke of a lifetime of fighting.

"Grave Levantine" he guessed, greeting the man.

"And you are Louk Shannegh. My daughter has spoken often of you in the past days." Striding forward, Grave Levantine extended a hand. Louk shook it firmly, testing the man's grip and finding it acceptably strong but not challenging.

"I doubt anything good."

"Bah, her heart is in the right place. She's fiercer than a rabid hound when roused, but her loyalty is fiercer still. There isn't a man or woman in Eostia that she hasn't thought of as a threat to the Goddess. Give her some time; she'll warm up to you."

"We shall see." Louk did not hold the man's belief, but he allowed it.

"Vult's gone, then. Claudia told me, in confidence. Though I should hear it from the source. What took him?"

"A monster," Louk claimed. It wasn't technically untrue. "A being that smothers the mind and bends wills to service."

"That's a shame." Grave sighed and ran a bare hand over his skull. "He was a good man. I'd half a mind to try and adopt him into my family. Once Klaus goes, of course."

"What would Klaus have to do with it?"

"Until he puts a baby in Claudia's belly, everything." Grave maintained a stoic expression for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Perhaps that is in poor taste. Forgive an old man his sense of humor."

"Nothing to forgive" Louk assured him. "Your family is not my concern. My only care is the safety of Eostia."

"Yes. The Goddess has summoned a great many leaders to council today. I shall see you there, then. And hear all about this upcoming war you have warned of."

"That you shall" Louk agreed.

-v-

The skies were so much clearer here. Endless blue so rich and pure it could not help but set the mind at ease. Soft clouds of purest white hung like blankets over vast stretches of the fertile plains, offering respite from the bright sun. Even the heat struck her as different. The sun gave warmth and comfort where it touched, so unlike the blistering heat in her homeland. Everything about this land showed life and vivacity that the wastelands would never again attain.

Of course, it would not always be so. The winter would come, and snow would fall thick on the plains. She remembered the snow; as a child she had found delight in it. An escape from the wretchedness of her previous existence, snow distracted her mind from the horrors of slavery and gave her something to look for every year. She had suffered months of pain and torment, living only for the blissful fall of snow to pretend that her dishonor could be taken away. The cleanliness of the snow, to her, symbolized a peace the she would not know.

She missed the snow. By her estimate, it would come soon. When it did, perhaps she would could steal a few days from here, with Olga's permission. The mountains to the east were something she had always had a fancy for. Those were good mountains, free of danger or banditry. It would be nice to take some time and explore them on her own.

For now, she enjoyed the peace and tranquility. It would not last. The new war approached ever nearer, and she knew in her heart that though she belonged by Olga's side, her mettle would be tested in true combat again. The beast Virtuoso had possessed incredible speed and strength in an orc's form. Now in the guise of Vult, the most proficient swordsman in the land, it would be so much more dangerous. She knew that in a straight fight, her abilities lacked. Training was required. The strange Reaper man had the knowledge to teach her. If it came to it, she could seek his aid.

The thought of putting her knives in the daemon-Vult's heart set her palms tingling. It would be her blade that ended him. The creature that dared to harm her mistress, sought to violate them both and heap its filth on their souls. It would die slowly, she vowed. Slowly and in as great a pain as it could know. This was right, and as if deserved. Her blades would be the vengeance of Olga's fury.

Oh, how she looked forward to the day she stood prepared before the daemon.

"I will kill you" she breathed, staring off into the distant northern mountains. Her perch on the balcony offered her a grand view of the mountains. Such magnificent features made it easy to forget what horrors lurked beyond.

"Such hateful words from such a beautiful creature."

Every muscle in her body tensed at the sudden voice, limbs snapping taut, jaw clenching so quickly she bit the side of her tongue. A shock set her nerves on fire, numbing the sensation for a long second, so violent and powerful that she lost feeling of her fingers and toes. A muted gasp spilled loose from her throat, trapped by her teeth, making no more sound than a mouse buried under a sheet.

The numbing faded almost instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of fear and dread.

"My little Chloe" the voice continued. His shadow rose to her left. Hot breath tickled the back of her neck. Terror froze her limbs in place, and she stood utterly silent save for the rapid thundering of her heart in her chest. "I never thought I would see you again."

Sir John Mandeville placed a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. His reedy fingers landed with the weight of a swung hammer. The front of his jacket brushed against her bare back. His closeness was a suffocating weight. It muffled the warming sun, washing the light in shadow.

She had forgotten how terrifying he had been.

"I had thought to never see you again" he murmured. The breath from his nostrils spilled over her ear. She flinched, daring to try and pull away, but her legs refused to move. Her strength fled, leaving her helpless. "My little darling. You were stolen from me. But fate has brought us back together."

"I… am not… yours" she whimpered, straining to form words. Her stomach crawled as his finger deliberately eased her half-cloak to the side. Biting her tongue to suppress the terrified noises building in her lungs, she gripped the hilts of her daggers until her knuckles whitened. It only took a sliver of effort to draw them. He was this close. She could kill him. She could-

"You have always been mine" his voice cooed, condescending and so certain. His drifting hand slipped down her back, fingers pressing teasingly against her flesh. "Don't you remember? I raised you. I paid for your food, your clothes, your life. I made you as comfortable and loved as a slave ever was."

"... not your toy" she hissed.

"A toy?" His feigned gasp of horror mocked her words. Took them and threw them in the mud, grinding them under his heel. "You were never a toy, Chloe."

"You raped me" she snarled.

"Did I?" A touch of anger bled into his tone. That anger, that terrifying temper, made her soul shrink, her courage shrivelling before her very eyes. "You never complained. Never asked me to stop. As I recall, you positively begged for my cock. Night after night, crawling on all fours to my bedchambers. Did I not please you? Did I not bring you pleasure every day and night?"

His reaching hand snapped up, nail digging cruelly into the back of her neck. She started, pulling away from his touch, but she could not bring herself to leap away. Dragging her up until her toes supported her weight, he held her there, the icy cold of his rage bubbling to the surface of his voice.

"You faithless slut. I cared for you straight from your whore mother's womb! You owe me everything."

"I escaped" she murmured.

"You will never escape me." His other hand came around, wrapping against her thigh, digging sharply into her soft flesh. She frantically pushed at his hand, trying to pry his grasp away. Her resistance stopped when he shook her roughly, fingers pressing dangerously against her throat. Digging under her clothes, he probed and prodded until his questing fingers found her most sacred place. "I own you. I own your body. I own your soul. That bitch took you from me, and I will have you back."

"No!"

"What's this" he asked. His composure reasserted itself, though his grip did not ease. Using his hand on her neck as a prod, he walked her further into the balcony, pushing her along until her hips pressed against the railing. All the while, his fingers continued to dig below. "Are you wet? Does my touch excite you?"

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Heat bloomed in her belly, a twisted and sick sensation that slid down her insides and emerged in a hot rush down her legs.

"Did you just piss yourself?" His throaty chuckle only added to her humiliation. She wanted to die.

"Let me go" she demanded, her voice weak and halting.

"I will never let you go, Chloe. You will return to my side. Whether I force you or you come to your senses remains to be seen. Though I must warn you, the longer your make me wait, the stronger your apology will have to be. For I am merciful," he whispered as he brought his hand up and pressed his fingers against her lips. "Do you remember how you pleaded for my cock? How I filled you again and again. I have never possessed a slave quite like you, Chloe. You will be restored. That is a promise."

He pulled back suddenly, releasing her from his grasp. Falling against the railing, Chloe let out a groan, her legs buckling from weakness. The source of his retreat made itself apparent in the heavy clacking of armored boots on the marble floor of the inner walkway. Hiding her face lest the newcomer see it, Chloe hastily shrugged her half-cloak over her back and hid behind the comforting fabric. The sickness in her stomach threatened to spew. The warming comfort of sunlight beat down on her mercilessly. The height of the balcony filled her with an uneasy dizziness. Like the whole world had been in reach, yet now crumbled in around her.

"Sir Mandeville" the newcomer greeted. Claudia Levantine appeared at the entrance to the balcony, clad in ceremonial warplate. "Chloe. I would not have expected to find you here."

"Madam Levantine" he greeted, his voice cool and collected. Any trace of the previous conversation vanished behind his silken facade. That same heart-filled smile and disarming cheer that had lured Chloe into her mistaken sense of security as a youth. The day she turned fourteen, Sir John had come to her chambers and taken her innocence by force. Ever since, that smile had never fooled her to the demon that raged beneath his civilized mask.

"The Goddess had announced the hour of council. Please present yourself at the grand conclave by supper. We shall eat as we discuss the future."

"I relish the honor of basking in her wisdom" Sir John promised.

"And you, Chloe." A touch of curiosity edged the knight's tone. "Will you attend your mistress?"

"I am afraid Chloe is suffering from a poor meal" Sir John interjected. "She will be in attendance."

"I see." The steadiness in her response promised Chloe that the Lady Levantine did not quite believe the man's words. "Sir Mandeville, would you accompany me? I have several questions regarding your merchant business in Geof, and how it may be affected by recent events."

"Certainly" the man agreed. "I look forward to seeing you again, Chloe."

The two humans left the balcony together. Once the sound of Claudia's footfalls receded, Chloe slid to her knees. Pressing her head against the railing, she clutched her cloak tight around her body and wept.

-v-

Celeste had aged. It was a subtle thing. Elves did not pass time like the lesser races. They did not lose the coloring of their hair, or gain wrinkles or sag like the humans. Outside of the elves themselves, few could accurately tell the age of an elf. Olga had once prided herself on being able to guess any elf's age to within two years, which was a feat many elves themselves lacked. In that regard, elves were so much different than the lesser races. Immortality brought its own problems, its own strengths and weaknesses.

A hundred years of leading Eostia against the demons had withered Celeste's spirit. The high elf's precious heart mourned the loss of every death, and elves had long memories. Unlike the humans, whose thoughts faded in years, if not days, an elf remembered every waking moment of life until they died. Each soldier slain by the demons. Each woman violated and butchered. The heroes that had fallen to monsters. It was an inherent aspect of elfkind that had adapted to take the pain and suffering of immortality and hold it under lock and key. The fury of an elf, when raised, was a terrible thing. So terrible that even the elves feared what lurked in the darkest recesses of their souls. The heart of Celeste, the Goddess Reborn, sainted leader of Eostia and ruler of the lands, was no doubt a broken, tortured agony.

And still she smiled. The woman who watched for a hundred years as her people were preyed upon, slaughtered, hunted for sport. She smiled at Olga with those pleading eyes that begged for Olga to show the old cheer and humor of their youth. Hope lived in those wonderfully calm eyes. The unquenchable hope Celeste had always possessed; hope in the goodness of the soul. Olga had loved her for it, upon a time. As youths, the two had made the most wonderful pair. Olga's brash and excitable nature complemented by Celeste's coy and mischievous persona.

She despised that innocence now. And it broke her heart to see that Celeste had never doubted her.

The Goddess poured a half glass of honeyed wine, gaze settling on the third person at the table. They had retired from the council chambers. This meeting did not require a large audience or waiting servants. Celeste invited only Olga and one other. The mysterious youth Kaguya. In truth, Olga knew little of the youngest Shield. Though barely out of childhood, the woman radiated a serenity and wisdom far beyond her years. Her features were almost elfin. Odds stood in favor that Kaguya had an elven ancestor within two generations. Yet that did not explain the strength of presence she carried, nor the solemnity with which she composed herself during the heated debates of the previous days.

Her appearance at this small council was not without reason. Olga wondered if she would see it before it was made known to her.

"Thank you for remaining in Ken" Celeste opened, bowing her head in respect. "I know your duties suffer from distance to your shrine."

"The Heavens have called me to your side" Kaguya replied, her voice light and hypnotic. She had an adorable little face, youth having not fled her despite the sure onset of human puberty. "I am but a servant of my God."

"And we are grateful for his lending." The high elf's smile warmed, and she took a careful sip of her wine. "Have you met Olga yet?"

"I apologize, but we have not formally introduced ourselves." Kaguya rose from her chair and curtsied. Her posture was fluid, graceful. "I am Kaguya, high priestess of my God."

"Does your God have a name?"

"His name is known to the faithful." The shrine maiden's button nose wrinkled. "You do not strike me as a believer."

"In your God?"

"In anything. You hide your scars in disbelief, Lady Olga."

The bluntness of the young woman's words shocked Olga. She stared unblinking at the shrine maiden, deciding whether or not the woman had meant insult.

"Kaguya is blessed" Celeste explained smoothly. "Her faith gives her sight beyond our mortal senses. She does not mean offense."

"I understand." Letting her gaze slide, Olga took the offered wine jug from Celeste and poured her own serving.

"Kaguya came to me in confidence this morning" Celeste explained. "She believes your words, and would voice such to the others."

"Does she now?" Olga did not let the announcement impress her. It did not matter to her if they believed the warning Louk Shannegh had brought. Olga knew the truth, and even if she stood alone, she would fight the evil gathering in Garan. Regardless of their beliefs, time would convince them.

"I sense the evil that has arisen in Garan. It coincides with your return, with the words of Master Shannegh. The creature in the wastelands is a thing our world has never seen before. You know what it is. Its mark is left upon you."

Her ear twitched, the memory of its tongue still hot in her mind. A memory she could never forget. A thousand years could pass, but its touch would never fade into oblivion. She owed the creature a painful death for its arrogance, its violation.

"It is a monster" she stated, curling her fingers around her wine glass.

"And it must be repulsed. My God has revealed to me the danger it poses. For the sake of every innocent in Eostia, we must band together and face it as one."

"Do you know what it is?" Olga asked the question even though she knew the answer. If this young shrine maiden has an inkling of the true power is possessed, she would have begged Celeste to force the other to comply.

"I admit I am unable to understand what nature of a creature it is. My faith tells me it must be stopped."

"Its name is Virtuoso. It is a true daemon, a creature from another realm. Louk Shannegh chased it here, seeking to kill it."

"What is it?" Kaguya asked.

"Even I cannot understand" Olga admitted. "Louk Shannegh can answer that question at length. I have been told he is an adept hunter of such creatures. Where he comes from there is an organization whose sole purpose is to hunt such creatures down and destroy them."

"It is good to have a man who knows the creature." Kaguya frowned. "I cannot fathom the evil it contains. Its presence poisons the mind. And it is growing in power with each passing day."

"I had thought to broach topic of another invasion force" Celeste announced. "But the majority of our forces are already in Garan. If they are all gone, then we have barely enough forces to hold our borders. I committed Vult's army to this task, to bring you in." Sadness passed over her features, a deep and breaking sorrow that only hinted at the torment she must feel knowing her decision had cost the lives of so many men and women. "I only wanted to bring you home."

"This is not my home" Olga countered, reflexively denying the claim. Hurt flickered in Celeste's eyes, smothered quickly by the high elf's composure. "Nor was it your fault what happened to those men. Virtuoso is a thing of another world. None could have expected its arrival and the power it wields."

"I fear we will not be able to stand against it."

To admit such a thing before the grand council would have shattered any hope they could have had to repel the daemon. Olga suppressed the urge to wince. It spoke volumes of Celeste's trust in the two of them to voice such worry. Why did Celeste still trust her? She did not understand. Olga had led the Demon Legion for so long, been responsible for the deaths of so many friends.

Hatred, Olga realized. She wished that Celeste held nothing for her but hatred. It would be easier to hold her gaze if there were disdain or anger or mistrust. The innocence of Celeste's youth had never wilted, and held against it Olga could only look back on what she had become. The depths of darkness she had plumbed to keep the demons at bay. The blood on her hands, seeped deep into her soul.

Celeste truly was a goddess.

It humbled her to be in this woman's confidence.

"We will stand" Olga assured them both. "The Black Dogs are a formidable fighting force, it is true. They were not the only fighting force. Do you know why I sent the Legion into Ansur and Rad and Geof so many times?"

Though the two had discussed her actions much in the past days, in private confidence, Kaguya knew nothing of Olga's grand work. The shrine maiden's shoulders stiffened at the casual mention of sending the demon invasions. As it should. Olga had never expected any south of the wastelands to sympathize with her cause.

"I controlled the large concentrations of demons through force of will and sorcery" Olga explained. "The lesser bands were not worth my attention. They would have overtaxed my power and risked losing all of them. I held the demons at bay as long as their simple instincts allowed. And when those instincts grew too powerful to control, I loosed them exactly where I knew they could be handled. Where the forces of Eostia could tear them to pieces and butcher them like the animals they were. It was not solely the Black Dogs who claimed those victories. But the knights of Geof, the halfling armies of Ansur, and the small mercenaries of Rad. I did my best to keep the Legion from assaulting the weaker states."

"You speak as if you should be commended." Kaguya's flat tone indicated her displeasure.

"I undertook a task that I alone could accomplish." Celeste's taste in wine had not changed, Olga mused. Sweet and light, spring wines. A reflection of her unending optimism, perhaps? This particular vintage carried the hint of plum, just enough to pique Olga's taste buds. Celeste had always loved the wine from Olga's homeland to the north. Had this been an intentional ploy, she had to ask herself. A simple maneuver to put Olga more at ease, or to ingratiate her back to Celeste's side. No, Celeste did not possess the base cunning required for such an act. The very thought of imagining the high elf stooping to subterfuge set a sour taste in Olga's mouth. She set the glass down, hiding her grimace, and allowed a long breath before continuing.

"Do not look to the past for answers to the future, Kaguya. Not in this instance. I protected my people, as I strove to protect yours. What matters now is the evil ahead. Having stood in its presence, I would advise you set any lingering malcontent aside."

"And what does Master Shannegh advise" the shrine maiden asked.

Olga did not miss the Goddess' faint shiver at the mention of his name.

"Louk is currently gathering the remaining Black Dogs, at my behest. He has yet to tell me his plan, but I am certain he will have a way forwards for us."

"Is it wise to place too much faith in such a strange man" Kaguya insisted. "I do not doubt his intentions. However, experience does not equate to capabilities. What assurance do we have that he can lead us to victory?"

"I think Celeste would let Louk Shannegh lead her anywhere" Olga whispered, into her glass. The high elf's cheeks flushed red, her elfin hearing detecting the jab.

"Louk… I trust his wisdom" Celeste answered, her breath suddenly shaky as she fought to smooth her embarrassment. "He is rough, but that does not mean he is incapable of leading."

"And that, my dear Celeste, does not answer her question." Olga set her glass down, drained to the last drop. It was truly an excellent wine. "Kaguya, I have seen Louk Shannegh in battle. He fights with the strength and speed of a dozen men. When we fled across the wastes to escape the Black Dogs, he refused to lose focus, and when time came for battle he reacted swiftly and with intelligence. I placed my life in his hands, and would gladly do so again. If you require further example of his leadership, speak with the mercenaries that escorted us here. Magnus is quite fond of him already, and subjected his men to Louk Shannegh's command without hesitation. A competent military commander vouches for his abilities. I believe such is the only opinion that matters."

"We need a soldier" Celeste added. "Vult was the premier commander of Eostia, with Claudia comparable yet lacking his numbers. I have faith in Claudia's ability. Louk's experience makes him the more certain choice."

"I see." The shrine maiden bowed her head solemnly. "I have no argument with your decision. My God has only allowed a glimpse of what is to come. We walk by faith into this uncertain future. I will pray we are guided on the correct path."