A/N: Man, one more chapter and then the epilogue (I think). Hard to believe we're getting close to the end of this. Even harder to believe Shadows of Valentia comes out tomorrow and MAN am I excited! Had to get this chapter out before it because I knew I wouldn't otherwise.

Rapis Razuri: I kind of wanted to show that though they are the "good" guys, the loyalists still have their own issues to work through. And it makes sense; it has only been two years since they became part of Valla.

It should be. Like I said, it's not in the game itself, but I'm sticking to the "lance = Nohr" formula. And that is true, lances and naginatas are wielded very differently! You can see this when you look at the Spear Master animations, they change their stances and moves when you switch between them.

Hypocrites, gotta love them right?

Guest: They've already been brought up. I mentioned back in Chapter 11 or so that Hoshido has their own rebels to deal with opposing the marriage with Elise. It's why they can't come help Corrin (and he wouldn't want them to, he needs to handle this on his own). Leo and Sakura aren't married yet, but Xander's still got people opposing them in his court, most of them are just more concerned with the 'radical new changes' he's bringing in.

Spiner 909: Conceptualizing them is just really hard. I think I mentioned something somewhere about how describing it in an interesting but non-stiffing way is difficult for me. Coming up with tactics and keeping track of everyone are also problems.

Ajani's Apprentice: Gerard's not a Ninja (Nohrian, remember). Just a very dodgy Adventurer.

Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, it was another enormous battle I hated writing, but some of the foreshadowing I've been building up to finally pays off…

Galen Eliasson yawns, wishing he had a warm cup of tea to stave off the cold. As harbormaster of Elysium, his day begins well before the sun's rays can chase away the winter chill, overseeing the various ships as they come and go. It's a suitable task for a man his age, and the salty smell of the ocean comforts him—Vallites always have felt more at home around water. Whistling a jaunty tune under his breath, he offers a wave to some of the fishermen as they pass.

The Vallite had just reached his office doors when he pauses, squinting at the horizon. Adjusting his monocle, he pulls out a pocket telescope and raises it to eye level. Through its magnifying lenses, he can see that the approaching vessels are an odd mix of Nohrian and Hoshidan make. They fly no flag, and he frowns, one hand straying towards the alarm horn hanging off his belt. He doesn't recall a fleet that big being scheduled to come in today.

"Let them dock, Galen."

He turns, seeing the familiar worn face of Nestor. Galen had always liked the other man; he'd done a good job of leading them when they'd been slaves, ensuring the young 'uns and the older folk got to eat first. Galen has no doubt all his grandchildren are still alive thanks to him. "Mornin', Nestor. Chilly, innit? You sure those ships are allowed? Don't think they were on the schedule today."

He reaches into his pocket, extracting a crumpled piece of paper, and scans it rapidly. "Yeah…nothin' here mentions a Nohrian-Hoshidan fleet was due to dock today."

Nestor's face was shadowed heavily. "The king requested they come. He's called several of his allies in for a meeting about what to do with the rebels, and the roads aren't safe enough anymore. I thought I told you about it?"

Pulling off his cap, Galen scratches his bald head. "Don't recall ever getting any word of that. But then again, we just had to let our old messenger go, and the new one's still losin' things and getting' others mixed up. Your note probably ended up halfway across the city!"

The steward doesn't laugh. His gaze is still fixed on the approaching vessels. He really should get some more sleep, Galen thinks; he looks exhausted. "Must have."

No alarms sound, no fliers and enemy ships move to intercept them, and Jiro smirks, watching the sluice gates open.

"Well," he says to Laurel, "I suppose you were right after all."

They'd had a backup plan, of course, in case whoever Laurel had contacted hadn't come through; she'd have dived off the boat, water-travelled to the inside of the city, assassinated the harbormaster, and opened the sluice gates herself. But it's much more convenient this way. They won't have to fight their way to land; by the time Elysium realizes they aren't supposed to be there, they'll have already docked.

"Reading people is a useful skill," she says simply. "If you can read them, you can push the right buttons, and have them doing what you want."

They've practiced this enough times that he doesn't need to give the order. Well before they've docked, the soldiers have all gone below deck, except for a few archers, hiding in the shadows. Jiro hangs at the back of the deck, watching the harbormaster stride up the plank. He's an older gentleman, with clothes stained by saltwater and a well-worn blue cap. He's not paying them much mind, muttering to himself as he jots something down on the papers in hand.

The harbormaster finally glances up, and his eyes widen with recognition when he sees Jiro. His hand goes for the horn at his waist, but an arrow flies and plants itself in his throat. With a gurgle, he falls backwards, dead. The papers fly out of his hands; slowly, they drift to the ground and land in a pool of blood, where they soak through with red.

"Nicely done," Laurel says. "Now—"

She stops as a pair of katanas cross her throat. Her green eyes narrow, going cold. "What is this?"

"There's been a change in plans," Jiro tells her. "You'll be staying here, under guard. I can't take the risk this isn't just some massive play you have, where you stab me in the back and end my little coup to earn pardon for your service to Anankos."

Briefly, her eyes widen. "How did—"

"Did you really think I wouldn't go looking into your history?" he scolds. "Or maybe that I wouldn't find anything? I've seen those posters for the wanted agents the king's been sending about, including yours; it was easy to piece it all together after that."

Her hand darts for one of her daggers, but he's already gestured to one of the samurai; the flat of the blade slams into her head, and she crumples. Picking her up lack a sack of flour, the soldiers nod and head below deck, where they will stay until the battle is over. It's probably be safer to kill her, but she has done him a great service so far; at the very least she deserves a proper investigation and a trial. Once the king is disposed of he'll decide what to do.

They disembark. Laurel's contact is waiting at the shore, his hands clenched into fists. "You didn't have to kill him," he says quietly, admonishing. It takes Jiro a moment to remember who he's talking about—the harbormaster. He scoffs at the nerve, to think to lecture him.

"I certainly wasn't going to let him warn everyone we're here."

"There are other, less violent ways—"

"You don't have any room to judge me, considering you're helping us," the Hoshidan noble snaps, fed up with the backtalk from a lowly servant.

The old man scowls, a brief flicker of doubt and self-loathing flitting across his features. "I suppose this is the moment I outlive my usefulness, then?"

"Oh no," Jiro says pleasantly. "You know this city far better than we do, after all…"

Corrin is torn out of a very pleasant dream involving himself, Azura and a waterfall by the sound of a loud crash. He jerks awake, grimacing as he bumps his nose against his wife's chin; she moans in discomfort, golden eyes blearily opening. He squints around his room, trying to find the noise's source in the darkness. Seeing nothing, he shrugs and rolls over to go back to sleep.

The door slams open. "Lord Corrin!" Kaze shouts. "We're under attack!"

In his half-awake state, the words seem to lose all meaning, melting away. "What?" he mumbles dumbly, muffled by his pillow.

"The rebels—they've made it into the city somehow!"

That wakes him up. He tunes out the rest of what Kaze's saying, quickly throwing off the covers and striding to the window. Corrin pulls the curtain open and stares; Castle Avalon is situated at the top of a hill above Elysium, affording a generous view of the city, meaning he can perfectly see the smoke and fires. The wind briefly shifts, letting him hear clashing metal and shouts for just a moment.

"How did they even get in?" he asks blankly. The walls around the city are supposed to be so fortified nothing short of siege weaponry would get through, and he would surely have heard that—

"By ship, I think," the ninja answers. "The attack started at the docks."

But how were they allowed to dock? It doesn't matter right now, he decides. "This would happen while Silas is away…" Corrin curses. His friend had begged to be allowed to ride to his father's rescue after hearing the news of the Chalon Estate's fall, and he'd granted it. Silas had taken a quarter of their soldiers and left just last week.

Sleepiness forgotten, he throws a shirt on and heads to his armor stand, putting on the pieces as quickly as he can. "How bad is it, Kaze?"

"Gunter's taken emergency charge in Silas's absence," he recites quickly. "He and Lady Lilith have both taken soldiers down to fight the rebels. The docks are completely in rebel hands, and part of the marketplace is burning—something caught on one of the cloth merchants' stalls and quickly spread."

"Is there someone trying to put that out?" he demands. For a moment, Nestra rises up in his minds' eye, burning beneath Anankos's soldiers, and he hides his instinctive shudder. No. He won't let that happen again. Not to Elysium.

"Felicia was just on her way, with some mages and guards." For a brief moment, fear for his betrothed flickers in Kaze's eyes. "She says she thinks her powers can smother the flames, or at least temper them."

"I don't think that's how snow works," Azura frowns, slipping up beside Corrin. She's dressed without him noticing, and her face is drawn with worry. The sun is only just starting to rise, and her eyes look very large and luminous as they reflect the dawn.

"The Ice Tribe's powers are different," he reassures her. "Magical in nature. Unless it's also a magical fire, they should work." He hopes.

"Still, the citizens will need a safe place to hide from the fighting," his wife says. "I'll grab Mozu and head towards Felicia's location. We'll assist with putting out the fires and ushering the civilians to the castle."

"Your Highness," Kaze tries to argue, "You shouldn't risk yourself—"

She looks him straight in the eye. "One of my friends is down there…no, Gunter and Lilith are down there too. And my people. I won't abandon them. I did not hide during the war and I certainly will not hide now."

"Neither will I," Corrin interjects, predicting the ninja's response. The green-haired man sighs, and the half-dragon grins. "Did you really think either of us would stay back?"

He shrugs wryly. "No, but as your retainer I had to try to keep you safe. In truth, I'm glad Felicia won't be alone down there. I'd go myself, but I can't find Nestor and there's no one else left to run the castle's defense."

Nestor isn't here? Odd. "Alright. Dispatch a runner to look for him and prepare some soldiers for me. I'll take them down into the city and assist Gunter and my sister."

As the ninja runs off, Corrin feels a cool hand on his cheek, turning his face. Azura rises up and presses her lips to his in a brief kiss—there's no time for any long, formal goodbyes. "You stay safe, alright?"

Corrin smiles against her mouth and runs his hands along her sides soothingly. "You as well."

Wheeling his mount, he brings his axe around and through the neck of the lancer basara attempting to flank him. As blood splatters onto his face, Gunter jerks the weapon out and surveys the battlefield.

He has been fighting ever since the first alarm bell went out, an hour ago. But by then the invaders had already made their way deep into the city. Lady Lilith had led her troops south towards the docks, while he'd stayed to fight around the north gate, which lead out of Elysium to Castle Avalon. It was a wise move, as the fervor in which these soldiers fight suggests their goal was the throne.

They are outnumbered—part of their own forces had been split off by Lord Silas to try and rescue his noble father. They also have a disadvantage in attempting to deal as little collateral damage as possible, while the invaders don't care at all about that. Some of the citizens are bravely attempting to contribute, throwing vases or dumping chamberpots onto the soldiers below, though most have the sense to stay indoors.

Off to one side, he spots a diviner chanting, magic swirling around him. The distance between them is too great for him to cross in time, and Gunter is bracing himself for the shock of the spell when, in a flash of black and gold, the diviner is cut down.

The king wipes the blood off Yato with his cloak and meets Gunter's gaze, a crooked smile on his face. "How're you holding up?"

"Well, my lord." Reinforcements are streaming onto the battlefield, and the unexpected bolster has the attackers fall back, regrouping. Gunter takes the opportunity to wipe the blood out of his eyes. "I believe I spotted Lord Jiro at the start of the battle, fighting amongst his soldiers; I haven't seen him since."

"But he's here, which means we can end this all if we capture him." Corrin's eyes gleam with his usual optimism, and Gunter's heart sinks at what he must say next.

"Some of the fliers reported seeing a man in the back who appears similar to Nestor."

The albino recoils, shock and hurt flashing on his face. "What?!"

"I like the thought no more than you, but it would explain much. How they got in, how they know the streets—"

Corrin shakes his head. "No."

"My lord—"

"No, listen!" He stops, takes a shaky breath. "Looking at everything, it seems…plausible. But we don't know the whole situation. Perhaps he's being forced, somehow, with hostages." It's half-hearted, as if even he doesn't believe what he's saying.

Gunter humors him—he's in no position to throw stones, after all, and maybe Nestor really is being coerced. "Perhaps. But we won't find out until the battle is won."

Resolve hardens his foster son's face, and Gunter can practically see him locking all his worries into that box in the back of his mind. "Yes, you're right." They both turn as a horn rings out; the next wave is preparing to charge. Corrin sinks into a battle stance and glances at Gunter. "Will you follow me into the fray?"

His horse whinnies and paws at the earth, and a grim smile crosses his face. "Anankos could come back right now, and he wouldn't stop me."

The flames before her roar, a blast of heat sweeping over her face. Sweat pours down her brow and into her eyes as Felicia grits her teeth, pushing the ice forward with all her might. Cold winds whip around her; snow flurries dance in the air and catch the light of the fire, turning red-gold.

For a moment, she thinks it must be a beautiful sight, fire burning among the snow like this.

Then common sense reasserts itself and she shakes the thought away. Right now, she has a job to focus on; she can't afford to dally on pretty things. Around her, the mages she'd brought are assisting as best they can, summoning up gales of wind to blow the fire back, keeping it from spreading any more than it has. Soldiers are running around with buckets, tossing water onto the smaller ones and stamping them out. But the large conflagration, that's on her to handle.

The maid narrows her eyes in determination. All the cold she's willing into existence, the small blizzard, isn't enough. She needs more, and she's the only one who can do this. That thought rallies her, and Felicia reaches deep into the reservoirs of her strength, pulling up every last drop. And then, with one last mental shove—

The flames are smothered by the solid three feet of snow she drops on them.

"Ha…ha…th-that's the last one…I think…" she gasps, knees buckling. There's a reason Lord Corrin had dictated she and Flora not use their powers in battle; using them consistently and in a large scale takes too much out of them, and she's been doing this for…how long? She can't remember. One of the mages hands her a canteen of water, and Felicia gratefully snatches it up. Her eyes close in bliss as she chugs it down.

"Felicia!"

Wiping her mouth, she starts at the sight of a familiar brunette running towards her. "Mozu? When did you get—Ah! Lady Azura!"

Lady Azura's golden eyes glance around. "I thought you might need my assistance with the fire, but you've done a remarkable job of handling them on your own. Truly."

Her assistance? Oh, right, her pendant lets her control water. Felicia curses her foolishness for not remembering that—she's sure the queen could have gotten this done much faster than her. "I-It wasn't just me…the mages here used strong winds to…keep them contained, stop them from spreading much further… They could put out…some of the smaller ones that way…"

"Have the nearby civilians been contained, too?"

"Uh, kind of?" She shakes her head, breathing coming back under control. "We rounded them up and helped them…out of the area, but there wasn't really a safe place to put them. I think…most of them are two streets over, hiding out at the inn."

"That works for now, but the fighting might get worse." The queen raises her voice. "Form into two groups! I want half the available soldiers here to escort the citizens back to Castle Avalon! The other half, spread out and search for anyone in need of rescue!"

As the soldier hurry to obey their queen's command, Mozu asks, "You alright, Felicia? You're looking a tad pale, there."

"I'm fine," she says, and it actually feels true. Felicia straightens up and extracting a dagger from her boot sheath. "What do you intend to do, Lady Azura?"

"I'll go with the group guiding the citizens," her friend says after a pause. "They'll probably feel safer if they see their monarch with them, appearing calm."

"We're with you 'til the end," Mozu promises, and the three head off into the fighting.

Lilith twists her braid, anxiety swelling inside her as she watches the knights she'd sent to the front burn under the fire of the surprise wave of strategists. The fliers immediately dart forward, the sky knights beating the mounted mages back while the wyvern riders grab the knights for evacuation. It's very awkward for them, though; the streets are too narrow and the battle too crowded for their wingspan, so they have to fly above the roofs, exposing themselves to the enemy archers. Even as she watches a rain of arrows falls among them, felling half the wyverns; their large bodies crash into the buildings below, wood splintering under them, and she winces. She's glad they had the foresight to evacuate this area, but that's still someone's home, someone's livelihood, gone.

The surviving wyvern knights land nearby; the back of their lines is set up as a medical station, and healers quickly move forward. Lilith joins them; she is not a fighter in this human form, she never picked up the accuracy to use knives like other maids and butlers, but she has some skill with a staff. Still, she is not good enough to be active on the battlefield. It was why she'd been left behind at the Northern Fortress all those years ago instead of sent on that fateful mission with her brother.

She rises from her kneeling position over a wounded woman with horrible burns on her face as one of the captains, Kumagera, approaches.

"It's not looking good out there," he grunts. "We should be the only ones who know these streets well, but it's like they have a map of it; they're not taking any of our bait down the dead ends, and they know all the ambush spots."

"They might have inside intel," she says, reluctantly. Seeing some of the looks a few nearby soldiers are giving her, she exclaims "Do you really think I'd have said that if it were me?!"

Abashed, they mumble negatives. Kumagera sighs and shakes his large head. "That's not a thought I like, but it's a too plausible one. Either way, the tide's in their favor, and we need to change it soon."

Lilith wrings her braid, over and over. "I have an idea," she finally confesses. "But I need you all to trust me for it to work."

The soldiers look at each other; the Vallites in particular are hesitant. But finally one of them, a young girl who can't be older than seventeen, steps forward, face grim. "Not like we have a choice, is it? They're going to push us back at this point."

Lilith closes her eyes in relief—begrudging trust is better than no trust at all. "Thank you. Whatever you see next…don't be alarmed, and don't be afraid."

They stare at her, uncomprehending. It isn't until she's pulled her dragonstone out of her tunic and clasped her hands around it, as if in prayer, that they realize what she's going to , they scramble away as white light envelops her.

It has been so, so long since Lilith has taken on her true dragon form—the little fish one she wore during the war was Moro's doing, a disguise to hide her from Anankos for all those years. Now she looks much like her father and brother, four legs tipped with razor-sharp claws and large wings and twining horns. For whatever reason, she is larger than Corrin, easily as big as a wyvern, and her red and blue scales gleam in the morning sun as the white light fades out.

Lilith has never had any trouble controlling this shape, for whatever reason, never been plagued by the thirst to destroy all dragons have. Anankos would taunt her about it being a sign that she wasn't a real dragon, just artificial, and thus not a real person. At the time she'd hated it, hated not being 'dragon' enough for him. Now she's grateful; her precise control will save her men and hopefully the day.

The rebels scramble away, faces going ash with terror, as she lowers her head and charges them. Lilith knocks the first row of samurai over as if they're nothing more than clay pots, pale skin shattering on the pavement and spilling sanguine liquid.

One brave woman runs at her, raising an axe over her head. Swift as a snake, her head darts out and she grabs her in her jaws, tossing her in the air. The woman hits the ground with a bone-shattering crack and does not move. Lilith rears, flapping her wings—she can't fly here either, but the effect is still intimidating. She is a dragon, a creature of legend and nightmare; the attackers' line breaks as they run.

"Push on!" she roars, and everyone jumps at the sounds of an actual voice passing through her jaws, the distorted echo behind it. "Push them back! This is our city, and they CANNOT have it! PUSH THEM BACK!"

Her words are the rallying point her soldiers need. Reassured that she won't turn on them, they let out a huge cheer and surge forward, renewed.

The invasion is going well, Jiro thinks, pleased as his regular naginata cuts down another soldier—no use pulling out his secret weapon before he needs it. The pincer has worked well, keeping half the defenders occupied, far away from the real goal. The fire was a happy accident that further helped siphon troops away from the castle into the city. They're fighting there way uphill now, and he can see the parapets of Castle Avalon through the morning mist.

And then a sky knight falls from the sky in front of him. The feathers are singed, horrible long gashes marring the side of the poor animal. The rider isn't in much better condition; parts of his armor have been twisted out of proportion, and underneath his helmet Jiro can see he's lost an eye.

"What happened?" Jiro exclaims in astonishment.

The sky knight sways in his saddle, managing to choke out, "D-Dragon…" before he falls out and hits the ground. A nearby healer immediately rushes to his side, but Jiro pays them no further mind. A dragon? Impossible, isn't it? The only one is the king, and—

He swears; he'd forgotten about the sister. Jiro quickly sends a ninja to investigate and briefly pulls back from the fight, waiting somewhat impatiently for her return. When she does, her face is pale.

"I don't know where it came from, but there's a dragon leading the defenses now," she reports. "It's…terrifying. Our men are being routed."

"What about theirs? Is it attacking them?"

"No, my lord. I don't know why, if it's as mindless as—"

"Of course it's mindless," he snaps, mind working furiously. The troops he sent into the city are supposed to divide and distract the king's soldiers; if they're routed, it's only a matter of time before they regroup. More than that, a lot of the alliances he has are built on the notion that dragons were nothing more than animals, beasts that would destroy them. If this one shows up acting as proof otherwise…and if it really is routing the troops…

"Send a messenger with a flag of parlay to the king," he instructs a nearby man.

"You're joking," Corrin says flatly when the messenger arrives. "He's attempted to assassinate my sister and me, started a coup, besieged my capital, and now he wants to parlay?"

"He knows he's losing," Gunter answers, trotting over from being healed. "It's making him desperate."

Corrin doesn't remember how long he's been fighting for; long enough for the sun to have left the horizon. He's spotted the flash of light that signaled Lilith's transformation and seen the smoke over the marketplace dissipate. They're taking the city back, and for a spiteful moment the dragon in him wants to kill the messenger and send his head back. Let that show Jiro what he thinks of his parlay.

But he stamps it down. Parlay is a right all have and he will not yield to his baser urges, even if the thought is tempting.

"Fine," he grinds out, knowing he sounds childish and not caring. "Allow him passage."

The messenger heads off, and Corrin closes his eyes. For a brief, bitter moment he wonders why he's even doing this. Why he bothered remaking Valla in the first place. He hadn't had any ties to it, other than the woman he loved and a deceased mother. The Vallites hadn't even known he'd been alive, so he hadn't been duty-bound to them, not really. He could have just split them up, sent them across the continent to the different countries, and settled down somewhere nice and quiet with Azura. They wouldn't have had to deal with scheming subordinates or ingratitude or still more conflict…

And then the treading of armored boots on the ground reaches his ears, and he glimpses Jiro marching through, a personal guard of soldiers on each side. Because people like him would still exist. People who want power and will manipulate or hurt others to use it. Not reforming Valla wouldn't have stopped him from hating Nohrians, and who knows where else he would have struck?

Besides, he would still have been a prince of Hoshido and Nohr. He and Azura would never have been free of the duties that came with that, not in a way that let them keep their siblings as well. More than that, they just wouldn't have been able to live with themselves if they'd ran. These thoughts straighten his sagging spine, and he gives a curt nod to the man. No bow; Jiro doesn't deserve that.

After a long moment of silence, Corrin finally says, "I can't imagine you've come all this way to surrender."

"It would be foolish of me to do that and you to believe it. No, that's not why I've asked for this parlay."

Jrio turns slowly, sweeping an arm across the view: blood on the cobblestones, buildings bearing the signs of battle, broken arrows, weapons and bodies littering the ground. "Is this what you want for your city, Your Highness? Ruin and death? We can continue fighting until one of us emerges victorious, or we can end things with no more casualties."

He draws a katana—obviously ceremonial, from the golden blade—and drives it into the ground. "I give you the chance to end this farce, here and now. I challenge you to one-on-one combat. Whoever wins here, wins the entire battle. The defeated's troops will all surrender."

"Do not take him up on it," Gunter hisses, breaching protocol to grab his arm. "He's losing, he knows he is, and that is why he is challenging you to a duel. If you refuse and press the attack, we'll win."

"And how many more will die?" he counters. He gestures to the cowering civilians, the blood-stained streets and bodies. "He has a point that the city is no environment for fighting. If I can end this all here and now, with no more bloodshed, isn't it my duty as king to do so?"

"And if you lose? What about your country? What about your wife? Do you want to leave her a widow before even your first anniversary?!"

"Of course not!" He bristles. "Don't you have any faith in my ability to win, Gunter?"

His old retainer slumps. "…I have never doubted your expertise in combat, Lord Corrin," he sighs. "It's always been your heart I've feared for. Lord Jiro will have some trick up his sleeve, some way to take advantage of your trusting nature."

"…I know. But I couldn't live with myself if I let more of my people die because I'm afraid." He turns back and gives Jiro a steely gaze. "I accept your terms, then."

The arena is quickly set up on the street, bodies cleared away and blood washed. Their soldiers form up around them in a rough circle. It's a deterrent as much as spectating—if one side tries to break the rules and assist, the other will be quickly on top of them.

Corrin's eyebrows rise when he watches Jiro pull out a lance—he'd have thought the man, fanatical as he is, would have stuck to a Hoshidan naginata. Still, that isn't as odd as the weapon itself; it's made of some red material, the head adorned with multiple points and a large leaf blade for cutting. It's a cruel armament, and for some reason he is uneasy just looking at it.

Shaking it off, he draws Omega Yato from its sheath, willing it to life. Fire sprouts along the sword, and the blades on its edges spin to life. For a long, tense moment, the two simply stare at each other, gauging, waiting; then Jiro charges, bringing that strange lance up. Corrin rocks on the balls of his feet and prepares to dodge.

He is very much not prepared for Jiro to attempt to slash with the lance instead of stab. It's so unorthodox he briefly pauses, jerking to the left a second too late, and it cuts a thin line on his face.

Gods!

Corrin recoils back, biting back a yell of pain. It was only a shallow cut, but Dusk and Dawn it burns.

Wyrmslayer! The dragon in him hisses, alarmed. Wyrmslayer!

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?" the slimy bastard asks, a smirk in his tone. So that had been his trick, then; a clever one, Corrin has to admit. No need for poison on a weapon when the weapon itself is poison.

"Unfair!" Gunter snarls, and an angry murmur of agreement rises among the rest of his loyal soldiers.

"He has a legendary weapon forged by the gods," Jiro says innocently. "I'd say mine is plenty fair in comparison."

Rather than waste words on banter, Corrin decides the best thing to do is just end the fight as fast as he can. He's already at a disadvantage, with the lance's longer reach; the wyrmslaying properties spell certain death if he doesn't win quickly. It's now Jiro's turn to be startled as Corrin spins to build momentum, sweeping Omega Yato around in a side slash he has to strain to parry.

Their weapons clash again and again. Jiro is skilled, but obviously used to wielding a naginata; he has to keep compensating for the differences in a lance, forgetting to account for the shaft's length and instinctively slashing more often than stabbing. Tired as he is, and as dangerous as that lance is, Corrin has no doubt his foe's unfamiliarity with Nohrian weaponry is the only reason he's still alive. And even so he still quickly accumulates a collection of cuts, each one burning like a hot iron.

He catches the next slash with Omega Yato; for a minute, he hopes the blades whirring along the edges will snap the lance's shaft, but whatever metal it's made of holds strong. Jiro shows no sign of discomfort or fear at the flames mere inches away from his body. His face is smug, and that frustration deep inside Corrin is building and building, and with the stress and pain and despair over another betrayal something deep inside Corrin snaps.

He doesn't even consciously think about tossing Yato aside, grabbing his dragonstone and transforming; the dragon just explodes out of him, born as a roaring storm of scales and claws. For a very brief moment Jiro's expression becomes one of shock and fear, and then his instincts take over and he stops noticing things like that. With a shriek of rage, he charges forward.

Pain registers on his left flank as the human, in a desperate move, lunges forward, opting to try ducking inside his horns' range. Then he darts out again, before his claws or tail can catch hold and rend him limb from limb.

The dragon is furious. The dragon is focused. The dragon does not care about the stings of that hateful little stick as the human darts out of his reach, desperately swinging it to stay alive; all he cares about is killing.

That cursed weapon darts forward again, and the dragon has had enough. With a beat of his wings he leaps into the air, soaring over the lance and flying directly at the wielder. He tackles him to the ground; a claw slams around the human's throat, pinning him in place. The lance falls to the ground. The dragon throws back his head and screams his triumph.

The dragon lowers his head until he's nose-to-nose with the puny, weak human who thought to overthrow him. One hand is feebly clawing at the grip around his throat, his face slowly turning purple. The dragon growls in satisfaction, but suddenly a snippet of memory rises up, and the fat human's face is replaced with another one. A beloved face, tear-stained as lips gasp out soft words: "kill me if you want, but do it as yourself."

…Azura?

No, this isn't Azura. This isn't like that time.

But…isn't it?

The dragon shakes his head, trying to chase such annoying, insect-like thoughts away. But—it's the first time he's actually, consciously thought words in this form. And now that he has, there's an odd awareness, persistent and nagging. The weaker, human side of him resurging, bringing with it pesky morals and conflict. Weakness.

No, this isn't weakness! The human insists. This isn't right. This is…

This would be murder.

His opponent is defeated, so he doesn't need to go for the kill, right? Otherwise he would be sinking to his level, wouldn't he? Suddenly the thought of squeezing him until his head pops off isn't as appealing. Hesitantly, the claws loosen, just a tad, just enough to allow for air. The human gasps in relief.

The dragon looks up, and—there are other humans, staring at him. The air is heavy with the sour stenches of their fear, and that should have pleased him. But it doesn't. Instead it makes something in his chest and stomach twist painfully.

They look at me like I'm a monster.

And he isn't. He's Corrin.

Corrin blinks, and something clicks into place, unbridled rage tempered and human mind regaining control. The world is still filtered through the eyes of a dragon, but it suddenly isn't controlled by it anymore.

Deliberately, he releases Jiro and steps back. He concentrates, and white light gathers around him. Jiro rubs his throat as Corrin straightens up, back in his human skin. He fixes his gaze on the rebel army, then on his own, huddled close together.

"I am not the mindless monster you fear I am," he says, loudly and clearly. "I do have control of myself. Even in the throes of battle rage, I still recognized when my opponent was beaten, and did not take his life."

Stunned silence is his only answer. Corrin tries to think of something else to say, but he's exhausted. Let the briefness carry the message.

"You've lost, Lord Jiro. Your coup is over." He turns, glancing back at Kaze. "Kaze, if you could—"

The sound of running behind him and the alarm on Kaze's face is the only warning he gets.

He spins, eyes widening as they see Lord Jiro, face twisted in fury, lunging at him, the lance cutting through the air like a ballista's bolt. Instinctively, one hand grasps for Omega Yato; his fingers clasp at nothingness, and too late he remembers it lying kicked to the side. His guards are moving, yells forming on their lips, but they're too far and that lance is too close. Corrin does the only thing he can think of and raises his other arm in front of his chest, the limb twisting and growing into a giant claw in a last-ditch attempt to shield himself.

The lance pierces the claw, continues through it, and sets itself in his sternum and oh gods the pain it burns like nothing before he falls to the ground vaguely aware of people rushing around him faces appear over him yelling words he can't understand he thinks he might be screaming but he can't be sure because his blood is spilling out around him and what's left in his body is on fire it's agony pure and simple he's screaming and screaming and screaming and then there is nothing.

A/N: Please don't hate me.