The fight with Gharnef now.
Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.
"Are you ready?" Gotoh asked the full breadth of the League as they gathered before him on the grassy Macedon field. Everyone was present and accounted for. Even Minerva and Maria, Marth was almost surprised that both still planned to come. Though he could see that Maria had no intentions of speaking to her sister.
"You will now enter the Temple of Thabes. The stronghold of Gharnef, known to many as the Dark Pontifex. Once, he was a shining example of practicality and judgment, now he is a madman good only to be killed. He has both the greatest of Khadein's mages and an army of assassins to aid him. Your enemy is mighty and numerous, but they have no light to aid them. Go… you who are the continent's only hope against Dolhr, and you, who hold Starlight, go and defeat my former apprentice. When Gharnef is defeated and his grip on life torn from his grasp, the path to Dolhr shall be clear."
Linde sighed. Starlight was not held in her hands. Marth had ruled that she would not wield the spell against Gharnef. A ruling, she suspected, was influenced by Nyna wanting to keep Linde out of harm's way. Regardless, Starlight was held firmly by Merric. She looked at him and sighed, Merric glanced guiltily at her, but Linde just shook her head. Merric couldn't argue against an order, even if it came from the mouth of a friend of his. Linde could, it would seem, only hope that she could be there to see Gharnef die. It wouldn't be the same as avenging her father with her own hands, but it would at least give her some closure.
"It is time." Gotoh said, spreading his arms out, and an arcane circle appeared around the League. Several worried murmurs came from the soldiers, but Gotoh silenced the concerns. "Do not fear, you will feel no pain. You will be brought straight to the interior of the Temple of Thabes. More, I cannot do. From the Temple, the defeat of Gharnef shall fall to you."
The ring around the League burned brightly, and then vanished, taking the League with it. Gotoh was left by himself, his only company being some lingering light from the spell. His eyes remained closed, and he was left to ponder… many things.
Gharnef clenched his fist, feeling the familiar energy of Imhullu coursing through him. He had long grown fond of the energy that offered near invincibility, more filling then pleasing meat, more succulent then the greatest drink. Such power eventually led to addiction and dependency, but he did not care. Gotoh would have said that he was a slave to his power, but Gharnef felt otherwise, he considered it enlightenment.
He was powerful, but not yet omnipotent. Otherwise his desires would be achieved with mere thought, rather then cunning and martial might, yet, saliva built on his withered tongue at the idea of godhood. The idea of voices growing raw from hours of shouting his name was an intoxicating concept. As was the idea of merely gesturing with a finger and someone dying. Gotoh, the hated Gotoh, would be the first victim if he could attain such a power.
But, for the most part, he was content to plot from the shadows. He was content to know that his enemies thought that he was too much of a coward to take action publicly. And, he was content to know that the threads had been pulled… just right.
Camus and Michalis, news had reached him. Those two were gone. Though there was a chance that one, or even both, still clung to a thread of life, they were now impotent and beneath his concern. The nations they represented slowly fading to obscurity with their saviors gone. Gharnef contemplated taking either the Grust Castle or the Macedon Castle for himself, but quickly decided against such an act. The less power he reached for in public, the greater his arms would be in secret.
Yes, let Medeus think he's clever, letting everyone do every single task for him in Dolhr Keep. It was Gharnef who had advanced himself and manipulated things to his choosing, it was Gharnef who had led enemy and supposed ally to ruin to advance himself, and it was Gharnef, only Gharnef, who would attain all.
"Dark Pontifex." A cold, scornful voice spoke. Gharnef blinked out of his stupor of self-exaltation. Turning around, he noticed a cloaked figure.
"Xemcel, Hand of Medeus." Gharnef addressed with false sweetness. Unfeeling on the surface though he was, inwardly, Gharnef was shaken by how he had failed to notice Xemcel standing only a few feet from him. Had he been paying attention, he would have easily felt Xemcel entering the temple. He reminded himself that the Manaketes, no matter how lowly he thought of them, could not be underestimated. He could not war on Dolhr, not yet.
Nor could he defeat Xemcel right now. Curse him, but magic was nothing to him and his arcane scales, even Imhullu's magic. In fact, Xemcel could single-handedly face all of Gharnef's assassins, and all of Khadein's mages… and win. Medeus was the only Manakete of Dolhr that had even greater power then Xemcel. Xemcel, for all his power and position, was a mere bug to Medeus. And, for now, so was Gharnef.
"As you know, General Camus and King Michalis have both been felled by the hands of the Archanean League." Though both were well aware of that, Xemcel still paused as if letting the knowledge sink in. "They will approach you, next, Dark Pontifex. They will not march on Dolhr until they have the Falchion in their possession. As the one who has been given the blade for safe keeping, you will defend it from Anri's spawn. You will not allow that blade to return to the bloodline it was bequeathed to."
Gharnef's lipless mouth didn't quirk into a confident grin or some deep knowing expression. Instead, it only moved when he deigned to speak. "A simple matter. He believes he will find hope when he comes. Instead, all he will find is death's suffocating hands closing on his soul."
"Your arrogance is…" Xemcel's words trailed off. Gharnef suspected that next word was supposed to be 'assuring', but Xemcel's next words were on a different subject. "You will slaughter the League down to the last. The Altean prince, the Aurelian prince, no mercy will be given. Not even to the Divine Dragon you once controlled."
"…I had wished them to…" he stopped himself before he finished. Before he accidentally alluded to the fact that facing and defeating the Divine Dragon was a way to test the League's still growing strength. Even he had not anticipated that they would break his control of the dragon. He shook his head, "They are no longer needed in this world. I shall offer them a way out of the sisyphean monotony of life."
Xemcel stood unimpressed. "Perhaps, Dark Pontifex. Or perhaps it is you who is no longer needed in this world." With the words that, essentially, conveyed the message of 'go die', Xemcel turned, and it seemed as though his body turned to mist. He walked off in one direction, but seemed to just fade from sight.
Gharnef turned around and raised a hand, intending to clench it as if crushing Xemcel's heart in his hand. Instead, he noticed that his hand was shaking. He looked at it, and…
On some primal level, he was intimidated by Dolhr, even with Imhullu's protection shielding him. He could not fight Dolhr, not yet, but… after today's battle, things would turn in his favor. He knew how to wield Falchion… he knew how he could get someone to wield the holy blade for him.
"Gharnef." An ethereal voice sprung up in Gharnef's head. His eyes widened in surprise at first, but they narrowed as realization struck him.
"You're a fool among fools to contact me directly, teacher." Gharnef met the voice of Gotoh with icy coldness. "What do you seek? To gloat over my enemy's approach?"
"They approach, it is true, Gharnef." The tone was not arrogant, Gotoh was simply stating the simple fact. Gharnef expected some form of arrogant remark to come, instead, Gotoh's next words were not what Gharnef could have ever expected.
"You can still go back, Gharnef. You can atone for your crimes. Lay down Imhullu and surrender to the League. You were once a man of justice… remember what you once believed in."
Gharnef stood in shock at first, but then the halls of the Temple echoed with his booming laughter. "You speak as though I am in the wrong, teacher. Why should I repent? It was you who forced me to do this. You gave that blessed tome to one so inferior. You and he didn't understand, that sometimes justice must be forced."
"Miloah was worthy of the tome, that is all, Gharnef. He had strength, will, and a sense of justice, but above all, he cared and wanted the best for others. He did what was right, moral, even if it meant going against an established law. He was not a machine obsessed with duty, like you."
Gharnef did not respond, only muttering a curse beneath his breath.
"Why, Gharnef? Why did you choose this path?" For a moment, the voice was almost pleading. "I lead you to the gates of Heaven, yet you still fell to Hell."
"That's not how I remember it." Gharnef retorted, "You let Miloah through the gates of Heaven, but locked me out. There was nothing I could do… save fall to the only place that could offer me any solace."
Gotoh's replied with no hesitation. "Is that what you believe? Your pettiness has not changed since the days when you were my apprentice. The hour of justice is at hand, and you will have no choice but to pay for all the lives you've stolen, and the horrors you've sowed, Dark Pontifex." He emphasized every syllable of Gharnef's title, treating the words with contempt. The title was blasphemous, contrasting with all that Khadein stood for, and Gotoh knew that Gharnef knew that. "You crave power, they shall take it from you. You fear weakness, they shall force it upon you. No madman eludes the woes he has created forever, my former apprentice."
Gharnef grinned. "We shall see, won't we?"
Gotoh's voice faded from his mind, like the scent of a breeze wafting away. At once, Gharnef turned to other, more immediate concerns.
"Eremiya." He called, the trainer of his assassins appeared, as if she had known about the summon ahead of time. "Mobilize your greatest assassins, and have the mages of Khadein ready themselves. The League will be at the Temple soon." He walked past her, holding Imhullu closer then usual. "There will be no margin for error this time, Eremiya. See to the League's destruction, while I make preparations for the Altean prince."
"Yes, Dark Pontifex." The woman bowed. She was set on redeeming herself for her failure in Khadein. Her assassins were capable, more then a match for the League, she was certain.
Elice remained in her prison room. There was little for her to do, the only time-killer she truly had was to think about Altea and her brother. Sitting at the table in the white royal gown that she had lost all hope in cleaning or mending the tears of, she pondered the day the castle fell. At the very least, she knew Marth had eluded capture on that day, but all she knew beyond that was that he had appeared in Khadein at a later date. She wondered how he was, and what his turmoil had done to him. She did not presume him weak or easily cracked, but she could see him to have become a very different person. The stress he had to have gone through, being separated from his family, being robbed of his home, seeing people have to die to keep him safe, only a small percentage of people would continue on after that much the same.
As her thoughts focused on Marth, she turned to the window of her cell. It was wide open, but to scale down the tower from the outside was far beyond her capabilities. The walls were completely smooth, nothing to take hold of, and she took no particular pride in her physical strength. The window… it was like Gharnef was taunting her with the fact that Elice could never escape under her own power.
She knew full well what was going on. Ever since she had been captured, Gharnef had actively desired to break her sanity. To what end, she knew quite well, Gharnef wanted her to wield Aum. The staff that brought back the souls of the departed from the river of the dead they flowed in after life. Who Gharnef wanted her to revive, she didn't have the answer to that part of the puzzle just yet. Her first guess was that he wished to be revived from death should his life be claimed, but the more she thought of that, she more she doubted that explanation. Gharnef, at no point, acted as if his death was even a possibility. Furthermore, if he did, he would have made many roads back to life, ones that did not rely on the loyalty of another being. No, it made more sense that it was the Manaketes, not Gharnef, who wished her to use the staff.
As she continued to think, just as her thoughts were beginning to drift to Merric, the door opened. She turned as the man she could only describe as the incarnation of darkness, Gharnef, entered.
Once, every visit was christened by a question as to how she felt. Elice had known from the first day that the question was a way to gauge how much mental strength she still had, disguised in a sweet voice. The reservoir of her mental strength had never drained in any way. However, she could admit, only to herself, that fatigue and the despairing possibility that she would never escape, had entered into her mind long ago.
Gharnef had since stopped asking the question. In turn, his visits had become less frequent. She speculated that Gharnef reasoned that near total isolation would do far more to break her. Yet here he was now.
"Your brother is here." He spoke only four words, and it was enough to completely change Elice's outward demeanor.
She rose from her chair, her face conveyed shook at first, but then turned vicious. It was something that could make nearly anyone recoil. Gharnef simply smiled.
"Where?" She demanded, her tone was filled with anger, but with a touch of concern seeping in. "What have you done to him?"
"As of yet? Nothing." Gharnef responded coolly. He was able to find amusement in this. This seemed to be the only subject that got under Elice's skin so. He knew, and she knew, Marth's death would be more then enough to push Elice over the edge. "But don't worry, your reunion is not far off. Though he would nary be the person you remember."
Elice kept her distance, but her hands clenched into fists. It would not be out of character for her to bravely and foolishly try to tear at Gharnef with her weak arms. "If even one hair on his head is touched, then any chance of getting my cooperation in anything disappears."
"That's quaint." Gharnef shrugged. "If I so desire, you will do as I will, princess. Your impressive resolve or no. Regardless, I am off to meet your brother. After this battle is over, he will never be the same person again."
Elice tried to move forward, but was buffeted by a sudden force of wind, knocking her to the ground. Gharnef only smiled. "Wait just a while longer, my princess. Perhaps I will bring him to you." He turned, a gleam more sinister then any Elice had seen before was in his eyes as he departed the room. Elice stood back up, feeling her heart suddenly pounding. Marth was here, but… did he have the means to fight Imhullu? There was a part of Marth that had always been emotional and reckless… and suddenly she feared the worst for him. It would be just like him to come here without the means of fighting Imhullu. With him… she wouldn't be surprised if he failed to realize the fact that Imhullu had made Gharnef an impervious nightmare. He would have come here thinking he could improvise a way past the magic…
The energy that flowed through the Temple was a thing that all those who dwelt here were familiar with. Even those who were not attuned to, and not fit to wield, magic. It was, therefore, easy to sense when the energy suddenly distorted without clear cause. Such distortions were not unheard of, indeed, they were common. Such things happened every time a mage called upon his magical energy.
But this distortion, this one was different. The size and scope was on a level that few in the Temple were familiar with. Perhaps, perhaps Gharnef was in the midst of a grand experiment. Even so…
Light suddenly sparked near the entrance of the Temple. Illuminating energy coming from an arcane ring of power, it flashed suddenly with a blindingly light, and then vanished. In its wake were several dozen people, all of which had never set foot in the Temple before. The strangers, armed and ready for a fight, immediately set out to familiarize themselves with their surroundings.
"The Temple of Thabes." Marth registered the surroundings around him. Thabes, no one with any understanding of history would fail to know this place. He remembered his sister reading about it aloud to him once. Thabes had come into existence at about the same time as the other great nations, Altea, Archanea, Aurelis, Grust, and Macedon. It had always been isolated from the other nations, and thus, the circumstances of its founding was a mystery. Likewise, the reason for its decay was unknown. All that was known was that it had played host to a civilization that was more advanced then, then any other nation was now.
The only thing that advanced now was the rot and decay. Something that only accelerated when Gharnef saw fit to place his foul heels on something that should have been allowed to rest in peace.
Marth reminded himself that the very sister who told him about this place was the person he was coming here to rescue… on top of retrieving Falchion. His sister had been stolen from the home she belonged in, and Falchion taken from the family it belonged to. The time to correct both injustices had come after far too much time. Now Marth was here… did he have the element of surprise? Perhaps he could-
A deep, menacing chuckle resonated through the air. Marth's eyes darted around, as did the eyes of every other soldier of the League. Slowly, Marth saw the shadows stretching across the formally silent halls seem to… stand up. The strange, flat, black things defied logic and rose from the ground. Then one of the shadows began to take on a clearer shape. Who and what it was became clear quickly. The forsaken robes, the degraded, almost demonic face, it could be only one person.
"Gharnef."
The chuckle continued for a second more, then ceased. "You came, little prince. Perchance, you came to be congratulated by me? I have been anticipating your arrival."
Marth postured, a sense of discomfort crossing his face. "Congratulate? Anticipate?"
"Yes." Gharnef responded plainly. "Yes, you have been of much help to me. Long did I seek Camus' and Michalis' demise. You have served me well." He smiled, "And… Hauteclere, Parthia, Mercurius, and Gradivus. Even Aura. You have done well to bring the greatest weapons of the continent to my waiting embrace. Yes, you have done all of this for me. I am in your debt, Altean prince."
Marth opened his mouth to speak, but for the first moment, nothing came out. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. All the League's victories, triumphs, they all figured perfectly into Gharnef's plan? They had tipped the scales completely and utterly in the Dark Pontifex's favor? A knife went through his heart at the words, and the hand on his Rapier began to shake with rage.
"You… cowardly monster." Words not nearly strong enough to summarize Gharnef, but it was all that came to Marth. All life was expendable to the Dark Pontifex, and he responded to the death of allies with glee, ready to appear and pilfer corpses for his own benefit. A monster who stood patiently in the shadows, a scavenger who would do nothing but take advantage of a conflict's aftermath. Death would be too good for him, no pain would be great enough for Marth to say that he had suffered enough. Gharnef had to pay, for all the lives he had stolen in this crisis.
Gharnef's grin didn't flicker. "Don't spoil the mood, little prince." He pointed a finger at Marth, and a small thread of arcane energy, unnoticed by all present, departed from Gharnef and entered Marth, to seemingly no effect. "You're about to do me one final favor. You will leave, and strike down Dolhr for me."
"Is that so?" Marth took a step forward, a confident smile on his face. "I'm planning something else."
Gharnef's shoulders raised, and he chuckled again. Marth watched the reaction, and realized something. Gharnef seemed unsettling aware of everything around him, but it seemed that there was something he didn't know.
He didn't know that the League now had Starlight.
Gharnef's nonchalant arrogance only served to confirm that fact. "Is that your idea of a threat? Poor fool, the death of the Dark Pontifex standing before you would change nothing. My life will always elude you, you will never be rid of me."
Marth momentarily lost his rational and stabbed his Rapier at Gharnef. To his surprise, Imhullu did not stop the attack, and the blade seemed to sink into the Dark Pontifex with lethal effect. The man smiled, and his body seemed to disperse, returning to the ink black shadow it had been previously.
All the other shadows that were still inexplicably standing suddenly took shape and form. Marth gasped in disbelief at the sight of a score of Gharnefs standing before him.
"Fight. Fight these shadows, prince Marth." One single voice taunted as the various Gharnefs chuckled. "Yet Falchion is only with the real me. Can you find me? Can you defeat me?"
Marth took in a deep breath as the various Gharnefs disappeared. The real one might have been among them, or maybe he wasn't. All he knew was that somewhere in the temple, Gharnef was lurking, and he had to find him.
"Find him!" Marth suddenly called out. "We can't let him live through this battle! Take the Temple now!"
It was not enough that they had a seeming army of Gharnefs to defeat. Those who swore loyalty to the Dark Pontifex swarmed the halls of the temple. Mages who forsook the ideals of Khadein in exchange for position, and others who served Gharnef with steel and iron.
Wolf moved without needing to think. Both the mages and those equipped with more mundane weapons weren't worth a second thought. His sword cut easily through mage robes, and armor seemed only marginally more durable. His arrows pierced cloth and metal to reach their fleshy targets.
Elsewhere, Palla seemed to have a new confidence in herself as she met her enemies. Wolf was mildly surprised that she could seem so sure of herself right after what she and several other League soldiers had to go through in Macedon.
He returned himself to the battle, taking notice of those enemies that fought with steel. They went down easily enough, but as he fought them, he recalled something. His enemies… reminded him of those he encountered in Khadein. Those who died before they were able to tell Wolf who sent them.
Khadein had been ruled by Gharnef, and so was the Temple of Thabes. It was not peculiar that they would be here as well. At the same time, no information implied that Gharnef had more orthodox soldiers under his command. It was strange. Pushing the thought from his head, he returned his full attention to the battle. They were servants of Gharnef, and deserved only death.
Gordin readied an arrow on his bowstring. The arrow pierced through a breastplate of one of Gharnef's soldiers who carried a sword. The Altean archer briefly wondered why there seemed to be so many wielders of swords, axes, and lances in Gharnef's army. He would have presumed that Gharnef considered such warriors beneath him.
He turned to Norne as she fired off an arrow of her own. A part of him had come to wish Norne wasn't endangering herself on the battlefield, but he kept the thought to himself, for she wasn't voicing such a thought about him. He turned back to the front, and caught sight of an enemy archer. More relevantly, an enemy archer that had trained her, Gordin believed the figure he saw was female, aim on Norne.
Immediately he fired an arrow at the figure. The woman broke off from her attack and moved to dodge Gordin's arrow. The arrow bounced off of the stone wall, leaving the woman to glare at the enemy that had halted her attack.
Gordin took in a breath and returned the expression as he readied a new arrow. As far as he was concerned, this enemy had signed her death warrant when she aimed an attack at Norne.
Norne suddenly saw the enemy as well and moved alongside Gordin whilst reading an arrow. The woman in the distance sized them up, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the two archers, and slowly placed an arrow on her bowstring.
Gordin fired the first of all three. The woman dodged just by pivoting her body slightly, then fired at Gordin just as Norne fired. Gordin wasn't able to dodge, and the enemy's arrow sunk into his shoulder.
"Gor-"
"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth, removing the arrow slowly and returned his attention to the fight. The enemy stepped aside from Norne's attack with a cocky expression on her face.
Norne turned away from Gordin and his wound with a worried expression, then looked at the enemy. Trying to attack Gordin was enough for Norne to justify lethal force. She readied another arrow as Gordin emulated her, pained but unhindered by his shoulder. They both fired their attacks, both intending to kill.
The enemy tried to dodge, but two arrows were harder to dodge then one. She dodged Norne's arrow, but Gordin's managed to sink straight into her thigh.
She made no cry, but her eyes widened briefly with pain. She turned to her enemies with a scornful expression as she slowly pulled the arrow out, letting blood flow freely from her mangled flesh. Swiftly, she calmed herself, seemingly only now noticing she had no allies or any form of backup. Rather then have a repeat of her experience in Castle Macedon, she simply made another threatening look at her enemies before turning. The fact that Gordin's blow had managed to injure her seemed to be more a blow to her pride then her flesh. Rather then continue fighting, she slipped away, moving astonishingly quickly on her injured leg.
Gordin might have pursued, that enemy was skilled enough to warrant a very real concern, but Norne grabbed his hand. She pointed to an alcove, a place to wait for either allies or enemies, and, Gordin realized, a place where Norne could try to examine Gordin's wound. Without saying a word, Gordin nodded and began to lead the two of them.
Tiki towered above her enemies in her true form. Her wings flapped briefly, though they were much too small to allow her to take flight. The white dragon breathed her white, holy breath upon her enemies, reducing several mages and assassins to unliving ash all at once. Turning, she saw Gharnef, a Gharnef. The Dark Pontifex readied his tome of Imhullu, and was then overwhelmed by the burning holy spark of Tiki's breath. The 'Gharnef' melted in the flame, returning to the shape of a lifeless shadow being cast by a pillar.
"Such… power…" A sickeningly familiar voice resonated through the air. Tiki moved her massive head around, and saw who the voice came from. A Gharnef… no, no, without knowing how she knew, Tiki knew this was the Gharnef. Without hesitation, a growl escaped her mouth as the Dark Pontifex approached without the slightest look of fear in his face.
"A fearsome rage. What, I ask, fuels it? The fear of being left alone, perhaps?" Gharnef asked, grinning his lipless grin. Tiki visibly flinched at the question. "Why would you fear it? Is it not better for all involved that you stay away, locked up where no one could ever find you?"
"…what do you mean?" Tiki asked. The area above her eyes, where a human's eyebrows would be, quirked at Gharnef's confusing words.
Gharnef's words were smooth. "Manaketes are volatile creatures. You'll eventually lose control of yourself, your power will spiral out of your control. When that happens, those near you will be the first to fall to your breath. Fang shall cleave flesh, and breath shall reduce your friends and loved ones to clumps on the ground."
Tiki growled defensively. "That will never happen. I know I won't lose control. If I fall asleep again, Marth promised me-"
"That he would wake you up." Gharnef finished for her. Tiki, even in her imposing true form, took a cautious step back. There was something about Gharnef that could intimidate anyone. More then just his corrupt visage and his deep knowledge of all around him, there was something about him that just seemed so horribly wrong. "Tiki, allow me to show you what will inevitably happen."
With deliberate slowness, Gharnef swung his arm through the air. Tiki watched in awe and concern as the Temple of Thabes seemed to… melt, all around her, until she and Gharnef were standing in a pitch-black world.
"Listen, do you hear it?" Gharnef asked, holding a hand up to his ear. Tiki strained to listen for anything, but feared to hear something at the same time. Eventually, she heard a sound, like a distant sobbing. It was joined by a deep spurting sound, and slowly, slowly the black world Gharnef and Tiki were standing in took on color and form.
Tiki was standing in a city of some sort, everything was ablaze and red with blood. It was clear that a massacre had just occurred.
"Yes." Gharnef said, seeming to answer some unspoken question that the Divine Dragon had. "You caused this. All of it. Look upon all the living, now slain. Do you recognize anyone?"
Hesitantly, Tiki began to look around. She noticed a cloaked figure, and her lungs forgot how to function when she noticed that it was her guardian. It was Bantu.
"B-Ban-Ban?" Tiki's body began to glow white as shock coursed through her, she began to shrink and return to human form.
"Yes, your guardian." Gharnef said, adding a sympathetic tone to his voice as though he actually cared, which he did not. "That is not all. Continue to look. What do you see?" Gharnef made a point to gesture at the corpse of a little girl in a white royal gown. He smiled as Tiki reacted to Maria's remains, the little princess who had become a new friend to the Manakete.
"Stop… showing me this." Tiki said, her voice breaking as guilt for actions that had never happened flowed through her. "Please, stop."
Gharnef smiled. "You cannot look away from the inevitable future. This is your fate. To slay your friends and loved ones and free them from this life. There is nothing you can do to change that."
Tiki began to clutch at her head as it pounded and throbbed. Gharnef approached her, looking like an understanding voice. He gestured to another corpse. "Do you see that one? The one with the blue hair?"
"N-no…" Tiki shut her eyes, refusing to look at the next sight.
"They weren't entitled to look away when you ripped their viscera out, Tiki." Gharnef approached the girl still intent on keeping her eyes shut. Kneeling down, he whispered a name into Tiki's ear. The name of the one Tiki was becoming so attached to and fond of.
Marth.
"No!" The girl shrieked, finally, Gharnef began laughing.
"Beneath that innocent body, you are such a dangerous creature. You could very well be the end of the League, and the end of humanity. It's an eventuality that will happen, not a possibility that could. Yet, return to me, and I shall keep you from such horrors. With my gentle embrace, my soft caress, you wouldn't need to fear such a thing-"
Tiki shrieked again.
Gharnef's eyes widened as the vision of the burning city distorted for a moment. Then, the setting they were in disappeared, and the two returned to the Temple of Thabes. Tiki suddenly collapsed on the floor.
"Divine Dragons. Their emotions alone can terminate the hallucinations I concoct." Gharnef shook his head, not bothering to hide his ire at something he still could not keep under his thumb. He contemplated slaying Tiki then and there as she clutched at her head on the ground, but decided against it. She still had some use. He pointed a finger at her, the same gesture he made at Marth when the League first appeared in the Temple. A bit of magic entered Tiki, its affects should be apparent soon, unless it was disrupted in some way.
The sounds of clicking metal was heard. Gharnef knew that the League was approaching. For now, he would retreat. For now. Turning, he left.
"Tiki!" Marth ran up to the little girl and knelt down. She looked up at him, and suddenly dove into his chest, desperately looking for the comfort of his presence. Her hands, now shaking, slowly wrapped around Marth's waist.
"G-Gharnef was here." Tiki stammered out, pushing her cheek into Marth's chest. "The real one. He… he showed me a world, w-where you were dead, Marth, and, and…"
"Shh." Marth grabbed her shoulders, not fully understanding what happened, but recognizing that Tiki had just undergone a traumatic experience. "I'm alive and well, Tiki." He continued to kneel down, letting the little Manakete continue to hold him. After a long moment, Marth turned to the League soldiers behind him. "If Gharnef is nearby, then it's time to fight him. Merric…"
The Wind Mage stepped forward, Starlight firmly in his hand. Throughout the battle in Thabes, he had opted to continue using Excalibur in the hopes that Gharnef was not yet aware that Starlight was in his possession. It was time to end that charade.
"I understand, prince Marth. This battle is unavoidable." Merric put away Excalibur and opened the tome of Starlight. The words across the pages would be undecipherable to many. Only those attuned to magic were formally taught how to read the archaic, ancient script. Merric muttered a few of the words of power contained in the pages, and began to slowly feel a new, foreign energy empowering him. He stopped speaking immediately, the frills of his robe were being tossed slightly by the energy now circling around him and coursing through him. The very air around him seemed to glow as a holy power permeated it.
He smiled. With this power, it would be too easy.
"Just in case I need some support…" He doubted he would, but he motioned at Linde, who stepped forward overeagerly. "I'll get rid of the Dark Pontifex. Linde will help me do that. You just need to focus on Gharnef's army."
Marth nodded, putting all his faith in Merric. Faith that Marth was sure was well-placed. Merric smiled and left, Linde followed him. Marth, with Tiki still clinging to him, turned around.
"Our objective at this point is two-fold. To destroy Gharnef's army, and to keep anyone from offering any kind of aid to Gharnef. Move out at once!"
Ymir swung the Devil Axe, gritting his teeth and ignoring the fatigue that the weapon sent through him. He cleaved through those who stood before him. The last person he killed, who had been foolish enough to run up to him, had been cut into two equal halves.
No other Archanean soldier was nearby. Ymir had been trusted to hold off what might have been nearly half of Gharnef's army by himself, among which had been several fake Gharnefs. He wasn't complaining, meeting enemy forces this big by himself felt like what he was born to do. He tore through these enemies with ease. One might wonder if his enemies simply wanted to die, so blindly they attacked and so quickly they fell.
After what Ymir guessed was a nearly a full hour, but could have been much more then that, enemies simply stopped coming. He wasn't even vaguely fatigued, arching his back he let loose a fierce roar of challenge.
Then something else came. Ymir turned to this new target. It clearly wasn't a League soldier, and looked remarkably different then the others he had just fought. A large, muscular, armored figure holding an axe, with a face hidden behind a mask. He approached without a word.
Ymir wasn't impressed. To others, the figure might have been foreboding, but to Ymir it was a man who was both bravely and foolishly trying to attack the ogre by himself. He allowed himself a smile, this would be too easy.
Then… more enemies started to appear. Ymir looked around with slight discomfort. He wasn't scared or intimidated, he was more interested at how all these men seemed so similar to each other. They walked with the same gait, bared their axes in the same way, and each wore an identical outfit. Right down to the tribal mask.
Ymir shrugged, clearly some kind of formal force of warriors. They were still nothing to him. He smirked, and, as if it was a cue of some sort, the axe men charged. Ymir met them easily enough, the identical axes of his enemies were easily knocked aside by Ymir's far superior Devil Axe. His cursed weapon sunk into the shoulder of one axe man, who fell to the floor without a sound. The others advanced, Ymir slew several as they tried to attack. Then one of his enemies surged forward and met his axe with Ymir's.
This one seemed somehow stronger then the others, Ymir grinned, not at all impressed. This one may have been able to meet and stop one attack, but he wouldn't be able to stop another. Ymir took a step back, disengaging from the struggle of his muscles pushing against his enemy's, and readied himself to swing again.
The Devil Axe made an eerie cry as it descended, and bit straight across the chest of its enemy. The masked man made no sound, but he was clearly reacting to the strong pain he now felt from the deep cut. Deep enough that his heart or his lungs were likely spared only by the fact that the Devil Axe's blade didn't extend an inch further.
The masked man grimaced for a second, and when he turned back to Ymir he was met by Ymir's head-sized fist ramming into his mask. The eyes behind the mask widened as the tribal shield of his face cracked.
He backed away, grasping at his mask. It was still intact, despite the damage inflicted. The man looked at Ymir, those others who seemed to be clones, for lack of a better word, of the man, returned to what Ymir believed was the leader. One by one, they glared at Ymir before turning away, seemingly understanding that they could not, even as a group, best Ymir. Ymir grinned fiercely, and roared in triumph as his enemy departed. Then he heard a sound from behind, turning, he readied himself to fight again.
Gharnef, the real Gharnef, stood almost completely motionless. He knew an enemy was about to reveal himself, Marth had brought the League, fully expecting a fight with him. He could only wonder why the League thought themselves capable of fighting him, for as long as he held Imhullu, his defeat was something that not even a fevered madman could dream of. It did not matter to him, it would only make things simpler in the end.
The clicking sounds of footsteps was heard, accompanied only by the sound of the burning torches on the wall. The door behind the Dark Pontifex opened, he smiled as he heard two sets of footprints approach. With one grotesque hand holding the Imhullu tome, he turned to those that had foolishly chosen to approach him.
"Ah." Gharnef took notice of both of those present. The first one, the same mage who had attempted to attack him with Excalibur back in Khadein. He would have imagined that the mage would have grown fearful of the idea of encountering Gharnef again, but he instead stood with an obvious confidence. He had clearly just swaggered into the room, believing without doubt in an a victory that was eventual rather then merely possible.
Next to him was the daughter of Miloah. He smiled, he longed to eliminate any trace of Miloah from the world. How thoughtful of the last trace to personally approach Gharnef like this.
"Two children who think they're mages." Gharnef addressed them both with contempt. "Truly, do you think you can defeat me? I have attained a power that no strength of arm, no strength of will, that nothing, could ever overcome. Yet you stand with such confidence… I wonder how long you can keep up the bravado."
Merric's smile didn't wane in the slightest. "I have something that just might give you pause." He spread his arms out, Linde stepped back. "I dare you to take all of this attack." He began to chant words of ancient power. Amused, Gharnef began to listen to the spoken words, then his smile faded at how… familiar, some of the words were. Blue lights started to appear around the mage, looking almost like shining stars.
Quickly, the actual attack came.
"No!" Gharnef spoke in a loud voice, throwing his arms up and creating a shield around him as the magic of Starlight charged forward. The blast became larger, stronger, purer, Gharnef disappeared under the energy.
Eventually, the energy vanished. Merric looked forward, expecting to see nothing but a clump of ash where Gharnef had been earlier. Instead, his eyebrow quirked and he gaped at what he was seeing. Gharnef still stood, with the shadowy veil dissolving all around him.
Gotoh… how long shall you interfere with me? Gharnef glared at Merric, and for the first time in ages, he seemed to lose his composure, gritting decayed teeth and clenching a rotten fist. "So, you have Starlight. The only light that can pierce Imhullu's shadowy veil. I see."
He raised a hand up in the air, shadows clumped to the open palm. "You have strength. Perhaps, for the first time since my fight with Miloah, I need actually call upon a fraction of my own." He clenched the hand, and the shadows departed from his fingers. The shadows collected in front of him, forming into a trio of ghastly skulls, each seeming to have three eye-sockets, the third in the forehead. Each skull yawned open and fired a sinister, shadow beam at Merric and Linde.
The two mages were shielded by Linde's Aura tome. Gharnef growled at the familiar holy energy as Imhullu's attack dispersed upon it. Swinging his arms, Gharnef created a giant wall in front of him, a wall that almost seemed to be made out of bones. It took the second blast of Starlight, and though the wall cracked somewhat, it succeeded in enduring one blast of the holy energy.
Gharnef did not like partaking in combat that he had even a slight chance of losing. Yet here he had the opportunity to destroy Starlight, eliminating his only weakness, and slay the last trace of Miloah all at once. It was too great of an opportunity for him to run from, and so, he persisted in this battle.
He felt Imhullu course through his body, then slowly seep out. The shadowy tendrils of forbidden power began to spread across the battlefield, blanketing it in darkness. To Merric and Linde, it seemed as though the Temple of Thabes vanished, replaced by an inky dark void.
Merric lifted his hand and tried to summon Starlight. It failed to pierce through the black shadows Gharnef had summoned. The world, as far as Merric and Linde were concerned, remained in pure black darkness.
"I have been perfecting my skill with Imhullu since I have acquired it. A time frame measured in years." Gharnef's voice taunted, seeming to come from all directions around the two mages. "How long have you held Starlight? You have no expertise, no skill or finesse in its usage. And in turn, you have no hope against me. So do me a favor, surrender your soul from your body, and may a potential wielder of Starlight vanish from my sight."
Merric continued to look around in concern. Then his eyes caught a strange purple light, he realized, two late, that it was one of the skulls of Imhullu. It opened a great, gaping mouth and fired a beam. Merric had no time to dodge, nor did he even choose to. Rather, he choose to keep himself in front of Linde, who was oblivious to the skull's presence, shielding her from the attack.
The blast hit, Merric didn't even yell at the pain, but fell down, leaving an unscathed Linde behind him.
The shadows dissipated, revealing the Temple once more. Gharnef looked down at those before him. The Wind Mage, the one who sought to wield Starlight, laying on the ground, shadowy burns all over his body.
"Mer-" Linde hadn't been able to see anything in the darkness, but now beheld Merric on the ground. She knelt down and, hesitated. The first thing that she noticed was just how similar the wounds were to what had been inflicted on her father the last she had seen him.
"Fool." Gharnef spoke, standing only a short distance away. Linde turned to Gharnef and, in a rage, tried to unleash Aura upon him. Gharnef only sighed as the holy energy was beaten back and diffused by the foul energy of Imhullu.
"I shall let you two live, but only so that you may suffer. Everything about the world as you know it will change after today. Let me tell you something, prince Marth will soon move to Dolhr, under my orders."
"That… won't…" Merric tried to pick himself up, aided somewhat by Linde. "Prince… Marth, would… nev…er…"
"Right now, no, he wouldn't. However…" Gharnef grinned. "When he and I met face to face at the entrance of the Temple, I placed a little seed inside of him. It will take some more time for its effects to become apparent, but his memories will soon die and he will call me his master. As the rightful heir of Falchion, he will wield it for me. Lead my army to Dolhr, and allow me to take all of Medeus' power from the Shadow Dragon. The little Divine Dragon has an identical seed waiting to sprout inside of her. Only the death of this body would disrupt the spell. Alas, we have seen that the chosen wielder of Starlight could not face me. Letting you live to see what Marth will become seems more delicious then killing you where you stand."
He turned away, chuckling. The daughter of Miloah may live for now, but despair would crush her in mere hours, when his seeds take root.
And, if the daughter should pursue, he would have a precaution. He had already sent his troops out to procure the other that the girl held dear.
"If he isn't stopped soon, the League is finished." Linde muttered, she looked at Merric. She didn't want to leave him, but Gharnef had to be stopped. In his current condition, the person to stop Gharnef wasn't going to be Merric.
She was reluctant to leave him where he lay, but there was only one thing she could do. Slowly, she grabbed Starlight, still in his hands, his grip suddenly tightened.
"No, Linde…" Merric said, trying to hold onto the tome. His weak grip had no chance of keeping the tome, and Linde took it easily.
"I have to do this, Merric." Linde said slowly, brushing a hand across Merric's face. "Gharnef has to be stopped, and I'm the only one who can do that now. You just… lie down, and try to keep your strength up."
Merric tried to get up, but his strength left him. Guilt pulsed inside of Linde, but she ignored the feeling as best she could. Opening the tome of Starlight, she chanted briefly and felt the strength go through her. The energy was… very similar to Aura's, but far more powerful. She wondered if she could use the Tome in much the same way as Aura.
If so, perhaps…
"What is this?" Marth stepped forward, unable to understand what he was seeing. As he had fought through the Temple, he had come to a deep room that was obviously important in some way. In front of him were several orbs of arcane energy, orbs big enough that nearly a hundred grown men could be fit into. Shadow energy swirled around them, and it seemed as though the energy inside of them was being siphoned and brought somewhere else. It was a strange sight, and for a few minutes, Marth wasn't sure how to respond.
"Apparatus." Wendell slowly said from nearby. His eyes were wide open, and he seemed to scarcely believe what he was seeing. The size of the Apparatus defied logic, it was beyond anything that Gharnef himself could have created. Gotoh was the only one who could have created something even half as large as this.
Thabes had been a nation of magic, and far more advanced then Khadein had ever been. These Apparatus, they had to have been ancient beyond imagination. As he looked at them, he realized, their power was being drawn out of them. Suddenly, something fell perfectly into place. Gharnef's power, it wasn't just because of Imhullu, these Apparatus empowered him further, that was why Gharnef had always seemed so unmatchable. No matter where in the continent he was, Gharnef would be receiving this almost unlimited power. It would be almost impossible to slay him as he was now. Even with Starlight, he suddenly feared for Merric.
"Prince Marth." Wendell said slowly. "This is a great source of power for Gharnef. He is taking what the civilization of Thabes left behind, and empowering himself with it. His power is… Imhullu by itself did not grant him the power he has now. If we can shut this down, Gharnef's power will become only a fraction of what it is now."
Marth nodded, slowly understanding what Wendell was saying. Gharnef could have never gained the kind of power he currently wielded with Imhullu alone. If these arcane orbs with such power contained within attributed so much to Gharnef's strength, then the next course of action was simple.
"How do we destroy them?"
Wendell's mouth opened, and for a second, he seemed almost appalled. "An entire civilization worth of knowledge could be destroyed if we shut down the Apparatus."
"I… am sorry to hear that, but we need to preserve the civilizations that still exist. Even if that means the destruction of the relics of a dead civilization."
A moment of silence, and then Wendell nodded. "I understand, prince Marth. It's all to stop Gharnef. I shall begin immediately." He walked up to the Apparatus, raising his hand and letting the magic inside of him approach the constructs of magic, and begin to slowly dissolve the power contained within. It would take… some time, for the Apparatus to be shut down, but it would happen.
"Give me some time, prince. This will take longer then some might be comfortable with."
Wolf looked around, he was walking through flowing blood at this point. Blood spilt from mages and assassins alike, none of it Wolf's own. He took in a breath, in the combat he had seemingly gotten separated from Palla, he imagined she was in a panic trying to find him. He only shook his head, nothing seemed to be appearing right now. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that the enemies were thinning. The battle was beginning to wrap up. The only thing that might be difficult would be defeating Gharnef himself. He, personally, did not have great faith in Merric.
Wolf blinked once, visibility in this part of the temple seemed to be low. It might have been night now, but both sides of the conflict would have had faced difficulties fighting in this section of the Temple. Through the low light, Wolf sensed a nearby presence. His eyes darted to the side, he turned around with his sword in his hand, and the blade blocked an arrow. The arrow, bent from the impact, fell to the ground. He saw a distant archer near a pillar, his eyes saw the obviously female figure of the individual, and he sensed more enemies around him. Axe-men, each looking at him with a quiet, murderous glare from beneath their masks. For the most part they were silhouettes, but Wolf was able to see that one of them had a cracked mask and a large gash across the chest.
Looking at those around him, he could tell that these enemies had had encounters with other League soldiers, and had been beaten back. Wolf was unimpressed, as an elite of the League, he had little reason to feel intimidated by what was before him.
"Leave." Wolf ordered, holding his sword firmly in his hand. The axe-men responded to the command with a charge. Wolf ducked the storm of axes that seemed to come from all directions, and stabbed fatally into the gut of one who continued to have a perfectly intact mask. Wolf rolled away as more of them tried to slash him in half. He grabbed one of his enemies and positioned the man between himself and the archer, letting the arrow sink into the man's chest.
Kicking the wounded man away, Wolf spun away and took his bow out, placing two arrows on the bowstring, he took aim at the distant archer as she stalked around the pillars. The woman tried to dodge the arrows when Wolf fired, the fact that she was able to see the attack at all spoke well of the strength of her eyes. Yet she seemed to be disoriented by the way the arrows flew at her. The arrows flew in a controlled, but not seemingly entirely coherent way. One arrow sank into her shoulder, the other simply pierced into the pillar she was in front of, unnervingly close to her head.
The axe-men returned, one of them was crippled by an arrow to his knee, and two more were slashed down by Wolf's sword when they came close. The end result seemed obvious, but Wolf's enemies didn't seem content to leave. They were still trying to come at him, as if they thought that the end result was in question, or perhaps they, for whatever reason, simply could not retreat. A single good strike to Wolf would be all they would need, but it was painfully obvious that neither of them was capable of striking him.
Wolf readied himself for the next charge, and then heard a flapping sound. A familiar sound, Palla appeared, her lance harassing the archer as she was still grimacing from the arrow to her shoulder. The axe-men turned as their ally made a small cry of surprise. Several of them paid the ultimate price for turning their heads, Wolf's sword and arrows slew nearly half of them.
The archer rolled away from Palla, still clutching at the shoulder Wolf had wounded. Irritated, the archer knew that, with this development, any chance of victory was now gone. She signaled, then turned and left, the axe-men followed her cue, leaving the slain behind as they disappeared, leaving Palla to approach Wolf.
"Are you okay, Wolf?" Palla immediately asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her partner did not seem wounded, or even fatigued, but he had been fighting overwhelming odds by himself. She… disliked how Wolf kept meeting odds like that by himself.
"I am fine, Palla." He turned in the direction their enemies had fled, removing Palla's hand from his shoulder. "Those are part of the same group the two of us encountered in Khadein. The ones outside that building. I want to know who they are, should we encounter them again. We're tailing them, Palla."
"I…" Palla started to protest, but quickly shook her head. She didn't want to get into an argument. "Okay, let's follow them carefully. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
Wolf glanced at Palla for a second, as if to accuse Palla of being strange. Palla wasn't sure how to respond to the peculiar expression, but Wolf eventually nodded. "Let's go."
Gharnef stood patiently in one of the deepest rooms of the temple, only two elite mages were nearby. His victory had been assured. Marth and Tiki's loyalties would change, completely, in a single hour, he would have his commanders for his assault on Dolhr. After the League was slain, the precious weapons they had collected would go to worthy warriors and mages of his army.
The continent would be in his hands. His rule would be indisputable. He would be as close to the gods as a mortal-born man could ever become. Gharnef smiled, then heard a sound.
Linde walked into the room. The two mages moved to intercept her, she waved her hand and let holy Starlight end the lives of Gharnef's loyalists. Gharnef turned around, regarding the sight in front of him.
"Daughter of Miloah." Gharnef said. "You pursued me."
"Didn't expect that?" Linde asked, a hint of both confidence and anger in her voice.
"Your arrogance blinds you. It is time you came face to face the full power of the Imhullu tome." He raised his hands, letting the shadows collect into his palms. He began to laugh. "I have waited a long time for this moment… my lovely friend." His laughter faded into a smirk. "I have the chance to eliminate Starlight, and the last trace of Miloah, both at the same time. My friend birthed such a considerate daughter, did he not? At last, all who could threaten me will die, and all the power I've ever craved will be in my hands."
"This day won't end like you expect it to. You're going to die, Gharnef."
"Oh, really?" Gharnef swung his arm, sending tendrils of Imhullu's shadowy energy toward Linde. The tentacles threatened to pierce her, but she made a single gesture with a finger and a shield of holy light surrounded her.
Aura was holy, so was Starlight. In Linde's hands, it was almost the same spell. Gharnef narrowed his eyes at this development. His eyes glanced to the second exit to the room, he suddenly began to almost fly there, but a blast of Starlight connected to the architecture above the door, blocking the exit with debris.
Gharnef turned to Linde, who wore an arrogant expression. "If you're so powerful, why are you trying to run?"
Shadows built in the room. "You will not be able to stop me. In only an hour, everything will have fallen into perfect place for me. Merely moan in the darkness over what you are helpless to stop." He stretched his arms out, blanketing the room with darkness. It was the same technique he had used to best Merric. Linde raised an arm up and let Starlight illuminate the room, Gharnef gaped as the room never disappeared in darkness.
"An hour is more then enough time to defeat you." Linde clenched a hand, "This is all for Merric, Gharnef. I'll make you regret what you just did to him."
Gharnef fell silent, simply gathering Imhullu's power once again. He summoned the dark skulls, they opened their mouths, opened them so wide that it seemed almost as though the jaws unhinged, and fired the now familiar beam. Linde didn't bother trying to dodge, Starlight protected her with its holy shield, the defense not faltering against Imhullu's power. Gharnef's eyes widened at how the full strength of Imhullu couldn't break through Starlight's power.
"You can't win. Imhullu won't protect you anymore. Your death is something that should have come a long time ago."
The Dark Pontifex growled in an animalistic fashion, a depth of anger he rarely exhibited so clearly. Then, he calmed, and smiled once more. "If I continue to fight like this, no, I won't win. However…" He flexed a finger, and the shadows of Imhullu sprang forth, seeming to devour the debris that had sealed off Gharnef's escape route. "I prepared even for the possibility of you being able to best me, daughter of Miloah. I had some of my men… drag off a certain soldier of the League. Now a close Aurelian friend of yours is just dying to see you."
"Rosh-" Linde stopped, Gharnef took his chance and left through the exit he had just opened. Without a moment's hesitation, Linde followed.
Linde realized she was at the top of the Temple. There was a throne nearby, the seat of a ruler, or perhaps it was used for some religious purpose. She didn't particularly care right now. She saw Gharnef standing nearby, and… yes, Roshea was right beside him, his hands bound together. He… must have been led into a trap, there's no way Roshea could have ever been defeated by any member of Gharnef's army.
Roshea recognized Linde, but wasn't able to say anything. He glanced at Gharnef, who simply smiled as the two friends were examining each other.
"Do anything, and he dies." Gharnef warned, raising a hand into the air. Shadows appeared and fastened themselves around Roshea's neck, who briefly gagged as though a physical hand had wrapped around his throat. "Merely stand right there, and allow Imhullu to destroy you. If you fight back, the Aurelian dies. If you try to evade, the Aurelian dies. If you call for help, the Aurelian dies."
Roshea looked at Linde, and shook his head. A desperate attempt to tell Linde to not do as Gharnef wanted her to, and that his life was meaningless in the bigger picture. Linde… did exactly what Roshea expected her to do. Do what Gharnef told her to in order to protect her friend.
Gharnef began to laugh, letting the shadows disappear from Roshea's neck as Linde surrendered, just staring at the ground in defeat.
Summoning a demonic skull, Gharnef watched with glee as the beam slammed into Linde. Again and again, he tormented the daughter of his former friend with a torturous barrage. It would have been enough to make any sane person sick.
Roshea began to shake with rage, then turned to Gharnef, he had no weapon, his lance had been taken from him, but still tried to assault the man. He threw his bound arms into the man's head, but Imhullu rebuffed the attack. Gharnef turned to the Aurelian, he blew Roshea away with a force of shadow magic, blowing Roshea off the roof of the Temple. He fell to, both Gharnef and Linde could only presume was the Aurelian's death.
"Roshea!" Linde screamed out an anguished cry, Gharnef turned back to the woman just as a mighty blast of Starlight came at him. He raised his hand at once, just barely negating the attack with a quickly generated shield of Imhullu.
He thrust both his hands forward, unleashing the full might of his cursed tome. It was met by Starlight's holy stream. The two powers struggled with each other, neither seemed capable of pushing to the target.
"I am the Dark Pontifex!" Gharnef declared, "I am at the cusp of the realization of my plans. You won't stop me. The White Sage could not stop me, nor could Miloah. Both were so much more then you. Your fate is to fall and crumble upon the gro-" His words suddenly stopped as his hands, which Imhullu was channeling through, suddenly froze, then began to spasm.
"What?" Gharnef felt as though his power was draining away. "W…what's happening?"
"It is done." Wendell finally said. The Apparatus that gave Gharnef such power now lay dormant, and would never be active again. Wendell was well pleased that Gharnef's end was now certain, but… only to himself would he admit that a part of him ached to know what he had just destroyed. The knowledge of civilization of Thabes, gone by his own hand.
"Power… wanes…" Gharnef felt more then half of his strength leave him. He… his chance of victory had disappeared. Starlight began to beat back Imhullu, reaching him and snuffing out the power coursing through his hands, then smothering him in its holy power. He could feel it ravaging the flesh that had come to enjoy the feel of Imhullu's foul magic. It took several long moments, but the light eventually dispersed, leaving a crippled and dying man behind.
"The continent ruled by me… has been lost." He coughed, glaring at Linde. If only he had known of a daughter of Miloah ahead of time. He could have snuffed this threat out before it ripened, everything would have gone as he would have had it. Now, his victory had been snatched from his eager hands, too focused on the end result that he had allowed something to go unnoticed. He thought back to Xemcel's words from several hours ago. "Just like the Hand of Medeus said, my existence is no longer needed. But… though my body may die, my spirit will continue. My time in this world… does not end, today."
"You're dead, Gharnef."
"We'll meet again, daughter of Miloah." Gharnef continued, "Not beyond the veil, but… in this world. I look forward… to seeing you… again." Gharnef smiled as his very skin cracked, as if a thousand years passed in the span of mere moments for him. He collapsed, his body failing, rapidly turning to dust, so quickly that there was not a face to slam into the stone floor. All that was left was a tattered robe to be carried away by the wailing wind.
"…Roshea." Linde began to walk forward, Gharnef may have been killed, but her heart was too heavy. This victory had ended up being so painful, the fact that Gharnef's death had saved Marth and Tiki from… whatever it was the man had done, offered her no solace. Not when one of her friends was effectively broken somewhere in the Temple, and the other was likely dead. Stooping down, she slowly took the divine blade, Falchion, from the ground. The blade felt oddly warm, as if it was trying to soothe her. No comfort came to her, she doubted she could ever be comforted again.
She paid no attention to the dark colored sphere that had fallen from Gharnef's robe.
"Prince… Marth…" Linde approached the Altean prince after the battle's conclusion. She held Falchion, but seemed to have no joy in being able to return the blade to the prince. "It… it's only thanks to Roshea, and his… sacrifice, that I can give this to you."
Marth looked at the blade, taking it from Linde, feeling a chill go down his spine as he took the nostalgic weapon into his hand. He lifted it experimentally, then made a few swings, not used to a weapon that was more built for swinging then thrusting. Slowly, he put it away. "If it's because of Roshea that we were able to get it back, we should thank him."
Linde almost looked like she was on the verge of tears. "There… there'll only be a splatter to thank, prince Marth. Gharnef… threw him off the edge of the Temple. He's…"
"Had we found him any later, he probably would have died." Marth admitted. He waited for Linde to look at him again, her expression quizzical, but she also looked like she felt that Marth was making a cruel joke. "We're lucky that Father Wrys was the one who found him. Roshea is quite alive, Linde. It'll take some time before he's fighting again, but there's no threat to his life."
"I…" the sorrow drifted away from Linde's heart for a moment, and she suddenly grabbed Marth by the shoulders. "T-tell me that's not a joke. Roshea is alive?"
"And safe. Along with Merric. You can go see them." He gestured to the side at a small tent that had been erected within the temple.
"Please… tell me…" Linde swallowed, then began to move toward the tent. She hoped to see both of them well, but… just seeing a couple of corpses was a possibility that she could not chase out of her mind.
Marth took out Falchion again, focusing more on the weapon. It had been stolen from his father's corpse, now it was in his hands, returned to where it belonged. He felt like the weapon has placed a burden on him, like it was only know that he understood the fate that had been tossed at his feet. Marth assumed a battle posture and imagined a Manakete in front of him. He imagined striking across the Manakete's strong leg muscles and sinking it into the dragon's chest. He felt a shiver go down him, and felt the burden of destiny more so now then ever before.
Jagen stood nearby, looking at Marth's practice swings. As he looked at the sight, his skin prickled. Marth finally looked like a younger Cornelius. The swordplay perfectly mimicked Cornelius' own, and at the same time, was perhaps more refined, and greater. Jagen was well aware that some of Marth's earliest memories were of Cornelius' swordplay, which charmed Marth with the idea of becoming a swordsman himself.
As he watched it, it was as though the passing of years coursed through Jagen. He suddenly felt the weight of age, and felt so terribly old, having seen Marth since his first days of swordplay. Now the prince was one of the continent's elite.
One injustice had been corrected. Falchion was back with Marth. Now it was time to address another. He turned to Jagen. "Begin the search for Elice, my sister. The White Sage said she was here. I want her found, now."
Jagen nodded, returning his thoughts to the here and now. "All soldiers on duty will begin searching immediately. If she is here, we will find her."
Documents lined the walls of the room that Wolf and Palla found themselves in. They both took the time to read several of them before they stopped. Each paper was essentially the same. They were documentation of assassination orders. Gharnef had spent a great amount of time killing off potential rivals and replacing them with those more… in-line with his desires. Palla was clearly sickened by the words contained in these papers, Wolf began to look for any documents that looked out of place.
There was never any word that Gharnef had assassins like this. He seemed to have even slipped such information past Aurelian scouts. Wolf didn't like it. He disliked being in the dark about anything. He continued to look, and found one document that looked noticeably different. Examining the contents, it was a very in-depth recording of some very early jobs, probably dating to back before Gharnef slew Miloah and took over Khadein. It seemed to have been penned by Gharnef himself.
Yet the most important thing to Wolf, was a name contained in the paper. Someone Gharnef was speaking of as if this person was the leader of the assassins.
"Eremiya." Wolf said once, recognizing it as the name that one of his enemies had half-spoken in Khadein. He sensed no one nearby, but got the undeniable sensation that he was being watched. Gharnef was gone, and his army of mages were decimated, his assassins, however, had fled. They were still out there, somewhere…
"You two." Linde walked into the tent, seeing Merric sitting in a chair, no shadowy burns upon him, and clearly completely healthy. In the bed was Roshea, awake and smirking. It looked like the two might have been making bets as to how worried Linde must have been.
The weight on her heart lifted, she took in a breath as her stomach began to calm. She slowly smiled as her apprehension wafted away.
"Took out Gharnef, did you?" Merric smirked, then shrugged. "There goes my ticket to fame."
"Can't believe that happened." Roshea muttered. "I followed an enemy into a dead-end, I thought I had him cornered. I had been baited into a trap. Because of that, everything got more complicated for you then it needed to be. I'm… sorry, for that."
Linde took a seat near the bed, placing a hand on Roshea's forehead. "Both of you are alive and safe. I'm satisfied and happy." Some of her body was still numb from stress and worry, the feeling was starting to ebb, but some more time would pass before it would disappear entirely. She looked at both of them, and there was something she was compelled to say.
"When I fought Gharnef, I didn't think much of my father." Linde admitted. "A little, but… when I fought them, the most important thing to me was…" She took in a breath as she prepared to speak. She leaned back so she could be speaking to both of them at the same time. "You two. I just… wanted to keep you two safe. Nothing in all of the continent seemed more important then that. I didn't want Gharnef to lay a hand on either of you. Though, he came close to killing both of you today."
"Close, but he didn't do it." Merric chimed in cheerfully. Roshea was silent, still bothered by the situation he had gotten into. A silence crept in, Linde seemed happy to again be in the company of those she could have lost forever, and didn't mind the moment without words.
Merric seemed to have forgotten, but Linde recalled Gharnef's words about the 'seed' he had put in Marth and Tiki. By killing Gharnef, she had saved both of them… and in turn, probably the entire League. She would keep that prideful fact to herself.
"She's been found." Sedgar said to Marth, speaking of Elice. "Up in the tower. She's in a cell, she's being brought down by princess Minerva and Coyote, and she's-" He stopped talking as he noticed them coming. He stepped back while crossing his arms, letting Marth move ahead.
"Elice!" Marth couldn't well define the emotion he felt when he saw his sister. She looked, her face looked unchanged from the day the castle fell. Yet her dress… she looked as though she was still wearing the same dress she wore on that day. Now it was tattered, torn, and looked completely unsanitary to wear. It was only a shame that Gharnef was now dead, and he didn't have a still living target to direct indignation toward.
"Marth." Elice let out a sight of peace at the familiar face, she walked forward and immediately embraced the brother who she had been separated from for far too long. "You're safe."
Standing only a few feet away, Minerva saw the reunion of the Altean siblings. A brother and a sister being happily reunited… it hurt her more then words could ever convey. Her thoughts drifted to Michalis, and she wished her reunion with Michalis could have been so joyous. Fate treated some families more pleasantly then others.
"Are you okay, Elice?" Marth looked at her. She seemed to have no physical wounds, but the fact that she had been held prisoner for so long seemed to have affected her. He could see wounds more… mental, on her.
"I am fine, Marth." She moved to calm any concerns or worries of Marth's. Releasing him, she stepped back and looked him over. "A ripped apart dress is all that's different about me, but look at you. A man and not a boy. You've grown into father's equal. The… Archanean League, they called it, has a fine leader." She pushed at one part of his hip, back in Castle Altea, the last time they had been face to face, this part of him had been wounded by a Gra soldier, it was fine now.
"I… guess." Marth felt a little uncomfortable at the praise. Elice complimenting him on his swordsmanship was nothing new, being complimented about his leadership skills, or what be matured into, however…
Elice smiled gently. "You've collected all those on the continent capable of fighting against Dolhr."
"If it was just Altea, I don't think I would have even made it to Aurelis. I've found trusted allies, and people I owe my life to several times over."
His sister nodded, she turned to Catria standing nearby. Clearly a bodyguard of Marth's. "I am indebted to anyone who had protected and sheltered my brother." She bowed her head, which seemed to only make Catria grow nervous. Elice turned to Minerva and Hardin, making the same gesture to both of them. After a moment, she turned back to Marth. "You are heading to Dolhr next, aren't you?"
"Yes. Falchion is with me now, and all of Dolhr's allies have been defeated. Now is the time to end the war."
Elice nodded, taking a moment to look at the sword Marth had in his holster, replacing his usual Rapier. "Tell me, Marth. Do you know about the staff of Aum?"
"Of course. You told me about it." He recalled, with slight exasperation, how much of a bookworm Elice was. "The staff can revive the dead. Even if they've been dead for years."
"It's in Dolhr." Elice said suddenly and plainly. "The staff of Aum was held by the Manaketes. I know the entire reason I was spared was because they wanted me to use it. The staff can only be used by women of royal blood. The idea of a descendent of Anri being the one to use the staff for Dolhr was probably an appealing idea to Medeus."
Marth understood entirely. "Dolhr must not continue to hold the staff, then. When we go there, we have to take the staff."
"Yes." Elice couldn't keep herself from smiling. Marth was so much more assertive then she remembered. He would be a fine guardian of the Altean people.
"We'll have to ready ourselves immediately." He looked at Elice. "Um… maybe you should…"
"Get myself ready." She walked past Marth, he clearly felt awkward to be outright commanding his older sister. "I'll be fine when the time comes."
"Princess Caeda of Talys." Elice saw the woman in front of her, right by the Pegasus. "More then anyone else, I'm indebted to you, for sheltering Marth, and giving him support when I couldn't."
Caeda smiled. "I remembered him from an old celebration between Altea, Talys, and Gra, but my father is more then one you should be thanking." It had been a long time since she thought about her father, her full attention having to always be on the war, and Marth's safety. For a moment, she wondered how things were like back in Talys.
"Of course." Elice looked at Caeda's face. "Before I forget, princess Caeda, I've only been with the League for an hour at best, but I've already heard about what's going on between you and Marth." She took a step forward, almost seeming to be studying Caeda's face, Elice's own face suddenly seemingly unfriendly.
Uh-oh. Caeda realized that she was being judged as to whether or not she was worthy of Marth. Elice, she suspected, was a very harsh judge when it came to which women would get close to Marth. Elice circled around her, seemingly taking note of everything about the island princess, her expression shifting randomly from being disappointed to being pacified.
"We'll see." Elice finally said after an unnerving silence. "For the time being, we have the final battle ahead of us to focus on."
"Of… course." Caeda said in a slightly rattled voice. "I'll do fine to protect and help Marth in the final battle."
"It's almost hard to believe." Marth thought about it. Dolhr was all that was left in this war. When it first started, the Manakete nation had so many allies, but now… once it would have seemed laughable for things to turn around for Dolhr like this.
So many lives had been cut brutally short. His parents among them, along with Nyna's, and so many peasants caught in the middle.
"We'll be fighting Dolhr soon. Hardin." The Aurelian prince gave Marth his undivided attention. "I know today's battle had been trying. Encourage everyone to rest. There's not much left to this war, but the most important battles are still ahead of us."
"Yes, Marth. Be sure to think long and hard about the burden destiny placed on you." Hardin turned away, knowing exactly what Marth was thinking. "We must all be ready, with all doubts pushed from our minds. The battle that will decide the fate of the continent is upon us."
Marth's thoughts drifted to his father. This was the battle that Cornelius had marched off to fight, but it would be his son who truly fought it. Moreso then fulfill his destiny, Marth felt the urge to make his father's spirit proud. With Falchion in hand, he intended to do just that.
As you can likely tell, the female archer is the Kuraine/Kleine girl, and the masked axeman is Roro. My characterization of them is kind of a shot in the dark, and I may have made them OOC in some manner.
Anyway, off to the final battles in Dolhr. Please review.