Ear piercing screams accompany ashen rain. The stench of blood and soiled corpses drag his mind to delirium as all around he continues to stave off his nearing, inevitable death. His lungs ache with the burning need for air, but smoke chokes him as a javelin barely misses his sternum. The push of magic is the only thing that saves him and even that action pushes him to collapse to his knees in exhaustion.
His staff hits the ground as his hands fall into a mixture of mud and blood. Swords hit shields, cleave flesh, and warriors choke on their blood as they meet death in shameful pleas.
Ballads are lies. Little fantasies to comfort widows and mothers with fallen children. They are propaganda to draw in young men, fill their heads with glory, and conscript them to these horrible, disgusting fates. There is nothing magnificent about what is happening around him, there is nothing worth singing songs about. This is hell on earth.
A Shrike Demon lights the sky with a lightning crack. There is a burst of light and the field filled with bodies and struggling warriors becomes visible. Mankind stands its ground with all if can, but the hoards are ceaseless, relentless. They are not living, they are not human, elf, or any creature with conscious will. Some once were; reanimated corpses set to the will of a necromancer...others, the Archdemon controls, a malicious ether spirit hellbent on misery. No nightmare compared.
And nothing compared to the silhouette of such an Archdemon looming over the battlefield against a red-blue sky, blocking every shard of sun...a formless mountain of pure magnitude if the crackle of lightning had not drawn its outline for the mage's bleary two toned eyes.
Shoto used every weary, shaking muscle in his arms to get himself onto his haunches, just to better take in the horror before him, just to better feel the crushing power of the defeat falling around him. To look the ether spirit head on and know that it was over.
They had lost. Every effort was for nothing. Thousands dead and the thousand left not far behind. The other mages had withheld as long as they could, but he was the only one left standing...kneeling. In the blood of his comrades, of his commander, of those he'd sworn to march to death with.
There was too much shock and horror to shed even a tear, there was no tangible fear, just paralysis. A nightmare of waiting for the next javelin not to miss. For the next burst of lightning to burn him to cinders. For this short, meaningless life to end in the horrible bloody fashion that he'd been brought into it.
But the cries of the battlefield fell suddenly silent. Sound pushed away, like he stood inside of a bubble, like the world around him was moving at a pace that was not real.
Shoto shook his head, disbelieving, blinking through the falling ash and agony. The corpses...the bodies around him were shaking and when sound burst back into focus he heard them squelching and cracking like they were breaking into so many horrible pieces. And from their mangled flesh, red, thick liquid rose as its own entity, drawing forward, pulling to a single source.
Every hair on Shoto's body stood on end. The source, the focus on the blood pool, the thing that drained every corpse in its presence and consumed every drop in a voracious fashion into the swirling glyphs, was a human...just a human. No demon, no reanimated creature. Her skin cracked in bright red lines, magic coursing through limb and vein, bursting from them in deep red light. Her mouth was open in an effort filled cry, the power that flooded her, more than Shoto had ever witnessed. More than he had ever been allowed to see.
Blood magic. The cursed practice. The most damnable action of any mage.
The blood drawn from their once compatriots turned to magic in the mage's hands, turned to physical power, and the ground shook as the Archdemon stepped forward, stepped to meet its foe.
On the battlefield Shoto would have been a fool not to anticipate death, but he could never have anticipated that his last sight in this world would be a blood mage facing off against an entire Archdemon.
The sky cracked again on the burst of lightning that the Achedemon's lesser blasted along the field of battle. Shoto's breath caught as it collided into the blood mage and his meager hope was momentarily dashed. But the power of the sky tapped the glyph in front of her hand and dissipated into nothing.
And without a moment to even acknowledge the attack the mage thrust her arm at the Shrike and tendrils leapt from her hand. They impaled deep into the demon's large body, stabbed through its chest. The shriek it immitted put both the warriors and the undead at a standstill, shaking at the bone rattling sound. But the Mage stood resolute, unmoving as the demon shriveled under the tendrils like the power was eating it alive.
The mage stood tall and gasped as the tendrils pulled back to a still swirling glyph and for a single moment she glanced back to Shoto, seeming to see the young, beaten mage for the first time. Her eyes burst with red, no color seen beyond the deep shade of blood. They held confidence, power, and the oddest smile pulled at the mage's face. How can a person smile while they stand in the final resting ground of thousands? While their blood flows to their fingers? While the most powerful creature in the known universe stands before them ready to destroy all?
Of all things, this mage turned to the greatest threat to their world with a smile.
Shoto's dreams were nerve wracking, feverish. Screams of the dead wracked his subconscious, never ceasing, never allowing peace. He didn't know if he was even alive. This could simply be the torment of the afterlife, his punishment for using magic in life. They were taught by the Synod that magic was of the ether, of the demons, and that those who used it were damned if they did not spend their lives in repentance. Perhaps they had been right. Perhaps he was facing the repercussion now for not repenting hard enough.
But the fever eventually broke and his delirium dissipated enough for him to be aware that he was alive and suddenly awake. The chattering around him, the white noise that had lulled him in and out of his fever dreams, had turned to violent ranting shouts. The sound of armor, weapons, and heavy rushing footfalls rose and Shoto blinked into the world, groggily.
He had overused his magic on the battlefield, he could feel that in every inch of his body, along with cuts, bruises, and fractured bones. He was weakened, but his mind was steadily becoming alert as the world around him cleared up.
It was the encampment outside of Dawnfell, the edge of man's world. His home of the last three weeks. He lay on a sheet in what was still being constructed as a makeshift ward. Those around him moaned and cried, limbs missing, deep injuries, some waiting for infection to take them and a few already being drug away to be dropped with the other bodies.
But the scrambling healers and their dying patients were not his concern. His concern was the rushing soldiers marching to the center of camp, swords raised, and anger unbridled. Shoto pushed himself slowly to his feet and he shoved away the healer that tried to stop him.
"You almost died, you must rest!" he shouted.
Shoto just shook his head and shoved him away, stumbling after the crowd.
It was barely dawn and an orange light glowed over this awful morning. The stench of death wafted over the barricade and it was everything he could do not to dry heave where he stood. It was amazing to see so many alive...to see anyone alive at all, and yet there was no comfort with this dawn, no joy of survival, just bloodlust...just men storming to their next fight. And Shoto had to know what this fight was.
He pushed through armored men and women, gasping for every weak breath, feeling that his legs were prepared to give out, until he came to the edge of the crowd and saw what stood at the center. Lord Sekijirou Kan, Commander of the Dawnfelden Armies, third in line for Lordship of Dawnfell, still dirtied from the battle as he was, stood cross armed at the center, his Captain at his side and before them...the mage.
The blood mage.
It all rushed back in a snap, Shoto barely catching his balance at the headrush. The mage crushing the life from the Shrike Demon...the blood of thousands coursing to her hands…the Archdemon...
"Abomination!" was the first horrified shout he heard.
"Death bringer!"
"Kill her before she feeds off of us!"
Lord Kan sternly shouted for silence over the gathered soldiers and they did as they were told, but muttered on, distantly.
"You are not one of our mages," Lord Kan looked down at the shackled mage, forced onto her knees in front of him by his elites guardsmen, "Where did you come from? Who are you?"
The mage jerked against their hands and opened her mouth to speak but Lord Kan's captain spoke first.
"Who gives a shit?" Katsuki, the captain, shouted, "It's a blood mage! Kill her before she can cast a spell and kill us all!"
His sword went up and Shoto half stepped to stop him, but Lord Kan grabbed the blond captain's arm before he had a chance.
"Stand down," he snapped at the volatile, short tempered man, "We aren't barbarians and we will hear a name and an explanation before we deliver an execution!"
He looked to the mage again, eyes narrow with distrust as he nodded for her to go ahead. The captain fumed at his side, but stepped back obediently.
"Nana," she ground her teeth, "Nana Shimura. I'm from Dawnfell, like the rest of you. I came here to fight the demons. To defend my home like everyone else. And I did so successfully, you're very welcome."
"Have you seen the field of corpses out there?" Katsuki shouted again, Lord Kan unable to stop him from stomping up to her and grabbing the front of her tunic, "What help did you give? Every man, woman, elf, and animal outside of these barricades is a shredded husk and you want us to believe you came here to help!"
"I took blood from corpses!" Nana rolled her eyes, "And I withstood a damn Archdemon so get off my back, boy!"
"How were you to know if everyone in that field were dead," Lord Kan hissed through his teeth, "You ended their lives…"
Nana's head fell, a few loose strands of black hair coming into her face. "I do not take pleasure in ending lives and if there were some still living that I drew power from know it was not intentional and you have my deepest regrets. But had I not done what I had, every last person standing here would have died and we would not be having this discussion. Those who may not have already been dead were well on their way, as was everyone else beyond this barricade and behind it had I not taken action."
"So you claim," Lord Kan puffed his chest, stepping forward, "But all we have is your word that you killed the Shrike and fended off the Archdemon. It sounds like you're just trying to save your own sorry skin, blood mage. You're justifying atrocities as your kind always do."
He spat on the ground beside her and she looked up at him harshly.
"Blood magic has its necessities...its place," Nana argued, rolling her eyes "and it can end this war...it can bring down the ether spirits! The only thing standing in the way of us putting an end to this war is you and your kind's unwillingness to accept necessary sacrifices or unconventional methods!"
"If you had really faced the Archdemon and won maybe you would have an argument," Lord Kan stepped back, making Katsuki move away with him as the guardsmen pulled her back to her feet, "But blood magic are selfish and tainted with demonic influence...there is no purpose besides a corrupting power and you are not any different...prepare the execution…"
Nana cursed as a riotous shout came over the crowd, vying for her death.
"Burn the blood mage!" the cry rattled against Shoto's brain and turned his already sick stomach to pain.
He had been taught since childhood to sit still and not speak...that a young mage was not meant to be heard, that to overcome the curse of magic...life must be given over to servitude and obedience to his superiors, which meant never doing what he was about to do.
"Stop!" he shouted shoving his way out of the crowd to come to the center before every already vengeful eye.
The guardsmen halted and the Commander and Captain eyed him with disdainful curiosity. Shoto would have looked like that too, if a slender mage in his breaches and bandages, marked over in Magesterium rune tattoos, and barely standing on his two wobbly legs had burst from the crowd at such a moment.
"My lord, please, don't do this," Shoto held his stomach close and stumbled a bit trying to find his balance on his trembling legs.
Lord Kan looked him over closely, surprise stretching his features. "So the mages didn't all die then. Which are you?"
"Shoto," he groaned and pushed down the horrible memory that arose of his many fellow mages falling in battle just hours ago.
Lord Kan raised an eyebrow. "Just Shoto?"
He nodded and pushed past the confusion over lack of last name. "Commander you can't kill her...she fought the Archdemon...I saw it…"
A mutter went through the crowd. He could feel the tangible tension, the hair that stood on end.
"I'm only alive because…" his skin was prickling and flush...this was the most he'd ever spoken without being interrupted or told to be silent, "She...I saw her destroy the Shrike...we all...everyone else fell to it. Master Ferris didn't even stand a chance! We lost hundreds to the Shrike alone and she killed it in one strike!"
"What are you say-"
"And she attacked the Archdemon!" Shoto continued, rushing with adrenaline, feeling Nana's eyes on him...feeling so many eyes on him, "It didn't move the entire battle, but it moved when it saw her...because she was a threat. And…"
The sights that filled his memory of how she fought the Archdemon staggered him, shook him to the bone. The magic she employed, the fearless action she took. The smile on her face as she faced possible death.
"The Archdemon backed down under her attack," Shoto said, meeting Lord Kan's eye, "Blood magic or not...I've never seen something like that before...the Synod has never done something like that before outside of the Magestrate. Thirty high mages have faced an Archdemon and lost with all the power in their capacity behind them. We can't afford to kill someone who had the strength to make the Archdemon retreat."
The crowd continued to mutter, but Lord Kan was quiet with consideration. His captain was less thoughtful about it.
"I should have known a mage would try to defend her," Katsuki spat, "You'd like us all to be overrun with your tainted kind! And isn't it suspicious how you're the only mage that survived and you're now defending a blood mage! You should be executed with her!"
"Enough!" Lord Kan roared at his captain.
Shoto was stunned. Not at the suspicion or the shout from the Commander, but the aching rage that shook inside his captain. It was not normal anger. Katsuki was always angry. This...was something far deeper, rooted, emotional.
But the captain stepped back at Lord Kan's staying hand and fumed silently to himself, suspicious gaze never leaving the young mage.
"Whether you like it or not," Lord Kan grumbled, "Shoto is the only mage left. Which means he's the only Synod representative we have. I don't like any of it...I don't even know if I believe what he says, but we have no outright authority to deal with a blood mage."
"But Commander-!"
Katsuki was cut off again by Lord Kan's firmly raised hand.
Shoto could barely believe the words he was hearing. He was the Synod representative now? He hadn't even thought about that. He hadn't expected to survive until today. Had never considered a reality where he was the only mage left standing out of the fifty that were stationed at Dawnfell.
"I will not turn my back on law and tradition in the face of the plight," Lord Kan spoke firmly to every gathered body, "We are not the demons, we abide by our laws. And our laws dictate that the mages have the final say in the fate of blood mages and necromancers. And until the Synod reinforces us...Shoto is all we have."
There was a displeased mumble amidst the crowd and the very idea of being the Synod's representative here at the fronts irked him greatly. But a touch of relief came with it, that his pleas were heard.
Perhaps it was because Lord Kan knew...very few outside of the mages did, but it was possible. Those old laws were set in place for a reason. It was important that a mage execute a Fallen. The magic that blood mages and necromancers dealt in was dangerous in a way laymen could not imagine. Blood mages in the past had been known to draw lifeblood from those around them while dying, rehealing open wounds, stitching heads back to their necks, bringing themselves back from the brink of death while consuming those around them. And necromancers...many had already placed measures to resurrect themselves were death to strike and without trained mages overseeing the process with the proper wards, the execution of one mage could end in many more, horrible deaths.
Shoto had not been taught these wards. Certain mages were trained as executioners for that exact purpose, but he knew enough about it to know that to even attempt to execute Nana could turn this already devastating day into a second nightmare for the encampment.
But more than that...she stood against the Archdemon and she saved his life. She'd saved all their lives. With blood magic. He had no idea how to feel about that, but he knew she didn't deserve to die. She should be being praised by this crowd right now. Yet they vied for her to burn.
"I guess I'm saved then," Nana chuckled and shrugged against the hands of the guardsmen.
Lord Kan glared at her. "Not quite. I will send word to the Synod. We need reinforcements and a true representative. When the new cohort arrives they will decide your fate."
Shoto's chest burned at the very thought of his fellow mages coming an undoing this stand he had just made. He'd really only saved her for a few weeks at most.
Nana and Lord Kan made full eye contact, stubbornness aflush in both faces. "I doubt they will be as merciful as mage Shoto here."
With a forceful pull the guardsmen drug Nana away, the spry older mage kicking and fighting every step of the way. She was on her way to be chained and imprisoned until mages arrived to execute her and yet he saw no diminishing in her spirit. Shoto was shocked to watch her. He'd never seen a mage have that much vibrancy on even their best day. It was hard to believe she even bore the curse of magic...let alone blood magic.
The many unhappy eyes around him started to feel like knives and Shoto began to feel especially small under them.
"She'll kill us in our sleep," some muttered.
"I can't believe the Commander would listen to that mage."
"How suspicious that only he survived and now defends a blood mage…"
Shoto turned to argue with them and completely lost the little strength he had left in his legs. He hit the ground with a hiss, pain shooting through his body, stinging injuries he hadn't take the time to realize he had.
"Get him to the healer!" he heard Kanshout.
A few hands began to lift him back to his feet and he lost sense of what was going on as he was carried back through the encampment.
Fear cut his every nerve, plaguing him. It was the only thing he could still hold onto. Fear that, until the Synod sent another Master, he was all that stood between Nana Shimura and a gruesome execution. That when the Master arrived, Shoto didn't believe he could stop him. Fear that the entire encampment was primed to turn on him. And fear, above all else, that he actually wanted to know more about the blood mage.