As the Blue Lions rushed about, hurriedly gathering at Cetanu's location, Caspar was completely unaware. In a foreign land with an enemy commander that was becoming like a mentor to him, he walked onto the Goamagala property, or at least that which was owned by Rathalos.
They walked through the house like it was just a hallway or a tunnel, Caspar seeing dusty things all about, bones and skulls that were obviously old trophies or heirlooms, the duo making to to a small backyard, dotted with a single grave in the corner.
Rathalos' hair changed color again, back to a dull blonde as he strode to the grave with an odd aura surrounding him, something that Caspar took note of.
He dropped to one knee in front of the grave, staring at the runes across the tombstone and letting a wave of sadness wash over him. His eyes passed from the tombstone to Caspar as he placed his hand on the ground, likely where someone was buried. "Kneel with me Boy."
Caspar blinked, the odd tone of his voice both demanding yet passive. Caspar complied, dropping to knee where he stared at the tombstone. He couldn't make it out, but he noticed at least one thing that was noteworthy. A carving of some kind of draconic creature with wings spread and it's head down. It looked as if it was about to take off, and Caspar found this image rather interesting. He looked to Rathalos.
"Whose grave is this?"
When the Blue Lions all reached Jeritza's quarters, they were surprised to see Cetanu already there, tending to the wounds of Manuela.
"Professor Manuela!" Bernadetta called out, arriving with Dimitri as Cetanu would expect. This was his chance to fully get the girl on their side. He only had to do one thing.
"She's been stabbed and the wound is a bit deeper than anticipated. Dimitri, take her to the infirmary to get taken care off. The rest of you are with me." he said, the Prince nodding as he carefully scooped up the bleeding, wounded woman from his teacher and left.
He looked to his side, where a tunnel stretched out from behind a half empty bookcase. "We're moving in. I know for a fact that someone is down there. I can smell them." he said, his eyes shifting to Bernadetta. "You stick with Ashe and Dedue, understood?"
"This grave belongs to Magnamalo Goamagala… my son."
Caspar looked to the man in surprise. He had children? For some reason he didn't peg the fiery warrior as the kind to settle down and start a family.
"What happened?" he asked, and Rathalos sighed as he looked to the grave. It was a look that Caspar didn't often see, but he recognized it. It was a gaze of grief and sadness, like the kind the Emperor had as his children died one by one, leaving only Edelgard behind.
"There is a rite of passage in our land. It is called 'The Hunt', and it requires a group of young upstarts to hunt one of the many great beasts that haunt the lands of Sreng. My son was paired with one of the Fatalis' own children, and the entire hunting party was…" he trailed, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes.
Caspar thought it was odd to see his mentor in such a state, something that made his victory all the more important.
"The beast was struck down, but as they tried to harvest the carcass of the monster, another creature that not even our highest ranking tribesman would dare tarry with attacked." he explained, painful memories rising to the surface.
"My status as the Teosgrah, the right hand of the Fatalis, meant that I was sent first to try and rescue them along with the Lunasgrah, the strongest female warrior in our tribe. We managed to strike down the beast, but only because I was already too late." he said, closing his eyes again.
"The Hunting Party were already gone, their ravaged bodies scattered like twigs across the battlefield. That was the day that I was exiled, cast out for my failures into the unforgiving lands of the Kingdom, where I wouldn't be welcome."
He looked to Caspar. "The Fatalis made a comment about your appearance, and it sadly held merit." he said, turning to him as the duo rose from the gravestone.
"You see, Magni's mother died in childbirth, but she gave him her beautiful azure hair. When I saw you, it was the same as looking at my son. A frail boy with blue hair who was unable to defeat the monster before him." he said, and Caspar furrowed his brow.
He understood where the man was coming from. It was hard to fail as grandly as he did, but to see something that reminded you of the failure and not act only made it worse.
"You are a warrior much like my son was, stout and determined even against foes that aren't human or vastly larger than you." he said, and Caspar nodded.
"So you wanted to help me to what, atone for your past failures?" he asked, and Rathalos chuckled. It was a dry, bitter and airy sound, but he nodded.
"I will never be able to bring my son back, but perhaps I can make it so that another father doesn't have to suffer the same as I have. That is why I agreed to protect and serve under Samyaza. Seeing all of the hatchlings in the band of mercenaries and their adolescent wyvern brought back fond memories." he said.
Caspar inhaled. He did get the man, but there was still something that nagged at his conscious.
"Could your son's hair change color like yours?" he asked, and Rathalos blinked, inhaling.
"You noticed. Not even the demonspawn has brought it up." he noted, and a smile spread across his face. There was something about the boy that always brought a smile to his face, and he was certain that it was their own similarities as warriors.
As the Blue Lions traversed the odd labyrinth hidden within Jeritza's quarters, they came to an interesting and annoying conclusion.
The tiles of the floor were imbued with magick, and with the size of the labyrinth, it made things quite an issue.
The magickal tiles had some form of advanced transportation magick imbued into them. It was nigh on teleportation, and it had the group fragmented into chunks that Cetanu would rather be a singular group. He was mostly worried about Bernadetta, as everyone else was fine for the most part.
Felix was with Mercedes and Dedue, and that was a trio that brought a sense of annoyance to the demon. Felix was far too hateful and headstrong, he needed to put his differences with Dedue aside for the time being. He hoped that's what he was doing.
Sylvain and Annette were with Bernadetta, which greatly annoyed him. He wanted Bernadetta with Ashe and Dedue because they were in the best condition to aid her and protect her. Sylvain and Annette were capable indeed, but Sylvain was likely still feeling minuscule effects of his epic clash with Miklan. It would be a problem if a nagging injury flared up in combat.
This left Cetanu alone, as he wished to be. As much as he wanted to coddle and protect his students every second of the day, he knew that they couldn't grow without being left alone. They needed to be able to fight their own battles and make their own decisions. They would be leaders in the future, it was necessary.
He turned a corner, noticing a large gate in his way, the door made of solid stone and with a large keyhole in the center. He hummed as he approached it, running his hand along the stone. He could feel something behind the doors. It was something powerful and malevolent. It was also eerily familiar to him.
His fingers ran along the keyhole, the demon watching with a dead gaze as his fingers fused together and morphed, cracking and twisting into the shape of a large key that he stuck into the hole in the center of the doors. Another sickening crunch of flesh resounded as he snapped his own wrist to turn the key, the doors creaking as they opened inwards ever so slowly.
Removing his hand, he began to inhale and flex the muscles as they reformed into a normal hand, a quick twist snapping his wrist back into place as he sighed.
Using his beyond human strength, he pushed the monstrous stone doors abroad, seeing a lantern lit room with scratched and scarred stone walls. It appeared to be a gladiatorial chamber of some form. He noticed iron bars wrought into the stone on the far wall, likely where someone would tell their fighter to get it together and score the finishing blow swiftly.
This thought came to his mind because standing across from him, this time without a horse, was the Death Knight. Cetanu could feel his muscles roiling. He was waiting for this. Another chance to settle the score with the scythe wielding demon.
"Our hair changes color because of our heritage." Rathalos said, sighing as he rose from the grave. He placed a somber hand on the tombstone, mumbling something that Caspar couldn't hear before gesturing back to the house on the property.
"You see, one of the most important things in our wild land, is 'Temperament'. Other people and wildlife can learn about your intentions based on what mood you're in. We Sreng natives have also adapted to this." he explained, sighing as he ran a hand along a small sword and shield that Caspar assumed belonged to his son.
"One of the ways we did this was by constantly ingesting the strongest monsters that we've defeated. By eating the strongest beasts in Sreng, we become the strongest beasts. My direct ancestors feasted on Jarangs and the strongest of the Sreng Wyverns. This left us with strong skin, pointed teeth and hair that changes according to our moods." he explained, sighing to himself.
"My son… his hair was the same. While Azure in color, great joy lightened his hair to the color of the sky and great stress made his hair a blue deep enough to be mistaken for black. Sickness made his hair appear a deep purple, much like the juice of a grape." he said, chuckling at the analogy.
"My hair is the colors of fire because of my position as the Teosgrah. There are beasts in Sreng that only warriors of my caliber can defeat and consume. Beasts with internal organs that conduct magickal energies." he said, staring at another weapon on the wall.
Caspar was incredibly interested in this. He wished to be stronger, strong enough that people would have to pay attention to him and acknowledge him as a formidable, respectable warrior. Could simply eating what you kill make you stronger? Was that possible?
He looked to the weapon that was on the wall, this one a large, ornate bow that was still strung taut. It was shades of blue and white that looked like a cloudy moonlit night, something that made Caspar wonder if this also belonged to his son.
"This bow belonged to my wife. She was a formidable archer, one that would make even the greatest sharpshooters of Fodlan question their skill." he explained.
"One of your opponents is an archer." he said, delicately picking the weapon from the wall. He gently brushed the dust from the weapon and smiled at it. It was as if he could feel his wife's hands still on the weapon. He could envision her form and it brought him a sense of happiness.
"I am going to start your preparations. You will have to learn to strike and fight while arrows rain upon you."
"This still sucks." Sylvain said, frowning at the fact that he got stuck with the two smaller females of the group. Annette was arguably more physically gifted than Mercedes, but Bernadetta?
"Well we think it sucks that we got stuck with you instead of Felix!" Annette said, and the red haired cavalier looked to her. He rose a brow, wondering if she was actually telling the truth or if she was just blowing smoke for the sake of the argument.
"Really? So he could scowl and grumble about how women hold him back because they aren't physically gifted enough to be worthy opponents?" he asked. The orange haired girl sighed, shaking her head and conceding the argument.
Sylvain couldn't be reasoned with most of the time. It's a wonder to her that he even did his schoolwork.
"A-Are you guys really okay with… y'know?" Bernadetta interjected. She had to know. Ingrid found out about her teacher and his favorite student and simply left. Did they even know, or were they just okay with it?
Annette frowned, looking to the ground as the trio continued to maneuver the labyrinth. It was hard for her to put into words, because she didn't have too much experience with either Blood Demon one on one. Thankfully.
"I'm okay with it. They seem to be able to control their urges around me." Annette said, and Sylvain rolled his neck. Scratching his head, he sighed.
"As long they don't want to… feed from you, it's cool I guess. Ashe… gets weird when he's 'hungry'." he said, finding the phrasing for your inhuman classmate desiring your plasma rather awkward.
Bernadetta hummed, grumbling to herself. "I-I got lucky. I don't even remember it happening." she said, and Annette blinked.
"Wait… they fed from both of you!?" she shouted, looking a little unnerved. Had they been making their ways down the line, biting them all one by one? Was she next? Would it be Cetanu or Ashe? What would it be like? Her paranoia made questions run rampant in her mind.
However, before either of the other students could answer, they heard footsteps. Sylvain grit his teeth and gripped his lance tightly, anticipating another onslaught of foolhardy bandits.
The magickal floor tiles had split them all up, and this split left Ashe alone with his thoughts. He walked the labyrinth, wondering exactly who ended up where. However, while he was alone, he began to do something he didn't find himself doing as much as needed.
Train.
While he knew that he needed work on his Fleshcrafting, the young Fiend decided to work on something else. It was his magick, his skills unpolished compared to a few of his classmates.
He was inspired to learn more of the arcane arts after seeing Sylvain's mastery of wind magick, his own skills paltry in comparison. He had searched for a tutor, even asking Lillith and Manuela on occasion to see if he could find his magickal niche.
He had found something that he liked, which was magick that Lillith called 'Equipment Magick', a form of arcane utility that allowed the user to form armor and weapons out of the elements. What he couldn't fathom as he sparked a current of magick between his palms, was his elemental affinity.
As his ears picked up on far off battles in the labyrinth and moving enemy soldiers, Ashe watched as a ball of water formed on his palm. It was relatively useless at his current level, but as he concentrated on the orb, he noticed that it began to shift in color.
He could tell that it was beginning to freeze over, and his head tilted as he wondered if ice based weaponry would offer him any new combat opportunities.
The ice shattered with his focus when a series of footsteps approached him, his eyes moving to see a group of enemy soldiers approaching.
He pulled his bow from his back, inhaling as he wondered if his magick could enhance his archery. His ears noted that there were six of them, his free hand moving to pull a handful of arrows from his quiver. He inhaled.
He loaded every arrow at once, imagining his body temperature dropping as he poured magickal energy into the arrows through his fingers, watching as frost and steam began to cover his projectiles. Just a little more focus and he'll have strong enough ice to stay solid on the tip of the arrow.
Cetanu snapped his mantle off, a smile on his face as he surged forward once more.
His right boot slammed into the chestplate of the Death Knight, who stumbled back and grunted. He swung the Scythe he wielded and barely missed Cetanu's leg, The Fiend shifting his posture as the Knight recovered.
With the Scythe in hand, the Knight would be a pain to deal with. It was bad enough that he had claws built into the armor on his gauntlets and huge spiked shoulders, but a reach advantage and a giant scythe made Cetanu's job that much harder.
He held the Sword of the Creator in his hand, and he wondered exactly how useful it would be in this battle. Then, he had another thought as the knight growled and charged him.
Cetanu swung the blade, watching the vertebrae like joints of the sword snap and disconnect. They surged directly at the knight, who swung his huge scythe to knock it away.
Spinning the hilt in his grip, Cetanu yanked downwards, the disjointed sword clattering into the shaft of the scythe, a hard yank from the Fiend pulling it from his foe's grasp as he discarded the vaunted holy relic that he used.
The Death Knight was an unstable, bloodthirsty warrior, and his opponent was a War raised inhuman killing machine. Their fight should be with their bodies, the most primal and powerful weapon anyone can ever wield.
Ashe cursed his accuracy, realizing that one of his arrows missed, his blood stained hands dripping as he looked to the final soldier. He had torn him apart with his hands, and with his blood coating the demon's hands, the gray haired boy hummed.
He once again imagined his body's temperature falling, and the blood on his hands slowly began to crystallize, his fingers covered in small crimson daggers as he walked on further.
He wanted to reunite with his classmates and get out of here, but with there being magickal floor tiles and stone walls everywhere, he was convinced he'd have a headache before he was reunited with the Blue Lions.
Sylvain and the two smaller females were exhausted, barely able to keep up as they fought off the onslaught they were under.
Bernadetta reached into her quiver for another arrow, hesitating when she realized that there wasn't one. She turned for less than a fraction of a second, a small gasp escaping her lips in a fraction of a second.
One of the final soldiers rushed her in that instant, axe held high as Annette turned to her.
"Bernadetta!"
The purple haired girl looked to the soldier in horror, realizing that she didn't have a single weapon and Sylvain was already engaged in combat with another foe.
Suddenly, a huge pair of chiseled arms appeared, reaching behind the soldier and catching him in a full nelson hold. His weapon clattered to the floor before he was lifted up, thrown backwards and driven into the hard stone ground by his head and neck.
A honed body rolled to it's feet, an exhale passing through well moistened lips, microscopically symmetrical hairs in the main's beard moving with him.
He ran manicured fingernails through glimmering golden locks, pearl like teeth baring in a toothy grin as his shining blue eyes looked at the rest of the soldiers.
"Behold the Masterpiece of Chevalier! The Demon Lord of Pride! Beelzebub Met Atron!"
The sound of boots grinding against gravel rung out, Cetanu and the Death Knight sliding back after another vicious exchange. The Fiend of Fodlan wasn't entirely happy with the result, looking to his shattered right arm.
It was broken in the wrong direction, snapped and clawed by the desperate hands of the knight. He turned his gaze to his opponent, who he could see was getting worn out as well. His shoulders heaved, and his posture slouched ever so slightly.
The two monsters began to feel impatient, charging each other silently with the intent to kill. Cetanu hadn't even bothered to repair his arm, the broken and bloodied limb simply billowing at his side.
The knight moved to grab the demon, who ducked underneath his broad arms and clenched his fist. Throwing all of his energy and muscle into his legs, he vaulted up and struck the knight with an uppercut, the resistance from his reinforced helmet shattering the fingers on Cetanu's left hand.
However, the maw of his mask cracked, the metal fracturing and splintering off as it revealed a pale jaw with bloodied lips.
A lock of blonde hair had seeped from the crown of the helm, letting Cetanu know without a doubt that the Death Knight was Jeritza, the combat professor with the odd voice.
He stumbled back, his clawed gauntlets moving to his own mouth as if to apply pressure to his pained jaw. Cetanu huffed, feeling both awful and amazing at the fact that someone was able to push him to such an extent physically.
He wanted to keep fighting. This man was a more worthy opponent than Rhea at this point.
"Am I worth killing now, Jeritza!?"
He spread his arms as he shouted, his bloodied right arm and shattered left fingers not matching the look of glee across his inhuman features. This was Cetanu at his most natural. A War machine in the heat of battle.
The knight stumbled back, his mortality causing him to lack the stamina of the Fleshcrafting monster he was holding his own against.
"I… I will kill you if it's the only thing I do!" he shouted, and Cetanu's face erupted in a villainous grin, his normally dead eyes aglow with a series of emotions that weren't normal for one whose life was just threatened.
Before Cetanu could respond, someone intervened. There was a magickal portal opened, and the knight slipped through it. Cetanu grit his teeth, cursing his luck as he started to calm down.
He shifted back into the mindset of a teacher, snapping all of his fingers back into place with a single flex of his hand, his left hand moving to his right arm as he proceeded on through the labyrinth, slowly repairing his damaged arm.
The magickal tiles had all changed color, and each of the students picked up on this as they fought off wave after wave of enemy soldiers. Thankfully for Sylvain and the two small females, they were joined by Beelzebub, one of Cetanu's oldest allies.
"The villain at the helm of this operation is something else. It's truly interesting." he said, humming to himself as he took the first step onto the tile.
When he vanished from their sight, they wondered if they should even follow. Unlike him, they weren't designed for this level of combat. They needed to rest in between waves of enemies, check their supplies and the quality of their weapons. They hadn't reached a level where their only weapon was their body.
When they got to the other side of wherever the tiles took them, they noted that the rest of the class was there, Cetanu sitting off against a wall stretching the fingers on his right hand. Cracking sounds were heard coming from his fingers, as if he was popping them back into place.
Ashe was watching him with a look of fascination across his features. He certainly couldn't Fleshcraft as good as Cetanu. The demon had rebuilt his entire right arm, all the way down to the length of his finger nails. It was meticulous work, and required a lot of focus.
"I can see that you've done well in making it this far."
The demon stopped, rising to his feet and turning in the direction of the voice.
He saw an armored knight wearing a large robe with a dramatically plumed helmet. An oddly familiar red shield with a phoenix on it was in one hand, and an axe with a long shaft in the other.
His fingers began to twitch. Whether that was because of the recent repair to the nerves or his desire to shred this armored individual molecule from molecule, he couldn't be sure.
"Still yourself, Mercenary. You will not have the chance to battle me just yet." he said, and Cetanu inhaled.
Thanks to his Fleshcrafting, he was able to rework the physical form with a single touch. Any touch.
As the dramatic armored knight moved to speak, Cetanu used his tongue to modify his skull and nasal passages to improve his sense of smell. If there was something that he could pick up off of this warrior, he'd be able to discover his identity easier.
"I am the Flame Emperor, and it will be I who reshapes this world. We will meet again, and you will fulfill your destiny by falling against me." he said, and Cetanu could only smile.
"When I get my hands on you, I'm going to show you exactly how you properly reshape something." he said, taking lumbering, threatening steps towards the Flame Emperor, who shifted ever so slightly before vanishing with a spell.
Cetanu could hear it and feel it. That microscopic shuffle of the feet, the shift of weight backwards.
The Flame Emperor feared him. The scent of fear wafted through his modified nostrils, which were turned back to normal as they group pressed onwards to the back of the chamber.
If Cetanu could simply scare anyone he was suspicious of, he'd be able to tell who the Flame Emperor was. All he had to do was bring unease.
When they reached the back of the chamber, they found what they were looking for.
Flayn laid unconscious against a wall, blood trailing from beneath her sleeve from a wound. However, Cetanu frowned.
There was a second girl here. Her hair was blood red, and she too was injured and unconscious. Was she another victim of Jeritza, or had she just stumbled into the spider's web accidentally?
His inhuman eyes narrowed. If the combat professor made a habit of hiding young girls in underground dungeons, he'd have to do something about it.
"Beelzebub, grab the girls." he said, the blonde nodding as he picked them up like feathers, the sheer size of his arms allowing him to cradle the two teenage girls with ease as if they were children. Sometimes it paid to be one of the largest men in all of Fodlan.
With their objective secured, the group moved to leave. Cetanu, however, stayed glued to the spot.
His eyes fixated on a small puddle of blood that pooled where Flayn laid. The blood of one of the Four Saints. The only Saint that he hadn't had yet.
He figured that with the immense physical strain from fighting the Death Knight and then repairing his body that he'd be famished. There was a vulgar part of him that wanted to lap the drops up off the gravel, but the monster within his head wouldn't allow it.
We are so much more than that. Could you truly liken yourself to a God if you groveled for scraps?
His head tilted as he turned around, following at the rear of the group incase any straggling enemies remained. The monster was correct. There was no reason for him to consider groveling and lapping up mere droplets from the ground.
Not when his fellow Demon Lord carried the source.