Part 1: Denial
"Lif."
The undead swordsman turned his gaze at the utterance of his name to address his fellow general, away from the path where Alfonse and his allies had only recently departed in order to continue their futile quest.
"Thrasir. What is it?"
Thrasir strode forward to stand beside Lif, her eyes turning to where Lif's were just moments before. "So, the living fools continue to struggle? Where are they headed now?" Lif cast his gaze toward the derelict Embla castle as he gave his answer. "They have come to Embla. It is likely they are seeking that which could, supposedly, kill Hel." Thrasir scoffed in response. "Nonsense. There is no killing Hel. The Askr fools would not even know where to begin searching."
"They were not alone." Lif stated with uncharacteristic trepidation. "Accompanying them was…Princess Veronica." Immediately, Thrasir's piercing gaze was focused on the lethal swordsman, a whorl of emotions swirling within her eyes. "She's here with them?" Lif nodded in affirmation, allowing his fellow general to process this new information. After a brief moment, Thrasir spoke again. "They will be heading toward the Temple of Blood. Veronica knows the way. I will intercept them."
"…very well." Lif assented. However, just as the undead witch was beginning to depart, Lif spoke again. "Thrasir." Thrasir paused but did not turn to face the fallen king of Askr, who took this opportunity to continue speaking. "Are you prepared for what you must do?" Thrasir did not answer immediately, but when she did, her response was curt. "For the one I've lost, I will do what I must. Just as you have. Just as we agreed." Without waiting for a response, Thrasir vanished, leaving Lif to ponder those words alone. "For the ones we have lost." He echoed in agreement to no one but himself. Yes, as mad and paradoxical a concept it was, if it meant saving the lives of everyone in this ruined world, Lif would continue to swing his cursed blade. To save the lives of his loved ones, he will continue to kill as many lives as it takes. "Sharena…Kiran…I will make things right." Using those names to reinforce his determination, Lif prepared to depart.
However, before he could leave, a sudden chill permeated the atmosphere. The dead do not feel cold, but this was no ordinary cold, no mere absence of heat. This was an emptiness, a hollow wind that drained the life of any living thing that did remain, petrifying them into stillness. It was a chill that Lif knew once before in life, and one he hardly expected to ever experience again. Below him the soil froze and the air around him similarly frosted until a tangible mist could be perceived. Finally, a cold voice robbed of the warmth it once held whispered behind him.
"Is…he…here?"
Sighing, Lif prepared himself to face the being addressing him, only to be stopped short by a curved blade appearing before his throat, its steel cold to the touch. "Don't turn. Just answer." The voice bit out. "Is he here?" Lif paused, not at all perturbed by the weapon threatening him before he answered.
"Yes, Skadi. He is here."
Despite his answer, the blade was not removed from its current position. "Where? Where is he?" The voice questioned, desperation now lacing the speaker's words. Lif merely shook his head. "Why do you insist on this? It is pointless. After all, he is not-." The swordsman's words were cut short by the blade now roughly pressing into his throat, and Lif grunted as he once again mused on the cruel irony that despite being dead, he could still experience pain.
"Tell me! NOW!"
Silence reigned, save for the slightly ragged breathing of the being behind Lif. Reluctantly, Lif answered. "They are travelling to the Temple of Blood. Thrasir is already moving to intercept them." He had barely finished speaking before the blade bruising his neck was pulled away, the freezing mist swirling to pursue its master. Ignoring his sore neck, Lif turned to call after his questioner. "Skadi, what do you intend to do? You know our mission. They must die." The figure before Lif, an undead woman with short ashen hair clothed in pale cloth and sable armor that covered all but her exposed midriff and thighs, stopped in her tracks. A tarnished white strip of cloth that acted as a scarf whipped angrily in the frigid breeze while a pale hand held a wicked scythe in what once would have been a white-knuckled grip. "Was it not enough?" The woman whispered with barely restrained anger, before whipping her head around to cast a scathing glare at Lif, crimson eyes brimming with overwhelming disgust and grief. "Was it not enough to kill him once?!"
"Skadi…" Lif attempted to speak, but his words fell on deaf ears as the woman resumed her march in the direction the living and Thrasir had departed, the mist gradually obscuring her form from view. However, before completely disappearing from view, Lif was left with the icy specter's parting declaration. "I will find him. I must find him!"
"I must find Kiran!"
Author's Note: So, this was a crazy idea I spontaneously came up with last night. This is a semi-AU of Book Three taking place starting at the conclusion of Chapter 9 and continuing onward to the end of the book. Overall, it will follow the continuity of the main story with the exception of some brief detours as well as introducing the OC of this story: Skadi. Consider this fic as a sort of Paralogue to Book Three's main events. And, just for the fun of it, here's some additional info:
Skadi – Cold Embrace (Blue Infantry Lance)
An estranged general of the realm of the dead. At Hel's command, she reaps the living to increase the ranks of the dead, though she appears to be searching for someone…
HP 40/Atk 50/ Spd 35/ Def 29/ Res 37
Valgrindr – Unit can counterattack regardless of foe's range. If unit is within 3 spaces of an ally, grants Atk/Spd/Def/Res+4 during combat and neutralizes foes bonuses during combat, but after combat, if unit attacked, inflicts status preventing counterattacks through foe's next actions.
A Slot: Mirror Stance 2
B Slot: Chill Speed 3
C Slot: Defense Smoke 3
Special: Glacies