To anyone actually reading this - I hope you've had a good day.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Calm Before the Storm

No one had even noticed Lance had escaped the city. Clair hadn't even sent any guards searching for him. Perhaps she had been bluffing all along, trying to scare him into staying. Or perhaps she thought he would return begging for her forgiveness. Either way, he was free to roam the lands outside Blackthorn's walls without having to worry about guards pursuing him.

The bandit campsite was empty. Oddly enough, there were no guards about. The guards certainly weren't wolves – even an untriggered wolf would've been able to detect their presence. That led him to the conclusion the guards hadn't been aware that their leader was a werewolf but had willingly chosen to serve him for whatever reason. The absence of guards made entering the camp effortless and he found his father standing outside the tent, gazing up at the sky.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lance approached him. The man turned around and lowered his gaze, his dark eyes meeting with Lance's own. Unlike last time, his father had a long sword in its sheath hanging off the left side of his hip. "You've returned," the man said his voice low. "And I can sense a change in you."

"The necromancers. They must be stopped. They'll raise an army of the dead."

The man gave a sardonic laugh. "You think you have the power to stop her?"

"I have to try. I won't let them destroy the city of Blackthorn."

At the mention of Blackthorn, his father's hands curled into fists, his brows furrowed. "Why do you even care about a city that lied to you?"

"Because unlike you I am still a Blackthorn by blood," Lance replied, taking a step forward to close the distance between himself and his father. The man was a good head taller than him and an experienced werewolf. Jacob could easily take him down with little effort if he wanted to, but he didn't move.

"And you're a damned fool," the man replied curtly, spitting at the ground before his feet. "You found a way to reverse the curse. You had a chance to live a life free of this curse and yet you choose to want it like a blind fool!"

Lance held his ground. "I was dying. Slowly. I've been taking potions each month to lessen the symptoms, but those potions are weakening."

"And you think being a true wolf will change that? You'll experience a new sort of pain."

"It's a risk, I know. But it's one I must take."

"You had benefits before being a wolf."

"And I can't afford to become weak when there's an army of the dead at our gates," Lance retorted. "My people need me to be strong. Grandfather is close to death, and my cousin is no leader. That burden falls on me, and I won't stand aside and watch my city burn."

"And how do you expect to fight the dead?" Jacob said in a resigned tone, as if he had already given up hope. "You think teeth and claws will kill them?"

"You kill their leader, and the army falls with them."

"How can you be so sure the necromancers are going to raise the dead?"

Lance narrowed his eyes. "I talked to Agatha. That name should be familiar to you."

"And it's because of her I ended up here. I don't have anything. This is all I have," he replied, raising his arms. All he had was an empty bandit camp. The man didn't even have a proper bed to sleep on. It was a wonder how he had even survived this long. "This isn't a life I want you to have. It's no life at all. A curse more than a blessing. What does enhanced strength mean when there's nothing to gain from it? The witch who created us… was killed by her creations. The wolves turned on her. The full moon… It does things to the mind."

The man raised a fair point. The wolves were stronger than normal people, but they were hiding in the forest because they had nowhere else to go. The common people certainly wouldn't accept werewolves living amongst them and their families. Even the howls of the common wolves frightened the peasants. "But that can be changed. My grandfather is dying. When he dies so do all the old laws. I intend to retake Blackthorn and make it my own once this war is won. I might be a wolf, but I am still a Blackthorn and I still have the right to the throne."

Jacob's eyebrows raised seemingly surprised by the conviction in his tone. "You honestly believe you can make a difference. You think you can win. Your conviction is impressive."

Lance nodded. "I won't give up when I know there is still hope. Lyra. She's a faerie. She has the power to enhance a king's sword to kill the shadow as my great grandfather did all those years ago." He looked down at his own blade. "I intend to do the same thing."

"You need a real king's sword."

Lifting an eyebrow, Lance said, "This is a king's sword. It belonged to Edward."

Jacob snorted. "That sword is not the real one."

Tilting his head to one side, Lance said, "How would you know?"

"Give me the sword," Jacob ordered, extending a hand.

Lance gave it to him. "What are you trying to do?"

Jacob placed a hand on the blade then bended the steel. "A true king's blade will not be broken." He straightened the blade again then gave it back. "Henry Blackthorn's blade was forged with dragon's fire and was strengthened by the magic of a faerie. That is the blade you need, but your grandfather had the man and sword buried in an abandoned shrine outside the city."

Lance looked down at the blade. "A fake sword then. And to think I was proud when he gave me this blade on my knighting ceremony." Another lie. What other lies had the man said? "That is good to know because the real sword is at the castle next to the throne. A golden blade with odd symbols on it."

"The true sword."

Lance nodded. "So, a faerie just has to touch the blade?"

"I don't know the details. I wasn't around to witness the ritual. The power of faeries is far greater than anything I've ever known. A one that knows how to wield their power is a terrifying thing," Jacob explained. "You said you know a faerie."

"My cousin's servant, Lyra."

"Keep her close."

"I plan to. I need to be with her."

Silence, then, "There's a full moon approaching."

"I'm aware of that," Lance remarked. "Better now than later."

Jacob's expression remained stern. "You can't be around anyone when you turn. You don't have control of your thoughts in the first few transformations. You're a danger to everyone, including yourself. Keep your distance from the people you love or risk hurting them. Every bone in your body breaks. Every. Single. Bone," Jacob explained, crossing his arms over his chest once more. "Some wolves go rabid when they return to human form. They lose their minds, and they don't come back. They forget what it means to be human. There's a reason why there aren't many of us left."

"I'll manage."

He tried to sound confident, but the truth was he didn't know what to expect. He hadn't seen a wolf transform before. Samuel had wanted a wolf captured to study, but he doubted someone like Brawley would stay put.

"I'd help you if I could, but it's something you do on your own."

"I get that. But I didn't come here to talk about werewolves and swords. I want you to return to Blackthorn."

The main raised an eyebrow. "Some faces are going to remember me."

"And you are allowed in on my orders. Mother would've wanted us to work together."

Silence then, "Your mother would never have wanted any of this to happen," he said softly. "She didn't even want this life for you." He removed the amulet around his neck and held it out to Lance.

Lance arched a brow. "You should keep it."

"She would've wanted you to have it. Maybe it'll give you some comfort for the road ahead."

Reluctantly, Lance accepted it. "I barely knew her."

"She was the finest woman I ever knew. She envisioned a world that was united. Maybe you'll be able to make her dreams become a reality," Jacob said then sighed. "It's been a long time since I've been involved in battle, but I will be there. Just give me a sign."

Lanced nodded. "I don't want to risk losing you in the battle. After all these years apart… No. I won't have you die. When the city is mine, I'll plant a white flag on top of the hill with the dead tree. Look for it." He pulled back to the tent's entrance. As much as he would've liked to trade words with his father, he had other places to be. "I have to leave. But I'm serious. I want you to be in Blackthorn. Your life doesn't have to be like this. It can be better."

He didn't wait for an answer. Somehow, he didn't think his father would offer one if he did wait around. He needed time to think about it. Without saying goodbye, he exited the tent and prepared to make his way over to Mahogany Town.

.

It had felt strange walking away from Ecruteak City. The city had been his home for much of his life. Now, he could no longer call it home. Every word had been a lie. His god not one of light, but one of death. He had believed in Naoko. He had even helped her achieve her goals. But in the end, he was just another soldier.

"Welcome to Cherrygrove."

Misty climbed off his back. "This isn't Blackthorn?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I thought we'd rest a little."

"But we have no coin?"

"Zuni had a few on her. You probably forgot all about it." He gestured to Misty's robes, drawing her attention to a small leather satchel. "It'll be enough to catch a ride to the city. Best we catch a merchant ride – it'll be easier to get inside if we claim we're bringing goods. The city is… in lockdown last I heard. Hard to get in and out."

She looked him up and down with a frown. "How did you even find more clothes?"

"Found a way on the way." A fallen soldier with a few arrows in his back. Probably killed by bandits looking for loot. Fortunately, the bandits had left the soldier's clothing intact. It wasn't much – just some simple cloths made of deer hide – but it was better than nothing.

Cherrygrove City had changed little since he had last visited. It was less busy since the flower season was over in Azalea, but people still visited to purchase the finest wood for a hefty price. Morty hadn't come for the wood. It wasn't as if he had a house to live in. He had come for another reason. To live life like a typical mercenary.

"Oh, food does sound good. And a nice warm bed!"

He shook his head. "No. We have to leave immediately. We can't delay."

She pouted. "All right then."

He headed to the tavern. The place was less filled than his last visit. There were more empty tables. "Find somewhere to sit. I'll join you shortly."

"Right. You'll probably want these coins," she said, giving him the small bag before turning away to find somewhere to sit.

Morty approached the counter. Phoebe. He remembered her. The waitress who had been trying to get his attention. Last time she had flowers in her hair. They were gone now.

"You're back," she said.

He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You remember."

"I remember every face that walks through these doors. Some I never see again." She picked up a mug and grabbed a cloth with her other hand. "So many soldiers come through these doors. Some men know they are at death's door; some come to celebrate their achievements, whilst others come here because they have nowhere else to. Which one are you?" She used the cloth to wipe the mug clean.

"None of them. I'm just passing through."

"You want a bed." The woman looked him up and down. "…And you'll want some better clothing. People are going to get the wrong idea about you. We don't often have male prostitutes, but some people do think fondly of them."

"It's been a long journey and my companion, and I are in need of a decent meal and beds to sleep in for the night." He placed a few gold coins on the table. "Can you provide?"

She studied them closely, then pulled away. "Not often I see mercenaries carrying gold coins. How many people did you have to rob? Or did you sell your clothes for some coin?"

He glared. "I didn't steal it. I earned it. I was in Blackthorn City for a few months. You have a low opinion of mercenaries. We're not all savages." He pulled away from the counter and frowned.

"Anyone who gladly kills for gold is just a savage to me. I've heard the stories. Children killed. Homes pillaged and plundered. People murdered in their beds. All for some coin that is just enough for a meal and a bed for the night," Phoebe replied, turning her back. She put the mug on a shelf.

He noticed there was a scar across the back of her neck. "You have to do what it takes to survive. For some, that means having no morals."

She turned back around. "Spoken like a true mercenary."

"I am good at my job. I am here, aren't I?"

"Arrogant too."

He sighed. "I didn't come to be here insulted. I have money. You'd be foolish to turn it down. How about you give me a key to one of the back rooms and we'll just go on our separate ways? The road has been long, and my companion and I are weary and in need of a good rest. Take the coin or I'll go someplace else. I can't imagine you see many gold coins in your line of work."

She folded her arms then sighed. "All right. You win. But only because I'm saving money to get out of here. I hear Goldenrod City has plenty of opportunities for work." She scooped up the coins and put them away into a pouch, then reached a hand under the counter. He heard a drawer open and moments later, a silver key was placed on the bench. "Room 4. Far right. Just head towards the kitchen area and take the first door on the left. You'll find some stairs."

He put the key away in a pocket. "Fair enough."

Turning around, he searched for Misty in the crowd then gestured for her to come. The woman rose from her chair and came towards him. "Here's some advice for you. Don't indulge in conversation with bartenders."

"Should I even ask why?"

"They have nothing meaningful to say." He tilted his head. "Let's see this room first."

He turned away and followed Phoebe's directions, heading up the stairs to find his room. There were eight other rooms. Three that were already occupied. He inserted the key and unlocked the door then stepped inside, taking in the environment of his temporary sleeping quarters for the night. All he had was a bed with a single pillow and sheet. Even the room back at the Blackthorn barracks was better than this. Perfect for any adventurer or soldier just passing through.

Misty followed. "Best room I've seen in months."

He sat down on the bed and laid down, looking up at the ceiling, reflecting on the months that had passed by. Once a devoted member of the Order of Ash then an unwilling soldier for Blackthorn. Now things had changed and not for the best. Naoko had the three sacred relics. The dead would rise. All life would be threatened, and he was responsible.

"You look deep in thought," Misty said.

"Just thinking," he replied. "Nothing to be concerned about. We'll eat first. Get some rest. Then we'll keep moving." He headed towards the exit.

Misty followed. "I've visited Blackthorn once. When I was a young girl."

They entered the dining area once more.

"This time you're going to stay in Blackthorn."

Phoebe was busy entertaining a group of men. One of them tried to encourage her to sit on his lap, but she pulled away, giving the man a forced smile. Another one tried to wrap an arm around her waist, but she pushed his arm away. No wonder she wanted to leave this place, but how would Goldenrod be an improvement? The soldiers were becoming louder now. The more drink they consumed, the more confident they became.

He ignored the soldiers and followed Misty to a table in far the corner.

"What are you going to do in the city?"

"Talk to the queen if possible," Morty remarked. "She'll want to know what happened."

They had to be told about the army of the dead. To prepare for the worst. Blackthorn was the only city capable of defending. If the city fell, the rest of the region would also fall. Misty seemed to understand he didn't feel interested in talking and stopped trying to make conversation.

Arceus had allowed him to live to warn Blackthorn. War was coming.

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Silver kicked the dirt. Escaping Blackthorn unscathed should've filled him with happiness. Although he had lived in far worse places, as large as the city was, it had suffocated him. The larger the population, the more work there was to be done. He had worked long hours under the sun until his skin had peeled off. He had carried items more than his weight until exhaustion. He had screamed in pain from beatings until he could cry no more. But as suffocating as the city was, he was safe behind those walls. But now he was on his own and all he had to arm himself was a small knife he had taken from Surge's kitchen.

He wasn't a true soldier. No. He was just someone who picked up a sword and thought he could be one. His skills had been obtained through observation. Some skills couldn't be taught. Some were gained through experience. Living in the wild taught you many things. How to hunt food. How to build a shelter. How to best use your senses. How to defend yourself. Out in the wild no one was there to hold your hand. A mistake could easily end your life. There were no doctors out here to take care of you.

He had last encountered his father in Azalea Forest. He preferred to keep his distance from the mountains and made his base in the warmest part of the region. It also meant being farthest away from Blackthorn and the king's men.

"You have disappointed me for the last time, boy," Giovanni snarled, striking his right hand against Silver's left cheek.

Silver cried out in pain, his cheek turning red. The sting lingered. "I have done as you have asked, father," he pleaded.

He was struck in the face again. This time on the other cheek. Fortunately, the other bandits weren't present to witness his shame. His father towered over him. "And you had alerted the pirates to our presence. When you steal valuable treasures from the enemy, I expect you to be discrete about it. You killed a man. Foolish boy. Now they are aware of our presence in this area."

The incident was still fresh in his mind. He had been tasked with looting the captain's cabin. Silver had succeeded, but it hadn't been easy sneaking past all the guards. Someone had to die otherwise he never would've reached the cabin. Although Giovanni cared about the result, he was more interested in the methods used to achieve the goal. The less bloodshed, the better. For a man that had a heart as black as the night, it was surprising that he didn't enjoy spilling blood. He preferred to play games with his victims. In his words 'shattering the mind of a man is far more satisfying than watching the life fade from their eyes'. Not to say Giovanni wouldn't take a life – it was just a last resort. It was like dangling food before a starving animal in a cage and watching the creature try to grab it.

For days he had travelled across the land heading towards the last known position of his father. Fortunately, he hadn't crossed paths with roaming bandits and rogue mercenaries. Most of them dared not to venture too deep into Blackthorn territory. Immediate death awaited them. The only man who had the right to come close was Archer, the man who sold the slaves. He had arranged some deal with Blaine. Surprisingly, he hadn't come across any werewolves or mages either. Perhaps Edward's fear of wolves had been greatly exaggerated – maybe werewolves didn't exist. Perhaps it was just a method of keeping people within the castle walls.

The treetops of Azalea Forest loomed on the horizon, the sun beginning its descent behind the trees. A pink-orange hue spread across the sky, as flocks of parrots made their way back to their homes to rest for the night. He approached the forest boundary, and drew in a deep breath, then stepped forward. Azalea Forest consisted of mostly pine trees with a few odd oak trees around. The forest floor was littered with pinecones and fallen brown thistles. It wasn't the ideal place for a camp. The pine trees didn't offer much protection.

Giovanni had his camp somewhere towards the south-east. It was difficult to find without a map and every tree looked identical. Every path had the same width. If Giovanni was still here, there'd be signs of human life, but Silver found nothing to suggest people were here. Clusters of blueberry bushes were full of life – if people were still living here, the bushes would be empty. He continued walking along one of the paths, searching for signs of human life. Nothing. No markings on the trees. The only traces of life belonged to the local wildlife. He saw fallow deer droppings on the path ahead and he heard birdsong in the trees above. It wasn't the ideal place for herbivores. Nowhere to hide.

"Where are you hiding, father," he muttered. "Show yourself to me, you coward."

He headed towards the campsite. Or at least what was left of it. He stumbled upon a deserted site, but the fireplace was still burning. He walked over and dropped down beside it, seeking the warmth of the flames. Winter was approaching. Before long the fields would be covered in snow and he'd wake up to frosty mornings. There were five tents made of cow hide in the area. The largest tent had the head of a bear on a pike. It must've been quite recent too since the flesh was still intact. A swarm of flies were latched onto the skin. He turned away and poked his head into the main tent. It was mostly empty except for an amulet on the ground.

He knelt next to it and picked it up. There was an engraving of a woman on it. His mother. He had never laid eyes upon a living version of her, but he had seen a painting. A beautiful woman. Brilliant blue eyes and long curly red locks. She had long eye lashes, a small button nose and her skin was clear as the sky on a cloudless day. "Mother," he murmured, placing his finger against her face. "I hope you're proud of me."

Giovanni had sold him into slavery when he had turned twenty-one years believing the boy would make him a lot of coin to make up for his failings. Other bandits who had failed his father had their heads cut off. He supposed he was one of the lucky ones. He still got to keep his head. But at what cost? To lose his humanity overtime? The only way he managed to keep sane was holding onto the belief he'd find his father again.

As he stepped outside, the amulet slipped through his fingers. He knelt beside it and picked it up. That's when he noticed something he hadn't seen earlier. Blood on the ground mixed in with the dirt. He never would've noticed if he hadn't of dropped the amulet. He dropped to the ground and dabbed his finger in it. Still warm. Recent then. Silver had probably missed them by about ten or more minutes. Encouraged, he searched for more tracks. More blood ahead. What would he find at the end?

.

"What business do you have in Cherrygrove?" the rider said. He wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield his face from the sun. His skin was tanned - evidence he spent a lot of time outside – but Morty also saw scars. Scars obtained from battle. The man was a former soldier who had opted for a quiet simple life driving trade carts.

"On a rescue mission," Morty replied, casting a glance sideways at Misty, before returning his attention. "You're a former soldier. I don't mean to pry, but those marks on your arms aren't from driving trade carts."

"Indeed, I was," the man replied, his dark eyes focused on the bumpy road ahead. "And you look like a mercenary yourself."

"You could say that. It's an interesting life. Always busy. There's always someone who wants someone killed and they can't do it themselves."

"Always on the move and no chance to settle down," the man mused. "Are you looking for a ride?"

"To Blackthorn. I must return this woman to her worried family. We can pay you for the trouble." He held up the pouch of coins. The man's eyes seemed to light up at the promise of money.

"It will cost two gold coins."

"Deal," Morty replied, opening the bag. He pulled out two gold coins and gave them over.

The merchant's eyebrows raised. "There's more to you than what meets the eye." He jerked his head towards the trade cart. "Well, get on then. You'll have to sit on the cart itself. Don't have the room for both of you on this seat."

Misty nodded. "Thank you, kind sir."

Morty rolled his eyes and climbed onto the back of the cart in amongst the food crates. There were potatoes and carrot. He grabbed onto the left side to stop himself from falling out. "You said you were a former soldier. Why did you leave?"

"It was a life I enjoyed once," the man replied, directing the horses onto a muddy path.

"And what made you quit?"

"I met a woman. She refused to marry me if I continued the life of a cutthroat."

Ah, the typical man falls in love with a woman and changes his life to suit her needs story. He had heard that one a lot. Sacrificing your way of life for someone else seemed odd to him.

"Oh, that's so romantic," Misty said.

"Why give up everything to make someone else happy?" Morty inquired.

The man chuckled. "You've never met someone. It's hard to explain it, but love changes you. It hits you hard. Makes you want to do anything for that one person. You feel at peace with the world when you are with them, and it's a feeling better than anything else. You could pay me all the money in the world and crown me a king, and the feeling wouldn't even come close."

They passed by a dead dog. Probably a runaway. Ravens were pecking at its flesh. He wondered which ravens they belonged to. Zuki? Naoko? One of the other sisters? Were they watching him now? Or had they perished during the fight too? He wasn't sure. "I can't say I've had the pleasure." Clearly, the man was no spellcaster. The feeling of having magic at your fingertips was all you needed.

"Then I hope you have the chance to experience it."

"Indeed."

The last person he had come close to 'loving' was Whitney and that ended in her death. Was it even love? No. She loved him. He knew that much. But he had been more interested in power and position than her. Perhaps if things had been different then he might have lived a similar life to the merchant. But Arceus appeared to work in mysterious ways. Why else would he still be alive now?

"I assume you are collecting wood from Cherrygrove?" he said, changing the topic.

"The finest wood in all of Johto," the merchant said. "The wife lives there too."

"Right. Of course."

"How long have you been a mercenary for?"

"Over ten years. Pays well. I get to see the world too," Morty said. "Never a dull moment."

"What are you going to do when you can't do this no more?"

Mortality, the greatest enemy to them all. "I haven't thought about it. I suppose I would have saved enough coin to live a decent life in some village somewhere." It wasn't something he had given much thought about. The life of a mercenary after their peak years was a grim one. Many became mad. Others were cut down by younger mercenaries. Some settled down and had families. "I still have many years left in me to think about retirement." He did not even know if he was going to survive the upcoming battle.

"The years fly by faster than you think."

"Then I best enjoy them." Morty fell silent, his thoughts focused elsewhere. What would become of his people now? Would they even be interested in rebuilding or would they simply become nomads? Perhaps they'd become mercenaries too. "I'm surprised you trusted us – travelling alone on these roads is dangerous," he said, handing the man a bag of coin.

"It's a risk, I admit, but I'm still alive."

"Yes, but there was nothing to stop me from killing you."

"But you haven't."

"What exactly would I gain that I can't get elsewhere?"

"Most mercenaries are cruel, selfish and bloodthirsty. You're not like the others. There's still hope for you yet. Arceus still has plans for you."

"Indeed he does," Morty murmured.

The man pulled on the reigns once more, urging the trade cart to move a bit faster. The merchant was surprisingly brave though he supposed that was the mentality he had developed from having been a mercenary for all those years.

Silence fell once more. Morty stifled a yawn. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while. Not since before the war. The tavern would have a few good beds at least. Although it wasn't comfortable, he leaned his head to the left and closed his eyes. For anyone but a necromancer, closing your eyes would be foolish. The merchant said nothing. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

.

"Father!"

N peered down at Ghetsis and gently poked the man to see if he would react. The reaction was immediate. His eyes opened, and the man forced himself up right uttering a pained grunt. His joints were still stiff, or he was adjusting to the sensation of feeling again. Not that N blamed him. He had spent the past couple of decades stuck inside a box in a fixed position.

"N?"

A smile spread across his face. He could talk. Good. The oracle blood was healing him fast. "Father, I'm here." He held his arms out and grabbed his father's hands. "You should be at full strength soon. I've done everything as asked. We brought the three relics together and raised you. The army of dead awaits you, father."

"Who is that?" Ghetsis said, squinting at Naoko's corpse.

"Naoko. She was the Chosen One. She brought you the relics. Without her help none of this would've been possible." N helped his father out of the coffin, placing an arm around his neck for support. Although his senses were returning, it would take some time to become accustomed to walking again. "The world has changed much since your absence."

"Tell me what has changed."

N guided his father slowly out of the buuilding allowing the man to appreciate his surroundings. Small rays of sunlight poured down through the opening gaps in the canopy and the sounds of bird song filled the air. "Much has changes over the years, father. Edward Blackthorn became king shortly after the war had ended. Nathaniel died in a tomb to seal himself in with the sceptre, but as you know we were able to retrieve it. Prince Benga, grandson of King Alder was murdered by one of our own," N explained.

"No sign of the faerie."

N shook his head. "Rumour has it the man died as well, but I do not know his location. You have nothing to fear, father. Only divine magic can stop you, but there are no faeries about. Your army of the dead will rise."

Ghetsis just nodded, rubbing his hand against his chin as if he had an itch. "Edward Blackthorn," he mused. "Henry Blackthorn is dead."

N nodded. "Yes. He was poisoned. His body was buried elsewhere. The weapon has not been uncovered. And even if it was recovered, no one can use it. You need a faerie to unlock its power otherwise its just an ordinary sword."

Ghetsis rubbed his chin. "Then we face no resistance. Blackthorn will fall."

"Of course, father," N said. Ghetsis was always right. Pride would be Blackthorn's downfall. "You will have the vengeance you seek." He guided his father into the forest towards a near the Bell Tower.

The man slowly walked over to the far northern wall and looked at the drawings. There was a drawing of three man, each one holding an item, standing beneath the head of Arceus. "I rise again like a phoenix," Ghetsis said, his eyes fixated on the drawing of the man on the far left. "All you had to do was stand by me, but you did not. Your walls will fall. The people you dearly loved will perish. A black plague will sweep across the lands. All life will suffer as I had. This is your doing, Nathaniel."

"What shall we do now, father?"

Pulling his gaze from the wall, Ghetsis turned to face and gestured for him to come forward. N did as commanded and was surprised when Ghetsis pulled him into a hug. Unaccustomed to the gesture, N kept his arms at his sides. Physical contact between two people was rare within the camp. People only came together as one for the purposes of reproduction, but otherwise such gestures were not made. It was nice however strange it seemed.

"Now we raise the dead, but power comes at a cost."

Ghetsis's arms tightened around him. N tried to free himself, but Ghetsis only fastened his hold. "Father!" Grimsley stood to the side unsure of how to respond. He was powerless to do anything. He could only look on.

"You are the final part of the spell, dear boy," Ghetsis said, his voice low. "The last ingredient to the spell. You were the first to receive my magic. You will grant life to a new world." Ghetsis squeezed him hard, crushing his ribcage together.

N gasped and tried to free himself, but Ghetsis far too strong. The resurrection spell had strengthened him. His knees wobbled, and black dots started to float before his eyes, moving around in circles. Body rapidly weakening, his knees gave way to the ground. He would've collapsed if Ghetsis hadn't been holding him.

"…But why…I thought…" he rasped.

"There is no such thing as love, dear boy. Love is just an illusion."

Ghetsis released his hold. N collapsed in a heap, desperately drawing in deep mouthfuls of air, as if that would somehow repair his crushed ribcage. Blood seeped through his mouth and out onto the ground. Ghetsis kneeled and washed his hands in the blood then climbed to his feet, pressing his hands against the wall. The ground shook.

"I made a binding spell before I died. I would link my blood to yours. Your life source would keep my body from decomposing. Your power would grow overtime strengthened by the deaths of others. Every mark would give you strength to sustain me. And when I returned to the world of the living, I would take your power as my own. Power you've been hoarding for decades."

Ghetsis did not care. He never did. N had just been created to store power for his father, so he could take it back and become more powerful. N scratched at the cave floor, drawing in deep ragged gasps of breath, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. The smell of blood was nauseating and he almost vomited, but somehow managed to keep it back. "You never cared…"

Spider cracks appeared in the cave wall and as the ground shook, the cracks widened. "I needed someone to carry on my legacy. To rebuild the order, I had started but could not teach. I found you abandoned in the woods. You would have died, but I cured you with my blood. You are not by biological son, but I made you mine for this day."

"Why?" N whispered.

"To rise from the grave. I made a deal with Yveltval. He answered my prayers. Granted me a power unlike the world has seen before. To raise the dead, I must become the dead."

N's eyes widened. "You wanted to die. The plague. All planned."

The man nodded. "Six men pledged their lives to me. The Brotherhood. All perished."

"For what gain?" All part of a plan. A deal made with the god of the dead. Start the plague. Spread death. Plunge the world into chaos. Convince the mages they had been betrayed and start a war. "We had peace."

"We had a pact. Support each other. Krahiya and Nathaniel abandoned their vows when they discovered I had made a deal with Yveltval. Yes, they knew the truth and the magic scared them. They didn't want to be a part of it and so they turned their back on me." His grip tightened on N's arm, so tight his fingernails were digging into the skin and drawing blood. "The power frightened them. Cowards, they were. They did not want to be part of this new world. They abandoned me to my fate, and I swore I would have them all punished."

"You never loved me like a father should."

Ghetsis looked back and cast his eyes downwards at N. "Did you really think you would be loved? You are a tool of war. Nothing more."

He fought back tears. Raised to die. His sole purpose. "Pride will be your downfall," he said in between ragged breaths. Ghetsis would fail. He had to fail, or the balance of the world would be thrown into chaos. Naoko was not the Chosen One. He had been the one all this time. His vision blurred.

The wall crumbled. Clouds of dust filled the cave. N coughed several times, the sand grains making it difficult to breathe properly. When the clouds dissipated, N saw Ghetsis standing before a black door. "We didn't use to have graveyards before. Bodies would be taken here and sealed away to prevent the spread of disease," Ghetsis remarked, placing his fingers between the crack of the doors. It was pitch black inside.

N bit down on his lower lip. What evil had he unleashed? "I believed in you," he whimpered.

Ghetsis ignored him. "All six were buried here. Beneath the Bell Tower. They were supposed to be buried separately in six other unnamed sites, but Edward believed they had to be sealed away together. He said it would be too difficult to seal six separate tombs. If they were not sealed away, their magic would eventually curse the ground. Thus, they were sentenced to death here."

He walked into the darkness. N squinted, but it didn't help. His vision was worsening at a rapid rate. Now he could only vaguely make out his hands. Another wave of nausea overcame him as the air suddenly changed from an earthy damp smell to one of decomposing flesh. His stomach hurled. Six mages. Six powerful undead creatures free to roam the world once more under Ghetsis's command and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Could anyone? The last known faerie had died. Only a faerie's divine power could stop the army of the dead. But the faerie was dead, and his sword hidden away somewhere.

An unearthly wail came from the tomb, sending a chill down his spine. Inhuman. Angry. His father was a madman. "Gorm! Bronius! Rood! Zinzolin! Giallo! Ryoku! Feed upon the blood of the living!"

N heard footsteps approaching. Every step caused a mild tremor. He wanted to know what these creatures looked like, but all he could see was a faint outline of six humanoid walking towards him. They dropped to the ground.

One tugged at his arm. Another pulled at his leg. Something sharp bit into his shoulder. Pain everywhere. They were eating him alive. Another implosion of pain below the knee. Something was trying to separate his leg from the rest of his body. He screamed until his voice became hoarse. Begging. Pleading. But it would not stop. Soon, his body became numb to the pain.

His father could only look on without a care in the world. It was said there was no crueller fate than dying unloved. Everything he had done over the years had been out of love. That same love was never reciprocated. All his efforts had been for naught. Now the world would become consumed in darkness. A darkness he had willingly helped to spread, and one he was powerless to stop.

A leg was torn from his body. An arm soon followed. He couldn't feel pain anymore. That part of his brain had stopped functioning. This wasn't the end he had in mind. It wasn't supposed to end like this. His world became shrouded in darkness and soon it became permanent as his heart took its last beat.