Alistair walked through the library, Olga's staff held in his left hand and his shield strapped to his back, searching for a few books for his captives to entertain themselves with. They had both requested novels of the same series, The Painted World. The series contained only two books: Ariamis and Ariandel.

Though the knight could read and write, he rarely ever did so for pleasure and entertainment. He focused only on battle treatises, training manuals, and anything that would help him kill demons. He was slightly curious to see why the Dark Elves were so fascinated by these novels.

Alistair eventually found the novels side-by-side, neatly organized on one of the many grand shelves that filled the library. He reached to grab Ariamis first, his fingers coiling around the book's spine.

The knight gasped as his mind turned to white.

-]|[-

Snow fell in a flurry around him, but he did not feel cold; despite being as bare as the day he was born. He was covered in warmth, the many fine silk hairs tickling his skin providing ample insulation. He gazed upwards into piercing eyes of blue; long tresses of snow-white hair falling like a curtain around him. This was Crossbreed Priscilla, the fabled daughter of dragon and god.

"Thou art a strange one, Alaric." The giant woman mused as she tightened her tail around him.

"Is that so?" He asked, stroking and petting her fluffy tail, earning a small moan from his lover. "I could not help myself: Your fur is addictive to the touch."

She smiled down at him teasingly. "Thy fixation will be thine undoing. To think, I could bring the great dragon hunter to heel with just a single wave of my tail."

"You are truly a worthy adversary."

Priscilla pouted. "Thou'rt mocking me."

He shook his head. "It is the truth. You are ethereal, mighty, and beautiful. If you claimed to be a Goddess, I would believe you."

The half-breed smiled radiantly, her cheeks flushed from his praise. "Thou art too kind to me, and not enough to thyself. Thine own accomplishments art legendary in their own right."

"My greatest being to have joined you in holy matrimony."

She stroked his head lovingly, then gently pressed him against her slightly bulging stomach. "Dost thou hear our child? He is quite active."

He listened closely to the life that beat within, suddenly feeling something thump against his head. He nodded against her. "Aye, Albion will make a fine warrior, just as his father."

His words made her giggle. "Yes, a warrior who will also fall to victim to the comfort of my tail."

They both laughed, cuddling and finding solace in each other's embrace. They stayed like that, their focus entirely on one another, uncaring of the cold world that howled around them. After a moment, he raised his head, meeting Priscilla's eyes with a resolved gaze.

"Take the plunge with me."

Her eyes widened at his words before closing sorrowfully. "Thou cannot ask such a thing of me."

"I can. I will. A thousand times, if I must. This place, this painted world is no place to raise a child."

"Then, once I give birth, thou shall take our son and take the plunge without me."

"You ask for me to abandon half of my being."

The crossbreed began to weep. "If I leave this place, the gods will hunt us for all our lives. They fear mine existence, and so too shall they fear our child's. They shall surely strike us down."

"Damn the gods!" He yelled in fury, a fist raised and surging with electricity. "They shall never lay a hand upon us, I will not let them!"

"How can a lone mortal man oppose the gods?"

"He can't." He agreed. "But should his wife—whose ability of Lifehunt is able to slay the gods— stand with him, they would be unstoppable."

"Thou art mad. Truly and utterly mad."

"And you are the reason why, my dear Priscilla. I beg of you once more to take the plunge with me. Stand by my side as we battle for Albion's future. Our family's future." He offered his hand.

Priscilla stared down at the appendage with fear and trepidation. But then she met his eyes and saw his stalwart conviction, and her fear was washed away.

She grabbed his hand in hers, lovingly caressing it as she nodded resolutely.

"Very well."

-]|[-

Alistair was conscious once more. He looked around, searching for any evidence of change in his surroundings, but found none. He was just as he was when first he touched the book, fingers still clenched around its spine.

'It happened again…' The knight thought. 'No pain this time though.'

He had just gained another of his ancestor's memories: Alaric the Dragon Slayer. Alistair pulled the catalyst of his new memories from its place on the shelf. He examined it with a critical eye, quickly skimming through its contents.

'This book is just a romanticized version of what I… What Alaric, had experienced. It's like the Painted World itself had documented the event. If that is the case…'

He turned his attention to the next novel in the series, Ariandel. Alistair hesitated to reach for it, fearing it may cause another set of memories to assault his mind. He was scared of losing his sense of self should he acquire too many foreign recollections. Yet, his anxiety came hand-in-hand with… curiosity.

Alistair wanted to know more of his ancestry, of the blood that pumped through his veins. As a child, he always dreamed to emulate the glory of a knight's life, to fight against epic beasts and earn accolades to would forever emblazon his name in the annals of history. Though that childish wish had long since been abandoned, the opportunity to live vicariously through these visions and accomplish those forgotten goals.

But would sating his curiosity be worth losing himself in a sea of evocations?

He stared hard at the last novel, Ariandel; trembling fingers just inches away.

Then, he took the plunge, as Alaric and Priscilla did long ago.

-]|[-

He cried in agony, feeling the paradoxical pain of being both burned and frostbitten at once. Before him, a woman wielding two-scythes stood daunting and imposing, covered in a storm of ice and black fire. Behind him, strapped to his back securely, was their son.

"My lady Elfriede!" He yelled past the pain, using his greatsword as a crutch. "My love, please! Stop this madness!"

"Then return our child, Sir Vilhelm." She threatened chillingly.

He shook his head. "I cannot. This world's rot is already starting to afflict him, surely you must see it too! He must leave this forsaken place!"

"This place is not forsaken: It is my home!" Elfriede shrieked. "And so too shall it be Alto's!"

He met her baleful glare with a pleading look. "Your home is dying, its inhabitants rabid and malformed from the rot. Would you have our son share their fate?"

The storm around the woman grew fiercer. She stepped towards him menacingly. "I have no further words for thee, Sir Vilhelm. Thou'rt no longer welcome here. In light of our history together, I shall exile thee rather than strike thee down. Now, return my child to me, for thou art no longer kin to us."

He visibly recoiled from her words. Then, in a voice threatening to break under his duress, he asked, "Is that how it is?"

She stared at him with disdain. "It is."

"I… I see…"

Her declaration rent his heart asunder. He gritted his teeth, both in anger and in sorrow, as he realized that this was no longer the woman he fell in love with. She was a ghost of her former self, her mind touched with insanity.

His love was gone, leaving only this hollow imitation in her passing.

"Forgive me, my Lady..." He whispered morosely. He fell to a knee in silent prayer, casting a miracle of healing upon himself. He continued to speak, his hushed tones echoing throughout the grand hall.

"I swore an oath, but I have failed you..."

He rose to his full height and stared longingly at the woman before him, eyes wet with sadness and regret.

"... Lady Elfriede..."

Then, his gaze turned to steel. He hefted his greatsword up with his right hand and pointed it at the madwoman.

She scoffed at the sight. "Thou wouldst raise that Onyx Blade—the very gift I bestowed upon thee—against me?"

"This blade was a gift from my Lady Elfriede. NOT a lunatic that wears her skin!" He roared, swinging the sword to his side. Black flames coated the length of the blade from base to tip with a 'fwoosh'. His left hand began to glow as it was encased in swirling crimson energy. "And I will use my love's gift to strike down all who would taint her image!

"I am me!" She screamed, brandishing her weapons. "I am the sound one, not thou! Thou hast forsaken me for the last time, Sir Vilhelm!"

He paused. "… Nay, that is not my name.

"That is the name of a man who abandoned his knightly duties for self-satisfying and prideful reasons." He took up a stance, carefully minding the babe that hung on his back.

"I am Albion Aquila, first son of Alaric Aquila and Crossbreed Priscilla! My family has sworn all firstborn sons to the service of Lady Celestine Lucross, and I'll be damned if I make my son an oathbreaker!"

They clashed, igniting the world around them into a purifying inferno.

-]|[-

Alistair grew lucid once again, slightly recoiling as Albion's memories joined the others. He felt… fatigued, though he supposed that made sense: He had just experienced two entire lifetimes in the span of a few seconds, after all.

The knight stashed the books in his satchel and turned to leave the archive of knowledge. He was stopped by a familiar mage.

"Ah, Alistair!" Kin greeted with a small smile. "Good morning. I'm surprised to catch you in the archives of all places."

Alistair tapped the satchel that hung off his shoulder. "Queen Discordia requested some entertainment to pass her time."

Kin frowned. "You don't have to be her errand boy, Alistair. She's our prisoner, not our guest."

"Queen Lucross wishes for me to treat her and her servant as such."

The mage hummed non-committedly. "Well then, I suppose you should bring them breakfast. They're serving it now."

Alistair shook his head. "No need. I've already cooked their meals earlier."

Kin couldn't contain his scoff, "So you're a cook then? Their personal chef?"

"I don't trust the rest of the men to make their food. They could poison it, or something similar."

"That… That makes sense." Kin admitted reluctantly. His eyes locked onto the staff in Alistair's left hand. "That's an amazingly crafted staff. It belonged to Olga, right?"

"That's right," Alistair confirmed.

Kin smiled kindly at the knight. "Then, could I perhaps-"

"No, you can't have it."

"You can't even use magic!" Kin snapped, his eyes opening in a glare. "What, are you that attached to your trophies?"

"… Something like that."

"Whatever." Kin said with a huff. He brushed past Alistair angrily. "Go make yourself useful elsewhere. I'm commandeering this room for research purposes and the last thing I need is you distracting me from my work."

Alistair stared at the mage, leaving only when Kin disappeared behind one of the grand shelves of the library. He began to walk back to the dungeons. He was about halfway there when he saw something that gave him pause.

An orc was walking through the halls.

Olga's staff clattered to the ground as he ran at the demon, drawing his flail from his belt. The sound of something hitting the ground alerted the orc, who craned its head over its shoulder to look at where the noise had come from. What it saw was the armored form of Alistair leaping through the air.

The knight latched onto the orc's back, wrapping his flail around its neck and began to wring the life out of it. The demon choked and sputtered, stumbling and slamming into walls to free itself from Alistair's hold. The man held on tight, however, only grunting slightly as he was slammed against the walls of the corridor. Blood began to coat the chains; the orc's neck being torn open from the abrasion of metal on skin.

The sound of struggling drew the attention of nearby Black Dogs, one of which was Hicks, who rushed to the scene. "What the hell is going—Al!"

Hicks ran over to the pair and, much to Alistair's surprise, began to pull him off the orc.

"Al, let it go! It's friendly! Stop!" The rogue frantically yelled.

Alistair, with much reluctance, released the orc from his makeshift garrote. The orc fell to its knees, panting heavily as it covered its nearly crushed windpipe. The rogue breathed a sigh of relief, but then quickly tensed as the angry gaze of Alistair fell on him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Alistair growled. "Why is there a demon still alive in the interior?"

Hicks gulped nervously, raising his hand placatingly. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you. Just, please calm down."

Alistair took a deep breath, trying his damndest to ignore the demon behind him that was still laboring to breathe.

"Well?" Alistair gestured with his arms wide. "I'm waiting."

Hicks was silent for a moment as sweat beaded on his brow. "… Vult struck a deal with the demons."

"He WHAT!?" Alistair roared, terrifying the surrounding Black Dogs. They had never heard the man yell like that before, not even in battle. "WHAT THE HELL IS HE THINKING!?"

Even Hicks was getting nervous. He didn't expect to be the one to have to tell Alistair about the demons. "He wants to recruit them into the Black Dogs. We lost a lot of men recently and Vult was given the opportunity the replenish our manpower."

"With demons." The knight hissed, pointing to the orc on the ground. "They cannot be trusted. We would be better off slaughtering every last one of them!"

Hicks gave Alistair a leveled stare, trying to keep a calm tone. "It's out of my hands, Al. Vult's the leader, so he calls the shots. If you have any problems with it, you can take it up with him. I wouldn't recommend though, considering how you've already pissed him off yesterday."

"He will lead the Black Dogs to ruin."

A dangerous glare was trained on the knight in an instant. "Vult has never led us astray before. He is our leader and you will show him respect!" Hicks yelled.

Alistair said nothing more, retrieving Olga's staff and resuming his trek to the dungeons. Hicks stared at the knight's retreating form and clicked his tongue, swearing under his breath.

Things just got a lot harder.

-]|[-

Alistair's mood was shot, anger and confusion filling his entire being. 'How? How does recruiting the very enemy you've been fighting seem like a good idea? What deal has Vult struck that has ensured the demons' loyalty?'

A string of voices broke him from his thoughts, coming from just around the corner.

"Not so high and mighty now, huh, Olga?"

"Your friend looks really cute! Hey, you up for a good time?"

"I know I am!" There was a slight jingling of the cell door. "Man, where the hell is the key?"

"Aw man, the things I'd do to them-"

"Like what?" Alistair asked, stepping into view. Three Black Dogs stood in front of the Dark Elves' cell, turning suddenly to meet him.

"A-Alistair!" One stammered, his voice pitched high. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." The knight continued his approach. "Well? What kind of things would you do to them?"

All three men nervously took a step back as Alistair drew closer. "U-Uh, n-nothing."

The self-appointed warden was right in their faces. "That's right. You will do absolutely nothing to our prisoners. In fact…"

Alistair grabbed the man's collar, hauling him off the ground. The nameless Black Dog shook in fear as he gazed into the dark slits of Alistair's helm.

"You will tell everyone that the dungeons are off-limits unless I am here; and that if I catch anyone, especially you three, in here without me…" He trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.

The Black Dogs nodded frantically in fearful understanding. Alistair dropped the one in his hands to the ground unceremoniously. The man scrambled past the knight and left the room, the others following him.

Alistair breathed a sigh of irritation, turning to regard the captive Dark Elves. "I'm terribly sorry about that." He said with a bow.

"You don't have to apologize for their behavior," Chloe said from her spot against the wall. The blonde Dark Elf was smiling from the Black Dogs' reaction.

"You misunderstand," Alistair replied. "I apologize for not being here sooner to drive them off. Their actions were inexcusable."

Olga stepped forward, reaching through the cell to touch his chest. "You cannot be everywhere at once, Alistair. It is fine, they could do nothing but jeer and ogle us."

Alistair grunted. "If they had tried to do more, I imagine you would have killed them where they stood."

The knight expected an amused smile, laughter; not the worried frown that Olga gave him.

"To be honest, Alistair," She began, her voice low and quiet. "I have been feeling… weak, as of late. Even before you arrived, in fact."

To demonstrate, she tried to call her staff back to her. He loosened the grip on the magical instrument, but it stood and shook in place, only moving towards her after a long moment. It was clear that the simple action required much exertion from Olga: She was panting slightly, and her eyes were closed in concentration.

Chloe immediately stood to support her queen, just in case she collapsed. "Your Grace." She said with concern.

Olga smiled kindly at Chloe as placed a hand on blonde's shoulder; not to support herself, but to ease her servant's worries. The royal turned her gaze back to Alistair, handing him back her staff. "As you can see, even the most basic spell requires much effort on my part. I fear that should I cast one of my more powerful spells, I would be afflicted with mana exhaustion."

Alistair took a thinking pose. "That is… rather grave news. Do you have any idea what may be causing it?"

Olga shook her head. "I can only guess. Perhaps my over-reliance on the Citadel's Heart may be the reason, or that the Heart can no longer sustain itself."

"The Citadel's Heart?" Alistair asked.

"The large crystal atop the Black Citadel's spire." She explained. "I had been using it to amplify my magic and bring the demons here to heel."

"Cowards," Chloe scoffed, "The lot of them. Most of them fled after the failed ambush on your army. No loyalty whatsoever."

Olga shook her head. "They were never an organized force. I could only direct the hordes towards the human settlements, nothing more."

Alistair hummed in understanding. "That explains why the garrison here was so light then. As for the problem with your magic, perhaps Queen Lucross may be able to help?"

"We can only hope." Olga sighed. "Speaking of help, did you acquire the novels we requested? Both Chloe and I are beginning to feel boredom take its hold."

"Ah, right. Here." Alistair retrieved the books from his satchel and put them into Chloe's eager arms. Olga smiled as she grabbed Ariamis from her attendant.

"I love the Painted World duology." She said fondly. "The first book, Ariamis, tells the story of the dragon hunter Alaric, who fell in love with his quarry, a half-breed woman called Priscilla: A love story that detailed the struggles of interspecies relationships and its prejudices."

Chloe continued, "The second book, Ariandel, takes place in a later era. There, it follows the tale of the dishonored knight Vilhelm, who found his redemption under the service of the Lady Elfriede. It was a tragic epic that exemplified the need for sacrifice and the inevitability of fate."

"The best part is that they're both based on true stories," Olga explained. "They-"

"Both feature my ancestors, Alaric and Albion." Alistair finished for her. "I'm quite aware."

A frown marred the royal's features. "But how did you know? I was under the impression that you've never heard of the series before today."

Alistair was silent for a moment. "… If I told you that I experienced their journeys first-hand, would you believe me?"

"What?" Both Dark Elves said in shock.

The knight took a deep breath, appalled at his own words, but nonetheless explained his theory. "I believe that if I come into contact with an artifact deeply connected with one of my ancestors, I will gain their memories."

"But that's impossible!" Chloe exclaimed. "You must be lying!"

"I wish that was true." He replied, his voice dropping low. "Then I wouldn't have to fear for my sanity."

"Prove it." Olga commanded, stepping forward. "Tell me something that only one of your ancestors would know."

Alistair met her inquiring gaze. "Alberich gifted this staff to you on your sixty-fifth birthday. You tried to seduce him that day, even going so far as to give him your first kiss, but he rejected your attempts."

"That's… correct." She confirmed with a sad expression. "Does that mean that you remember his entire life?"

He nodded hesitantly. "I remember all there was to all three of their lives: I know their dates of birth, their wives and children, and everything else that mattered to them."

"But…" Chloe weakly denied in spite of the evidence before her. "But that shouldn't be possible."

"It shouldn't," Alistair agreed, "but it's the truth nonetheless."

Olga adopted a contemplative look. "If your hypothesis is true, then perhaps we can find out how exactly your bloodline survived. But besides that, this new ability's usefulness is limited and circumstantial at best. We would need to test how your ancestors' memories affect you to get a conclusive answer, however."

Alistair merely nodded, unsure of what to do with the information himself. Personally, he felt that it was more a hindrance than a boon at this point in time since he was dazed after each evocation. If that happened during combat…

Chloe cleared her throat, drawing the attention of her companions. "Alistair, you said that you remember everything that happened in the Painted Worlds, right?"

"I have my ancestors' personal accounts on them, yes."

"Then, perhaps you could retell the stories for us?" She asked shyly. "Having the story told from a first-person view, especially the protagonist's account, would be a refreshing perspective."

Olga smiled brightly. "That is an excellent suggestion Chloe. I'm very eager to hear from Alaric himself about how he fell for Priscilla. Alistair, would you indulge us?"

"I suppose." The knight said, falling into his usual guarding position. The two Dark Elves sat upon their beds, eagerly awaiting their favorite tales to be retold.

"It all began with a cult, who worshipped a painting. They had killed a wandering knight of the kingdoms and Alaric, having just returned from his hunt of the mad dragon Seath, was sent to investigate…"

-]|[-

A week had passed, and still, the Black Dogs had yet to ready a march back to Ken. Alistair's patience wore thin, both from the sight of demons freely roaming the halls and the inaction of his company. Thankfully everyone had heeded his warning about entering the dungeon without him, so he hadn't had to deal with doling out punishment. However, things finally came to a head when Alistair confronted Vult in the throne room, unable to tolerate the delays any longer.

"Why are we still here?" The knight asked, his terse tone belying great frustration. All around him, the other Black Dogs in the room glared at him: Alistair's guard dog act prevented them from ogling the only women in the entire fortress, and they were right pissed about it.

Vult looked upon Alistair from his seat on the throne, a neutral look on his face. Things were still tense from their last interaction a week prior, and Vult's decision to recruit the demons into the company still infuriated Alistair.

The warrior gave a gruff response. "Because we still have things to do here."

"Like what?" Alistair gestured, his arms thrown wide open. "We have explored the Black Citadel in its entirety. Kin has learned all he can from the archives and Queen Discordia's laboratory. Hicks has already rounded up every stray demon under your banner. There is nothing left for us here, so why are we not returning to Ken to receive our reward?"

Vult's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone with me Alistair." The captain warned. "Your unruliness is starting to get on my nerves."

"I just want to be kept in the fold, sir," Alistair replied with a slight bow. Vult stared at the knight for a bit before sighing.

"Fine. I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you what I have planned." Vult rose from his throne and slowly approached. "Tell me Alistair, what do you know of history?"

"A lot of things: How the Seven Shield Alliance came to be, how the war between Queen Lucross and Queen Discordia began, how Queen Lucross came into power."

"Did you know that before the Seven Shield Alliance, hell, before Celestine; it was kings, not queens, who ruled the land? That it was men who made all the important decisions? Back in the day, a woman's only role was to service a man's needs; never to command them or lead them into battle.

"Can you not see how their incompetence has led to this point? Celestine and Olga have wasted countless human lives in their petty war. All this death, all of those brave men who died in service to their country, their sacrifice was in vain. We may have won this war, but how long will it be until Celestine leads us into another?"

Vult seemed to be talking less to Alistair and more to the other men in the room.

"I say no more. I say it is time for a man to return to a position of power! Now that we're in control of the Black Citadel and its Demonic forces, we can spark a revolution. A return to how things were meant to be, no, even better! Women will service the men, service us, whenever and however we please! We will establish a Cuntry, a Sex Empire, where men like you and me are treated like Gods!"

The Black Dogs within the room cheered loudly at Vult's speech, the man basking in the applause of his soldiers. However, he noticed that Alistair remained unfazed, standing stock-still before him.

"Will you join me Alistair?" Vult asked, standing imposingly before the knight. "Think about it. Any woman, no matter their rank or prestige, would be available to you. They'd live to serve you, to become tools for your pleasure. This is the opportunity of a lifetime."

Alistair was silent still, making Vult frown. However, before he could do anything in response, Alistair slowly bent the knee.

"I will join you, My Lord Vult."

Vult smiled smugly. "That's great to hear Alistair. But…"

Vult gestured for something to be brought into the room. The men by the doors nodded, opening to let an orc stroll in.

"I don't believe you want it enough."

Around the orc's neck was scabbing in the pattern of chain links: It was the same one that Alistair tried to kill last week. It glared at the knight, its eyes filled with loathing and vengeance. Alistair stood at its presence, instinctively reaching for his weapon. He was stopped, however, when Vult gripped his arm.

"I believe you owe our friend here an apology." Vult grinned cruelly. "I can't afford my men to fight among themselves. Apologize to him, and I'll believe you."

Vult could feel the scathing glare leveled at him from beneath Alistair's helmet, but the knight obeyed, wrenching his arm from Vult's grasp. He bowed low to the orc.

"I'm sor-Urk!" He was cut off as the demon slammed its fist into Alistair's back, luckily shattering his shield instead of his spine. He hit the ground hard, the Black Dogs laughing at his predicament.

"I don't think he heard you Alistair. Try again?" Vult chuckled.

Alistair began to rise, slowly getting to his knees. "I'm-Guh!" A foot met his armored chin, sending him flying backwards.

Vult leaned over Alistair's prone form. "Come on Alistair! Hurry up!"

Alistair tried to push himself up. "I-BLURGH!" The orc stomped on the knight's stomach, pinning him to the ground.

Jeers were thrown from the crowd around him.

"What's the matter Alistair?"

"Don't you want to join us?"

"Why are you taking so long!?"

This continued for another several moments: Alistair trying to apologize, only to be cut off by the orc's beatdown. His fellow man only laughed at his misfortune, reveling in his pain and humiliation. However, all of their voices began to die down after the knight rose for the seventh time. Alistair never stopped trying to get up, no matter how badly the demon had beaten him. It ended at last when Vult called the orc off for fear of killing the man.

Alistair, his armor and helm dented under the orc's pounding, stood defiantly against the demon. All could hear the knight's labored breathing, could hear the wet splash of spittleand possibly blood hit the interior of his helmet when he coughed. He propped himself up on Olga's staff, glaring heatedly at the demon's smug visage.

"I'm sorry." Alistair gasped, loud and clear for all in the room to hear. There was silence among the ranks, the Black Dogs only staring in shock at the sheer amount of punishment the man could take. Even Vult was amazed at Alistair's extraordinary tenacity.

Vult hooked his arm around Alistair's bruised shoulders, whispering into his ear, "Welcome to the Cuntry, Alistair."

Alistair said nothing, only grunting slightly when he felt Vult remove his arm.

"Now," Vult began, his voice calling all to attention. "Let's move on to the 'coronation ceremony!'"

The men cheered and applauded at his words, eager to push the previous show of power to the back of their minds. Vult looked upon Alistair once more. "Alistair, would you kindly retrieve the Dark Elves from their cell? Don't worry, your new friend will accompany you in case you keel over."

The knight could only nod in response. He used Olga's staff as a crutch, walking slowly out of the throne room with the orc trailing behind.

No one saw the way his eyes lit up an eerie red.

-]|[-

The Dark Elves sat patiently on their beds, waiting for Alistair to come back from his meeting with Vult.

"I don't like this, My Queen." Chloe said worriedly. She was fidgeting with her hands in anxiety. "It's taking too long for a simple meeting. Do you think something happened?"

In their week of captivity, Chloe had surprisingly warmed up to their warden. He was kind and indulgent of their requests, always bringing them delicious meals he made personally. At times, she forgot that they were his prisoners. Without Alistair's presence watching over them, she felt on edge.

Olga shared her subordinate's concerns. "I believe so, as much as I want to say otherwise. Perhaps they are finally confronting Alistair about his extraordinarily kind treatment of us."

Any further conversation was stopped when they heard two pairs of footsteps approaching from down the hall. When their owners came into view, both women gasped.

"Alistair!" Olga cried as she looked upon his battered form. "What did they do to you!?"

The orc that followed the man grinned proud, a low rumble of laughter coming from its throat.

Chloe barred her teeth at the orc. "You lowly cur! You'll pay for this!"

Alistair pulled out the key to their cell, drawing their eyes as he approached.

"Alistair?" Olga questioned worriedly. His eyes meet hers, silently begging for her trust.

"Alea iacta est." He muttered quietly, unlocking the gate.

He stepped back, allowing the orc to enter the cell. The demon strode towards the Dark Elves menacingly, its eyes leering and ogling their bodies. Chloe immediately shielded Olga, pushing the royal behind her as she stared down the hand that reached for them.

The sound of chains rattling echoed throughout the dungeon.

The orc turned to look where the sound came from, coming face to face with the flanged head of Alistair' flail. The steel sphere impacted the demon's temple with a loud 'crack', splitting open its skull and sending it reeling into the wall. The moment its back hit the wall, the flail swung again, pulverizing the demon's ankle.

The orc screamed in anguish, falling to a knee to keep the weight off its injury. Alistair swung again, shattering the orc's exposed knee cap. Unable to support its own weight, it collapsed onto its stomach. Alistair delivered a vicious kick to the demon's side, rolling over onto its back and straddling its chest. Drawing Chloe's confiscated daggers, he stabbed one into each of the orc's shoulder joints, the blades wedging between bone and muscle and preventing the demon from moving its arms.

The knight stared deeply into the orc's tear-filled eyes, its face contorting in terror and agony as it whimpered in its guttural tongue. Its eyes reflected Alistair's daunting visage: Glowing red eyes that burned from within a battered helm, promising death and destruction.

Alistair whispered the last words the demon would ever hear.

"I'm sorry…" He said, repeating his earlier words. The knight grabbed the head of his flail into his fist and reared it back. "That I didn't kill you the first time."

With that, he let loose an unholy pummeling on the orc's face.

The first strike crushed in its skull.

The second turned its left eye to mush, sending blood splattering onto stone.

The third sent grey matter following.

Neither Olga nor Chloe attempted to interrupt him, too entranced with the brutality Alistair had and is continuing to display. They could only watch in morbid fascination as the knight returned the orc's mercilessness with his own.

Alistair didn't stop until the corpse was unrecognizable, the back of what remained of its skull embedded into the stone floor.

Satisfied with his work, Alistair attempted to stagger to his feet. However, his body fought against him, unwilling and unable to move as he wanted. He fell backwards, thankfully landing on one of the mattresses. The knight was exhausted, the final bits of adrenaline leaving his body and allowing him to feel the aches and soreness it suppressed.

The Dark Elves quickly rushed to fret over Alistair's prone form. "Alistair!"

Olga knelt beside him, her hands glowing with magical energy as she waved them over his form. The simple action already had the woman panting from exertion, but she paid her own fatigue no mind.

Chloe, in the meanwhile, began to take off Alistair's helm to allow him to breathe easier. Her eyes widened when she saw how much crimson coated the interior of the helm, watching as blood even now dripped from his lips. She turned his head to the side to prevent him from choking on his own fluids.

"How is he, milady?" Chloe asked

"Not good. He's suffering from internal hemorrhaging. Several of his ribs and vertebrae are fractured as well. It's a miracle he was able to move as he has."

Chloe turned to Olga, fear in her eyes.

"If he dies, how will we ever escape? Alistair was the only reason we've haven't endured constant harassment so far."

"I know, Chloe." Olga said in a hollow voice, her hair hiding her face from view. "I fear a fate worse than death awaits us should we stay here. But as we are now, we have no hope. I can barely cast this simple diagnostic spell as-is. If I cast a healing spell now, not only will I put myself into a state of mana exhaustion, but the most it will heal would be small scratches and scrapes, not his more serious wounds. He would die regardless."

Chloe noticed something drip onto Alistair's chest. On closer inspection, she realized they were tears.

"My Queen?" Chloe repositioned herself next to Olga, putting her hands around the royal's shoulders. Chloe could feel the slight hiccups in Olga's breathing, the queen's immense sadness becoming quite clear.

"I'm going to lose him again," Olga sobbed quietly. "And only after I've just gotten him back. Why must fate be so cruel?"

Olga felt Chloe's arms wrap around her, bringing her into a comforting embrace. They could only watch, powerless, as life slowly left the last son of Aquila.

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Codex Entry: Alaric Aquila

Notable Relations: Son of Alberich Aquila, Husband of Crossbreed Priscilla, Father of Albion Aquila.

Notable Titles: Dragon Slayer, Gods' Bane

Alaric was the first son of Aquila to be sworn into service of Celestine Lucross. Born with a natural affinity towards lightning magic, Alaric used this innate talent to great affect in his duties. He discovered the inherent weakness that all dragons possessed towards lightning damage, finding it to be one of the few magics capable of piercing their nigh impenetrable scales.

Earning his title of Dragon Slayer after his battle with the mad dragon Seath, Alaric was sent to investigate the disappearance of one of his fellow knights. During his investigation, Alaric came upon the portal to the Painted World of Ariamis, becoming stranded in a world full of hostile entities. Nearly succumbing to his wounds, Alaric was saved by Crossbreed Priscilla; another prisoner of the Painted World who was fascinated by his existence.

As Priscilla nursed him back to health, Dragon Slayer and Dragonkin slowly grew to fall in love. Once Alaric recovered in full, he asked Priscilla to escape with him and face the gods that imprisoned her. Together, they fought back the gods that sought to destroy them, and lived a happily ever after.

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Just want to give a quick shout-out to a very helpful reviewer.

AtticDweller: I cannot express just how happy your review made me. It's honestly the best feeling when I get a get a review like yours, that shows both the good and the bad of my writing: It shows that you cared enough about the story to break it down and dissect it. I hope I get more reviews like yours, because it helps me see what I'm doing right and what I need to improve on.

That's not to say I don't appreciate the small words of encouragement I get with the other reviews! Please, keep reviewing, even if it's just a few words!

Until next time!

Translations:

"Alea iacta est." – "The die is cast."