This will be the last chapter to have a T rating. Unless I bleach the next chapter, its going to require an M rating in order to avoid being purged. Since I'm not good with fight scenes, I'm just gonna have to get very...detailed with how damage is shown. So to anyone still reading, switch to the M rating :)
Don't worry: I don't plan to write sex scenes or the like. Unless something mindblowing happens during the sex, I find it best to just let the audience imagine what actually happened. That and if I can't write fight scenes to save my life I doubt I can make a sex scene: A scene of a person plugging in a USB into its port would be more erotic than any lemon I try to write.
He had seen a lot of things in his life. Undead being ritually sacrificed to prolong an age of nothing but suffering; the alternative to said age being eternal and everlasting darkness; an ancient conspiracy that decided the fate or the world; the so-called progenitor of mankind being nothing more than a demented ape that destroyed with every touch; and even a gender confused God with father issues. He had seen all these things and more, and he doubted he could ever find anything that would surprise him as long as he 'lived'.
But seeing the scene in front of him now, he had to realize that he was mistaken on that.
"Its not my fault! That girl kissed me that time!" Guiche wailed, hugging his mole closer to him, "She said she wanted to know what a kiss felt like and I felt that it was my duty as a gentleman to oblige her!" He defended. After all, what kind of self-respecting noble didn't honor a fair maiden's wish? Yes she was likely drunk from the absurd amount of wine they all drank, but a part of her certainly must have desired it if she was conscious enough to ask.
"And who would believe a playboy like you, huh?" Louise kicked him roughly, eliciting a pained moan from the blond fop, "Montmorency was right to accuse you of cheating! A kiss? More like an attempt at fornication. I don't how she hasn't killed you yet," She pressed the small glass she held in her hands against her lips and drank audible gulps of the red liquid stored within, "You deserve everything you got."
Raziel had thought coming to his master's room would grant him peace and quiet, but instead he had come upon chaos. The bed was a mess, Guiche's mole Verdandi using it to wrap around itself like some kind of armor. Guiche himself was on the floor, crying and moaning about how life was unfair to his mole, who he could've sworn was actually nodding at his master's complaints.
But the worst part was actually his master. She was on the ravaged bed, holding a small glass filled to nearly the tipping point with wine. He raised his head slightly and sniffed the air: Alcohol. He grimaced. He hated the smell of the liquid. Every time he passed by the kitchen during his nightly explorations he smelled the foul smelling liquid. Both the students and the servants evidently liked drinking wine, a habit which he did not share. It was pointless anyway - If he couldn't taste, he doubted that alcohol could affect him in any way.
"Ah, its so stuffy in here," His master grabbed one of the gloves covering her hands - likely a part of her dress - and pulled it off roughly, "Why is this place so warm? I don't remember going into Zerbst's room," She turned back to Guiche, "Hey, you worthless noble! Why not use some magic to cool this place down? Be good for something, at least!"
"Do I look like a wind Mage to you!? And who are you calling useless!?" Guiche yelled from his place on the ground, although Raziel noted that he did attempt to wave his wand and mutter a wind spell. Nothing came out, of course. Louise groaned and gulped down more wine, removing her remaining glove. Why was everything so hot? She just didn't understand it.
...What was going on here?
"Hey, partner, good of you to make it!" Derf called out, clicking his hilt energetically, "Looks like pinky and blondie here had a little too much to drink. Damn lightweights the two of them-"
"Shut up, stupid sword!" His master kicked clumsily from the bed, the shoe she was wearing releasing its hold on her foot and flying towards Derflinger's sheath. The talking sword immediately slammed back into its sheet as the heeled footwear hit dully against his sheath. As much fun as it was to make fun of drunks, trying to insult drunken Mages was a recipe for disaster. Many of his past near death experiences were when he thought insulting his drunken fire Mage master was a good idea.
"Hey, did that sword just talk?" Guiche looked up at Derflinger before another bout of head pain forced him down, "Damn, I need more wine. I'm hallucinating about talking swords now. Haha," He pawed at the ground for a few seconds before extracting another bottle of wine, "Ahh, here it is!" He unfastened the cork and sniffed its contents; slightly watered down, but good enough to get him to forget about his problems.
"Hey, what are you even doing here?" His master suddenly asked, "I don't recall us ever being friends, so why are you in my room? Get out already." She pointed a wobbly finger at the window. Raziel could only assume she meant to point at her door as the idea of Guiche jumping from the window would inevitably lead to his death. Because it wouldn't be very noble to kill people, wouldn't it?
"H-How cruel! You would leave me out there with no defense against Montmorency!?" Guiche tipped the bottle over, spilling it against his lips clumsily and staining his white formal wear with the purple liquid, "She tried to kill me! All I did was talk with that girl and she tried to kill! And the others laughed at me too!" He flailed the bottle around angrily, nearly hitting Raziel with its contents, "They thought it was funny that I nearly got killed! What kind of person enjoys seeing a guy get nearly killed by his beloved?"
"So says the one who challenges to duels so easily," Raziel snarked, although the two ignored him. He rolled his eyes in annoyance; the two were so sloshed that they didn't even hear him. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. They smelled heavily of alcohol and sweat, but that wasn't the worst part. The already disastrous mixture was mixing with the perfumes they wore and turned the normally sweet smell somewhat repugnant. Of all things, he would've wished that his sense of smell died with his sense of taste.
"Whose fault do you think that is?" She frowned and looked down at her glass; it was empty, "Damn it, out of wine," She tossed the glass nonchalantly at her bed and laid down on the bare mattress. Normally she wouldn't have gotten this drunk - she always made sure to dilute her wine with fruit juice - but one sip of the undiluted drink and all sanity went out the window. She was sure she was going to regret this come the next morning when she saw her room's state, but right now she just wanted to relax.
...She was sure she'd just blame it on Raziel come morning anyway.
"Hey, just let me stay here for a while, Valliere," Guiche mumbled, hugging Verdandi tighter, "Montmorency's going to drown me in a tidal wave if she sees me right now. I don't want to die just yet, I have so much to live for," He gave a lopsided grin, "Besides, you must be used to sleeping in the same room with guys by now. I've heard some of the rumors of what you and your Familiar-"
"Raziel, please drop Guiche from the window."
Raziel frowned at his master's abrupt command, but picked up the youngest Gramont and his mole Familiar regardless. Verdandi gave a loud squeak, obviously not expecting the frail-looking human to be able to pick him and his master up so easily. The Undead grunted and hoisted Guiche over his shoulder, using both hands to lift the nearly bear sized mole from the ground. Many would have found his feat of strength impressive, but he came from the land where people thought making weapons out of stone and dragons teeth was a good idea. Verdandi was positively lightweight in comparison.
He was relieved to have most of his strength back. When he had first been summoned he was still weak from his time in the Kiln and couldn't even push off the blue dragon as it tried to mercilessly eat him. Now he could probably lift bear-sized with some effort. He smiled, though it was quickly replaced by a frown as the mole trashed against his grip. Unknown to him, moles disliked being out of the ground.
Contrary to his master's orders, Raziel turned away from the window and walked back to the door before quickly throwing the two of them out into the hall. It wasn't gentle, but at least he didn't toss them out the window and watch as their bones snapped and their limbs broke upon contact with the unforgiving ground, crying in pain and wishing that death would just claim them as he watched the life ebb away from their body in slow agony.
No, he only did that once, and he was pretty sure Gravelord Servant deserved it. Death worshiping idiots.
"You didn't follow my orders," Raziel turned around and found Louise scowling at him, although her tomato red face diminished any fear he might have felt, "Of course, why should I expect any different? You always disobey me. You're my Familiar and yet you always go off when I sleep and try to murder everyone that you fight." She laughed, a gesture devoid of joy, "But how could I forget? You killed those bandits so easily. You burned that man's face till he died. I bet you get off on it. You enjoy it, don't you? Seeing people die. You're probably laughing at how it will never happen to you, being some kind of corpse."
As he family could attest, Louise tended to be an angry drunk: All that bottled up resentment from being unable to cast magic coupled with the mocking of her peers and disappointment from her family, Louise tried her hardest to keep it contained. But without her sensibility, not to mention the stress of the current situations, she needed an outlet. She needed to let off all her anger even if it meant making up things she didn't really mean.
"Would you have preferred it if I did not help you? That you died?" His right eye twitched. He prided himself on being calm under adversity, but his master's constant questioning of his actions was already beginning to grate on him, "It would certainly be a relief to no longer have to hear your hypocritical spiels. You may have saved me, but let us not pretend that you did so out of kindness or good intentions. You needed a servant to protect you and I have done so. And yet, all you have given me is hatred and fear."
He was lying. Despite his master's abrasive nature she had actually accepted him as her Familiar despite knowing of his morbid circumstances. But anger had a tendency to cloud his judgement.
"How do you think I feel right now, huh?" She stood up on wobbly legs and stomped over to him, "All those people you killed? They're my responsibility. Every person that dies by a Familiar's hands is the responsibility of the master," She stabbed at his chest with her pointer finger, "You have it so easy! Every kill, every person that no longer lives isn't your responsibility anymore. I have to take the burden."
"I have never asked you to take responsibility," He pushed her finger off, "I am your Familiar and I choose to remain so out of gratitude, but do not act as if you know what it is to take a life. I have killed so many that I have lost count, I watched my friends Hollow and give in to despair. You have never done so and pray to your Gods that you will never have to bear the true burden of taking a life."
"Hah, don't act so high and mighty," She attempted to push him, although her current tipsiness allowed for nothing more than a feeble brush, "What do you know about death? My mother and father told me tales of what war is like. You're a corpse! You're not alive, you're just dead person clinging to life. You don't care about death because you're so used to it. Do you even know what happens to someone when they die? I bet you don't."
Raziel clenched his fist and tried to ignore his shaking arm. He wanted to punch her, to wipe off the smug smile that she had on her face. She was intoxicated, unaware of her actions. It would've been pointless to try and argue with her about life and death. She was a child, still innocent to the ways of the world. She thought she could live life guilt-free and that she could absolve herself of her sins. He envied her, truly. But he knew that there was nothing waiting for him: He was a corpse living on borrowed time.
Who cares if people died? He would've been content to die right here. That was all the Undead wanted: To die without Hollowing. All humans wished for death unconsciously; a release from the things that troubled them. He pushed past her and began trying to fix the destroyed bed. He needed to do something, anything to keep his mind off his master's taunts. But even he knew he was a coward: If he wanted to die he would've just slit his throat. A part of him still wanted to live, although death would've been a release at this point.
"What's wrong? Can't admit that I'm right?" He pursed his lips and ignored her. He needed to keep calm, "Of course, I can't expect someone like you to know what it feels like to sacrifice-"
That was the last straw. Raziel grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall roughly. He wanted to shut her up, he wanted her to keep quiet. What did she know about sacrifice? Just because she thought she was taking responsibility for him suddenly meant she knew what it felt like to sacrifice. He had burned for years, he had sacrificed in order to prolong an age of suffering because the alternative was that much worse. He knew what sacrifice was, not her. But maybe he could change that-
"Partner! Let go of her!"
Derflinger's voice reached his ears. Following the warning, he released his grip on her shoulders and watched a she slowly slid down the wall. She had fainted from shock when he first slammed her against the wall. He looked down at his right hand and tried to keep his shock from spilling onto his face. He had reached for his side on instinct, trying to grab for Derflinger. If he was actually there then what would he have done?
His hands shook. He was so used to it, so used to the idea of killing that he did it habitually. Back during his journey, anything he perceived as a threat or anything that had peaked his anger had quickly met the end of his blade. Patches and Chester had survived because they were Undead like he was, capable of taking blows that would kill normal men. But what of his master? She was human and appeared frail even against her peers. If Derflinger hadn't warned him he likely would've stabbed her...and killed her.
He backed away and sat against the wall, covering his head with shaking hands. He wasn't crying; Undead were incapable of doing so. But he was so close: Close to killing her, close to ending her life without even a second thought. Death here was different. In Lordran every monster he killed was replaced by another, every Hollow was eventually followed by another person who had lost their sanity. He was had stopped caring about death because he assumed it would never end - That there would always be another monster for him to kill again.
And he almost ended his master's life then and there. There would be no replacement for her, nobody else who would take her place. He clenched his hand into a fist and smashed it against the wall, gritting his teeth at the slight pain. Ultimately, his master was right. He killed so much that he honestly stopped caring about what happened after. Killing served his purpose and he did to defend himself. But that wouldn't work here. Killing was his first instinct. And while it saved him in Lordran, it would only cause him problems here.
"Hey partner, you alright?" Derflinger piped up, "I know Pinky can get annoying at times, but that was just the wine talking. She's probably not going to remember anything about it tomorrow," He chuckled, "Might wanna get her back to bed though. She doesn't like sleeping on the floor like us two distinguished gentlemen."
Nodding numbly, he picked up his master and gently laid her down on the bed. Ignoring Derflinger's attempts to chat him up, he sat down atop his hay bed and pressed his knees against his chest. He needed to sleep, to do something that would take his mind off what had just happened. Maybe he could lose himself in his dreams again.
"Are you alright?"
Rhea looked up from her place on the ground. There was a knight there, offering her his hand to help her up. She shook her head. She was getting delusional, she was sure of it. She didn't know how long she'd spent here; maybe it had been years, or maybe it had been just a moment. Time in Lordran was convoluted, after all. They had fully expected to face the necromancer who held the rite of kindling at his library, but by the time they got there he had already been defeated.
She just didn't understand it. They had come here first, and yet the necromancer's library was damaged enough that it was glaringly obvious that someone had already defeated the 'Pinwheel'. Petrus was the first to claim that their task was hopeless and that they should turn back, but Vince had insisted that the necromancer must've been deeper in and that they should take their chances going in with their increased numbers.
They had met Patches soon after that. He had told them that the necromancer they sought was in the bottom of the pit. Vince, Nico and her had looked down, trying to see if he was telling the truth. That was when he had pushed them all in. Petrus was the only who could have saved them and he ran away, leaving them down in the pit. Rhea couldn't blame him; she had doomed them all in choosing to trust the bald trickster. In his position she doubted she would've been brave enough to jump down and help her companions. She was a coward.
The three of them had all tried to escape, but it became evident why exactly Patches chose this pit. Nico was the first to die; killed by one of the Giant archers. Vince had died defending her from one of the more bestial Undead. She ran away, fearing for nothing but her life and not for her companions. She was trapped now - She could hear their footsteps shuffling in the darkness. They couldn't see her in the darkness, but she had glimpsed their faces enough that he knew that they had Hollowed. Her friends were dead and it was her fault.
"You're Rhea, aren't you?" The knight had spoken again? Was he truly real then? "What are you doing here- Wait, let me guess: Tricked by the man up there that there was treasure down this pit?" He sighed, "Not my best moment of intelligence, I must admit. Come then, we should get out of here? Can you walk? I want to give him a piece of my mind and a sword in the gut."
Realization dawned on the young maiden's face. He was real; she wasn't alone here. She wiped her eyes - A superficial gesture since Undead were incapable of producing tears. Old habits died hard. She was a scared little girl again, doing her best to try and appear like she knew what she was doing. Like her father hadn't sent her on what amounted to a suicide mission.
She was no fool. Even if she had found the rite of kindling things would never have been the same. Her father claimed that he still loved her, but she could see the disgust in his eyes. His only daughter had turned into an Undead, one of the abominations the church of Thorolund ritually sacrificed in order to appease the God's. Her turning of an Undead was an embarrassment to their entire family. She thought that at least if she brought back the rite of kindling she could make her father proud, but that was an impossibility now.
"So we should-" Raziel "oofed" as Rhea suddenly hugged him by the stomach, "Um, Miss. Rhea? We only met once before and you had told me that we had our own tasks. I hardly think we made friends with one another that you'd greet me so happily."
"You...you're no Hollow," He laughed at the blunt comment and shrugged, "F-Forgive me for my rash actions," She released her grip on him and stood up shakily, "Tis simply a relief to find one who has kept their senses," She bowed in apology, "Once again, I apologize for my uncouth behavior. It is simply relieving. I thought that I would meet my end in this dark pit."
He smiled underneath his helmet, "Lucky I came along then, right?" She nodded, forcing a smile on her face, "Come then. We should find our way out of here before the Hollow's come get us."
They had met Vince and Nico on the way up. Vince was the first to fall: He had been felled easily by the masked knight. Rhea suppressed a cry at seeing her friend cut down so casually. Vince was her closest friend; they had been friends since childhood and attended the church duties and the academy together. Her fellow priestesses joked amongst themselves that he held affection for her, but she disregarded the rumors. She was a priestess and they were unable to marry or bear children. Her father had tried to make a male heir in order to continue the line.
Nico was second. She bit into her hands and closed her eyes when she had seen him. He was still on the ground, impaled by the arrow that the giant had shot against him. Once again Raziel didn't even think twice before ending his life. She silently felt gratitude that she was incapable of crying. Nico was 'simple'. Many derided him for having childlike intelligence and being unable to keep up with his peers. She and Vince had taken it upon themselves to care for him to try and show him kindness. And apart from Vince he was the only one who didn't hesitate to accompany her on this journey.
Rhea bit her lip. Raziel didn't even recognize them. To him they were just faceless masses: Another being to die against his blade. She spoke little on the trek back to the bonfire. He had tried to talk to her, but her mute replies were more than enough for him to surmise that she didn't feel like talking. She heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the burning sword. They would be out of here soon.
"Alright, we can use the Lordvessel's power to transport you out of here," He raised up his helm and smiled at her, "Could you wait a moment? I'll kindle the bonfire so that we can regain something for our Estus flasks."
Rhea's eyes widened as she saw him sacrifice three tufts of Humanity. Impossible, the only way to do that would be if he had the-
"Ahh, that was really lucky," Raziel took a swig of the Estus flask, "I'll admit, when I first saw that guy with the weird masks I was scared. But the reward was completely worth the trouble," He looked back at her and grinned, "Who would've thought he knew magic that would allow me to kindle the bonfire even further? Ahh, but I wish I didn't have to sacrifice Humanity to do it."
Rhea shook her head, trying to keep her breath composed. He had the rite of kindling. He had killed the Pinwheel and taken what it was they had sought for so long. And he didn't even care to know what it was. To her it was her one chance at redemption, but to him it was a simple tool to make his unlife easier for him.
"Hmm? Something wrong?"
"...No its nothing," A broken smile had made its way to her face. All of this was for naught. Her friends were dead and she would never be able to show her face to her family again. She could probably ask it of him, but there would be no point. She would be no better than a leech, feeding off the hardships of others. Fate had denied her salvation, "Shall we make our way back then?"
Raziel nodded and offered a hand to her. Rhea gladly accepted it.
When Raziel woke up that morning, he wasn't surprised to see his master still sleeping in her bed. Wearily he glanced outside, ignoring the annoyance spreading over his eyes at the sight of the bright sun. He had finally gotten used to the concept of sleeping without receiving head-splitting headaches, but he still wasn't used to his eyes being forced to adjust to brightness after being closed for so long. It was a human thing, as Derflinger had so 'helpfully' informed him, and a really annoying one at that. He had found another reason to hate sleep it seems.
Classes had been suspended for the day, which meant his master was free to sleep in however long she wanted. This came as a relief to the students due to an unexpected incident at the party: A group of students had thought it would be a good idea to start drinking copious amounts of wine to the point that most of their bodies would've been filled with the alcoholic liquid. This soon escalated to everyone in the hall pretty much deciding it was okay to cut loose every now and then and drinking as much as they could stomach.
And given what happened last night, his master apparently had the same thought. He sighed, looking around the room carefully. Everything was still a mess and his master's blanket had been taken by the mole, which likely meant his master wasn't going to see that cloth again anytime soon.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. His master's argument was still fresh in his mind. He needed to keep calm and act like nothing was wrong. If Derflinger was right then nothing was going to happen and she wouldn't remember anything.
He didn't even care about the dreams he received anymore. Rhea and the others were gone, and he was still here. He was alone now, but he was still alive, much as part of him regretted that. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. He barely recalled his rescue of her. She didn't talk much and never explained what she was doing there to begin with. Petrus had tried to extort souls from him in exchange for their reason of being there and he had obviously refused. Her task remained a mystery to him.
"Ugh, what happened?" Louise moaned as her head continuously drummed in pain, making it hard for her to focus, "Where am I?"
She sat up slowly, trying to reign in her disgust as she felt her sweat slicked body collide against her mattress. How much had she drank last night? She swore to herself that she would only allow herself one undiluted drink and that would be the end of it. Surely she wouldn't lose her sensibilities so quickly. She was stronger than that, she was sure of it.
She recalled little. She remembered Guiche stalking her to her room for one reason or another, but she didn't remember what they were talking about. Her mind shifted to sexual intercourse before she crushed the thought. No matter how drunk she got she would never allow herself to lose her self-control like that. That and she knew that the blond fop was like many others of his gender: Interested in large slabs of fat that were bigger than their own swords. Even intoxicated he wouldn't try to hit on her or attempt fornication.
Glancing around the room proved her suspicions: It was messy, but the only other person there was her Familiar and that stupid sword of his. She stared at her unmoving Familiar briefly before she groaned. She would need to change out of this dress and fast. She dizzily stood up and picked up her gloves and discarded shoe. She would need to take a bath after this, and fast.
"Raziel, what happened last night?" She called out to the stoic Undead. She opened her closet and grabbed for one of her spare uniforms; anything would feel better than the sticky cloth she wore now, "Did I do anything odd? If I did then you should forget about it," She called out again.
"...I care little for what Master does," A hint of venom had seeped its way into his voice, but it was minute enough that the pinkette didn't notice it, "Master's friend, Guiche, was here last night and you had ordered me to see him out. Beyond that I have no opinions."
She raised an eyebrow at the stiff response. Usually he made his opinions clearer, though his lack of comment was no doubt due to their unspoken word to not talk to one another unless they needed to. She gathered up the clothes in her hand began rummaging for the lingerie. Normally she would've asked him to do this, but she needed some activity to jog her brain into motion.
"We need to talk about the trip to Albion," He didn't reply, "This is serious. Whatever issues we have with one another, we need to be able to work together. The princess is relying on us to get that letter from Prince Wales. Without it the alliance between Tristain and Germania is ruined and Princess Henrietta will be blamed for everything. She's relying on us for this very important mission and we can't let her down."
Ah, of course, just what he wanted: To serve a would be tyrant's needs. He frowned slightly and looked at the runes on his hands. These things branded him to his master and she to him. He mashed his teeth together and clenched his fist. He suddenly felt frustrated again for some reason.
"...Why would she entrust you with this?" He had blurted it out without thinking.
"Because she trusts me," Luckily she didn't seem to be offended, "I have no doubt that the Viscount himself is sufficient enough for this mission, but the Princess wants someone she explicitly trusts with the contents of the letter. And as my Familiar, it is your job to protect me." She waited a few moments more to see if he would say anything else, but silence was her only companion. He didn't want to talk.
"I'm taking a bath," He didn't bother even raising his head before she had slammed the door and left. He looked out at the window again; it was already the afternoon, though he had little way of knowing this since there was little way to tell time in this place. He supposed he could look at a clock, but the clocktowers were a hassle to tell time from.
He chewed on his lower lip before standing up. Maybe he could see Siesta.
Siesta looked out of the carriage's window, her normally smiling face now devoid of emotion. By all accounts she should have been happy: She had a job with larger pay, she could visit her family more frequently now that she was a private servant and she was even picked up in a private carriage. From all appearances she was given a job that most other commoners would kill for. And she wasn't exaggerating on the last part.
But all she felt now was fear and trepidation. Count Mott was a mysterious figure; apart from his role as a messenger of the Imperial palace, almost nothing was known about him. Many of the older nobles remarked that he was an outgoing and affable man once in his past, although his wife's death had made him more reclusive. Now no one knew of his activities other than this occasional appearance at banquets and parties.
She wasn't naive: When a lord specifically asked for a commoner of the opposite gender to be their personal servant, it most likely meant they were going to be their...mistresses. She tightened her grip on her apron. That wasn't what she was afraid of. This wasn't the first time the Count had done this: Gabrielle, Anna, Charlotte and Laura - All coworkers of hers that had been hired by the Count during his previous visits. Once they had been hired any letter they had tried to send for them remained unanswered and it was as if they had disappeared off the face of Halkeginia. Their families were worried about them.
She had barely managed to tell her own family of her circumstances before she was spirited away would worry about her no doubt, so she did her best to make her letter vague. Her parents and siblings were already working hard and there was no need for her to worry them any more than they needed. She would take anything the Count would try against her.
The carriage continued on for a few more minutes before they stopped just past the gate. Quickly she descended from the carriage, looking up at the Mansion. This would be her new 'home' for the next few years. She could see a pair of guards making their way to her; her escorts. Heh, she almost felt like a noble. She smiled wryly and steeled herself. She wouldn't be beaten here.
Raziel sighed. He couldn't see Siesta anywhere: He had checked the halls, the classrooms, and even the field behind the school. He scratched his head and decided to go to the kitchen. It was already past lunchtime, so he doubted she would still be there, but it was better than nothing. Besides, maybe it would allow him to learn more about the culture of this place. He had little care for the airs of nobility, but he did want to know how to interact.
When he had arrived at the kitchen the mood was somber. He blinked in surprise: He had expected them to be as energetic as they were last night. But now everyone was quiet, doing their best to focus on their work and nothing else. He looked around and tried to look for Marteau. He would know where Siesta was.
"Oh, Raziel, what brings you here?" The heavyset man looked up from his pot and smiled at the young Undead, "If you're looking for more meals then you've come to the right place! Come, I must-"
"Um, no thank you," He raised a hand in refusal, "I was hoping to ask you if you have seen Siesta. I was hoping to meet her," He did his best to give a 'charming' smile, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it came out as more crooked than anything else. He really couldn't smile naturally.
"Siesta...you mean you don't know?" Raziel's confused stare was all the answer he needed, "That girl- She even told us to not say anything about it and that she would tell you herself," He palmed his face and shook his head. He wasn't supposed to be the one to tell him this. Siesta had told them that she wanted to handle it herself and that everything would be alright, "Raziel...Siesta's gone."
"Gone? Gone where?" He questioned. Perhaps she'd gone into the town to buy some-
"As in she's no longer employed here," He turned away from him and began to mix the stew angrily, "She's been hired by Count Mott, the Imperial Palace Messenger, as his personal servant. As of right now she's no longer an employed member of this school."
"Oh...then I suppose I will talk to her another time."
Marteau smiled bitterly. He just didn't get, "Son, you're not going to be able to talk to her again, I'm afraid," Raziel stiffened, "This has happened before. Four of our previous co-workers got hired by him. They were all nice girls, same as Siesta: Went here from countryside to support their family or other sick relatives. When Anna got hired we sent her letters, but she never replied. We even sent one of the other guys - boy was soft on her - to go to Mott's estate and he was turned away at the gates. The same thing happened when he hired Gabriella, Laura and Charlotte."
"...Is Siesta in danger?" His voice nearly shook. Siesta was the only friend he had in this place. And he hadn't even said goodbye.
"I honestly don't know," He forced a smile and turned to Raziel, "There's nothing else I can tell you about this, Raziel. We all want to help Siesta right now, but there's nothing to be done. The Count has a strong position in this land. Being the Imperial Messenger means he has free reign to do things like this and nothing we do can change that. We've tried and we've failed."
He didn't want to admit it, but those girls were likely dead. Pregnant servants were bad for a nobles reputation and there were two choices: To be sent to the nunnery where they could possibly talk...or to slit their throats and wash them down the canal where no one would find them. Mott had already taken Four personal servants and he doubted that he needed more than one. There was a reason he kept hiring more.
"Where is his estate?" Marteau frowned at the question. The look in Raziel's eye made it clear that he wasn't planning to go for a simple visit.
"Raziel-"
"Tell me," He pleaded.
He had wanted to refuse, to tell him to forget it before he hurt himself, "...Its to the east, about an hour away on foot," Raziel smiled at the answer and ran to get Derflinger. He would need all the protection that he could take. Marteau watched him blankly before turning back to the stew. The look in his eye told him that he would rather die trying than live to regret giving up.
Siesta breathed a tired gasp and wiped her wine red uniform sleeve against her forehead. Cleaning the entire room had taken her the better part of an hour and a half, but she had done it. She looked around the room with a hint of pride. She always liked cleaning; the head chef had teased her that this would make her a good wife in the future, but as of right now it was what allowed her to be a good maid.
Her introduction into the mansion was quick: She was given a uniform, told that that Count would meet with her at his leisure, and then she was told to make herself useful and do her job. She liked it; finish the job as quickly as possible. She had come here to work and to earn for her family, not to have fun. While she still felt a pang of regret leaving everyone in the academy behind, she had little choice in the matter. Her contract had been bought by the Count and that meant she now worked for him.
She'd tried to ask them about her friends, but the servants always told her to focus on her job or that they didn't recall any names. It was quite obvious to her that they were lying to her. She couldn't see even a single trace of her friends presence here. A part of her liked to think that they were released and simply found new jobs elsewhere, but the realistic part of her chided her on that.
There was only one thing left for her to clean. She turned to the center of the room and looked up at the painting. It was of a woman, possible no older than her late twenties. Her auburn hair was tied into a bun and the white dress she wore gave her the feeling of being immaculate. Siesta gaped; the portrait was easily twice her size. How would she clean this? Even standing on her tip-toes wouldn't allow her to do anything.
The sounds of the door opening interrupted her musings. She turned around and tried to hold in her shock - It was the Count. The Imperial Messenger looked around the room before his eyes set upon her. Siesta gulped, tightening her grip on her duster. It was absurd. What did she hope to accomplish? He had a wand and she had a feather duster. Unless she planned to make him sneeze to death she wasn't going to be doing much of anything.
"Ah, you are Siesta, am I correct?" She nodded meekly, "Already up at work I see. Good, good." He went closer and stood by her side, "How are you enjoying your time here so far, my dear?"
"Very honored, Count Mott," She bowed politely, "The estate is grand and all of the servants were polite. I'm glad to be here," She was good at flattery, that was one thing she was sure of.
"I'm pleased to hear that. Tell me, did you clean this painting?" He pointed at the painting of a woman. She shook her head, "Good. I'm sure the other servants forgot to tell you, but this painting is important to me," A soft smile of recollection made its way to his face, "This is my wife's portrait; the only one of its kind. She made it herself just by looking at her reflection in the mirror. It had taken her months to complete and she was so proud of herself when she finished. It...was the only one she finished before she passed away. Sickness had taken her.
Siesta looked at the Count in surprise. She couldn't see any malice in him, just a simple longing for what was lost, "I'm sorry..."
"I hung it up in this room after she died," He continued, "Sometimes I like to think that she's looking down on me, proud of all my accomplishments...although, she might just scold me instead for my wandering eyes," He chuckled and turned to face her, "Tell me, my dear. Why did you decide to work at the Academy? Not many would choose the life of a mere maid. Did you not have any other choice?"
"O-Oh, my family runs a winery in the small village of Tarbes. I'm the oldest in my family out of all my siblings and I wanted to help support my family. My father hopes to have me inherit it when I married someone- Oh, I'm sorry, that's not what you asked," She wanted to ask about her friends, but she was afraid. He acted nice now but there was no guarantee that would last if she overstepped her bounds. She would need to find some other way to discover where exactly her friends had gone.
"...You have a pure soul," Siesta blinked at the sudden comment. She'd been called a lot of things before: Hardworking, affable, daydreaming, unfocused and even good-natured. But that was new, "Oh, please excuse my ramblings," He laughed again, "Its just-"
"Milord, milord!" The door to the study burst open and an old butler rushed in, panting heavily, "Th-There's someone who wishes to see you! A-A commoner from the Academy."
The Count's smile dipped into a slight frown before he turned back to Siesta, "Forgive me, my dear, it appears I have a visitor," He stood up and grabbed his wand, "We shall continue this conversation at another time."
Mott looked at the commoner with a subtle sneer gracing his features. This was who wished to see him? He observed him carefully. Young - Unlikely to be older than his middle or late teens, although the white hair made him appear older than he was. Everything else about him was not worth enough to describe, save for one thing: The sword at his side. He raised in eyebrow in intrigue and surprise. Any commoner that drew a sword in the house of a noble could expect no mercy from the master of the house. Everybody knew this, and yet he chose to come with a weapon anyway? He inwardly chuckled. He would humor him.
"What is it you want?" He spoke out slowly. The young man tried to walk towards him before the guards at his side pushed him back roughly. Just because he was willing humor him didn't mean that he had permission to act so impertinent, "You can talk from there, commoner. Unless this is an attempt to assassinate me? In which case I regret to inform you that you're wholly unqualified. I've faced far worse than the likes of a boy with a sword."
Raziel's hand twitched towards Derflinger before he reined himself in. Derflinger had warned him on the way here that he couldn't just carve his way through to solve his problems. Killing a noble would have repercussions, and unlike those bandits he had no proof that he had even done anything wrong. Just because he wanted to see Siesta didn't mean he was the right person in this argument. He was already on shaky ground with his master and Derflinger had rightly suggested that one mistake here meant more than not seeing Siesta again.
"I...wish to see Siesta," He did his best to keep his voice polite and respectful. Mott smiled, obviously noticing his effort but mistaking it for fear, "I had heard that you hired her from the Academy."
"And so what if I did?" Mott questioned, "I had bought her contract legally and she's going to be well-paid for her work here. Why? What business is it of yours who I hire? Who is she to you that you would enter a noble's estate to audaciously?" Despite his questions, he already had a guess on what the young man wanted. This wasn't the first time someone from the academy came without the school's official sanction. When he had hired other servant's from the academy, some of their co-workers came to inquire about them. Although he had to admit it was a first time seeing someone who wasn't dressed as a servant.
"...She is my friend..." It was pathetic, but he couldn't think of any other reason.
"Ah, let me guess: You wish me to give her contract back," He stepped closer, and and this time his guards crossed their spears in front of him, "You aren't the first to ask that, believe it or not. You try to imagine me as a monster, don't you?" He smirked at him, "It makes things easier for you, to imagine me as an unrepentant despot intent on ruining the lives of young girls. Don't be coy; the others that came here had the same look about them. They blamed me for taking their co-workers from them, ignoring that I gave them a paying job for less effort. Tell me, am I sinful now for buying servants legally?"
Raziel grit his teeth and grabbed at one of the spears. It would have taken no effort to snap the metallic rod, and it would take even less effort to pick unsheathe Derflinger and stab the smiling noble over and over till his life left him. It would've been easy, but that would be admitting that he was right.
"And as much as I'd hate to disappoint you, I am no bogey man intent on ruining peoples lives," He walked over to one of the bookcases and picked up one of the books, "But I am not without kindness. You wish me to relinquish Siesta's contract? I can offer you a deal."
"A deal?" He didn't like the sounds of this.
"Yes, a simple trade to be precise," He flipped open the book and began skimming through it, "There is a particular book that I wish to acquire, but alas it has eluded me all these years. A book of great knowledge and secrets written by a great man," He walked back to Raziel and smirked, "It is currently in the hands of the Zerbst family of Germania. You claim to have come from the Academy, did you not? Then it should be no problem for you to get it. The Zerbst family's daughter is currently studying there, if I'm not mistaken. Maybe you could ask it of her."
The Count knew it was an impossible task. What mere commoner could make demands of the nobility? He resisted the urge to laugh. There was no hope for him to gain that book, not when he himself had attempted to barter for it with the family for many years now. It was to be the last of his collection, the last book he needed before he could finally stop searching.
"...The book for Siesta?" The Count's smirk disappeared. There was no hint of a joke or hesitation on him, "If I give you this book, Siesta comes back to the academy unharmed?"
Mott barely got in a nod before Raziel turned around and left through the entrance hall. He stood there, stunned for a few more moments before a wide smirk enveloped his face. This was beginning to get interesting. All those he had offered the deal to had silently refused him; no one had even made the attempt to try and gain the book in exchange for the people they claimed to care about.
Perhaps it would be different this time.
"So that's why you want this book?"
Kirche glanced at Raziel, noting with some disappointment that he didn't seem to care at all about her currently risque form of dress. She stretched her arms above her head before continuing, "So let me get this straight: The Imperial Messenger of the palace hired a maid you made friends with and now to get her back you need my family heirloom?" He nodded mutely.
She had to admit, she had gotten her hopes up somewhat. She was just relaxing in her room and he suddenly decided to barge in and tell her that he needed to talk to her. She thought she could finally talk to him about that weird magic of his, but he had immediately asked her about the book her her grandfather or great-grandfather summoned many years ago.
It sounded silly, and yet seeing him now she could tell the ridiculous story was true. She sighed and shook her head in amusement, "You do know what you're asking of me, right? That book is an ancient tome summoned by my great grandfather. Its supposed to be a good luck charm for my wedding once I graduate. Giving it away might get me in trouble," She wasn't lying. Granted she cared little if her parents scolded her for giving away the book, but she wasn't lying when she said she would be in trouble.
"Please...I know this is much to ask," Raziel knelt on the ground and bowed his head, "I fear for Siesta's life. Marteau had told me that she is not the first and that she may be in danger. I do not know what I can do to convince you, but please give me a chance...I do not want to lose another friend." He had already failed Laurentius, he had failed Solaire and he had failed Anastacia. He didn't want to add Siesta to that still growing list.
Kirche was taken aback at the gesture, "She really matters that much to you?" He nodded again, "Hold up, before we discuss this further - Does Valliere know you're doing this? Last I saw she was eating in the dining hall without you," He hesitated slightly before shaking his head in refusal. His master didn't know what he was doing and he doubted that she would've cared. He didn't want to face her right now, anyway.
"Alright, I'll make you a deal," She finally conceded, "This is a precious family heirloom, but it technically falls under my ownership since I'm the only daughter of the Zerbst family right now. While tradition dictates that its meant to be a wedding charm, I'm freely able to give it away to anyone I see fit to," She smirked, "But I will get in trouble for it, so how about a trade? I give you this book and you do a single favor for me. I won't make you do anything that will make you lose faith in yourself and the book is yours if you agree. How about it?"
Raziel mulled it over. As far as he'd seen, despite his master's hatred of her she had proven to be a good enough person who was willing to risk her life to help others. She was a child and he was an adult, regardless if they appeared the same age. She would probably make him do something that wouldn't be too hard on his sanity - After all, he'd already done a lot of things would've driven most normal people mad. He hardly thought a teenager would make him do something worse than lighting the Kiln.
"Agreed."
Kirche's smile widened and she waved her wand deftly, summoning the small book to her, "Here, we can discuss what you'll do after you get your friend back," She grabbed the book and offered it to him, "Although I'm not sure why the the Count would care so much for a book like this. No one in our family can actually read it," She shrugged, "Its written in some kind of ancient dialect or something. None of us are able to read it no matter how hard we try."
Raziel grabbed the offered book and looked at it suspiciously. He was willing to give up Siesta for this? He turned it around slowly: The cover was brown and tattered, obviously marred with age. His fingers traced along the yellowed pages. This book was obviously old, but why could he not shake the feeling that it was familiar to him somehow? Like he had seen it before in a distant memory.
He opened the book felt an ice cold chill spread through him. This wasn't tome or a novel. Kirche looked in surprise as his grip on the spine tightened, "Hey, is something wrong?"
"Where did you get this book?" She could make out the anger in his voice, "I ask again: Where did you get this book? Do you know of its contents?"
"I told you - My great-grandfather got it in a summoning ritual and none of us can read it. Why does it matter? I thought this was what you needed to get your friend back? I'm giving it to you so you can save her."
Raziel looked down at the book one last time before tossing it back to her, "I do not need it," He turned around and ran out the door. He needed to get to the estate as fast as he could. Siesta was in danger, there was no doubt in his mind right now. Kirche looked down at the book before picking it up slowly. What in the void just happened? He looked like he had seen something depraved. She didn't know how true that thought was.
It wasn't a novel, it was a journal. Research notes, illustrations of crystals, methods and processes to induce purity. The process in which how one could attempt to make firekeepers from those without the naturally built souls required so the body could survive the rampant Humanity gnawing at them. Normally only those who had a certain 'purity' of soul were capable of handling the strain, but Seath's goals for immortality stopped at no one. The Pisaca's were proof of his failed experiments and how they could turn anything monstrous.
And Count Mott was collecting these books.
Raziel smashed the guards head against the stone wall repeatedly. He had already lost consciousness after the second attack, but his building frustration had made him lose his inhibitions. "There he is!" Another guard had spotted him. He rushed over to him before slamming his fist against his stomach. The sentry felt his ribs crack at the impact and the taste of blood in his mouth before he too lost consciousness. They weren't dead, but a quick swipe of Derflinger would be quick to change that.
"Hey, partner, you sure this is a good idea?" Derf piped up from his scabbard, "I mean, you had that book you wanted, right? Just trade it for the maid and do that redhead's favor. Whatever is in that book can't be so bad that you're willing to take on a noble for it," Derf waited briefly for an answer before it became obvious he was being ignored, "You know I'm with you all the way here, partner. But are you sure this is what you want? Think about Pinky. Your master's going to get in trouble for this."
Why would she? He hadn't killed anyone yet. Despite all logic and instinct telling him to do so, he had resisted the urge to kill all of the guards. They were bruised, battered, beaten and they wouldn't be walking straight anytime soon, but they were alive. He was only going to kill one person, and his master would have to be a fool to disagree with his decision to do so.
"It is," He unsheathed Derflinger and opened the double doors leading to the great hall. It was devoid of servants and other staff and only person stood at its center: The Count himself. Raziel glared at the noble, thought he older gentleman greeted him with a welcoming smile. He had been expecting him to come back empty-handed. His confidence in being able to gain the artifact didn't guarantee that he would be any more successful than the others who came before him.
"Just like all the rest," He sighed, "I must admit that I expected you to fare better than the rest, but in the end you are incapable of doing anything but using brute-force," He pointed at Derflinger, "You drew your sword against a noble in his house. As foolish as you are, I must commend you for your bravery in doing so. Many would have turned away. Is there anything you wish to say before you leave this world?"
"I saw the book, I've read its contents" He did? Intriguing, "What interest would you have in the ramblings of a monster?"
A burst of pain greeting him was his response. Raziel's mouth opened slowly, trying to form words as he looked down at what attacked him: A crystal, sharp as any blade, had been lodged into his chest. He raised his free hand to try and grab at it before he felt his knees buckle from weakness. The pain started to spread throughout his body, the crystal doing its work and killing him from within.
The Count smirked and lowered his wand. He expected a bigger fight, "You ask me for my reasons?" He laughed, "There are many journals like the ones you came across, all detailing processes and experiments for one goal: Immortality. Imagine it - We no longer have to fear death! We live forever, not ravaged by disease or hunger! And if it takes the life of the few to benefit the many, is it not a worthy sacrifice? Their deaths will not be in vain!"
Another crystal pierced his arm. He let go of Derflinger and clutched the wound tightly, "Do you see this power? Earth, Fire, Water, Wind - None of it can compare to the power I received from studying these books. Do you not see how we could benefit from this?"
From his kneeling position, it took all of Raziel's effort to stay conscious. He was wrong. For all his research, Seath was never truly immortal. A crystal, a container holding a shard of his soul. Once that was gone he was as vulnerable to death as any other living being. Those experiments...all that suffering...they were all for naught in the end. Death would come for him just as it did everybody else. The power he received from the crystals had driven him insane, as it did Logan. It was power that no one was meant to use.
This pain...why did this seem so familiar?
He looked down at his stomach, the pain nearly blinding his already deadened senses. He raised a decayed hand and attempted to pull out the crystal before another burst of pain forced him on his back. He forced himself to breath, though he knew that it would do little to alleviate his suffering. As easy as it was to kill those knights and sorcerers, he was still vulnerable to pain.
"You are...immortal?" Seath's voice reached his ears. "Something has...changed you...Manus..."
He forced himself to stand, ignoring the pain enveloping his entire body. He pressed both hands against the crystal before extracting it from his ravaged stomach. He had come too far to die now. He would not die here, not after his eternal damnation.
"Your struggles are futile..." A quick swipe of the dragons claw forced down into the ground again, "Resist all you want...you will never find what you seek...Fallen God..."
"Lord Mott, what has happened?"
"Intriguing. Most others who suffered this attack died. And yet he's still alive. Thinking back on it, he said he read the runes and it took me years to even decipher the full letters."
"Lord Mott?"
"You, take him down into the lower levels and place him with the rest. He's no mere commoner, that much is certain."
Bet you all thought it was a porn book, huh :p Anyway, according to the forums I frequent, the Mott arc is usually where people just stop writing altogether. Maybe I should copy their examples...I'm just kidding, please stop glaring at me,
Oh, and confession time again: My original plan was to give Mott a daughter who would serve as the deuteroganist of the arc. The person I was PMing rightly told me that adding an OC who would never be seen again was pointless and I just scrapped it. It'll likely shorten the next chapter, but hey, we get to Albion faster :D
Anyway, time to answer some reviews before moving on.
Mastermind - You guessed right :D I'm not deviating much from canon :(
Some guy - If that's a not-so-subtle suggestion to get me to write one, I'll have to pass. I can't imagine Corvo being loyal to anyone except for Emily. As this chapter shows, I can't even make someone Louise saved from eternal torment completely loyal to her.
Bolthole - Blaming Henrietta's not gonna fly forever :/ Mott's a product of his time: To us he's a slimeball, but in that time period he's actually the norm for his class. Hell, he's not even that bad once you get down to it - There are many much worse people in the story, and yet people love to demonize Mott like he lives to torture girls to death. That and his opinion doesn't matter; Louise is completely loyal to Henrietta, and that means he's loyal by proxy since he's her Familiar.
Demon of Fate - Thank you :) I know its bad habits to reply to a review with no questions, but I want to say that everyone's continued reading is what pushes me to write the next chapter. I may not have as much reviews as everyone else, but it doesn't really matter to me when I have readers who read the next chapter I put out. I make mistakes, but hopefully I continue to improve.
Well, that's all for now. After this I'm taking a break. Two chapters in just a few days is good enough for the advanced authors, but not for me. See you guys next week or so. Maybe more. I have to update my other fics and make that Karin/Marriane story.