Well we're officially in Albion! After Saxe-Gotha is where we can get some actual plot divergence.
"I cannot accept your feelings."
Rejecting someone was something he'd never done before, at least with regards to romantic feelings. Yes, when he refused to do something for someone it was easy enough to rebuke them, but something like this was...well, to be blunt he had no experience with these things. Friendships in Lordran were rare, but very appreciated. It wasn't just the monsters that caused them to Hollow - The overwhelming depression, the knowledge that you would die alone and the hopelessness of an eternity as a walking corpse. It was of little surprise that friends clung to one another, relishing in being able to trust someone to not stab you in the back for your Humanity the second you turned around.
But love was...it was something that no one in Lordran ever considered. He wasn't much of a judge given his lack of experience, but from what little he'd seen and heard the point of a romance was to eventually end with a family...or at least that's what he understood given Louise's talk of betrothals and whatnot. Granted there were exceptions to the rule, the tyrant and Wales immediately came to mind, but their relationship was rather destructive given what little he'd seen of it.
Some of the stories Siesta read to him often had the proverb of 'The journey matters more than the destination'. Personally he disagreed - The conclusion of the journey could negate whatever accomplishments you thought you made. At least in his experience, whatever he might have accomplished on his 'quest' in Lordran was made null and void by the realization that he was nothing more than a puppet on a string.
"Um...what?"
Siesta blinked in confusion, her mouth hanging open slightly. He couldn't blame her; it had only been a scant few moments after they had been saved from those damned mercenaries and now he had dragged her back to her room in order to reject her. Granted at least she wasn't injured; he would have to thank Professor Colbert for saving the servants and providing the distraction.
Still, his sense of timing was impeccable...
"I cannot accept your feelings. Louise and I are going to Albion where I am surely going to perish. I thought...that I would make things clear before we left-"
"What? No, that's-that's not what I meant!" She shook her head, "I mean, can we maybe talk about this later? Given everything that's happened and your injuries do you really think now is the time to do this?"
"But-"
"But nothing!" She interrupted, "God, Raziel, did you even look at yourself in the mirror? You look like you're about to fall over dead any second now!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bed, "Come on, we should probably look to those injuries first. I still have some bandages here and- Damn it, who wrapped these bandages around you? The injuries are only going to get worse!"
"We need to-"
"Look, if you're going to reject me can we please do it when you don't look like you're going to vomit out blood? I can't exactly focus when one of your eyes looks like it's about to pop out!" He raised a hand to his bandaged forehead and winced as he heard the sound of squelching flesh. Great, he thought the bandage had been tight enough, "Stop touching it! You're only going to make it worse!"
He remained silent for the rest of the procedure. His uninjured eye watched her carefully as she unwrapped the bandages and cleaned the assorted burns and cuts before re-applying the thick cloth. He had to admit this wasn't exactly what he had expected - Cattleya's advice told him to watch out for tears, maybe even a few slaps or insults. He couldn't surmise that she would simply ignore it in favor of his health.
She had to know by now that none of this mattered, right?
"What...is this..?" He hissed when her fingers brushed against the root like lesions on his chest. She looked worriedly at the darkened skin and bit her lower lip, "This doesn't look like an injury..."
"I will tell you later." He licked his lips nervously. That would come later.
"Right..." She nodded and continued to patch up the rest of his wounds. He shifted in the bed uncomfortably; the bandages were tightly pressing on the wounds, but she insisted that the alternative was worse. He moved his left hand experimentally - The movement caused a small amount of dull pain to spread through his fingers, but beyond that he could still move freely. It at least meant that he could fight properly when they left in a few hours.
He looked away when she removed the bandages covering his head. She placed both hands in front of her mouth in shock as she saw the bloody skin, "Oh God, what happened?"
"...I was shot." Another gasp. He forced a smile to calm her down, "It appears worse than it truly is. Whether it be a a shot to the brain or a stab in the heart, neither will kill an Undead. Besides," He let out a mirthless laugh, "It is not as if it is the only time I have been shot...it is simply the first time a bullet entered my head."
"This isn't a joke!" She snapped, "I don't know what to do about this...I mean, I can't exactly pull it out!"
"Just leave it. I will deal with it later." He sighed, "It is more annoying than anything. I can only count small blessings that the others didn't embed themselves inside." He brought a hand through his hair, "As long as no one hits it then it should prove no problem."
"Um...okay then..." She replaced the bandages on his head and moved to the last injury; his right hand. The flesh had been burned red, though it still moved despite its pathetic state. His mouth twitched when she touched it though he gave no other sign of discomfort, "Sorry..." Muttering a soft apology, she used the last of the cloth to cover the skin as carefully as she could.
He mimicked a breath when she finally finished. How was he going to say this properly? He already felt like a...what was the word Agnes used? An arsehead...a rather crass term, but accurate for this situation. He would have preferred telling her this in another time, but Louise was insistent that they leave come daybreak and he knew from experience that a horrible truth was preferable to no answers.
"...Does it still hurt?" Her hold on his hand was firm but gentle. Despite the circumstances she was still doing her best to smile. Raziel looked away and grit his teeth. Why...Why did his Hollowing have to come now? He would have...He would have accepted her feelings if he could have. Barring Louise, Siesta was his closest friend and...and...
He let out a growl of frustration he felt tears leaking from his eyes. No, Gods damn it! He didn't cry when he felt flames burning away his skin, and he wasn't going to cry now! If he was going to die then he would face it with what dignity he still had.
Siesta grabbed a piece of cloth and offered it to him. He said nothing, though he still accepted the gesture. He could see her giving him a wry smile as he roughly wiped away his tears.
Well, at least she was taking it better than he was.
"So..." She sat on the bed next to him, swinging her legs idly, "About what you were saying before? You, um..."
"Oh, yes...um," He rubbed the back of his head. Gods this was awkward, "Well...there is no way I can say this without sounding like an...'arsehead'," She let out a snorting laugh at the sudden curse, "But...yes, I cannot accept your feelings." He placed his hands on his lap and clenched his fist, "It is...not because I do not wish to. Truth be told I find myself...attracted to you...that is the proper word, yes?"
"I...guess?" She looked just as confused as he did.
"To get to the point - I wish to be able to accept your feelings, but...I cannot. There are many circumstances for this, as you well know."
"You mean possibly dying in Albion? I have to admit considering the kinds of injuries you can take I'm not even sure if that's-"
"No...not this time." He closed his eyes briefly, "The 'roots' that you saw above my heart. Only Hollows receive them." Her brows knotted worriedly as she processed the implications, "...To be clear, the appearance of the lesions mean that my death is inevitable. Or...death might not be the correct term, but giving into insanity has the same implications. My mind will be lost and Louise will have to kill me."
An awkward silence settled into the room. Raziel gave Siesta a sidewards glance; she was trying desperately to keep her expression happy, but he could tell that it was a losing battle. He wanted to say something, to hold her hand and comfort her, but he knew anything he did would only make things worse for both of them. So he continued to sit there, waiting for her to say something first.
"So...that's the way it is..." He could see her nodding. It wasn't acceptance; more a sign that she understood that he was telling the truth, "So, uh...how...how long before you...you know..."
"There is really no way to tell. Even now I am at risk of losing my mind. Given that we are spending what is likely to be a month in Albion, I do not expect my sanity will last that much longer. I will not delude myself with the false hope that I will come back and see you again after this war ends. Siesta...this is goodbye, for both of us."
That did it. Her smile vanished and turned to look away from him, using her hands to cover her face. He could hear her crying, and every sob felt like a stab at his back. He knew...He knew that it would only end in tragedy. The act of even considering it was simply lying to himself. When Louise rescued him from the kiln a part of him always understood that it was only a temporary reprieve from death's clutches, and yet he allowed himself to get drunk on the idea that he could escape from his fate. He knew better than anyone: No matter how much you struggled, you can never cut the strings.
"So...this is it? This is how it's going to end for you?" He nodded. "Even if you stay here, stay away from fighting altogether, you're still going to die?"
"Now that the process has started, there is no turning back..." He replied dully, "Louise and I leave in a few hours time. Siesta, this will be the last we will see one another and I...I wanted to thank you," He took hold of both her hands, "Ever since my first days here you've been a constant companion and I value your friendship. The memories we made...it makes things easier."
Lies. All lies. The memories only made his desire to live and fight against the inevitable all the more powerful.
"Stop...just stop..." She pulled her hands away and stifled a sob, "I...I don't want your last memory of me to be like this. If you're going to leave then I want to properly say goodbye to you with no regrets."
She stood up from the bed and rummaged through one of the cabinets. He looked at her curiously, wondering briefly on what she was doing, before she pulled out a long, white piece of cloth.
"It's a scarf..." She unwrapped it and presented it to him meekly, "I...made it for you since I heard Albion was going to be cold. Skewed priorities, huh?" She let out a forced laugh, "Right now it must seem petty to you, but-"
"No, it is...a thoughtful gift," He took the offered gift and rubbed his fingers over the cloth; it felt warm and soft to the touch, "If I am going to die then I would prefer to die in relative comfort." He saw her wince. Right, that was a pathetic jest, "I appreciate it, Siesta. Thank you."
He let out a soft cry of pain as she circled her arms around him in a deep embrace. Despite the agitation on his burns he gave her a genuine smile and returned the gesture. He...this would be the final time he saw her. He pulled her closer to him, ignoring every instinct telling him to push her away. He shouldn't do this, it would only cause them more pain in the short time they had together.
"Raziel..." Siesta looked up at him through tear-stained eyes. She didn't want to let go, didn't want to lose him. Once she released him he would leave, and there would be nothing she could do about it.
Raziel looked down, a conflicted expression on his face, before he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss.
A moment of weakness for once in his life. Fate could give him that, at least.
Henrietta let out an exhausted breath as she lowered herself into the warm waters. Looking up at the ceiling blankly, she finally allowed herself to relax. The past few days had been a struggle to work through - More and more nobles were coming to visit as the war drew ever closer. Even now when the ships were about to take flight they were still demanding accolades or postponing any form of assistance whether it be war tax or soldiers.
It was frustrating, though at this point she was beginning to get used to it. Whoever thought of the idea that nobles had to work together for the greater good must have been writhing in their graves. Her army consisted of conscripts and mercenaries, most of whom could barely hold a candle to the armies of trained soldiers and firstborns that Albion had. She had to pray to Brimir that Louise's blessed Void could tip the scales.
"Louise..." She waved her hands through the water, watching the ripples. Louise was in one of those ships now, preparing herself to be used as a tool for war. She bit her lower lip and shook away her guilt. Yes, she felt guilty for doing so, but in the end she had little choice in the matter. Without her best friends blessed powers they all would have died in Tarbes. She herself would have given in to the illusion of her dead lover and played right into Albion's hands. She had no choice.
...At least that's what she kept telling herself. It made sleeping at night tolerable.
She sighed, pressing her bare back against the bathtub's cold surface. It was pathetic - Here she was holed up in the baths, trying in vain to forget about her problems. In a few hours time the ships would set sail and she had to see them off like any good Queen would. But instead she was here, immersing herself in water while others said goodbye to their loved ones and walked into their possible deaths.
But of course she couldn't help it. A childish part of herself insisted that she deserved this for all the weeks she'd sat on that throne and she had relented. A Queen didn't get breaks; she worked herself to the bone so the kingdom could function properly. She wanted a moment to be alone, to allow herself a brief respite without anyone judging her smallest actions.
It said a lot about the position that one of those few places was the bathroom.
She cupped her hands under the water and splashed her face with the warm liquid. After this she would have to deal with the list of casualties along with explaining to the very irate parents as to why she 'allowed' mercenaries to hold their daughters hostage. Agnes had decided to stop the plan of training the female students to fight - After the incident their parents were adamant that they stay home and avoid any more danger.
God, she just wanted to rest. Henrietta felt her eyelids drooping and she allowed it, closing her eyes and leaning back on the tub with her elbows propped up on the edge. She had at least half an hour of personal time, and she could decide to sleep in the bath if she wanted.
'The Queen is surely shameful, is she not? Why, I heard that she increased the taxes even more!' 'She's certainly pushing her influence, ins't she? Many of the nobles are already grumbling about it!' 'Did you hear that the Valliere's refused to offer any soldiers?' 'It's no surprise, my dear: While it is rather shameful to refuse an order from the Crown I can understand why he did so. This new Queen asks for far too much!' 'Did you hear the rumors of Richmond? About how he was a spy?' 'A spy? Please tell me you don't believe that drivel! It's quite clear that the man had wealth and she likely framed him to justify taking his riches'.
'My, this Queen is surely one of avarice!'
She opened her eyes and nearly jumped out of the tub. Looking around her quickly she breathed a relieved sigh, "It was just a dream..." She shook her head. Yes, she was very well-aware of the rumors they whispered to one another when they thought no one could hear. In public they wore masks with molded smiles, but when they thought themselves alone they let their doubts shine through. She despised it - If someone hated her she would have preferred it if they were open about it rather than hiding behind painted masks. The Cardinal at least didn't mince words with her and she appreciated him for it.
She took a deep breath and submerged herself in the water. She stayed underneath until she felt her lungs screaming for air before breaking through the surface once more, "Ha...ha..." She took deep, ragged breaths as she pulled her hair out of her eyes. She submerged herself many times as a child, pretending that she was a mermaid or some other type of fantastical creature.
Her dreams were much more pleasant as a child. Nowadays she dreamed of backstabbing nobles and monsters, images born out of paranoia and recent traumas. When she was a child she dreamed of being a beloved Princess of a far-off kingdom. She had a loving family; they had their flaws, yes, but they all sincerely loved one another.
Then of course dreams turned to nightmares. Her family was torn apart and one by one the idyllic life she led crumbled into pieces. Then just when she was about to give into despair a Lord from a far-off land charmed her and took her away with him, leaving her family behind. Not the happiest ending, but it was just roguish enough that many a young girl found it romantic in a sense.
And then dreams turned to reality. Her father died of sickness, her mother secluded herself from everyone and her beloved was killed by assassins; to add insult to injury they profaned his corpse to use for their own ends.
"Wales..." Her hand made its way between her legs. Self-pleasure was a sinful thing and a Queen was to be almost akin to a saint, but...
She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the blush that made its way to her cheeks. Royalty was supposed to be free of all vices, and yet she knew that she had already failed in that regard - Every day she drank, trying to forget her problems. She indulged herself and wished bodily harm on those who talked behind her back. And even now, even as she told herself that it was all for her people, she knew in her heart that she wished revenge on those who had hurt her.
Justice and vengeance...she would tell herself that this was all to bring the heretics to justice, but it was all a lie. She wanted them to die, to suffer, for them to lose their lives knowing they had failed in their attempted grab for power.
She held back a moan as her fingers brushed against her body. If anyone saw her now they would be aghast, lecturing her on how shameful she was and yelling that this was no way for a self-respecting noble - let alone a Queen - to act. Through half-focused eyes she looked around her once more: The door was locked, the windows were closed and barring a few candles there was no light in the solitary room. She was completely and utterly alone.
Alone...she would have given anything to see her beloved once more, to feel his hands on hers. They shared nothing more than a few chaste kisses; anything more would have been risking too much. A part of her always resented that - They loved one another, and yet even the mere act of sharing a kiss was taboo. She wanted more with him, she wished to affirm their love for one another without having to hide in the shadows like rats.
Her other hand snaked its way to her breasts-
A knocking at the door nearly caused to scream. She tried to calm herself before speaking, "Y-Yes, who is it?"
"Your Majesty, it's me." Agnes' voice droned from the other side of the wooden barrier, "The Cardinal requests your presence at once."
"A-Alright, I'll be right there!" She waited for the footsteps to fade before breathing another sigh. She raised her hand and looked at her fingers - The temptation to indulge in sinful vices grew by the day and she had nearly done so if not Agnes' interruption. Shaking her head, she stood up from the tub and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around herself haphazardly.
She would give in later. She had more important things to worry about now.
Raziel crossed his arms and frowned, standing against the railings of the ship they had boarded.
Three days. Three days in this rocking vessel, three days of accompanying Louise as she talked to generals who looked at her as if she was a gun to be loaded and fired. His hand clenched into a fist as he remembered the way they talked to her - 'How many ships can you destroy?' 'Could you repeat the miracle at Tarbes?' 'If you fail then all the lives that are lost will be on your head'.
'Are you willing to die if it meant victory?'
He smashed his fist on the railing, splintering it slightly. Louise wasn't some kind of...weapon for them to use and discard. And yet, despite all their dismissals, she continued to nod and repeat the same words over and over again - 'I'll do anything for Queen Henrietta'.
He shook his head. Damned Queen; Louise was going to die because of her.
Sailors ran to and fro all over the ship, adjusting ropes and doing whatever task to keep their hands busy. It didn't take him long to notice that the severity with which they underwent their tasks only grew more frantic the closer they went to Albion. From what he managed to gather from those general's long-winded orders the fleet of Albion outnumbered Tristain's by a large margin despite the losses they received in Tarbes. They were still a large distance away but he could see that those gloryhounds were speaking the truth of that at least.
The Undead glared at the large collection of ships. He had no personal stake in this war, but he doubted they cared about that. So long as he was on this ship he was nothing more than an enemy combatant and if he hoped to survive for even a bit longer then he would have to treat them as such in kind.
He pulled the scarf closer to himself as another wave of cold wind rocked through the ship. While he had nothing against being on ships he could already see the inherent disadvantage of fighting in a location where one could fall off the edge to certain death. He could only hope that whatever Louise was planning it would divert enough attention to avoid the vessel from being bombarded by cannons.
"There you are."
Brown eyes flicked to meet pink ones as Louise slowly walked towards him. Due to the colder weather of the floating continent she had switched her academy uniform for a more practical set of thick jackets, pants and boots. He could tell his master was more uncomfortable in the attire than he was. The thick clothing felt somewhat stifling, but at the very least they covered his numerous wounds.
At least they had gotten the bullet removed before they went here. Small fortunes, but he would take them.
"I've been looking everywhere for you." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a mock glare. He smiled from underneath the scarf and offered her a simple shrug, "I'm surprised you're so calm about this. I mean, everyone looks like they've been handed the death sentence..." She nudged an arm to the sailors and other assorted soldiers. She could at least slightly grasp their panic - None of their training and weapons would matter if they were blown out of sky by cannons.
"I do not know how to sail, so all I can do is wait." She couldn't see his expression from beneath the scarf, "I worry more for you. These generals ask far too much."
"I know...but I can see their point." She sighed, "Even I can tell that a head-on attack will end with us getting massacred. Albion always had the most powerful fleet, but now they employ even Firstborns to fight in their battles for them? Any normal person would be scared."
He nodded, but gave no further verbal reply. Louise pursed her lips and stared at him - Ever since they had left he had been acting odd. At first glance he appeared no different than before, but she knew him well enough to tell that something was definitely bothering him...though given that he was convinced that he only had a scant few weeks to live it would have been more surprising if he wasn't affected.
Still, there was something about how he was now that unnerved her. Their studies always told them that Master and Familiar shared an irreplaceable bond, but despite the months she spent with him it never felt like she truly understood what made him how he was. Now, however, there was a certain aura about him that she couldn't quite place. No one else seemed to notice it, so could it have been something she saw only as his summoner?
"Raziel...I know that I rushed to leave the academy." She wrung her hands together, "I understand that you might feel...resentful for having to leave that friend of yours..." His brows knotted together by a minuscule amount but he gave no other reaction, "Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry...alright? I'm sorry for dragging you here when you're already in dire conditions but-"
"I do not resent you, Louise. My life is yours, as it always has been, and..." He shook his head. Now was as good a time as any, "Weeks ago, when we were at the Charming Fairies...Siesta begged me to not go to Albion with you and I refused her. I chose to go with you of my own free will." He looked down for a moment, "Besides, I told you before that I would die soon, yes? Even if I stayed I would only end up hurting others. At least with this war I will likely end up Hollowing in a battlefield when I can be killed before harming you or anyone else."
"Raziel..." She bit her lower lip. Despite his reassurances her guilt never lowered, "Look, just talk to me if you depressed or angry or anything like that, alright? I understand that leaving behind friends possibly for the last time is difficult." She paused, trying to think of her next words, "You said you were alright with leaving the academy behind and that it was your own choice but I found you and the maid sharing the same bed-"
"Louise." He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her.
"What? Look, it's no big deal what you choose to do and who you have relationships with, alright? I mean, many soldiers choose to spend their last night with their lovers because of the risk that they might never come back. It was the last time you'd ever see her so I won't say anything for you sleeping with her-"
"We did not..." He closed his eyes and sighed, "Believe what you wish then. Just make sure you are prepared for what you must do when we get to the fleet."
"Yeah, the book told me the perfect spell for it." She pulled out the prayer book from her jacket, "I don't have the willpower to repeat the explosion at Tarbes...and to be honest I don't really want to, so an illusion should be enough," She opened the small book. He still couldn't see anything written on the pages but evidently she could, "Ask and you shall receive, right?"
Raziel watched the group of dragon riders set off, his master among them. Julio had come with them as per the agreement of the treaty he and the tyrant agreed upon and his master was riding the priest's dragon. Despite his dislike of the miracle-user he could see the reasoning for it - His personal dragon was far larger and much more fierce compared to the others in the group and would be better suited to protecting her.
"Good luck..." He gave the pinkette a half-hearted wave which she returned. According to her the plan essentially amounted to her casting some kind of illusion in order to draw the fleet's attention away. Not the entire fleet, but just enough to give Tristain the advantage as the opposing ships wasted ammo on targets that weren't there. Since their ship was one of the many in the front of the fleet they would be one of the first to be hit. Of course by sheer 'coincidence' the so-called leaders of this army had transferred to one of the ships at the back.
He wanted to go with them, to protect her, but he he knew that he would have been useless in the air save for the occasional miracle; and he was sure the priest would have beaten him in that regard.
And so they waited. His eyes scanned the the rest of the deck: Contrary to their previous movements of forced normalcy the sailors and other assorted soldiers were eerily quiet, many grabbing for their swords, guns and wands to try and reassure themselves.
He unsheathed Derflinger as they finally got closer. He would be useless for deflecting cannonballs but merely having him on-hand helped calm his nerves. He could see the others around him clasping their hands together in prayer and he held on to the railing as the ship turned to its side. Sailors were knocked out of their stupor and began preparing the cannons to fire.
"Winged ones!"
He blinked. That...wasn't what he was expecting to hear. Following the frantic pointing he looked up and his eyes widened - Men and women dressed in simple robes, flying in the skies. He...was seeing things, right? Certainly he had seen the crow people that owed allegiance to Velka and other types of assorted demons, but humans with wings attached to them? Surely it was an illusion.
The winged people proved all too real when they barraged the ships with fire and lightning.
Raziel fell on his back as the ship shook unsteadily. All around him he could hear people screaming and trying to shoot at the flying attackers. Shaking his head, he ignored his dizziness and forced himself to stand. The ship had been reinforced, but already he could see holes on the infrastructure. Soldiers and sailors ran around in a panic, some trying to shoot at their attackers.
"Shoot them! Shoot them!" Another soldier yelled. He aimed at the winged ones and fired, the bullet grazing the side of their robes. Raziel aimed his own pistol but another bout of frenzied shaking caused him to nearly drop it. Their magic...it was similar to the ones those assassins used. These winds weren't normal.
The runes on his left hand glowed. Aiming up blindly he fired and hit one of the casters in the stomach. He gave no cry of pain but it didn't take him long to crash onto the ships, his wings desperately fluttering to try and keep him afloat.
Great, one down and a dozen or so to go.
The rest continued to fire desperately at the flying enemies, ignoring the injured one entirely. Raziel stumbled his way to the prone figure and drew his sword before stopping. Killing him would have been quick, but something urged him not to do so. He looked at the bloodstained wings: Once he regained consciousness he would fly out of there once more.
He needed to keep him grounded.
The Winged One let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain as an intense agony overwhelmed him. Raziel grit his teeth and pulled, stamping on the firstborn's back as the wings were slowly but surely torn from his back. He ignored the blood matting his hands and, with one final pull, the winged appendages were pulled away with a sickening crack of flesh.
"There..." He threw away the feathered bundle of flesh. Why...exactly had he done that? He looked down at the creature; killing him would have been quick and clean, but instead he had...this was torture.
His thoughts were interrupted by another call.
"Get down! Cannon fire!"
"Damn it!" He wrapped his arms around the railing as the cannon balls smashed against the side of the ship. Just barely he could see the remaining Winged Ones leaving to attack another ship; they were nothing more than distractions to keep them from properly fighting back. The sailors struggled to reach their own cannons but those that weren't shot down could only crawl ineffectually for the armaments.
As soon as the barrage ended he could see mercenaries clad in leather armor swinging to their ship with rope. He counted at least a dozen, and the soldiers in his own ship could barely stand, "Get up..." He muttered to himself. Despite his words, however, one by one the soldiers were executed by the enemy combatants. Some were still on the ground before they were killed while others tried to put up a fight.
They all died in the end.
They were coming for him now. He pulled himself up and wielded Derflinger with both hands. The first three were easy - Overconfident and assuming him to be nothing more than a child. A simple dodge and a slice at their neck or spine ended their lives quickly enough.
The rest weren't so simple.
Seeing their comrades fall the remaining mercenaries all attacked at once. Advancing, striking, never giving him a chance to avoided their aimed strikes and threw a ball of fire to the largest cluster, earning him a bout of panicked screaming.
"Shit, he's a Firstborn!"
That did it. They all charged at once, any hint of cocky overconfidence replaced with the desire to kill him as fast as possible. He let out a pained groan as a sword stabbed through his side. He grabbed the attacker by the neck and threw him over the railing, kicking blindly at the rest to knock them away. He could feel his previous wounds re-opening and his vision swam.
He needed to feed.
He raised his left hand, letting the dark energy consume his skin, "Arghhh!" Another roar of pain, louder this time. A sword pierced through his wrist, bringing with it a torrent blood. The attacker pushed harder and he fell on his back, the sword pinning him to the wooden surface. Pain...with every movement he made he felt his wounds opening again.
The rest of the stabs came after. He bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming; if he simply played dead then they would turn their back on him. It would allow him to kill one of them and recover his strength.
A final stab at his stomach ended the assault. He did his best to stay still, his open eyes lifeless, as they kicked at his legs. Right, now all he needed to do was-
"Damn monster." A kick at his head sent his vision reeling. He could feel the wound on his forehead opening once more, staining his face with a torrent of blood. The fire in his right hand nearly flared but he forced himself to calm. Getting more Humanity was the priority here, not petty revenge. He couldn't afford to lost too much of himself before they arrived in Albion-
The man grabbed at his scarf and pulled. His reasons could have been anything; perhaps he wanted to sell it as a trophy of war or he simply wanted to see the face of the 'monster' that caused them so much trouble.
Either way, it didn't matter to him.
"Let go of that!"
The man barely had time to scream in surprise before Raziel brought his sword down on the offending limb, chopping it off entirely. His mouth hung open in shock, staring at his now-missing limb; enough time for him to bring down his sword on the man's shoulder and cleave it halfway through his chest.
He stabbed his left hand through his chest and grabbed the Humanity the dead man contained. Crushing it in his hands, he smiled as his wounds healed and the others backed away in fear.
The rest fell easily enough. Fear kept them from fighting effectively, and with his wounds healed it proved much easier to fight the uneven odds. He stabbed his sword into the last figure and let out a fatigued breath. Dead...they were all dead. The opposing soldiers, the crew...all gone. He turned and glared at the opposing ship. He had killed the boarding crew, but they could still fire upon him.
He could see them frantically reloading their cannons, aiming it at the ship. He clenched his left hand and snarled; there was no way he could fight back properly.
He raised his right arm to cover his eyes, waiting for the explosion to come.
...Nothing. Only screams.
Reluctantly he lowered his arm and frowned. Julio's dragon had landed on the opposing ship, teeth and claws ripping through the crew as they tried to fight back. Mercifully he could see his master was unconscious, though whether it was out of fatigue or otherwise he had no idea. He waited for the one-sided 'battle' to finish and for the pair to make their way to him.
"Well...this is certainly quite a mess you left behind." Julio laughed, nudging a corpse with his boot. Louise slept peacefully in his arms, seemingly undisturbed by the chaos around her, "I daresay I came to your rescue just now."
"Do not expect a thank you." He reached a hand out to Louise but Julio pulled back with a wave of his finger.
"Ah...you might wish to clean yourself up first. We all have blood on our hands, but you seem to be taking it quite literally."
"Shut up."
"Just some friendly advice." He scanned the deck and raised an eyebrow at the moving firstborn, "That your handiwork? If you wanted to bind him I'm sure some rope would have sufficed. You didn't need to rip his wings off."
"Do what you wish with him." Raziel answered dismissively. Julio watched him walk through the corpses and enter the insides of the ship before letting out a sigh. He knew the dark one would prove obstinate, but he was far too hostile. If he kept this up then they would have to take their chances with the next Familiar.
"Still, your power is beyond what we thought, Ms. Valliere..." He brushed the hair out of the sleeping girl's eyes and turned to the illusion. Fine handiwork for a Void Mage with no training. His master would definitely benefit with her at his side.
Henrietta tapped her fingers at her desk. Tap tap tap tap tap...the dull noise was her only company in the empty room. Ever since the war proper finally started the line of nobles waiting for an audience slowed to a crawl with many rushing back to their own territories to prepare for their own contingencies. She knew that most of the nobility gave the bare minimum to be considered adequate.
To them, what did it matter if the war was lost so long as they could keep their own powers.
She glanced around her now barren bedchambers - Specially crafted beds, painting with decades of history, her most opulent dresses: All had been sold in order to fund the ever-grinding wheels of war. Her bed for a few more mercenaries to pad their armies, her dresses to afford weapons that were decently crafted. Save for a table to receive reports and a replacement mattress for her to sleep on her room had been stripped of nearly every belonging.
Cardinal Mazarin spread word of her deeds, claimed that she did it out of mere altruism and a desire to show that the commoners need not be the only one to suffer. Her citizens accepted the propaganda, calling her the 'Queen of Honorable Poverty'. It earned her the support of the common men and women, though she had little doubt that her fellow nobles looked down at her for doing so.
In truth she didn't do it for the sake of kindness. She wanted Cromwell's head mounted on a pike and paraded around his failed loyalists - It wasn't a very Queenly thing to think about but she was past the point of truly caring; at the very least she should be allowed to be free within the confines of her mind. It wasn't as if they cared of anything beyond how she acted externally.
Another few minutes of tapping came and went before she eventually slammed her hand against the table in frustration. She laughed bitterly; ever since she was Queen she always wished for a day to lay down her burdens, and yet now all she felt was an overwhelming desire to throw herself against something, anything, to keep her mind from drifting off to negative thoughts.
The invasion proper was just beginning, and she knew nothing. If she was optimistic she would have hoped that everything was a success and that they had landed with no casualties, but she knew better at this point. Ultimately she knew that it all hinged on Louise; her fleet was nothing compared to Albion's and she could only hope that Louise could cast another miracle in order to save them.
She clasped her hands together, kicking her feet under the table in lieu of biting her nails. She didn't know much in the way of military tactics and strategy, but she would have to assume that they needed a base to operate from before they could even think of sending messages back reporting on the situation. Given that Albion hadn't attacked the capital leaving a trail of dead bodies in their wake she could at least assume that things weren't going as bad as she feared.
She despised all this waiting and praying, though she knew there was very little she could do. She was the Queen, her bloodline guaranteeing her potent magic since the day of her birth, and yet her best friend was out fighting in this war while she sat here in the palace like a coward. At this very moment Louise was risking her life and...at the very least she wanted to know if she was okay.
A sudden burst of pain in her head caused her to shut her eyes tightly. Perhaps it was nothing more than stress, but the headaches only grew worse ever since this war started. Just barely she could hear Odette letting out a worried cry. She looked to her Familiar and offered her a comforting smile; she appreciated her Familiar's company but there were days where she almost forgot she had one in the first place.
"Perhaps I should cut back on the tea..." She mumbled softly. Tea was one of the fee things that kept her awake for all the droning talks of self-important lords and ladies, but now that she had been given a temporary reprieve from her troubles she supposed it was time to give up the habit. Soon Agnes would come with a report on the Musketeer recruitment.
"Your Majesty, may I enter?"
Ah, speak of the devil, "Yes, Agnes. Please come in." She rubbed her temples and sighed. Perhaps discussing something else would take her mind out of her pessimistic thoughts. It was better than sleeping and receiving more bad dreams.
The musketeers entered the room and bowed stiffly. Henrietta could see bruises on her cheeks, "Your Majesty, I come with good news." She allowed a slight smile to break through, "Despite the setbacks and losses we suffered from the attack at the academy we found ample recruits to replace those we lost."
"Yes, good work. But..." Her eyes narrowed, "Why are you injured? You're wounded..."
"Oh, my apologies, Your Majesty; nothing more than superficial wounds received from training. Our new trainee Sully is quite eager to prove herself capable of joining the musketeers." Henrietta could make out the hint of pride in the normally professional knight's voice.
"Yes, well, it wouldn't do to leave it untreated. Come, I will aid you."
Ignoring the attempted reply of "That isn't needed, Your Majesty.", Henrietta stood from her seat and faced the musketeer. It was only when she raised her hands that she finally noticed something was amiss; namely that her wand was missing.
"Huh? Strange, how could I have forgotten..." Her voice trailed off as she felt a warmth course through her body. It was odd; she felt as if she was floating through the air and a feeling of relief ran through her mind. Through hazy eyes she just barely saw a bright light engulf her hand and, as if on instinct, she pressed her palm against the other woman's face.
"Y-Your Majesty?" Agnes' brows knotted in worry at the odd display. Henrietta's gaze was unfocused, but her movements were anything but. She waited for the light to fade and when she stepped away she no longer felt the dull ache of her bruises.
"Wh-What...What was I...?" As if she had been hit Henrietta's eyes suddenly widened and she backed away from the confused knight. Agnes reached out a hand worriedly but the monarch only continued to back away, "Agnes...I need some time alone, please."
"Your Majesty-"
"Now, Agnes...please."
Reluctantly the older female bowed and walked out of the room, looking back with barely concealed concern at the young Queen. Henrietta waited for the door to close behind her before she raised her right hand once more: It was no longer as bright, but light still coursed through her hand, playing at the ends of her fingertips, before disappearing and repeating the process.
What was...what in Helheim just happened? She'd healed Agnes, but that was no water magic to be sure. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing level.
Everything was...it would be alright.
Done. This chapter had to be shortened since the next bits fit the proceeding chapter better and RL issues suddenly popped up. So yeah, this was rather short for an update, but hey 8000 words should be enough till we get to the next bit.
This chapter might seem like filler for some so sorry again. RL problems popped up and I'll be offline for a whole week soon because of it, so I did what I could and posted this. Some might find the first scene with Henrietta distasteful, but it really wasn't meant for eroticism - There's a reason her actions are barely touched upon, after all. And it's not like it's any more heinous than the stuff Raziel gets up to in his segments.
That's all. See you next time.
Natsirt2610 - Witcher 3 definitely wins out among the three :)
Demons Anarchy of Pride - ...What Undead?
Sherbert - Sorry, will try to lower the exposition dumps :p As for Colbert: Sadly he can't regain his former strength after two decades of letting his skills atrophy. He's still better than the average Mage, just not 'One man army' levels like Karin.
Acebrainbuster - Thematically it would have been interesting, but neither of them really see each other as anything but another thug/victim. That and there really was no duel; Julio's dragon ate the guy before he knew what was happening.
Remvis - Hm, in the end we'll see how it goes. As I said before I'm better at writing platonic relationships over romance so any romance stuff I write might end up having much lower quality than anything else I've written. Wish me luck.
ArkT - Phantom Pain's gameplay is the best in the series, but the story is largely cut-up and pathetic. Mad Max is a huge timesink - If you want something to keep you occupied and you have OCD like I do then this is the game for you. Right now I'm playing CRPG's like Shadowrun Hong Kong and whatnot.
Guest - I meant in the context of teleporting to the bonfire and having to run back to the battle. Reviving on the spot is fair-game since that can be used effectively, but running back every time he exceeded his damage threshold would get tedious fast. That and many of his opponents wouldn't stick around once they killed him so even if he ran back they'd be long gone so its unfeasible.
ArmorOfGeddon - He knows, but it's of limited use - While he can instantly absorb smaller spells like a single fireball larger ones either take a longer time to do so or they damage him regardless as shown in the light novels and anime. The Firewall might have been stopped for him, but there was no guarantee Louise wouldn't have been hurt regardless so he made a split second decision. It might not have been the correct one, but he makes mistakes.
As for Derflinger...I wholeheartedly agree, actually. Problem is it's difficult to cut him in without breaking the flow of the narration. I have plans for him to get more verbal focus later on, but right now he's pretty much a mute because he has no more combat advice to give. Again I'll amend that later.