Echoes of war beat against each other as blades did the same. One man carried a holy blade as he fought. A legendary relic of centuries old. A weapon of gold and silver whose raw strength alone could tear the strongest soldier asunder.
The other fighter, a man edging past his prime. Compared to the display of power in the hand of the crusader wielding it, what he had was a steel and crimson handaxe with one red streak running down it. Less noteworthy than any other soldier's weapon.
For every swing of that godly weapon, that man opposing it deflected and dodged two more. With skill and technique alone, he bounced each strike off his axe and pulled his opponent's arm such that his next hit would swing out of his path. At this point, the godsword hadn't even touched his skin once.
That was why when that man backed off with a jump to get away from his opponent, one man laid at his feet. Cold and dead, and divine staff falling limp in his hand.
The Valkyrie Staff. A fabled staff that could bring anyone back to life under the right conditions. One of the ultimate catalysts for resurrection known to humans.
It was nothing better than a glorified stick in this state. Down a wielder, it would be a divine miracle for anyone in the deserted hall to not just be killed outright in the process.
The veteran general buckled his footing, inspecting his surroundings, eyes sweeping the palace. He saw the blur of a person approaching from the upstairs walkway, then steadied his hand against the two in front of him.
"Milord! Permission to fall back, sir!" One of his opponents held an eye shut. A brown-haired man in golden armor, steadying his body against the sun-colored spear standing at his, a deep gash having burrowed itself in him. And he was losing blood, quick.
"Leave," said the man fighting the general.
"Will you be okay, sire—!"
"I said leave!" his commander shouted, throwing his hand back.
That man with the golden lance ran with what life he had intact to live another day. But the same could not be said for the other nobles with him that day.
The glistening sword that pierced the dark and the immortal staff that rewrote destiny. Both dimmed in the hands of the two holding them. The spellfencer and priest that were Karstin and Feriks of House Idia, descendants of Bragi.
The infernal tome that would purify the world fell way to windblown dust in the hands of the flame sage Rait of House Falkner, descendant of Fjalar.
All that remained of the five that manned the charge was the holy king and commander who led the storm: Reven Lowell.
The Exalt readied the godsword given to him by the will of Naga, eyes narrowed against the general cleaning blood off his axe with stoic, hardened eyes.
He rushed right in, burning alight with white flames of purification.
"Aether—!" he cried forth, reaching into the air before driving it downwards to crack the very floor. Stone shot in massive chunks against the general shutting one eye, the burly man slicing away rocks before he rolled underneath the sweeping blade that nearly took his neck.
"Exalt! Today will be your last breath!" Mustafa got on one knee with an axe ready to plunge into his side. But the flames themselves slithered their way to him like a snake, scorching against his face before he could even get near. The blaze of the hallowed flame forced Mustafa to back as quick as he could before the fires could take him. He disengaged from the fight, running to and up the stairs before the next move could be made.
Stone shattered around him as they hit the ground, the tomb for the fallen and forgotten. The Exalt drove the blade to strike once more. In one hand, no less. He charged his way up the steps, slashing the holy sword at the back of the general who caught the blade at the last moment. Forced to turn around, his axe hand had to be twisted the other way around just to snag it, threading the outer edge of his axe upon the weighted blade pushing against it. One slip up, a degree misangled, would be it.
The purifying flames crawled towards him, striking at his wrist. He could feel that not even the core of the flames needed to reach; the ends that fanned around scalded his skin like boiling lava grazing him.
Pressed in this deadlock, Mustafa saw only one way out: and that was through. He step-dashed forward to break the gap between himself and the Exalt before his opponent decided the next move, sacrificing his axe to the godsword. The holy sword turned in a circle and struck at nearly the same moment, just for Mustafa to reach the king and shove him with an open palm strike against the dragonscale around his chest. His opponent slid down the steps he had chased him from, sword dragging against the ground and breaking a line through countless rows of marble stone.
The slice that landed against his ribs started to bleed. Half of it burned black where he was hit the hardest, and the edges around the whole wound scorched him red. Mustafa grunted underneath the pain, but there was no time to focus upon it. For how costly his move was, he couldn't let the King stop him.
The general sped faster up the stairway to the heavenly throne room. Rays of sun beat upon the abandoned hall, the only man left in sight running under the gilded light.
"Gangrel! Gangrel! Where are you, sir!" He called out, shouting over fractured stained glass and broken pillars. He pressed against his wound, stifling the pain.
The man from below soared from the base of the steps, unbreaking scales and unbending blade shining under the heavens. Coming down with a crack of the ground from the greatsword that hit the floor, he held it ready in both hands, dragonfang pointed ahead.
Before Mustafa was nothing but a balcony and a drop that would lead to the slim chance of escape, one which by no means would leave him as close to being unscathed as he could say he was.
Behind him was his opponent, moments from rushing him down. His chances of surviving were by no means any better. For Mustafa understood that for all their power, the crusaders whose blood he shed held key weaknesses that became fatal flaws.
There was no flaw of the sort in the abilities of the King of Massacres. His speed, strength, ability, and experience left no opening that would lead Mustafa to a victory, not as he fought alone. Fighting would be death.
But to run and to fight would lead to death either way, and most importantly, to failure. So he turned to face him, axe gripped tight in the hand he had full range of motion with.
He waited.
And in the moment where his opponent lifted his sword, he attacked.
Swinging with all might afforded to him, he launched his handaxe at the perfect angle such that it spun against the wind, whirling like a mini cyclone towards the Exalt. It curved across the throne hall, racing at its target: the Exalt's offhand.
With a hardened grunt, the silver scaled commander shot to the wayside, jumping from one side of the hall to the opposing side across him. When the axe spun on the return hit, he bashed it with the blunt edge of his blade, sending it flying up to the ceiling. Still, with the momentum and the curvature of the bounce, by luck did it find its way back into Mustafa's hand, the general catching overhead when he sent it spinning once more. And again. And again. The general kept striking, using only technique and whatever was afforded to him to keep the Exalt on his feet, dashing forth and back out of the way of the spinning axe. But one of them would have to break through. Either Mustafa grew tired, his rhythm slowing down enough to the point for the Exalt to shoot towards him, or the Exalt would be struck by the axe in question.
Either of those could speak death for Mustafa. There'd be no way to survive the former scenario, save for a timely dodge relying on the guess that the king would swing a direction he wouldn't be destroyed from. The latter might injure him critically in a good case, and lethally in the best case, but in all cases, his axe would no longer fly back to him as he could predict. And if it shot over the balcony or fell past the Exalt's back, it was over.
Yet Reven took a third option amidst the second round: reaching for his tome. He opened the satchel at his side and drew the book from it in the sliver of time between axe throws.
"Sacred Covenant!"
The pages of the book blew over him as white flames poured out, surrounding him in an empty, heatless, inferno. The vestiges of dragons rose from their slumber, awakening at the behest of the Exalted One.
Mustafa's axe returned to him as he watched the flames grow, a chant reaching through the hall.
"By this pact from blood, a contract was made between champions and the god that rules them! By will, I call forth the heavenly light to purge this servant of a fell beast! Tome of Heim, give me this strength! Turn it on those who would deny our birthright!"
The vestiges awakened now cycled around him with an even greater power, rising as one flickering light towards the ceiling. The man raised his godsword as the vestiges blew pale flames of dragonbreath, baptizing the gold-and-silver blade into becoming a holy beacon that scaled to the sky.
Blasting inches in front of the one above like a rail of light fired off from a magic cannon. The one thief hanging above, arms and legs stretched like a spider such as to wait for his prey, now yanked his head and the rapier held in his teeth as the blast nearly fried his skull in one roaring sweep that completely obliterated the rafter in front of him.
...Said rafter that was the only thing he could grab for purchase with his hands. If he wasn't already ready, the blast would've sent him down either way as it shot into the yellow sky. The thief dove through the air between the run down ceiling and the floor far below, free falling like a man plunging down a bottomless canyon. He reached down and pulled out the handle from his teeth-clenched mouth, keeping it pointing up towards the sky, following his legs.
Because when he reached the ground, using it would've been the worst option and quickest to get himself stabbed. He instead spun forward and drove his leg down upon his target, smashing his heel into the wrist that carried the book to send it and everything to the ground. Himself included. And his opponent.
The book made contact with the ground before the thief did and exploded: the violent reaction from being forcibly severed from its wielder in the midst of such a concentrated attack of pure, ordered energy. Because when the book fell, so did the energy springing out fall with it and release itself on contact with the ground, as did the dragons that were connected to it. The resulting explosion of light blasted the Exalt and thief to opposing walls of the throne, although for the thief he was shot clean down the staircase to be sent reeling below.
The shining beacon faded away, returning to that which was just the sword. The Exalt who had been taken completely unaware struggled as he pushed against the ground, unprepared to resist his own attack backfiring.
When he got back up, there in his sights was the one who attacked him, racing up the staircase without a moment to spare. Refusing to go down even as he limped his way up, still recovering from the blast and fall.
A young thief with ginger red hair. One fancy but ordinary sword in his hand. A yellow cloak wrapped around his neck with only dusty red slacks and shirt covering underneath. He made half an attempt to look as an adult, standing tall and darkening his eyes to carry the image of one. But one look at him was all it took to recognize that he was no older than a teenager who'd disguised the fact from his superiors.
That kid pulled away the bang hiding his right eye, twin golden eyes revealing their dark determination. Upon both his wrists burned the two crests which marked him. The Signs of the wielders of Helswath and Mjolnir.
"Take that, you damned wifebeater! You probably beat your kids, too!" The thief pointed his finger down at his face, shouting with enough vitriol to spit at him and for his voice to crack.
And Reven took an offense to that, eyes squinting at him. He charged him down as the bastard thief raced at him, greatsword against rapier. When the two met, the man swung while the thief jumped around like an acrobat, clearing over the cutting edge like it was child's play. He landed behind him, only for the sword to be the Exalt's shield as his blocked the rapier clean away, an almighty push knocking it flying out of the thief's hands. The empty king reeled his sword back, ready to break through with a lethal blow.
An axe spun around with a whirr, slicing across his left arm. It spun back to its owner, the general racing in to protect his comrade. Axe met sword again, owners bleeding yet refusing to go down.
Admist the chaos did the thief recover, racing over to where his weapon fell. Grabbing it, he shot back into the fray, racing around the Exalt until he slid his foot on the ground behind him. He lunged straight for his back, driving his rapier to strike at the dragon's emissary, roaring with rage.
"Haaah—!" The Exalt turned around, sweeping his blade against that of the thief-prince baring his fangs, leaving him wide open for Mustafa to run his axe down his back. The edge of the blade spiked through the gap of his armor, starting from his lower back and going down his leg to bring the Exalt down to one knee.
Even with the wound though, Reven still mustered the strength to swat the thief away from him, sweeping around with a great spin to smash the blade into Mustafa's arm. He planted his sword to the ground, using it as leverage for him to shoot all the way to the balcony.
The thief slid his hand against the ground, dragging dust behind him as he lifted his head. The Exalt pressed both hands against the hilt of his blade, kneeling on his better of knees.
"Aether."
With his quiet order, the flames blazed from his sword, scaling towards the golden sky. They burned from the holy blade to the very crusader himself, covering both in Judgement's white void.
The thief-prince grit his damned teeth, taking his sword off the ground, and ran at the Empty King with everything he had. Eyes centered, blade drawn, and ready to end it. He kicked off the ground fast enough for lightning to ripple around him, metal blade shining overhead.
He jumped, breaking through the barrier of light as the godsword drove itself forward.
The crimson-streaked short axe whirled into his arm, dragging the holy weapon back to the earth. Reven peeked from the corner of his vision, a general solemnly staring at him with his arm having been stretched out. One eye closed, bearing witness to the events unfolding.
The rapier made contact with the dragon's scale, sparks flying from the tip as the thief pushed through to find a gap. With his one hand, the Exalt grabbed the end of the blade reaching towards his body, fighting to push against the bastard prince before him.
Thunder crackled at his feet. Silver shined from his blade. The prince shouted, piercing through the white flames.
"When you see the two men that brought me here down in hell, let them know I was the one who dragged you down there, you son of a bitch!"
He drove his rapier all the way through, black shattering through white.
"No one will remember you as the hero they deserved! Only a villain!"
The young prince drove his sword further against the black thunder that scattered and the white fire that fluttered. Without a moment of hesitation, he threw Reven down the balcony, crackles of magic ringing out.
The Exalt fell into the barren ditch below, laying there empty. The end of the Savior. The Hallowed Tyrant. The King of Massacres. The Empty King.
And the kid surrounded by blood rose from the ground, throwing his fist up.
"Today, we end the reign of the man that ravaged our world! May peace return to our country, for a prosperous future for all!"
Mustafa walked up to his comrade and placed his hand upon him, the first of many to smile at him. "We'll make that future, together."
The smiling thief brought his hand back down, panting with heavy breaths. Although his hand was soaked with blood as black as the burns that scorched it, the injuries were the least of his worries.
For when his breathing slowed, all he could find himself able to do was stare at that same hand where that rapier was. A hand gone of its wounds and blood, wrapped with a black glove to replace it.
Gangrel pulled himself away from his memories, standing under the sky where the Exalt once fell. Standing on the balcony where he once fought. Standing in the spot next to where his commander once stood.
Standing alone. Bod-blessed axe and tome wrapped at his back and side as the only things to show for the end. Rewards for a dead king slain.
The wind blew cold over him, the Thief-Prince turning to the western sky where his enemy lay.
Alone was all he was good for. Alone was all he knew.
His finest corp abandoned him for the rat he was born and the rat he always was. His former corp, and former comrades.
The only remaining soldiers were sycophants seeking titles, warmongers hungry for glory, and cowards thirsting for vengeance. People he'd get rid immediately of if he had the timing for it.
The witch that led him to where he was had been a rat all along herself.
Long since betrayed by the father who spread his seed for nothing less than to make a good progeny, like a horse to be thrown into a raceshow. And a man who deceived his mother, getting in her graces once she disappeared into the streets with her son in tow.
And when he couldn't...
That day. That day, when the boy opened the door after coming home with flowers in his hands for a mother who'd given everything to him. When that man stood over him, blood dripping off a black-steel hammer. A tool, meant for weapon making.
When he drew the rapier his mother told him to keep in his closet. When he stabbed the man, sneaking through his guard with a jump off the railing to murder him in fiery blood. When he stabbed the man again, and again, and again, and again.
The agains repeated themselves, all of it blending into a white canvas in order to shield the orphan's mind from the reality of things. Until a solemn man found him in a puddle of filth and blood. Blood belonging to a man desecrated until he was unrecognizable. Dealt the same as what he'd done in retaliation, for some hollow reprieve for the mother scarred.
The bastard son of Diony II of Plegia. The Prince of Thieves of the desert sands. And the one who stood alone, drawing breath through sand and blood.
Staring at the golden sky, the golden-eyed prince looked to the enemies coming for him.
That was when he knew one thing only.
Chrom put his foot down upon the desert plains, staring up ahead. To his left, water stood flowing between the sands, carving through them. To his right, what little there was of blooming grass and trees sprouted towards the coast. At his back, the scorching Lir Desert that divided Aelita's stronghold from the fields and cliffs in his sights. And before him, gray clouds blew over the heads of everyone, the sky shining behind them.
Beside him were thirty-three comrades and allies in arm, including himself. Thirty-three members of thirty-five Shepherds.
"The Plegian Army still remains in chaos," spoke Frederick, his armor shining once again with its stalwart blue sheen.
"Is that so…" Chrom shifted his head, eyes on the horizon. "How exactly do you mean?"
"It seems the people of the capital are opposed to further violence, from what the scouts have reported. And although Gangrel manages a fighting force, it could not recover from the damage done. Infighting, desertion, all of the sort since the protests began and have yet to be quelled."
"That's incredible news. But why…"
His eyes fell to the sand. "...Emmeryn."
"It's as you think, Chrom," the Exalt's knight answered. "Even now, People continue to uproar in favor of the Exalt's wishes, chanting her name as they abandon their field. Her words, her sacrifice, have made her a folk hero for those fighting against the war."
The plains they stood upon were directly north of Doluna, but far and away for them to see or hear the city.
But if he were close enough to that city, if he could hear them, he would hear the cries for peace.
"...Why didn't I see it before? Why did it take me so long to understand?" Chrom looked to his south, holding his gaze against the clouds broken up by the sky.
"She knew it," he said aloud. "She believed all people desire peace. She knew, deep down, the Plegians wanted it, too. It just took her to bring it to the surface."
No one answered.
But he spoke, wishing where the stars hid. "I hope she can see this, wherever she is. Today, we put an end to this and bring peace back to the land."
He kept his swords with him. A mother's memento, and a sister's gift.
It was his turn to make their desires reality.
The two forces met at the edge of the plains. Where bridges divided the sands, bringing water through the desert from the sealine as grass returned to the plains. Every stretch and hill around them was a mini island for those that once lived here two-hundred years ago.
The Shepherd's army arrived first. Knights, cavaliers, paladins, fliers, fighters, warriors, myrmidons, sellswords, archers, mages, clerics, sages, and dragons. Thirty-two people standing behind their lord. The first squad for the combined army returning from the west.
The army of Plegia arrived second. Masked archers, face-covered knights, and hood wearing sorcerers. Easily trumping their force in size.
The cape of the man dictating them blew against the hot, windy gusts, stepping onto the scene.
"Well-well-well, well-well!" The golden king threw his legendary axe and held it ready. "If it isn't the Holy Hero himself! Good day, my little princeling! Still dreaming of your squashed sister?"
"Enough, Gangrel!" the prince answered. "Today, this ends, and peace will return to Ylisse and Plegia."
"Peace? Peace, you say?" The King turned with a scoff coming out of his mouth. "Pah! Such hypocrisy! You despise me, wretch! You want to cut me down! You don't know the first thing about peace! Nobody does!"
"I know more than you ever will." Chrom pulled out the sword given to him from his sister, readying it below.
"Oh? Ahahah! Kehahahahah!" The king's laugh cracked through the silent desert.
"More than me, he says? More than me."
Gangrel fanned his hand over the right half of his chest, cocking a grin. "You. are. me. Prince. When anger says you run, you run. When violence says you fight, you fight. When life drops you a question, you answer it with blood!"
Chrom tightened his grip against the holy blade, but then…
"...Maybe you're right," he said, the comrades around him all turning to him, the one who released his grip.
"I will never be my sister. I cannot forgive men like you. Men who sow nothing but hatred and evil. All I have left are words and her memory. Were I alone, I'd be driven to madness by now. Or worse."
"...But I'm not alone. My friends and allies-in-arms stand behind me." Chrom stepped forth in front of his people. "I have learned from them. Studied from them. Fought with them. And understood them. And they have gained all that from me in kind. So I ask one thing before blood stains these sands."
Chrom planted the holy sword down into the ground, staring Gangrel down.
"Give up. Let this war go, and I promise to do the same."
"What!" Gangrel snapped, teeth grinding harder than black-steel.
Instead of choosing to fight, choosing anger or vengeance, despite everything he told himself, Chrom chose to kneel.
"Our people have been victims of a war that started ever since I could stand." Chrom kept a hand on his blade, and his eyes shut. "Nobody ever said I have to like you or forgive you. But I seek peace for more than just myself. Your people no longer wish to continue this, and neither do mine. You had need of Ylisse's allegiance as early as our first conflict. You asked it yourself alongside my blade. If your terms and reasons hold just, I'll cooperate."
Flavia cocked up an eyebrow, turning coyly to her surprised rival king. "Huh, well how about that? This kid's interesting as always."
"Son of a…" Basilio threw his hands in angry silence, shunting them back down with hits to his legs. "I'm not upset by this. I am upset that I'm already five fingers away from drawing steel."
"...Don't tell me I've made an impact on the present day," the dragon boy whispered as he lookes away from them. "Curse the passage of time. Andmycontinuedexistencethroughoutit."
Gangrel leered at him. Smiling. Roaring.
"So now you finally bow your head, after all this!" He brought his head down, shouting at the prince kneeled before him. "After a war you helped create! After a sister you helped to kill because you couldn't give up like a week ago! Now you're finally going down on me!"
"You bitch!" he cried. "You fucking little shit!" Gangrel threw his hands up, pacing in circles before pointing staggeredly at the bowing prince.
"I hope you realize how much time you've wasted and how many plans you've blown up because of your dumbass ego! So when you tell me you seek peace, I'll tell you I'll run a sword through your chest so I can be done with you! Now get up! Get the fuck up on your feet!" he shouted.
The king's eyes flicked as he stared at the one rising back on his feet.
"Good!" Gangrel said.
Gangrel then smashed Chrom in the jaw with a closed-hand slap and sent him falling back to the ground.
"Gh—!"
"That's what you deserve for pulling this stunt! Peace cannot be had so long as both of us stand!" The king fanned the heat off his glove, pointing down at him. "We both dug this grave, one of us is going to lie in it!"
"Hey, then these talks are over!" Basilio drew his axe off his back and stood firm. "Good! Cause I've been waiting with an itch to get a stab at you, Mad King!"
"More of that, King of Dirt! Give us a stage the painters will die to see, I'll be waiting!" Gangrel readied both fists and stood his ground.
"On your feet, men! Scorch these sands and make them bleed holy light!"
As Chrom got back on his feet, Gangrel was already running. And his men were charging over the lake-divided plains.
"Sorry, Emmy… I tried," he said, forced to grab his sword.
"Don't blame yourself, prince. You gave him the choice. He didn't take it," Flavia said.
The reigning Khan pulled her friend's hand for him to rise on his feet, looking to her rival and partner. "Basilio! You lead this one!"
"On it!" Basilio swung his earthen axe overhead and stepped forth.
"Shepherds!" he said, spinning it fast. "We fight a battle today that decides the future of Archanea! So I ask you to stand firm! For the faceless before us who ready their swords have half a dozenth of the will we carry! For their strength in numbers rank half a dozenth of the strength of our comrades! So I ask you, stand your ground! So I ask you, ready your steel! We all come from different lives and tell countless different tales, but who are we, and from which city have we come here to fight?"
"The Shepherds of Iris!" the thirty-two behind him answered.
Basilio swung his axe faster. "What is our purpose?"
"To protect those who cannot protect themselves!" the thirty-two shouted.
"And what must we do!" the Khan asked.
"End this war for all our sakes!"
"And so we must fight a dozen men for every one of us, but two dozen men will fall for every one that stands beside us!"
Gathering all the force he gained from his spin, Basilio brought the Earthbreaker down. "Liiiiiike so!"
Rising of dirt and sand rumbled at his command, rolling over the first wave of soldiers trapped in it. The opening wave crushing them out of the way.
"That's it! Let's go, go, go! We got ourselves some regicide to commit!"
The Shepherds charged their way through the field. Horses speeding along the grass available to them. Pegasi and wyverns flying under the clouds. Foot soldiers now racing across the rivers, drawing paths to find their way across. Weapons lifted, and magic steadied.
And from the cliffs, shadows stood. One foot resting on the precipice, watching the chaos unfold.
"Imagine the shooting gallery this would be!" The spiky-haired archer in wolf's fur raised a hand over his jet-black visor. "I bet I could snipe all of them all this way over. What do you think, Sech?"
As he turned to the crowned dark knight as his side, it wasn't he who answered, but the one before him.
"Halt, Fünf," said the stranger looking down on the bay. One hand resting on his knee, he watched, lightly touching the hilt of his blade.
"We were given no orders to attack," said the man with halo-blue eyes. "Only to watch, and report the outcome. It isn't time yet."
"Ah, come on! Don't you want to test if they're stronger?" The archer spun his winged bow around, threading the wire oscillating between holy and dark light. Twining together as an arrow formed, and untwining into the wind as the shot faded away.
The helmeted giant on his left answered for the stranger, "We're not as bloodthirsty as you, archer. Some of us would rather take our actions more seriously. And for that fact, why are you so bloodthirsty?"
"No clue, but I feel alive!" The archer put his bow onto his back and dropped down. "And I'm battle-hungry, there's a difference, Drai."
"Somehow, I doubt that with you," the veiled sorcerer watching the battle said to him, arms crossed.
"Well whatever the difference is, Via, he'd better not interfere," said the dark knight Sech as he stepped up between the two speaking. "We're not here to make things more difficult for Lady Aversa. We just need to prepare for our master's ascension."
"Hmph…" Via rolled her head, lookng over the horizon. "Well, I can agree with Fünf on one thing. I don't want to wait another lifetime just to live once."
"Then we'll do as we have, and wait until it is our time to act." The stranger kept staring down, watching the battle over the lake rage on1.
"As if you've been waiting patiently yourself, Dee," Via said. "You're quite the one to talk after your many little stunts."
"So you say…" he answered.
He watched the Shepherds fight. And the lord below, breaking through their ranks with the sacred sword in his hands.
"Panne, with me! To the archers!" Chrom called out, throwing his hand ahead.
"About time you decided to fight!" The Taguel dove ahead with her comrade. The prince with his sword and the warrior with her claws, they crossed fang over fang, tearing through the oncoming archers in single bounds as they advanced past island after island in a weaving blur of blue and purple X-crosses.
"Rawr!" Given clear range of the field, Nowi flew into action, spewing a great, crystalline flame that hurled towards the oncoming battalion. The lancers and axemen caught in its sights all stopped the minute it shot out into the sky, coming at them swiftly.
"Run!" the leader shouted, everyone in a desperate bid to turn tail when it came crashing down like a cannonball, kicking up a storm of rain and sand. Nowi then charged up all over again, firing and firing off a bombardment that could possibly even glass the battlefield.
"Scuse me! Speedin' through! Deus ex Liber running circles!" The wind spirit sped from one squad to another amidst the falling lightstorm, the dragon his own star shooting in between the other mythical beast's blasts. With each break out of his drill-like wind, he returned to his spinning human self just to slam the axe of his heel into the remnant forces, cleaning up the rest to keep pressing the advantage.
When he landed with his hand down on the ground, he lifted his head back up. And the first thing he caught sight of was a wounded dark mage amidst the ranks, standing between lightfall with a flux of magic prepped to fire.
Connecting the dots behind him to make out the trajectory in his head. The green dragon gasped, speeding over to his target in his hurricane-fast state.
"I'm the only siege tome this army needs!" The golden dragon boasted as she swung her claws over head. Only to be tackled from ground to air as the hurricane took her stone from her. The dark bolt shot from the mage's hands rushed past her shrinking self, the bard saving her in the nick of time as both reverted to their human forms, crashing down to the Shepherds at their back.
"Hyup—!" With a jetstream from his palm, the boy redirected his momentum to switch from the hard crash into a swift roll, letting go of Nowi as both ran from the lingering kinetic energy.
Chrom and Panne rushed back in leaps and dashes, blasting over the waterside plains as they skidded across the grass.
"Archers cleared!" he said. "Our fliers can advance the point now, not a single arrow should reach them!"
"Where to, dude?" Nowi asked. "Let's find Gangrel so we can beat a silly clown to death!"
"Up there!"
Chrom pointed to his right, past the rivers dividing the plains and leading into the lake proper. Standing all on its own was an abandoned castle long since tarnished by sand and by time. Its position surrounded by a lake on almost all sides with only one way to enter made it a clear stronghold in this battle. One side with one drawbridge, making it a chokepoint as well.
If Gangrel planned on finishing this, he'd be there. Waiting.
"Come on, follow me!" Chrom called out.
The Shepherds continued to fight their way to the heart of the battlefield. Breaking into water gates keeping the sea at bay and taking control of them, they ran as one towards the drawbridge at the end of the curve ahead of them, arriving at the obstacle stopping them from getting into the castle.
"I got this one!" Gaius shouted, pulling off the scarf around his wrist with a pair of clenched teeth. Revealing the absurdly long length of black silk that was excessive for anyone. But not for a thief. It showed itself to be rather sturdy and flexible, too, to the point between the ruined state of the walls before him and the dexterity with which Gaius could climb, launching up between gaps in the brick, hooking the thread-turned rope around the top and mounting over the wall was all a sinch.
"Piece of cake!" Gaius remarked as he vaulted over the roof while twirling one of his mythril daggers, dropping down on his feet and smashing a rusty link of the chain crank that was the only thing keeping the bridge up. Leaving nothing left to stop the gate from smashing over the water, the weathered piece of wood splashing upon everyone as it sank halfway limp.
"Alright! We're almost in the clear!" Ares shouted. "Rush, everyone!" The Shepherds dropped onto the torn door gate, racing over the roaring ripples of water. And now, they were just at the outskirts of the castle where grass started to bloom in full. The lake around them, an oasis between the drylands.
A horn blew as the Shepherds rushed into the castle foregrounds. Not from ahead, but from the side of the lake on their left. Lancers and axemen lined up one by one by one, pikes and halberds pointed at the squad that just entered the peninsula up ahead.
"Guys? We're about to get smashed in by an army at our backs!" Sully called out.
"And the front's not looking much better! Look!" Vaike shouted. From the entrance of the palace came more knights and sorcerers, shields standing guard as spells were set to fire. Fire and thunder flew out of the gate, firing down the entrance as the cavalier and brawler threw their backs to the walls for cover.
"How are we supposed to get past this without getting swarmed?" Vaike asked, bracing tight as a flame missile struck against the wall. "I don't think we can get out of this easy with two squads surrounding us!
"How should I know?" Sully shouted back. "It's not as if we can just cut the people off trying to reach us! We can't even see them coming all at once!"
"We can't even see…"
The second Sully spoke, Reflet gasped loudly from behind. "Lon'qu!"
The swordsman sped across the foregrounds, kicking a half-broken cart to flip it over and duck behind it, right in time for an arrow to strike it coming from the drawbridge.
"What's wrong? We're a little busy here!" he said.
"Good, you're here! Now where's Henry!" Reflet frantically searched around, looking for any sign of the fellow mage boy.
"I'm over here!" Henry called out. Ice crackled as a barrier rose to take a firebolt meant for the dark mage, the spellcaster poking his smiling face out.
"I'm okay!" He threw his thumb up, hair already halfway burning. Ricken pulled a whip's length of water from the lake using his magic, coiling it into a ball to smack at the boy's face to douse him.
"Thank you!" the soggy boy said.
The mage girl turned to Lon'qu and Henry, hands flapping panickedly behind her as she spoke to them, "Lon'qu, listen to me! I need you to punch Henry!"
Lon'qu snapped her a look. "...You what?"
"No seriously!" Reflet exclaimed, lifting a finger high up in front of her. "Remember when you punched me through the wall?"
Lon'qu furled his brows at her, then turned his head up for a moment. "...I see where this is going."
Lon'qu clawed his hand in the position to make a fist. Violet lightning crackled dangerously as he clenched it, throwing his fist down as he bent his knees.
"Lightning-Crow-Fist!" he shouted.
"Wait, what exactly is a Lightning Crow Fist? And why do you need to hit—"
Lon'qu jumped from the ground with a heavy uppercut, smashing Henry against his stomach to send him clean into the air in a purple-yellow flash of electric sparks.
"Meeeeeeeee—!"
Henry flew higher into the sky like a rising dragon, squealing delightedly as he shot clean over the lake.
"Oh, I see where this is going now!" Hair bellowing in his face, Henry could now see the entire castle, the drawbridge, plains, ditch, and lake that surrounded it.
Having gained full coverage of the blast zone in his sights, Henry clasped his two hands together.
"Magic Hour!" he chanted, bringing his fists together upside down, laying them sideways with their palms connected, then smashing them together while crossing them over his chest.
An icestorm formed right at the tips of his index fingers as he lifted both outwards.
"Flash Freeze!"
Henry shot said finger to the ground as a rush of snow coned around it, blasting off back to the ground before the water surrounding the Shepherds froze. Ice pillars broke from below the water to rise one by one, shattering the sunken bridge, cracking through its walls, and forming a great shield of frost that barricaded the Shepherds. Keeping them in, and their enemies out.
"Oh, I know, I'll add this one!" Henry clapped his hands twice and pointed one palm forward, the other hand wrapped around it. "Haze!"
Black smoke spewed from his hand as the spell covered the court of the palace, smothering the Shepherds and the opponents ahead of them.
"And now, I fall!" Henry said, nothing to break his fall as he plummeted to his death. "Weeeeeee—!"
"Got ya!" Sumia said, swooping down and catching him by the arm before anything serious could happen. "Good thing I saw Reflet pointing at me! That would've been grave!"
"Thank you, horse girl!" he said, staring up at the woman riding the flapping pegasus. "I hope I wasn't any cause for concern! Although I guess since it was the Lightning Crow Fist, you could say there was no caws—!"
"That's enough out of you!" Sumia interrupted, holding back her smile as she dragged him onto her saddle. "Come on, we have to fight!"
Sumia and her pegasus flew back to the castle, dropping Henry back down into the dark smoke.
"Eeeeeeeew—!" Henry played in reverse as he landed on his feet. "Mission, complete!"
One elbow shielding her face from the disorienting smoke, Sully bit against her own lip. "Good job stopping the incoming reinforcements, but now we can't see our enemy!"
"No, yes-yes… Yes! I think! Yes…!"
Biting on the nail of her thumb, the gears in Reflet's head turned like clockwork as she muttered to her own self. Her rose eyes flickered with a light bright enough to practically clear the smoke had she not wanted it to stay.
"Nowi, turn on your Searchlight!" she called out next.
"Searchlight?" said the girl hiding kneeled under a pillar nearby.
"The golden flame thingy!" she called out to her. "With the thingy and the life aura and the-the-th-th—graaaaaah!" Reflet threw her hands up all over again as she blew a raspberry over tripping over her words. "Pbbt! It's called Life Aura, not Searchlight!"
"Oh! Wait, then just say that instead!" Regardless of the girl's struggle to get words right, Nowi stopped and whispered something to herself. And then her golden-blue candlelight flickered, picking up on the threads of energy lingering thanks to the lives hidden in the courtyard.
"Don't forget Gregor! Let him assist!" Rushing down to Nowi's side, Gregor also called forth his red and gold flame, lighting the smoke strongly enough to illuminate the outlines of their sightless foes.
"Alright, now we can get to work!" Now Vaike charged right in. Under the cover of the shadow smoke, he went in fists swinging against the sorcerers with no shot at taking him down.
"My turn!" Lon'qu said.
"Don't forget about me!" Olivia joined in.
In the chaos of dark and fog, Lon'qu blitzed right in and smashed the first confused knight in front of him with another lightning fist, striking his palm against steel plate to drive his opponent's head into that of the next knight behind them. There was nothing to stop the two from smashing a hole straight through the castle wall.
Another knight of their rank shuddered as he caught a glimpse of the invisible attackers, pulling his shield back. Only for Olivia to show up out of nowhere from the pillar his back hit against.
"GAAH—!" he screamed.
"Eep—!" Olivia screamed, grabbing the first thing she could and lifting it behind her head. Like a steel chair, her attack rang out as she knocked him clean unconscious with the shield she stole from his hands.
"Oh," she said, staring at her shield now. "That worked."
"We need to control the area around the lake too…" Reflet kept muttering, completely zeroed-in on the fight just as much as she was with the display of magic. "Freddy! Use your earth magic to reinforce the barriers! Henry and Ricken, back him up with ice and water magic!"
"Understood!" Frederick said, rushing over to the lakeside to plant his hands and feet across the ground. The floor of dirt and ice shattered at his very fingertips, rising against the ice pillars surrounding them to prevent their toppling down.
Placing his hands against a fractured piece of ice between the pillars, Ricken fired away, red-hot flames burning a hole for him to drag a wave of water through from. He spun around and threw it to the other boy, who froze it in kind to refreeze the ice gate coming under fire by the mages outside.
"What-else-what-else-what-else…" Reflet gnawed at her nail, hissing a snake's breath. "Is this is even enough?"
Stepping in from behind her, Basilio put a hand down on her shoulder. "Hah-hah, don't worry your head so much. You already shaped this battle!"
"Myeh—?!" Reflet hopped as she was pulled out her own thoughts, looking confused at the man snapping her out of her own hyperfixation. "Whah? How'd I do that?"
"Look at the mess you've made for us!" he said. "Their own stronghold is practically ours for the taking, and if our cards are played right, the Plegians won't stand a chance. All we just need to do is find the right tools to let us smash right through!"
Basilio looked behind him, spotting a shining white sword amidst the chaos that was the fog of war. "Commander, get in there boy!"
Chrom turned around, halfway into smashing his elbow into a stray lancer's face. "Okay!" He swung his other fist and landed it into the jaw of the one that managed to slip through, racing back to the others ahead.
"A lot is going down since we took down the bridge, looks like we're taking the advantage!" he told them.
"You can thank this kid for coming up with the ideas for us. I knew she was good for something! A diamond in the rough!" Basilio put his hand on her head and patted it down twice.
"Huh?" Reflet noised out, blinking her eyes with each pat. "A diamond? What's rough?"
"Ahh, don't worry about that now, of all times! We've got work to do!" Basilio turned to the prince leading them.
"You're gonna get in there now, captain. Give the king hell, and put an end to this mess!" he declared.
"We'll cover your back while you fight. Just make sure you take him down!" Lon'qu gripped his black blade as he stared at the entrance, ready to unsheath it against any opponent that dared draw near.
"Good luck, Chrom! We'll see you at the end of this!" Olivia said. She and her king turned their backs, the West Khan leading the rest of the Shepherds against the army at their backs.
"Thank you, all!" With one last nod, Chrom went on ahead and opened the gates of the castle. Light broke through the fog covered entrance, he and the others with him entering for the last battle.
Act 1, Finale 2 - The Empty King and The Mad King