Author's Corner:

For those of you that visited my profile recently, you would (hopefully) understand that my hard drive decided to commit seppuku last week. Naturally, the chapter I was working on was also destroyed in the process, hence the reason for my tardiness.

I thank all who caught my terrible mistake regarding the difference between Exaccus and the Sword of Seals. I had read somewhere, not sure who posted it, that the two were one and the same. Then, after posting the previous chapter and reading a few of the reviews, I realized my error. A thousand apologies are not sufficient for butchering the Fire Emblem lore. (But I offer them anyways.)

And now, I give you…

Hammer of Terrascars – Chapter 22

Of Triumphs and Tragedies

July 7th, towards the evening,

Before the Lycian lords led the army away from Ostia, Eliwood had placed Ninian's body in a coffin emblazoned with the sigils befitting a princess of Lycia. The closed casket was kept within the Ostian Royal Crypt, where previous Ostian lords, with the notable exception of the mighty Roland, were interred. Situated underneath Castle Ostia itself, it was rumored that the spirits of fallen lords watched over their illustrious 'Impregnable Castle.'

Castle Ostia, though well known as a military fortress, certainly allowed visitors within its mighty walls. Leygance, an Ostian general who served under Lord Uther, was appointed Steward, exercising the power and authority of the absent lord. Under Hector's strict orders that everything should be maintained as if Uther had never perished, Leygance continued the time-honored custom of receiving civilian complaints by the ruling lord or steward.

It was on such an occasion when several families sought to bring their grievances to General Leygance. Not wishing to disturb the audience, the majority of these favor-seekers left their children to romp and play in the courtyard of the castle. At the moment, nearly a score of children were preoccupied in a fearsome game of hide and seek, with one child counting in gibberish that roughly amounted to fifty.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

"Cheater! You didn't count to fiddy!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

While the argument raged, one purple-haired boy slipped away. It was the capital opportunity to extend the time limit and find an invincible hiding place, and the young Gol was not one to waste such an opportunity. Scrambling about, he suddenly came across an old, abandoned well that was hidden behind a dense patch of ivy. Grinning wolfishly, Gol carefully pried away the plants and took a peek inside.

What the? How can there still be water in here? This must have been left alone for years for the plants to grow all over it! And… WHOA!

Don't try this at home.

The age-worn stone ring around the wall gave way abruptly, spilling the innocent child into the dark depths below. Scraping his leg terribly against the rough edges, Gol left out a pitiful scream of terror, praying someone would hear him as the water rushed upwards to meet him. He lost consciousness upon impact.

When the boy awoke, he found himself upon dry ground, albeit quite scraped and bruised. Taking stock of his surroundings, Gol found that he was indeed at the bottom of the well, but there was no water! Above him, some sort of twinkling light shimmered above him as if imitating the surface of water. Little did he know that he had accidentally stumbled upon the ancient passageway to the Ostian Royal Crypt. Nor did he comprehend that the water overhead was nothing but a magical illusion designed to disguise this entrance.

None of these thoughts crossed the terrified child, who sincerely thought that he had drowned and was currently in… heaven? Nah, this must be hell since he could still feel pain from his fresh cuts and bruises.

Wait, Gol thought, the priests told us that hell was full of fire and demons and evil stuff. If this was hell it wouldn't be so dark and scary. Deciding that this wasn't heaven or hell, Gol arrived at the tender conclusion that he must still be alive. Groping in the darkness, he felt alongside the walls until he came across a small tunnel that required grown men to stoop, but was a perfect fit for a child of ten. As Gol ventured through the darkness, he could faintly make out a soft chanting along with some sort of flickering light at the end of the tunnel.

Abruptly, the burrow emptied out into a magnificent chamber filled with flickering torches. Wide-eyed and awestruck, the stupefied child gasped lightly as he saw a tall figure garbed in a dark cloak standing before an open coffin. And behold, a teal head was rising from the darkness!

The poor adolescent's scream echoed through the cavern.

The chanting ceased and the robed figure turned around. Gol shivered as the being seemed to fixate his or her gaze upon him.

"P-p-please," he babbled, "I-I m-meant no harm! D-don't hurt me!"

The robed figure replied, "Begone Golrois, and forget everything you saw."

How does he know my name? My friends call me Gol because they cannot pronounce the name correctly! And how can a grown man have the voice of a little child? A whirlwind of thoughts assailed Golrois' mind.

"Did you not hear me?" The figure continued, "I said begone!"

The petrified Golrois scrambled to his feet and ran as if the very demons of hell were on his heels. So great was his haste to flee that he didn't even hear the last words of his enigmatic companion.

"After all, dragon's blood can only be countered with dragon's blood."

Golrois was already clambering up the rocky edges of the well. Climbing dazedly out of the hole, he crumpled into a heap in the middle of the courtyard. As the other children desperately called for adult assistance, the purple-haired boy gradually lost awareness of his surroundings.

But two things he would derive from this adventure that would meet him later on. One was the remnants of his injured leg, a complication that would haunt him in Nabata. The other was the knowledge of this secret entrance to Castle Ostia, where he would return in the distant future under a different name.

The annals of Ostian history would name him Asthor the Redeemed.

July 10th, shores of Valor,

I am currently writing in a leaflet from a completely different book. Confound it, where the bloody hell did I misplace my journal? I have searched high and low for the blasted manual, but so far it has continued to elude my grasp. Perchance I will recover the manuscript after our invasion of Valor, but towards that, only time will tell.

All in all, we've made fair progress towards our destination. Favorable winds, no accidents on the way, and good morale are vital requirements for long distance travel. Cecilia and the lords see this as a good omen for our success.

The one minor technicality is whether we are coming back in one or multiple pieces.

"We'll make beachhead in roughly half an hour," Fargus boomed, "Are y'all prepared?"

Grim nods greeted his words as Lyn spoke, "Though we hope we can leave Nils here with you?"

Fargus nodded, "I'll take the little one. Though y'all better come back and take him off ma hands, ya hear me?"

"Of course," Eliwood said, "Mark, Cecilia, how shall we approach this mess?"

"Mark has the overall command," Cecilia replied, "I will be leading a smaller, swifter party that serves to outflank our opponents."

Mark nodded, "Though that depends on Heath and Farina's reports. In the event that we are unable to combat Nergal's morphs with a reasonable chance of success, we will implement a secondary plan of action."

Hector scoffed, "The odds were terrible enough at the Shrine of Seals, what could possibly be worse?"

"That's where you are wrong, Hector of Ostia," Mark shook his head, "Morphs are ten times more formidable than flesh-and-blood opponents. The Black Fang are, after all, mortal men and women. They quail in fear, they hunger or thirst, they can be blinded by emotion, and they can be routed. Morphs do not possess any emotion nor any need for physical sustenance. An outnumbered group of morphs would give battle just as ferociously as a large army of them."

"The perfect soldier," Lyn murmured, "Emotionless and faultless."

"Correct," Mark said, "And that changes the manner of outflanking completely, Cecilia. You and I are well-versed in dealing with normal human beings. Once outflanked or outmaneuvered, they panic, flee, or do both simultaneously. Morphs will not hesitate, merely turning and challenging you none the less, which significantly downplays our advantage."

"I see your point, but how does that help us?" Hector asked.

"We split up as planned," Mark gave parchment sealed in wax to Cecilia, "Here are your instructions. Open them only when you see the army engaged in full scale combat with Nergal's henchmen."

Cecilia nodded, "Who can you spare for this operation?"

"I leave that to you," the tactician replied, "Choose wisely."

"Since this was once a Black Fang stronghold," Cecilia answered, "My detachment will consist of the lords, Legault, Nino, Jaffar, Matthew, and Guy."

"Matthew still wants Jaffar's heart on a plate," Hector objected, "They shouldn't be deployed together."

"Necessity outweighs the risk, Lord Hector," Cecilia replied, "This group will have to move swiftly and stealthily. Our objective would be completely defeated if the morphs uncovered our location."

"Exactly," Mark replied, "Now that this particular matter is solved… Fargus!"

Catching the nod from Mark, the captain bellowed, "Drop anchor!"

The Davros coasted to a halt half a mile offshore.

Twenty miles inland, the army set about preparing a temporary camp. Serving as their 'fire' base, Mark had specifically chosen this site for its startling lack of defenses. Situated on an open plain with the ocean behind them and three wide plateaus before them, there was little the army could do if beset by overwhelming enemy numbers.

"Mark," Pent and Louise found the tactician deep in thought, "Is there any reason…"

"…I chose this utterly Elimine-forsaken rock for our base camp?" Mark finished.

"Well, to be blunt," Pent said, "Quite so."

"Do you have any idea how many morphs Nergal has?" Mark asked.

Louise was confused, "Sir Mark? What does that have to do with anything?"

Mark ripped out a parchment from his temporary journal, "This is the tallies from Heath and Farina's reports."

"Elimine preserve us," Louise gasped as the couple blanched at the figures, "Half a…"

"Quiet!" Mark admonished, "This is to be kept from the army until I choose to reveal it. Without their liege lords to command absolute obedience and courage in the face of adversity, the army may panic and forgo any possible success we otherwise could've obtained."

"Yet you were the one who allowed Cecilia to guide the lords," Pent pointed out.

"For a definite reason," Mark replied, "The hammer will fall hardest upon our base camp, aiming to maim or kill as many of us as possible, but with the commanders as first priority. If they can decapitate the leadership, our outnumbered force will be no match for their assault."

"I suppose that is true," Pent admitted.

Mark squinted, trying to determine the amount of daylight that remained, "Lord Pent, could I ask you to bring Marcus, Oswin and Wallace over to the command tent? They, being the company commanders left to us, should at least be aware of the odds we face." Mark ducked into the command tent hastily erected in the middle of camp.

"Of course," Pent nodded, "Come, Louise."

As the pair navigated their way through the agitated camp, they were nearly run over by a speeding teal thunderbolt.

"N-Nils?" Louise asked.

"Lord Pent?" Nils panted, "Where is Lord Drake?"

Pent inwardly grimaced at the name, but answered the question anyways, "He is in the command tent. Why do you ask?"

The color drained from the boy's face, "He has to get out of there, now!"

"What? Why?"

A crackle of electricity answered the question. Dust chocked the air as the cataclysmic sword of the avenging angel seemed to shatter the peaceful ground. The command tent exploded, renting the fabric into hundreds of flickering scraps. The furniture within the tent, consisting of a large oak table and several chests, were largely blown apart by the fury of the incoming spell. Fearing for the worst, the army gradually approached the remains of the tent.

"Sir Mark?" Marcus called out hesitantly.

Rath, standing half a dozen yards across from where Marcus stood, noted the remains of the table boards shifted slightly. Wordlessly communicating the observation with his eyes, Rath was able to secure the aid of Dart and Bartre in removing the troublesome remnants.

What they revealed, was a badly scorched tactician bleeding from half a dozen terrible wounds.

"Took…" Mark gasped, "Took you long enough…"

"Damn," Rath cursed, "Healer!"

"No…" Mark swatted away the proffered hand, "Someone help me bind these scars, save your energy for the battle ahead."

"What?"

Mark leveled a cold stare at everyone around him, "The sniping attempt has done its work. Now the attack begins."

Aided by Priscilla and Serra, Rath applied several crude bandages to ensure the bleeding stopped. Struggling to his feet, Mark winced as the cloth strained against his torn flesh.

"Wallace, Marcus, Oswin, Heath, Rath, Canas and Lord Pent to me," Mark grimaced, "Everyone else prepare for battle. The morphs will be here shortly."

Hesitantly, the army dispersed, leaving only the commanders around their tactician. However, the damage had already been done. Dismayed by the virulent strike in the heart of their encampment, the army was caught off-guard and remained vulnerable to attack.

"Sir Mark," Canas asked first, "What in the name of the gods was that? It was far too powerful to be a normal long range magic spell."

"I'm not a magic specialist," Mark replied slowly, "But I think that was a thunder spell."

"It was indeed," Pent agreed, recalling the surge gathering before the attack, "Though what puzzles me is the sheer violence of the blow. To call forth a magic of that caliber would mean we are dealing with a veteran magician."

Mark grunted, "There is actually another reason. By the will of some Elimine-forsaken demon, the spell chanced to land in the general vicinity of the anti-magic potions you and Canas were working on."

Canas' monocle popped from its socket, "Oh dear, a chain reaction…"

"From the hostile agents acting in accordance in a small vicinity," Pent mused, "The density was too high, I'm afraid."

"I hate to interrupt," Heath said, "But can we discuss the workings of magical potions afterwards? It's giving me a headache and we are about to have several run-ins with several large parties of morphs."

More like an army of morphs, Mark corrected inwardly, "I called for all of you for the reason that all of the warriors present are veterans of pitch battles in extreme predicaments. I will no longer keep the size of the enemy force from you."

"So how many are there?" Oswin asked as Heath winced, "We're outnumbered four or five to one?"

"The exact estimates run somewhere closer to ten times."

Silence reigned supreme where the remains of the command tent now stood.

"Five hundred?" Wallace hazarded a guess.

"Give or take a few dozen," Heath replied quickly, "I hate to say this, but the party I came across on scout was at least three hundred foes alone. That doesn't include what Farina came across."

Rath, silent until this moment, asked, "Your orders?"

Mark raised an eyebrow, "No questions asked?"

"For the record, you haven't actually tasted defeat yet, have you?" Marcus smiled thinly.

"That's true," Oswin admitted, "What is your will, Sir Mark?"

Blind trust and loyalty, Mark thought, when was the last time I commanded both?

The commanders turned as one towards their tactician, "Awaiting your command."

"A pity that we do not have a capable guide," Mark shook his head slightly, "Given that the previous Black Fang members are all in Cecilia's detachment."

"A small oversight," Heath replied, "Farina came across someone who could prove invaluable towards that end."

Said pegasus rider was currently directing that individual towards the circle of commanders.

"Too many bloody morphs," Hector growled in distaste.

Eliwood nodded, "And we cannot give battle here. The slightest skirmish would draw the entire enemy force upon our position."

Half a dozen men and women enshrouded themselves in the thick undergrowth several miles west of the army's encampment. Cecilia had sent Legault, Matthew and Guy to probe for the locations of enemy scouts, leaving everyone else to await their return. Nino had dozed off while leaning against Jaffar's shoulder, with the assassin training his gaze slowly across the landscape looking for trouble. Occasionally, he glanced downwards at his charge before returning to his silent vigil a moment later.

"I wonder where they are all going?" Lyn remarked as another troop of morphs marched past their position.

"I would assume they are gathering for an assault upon the remainder of the army," Cecilia said, "But…"

"…There are certainly a lot of them," Lyn finished.

Eliwood cleared his throat, "Have any of you found this arrangement slightly, how should I say this, disconcerting?"

Hector frowned, "What do you mean?"

"First of all," Eliwood said, "Fargus let us off the Davros in a rowboat, allowing us to reach shore first while the rest of the army disembarked miles away."

"That's not too surprising," Lyn said, "After all, our mission is a failure if we are discovered ahead of time."

Eliwood shook his head, "That's the exact problem! What is our mission?"

"What do you mean?" Hector asked.

"Look at us," Eliwood gestured around, "We are exactly nine people, a few infiltrators and magicians with no cavalry, range, or air support. How can we successfully outflank a disciplined morph army so ill-equipped for the task?"

Cecilia frowned, "I had thought of this snag as well, and the solution is still beyond my grasp. Perchance the sealed parchment would yield us some answers?"

The lords nodded their consent, but Jaffar surprised them all, "Someone approaches."

Sure enough, the three scouts Cecilia dispatched earlier had returned with their news. After making sure Guy could competently keep the fuming Matthew in check, Legault made his report.

"You might as well open Mark's letter now," Legault said grimly, "Morphs from all over Valor are converging upon the army campsite, though their numbers are vastly beyond our initial estimates."

"Do you have an approximate headcount?"

Matthew glared at the assassin, but answered the question, "Several hundred, maybe more."

"…What?" Hector managed to speak after a moment of dead silence.

Lyn and Cecilia exchanged a glance before both going for the sealed parchment. A sinking sense of foreboding propelled their need for haste. Hurriedly cracking the seal, Cecilia unraveled the manuscript while Lyn seemed to devour every word with her eyes.

"By St. Elimine…" Lyn and Cecilia said simultaneously.

Eliwood looked away from the fuming Hector, "What is it?"

Cecilia wordlessly handed the parchment to Eliwood, "Read." The comment was not phrased as a sentence.

Mystified, Eliwood unrolled the scrap, flicking a piece of dried wax away. His eyes widened halfway down the page.

To Cecilia and Company:

In the event this manuscript is opened according to schedule, you are to leave at once.

Your objective is not to reinforce the primary division at all.

The enemy force numbers nearly half a thousand soldiers, thus ensuring the failure of any flanking motion.

Under no circumstances are you to come to our aid, however much we need it.

Direct your attention to Dragon's Gate and seek out Nergal immediately.

Legault and Jaffar should possess enough knowledge to allow you to pass undetected.

The army will provide all the distraction and time you need to accomplish this task.

Good luck and godspeed.

Mark of Etruria

Miles away, the morph vanguard made contact with the stolid defenders through the middle pass. Composed of hardy knights and sword wielding mercenaries supported by a few archers, the vanguard recklessly threw themselves against the unyielding wall of steel. Overhead, a crowd of wyverns were amassing to the northeast, preparing for their strafing run upon the beleaguered invaders below. Across the plains to the east, a gathering wing of mounted horsemen started their advance upon the Lycians' position.

Rallying around their tactician, the army had distributed themselves into three roughly equal divisions. Wallace and the vassals of Lyndis' Legions stood on the left flank, supported by Canas and Raven. The sturdy Ostians planted themselves firmly on the right, where they'd meet the charge of the incoming horsemen. Here the most hardy of the army was positioned, including the burly Hawkeye and the flashing blade of Karel. The honor of the center guard was left to the valiant retainers of Pherae. Led by the veteran Marcus, they were the first to engage the enemy.

With the furious clash of steel and the howls of injured and dying men, the noble servants of Eliwood struck down the foes in their range. The Knights of Pherae, known throughout Elibe for their mighty cavalrymen skilled with spear and spur, clove through their enemy without flinching in the slightest. Marcus smote down the enemy leader with a vicious blow to the helm. To his left, Lowen dispatched to mercenaries with a furious swing of the blade. Keen-eyed Rebecca planted an arrow between the eyes of the opposing archer.

The enemy broke and retreated to lick their wounds, leaving a score of dead or dying men at the feet of their conquerors. As they revealed their unprotected backs, a furious barrage of magical fire fell upon them unawares, dropping many more. Finally able to catch a breather, Marcus turned slightly in the saddle to regard the Mage General several feet behind him, "Enjoying the afternoon sun, Lord Pent?"

Pent smiled briefly, "My apologies, I cannot risk firing into the crowd for fear of injuring your comrades."

"No offense meant," Marcus replied, "Though I fear the day is far from spent. These curs are much more disciplined and organized than any foe we've encountered in the past. The instant the battle is against them, they retreat and wait for reinforcements."

"The gods know they have enough," Pent murmured.

Further talk was forestalled as scrape of naked steel and screams of battle reached their ears. A herd of ax-wielding morphs the size of ogres were grappling with the members of Lyndis' Legions, who gave as good as they got, never hesitating to retaliate with a particularly fatal blow. Unfortunately, the pure numbers of enemy warriors threatened to breach their lines. While nimble and agile, Kent, Sain, Raven and Karla had no problems evading the clumsy blows, but they found themselves steadily being pushed back as waves of ax-bearing morphs scrambled after them.

That was, until Wallace emerged on the scene bearing a dripping ax in either hand. Charging forward with speed that belied his heavy armor, Wallace was immersed in the thick of the battle as he hewn enemies left and right. Inspired by the courage displayed by their teacher, Kent and Sain furiously threw themselves into combat, driving away foes that threatened to surround Wallace. Aided by Canas' magic and Wil's arrows, Karla and Raven adopted a similar strategy.

Out of the crowd of enemy warriors rode a towering morph upon a black steed that seemed to breathe fire with every step. Deducing that the fall of Wallace would yield the victory, the undead paladin set his lance in rest and charged towards the imposing general. Under the hooves of his raging stallion, the corpses of his fallen allies were flung aside or crushed underfoot in the furious charge.

"General Wallace!" Wil cried out, "Take heed!"

Wallace only smirked, "Ah, this time they brought a champion worthy of splinting a lance against. Kent, my lance!"

"Here!" The red-haired knight answered as he detached the heavy lance tied to his saddle and tossed it awkwardly to the general. Truth be told, Kent was glad to be rid of the cumbersome lance since it heavily restricted his mount's movement and reaction. Now a normal horseman's lance would've been no problem, but Wallace's monster of a weapon was quite a different story.

Scarcely a moment after Wallace set his lance in rest; the champion was upon the Caelin General. Fair and true Wallace directed his weapon his opponent's shield, his lance piercing through oaken shield and arm alike. The retaliatory blow likewise managed to penetrate armor, poking through Wallace's chain mail underneath and wounding the giant in the right forearm. While the champion reeled his horse for another pass, Wallace drew his mighty ax in his left hand and struck the morph a furious buffet that clove rider and steed to the earth. The morph struggled to rise and then expired as Karla drove her sword into his chest. Seeing their leader befall such a terrible fate and unable to wrest the victory, the surviving morphs retreated with Erk and Rath's parting shots at their backs.

Wallace was not the only one to suffer wounds in that fierce melee. Both Sain and Raven were injured, and Karla suffered from a knick on her sword arm. Serra frowned before trying her best to alleviate the pain and put them back to functioning order. A healing staff, though able to accelerate the natural regeneration process, is not a miracle worker. Wounds still required time and relative safety to knit themselves back together. Needless to say, a mortal wound was utterly beyond its power.

"How much time do we have until the next wave?" Sain bit his lip as Serra applied a poultice to his leg. The shin guard had turned most of the blow, but any higher and the Green Lance would spend the rest of his days with only his right leg intact.

"Not sure," Kent said as he tossed his canteen to Karla, "Though we threw back their first attack…"

"We may not hold for much longer," Karla finished after taking a grateful gulp of water.

"Attack?" Wallace laughed, "That was not an attack, laddies. More of a test to see which flank is the weakest, hence why the morphs are coming one approach at a time. No, Mark informed me that this is just the appetizer; the main course will be served when all four sides are attacked at the same time."

"Four?"

"The wyverns," Mark said.

The tactician looked annoyed when everyone save Raven and Wallace jumped at his voice. Some things will never change…

"When the attack commences, the three wings will be left temporarily without support," Mark instructed, "The formation will regroup into a tighter knit box formation, with support units in the middle. In order for our own reserve force in the skies to actually yield us some advantage, the three dozen hostile wyverns must be eliminated swiftly."

"Excuse me," another voice intruded on the briefing.

The group turned to find a scarred woman with a frown that could curdle milk interrupt their conversation.

"I am Vaida," the woman said sourly, "The Ostian knight yonder wishes to inform you," Mark was the beneficiary recipient of the Most Poisonous Glare of the Year, "That the enemy cavalry has stalled their advance to await the other companies."

"Why, thank you," Mark said silkily, "Now please speak with Heath regarding your next assignment."

As Vaida departed with a string of incoherent curses, Wallace raised an eyebrow at Mark, "Spill it. How did you get that screeching old hag to obey you?"

Mark dismissed the matter offhand, "Heath informed her that we were the ones that saved Zephidel at Sunset Palace. Apparently, Vaida serves Bern before the Black Fang, so she reluctantly agreed to repay that service."

"You said reluctantly," Raven said suspiciously, "What prevents her from slitting your throat in the middle of the night? She knows you engineered her two rather inglorious failures."

"Oh, regarding that," Mark drew a small vial out of his pocket, "I have insurance."

Kent took one glance at the greenish liquid and looked back at Mark, "Tell me you didn't slip her…"

"What poison?" Mark said innocently then lowered his voice confidentially, "That's what Vaida thinks she drank. This is the remnants of Lowen's cooking oil from a few days ago. Vile concoction when taken with water, but it'll do her no harm more disagreeable than indigestion for a day or two. She is under the assumption that I will yield her the 'antidote' after a period of good will on her part."

"Um, Lord Drake?" Nils piped up.

The tactician turned to regard the boy, "What is it?"

"I thought you would like to know when the enemy began their offensive," the bard replied by pointing to the skies.

The enemy charged before Nils completed his sentence.

The snap of a dry twig alerted Limstella that she was not alone at the doors leading to Dragon's Gate. Glancing about slowly, she saw a vaguely familiar young girl standing frozen in terror. The green-haired girl came to her senses when their eyes caught one another, and she run quickly into the forest. Limstella recalled her name at last. She was Nino, the adoptive child of the dead Sonia and currently aiding the enemies of her master. Gliding along with her feet occasionally touching the ground, the morph gave pursuit.

After a brief pursuit, the morph cornered the young mage. A flicker of desperation shone in Nino's eyes as she whipped out a spell tome. Quirking an eyebrow to imitate a human's confusion, Limstella drew forth a spell tome of her own before gazing at the impudent girl.

"You know you are no match for me," Limstella addressed the girl before her.

"…I know," Nino said, "If I am alone, I am unable to do anything."

Before Limstella could reply, Nino had swiftly traced a spell and flung the projectile at the morph without even mumbling the words. Limstella's estimation of the child went up a notch at that. Silently casting a spell reduced the magical firepower, but aided in speed and surprise. Few mages of twice as old as Nino were capable of such a feat.

But the attack was futile. Limstella raised one hand to raise a small magical barrier to deflect the attack while directing her other hand to point a lightning spell at Nino. However, what gave the morph pause was that the light of desperation had disappeared from the girl's features and was replaced by a small smirk of triumph.

"Excellent bait, Nino," another female voice said in congratulations.

Before she could blink, Limstella was pierced by four blades. Legault, Guy, and Jaffar had snuck behind the distracted morph and slew her while Limstella's spells were focused on Nino. Hector had kept Matthew back in the event that the thief would take this opportunity and attempt to harm Jaffar. Normally, Hector would've give his vassal free reign to do so, maybe even helping him slay the Angel of Death, but now was not the time. Removing Limstella and Nergal were first priority, and the little petty grievances were saved for later.

"Come," Cecilia said as she emerged from the trees with Lyn and Eliwood, "Dragon's Gate and Nergal await us."

'Tis done and thank you for reading! I apologize once again for the delay and I humbly thank everyone for their understanding and patience.