DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fire Emblem, Nintendo does. I just own this version of the plot and original characters.

(A/N: This chapter is the reason for my story being rated mature in the first place. There is violence, blood, gore, and possible disturbing scenes to the younger readers. You have been warned!)

(A/N: I apologize again, as this was a very, very, long time since I last updated. Thank you to all who had read and reviewed the last chapter.)

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter 7: Apocalypse Now

There was no need to poison anything or anyone. Absolutely no need! Yet what did they do? They go and pass as simple travellers, refreshing their water supply, while dropping poisonous leaves into the water.

I was angry, once I heard about what Batta and Groznyi intended to do, regarding their plans for the pre-attack. At the moment though, I still valued my life more than anything else, so I stayed relatively quiet in the tent that morning. They still heard my objections, but Groznyi just didn't care.

That said, the idea to poison the Lorca Tribe was none of my doing. Then again, nor was the attack, but I had at least appeared to be a bandit, and agree with this, genocidal idiocy. Though that would be for only another three to four hours.

Lisa, she was already gone. Disappeared was more like it. She left without so much as a goodbye. Probably for the best though, as she got the hell out of here. Showing emotion to a girl in front of a bunch like these assholes, is like asking to be gutted like a fish, literally.

I just hoped I would live through this skirmish, to maybe see her again on more favourable terms.

In all reality, I would physically live through the ordeal. However, I would be badly injured, with my soul, the very essence of any living being, that which makes us human, would be destroyed. As well as my conscience, the instinctive thing that tells you to be alert or guarded about something, would be broken. Broken so bad that the self tortures it would make me endure, would be the hell appropriately intended for someone of my disgrace and failure as a person.

The bandit clan known as the Taliver, moved along in staggered formation, toward a patch of heavy brush mixed with some trees. Good cover, if this was a military operation. But this had all the makings of a massacre.

The plan was to want until it was almost dark, before anyone would attack. The men would emerge from the trees when the visibility would be the lowest, hoping to catch the tribesmen and . . . women, off guard. Then Batta would charge with his crowd of men, to truly prove that they would be truly brutal enough to be the Taliver. Groznyi, would hang back and judge how they do, or so was the general idea.

Myself, I was going to be in the thick of things, for once, on the front lines. Battle experience and a raise in pay was always something I wanted, but now, it was just a secondary requirement. But giving the appearance to everyone else that money was what I wanted, Batta and his gang believed me.

Rising in the grass, I tried to come to terms with what I was about to do. This skirmish would be a distraction in all reality, but it would come at a massive cost. Possibly a whole tribe was going to die, just at my expense. I shook my head. It made me sick by just thinking about it, and I knew that the sickness would be a prelude to the more powerful feelings of despair and guilt later on.

But maybe, just maybe, I could take out isolated bandits looking for privacy when they were pillaging, stealing or raping. Then it shouldn't be so bad. I raised an eyebrow. There was going to be nothing good to come out of this night.

The young girl was gathering berries from a patch of bushes close to her home. She was told the berries would be good to help neutralize the liquids in her parents' stomachs. The long green-haired maiden was doing this chore hurriedly, as she was worried mostly about her father. He had grown sick very rapidly, strangely so. The girl's mother had made fun of her own husband, until she felt ill as well, only a few minutes afterwards.

But it wasn't just her parents. Almost all the tribe had gotten sick, and only in a matter of a few hours. Fortunately, Lyndis had her own canteen of water, that she had gotten in the morning earlier in the day, so she was spared the illness.

But now, it was her turn to take care of her parents. The pot was just about full, when the girl looked back toward her horse. It had wandered close to the river, drinking the cool liquid with each lick of its tongue, when suddenly, it stopped and fainted immediately. Lyn quickly rushed over, while grabbing some of the berries she just picked, squeezing them, letting the juice flow down into the horse's mouth. A few tense moments later, the horse regained its composure, and stood back up.

The girl then stood up besides her mare, gently rubbing its nose, and giving the animal some more food to munch on. Then walking over to her basket, Lyndis put the container onto the horse, strapping it down. Climbing on top of her saddle, the young woman readied her reigns, turning her horse toward the direction of her tribe's encampment. As she trotted back to the camp, the rider became lost in thought. There had to be something very potent and powerful in the water to knock out a horse. It couldn't be anything natural, could it? How could good-looking, odourless water be so bad? These questions lingered on in Lyn's head, as she returned to her tribe, later that evening. She had to hurry though, as the looks of the weather were foreboding gloom for the rest of the night.

Dusk, two hours later:

It was getting dark finally, as the bandits were getting restless. I was becoming more and more besides myself, listening to the brutes and rogue mercenaries rumbling on about how there were going to kill their victims. Some said they were going to slice or chop their arms off first, or their legs, and watch the grass turn crimson. Some said they would sneak up on the men and decapitate the nomadic mongrels where they stood, as the family members watched on in horror. Of course this would give the attacking murderers a chance to pillage the home.

As a result, two things would occur. First, the offender would take sick pleasure with the now panicky widow, and any offspring. When someone suggested taking the Sacean kids out in the bushes instead of the women, I nearly vomited. Somehow I stopped the bile which formed inside of me from rising. Weakness in front of these brutes was not a good idea. Second, all things considered valuable by the nomads would be seen mostly as junk, while the odd trinket would be stolen, the rest trashed with the rest of the dwelling, then razed to the ground.

What a crazy path I put myself in life on. St. Elimine, you better have a damned good reason for doing this to me!

The kid seemed preoccupied with something, but it didn't really matter. If he didn't get killed in this battle, the brute would make damn sure that the young man became part of the landscape. The Taliver was no place where it babysat silly little kids wanting to play war. Besides, a tactician was seen as a leader. Batta was the only leader here. HIM! No one else was as muscular, as strong, or as bloodstained or fierce in battle.

That Groznyi guy looked like he lost more marbles than he is letting on. So much the better. It would be only a short matter of time before the Taliver had a true leader, and Batta wouldn't have it any other way.

It was almost time, so I readied my weapons. Some of the men saw me doing this, and began readying their's as well. But then the entire group was acting like kids, chatting excitedly among themselves, starting to stand up and get giddy. In a hushed state, I spoke one last order to the Taliver.

"Keep the noise as low as you can, until you see their tents, or are discovered. Let's go!"

Events were now in motion, which no one could stop. Not that fate would let them, even if someone tried.

"The berries are almost done Mother." The mush in the bowl confirmed what the young woman said.

"Thank you, dear daughter." Resting on her cot, Madelyn was sitting up, with her embroidered blue dress, draped over her legs, and her normal second piece of her clothes, her blue gold-trimmed top, was off to the side. Only the white inside the shirt was now seen, but it allowed her balmy and sweaty skin some relief of the heat that the woman felt, who was resting her head, that which was laying on several pillows. As for Madelyn's husband, he would have been alongside her, only he was outside the Ger getting some fresh air. Hassar's face was incredibly white, as it looked like he would have passed out, if he didn't get fresh air quick enough.

"Something seems strange about this sickness overcoming the tribe, mother. It has engulfed the entire group almost. I think it must be caused by the river, or something that fell into the river."

"Hmm maybe, but the water was fine earlier today, and this morning. Let us hope and pray that we have somehow not offended Mother Earth or Father Sky, and that-." Madelyn was interrupted by shouting and clanging coming from outside. Her daughter was startled as well, but grew increasingly concerned as the noise became louder as the seconds went by. Then both of their fears were realized, as the sounds of battle were now heard, as well as screams and cries for help.

"Oh no, we are under attack! Lyndis, you have to get out of here!"

"Mother, your coming with me! Father too, right mother? Mother?"

With tears falling down her cheeks like a waterfall after a heavy rainfall, Madelyn somehow managed to gather enough strength to rise, and hug her daughter one last, long time, before trying to rush Lyndis out the small back opening of the tent home. She found Lyn's horse, who was jittery from all the noise. The screams were increasing, and that meant the attackers were getting closer. Madelyn was trying to hurry because of this, but not knowing where her husband was, she was becoming frantic. Being weak from the sickness did not help either. She could see tears falling down the face of her daughter.

"There, there, my beautiful daughter. We will meet again." Lyndis could not get any words out, she only cried harder in her mother's arms, before climbing up into the saddle of her horse.

"Hurry, my child! Go before they find you. You must make an escape! Go. The Lorca tribe must live on!"

Five minutes earlier, just outside the Ger:

Hassar was as white as a ghost. He was currently looking into a bucket of water, with his reflection staring back at him. He had already submerged his head in for a second, and pulled it back out. It was refreshing, but he was still sick. Though the coldness of the water helped to push aside his nauseated head, and churning stomach.

Madelyn's cooking was very good most of the time, and nothing seemed different with the stew this time. Maybe, it were the herbs, and they just didn't agree with him. But everyone else in the camp had different food in their separate tents. Why was just about everyone feeling sick tonight?

"Oh boy . . . " The Chief of the Lorca got up as fast as he could, off of his knees and jumped into the bushes, emptying his guts upon the Sacean Highlands. A minute afterwards, after wiping his face with his shirt sleeve, the sick feelings seemed to pass on again, at least for now.

Just in time too. There seemed to be a commotion coming from the southwestern side of the encampment. Someone was pointing to the rough area, with the taller grass, which appeared to be moving more than it should have been. There was a draft of wind coming from the northern plains, but this looked too suspicious. Going back to just outside his own tent, Hassar opened a chest that housed several things, but contained also that which he wanted most, his iron sword. Standing up, he strapped the weapon around his waist. 'Just in case it's-.'

"BANDITS!"

So the Chief's senses were not deceiving him, they really were in trouble! "To arms, to arms! We're being attacked!" Hassar knew however, that his fellow Saceans would not be able to defend themselves, if at all. Many of them, almost the entire tribe was still very sick, and in worse shape than he and Madelyn have been, by being unable to move at all. The few who were able to move, and maybe even pick up weapons was in the skirmish now, but bandits continued to pour from the darkened trees.

The Lorca was in serious trouble, and Hassar knew it. He just hoped his family was able to escape, before the chaos also enveloped them.

Back to Present:

"Mother, look out behind you!"

Madelyn turned and back-peddled just in time, to miss an arrow that just flew in front of her. At this angle, the arrow would have hit her torso through the side, possibly passing in through her heart, maybe even her lungs or stomach. Instead, it hit the ground out in the darkness.

"Just get yourself up onto the horse, while I'll make a distraction!"

"Mother, No! Come with me!"

The archer picked off two escaping nomads already and was readying his weapon again when he spotted a bitch and her daughter by the look of it, who were trying to leave the carnage.

'Trying to escape, huh? My arrows will change that.' The archer missed with his first shot, but he didn't care, as it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

"This is too easy," he said as the bandit once again notched another arrow from his quiver, aiming for the women again.

"Then let me make it more of a challenge for you."

The bandit turned his head at the sound of the voice, but for his troubles, received a lance tip slashing first through his face, then slitting his throat. With a kick to the groin, and a blade to the stomach a couple seconds later, the brutal thinking bandit, was killed brutally himself.

The robed man looked up from his victim, to see two, very frightened, watery eyed, Sacean women.

"Go."

The two females just flinched, while the lance bandit saviour, turned and began to start moving to another source of screaming, when one of his arms was touched from behind. Quickly turning back around, the taller and older of the two women was there, standing with a small smile, and tears in her eyes.

"Thank you."

He stared at her hard, but lightened a little once he realized what she said.

"Don't thank me, just leave." With that, the lance-fighter ran off to another bunch of clanging and blood spilling.

"He saved us, yet he is one of them. Why did he do that? It doesn't make any sense!" Screamed the girl.

"It doesn't have to make sense Lyndis. Just be glad to have fortune smile upon us. Now go! I'll find your father. Then we will find you." Not wanting any have Lyn stay at the scene any longer, Madelyn slapped the horse's hind quarter.

With a mighty neigh, the horse reared up and started galloping furiously to the open area of the camp, in an easterly direction of Sacae.

The last that Madelyn saw of her daughter was looking at Lyndis' tear-streaming face, looking back at her mother. Turning around carefully enough on her weakened legs, she started her search for her husband.

Weak from the crying and sadness? Possible. Or weak from knowing the fact that Lyndis would never see her parents or most of the tribe ever again? Madelyn already knew, that whoever had not escaped by now, were as good as dead now anyway. Even the one bandit that helped her earlier.

As the Caelin-borne woman rounded her tent, she could clearly see some actual combatants now. Shockingly though, there was hardly any of her tribe! Nothing but a circle of bandits, surrounding what looked like to be two people in the middle of a small clearing, fighting for their very lives.

One actually looked to be the one previously that helped her and Lyndis just a few moments before. His hood was pulled over the face, so she couldn't make out all of his features. His companion was to his back, swinging a sword back and forth at the axes falling down among them. That man reminded her of someone, but from at the moment from the attackers and defenders, she wasn't sure who it could be. Not until she had a brief second, with the flickering light from several of the burning homes, did Madelyn recognize the second, shorter man.

It was her husband, Hussar.

Of course as fate again would have it, an archer caught glimpse of the woman hiding near the tent, and shot off an arrow. Madelyn turned as she heard something whistling through the air. Next thing that had happened, Madelyn was screaming.

Five Minutes Earlier:

'The nomad had said 'Thank You.' Of all things, a Thank you. Thank you for what? Oh, thank you for joining the Taliver? Thank you for being the driving force in killing countless innocents, burning homes, stealing money and other valuables. Thank you for sacrificing our lives for your escape! Thank You!' If she only knew of the horrors, he had already committed, the murders he'd seen, . . . and the crimes he made tonight.

Not so distant sounds of battle and a cry of pain broke me out of my self loathing. Jogging in between raging infernos that were once beautiful homes for sure, I stopped behind some debris to see a two on one fight. Other bandits were sure to be inbound after hearing the cry of pain too, so it wouldn't be a fair fight for long.

The nomad, who had a brown vest over what looked to be a blue shirt, accompanied with dark-blue pants which appeared to have been streaked with blood splatter. With his sandals, his bare feet were not so bare with specks of red on them. I couldn't tell if that blood was his own, but still being able to stand made me believe it was someone else's instead.

It seemed to be coming from the bandit nearby, with one of the axeman's arm bleeding from a deep slash. He was cradling a hand axe in his uninjured hand. Then there was the other bandit who was wielding a regular iron axe, though he seemed to be fast enough on his feet to swing his weapon at his target, who was the sword wielding Sacean.

From my viewpoint though, the larger of the three men, the nomad was holding his own. That was when I was first noticed.

"Hey kid! Help us take down this nomadic bastard!"

Standing up from behind the toppled tent, turned debris, I walked into the area with my lance to my back at the moment, and both hands on my sword.

"Parry him with your weapon sonny, and we will chop him down to size, he he he!"

The nomad finally looked into my direction, but all he saw was a cloaked man making a bee line right for the bandit with the axe. My intent was to even the odds, and that was what I was going to do. I charged with everything I had, and threw the sword at the one with the large axe, while I started battling the hand-axe bandit. The nomad caught his breath for a moment, and went to finish the large axe handler.

A crack across the head and a couple kicks later, the bandit with the injured arm fell down with me towering over him. His face showed of terror.

"What are . . . ya doing . . . kid? Y-You . . . are one . . . of . . . us! A bandit!"

"Not Anymore!"

With that exclamation, I plunged my lance into the stomach of the brutish man, while taking out some frustrations at the same time for calling me a damn bandit. As a result, I pulled my lance through his innards with such force, that when I pulled my weapon back out of the gore, the mess on the ground had all of his ribs broken, a gorge in his liver, one of his lungs, trailing all the way to the heart. The bandit was literally ripped and torn open.

Spinning around with the bloody lance in hand, I almost hit the one I just helped.

"Easy there son. Thanks for the help. Here is your sword."

If the guy could see my face under my hood, he would have seen my face full of anger, rage and motive to kill. Thankfully, my hood covered most of my features. But when he said his comment, the anger disappeared momentarily, and I became surprised once more. He said 'thanks,' and that was the second time I heard that said to me tonight.

Shaking my head at him, I gave him my reply. "I don't know why you nomads keep thanking me."

Now there was surprise on his face. "You have helped part of my tribe already? Who? Can you describe them?"

The older man was becoming somewhat frantic, so in trying to calm him down, I answered his question.

"Ah, okay, yeah, unfortunately I could only save two women. One had dark brown hair, with a gold-embroidered blue dress, the other was a lot younger, but with a lot of the same features. Probably mother and daughter. The younger of the two was getting on a horse, when I took out an archer who had taken aim at them."

The Sacean was now in tears. "The young woman on the horse, did she escape?"

"I believe so. There were a horse and rider riding hard to the open part of the camp, moving east."

"Then there is a chance after all." He said this more to himself, when he looked down to the ground. He spoke again after a few seconds. "Tell me young man, where did the other woman go?"

"Wherever she is, she won't last long once we are done with her. Tell me brat, when did you decide to turn traitor on us?"

Oh Damn.

The situation had just turned from bad to worse in a heartbeat for me and my new comrade. During the nomad's question period, Batta and about fifteen other bandits had managed to surround us, ever so quietly. The Sacean handed me my sword, but I took the weapon and threw it down on the ground.

A stupid move, but anger took over.

"What are you doing? A sword is better against the axe."

"I know some weapons training but besides, I prefer the lance. To answer your question Batta, unlike you and the rest of these curs, I have a conscience."

"Get a load of this guy, boys! He has a voice inside his head, telling him what to do. Ha Ha Ha HA HA HA!" The bandits were having a good laugh, while the man next to me took hold of my shoulder.

"May Father Sky and Mother Earth look over you, my friend. May I know where you are from, and your name, before we combat our foes? I am Hassar, Chief of the Lorca tribe."

"I'm, . . . . 'What do I tell him? If I say that I am a tactician, he will know right away who I really am.' Lying to the Sacean was not something I wanted to do, but then this raid was also something I didn't want to do either.

"My name is Paul. I am of Ilia and I come from the Northeast."

"Ah, a friend from the snow country. Now let us show these monstrosities from Bern the fighting spirit of a fierce Sacean and a strong Ilian."

Batta was no longer amused, but getting annoyed rather quickly. "The only thing strong to come out of Ilia is their rum. And there was never anything good to come out of the Sacean Grasslands."

"If you're so sure," I teased, "then why don't you try and prove it."

"Attack!"

'He was planning to take them on! You're a foolish boy, but may the God's be with you.'

The green-haired man was spying on the scene before he made his move. 'As for me, I've had enough of these nomads, this new Taliver, everything from the North. This new group is not for me,' thought the Lycian born bandit.

'All my friends that I knew are dead and gone. Time for me to finally leave.' Jogging back from the from the designated starting position for everyone before the attack, the brute trotted quietly back to the starting camp, taking what he liked, stealing as much gold as he could carry, and sheathing his steel axe. Taking a map and canteen from the kid's main satchel, he chose south as his destination.

With these items, Groznyi went to the nearby river. With the inferno raging in the distance, he looked around once, then doused his arm where his 'T,' his mark of the Taliver, into the river. After a few minutes of rubbing making his skin red in the process, all of the tar that was on his arm had diluted into the water. After being satisfied enough that he was no longer a member of the Taliver, Groznyi left the scene of the carnage and proceeded southwest, to Lycia.

This brute was an opportunist. He would make his own way again, and Lycia would be the place where he would do it.

We were surrounded, plain and simple. We were outnumbered and outclassed as far as weapons were concerned. I didn't know what condition the Chief's weapon was in, but mine was on the brink of splintering, and breaking into several pieces.

I guess the fortunate part from all that wear and tear, were the stabbed, punctured, and cut up bodies laying at and around our feet. Of course, there was still a terrible supply of bandits, hell, it even looked like there were more now, than when Batta first announced the attack.

Batta himself never actually attacked though. The cowardly bastard always kept standing in the back, barking out orders.

"What the hell is wrong with you blokes! They are just two men!"

"There tough Boss! They take our best attacks and just shrug us off!"

"Tough? Bah! We are the Taliver! No one is tougher than us!"

"How you doing over there Chief?"

"Fine at the moment, be we can't keep this up."

"I have an idea, but it's risky. But then again, no plan is worse than this one I guess."

"I'm listening my friend." Rolling my eyes, as I was thinking, 'if this guy really knew, . . . '

"All right, which way are those trees? We should be able to find cover, maybe even escape the bandits all together."

"A fine idea. The trees are just over there,' indicating with a nod of his head, 'to the north. But when do we move?"

"Batta expects us to keep defending when his men attack. During their next attack, we do a charge of our own, when they are at their weakest. They won't be expecting that type of tactic. We just need one moment when they are least expecting it, then we -."

"AAAHHHHH!"

Everyone in the area turned their heads at the high-pitched scream.

"Hassar, NOW!"

Confusion reigned supreme in the small area where the bandits had congregated. The scream that everyone heard brought the bandit's attention away from the main threat. Not expecting an attack of any sort, two bandits were killed, three severely injured, and even several men actually retreating about 20 to 50 feet in any direction they could find.

I ran toward the North, and immediately became lost because of the raging fires. Not only that, myself and the Sacean had become separated after we broke through the Taliver lines.

My weapon was in terrible shape. There was a split right from the bottom to the top. One more use was all that I was going to get from it.

I could now see the treetops to the North, they were close I could tell, as there was a wind blowing now which helped part the smoke.

Suddenly there was a noise to the Southeast. Then a sharp pain in my leg. Looking down, there was an arrow sticking out of the upper leg, just above the knee.

I bolted. Well, as well as one could with an arrow in the leg. There was some more whistling from behind, as I wobbled around the debris, and limping pain. Falling down, I managed to lie low, while breaking part of the arrow off. Pain was evident, but the need and will to survive was amazingly greater.

"I saw him go down over here."

"Good, that way, we don't have hard to toss him to the rest of the bodies."

'What? More bodies?' I had to get out of there. Ripping a part of my inside shirt, I managed to tie off the blood, and make a tourniquet. Blood was seeping out quick.

Moving ever so quickly, but quietly, I made my way to a low rise, that was just to the right of the trees. Too bad I was downwind, because there was an awful stench of burnt flesh and smells of smoldering homes coming out of the encampment.

The rise eventually gave way to another patch of tall grass, where once you entered, you couldn't see two feet in front or behind you. That grass was both a blessing and a curse, as it could hide my movements, but it could also be an ambush just waiting to pounce upon anyone unsuspecting.

There wasn't much time, so I took the chance and entered the small jungle. It was quiet, besides the random crackling of the nearby fires, with maybe the odd cricket.

It was about 15 - 20 feet in, when I stopped abruptly. The throbbing pain in my leg seemed to disappear, to give way to a very severe case of nausea, coupled with disgust, fear, guilt, and rushing feelings of despair. Nothing else in the world had I ever experienced like this, now should anyone have to.

Bodies. Old, young, kids, mothers, fathers. In pieces, blooded, hacked, slashed, legs bent forward, and faces beaten in. It was a surrealistic nightmare come to life.

After all this time, the bile that had formed months before, finally made its appearance. I puked my guts up, with tears falling down my face. Not to do so, just wasn't human. Those who did this, had to have been born from the depths of hell.

"Ahh!" My body was jolted again by another slash of pain. This time the arm. At that moment, I lost my lance, which fell and splintered among the corpses. I could have sworn the dead were staring back at me, as I looked about the mass grave.

"So, I see you've found it, the grave I mean. We gathered up most of them, and had some good ol'fashioned, fun."

The voice was filled with evil pleasure, and I recognized who it was almost immediately. "You're . . . you are a . . . sick bas . . . tard, y'know?"

"I might be the bastardly one, but I'm not sick. I'm also not the one that is responsible."

Clutching my arm, I managed to stand amongst the mass, of, . . . people. Looking up to a few feet in front of me, Batta and six or seven bandits were standing behind him. Not one had a shred of sympathy on their faces. They were grinning instead.

Retorting, "Whadd'ya mean, NOT responsible? Are you insane? We're all to blame for this! All of US!" My shouting was now the loudest sound in the area. One thing they were not going to do was stop me from voicing my opinion from something as incredible as this.

Batta just grinned some more, and slightly shook his head. "Sonny, you got to get a hold of yourself. You're not going to be around long enough to feel anything anymore. Boys, get him!"

I don't know how, but three arrows were fired, but only one hit me, and that was just a graze off of the arm. In a half-run, half-limp, I ran as fast as I could, between what remained of the Lorca tribe's homes. Someone was fast approaching from behind with heavy footsteps, until I tripped over something.

"Dammit! I missed." A hand axe hit into a tree.

'A tree? The trees, I was close to the trees! Unfortunately, so were my pursuer's. But what was it that I tripped over . . . ?' Pushing myself up, my insides almost came up again.

"Oh no . . . "

It was another body, which was in the frozen motion of reaching for someone. That someone was only inches away. It was the woman with the once blue, gold rimmed dress. Her clothes were ripped and half torn from her body in such a manner, that it was easy to see that she had been violated. An arrow had protruded from the chest, right where the heart was supposed to be, so whether the body was abused before or after death, it was hard to tell.

The other body, I knew right away who it was. His brown vest was missing, but his blue shirt was still there, though barely. That piece of clothing was shred to pieces, just like portions of his back. Cut and slashed by the look of it. What a horrible way to die, trying to reach a loved one who was probably already dead, while on the last of his life in the first place.

Hassar still had his sword in his hand, gripped tightly. Steps being made in the grass were audible, and they were close, so my mind went into panic mode. Lunging for the sword, I tried to ply the Sacean's fingers off his grip, but the stiffness coming from a body that had recently died, had begun setting in. More steps were heard, so I forgot my plan to take the sword, got up, and limped into the forest.

"Ooof." A new sharp pain in my back, left shoulder area. It made me fall and slide down an embankment, in the middle of the small glade, making me wonder if this was truly to be my end.

It had begun to rain heavily. Hopefully with the bushes that I slid into, and the rain that was now pouring, that I could die in peace. Dying would be heaven for the hell that I helped create.

The rain was just a prelude however. It was as if the heavens finally took notice of what happened, as an orchestrated symphony full of booming thunder all around, and crackling lightning through the sky which in turn were hitting the treetops above. Because of this drastic change of weather, the bandits chasing down the young tactician suddenly changed their minds about any further pursuit.

"There is no way I'm going in there now," one guy cried out.

"Let's get back to Batta, and say, we killed him. The kid is as good as dead anyway." With that, the two bandits ran back to their leader, only because they were fearing the lightning above them, would strike them dead.

I didn't hear anymore pacing around, so I figured that my hunters finally gave up on trying to find me. That didn't mean I moved though. It was a situation where I felt very content to just lie there in the shallow muddy water. But the pain in my left shoulder wasn't going to let me off so easily.

Looking at the arrow, while trying to move was the dumbest thing I could have done at that moment in time. With my hand in the mud, there was virtually no grip, so in turn, the hand slipped, dousing me completely in the cold water. That single, solitary act of stupidity woke me up. Coming back out of the water, it was then I made a conscience effort to get out of the ditch, and dress my wounds.

Carefully climbing up into the forest floor, I went near a huge tree trunk that looked to have been falling over because of old age. The weather hadn't changed. It was still a downpour, still thundering, still flashing and crackling lightning.

Ever so slowly, I was readying myself to try and remove the arrow up top in the shoulder, when I noticed some blood dried onto my right arm. 'Oh damn it.'

Now the one thing that was fortunate in this situation was the small bag I kept at my waist. The problem was, it was my emergency ration pack. It did not contain anything of substantial quantities.

"Let's see, half a vulnerary, one bandage wrapping, and an apple. Wow." Sighing, I delicately took off my cloak and hung it, so it made a small shelter with the roots of the toppled tree trunk. It didn't stop all the rain, but it did the job for what I did next.

"Ouch, ouch, OUCH!"

Two arrows later, including tips and stems, even some blood, were now out. Taking my vulnerary, I poured half onto my shoulder wound, the rest on my leg. Next, ripping my small white bandage, I took a piece and wrapped what I could of the tear in my back shoulder. Working quickly, I used the other bandage and cleaned up the upper leg injury the best I could under the circumstances. Taking a closer look at my arm, the blood was dried already, and the cut was beginning to heal.

Finally taking what shelter I could under the tree and roof of my torn piece of clothing, I rested my battered body, while watching the area fall into complete darkness. It was finally dark enough where I could at least close my eyes and try to get some sleep. Hoping against hope, that the torment of the mind would wait until morning.

(A/N: I'm sure some of you are wondering about that part in Groznyi's section about his mark of the Taliver on his arm. In a previous chapter, I wrote that when my main character first saw it, the mark only looked to be painted on. Hopefully that clears up this part.)

(Any other questions, comments, put them in your review please. Constructive criticism welcomed. Flames will be disregarded.)

-Tactician from the NorthEast.