Weapon of War full fic pog?
Some of you might remember, this entire AU sprouted based on a drabble I made for Phantom Pains. A lot of the text in this first chapter might be familiar because I copied some parts of it over with minimal editing, though we'll get to the new stuff soon enough :D
It was astonishing to see what over a century of abandonment could do to a place.
The castle grounds presented a pale mockery of what they once were. When Phil looked at them, he could barely imagine what they must have been like before. The history books described a palace, splendor that most commoners could only dream of. The lord who used to own it was one of the richest the region had ever seen. But time had brought down sturdy walls into piles of rubble, allowing vines to crawl along the stones and crack their outer shells to dust. The iron gate that had once been effective in keeping intruders out had bent down far enough for them to step over it with ease, feet carefully placed between rungs topped with decorative spikes.
The garden that lay beyond had become wildly overgrown with nobody to tend to it.
Wilbur cursed when a few steps further had his boots sinking into the ground, the soggy remains of a pond long gone reaching up to his ankles. He pulled them free with an unpleasant squelching noise and frowned.
"How old did you say this place was again?" he asked.
"Old. Like, very old," Phil answered simply. "It was abandoned during the Age of Blood."
Tommy kicked a stone, watching it careen off into the distance and skid against a broken piece of marble, one of the many garden statues. Though it had been so thoroughly crumbled, it was impossible to know what shape it used to possess. "Why's it called that? The Age of Blood."
Phil laughed while Wilbur shot the younger a fond glare. "Take a fucking guess, Tommy."
"How am I supposed to know, I wasn't even born yet," Tommy said, playing ignorant just to rile Wilbur up.
Wilbur still reacted as if he was being serious. "If the name alone doesn't clue you in, you're past helping."
The wars that had ravaged the land back then were horrible, spurred on by greedy nobles seeking wealth in every manner they could think of, money and soil divided up like trinkets with no regard for the peasants who died in the warfare. When the civilians finally had enough, they had risen up to push back against an aristocracy that had always treated them as pawns, taking advantage of how prolonged war had weakened their lord's positions. Most of the nobles had been executed by the mobs or – if they were lucky such as the owner of this estate had been – they had fled far away before the riots could get to them.
Their proud estates were ransacked before later being rebuilt by whoever took ownership over the land next. Not this place though, it had laid derelict ever since.
It loomed over them now, sad and foreboding. Phil was not easily scared, but he could admit there hung a menacing atmosphere over this place. The bloodshed that had happened here drenched its history, if not literally then at least as a metaphor.
The chapped wooden door creaked open with a single push, Phil peering into the inky black darkness before retrieving a torch and lighting it. The flame cast a flickering illumination on the castle's interior, dusty and destroyed. Embroidered tapestries had been torn off the wall haphazardly, murals in vibrant colors had faded into pastel hues with time and exposure to sunlight. The click of his feet on the stone floors echoed off the silence.
"This never gets any less eerie, does it?" Tommy muttered from behind him, retrieving the dagger from his belt. Phil was starting to regret giving it to him as a coming-of-age present three weeks ago, but it'd be better than him trying to defend himself bare-handed.
"Why did you want to come if you're just going to complain about being scared?" Phil sighed good-naturedly.
"I'm not complaining," Tommy countered, "and I'm definitely not scared either."
"What are we looking for anyway?" Wilbur cut in, probably to keep Tommy from starting an argument. They hadn't been inside for more than a minute and there was already debris stuck in his curls fallen from the ruin's ceiling. Phil reached out to brush it away.
"A sword." Noticing the confused looks on their faces he shrugged. "Apparently it's a fabled weapon of value left behind here ages ago, but they assured me that it wouldn't have been taken by pillagers. Pete also didn't detail what it looked like, but said we would know it when we saw it."
Wilbur shook his head. "That's... weirdly vague."
"Not the strangest job we've ever had," Phil pointed out. "Remember the mass rabbit escape-"
"We're not talking about that," Tommy interrupted quickly, embarrassed. Phil knew how much he hated having that story brought up. It wasn't one of Tommy's finer moments. "Let's just look for this sword thing and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
They explored the winding passageways slowly, Phil making sure to always stay upfront with his hand resting loosely on his sheath in case there was any truth to the whisperings of the townsfolk.
Rumors were a valuable currency in their work, so Phil had made a habit of scouting out their jobs by visiting local taverns. Sure, just because the three of them prided themselves in taking any odd job that came their way, no matter how strange or specialized it was so long as they got paid, didn't mean they needed to take unnecessary risks.
He trusted their source to provide credible information, Pete had never led them wrong before. But he also knew the value in townsfolk gossip and when he went to the tavern in the nearest village the locals were more than eager to talk his ear off after they had downed a few ales paid for by Phil's coin.
And their word was that while the castle had been abandoned ages ago, its walls and parapets left to decay under nature's influence, it did not lay entirely uninhabited. Maybe by other humans, but there were more frightening things spoken of in this area. A horrifying beast with ferocity unmatched and eyes that spoke of bloodlust, said to live inside the castle still and feast on the flesh of unlucky passerby.
Children were told not to play in the ruins if they wanted to return home again in the evening. Strangers were warned against roaming around at night, let alone venturing anywhere near the old castle grounds. When Phil told them the reason for his inquiry, the joviality fled from their tone like snow stricken by the noon sun, dark shadows cast on their faces.
"Do not go there if your own life and that of your sons has any meaning to you," they told him. "What lives in those castle walls now is much more frightening than the lord that has deserted it."
Now Phil was not usually one to ignore grave warnings. But coin had to be made if it wanted to be spent, his purse was becoming worrisomely light these days. If it were just himself living alone or on the road, Phil would not have cared to go some days without food or sleep on the forest floor without a proper bed. He could deal with a beggar's circumstances. He was not by himself, however. He had both Wilbur and Tommy with him – to look out for, no matter how much they'd insist they were capable enough to do it themselves. Phil wanted to give them the best chances in this world he could offer, regardless of how paltry his attempts were to most.
The stories seemed not much more than tall tales to him anyway, spread around by word of mouth to become greatly exaggerated. What people had encountered in these woods were probably wolves and other wild animals. And looking at the state of the building, he could easily imagine uncareful folks getting hurt while exploring the ruins, a small accident growing into a fairy tale when repeated enough over time.
What Phil saw when looking around here was not monsters, it was grief.
There was no furniture left standing, no windows left unbroken. An overturned table with glass and porcelain strewed around it betrayed the idea of somebody having lived here once, revealing an echo of domesticity. Long ago, this had been a home. But the image was all too broken to feel real.
"This place is a fucking mess." Phil swept the hallway one final time, not much hope of finding anything in the dark crevices they wouldn't have noticed earlier. "There's not going to be anything here, we were sent on a wild goose chase."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Wilbur said. "We should consider upfront pay if-"
Before he could finish a crash disturbed the silence.
It was a heavy thud. Not the accidental shifting of stone or the setting of the castle's foundations, but sudden and manmade. Tommy spun on his heels and ran towards it, Phil needing a moment to process what was happening.
"Tommy, wait!" He cursed under his breath and sprinted after, Wilbur hot on his heels. He saw Tommy disappear behind the hallway's corner, before hearing him let out a surprised scream which was cut off into a strangled yelp. Phil didn't spend much time on thought as he rounded the corner himself, immediately slamming his shoulder into whatever it was that had pinned Tommy to the ground.
The beast reared back, snarling and clawing, landing on its side. That's when Phil realized it was not a beast at all, but merely a man – though one that looked rather intimidating. He seemed to be of a similar age to Wilbur, though in appearance they could not be further apart. A curtain of long pink hair framed sharp features, not human at a glance if the dangerous tusks and maroon eyes were any indications. While his body had the bearings of a warrior – lean muscles rippling beneath heavily scarred skin – the image was distorted by malnutrition, leaving bones to be visibly poking through. His clothes were disgusting and torn, stained with dried blood, and he wasn't wearing any shoes.
Around the man's throat sat a golden collar.
"What the fuck!?" Wilbur came to a stop behind him while Tommy was already scrambling up again. The man was still crouching as he backed up, one arm wrapped around himself protectively, which Phil could instantly tell was due to some injury. A particular patch of blood on their shirt was fresh and leaking onto the floor. When Phil's eyes flicked over to it the man growled.
"Go away! Leave!"
His voice was furious and deep. Phil could imagine any lesser person running away at the sound of it, tail tucked between their legs. Speaking of tails, the stranger had one – stiff and raised in a clear sign of aggression.
Phil stood his ground and didn't act except to raise his hands, palms out to show he wasn't a threat. He could feel his sword hang heavy from his hip, serving as an assurance should the situation turn sour. "Calm down, mate. We mean you no harm."
That fiery gaze shifted over him slowly, assessing. Phil couldn't say what the man saw there, if he read their presence as potential danger. He relaxed his shoulders somewhat hoping it would make him come across as more friendly, but no movement to let down his guard was made by the stranger.
He looked as if he'd been through an ordeal and a half, really.
"I'm Phil," he said kindly, pressing a hand against his own chest before gesturing at the other two. "This is Wilbur and the kid that spooked you is Tommy. What's your name?"
For a moment longer a blank look was his only response. Phil thought he wasn't going to get an answer at all. Then a shaky exhale, red eyes shifting away from him. "I have no name. The master did not give me one."
Unease filled Phil at those words, the pieces gradually starting to fit together in his mind. Desperately – bitterly – he wanted to be wrong about this. But he had to ask. "What did they call you when they needed you then?"
The man's voice held no emotion as he answered. "The blade."
And fuck, Phil could still see the papers he'd read by candlelight plain as day, fingers tracing the inked lines. A legendary weapon, a scourge on the battlefield. A blade that was never far from its owner's side and was said to have the power to slay countless men without that owner needing to so much as lift their fingers.
(The most fearsome weapon the Age of Blood had ever known, which had turned the tide on many)
Not for a moment had Phil considered the weapon could have been a person.
As if that wasn't disconcerting enough in itself, Phil knew what this man's presence here meant. The castle had been ransacked over 150 years ago, the owner fleeing and all the staff slain. All except one, as it turned out. And thus, the blade had never left.
The blade had never left.
He had stayed, alone and isolated. Waiting for somebody who would never show up.
The same thought must have been crossing Wilbur's mind. "Wait, how long have you been here?" he asked, pulling his coat closer to himself. He had helped Tommy off the ground too, hand still lingering on his elbow.
"I don't know. I don't remember."
Tommy laughed, but it was a pinched little thing. More awkwardness than anything. Like he didn't know what to do with the discovery laid before them. "Well shit."
Wilbur turned his head and made eye contact with Phil. What he saw there was something he had become very familiar with over the past twelve years of knowing Wil. When he looked back at the blade, the man hadn't moved an inch. His fingers were still pressed against his stomach though, blood escaping from between the digits.
Phil made up his mind. "You're injured. We can help."
"I don't need help. I need to wait for my master to come back." The answer sounded prepared, Phil knew it had to be rehearsed. Drilled in until it became a certainty.
Trained, like an obedient animal.
He swallowed uneasily. "You can't stay here, this place is in shambles. They're not coming back-"
"Liar!" The blade had drawn back even more, expanding the distance between them. His tail flicked angrily, unwilling to believe them.
Phil couldn't stand to watch this, he'd never been good with other people's suffering. He tried reaching out.
The blade's reaction was immediate. He flinched, scampering back to get away from Phil's attempt to help. "Leave me alone!"
"Stop-"
It was already too late. With surprising speed for somebody currently bleeding from an open wound, the man had run off, disappearing into one of the many corridors of the castle. Philza didn't waste a second in giving chase, knowing Tommy and Wilbur would catch up.
But mere minutes later he already had to give up. There were too many corridors to flee in, too many narrow passageways that Phil had no clue about. He couldn't hear the man's footsteps anymore, let alone tell where he had gone. The castle felt just as empty as it had before.
Tommy ran into him, breathing fast. Wilbur followed a few paces behind.
"Shit, now what do we do?" Wilbur rubbed a hand through his hair, a nervous tic Phil had seen a million times before.
"Let's split up and search for him," Tommy said.
"This place is huge, there's no way we'll find him. He knows the layout better than any of us."
"Well, we can't just leave? I mean…" Tommy turned to Phil, nonverbally asking for backup with pleading eyes. "He's what we were sent to look for, right? It would be wrong for us not to help him."
"We need to get to the bottom of what's going on here." Phil reached into the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "The sun is setting, we don't want to get caught out in the dark. Let's go for now and we can come back in the morning."
Neither of them looked entirely pleased with the proposition, but it was the best they could do. Phil pulled out a flask of water and some left-over rations wrapped in wax paper. He put them on one of the crumbled stone pillars, hoping at least the man would return and find them.
While Wilbur already went ahead, Tommy was reluctant to go, staring into the growing darkness of the castle's hallways as their torch was carried out. Phil went over and tapped his shoulder, uring him to come along.
"We'll be back to help him tomorrow. Promise."
Tommy tilted his head down a little. "You don't have to tell me that, I know."
But Phil could catch him throwing troubled looks over his shoulder for the entire journey back into town.
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