Chapter 27 Blade of Goldnight

Review, Q&A

Darkscythe Drake: It certainly been a while, but this is worth the wait!

Thanks man.

Trinity seven: Venezuela?

Nope. I'm from Thailand. Funny, isn't it? Wherever we are in the world we all complain the same problem about our government.

Hadrian Caeser: Nice.

Cheers mate.

Asasyn13: More about Westeros and return of the Old Gods! The decisive battle of the Valley, where the Great White Wolf comes to aid the clans.

It will be after I conclude the Dark Ascension arc. I plan to make it a sequel story because I found (after rereading) that having characters planeswalking back and forth is confusing as hell. The new story will have a theme shift though. I'm not sure I want to write a power fantasy/ power wanking story, I need to think about it a bit more.

Previously

*BOOOOOOOOOOOOM*

(Yeah. That's it. Deal with it.)

Jon has no word to describe what just happened.

The entire city of Thraben is in panic. Not only an army of the undead is at their gates, but the explosion of unimaginable scale just blasts away the second holiest chapel into smithereens. Quite a distraction Jon needs but not the one he expected. It seems the other forces hate the church more than he first thought.

Is it good? Is it bad? He doesn't know. Would the 'kidnapping' of the Lunarch tip the scale too far to have Thraben destroy? He has no clue. He hates having no clue, which is almost all the time.

'Damn it. Why do you know nothing, Jon Snow?' The young planeswalker berates himself.

Unless the Lunarch is caught in that explosion, then his mission is over. There is nothing to stop the all-out battle between two sides, which makes him the third side that needs to survive both of them. Then he would be fucked and would need to hide from a pissed off premending vampire planeswalker.

Why did he think eternal servitude under an ancient dick of a vampire is a good idea again? Young Jon fucked him up once again, didn't he?

For any doubters out there, the answer is yes. Yes, he was. Big time.

Guiding his bird down the originally predetermine path, he searches the entirety of panicked Thraben. He searches and searches and searches and searches. Normally a lone heron flying back and forth above the city would raise suspicion on something foul at play, but since the city is on the verge of anarchy, nobody . Duh.

So, he searches and searches and searches, but he doesn't find his target. The sky screams as it signals the start of a downpour. Not good. The bird will not do well in heavy rain and wind. He needs to find the Lunarch fast. How could his luck turn on him like this?

Luck. To be exact, lack thereof. He should have a plan for the unexpected. Well. Live and learn. If he is still alive after this mess that is.

The air is silent. The light is dim. And that probably because Jon is hiding in some misbegotten back alley than the visually distinctive bad omen. His reason is not that unfound either. It would do him no good if someone found a 'blind & defenseless' boy staring to nowhere and try their luck. Besides, there is an off chance that Thalia put a lookout for him. It is quite endearing, considering that she still remembers how he looks like. Or could accurately guess, in this case. It will be much better if her boss do not want his head on a spike.

Then an eerie hand emerges from a shadow and clamps down on his shoulder. The lingering dark magic jolts into his system, into his mind, breaking his concentration in the process. Jon's vision blurs as his mind races back into his body to fight off the intrusion. Just the unbalance of mana in his body does an unexpected amount of backlash he isn't prepared for. If the intruder wants him braindead, all they had to do is to mess with his brain and the clash of mana would fry it.

Yet, for whatever reasons, he endured. He was pushed to the brink of collapse, but endured the damage, nonetheless. It takes all he had not to fall and cry like a bitch.

Jon biting his teeth just to hold down his scream. The backlash makes him feels like his head is exploding over and over. And he wishes it would be because at least the pain would be quick. Alas, he is built differently from other 'Warg'of Westeros, not that he knows. He is just plain tougher and more resilient to damage. It did not even cause his eyes and ears to bleed.

Well, not all men are created equal. His mana-infused flesh and spark-ignited soul are just better. Period. BETTER.

At the same time it hurt like hell. It stings like thousands of needles are launch at supersonic speed at the same spot on his brain, at every part of his brain at the same time.

'AND OH, MOMMY IT HURTS SO GOOD!' Wait what?

"At ease, husky boy." Said the stranger with a cold and maliceful hand. The voice is feminine, but Jon learns by now that everything can be deceiving in Innistrad. "I mean you no harm. And by the look of it, you seem to enjoy the pain. Kinky~"

Jon went stiff. His body went stiff, get your mind out of the gutter His mind runs through all the planned scenarios and how to get out of them. He finds none because he doesn't expect this kind of fuck up to happen.

No one does.

"What. Wolf got your tongue?" The stranger continues. Her touching hand moves down to his chest as another one comes up his hip. The grip is tighter. "Oh. You young boys are too easy to tease."

This is a fucking sexual harassment.

She flips him over resulting in his head matches right below her neck. Something influences him to look down, which he resists. Even so, the bumps below are already pressed against his neck and shoulder. His eyes dart up to the stranger's face, and he finds pitch-black irises staring back at him.

At least he confirms that the stranger is a woman. He does not know this woman. Not that he would remember her since her face is very bland with no distinction to be drawn from.

A solid 6 out of 10. Above average in all aspects. A standard description of an adult female. No distinct characteristic. Almost impossible to describe anything specific unless resort to declaring measurement. Her chest is respectable size and shape though.

"Huh. Thalia is right. You do look yummy with that feral charm. Damn. The lass always has eyes for quality." She continues to tease. "Well. It about damn time we meet. My dear outsider. The prophecy had foretold of your coming."

Thalia? Outsider? Prophecy? What!

Truthfully, the wolf boy is not all that impressive. Sure, he killed some vampire neonates when he was even younger, if Thalia is to be believed. Sure, his spearmanship is quite all right for being trained by some no-name archmage. Sure, he is one of the first known werewolves that is sentient enough to control its animalistic urge and blend in with society.

But he could, at least, be taller. And what the hell with that hair. It is even more beautiful than hers. It is even clear grown by blood magic. WHO the heck use sangromancy to grow hair? The power is not even his own. How did he get a Markov vampire to regrow his hair is beyond her comprehension. Very disturbing. Sure, hijacking a mind from a heron is quite an interesting application of mental magic, but compare to those of Markov's mindfuck it is akin to child play.

Alas, he is the one that was foretold. Innistrad's future lies in his hand. Welp. Beggars cannot be choosers.

Little did she know that forcing a fate like that will never end well. Welp. Nothing out of ordinary as far as the multiverse is concerned. Things like this happened more often than you think.

His option for sneaking into Thraben via the sewer is quite innovative, she has to give him that. Perhaps it is the failing of Thraben part, perhaps not. For a bastion of light in the dark plane, it is sure lax in protection against humanity itself. Yet, there is a demon-worshipping cult hidden among the church echelon itself, so that should not be a surprise.

What should be a surprise, however, is that he smells not that bad for a mutt emerges from a sewer. Do not get her wrong. He still smells terribly for a young handsome man. No amount of soap would wash away the gamely wild stench from his body. Then again there are normal humans with far worse body odor, mostly those with a long neckbeard.

What is she thinking about again? Oh yes. The boy.

"So, are we going to have a proper conversation like a decent person? Or do I need to put you on a collar first?" she asked.

"Who are you?"

A fair question, she had to admit. The answer, on the other hand, is anything but. She knows that whatever comes out of her mouth is crucial in gaining his compliance.

"I have been called many names. None of them are me, yet they refer to me all the same. You may address me with the name your inquisitor lover used. Carla."

The riddled answer goes over Jon's head. He is bad enough with idioms and phrases. Not that she knows. His blank face looks stupid either way.

"So. Carla?" He unsurely nods. At least he knows it would be stupid of him to ask a lady to repeat her words. "Wait. You know Thalia? Oh, yes. I remember now. You are her roommate."

"Oh. Spying on us, I see. So, she is indeed your secret lover then. She had a wet dream about you, by the way."

"What! No! I mean. Yes! I mean. No! Yes? …." He ramblings on. "It's not important."

At least he gets his priority straight.

"What prophecy are you talking about? How did you know that I'm an outsider?" an expected question was asked. Typical. "Whose side are you on?"

"The better question is who do I serve." She smirks. "My mistress, Liesa, had been betrayed and killed off. Her flight was wiped out, and everything about her erased. Well, almost everything. But rejoice, for the follower of Avacyn's fourth sister is here to aid you."

He doesn't want to trust this "Carla" stranger. Bah. Who is he kidding? He doesn't trust her. If that is really her real gender. You could never know when it comes to the demon worshippers, men with tits wasn't uncommon as you think.

And didn't Avacyn has three sisters: Sigarda, Bruna, and Gisela? That's like one of the first lessons his mother taught him. Then again

"What is your goal here and how can I provide assistance." What she offered is too good to be true. There is always some catch. "Oh. Wait a minute. Brace yourself, I almost forgot."

"Forget wha…."

*BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*

The ground quakes like the entire plane are ripping itself apart. Many foundations are uprooted. Street cracks and pavements become deadly projectiles. Luckily, most of Thraben's denizens are in hiding since the first explosion, mostly anyway. Those that currently desperate to get to the shelter do not have to worry about their safety anymore.

That's because they are dead. And this 'Carla' knows it had her smile tells him anything.

"And that takes care of most the demon cult infestation. Silly them. Thinking it is safe hiding in the secret underground vault of the church. Well, since they want the church in ruin so much, they can join them, I guess." The stranger nonchalantly said as if she ran into him in a park on a sunny day. The analogy is not quite right, but that because he sucks at it. Auntie Narset always says 'Keep the analogy short'.

He still didn't get it.

And by that last two sentences alone, Jon is sure that he is talking to an absolute maniac. He is also reconsidering a lot of things that lead him to this point. 'What the fuck am I doing here.' Had passed his head trice. The fourth one is about to emerge had the thought of how dangerous the stranger in front of him is didn't interrupt it.

"and what do you want to achieve by hurting both the church and the demonic cult? Especially when the army of undead is right at Thraben's doorstep?"

"Huh." She chuckled. "And what does a moonborn like you wish to achieve by being here then?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes. I didn't."

.

.

.

The fuck?

"Relax." She laughs. "I'm just pulling your leg."

"No, you aren't. You broke my concentration from my spell. My legs remain where they originally are."

.

.

.

"Oh. You are one of those blunt guys who didn't get idioms and metaphors, aren't you? Wordplay always flying over your head. How did you get along with Thalia with that kind of deficiency anyway?"

What the fuck is she talking about? Her hands remain on his shoulder, not his legs. Nothing flying over his head. If it was, then it would be either too far away to pose any danger or his reflex would take care of it.

"Anyways. To answer your question. I fight for the future of Innistrad. The future where it should be had Liesa's work wasn't interrupted. The future where the balance between light and darkness was achieved. The future where humanity knows their enemy and is prepared. And I think you will help me."

Well. Jon has to admit it is very convenient. Too convenient. As if someone is stringing a plot along to fit their design. Trying to meet the non-existent deadline and fails tremendously. And trying to get a cheap laugh by breaking the fourth wall.

HOLYSHIT This story is gaining sentience.

Cheap joking aside, Jon doesn't believe her. Not that he has a choice. She is one scream away from getting the entire Thraben after his head. Trust, is something he doesn't give easily, but it doesn't mean they couldn't work something out. What are the words that uncle Vol once told him again? Something about scratching each other back.

So, he did.

The boy … in her opinion … know fuck all about social interaction. Not surprising, considering that he likely literally grows up among animals. But constantly staring at her chest is a tad bit too far. Yes, he is so short, her chest is at his eye level, but he could at least look up and meet her eyes, can't he.

Then that brat's hand moves. Around her back.

"What are you doing?" her eyes widened in confusion. "Wha…."

And scratches her passionately. 'Is this a werewolf courting ritual or something?'

"What do you think I am doing? I'm scratching your back. Now scratch mine."

What. The. Fuck.

"Why?" She couldn't believe it. Is this Jon really that dumb? Probably not. No one survives this long in Innistrad by being stupid. But to take things this literally is quite problematic.

The scratching stops. That is not a good sign.

The boy in front of her ponders a bit. Even worse sign.

"I don't know actually. Uncle said it is something about two people helping each other…."

'Helping each other!'

"… Or do you want me to scratch some other parts? Somewhere you itch perhaps. Mother said it would work too." He even has a gall speaking so innocently.

'Other part! Oh Thalia, you saucy wrench.'

His mother though. What's her name again? Archmage Arlinn Kord? Well, how could a werewolf become an archmage is another can of worms entirely. Anyway, that is not important right now.

"Well. It is customary for the one who offers help to name the price, not the other way round. I don't know about what you did to Thalia, but it probably doesn't work with me. No matter how huge you are. If you want my help, It will take more than a few rounds of f…."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

Wha… Wait. What?

So, his willingness to compromise results in nothing. He should have known better than following uncle Vol's suggestion about women. The Sarkhan himself could barely stand for himself when his mother and auntie around. Or capable of standing at all, now that he knows what the adults are doing when he was training with Ugin. Yuck!

Adults are weird. Well, at least adult he knew are.

Anyway. What to do? What to do? Truthfully, he half-hearted wants to bolt and let it be, but that would be incredibly reckless and stupid. If his mother knows he runs away from conversations just because he doesn't want to, he will never hear the end of it. Hell. She would beat him to death for displaying such cowardice. A proper werewolf doesn't run when the situation gets tough.

On the other hand, he doesn't really want to deal with this crazy woman.

"So…." He starts. "What can we do to help each other then? I need the Lunarch alive and out of Thraben, but only after the momentum of the dead is halted…"

With that start, he told her a brief version of his plan. Nothing too concrete. He doesn't want any chances for her to derail it. Also, he doesn't have much concrete plan in the first place, but that's not important.

If 'Carla' does indeed surprise, he notices no sign of it. No sweat. No changes in a heartbeat. No widen eyes. Nothing. This woman, as mad as she is, is really good. No wonder she could lurk in Thraben and playing both sides for so long. He's still confident that he could take her though.

"Hmmmm. Just by that sentence alone, I guess that your plan is very convoluted and complexed, moonborn. You need a lot of things to happen in succession in specific order. One screw up and everything crumbles down. If you don't know what reading between the line is, what I just said previously means your plan sucks. Yet, somehow, I have a feeling that you can pull it off."

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' he ponders. Is it a compliment? If yes, then why he feels like he was insulted.

'Tch. City dwellers and their words. Or is it just the church's woman in general?'

"Fine. I will help..." Oh nice. "..However…."

Oooooh.

"I need to know what you would do with the Mikaeus, and why?"

Damn. How should he explain it? The first rule of being a planeswalker is to not telling everyone that you are one. Hell, he should not even suggest such ideas to a stranger in the first place. But his hands seem to be tied.

Step1: Infiltrate Thraben, Kidnap the Lunarch, and wait for the army of the dead to retreat.

Step2: Kill the Lunarch before he could unlock the Helvault. Then get the fuck away before an enraging pre-mending planeswalker catch you.

Step3:

Step4: Profit?

Meanwhile. In another part of Thraben.

*BOOOOOOOOOM*

What the fuck is going on?

Her entire world is in flame. It is crumbling down. All of it. The morale for the defenders didn't just die at that moment, it was murdered.

Hope. Is lost.

But Thalia knows that no matter how hopeless it is, they will still fight. Thraben shall not fall. Thraben must not fall. Not when they still stand. They are Innistrad's finest warriors. Like steel, they were molded, and in the furnace of war, they were forged. They are iron will and steely muscle. They have tactics, strategies, and holy magic such that no foe can best them in battle. They are Avacyn's bulwark against the Terror. They are the defender of Humanity. They are Guardians of Thraben and they know no fear.

And today they shall not be found wanting.

In the meantime, they are also fucked. Almost a quarter of their elite forces, including their commander in chief, are already dead. They need to rely on the reserves, which while a decent fighter, are neither trained nor equip enough to stem the tide of the undead alone. The angel flights are nowhere to be seen, and Avacyn had not been seen for far so long.

In a word. Cluster-Clusterfuck.

"L …. Lothar…." It takes all her effort just to keep standing. All Thalia could muster was saying her mentor's name. It doesn't come out right, either.

She is so in shock that she doesn't hear thundering footsteps from her back. Her skin doesn't even register the warm glow on her skin as he approaches.

*Thud*

*Thud*

"Thalia!" He calls her. "Avacyn be praise. You are still alive."

She turns and finds the worrying Lunarch Mikaeus looking back at her. "Your holiness." She grasps. An unbecoming gesture for the elite guard, yes. But that doesn't matter much to her at the moment.

"Don't lose focus now, Young Thalia. We can mourn our loss later. Now the enemies approach and I need you to keep Thraben safe." He commands. "Kneel."

"Wha…"

"Kneel. Don't waste time. You are needed to lead the defense."

Confusion isn't a strong enough word to describe how she feels. A quick glance at the Lunarch's eyes is more than enough to access that he is not joking around. His seriousness couldn't be questioned. 'But kneel for what?' is a question. Clearly, not for praying, of that, she is sure.

Alas, the Lunarch's word is to be obeyed. Not think, just obey. So, she kneels. All she receives from the Lunarch is a tap on her shoulders with his staff.

"By the right of my office, by the will of our holy lady, I name you The Guardian of Thabren. Arise, Guardian Thalia. May Avacyn by above to bless you, below to support you, before you to guide you, behind you to protect you, beside you to support you, and inside you to give you strength."

What!

"Now go. Protect the city. I will channel Avacyn's blessing to empower our forces from the main chapel."

With that order, her original plan is dead. Things are going to be a lot more complicated.

Custom Card of the Chapter

Name: Biting Blade

Mana Cost: 3

Type: Artifact – Equipment

Card Text:

Equipped creature gets +1/+1 for each hungering counter on Biting Blade.

Whenever equipped creature attacks put a hungering counter in Biting Blade.

At the start of your upkeep, Biting Blade deal 1 damage for each hungering counter on it to equipped creature.

Equip 2

Flavor Text: "Who the hell give this to an enraged dinosaur!"

Rarity: Uncommon