Chapter 29 Light of Alabaster

Holy shit, I finish this chapter quite fast. The Midnight Hunt seems to motivate me. I want to raise some issues though.

Turns out Arlinn is much younger in MTG cannon, according to the web stories. She is about mid 30 in the Midnight Hunt. But since my story is totally bonkers anyway, I don't see any problem with it. That's being said, prepare for Tovolar being a jolly-casually-racist-always-drunk-at-the-family-gathering uncle, and Liesa reimagined as a general passive-aggressive-psycho you might know. If you cannot name some, that person might be you.

Talking about retcon, my writing is so slow that I forgot what I wrote few chapters ago. Need to triple-check everything in this chapter just not to write something conflicting with what I wrote. My bad. My bad.

Reviews, Q&A

Darkscythe Drake: So glad you've returned. Let's the fight begin.

Indeed. Indeed.

Guest: So, Um. When will we see Westeros side? …(More)…

Truthfully, I plan to make Jon return after this, but I kind lost interest in following it up after finishing this arc, really. I plan to leave it an open ended with Jon and his merry families free to go on an adventure throughout the multiverse. I will write a synopsis of what happened after. For example, something *might* cause him to return to Westeros to sort out his little problem about people make a blood sacrifice in his name.

I hope that isn't disappointed you too much.

KureijiRyuu: Thanks for a chapter. I wonder if at some point Jon will visit a plane that belongs to series/book/anime/movie than mtg or not. ,,,(More)…

No. Not in the main story. I might make jokes refencing other IP, but I admittingly am not creative enough to work on a kind of story like that. I find it hard to invest in writing while keeping track of things in that scale.

Ironically, the action of planeswalking around from one plane to another without much attachment is what I would do had I ignite my planeswalker spark.

DanielHimura: Somewhat disappointing chapter. First you make Jon a planeswalker after the mending. …(MORE)…

Dude, pre-mending planeswalkers are gods in their own right. I don't know how to write anything interesting about a character with that power level. A curb stomping is not my cup of tea.

As for the other things, at first, I plan to set the theme for the story to be about unconventional family and use it to explore those relationships. So, I introduce characters as such. AKA. Arlinn & Jon (& Vol & Narset). Sorin & Jon (and everyone else). Ugin & the Dragon lords. Gisa & Geralf. Tamiyo & her adopt kids. The clans. Etc. And to my shame, it turns into a half-assed crack fic, but I don't want to scrap my work. So, the tragedy stays.

I'm sorry I disappointed you.

Previously

*Whooosh*

Then he hit his target. The blinding flash from the shield of faith lights up against his fist. For what it feels like an eternity, all Jon could do is observing his surrounding as he is suspended in the air. The Lunarch's face is a mixture of surprise and terrify. The anthem stops. Absolute silence ensues.

Then the cracking begins.

*Wham*

The hit connects. His fist breaks through all defense as it should be. The ferocity of the Temur clan couldn't be stopped by anything or anyone. The light barrier crumbles into nothingness. The Lunarch's expression doesn't have time to shift as the impact sends his mind into the depth of oblivion. The old priest is sent flying against all laws of physic and crashed on the holy altar. The backlash of the clash turns the Avacyn's collar on the altar into dust. For that, Jon smiles. There is nothing more satisfying than destroying those accurse collars for a werewolf. For all that their kind had to endure "If there's anything a werewolf hates, it is a collar – especially Avacyn's collar, the symbol of her church.", he considers the ancient grudge is avenged.

BECAUSE EXPLAINING A JOKE IS NOT FUNNY!

Easy to say that the Lunarch is knocked out cold. Whether he is still alive or not, on the other hand, is another story.

'FUCK.'

At least the stupid horrible anthem stops. 'It probably nothing of note. It is just a prayer song. Right?'

You know nothing Jon Snow.

Jon remains vigilant and observes the downed Lunarch for any traps. He finds none so far, but he doesn't want to be careless. As he moves closer to check for the vital signs, he at least sees that the Lunarch is still breathing. Irregularly breathing, perhaps, but breathing, nonetheless. The Innistrad folks are made from a though stock, a city dweller included, Mikaeus will survive. He wouldn't want to perform what auntie Narset called 'CPR' on this old priest.

'Alright. Time to leave.' Jon reminds himself. 'The attack should already be on its way. I need to scout the escape route. Better not run into Thalia. It will only complicate things.'

Soon after, if one looks hard enough, one will find a black heron fly out of the central cathedral. If one looks harder, one will see that its eyes are pure milky white.

Deep inside Jon's psyche, the elder dragon stirs. It is as if Vaevictis knows that trouble is brewing. The opportunity to corrupt its host further is about to emerge. So many leverages to use against the boy. So many power sources to tap into. So many power sources to steal. Damn right, the old dragon would not let this golden opportunity pass.

If he could only deal with the damn wolf spirit beforehand, it would be perfect. Where is that insolent cur anyway? No matter, he just needs to prepare for it too. What Vaevictis wants, Vaevictis gets.

Meanwhile ...

The outer walls are about to fall. Not that she doesn't expect it to fall, of course. The wall doesn't hold advantages when the dead can step on each other just to get over it. The forces she deployed on the outer wall are a little more than half-trained militia. Their sole duty is to delay the attackers and buy enough time for her to come up with an effective response on the second wall.

It seems that Jon's letter contains some truth. The number of enemies on the west wall seems to eclipse the east, but even with both armies combine, the numbers still fall shorter than expected. Perhaps, her personal object of ire isn't that treacherous as she first thought. That doesn't mean she would not turn him into a rug when she caught him. Not by a long shot.

Then it happens. The holy anthem suddenly stops. As the holy light within their soul dims, so does their bolstered power of faith. Something had happened to the Lunarch. 'Distraction' is the only thing she could think about. 'The undead army is just a distraction.'

Worse still, it is a distraction she couldn't spare to ignore. If left alone, the dead would destroy everything in its path. The dead would not differentiate between combatants and civilians. The dead would leave the city only in ruin.

Fuck.

Seeking the nearest messenger, Thalia commands. "Sound the retreat. Fall back to the inner wall. And prepare our counterattack."

"YES SIR!" Her subordinates obey and quickly transfer the signal. Looking around, Thalia sees her peer's grim look. The captains will carry out her orders, no matter how doubtful they are at her abilities to lead. She is the Guardian of Thraben. They will obey.

As she goes over her plan once more, Thalia is faced with another dilemma. 'How to deploy her charges?' The elite guard would be the key to the city defense, and she needs to deploy them wisely. Letting them sit back and defend a key position is a wasteful use of their talents, but it would be goods for morale. Yet drawing some of them to hunt down the cause of the anthem's disruption is a must. And if Jon is behind all of this, as she fears, then she needs to send a few squads just to be sure. Who knows how much the bastard had grown during their time apart? Perhaps, just being selfish of once, she would nominate some senior captain to the defensive effort and lead the hunt herself. She knows him best after all.

And on the off chance that the perpetrator isn't Jon, then she needs to be there to save the situation. Giving her subordinates an order to look for a man that isn't here would only let them in a wild goose chase while the true enemy freely escapes.

"Carla." She calls for her roommate. "Go to the Cathedral of Avacyn. Something had happened to the Lunarch. I will handle our brothers and sisters' deployment. I reckon that we could spare a few squads to assist you, but I need some time. Send a word as soon as you get any clue. I will lead them myself."

Her orders raise a few eyebrows. Oh, joy. She dreads to explain a lot more about the situation to the captains. But what else can she do? She needs them on board just to get through this mother fucking crazy day. Good thing she knows she should send Carla away beforehand. That woman would only make her story more awkward.

And she doesn't need her teasing or hinting at something that would see her burn at stake.

… Few minutes later …

It's done. She told them. She told them everything they need to know. About Arlinn and Jon, about the letter, and her suspicion. From the look of things, they don't believe her stories. That is relieving, in a sense. At least they aren't going to follow her blindly. Of course, they will obey her for now. As soon as it is over, however, … she fucked. There is no way she would keep her position as the Guardian of Thraben unscathed. She needs to fight those twice or three times her age tooth and nail to keep her title. Losing it means death. Painful death. These old fucks are not going to mess around with a liability. She knows. She is one of them, after all.

And if the Lunarch is dead, then her fate is sealed. It's her duty to protect him, even when he decided not to have any. Her only hope is that Jon needs to keep him alive as he stated in the letter. How much she could trust that kind of thought? She doesn't know. Her hands are tied now. All she could do is to let it pass and deal with it.

It is neither a good sign for her sanity nor her health. The fallout after this siege would not be pleasant. All she could do is to focus on her work.

"Status." She orders.

"The retreats are in order, Guardian. The enemy seems to rely only on their number against our walls. The casualty is light and much below our expected number. Our second line of defense is set. They are ready to push them back with fire, by your order."

Well. That is a good thing to hear. One of the few good things that happened today.

"Guardian!" She heard a panicked shout. "Guardian!" It is not a good sign.

"Guardian!" the runner barges into the command room without care. He seems distraught. "The north wall has fallen."

What the fuck!

"Giant Skaabs, Guardian. They showed up right after the signal of the retreat was sounded. The elite troops were out of position to deal with them, the gate was broken soon after. Our loss is high, and we are losing grounds twice as fast from what we prepared for. The captain asks for permission to deploy fire to save the troop, Guardian."

Damn it. She doesn't want to reveal her hands too early. If the enemies have a way to communicate, then her surprise would no longer be a surprise. What would be a counteroffensive strategy to push them back would just become delaying the inevitable. But her duty also involves protecting her subordinates. They devote their lives to the same cause as her. They are willing to sacrifice their own lives if it means they win the day. It is her duty to spend their lives as little as possible.

'What to do? What to do?'

Steadying herself, Thalia racks her brain on how she could contain giant Skaabs. They are notorious to be put down. Short of an inferno surprise, she prepares for the undead army, there isn't much she could do to quickly end this threat. If they pour to the other part of the city and reinforce the other sides, then the situation would be hard to manage.

'Wait.' She pauses. She doesn't need to destroy them yet. Only make sure they stay in the place that she wants them to. 'A delay tactic then. Deploy a bait and lure them to a trap. Make sure they stay there until she is ready to burn them all.

"Send in the reinforcement. Albert's squad and two archmages will go retrieve our forces. You must draw them toward the northern inner wall. We will stand our ground and keep them there for a time being. We cannot reveal the fire yet, lest we tip our hands too early. There are necromancers behind this attack. We cannot afford them outmaneuver us."

With that order, Albert, the captain of squad five, nods. With an experience twice Thalia's age, he knows what he is in for. He quickly exits the room and shouts his order to his men.

"Avacyn be with you, Albert." She whispers as she sees him leave.

Damn it all. She just sends some of her brothers and sisters to their death just to buy some time for her plan. She could only hope that the price is not too high.

'Victory requires sacrifice. Victory requires sacrifice. Victory requires sacrifice. …' She reminds herself.

Meanwhile…

The view and atmosphere are indeed different on the other side of Thraben's wall. It is probably because thousands of stinking zombies are throwing themselves at it. Oh, how fears and terrors taste so sweet when you are not on the receiving end. This is something not worth noting to a necromancer of Liliana caliber. She could do this twice a week if she desires to.

The mood would be pleasant, even, if the useless bards she resurrected couldn't shut up. HOW IN THE DEPTH OF PHYREXIANS SHITHOLE DID THEY STILL SINGING? SHE REMOVED THEIR VOCAL CORDS!

Perhaps it was a mistake to not send them in with the vanguard. Why did she have a brilliant idea for using their terrible songs and japes as a distraction in the final push? 'Damn you past Liliana. Damn you.'

Then something hit her. The whole atmosphere shifts as black mana surge through the city gate. Whatever spell that counters her empowering their army before is no more. Something had happened inside the heart of Thraben itself.

'Holy … The bitch boy really did it, didn't he?' Surprised, Liliana smiles.

Truthfully, she doesn't need little Snow's help. With the Caecenis helping her, their dead tide is more than enough to break the city's defense long enough for her to get what she wants. She only agrees with his reckless plan just to humor the boy. The way his eyes glow when he talks about how he would sneak into the city and kidnap the Lunarch for her is, she doesn't believe she would admit this, cute. Twisting insanely cute in a way only someone raised by a reckless maniac on Innistrad could. For almost a hundred years of her life, she finds children intolerable. Not this one.

And what sort of pre-mending planeswalker would she be had she doesn't support her kind younglings' hope and dream.

He must be the most interesting boy in the multiverse. Too bad, from her experience, all boys get dumber and dumber as his lower head develops, which is a perk on its own, really. Time will tell whether this one would be the same. She had her eternal youth, she could wait. Provided that his behavior doesn't get him killed first, that is.

Perhaps being raised by one of the infamous planeswalker did make a difference. She heard of Arlinn Kord, both the good and the bad. The wandering werewolf. The pack mistress. The ever-thirsty sex crazed maniac. And many more names are given. Seeing the woman in the flesh, Lialina could confirm one thing.

The bitch is fucking crazy. In a good way. A post-mending planeswalker through and through.

What is she thinking about again? Oh yes, Little Snow's plan.

Heck, she doesn't even need the Lunarch alive. She could just command him to tell her all the secrets about the Helvault. If all else fails, there is always a brute method. But having some to blame when Sorin comes knocking is a good contingency to have. That ancient vampire is an absolute bastard.

Well. It seems Geralf's Skaabs broke through the northern wall, as they planned. Time to step up her game. Perhaps, she should have some threatening push to draw more defenders away from the wolf boy just because she is feeling generous today. She can't let a youngster thinks that Liliana Vess is stingy, can she?

Focusing her concentration, Liliana sent her army command to push through Thraben's walls. Black mana from all over Gavony coalesces at her fingertips before being unleashed in full. A bolt of purest dark magic shatters whatever warding remained and slams through the city gate. Within seconds, her army pours through the opening like a high tide. It is so easy.

'Let's see whether you could bite like how you bark, little Snow. Let's see.'

'FUCK!' Thaila curses. The situation is rapidly worsened by the minute.

They broke through the southern gate. Now she had two sides that are threatened to be overrun. The retreat is about three-quartered on the way to completion. If she wants to save the rest of them, she had to use her surprise now. However, it will leave her to deal with at least a full attack on two sides. The enemy plans are brilliant, she must admit. Zombies, in a layman term, come in many forms, but they usually deal with two. A horde of mindless raised corpses that are dangerous when numbered, and 'artisan' Skaabs that while powerful are low on number due to its creation process. Everyone knows this. It is taught in a class from where she had been raised up as an inquisitor. They all know how to combat them. Yet, in her naivety, she overlooks how they could be deployed. It is clear to her now that the necromancers are more experienced in warfare than her by far. Unlike her, they know their enemy. And in knowing, they predict Thraben's response and use is against the city itself.

Worse of all, she hadn't prepared a plan when her trap couldn't be sprung at the same time. No commander would, as a common phrase said, put all eggs in one basket. They would always find a way to minimize their loss in every engagement. She understands that old wisdom now. 'Most of the time, the victor is one who always wins the most, but it is those who always lose the least.' If only the cost of enlightenment doesn't come with such a steep price.

Her mistake is going to cost hundreds of lives needlessly.

"Send command to east and west walls. Full retreat. We couldn't afford any more surprises. When all the inner walls are surrounded, then burn them. BURN THEM ALL."

While the situation becomes grim for the defenders of Thraben, Jon Snow also encounters a problem of his own. The cathars tighten their defenses as they are being pushed backward. If he wants to get out, he needs to do it now. Yet he needs to be sure that the undead army suffers a major loss before the necromancers call for a retreat if lady Liliana calls for a retreat. From what he saw with the heron's eyes, they had broken through the northern and southern walls. The east and west side is still under contest, but not for long. He doesn't even know of what order does the undead is commanded. Will they attack him on sight? Or did the necromancers remember to order them just not to attack him? Heck, will they attack the Lunarch? He is still living after all.

'Fuck. I really don't think this through.' He curses. 'But I need to get out of here now.'

It makes sense, the church must have some defense mechanism to push them back. A holy magic explosion or something. Or a flight of angels, that would work too. And he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of either.

'Well. It's now or never' He psyches up himself. With that, he straps his spears on his back and carries the unconscious Lunarch over his shoulder. With the route memorizes he moves as quickly as possible and hopes for the best. The distance to the nearest entrance to the sewer system is not that far, about two kilometers so only about a few minutes at his full speed. That translates to about fifteen minutes when he carries a late-middle-aged man.

If his calculation is correct, he can time it so that he could evade all the guards and reach the entrance within twenty minutes. Not a bad time for getting out of the most defended city in Innistrad when things about to turn to shit. Then again, auntie Narset said he is not that good at advanced mathematics.

.

.

.

Never mind.

With his path set, Jon decides not to delay any further. He still clings to the shadow when he can, of course, but a boy carrying a fully grown man wearing an all-white priest robe is not at all sneaky. He relies on all his senses, both enhanced physical and magical, just to barely stay out of sight. It would be much faster if he could transform and make a run for it but transforming inside the besieged city is a terrible idea. No one is supposed to know he is here, lest he is to be hunted for the rest of his life on this plane. Well, perhaps he let Thalia knows but what can she do? What is a word of a young cathar, no matter how prodigious, mean to an entire council so set in their ways?

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Stop. Wait. Wait. Wait. The patrol is already pass. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

He is making a good time. No one has raised any alarms yet. Just three more patrol groups and two more lookouts to be avoided and he is, in a sense, free.

Steady. Steady. Slowly. No need to worry. Everything will be alright. Not for the Thrabenites, but then again fuck them. City dwellers need some knocking down here and there anyway. He hopes Thalia survives and the damaged Thraben doesn't tearing itself apart. He doesn't want to meet with an angry Sorin Markov.

*Horn blows*

'Shit. What now?' Jon curses. It seems his escape will not be as smooth as he thought. He reckons that someone must found that the Lunarch is missing and mobilizes the search. So, all his predetermine route is useless, and he doesn't have time to scout out a new one with every cathar available hunting for his head. Didn't 'Carla' promises him some distraction? 'Damn her' He should have known not to trust a mad woman.

And if it is a distraction 'Carla' promised him, then it helps him fuck all. What did she expect him to do, being friendly with the panicked inquisitor looking for someone else and carry on with the unconscious Lunarch on his shoulder?

'What to do? What to do? Should I break out and run? Leave no witness and blame it on someone else?'

Then he hears a chaotic cacophony of footsteps and shouted order. The inquisition is mobilized. Far faster than he is comfortable with, in fact. 'They are prepared to organize the search in case this situation happened.' He realized. Then the scents hit him.

Thalia.

'Shit. Not now.' He curses. The thought of getting double-crossed by 'Carla' has yet to left him. He could see it now. He could see a possible motive for the follower of Liesa. She just wants to have someone else take the blame for her treachery. Ironic. Really. Because the next move he is about to make before the situation turns to shit is blaming her for kidnapping the Lunarch. Alas, he is too slow.

'So, it comes to this. Not a reunion I hoped for, but this will do. A moonborn should not run away from a good fight.'

*HOWL*

.

*HOWL*

.

.

.

That was not his. Nor it was his mother's. Yet it's sound so distinctly familiar. Which means only one thing.

'Well. Shit. It's great-uncle Tovolar. … Fuck it. I'm getting away from here.'

As night progress, the death toll in Thraben keeps increasing. Thalia's order for full retreat causes them about a three-quartered of the defense force of the eastern and western walls. Objectively, they are meant only to bolster the main fighting force, being a sole shaft to fill up the number just to make them not being overrun that quickly. A loss to their fighting prowess is at minimum. Yet it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Lives are lives, no matter how useful they are. That's her personal belief growing up. But she is not naïve, hopeful, little girl Thalia anymore. She is now the Guardian of Thraben, and it is her duty to make such a tough decision.

'This is supposed to be Lothar's job.' She reminds herself. 'I should not be in a position to making such a call.'

A good thing that comes out of this shitshow is that her plan of using fire against the dead works, spectacularly even. She is surprised about how flammable the holy oil is, and how much does the church keeps the substance in store. That is to be said, the owner of the property between the inner and outer wall better has insurance for their properties, or the only thing they had left would be a hill of ashes. Even when she is in the war room in the inner part of the city, she could still feel the searing heat of the great fire. It took a great toll on the army of the dead. Her scout report that about four-fifth of the undead forces were swallowed by the fire. The rest of the number would have a hard time breaching an inner wall. At last, they could properly counterattack and bring their enemies to justice.

If the smoke doesn't suffocate them first, that is, but there is an enchantment on the inner wall for that reason. Whoever build this city indeed prepare for such a contingency. For whatever reason, their forebearers design the inner wall to protect them from extreme natural elements. One theory, often spoken in a hushed tone, is that it is a means to quell the unruly citizen *cough*cough*the poor*cough*cough* during the riot or rebellion. She doesn't subscribe to that kind of belief, however. For such a thought is treason. And she is no traitor.

"Guardian. Guardian!" A messenger runs into the war room. "Agent Carla sends words. The Lunarch is missing from his post. There is a sign of combat. Brute force, she said. Awaiting your orders, sir."

FUCK!

"I will leave the defense of the city in the hands of the Archmages and the Elder Cathars. Lunarch's Guards. With me." She commands as she rushes out of the room.

They all follow her soon enough. She knows what they all are thinking. There is no greater insult to their honor than letting the Lunarch be harmed. Even when he insisted, he doesn't need their protection. Accounting for the casualty, there is about a hundred of them left, with about thirty of them heavily winded from their battle. So, she had effectively six combat squads that she could deploy to cover the area.

Hopefully, Jon could not go far.

… A while later …

The horn of the Lunarch's guard was sound. All the combat-capable members gather around her. After some debacle with the captains on how they should divide the search area, they set out to rescues their liege.

Thalia leads the eleventh squad herself, of course. She needs one of the most combat focus forces with her when she faces whoever behind this. If that person is her Jon Snow, then she doesn't want anyone else to interfere with their 'REUNION'.

Then she heard it. An earth-shattering howl from the western forest outside Thraben. Werewolves. A lot of them, at that.

'Oh, fuck me. So Jon had revealed his hands then.' She curses. 'What's next. Would the vampires show up as well?'

"Guardian! Guardian!" A runner comes up to her. "A message from the central command, Sir. Vampires had been sighted crossing the Fang wall."

"FUCK!"

Custom Card of the Chapter

Name: Liesa Fakes Her Death

Mana Cost: 2WB

Types: Enchantment - Saga

Card Text:

I – Choose a creature you control. Sacrifice it.

II – Exile all creatures.

III – Return a card with the same name with the chosen card from the graveyard to the battlefield.

Rarity: Mythic Rare