Chapter 30 The Purifier

A bit late but here we go. Happy Halloween everyone.

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Saurian96: … Let the bodies hit the floor. Let the bodies hit the floor.

Good one!

The devotee of Liesa some called Carla usually sees herself as a master manipulator. Her plans are always flexible. Her contingency plan has its own set of contingency plans, which also has its contingencies. She had waited for a long time for this day, where those fools who worship Avacyn the betrayer would pay for their ignorance. They will soon realize that Avacyn will forsake them too as she did her own sister.

Still, What the fuck is going on.

She expects that the bloodsuckers would not let this opportunity pass. The necromancers weren't subtle when they raised their army. Thraben is caught off guard only because of the sheer speed of such gathering. Surely, the other factions would notice the event and might try to participate, even. In fact, she bet on them to cause some distraction for her to slip away after she achieve her last task. But Werewolves? No. She doesn't suspect those furry fucks to leave their den in Kessig at all.

She should have known that the pup Jon Snow showing up inside the city is an omen of the highest order. Smart boy, that one. Reckless, sure, but also street smart. Not every day she saw a thirteen-year-old boy causing havoc while also bringing some backup in case things get bad.

'Oh shit.' She realizes. 'I promise him help causing distraction. If he thinks that I sell him out, with a whole pack behind him, it could get ugly.'

And by the look of it, her lovely roommate takes the boy's presence inside Thraben personally. If she knows anything about Thalia, there is no way anyone would talk her out of her rage-filled rampage. If those two even catch a glimpse of each other, then ….

"JON SNOW!" Thalia's voices bloom passes her like a deafening clarion.

Shit.

"SHIT!" Shouted back the boy as he runs away at full ram speed while carrying the unconscious lunarch on his shoulder.

WHAT!

This is not going to be good. For them, anyway. It is not that she had anything at stake in any of their successes. Whatever the outcome is, at worst it would be an inconvenience.

Anyway, it is out of her hands now.

"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Thalia's raging scream and barbaric manner, while disturbing in contrast to her proper image, is not unexpected. This kind of situation had happened once before when one of the younger cathar one-sided flirting went a tad bit too far. She had to say, little Thalia did know how to swear that make a sailor shy.

"I'M GONNA GUT YOU LIKE A LYING, CHEATING PIG YOU ARE!"

Okay. Maybe Thalia is too heavily invested in this confrontation. Perhaps she underestimates the bond between the two kids. Didn't Thalia say they knew each other for just a short while? What kind of bullshit character development is this?

"Pssst. Psst." Someone signals her. It's someone unimportant in the corps that she doesn't bother to remember his name, of course. It's Miller, or Millard, or something. Irrelevant. "Hey, Carla. Do you know what's going on about? Who's that boy? Wait. Is that the lunarch?"

Clearly, this guy didn't get in with critical thinking. She cannot blame him either. The church doesn't emphasize using the brain unless it's intense investigation and/or gaining confessions. But to ask a question that's obvious, what did he expect?

'Yes, an acquaintance whose name I cannot recall. What you see is Thalia's boy crush who is kidnapping the Lunarch. Also, he is likely a werewolf. Have a nice day. A month worth of salary I bet they fucked before. I don't care whether it doesn't make sense logistically or anatomically. I will go with that. Anyone taking on the offer?' Stupid. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. 'I am surrounded by betrayer worshiping idiots.'

"Did he just jump into the sewer?" She heard one of them shout. They look surprised too, for some reason. By that moment she is confirmed that she was right. She is surrounded by idiots.

"What are you waiting for?" She loudly asks. "Don't just stand there. After him. The lunarch is in peril. I will try to cut him off before he left the city."

With that, she sprints away without looking back, leaving her confused peers behind. There is no way she would go into that sewer. That's what the goons are for. More importantly, she just had her hair and nails done yesterday. That, and a chance of getting away from a likely werewolf ambush while being covered in shit. Had she been, she is not going to live that down.

'To think that today was starting so well. Should have known that some weird shit will happen.'

… 30 minutes later …

If some omnipotent being, for whatever reasons, observes a clusterfuck that happens with Jon Snow and his cathar pursuers, that being would find it fit to hum a sacred tune from the time immemorial called "Yakety Sax", or commonly known to the layman as "Benny Hill". For Jon Snow, however, there is no such privilege.

Thraben's sewer is full of shit. Literally. Considering how tightly packed it is, he should not be surprised, but he is. Of all the holy magic the church uses, a gift from the angels some might say, one would think they find a way to efficiently purify body waste by now. Seriously, a congregate of necromancers would be much cleanlier than this, and they don't even pretend to look good. Then again, it is always expected of the church. They aren't good at solving problems, they are good at hiding them from their followers.

That line of thought, while worth exploring, doesn't help Jon in traversing the obstacle courses he is in. Not one bit. When he sneaked in, he was alone and wasn't in a hurry. Sacrificing some magic to turn off his sense of smell wasn't a problem then, but it is now. Not only that he needs to be ready for anything, but he also needs to be sure that no one would jump at him in an ambush. If he was ambushed while being covered in shit, no one would let him live that down.

It's kind of a universal thing. A multiversal thing even.

At least there aren't any zombies or demon cultists barring his way. Vampires, by their nature, would not sully themselves in the sewer so he doesn't have to worry about those bloodsuckers.

What bothers him, however, is the constant drumming of his own heartbeat. He could feel his blood rushing through his vein. It calls to him. It yearns for the pack. It yearns for the hunt. There is a good reason why his mother doesn't want him near other werewolves. His control while is considered relatively good comes from a subject size of two. That is because the other werewolves either embrace their wild side fully or don't have control at all. The wolf blood still affects his decision when he is near a pack, let alone walk among them. Adding the influences of an elder dragon hiding within his soul, and it would be a disaster waiting to happen. One wrong word to be said, and all he achieved so far today would be for naught.

He knows who is waiting for him outside Thraben, and he isn't a necromancer. No. It's granduncle Tovolar. The old wolf is the kind of your relative that your mother told you to stay away from. While intentionally malicious, Jon was told that his granduncle is a terrible influence and should not be allowed to be with him without her presence. Considering that he just sneaked into a besieged city and kidnap the head of their government, possibly dooming many to death without their leader and his holy protection, it is a wonder what kind of bad influence Tovolar could provide him.

The answer to that question is an ultra-violence slaughter of both combatants and innocents in the greatest hunt Innistrad ever seen before. When the moon shines bright on Innistrad, everything else is their prey to hunt. Even other werewolves. Especially the one that annoys you too much and doesn't watch its back.

Then again, the said hunt happened every full moon, so Jon personally thinks that either granduncle Tovolar is a drama king, or he is full of shit. Possibly the latter, but he would not say that to anyone. For all his shortcoming, granduncle Tovolar is strong enough to stay a leader of his Dire pack. As his mother once said about werewolf's politics, "When one is strong enough, everything is meaningless"

Then Jon suddenly feels dread as he realizes he is about to meet his granduncle while he is literally in deep shit. 'Why in the darkest reach of the blind eternity did he think that escaping via the sewers is a good idea?' A regretful thought came to his mind.

Another thought that came to his mind was 'Will dragon fire burn away all the stench, if yes, how much should he use?' Seriously. He knows he could survive a bit, thanks to his brand of magic making him tough enough and resist enough being turned into a charred corpse. Furthermore, he is reckless enough to do it. Outside the sewer system, of course. Accidentally blowing up the entire Traben tunnels would be counterproductive to his plan, and Sorin would not appreciate it.

It is a simple rule of thumb, really. 'Pissing off your benefactor when you just make enemies out of most factions in the plane is tantamount to suicide.' Yet another phrase he doesn't even know what it means. Why did a finger have its own rule, anyway?

Soon an exit comes to his view. The Lunarch is still unconscious, and his pursuers are still a bit away. If he goes for a full speed as soon as he is out, then there would be nothing stopping him from slipping out of their tracking range. Not that they could track him when they have plenty of things to worry about. But if he wants to cleanse himself in dragon fire then he could forget covering his track. A fire that size would stick out like a sore thumb anywhere.

'Well. You cannot always get what you want.' Jon consoles himself. 'Better letting everyone knows than getting caught looking as I am now.'

Life is simple for Tovolar and his dire pack. The day is good. In the wild, nothing much happens during the day. The night, on the other hand, is always pleasant. Tonight, even more so. His spies told him something is going on around Thraben. Normally, he would not put it to mind. Something always going on around that accursed city. Fang wall, bah. The church could pretend to be civilized all they want; their action shows the truth. Savage, all of them. He knows the truth. The church always hides its wicked ways behind the angel's skirt. Without those wing bitches' protection, they would not be so boldly pretentious. At least in the wild, he and his pack doesn't pretend to be such.

Yet today is different. The news comes to him of how much the dead gathers in the moors. The necromancers are up to something. The attack on Thraben seems likely, but not important. It would not be the first, nor be the last. One thing he would acknowledge about that damn city is that it is near impossible to take. He doesn't pay any attention to it at first. Until his spy comes to him with another news. Arlinn and her boy were spotted in the area, and they had a fight with something fierce if the track was to be believed. One of them said it was a shadow beast, which earned himself a full belly laugh and a smack to the head. Ridiculous. Shadow beast doesn't exist. They say a dragon fire is involved, somehow. But then the track disappears, nothing usual when Arlinn is concerned. That silly girl always has her ways of disappearing and reappearing out of thin air. It seems that she passes it to her boy too.

'Huh. It seems motherhood did something worthwhile with her after all. Still, too much of a church and too little of the wolf in her. He hopes she would come out of that phrase soon.' Thought the pack leader.

Of course, when he heard something about his wayward prodigy, he became interested. Gathering his pack to move toward the city in haste was not ideal but not impossible either. And he is rewarded for it when he knows that Arlinn's little boy is participating in the siege. Or so he thought. His spy told him that Arlinn and the boy were spotted moving into the necromancer's camp. Hah. He knows she would come around eventually.

So, it was not a surprise when he discovered that the boy succeeds where many had failed. He infiltrated Thraben, kidnapped the Lunarch, and came out unscathed. Aside from trekking through the sewer covering in you know what, which he would not let the boy forget, he came out unscathed. What sort of great uncle would he be had he not?

'Wait what is he doing? Why did he drop the kidnapped?'

'Huh.'

.

.

'HAHAHAHAHAHA'

.

"Well. I will be damned. That's one heck of a way to get rid of the stench." He jolly praises. "No doubt it's his mother 's influence. Ha. That's my grandnephew."

The dire pack move as one. There is no need for an order. The communication is null and void when the target is setting himself on fire. By yelling. It must be some sort of powerful magic; it would be better not to ponder about. Doing so only complicated things. Each wolf is entitled to its own secret. To put it lightly, no one wants to get their butt sniffed all the time. They only do it as a customary greeting in their wolf form. Even within the pack they still have a decorum, no matter how animalistic it is. Ironic isn't it. Decorum is usually the first thing that the church seems to disregard when it suits them.

Right now, Tovolar is a very proud werewolf. He is such a good granduncle. Truly. His grandnephew achieves so much even without his guidance, at all. If that isn't a confirmation of how magnificent he raised Arlinn in his pack, he doesn't know what is. A pub always represents its sire; therefore, the pub of his pub also represents him.

Then, as follows all good moments, a killjoy happens. From the burning city, weathered masses of winged bitches' followers pour out like wastewater from the sewer drain. Of course, the boy really makes his mark. They look pissed, and that makes him happy. And if he has anything to say about it, and he is, he will not let them catch up to his grandnephew that easy. Besides, his dire pack comes here for a good fight, being a second after zombies beatdown would do.

"JON SNOW!" A screech thunders from the city. If he isn't mistaken, it is the boy's name. 'So, they know each other.' Tovolar smiles. 'This is getting interesting.'

"SHIT!" loudly spitted Jon. He cut off the fire, something that still seems unbelievable, picks up the downed lunarch, and carry on running. Toward the pack. Unknowingly, but not really. He must have known. He must have sense.

Then again, the boy just went through a sewer for how long? Perhaps his sense is fucked. Or, more likely, he just doesn't care. Why shouldn't he, he must have heard the howl. Anyone but deaf people must have heard the howl.

Anyway, it is about damn time for Tolovar to greet his grandnephew. He couldn't see why Arlinn wants to keep the boy as far away from him as possible. With the forest of Ulwenvald being so big, it wouldn't make sense. He could teach the boy so many things. How to properly hunt. How to properly deal with pesky church followers. How to be the toughest son of bitches Innistrad ever seen, literally and figuratively.

And what is a better bonding moment between the pack than slaughtering the church's lambs that willingly leave their burning city and open themselves to the wild? Perhaps he would let the boy keep that screaming girl who somehow led men and women twice her age to do as he pleased. The two clearly have some history.

'Oh. This is going to be so much fun.'

Thalia is pissed. Very pissed. She thought she hit the limit of her rage when she found Jon in the city. Turns out that it isn't even close. Not even when those bloodsuckers inconveniently show themselves. Not when she has to cut through the burning dead to try cutting the bastard off before he left the city. Not when a few of her battle-brothers showed up from the sewer gate covered in shit and what not. And they smell worse than a hoard of decaying corpses.

No. She is pissed because Jon Snow decides to drop the lunarch like he is a bothersome load and light himself on fire, for some reason. How did he do it? She has no idea. Why did he do it? Fuck if she knows. How did he still stand and walkabout? Shut up and stop asking questions. Something isn't meant to be understood. At this point, she has no fuck left to give to minor details such as these.

Oh yes. Also, the pack of werewolves is converging to Jon's position as well. This will get bloody, but it is nothing new. Her men were battle-hardened and well trained, even though a bit tired. But by Avacyn's holy grace they can still carry on, and a pack of mutt would not stop them. Still, she wishes she doesn't have to divert part of her forces to deal with vampires. But those leeches need to be dealt with. The only good vampires are the dead ones. Well, dead-er than usual.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" She shouts. "YOU CANNOT RUN AWAY, SNOW!"

Then she sees him turn toward her, slowly. Damn that whirly lock of hair. How could it survive the sewer and self-immolation is beyond her. Should she be jealous? Probably not. Did she? Yes. Even as martial as she is, she does take care of grooming her feminine looks. To be beaten in the hair department by a werewolf pup, of all things, is an insult to all females of Innistrad.

Wait. What is she thinking? This isn't about him and her. Even though she wishes it is.

"Lady Thalia. Good evening." He replies with a charming smile that makes her heart melt. And her fist eager to be introduced to his face. "I am glad you are well in this trying time. Though it is a shame we could not meet in a better circumstance."

"SHUT! SHUT UP!" She harshly demands. Her face becomes red like a pitchburn devil. "You will not talk your way out of this, Jon. Return the lunarch and prepare to be judged."

"No." He replies. The bastard has the gall to look at her with an innocent face. Like he has done nothing wrong. "You know I cannot do that lady Thalia. For all our sake, I cannot. There are too many things currently at play. Please believe me that what I do serves Innistrad's best interest."

What the fuck.

'What the fuck is he talking about' Thought everyone in the area, werewolves and humans alike. That last few sentences are either total bullshit of the highest order or some deep shit conspiracy. Or, you know, both.

"Damn, SON! That's the most beautiful bullshit I ever heard." A blooming voice of an elder werewolf rushes past her. "If she is an innocent girl, she would follow you to your den right about now. Too bad, she is a cathar eh? Listen to your old man. Trying to catch dangerous prey is fun and all, but never forget snacking an easy one from time to time. It keeps your skill sharp."

THE FUCK!

"Granduncle!" Awkwardly stumbled Jon. "Please. Don't make this weird."

It meets with booming laughter as if there is no one else around. "I know, I know." Tovolar jovially replied. "You still want to keep up your innocent nice guy persona. I respect that. But son! You just snuck in a besieged city to kidnap her superior. I would go with a bad boy persona if I were you. Listen to the experienced, bitches her age loves bad boys."

T.H.E. F.U.C.K.

"Anyway, how are you doing, son? Hopefully, that silly girl doesn't fill your head with church nonsense much." He then takes a short pause as if something is coming up. "What am I saying? Of course, she didn't. You just kidnap the lunarch. My bad. My bad. Great work, by the way. Even though I still cannot fathom why you didn't just kill him and be done with it."

'Wait. Something is not right here.' Thalia thought. She might not be well versed about werewolves' pack dynamic, but she at least knows how much Alpha's word alone can sway the entire pack. The same as her order, if the leader questions your motive or plan, that should be the end of it. Avacyn knows how many what she thought was a bright idea got shut down hard by Lothar's annoyed comment. But here, what clearly is the pack leader questioning Jon's action, yet he was allowed to carry out. It just doesn't fit in her mind. No. Nothing is right.

Werewolf politic is sure weird.

'Wait a minute. Hold on. Granduncle? Not pack leader or alpha?' A thought hit her. The way that Jon addresses the older werewolf is just not sat right with her. It is too casual. Too familial. Not that she knows. She never had a family, and Lothar would probably not appreciate her calling him father. Nor herself in that matter.

'Hold on. This doesn't important. What we should do right now is to get the lunarch back.'

"Lady Thalia. Please. There is enough death today. Don't waste any more lives." The bastard pleas. "The necromancer wants to unlock the Helvault. We cannot let her do that. Not before I am sure that the city is safe." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I never want Thraben to fall. But I cannot let such an army that size exist on Innistrad. Please, Lady Thalia, believe me. I never intend to hurt you."

Alas, Jon's word fells on deaf ears. Young Thalia swore she would not listen to his lies ever again. And she will not go back on her words.

"Wait!" Interrupted the old werewolf. "Why don't you want the Helvault to be opened. Isn't that where the winged bitches lock those demons that they cannot kill? It should be good for our kind if it is destroyed, even."

"Granduncle. Do you realize that they are our enemy too? Sure, it might benefit us when the church is even more occupied. But if they fall, which is likely, then we probably are next. Well, it is either us or the vampires, and we don't have a proper defense." Jon tries to explain, which is an interesting point to her. "Besides, someone once told me that Avacyn herself is also locked in there alongside some ancient powerful being with ill intent for Innistrad. Trust me, we don't want her out of there."

WAIT. WHAT! WHAT THE FUCK!

"Wait a minute. It is supposed to be an uttermost secret." Jon stumbles. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

It is at this moment when Jon Snow realizes he fucked up. The secret knowledge about Helvault shouldn't be told to others, least someone wants to do something drastic. And he just told it to both the church and an entire pack of werewolves. It isn't a secret that anything the church knows, the demon worshippers know. Actually, everything the common people in the church of Avacyn learn, then every other faction on Innistrad will also learn them in due time. For a major player in the plane, they do sure have spies embedded everywhere. It would not surprise him if there is currently a spy hiding among Thalia's group right at the moment.The only question is that who are they spying for.

Now everyone wants to unlock the Helvault for her personal reason. And it's his fault. Not that he feels guilty about it, but if the situation goes tits up, everyone who knows, and their mother would blame him.

"OOOOO. I See." An unknown feminine voice appears above him. A sound of wing beat follows. "So that where she went. That hypocrite slag, condemning me for colluding with enemies, while she was locked up having a reverse harem to herself."

Well. FUCK.

Custom Card of the Chapter

Name: Bad Gambit

Mana Cost: UB

Types: Sorcery

Card Text: Target opponent reveals their hand. You choose a nonland card from it. Target opponent may discard that card. If they don't, they discard 2 cards.

Flavor Text: "Damn if you do. Damn if you don't"

Rarity: Rare