c/w: graphic depictions of violence
"—survivor!"
Judith's vision snapped back into focus as a hand grabbed hers, pulling her too her feet.
"Judith?" gasped the man who had helped her up.
A man, a mane of black hair. Someone she didn't recognize. "In the flesh." Goddess, her throat was so dry. The amount of stone dust, smoke, and, hell, blood she swallowed sickened her. She glanced at his uniform, or rather lack thereof. "You're not one of mine." Part of her brain thought that was worth a degree of panic, but too much of her mind swirled in a haze.
"It's me!" he said, as if that would solve everything. "Balthus!"
Balthus? She blinked a few times. Eternal Flames take her, this hunk was Balthus? Last she could remember of the Albrecht heir, he'd been a string bean. "Albrecht?" she asked.
He grinned. Huh, guess she was right. "We can catch up later," he said. "I need to get you out of here to safety."
It finally occurred to her to look around and assess the damage, barely making heads or tails of the innumerable piles of what used to be stone in the bridge. Damn, she'd need to see Marianne later. Her mind wasn't working fast. Concussion? Likely.
"Wait, where did you come from?" she asked, letting him lead her to the side of the bridge. "Did you join up with the Alliance?" She stumbled to the ground while Balthus knelt by her, brushing a hand over some of her lighter wounds with his weak White magic.
"I'm with the Coalition," Balthus said. When Judith didn't react, he elaborated. "Shit, guess we didn't get word to you in time. Our messengers must have been slowed down. Anyway, that army over there?" He pointed over his shoulder to the white army invading Myrddin opposite the Alliance. "We're the Seiros Coalition. The Church, Abyss, and the Knights all wrapped up into one. Decided it was time to give the Empire what was coming to them."
"Shit," Judith said, mustering enough energy to be impressed. "That changes some things. And you already cut through the Empire's side of Myrddin."
Balthus shook his head. "Air dropped in. We saw what must have been you trapped in the center of the bridge, so we adapted. Dropped in to support. Sorry it took so long. You get cut off from the army or something?"
"Snuck onto the bridge, needed to take the ballista," Judith said, slowly.
"What ballista?" Balthus asked, confused.
She grinned. "Good."
Letting it go, he moved on. "I need you to stay here. It's not safe to make it back to the Coalition army and the Alliance hasn't made it here yet. I gotta help my guys out."
"Go do what you need to," she slurred. Fuck, Judith, focus. "You find my rapier?"
"It's in your hand," Balthus said.
She looked down. So it was. "Huh."
"Fuck," Balthus muttered, his mask slipping to show his worry over her injuries, physical and mental. "Look, stay here. I'll be back soon. They need me." And he scampered off, leaving her between bodies and burning wood.
She must look like a corpse, Judith mused. Her chest did feel rather warm, though. Looking down, she saw a still smoldering burn that covered her torso. Blood leaked out of her steadily where the flesh hadn't become charred and black.
"That's a problem," she said, to no one but herself.
"That was dangerous."
Raphael nodded, gingerly sitting down on the road beside a ruined house. Dead were arrayed around him, he their artist of demise. The area was quiet now, most of the Alliance army moving further into the city.
Marianne didn't look at the fallen as she knelt by his side. "Thanks," he said as she began to sew one of his many wounds together with White magic. "For getting me out of there."
She smiled, moving to the next wound. "Hilda told me to keep an eye on you. I'm glad I did."
"Good ol' Hilda," Raphael said, grunting in pain. "Probably saved my ass."
"I ordered what was left of your loyal soldiers to take care of other Gloucester traitors," Marianne said. "Some are already retreating. You scared them off."
"Retreating?" Raphael asked. "To where?"
"Back to Gloucester territory, I assume," Marianne said. "At least, the battalions around here are fleeing. I don't know about the rest of the army."
Groaning, he got to his feet. Or tried, Marianne pushed him back down. "No moving until I tell you to," she said.
"Gotta help rout the traitors," Raphael protested. "If we let them go, Derdriu is open to attack."
"That's a problem for higher in command," Marianne said firmly, keeping her hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. "Not for a badly wounded soldier."
He nearly said he wasn't so badly wounded, but Marianne's glare shut him down. Goddess, when had she been able to muster a look like that? "Alright, fine."
"Good," she approved. "I won't have another Leonie happen at my hands."
He winced, but didn't protest any further.
Mercedes found the Ordelias purely by accident.
She had been on her way to the window they'd chosen for Holst's people to watch, where she would send up a signal flare from. When Holst saw it, he was to commit his army fully and take the city.
But as she turned a corner on the main floor of the property, Sylvia and Amon von Ordelia were being led by a wiry man quickly down a hall.
She ducked behind a banister for half a second before making a stupid decision. "Stop!" she commanded in as deep a voice as she could muster.
The trio turned, revealing the frightened nobles and a man in imperial colors. "Fuck," she could hear him say from her distance.
"Metody—" Sylvia began.
"Go, get to the passage," he commanded, running a hand nervously through his sweaty brown hair. "I'll catch up with you."
The nobles fled while Mercedes nervously stared down the imperial soldier in the spacious hall. Above her, she could hear Dorothea's team fighting.
Goddess, this was a mistake. Why hadn't she brought anyone with her? Sending the signal wasn't supposed to be hard.
"Let's make this quick, girlie," Metody snarled, spinning a curved sword in his hand. He strut forward with nary a thought for caution.
Mercedes folded her hands, a blossom of light billowing from her. It grew brighter and brighter, like the sun in her hands.
Metody flipped the blade right-side-up and dove beneath the blinding spell that shot from her fingertips. White, divine light exploded, doing more to blind her than him.
Getting back to his feet, she could barely see him through sunspots in her vision. Damn! She changed tactics.
When an aura of electricity filled the room, hair standing on end, Metody stopped ten feet from her. He reconsidered her before tossing the sword away. The would-be lightning rod hit the ground as a bolt of lightning struck it.
She tried to change tactics again, only for Metody to punch her square in the jaw. Mercedes yelped, staggering back, before another punch to her temple dropped her to the ground.
"Huh, that was easy," Metody said, pulling a dagger from his belt. "Pity to kill such a cute one, though." The blade flipped in his hand and he rammed it down into the center of her chest near her heart.
Mercedes screamed, hacking blood a second later. Punctured lung? Her mind raced for a diagnosis that she'd never be able to treat.
"Oops, missed," he taunted. Raising the blade again, he let his hand drop. She shut her eyes.
Nothing.
Mercedes opened her eyes, looking at Metody who was suspended in the air, a foot off the ground. His head darted side to side, trying to escape the prison of wind magic he'd found himself in.
"Sorry, honey," Dorothea's voice was vicious, filled with hate. "Got held up at work."
With one hand held aloft and holding Metody captive, she pressed another to Mercedes' chest. White magic saved Mercedes from death, just as she'd taught Dorothea to do.
"As for you," Dorothea snarled, raising her other hand. "This is gonna hurt. A lot."
Dorothea sliced Metody's arm clean off with a razor-sharp slice of wind and electrocuted the wound it left. Mercedes closed her eyes, but couldn't block out the screams.
A minute later, they stopped, and she looked again. The Empire's man was, quite literally, in pieces on the ground.
"No one touches my fiancé," Dorothea muttered. She turned to Mercedes, immediately dropping to her side and kissing her.
"The Ordelias," Mercedes whispered, more out of breath than harmed, "they made for a passage or something."
"I'm on it," Angela's low voice said. "Backup's appreciated, though." She left before an answer was given.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Dorothea asked, cupping her cheek. Mercedes could feel excess White magic at her fingers, ready to act if at all necessary.
"I'm okay. I never sent the flare. You need to." Walking would take a bit of time.
"Damn, one moment," Dorothea said, slipping away. Mercedes pushed herself up, sitting. By the time she did, Dorothea was back.
"Signal's out, will you be okay here?" she asked. Distant warhorns bellowed.
"Go," Mercedes urged.
A parting kiss. "Be just a tick."
Mercedes glanced at Metody as Dorothea dashed away. With a hushed breath, a wisp of fire ignited the corpse. It quickly burned, but did nothing to get the image out of her mind.
"Word from the Archbishop," the messenger said, exhausted. And he would be, if he'd come all the way from Seteth's position. "Ordelia is out of play. The Alliance launched a tandem attack, it seems. Holst holds the city and the Count, plus her husband."
Yuri chuckled. "Thank you. Tell him I've got him a present." They kicked the man on the ground.
"How dare you," growled Lord Acheron on his knees, his head of hair half burned away. He was waterlogged, Yuri having pulled him from the river. "I am a noble of the Alliance!"
Theatrically, Yuri looked around the city of Myrddin and the ruined buildings surrounding them. He looked at the bridge where the battle still surged. "Funny," they said with sarcasm. "Then why did I find you killing Alliance people?"
"I—traitors!" he declared. "The Gloucester soldiers betrayed me! I took down as many as I could!"
"Huh," Yuri said. He drew Begalta from his waist. "See, I honestly don't really care. I'm not Alliance or Empire, so whether you live or die could not bother me less." They knelt down, looking Acheron in the eyes. "This weapon here, this is an executioner's sword. Been wanting to try it out. And figured, since I hate that mustache of yours, you might be a good first test."
Acheron's eyes widened.
"Or, you could make keeping you alive worth my while," Yuri suggested. "Either way, I win. Information, or I remove that blight which is your sense of style from this world. I'm spoiled for choice."
"I was only following orders!" he yelped, caving immediately. "Leander's! And then the new Count's! Lysithea's!"
"Wow," a new voice said. "You got that one to crack quick, Yuri-bird."
"Depressingly so," Yuri said, standing. "You hear that, Acheron? You're a disappointment even at being a prisoner."
He whimpered. Hapi stepped up beside Yuri and looked at Acheron for a moment. She glanced back at Yuri. "May I?"
They nodded. Hapi smashed her foot into his face. Acheron collapsed, unconscious.
"Satisfied?" Yuri asked.
"Yeah, that mustache is awful. Anyway, Queen sent me to get you. They're about to push up the bridge." Hapi kicked Acheron again in the side for good measure.
"Got it. Catherine with her?"
"Yeah. She and Queen are leading the pack. Alliance killed some huge monster on the bridge and the corpse is blocking them. So Queen needs all the help she can get."
"Do me a favor, then," they asked. "Get this one back to Seteth. I assume you're not on bridge detail?"
Hapi shook her head. "Tapped out, almost triggered a monster. I'll be more use back here."
Yuri rested a hand on her shoulder. "Be safe, Hapi."
"You skedaddle, Yuri-bird."
"Just you left," Petra said, face devoid of emotion, advancing on Claude from where Shamir laid splayed over Ferdinand. From his distance, he couldn't see if they were moving.
He swore silently, a foot away from his study's door. If he could just get in—
"We can be making this quick, Claude," Petra said. She scowled at herself. "We can make this quick," she corrected. The sword in her hands, slick with Shamir's blood, trembled.
"You may have given up on us," Claude said, focusing on her. He raised his hands in a slow surrender. "But we haven't given up on you."
She scoffed and walked forward.
"We're working to free Brigid from the occupation, Petra," Claude said. "Ignatz is seeing to it personally. Catherine is helping."
Petra paused. "That doesn't change anything in this moment." She started to walk again.
Instinctively, Claude took a step back. "We will help you, Petra. I don't know what you're having to deal with, but I give you my word we will save Brigid. I vow, on my life."
Five feet away from him, well within striking distance, she stopped. Her eyes watched him for any trace of deceit. "I want to believe you," she admitted. "But I can't gamble with my people's lives."
"So you would doom mine?" he asked. "By killing me? Petra, assassinating me doesn't solve anything."
"It means Edelgard doesn't commit the genocide of my people!" Petra shouted. "I'm sorry, Claude, but you don't know what I have been through." Her accent slipped back in. "I am having—I have to do this, Claude."
He sighed, raising his hands further in the air. "Then I guess there's no stopping you. I have one condition, though."
Petra said nothing, but waited.
"Don't kill any more of our friends," he begged.
"Yeah," she said hoarsely, nodding slowly. Her eyes closed for a moment, preparing her for what was to come.
And then Leonie pressed a long knife to her neck. "No moves, bitch."
To her credit, Petra didn't react. She glanced at the knife, a slender blade with no crossguard. Leonie had her grappled, an arm around her chest and a foot on Petra's.
"Your hand is shaking," Petra said. Claude swore he heard a trace of fear in her voice and she stared at the knife.
Leonie's knife trembled at her neck. "So's yours," she shot back, her voice low and husky.
Petra stilled her hand. "Are you going to kill me, Leonie?"
"Yes," Leonie said. Her teeth grit, determined.
"Even if you cut my throat, I'll have enough time to kill you," Petra said.
Leonie, without hesitation, replied, "I know."
Claude inched to his room, conscious of Failnaught hanging on the wall within. Leonie watched him, understanding something of what he wanted.
"If you come quietly, I won't—"
Petra smashed her elbow back into Leonie's stomach. The orange haired woman grunted and went for the kill, but the knife missed the mark, sinking into her shoulder.
Petra howled, more anger than pain, and knocked Leonie away. She took one look at Claude, then glanced at Leonie who already was nearly on her feet.
She ripped the knife out of her shoulder and threw it to the floor. Turning, she leapt at the window, breaking the glass with her body, entering the night.
Like flicking a switch, he and Leonie acted. Him, running to his friends' sides, and Leonie screaming for a healer.
"I'm impressed," Holst said, standing outside the Ordelia's estate. "Claude always picks the best."
Holst was certainly Hilda's brother. Tall and stocky, his pink armor and hair stuck out like a sore thumb. And that he went to battle with jewelry on? Dorothea quite liked him.
Dorothea smiled at the compliment, albeit tiredly. "It's to better the world, Lord Holst. We just rose to the occasion." Mercedes had an arm around her, tired. "What's next?"
Holst glanced at Ordelia City. "Need to mop up any last resistance. Once word hit that we had the Count and her husband in custody, the citizens put up no resistance. We've got four out of five districts under control; I expect the last to fall within the hour."
"And after that?" she asked.
"I take the army south to liberate Hrym. I foresee little to no resistance there, the Empire has no reason to hold it. They've treated the people like shit over the years, it'd be more trouble than worth," Holst said, scratching his chin. "Then, I join back up with our main army." He looked at them, appraising. "You two got any orders after this? Offer is open to join up with us. Could always use good spellcasters."
"We'll think about it," she said.
He nodded and stepped away to speak with some of his other officers. The estate had quickly become his command center.
"Can we find somewhere to rest?" Mercedes asked, exhausted. "Or are we needed?"
Dorothea shook her head. "No, we're off duty. We did our part. We can rest." She guided Mercedes back into the house, to the dining room where there were chairs aplenty that Holst's people hadn't already made use of.
"Thank you," Mercedes murmured, as Dorothea pulled out a chair for her. "I'm sorry, just seeing you do that…it was difficult to watch."
"I'm sorry," Dorothea said, kneeling in front of her chair. She grabbed Mercedes' hands and squeezed them. "You shouldn't have had to watch that."
"Did it have to be so…destructive?" Mercedes asked, closing her eyes.
Dorothea bit her lip. "He was going to kill you. I wasn't going to let that happen."
"You don't need to define your love with violent acts." Her expression was somber. "I love you—and always will. You are my eternity, my blossom in the sun. You don't need to prove it when I know it to be true."
The songstress bowed her head, long tresses hiding her face. "Mercie, I didn't mean it like that. I saw him hurting you and I just saw red."
"Shh," Mercedes whispered. "I know. But anger like that, it isn't healthy."
"Wouldn't you be furious had our positions swapped?" Dorothea asked, not maliciously. Her curiosity was genuine.
"Yes," Mercedes admitted. "Probably even more so." She held Dorothea's hand tightly. "I don't condemn you, my love, I just want to help. I don't want to see you be a monster for my sake."
Dorothea smiled softly. "I would walk through fire for you, Mercedes. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. But I will remember what you said."
"Thank you," Mercedes whispered, bending down and kissing her on the forehead.
Lorenz had pushed too far and still hadn't found Judith. But he'd found someone else.
The woman who could only be Ladislava stood before him, dead wyvern pincushion not far away. In her hands, an axe as black as the Death Knight. Like the knight's scythe, it too emanated a dark aura.
Alone, he stood, faced with her in the center of Myrddin. The mysterious second army that had appeared was advancing quickly, but not fast enough to back him up. If they even were allies.
He brandished his lance. "Ladislava," he called out. "I've got a friend who will be disappointed he missed you. Ferdinand would love to be the one to kill you."
She narrowed her eyes. "That runt better be glad he's not where you stand now." Ladislava spun the axe in her hands, dropping into a lower stance. "Cuz I wouldn't give him the mercy of death. It's back to Enbarr for the traitor."
"And death is to be my end?" Lorenz asked, mirroring her.
Ladislava spat. "Killing the commoner general would be my privilege. Her majesty will pin a medal on me if I bring your head back."
"Commoner general," he mused, face hardening. "Monster, I took you for. Hypocrite, I did not."
"I worked my way up through the Astral Knights," she shot back. "You were handed everything."
"And yet to command them, all it took was the murder of your commanding officer." The glyphs on Lorenz' lance warmed at his touch. He began to circle her. "Bet you're the pride of the Empire with that, idol for any petty lieutenant with ambition and a chip on their shoulder."
Ladislava growled. "I'm gonna make your death hurt, bastard."
He smirked. "If Ferdinand can survive getting stabbed by you multiple times, I don't think I have much to worry about."
She roared, charging forward.
Lorenz ran a hand down his lance, small cracks appearing down the shaft. Each began to glow with red-orange light, as if miniature magma veins pulsed in the metal. It ignited; a column of flame in Lorenz' hand—Dorothea's own personal invention. A surge of power from his Crest kept back the heat, but only for him.
He ducked out of the strike, moving left. His flame lance caught her leg, burning Ladislava more than cutting her. She swore loudly, dancing back.
"What the hell is that?" she asked, shaking off some of the pain.
There would be no response. Instead, Lorenz slammed the butt of the lance on the ground, catalyst for his magic, and a moment later the Eternal Flames themselves converged on her position from the stone she stood on.
Ladislava screamed, her own flesh boiling under the heat. She scampered back, but damage was done. Fierce burns littered her skin, a menagerie of everything color from red to black.
"You fucker!" she shrieked.
Lorenz brushed back some of the hair that had slipped from his ponytail. He raised the lance for another attack, but Ladislava charged in for another strike.
He anticipated it, bringing his lance to both hands. The metal caught the axe, the black vapor from it sucking the light of his fire away. Lorenz pulled back a step, then jumped forward, scoring a hit on her armor.
She retaliated, the flat of her axe knocking the lance aside for enough of a moment to smash into his armor with another strike, placing a dent in his breastplate. The lance swung out, the flames forcing her back.
"Not bad," he said. "But looks like this is all she wrote." Lorenz pointed behind Ladislava where the second army advanced.
His eyes widened as he focused on them. At the vanguard, Catherine, her own hurricane amidst the imperials.
But beside her, a ghost, Professor Byleth Eisner, swinging her whip-sword with fervor. Her green hair was unmistakable, along with the Sword of the Creator. Her expression locked in cold concentration, seeing only the enemies before her.
"But she's dead," he mumbled, astounded.
"No, you are!" Ladislava yelled, burying her axe into his stomach in the same maneuver that brought Leonie low. The flame lance left his hand, the magic extinguishing as it fell away.
The swing knocked him off his feet. His back hit the stone and he slid a foot before stopping. Blood poured from his chest, breastplate split.
The axe, he thought, did it have an enchantment to cut through armor?
Ladislava stood over him. Lorenz moved his fingers to cast, but her boot fell atop it, shattering bone. He screamed.
"Don't talk so tough now, boy." She chuckled, out of breath, raising her axe overhead to finish him. "Don't worry, I'll send Aegir to meet you soon."
Someone tackled her to the ground before the strike fell. "Go!" shouted Judith, half cut open and bleeding. She slammed an elbow down against Ladislava's neck. "Kid, go!"
He rose to his feet, holding out a hand to cast. Fire glowed at his fingertips. Now was his chance to burn the woman alive like he'd promised her.
Neither of them saw the knife.
Ladislava wrenched the blade free from her belt and jabbed it into Judith's side. Withdrawing it as the pain hit the Hero of Daphnel, she jammed it into her throat.
"NO!" screamed Lorenz.
Judith's body was kicked off Ladislava, limp.
Lorenz was on top of her, bringing back his fist. He didn't cast, there was no need. Fury was all he needed. His gauntlet collided with her face as he punched her again and again.
And again. And again. And again.
Teeth, bone, and blood were all that were left when he pulled his fist back, her skull collapsed. His purple gauntlet couldn't be called purple, just crimson.
He didn't care, scrambling to Judith. Gingerly, Lorenz grabbed her shoulder and rolled her onto her back.
"Judith! Judith!" he called, patting himself for a vulnerary he knew he didn't have, attempting to recall White magic he didn't know. One of her hands reached for something and he took her hand, squeezing.
Judith von Daphnel looked up at him with dim eyes and opened her mouth to speak. "…regrets," she whispered, blood bubbling from the wound in her throat. She looked at him, unseeing.
The light left her eyes, and the Hero of Daphnel passed from this life.
Author Notes: You know what's better than a double update? A triple update. Surprise, next chapter goes up tomorrow, though it isn't part 3 of this sequence. You'll see why it's being included in this update sprint.
Editing Notes:
7/26/2021: Minor grammar adjustments.
1/7/2022: Minor grammar adjustments.