c/w: themes of graphic violence and death

FATHER!

He screamed as loud as he could to no avail. Caspar's mouth did not move. His vision and mind were not his own, as if there was an interloper in his skull.

No, this is my body, he insisted as his hands-that-were-not-his brought the axe into a clash against Victor's. It is mine.

But try as he might, he could not break through, as if shackles weighed him down. Fervor or no, whatever Myson had done to him had lost him all motor functions.

Victor leapt back and shouted, "Caspar, snap out of it!" His voice was distant, muddled. Like speaking underwater.

I'm trying, father! His mouth did not respond.

"Caspar!" Victor pled. "Wake up!"

Locked away in his mind, Caspar grit his teeth. He would not allow Myson to have this victory. His efforts redoubled.

They left the horses outside of the fort. Dawn had come, but it was just as dark with the storm raging above. Rain came in a downpour, as if it were the fury of the Goddess herself, though her mind was elsewhere.

He'd pulled back, shocked. "Byleth? What was…"

She'd frozen, astonished she'd done that. "I—I'm sorry, I thought—"

Claude grabbed her hand, stopping her from running away. "Byleth, do you…?"

Byleth looked away. "I—I think so. I'm sorry, this is wrong, I shouldn't have—"

He kissed her briefly and she melted into it. He pulled back, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you did," he whispered. "I didn't think you felt this way."

"I don't think I knew until a minute ago," she admitted.

"We should talk about this," he said after a moment's hesitation. "After the battle."

"Byleth!" Yuri called.

She snapped out of the memory and back to the present, the rain a cold reminder she wasn't with Claude. "I'm here."

Yuri gave her a doubtful look, but continued. "Give me a minute to scale the wall, then I'll throw the rope down. If I run into trouble, I'm coming down the hard way." They had a rope over their shoulder, which would be Byleth's ticket up to the wall.

"What's the hard way?" she asked.

She was given a cocky grin that she hadn't seen from Yuri in a long time. "Improvised." He turned to the wall and found hand-holds amidst the stone.

Her eyebrows raised into her hair until vanishing as Yuri proved good on their word. They could climb the wall, sheer as it was, like a lizard. Their fingers gripped chipped segments of stone that water would roll off of, centuries worth of erosion proving enough for the Mockingbird.

And she'd called bullshit when he'd told her he could climb the walls of Merceus. Guess they all had hidden talents. And it was stealthy, unlike a wyvern dropping them off.

Plus, she thought as she looked up to the sky, no one would be flying in this. Thunder broke the sky in half in response to the lightning.

Claude…

Focus, By, she chided. They'd make it through this. They'd survive, and they'd talk about things after. Like whether what she felt was love or not.

"I think it's too soon to think in terms of that," Catherine said, when she'd hunted the woman down. "Don't think about it like love. Just figure out if you like being near him and if you're attracted to him. I didn't fall for Shamir at first sight. That took years."

It comforted her, and stilled her trembling and terror. Memories of Mercedes were still fresh, as if mocking her, telling her that she'd never find someone and have it work out.

A rope dangled down in front of her. Byleth looked up and gave it a tug. It held, anchored well to whatever he'd attached it to.

Hand-over-hand, she began to climb. The wind blew her back and forth like a pendulum. It was like holding onto a wet snake, liable to slip from her fingers at a moment's notice.

Falling would mean injury, and that meant Myson would escape.

Determination brought her to the top, and Yuri grabbed her hand, pulling her up. "You alright?" he asked, as she breathed heavily.

"Hate climbing," she muttered, words lost in the wind. Instead, she nodded and Yuri accepted it.

"No one's on the walls," Yuri said, voice raised to reach her over the growing thunder. "I don't know where anyone is."

"Could Lorenz have already attacked?" she asked. "Drawn the defenders away to the front?" Lorenz was to attack from the north while they climbed the western wall.

"Maybe, but he'd be early," Yuri said. "You need a minute to rest?"

She nodded, still catching her breath. "You know what Myson's capable of?"

"He's a mage," Yuri said, "but you already knew that. I suppose he uses Dark if he's Agarthan, but when I knew him, he specialized in wind."

"Ferdinand cut his arm off," Byleth said. "But when he was Aelfric, he had both."

"Could be fake, or something," Yuri said. "Something to exploit."

In the distance, there was a low drone that grew steadily louder. "Do you hear that?" she called.

"The thunder?" they asked.

"That's too long to be thunder!" Byleth yelled. In fact, now that she paid attention, it was more akin to a roar. A huge, collective roar.

Yuri's eyes flashed and they ran across the wall, all sense of caution abandoned, and looked down into Merceus.

"Byleth!" they yelled. "You're gonna need to take a look at this!"

She ran to his side and peered down into the fort proper, through the rain and wind.

"Oh, fuck."

Lorenz was glad he tied his hair back. He was already soaked, but at least he didn't have hair in his eyes.

"Mages!" he yelled, his voice raised over the storm. "Prepare casts!"

At his side, Dorothea began to weave the incantation. It was far too wet for fire, which ruled out what they did at Bergliez. But Dorothea, ever their magical ace, had another idea.

At their backs, all of their practitioners skilled with lightning prepped their spells. The cacophony of electricity filled his ears, louder than even the tempest above.

Dorothea held a lightning spell of her own. Her brow was creased, and sweat from the concentration mixed with rain. "Ready," she said to him.

Lorenz raised a hand in the air. "On my count!"

There was a convenient emblem in the gate, the Empire's coat of arms. It was a small thing, but it made for an easy target.

"Three!"

Dorothea stretched a hand up like he did, her own spell traveling to her fingertips.

"Two!"

She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

"One!"

In tandem, the dozens of mages launched their spells, but not at the gate. No, their target was the lightning rod that was Dorothea's arm. For a brief second, Dorothea was a superconductor handling electrical magic in a quantity no one had ever dared.

As the spells traveled to her hand, she quickly lowered her hand and cast her own spell towards the gate, towards the crest on it. With it, dozens of bolts of lightning conjoined into a singular violent bolt. It slammed into the gate with the force of a battering ram.

That wouldn't be what brought the gate low. No, it was the thunderclap that followed. The shockwave blasted the gate off its hinges and into the fort.

The army cheered, a thunder of their own, while Dorothea fell to her knees. She was alive, but checking herself for injury. Mercedes was already at her side, healing superficial burns that had marred her. Sparing a glance at Lorenz, she nodded her okay.

Now was his cue. "Forward, advance!" he called out. The mages allowed the melee fighters to pass them into the charge.

A roar echoed from within Merceus. Figures started pouring out of it, shambling on two feet or crawling on all fours.

His eyes widened, memories of Remire brought to the front of his mind. "No," he breathed. "No, no, no!"

Like a tsunami, the experimented humans clashed with the Alliance and Coalition forces.

"Dear Goddess…"

Claude silently echoed Hilda's sentiment, and would have articulated it had he not been battling the wind. Tishtar flapped her wings with all her might, doing her best to not succumb to the gale. In his right mind, Claude would never take her into a storm.

But as he looked down at the three-way war going on in Merceus, that thought was far from his mind. Imperial, Bergliez, and whatever manner of creature the Agarthans had created. All killed one another with little regard.

"All that preparation," he whispered to himself, "for naught." They'd come to Merceus expecting another Bergliez. But clearly, they were wrong.

A buffet of wind crashed into them, Tishtar screeching. Claude came back to the present moment and yelled, "Tishtar, dive!"

The alabaster wyvern was all too happy to do so, tucking her wings in and plummeting. The lower altitude meant for more favorable winds, allowing them to touch down as lightning illuminated the battlefield.

"We can't fly in this!" Hilda shouted.

"I have to get back to Lorenz!" Claude said. "He needs to know what's happening in here."

Hilda grit her teeth. "Then leave me here, you'll fly better on Tishtar without my weight."

"I'm not leaving you!"

"I'll rendezvous with Byleth, I'll be fine," she shouted over howling winds and battle. "I'll help them with Myson."

He hissed, not liking the idea. But if there was one person he trusted, it was Hilda. "Fine, but if the storm lets up, I'm coming back for you all."

Hilda slid off Tishtar. "Get going, Claude. Like you said, Lorenz needs to know what's happening in here."

Claude reached down and grabbed her shoulder. "Don't die, Hilda."

She scoffed. "Tell that to yourself, Leader Man."

Sparing the briefest of smiles, Claude tugged the reins on Tishtar. Reluctantly, though with trust in her rider, they took to the sky. Any Fódlan rider would be a leaf in the wind, it was only credit to his Almyran training that he could hold on. Though true credit belonged to Tishtar, a true-bred Almyran wyvern. Paltry storms would not be the end of her. The sky was hers.

Hilda watched him vanish into the rain, a white speck in fog. Behind her, just over the noise, she heard, "Bring the rider down!"

She whipped around, seeing two archers firing blindly into the wind with no avail. Between them, stood a man unfortunately familiar.

Caspar.

"Shit," Hilda whispered, lifting Freikugel.

Across Adrestia, where the sun peeked through a quilt of storm clouds and rain had yet to arrive, Ignatz took comfort in the breeze as they flew above the clouds.

Where Claude flew with the energy of youth—he and Tishtar alike in their speed through the air—Nader and his mount flew steadier. There was experience there, between them, that was clear as day.

Aldebaran had taken a liking to Ignatz the night before, something Nader said rarely happened.

"Ignatz," Nader said, "are you ready?"

He nodded before remembering Nader could not see him. "Yes," he said. Ignatz pulled the bow off his back, a regular sized silver weapon. His Longbow was too bulky to use effectively while mounted, which he'd discovered at Varley. Now, he took precaution. Instead of his usual battle garb, he wore a stolen imperial uniform necessary for the plan.

Nader yelled a word in Almyran. The scores of other wyvern riders near them heard, and relayed it to the ones out of range of Nader's voice. The communication in the air legion was akin to a ripple in a pond.

As commanded, all the riders retrieved their weapons: long chains with a curved sickle attached to the end like a long hook.

The night before, Ignatz had asked about them. Nader had laughed, and explained that they were the reason no pegasi had ever breached Almyra. He pressed for more, but Nader said it'd be easier to show him tomorrow.

Nader spun his like one might spin a bola, warming his wrists up. Leaning down, he said to Aldebaran, "Ready, partner?"

The wyvern gave a low growl in response, knowing battle was near. Nader patted him on the side. "Show me the fury of Almyra."

Aldebaran roared like a mythical dragon, nearly shredding Igntaz' eardrums. The wave of sound pierced the cloud barrier and Nader held his fist in the air. All across the sky, wyverns echoed Aldebaran in concert, though none as loud.

And so the Almyran charge began, with Nader spurring Aldebaran down beneath the clouds in a dive. Behind him, the rest of the riders followed.

Igntaz closed his eyes as the passed through the clouds, opening them as he felt the moisture fade. The Almyran ground forces neared the imperial army. But that was not their focus. Ignatz' attention turned to the scores of pegasi riders in the sky above the clashing armies, waiting to engage.

That wait would cost them. Between heaven and earth, pegasi riders looked up. The roars of wyverns prevented any means of communication between them, far-too-quiet words dying on the wind as commanders tried to issue orders to counter what they knew was coming.

Nader palmed the sickle in hand as they dived past the nearest pegasus. With practiced ease and superior velocity, he hooked the blade around the pegasus' wing, right at the joint that connected it. Aldebaran continued to dive, the chain pulling taught less than a second later. Ignatz felt a moment of resistance before the hooked blade severed the pegasus' wing from its body.

The rider screamed, dead without any of her blood shed. The pegasus began to fall from the sky, unable to sustain flight with one wing. The woman continued to scream, falling to the ground below.

Every Almyran rider did the same, severing wings from the riders' mounts. They did not kill the imperials. Why do what falling at terminal velocity could do better?

The pegasus riders who had been spared the initial attack scattered, breaking into haphazard formations. The Almyrans did the same, and then Ignatz saw firsthand what Almyran air dominance was.

Nader was an artist with his sickle, Aldebaran reading his every movement. "There is a reason most Almyrans train with the same mount from when they enlist," he told Ignatz the night before. "The bond we forge is more powerful than any muscle we can flex."

He hurled the sickle at the nearest rider, catching her breastplate. Shouting in his native tongue, Nader gave his commands to Aldebaran. They turned impossibly midair, pulling the woman from her saddle. As she tumbled, she fell off the hook and to the ground below.

Nader barely looked, eyes to higher in the sky. He threw the sickle in the air, catching a pegasus flying above. The arc of the blade was just right, using the beast's momentum against itself. The blade cut right through bone, shredding the wing without Aldebaran even needing to move.

But Nader's wyvern was far too clever to allow wasted movement, already focused on the next target. While Nader dispatched foes with calm ease, Aldebaran lined up his attacks. Whenever he felled an imperial, the next was there at his hands.

Ignatz looked away to see if it were an anomaly, but it wasn't so. While Nader was clearly the most talented, his soldiers were not far behind. What had started as a larger force of pegasus riders had already dwindled to less than half of their number. Few Almyrans fell, still reaping the element of surprise and disorganization with their well-honed coordination.

Two minutes passed while Nader killed more. Ignatz pulled his bow off and held it in hand, knowing that the wild and unpredictable movements of Aldebaran would yield him no clean shots. Well, unpredictable to him.

Like dead birds, pegasi dropped from the sky, their riders with them, as the Almyran ground forces attacked. As far away as he was, Ignatz could see the imperial front-line floundering as they watched blood rain from above.

"Alright, you ready?" Nader yelled, Aldebaran pausing his search for their quarry.

"As I'll ever be," Ignatz replied.

"He'll be on the backline," Nader yelled, spurring Aldebaran forward. Enough of a hole had been cut through the pegasi that none even tried to stop him, focusing instead on merely surviving or fleeing.

Ignatz gripped his bow tightly. Nader would drop him at the back, he'd use the confusion to sneak in and kill Arundel. He untethered the straps of the saddle, preparing to jump. The imperial uniform would help dissuade some eyes, though it would not be perfect. He breathed, knowing the result would come down to Catherine and Shamir's training.

And it would have, had an errant lightning bolt not been flung into the sky. By chance or design, it hurled so close to its mark that Aldebaran reflexively flew out of the way, a sudden jerk of movement only someone as trained as Nader could weather.

Ignatz was not so lucky. He fell from the saddle head first, careening to the ground. And it would have spelt his end, were it not for Nader's quick thinking. The same sickle-hook that killed countless saved his life, hooking his leg brace. Like a pendulum, he hung in the sky perilously as Aldebaran continued his descent.

"Kid!" yelled Nader. He started to pull the chain up, but a bout of arrows said otherwise. Aldebaran was forced to take evasive maneuvers again. The hook slipped from the metal of the brace.

Ignatz fell.

Catherine fell back to Shamir's position, the glow from the Inexhaustible her only semblance of light in the storm. They'd not even made it past the initial gate into Merceus yet, the onslaught of whatever these people were too great. Soldiers died left and right, facing an enemy unrelenting.

A nova of fire exploded not far away from them, Lorenz holding the column of flame in his hands that his lance was. The rain did not douse it, its magic persisting. Alliance and Coalition forces rallied around him, their beacon.

"We gotta cut through faster!" Catherine yelled. "We're bottlenecked at this gate, the army can't get in!"

"Yeah, I know!" Shamir shouted back, firing into the rain. None of her shots hit their exact mark in the wind, though the fact they actually hit anyone at all was no doubt credit to her superior skill. "You got a plan for it?"

"No, I hoped you did," Catherine replied, cleaving a stray imperial in half with Thunderbrand.

"Then we'll have to hope Lorenz—" Shamir cut herself off, diving back from a red blade swinging at her.

Only it wasn't a red blade, but rather a red glow around a black sword. A familiar shaped sword, another Thunderbrand.

A man held it, face impassive. His face was pale, soaked with rain, but he still looked like the pictures Catherine had seen as a noble girl in Charon.

The Elite himself, or at least someone who look eerily like him, stood before her. He raised his Thunderbrand, as if in challenge.

"What the fuck—" Shamir's words were lost in the wind as Catherine stepped in front of her.

"Shamir, cover me," Catherine said through clenched teeth. There'd be time later to worry and figure out why Charon stood in front of her. Though she expected it had to do with Deadlords. If they could raise the dead, why not the long-dead?

"Be careful," Shamir said.

Catherine nodded, then met her ancestor in battle.

The archers lay dead as Hilda swung Freikugel at Caspar. He ducked out of the way, sliding on the slanted rooftop. Rain rushed down the roof past their feet, making an unstable surface even more dangerous. One wrong move would send them slipping.

"Caspar!" she tried again, shouting over the deluge. "Caspar, you don't have to do this!"

She got no response, or even any emotional reaction from him. Goddess, had he really committed to the cause so hard.

"If that's what you want," she whispered to herself. "Then you leave me no choice."

Caspar lifted his silver axe and stalked towards her, his black and gold Bergliez armor giving him the appearance of a reaper come to call. Hilda gritted her teeth. Like hell she'd fall here.

His axe whipped out quickly, a play at a glancing blow to her side. With the long handle of Freikugel, Hilda blocked it and twisted out of the way as Caspar tried to shoulder check her.

One hit from either of their weapons would spell the end for the other. Rain aside, a wound from an axe wasn't something you could walk away from.

Pulsing red, Hilda returned her own strike with Freikugel, the axe's tines scraping the armor of her opponent. Paint chipped off, leaving a scratch in the breastplate. She followed through with the momentum, risking her footing, and spun on the spot. Hilda managed to stay standing, but the strike missed and sent her stumbling.

Caspar gambled on an overhanded chop, the silver crescent cutting a sheen through the air as lightning reflected in its polished blade. His attack missed, crashing into the roof.

Right where I want you, she thought. Not giving him a moment, Hilda leapt in the air for a jumping attack forcing him to choose between safety and keeping his weapon.

He chose safety, backing away and leaving his weapon. His face still did not change expression, locked in its stoicism.

"Sorry, Cas," she apologized, swinging Freikugel in an overhanded strike of her own. It descended onto Caspar.

He slammed his hands up, catching both sides of Freikugel's head in a clap. The blade was stopped inches from his face, held still by Caspar's sheer strength.

"What—" Hilda started to say before Caspar turned his body, using her grip on Freikugel against her. Hilda tumbled to the side, losing Freikugel in the process as she was forced to catch herself, lest she fall from the roof.

Caspar looked down at her, holding Freikugel. He glanced at the axe, taking the handle in his hands. Hilda grinned, not interfering with his oncoming fate. Soon, he'd be no better off than Miklan, a mindless black beast.

But the axe did not cannibalize him in dark tendrils. It glowed red, like when she held it.

Her eyes widened in realization. "They gave you a fucking Crest of Goneril." Hilda's voice shook, terrified, recognizing the white hair.

Caspar said nothing, advancing on the unarmed woman as he held the Relic.

He was snagged from the air, like a fisherman would catch fish in a net.

Dark energy coalesced around Ignatz' throat, holding him in the air. Slowly, he was pulled to the ground diagonally, towards the source.

Towards his quarry. Volkhard von Arundel held a hand aloft, eyes dead focused on him.

"An Alliance man," he said, "flying with Almyrans whilst wearing an imperial uniform. You, boy, are something to take in."

Ignatz was suspended five feet above the ground, helpless. Arundel stood here, not in the backline like they expected, but in the middle of the army. Soldiers surged around him, protecting him. There would be no quietly assassinating the noble.

"Curious," Arundel continued. "I expected some form of assassination attempt, but to send a cripple? My, the Alliance war effort is more pressed than I expected."

Ignatz tried to speak, but the Dark bonds afforded him no control over his vocal cords. He hung in the air, helpless.

Arundel's guards jeered at Ignatz, mocking him, but he could scarcely hear any of it over the battle. The bonds tightened, as if to strangle him.

And then they loosened. Ignatz' eyes widened as he saw Aldebaran swoop down, Nader hanging off the chain of his sickle. He'd secured it to his saddle and held it like a rope, his axe in his other hand.

The ridiculous ploy served to distract Arundel's hold on him as he ducked out of the way of the axe. His guards took aim with bow and javelin, firing at Aldebaran as he flew away.

Ignatz wasted no time, ripping the shortsword he kept sheathed to his back from its baldric and ran at Arundel. Volkhard saw him, eyes narrowing, as he waved a hand in a familiar way, a way Ignatz had seen Hubert do in the Holy Tomb.

A teleportation spell.

Forgoing the attack, Ignatz instead reached out and grabbed Volkhard's lapel. He felt his insides stretch as they tore through space, and next he knew he was on the ground.

"Persistent child," Arundel snarled, backing away. They were on a hill, not terribly far from the battlefield.

Ignatz stood up, his bow gone. He'd be fighting with his sword. Saying nothing, Ignatz slowly closed the gap between them.

"Hmph." Arundel grabbed the sword at his side. It was a heavy looking weapon, a blade of material Ignatz didn't know. Flickers of electricity trailed along the blade, like a beast kept at bay. "I don't need guards to kill a crippled boy."

Ignatz seethed, but didn't let the man goad him. "This cripple's going to kill you."

"Is that so?" Arundel taunted. He waved his greatsword, the blade light in his hand. "Somehow, I disagree."

Ignatz took adopted a low stance, just like Shamir taught him. He angled his sword up, ready to deflect like Catherine had always instructed. He took a breath.

Arundel made the first move, pointing his blade towards Ignatz. From its tip, lightning discharged like a hammer. Akin to a thoron spell, it sailed through the air faster than Ignatz could comprehend. The magical attack hit him in the shoulder, throwing him back and to the ground.

He could feel his skin burning, fabric from the imperial uniform but a memory. It was his left shoulder, not his dominant, thankfully.

"Pathetic," Arundel said. His sword lost much of its glow, but was slowly building back up in brightness. Recharging, Ignatz realized.

Rolling to his feet, Ignatz pushed the pain down and closed the distance with a run. He swung the blade in a feint, the pulled it back and stabbed forward.

Arundel saw through it, deflecting the stab with the flat of his blade. He kicked forward, connecting with Ignatz' knee. Ignatz stumbled, bringing his sword up just in time to block an attack that would have killed him.

The noble's face scrunched in annoyance before kicking Ignatz again. This time he was ready and braced himself. It hurt, but he took it.

Realizing that distance served him better, Arundel ducked out of Ignatz' follow up, sliding backwards. He swung the greatsword as a deterrent, keeping Ignatz away.

The sword glowed again, as brightly as it first had.

Ignatz' eyes widened and Arundel's mouth twisted into a grin. Leaping to the side, Ignatz tried to get out of the way. And he nearly did, the bolt clipping his arm. He fell to the ground, hard, and winced, pushing himself back up.

There was pain in his leg, where his old injury was.

Ignatz looked down and stopped breathing. His leg brace was in pieces on the ground, damaged from where Nader had hooked him with it and finally breaking from the fall.

Arundel noticed, and laughed. "Well, you tried. Tell your Goddess that when you see her." He held the blade up again, only half charged.

Lightning shot from the blade, straight at Ignatz.

Author Notes: Next chapter goes up tomorrow for the conclusion of this arc. I appreciate your patience waiting for this, these chapters are pretty exhausting to write with how much fight choreography I have to work through (and I especially struggle with axe fight scenes).

Arundel's sword comes from the unused weapon in the game data, Ridill, which was Thales' personal weapon. It was a big fucking sword that shot lightning.

Editing Notes:
2/17/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments.