Lovebirds
Ah, my dear Rosanne. You are safe.
Virion stood on the balcony overlooking the city he'd ruled for most of his life. His heart wept at the sight of the fires and destruction, but he knew most of it was necessary. To remove a parasite, one must burn it out, after all. Although, considering what had happened to a close associate of his, that was a poor choice of metaphor.
"It's so unlike you to just sit there brooding, Lord Virion." Ah, there she was. Cherche giggled, her voice melodic, like a choir's singing flowing through the air. "Our country has been liberated for naught but a few hours, and you are already attempting a new tactic at attracting supple young maids! I suppose I should take this as good news, though."
"You of all people know that my heart is set on only one at the moment," Virion looked back. "She has not rejected me outright, although she has not responded to my advances either. Truly, a maddening conundrum."
"Perhaps this lovely woman of yours wishes to see you squirm for just a bit longer, hm?"
"And there you are, with that biting humor of yours…" Virion looked back over his newly won back city. "Truthfully, I am at a loss for words or actions. For years I have dreamt of this day, to stand here, overlooking our duchy's capital. I was not lying when we stood upon that field; I thought I would be joyful. Filled with glee. But I am not. My mind is still clouded by what lies ahead. Not just rebuilding, but our inevitable clash with Walhart, and the Fell Dragon."
"The children did bring ill tidings, didn't they?" Cherche hummed, standing beside the duke. "Gerome in particular. How my own child grew up to be so… fatalistic and broody I shall never know."
Virion's eyes narrowed. "His parents were murdered by the Fell Dragon," he began. "I know not how, but they were. And they left him alone. I can understand his anger. I do not like it, but I can understand it. I am surprised he associates with any of us at all. Perhaps one of his companions convinced him to fight, one last time."
"Whoever that companion might be, I want to slap them upside the head and shake their hand all the same," Cherche chuckled. "But I suppose you're right, Lord Virion. We most likely died to protect his future, when all we did was make it bleaker. But he is here, now, and we have time to mend that bond. To make things right."
"I died first, dear Cherche," Virion intoned, his voice somber. He looked down, as if unable to look at his city anymore. "Whatever I died for, he hates me for it. I can only imagine what sort of father I was. To prioritize the country over that of my child and heir."
"Lord Virion, he has never said how we died," Cherche said, her voice suddenly serious. "You are drawing radical conclusions. I advise you to stop."
"…you're right," Virion sighed. "It is rather unlike me to look at things so glumly. Truly, I am captured by a fey mood."
"That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" Cherche asked, suddenly cheerful. "To make sure you don't fall into a hole somewhere and rot away. Although I'm sure your corpse would make for an excellent new home for certain insects. Ah, it's been too long since I've started a collection."
"Strange fascinations and, e-er, vaguely frightening words aside, dear Cherche, you know that you are so much more than a simple retainer or friend," Virion continued, looking to the rose-haired Wyvern Rider with a smile on his face. "Your vows to me were voided the instant I left Rosanne, yet you followed my orders and stayed. When the country fell, you returned to my side as if nothing had occurred. Could it be, perhaps? That you have feelings for me?"
"Why, Lord Virion, how scandalous!" Cherche gasped. "A simple retainer having feelings for her Lord? Think of what the servants will say, least of all the nobility!"
"Lovely Cherche, you of all people know that I have never let that stop me when a fair maiden has caught my eye," Virion waxed on. "Or when a fair maiden has had her eye on me, for that matter. Come, then! Tell me I am wrong."
"Is that an order?" Cherche asked, smiling right back. "Lord Virion, I should let you know that ordering your retainer to lie would be beyond cruel."
"So there it is," Virion breathed out. "Interesting. To tell you the truth, dear Cherche, I have never felt this way before. Not for any simple maiden or noblewoman. I have always had my suspicions, but with the arrival of a son from the future, I knew in my heart of hearts, that the Archest of Archers had finally found the one. I had gone into this battle with the knowledge that I would be destroying what little family I had left, even if said family was deranged beyond reasoning. But now I gaze upon you, and the son we will have, and I remember… I will no longer bear the brunt of my people's scorn alone. You have stood by me for years. You know me better than any other person in the world. That is why I must ask you, dear Cherche-"
Virion was never able to finish his sentence. Cherche made sure of that. A quick, chaste kiss was all it took to make the purple-haired Duke speechless. Cherche giggled at that; there were other ways to make him squirm. She'd never imagined she would be in that position, with a man willingly proposing to her and not even bringing up Minerva. She would have loved to see the cute Wyvern's scaly face. That and Virion's dazed expression would have made her day.
"Yes, Virion," Cherche emphasized. "My answer to your question is yes."
Virion blinked once. Then twice. And then laughed.
"It appears the great Virion, Archest of Archers, has been caught off-guard! An impressive display, my lovely Cherche, an impressive display-!"
He was silenced again, that time for much longer.
A Letter from a Friend
The northern front was a barren hellscape, having seen constant battling since the Ylissean forces entrenched themselves just south of the massive Fort Steiger. And yet, they did not falter. With their supply lines from the east being completely secure, and the overall reluctance of the Valmese to risk lose men to an all-out assault, both sides of the front had been drawn to a stalemate. The Ylisseans had been holding out for over a month and a half, and they could last for a few more before circumstances would turn against them.
With that in mind, when Chrom commanded his troops during a skirmish, the news he received from a Pegasus Knight could not have been more welcome.
The blue-haired lord was commanding his men from the front, occasionally fighting the enemy himself, should they have encroached upon him, when the Pegasus Knight landed not far away from him.
"News, sir!" The Pegasus Knight called, dismounting and running towards him. "Rosanne has been taken! We have won! Lord Robin bade me give you this message."
"Gods…!" Chrom felt a smile bloom across his face. "I knew he could do it!"
It felt like it had been an entire age since he last saw his good friend. No doubt the message was still important, but he felt content with the knowledge that Robin was successful until the battle was over.
When the skirmish had ended, Chrom retreated to the tent he'd called home for the past two months. Excitement flowed through his veins, as he opened the letter and read the parchment.
Chrom,
I hope this message finds you well. The first part of my plan has been completed with minimal casualties. Rosanne is ours, and Duke Virion has granted us access to whatever supplies are available, as well as the entirety of what remains of Rosanne's forces. The people do not like him; I can hear their curses even as I write this. For the moment, however, they will follow his orders.
Our forces number around ten thousand. As per the plan we all agreed upon, we will blindside the southern Valmese forces while they are focused on you. Once you hear word of this battle, you will need to divert your troops from the northern army and assault the southern Valmese as well. We will push them back until Chon'sin is ours, and from there, we will end this war.
It will be a while yet until we can trade stories and laugh as we used to. There have been a number of unfortunate events despite our success during our campaign in Rosanne, which I will tell you about once we meet in person. For the moment, know that there were no Shepherd casualties.
As I write this, Alex is looking over my shoulder. I think he misses you, too. We recruited someone else while we fought in Rosanne, and I believe the three of you will be the best of friends.
Until we meet again, my friend.
Robin.
Chrom smiled as he put the parchment on his desk, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his soldiers. His friends were alright, and everything was going according to plan. If he had any energy to spare, he would have been jumping for joy, then. Given his exhaustion, he settled for a comfortable silence.
That's Life
No matter how much time she spent in the past, Lucina would never get used to taking human life. The future she and her friends came from was a harsh, brutal wasteland that left its mark on all of them, and yet she had to admit it was easier to distinguish friend from foe, there. Were it a Risen or a monster clad in robes, they were the enemy, and should be cut down on sight. If they were a struggling, normally clothed or armored human, they were a friend and potential comrade. There was very little room for doubt.
The people they fought on the front were just men and women of circumstance. Perhaps they truly believed in Walhart's vision of a unified world, or perhaps they were pressed into service. Either way, they fell to Falchion all the same, and the weight on her shoulders grew ever more. Lucina had only heard tales of the Valmese War, whispers of it once she was of age. It was considered a mere skirmish compared to the war that followed it; a prelude. Now having lived through a part of it, somehow, she felt those whispers didn't do it much credit.
"Gold for your thoughts, Lucina?" a familiar voice asked. Lucina felt herself jump. Crickets chirped in the breeze that flowed across the plains, echoing in her ears as she realized that she had been gazing down at Falchion. How long had she sat there, beneath a tree, looking dumbly at her blade. "Uh, hello? Are you still in there?"
Lucina shook her head. "Apologies, Kjelle. I've just… a lot on my mind."
"Care to share?" Kjelle asked, marching up to her. "Always makes me feel better. Besides, you've been all clamped up recently. Kinda creeping me out."
"...how do you deal with killing a person, Kjelle?" Lucina murmured, moving her blue hair out of her eyes. "We've been fighting in this war for months, and I cannot… with every life I cut short with Falchion, it feels as if I contribute to our extinction. As if every human lost drives us onward to our deathly future."
"Damn, that's heavy," Kjell snorted. "I'm surprised your head can stay upright with talk like that."
Lucina tilted her head. "Why wouldn't my head stay upright? That doesn't make any sense."
"By gods, you are thick."
"Everyone here insists that I am woefully underweight, though."
Kjelle looked as if she was about to smash her face against the tree Lucina was up against. However, she quickly regained her composure and looked her friend in the eye. "I haven't dealt with it, Lucina. Not… not really, anyway." Kjelle took a deep breath. "I focus more on the people who are here now. Alive. All of our- Okay, well, most of our parents are alive. That's one of the reasons we came back to the past, right? To see them again?"
Lucina shook her head, brows furrowing. "We came back to stop the future from happening again, Kjelle. I know we eventually agreed to change it, after what Sir Alexander told us, but…"
Except Alexander hadn't told them everything. How much else had he kept from them? How much was his present self keeping hidden? She would make it her personal mission to question him when he returned.
"Yeah, that's what we said out loud," Kjelle interrupted, crossing her arms. "But let's be real here: We wanted to see them again, no matter the consequences. Even you did. I heard about that little stunt you pulled all those years ago at Arena Ferox."
Lucina felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she held back the urge to hide her face. "I had to ensure that father got the support he needed in time. If that resulted in the Feroxi populace wanting Marth's head on a spike, so be it. He would just avoid Ferox."
"And that had nothin' to do with wanting to have a spar with your father, did it?" Kjelle asked with a smirk. "Since we came back, there's nothing I love more than sparring with my father, or learning how to ride a horse with my mother. What I'm saying is, just… go out there and live, yeah? The fronts all quiet tonight, so go have a chat with your mother, or a friendly spar with your father. Hell, talk to some of the other folks here! Thinking about this heavy shit's not gonna make it go away. I'm not sure there's any real way to deal with killing another guy, but if there is, it ain't this."
Lucina looked up at Kjelle, blinking several times before sighing. "I… suppose you are right." Lucina got up. "Thinking about it in such a remote location will do me no good. Perhaps I should…"
"Just trying to get you to loosen up a bit." Kjelle shrugged. "You've always been high-strung, you know."
"Thank you, Kjelle." Lucina smiled. "Sincerely."
"Uh, yeah, sure." Kjelle blinked. "I'll just be going now. Remember what I said!"
Lucina's smile slowly fell away as Kjelle retreated into the night. Soon enough, she followed suit.
Dogs of War
I cAn fEeL iT In mY bLoOd scratching aNd CuRSinG
Verrat fidgeted in place, nonplussed by the rain that fell upon his armor. It was inconsequential, paling in comparison to the storm that raged within his mind every second of every day. Not even being among the trees could hope to grant some peace.
Fauder knew this. Fauder knew everything. Fauder knew what Grima knew, which was everything. EVERYTHING!
"What an absolute disaster!" a whiny, nasally voice groaned, hiding beneath the canopy from the rain. "That Dorion, hmm. What a piece of work. Truly, to put such faith in an incompetent leader such as him was a mistake. In any case, would you say our work was good, my lords?"
"Discord has been sown," Fauder's breathy, rattling voice replied. Verrat could see the eyes that hid beneath the darkness, a reminder that he was just like them. He knew everything, but Verrat could see him. "It was never intended for Dorion to win. This war simply needs to be prolonged, so that both armies are bled dry. All the better for Lord Grima to claim what is rightfully his."
"Er, yes!" Excellus giggled nervously. "Hmph. It's still a shame I only got to show my powers once. How many did I burn? A dozen? Ah, but none of them were as satisfying as watching that Pegasus Knight be cast down. Ha, all to protect that other redheaded whore, too. What a joke!"
Verrat's head rose, red eyes staring into the distance.
"Excellus, it would be prudent for you to leave now," Fauder ordered. "Prepare Chon'sin for an attack from both sides. Remember your place, and you will earn your right to serve with Grima in eternity."
"Ah, of course. All of us, so busy. Busy like bees! I'll be sure to leave a bloody trail in my wake, and hundreds of souls for our lord to feast upon! Farewell, my lords."
Excellus disappeared in a blinding flash of light. The Warp spell was taxing; the worm nearly passed out teleporting both Fauder and himself out of the besieged castle to the south, but teleporting for one was much easier. Even Verrat knew that.
"Your body betrays you, dog," Fauder hissed, walking up behind the crouching black knight. "You know who the worm burned. You know that it should no longer affect you so. Lord Grima purged all such nonsense from your mind years ago, did he not? And yet, I felt your anger when the feeble worm gloated. You still care. You have been shown Grima's truth, dog, and yet you still feel this strange connection to these rudimentary creatures of flesh and blood."
Verrat stood up, his armor clanking as the storm around them worsened. The armored Deadlord turned around, his red eyes like fog lights in the darkening world.
"You will not hurt me," Fauder said cockily. "Just as I will not hurt you. We have more important matters to attend to. The destruction of this sinful, disgusting world and its replacement. You know as well as I the wonders that will be born from this act. You saw it for yourself."
Verrat began a slow, but steady walk towards Fauder.
"In the face of such beauty, what is one Ylissean strumpet?"
Verrat roared, his right hand shooting forward and catching Fauder by the face. The robed Deadlord was smacked against a tall tree savagely, causing it to crack.
"ONE MORE WORD, FILTH, AND I WILL RIP YOUR TONGUE FROM YOUR THROAT!" Verrat shouted, his voice booming across the storm-beaten land. "Grima will not miss one Deadlord when he has several already. Remember that before your mouth lands you in more trouble. I fought against your kind for all my mortal life. Need I remind you of its ultimate proof?"
Slowly, Verrat pulled Requiem from its scabbard on his back. A bolt of lightning shot from the sky, tearing the air apart as it went and illuminating the blade, casting a moon-like glow. Fauder could feel the hate emanating from the accursed sword, could feel his enhanced flesh scream and writhe in its very presence. Casting without a tome was difficult, even for a sorcerer of his caliber, but he could not let this rabid dog remove him. He was too important to his lord's plans to be destroyed by Verrat's momentary insanity.
Verrat noticed the growing dark light and snarled. He heaved Fauder and threw him into the forest. A tree snapped under the immense force as Fauder was sent careening into the bush.
With each step Verrat took, his mind was cleared. Such moments were a rarity, but when they came, he made the most of them. He found Fauder lying against a tree, his red eyes staring into nothing.
Fauder noticed Verrat's approach and attempted to cast another spell. A simple fireball, weaker than if he'd had a tome with him, was sent hurtling towards the armored Deadlord. Verrat raised his right hand, and the weak fireball smashed against it, completely dissipating. Verrat growled, grabbing Fauder by his robe and lifting him up.
"I feel nothing, fool," Verrat snarled. "Nothing for the creatures we fight. Not for the family that is no longer my own. Not for the strangers wearing familiar faces. Nothing. I knew who you were before. Were it not for the taint that flows through my veins, I would have made sure you died in Castle Ylisse all those years ago. Your body would have rotted, your soul damned and beyond Grima's reach. Do not think for an instant that you are safe from me. This dog has teeth."
Verrat released Fauder, who then fell to the ground, limp. The armored Deadlord sheathed his blade and marched off. Much as it disgusted him, he had a job to do. He held back a scream as his mind became static once more.
tHe bLoOD iS StROnG aNd iT'S EvERywHeRE
For Those Left Behind
The blood flows strong through this body. Perhaps stronger than it ever has before…
The Fell Dragon in human flesh led his army through the Plegian badlands and up through the Shriekwind Mountains. There were humans in his ranks. Weak, pathetic creatures as they were, many of them perished during the long march. It didn't have the patience to stop, even during the night. Those who died were ascended into more powerful forms either way, ones that didn't tire, that didn't need to eat or drink. Perfect creations.
Due to their extreme pace, it wasn't long before they came upon an overlook, showing the city of Grawin.
The vessel did not leave the Halidom unguarded. Good. It would be too easy if he did.
Not just guarded, though; there was considerable resistance to smash through. Grawin was one of five cities in Ylisse, yet he only needed one as leverage for the accursed future Exalt and vessel. But it had plenty of time, so why not have a bit of fun on the way? The real army was away, fighting a pointless war an ocean's distance from there.
The sacrifices it had been afforded made it powerful. If it so wanted, it could crack the walls of any city with its bare hands. The body of its vessel had grown to accommodate the change, its true form barely held beneath the skin. It stood there at the overlook, staring down at the city that was soon to be a pile of rubble in its wake. It wouldn't even have to lift a finger, either. The Deadlords at his side would be more than enough.
"HyeeeHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" One cackled madly, twirling his Levin sword in his hand. "A true Ylissean city! Lord Grima is truly a merciful and generous god! What shall we do, hm!? Do a jig on the broken walls once the city is ours? OURS!? Bwahahaha!"
The jester beside it was pathetic, in both mind and body, yet Deadlord material all the same. The other was far less talkative, instead opting to stare silently from atop her ebon Pegasus. Her deathly pale skin was a nice contrast to the black marks that adorned her body, and the red light that peered out of empty eye sockets.
"Kill them all," It said softly, reaching a clawed, mangled hand forward. "Leave the bodies intact. Sunder the city. Leave nothing above my knees standing."
"Leave nothing standing, our Lord says, so he does!" The jester laughed. "Ah, but yes, bodies, bodies, BODIES! Bodies for the pyre, bodies for the pile! It shall be done, dark one! HA!"
The other nodded silently.
It smiled as its troops surged forward, rending the city apart like it had once before in the future. Even the weather began to reflect the future to come; black clouds and wind as shrill as death itself came forth as if following the vessel. When the Ylissean army returned, it would not be to the thunderous applause of a grateful populace, but to the silence of a graveyard they failed to protect.
And thus ends the shortest Chapter I've ever published. There's a reason for that, though; there was one more part of this Chapter that's grown into its own thing. Guess what that means? Next Saturday, there'll be another Xenologue, from the perspective of a character you guys haven't seen for a long time. It may not be a continuation of the main plot, but considering there was originally going to be nothing posted next Saturday... well, you get the idea.
I hope you guys like it as much as I do!
Here's a link to our Discord: discord .gg/9XG3U7a
See you all next week.