The resulting explosion is enough to send chunks of fragmented stone and dust raining down.
Dedue hasn't stopped running since the axe left his hand. He has said his prayers to the God of Battle. To the God of Mercy, Salvation, every last deity he could think of both from Duscur as well as the general one sent to the Goddess who presides over Fodlan itself to grant him enough time to prevent the inevitable before his very eyes. Gustave was prepared to give his life, always has been, in the Kingdom's name and service. Dedue is as well- so long as his death will benefit His Highness and ensure Dimitri is capable of keeping his word.
Annette is not prepared to give her life away and Dedue is not ready to have her fall in battle before his eyes. Not while there is a chance, even if it is small, that he may be able to prevent it.
The dust settles and he is fully prepared to see their bodies, what remains of them, smashed and beyond salvation. He sees a severed limb- bigger than anything he has ever seen in his life- and several jagged gouges in the metal as though a great beast's claws rent it like parchment paper. His axe is embedded into the wall on the other side.
It takes him longer than it should to put the pieces together.
They are alive. Be it the blessings of his gods or their goddess, he doesn't know. Frankly, he doesn't care and is just relieved to see them breathing and relatively well. Gustave's shield is ruined beyond repair and the arm attached to it is… the less said about the injury, the better as far as Dedue is concerned. Rivulets of sweat trickle down the proud knight's face and reveal the pallor of his skin beneath the dust and grime.
Annette has blood on her, some of it from her father's injuries in his desperate attempt to quite literally shield her from harm's way, and some of it from the backlash of her own spell going off in close proximity. She too has the same cast to her skin that her father does and hasn't thought to drop her arm from its casting position.
"Gustave, Annette." Dedue's voice is a whip-crack in the sudden silence. The two startle, Gustave attempting to lift the remains of his shattered shield and, with a strangled growl, finds the metal clattering to the ground. The injury only now occurs to him and his face grays a little further as pain overcomes adrenaline. To his credit, he remains stoic but for the tightening of the skin at the corner of his eyes and mouth.
Annette looks slowly over to Dedue and blinks for the first time. Winces and scrubs at the dust scratching her eyes and blinks away the blurry tears from her vision. "D-Dedue? What…?"
"We were fortunate." It's the only response Dedue can really come up with at the moment. "Between your spell, Gustave's prior attack, and my axe… we managed to eliminate the threat in time."
"Father?" Her eyes go to him. Quick on the uptake as she is, her eyes widen and narrow almost instantly at the bloodstains on his face and armor. She's quicker still to find the source of the injury and audibly gasps at the mangled wreck of her father's hand.
"We must continue onward." Gustave's voice is clipped and more than just a touch strained as he averts his eyes from Annette's face and, once more, pretends she is not there at his side. Hurt flashes across the girl's pale face before her lips thin and she gets the same stubborn set to her jaw Dimitri once commented reminded him of Gustave's own when he was displeased.
Like father, like daughter. Dedue thinks and gives a shake of his head. "Annette. Are you injured?"
Annette checks herself over for injuries and offers a brief affirmative. "It's already stopped bleeding, I think it was a glancing blow from some of the shrapnel when it exploded. A couple burns here and there too, but nothing like when I blew up the kitchen back at the Academy. I'm still good to go!"
"You blew up the what." He can't help it. He'd sworn to pretend this was not his daughter, it was just another soldier, another body on the same mission he was on. But… the kitchen? At the holiest of places in all of Fodlan?
"Iiit's a long story." There's a little more color in Annette's face as she waves it off. "More importantly, let me see your hand."
He turns his injured side away from her. "It will be fine until the mission's end."
"You're bleeding all over the place." She argues.
As enjoyable as it is seeing the estranged father-daughter pair bicker about like proper family members should, they are on a time crunch and he worries that there are more of those things out there. He doesn't know how well Ingrid, Linhardt, and Raphael will fare against them and wants to be there should they require assistance. "Are you able to heal while mobile?"
They both look at him. Annette nods firmly, determination in her gaze. "I've done it before. I can do it again and better than last time."
Dedue nods. "See to it then. We need to meet up with the others in case there are more of… those contraptions."
...
It's been far too long since they went their separate ways.
Ingrid makes another pass over the place they said they would meet up for the final charge and still finds no trace of her allies and countrymen. Raphael is still in position and waiting too, she's checked in on him twice now and has managed to return a couple of clumsy attempts at signing back to him. The arms around her waist tighten and the Adrestian healer behind her shouts something she doesn't quite catch. The left arm tightens against her side and releases and, obligingly, she looks that way and feels her face pale.
What in the Goddess' name- They look like statues. Gigantic metal statues vaguely human-like in shape and covered in armor. The weak strains of sunlight filtering through the clouds bounce off their armor as they move across the ground with a low rumble. Ingrid has seen much in the twenty She's seen Demonic Beasts. She's seen whatever that had been during the fall of Garreg Mach years ago fly through the air and breathe a stream of death upon the Imperial living statues.
My lance isn't going to pierce through that. The realization is an unfortunate one and she finds herself at a loss for what she can actually accomplish as a result.
A nudge against her side again, still the left one, from her passenger.
"I see them." She calls back to him.
He does it again. Her eyes narrow. He can't possibly mean to…
"Are you serious; you want me to fly closer?"
Both arms squeeze in response. A pause. His hand, clasped together as they are around her middle, push down against her armor and return to position.
Down? She tears her eyes away from the living statues long enough to scan the ground below. Raphael is there, slowly making his way closer to one of the statues. She can almost imagine the look on the burly man's face as one of the Kingdom soldiers accompanying him is cleaved in twain. An oath to the Goddess slips out before she realizes she's speaking aloud and her heels touch the sides of her pegasus.
A pull of the reins to the left and she leans forward into the noble steed's neck as it takes them both down toward the enemy. She may not be able to kill it herself, but the Goddess take her if she isn't going to try and do something to keep her allies from being slaughtered like ants beneath the heel of a boot.
Linhardt is holding on for dear life. Tucked as close as he can without being accused of impropriety- not that he much cares if she accuses him of being indecent- the noble scholar is already prepared for the possibility of his plan failing and has two more in place. He's careful not to look too closely at the dark spots on the glowing red weapons or what lay beneath the statue's base- he's already airsick as it is, he doesn't need to add insult to injury on top of it and embarrass himself by emptying what little is in his stomach into the remains below.
Why did I have to phrase it that way? He closes his eyes tightly and recites a list of prime numbers backwards starting from one hundred and nine in order to take his mind off of the mental image.
There is a short list of spells he has at his disposal that may be effective against these particular enemies and he's trying to decide which of them is worth the most risk while having the highest rate of success. While he prefers to stay away from combat, trouble, and anything that may get messy and complicated whenever he can help it, this is one of those rare scenarios where merely studying and theorizing is not going to help him; this is an experiment that must be done live and while the danger is at its highest.
Just like everything else has been from the moment he entered Garreg Mach Academy.
Wind or Fire… It would greatly help if he had someone capable of Ice or Lightning based magic to help him complete the experiment. Another mage would be welcome, perhaps even two mages. He'd even agree to a lecture by Edelgard and Hubert both if only they were there to help him out. Instead, he has a man capable of tearing just about everything apart with almost bare hands and a rather too serious woman who reminds him just a little of Edelgard with her nagging and inability to keep her opinions to herself over what a noble should or should not be doing with their time.
He opens his eyes as the sound of the wind rushing past his ears shifts in a way he knows Ingrid doesn't recognize. They're almost close enough to do what he needs to and his eyes latch on to the hulking metal monstrosity. He doesn't recognize the emblem on the front of the grey metal but tucks it away for later analysis and investigation. Glowing spots beneath thickly plated armor catch his eye- an eerie pale white-blue light that turns red-orange upon attacking.
A possible weak spot?
Linhardt sucks in a breath and holds on for dear life with one arm around Ingrid's waist. Free hand lifts up and he waits for the angle to correct itself and fires off a brightly glowing sphere of flame directly the gap between two plates on the thing's arm. It connects, as he anticipated it would, and a fiery explosion rocks the construct back on its heels. The arm drops, smoldering and stinking of hot metal and crackling electricity, to its side and exposes a second glowing target on the underside of its wrist.
His arms have returned to their tightly locked state around Ingrid and he leans up to shout in her ear.
"Find Raphael; I have a plan."
...
Dedue and Raphael nearly take one another's heads off when they reunite.
All they see is a blur of movement and red-stained armor as they turn the same corner from opposing sides. Self-preservation and a desire to return to those they love drives them to go on the offensive. Dedue manages to flip his axe away from the business end before it connects with Raphael's body at the last moment. The brawler does much the same, realizing almost too late that his katar is headed for a killing blow, and stops just millimeters before the blade tip is set to sink into the hollow of the retainer's throat. Both of them are sweating and shaking from exertion as they incline their heads in greeting.
Raphael even manages to give Dedue a wide grin, a thumbs-up, and a compliment on his reflexes when he finally catches his breath.
Dedue's lips are pressed into a thin line at the compliment and he thinks he manages to compliment him in return. Sort of. It's hard to tell if Raphael took his words, curt as they were, as a compliment or as a critique when the blond fighter is nothing but smiles and optimism over nearly getting killed. Not to mention almost killing an ally.
Were all of the Alliances' soldiers this carefree?
"Good thing I found ya too," Raphael's voice breaks into Dedue's thoughts as they head back to retrieve Gustave and Annette. "Ingrid and Linhardt are havin' a helluva time with those weird statues and we could really use some more muscle."
"Are they injured?" Ingrid's status first and foremost is his immediate concern. He knows Annette is alright, her own words and evidence presented to confirm it, and she's been working with her father to get him up to passable condition as well. That injury of his should have taken him out of the battlefield entirely and Gustave is being more stubborn than even Dimitri on a bad day. It's not hard for Dedue to figure out who His Highness managed to pick up such behavior from either and intends on telling the knight such when this is over.
Raphael shakes his head. "A few closer-than-we'd-like calls and I think that pegasus she's riding lost a couple feathers here and there, but they're still airborne and doin' what they can to pick 'em off one by one."
He nods. "Good. What strategy are they utilizing?"
Raphael somehow manages to avoid clipping any of the thick blond curls from his head, not to mention cut himself, scratches his head as though the katar aren't there. "That's… a good question. Honestly? I'm just doin' what they tell me to; and that's hit wherever Linhardt's spells do as quick as I can and as hard as I can."
Metal weakened by magic, perhaps. Dedue thinks. That would make some sense. "How many of the statues are left?"
"Three; plus the one controllin' 'em." A prompt response. "I'm supposed to go take out somethin' that apparently glows when they're bein' moved. You wanna join?"
Dedue frowns for a moment, nods to Annette and Gustave as they turn the corner themselves, and weighs his options. If it's a combination of magic and might necessary to take the statues themselves out… the better plan would be to have Ingrid and someone else go for whatever it was Raphael had mentioned. They'd be quicker to cross the battlefield if there were multiple of them and that would leave the rest of them to distract and pick off the statues. But that also leaves the mages vulnerable on the ground and he doesn't like the idea of Annette and Linhardt, as little as he trusts the latter, being in a place he won't be able to defend.
Not for the first time, Dedue wonders exactly how the Professor would have set them all up if this were one of the missions assigned to them.
"How are you doing on spells, Annette?" He asks instead of answering Raphael right away. He needs a little more time and information.
She thinks for a moment. "I'm alright as long as no one gets mega-super-injured and I have to pour everything I've got into that."
Mega-super- How is it the petite mage manages to make him smile, even a little, in the worst of moments?
"Why?"
"The statues have a weakness of sorts according to Linhardt." He replies. "Once magic is used on them, the metal is weaker there and can be cut through or rendered useless."
Her eyes light up. "Ooh, that means it's not magically treated! That makes sense now, I'd wondered why my spell did so much damage and how your axe managed to finish the one off…" She trails off. Determination settles into her face after a handful of seconds. "I'm so going to pick his brain when this is all over; I wonder what else he's managed to figure out while on the go."
There's a beat of wings and a soot streaked Ingrid and Linhardt land a few yards away. The pegasus whickers at Annette as she hurries over to check on them and tries to shy away from Dedue as he approaches. Ingrid, as usual, is quick on the reins and settles the stallion. They are uninjured, much to Dedue's relief, though a close call with an exploding statue and something about a hoard of Demonic Beasts pouring in from the eastern portion of the city had the remaining enemy forces- statues aside- thoroughly distracted.
Dedue hears a second set of explosions and breathes a sigh of relief as a bit of colored smoke, blue as a summer sky, launches into the air moments later.
Reinforcements from Duscur- those who had rescued him and kept him alive in spite of the wounds he'd sustained- were playing their part in the plan. The Kingdom did not deserve their aid, even if those who had participated in the Massacre had truly participated of their own will, after their treatment of those like him who had done no wrong. His countrymen and women knew, however, if the Kingdom truly fell to Cornelia and the Empire, there would be no hope for the future that Dimitri, and himself, wished for.
"Annette, are you familiar with the layout of the city?"
She beams. "Of course! I can walk this place at night blindfolded if I have to!"
Gustave, Ingrid, and Dedue stare at her.
"N-not that I would or that I've tried or anything." She says a beat later and doesn't meet any of their eyes. Annette clears her throat. "So! Where do you need me to take you?"
Dedue sends a sidelong look to Gustave and feels his lips twitch at the furrowed brow and deep set of the old knight's mouth. He is going to have a few more white streaks to his hair by the battle's end. Amusement aside, he returns his attention to Annette. "Is there a location where you, Linhardt, and Ingrid-"
"No." Ingrid interrupts. "If you are going after Cornelia, I'm with you."
"As am I." Gustave's voice leaves no room for argument.
Dedue takes a moment to breathe deeply and evenly. He's gone against Dimitri in similar stubborn moods and he can handle these two just as easily as he can their Lord.
...
They find her looking down upon them all.
Thanks to the combined efforts of Linhardt and Ingrid, Dedue and Gustave are in place and ready to take on the woman who shattered their Kingdom and betrayed the rightful heir to the throne. The two men take point and form a tall, bulky wall of steel and muscle between the powerful mage before them, and Ingrid, who was waiting for her own chance to strike when the traitor was least expecting it.
"Ah, your face brings back memories…" Cornelia taps her chin with a lacquered nail and offers a snake's smile to the man before her. "Still alive, are we, Gustave?"
Dedue's hand tightens around the shaft of his weapon. One strike, he tells himself, is all he needs to put an end to her permanently. She is the one responsible for Fhirdiad's fall, for the regent's death, and for Dimitri and himself being framed for said assassination. He knows her crimes amount to more than just that, he isn't sure how he knows or why, but he knows this to be true the way he knows his own name and of Dimitri's true nature.
Gustave does not so much as bat an eye at the woman in front of him. For a moment, he truly is as he once was in the days of old, prior to his King's untimely demise. His voice is as cold as the steel in his hands. "Prattle on, Cornelia. Faerghus will not be cowed by the likes of you." His stance shifts, preparing to strike the moment he deems it appropriate.
Cornelia pouts. "How very dull of you." She lowers her lashes behind the feathers of her fan at the rest of them. "Well, so be it then. Since you made it this far, I may as well give you a little gift."
She smiles wide, pupils shrinking to pin-pricks as she refuses to take her eyes off of Gustave and speaks with poisoned sweetness. "It's about something that happened ten years ago and what that darling Patricia said regarding her wish to see her real daughter again; no matter who or what she had to sacrifice to do so."
Dedue, Ingrid, and Gustave freeze.
There's a burst of vicious laughter as Cornelia revels in the shock on Gustave's face, the confusion on Ingrid's, and the wary suspicion on Dedue's. "You should have heard her gratitude when I made her wish come true- at the cost of the king's head."
It clicks into place for Dedue before it does Gustave. "You are referring to Duscur."
Ingrid pales. "The king's… the king's head? You mean… you mean Glenn, King Lambert… everyone was-"
"Killed by his stepmother?!" Gustave barely manages the words from between clenched teeth. If Dimitri were there, hearing this… he can only imagine the pain it would cause him.
"That's right. Her family meant everything to her…" Cornelia's smile holds a razor's edge. "You certainly know that feeling, do you not?"
She laughs at the flinch out of the old knight. "The poor little prince; unloved by the only mother he ever knew, how pitiful."
"How dare you!" In her fury, Ingrid is several times faster than Dedue and Gustave. She dodges Cornelia's spell, ignores the bolts of lighting that accompany it, and launches the javelin in her hand straight for the mage who took everything from them. Her fiance. Dimitri's parents. Dedue's country. All of them, slain, gone, or otherwise destroyed, and for what? Because of a plot supposedly concocted by the King's beloved?
The javelin misses but Ingrid's spear does not. The gleaming tip of the blade sinks home in the woman's gut and slides through, scraping against her ribs, and out the other side with a dull and wet tearing sound. There is no joy, no sign of smug victory in the young woman's expression as she lifts her foot and puts her might into kicking her gory weapon free.
Cornelia's hand lifts, black energy gathering at her palm, and Ingrid braces for impact. Two reddish eyes flare into existence above Cornelia for a split second before a cloud of dark violet and scarlet energy comes crashing down on top of her. There's a blood-curdling scream, the sound of sizzling flesh, and the muffled thud of a body hitting the ground.
For a moment, she can do nothing but gawk even as Dedue and Gilbert jump into position, ready to shield her if Cornelia rises and attempts to seek revenge. Her eyes flick from the smoldering body to where she'd seen the eyes appear and then searches the surroundings.
There!
A hooded figure on a rooftop terrace behind the mage rises to their feet. Ingrid thinks it might be a woman, given the long, brightly colored hair that spills over her shoulder. A blink of an eye and a flash of bright purple light later and the figure is gone.
Had that been someone wishing to silence Cornelia? Someone working with her who felt she'd outlived her use?
An enemy?
"There's nothing left for you now…" Cornelia laughs and there's a wet burbling in her throat as she does so. It's a weak and pathetic sound and her eyes are already staring off into the eternal flames that await her as she addresses her last words as though invoking a curse upon them all.
Gilbert and Dedue raise their axes.
"Nothing but despair."
Justice and revenge are delivered with a merciful swiftness she does not deserve as the sun begins to set.