Ciaran lay flat against a cobbled roof, crawling forward slowly. The sun was threatening to rise on the horizon, so her time was limited. She had successfully entered the captured district, but not without difficulty. She had to hand it to whomever was in charge, they ran a tight ship. She didn't dare take out a sentry and alert the whole lot of them. Pure reconnaissance today.
She began to think about Artorias, and their talk last night, but stopped herself. You're on a mission, Ciaran. After all, he was already attached and she was looking for his partner for the Great Lord's sake! She sighed softly to herself and crawled farther forward, peering over the edge. She had been telling the truth last night. Too much focus and time had been spent on work, she had never had time for a relationship. But Artorias…
You can't. He's spoken for. Do. Your. Job.
She tried to keep an emotional distance from Artorias, but his magnetism was intense. But if she truly cared for him, she knew she would have to try harder. He seemed happy with his current relationship, and she should respect that.
No matter how painful it was.
She scolded herself mentally. As if, Ciaran. What experience do you have in attracting a man? She slid closer to the edge of the roof and immediately froze.
There she was, Serafina.
Ciaran immediately pulled back. There had been no guard detail around her. She had appeared unharmed. What…?
A cold flow of suspicion ran up her spine. Shifting out again, she couldn't see her anymore. She cursed to herself and made her way to the next building. Serafina was walking down the street without any apparent worry amidst several humans who wore the armor that exuded that dark aura.
She could feel her suspicion being replaced by molten anger as she chatted with an Astora knight.
"He trusts you." She spoke under her breath from between clenched teeth, voice trembling with rage. "He trusts you with his life."
She hadn't expected this. Would Artorias believe her if she told him?
She halfheartedly reminded herself that she was just supposed to look around and report back, and she began backing up only to stop.
Her heart pumped at a hard angry pace. She recalled last night, at the tavern with Artorias. He was trying to stay positive, but the loss of Serafina was twisting him up inside.
And here she was.
And here was the enemy.
She gripped the hilts of her tracers, but her inner voice of reason interjected. At least make sure she's truly the enemy. Don't let your feelings cloud your judgement. She relaxed, concentrating on slowing down her heart rate. She would follow her for a bit.
As the hour wore on, she became increasingly convinced that Serafina had played them all for pawns. That was it.
Her anger had been molten, but it had since cooled and crystalized into razor sharp obsidian. She pulled her mask over her face. It had been a suggested recon mission, after all.
She dropped into the courtyard as quietly as shadows falling at sundown. She actually managed to press against the wall directly behind a bulky Berenike that was leaning against the wall. She produced two thin knives, each about a foot and a half long with a width of only an inch. They were black, so as to eliminate reflection. It would be very difficult to part the heavy plated armor of the Berenike, so she didn't try to.
She quickly drove each knife upwards through the exposed area between the helm and chest piece on either side. Each blade slid smoothly up through the man's throat and into his brain, killing him instantly. She withdrew the blades swiftly, their thin profile allowing very little blood to flow from the wounds. He remained leaning against the wall, appearing asleep.
She set off in the direction Serafina had gone, performing a similar move on a mercenary who was trying to talk to the dead Berenike. Three more found gashes where their throats used to be.
The farther she got into the captured district, the more difficult it became to get by unnoticed. She was fueled by the thought of what Serafina was about to do to Artorias.
Finally, she saw her. She had stumbled upon a guard who had been "put to sleep" by Ciaran. As soon as her back was turned to the Lord's Blade, she snuck forward. Ciaran had thought of ending the woman, of course. She appeared important to this cause, however, and was definitely important to Artorias. She would have to be taken alive. She removed another blade, this one closer to a needle. It was laced with a sleeping venom, and as soon as she was within reach…
The rising sun, which had been spilling light over the area, immediately darkened. Serafina seemed to smoke, and time moved slowly. A blast of pure force exploded out from her, throwing Ciaran to her back. She rolled to her feet to see Serafina's armor become solid black and reflective.
"The Lord's Blade. Earlier than expected. What could have motivated thee so?"
The voice seemed to issue from Serafina's armor, and it vibrated with the voice of the deity.
Serafina turned, surprise etched across her face. She pulled a broad-bladed knife from her sleeve and faced Ciaran apprehensively. Her stance quickly became more aggressive as she recognized her attacker. "You. You're that…that harlot that keeps making eyes at Artorias!" She slashed the knife through the air angrily. "This is how the 'Great Lord' would fight his enemies? Sending a skulk to stab them while they aren't looking?" She scoffed. "Very honorable."
Ciaran slipped her stilettos away and brought out her tracers. She knew it was a bad policy to exchange words when you should be exchanging blows, but she couldn't help herself. "And sneaking into the city to attack during a day of celebration? How honorable is that?" She streaked forward, lining up a slash that would bleed terribly.
The black aura pulsed again, and Serafina's arm flew into place as if yanked there by a puppeteer, her knife deflecting the blow. Ciaran caught the reverberation from the strike, falling back before Serafina could retaliate.
It seemed as though Velka was at least assisting Serafina, moving the armor she was in. A shiny black helmet floated over and set itself on her head as she watched.
Ciaran brought her tracers up again, in time to deflect a deceptively heavy strike. She lashed out with a kick aimed at her opponent's throat, but the chest piece moved her back. "Very honorable, Serafina! Very honorable, two against one!" A shockwave erupted from the armor, throwing her backwards. She lay on her back, dazed. That energy drained her like nothing else.
The legs of the armor set sped toward her, and Serafina raised her knife.
Just before things got even messier, a massive metal bolt slammed directly into her chest, swatting her to the ground.
"Not quite true, Ciaran."
Gough appeared, stepping over a small house at the edge of the courtyard. He was in full armor, striding slowly toward them both. He leaned over her, large green eyes visible through his helmet. "Are you well, Ciaran?"
Across the courtyard, Serafina climbed to her feet. She quietly picked up a longsword from a nearby corpse and sped toward that giant's exposed back.
Gough calmly nocked another shot and hit her square in the chest again, flattening her. He was still examining the Lord's Blade. "Did you end all of these men?" He extended a hand, helping her to her feet.
"Gough."
"Right. Of course." He turned back to Serafina. "Who might you be? I cannot see thee underneath thine helm."
Serafina began to speak, but Velka's voice suddenly drowned out all other noise. "I AM VELKA, AND SIN IS MY DOMAIN." The knife was engulfed in black smoke, and when it cleared there was a glittering rapier in its place. "I HAVE COME FOR YOUR LORD AND HIS COHORTS."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Artorias considered going back on his word, not for the first time that day, but kept to his promise. He would spend all day planning his next attack.
Gods, but this was against his instincts. Serafina was out there, he could feel it.
He pored over various battle reports brought to him by silver knights. They had managed to repel the invaders so far using the excellent district defenses, a similar approach to what the invaders were doing with their own district. It seemed to be a stalemate at the moment.
"What could break them? Rather, what would break us?"
At that moment, the doors were thrown open. They crashed against the walls, drawing looks from the staff bustling around the room and causing Sif to sit up.
A flood of silver knights and Havel's clerics swarmed in, yelling together in a great cacophony. Gough limped in, bow slung across his back. Dark blood ran down his legs from nasty-looking gashes and he breathed heavily.
Artorias shot to his feet, jogging over. "Gough! What happened? Where's Ciaran?" As he drew closer, he saw her limp body and the blood pooling in the giant's palms.
"She's…she's been harmed, Artorias." His voice sounded broken. "I should have helped more." His right leg collapsed, forcing him to take a knee while the clerics examined him, but his focus was on her relatively tiny body.
Artorias looked closer. She appeared to have been pierced clean through the chest two or three times.
His mind went into overdrive.
"Give her here, Gough. We can still save her!" He took her into his arms as carefully as his adrenaline-laced veins would allow. He turned and ran as fast as he could, making his way to the Sunlight Princess's chamber and mumbling prayers under his breath.
"Hold on Ciaran, gods, just hold on!"
He took the stairs four at a time, Sif trailing behind. Silver knights parted for him, seeing his need.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
She lay on the same table that Artorias had occupied not too long ago. Gwynevere had worked as quickly as she could, and had assured him that she would be fine with time. Artorias was sitting on the floor, leaning against the table, waiting for her recovery.
Ornstein shouldered the door open in full battle armor, helmet under his arm and spear in hand. He strode over to them, anger bleeding from his every movement. He slowed down as he approached the table, seeming to remember that Ciaran was resting. He laid a hand on her shoulder gingerly.
"They've made a dire mistake."
Artorias looked up at the captain. His face was furious and cold, his red irises practically glowing.
"They've hurt my men, and I'm going to purge every mother's son from this plane."
Despite Ornstein's original intentions, Ciaran was awoken by his outburst. She stirred weakly, and made a small noise. She flinched suddenly, caught in her last conscious moment, and started sitting up only to be pressed back down by Artorias.
"Easy, Ciaran." His mouth was quirked in a crooked smile, but his eyes showed concern. "Remember, you aren't wearing anything under this sheet."
She lay back down quickly, brushing her bangs out of her face. "How bad was it?"
Artorias feigned deep thought. "Well, it was essentially a rather nasty skinned knee." He smiled down at her. "I should like to see the remains of thine opponent."
Ciaran let out a long sigh. "No. No you wouldn't."