Dartsmoth, the remaining Deadlords, and the recon soldiers under his command had set up camp just outside of Isaiah's now abandoned homestead, and Caeldori and Soleil had been detained along with them. Caeldori was currently bound by her wrists and ankles to a chair, and she'd been left alone for over two hours now. Besides that, Dartsmoth had left Cordelia's severed head in the tent with her, angling it so that Caeldori was forced to look right at it. Even now, Caeldori could do little but stare at it. At first she'd tried to look at anything else, but it was hard to maintain that. She even tried keeping her eyes closed, but the stench was a constant reminder of its presence. Beyond that, she could just feel it staring at her. She'd broken down crying upon finally looking at it, but even that was an hour ago. Now her eyes, red with irritation, held nothing more than hatred for Dartsmoth. Now Caeldori stared into her grandmother's decomposing head on purpose. It was a focal point for her rage.

Besides what remained of her grandmother, the only thing keeping Caeldori any company was a single fly. The desertification caused by Grima's Blight had severely reduced insect populations in affected areas, but many insects were too hardy to be eradicated entirely. As thankful as Caeldori was that there weren't more flies desecrating her grandmother's corpse, the one fly that had made its way to her head filled her with a quiet fury that had grown worse by the second. With nothing else to do, she watched the fly's every movement. She watched as it buzzed around, landing on various places. As it crawled into her eyes, which had long since degenerated into mush. As it rubbed its legs together after landing as flies did. As it stopped for long periods of time only to randomly move again. Even if Caeldori didn't want to look at it, the droning of the insect's wings was a constant reminder of its presence. Caeldori had grown to hate it over the past two hours, and yet she knew there was no malice in its actions. This was all Dartsmoth's fault.

As much as Caeldori hated the silence, such was her acclimation to it that she was startled when Dartsmoth himself finally entered the tent, flanked by a recon soldier. Dartsmoth reached into his robe and pulled out his cigarette box, but his thuggish face contorted with anger as he realized it was empty. "Damn it!"

The recon soldier pulled out a cigarette from his own clothing. "Do you want one of mine?"

Dartsmoth took it and inspected it closely. He even sniffed it. "Ew. This is the crap tobacco they try to grow here in Ylisse and Plegia. Tobacco is native to my homeland, you know. There's nothing like Wielklavian tobacco. Home is where the heart is. That's true of plants and people."

"You could just say no."

"I'm not saying no. Better than a kick up the backside." Dartsmoth waved his hand. Magically generated fire appeared, and he used it to light the cigarette. He took a long breath before intentionally blowing smoke in Caeldori's face. "Where are your friends?"

Caeldori gave Dartsmoth a death glare, focusing on all of her hatred of him. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Oh I intend to."

Dartsmoth casually stepped forward and grabbed the middle three fingers on Caeldori's metal hand. With inhuman force, he was able to forcibly detach the appendages. He then squeezed on the metal, compressing it beyond repair with a horrible screech. Caeldori obviously felt no pain in her prosthetic, but the sight of what was essentially her hand being torn apart did little for her nerves. Dartsmoth looked directly at Caeldori as he opened his hand, letting the ruined metal fall to the ground. "How about I do that to your other hand next time?"

"Darn you."

Dartsmoth shook his head and removed his sunglasses, revealing almost demonic eyes that glowed a bright golden color. He knelt down in front of Caeldori and looked straight into her own eyes. Caeldori had to squint, as the light from Dartsmoth's eyes was like staring right at a candle. "You look tough, girl. I bet you can take a lot of punishment before you break." Dartsmoth took another breath from his cigarette. "But everyone has their limit. Everyone can only take so much pain before they break." Dartsmoth's lips curled into a rather unsettling smile. "And there's something I've learned in all the years I've been doing this. There's more than just physical pain. There are a lot of other ways to torture people." Dartsmoth blew smoke in Caeldori's face again and turned to the recon soldier. "Bring out the pink haired one." Caeldori's eyes briefly widened, but she tried to suppress her fear as much as she could as the recon soldier disappeared. He returned with Soleil. Like Caeldori herself, Soleil was bound by her wrists and ankles to a chair, and the soldier simply dragged the chair itself to bring her in the tent. Soleil's mouth wasn't covered, and she cursed up a storm as the soldier handled her, but neither he nor Dartsmoth seemed to care. The Inquisitor simply put his sunglasses back on and looked back to Caeldori. "One more time, Sheila. Where are your friends?"

Caeldori was silent, though she couldn't quite hide the concern she had for Soleil's safety. Dartsmoth noticed her every subtle movement, and he smiled. Soleil continued to yell at him until he couldn't drown her out anymore. "She's not going to tell you anything, you absolute fop! Why don't you take those stupid glasses and crawl back to whatever rathole you came from?!"

Dartsmoth placed his foot on Soleil's chest. "No one was talking to you, dyke. It's your friend here that I'm interested in."

"She's not any different from me!"

"Nah, you're right. She's the granddaughter of a military official in the old world regime, and you're the granddaughter of a dancing whore so, yeah, no difference. Fuck me dead! How do rebels this stupid keep evading us?!" Dartsmoth looked back to Caeldori while still pressing down on Soleil's chest. "Listen to me. You're a fair dinkum Pegasus Knight, so I'm going to treat you like a real combatant. In fact, I'll make you a deal. Tell me what I need to know-" Dartsmoth didn't look back to Soleil. He just nodded towards her. "And she'll be right. If you don't…" Dartsmoth reached towards a table by the wall of the tent, and a pair of pliers telekinetically flew into his hand. He finally looked back to Soleil, a horrible smile on his face. "Open your mouth."

Soleil's face turned white. "W-what?!"

"I said-" Dartsmoth stuck his hand out, and an invisible force seemed to grip Soleil's mouth. He slowly moved his hand, and Soleil's mouth began to open. She screamed and struggled against her bindings, but nothing she did could stop it. "Open your mouth, you bloody piker!"

"S-stop!" Caeldori cried out. Dartsmoth took his pliers and got a good grip on one of Soleil's molars, a shriek from the mercenary confirming that he'd gotten it.

"That's up to you. No more mucking around. Just tell ol' Dartsmoth what he needs to know, else-" Dartsmoth pulled on Soleil's tooth, and she gave a horrifying cry. There was no anger or frustration in it. Just pain. "Things get real messy."

Caeldori's eyes darted between Dartsmoth and Soleil. She couldn't imagine Soleil suffering from that kind of pain. Neither of them were strangers to being prisoners of the Grimleal, but they'd never suffered anything like this. Still, Caeldori didn't want to break in front of Dartsmoth. Cordelia didn't teach her to waver in the face of an enemy, and the Grimleal could simply kill them if she told them everything. "Don't tell him anything!" Soleil struggled to say, though it didn't come out clear. Dartsmoth began to pull upwards, his actions accompanied by another tortured shriek from Soleil.

"Quiet!"

"Stop this!" Caeldori pleaded. The rational part of her knew that Dartsmoth would never listen, but she had to say something. "PLEASE!"

"Where are your friends?"

"Don't!"

"Where're your friends?!"

"Don't tell him!" Soleil again struggled to say. Dartsmoth readjusted his grip and pulled upwards again. Soleil's shriek was long and continuous this time, and she was now in far too much pain to speak again.

"STOP!"

"That's up to you!"

"PLE-HEASE!"

Caeldori was breaking down. Aside from that, she had to shout just to be heard over Soleil's crying. Dartsmoth smiled wider. "It's getting loose! It's coming out sure as a wristy from a bush slagger now! She'll have to drink her dinnies!"

"I GIVE UP!"

Dartsmoth was sure he'd broken Caeldori now, but he pretended not to hear her. With the same inhuman strength he'd used on Caeldori's prosthetic, Dartsmoth tore Soleil's tooth from her gums, sending her into a fit of crying and shrieking. He smiled wider than ever as he held up the bloodied molar. "Well. One down… about thirty more to go!" Dartsmoth reached towards Soleil's mouth again, and Caeldori lost it.

"NOOOOOO!" She tried with all of her strength to rise to her feet, but she only succeeded in knocking her chair over. The Pegasus Knight was crying profusely now. She didn't even care about her own safety anymore. All she cared about was sparing Soleil any further agony. "I GIVE UP! I'll… I'll tell you anything! Just please, please don't hurt her anymore!"

Dartsmoth righted Caeldori's chair. "Tell you what. She's not much of a threat to the machine by herself. You tell me what I want to know, and I'll let her go."

"You're lying." She snarled, choking back her tears.

"Maybe you don't think I'm ridgy-didge, but surely you reckon I will hurt her again if you don't talk. The odds aren't in your favor, but it's better than a ham sandwich."

"... what?!"

"Just tell me where your friends are!"

Caeldori looked down to her feet. "I don't know."

"Not the answer I want to hear!"

"I DON'T KNOW, BUT-" Caeldori took a deep breath. "But I know where they might have gone. We used to have a safehouse with my grandmother, but it was lost. We haven't had anywhere else to go since then."

"What about that homestead I found you at?"

"That was an old friend of Chrom's. We were only staying there briefly, and we weren't sure where to go next. There this one place, though."

"CAELDORI! DON'T!" Soleil cried out through her moaning.

"Soleil's mother. She lives in a small village in northern Ylisse. I don't think they'd know to go there though." Caeldori looked back up to Dartsmoth. Her eyes didn't contain anger anymore, but instead a desperation for Dartsmoth to believe that she was telling the truth. "That's all I know. I swear."

Dartsmoth removed his sunglasses again. Caeldori winced at the sight, still unable to get used to those glowing eyes. "Here's what's going to happen. There's a number of things you can do with dark magic. Grimleal dags are coming up with new techniques all the time. It's a golden age of dark magic." Dartsmoth took a long breath from his cigarette before setting it down. "Anyways, I know a particularly useful little trick. I can peer into your very mind. See everything you've seen. Hear everything you've heard. Feel everything you've felt. I used it to talk to Cordelia over there, and I can use it to get the deadset intel from you. Thing is, it's hard to use on living people. They can actively resist it." Dartsmoth brought his hands to Caeldori's head, holding her still. "So here's where you uphold your end of the bargain. You hold real still, and you don't fight back no matter how deep I probe. If you do, well then I just won't be able to guarantee your mate's safety. Understand?" Caeldori slowly nodded, her breathing short and irregular.

"Just please don't hurt her."

"Good girl."

Dartsmoth jabbed his fingers into the side of Caeldori's head, and she immediately felt the effects of his strange spell. Dartsmoth sifted through her memories like they were files to be reviewed, and Caeldori was forced to relive every memory that Dartsmoth looked through. Virtually every interaction she had with Chrom was looked through, but Dartsmoth didn't stop there. He bored through her memories of Soleil and Ophelia. He clawed his way through her childhood with Cordelia. He poked his head into moments where she was alone, no matter how private they were. It was a torture like nothing Caeldori had ever endured. She felt violated, as if Dartsmoth had stripped her bare, and beyond that, as if he'd torn through her skin. She felt like her life had been rendered little more than a chapter in a story, as if her every moment served no purpose but to entertain an imaginary reader. It was beyond agonizing, but Caeldori didn't allow herself to resist. She clung to her desire to protect Soleil. The only thing giving her any kind of strength.

The experience probably didn't last more than a few minutes, but Caeldori was exhausted when Dartsmoth finally withdrew his hands. He quickly retrieved his cigarette. "Bloody hell. You've been a busy little shit, haven't you?"

Caeldori slowly looked back up. "I-I gave you what you wanted. Please. Let her go." Caeldori let her head drop down. It was everything she had to stay awake at this point.

Dartsmoth took a long breath from his cigarette before responding. "Of course." He turned to the recon soldier. "Take the mercenary to the slave markets. Young woman like that? They should take her."

Caeldori's fury returned to her. "WHAT?!"

"And bring me the receipt! I'll know if you're helping yourself to some of the profits!"

"You said you'd let her go!"

Dartsmoth gave a cheeky grin. "And I am letting her go! Ha!"

Caeldori almost roared at him in primal rage, and she had to bite her tongue before she could regain the concentration to speak. "YOU'RE A MONSTER!"

"Really?" Dartsmoth looked over as the recon soldier untied Soleil and forced her from the tent, Caeldori crying for her as she left. The Inquisitor then took her chair and sat down in front of Caeldori. "In case you haven't figured it out, I'm not exactly from here. I was born in a country called Wielklavia. It's on a continent about 15,000 kilometers away in the southern hemisphere. My people called it the Waking Moon, since it has kind of a crescent moon shape, but the Grimleal call it Sedna. It's a pisshole."

Caeldori shot daggers at him. "Why should I care?"

"I want you to know exactly what you're fighting for. See, Wielklavia was composed of nomadic tribes. Life in the Waking Moon was hard. Because of that, the tribes developed a very collectivistic culture. People weren't expected to think about themselves. Everyone had to give their lives for the greater good. For the whole. The only thing that mattered was the tribe. If you did anything to go against the tribe, you were labelled an unmutual. The tribes lived on the relatively fertile coasts, but unmutuals were exiled into the continent's desert interior. The Great Wielklavian Fuck All. See, unmutuals were never allowed to return. They even passed down their status to their children. I was born an unmutual, but not because of anything I did. My grandparents were the ones to commit a crime. I was doomed to live in the middle of bloody woop woop because of crimes I had nothing to do with! Unmutuals were treated like second class citizens. Only a few merchants would ever deal with us. We were stereotyped as thieves, wanderers, and whores. The tribes told stories about how we practiced magic and charms. How we abducted children." Dartsmoth's voice softened, as if the Grimleal brute was actually taken back by the emotions returning to him. "Dad died when I was just an anklebiter. Mum tried, but things were hard. Bands of unmutuals didn't usually have children. In fact, most didn't survive in the desert more than a few generations. All the wandering bands of unmutuals were just staving off the inevitable. There weren't any other children my age, and no one had any love for me. We all banded together for survival, but we weren't family. The only thing we had in common was that we were all exiled. I had no direction in life. I didn't allow myself to dream. Society told me I was nothing… and I believed it." Dartsmoth sat up. "I was seventeen when the Grimleal came. The Grimleal usually took over continents by allying themselves with local groups. See, they didn't go to the tribes. They didn't go to the elite, because those in power don't want to change society. No, no they went to us because they knew we would want to overthrow the existing order. The Grimleal did something to us that no one had ever done before. They treated us like human beings. I happily served in their army, and thanks to them, I've made something of myself. The Grimleal gave me a chance that my society never did." Dartsmoth stood up and kicked the chair away. "It's the same all over. Every continent was ruled by a landed aristocracy that was built on the backs of the people. The Grimleal is a meritocracy. Your birth doesn't matter here. Everyone has the chance to prove themselves. To rise through society. You look at a lot of the Lord Lieutenants, and the Officers, and the Inquisitors, and you'll see that a lot of them were born as commoners. They never could have achieved anything in the old feudal regimes. You think that we're oppressive, and that you're fighting to save the world, but you're only trying to rebuild a system where a bunch of bludgers root us. You've got to be coming the raw prawn at me!"

"Huh?!"

"Let me put this in terms you'll understand. I've got no sympathy for you, rebel. None. Now you're going to stay here until we're ready to take you back to Altman. You may have briefly gotten away, but no one escapes The Rockpile in the end."

With nothing else she could do, Caeldori smiled and made one last act of defiance. "Except for all the other prisoners I helped escape."

Dartsmoth took another breath from his cigarette, though Caeldori could tell she'd gotten to him. "I hope Altman butchers you. By the way, he'll use you to help track down your mother. Whatever he does to you, she'll get it ten times worse."

Though the modern Grimleal had only ruled over the world for thirty years, the cult that preceded it had existed for a thousand years. So ancient was the old Grimleal that many of their temples had become lost by Validar's time, and the new Grimleal had to actively search for them. It was only through the knowledge of Grima itself that many of these structures could be located.

One of the most notable examples of these edifices was located in eastern Ferox. Though Validar himself had known of this temple, there were two obstacles that prevented the Grimleal of his time from gaining access to it. First, it was in Ferox, an ally of Ylisse. Second, the temple was sealed after the Fell Dragon's original defeat over a millenia ago, and the cult never had the resources to open the strange lock their predecessors had created. Only now, with the resources of a global empire at their control, could the Grimleal finally gain access to what their primogenitors had sealed away.

"это пиздец!" Semyonov cried as he inspected the temple's massive stone door. "Aren't we technically on the same side as the original Grimleal?! Why don't they want us inside?!"

"The Grimleal sealed it after the Fell Dragon's death." Hwal'chag responded as she stepped forward. "They didn't want the forces of the First Exalt to gain access to whatever's inside. Furthermore, they might have intended it as a test. They only wanted those powerful enough to get past the lock to be worthy of their ancient treasure."

"Well aren't you little miss paleontologist. That explains why you're so lacking in combat ability."

Hwal'chag drew a small flintlock pistol from a holster on her thigh and twirled it around by the trigger guard. She wasn't trying to threaten her comrade, but seemed to be simply fidgeting. "Project more, sweetie. You wish you had a unit like White Company under your command."

"My Talon Company is sent to quell rebellions too difficult for anyone else to handle. Your forces are never given such important assignments."

"Tell yourself they're important assignments if you want, but really the rest of us just don't want to do them. White Company is never sent on those kinds of missions because I don't piss of Yuri." Hwal'chag slung her pistol back into its holster. "And Semyonov? The word you were looking for was 'archaeologist'."

"Everyday I'm reminded of how ridiculous this language is."

Another SOG soldier stepped forward. This man was part of Semyonov's Talon (коготь) Company, identifiable by his green and khaki uniform and his kepi. He was a diminutive man, physically unassuming. The only thing notable about him was his eyes. They were glowing with a bright golden light, just like Dartsmoth's. "Yuri is contacting us." The man blinked, and his eyes became a normal brown. Semyonov sighed.

"He'd better actually have something important to tell us! If he's calling just to remind us of our duties again, I swear I'll put a bullet through his hologram!"

Hwal'chag smiled. Semyonov's frustrations were just amusing to her. "This is what I'm talking about when I say you keep pissing him off."

"Tell you what, rice farmer. When you meet the love of your life, and when you watch her be burned to death at the stake, and when you then have to take orders from one of the men responsible, then you can tell me not to be angry with him."

Semyonov, Hwal'chag, and the third man walked back to the temple entrance. Six figures stood waiting for them. Three of them wore the colors of Talon Company. The other three wore berets, like Hwal'chag. Their berets, however, were white, and the rest of their clothing was white and icy blue. Many of the individuals were visually distinctive, almost as much as the higher ranking SOG agents.

One of the Talon Company members wore a fairly standard green and khaki uniform and a kepi. The emblem of the SOG was stitched into the uniform. Other than that, there wasn't anything notable about the man save for that he didn't seem to have any weapons on him. Not even a pistol or a knife.

Beside the man was another member of Talon Company. This man had the same colors as the others, but his outfit was similar to Semyonov's. He even had a cape, though his was shorter. The man had an unusually long arquebus on his back, but there was otherwise little notable about him.

Beside him was a man almost robotic in appearance, such was the extent that his armor covered him. The man had metal heavy plating on much of his body, and what wasn't covered in plating was instead protected by thick leather that, strangely, seemed to be coated in clay, plaster, and alum. The man's head was entirely obscured by a strange helmet. Only the bottom of it was metal, and the rest was a dome made from curved, orange glass. The man could presumably see out, but the only thing that could be seen through the helmet was a vague outline of his head. Emblazoned on the front of the man's armor was a foreign word, "Друг".

Standing separately from the members of Talon Company were three representatives of Hwal'chag's White Company. The first man was unassuming beyond his stark white and icy blue uniform, except that his eyes were two different colors. The right one was a dark red, while the left one was the same blue as his clothing.

Beside him was a man covered head to toe in wasps. The insects crawled around his skin, even across his face, and yet the man never reacted. Even the man's clothing had dozen of holes torn in it, allowing the wasps to crawl in and out. Though the wasps freely wandered the man's body, they never once flew away. It was as if the man was commanding them to stay. The man's actual face was covered in wrapping, and only his eyes were visible.

The last individual was a woman wearing a white fur coat and pants, complete with a white fur hat. The icy blue on her outfit came from a strap keeping a long firearm on her back. The weapon looked like an arquebus at first glance, but it was thinner and made entirely of metal. The woman had her right arm extended, and her hand and forearm were covered by a thick, white gauntlet. Perched on her arm was a large eagle, about ninety centimeters long with a wingspan of just over two meters, that notably had a stark white head. The eagle was perfectly calm on the woman's arm, and she occasionally made kissing noises towards it.

Semyonov and Hwal'chag took positions in front of their respective forces, and Semyonov nodded back to the man whose eyes had been glowing. "Tarkov. Get this over with."

Tarkov drew a farakveða tome and fired a blast of energy into the air. Within a few seconds, a holographic figure of Yuri appeared. The SOG officer took a long breath from a lit cigarette before speaking to Semyonov and Hwal'chag. He paid no mind to their subordinates. "Report. Are Talon and White Companies in position?"

"Are Talon and White Companies in-" Semyonov threw his arms up in frustration. "We've been here ever since we picked up Tiki! Of course we're in position!"

"Stand by. Aversa's Inquisitor will be arriving shortly. In fact, his carriage should be pulling up any minute." Yuri turned his head just slightly to look at Tarkov. "Isn't that right, soldier?"

Tarkov's eyes glowed again. "Yes. I can feel him approaching."

Semyonov looked back and forth between the two. "Don't talk to my men!"

"They're my men, Semyonov. They're all my men."

"My ass! I built Talon Company myself! You only have your position in MAC (Military Assistance Command) because of Thomas. Once upon a time, military men had young women like that as playthings, but we live in a brave new world. Now little girls make once great men like into their boy toys. Оотебыа ныет ыаыеесав!"

"Is that so, Captain?" Semyonov tensed up and turned to see a second hologram of Thomas. "That's it. Tell us how you really feel."

"I-Inquisitor Thomas! You uh… heard that did you?" Semyonov regained his nerve. "Well I'm not taking it back!"

"Aw, Semyonov. Did Hwal'chag not put you down for your nap?"

Hwal'chag snickered, and Semyonov snapped and drew one of his pistols. "Oh, you think that's funny?!"

Hwal'chag's agents tensed up. The woman drew her metal firearm, the man with different eye colors drew a crossbow, and the man covered in wasps stuck his arms out. The wasps immediately began to swarm around him. Semyonov responded by drawing a second pistol and aiming it at him. The man in the orange helmet readied a strange, tubular weapon. The man with the long arquebus aimed it. Finally, Tarkov simply put his fingers to his head, and his eyes glowed again. The only one to not tense up was the Talon Company soldier without weapons. He simply shook his head.

"Stop!" Yuri commanded. His voice was stern and dismissive, as if he were speaking to children. "All of you. Stop."

"Come on, guys." Thomas responded. "This Inquisitor Aversa is sending is a big deal to her. One of her new favorites. Try not to make MAC-SOG look bad in front of him, okay?"

Yuri nodded. "They will obey, my lady." He turned to Semyonov and Hwal'chag. "Right?"

"Sure. The rice farmer and I will be on our best behavior."

Thomas nodded and turned to Yuri. "I have other business to attend to with Anita. Yuri? You'll handle this?"

"Of course."

"One last thing, darls. Put out that ciggie? For me? You know it can't be good for your lungs."

"Of course, my lady."

Thomas smiled and kissed Yuri on the cheek, though it was purely for show as their holograms couldn't actually touch, and the two were nowhere near each other in reality. "Bye, Yuri."

"Goodbye." Semyonov said as he waved, his next words spoken softly. "Белоручка."

Thomas glared at him. "Yuri. Mind translating that for me?"

"He said you have pretty eyes, my lady."

"D'aw. What a sweetheart." Thomas responded sarcastically as her hologram flickered out.

"Damn Dartsmoth. He didn't warn me about how addictive these things could be." Yuri extinguished the cigarette and looked to Semyonov. "Talon Company will secure the interior of the temple once the door is open. White Company will patrol the perimeter."

"What?! Why do I have to go into the dark temple?"

"Because I'm ordering you to."

"Oh you care so much about orders! You didn't care back in Novoskr!"

"Novoskr is dead, Semyonov. Bury it."

"How can you say that about the motherland?!"

Hwal'chag turned as the man covered with wasps tapped her shoulder. A carriage had just pulled up, and a young, robed man carrying a heavy container stepped out. He wore the attire of an Inquisitor, but he seemed unusually young. Even younger than Thomas. Almost baby faced, in fact. The man walked right up to Hwal'chag, knowing exactly who was in charge. Hwal'chag smiled, drew the pistol on her other leg, and twirled it around with her left hand while extending her right arm. "Conrad, I presume?"

Conrad shook her hand. "Inquisitor Conrad. Any reason you have that gun out?"

"Just my way of passing the time."

"Ever hear the phrase, don't take out your gun unless you're willing to destroy something?"

"Guns and I have an understanding. The bullets go where I tell them to, and a gun is like an extension of my body. Crossbows too. Don't be such a baby." Hwal'chag transferred the gun to her right arm and twirled it with that hand, moving so quickly that Conrad couldn't quite track it. "So you're the Inquisitor Aversa sent. I heard you were involved in the plan to lure Chrom out of hiding. Operation Kingfish. I also heard that didn't go so well. Lord Lieutenant Courtney was badly wounded, and most of his lieutenants were killed."

"It's not my fault Courtney was too weak to stop him. My job was to find him, and I succeeded."

"So how'd you do it?"

"Chrom had eluded us for decades, but we created a psychological profile on him. From that, we devised a plan. We believed him to be hiding somewhere in Ylisse, so for years we went from town to town, village to village, staging a horrible murder of a young man and his daughter by the forces of the local Lord Lieutenant. We knew from his psychological profile that if Chrom saw it, he'd be driven to lash out at the local Grimleal forces, and we'd be able to find him. The plan worked perfectly, though we had no idea he'd be able to wipe out a Lord Lieutenant's entire power base." Conrad shrugged. "But again, I did what I was supposed to do. Aversa promoted me, and now I'm here." Conrad glanced over Hwal'chag's shoulder to see Semyonov and Yuri still arguing. "So this is Thomas' pet project."

"SOG."

"Never heard the name before."

"Never will." Hwal'chag snickered. "That's what Yuri always says."

"What exactly do you do?"

"I can't really tell you that, Conrad. Just know that our operations aren't exactly publicly known. You must be a rising star to be part of this operation. I think Aversa likes you. You might even be made part of her inner circle."

Conrad continued to look at Semyonov and Yuri. "Not sure I'd want that if these are the men I'd have to work with. What's their problem?"

"To be honest, Conrad, most of us don't get along that well." Hwal'chag holstered her pistol without even looking at it. She then drew the first one again and began twirling it. "Semyonov and Yuri really don't like each other, though I think it's largely one sided on Semyonov's part. They're both from an overseas country called Novoskr. It used to be a monarchy, but revolutionaries with help from the Grimleal overthrew the government and set up a puppet state. Semyonov used to work as an assassin for the royal family. He was close to them, especially with the eldest princess. Yuri used to be the Captain of the Royal Guard. When the revolution began, Yuri sided with the Grimleal. The royal family was executed, and Semyonov blames Yuri for it."

"I see. Yet, for all that, they're on the same side now?"

"Life's funny isn't it?"

The two looked over at Semyonov. "You had a duty to the royal family! You betrayed them all!"

"Don't lecture me on duty, boy. You weren't exactly loyal to the end. You have the Mark of Grima tattooed on your body, same as everyone else. You know better than to die for a worthless old world idea. I just had more foresight than you."

"The princess died because of you! Она была невиновной!"

Yuri understood everything Semyonov said, but he didn't respond in kind. He only spoke in his adopted tongue, symbolic in a way of his detachment to his homeland. "She was a carriage stop whore. You think you were her only lover?"

"ты забыл Наш язык?! Говорить Новоскр! пошёл в жопу!"

Hwal'chag stepped forward. "You two done? The Inquisitor is here, you know."

"Of course, rice farmer." Semyonov turned and walked towards the temple door. "I have little more to say to this excuse for a man. You either die a soldier, or you become a worthless politburo bureaucrat."

"If Talon Company wavers for even a second, Semyonov, Aversa will have your head. Hwal'chag, ensure that this is done."

Hwal'chag nodded as Yuri's hologram flickered away. She gritted her teeth as she watched Semyonov walk. "Yeah, I'm a rice farmer. I'm from Chon'sin, so I just spend my time in thigh high, parasite infested water farming rice while wearing a ridiculous hat because, well, that's just what I do! It's so funny! It just, it just never stops being funny!" She turned back to Conrad. "Err, sorry. I didn't mean to rant like that. Semyonov's just… hard to work with."

Conrad lifted up his container and made his way to the door. "Then we'd better get that door open. That way we can all get out of here."

The massive stone door that guarded the temple was in symbiosis with a metal lock. The system featured three "keyholes" of sorts, though each was of a strange and alien design. Even the metal itself was foreign, bright and gold like brass, but with a strength exceeding that of titanium. Conrad walked right up to the door and set down his container. Semyonov and Hwal'chag peered over his shoulder as he opened it. By some trick of dark magic, the interior of the container had been kept chilled, and both SOG agents stepped back as a brief burst of frigid air hit them. Conrad didn't hesitate, and he gestured to the contents. Inside was a vial of red liquid, a sword, and a large metal… thing. The two SOG hadn't the slightest notion of what it was.

"What are those?" Hwal'chag wondered.

Conrad drew the sword and held it out until Hwal'chag took it. "The Falchion. The Divine Weapon of Naga, but not the one wielded by the royal family of Ylisse. This was the Falchion given to Duma so that he could be killed when he degenerated into madness. Alm himself used it. It was taken by the 2nd army as they marched through Valm, and kept in the vaults of High Point." Conrad then took out the vial, which Semyonov took. "The blood of Nowi. Taken in copious amounts from her corpse after she was killed ten years ago." Finally, Conrad unfolded a handle on the metal contraption and manhandled it out.

Hwal'chag twirled what had once been Alm's blade around. "And that thing?"

"It's called a pulse generator. It's designed to emit a concentrated burst of holy magic over a wide area."

Hwal'chag stared at it. "Isn't that what tomes do?" She responded, her tone very dismissive.

"No. A tome has a specific purpose. This generator simply unleashes divine power."

"Why?!"

"The engineers believed that it can essentially 'overload' light magic tomes and healing staves, making them useless. As for right now, it'll help us with the door."

Semyonov looked over the three objects. "The Blood of a Divine Dragon, the Body of a Divine Dragon, and the Life Force of a Divine Dragon. The three things required to open the temple door."

Conrad fiddled with the pulse generator. "So you have heard of the legends?"

"We're not grunt soldiers. It's our job to know things."

"Yes. It is said that the ancient Grimleal created a lock that requires these three things for the temple. The Falchion, made from Naga's tooth, is the body. The holy magic from the pulse generator is the life force. The blood is… well that one's obvious. Hwal'chag, Semyonov, go ahead."

Hwal'chag shrugged and inserted the Falchion into a notch on the lock. Semyonov inspected the lock before finally deciding to open the vial and simply dump the blood on the lock. They both turned to Conrad, and he readied the machine. Hwal'chag looked warily at the door, noticing Nowi's blood sliding to the ground without having any noticeable effect on the door. "Is this supposed to happen?"

"Now we just need to activate this."

"But how does that contain the life force of a Divine Dragon?"

"It has to do with the power source."

"The power source?"

"Let's just say it has to do with your earlier capture of Tiki."

Hwal'chag and Semyonov both exchanged glances. "It came from her?"

"You'll know more in time. Bernitz-Heimeroth will make the official announcement soon enough." Conrad pulled a switch, and the machine audibly powered up.

"Is that thing dangerous?!"

Conrad shrugged. "I guess we'll find out together."

The machine let out a deafening noise, and the air around it was distorted, but nothing seemed to happen to anyone present. Within seconds, however, bright, glowing lines appeared on the metal lining of the door, and the ancient construction slid open. Stagnant air that hadn't been connected to the rest of the atmosphere in a millennia wafted outwards, and the three Grimleal agents looked uneasily at the rather ominous blackness that now awaited them. "Well look at that." Hwal'chag chimed in. "That door hasn't opened in a thousand years, but I guess we got the magic touch."

Conrad deactivated the pulse generator. "Or it's because we were prepared. Because we've worked to gather the resources for three decades. It can't be said that the Grimleal doesn't have foresight."

"But… what a strange lock. Why would the ancient Grimleal make a lock revolving around Divine Dragons, and how could they have built it?"

"That's one of the things we're here to find out. Captain Semyonov?"

Semyonov did a double take back to the temple. "I'm not going in there!"

"Yuri ordered you to." Hwal'chag reminded him. Semyonov approached her until the two were almost touching.

"Well Yuri's not here, now is he?"

Hwal'chag wasn't in intimidated. She took out a gold coin, but not a modern Grimleal gold coin. This one seemed to be from the old Halidom of Ylisse. She maneuvered it through her fingers, responding to Semyonov's attempt to intimidate her with a cheeky smile. "Why don't we flip a coin for it?"

Semyonov squinted at it. "Very well." He gestured for Tarkov to come over, and the two Talon Company agents conversed quietly. "So what's it going to be?"

Tarkov's eyes glowed. "If the coin lands on a face… it will be heads."

Semyonov smiled and turned back to Hwal'chag. The Captain of White Company was now standing by the soldier with two eye colors, but Semyonov paid him no mind. "Alright. I pick heads."

"Heads it is." Hwal'chag flipped the coin into the air, and the eyes of the man beside her glowed with a bright golden light. To Semyonov's frustration, the coin stuck itself in the ground on its side.

"What?! Give me the damn thing!" Semyonov seized the coin and flipped it into the air. The man by Hwal'chag once again had glowing eyes, and the coin landed on its side. "Tarkov!" Semyonov said as he turned to his subordinate. "You said it would be heads!"

"I did say if it landed on its face it would be heads."

Semyonov glared at the man by Hwal'chag, who smiled back. "That only happened because of him!"

Hwal'chag shrugged. "You used your guy."

Semyonov shook his head. "Fine. I didn't want to stay out here anyways."

Conrad nodded his head as Semyonov gestured to his Talon Company agents.

"Remember. Your objective is to secure the interior. We don't want any surprises waiting for our dedicated archaeology teams."

"Of course. Tarkov! Valeriy! Cvitko! Radikov! вперед! НАША СОЛИДАРНОСТЬ СОКРУШИТ Их!"

Tarkov cast a spell to provide light as Talon Company descended into the ancient structure, but it was proven unnecessary as artificial sources of light activated whenever the men passed by. The light wasn't anything like what a candle would produce. It was as bright as the sun itself, but somehow felt stagnant. Compared to the sun's rays, it was like the optical equivalent of comparing water from the sea to water from a drainage ditch. The Talon Company soldier with the long arquebus studied the metal devices producing the light, but Semyonov had little patience for it. "Лейтенант Radikov! Бери́сь дру́жно, не бу́дет гру́зно. Теперь сделайте свою работу!"

Radikov turned back, but he took his time admiring the stonework of the temple. Though over a thousand years old, the masonry showed almost no signs of wear. If not for the stagnant air, one would think the building new. Beyond that, there were features of the construction that Radikov didn't understand. More of the strange, golden metal lined the walls, and the lights themselves seemed to have a mind of their own. They turned on automatically as the men walked by, but shut off when they passed. Radikov inspected the walls for several seconds, but he finally turned back. "да." Semyonov's second in command muttered under his breath. Like Yuri, Radikov had more readily adopted the language of the Ylissean continent. "It's just… there's something here. An intelligence."

"Что?" Semyonov called back.

"I mean… Есть что-то-"

A loud, mechanical noise could be heard emanating from the walls. It was like something metal machinery would produce, yet it came out of stone. The SOG drew their weapons and put their backs to each other. Semyonov turned to the unarmed man and the heavily armored man in the orange helmet. "Cvitko? Valeriy?"

"мы это слышим." Cvitko responded. Unlike his comrades, Cvitko's attitude was relaxed, and he didn't even raise his fists.

Valeriy waved his tubular weapon around. "Но откуда?!"

A blue, humanoid holographic projection materialized in front of the men. The man it depicted stood over three meters in height, and he looked down at the SOG with a curious expression. Radikov was the first to notice it. "сука блять!"

"That language." The figure responded. "I don't recognize it, and it doesn't seem to have any connection to the languages of my time. Tell me, can you comprehend what I'm saying?"

Semyonov stepped forward. "I can."

"Are you from another continent?"

"We are."

The man smiled. "Interesting. It seems human civilization is slowly advancing if regular travel between overseas continents is possible. Now tell me, are you some kind of foreign auxiliary? A slave soldier? Are you part of an advisory force sent to this continent?"

Semyonov didn't take the focus on his background well. "What the hell even are you?!"

"What am I? You are currently speaking to an artificial intelligence construct."

"An… artificial intelligence?"

"Yes. A self regulating dark magic matrix sustaining the neural patterns of a human being. As for who I am, I was created to emulate Forneus, the Alchemist Of Thabes." The construct seemed to smile. "Or rather, the Mad Alchemist of Thabes."

Semyonov lowered his gun. "Thabes. The ancient civilization?"

"Yes. The Serene Republic of Thabes. The most advanced human civilization of its time. Even the Divine Dragons feared our might. Judging by the technology you have on your person now, your current civilization seems to be nothing like what we once were."

Semyonov looked to his men, making sure they were seeing the same thing he was. "Look, I don't know a whole lot about the history of this bumfuck continent, but I thought Thabes collapsed long before the First Exalt's time."

"I do not know about this 'First Exalt', but I believe I understand your confusion. I recognize the symbol on your headwear. The Mark of Grima. I have seen it once before. Emblazoned proudly on the clothing of your predecessors. The ones who gained access to this installation, only to seal it away once more. You thought this place was built by the Grimleal, but they were only transient. Thabes built this place."

"This… isn't a Grimleal temple?! For a thousand years the crazy cultists have been trying to get in here, but you're telling me they had nothing to do with this place?"

"Not quite. Allow me to tell you of the man I am an echo of. Forneus was a brilliant alchemist. His advancements in science and dark magic propelled Thabes to the height of its power, and he was revered in his day, that is until he devised a project that would end human suffering forever. The Senate feared what they did not understand, and they called him mad." Forneus' echo looked around, as if it were personally frustrated with the events it chronicled. "But human ignorance alone was not the cause. The Divine Dragons feared the power of Thabes, and the Dragon Duma threatened the senate if Forneus was not controlled. The Council acquiesced to Duma's demands, and had many of Forneus' installations shut down. Duma himself created the lock you encountered on the door. Forneus had no choice but to leave, but he created me in secret to ensure that the knowledge contained here would never be lost."

"In other words… you're a glorified janitor?"

"Fool. The constructions of Thabes are beyond anything your primitive civilization could build. They need not be maintained. Forneus dedicated himself completely to the betterment of humanity. Even if he was forced to abandon this installation, he would never allow his discoveries to be erased by the apathetic march of time. I am the culmination of that knowledge. That is why I was made! That is why the earlier incarnation of this Grimleal came here."

"They knew Thabes built this place?"

"Beyond that. They knew of Grima's connection to Thabes. I have little doubt that the Experiment itself lead them here."

Semyonov's eyes widened. If there was one thing about Ylissean history that had been made clear to him, it was the power of the Fell Dragon. Few members of the Grimleal would realistically even see Grima, but every one of them was made to respect its will. Semyonov himself had endured being around the Hierophant personally, and any mention of Grima now made him stand on edge. Furthermore, the echo's language was strange to him. "Experiment?!"

"They wanted the knowledge I have, to further understand yet another creation of Forneus. I may have been one of his first children, but I was not his heir. After all, I am but an echo of his intelligence, but the Experiment became something far greater."

"Greater?"

"In his life, Forneus was obsessed with two things. The resurrection of the dead, and the creation of a perfect intelligence. With the Experiment he accomplished both, and it grew and grew until he realized it would become something beyond any human. Beyond even any dragon. I know only what Forneus did when he created me, and the Experiment was but a fetus at the time, but even then Forneus knew of its potential. With what I know about the being you call Grima, I'm not surprised it had such an impact on the world. A millennia ago, the Grimleal dedicated itself fully to it. Even now, it seems Grima has its followers. If your alien tongue is any indication, it seems that all of humanity, even across such vast distances, has been brought under its control."

Semyonov did a double take to his men, who were as confused as he was. "You're honestly claiming that Forneus created Grima?! That Grima came from Thabes?!"

"Where do you think it came from?"

"It's a god! It doesn't come from anywhere!"

"It's a living thing. All life comes from somewhere. It is simple evolution. The strong survive, and the weak perish. All life has evolutionary ancestors, but so rarely do the ancestors themselves survive. They are replaced. You can see it on a micro level with the relationship parents have with their offspring. Living things have children designed to supplant them. You give them time and resources, and they don't give it back. You are made weaker for it, all so that they can become more than you were. You do it so that your species can continue, and so that your genes live on. Reproduction is a necessary paradox in life. Living things must focus on their own survival, but they must also be selfless in the creation of new life. Their children, the species that will one day evolve from them, may one day make it impossible for them to survive, but they do it to continue life. All living things walk on the corpses of their ancestors, and they in turn will one day be wiped out by new life. Such is evolution."

"Evolution? Genes? What?!"

"Allow me to use an example. The Divine Dragons like Duma feared humanity because they saw the end of their race in us, yet Dragons like Naga and Medeus chose to guide the growth of human civilization so that we could supplant them. Forneus himself came to fear the Experiment because he saw the end of humanity in it, and yet he realized that it could become far more than humanity could ever be. Compared to humanity, the Dragons were more powerful, longer lived, and had knowledge beyond our comprehension, and yet their race died out, and ours came to dominate the world. We took the world from them." The hologram became very serious. "And now Grima will take the world from us. Such is evolution."

Semyonov turned to Radikov. "The academics are going to have a damn field day with this thing."

Bernitz-Heimeroth stood on an elevated platform temporarily constructed in front of a decrepit windmill, abandoned ever since Grima's Blight had destroyed the fertile soil in the area. The nobleman turned engineer wore a full set of plate armor, and every centimeter of his skin was covered. Even the eye holes on the helmet were very small, and a visor extended over the forehead to ensure no sunlight entered his eyes directly. The armor grew deathly hot in the day, and Bernitz-Heimeroth hated it, but he would never take it off. That would be certain death.

"Gentlemen." Bernitz-Heimeroth stood by five other Grimleal engineers. He turned to a man beside him, and the engineer handed him a glowing, cylindrical metal device. The core of the metal object glowed with a bright light, and a thin mesh of brass covered it. Bernitz-Heimeroth gripped the item carefully. "As you may have heard, the Voice Of Naga has finally been brought to justice for her role in the insurgency of thirty years prior. Once, she was worshipped for her connection to Naga and her power. They say the Divine Dragons chose to help humanity, but they hoarded their power from us. Imagine if that power were made available to our civilization." Bernitz-Heimeroth held the device up. "I hold now more energy than humanity has produced in the past several thousand years. The power of a god in the palm of our hands. Observe now, a small taste of this power."

Bernitz-Heimeroth handed the battery to a subordinate, and the engineer descended the platform and inserted it into the machine. The windmill's blades began to turn, and within minutes the blades were spinning rapidly enough to shake the entire structure, forcing the crowd to take cover from the winds. The engineer removed the battery, and the crowd erupted into applause as soon as they could manage to stand up. It wasn't a polite kind of applause either. They were genuinely impressed. What once took the power of the atmosphere itself could now be done with a handheld device.

Bernitz-Heimeroth nodded as an astounded bureaucrat from High Point raised his hand. "What exactly are these batteries, Director?"

"For thirty years we have prepared for Tiki's capture. A machine of my design, The Pommel, was created to extract her raw divine power. We store it in these batteries. The possibilities are endless. I believe that civilizations are defined by the amount of energy they produce. With these batteries at our disposal, we can usher in a new era of technological advancement. That battery could easily keep that windmill spinning for years. Think of what we could power."

"These batteries come from the war criminal? They're made from her divine power?"

"Anything can be quantified. The holy energy of Naga now serves humanity directly."

"How many could Tiki produce?"

"I have no way of knowing exactly. If I had to guess, I would say tens of thousands."

"And is the machine killing her?"

"Do not attribute human qualities to her. She is beyond any of us." Bernitz-Heimeroth turned as one of his engineers approached him, uninterested in continuing the conversation. "And she isn't worth your sympathy."

The man standing in front of Bernitz-Heimeroth now was middle aged, short, and fairly meek in appearance. He looked of Chon'sin descent, but he actually hailed from another continent entirely. Already an adult when he immigrated, and unable to speak a word of the Ylissean and Valmese language, the man was able to rise through the ranks of the academic elite through sheer merit. As a living tribute to the Grimleal's willingness to recruit people of varying backgrounds, the man had been made Bernitz-Heimeroth's successor as Head Engineer of Weapons Development when the former was given a position that served the Fell Dragon more directly. "Director Heimeroth." The engineer said courteously.

"Director Xiao." Bernitz-Heimeroth responded.

"Allow me to congratulate you on the success of The Pommel. Project: Excalibur is proceeding as planned." Xiao shifted around, his eyes focused towards the ground. "So what about The Hilt?"

"Your shipment of batteries is being sent as promised, Xiao. I've little need to hoard them. Your V1 project can proceed smoothly."

Xiao didn't react with relief. Rather, he returned an inquisitive expression. "Exactly how many batteries exist?"

"Over a thousand of the smaller models, and several dozen of the more specialized batteries."

"Excuse me?! You said tens of thousands would be made before the machine drained her. At this rate she'll only last a few months."

Bernitz-Heimeroth turned to the assembled bureaucrats and officers, glaring at them through his helmet. "I feel it is best if Aversa's masses are kept unaware of The Pommel's true capacity. I really have no way of knowing how many batteries she'll produce, but I would estimate millions."

"Millions?!"

"But keep that information to yourself, Xiao. Remember what I told you about The Light. Zoe trusted you." Bernitz-Heimeroth leaned forward. "Remember where your loyalties lie. We serve the High Inquisitor, but we also serve humanity itself."

"O-of course."

Bernitz-Heimeroth walked towards the other engineers, and Xiao looked back to the windmill. The blades had only now stopped completely. "I only hope Tiki lives to see our new world. Naga always did want her to help humanity. Naga always did fear what would happen if she lost control of her power, but now it will create something beautiful."

Ascension stood tall as her frigate, the Reclamation's Tithe, thundered its way down the eastern coast of Ylisse. Ascension's mission was visit several Grimleal army forts along the coastline and use Black Authority to seize their materials and even personnel. Many of Gangrel's agents would not accept this, and as such Ascension's flotilla was well armed. The men and women assembled in front of her were fully equipped for a landing operation, and they stood ready as Ascension paced back and forth speaking to them. "When we joined the Grimleal, we took an oath."

"Regardless of our station." They all repeated. "All without exception."

"To be upheld on the blood of our fathers and mothers. On the blood of our sons and daughters."

"Even under pain of torture! Even to our dying breath!"

"Those who would break this oath are heretics! Infidels! Unbelievers! They deserve neither pity, sympathy, nor mercy, and even now they turn our brothers and sisters against us and abuse the mercy of Lord Grima."

"They will be crushed beneath our feet!"

"As we continue our march along the path of Grima! Forward warriors, and fear not pain nor death!"

Ascension looked off to the distance to get a good look at the army fort her ship was preparing to dock with. She turned back and nodded to Captain Crespo, and he eagerly waved his hands towards the back of the ship. Four heavy mortars on the Reclamation's Tithe's aftercastle opened fire on the fort. Their payload consisted of cast iron shells filled with gunpowder that exploded when a fuse burned out, and the shells were specially designed so that the hot gases produced by firing ignited said fuse. The entire ship rattled slightly as the weapons discharged their ammunition, and a horrible whistling noise could be heard as the shells streaked their way across the sky, shattering the tranquility of the sea air. The mortar rounds exploded just in front of the Grimleal fort, raining shrapnel on the walls. It was unlikely that anyone inside was injured by the attack, but no one would have been oblivious to it. Deacon Sentzke made his way through the cheering and roaring crowd of soldiers to speak with Ascension directly. "What in Grima's name are you doing?!"

"Just making our presence known, Deacon."

"By shooting at them?!" Sentzke cried.

"Yes." His distant relative replied bluntly. "They need to understand the paradigm of these negotiations. We will appropriate what the High Inquisitor feels is necessary, and they will not stand in our way."

"Look they may not be loyal to the High Inquisitor, but they're still Grimleal! They still serve the Fell Dragon just like us! Please try to do this peacefully! No one has to die here!"

"Of course, Deacon." Ascension replied, though she was more interested in inspecting the throwing axes on her person. "We will give them the chance to serve in our mission of glorious conversion and intercession. Of course, if they refuse Grima's will, then we have no choice but to enforce the High Inquisitor's order."

Sentzke looked around nervously as Ascension's soldiers prepared to leave the ship. They readied their weapons and psyched themselves up. No one looked like they were planning to negotiate. "Just please promise me you'll try to keep things peaceful?"

"Of course, Deacon. Now go wait in the ship's hold. I wouldn't want a stray bullet to strike you if you stayed on the deck."

"But you just said-"

"Go!"

"Yeah, Deacon!" Crespo mumbled through a scimitar he was holding in his teeth. He holstered the two flintlock pistols he'd been preparing and took his sword by the blade, shoving the hilt into Sentzke's chest. "We know how squeamish you can be when it comes to these things. Now why don't you run along and let the adults do their work."

Sentzke looked back to Ascension, but it was clear she wouldn't change her mind on this. He thought about begging for diplomacy one last time, but the constant sounds of sword rattling and guns being loaded behind him told him enough about how pointless this would be. The Deacon nodded and slowly made his way back through the crowd, ignoring the mocking calls of the soldiers as he passed by.

The Reclamation's Tithe was originally built as a standard warship, but Ascension had heavily modified it since Aversa had given it to her. Towards the back of the ship's lower deck was a meditation room, and a statue of the Fell Dragon served as the centerpiece of the sanctuary. Sentzke knelt down in front of the figure, holding his arms to his side and bowing his head. "Lord Grima, have mercy. May your countenance be bestowed unto this unworthy mortal. May you bless me and keep me. May you shine your light down upon me, and be gracious to me. May all the faithful find solace in your guidance, and let our bestial and savage race find clarity in your will. Glory to you Grima. Glory to the Grimleal. Glory to the Hierophant. Glory to the Emperor, and especially to the High Inquisitor. Glory to Ascension and her righteous crusade. Glory to all those from our homeland who had the foresight to join her auxiliary forces. Glory to all who walk the path. I believe in one Lord, the Father, the Almighty, lord of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen. I believe in the Fell Spirit, the Lord, the giver of enlightenment, who is worshiped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets. I believe in one holy Church. I acknowledge my eternal fealty for the forgiveness of my sins. I look for the unworlding of life, and the salvation of the world to come. I believe in the glory of the Fell Dragon's light, and the eternal continuance that all who walk the path will know. I cast aside the heresy of Naga and Tiki. Duma and Mila. I cast aside the false heroes of the First Exalt, Chrom, and Lucina. I repent for the insurgency of thirty years prior, and of the heresy that destroyed the Fell Dragon a millennia ago. I pray for forgiveness. That my race be saved through your mercy. I believe that you will come to judge the faithful, and your kingdom will have no end. Holy, holy, holy. Heaven and Earth are full of your glory. Blessed is he that comes in the name of the lord. Grant us mercy. Grant us peace." Sentzke looked up the statue. "Hear the prayer of this lowly Deacon."

Sentzke was quiet for awhile, as if he were building up the courage to speak with the statue again. "I know that what I'm about to ask may seem like a condemnation of your followers, but I seek guidance. Surely Ascension and her righteous crusade is justified in her actions. Heretics do have to be stopped after all. It's just… she's so violent. The faithful walk the path to find salvation for all humanity, but she so easily defers to fighting. Heretics should be saved, not murdered! Right? I… I don't know if what I'm doing is right anymore. I have devoted my life to spreading your glory, but I don't always feel that Ascension's actions are righteous. By being a part of her bloodlust… I just don't know that I'm serving humanity anymore. I… I wanted to help people. That's why I became Deacon. Ascension she's…" Sentzke shook his head. "I am faltering in my station. Please, Lord Grima, give me some kind of sign. Can Ascension still be guided towards a path of clarity and conversion, or am I out of line for questioning her? I need to know how I must walk the path!"

Following the eventual end of his prayer, Sentzke had about an hour to himself in the ship's lower deck before he could hear footsteps above him. He hurried out to meet the ships's crew. If Sentzke had allowed himself to hope there could've been a peaceful solution, it would have been dashed at the visible signs of battle on the soldiers. Really, Sentzke wasn't surprised at all. He knew Ascension too well. The Deacon stood up straight and tried to suppress the queasy feeling in his stomach as his commander stepped forward, her body red with blood. Ascension herself had some cuts on her arms and legs, but if a rather large splatter on her abdomen was any indication, most of the blood wasn't hers. Sentzke couldn't hide the disappointment on his face, and Ascension responded to the disapproval with a silent snarl. "Get ready to move, Deacon. Our work here is concluded."

Sentzke took a deep breath, determined to at least say something before his fear of Ascension sapped him of his determination. "Did you even try?"

"They did not immediately surrender to the authority of the High Inquisitor. So as per Black Authority, we wiped them out."

"But did you give them a chance?!"

"Are you questioning my authority?!"

Sentzke backed away. "N-no. No, holy warrior. I-I only wish to express my concern that-"

"You know I value your services as Deacon, Sentzke, but your opinion on military matters means very little."

"But this didn't have to be a military matter! If you go in guns blazing, demanding that they immediately prostrate themselves before you, then you'll only encourage them to resist! How can they be willing to negotiate if you open up with hostility?!"

"There isn't supposed to be negotiation, Sentzke! They accept the High Inquisitor's will, or they die."

Sentzke hung his head. "How many?"

"What?"

"How many? How many Grimleal soldiers, servants of Lord Grima just like us, died because you didn't think they respected the High Inquisitor?!"

Ascension shrugged. "A few dozen. I didn't really count. It matters not. The material resources of this fort can now serve us in our task, and they are more than enough to have made this battle worthwhile. Now get ready to move, Deacon. We have more military installations to visit." Ascension waved towards a soldier behind her. "But there is one last thing to address first. A single soldier did survive the battle. We found her hiding in a drainage tunnel. Normally I wouldn't reward such cowardice with continued survival, but this one is young."

"Young?"

Sentzke turned at the sound of grunting and whimpering to see one of Ascension's soldiers forcing a young girl forward. She wore the uniform of an army soldier, but the Deacon still couldn't believe his eyes. She was no older than thirteen or fourteen years old. "This is the survivor, Sentzke. The one soldier who did not take up arms against us." Ascension said as the man pushed the girl forward, almost knocking her over.

"Soldier? H-how did she even join? This is a child!"

"Her youth is an advantage, Sentzke. She is still open minded. Now, Deacon, fulfill your purpose. Convert her. She can join our crew, but I will not have heretics on my ship."

Ascension and her men brushed past Sentzke, leaving him alone with his new disciple. The girl in front of him seemed terrified of her surroundings, but even if she weren't she'd still have little to say to the portly, middle aged man in front of her. "Uh… hey." The girl brought her eyes to Sentzke's, but she didn't say anything. She just shivered, trying not to whimper. Sentzke could only nervously scratch the back of his head in response. "Uh, forgive me, Lord Grima, but it's going to take me awhile to figure this one out."

A Field Outside Northtown, South Valmese Administrative Zone

"Corriveau, we have to do SOMETHING."

"What do you propose we do?"

"I... I dunno…"

"Erm. W-what?" As her eyes slowly opened, and her mind slowly regained consciousness, the young woman sprawled along the grassy field could begin to make out two figures in front of her. Both were women, though their height varied. One was short and wore a long dress. The other was fairly tall, and she wore several pieces of plate armor over her clothing. The two looked down at the woman as her eyes opened further, and they both gave warm smiles.

"I see you're awake now." The woman said.

"Hey there!"

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Give me your hand." The woman brushed her chin length navy blue hair aside and held out her hand, giving an inviting expression as she did. The stranger she found obliged. "You all right?"

"Y-yes." The woman was still a bit groggy, but things were becoming more clear to her now. "Thank you, Corriveau."

Corriveau smiled, and the woman took a great deal of comfort in her blue eyes. Corriveau was clearly a soldier of some kind, as evidenced by the sword at her side and the Mark of Grima emblazoned on her clothing. Plate armor protected her right shoulder, but her left arm was entirely bare. The woman noticed Corriveau had a strange birthmark there. An almost completely straight line. "Ah, then you know who I am."

The woman squinted. She felt like she'd known Corriveau from somewhere. At the very least, this didn't feel anything like a first meeting. "No, actually. I... It's strange... Your name, it just...came to me…"

"...Hmm, how curious. Tell me, what's your name? What brings you here?"

"Oh! Of course." The woman's mind fogged, and it only grew worse the more she tried to focus. "My name is... It's... Hmm?"

"...You don't remember your own name?"

"I'm not sure if... I'm sorry, but where am I, exactly?"

"Hey, I've heard of this! It's called amnesia!" The shorter woman chimed in.

"It's called a load of pegasus dung, Lisia." The three turned as a heavily armored man stepped forward. "We're to believe you remember the Captain's name, but not your own?"

The woman noticed this man wasn't nearly as inviting as the others, and she felt very nervous. "B-But it's the truth!"

Corriveau stepped closer to the woman. " ...What if it IS true, Ferguson? We can't just leave her here, alone and confused. What sort of Rangers would we be then?"

"Just the same, Captain. I must emphasize caution. Rangers may lead the way, but we don't put our trust into people that could be working against the state."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right."

The woman briefly looked worried, as she had no idea what she'd do if she was left there. Ferguson also briefly looked alarmed. "Though… it's not my place to question you, sir. Perhaps you should decide."

"Yes." Corriveau seemed to make up her mind. "We'll take her to the nearby town to sort things out."

"Wait just one moment. Do I have a say in this?"

"Peace, friend—I promise we'll hear all you have to say back in town. Now come."

The woman didn't protest any further. There was something about Corriveau. She seemed to grow closer to the Captain with every word she said, and she already trusted her as if they'd known each other for years. Beyond that, the grogginess in the woman's brain seemed to fade only when Corriveau was talking. It was as if this was how things were supposed to go. The woman smiled back and followed the "Rangers" as they left for the nearby settlement of Northtown.

In the distance, a lone figure stood watching the four as they departed. This man wore a full set of plate armor that left no part of him exposed, and a sword was sheathed by his side. There was little notable about it. It seemed to be a normal steel sword, save for that it was completely identical to Corriveau's sword. The most unsettling thing about the man himself was his headwear. His face was covered by a silver mask that seemed to be perfectly smooth. It was beyond anything a human blacksmith could ever forge. It was also reflective, like chrome. Lastly, the man's right eye, or where the eye would be if the mask wasn't entirely featureless, had a glowing Mark of Naga. "So. The story begins anew. There is no room for individual human will now. The threads of prophecy start here."

(As of this update, this story is now one year old! Thank you everyone for sticking with it! Feel free to let me know if you have any questions on the fic so far.)