Nemesis' forces crossed through much of the natural mountain valley that made up most of eastern Fódlan, ending at just across the Airmid River, just a stone's throw away from Gronder Field.
Ashton did not know when the battle would begin, but ill omens were already beginning to show: the sky had become overcast since they had first left Enbarr, and the constant clicking of the golems made by Macuil did nothing to ease the nerves of the soldiers. Still, they were on their side, and Ashton would rather have a monstrous death machine with him rather than against him.
Hoping above all else that the Battle of Gronder Field, as he imagined it would be called, would be the final, decisive end to Nemesis and his band of bastards, Ashton prayed. It had become a ritual for him to pray to the Goddess every night. Even if dead in body, he refused to believe that she was gone completely, something that Seiros seemed to believe and support. He had no evidence, obviously, but he put his all into it nonetheless.
There was precious little room in the officer's tent where he and other high-ranking members of the Knights of Seiros were cordoned off. Even still, he hunched over and prayed.
Goddess Sothis, progenitor of life, if nothing else happens in these dark days, I only wish that Arawn is allowed to grow up in a world that is understanding of him and others. Allow him to grow up at all, if it pleases you. If I am to die on this battlefield, then at least I will have that.
Though they were for someone else, Ashton knew the selfishness in his words; to pray for only his and Seiros' son and no one else's, while even if he lived, there would be hundreds of children who did not have fathers or mothers as a result of the war.
Whatever happened, Ashton could feel a sense of finality dawn on him as he finally laid down in his cot and drifted off. Being able to sleep was a luxury some didn't have, and he intended to gain the most out of it he could.
It was on the eve of the battle that Ashton was lured away from camp by Ella, having chosen to go along with most of the army. She shushed him as they trekked through the vast field of Gronder for a while before Ashton could make out a single fire in the grass. A fire pit became visible a moment later, along with several people surrounding it.
"What's this then?" Ashton asked, looking around. He saw Roland and Saladin sitting upon two makeshift chairs, while Nothic and Jasmin sat side by side upon a small canvas, with Nothic downing what looked to be an entire bottle of wine.
"Tomorrow's gonna be hell, no doubt about it," Ella said, moving forward and crossing his arms, flashing Ashton with a wry grin. "So I got to thinking-"
"A very rare occurrence, as you know, Ashton," Roland muttered.
"Ignore him, he's just more sour than the wine he's drinking," Ella waved off, "Anyway, I decided we should all have one more night to ourselves. Take the edge off before we go off and charge into hell tomorrow."
"So your brilliant idea, Ella," Ashton began, rubbing his forehead. "Was to get us all drunk and hungover so that we are doomed to die tomorrow rather than maybe die tomorrow. Is that correct?"
Ella shrugged. "Better to go out with a smile on your face than a frown, right?"
Ashton stared at her for a moment, a stare that Ella gave straight back. After another moment, Ashton sighed again and moved forward.
"Screw it, I have nothing better to do," Ashton said.
"You have plenty of other things you could be doing," Saladin muttered, "you are just too scared to do them."
"That's where you're wrong- Oh, looks like those two are already down for the count," Ashton said, sitting beside Roland and watching Nothic fall over once Jasmin noticed him.
"S-Sir Ashton, I am…" Jasmin got out before wiping at her eyes. "I am not down yet."
"Lies. How many drinks have they had?" Ashton asked.
"Double the bottles that I have had," Roland remarked bitterly, sneering for a moment and looking away. "It should be the other way around. I am twice their age."
"Two-thirds!" Nothic suddenly shouted out, jostling Jasmin before falling forward, silent again.
"I am unsure that is how math works," Ashton remarked.
"I was never good at that," Ella admitted, walking up to Ashton until she sat right beside him. "So many numbers not worth remembering. Better to leave to somebody who is actually good at it."
"Like a servant of yours, perhaps? One with no education to speak of?" Roland asked.
"Someone's a prickly pear today. The wine making your inner cynic come out?" Ella asked, smugly smirking with a brow raised.
"It does not feel good, being here as we are when we could be dead tomorrow," Roland replied somberly.
Saladin spoke up. "Worrying about the coming battle will do you no good, Roland."
"Yeah, and why is everyone so worried about it?" Ella asked loudly. "We beat Nemesis' ass the last time he was here-"
"Language," Ashton commented.
"-and I don't see how this time will be any different. And if you interrupt me again, I will hit you."
"Am I the only one who remembers that Nemesis now has monsters at his beck and call?" Roland asked, his frown deepening as the fire's light outlined the lines in his face. "There is an army straight from the depths of the eternal flame just beyond the river, and here we are, drinking and talking as if nothing is going to happen."
"I know you do not remember the party we had before Nemesis attacked last time. I do not either, do not worry," Ashton said, placing a hand on Roland's shoulder. "But getting yourself worked up like this is not healthy. Were you not the one to suggest that one too?"
Roland turned his head. "That was set up by my family. Something I have taken note of as of late."
"Let yourself relax, Roland," Ella said, getting up and placing both hands on his shoulders. "Do you wanna massage? I can give you a massage. I won't tell your wife. Promise."
"Unhand me," Roland ordered, causing Ella to stand back with a chuckle. "I'll not be pitied. Give me a few moments and I am sure I will be as jovial as the rest of you."
"Hey, Roland?" Ashton said.
Roland finally turned to look at Ashton. "Yes? Need something?"
"You're a good friend," Ashton said, smiling as he looked into the flames. "For what it's worth, I am glad I am here. Without you guys, I do not think I would have gotten as far in this world as I have."
"Oh, don't go getting mushy on me now," Ella groaned, returning to her place. "I'm not in the mood. So, instead, lets have a toast, yeah? How about you, Sally? Wanna join in?"
"Call me that again and it will be the last word you utter," Saladin warned before a rare smile bloomed across his face. "But, fine. I will entertain your foolishness, for now."
Ella snorted as four wooden cups were prepared, with wine poured into them a moment later. Ashton swirled the liquid, watching its form a small whirlpool before stilling.
"Well, here's to us, then!" Ella said, holding her arm above and away from her. "And to these past few years!"
Roland grunted, tapping his cup against hers. "To many years of reforms and mistakes."
Saladin was next. "To redemption and meaning."
Ashton waited for a moment, lost in thought, before shooting his cup forward. "To a new life with new friends."
When he drank the wine, a bittersweet aftertaste plagued Ashton. He never quite got the taste out of his mouth.
Ashton could scarcely tell it was day when the battle began.
The sky had become a dark sea with the occasional sudden flash of lightning. Before the battle began, black rain fell and soaked the ground, almost looking as if the heavens themselves were weeping – as if the goddess herself was weeping.
The Knights of Seiros stood rank-and-file, accompanying Seiros as she strode to the front of the formation. The Imperial Army stretched from one side of Ashton's view to the other, like a great ocean of bodies, shining with blackened metal. The ticking of the golems that stood above them was the only sound besides the thunder that blanketed the day with its rancor.
On the other side of the field stood Nemesis' army. Memories of a certain battle across a golden plain, stretching before a white city, came up in Ashton's mind but were quickly dispelled. The men in Nemesis' barbarian army were as they had always been, from Ashton's point of view: either men press-ganged into service, or former bandits given a new lease on life. The human enemies were the same, but the red eyes that glowed from beneath the dark fog were different. They towered over the men, sinewy muscle covered in glossy, sharp scales as if they were covered in bugs, and a terrible roar that echoed across the plains of Gronder Field.
Ashton had heard tales of large, 'demonic' wolves that stalked the deepest parts of forests, or the giant vultures that swooped in and took a man clean off the ground to feed their brood, or even the massive sand worms that slithered beneath the ground in the desert to the far north, sounding eerily similar to tales he had heard of the Mongolian Death Worm back home. When he in his old world, those were merely stories. As he stood in front of an army of monsters, each one almost the size of a building, he felt himself quake.
But Ashton wasn't some common foot soldier anymore. He wasn't the same kid who had been conscripted into the Adrestian Army almost 14 years prior. He was Ashton, Knight of Seiros. His hammer harmonized with the Crest given to him by Seiros, and he would use it to win the day, no matter the cost.
With his last thoughts of his son, safely hidden away within Enbarr, Ashton heard the sound of horns in the air, drowning out the thunder for only a moment before the world exploded with noise. He could hear a speech nearby, or what he thought was a speech, before the Knights of Seiros charged. All around them, the Imperial Army followed.
Nemesis' forces did the same, their caterwauling and horrible screams filled the air as they surged forward like a tidal wave. The roars of demonic beasts nearly made his ears ring as he unhooked his hammer from his back, his army clanking with each running step he took, and he readied to swing. Javelins made of light moved through the air like small lightning bolts, hitting entire groups of the enemy as their bodies were flung into the air, their skin seared and charred. Their own troops had to deal with the response, however; a volley of fire so bright and so hot it was like mini-suns had been deployed against them. They crashed into the Imperial ranks, and the smell of burnt flesh reached Ashton's nostrils. He wrinkled his nose even as he charged, the rain kept away from his face, thankfully, by his helmet.
When the two armies clashed, it was like a bomb had gone off.
An explosion of metal and magic sent a shockwave through the ranks of both armies, but Ashton kept on his feet as he swung his hammer, feeling it smash straight into the chest of a barbarian. It sent the man flying, his ribcage crushed, with blood streaming out of his mouth as he landed right on top of another soldier. Ashton snarled as he charged forward again.
Before long, a bestial roar ripped across the battlefield, and Ashton turned his head just in time to see a demonic beast tear through several soldiers, sending their remains flying through the air. Its red eye pierced through the darkness, as spittle flew from its gaping maw.
Ashton set his jaw tight, suppressed his urge to run away, and charged.
The demonic beast didn't notice his approach; the battlefield was too loud to hear the clanking of his armor, and there were dozens of targets to take note of. Even so, getting to it wasn't easy. Ashton pushed pass allied soldiers, and smashed his hammer into enemies, sending them to the ground with blood leaking out of the impact wounds. Even so, the demonic beast was too preoccupied with dozens of other soldiers, prodding and stabbing it with spears and swords. Some javelins were even impaled in its back, perhaps from the wyvern riders and pegasus knights that soared through the sky.
Speaking of which, Ashton was stopped merely a few feet away from the demonic beast before he could engage it in battle. A wyvern's body slammed into the ground just beside it, crushing the corpse of its rider beneath it. Fortunately, it proved more a boon than he could imagine, as he continued forward but stepped on top of the wyvern, keeping his momentum before he leaped into the air above the demonic beast, letting out a war cry and gaining its attention.
The moment would be seared within his memory forever. The demonic beast looked to him just in time for the red eyes to lock on him. He couldn't tell what it was thinking, if it was capable of thought at all, but it was too late for Ashton to be stopped. A brief flash of lightning illuminated both himself and the beast, and just as he swung his hammer down, a thundercrack resounded throughout the field.
The hammer smashed into the beast's face, splintered scales and cracking bone rang in his ears as demonic ichor flowed freely from the wound as a high-pitched scream rose through the air. Ashton landed on his feet as he watched the beast claw at the wound in its head before swinging its claw forward blindly, trying to cut Ashton to pieces. Ashton was too quick, however, and the beast was too blinded by pain to aim well. It missed the mark by a few feet, and Ashton lunged forward again, slamming his hammer into the side of the beast's head. Another crackle of scales breaking under the immense force rang in Ashton's ears as the beast's head was forced to the side.
Over and over again, he struck the beast's head until nothing was left but a pile of gore, but what happened next shocked Ashton to the bone.
The body of the demonic beast disintegrated, slowly but surely, until all that was left was the corpse of a man in tattered garb. Ashton blinked once, disbelieving of what he was seeing.
A whack against his back brought him back to reality, and he growled he whirled around, aiming his hammer low and hitting his assailant across the legs. The young soldier went summersaulting through the air, his legs bent at odd angles as he screamed before Ashton ended him with a hammer blow to the head.
Before he could rejoin the battle proper, however, an old enemy made himself known.
There were no words exchanged, no final words spoken before he saw Maurice nearby, his blackened armor contrasting with the glowing red sword at his side. For a few moments, Ashton and Maurice stared at one another, as if neither could believe that the other was there. A moment later, however, and Maurice let out a titter, before holding his sword forward. The challenge was obvious, and Ashton knew it would be time to finally end it. Only one of them would come out on top.
Ashton held his hammer in both hands, ready and waiting for Maurice to make the first move. He didn't need to wait long; Maurice charged forward a moment later, faster than Ashton had ever seen him run, and he swung his sword upwards, aiming for Ashton chest and head. A metallic 'twang' rang out through the air, drowning out the world around them as sparks flew through the air before quickly being extinguished.
Maurice let out a snarl as he swung again and again, each time Ashton parried or blocked the blow with his hammer. Ashton could feel the force with which Maurice hit him, the bones in his arms feeling like they were vibrating with each successive hit. It wasn't like the last time he fought Maurice, years before, though. Ashton didn't have a Crest back then, didn't have a weapon that felt like an extension of himself. And then, when he fought Maurice again, he almost felt disappointed.
With one attack, Ashton knocked Maurice off balance, his sword moving off to the side as Ashton kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Ashton swung his hammer downward, but Maurice rolled to the side. Ashton pushed the head through the ground and swung it up, sending chunks of wet earth into the air as Maurice got back to his feet. The Elite swung again, nicking Ashton in the shoulder, barely stopped by the plate armor he wore.
Ashton didn't let Maurice gain the advantage, however. He pressed the offensive, swinging against the Elite's guard over and over again. Each time he struck the sword that Maurice used, sparks flew to the ground, last for only a moment before fading away. How it sounded like he was hitting solid metal and not bone, Ashton would never know.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back and forth, Ashton hit Maurice in the arm, and a sicking 'crunch' echoed through the air as Maurice shouted. It wasn't his sword arm, but it was a start. It didn't stop Maurice taking the chance to slash across Ashton's stomach, cutting through the light armor and drawing blood. Ashton hissed and backed up.
In that moment, they were as they always had been: two enemies, rivals fighting against each other, constantly testing themselves until one came out the victor, without interruption.
Unfortunately, the moment was shattered when Ashton felt something behind him. A presence he hadn't felt in a long time, not since the battle outside of Fhirdiad years before. His heart dropped into his stomach as he turned around as fast as he could, only to have it slam into an arm that blocked the blow as if it was nothing.
Ashton beheld the greatest enemy Fódlan had ever known. Nemesis, with ethereally white hair and red eyes stared down at him, his gaze solely focused on him. A second later, the sword made from the goddess' mortal body slammed into the same side Maurice had slashed against a moment before, sending Ashton to the ground a few feet away and causing him to sputter in pain. His hammer was thrown from his grip and landed impossibly far away.
"No!" Maurice shouted. "He is not yours to end!"
Unheeding to Maurice's protests, Nemesis approached Ashton, who was struggling to get up. He held his side and stomach, blood seeping out of the grievous wound, but the fight wasn't kicked out of him yet. Nemesis grumbled something to himself as he stood above Ashton, ungodly sword raised in preparation to cleanly behead him.
Ashton surged upward, unyielding to the protests of his wounds as he threw several punches into Nemesis' stomach, causing the King of Liberation to stumble, before Ashton jumped up, uppercutting him as he took several steps back, reeling from the blow. However, it was only a momentary act of defiance, as Nemesis' own fist shot forward and struck Ashton across the face, throwing him off balance before a hand clamped around his throat and raised him aloft. Struggling only briefly, another blow from Nemesis' blade sent him to the ground.
Am I scared? You kidding? Not a bit.
His armor was able to mostly take the glancing blow, but his shoulder felt awkward to move. He didn't get a chance to fight back before Nemesis grasped his leg and threw him a good distance away. Ashton tumbled through the mud, before coming to a rest a few moments later. One side of his face felt swollen, and he could barely feel his arms and legs. A moment later, Nemesis grabbed him by the neck again and lifted him into the air until he was eye level.
"My name is Nemesis," the King of Liberation said, his voice rumbling through the air like thunder. "And my face, will be the last thing you ever see."
Ashton snarled as he feebly punched Nemesis in the face, succeeding only in causing the former bandit to smirk before he raised his sword. A moment later, Ashton felt the pressure at his throat subside, in exchange for feeling as if he was torn completely in twain as the weapon sunk deep into his side. He was flung away from Nemesis for the final time, losing all feeling in his legs as he landed and stared up at the sky.
I can't die. Not here. Not now.
He could feel himself slipping. The world grew dimmer even as lightning continued to rage across the sky and rain continued to fall. His ears were filled with an incessant ringing that only became louder as time went on, like a TV going to static.
I made a promise.
Before Ashton's world went completely dark, one more thought went through his mind, one that had egged him on from the sidelines for almost as long as he could remember.
Promises are meant to be broken.
Maurice watched the life leave the eyes of his rival, as his glass-like brown eyes stared up into nothing. The body was still warm, but wouldn't be for much longer. Just moments before they had been battling, not a word uttered between them even as they attempted to rip each other limb from limb. Already, Maurice could feel the battle spirit within him wither away, his will to fight fading away as surely as snow melts at the onset of spring.
He heard Nemesis chuckle, cleaning his sword on one of his bracers.
"This was the man you were concerned about. The one who beat you at the walls of their city?" Nemesis remarked, turning to the Elite. "You disgust me, Maurice. Your weakness betrays your proud nature. Look upon him now. See how easily he fell before my might. Do not worry, though; I will not let him die here. Not for long."
Maurice shook his head as the battle around them moved away. "How? You killed him. Even you cannot bring back the dead."
"Those worms that writhe beneath the ground, do you think this weapon is the only thing I stole from them?" Nemesis asked, letting out a small laugh before staring at the body. "Seiros deigned to give this one power. I could feel it even as I cut him down. I want him as a reminder."
"A trophy," Maurice remarked bitterly holding his broken arm.
"As if you were going to do something different? Were it not for me, he would have taken a trophy from you instead, miserable whelp." Nemesis scoffed. "Grab him. This battle is lost, but there will be others. This church, this world, will fall beneath my heel before this century is over. Although, I doubt you will have a permanent place within it, Maurice."
Maurice hissed. Nemesis knew he had a broken arm. His command was a punishment. Nonetheless, he did as he was bid. Trailing behind his illustrious leader, Maurice dragged the corpse of the greatest enemy he had ever known, but Maurice could see the hammer, sparkling with each successive lightning strike. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
I told you. Shit's fucked yo. Next chapter is gonna be a interlude and then we'll finally get back to the present, with all of the tragedy therein.
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