The air within the tent felt heavy as Tharja cast her dark magic on the young Exalt. Wounds both within and without was forcefully mended and the young bluenette had to summon all her willpower to resist screaming in pain.
Being under Tharja's care was not a pleasant experience.
Thankfully, the sermon was short and just as the agony begun so too did it disappear as soon as the dark mage uttered her last incantation. Morgan felt rejuvenated and found no difficulty getting up from her bed. It was a strange experience to feel whole again, to be able to move one's arms and feet without it feeling burdened by anything.
''We must move quickly before the ritual is completed. My spells and curses have restored you to peak health, you should now be able to face Grima again''.
Morgan touched her neck and moved her hand down her chest. There was no trace of a fatal wound or scar.
''But dark and blood magics always carry a price, right?''
Morgan asked as Noire wasted no time in arming her. Morgan made a point of refusing being armed with anything except the bare minimum that being padded armour, covered with pauldrons for her shoulders and a light chest piece of steel. She had learned that against the avatar of Grima, she would be better served to be quick on her feet.
''Yes, but none that you need to concern yourself for now. It is done.''
It was clear for Morgan why Tharja had come with such a short answer.
I'm not coming back from this alive, am I?
She felt a heavy weight on her chest, and she starred aimlessly at the air. Barely twenty summers old and much depended on her alone already. She had accepted this burden, but as her mind began to drift further into it, the enormity of the task at hand began to become suffocating.
She then felt a little tug at her arm.
It was Noire, holding a few small bottles with a very familiar yellow liquid.
''H-here. It's j-just some vulnerary that I had in my pouch. It never hurts to have those in hand! And…''
She began to search for something in her back pocket. Soon she precured another small bottle, but this one had a clear blue colour.
''It's an elixir. The same kind that my mother used to keep you stable after I dragged you out. It's very difficult to make, but it will heal you from any wound! Please be careful with it and only use it for emergencies!''
As Morgan accepted the bottles, Noire gave her a reassuring smile.
''Find Severa and come back alive.''
Suddenly the burden didn't feel as heavy as before, and Morgan found herself returning Noire's smile.
''I will.''
Loud sounds of thunder could then be heard, and the ground began to shake. This was no natural phenomenon. Shouts could be heard from the outside and it was clear that this disturbance had set the camp in full alert. Tharja immediately began to cast the final incantation to activate her portal.
''Very touching…If you two are done, I suggest that you quickly pick up that blade and walk into the circle so that I may send you on your way. The world is apparently coming to an end.''
Indeed, it was clear that they did not have much time, yet there was one thing Morgan needed to ask before she confronted the fell dragon.
''You told me that I alone can channel the powers of Naga and Grima. I can use Falchion, but how do I use the fell dragon's powers?''
Tharja starred thoughtfully at her.
''I don't know for sure. Amongst the learned it is said that everything wrought by the ancients can only be undone by their own hands. Blood and dark magic are said to be the invention of Grima, perhaps if cast by you he would be vulnerable against it? If nothing else strike him down with that blade of yours, it would at least seal him away for a time.''
It was an answer that was a bit too vague for the bluenette's liking. While she knew the basic of those schools of the magical arts, she was in no way proficient in it.
''B-but…''
Another tremor was felt, and loud sounds of several soldiers approaching could be heard.
''No time girl! They are coming! Get in the circle!''
Morgan gave one quick hug to Noire before doing as she was told and hurryingly picked up Falchion from the table. As she entered the circle, she cast one last glance towards her sister and Lady Tharja. She saw the tent flaps went up and several Shepards had begun to enter the tent, but before anyone could say anything, a blinding light appeared around the young Exalt and she was gone.
It felt as if someone had chopped the bluenette in pieces and scattered the parts to the wind, as she travelled several hundred miles in a span of seconds. Morgan began to feel nauseous as the world swirled around her. Suddenly it all stopped, and she felt whole again.
It took several seconds for the bluenette to regain her bearings and orient herself.
It was as Lady Tharja had said, Morgan found herself on the steps of a ziggurat in the centre of an island. The sky was pitch black with the occasional strikes of thunder illuminating the surroundings. As it did, she spotted dozens of figures at the bottom of ziggurat, if they had noticed her, it would still take them at least several minutes to reach her current position. The ziggurat was enormous, Morgan estimated there was at least half a mile towards the bottom.
Morgan turned around. She needed to move.
As she looked up, she saw a whirlwind of sorcerous lightning converge at the uppermost levels. Yet more worryingly she saw something else in the sky…
As the lighting once again struck; illuminating the sky, the young Exalt saw a weak silhouette taking form. It was the form of a giant dragon hovering above the ziggurat. A dragon with six wings…
Horrified, Morgan realized how close the ritual of awakening was reaching its end and rushed forward towards the top. As she reached the upper levels, she was confronted by six guards that had hidden behind some pillars. The former plegian mage immediately recognised them as members of the Kings own royal guard. They ran towards her in two lines, three on each line, before spreading out in a wedge formation.
Morgan surmised that they intended to surround her before striking her down with their long polearms. While she did not stop, but she did slow down, preparing a fireball with her one free hand. She needed to thin out their numbers before engaging in close combat. In two quick succession she cast two fireballs towards her opponents. One struck her closes opponent to the left, it hit him square in his helmet; the flames went into the eyelids and his entire head immediately burst into flames. Her opponent stopped and began to scream before collapsing into the ground as his fellows rushed forward. The other fireball hit the opponent behind the first, yet he was more fortunate than his comrade. It only struck his shoulder plate, and he was unharmed, however it did stagger him, and it gave Morgan breathing room to quickly finish off the guard closes to her right. The blade Falchion cut so effortlessly through the heavy armour and weapons of the guard, he might as well had worn nothing at all and arm himself with a wooden branch.
The guards where now reduced to four members, but they had now surrounded the young mage, forcing her to stop. Morgan made a quick stock of her opponents, two men stood before her and two behind her. She knew she could not let them strike first, quickly she lunged at man she had failed to burn earlier. She swiftly closed the gap between them, using Falchion to slap the tip of the polearm away, rendering the reach of his polearm useless. Realizing this the man tried to grab his short sword but was too late. With one quick swipe Morgan cleaved through his helmet, grabbed his collar before his body could hit the ground and turned his corpse around to cover her back as his comrades rushed to strike her rear.
Two of them struck their deceased comrade with their polearms, yet they failed to completely pierce the armour, and Morgan was unharmed. The third however managed to glance her arm, leaving a small wound. With an unnatural and surprising strength, Morgan pushed her improvised human shield away, pushing her two opponent whose polearms was still stuck in the corpse away. Immediately she turned towards her opponent that managed to wound her, who by now had dropped his polearm and drawn his sword. They exchanged some blows, but the heavily armoured guard was too slow to keep up with his nimbler opponent. In the end the young Exalt cut his sword arm clean off and kicked him to the ground where he laid motionless.
Morgen then turned her attention towards the remaining two, both had discarded their polearms stuck in the deceased guard and instead drawn their secondary weapons. One was armed with the typical sword of the royal guard and a small shield. The other was armed with an armor-slayer blade, unlike the others this last guard was clearly a female with white hair flowing out of her helmet. Morgan felt an unease at the sight of this female guard.
Being too late to save their third fellow, both remaining guards slowly began to move in opposite directions to give themselves room to use their weapons as well as attacking the Exalt in different directions. Morgan in turn backed out with a few steps to keep both opponents in her field of view. Again, she was the first to strike lunging at the guard armed with the simple sword. Predictably he tried to block her with his shield, a fatal mistake as Morgan promptly cut through the shield and the arm behind it before finishing him off with a strike across his neck.
Narrowly, Morgan managed to swap away her second opponents attack as she struck while Morgan's back was turned. Her opponent quickly recovered and promptly followed her first attack with a flurry of others, clearly not intending to give the young Exalt room to respond in kind. Morgan for her part rapidly realised that she could not keep blocking with Falchion, the female guard's attack had too much strength behind it. Swiftly taking a few steps back, Morgan prepared another fireball with her one free hand. It was a weak and small fireball made in haste but proved sufficient to stagger her opponent as she moved in to re-engage the young Exalt.
Morgan moved in to capitalize on this, grabbing Falchion with her two hands, she struck with an attack that would have cut her foe from her stomach towards her shoulder. The guard however tried to swiftly avoid this by taking a quick step back. It saved her from an imminent death, but Morgan still managed to inflict a deep wound, as Falchion cut through her foe's chest-armour and her helmet. The helmet went off revealing a familiar face.
''Severa?''
Yet it was not Severa. Her trademark red hair had turned ghostly white. Her crimson eyes almost seemed to glow, and her skin had changed into sickly pale pigmentation almost like a corpse. Then it was her expression that she beheld her former beloved sister, it had morphed into an expression of pure almost animalistic hatred.
Despite her wounds Severa emitted a roar and attacked without pause Morgan once again. The young Exalt barely managed to block and evade this new onslaught.
''SEVERA! IT'S ME! MORGAN! STOP THIS PLEASE! I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU!''
Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The creature before her shouted back with a distorted crone like voice that sounded nothing like her sister. Blood came out as she screamed.
''GRIMA! GRIMA! GRIMA DEMANDS YOUR BLOOD!''
Growing desperate, Morgan threw caution to the wind and tackled her sister to the ground. The move cost her a light wound across her chest, yet it did allow Morgan to land on top of the red head. Acting quickly, she grabbed the former red head's face with her one free hand before casting her chosen spell.
''THUNDER!''
Jolts of lightning went through Severa, and her entire body shock against the magical onslaught. Morgan could have increased the intensity of her attack but kept it low, only releasing her grip from her sister once she felt her body going limp.
Exhausted, Morgan collapsed to the side of the red head and remained still for a time. The bluenette recovered quickly enough and slowly began to get herself up in a sitting position. Remembering Noire's vulneraries, Morgan took out one glass from her back pocket and greedily downed its content. It burned her throat, but she soon felt its effect as the pains from her wounds swiftly dulled into nothing.
She then surveyed the battleground and her fallen foes before setting her sights to her sister's limb body.
Was she still alive?
Morgan crawled towards her sister to examine her condition more closely.
She was breathing although barely, and Morgan feared that it won't be for long.
Tears began forming around the young mage's eyes.
Tools…They had all been tools for Grima.
If circumstances were different, it was not hard to imagine how she herself would have been counted among their number. Morgan finally understood why she had always felt a bit unease of the Royal Guards near perfect discipline and why Lady Tharja seemed so distraught of Noire being taken into the guard.
It was because being in the guard meant that Grima would wipe away any notion of free will, he would dominate one's mind and body leaving nothing behind. Seeing Severa's twisted expression and her changed appearance confirmed this.
Morgan remembered Lady Tharja's words back in the tent.
There is no escape from Grima once his corruption has set.
So, what did it matter that this woman was still breathing? Was she even the same Severa that she grew up with? What would stop her from merely attack her once again as soon as she woke up?
One part of her told her to finish it, just to be safe. To end her sister's misery, for this creature before her was just an empty shell, a puppet of Grima.
But Morgan found herself unable to do it.
Instead, she once again reached for her back pocket, searching for a small blue vial.
This chapter was originally meant to be longer, but I choose to just cut it here. Next chapter will be the final confrontation and ending of this story.
Thank you all for following and commenting on my story so far, can't wait to finally finish this ^^