Chapter 16: Zedal

It was the Scouring. And the man standing in front of him was Durban. It had to be—no one else in the history of Elibe was so strong. The Dragon roared and charged, and Durban met its charge head-on.

Unarmed.

That wasn't entirely true, actually. Durbans was clad in some strange armor, black as the darkest night. As the Dragon spewed its fiery breath at him, he leapt high into the air, easily clearing the explosion, and landed on its head.

The beast screamed—as horrifying a sound as could be imagined—as Durbans plunged his fingers into its flesh as if its scales were nothing. It roared and flailed, but couldn't shake him off, as Durbans' hands sunk deeper into its body, and then he pulled his hands apart, taking its head with them. The burning, rage-filled eyes lost focus as the lizardlike head split in two with a shower of blood and Draconic brains.

Durbans barely seemed to notice. He kicked the bloody mess beneath him before the corpse toppled to the ground, launching himself into the air once again, right over another group of Dragons. This time he extended his arms, and as he seemed to stop in the air his armor began to shift and twist. The beasts beneath him turned their heads up and prepared to spit fire at him, but his body seemed to expand—or more accurately, his armor did. As if it were a living creature, it sent out inky black tentacles down to the ground below. Those tentacles resolved themselves into black thorns, impaling all of the Dragons below.

The thorn-tentacles receded, and Durbans fell to the ground, already looking for new prey now that all the dragons in the area had been killed. But then he looked to the north, and saw a blinding flash of white light. There was another scream, but it seemed to be coming from his armor—the fell artifact hated whatever that light was.

But Durbans took a step towards it anyway.

"Aaah!"

Kain shot up from the cold, dank floor of the cave he'd been resting in today. It wasn't the discomfort—he'd long gotten used to sleeping in caves or on forest floors, as bedding anywhere near civilized settlements increased his chances of discovery. No, it was that strange dream, as it always was. He'd never had these dreams about Durbans—or the Armor of the Berserk—before. Then again, considering he was wearing the Armor right now, perhaps it made sense.

Rise and shine, Kain. We'd better get moving. If we don't get to Zedal by the time the peace negotiations finish, it'll be very hard to find him again. And it'll be that much harder to find out how Oldnar forged an alliance between Bern and Etruria…

"Yeah," Kain said glumly. He didn't much like this Armor—in fact, he hated it—but it was his closest and his only companion for the past 3 months. And since it seemed to be supportive of his goals, no matter what other ones it may have had, he was inclined to tolerate it.

First things first, though. He reached into the brown sack he always kept nearby—which stored pretty much all of his possessions—and withdrew a small, familiar brown scrapbook, along with a closed bottle of black ink and a worn old quill. Unscrewing the bottle's lid, laying the book before him, and dipping the quill into its contents, Kain prepared to write.

Still keeping the silly journal? The Armor of the Berserk seemed amused. How juvenile.

"It keeps me sane," Kain mumbled to himself. "That's what you want, right? I'm no good to you if my mind breaks. So let me have this one luxury. It works out best for both of us."

Nothing but what seemed to be a dark chuckle came from the black voice in Kain's head, and he began to work on his journal in earnest.

9th Moon, 704 A.S.

Maybe the Elimineans were right when they said there was a hell. Ever since I found this wretched armor, the past three months have been close to a never-ending string of agonies, one after another. I haven't been able to take this armor off since I first accepted it. It's been my only companion for all this time. My friends are all dead and I haven't spoken to another human being either. All I hear is its voice in my head, mocking me, and telling me to kill. I hate it…yet I know I need it. It's changed me. I think it's done something to my body. Haven't needed to relieve myself, or even sleep much, but eat…oh, how I must eat.

Not just regular food, but the essence of human beings…the armor requires it, and now that it's a part of me, I do too. For the past months I've been hunting down and killing what I can. Mostly Etrurian soldiers—they run the isles, now, and there are many of them, for no-one aside me has been killing them. The natives have agreed to leave them alone and all the other Red Shoulders are dead. No-one's been able to catch me so far; the Armor has seen to that.

Its abilities are extraordinary. When it activates, my strength is multiplied to many times that of a normal man, and my mastery of Dark magic exceeds that of Oldnar, or even Paptimus. I can kill virtually anything with ease. I discovered this when I first discovered the Armor. I slaughtered the Etrurian soldiers pursuing me, the ones who killed Leitner, without a second thought. And it gives me almost unlimited speed and stamina. I was able to flee Ebrakhm long before their reinforcements were able to find me, and ever since then I've had no trouble escaping the scenes of my crimes whenever I kill another piece of Royalist scum. I know I'm the most wanted man on the Isles—my face is plastered on the walls of every tavern in the country, with a bounty in the millions. I don't have much to worry about, though. My hair is going grey and I've seen wrinkles on my face. I'm not even 27 yet. But it suits my purposes. No-one on this island will be able to recognize me, even when I keep the Armor deactivated—

And that's important. Cant use it too much. Cant use it too much cant use it too much have to remember that. It's draining my life away, slowly but surely. That's why I lOok so old. But it says I won't die immediately along as I'm judicious about how I use it and I keep it well-fed with life essence. I can survive a pitched battle with this armor fully activated for about ten minutes. Then I'll have to take a full day's rest. But just ten minutes is enough for me to slaughter a whole platoon of troops. And that's all I need. Survival doesn't matter now. Just have to keep myself healthy and my mind from breaking long enough to do what I have to do.

I've made a breakthrough. I've been searching all across Caledonia and Fibernia both to find Oldnar, but he's completely disappeared. No-one has any idea where or even who he is, it's like he never existed. The memories of the people I've killed—the Armor can access them—have no information. But I've found another mark. I killed a Bernese soldier recently. He hadn't left the Isles yet. He served under Zedal Gustav, and in one of his memories, he overheard Zedal talking about peace negotiations and the status of the "traitors." Traitors that has to be Oldnar it HAS to be. He might know where Oldnar is, and even if he doesn't, I owe him for how he abandoned us on the Isles. I'm in Bern right now. Taken me weeks to travel from the Isles down here. I'm in an inn at the capital. No-one suspects me. They think I'm just an old man, though I've kept the Armor hidden under a cloak and have allowed no-one to see it. Zedal is at negotiations with the Etrurians over ownership of the Isles, those negotiations have been going on for months. They're in Castle Bern. I'll crash it. It'll be hard, but not impossible, with the armor. I'll find Zedal, find out where Oldnar is, or either way, make him pay. I'll make them all pay.

Kain sighed and put his pen and the journal into his sack of supplies. As expected, the Armor laughed inside his mind, since it knew what he'd written.

You hate me? I'm pained. After all I've done for you…

"Not as if you've done anything for me out of the goodness of whatever passes for your heart."

So what? You'd be dead if it wasn't for me. And I need you to accomplish my aims. If we need each other, why do our motives matter?

"You know my motives. But what are yours? Not revenge. I can tell that. But all the time we've been together, I still don't know what drives you."

I need life essence to fulfill my purpose, said the Armor, A great deal of life essence. Vyrleena, Tassar, and Yurt, they were feasts indeed, but I require more. More! I almost have enough, but not quite. I just need a little more…a few more meals, a few more sacrifices. Then I'll truly be able to awaken…

And until that day comes, my dear Kain, I need you to stay alive. You have a strong soul, and you'd make a worthy repast, but even if I consume you my appetite will not be sated. No, I must savor you…slowly. Not devour you all at once. By allowing you your life, we can work together, and allow me to eat much more than I would gain by simply draining you where you stand.

"And what will happen when you've finally had your fill?"

I cannot reveal that yet, my little morsel. But I give you my word: You will find out. I also promise that you will survive long enough to find out the truth behind this war and the deaths of your friends. That's all that matters, yes?

Kain nodded, not knowing or caring whether the Armor could even see him. All the mattered was that it understood.

Good. Then let us march upon Zedal's castle. As I've told you repeatedly many times, your body can withstand my awakened state for scarce more than ten minutes. Any longer, and even I will not be able to control myself, and I will consume your body and soul. Then I will be left exhausted and empty, easy prey for my enemies. So, do not waste time. We must hurry!

Kain set his belongings down onto the bed, exited his room, and then exited the inn without a word to its proprietor. He stepped out into the cool air of the capital of the strongest country in Elibe, and then looked to the north, where he could see the lights of its strongest fortress softly glowing on a distant mountaintop.

He headed towards that mountain.

-X-

It took a very short amount of time for the image in Gosterro's crystal ball to materialize. This pleased the Archbishop, as well as his companion Rhia. It meant that Oldnar was taking them seriously.

The image of a white-clad Bishop appeared before him. The Bishop was wearing an odd white mask under his miter, but when he removed both his face could be seen clearly—it was Oldnar.

"Greetings, friend," said Gosterro. "How fare your mines?"

"Very well, your excellency. I'm certainly glad you offered me this position in your church. Rest assured you'll be more than pleased with the job I'm doing as overseer. The mine's productivity is up fifty percent this week, and we've received no trouble at all from any restless natives. In fact, Kassa has been so successful at converting them that we've had volunteers to come to the mines! They think they'll be doing "honest work" for "marriage, family, and children, as the Saint intended." Needless to say, this is good for Etruria, will be good for Bern once those negotiations are hammered out, and is very good for us. Both our coffers are being enriched by the tithes gained from the mine, yes?"

"Yes, indeed. But something still worries me, Oldnar. Have you yet found Kain?"

"N…no, your excellency."

"That is not good, Oldnar."

"We're trying our best, Archbishop. I've sent the most elite of our troops to hunt for him, but they come back empty-handed every day. It's been like this since we lost him at Mount Ebrakhm. We don't even know how he escaped. The tunnel he fell into was a dead end, and there's no way a single man could have killed an entire battalion's worth of both Bernese and Eturian troops!"

"I strongly suspect that tunnel was where the Armor of the Berserk landed and hid itself. And if Kain truly did find it, exterminating so many men is not only possible but expected. It seems my worst fears have come to pass! Oldnar, finding him is important. More than you know. He'll come after you eventually. Unless you want to die, you'd better find your former subordinate soon."

"I know. He's always just a step ahead of us. Murders a guard here, a soldier there, but disappears off into the night before anyone can catch him. What kind of powers does this Armor possess?"

"Those aren't the worst of it. Just figure out a way to clip his wings, Oldnar. The Berserk gains power for every soul it consumes. If you keep losing men, it will soon become too powerful for you to control."

"Understood, Excellency, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm not sure he's still in the Western Isles."

"What do you mean?!"

"The last murder which fit Kain's style was committed two weeks ago. All's been quiet since. My guards have been talking about the peace negotiations in Bern…I think he may have found out where Zedal is." He saw Gosterro grow agitated, and raised a hand to calm the Archbishop. "Wait, your excellency. I think this may actually work in our favor."

"Explain!"

"Khyron Caerleon will be at the peace negotiations, yes?"

"Of course."

"Well, from what I recall of the Civil War, Khyron and his Autonomous Company made contact with the Berserk twice, and bested it as many times. If Kain wishes to attack the royalty while Khyron is there, his death is essentially assured. Khyron knows well the best tactics for fighting that artifact."

"It's always a bad idea to underestimate your foe, Oldnar."

"The first time he faced the Berserk, it was worn by a Wyvern General of Bern herself—Zedal's predecessor. The second time it was worn by one of the Rebels' most experienced captains. Kain is skilled, but not that skilled. Even facing the Berserk, Khyron should triumph. Besides, you have many churchmen in Bern, do you not? Assign a few more of them to protect Castle Bern, under the guise of some holy mission or another. Kain will be walking into a trap rather than victory!"

"If he's really heading to Bern, we've little choice. Allowing him to run rampant could destabilize the peace proceedings and thus all of Elibe, giving him exactly what he wants. A trap it will have to be, then. But I warn you, Oldnar…if this plan of yours doesn't work, Assign a few more of them to protect Castle Bern, under the guise of some holy mission or another. Kain will be walking into a trap rather than victory!"

"If he's really heading to Bern, we've little choice. Allowing him to run rampant could destabilize the peace proceedins and thus all of Elibe, giving him exactly what he wants. A trap it will have to be, then. But I warn you, Oldnar…if this plan of yours doesn't work, you will pay the price. I do not extend Elimine's grace to those who fail me."

And with that, he swept a hand over the crystal orb, cutting it off.

-X-

Boring, boring, boring. How insufferably boring! Did Jerid have to deal with this nonsense all the time while he'd been managing affairs back in Etruria? Was this what being a "statesman" entailed? If so, Khyron was filled with nothing but pity for the man.

He yawned lugubriously as he looked at himself in the mirror of his room, one of the grandest suites in Castle Bern. That wasn't saying much. It contained a large double bed, a very nice wooden desk and chair for work, and even its own chamber pot in a side room. Still, it was nowhere near as luxurious as the great guest suites of Etruria's Holy Royal Palace. Khyron was yet again convinced of his homeland's superiority, though perhaps he could give the Bernese a bit of credit for spending more money on their military than their amenities. He was a soldier too, after all.

Still, being a soldier, he'd found his duties for the last three months to be profoundly tiresome. All eight Archbishops of the Supreme Church (that is to say, the Head Church of Etruria—ostensibly the "first among equals," in fact the Head Churches of all the other countries were subordinate to it) had put tremendous pressure on the governments of both Bern and Etruria to arrange diplomatic meetings over ownership of the Western Isles and trade between the two nations. They had succeeded, though without divulging the secret negotiations Khyron and Zedal had already participated in. The Church had spirited away the military leaders of both countries to Bern. It would take months to leave the Isles by sea, so local Bishops had used Warp magic to send Khyron, Wayland, and Zedal far to the southeast, to the capital of Bern. Ever since then, it had been nothing but endless talking, talking, talking. Great General Jerid (newly-married), along with several other officials from Etruria had arrived (such as the corpulent, perverted Count Bramsel) to iron out the economic aspects of the deals. Barim, unfortunately, was still stuck on the Isles to keep control of Jutes. It was a pity, since he was much better suited for these kinds of deals than Khyron or even Wayland. Still, at least Khyron could take a bit of pride in making all this possible. He'd confessed to being a bit worried that his superiors at home wouldn't approve of the backroom deal he'd brokered with the natives and the Bernites, but fortunately Jerid had immediately saw the wisdom of his work when he'd heard of it and supported it, managing to squelch most of the objections.

All that was left was ironing out the actual terms of the treaty, and by the Saint was it boring work. From sunrise to sunset for an entire month, Khyron was trapped in a stuffy room with Jerid, Wayland, the delegation from Etruria, and King Arbain and his court. They'd argue over the most tedious of subjects, like "tariffs" and "trade routes." No wonder King Galahad himself had left all this to Jerid and his more merchant-minded nobles! The only good things about this situation were that they seemed to be making slow but steady progress (according to what Wayland told him), nobody really cared if he slept through the proceedings (though he could tell Jerid did not approve), and that Levin was still around to provide some of his music. Zedal had liked the song he'd played during their first negotiations so much that he'd specifically requested the Bard to come back to Bern and play for him. Accompanying him was Serapino, along with a surprisingly high number of Monks. Khyron hadn't expected the Church to send more than a single delegate to oversee the proceedings, but the castle was crawling with holy men, most of them carrying powerful Light tomes, too. Security, perhaps? But from what? The war was over.

Khyron would learn very soon.

It was very late at night, and Khyron had spent most of the day at yet another round of negotiations. Thus, he was more than happy to get some sleep. Before he could change into his nightshirt, however, he felt something.

It wasn't a change in temperature or a gust of wind someplace. It was more of a tingling sensation, one very familiar to magic users and particularly familiar to him. He sensed Dark magic…but not like that he'd faced on the Western Isles. No, this was older, and outrightly malicious. Whereas most Dark spells simply consumed mindlessly, Khyron got the overwhelming impression of an intelligence near him, something that actively sought to destroy everything as much as possible.

And he'd encountered it before. Once, at the Citadel of Despair. And a second time, at the Fortress of Spears.

It couldn't be a mistake, and though he had no idea why that thing was here, now, Khyron immediately picked up his Elfire tome and headed to battle.

-X-

The sensation was still indescribable, even though Kain had activated the armor many times before. It felt for all the world like slime creeping over every inch of his body as the Armor of the Berserk shifted and changed to cover him completely. He felt a burning pain all over his body, and in his head he could hear the screams of thousands of people, all those the Armor had consumed over the years. He also knew full well how inhuman he would have appeared. At a distance, he might have seemed a knight clad in black armor save for his "helmet"—it was in the shape of a horse; he'd lost his mount when Castle Ebrakhm fell and the Royalists and their allies slaughtered everything there, including the animals. The eye sockets were empty, however, save for a malignant red glow.

The transformation took place within the shadows of one of the crags below the outcropping on which Castle Bern was constructed. When it was over, Kain darted out, peering up at the fortress. How're we going to get up there?

Leave it to me.

Kain couldn't stop himself from letting out a strangled cry as he felt his body twist and deform. From his back burst eight spindly black legs, like those of a spider. It hurt so much that he thought he might pass out, but even if he did it wouldn't matter—the Armor of the Berserk was in full control.

His body limp, the eight legs from his back slammed down into the ground and suspended him that way, then began scuttling up the rocks of the mountain. They were incredibly fast, and it took them under a minute to reach Castle Bern's walls. The walls were ringed by guards carrying torches, but thankfully the Armor was extremely quiet as well. It blended into the shadows, crawling straight up the wall in the gap of darkness created by two guards who were just a bit too far apart.

Once inside the castle grounds, the legs stopped moving to allow Kain, even though he was half-mad with pain, to turn his head for a look around. Many guards were present, but oddly enough they seemed to be accompanied by…monks as well.

Hmm…there are many priests here. Far more than I thought there'd be. Someone was expecting us, it seems-someone who knows I despise Light magic. No matter. They won't be expecting this.

The spider-legs twitched, sending Kain soaring into the air, right at one of the castle walls. He flew silently and the legs attached themselves into the stone with a soft thud.

That was when the time for stealth ended.

With a hiss, two of the legs on Kain's back withdrew and then shot forwards, blasting a hole into the wall. Kain surged through, his legs smashing through the next wall, and emerged into one of Castle Bern's hallways.

Standing in front of him was a black-haired man he recognized, but who was surely not Zedal…

"What the…what in God's name are you doing here?!" Khyron was evidently shocked, not expecting to see the Armor of the Berserk ever again. However, he didn't allow his shock

Khyron… The voice inside Kain's head sounded even more angry and hateful than usual. I've faced him before. He and his friends bested me once…

Do you want revenge? Kain swatted away another pair of Elfire bolts and then leapt at the Sage—it was only a lucky dodge that kept Khyron from being speared by one of the Armor's spider-legs.

No, we don't have enough time. A few more minutes of this and you'll die. We must find Zedal!

And as serendipity (or horribly tragic luck, for the rest of the world) would have it, Zedal wasn't far away.

It was a bad move on Zedal's part, a very bad move. He should have hidden away inside his room the moment he heard the commotion outside. As it happened, however, he emerged from behind Khyron with his fine Silver Spear in his hands and equipped with a chestplate, greaves, and gauntlets for protection. No Bernite soldier slept with his arms and armor far from him, and even a Wyvern General was expected to fight alongside his men the moment an enemy presented himself.

But this enemy was like none Zedal had ever faced.

"What in the world…" Zedal paused for a moment, not understanding what, exactly, he was looking at. Kain's twisted body would have indeed shocked anyone looking at it for the first time.

"Zedal," Khyron screamed, "No! Watch out! Damnation, watch out!"

It was too late. With a piercing scream Kain's horse-head helmet opened its mouth and spat a torrent of purple ichor straight at the Wyvern General. Khyron hugged the floor and managed to save himself, but the stream of deadly venom blasted Zedal straight on. Choking and gurgling, he fell to the floor, and a flex of his eight spider-legs brought Kain right on top of him.

It all happened faster than the eye could see. In the seconds it took for Khyron to get back to his feet, Kain lowered his body towards Zedal's prone, poison-covered form. His abdomen twisted and extended before splitting open, as if his stomach had become a gaping, tooth-filled maw. That maw slammed down onto the floor before rising—taking Zedal with it.

"No! No!" Khyron prepared to loose another barrage of flaming magic, but then Kain turned towards him. The Black Knight's stomach was horribly distended, making it seem like a comically fat glutton's after a meal, but that bulge was twisting and moving—Khyron could tell Zedal was kicking around in there, and didn't want to blast him along with Kain.

"We'll settle this later, Mage General," Kain—or perhaps it was the Armor speaking—hissed. Just as Bernese guards poured into the hallway and its Wyvern Knights filled the skies, Kain hoisted himself upon the eight legs growing from his back once again. They still moved blindingly fast; so quickly it seemed they weren't encumbered by his new hostage at all. He scuttled back to the hole he'd initially made to get into the castle, then leapt out…

And his black form, even as large and distended as it was, disappeared into the night.

-x-

Kain couldn't describe the sensation, but then again, that was par for the course when speaking of the Armor of the Berserk. It felt as if he was vomiting—straight from his stomach rather than his mouth. The armor bulged and twisted, ejecting the poisoned, paralyzed Zedal from inside of it, and at the same moment withdrew the spindly spider-legs back into Kain's sides. This sent him crashing down onto the ground of the small cave some distance away from the castle in which he was currently hiding.

Aaaah…time to withdraw. That was a close call, Kain. Any longer and I would have consumed you.

"Aren't I the lucky one," he muttered. Turning to the debilitated Zedal, lying paralyzed on the ground before him, Kain knelt over him and placed a black-gauntleted hand at his throat. The Wyvern General apparently felt this, for he opened his bleary, unfocused eyes, coughed, and asked:

"Wh…who are you…?"

"You don't remember?" Kain fought the urge to strangle this man, who he was sure deserved some of the blame for the betrayal and death of his friends. The voice of the Berserk, however, reminded him that he needed Zedal alive. Reining in his emotions, he said:

"I'm Kain. The leader of Squad Seven. The last of the Red Shoulders you bastards all betrayed."

"You…Kain?!" Zedal gasped and coughed, astonishment evident in his expression. "How the…hell are…you still alive?"

"I won't die until I have justice. Until my friends can rest in peace! Don't make any mistake, Zedal, you'll die tonight for what you did. But if you tell me why you betrayed us, I'll make your death painless."

"Betray…you? You're the ones who…killed the Iceaxe chief!"

Zedal roughly shook the dying man. "Don't lie to me. It's too late for that. I never ordered any attack on those people, and they said a woman with a tattoo on her back killed their leader. There was no-one like that in the Red Shoulders! Who was she?!"

"Oldnar had a woman with him…wasn't that her?"

A woman with him…Kassa? Kain's blood grew cold when he heard this. "Explain."

"Oldnar…your leader…he defected to the Eliminean Church. He said that the Red Shoulders intentionally killed the tribal chief to set off war between the clans and my men. He said you…forced that woman to seduce the chief and assassinate him. The distraction…would allow cells in Bern to rise up and overthrow King Arbain. Chaos…all across Elibe. That was what he said you wanted…"

"What the…that makes no sense!" Kain heard the Armor of the Berserk laughing in his mind. Seems your faith in your leader was misplaced, it chuckled.

"So…you really didn't know?" Zedal coughed. "I…I'm not surprised. Maybe I should have been. I knew something was strange about his story, but…I wanted to believe it. A common enemy…was what my men needed…to leave the Isles with their heads held high…"

"Were the lives of my friends worth your pride?"

Zedal grinned. "As far…as I'm concerned, yes. But…I don't like playing the fool, and I…I never liked Oldnar. If I'm going to die, I can make sure he comes with me. Listen…"

Zedal let out another whooping cough. "Nobody knows where he went. The Church is hiding him…from all those who want to kill him. They must have some use for him. But…before…before I left, I heard a rumor. The mines at Ebrakhm…there's a new…overseer there. He's efficient and honest, but…no-one's seen his face. He wears a mask all the time. Find him…and you might find answers…that is…if you live." Zedal laughed, a harsh, ragged sound that seemed to come from torn lungs. "My men will find you soon. The stench…of your disgusting armor…wyverns can smell it a mile away. Not even you can stand up to the full might of Bern. If they find you, you're dead…but if you somehow escape, Oldnar's dead." Zedal laughed one last time. "Either way, I'm glad."

Kain was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice that was not his own—he said, "I'm glad as well, Zedal."

He tightened his grip on the Wyvern General's neck, and as he did so the metal of his gauntlets began to twist and shift, expanding into black tendrils which spread across Zedal's flesh. They spread down from his neck, across his entire body. They saved his head for the very last—for one reason.

Zedal was screaming, though no sound came out. The Armor of the Berserk loved absolutely nothing more than that. For above all, it savored the moment when human beings realized there were fates worse than death.

::Linear Notes::

Freaky, eh? Things are heating up, just keep readin ;)