Genres/Ratings: War, Angst, Ideology, Death. (M)
Characters: Warin, Shamir, Catherine, Seteth, Thales, Raine, Dimitri, Edelgard.
Summary: The castle was open, and the troops of the rebellion flooded in. Though their progress was stymied with every step by the furious defence of the Imperial soldiers, and those that slithered in the dark, their advance continued. The war had to end, by any means necessary. They had sworn an oath to take themselves to the foot of the throne in order to cast down the crowned puppet sitting atop of it, and there would be no stopping them but death. One facet of the ending was within reach... And desperate hands would cling and fight them to the very last.
Verdant Rain Moon
Enbarr Castle
Afternoon
"DOWN!"
The roar echoed across the eastern wing, and every soldier within hearing range threw themselves to the floor as the screeching of black magic roared overhead. Any fool unlucky enough to dodge as they had been ordered found themselves set alight in those shadowy flames, and the screams of the injured and dying were almost deafening in the tightly enclosed area that had become the battleground for the eastern arm of the rebellion's troops. It was not yet a massacre, not yet, but the enemies they had found sequestered away behind the throngs of demonic beasts and countless mages were not ready to go down without a ferocious fight, and anyone who carried a weapon was now battling for their lives against them.
Some might have called it poor luck, and others may have tried to withdraw, but when the great steel doors had been cast down and those hiding within the castle walls had been revealed... Warin had set himself to the task, and there was no way he would ever retreat. All he had needed to see was a glimpse of that snow-white hair and skin of the commander before his entire body had rooted to the spot, and a dark, grim smile had curled at his lips as the scars criss-crossing their way over his forearms began to ache in remembrance. He would not ask why Thales had made the choice to remain in the castle during the invasion, nor did he care. All that mattered was that the man was there, and this time, he would not be escaping again.
The chosen guard who had accompanied him had similar thoughts, and it was heartening, even though a small, distant part of him worried. The men that had been surrounding Thales all looked of similar ilk, and they clearly wielded similar powers even if their weaponry was varied. The vast majority of the strongest soldiers did appear to be mages, but amongst them Warin had picked out a heavily armoured general, and the man had successfully fended off each and every stroke that had been sent his way. He stood at the farthest end of the hall, with Thales firmly planted behind him, but the sorcerer was not allowing himself to simply be protected. Instead he used this opportunity to assault his foes with long-range magic, working in tandem with the other high-ranking sorcerers who had likewise fallen back in a loose ring to protect their leader.
Lesser men and women instead were sent forward, but to underestimate them was to offer a neck to their blades, as Warin had quickly understood. Every single dark-robed soldier present was an elite of some sort and fashion, and it was clear that here, Thales was intending to make a final stand of sorts. Though they had clearly been caught unprepared, and almost as if they had been in council, it had not stopped any of them from leaping into action within an instant once the doors had toppled. None had chosen flight when weapons had been drawn, though all in the room were well aware that it was indeed an option for them. Either they had grown tired with fleeing, or were confident enough in their strength, and Warin was not entirely sure which was more likely, and which was more worrisome.
They were not the strongest team to have entered Enbarr, and every single soldier of the rebellion there was acutely aware of it. The main force had headed directly north through the castle, climbing stairways and cleaving a bloody path straight for the throne room where they knew the Flame Emperor was waiting for them. The castle was infested with soldiers, and it had been necessary for the rebellion's army to splinter in order to clear out every inch of their enemy's fortress. That had been his duty, to ensure that the reinforcements would not be there when they were called upon, but when a horde of demonic beasts had shown themselves and stymied their progress east, all had voted to press forward afterwards in worry of what other tricks had been hidden deep inside of Enbarr. To find Thales himself lurking in the ends of the halls, far and away from the throne room and surrounded by his fellows, and technology and magic that was foreign to everyone present... Their options had grown painfully slim.
Another screech seemed to rend the very air, and the ground beneath them bucked and shuddered as Thales again let loose another round of magic. Warin pressed himself against the base of a nearby column, gritting his teeth as he fought for steady footing, and from the dismayed cries of the men and women about him, he was painfully aware that they were being pushed too far back. Each time Thales cast a spell, his sorcerers were quick to follow on his heels, and it was hardly giving the invading forces time to breathe, let alone to advance. They had barely made it several feet into the hall, and they were being forced back at every turn. Sooner or later, the confidence of their enemies would grow, and instead of remaining on the defensive, they would advance instead and turn the entire hall into a river of blood and bodies.
"This will not last... We cannot continue to remain on the defensive..." Seteth's voice on his left echoed his thoughts, and Warin turned his head slightly to look at the much older man who was breathing hard and gripping down on his lance with white-knuckled hands. Catherine was on his right, and Thunderbrand was streaked with crimson in testament to both her courage and recklessness, and despite his breathlessness, there was not a scratch on either her, nor the man she had tasked herself with protecting when the battle had started. The two had formed a formidable whirlwind, cutting down almost everyone who approached with ease and relentless ferocity, but even with their combined might they had made little headway. There was simply too many enemies ahead of them, and Thales' spellcasting was proving far too furious to take directly. "We will be forced into a corner soon enough, if we do not make a move..."
"I can't get a good shot on anyone in this melee... Snipers are less than useless here, and they're well aware of it." Shamir noted with a dark glint in her eyes, and her bow hung useless and unused on the quiver on her back as she handled her lance easily. The mages were far too spread out, and the infantry soldiers too eager to press in to give her even a moment to breathe let alone to try and set up a good vantage point for shooting, and with that knowledge, Shamir had abandoned her best weapon and charged headlong into the melee alongside the others. It was not as if she had any other options, and she shook her head as she glanced to Warin, her jaw set and her eyes dark and narrowed, "We need a plan if we aren't going to retreat... Otherwise, we will be routed."
Warin said nothing, though he felt the weight of the silent expectations being piled onto his shoulders as all three of his fellows looked to him. He had been the one to choose to advance, and he would be the one who had to make the call to retreat. His men fought at his word, and though they had been stunned by the onslaught the defenders had returned with, not a single one of them had made for an escape yet. They all had chosen death rather than retreat, and their bodies weighed on him even more than the stares of the others did. Still they were fighting, refusing to yield, and unless he made another call... It would not end.
"We punch through. You, Catherine, Seteth and I. The four of us can do it, but we're risking everything on it. Make a hole big enough in their defences, and the sorcerers will have no choice but to divert their attention to us, and not the majority of our forces. That gives the rest of our men the time they'll need to regain their feet." Warin spoke slowly, calmly, but his body felt anything but as he glanced about the heavy column that was currently the only thing granting him protection from those accursed flames that had singed the air and had turned the entire wing burning with heat. Still the damned magicians were keeping their circle, each one casting in turn to keep up the sustained fire that their forces simply could not combat, and his jaw tightened as he turned his glance back to the trio beside him. His words came through gritted teeth, and his hands clenched into fists inside the warm metal and leather of his gauntlets, "We let them run now, and this starts all over again when we finally hunt them down a second time. And then, they'll be fighting with an advantage of known territory. They didn't expect us here. They will expect us when we root them out. It's either now, or never."
"Risking everything here and now? Can't say I'm surprised, but I won't deny that you're right." Catherine spoke up first, surprising both Shamir and Seteth as she did so, but her eyes were for Warin and Warin alone as she hoisted Thunderbrand with all the ease of lifting a quill. Her face was drawn in a fierce smile, and the light of battle was shining wildly in her eyes. She was at home here, with her blade unsheathed and her blood pumping hard in her veins from the stress and adrenaline of battle. There was no shame in it, and she nearly bared her teeth in excitement as she agreed, "I'm with you. Let's put these rats down here and now. Dying in the attempt is much better than fleeing with my tail tightly tucked between my legs. Even if we don't reach the bastard in the back, we gain enough time for the rest of our men to get out of here. That's more than enough reason to push forward."
"Why is it that I'm always the one being dragged along on your ridiculous escapades...?" Shamir muttered under her breath, almost rolling her eyes, but her hand that had been loose on her lance had tightened all the same. It was ridiculous, suicidal, almost, and yet... She felt absolutely no fear at the idea of plunging forward into the thick of things no matter how alien the concept was to her as a sniper first, and a lancer second. Warin would go, with or without her, and it was clear that Catherine now would, too. She would not be left behind, no matter what she thought of the situation, or of them. To do so was unthinkable. "Fine. If you want this, then I'm all in. No bet worth taking is without a great amount of risk... and the payout is too high to ignore it."
Seteth was unsure of how to speak as he watched the trio come to such an easy agreement, and a part of him bristled at the carelessness he was witnessing. It wasn't enough that Catherine had thrown herself so willingly into fighting side by side with him, but now she was so casually speaking of throwing her entire life away on a gamble that was far outweighed from their favour? It was not at all unlike her, nor was it much unlike Warin, yet he couldn't say he was pleased with it. He shook his head slowly, his voice escaping him despite himself when he questioned more rhetorically than anything, "I suppose there will be no arguing with you, will there...? Even the slimmest chance of victory is enough for you to be willing to cast your life away."
"I didn't expect agreement. I'd be happier if you and Catherine rallied the remaining men and made for the doors, instead of pushing forward." Warin's reply was casual, almost indifferent, but Seteth saw the way Shamir's entire body stiffened at his words, and how her hands clenched down tightly on her lance in response. Warin was not looking at any of them, but rather still around the column to survey the situation, and he continued in that same conversational voice that had no place on the battlefield, and yet escaped his lips far too easily, "Victory is a miraculous outcome to hope for. Survival for my troops is what I truly want. Laying down my life for them is an obligation I chose to carry the moment I took up the mantle of command. Victory is never a mercenary's real goal. Survival is."
For a brief moment, Seteth stared at Warin as he heard another voice, more gravelly, more time-worn, speaking those words. In a mad instant, the man ducked down beside him was gone, and in his place was his father, grizzled, scarred and experienced, and no less proud. He had heard those very words from Jeralt's mouth himself before, in a time that seemed like centuries ago, and it made him take pause now, just as it had then. It did not matter that their colouring was so different, that Warin took so strongly after his mother, because in that instant, he looked every inch his father's son, and Seteth was so taken aback that he had no true reply for his claim.
"I'd speak with you a moment, Captain Jeralt."
"Be quick about it. I'm afraid I'm running on a tight schedule at the moment." Jeralt did not look up from his work when he replied as he fixed his vambraces slowly, methodically, over his arms. Every movement he made was careful and slow, double-checking the armour he wore, and each and every strap that bound the leather and steel to his body. It was obviously a habit born of long experience, and half the time his eyes weren't truly on his work as his fingers moved with practised ease affixing his armour. Though the office was still clearly a strange place for him to have set up in, he didn't seem overly bothered by his surroundings. As grizzled and wary as he was, as out of place and foreign as he looked, there was little doubt that the man who stood before him now was every inch the soldier that Rhea believed him to be. He knelt down, affixing the buckles in his boots, and even as Seteth stood in the doorway, stern and imposing and completely ignored, he continued, "What is it that you want?"
"Your assignment... I am aware that you are to be sent deep into hostile territory that the Western Church is still tightly gripping. I'd know your strategy for quelling the unrest." Seteth replied, folding his arms over his chest as he watched the newcomer, the stranger, that Rhea trusted so deeply with cautious and wary eyes. He admitted he still did not know what to think of this man who shared the Crest of Seiros, who had fathered both Warin and Raine, but his misgivings were growing with every passing day that the strange family continued to make their home in the walls of the monastery. He knew next to nothing of the trio, and even Rhea's comforting and reassuring words were little to him as he thought of the chaos that this man was now being thrown into. Rhea had given him her trust, had even pointed out that his record alone as a former captain spoke all for itself, but that had been nearly twenty years ago... and the man who had returned with his two children in tow by force was not the one who had ran from them all those years ago. "I have been informed of your general plan, to bring the leadership into custody, but what of the finer details?"
"The finer details? There are no finer details." Jeralt answered smoothly, and he stood up with a fluid movement, rolling back his shoulders as he reached for the lance that had been laying across the desk that had been assigned to him so casually. The office was something he had to break in, just like any pair of new boots, but he wasn't being given the time to adjust to his new role as captain. Already Rhea was putting him to work, though he had to admit it wasn't as if he had expected anything else. Still, his eyes flickered carefully across the man in front of him, taking him in with a keen, sharp glance as he continued almost dismissively, "It's quite fine and well for you to organize a strategy far from the battlefield, but once iron is drawn and blood gets spilled, those kind of things tend to be forgotten quite quickly. The mission is the mission. The details are immaterial. And beyond the mission, I've only one true objective I plan to stick to, even if it means failure."
"And that objective is?"
"Survival." Jeralt's answer was plain and simple, and even as Seteth's eyes narrowed on him for the dismissal of the duties he was being expected to carry out as the captain of the Knights of Seiros, Jeralt stood tall, proud, and unbothered by him. Though the years had not touched him, likely due to the potent blood that was flowing through his veins, his eyes did not speak the same story as his flesh did. Every year he had not aged physically had burnt itself into his mind, and his true age showed well enough through his gaze. He was as proud as his son and daughter, and though he had bent his neck for their sakes, he would not do so for himself, and his voice was full of that same self-confidence as he explained flatly, "I understand my position as the Captain of the Knights of Seiros... but I'm not about to forget all of the lessons my life as a mercenary has taught me, either. Victory is all well and good, but when the cost of that victory means the lives of most of my men, then the victory isn't worth it. The only objective I will ever seek to complete with my full being is the survival of the troops under my command. No mission, no amount of honour, coin, or success in the long run is worth the blood of the men I lead. I led that way before I was made captain, when I was captain, and after I left the monastery. That will not be changing now."
"You are your father's son." Seteth remarked with a slow, painful shake of his head, and he fully ignored Warin's sharp look in return as he gripped down tightly on the handle of his lance with renewed vigour. The doubt was gone, and his head was surprisingly clear as he mused on the things he had forgotten, or had chosen to ignore, during his time of safety and sloth inside of Garreg Mach. Jeralt had been right about his priorities, and he had taught his children the same lessons, and they had taken them fiercely to heart. How many times had Raine argued passionately during the worst of those moons, refusing to see her students, her men, as mere fodder, even if it meant putting herself directly in the line of fire of a prince driven mad by bloodlust? They valued their men above their own lives... and he had allowed his earliest judgements to mistake their true ideals over and over again.
'No longer... No longer.' Seteth stood, leaning carefully to catch a glimpse of his surroundings that the column at his back were blocking. Thales was recovering, with his circle of mages beginning to take up the chorus of spells once again, and the sight brought a small, grim smile to his face. The opportunity was now, lest he wanted to risk more lives to the flames, and the thought encouraged him. He felt strangely youthful, remembering a time so distant that it was more dreamlike than a memory of flashing blades, glowing balls of crimson on the battlefield, and the roar of his brothers and sister echoing in his ears alongside his own. He had never been a coward then. He would not permit the youth of this day to prove him a coward now. "After me, then!"
His own footfall sounded distant in his ears as he leapt about the column, bowing his body low as he raced forward with every ounce of speed he could muster. His lance felt light in his hands, glinting with that familiar gleam of silver, and he felt the power of his Crest pulsing softly, warmly, within his veins. It had been a long, long time since he had left the back of his wyvern to take the field on foot, but his body recalled the sensation with ease, and brought him confidence. He wove his way effortlessly through the troops before him, dodging ally and foe alike, and a small, bitter smile curled at his lips as he took aim at the closest sorcerer in the farthest ring, and let his lance fly.
A second, and a third lance from behind him followed in rapid succession, taking down two more sorcerers with piercing screeches, and yet Seteth did not stop his advance. He could hear Shamir and Warin on his heels, and even closer Catherine's voice cursing somewhere on his right, but the sounds were strangely comforting as he watched that protective barrier that had kept Thales far and out of their reach crumble. The remaining mages started and turned, their harmony disrupted as their comrades fell, and from far behind, there was a chorus of roars as the rebellion's men saw their leaders punching through and giving them the reprieve they sorely needed.
'Farther. Faster. Do not yield.' The words were a drumbeat in his ears, demanding movement, demanding action, and Seteth followed them as the trio at his back separated to carve their way into their enemies with extreme prejudice. He, himself, picked out the tallest sorcerer of the lot, and he only paused for a moment to pull his axe free of the belt that had been holding it close to his body. As his lance had, it felt light and liquid in his hands, eager and willing to perform as he demanded it, and he lashed out with cold precision to land his blade clean into the chest of the terrified mage who dared to block his way.
The knight who had stood before Thales, staunch and unbothered, now moved as the tide of the battle began to shift. Behind the foursome who had broken through, the spirits of their soldiers had revived and now they were rallying. They streamed forth like a river that had been loosed of its dam, and despite their wounds and wariness, they fought as if they were fresh from sleep and eager for battle. He did not understand their capability, their bravery, but it did not matter as he pushed forward with an unnatural speed. The heavy, thick plates of steel he wore seemed to be little more than leather for all that they hindered his movement, and in what seemed like a flash he had inserted himself before the raging emerald whirlwind that had started it all, and his voice came deep and menacing from behind his helmet as he spat at his foe, "Spawn of the Fell Star...! You will not live to see another sunrise! The light now again belongs to us!"
The words were a shock, a cold bucket of water dumped unceremoniously upon his head, and Seteth felt his muscles tense as the axe of his enemy came for him without mercy. He forced himself to dodge, cruelly reminding his limbs to move even as his head spun with confusion, and no small amount of anxiety and sudden fear. The world about him slowed, and the sounds and smells dulled into a grey, unfeeling sort of cloud as those words rang in his ears like peals of unending thunder.
It had been lifetimes since he had heard those curses, and now, having them uttered at him again in the halls of the castle of Enbarr, suddenly all made perfect sense. He had understanding of who it was that had been lurking behind the shadows, of who had been pulling the strings and how, and yet somehow he had difficulty believing it. They had been enemies of an age long since forgotten and erased from history, a figment of his worst nightmares and memory, but still firmly trapped in a past he had moved away from in his search for a new, better life. Yet with only a handful of words, all of those years came undone, and he was a young man again, standing shoulder to shoulder with his siblings and staring out in horror at the red stone walls that had once been his home, and had housed all that he had known and loved ever since he had been nothing but a little boy.
"They took everything from us. They took her from us. It's time, Brothers. It's time for our vengeance. Will you stand with me?"
"You... yet live? It was you, all this time?" The words escaped him in a low mutter, low and confused as a dark burn began to gnaw somewhere deep inside of his stomach. It was ludicrous, and yet... It made far too much sense. It had been so long ago, after all. The war had passed from history into myth, the truth twisted so far and so often that it no longer resembled the clear memories that haunted him deep in the coldest nights. How had it happened? How had they failed so spectacularly then, in the throes of their greatest victory and tragedy, to permit them to once again walk in the light of day? What had they done wrong, all those years ago, to permit them to have lived through what should have been the end?
"You idiot! Move!" Catherine's voice was a shout of rage, and he felt himself being shouldered roughly aside as the axe of his foe came down harshly on Thunderbrand. The woman ground her teeth down audibly, absorbing the blow even as it shook her entire body from the force of it, but she didn't much mind the sudden trembling in her limbs. For whatever reason, Seteth had been standing dumb and blind in front of his enemy, making himself the easiest target she could imagine, and she was only grateful her reaction had been fast enough to save him from having his skull cleaved in half. "You... damned... pain in the arse!"
Thunderbrand roared, shaking the very hall itself as it slid free of the axe's great shoving strength, and with a fluid movement that looked like the arc of lightning, the great Relic swung upwards and offered up a spray of blood for its master. Catherine did not let up an inch, her sword screeching in the air as the heavily armoured knight fell back, cursing and bleeding openly from his torn arm, and Seteth could only stare in mute amazement at her ferocity. She pushed forward, a battering ram that knew no mercy, and the knight had no choice but to give way to her even as he snarled angrily, "Do not get in my way...! This fool has long been ours to take! Die in your own turn!"
"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Catherine's answer was a roar, and Thunderbrand answered her with a surge of power as she slammed her arms up and to the side, casting the axe from the failing hands of her opponent. In two more movements, and another spray of blood, the opposing wall of a man was staggering even further back as his armour tore and shredded against the force of her anger. It was a macabre and yet oddly beautiful display, and her eyes flashed with wrath as she struck out again, with her Relic gracing in a crackling, spitting arc, "The lot of you can go scurrying back into the dirt with your master!"
It all seemed to be happening from a distance, and Seteth watched as Catherine's next and final stroke cleaved her enemy's head clean from his shoulders. The body collapsed almost instantly, toppling over to the ground in a twitching, shuddering mess, and the sudden loss of the mountain of a man gave him sight to what was happening further back into the hall. He hadn't seen Warin or Shamir push so far ahead with no one but themselves for back-up, yet somehow he mused that he could not be at all surprised. The two were lone wolves, rarely interacting with the group and having few they deemed trustworthy at their backs, and yet as they stood toe to toe with Thales, their movements couldn't have been more in sync if they had rehearsed them.
Warin was a blur, his lance striking out time after time when Thales lifted his hands, and Shamir was his shadow as arrow after arrow shot from her bow to force Thales farther back and away. Each time he tried to summon his magic, his hands were met with blades, and he was bleeding freely from a score of a wounds all across his arms. An arrow was stuck in his shoulder, too far away from his chest to be fatal, but enough to impede him, yet still he was somehow keeping the two mercenaries from getting close enough to land a killing blow. Still, he was being penned in with the chaos, forced farther and farther into a corner, and no amount of magic could keep up with the footwork of the lightning-flashes he was battling.
It was a deadly dance, and one that clearly was paying off. Thales had started from a position of security and power, but without his main guard, and his ring of mages shattered, Warin and Shamir had raced to meet him. Unlike in Derdriu, the pale-faced sorcerer had been forced to play a conservative hand with two foes flanking him rather than one, and Warin had learned his tricks and was not permitting him to close. He kept him fully at bay with his lance, each time striking him down with a slash or a stab whenever he tried to lessen the distance. With Shamir backing him up with her deadly accuracy, he had been boxed in and cornered, and he was far too focussed on keeping them from getting too close to have noticed his surroundings.
Thales' back touched the wall as he pulled too far back, and a glance over his shoulder was his fatal error. Like a wyvern let loose from his lead, Warin was upon him in a flash, and his lance buried itself in the sorcerer's stomach with an audible, sickening squelching noise. The older man twisted, face stretching into a deep scowl of pain, and an arrow let fly an instant later to bury itself alongside its mate in his chest. Thales staggered, pale, flat eyes wide and staring in uncomprehending agony, and Warin twisted the lance he was still holding as he growled out furiously, "You don't get to escape this time. Not today!"
"Fools." Thales' laughter was an eerie chortle, ringing out over the sudden silence as all turned to see him impaled to the wall by the lance that had run him through, and though blood was trickling from the corners of his lips, all signs of pain was suddenly gone from him. He grasped the lance's handle, staring at the face of the young man who had run him through as he continued to laugh, "This victory... means nothing...! You have won... only another sunrise... It will still fall to dark for all you vermin... I will ensure it!"
Darkness enveloped him, a familiar, warm blackness that transported him far, far away from the cold and empty halls of the castle of Andrestia, and back to the sacred caves that his people, his ancestors, had carved out for him and his kin many long years before his birth. His blood flowed freely as the weapon that had skewered him fell away inside of the magic, held by its master and unwilling to leave him so long as his hands kept their tight grip. The arrows however remained buried in his chest, but they were merely a nuisance as Thales found himself in the great halls of Shambala once again. Time was short, but he moved with purpose for the dais despite the pain, and despite the chill that was slowly but surely chewing its way through the body far more used to darkness and cold than it was warmth and sunlight.
Still. He had no intent to die in the caves that he and his people had been chased into, and as his shaky steps took him up the short staircase and to the dais that was already faintly glowing... A grim, bloody smile curled across his face at the thought of the fools that he had left behind. They would wonder, they would never think him dead unless they had his head, and it was one little victory he himself could personally claim in the end of it all. But escape had never been his motivation. He knelt down in the centre of the circle, his hand faintly glowing as he studied the runes that spread out in a wide, wide radius all along the stone beneath him.
A last-ditch effort, it had been for, when they had first been carven out and sunk with magic... A worrisome counter-measure, should their base be discovered and their vast numbers overwhelmed... At least, that was what he had been taught, when it had come his turn to lead and entrusted with the history, the oath, and the longing for the world above him. So many plans, so many carefully placed pawns, and all knocked awry in a short, short lifetime... but the hope had not yet been extinguished. There was still one last pawn he had not unleashed, one last card to play, and as his blood fell with the patter of a rainfall, Thales' smile grew with dark malice.
He knelt down, body straining underneath the effort, and for a moment, he raised his head even as he placed his trembling hands upon the runes beneath him. The pulsing of his city, of the technology that the Fell Star had taken from them and forced them to build in the darkness was almost a magical sight to him now. How proud he had been as a child, knowing the struggle, swearing his life to the enemy, and marvelling at how far he and his people had progressed as the vermin above remained firmly rooted in the dirt and the muck like the animals they were. They knew so little, chained down by what they called a "goddess", but he felt no pity. No, there could never be pity for the fools who walked in the light of the day so freely, while he and his skulked in the shadows until the pigment left their skin, and left them chalky, white, and ghostlike from the generations that had been robbed of the simple pleasure of a world aboveground.
No longer. Magic pulsed through his weakening body, and though he felt a pang of loss, of regret to know that all that he admired was to be crumbled to dust... Thales did not hesitate. It was a small sacrifice, with his life, and the lives of all of his men, already having been claimed. There were others still to carry out their work, and he trusted that their hatred and their oath would urge them onwards, even when their home fell to ruins. They never needed a place to return to, when their goal had always been to leave it all behind and reclaim the sun. He felt the rumbling as the runes grew bright with his magic, and his smile curved all the more sharply as that familiar sound, the keen whistling louder than a wyvern's shriek, and far more deadly, began to fall so far above his head.
Crashes upon crashes shook the caves, breaking through the ceiling and causing a massive wave of stone to collapse as the mountain gave way underneath the javelins. Thales held still, his focus absolute even as the chaos roared all about him and the stone began to fall faster, harder, with each stroke that came upon his home. Light flooded in through the holes above, shining its harsh rays for the first time in generations on the underground city, and Thales blinked in the cruel brightness with a grim chuckle... He had fulfilled his duty, in a twisted, bitter sense, he supposed... He had brought the light to Shambala.
"Rise, old fool... Rise with those who aided you as they did in times of our majesty, and seek your vengeance... Seek our vengeance." Thales's voice was deep, intoned with magic and sinking deep into stone and steel as his old, trembling fingers gripped down on the runes beneath him. All of the mountain was shaking now, and the debris was piling up about him and across the beautiful city he had once called home. Distantly there were screams and cries of shock, but he heeded them not as his entire body willed itself into the spell. It was time for the final stroke. He would not live to see it, but others would, and in this way... He, and the rest of his kin, would finally find justice for the sins committed upon them lifetimes ago.
An unfathomable weight struck his back, sending him lurching forward and the bones in his shoulders crunched in answer to the boulder that had knocked him flat. His hand stayed where it was, against all odds, and blood flowed faster from the wound in his chest. He tasted copper on his tongue, on his lips, but he did not mind as the warmth of the sun shone down on his prone form. It would be over, one way or another, and he had fulfilled his duty to the fullest. Seeing the victory ahead did not matter, so long as it was secured. His life meant nothing... and he laughed, with true humour he had not felt since his days as a boy, and it rang out despite the sounds of chaos and breaking and the world caving in on itself.
Victory was close. As close as the taste of blood on his lips... and Thales continued to laugh even as he was buried by the mountain he had destroyed. A smile was on his lips as the darkness closed in, piled in stone and blood and shambles of what had been his childhood home, and laughter was the last wheezing sound he made as death came to take him from the glimpse of the sun he had felt burning on his skin. Victory would come... Victory with a name that would make it all the sweeter when he'd welcome his foes from the flames as it struck them down, one by one, with the cruelty of magic, brute strength, and a hatred that transcended the boundaries of life.
Nemesis.
She was a monster.
Dimitri had no other words to describe the thing that stood ahead of him at the foot of the throne, and his body was heavy with both shock, and a strange sense of grief as he stared at once had been the Emperor of Andrestia only yesterday. Now, in her place, was a creature that even his worst nightmares in the depths of his madness could never have conjured. Dark, black lines of muscle bulged unnaturally, sinew without the covering of flesh, and everywhere he looked where pale skin should have existed there instead was only black, grey, and red colours that pierced his eyes and reminded him that no human was now there to fight him.
She would have looked much like a Demonic Beast, were it not for the fact that her face remained mostly unchanged. True, those strange, ugly scales had crept their way onto her cheeks and chin, and her eyes had turned into depths of black with shining crimson pupils, but there was no doubting the fact that it was still her underneath this hideous transformation. She was a sickening sight, with large, spindly blackened fingers and claws protruding from her bulging, muscular torso, and from behind were a strange facsimile of wings. They were feathered, as ebony as the black eagle that Andrestia had claimed for the house, stretching across those shoulders like some sort of macabre shawl or cape, and seemingly meshing into the strange half-circle that extended from behind her and over her head like an array of blades, all attached to more ebony, sinewy musculature that simply did not belong where it seemingly was.
Every single inch of her just screaming wrong in ways that his mind could barely comprehend. From the blades that seemed to be a part of her, and yet were not, to the shining pupils that had no more humanity in them, to the strange corset-like set of scales that stretched down her lower body in a cursed testament to her favoured crimson armour... All things he had seen on Demonic Beasts once before, but now remade in a mockery of a human form that only brought forth shock and a deep sense of revulsion. He had never seen the like of it before, he doubted he ever would again, and yet... What stood before him was her, if he could call what she had transformed herself into anything even remotely human any longer.
Those hands stretched, claws dripping crimson in testament to those who had reached her first and that she had swatted aside with callous ease, and grinding his teeth, Dimitri lifted Areadbhar to ward off her reach. He had seen what damage those heavy claws could manage, he had seen her swipe Petra's wyvern clear out of the sky with the ease of shooing away an errant fly, and that casual movement had sent the princess of Brigid flying well across the room and into stone column. She had tried to rise at once, groaning and hissing with pain, and only Ashe's volley of arrows had distracted the monster looming down on the fallen woman enough for her to be pulled out of harm's way. Even injured as she was, Petra had been protesting, crying out to be permitted to keep fighting, but Raine had coldly refused her. Her students would not die in order to take this monster down, and she had been cruel in ensuring Dedue would keep her out of this room under threat of being forcibly knocked unconscious if she made a nuisance of herself.
No, after one quick, small clash, the decision had been made with harsh efficiency. Only those with Relics were to remain to fight, and any other was sent from the throne room immediately for their own safety. Whatever monster they faced was beyond the ken of those who fought without a Relic or a Crest to defend them, and their numbers were dwindling with each new injury that was inflicted upon them. The fastest fared the best over the strongest, as even with the massive bulk of muscle that was their foe, the swiping claws and bursts of magic came slowly. It was far easier to dodge than it was to meet head-on, and the only one out of all of them remaining to have no serious injuries was Raine herself, but it had not been an easy feat to accomplish.
Now, only he, she, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid remained, and Annette had dropped far back in grim understanding that her offensive magic would do them no good. Mercedes had not recovered nearly enough to join them at the frontline, and so she had taken on her dear friend's burden without a word of complaint or concern. She wished to fight, to do what damage she could, but she ceded to prudence, and was mustering her energy for healing. Outside, Felix and Dedue were waiting for their reinforcements, if any were to make it, and guarding the wounded from any other traps that might be sprung in the midst of what had to be their final struggle in the Empire's capital.
The other four fought like a pack of lions, each one taking turns in a strange relay to counter her in whatever ways they could manage. Her magic was strong, otherworldly strong, and those frighteningly long limbs were even stronger. They had all seen the damage she had done to Petra, who hadn't even been the main target of her claws, and it made them intensely wary, even without their professor's stern orders. Relics gleamed in their expert hands, flashing with crimson each and every time they were raised to defend or attack, but little seemed to be piercing through the great, scaly hide that now was protecting the monster they were fighting. She was like a Demonic Beast, staggeringly tough, even more deadly, and with reserves of energy and strength that seemed to come from a never-ending font they could not see.
Even their weapons, tried and true and trusted as they were, seemed to be making little more than a dent in her despite their best efforts. True, she would stagger, she would be repelled, but there was no sign of even a nick in those ebony-coloured scales that turned their Relics aside each time they struck a blow. They were panting with exertion, sweat clinging to their brows and hair, and yet not one of them faltered. Each time one raced forward and returned, another was ready and waiting to take their place, and with fearsome efficiency they continued to hack away at her defences in a vain hope to find something, some way, to break through her accursed shields.
Ingrid fell back now, her hands trembling on her lance as she dodged a swing from those crimson-tipped claws, and Sylvain was a red-tipped hurricane as he blew past her to take her place at once. Annette was just behind her, a hand reached to touch the wound in her shoulder, coaxing the flesh to mend and the blood to stop flowing with a grinding of her teeth. Ingrid looked over at her friend, catching the paleness of her skin and the wariness in her usually so bright turquoise-coloured eyes was stunning. It made her hesitate, taking away the situation at hand for her friend's condition, and she began tersely, concern tightening her throat, "Annette, you should pull back. You can't heal us all like this."
"And leave you here to do the rest? No offence, Ingrid, but you're no replacement for me. You won't be able to pick up the slack if I leave. And without Mercie, there's only me until reinforcements arrive." Annette answered just as firmly, but her tightly set jaw trembled all the same at the mention of their sidelined healer. Mercedes was in no position to be fighting, and though she had initially tried to argue, the ugly lattice of bruising about her throat had been more than enough evidence to keep her firmly seated on the sidelines until the end of the fighting. Their professor had said she had done enough, and Annette firmly agreed with her, even if had meant picking up the weight for her dear friend. "There's no retreating now. We've come too far."
"Annette, I know I'm nowhere near your skill with healing magic, but I can staunch wounds if I must. You won't be any good to us swaying on your feet from exhaustion. Professor sent everyone out for their own safety. Do as she ordered. We can't protect you and ourselves at the same time. Not from this." Ingrid answered firmly, and though she was aware Annette was right about her lack of mastery over the healing arts... It didn't matter now. The only thing she cared about was escaping this fight with every single one of her friends alive. "Please. If something were to happen-"
"Sylvain!"
Cold shock froze both women as they turned in unison to see the red-headed knight trapped in the claws of the monster they were fighting, and all heard the ominous creaking of his armour as those strong, spindly arms squeezed tight. An anguished gasp escaped the knight's mouth, and blood trickled from his open lips even as he struggled against the claws that were burying themselves deep in his sides. His lance hung useless in his hand, unable to be lifted regardless of how desperate he was to raise it, and his eyes squeezed shut in pain as the grip tightened even further.
Raine and Dimitri were flashes of flames, on the exposed back of their foe in seconds at the sight of Sylvain's plight, and both the Sword of the Creator and Areadbhar were waves of golden-bronze as they leapt out in answer. Sylvain was dropped in a heap as their foe turned on them both, snarling in outrage and pain, and Raine ducked underneath the blow as Dimitri rolled to the left and underneath the outstretched arms. He was quick as Raine engaged, dragging Sylvain out of danger with both hands in as fast, but firm manner as the situation could allow. He was met halfway by Annette and Ingrid, both having leapt forward but having been too far away to do anything, and both women dropped to their knees beside the red-headed knight who was groaning as his blood began to seep out onto the floor in an ever-widening puddle.
Ingrid unbuckled his armour with quick, efficient hands as she heard her professor's blade clashing again and again with those accursed claws of their enemy, keeping her focus and giving her students the time they dearly needed. Annette moved immediately after Ingrid, finding the deep puncture wounds in his side and applying steady pressure as she mustered the last remnants of her energy. She was flagging, but she didn't care as she ground down her teeth and hissed thoughtlessly, "This is not happening...! You aren't dying, Sylvain, do you hear me?!"
"Y-Yes... ma'am..." Sylvain managed to laugh in response, though his voice was pained and his breathing ragged as he felt Ingrid's less-skilled hands, but somehow still all the more gentler, pressed on his opposing side to deliver the same treatment. Her magic felt so different from Annette's, somehow lighter and flowing quicker, though there was no dispute which was stronger. Annette's own power was like thick honey, flowing with slow, heavy purpose, and already he could feel the wounds beginning to seal underneath her hands. He closed his eyes, fighting the pain and wishing he hadn't been so damned foolish in closing with an enemy that had nearly double the reach that he and his lance already had. But that was a mistake he could not rectify, and he was only glad that his ribs had not been crushed in the attempt on his neck. "I'll live until your hair gets nice and grey, just for you, Annette..."
"Get him out! Now!" Raine's icy command was a bucket of water being dumped over their heads, and both force-made healers looked up sharply to see her standing between them and Edelgard, back firmly turned in their direction as her sword glinted crimson in her hands. Those claws, still coated with blood were reaching for her, but she held them at bay with the edge of her blade, slicing through scale and sinew to draw still more that dripped slowly, mockingly, onto her face as they continued to grope and grasp for her. If it bothered her an ounce, Raine showed no sign, and her voice rang out again as she ordered fiercely, "Ingrid, Annette, pull back! Leave this to us!"
"Professor-"
"That wasn't a suggestion!" Raine's roar shook the very walls of the throne room, and she ducked and wove as she heard Dimitri at her back, rushing to her aid to give her relief and a second weapon that she sorely needed. Knowing she was now free, Raine didn't hesitate to drop her blade, throwing herself underneath those reaching, grasping fingers and taking her enemy's back. The Sword of the Creator pulsed hot and bright in her hands, responding to both her wrath and bloodlust, and it screamed as it struck out like a whip, cracking down across the broad expanse of the monstrous black back before her. Scales cracked and folded under the strength of her blow, and for an instant she saw crimson blood begin to trickle down, and encouraged, she called out as she saw Ingrid and Annette hesitating, "Dimitri and I have this! You've done enough! Get out while you can!"
"D-Damn it..." Sylvain's groan was weary, and his nose was bleeding as he raised a shaky hand to touch his sides that those horrid claws had ripped open as easily as sheet paper. He hadn't expected the counter-attack to be so vicious, and by the time he had realized her speed had suddenly matched his own, it had been far too late to try to dodge or defend. He had been yanked from his feet with the ease of an insect being plucked from the ground, his armour doing nothing to protect him, and he supposed it was only a small mercy that had saved him from having his chest crushed into pulp. He could hear Annette and Ingrid hovering over him, but his eyes were for his king and professor as they took up defensive positions before him, and he shook his head as his hand tightened around his birthright, "I'm not... down just yet...!"
"Sylvain. We have to leave." Ingrid spoke tersely, understanding at once that there was no more room for fighting in the rest of them. Her magic was empty, just as Annette's was, and Sylvain's wounds were only barely closed. He needed a healer that was not out of breath or stamina, and every second they lingered was a second their professor and future king had to fight defensively to keep them safe. She locked eyes with Annette, who nodded firmly despite the curl to her lip and the ashen pallor of her face, and wordlessly the two moved in tandem to pull Sylvain off of the floor by hooking an arm each over their shoulders. He struggled, body limp and too twisted with pain to provide much resistance even as they dragged him, and Ingrid muttered as she pulled him harshly along, "We have to trust them... They can handle this... They'll succeed... I know they will!"
Dimitri was a lion as he leapt about the mass of black and violet magic that was almost literally thrown at him like a boulder being loosed from a catapult. He watched as those crimson orbs decorating her body dimmed and pulsed as her magic left her palm, and the projectile flew straight and true to collide into the wall behind him with a thunderclap. The wall caved in under the pressure and force, with stone and metal crumbling into a heap underneath the sudden hole that had been punched into it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the great doors opening, with the last trio escaping into friendly and safe hands, and the thought brought a small, grim smile to his face despite it all.
Now, it was only them. Raine stood on his left, breathing heavily and eyes narrowed, but still relatively unscathed despite how long she had been keeping her foe at bay. He faced down the monster which had once been his step sister, and his teeth ground down tightly as he adjusted his grip on his lance. Those dark eyes with pointed red irises stared at him like something out of a void, or perhaps his worst nightmares, but yet he felt not a flicker of pity like he had the day beforehand when he had stood opposite of her and offered her a solution of peace rather than bloodshed. Horror he did feel, horror and awe and something approaching disgust, but anything relatively warm or gentle had long since fled him to be replaced with a cold and bitter truth.
The thing that stood in front of him was no longer Edelgard. It was no longer even human. In her quest for her ideals, she had thrown away even her humanity to reach her goals, and he was well aware she had no regrets in doing so. It was not her way. She strode forward, unflinching and unthinking, arrogant and proud and defiant, and even now, in this strange and horrible form, she was still fighting. She would die that way, content in the idea that she had never surrendered, that she was not wrong but had only been beaten by a stronger foe, and the thought made his teeth grind despite himself as he hissed without thinking, "Did you think to turn yourself into the Goddess herself with this power of yours...?"
"Unlikely." Raine's answer came curt and clipped at his side, and he watched as she took careful steps, circling about their still foe who had now transferred her lifeless gaze to her instead. She did not yet move, seeming to be waiting, and Raine took full advantage of the moment's respite as her hands readjusted their tight grip on the handle of the ancient Relic she had been given. It was hot in her grasp, almost burning, and yet she felt no pain. Instead there was only a quiet sense of wrath, and something in her snarled in rage at the idea of that smiling, chiding, arrogant little girl stood in her mind's eye to scold her with an impatient air of someone many, many lifetimes her elder. "This is no mockery of a goddess... This is the end goal of a twisted search for power. Throwing away what little humanity she had left, in a last-ditch gambit to prevent loss. Let's put her out of her misery, and end this charade once and for all."
"Agreed."
Like twin waves they rushed forward in tandem, and everywhere Edelgard reached, the other was ready to find the opening she provided and strike with full strength and prejudice. The scales were falling from her body now, and blood was dripping freely from the score of wounds that their weapons were finally opening on her. Whatever shields she had built about herself had finally been chipped away to the last, and just like every Demonic Beast before her, now her body had no more magical defences to keep her opponents at bay. The house of the Blue Lions had tore away her magic, slowly but surely like an ocean on the mountainside, and now it was all she could do to keep pace with their furious assault.
Without her students to defend, Raine became a lightning bolt as she unleashed her blade time and time again. It sang out in fury, matching her temper and her desire to see this end, and the heat in her hands was a painful comfort even as she dodged and wove about the magic, the claws, and that hateful, empty gaze that pierced her through like a lance. Her chest burnt with seething rage, wondering at the injustice, at the absurdity, of what she had been dragged into, and her teeth ground down in a ferocious scowl. All she had ever wanted, thrown away for a little more power, and though she knew it selfish... She couldn't help but hate her foe all the more for her callous disregard for her own life.
She would never be human. Her heart would always lay silent and still in her chest, but at the very least the shell that carried it looked and acted like any other human body she knew of. Even in her worst moments of despair and self-loathing, of cursing and wonder why it had been her... She was not this much of a monster. She had been made this way against her will, and had not chosen to throw it all away. If anything, she would have given up her neck for a chance for a beating heart, even if it was only for a few moments. The idea that someone, anyone, would throw away such a gift for something as petty as strength... It made her burn in ways few other things could, and she felt a wrath she had not allowed to burn since she had hunted Kronya in the depths of the Sealed Forest.
Now, though, her burn was controlled, and she did not mistake her foe for herself. In the glimpses of the foliage, all those years ago, the back of her enemy had sometimes slipped into the sight of her own, and she had known what her hunt was truly for. In this moment, sword in hand, she saw her enemy as she was, and held no second guesses, or secret self-hate that made her wish she was striking down her younger, more foolish self. Those days of mistakes, misunderstanding, and grief were behind her. Now there was only cold reality, hot blood, and a desire to see it all come to an end more than anything else.
A screech rent through the air, and Raine snarled out in pain as her arm lifted automatically to shield her neck as that searching hand shot out towards her throat. The claws pierced easily through her forearm, cutting through armour and skin so easily that it may as well have been parchment. Her teeth ground down as she held her ground, grasping at her own arm with her sword bracing her bone to push back against that heavy, unyielding strength behind that bulging arm that sought to slam its fingers through her neck and tear her head from her shoulders. The claws had sunk straight on through her forearm, reaching still for her throat, and she grunted with both effort and pain as she tried to hold her at bay. "D-Damn...!"
"Raine!" Dimitri's roar was both a strange balm and a roll of thunder, and with it followed an ear-piercing scream of agony as Areadbhar came down to slice the hand clean from its wrist. In an instant it disappeared in a wisp of grey-and-black smoke and cinders, leaving his beloved professor to stumble back in surprise and pain as the long, piercing claws that had been sunken into her forearm disappeared with it. He reached with his free hand, catching her before she could hit the floor from the sudden change of momentum, and he heard his heart hammering in his ears as he saw the blood flowing fast and free from the four clean stab wounds in her arm. "Raine, are you all right?!"
"As fine as I can be... Release me. This ends now. I can still hold my sword. I don't need two arms." Raine answered tersely, and even as she spoke she could feel her fingers growing numb despite the hot sensation of blood trickling down her hand from her wounds. She tried to close her hand to make a fist, but the current of pain that jolted through her torn muscles was enough to warn her that she would get no more use of her right arm no matter how hard she tried. She was glad it was her left that held her blade, and she stood wary but capable, and her good fingers squeezed all the tighter around the hilt of her sword. She was completely spent, and every single move counted as there was nothing left for her to use in terms of her magic. She was fighting on skill alone, hoping against hope every step would be the right one... but she could still fight, and until she no longer drew breath, she would not stop.
Dimitri joined her as she leapt forward again, though he was wary as he watched the way her arm swung lifelessly at her side every time she moved. Blood flew from the wounds freely in scarlet ribbons, a macabre testament to her speed even in injury, and if anything, she seemed to be moving faster if only due to adrenaline. No matter where the magic and claws and great arms reached, Raine was never there to catch a second blow, and Dimitri watched as their Relics crashed again and again on crackling scales that could no longer rebuff their brute strength.
Another shriek pierced through the air, though this time it came from a throat and not due to weapons. The Sword of the Creator and Areadbhar had found home at last, one buried square between the gigantic hulking shoulders and another deep in her gut, and the black-and-grey scaled monster threw back its head in an ungodly wail of agony as the weapons were slammed in to their hilts, and then pulled back with just as much mercy. Now the ribbons were streams, and both the professor and future king of Faerghus drew back, warily pressing together as they watched their foe reaching for her wounds.
That familiar black smoke begun to plume as the scales fell away, and neither of the two soldiers spoke as they watched the creature shrink in on itself as all of the Demonic Beasts had before in their death throes. Yet there was a coldness to the air, a tension that did not allow for them to release their hold on their weapons yet, and both were aware they were holding their breath as a great gust of wind carried away that black haze to take away the guise of the monster, and instead leave the small, frail form of a woman behind.
Yet, unlike all of those before her... She was not yet dead. She knelt where she had finally fallen from the air, and blood was dripping steadily from gaping wounds that had been opened all over her body, but still her shoulders heaved with her deep, anguished breaths. Her eyes were sharp even as she clutched at her stomach, which showed only dented armour and no hole like there had been buried in her monstrous form. Her axe was nowhere to be found, likely lost in the transformation that she had thrown herself into, and she knelt unarmed, wounded, and winded at the foot of the staircase that led up to the massive throne from which she had led the war.
Dimitri was the first to move, and Raine said nothing even as her body tensed in unconscious distrust and worry. There were no signs of those fatal wounds they had carved into that accursed body she had been wearing only scant moments before, and though it was clear she was in pain, Raine knew better than to believe all the fight had gone out of her. Everything they had seen, everything they had experienced, warned her that this was not the last gasp, and to underestimate her now would be tantamount to throwing her life away. Yet, Dimitri was the one with the sole claim to her neck, and even with her anger, Raine was not selfish enough to try and take it away from him. So instead she stood silent, hand tightly gripping her blade as Dimitri left her side to approach their foe, and her body tensed all the further in preparation to spring if needed at any given moment.
Dimitri's hands however were loose on his own Relic as he closed the distance between them, and he watched with a quiet, sombre gaze as Edelgard looked up to meet him. Either she could not stand, or would not, and she remained where she had fallen, one hand still tightly gripping at her stomach in phantom pain for a wound that was no longer there. A steady stream of crimson was trickling from the corner of her mouth, and her body was covered in wisps of ash and blood in a sign that her physical body had indeed taken damage even if the wounds were not accurate to where they had been inflicted, but still Dimitri moved forward. He only stopped when he came within reach of her, and his voice when he spoke matched his stare, grave, firm, but quiet, "It's over... The war is ended. The fighting... can finally stop. Will you end it yourself, now, El? Will you admit defeat?"
A gloved hand extended, and both Raine and Edelgard watched with slightly widening eyes as Dimitri stooped just a little as he offered his hand to his step-sister. His expression was torn with grief and pain, with frustration, anger, and weariness, but all the same he held out his hand even as the two women in the room stared on at him wordlessly. He did not mind the piercing of their eyes, understanding he had to look a fool, but no longer was the beast raging. The man had returned in full control, and it was the man who spoke now, his voice strong and clear, "Give me your hand, El. Let us end this together, rather than in death. I've had enough of burying corpses. Do not ask me to kill again, if we can avoid it."
A small, mocking smile curled at the corners of her bloody lips, and Edelgard looked to his hand before turning her face pointedly away from it. Instead, her eyes moved to the woman who had not stirred, who still stood ready and willing to end her if she so much as twitched wrong, and the sight of her stirred her aching chest all over again. Rage, hatred, and that same ugly burning sense of longing that she had worked too hard to quench, but no longer had the strength to deny. She hated this woman, who had given comfort and love so freely, and had spurned her so readily instead when she had taken the chance to reach for her hand, and she made no efforts to disguise her emotions now. She ignored Dimitri entirely, her voice low, hoarse, but still somehow capable of spitting venom as she questioned, "And will you allow it...? Will you let him spare me?"
"I'd see you dead and buried before giving you a second chance to bring the world down with you in your childish rage, but that choice isn't mine to make." Raine's answer was cold and brutally honest, and her hand gripped down tightly on her blade as she felt its heat surge up through her arm in answer to her anger. Even now, at the cusp of it all... Raine wanted to feel surprise, perhaps maybe even pity, but all there was in her was that stifling feeling of wrath. It would never end, if Edelgard lived. She knew it just as she knew she needed to breathe in order to survive. She could not stop fighting. She simply was incapable of it. Her eyes flickered to Dimitri, ceding to him despite her pragmatism, her cold and unending feelings of anger, before back to the flat, hateful gaze of Edelgard as she continued, "It's his. You wronged him, long before you wronged me. I'll handle whatever comes after you, in due time, just as I promised I would."
"Your new world... won't last, you know... It cannot last."
"I agree." Raine was aware her answer surprised her, as well as Dimitri, who stiffened and turned to look at her in alarm, but she ignored him as she settled her eyes firmly on Edelgard's startled expression. She didn't mind it. If this was what she wished for, she supposed at the end, she could do one last courtesy as Dimitri had done. And the truth was not a heavy burden to bear as she shrugged her shoulders, expression unconcerned and calm as she explained plainly, "It cannot last, because nothing lasts... Especially when people like you exist. No one will ever be made totally happy by anyone else's utopia. It's impossible... but that doesn't mean the world we strive for is without merit, or that fighting for it is a useless endeavour. We've come this far. We've much farther to go. You may not see where we end up, once the time comes to pass it along to a new generation, but at least we can be assured our groundwork won't be torn up when we're buried. True change comes slowly, Flame Emperor. Slowly, and with great time, effort, and love. Not with blood and fire and fury. You cannot understand that. You will never understand that. And that is why you've lost."
"So I won't see the fruits of your labours... Fine. I do not want to see a world wrapped up again in misery... While foolish, weak, and ignorant hands throw away the truth for the easy path." Edelgard returned with a low, bitter chuckle, and she leaned down against the ground as the pain rang out throughout the entirety of her body. Her free hand continued to cradle her stomach, wondering at the phantom pain of the stab wound that did not exist, but had been so utterly real only a handful of minutes ago. It was still difficult, distinguishing between the body she had worn and the body she had now, but she supposed it didn't matter overly much. Even with the loss of a hand, it had not stymied her when she had "returned" to her human body, as all defeated Beasts did. True, she was battered and wounded, and perhaps at the end of her rope... but the embers had not burnt out just yet as she muttered lowly, "However... you won't see it either."
It happened almost too fast for Raine's eyes to catch. The sliding hand across the waist, the flash of silver, the alarmed shout, and then the sharp noise of metal piercing through metal and into flesh. Then there was another sound, louder, of something broad and heavy plunging with a sickening squelching noise deep into skin, muscle and bone. Yet it all seemed to be distant, as if it was happening a world away. Then that world tipped abruptly on its axis, sending everything askew, and then cold, dull, and grey. This was the end, and there wasn't a damned thing she could do to stop it.
AN:
If this heat doesn't kill me, then I am pretty sure these fight scenes will. I have no idea what I was thinking when I decided I'd do a companion sort-of novella to a Fire Emblem game, because of course there is going to be a crap load of fight scenes to write, and I hate action scenes! I am just no good at the choreography, the flow, or the descriptions! Not to mention I had to go and study for about an hour on the FE Wikia to get skills, names, classes and a whole bunch of other information down pat, and I still feel like I messed up somewhere and didn't do things right!
Mind you, I am aware this chapter is probably a lot. And that's because... Well, it is. I had a very hard time deciding how I was going to wrap up the "boss marathon" I had set up for myself by combining all four routes in the way I did, and this, in turn, is how I have decided to end things. Now, mind you, this does not mean the Agarthans are beat, nor does it mean their story is over. I have just decided to tweak things regarding Shambala a tad or two. This story, as well as the war, have gone on a very long time... Fatigue has set in, and quite honestly, I don't think I had a marathon of boss fights in me. I am, of course, going to try to continue this in as linear a way as possible for story-telling sake, but I can't say much else without giving out spoilers.
Anywhosit, it's too damn early for me to be writing up an Author's Note (as I have not slept) and I need to curl up on my mattress and try to figure out how to cuddle up without dying of heatstroke. Whoever says humidity isn't as bad as a dry heat can go put Amyr up somewhere where the sun doesn't shine, and give it a nice big TWIST. -grumpily storms off-
Mood: Unbalanced.
Listening To: "Monster Without A Name" - EGOIST (Psycho Pass ED)
~ Sky