A Fated Dawn
Edelgard Von Hresvelg wore a neutral expression as she walked down the palace hall, her uncle Volkhard right next to her.
It had been three years since she and her uncle had to flee the Adrestian Empire for the Kingdom. Back then, she was just a little girl, but now she isn't!
She was twelve now, old enough to help her father. She won't run again. She would do whatever it took to get the life she lost back.
Especially those days of playing with her siblings, of watching her mom and dad smile…
"Prepare yourself, Edelgard," Uncle Volkhard told her as they reached a set of large doors guarded by two elite knights.
Edelgard smiled briefly before hiding it.
Stop it, Edelgard! Royalty shouldn't show their emotions! Edelgard scolded herself as the knights opened the giant doors.
On the other side was the imperial throne room, the center of the greatest empire in the world.
Decisions that shape the continent are made here, and the room's grandeur reflects that. Its walls were made of the highest quality stone in the known world. On the far end of the room was a great throne illuminated by the red-stained glass window behind it.
But Edelgard didn't care about the throne. No, she cared about who was upon it.
Sitting on the throne was her father, King Ionius IX.
Edelgard's neutral expression was broken by a rush of worry as she looked at her father.
It had been three years since she'd any of her immediate family, and that time clearly hadn't been kind to him.
When she last saw him, Ionius had brown hair like here, with a built body. He looked like a true ruler.
Now though, his hair had whitened and became unkempt. His body had withered, leaving him looking malnourished, like a peasant who hadn't eaten in weeks.
"Father!" Edelgard yelled as she ran towards her father and jumped on him.
"Ed- Edelgard?!" Ionius asked in shock as he looked down at his daughter. "What are you doing here?"
Edelgard suddenly stopped hugging her father and got off of him. "Sorry, Father. I've just missed you. Are you alright?"
"Yes, of course. Now, what are you doing here?"
"Didn't you call us back? Saying you need my help?" Edelgard asked nervously.
If her father didn't call her here, then who did?
"It was my decision to return," Uncle Volkhard said as he walked towards the throne. "Her presence would greatly help the project your other children are working on."
"Yo- you!" Ionius growled, but any fight he had quickly faded into despair.
"Father?" Edelgard asked slowly as she noticed said despair.
She'd never seen her father make such an expression. He was always perfectly stoic when in the throne room, yet now he looked like he was on the edge of tears.
"Edelgard, my daughter, I'm sorry," the king apologized to his daughter after a moment.
"There's no need to grow so depressed, your majesty," Volkhard said while placing a hand on Edelgard's shoulder. "After all, you'll get to see your daughter more now."
"Father, where is everyone?" Edelgard asked as she finally realized the throne room was empty.
Not only that, but none of her siblings greeted her either. Did the political fighting force them to run to?
"The throne room doesn't see much use these days," Volkhard said as he tightened his grip on Edelgard's shoulder, causing Ionius to flinch. "But it has been a while since you've seen your siblings, hasn't it?"
"Yes," Edelgard answered as a sense of dread built up inside her.
"Lord Arundel," Ionius called to him with a pleading voice.
"Don't worry, my king," Volkgard bowed. "She's in good hands."
Edelgard felt chills run down her spine.
Edelgard followed her uncle to a part of the palace she'd never been to before.
She grew more and more worried the longer they walked.
The palace almost felt empty and lifeless. They had only passed soldiers so far, none of whom she recognized. It was almost as if all the soldiers had been replaced, which didn't make sense.
Palace guards weren't just random mercenaries; they were an elite force meant to protect the emperor and his bloodline. Replacing them all would be nearly impossible.
The imperial princess looked up at her uncle with suspicion.
Why had he brought her back home when her father hadn't called for them?
He had been acting strange lately, but Edelgard simply thought it was because of her mother's disappearance. Could it be something more?
"Isn't something the matter, my dear niece?" Volkhard asked without even bothering to look down at her.
"Nothing, Uncle," Edelgard lied through her teeth.
"Good, we won't want anything interrupting your reunion with your siblings. One of them should be in the room up ahead."
"What?" Edelgard asked while they turned into a hallway that led to a set of doors.
"That's right, I never did tell you, did I? All well, you'll see soon enough. After all, one of them should be helping with one of our experiments. We might miss it if we don't hurry," Volkhard said with a sadistic smile that almost made Edelgard's legs give out from under her.
Her instincts were telling her to run, but she clenched her fist.
One of her brothers or sisters could be on the other side, in pain. She couldn't run knowing that.
Edelgard wasn't someone who could run when her family was in danger. Such cowardice went against the very core of her being.
The Imperial Princess ran towards the door. With each step, she felt her legs growing stronger, her resolve strengthening.
She pushed open the door and ran to the other side.
Instead of seeing one of her siblings, Edelgard found herself in a room occupied by a man she recognized.
She would never forget that man's repugnant appearance. He had bright hair that was almost orange, or at least part of his balding head did. He had a small mustache of the same color that paled in comparison to her father's beard. The man was also completely unfit, having chosen not to train but a feast.
Edelgard especially hated the man's clothing. He looked so silly in him that Edelgard would've thought him a jester instead of the prime minister. She like the current fashion in the alliance way more.
That's right, Prime Minister Ludwig. Also known as Duke Aegir, or as she liked to call him, Duke Bugwig. He was someone she had always been taught not to trust due to being power-hungry despite being second only to her father. e
The man stopped looking through a giant wall window on the far side of the room.
Edelgard noticed his smile grow larger when he saw her.
She ignored him, though, and ran towards the window before losing all the strength in her legs yet again.
On the other side of the window was a room filled with instruments. Some of them looked like the ones Edelgard had seen used by court physicians, while others looked like tools a mage would use.
Inside the room were three more people she'd never seen before. Two of them were dressed in doctor's robes, while the other was dressed like a mage.
In the middle of the room were two chairs, one of which was empty.
The other had one of Edelgard's younger siblings, her smallest brother.
His complex was pale, only a few shades off from a corpse. His hair was starting to lose its brown hue in places. He looked so small for a nine-year-old.
But what struck Edelgard the most was his dead eyes. He looked like he didn't even know where he was or what was going on. It was as if his soul had left his body. He was wearing clothing one would wear during an operation.
"Hmm, it seems we got here just in time," Volkhard said as he slowly caught up to Edelgard.
"That's right, Lord Arundel," the prime minister said with a disgustingly cheerful voice. "I wasn't expecting you to get here so soon."
"It never hurts to be early," Volkhard replied as he walked towards the window.
A door in the other room opened, letting in another boy wearing similar clothing to Edelgard's brother. Behind him was a second-mage-looking person.
"What is this? Just what is going on!?" Edelgard demanded answers with a look of disgust on her face.
"It is just a routine experiment," Volkhard answered while gesturing towards the boy who'd just entered the room. "You see that boy?"
Edelgard slowly looked over the boy who was being forced into the second seat next to her brother.
He had bright red hair and strange auburn eyes. He looked like he was around Edelgard's age and was much healthier than her brother.
Edelgard's attention fell back upon the boy's strange eyes. Even as the doctors poked nettles into his skin, the boy barely reacted. His eyes looked tired and dead yet somehow unbroken. It was like he accepted whatever was about to happen to him but still clung to something.
"He's just a random crestless commoner we found for today's test. He will receive a special blood transfusion from your brother, with the intent to see how his body reacts to an attempted crest transfer," Volkhard told Edelgard, in the same way one would report on the weather.
"That's impossible; you can't transfer crest! It's like you've always said, the goddess gives certain people crest; trying to transfer them to another would go against her will!" Edelgard shouted at Volkhard.
Her uncle also made sure she followed the teachings of the goddess. He was a firm believer in the church and would tolerate something that so clearly broke its tenets.
Volkhard snickered.
"What?" Edelgard asked, not understanding what was so funny.
"It doesn't matter right now; you'll understand in due time. You should be watching the experiment instead."
"Even if it doesn't yield any results?" Duke Ludwig asked despite seeming to take pleasure in Edelgard's suffering. "Most of these useless peasants die rather quickly, don't they? But what could we expect from such inferior beings."
The daughter of the emperor felt repulsed by the Duke's words. She didn't care particularly care about commoners, but they didn't deserve to die.
Edelgard cliched her fist and instinctively activated the power of her crest. Even if her crest was a minor crest of Seiros, it was still the crest belonging to the Adrestian Empire's royal family. It would aid her, no matter what.
What she would do after, she truly didn't know. All she knew at that moment was that her brother was suffering, and she needed to help him.
Her small fist hit the glass window!
"Augh!" She yelled as her fist failed to break the glass.
Impossible! What could that glass be made of?! She thought before hearing an amused laugh come from Volkhard and Duke Aegir.
Edelgard looked up to see him look amused at her outburst. Like he was looking at an ant trying to break out of its farm.
"What's happened to you?" Edelgard asked with a snarl.
"What kind of question is that? Nothing happened," Volkhard answered with a cruel smile. She only now realized how wrong his mannerisms were. "Now, let's get you ready; we wouldn't want to leave your other siblings waiting, now would we?"
Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire.
It burned in his veins. Shirou could feel it trying to burn him away from the inside. His breaths labored. The air itself felt like it was boiling as it moved toward his molten lungs. His legs didn't work. Were they still there, or had they melted?
The tight grip on both his arms hurt so bad like he was being crushed. The two dragging him through the dungeon were unfocused blobs. His surroundings were a blur.
They tossed him in a cell. His impact on the cold stone floor barely registered. He was too delirious.
Was he in the cell he'd first been in after being kidnapped? Kidnapped while walking down the street of this horrific world, he suddenly found himself in.
The red-haired boy convulsed on the floor. His mind sent out scattered prayers – pleas – for help. For an end to the pain. It was too much. There was no one to help him. He was utterly alone.
He clenched his chest, his heart feeling like it was about to explode. He couldn't even scream in agony. The only sounds he could make were whimpers between horrid breaths.
Shirou could feel it get worse. The pain. It was consuming him. His consciousness. The world was getting so dark. His eyes so very heavy. He couldn't resist.
The screams of others around him – just as helpless as he was – were his only lullaby as agony tore him away from the waking world.
Shirou Emiya didn't dream because that would imply sleep led him to anything but nightmares.
He lay on the ground, surrounded by terrible debris. The ruins of his home town in flames. He had this nightmare so many times. Every night he dreamt of the Fuyuki Fire. Him running as countless screamed for their lives. Pleading to be saved as he selfishly ran away.
Tonight, the screams were so much louder. So much more numerous. The flames were so much stronger.
And Shirou couldn't run tonight. He was trapped. His body broken as it lay on top of an unnatural hill of wreckage. The pain ran through him worse than when he was awake. Continuing to grow stronger as the unnatural flames consumed the world around him.
The young boy could only stare helplessly and hopelessly as the flames grew closer. They were consuming his soul, and there was nothing he could do.
Was this his punishment for living when everyone else died?
Skyscrapers melted and fell, the crash shaking the world. The flames were filled with hate as they moved toward him. The screams somehow grew even louder.
50. 40. 30. 20. 10 meters.
The heat of the flames got closer to his hill of wreckage. It was getting so hard for him to breathe as the air was filled with ashes and smoke. The unmistakable smell of burning flesh assaulted the boy's nose.
Shirou couldn't do anything but turn on his side and fold in on himself.
The flames reached the hill. Their heat was greater than any Shirou's felt before. His mind told him they were going to consume him. End him. His heart couldn't muster a rebuttal.
"I- I'm sorry, Kiritsugu," Shirou barely croaked out. He just promised the man who saved him he'd become a hero of justice in his place. It was the last thing he could tell his adopted father before his sudden death. And now he wouldn't be able to keep it. He's going to die just a few days after.
The bottom of the hill was consumed by the flames that now made up this nightmare reality. Would it even take a minute before they consumed him?
Shirou couldn't bring himself to cry. Not when no one would hear him, nor did he deserve to be heard.
The boy coughed as more smoke entered his lungs. It tasted like ashed.
The flames were halfway up the small hill of wreckage. He could only close his eyes and wait for what was to come.
A second. A minute. An hour. A day. An eternity. It was impossible to tell how long Shirou sat there with his eyes closed. Waiting. The pain never subsiding.
Slowly, he opened his amber eyes, pain filling them like water in a vase. The flames. They stopped. Mere meters away from him.
The agony was so horrid. The inferno still tore into him, but it didn't advance anymore. Small motes of golden light seemed to meet the blaze, growing ever so slightly stronger as they danced through the flames. Holding it back.
Shirou began to shake in pain as he lost his sense of time again. His eyes never left the light that felt so warm yet seemed to cool him when it floated near him. Slowly the flames were punished back.
He could feel the pain fading ever so slightly, but it was but a drop in an infinite ocean. The light took so long to move the blaze back even a meter. It healed so much slower than the flames consumed, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was why.
Why did he survive again?
Shirou let out a whimper as he woke up. His lips felt so dry, and his clothing so damp. The cold dungeon floor almost felt good against the blistering heat of his skin. He smelt like a corpse and felt like he was about to be one. The pain hadn't lessened in the least from his dream. The screams of the other victims being quieter than the ones in his dream were no consolation.
Two guards dressed in medieval armor walked in front of his cell, peering in. Shirou tried to meet their eyes but faltered in the face of how cold they were.
"Looks like you win," one of them said as they pulled out a coin and gave it to the other guy. "Didn't think he'd survive a single night. Gutter trash never makes it past the first night."
The other guard laughed and took the coin before they continued walking away. "I didn't think I'd win either!"
Shirou would've grounded his teeth together at how jolly those two sounded if he didn't feel like the slightest breeze would kill him.
He sat there in agony alone. It was impossible to see anything with how dark his cell was. There was no one to talk to. Nothing to distract him from the pain or sorrow all around him.
The red-haired boy didn't know how long he waited in the darkness. Eventually, a different set of guards came to a stop on the other side of his prison's bars. They opened the cell and roughly picked him up without an explanation or an ounce of sympathy. Shirou had no energy to say anything, much less resist.
They dragged him through the dungeon. The light of the torch one of them carried let Shirou peer into cells as they passed them. Each one was filled with a variety of people with no rhyme or reason. Children far younger than Shirou were huddled in corners with fright-filled eyes. Other cells had elderly that Shirou couldn't tell if they were alive or not. The worst were the ones occupied by those who had already been experimented on. So many looked like they'd rather be dead.
It took them almost ten minutes to reach their destination. A separate laboratory from the one he'd been in the day before. It looked so clean and pristine; you'd never know the horrors that happened here if you just saw this room.
"Lay him on the table," a man in a plague doctor mask ordered to guards, getting a grunt in return. They placed Shirou on an examination table. The boy could only cough in pain as they tied down his arms. "Coughing, hmm. Unusual for attempted crest transplants."
The scientist or mage or crazy person ordered the guards out of the room as he began to look at his medical instruments. Shirou barely had the energy to lift his head up to see them.
The boy barely managed a glare as the doctor walked back toward him with a syringe in his hand. He didn't bother asking for Shirou's permission as he walked over and stabbed the boy with the syringe, taking a blood sample. The redhead didn't feel the pain of the needle being forced into one of his veins.
The masked man looked displeased as he pulled the blood-filled syringe away from Shirou's skin. "Did they not feed you or give you drink? Those fools… test subjects need to be kept in pristine condition unless otherwise specified! When will those beasts learn to listen to basic instructions?!"
Shirou didn't say anything in response, only barely managing to pick up half of what the guy was saying. His amber eyes watched as the scientist ejected his blood from the syringe and into a lab tube. The man wearing the mask of a plague doctor formed what looked like a magic circle around the tube.
He cast some spell that Shirou wouldn't be able to begin to understand when he was at his best, much less when he could barely think.
The magic circle disappeared after it ran its course, only to reappear again. The mage reran the same spell.
"Interesting," he muttered before turning to Shirou. The boy couldn't stop his body from flinching, nor could he stop the chill that ran down his spine. "Boy, what is your name?"
Shirou couldn't respond, even if he wanted to – which he didn't. His throat hurt way too much to say anything. All he could do was stare or maybe glare at the man.
"Useless," the mage growled before walking over to Shirou and casting some spell on Shirou with but a flick of his wrist. It made the boy's throat suddenly feel better. In fact, the pain throughout his body seemed to become duller. "I've done away with the pain. Now answer my questions."
Shirou considered not answering. He didn't want to tell these people anything, but what would they do if he didn't answer the questions? Just their experiments caused him more pain than he could imagine. What could they do when they wanted to inflict pain?
He… he didn't want to find out over some basic information.
"Shirou," he barely managed. For some reason, it was still so hard to talk despite the man healing him. Pain filled his mouth with each syllable.
"No noble house or bloodline?" the man pressed. He towered over Shirou like a giant. One hand held the tube with Shirou's blood while the other was impatiently tapping on the experimentation table.
He only nodded a yes this time. He was a normal person with nothing special about him.
"I see. Hmm, yes, this will need more tests," the mage sounded disturbingly pleased. "Try not to die, beast. Working on a corpse is so much harder. Especially for something as unique as this."
The mage turned away from him for only a second before looking back at him. "Oh yes, and to undo the pain-dampener spell. We wouldn't want it messing with the results."
Shirou's eyes widened a second before he was hit by an avalanche of pain. The agony returned in full force all across his body, except for his throat, which felt so much worse.
All the boy from another world could do was whimper.
Lord Volkhard sat at his new desk. In the eyes of the surface beast, it was probably a fine thing. In his, it was serviceable. Those on the surface couldn't ever build something worth his appreciation.
He signed one of the many papers on his desk. He had much work to do to cement his position of power in the Empire.
Volkhard was about to grab another paper but stopped when he felt the presence of someone warping into his office. The feeling was that of one of his fellow Agarthans.
"My lord," a dark mage appeared, instantly bowing to his superior. Volkhard didn't recognize the dark mage, so he must have been someone unimportant. The research going on below the palace is a large project with a similarly sized crew. Most of those researchers and scientists were unimportant in his eyes. "I have something to report."
"Out with it," Volkhard ordered. He didn't have time any time to waste with pleasantries. Unfortunately, his disguise forced him to engage in them with the beast.
"One of the test subjects showed a unique reaction to the crest transplant project," the dark mage explained with a formal tone. It was almost refreshing to see someone know their betters and treat them as such. "I recommend the subject for more intensive study and experimentation."
Volkhard frowned. Why was this being brought to him instead of Solon or Myson?
"Unique reaction," he promoted the dark mage to elaborate.
"Yes. It was a result of the attempt to copy the crest of Serios from one of the members of the imperial family to a crestless subject. All subjects except one have died," he began to explain. "The remaining subject shows the symptoms of a rejected crest, but his body is managing to purify itself of the Nabatean blood. I've observed the reaction for the last three days, and at the current rate, his body will be free of the transfused blood in five days."
"Could this be used against the beasts?" Volkhard leaned forward. He felt a genuine interest in this unexpected discovery. How he wished they could create a mindless weapon that could outright kill those lizards instead of having to take years to create another Nemesis. Biological weapons didn't affect them in the past, but maybe they could work if they could replicate and weaponize this anti-Nabatean reaction.
"Unclear, sir, when haven't had enough time to monitor and study the test subject," the dark mage answered. "But that is why I would like to request a team to study him and the right to test him against different crests."
Volkhard considered it for a moment before agreeing. "Solon will be in charge of selecting the team and conducting the experiments."
They would have their ultimate weapon in the form of their second Nemesis, but it was always wise to have backup plans, especially against the beast in control of the surface.
Shirou lay on the dungeon ground that had been his bed for the last six months.
Six months. Six months locked away underground without a single person to talk with. The warmth of the sun seemed so far away now. The smell of anything but the blood and corpses that filled this prison was but a dream. People screaming out had become normalized to him, even if the voices changed while he alone remained.
The redhead's body ached so much, but today was one of the better days. At least he didn't feel like he was being burned alive, and it had been over a week since the last time they injected blood in him.
Shirou tensed as he heard the sound of someone – no two or maybe three people – walking down the hallway outside his cell.
The young boy stared at the three people as they came into sight. Two of them were guards that Shirou had met before. The third was someone new. He was tall, towering over Shirou like a giant. He had black hair and a small beard. The man's expression made him look angry or annoyed. His clothing looked really nice, way better than the near rags Shirou had been wearing for the last six months.
The man stopped in front of Shirou's cell, the two guards stopping right behind him. He looked Shirou up and down as if he was studying him. It creeped the redhead out. He'd experienced that look too many times since being kidnapped to not.
"What are we going to do with you?" the man asked himself, earning a glare from Shirou.
He knew he was at the mercy of these monsters. But that didn't mean he liked it.
"We've put too many resources into you not to receive something in return," the evil-looking man glared down at him. His voice didn't match his appearance or what he was saying. It was like he was trying to sound kind. "Even if it isn't what we originally wished for."
What did they want from him? Why were they doing such horrible things? He didn't know anything about the strange place he was he, so he was at a complete loss.
"And I have the perfect idea," the man said before motioning to the guards. They opened his cage, and Shirou found himself moving back away from the now-open door. His action caused the man to let out a wicked laugh. "Is something the matter? You act like I'm going to hurt you."
Shirou wished this man never came down to his cell.
"I'm not going to hurt you unless you make me," the man told him as he took another step toward Shirou. "No, I'm going to make you into something useful. Do try not to fail; that would make me so very disappointed."
"Useful," Shirou barely whispered. He wanted to be useful to somebody. He needed to be. But not to a monster like this.
"You're quite a… tenacious cockroach, Shirou," the man used his name despite the young boy never giving it to him. Hearing someone call him by his name for the first time in so long left Shirou with a feeling of wrongness. Why did his name have to come out of the mouth of one of his tormenters? "We will be reshaping you so that no one can crush you like a bug."
He always survived when everyone else around him died. What could they do to make him harder to kill? He was already cursed, after all.
"So, get some rest. You'll be starting a new set of experiments tomorrow… its liable to last far longer than your last one and be far more painful," the man almost seemed to take pleasure in saying how horrible what they were going to do to him was. He smirked as he turned and walked out of Shirou's cell. "Oh, and my name is Lord Arundel. Do be sure to ask if you need anything."
Shirou felt a little bit of anger at how Lord Arundel was mocking him. Hurting him and then offering help he'd never give. That anger couldn't hold for long in Shirou's tired heart.
The boy made sure not to move a muscle as Lord Arundel walked away, the guards closing the door to the cell behind him. The black-haired man began to move further into the dungeon without glancing back at Shirou once.
Shirou let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He did the only thing he could do in the dark dungeon, lay down on the ground. It may have been cold and hard, but it reminded him he was in his cell. And that meant he wasn't being experimented on.
It was the closest thing he had to space where he could be safe.
Lord Volkhard von Arundel walked deeper into the dungeon to look at the other test subjects he needed to survey. Two unnecessary guards followed behind him in case there was any trouble.
The boy he just looked at was an interesting diversion. Sadly, it seemed they wouldn't be able to make a biological weapon from him, but there was still some use for him. His ability to seemingly heal from damage and recover from fatal injuries could be of great use to the Agarthan's cause if properly cultivated. If it could be copied or learned from, then all the better. As it is now, it still needs to be researched and improved. The fact that his hair was starting to turn white from the experiments proved it was currently fallible.
Still, he was but a sideshow to the more important project. The implantation of the Crest of Flames on a member of the Empire's royal family.
Arundel almost found his lips raised every so slightly in sadistic glee as he turned the last corner before the long hallway full of cells. Each one was filled with a prince or princess of the Adrestian Empire.
He couldn't wait for the day Serios fell to one of the descendants of her closest friend and ally. There was no end more fitting for the worst beast of them all.
The first of Wilhelm's descendants Arundel got a look at was the oldest male. He was in his early twenties, and his brown hair was starting to go white in places. He didn't have the crest of Serios, so Volkhard wasn't as interested in him as he was in some of the others. The insect won't make it through if his current condition is any indication.
The same could be said for many of them he passed. One of the older females had enough capacity to glare at him and hiss at him. The amount of killing intent in her eyes was admirable, but it wouldn't do anything.
When he reached the last set of cells, he made a mental note to have someone take the carcass of the youngest Hresvelg male. It's disappointing he died since he had the Crest of Serios, but not altogether unexpected given his age. His corpse and blood could still be of use if preserved fast enough, and it doesn't look like he's been dead that long.
He turned from the cell on his left and toward the one on his right. Lying in the corner of her cell was the niece of Lord Arundel. Edelgard von Hresvelg.
She had the Crest of Serios as well, so she was one of the more optimal test subjects. Her long unkempt hair was starting to turn white in places, and she looked horrid in her rags. The way she was lying and curled out had her facing away from her cell bars, which was far more common than those who slept facing their cell's exit.
Edelgard looked to be the healthiest out of all her siblings. The reports Volkhard had received did state that she had the highest chance of survival at the moment. Unfortunately, he would prefer one of the Hresvelg with actual training and not a soft princess who never picked up a weapon in her life, but he would make due if it came to that.
"My dear niece," Arundel called out to her with a smile. He watched as she slowly stirred, her movements slow and unsteady. Her eyes were full of fear; how wonderful. She knew her place. "It's good to see you in good health."
"Go away," she tried to order him with an unsteady voice. She was certainly a princess with that attitude, but she didn't project a royal dignity covered in filth.
"Now, is that any way to talk to your beloved uncle, El?" He taunted her before walking closer to her cell. He pointed to the cell across from hers; the corpse should be in her view. "And I was being honest. You are doing far better than your little brother."
"Torsten," she barely whispered. Edelgard began moving closer to the bars to get a closer look but stopped when she seemed to remember he was there. She looked up at him with teary eyes. "He is ok? Right?"
"No, it looks like he probably died within the last few hours," Arundel simply explained. He turned and looked toward the cell, ignoring the young princess's sobs. "Don't worry. We'll remove his body soon. It still has uses, after all."
Arundel stopped for a moment and considered the boy he looked over on the way here.
The boy was to be made into a weapon to support and reinforce their ultimate weapon. It would be best to endear him to the one he will serve. And from what Volkhard knew of human psychology, they had a tendency to cling to whatever they could when they were too weak. That's why they follow the church of Serios.
Putting the cockroach in the empty cell across from Edelgard wouldn't cost him anything, but it had many benefits. If Edelgard is the one who survives, then their weapon will have the complete support of a powerful second. And one could be used as leverage on the other if they get truly close.
If they get truly close, then that would make it easier to try breeding them if they decide to wait for a generation for a better weapon. The Crest of Flames on a regenerating puppet was a tempting backup plan. Especially since that crest relies on life force, and the cockroach's healing is caused by a flood of life force through his body. The two could work hand in hand to make the other exponentially stronger.
"And you'll be having a new neighbor in a day or two. I expect you to treat them properly. Remember your manners and dignity as a princess," he told the sobbing girl as he turned and walked away. He gave the other Hresvelg children one more look while walking passed them.
Yes, everything was going according to his plan. Soon, the surface would be his.
Edelgard cried into her hands. Her baby brother's corpse was barely visible in the darkness. If she hadn't been told, she would've thought he was just sleeping.
She didn't have the presence of mind to say anything to her so-called uncle as he walked away. The horror of what was before her was too much. He had been babbling nonsense before she went to sleep; now, he was gone. He would never get the chance to grow up. They'd never have any more happy memories together.
"El," her older sister Gloria called out from the cell next to her. Her voice was so hoarse and strained. "Was what your uncle said true? Is Torsten dead?"
Her lack of an answer was her answer. It was beyond her to vocalize the response.
How did things come to this? One moment she was enjoying life with Dee, and now she was tortured within her own home. Her sibling was dead in front of her. Her body was torn into and defiled to fulfill the desire of these creatures. It hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
"Damn it!" Eedelgard heard another one of her older sisters, Helena, scream while loudly pulling against her metal chains. The sound was unmistakable since they had all tried to struggle against their chains in the past. Helena's voice was unhinged and full of hate and desperation. "Damn it! This is your fault, El! You and your horrid uncle!"
Edelgard began to sob harder as her sister blamed her. The accusation engraved itself in her mind. It became truth. There might have been others involved in their torture, but her uncle clearly had a part in it. If she had seen the truth about him before coming back, she could've brought help. She could've saved her siblings. Torsten would still be alive.
"Helena!" Tobias barely manages to yell from his cell. "Our sister isn't responsible for this! It's those bastards that rose up against us! Now isn't the time to bicker among ourselves while they're living in luxury at our expense!"
Edelgard did her best to ignore the sounds of her siblings fighting each other. She couldn't handle it. Not while the corpse of their littlest brother was mere yards away from her.
The young princess cried and sent out a prayer to the goddess. Begging for her to save them. To save her from this hell.
The young princess heard the sound of people walking toward her family's cell. The sound of metal boots against the stone ground had been a death wail in the months since these experiments started.
She tensed and turned toward her cell bars. Would it be her being taken away or one of her siblings? She hoped it would be her and not them.
Time seemed to elongate as the guards' footsteps walked down the dungeon hallway. Each step increased the chance they were coming for her and not her siblings.
Edelgard froze when her eyes briefly turned to her brother's cell to see his body gone. When had they come and taken it? Was she really that out of it that she missed them stealing his remains?
Guilt filled her being. There was nothing she could do for him now.
She let out a breath as the guards stopped in front of her cell, but they weren't looking at her. In front of them was a boy around her age. Edelgard did her best to not make a sound. If they weren't going for her siblings, then she wasn't going to draw attention to herself. Even if it made her feel bad.
The boy was dressed in rags, arguably worse than her own. His hair was a mix of red and white, favoring the former for now. It was long and dirty. El's inner princess chafed at seeing so many knots in someone's hair. He was thin, his height probably slightly above hers.
Most striking was his amber eyes, filled with horrid emotions she knew all too well.
She recognized him from a few months prior. He was the one who had her younger brother's blood injected into him or something. A small part of her was angry that this stranger managed to survive when her brother did not, but her disgust at that thought instantly buried it.
The boy was led into the cell and locked inside. He looked so hesitant and fearful as he did so, but he wasn't letting it affect him.
"Welcome to your new home," one of the two guards told him. "Quite the upgrade, isn't it?"
"It's the same as my last cell," the boy answered, quickly moving further away from the bars as he did so.
"But now your neighbors are the highest nobility. How many gutter brats can say that" The other guard laughed before the two of them walked away.
The redhead looked relieved as they walked away, something she could relate to. He took a seat where he could lean his back against the cell walls, only a small distance from a blood stain born of one of her brother's injuries. And he looked completely unconcerned about it.
The boy turned the gaze of his amber eyes toward her. A look of suspicion, terror, concern, and understanding adorned his face one after the other. He looked drained of everything.
"Hello," he awkwardly managed after a moment. "I'm Shirou."
Edelgard's eyes narrowed. A part of her was suspicious of the boy. She couldn't help but be after her uncle did this to her. But he was the first person she had to talk to outside of her siblings in so long. And most of the conversations with them ended in screaming or crying.
He would at least know her name if he was a spy or something, so it shouldn't be too bad if she gave it.
"Edelgard von Hresvelg," she curtly answered, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The action caused her to flench back slightly in pain.
He just nodded and looked away from her. The fact that she was a member of the royal family didn't seem to faze him at all. Weird. She always gets a reaction when she mentions her family name. Did he already know her name? Or did he just not know their position?
Well, Edelgard didn't have the energy within herself to lecture him on those matters or the proper etiquette. All those things seemed so unimportant in this hell where none of that is important, and everyone suffers equally.
"We've been locked down here for months. Do you know what's going on outside?" Gloria asked Shirou. There was a little bit of hope in her voice. It didn't need to be said that she was hoping for help or anything to latch onto.
"No, I've been here for a really long time," he answered, sounding regretful that he couldn't give her a happier answer. He pulled his knees up to his chest. Slowly his sorrowful expression gained an inquisitive edge. "Have all of you been down here for months?"
"Yes," her older brother Achim answered from the cell next to Shirou. Edelgard couldn't see him, but he sounded horrible.
"Why are you curious?" Edelgard questioned the boy across from her on his sudden interest in their time spent in this dungeon.
"It's just that no one last that long," he responded sadly. His eyes made their way to the blood stain left by her brother. "No one but me."
"And how would you know that?"
"My cell was far away from the labs. I had to walk passed the other cells and see people disappear every time," Shirou explained. He looked sullen.
They lasted better than others. She could only hear the screams of the others, but she never imagined they could be suffering even worse experiments than them.
Edelgard looked up at the cell ceiling she knew better than the sun and shook. Everything seemed so hopeless.
Myson picked up a scalpel, feeling just right in his gloved hands. His hat lay on a nearby table, and a black surgeon's mask covered his face. A flash of magical energy was all he needed to check his lab for any abnormalities that could affect his latest test.
The man in black turned his head toward his test subject, tied down to an examination table just to his side. He had been working on this test subject longer than any other he had done before. Now, he would get to put his observations into practice.
The results were sure to be satisfying.
He looked over the subject one last time. He was pale, but that was most likely due to a lack of sun rather than any medical issues. The subject was adequately cleaned before being brought in, and it looked like his physique was optimal for now. It seems those savages were able to follow his instructions and give him the exact meals he instructed them.
Satisfied, Myson placed his free hand on the subject's bare arm. The rat made no attempts to resist, something the dark mage could appreciate. If only more of these savages would retreat into their minds and let him do his work instead of wasting his time struggling pointlessly.
The dark mage brought his scalpel down into the subject's arm. He was careful to make sure the cut was deep enough for his purpose but not too deep. It would be unfortunate if the subject died of blood loss due to carelessness.
The Agarthan mage turned from the rat and placed his scalpel back down, using a quick spell to disinfect it. Next, he turned to where he had several syringes of blood, or at least that was the best word to describe them.
Nabatean blood was fundamentally different from human blood, beyond those caused by being different species. The blood of humans is made up of plasma, white blood cells, platelets, and red blood cells. There were only trace amounts of Quintessence – life force – in each person. In most humans, it was completely undetectable with the technology currently available to the diminished Agarthans. Only the truly exceptional had enough to be detected, and even then, only when they were in their primes.
The blood of Nabateans was full of Quintessence. In the weakest of their kind, it was a thousand times stronger than even the greatest human. Entire cities – true cities from before the flood, not the surface dwellers' hamlets – could theoretically combine their Quintessence, and it still wouldn't equal a Nabateans.
It was theorized in the time of the Fell Star that her ability to create life came from her unexcusable life force and her being capable of manipulating it. A feat only talked about in the few remaining records of the great Epimenides. His control over Quintessence reached the point that he could manipulate his own to grant himself the ability to use Heroes' Relics, even without the correct crest. A brilliant ability that was sadly lost with his death. The implications behind it were critical to many of the Agarthans' current programs.
The currently accepted theory is that the immense Quintessence in Nabatean blood is what allows for the manifestation of crest when ingested. It is a manifestation of their life force in the bodies of others, as an almost sentient parasite.
'Almost sentient' was the key to Myson's current work.
The Crests of the Four False Saints – Cethleann, Cichol, Indech, and Macuil – were given willingly to their blind sheep, unlike the Crests of the Ten Elites, which were gained from the Nabateans' corpses.
There was a difference in the crest given willingly and those taken. The former tended to appear more often in their minor form but at the cost of major crests being far rarer. They were easier to use and control. The blind fools who used them almost seem to feel an almost soothing feeling while using them, strength flowing through them.
Crests of the Ten Elites, on the other hand, were rarer but more likely to appear as major crests. They were hard to control, more wild and unrefined. Using them boosted the user's aggression and anger. Reports make it seem like the strength of these crests surges through the body like rapids.
It was like the will of the original Nabatean lived on through the crest.
A fact that was proven by the reaction of Nabatean's power after being transported to a new body not meant to receive it. A reaction shared by all crest, both those who were originally freely given and those who were won.
The Nabatean's Quintessence attacks the new host both physically and spiritually. It tried to consume and overwhelm the recipients' own Quintessence and destroy the body, killing them both rather than surviving by attaching itself to the person. Only those who could absorb the Nabatean's life force survived and gained a crest, which was why it would be foolish to restrict themselves to those with strong Quintessence. A human is simply weaker and wouldn't win the battle with brute strength. Fortunately, their previous experiments on those Ordelia and their current ones have helped them learn how to increase the likelihood of the host absorbing the power.
The key point was that Quintessence reacts in response to its environment, displaying some level of reaction to its environment.
Over the months he's spent studying the boy and his reactions to the various crest, Myson has come to determine his body is responding to the Quintessence. It was not the blood itself, though, that might play a part.
When presented with the foreign Quintessence, his body is slowly filled with a different Quintessence that heals him and cleanses his body of the alien elements.
There were so many questions from that single realization that Myson had already filled two notebooks full of hypotheses and potential experiments weeks before today.
For now, Myson would have to focus on keeping this unusual Quintessence flowing through the test subject. Just as the crests responded when forced into a new host, this life force comes in relation to the Quintessence. How fast it reacts and how much it does varies depending on the crest it interacts with. Even the speed at which the rat healed varied from one sample to the next and sometimes within the same injection.
Myson kept close records of this data and created some unique blood samples with varying properties to them. He would use them to try and get the subject's body to react as quickly as possible and keep the Quintessence flowing. Fortunately, Myson was able to look over some of Epimenides's past work and found a theoretical experiment to try and keep a Nabatean's life force flowing even after it was separated from the body via the crest stone. The final goal was to be able to integrate the foreign Quintessence not as a crest but as a second source of energy for spells.
There was no documentation Myson could find on whether this experiment remained theoretical, and if it did not, nor the results. But it was still more than enough for someone as brilliant as him to build on. Especially since, unlike that of the Nabateans, this second Quintessence didn't react hostilely to the subject. In fact, the subject's life force was close to the energy released, but there is still a conversion happening.
At least, Myson theorized the second energy was the subject's life force after being exponentially increased. The subject had nowhere near enough Quintessence to be measured in his normal state, so he had to make an unfortunate educated guess.
Still, he couldn't wait to see the results of eliminating that conversion time. He already had plans to try and make the subject's Quintessence identical to the secondary one, among many others.
Given the fact that Myson hadn't discovered a limit to the amount of life force that could be produced, he could only theorize what would happen when the floodgates were opened, and the water never stopped rushing through.
It may make the rat truly immortal. Oh, what could be gained from studying something like that?
Myson picked up the smallest syringe. The quicker he finishes this part, the faster he will get the result. And he still has a long way to go. Today's set of samples numbered around twenty, and Myson was interested in testing how different placements affected the reaction. So, he still had several more incisions he needed to make into the subject.
It was time-consuming, but anything was worth it in the pursuit of knowledge and the defeat of those Nabateans.
Solon stared down at his test subject.
It was one of that beast's descendants. The one who sided with the damn Seiros and became the emperor of the nation that cut down their champion. If it wasn't for him, the world would've been theirs, and the fake saint wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop them. She would've been but another dead Nabatean.
Now, they were turning his descendants into the next Nemesis. A weapon to cut down the last person who stood in the way of the salvation of this beast-filled world.
Foolishness.
It was just as idiotic as Myson's fixation with that pet project of his.
He would follow orders, but Thales's plan to use these beasts to kill Seiros and her ilk was unnecessary. All they needed was themselves and him. He was the savior of this world. Him. It would be his magic and research that cleansed the world of its blight.
The Agarthan scowled and turned toward his instruments.
This girl was taking to the blood of Fell Star, the best among all those who've received it. Thus, she would be the first one to receive the improvement surgeries to increase her chances of survival. He had to personally oversee each one; Thales thought this was too important to leave to anyone else.
Solon was interested in seeing the effects of the Fell Star's blood in one of these beasts. It might give him insights that will help him create magic to use against the Nabateans.
The Fell Star was the origin of the Nabateans. She was far more powerful than any other being of her era. Only Nemisis tasted her blood, and Solon didn't get a chance to study him until after his death. This was uncharted territory for him.
Of course, this meant he would have to work slowly. He might not support this plan, but his pride would let it fail because of his mistake. That was why he was slowly building the crest in them through many small doses rather than two or three large transfusions.
Solon began the magical surgery by creating a magical circle around the test subject's examination table, causing the fool to struggle against her restraints. This process may hurt quite a bit, but it wouldn't kill her. There was no reason for such dramatics.
"Why are you doing this?" the beast asked with a voice full of fright.
"To save the world," Solon spat back. This insect was not only asking him a question without permission, but she was ignorant of even basic things. Solon hated ignorance more than anything else. "To free the world of them."
"What?" She repeated with a lower voice. The princess tried to lean away from him, but her restraints kept her from moving.
"The monsters in charge of the church," He growled at the mere thought of them. "The children of the goddess… the Nabateans."
"I – I don't know what you're talking about. But the church is good and will stop you! The goddess would stop you," She said, trying to sound brave but failing so completely. Did the insect really think that would scare him when even she didn't sound convinced by what she said?
Solon couldn't help but laugh. "We struck the goddess down long ago. There is no deity that can stop us."
"That – that isn't true," the insect sound desperate. Unbelieving. She looked at him like he was a madman and not the hero he was.
"Then why isn't she saving you – the descendent of her chosen emperor and favored saint?" Solon asked mockingly, satisfied by how the beast looked like she'd been slapped.
It was always excellent to begin an operation in a good mood.