"What happened to you?"
That was an interesting question. The quick answer was that he'd gotten up and slew the human shaped monster that tried to kill him and Maribelle. However, that skipped a few major details, didn't it?
She likely meant what had caused the entirety of his right arm to take on the appearance of black marble covered in azure cracks and end in clawed fingers. Conversely, his left arm had taken on a much more draconic appearance from the elbow and below, with sharp looking black and azure scales fanned out protectively and a more humanoid—but still rather reptilian—hand. It was that or the black, silver and orange patches of scales and corded fibers running across his back and shoulder where he'd taken the Bolting and dagger. He wasn't going to explain that, he didn't trust Maribelle enough with that knowledge.
"It's a rather long story, Maribelle. I believe it would be best if we made our way to your manse before I began," he replied, offering a genuine smile. It was a first for him compared to his other. At the very least he could be truthful to himself and others without relying on a mask. "I'd prefer we hurry there. I'd rather not deal with another one of those disgusting things while having to protect you."
The noblewoman managed to make an indignant sound despite her weakness, but he ignored her protests as he began moving. He'd accept her berating him later, once she was safe as could be and he had a few moments to fully recover from the siege spell that narrowly avoided killing the two of them—which would likely be after he dealt with the others like the Fire Mage. He had to hand it to Loki, whatever monsters she'd sent after them had rather potent magical power if they could nearly recreate Surtr's magic. Theoretical suns and the like weren't easy to mitigate and his foolish other self thought a shell of ash would have stopped something imitating one, even if said imitation paled greatly in comparison to the real thing. It hadn't, not without him taking control for a moment and manipulating the ash to make it far more resistant to obliterating heat and pressure. Of course, then his other's consciousness had given out and placed them in a rather precarious situation until he properly took the reins.
He'd have said it served him right, but that was petty and he wasn't petty. Not that petty at least. He'd give himself hell over it later, but not without corrective measures to go along with the tongue lashing. If his other even wanted to keep up the ploy of being an Earth aligned mage. He felt it was meaningless, especially when it was rather clear to most people who knew him that he was a Dark mage once his affinity had been revealed. He certainly wasn't going to keep up the ploy, not that he really could. His other could use all of the fancy magic and the Askran and Nifl spear techniques. Conversely, he could use their actual power and the things they learned before reaching Zenith.
"We'll arrive at your manse soon," he announced, soaring through the air as if he belonged there. Once upon a time he did, though that had been when he had the wherewithal to use some form of shield along with his spear. Speaking of, he'd need to collect his spear once Maribelle was safe and secure. His other would pitch a fit without end if he didn't and he wouldn't blame him: Demna was an extraordinary spear that fit him to a near tee. He'd have preferred it a tad bit heftier, but one couldn't always get what they wanted.
"Oa- Nicola, shouldn't we be subtle in our movement," Maribelle asked after a few moments to regain her composure.
"After that display? No. I'm surprised that thing's compatriots haven't already launched more attacks our way. At the very least the one capable of casting Bolting should have by now."
That there were no molten bolts of lightning streaking after them meant something was afoot. The overcast sky and pale sun told him nothing. The three malevolent presences on par with the one he'd just destroyed remaining within Nomos told him things were far from over. He'd just deal with them once Maribelle was out of his hair. He could afford to let loose then, without drawing even more from the feral amalgamate of power his other drew from. It hadn't been a foolish decision, but his hesitation and revulsion always led him to the extremes when it came to their power.
At the very least it supplemented his own abilities. Theirs really, but Nicola was about as willing to actually cut loose as he was to tell the Ylissean princess he had budding feelings for her. He didn't really see why, they'd spent far more time with Maribelle and he enjoyed her abrasive presence more.
It was hardly a minute later when they arrived at the duke's home. It's once opulent gates were twisted and bent, but had held firm despite being the target of much abuse and spellfire. What should have been painted citrine walls were scorched or browning in areas, but none had given in. The same could be said for the soot covered windows and battered double door of what had once been polished wood. The yard was a different story, shrubs and flower beds blacked and charred to crisps sitting in shattered stone urns or mounds of ash. The once magnificent—or perhaps gaudy, he was unsure—mansion had seen better days, yet held firm. He could only imagine how much longer it would be able to do so.
It'd be best to deal with the major threats before that could be tested.
"Who goes there," an alarmed voice called as he touched down with Maribelle in tow. A pair of lightly armored soldiers advanced on the duo, a trio of mages trailing behind them. The manse's guards or what remained of them then. Perhaps the trio from before had made their way back and were recuperating within, but beyond them he wasn't sure if there were more. Eight guards certainly wouldn't be enough to defend the manse if the location fell under heavy fire.
Like the lack of Boltings, it was a mystery. If one of the four presences could cast something akin to Meteor, it shouldn't have mattered how fortified the manse's walls were, they would have long fallen if any real effort had been directed at them.
"I ask again, who goes– L-lady Maribelle?" The guard paused at the sight of him and the noblewoman.
"Indeed," the once pink clad lady huffed, wresting herself from his grasp. "My acquaintance brought me here to rest and recover from my trek through Nomos. If you've need for identification, I can provide it, Ser..."
"Samson," the guard replied, earning an eye roll from the spearman. "And no, our mages would have seen through any illusion had you been a disguised party. It wouldn't have been the first time in the past hour and I imagine it will not be the last."
"That's fine and dandy, Samson, but I'd prefer less banter and more getting her ladyship into safety," he cut in. Did the guard think they had all the time in the world? He clearly didn't, as his face colored and he ushered Maribelle forward.
"Wait, what about yourself, Nicola? Weren't you going to rest as well?"
"Certainly, I've just a few things to take care of first," he replied with a smile that was all fangs. The guards reached for their weapons, but Maribelle halted them with a gesture.
"You'll return, will you not?" She gave him a hard look. "You aren't going off to die heroically, are you?"
"I've no interest in such a thing. I'm far more interested in finding out what those things pretending to be people are and destroying them."
The noblewoman nodded. "Then go, but be safe. You aren't in the best condition, what with your injuries. If you die, Lissa will be distraught."
That struck a chord with him. The small princess certainly would be sad if he perished, not that he had any intention to. He was in his element, for all that his other hated that. The Ash was his domain and anything that dared challenge him in it was courting disaster.
"I'll keep that in mind," he finally said, turning away from the noblewoman and company. It was best they didn't see the wild smile that threatened to split his face. "Focus on recovering, I should be back before the hour is up."
With that he crouched then thundered upwards with a leap, dispersing ash and cracking stone with his ascension. It was time to hunt and live up to his namesake: Apollyon.
Nicola found himself drifting through the darkness. He wasn't dead, that much he knew for certain. Death was cold, lonely and terrifying, like a cold knife plunged into one's heart. It didn't hurt, if anything one felt less and less until there was nothing. The darkness was nothing like that, instead feeling like water flowing around a particularly heavy rock. Except he was the rock and he knew that it wasn't a bottomless lake or abyss he was drifting down into. This was like a dream, except it wasn't. He certainly was within a space of his own making, but it was more like a black box that shouldn't have been open. He was likely going berserk on the outside, but until he could get ahold of himself and stop sinking, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.
For that he needed to breathe and remain calm. If he panicked, everything would become a mess, a bigger mess than the one he was likely causing. He needed to focus and so he did as he drifted deeper into the dark.
Deeper into himself.
His other had regained consciousness. That was good, Apollyon wasn't really interested in holding control of their body for an extended period of time anyways. It was nice to be free for a period of time, but he wasn't meant to be more than a guiding force and the truth. Perhaps he'd been fated to be a destroyer long ago and he certainly could fulfill that role rather well if need be, but he and his other had broken those chains long ago. The how he couldn't quite recall, but it had involved their younger sister stabbing them. Ah right, Nicola didn't remember his younger sister, best friend, their companions or the numerous children they'd taken under their wing when they could barely protect themselves. Being fair, he couldn't recall their names, which likely had to do with the way they'd arrived on Zenith.
Smashing headfirst into a stone gate probably did a number on one's memory.
"Enough of that," he breathed, perching atop a building and shaking his head. The three presences still hadn't made much of a move beyond changing their positions. They were observing him or at least wary of his presence. They should have been, he was adept at slaying monsters and they certainly weren't humans for all that the one he and Maribelle encountered looked like one. They weren't Risen either, at least not the freshly animated and mostly lumbering sort that he'd encountered way back when he'd been with Chrom.
The thing before him had been alive, and yet it hadn't been at the same time. It didn't have the stench of undeath and the foul magic the Goddess of Death used, instead it felt artificial. It was like a doll that had been sculpted to look like the most immaculate form a person could take, then given monstrous qualities to detract from that perfection. Rather than an aura that gave an impression of what he was facing, he felt something like mechanical precision and fabricated life. In a world where such things shouldn't have been possible, that was rather concerning.
He needed to know more about them, which meant he needed to find them. And destroy them, such beings weren't welcome anywhere he felt comfortable calling home, no matter what his other would say in protest. Nicola really needed to get his act together, but he was taking small steps in that regard so it was fine. Mostly.
Apollyon leaned out of the way of the Bolting that streaked his way, stifling a yawn. The Bolting Mage had no creativity, just aggression and power. The spearman released his perch and fell to the ashes below, bending out of the way of a second bolt of orange lightning. A third descended from overhead in an attempt to catch him unaware, but he'd seen those tactics before and dealt with them. Generally, such attacks failed when one could simply move themselves out of the attack's way, but deflecting them was also a solid idea if one's weapon and skill were respectable enough. Apollyon opted for the latter, batting the molten lightning directly into the cloudy heavens with another spear of shadow. He could have used Demna, but he didn't want to risk breaking the weapon—it was both miraculous and a mark of the smithing Anna's skill that the weapon managed to survive the fallout from the theoretical sun in the form of a meteor.
A fourth, fifth and sixth bolt rained down in seeming outrage that the third had been deflected, but Apollyon weaved through them with ease. The Bolting Mage had no finesse, it was like they were a fool tossing power around rather than taking measured attacks. Perhaps they weren't as precise as he gave them credit for? At least, that one wasn't. The other two, he couldn't judge without seeing them in action. Really, he couldn't judge the Bolting Mage either, but it felt like they were throwing a tantrum to him as more bolts rained down.
"I suppose this should be harrowing and terrifying," he remarked, avoiding each bolt and their immediate blast zones as he closed in on the first of the three presences he felt. Truthfully, a Bolting strike was a terrifying concept because of the sheer range the spell had. It wasn't something like Meteor where the caster just had to pick a general location and have enough power to drop it above said location and watch the aftermath, but it's range wasn't much lower. It was weaker, being far more effective against a small cluster of targets than it was against a battlefield, but it also had far less fanfare. Ideally one wouldn't be able to tell the spell was cast in the right conditions, it'd just look like a stray lightning bolt that hit an unlucky person or struck between a group at an inopportune moment.
As things were now, Apollyon could practically sense the next strike coming. His hair was a spiked mess as it stood on end from the charge in the air and it twitched as yet another bolt struck near him. That was fine, he'd reached the source anyways.
"How did a human such as yourself avoid my volley," an irate cloaked figure hissed, streaking towards the spearman with a bolt of crimson lightning in hand. They hurled it like a spear, the bolt flashing as it left a sonic boom in its wake. Apollyon caught it with practiced ease and the cloaked figure froze. "What? How?!"
"A simple matter," he replied, crushing the spell in hand as if it were a twig. "You toss around power with the precision and focus of an apprentice that learned their first big spell. It's predictable and you let your emotions cloud your casting. What should have been precise–" He paused to skip away from another Bolting followed by several spheres of lightning and a piercing beam.
"measured–" More beams of lightning and another crimson spear. Trivial, all he needed to do was strafe."
"spellfire is instead wild and unruly. Perhaps you'd cripple a contingent of soldiers, but not–"
"SHUT UP," the Bolting mage roared, calling down four bolts of lightning to converge on him as a singular larger bolt descended on him. Ah, there was something noteworthy about their tactics after all. He'd need to deflect the central bolt, and risk taking the other four as they converged on him or or avoid it and deal with whatever happened when all five bolts connected. It wasn't a hard choice, he'd rather not take a hit he could avoid.
The subsequent explosion as the five bolts collided wasn't quite what he expected and he ended up being flung back from the force of the blast. That was interesting. He imagined something closer to a dome of lightning or for beams of condensed electricity to spiral from the meeting point.
"Impressive," Apollyon remarked in the billowing smoke cloud. He could feel the veins bulging from the Bolting mage as they let out an exasperated scream. Good. The more he unbalanced them, the easier it would be to take them out in one fell swoop. "You don't mind if I reply in kind, do you?"
"Wha–"
Apollyon began to summon ethereal chains, but thought better of it. His chains were too slow for someone who could manipulate lightning, they'd be struck and shattered or avoided with relative ease. A score of ethereal blades was a different story.
Apollyon swept his spear arm through the air, materializing a dozen rough swords, spears and assorted bladed weapons made from shadowy thorns, twisted metal and jagged stone. With a gesture he scattered them, the blades firing towards the obscured Bolting mage like ballista bolts. In the same moment he leapt from the ash cloud he stood in, racing towards the mage as they jolted between the projectile blades. He took to the air, gesturing with his free hand as ash platforms formed under his feet. He hopped between each platform, avoiding bolts the mage fired as the summoned blades looped back around and came at them from different angles.
The mage put more distance between them, condensing into a ball of lightning as they zipped between the conjured blades once more. Their plan worked for all of two seconds, before they collided with an ashen barrier and bounced back towards Apollyon. Without missing a beat, the warrior spiked them into the ground with a devastating axe kick from a shadow clad limb—though not without noting an odd amount of resistance. The impact caused the orb to rebound then shatter, sending the winded mage back into the air in time for the blades hounding them to pierce their cloak and pin them to the ground.
"Falling Moon!" Apollyon plummeted towards the downed mage, shadow spear wreathed in violet light as ribbons of indigo light trailed from it. The blade elongated, taking on the form of a great sickle as the warrior flipped into what would have been a bisecting slash—only to summon a platform of ash and kick away from his target as his instincts flared. A keening sound rang through the air and the scythe wielding warrior saw the ash distort where he'd been a second prior. The next second a razor thin indentation appeared in the ash and stone that would have been to his right, like an impossibly sharp blade had gone through both.
The second and third presences had decided to intervene then.
"Now now, bullying Vajra will not do at all," a calm voice intoned as a mint colored cloaked figure floated into view. Like the grounded mage and the dead fire mage from before, there was the same unnatural, artificial presence about them. They carried an elegantly thin sword at their side with a visible amount of comfort. "You already slew Flamberge, which is outside of expectations based on the information we'd been given."
"Don't banter with that filth, Excalibur," the pinned mage, Vajra, growled, struggling against the blades binding them. If only he could summon Mirages like his other, he'd have had one impale the mouthy caster without a second thought. Sadly, he could not and he had no doubts that 'Excalibur' would send another blade of wind like the previous one before he could summon more ethereal blades. One he couldn't see, only feel coming. Those sorts of things were especially dangerous.
"I'm with Vajra there," a third voice called, warping into view from a mass of shadows. They wore a dark grey cloak and carried a large tome at their side. "It's best we slay this human before he deigns to bare his fangs at his betters once more."
"It's beneath us to crush such a promising lesser being without giving it a chance to prove its worth, Balmung."
"...Are the lot of you really named after weapons," Apollyon blinked, not dropping his guard for an instant. "Your creator must have been bored or had the creativity of a newt."
"You dare–"
"Peace, Balmung," Excalibur sighed, raising a hand. "Our names are our own, just as yours is your own, Summoner Kiran. Or would you prefer 'Oaf' or 'Nicola' instead?"
Neither, but that was here nor there. The fact that they knew the name Kiran confirmed Loki's involvement, which was disconcerting. She had no ability to create things as far as he was aware, but that didn't mean she couldn't have been hiding said power or, more feasibly, had found someone who could.
"It doesn't matter," he answered instead. "Why give my name to dolls I'm going to break?"
"Oh," Excalibur tilted their head as Vajra strained against their bindings. "Does the human believe it can stand against its betters?"
"Does the delusional toy think it can stand before the real thing?" He felt the satisfaction drain from the Wind Mage as their body language grew rigid. They tried to hide it, but the damage had been done. Balmung laughed sharply as the Bolting Mage finally freed themselves and joined their compatriots.
"He got you there, Excalibur," the Dark Mage crowed. "Still thinking of letting him prove himself?"
"As much as I would rather remove his insolent head from his shoulders, it is only fair that we let the malignant churl put on a display for us before he dies."
"I say we end him now," Vajra seethed, glaring at... where Apollyon had been. There was no sign of the youth in tattered rags resembling pants. That meant he'd fled or, from their previous interactions, was about to attack. Then there was the dark blur racing towards the mage. It took them a moment to process that before their eyes widened. "Oh shi–"
The Bolting Mage gasped as something sharp caught their torso and yanked them backwards. If not for their paling granted as one of the Infernal Star's "children" and their mother's protection, they surely would have been cleaved in two from the force of the sudden attack. Instead, the world was spinning, faster, faster and faster still before they were hurtling at Balmung like a drunk bird. The Dark Mage noticed immediately and warped out of the way, allowing them to crash into a building as invisible blades raced towards where their attacker had been.
"Why the hell didn't you dodge, Vajra," Balmung hissed.
"You dodge a surprise attack that swift," Vajra retorted, stumbling to their feet. The human was fast enough to catch lightning. They hadn't been that fast before, not when they'd been with that lesser human noble or before Flamberge hit them with whatever ludicrous combination of spells they'd concocted. It didn't take an archmage to figure out that something had changed about them.
"Vajra, on your right!" Excalibur's urgent tone pulled the Lightning Lord from their thoughts. In a blink they were lightning and away from the wicked scythe that carved through where they'd been trying to move. The Summoner had sped up once again, now hardly a beat behind them without seeking weapons to distract them. They'd been able to alter their direction at the last second, but had to revert a moment later: their lightning form was far more unstable in enclosed spaces than in the open air. The human appeared to have anticipated that as walls of ash surged to block the building's exits, sealing both of them in.
The Summoner could control ashes and darkness, which ran counter to the information they'd been given by the illusionist who worked with their mother and masters. She'd said he was a master of light magic and supportive spells that used a spear with some degree of skill, not some sword summoning, ash and shadow manipulating scythe wielder! It was bullshit, as much as their mother would have scolded them for the language. Was the illusionist's information even remotely accurate?
Clearly not! The Summoner hadn't gone berserk and started trying to destroy everything in their path like a mindless monster. No, their eyes had sharpened, taken on an intense pale blue tint and they'd grown far more calm and collected. Cocky too, if he thought a broken building and some gathered ash would keep them sealed when Excalibur and Balmung were within range.
As if on cue, the air buzzed and another one of Excalibur's pressure blades cut through the air itself, piercing through the ash and stone as if it were parchment. The Summoner hopped back, avoiding a bloody end but not before Vajra was able to get a glimpse of the outside and make a break for it—only for a curved blade to snake past them, hook down and catch them as they became lightning once more. This time the blade burned as the protection of their paling waned and cracked. Then the world lurched and sharp pain split across the mage's torso as they were slammed into the building's floor. The ground cracked from the impact, but the Lightning Lord was able to shift into their lightning form and finally escape the building as a wave of pressure collapsed the building's ceiling.
"...Did you try to dodge," Balmung asked, assessing Vajra as they summoned a rolling cloud of darkness to wrap around the building.
"His reflexes are fast enough to predict my lightning," the Lightning Lord wheezed. "Don't let him hit you. Something about that scythe of his allows it to bypass our wards."
"Are you sure about that? Maybe it's because you moved around like a lumbering cow and got hit a few too many times."
Balmung could die in a fire. Actually, they couldn't, which was annoying. Only dark magic could harm the conceited Shadow Lord. No Ylissean would dare use that, so they were practically invulnerable to their enemies. The Summoner had no such qualms.
Speaking of the Summoner, the building he'd been in was ground into dust by Excalibur without a word. The Tempest Lord hated being insulted, as much as they liked to throw them out. When they were this quiet it meant they were angry and when they were angry they were scary, for all that they had the lowest fire power of the once quartet.
"I doubt they could survive that," Balmung smirked. Vajra had to agree, the Tempest Lord was both crushing the building with extreme pressure and further grinding what remained into a fine powder. "Excalibur, I think you overdid it. How're we gonna prove the Summoner's dead if there's no trace of hi–"
Vajra's mind barely registered the flicker, but their body did. They were lightning and far from Balmung as the Shadow Lord separated into two parts and turned to ash.
The world slowed then. What? That made no sense. The Summoner couldn't have escaped the building, regardless of how fast they were. He'd have needed to have been moving away from the building at the same time as the Lightning Lord to have escaped and there was no way he was that fast.
"Ah, I missed," Vajra heard the Summoner sigh. "That was supposed to reach both of you."
The Lightning Lord and Tempest Lord turned to see the human, clad in an immaculately clean suit that reeked of Dark magic, leaning against a different building. He had a long sword of shadow and lightning resting on his shoulder and a smile that glinted like a sea of swords. Blades of composite materials floated around him, wreathed in a ghastly aura like smoke and spectral lightning.
"Balmung!" A whirlwind whipped around Excalibur, razor sharp streams of wind forming into discs and blades as the sky darkened.
"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!" Vajra snarled as orange, crimson and bright white lightning streaked across the heavens. Their hood ripped away, revealing golden hair in free flowing locks and sharp violet eyes on a porcelain face. A jagged bolt of gold lightning sparked in their left hand as they bared pearly white fangs.
"And you for the lives you snuffed out so carelessly." The Summoner's eerie eyes narrowed in a disconcerting way. They reminded the Lightning Lord of the Infernal Star's eyes when they'd met him: cold, calculating and dismissive.
Like they were lesser beings rather than superiors to humanity.
It was the first time the artificial being, in its short time walking the land, felt something like fear.
Nicola could only watch as his body moved beyond his control. He'd tried to regain control several times already, but had been sternly rebuked by the voice.
"You need to recover. Once these dolls have been handled and we find time to sleep, I'll relinquish control. If you try to rip control from me in the middle of a fight again, I'll silence you."
It's my body! Give it back.
"It's our body, but yours first," the voice corrected. "I'd normally give it back in a heartbeat, but not when you'll get us killed or go berserk because you can't be bothered—no, outright refuse—to learn how to use the power we were born with. No, while you've been whining and complaining about being a monster when you aren't close to one in anything beyond lineage, I've been keeping that power at bay. You could quite easily call upon it and dismiss it at any time and further master it if you chose to, I can only seal it away and use what remains on the surface."
Because it's unruly and turns me into a wild beast if I draw too much upon it.
"Because you never try to control it. You let it rage and control you when you could simply draw upon a small amount. You didn't have to release all of it to save Maribelle, or even half. With just a sliver you could have both retained control and had enough power to take out both the assassin and the Wind Mage. Instead you risked going berserk and nearly got us killed before I had to take the reins from your unconscious body before we died."
Nicola didn't have much to say about that. The voice was correct in that respect: he did not want to control that power, he didn't want it in the first place. It was unfortunate that he couldn't get rid of it, it was the reason he couldn't be an 'ordinary' person. Everything he could do in a fight, he did without that power. He'd learned how to fight from humans, not from monsters. He trained, he debated, he learned and thrived as a human. He didn't need any monstrous part of him at all.
"Really now? Yet by denying that power and relying solely on your humanity, you endanger your allies and friends. I won't say the power would have allowed you to defeat the Goddess of Death—more than likely it wouldn't have. It would have let you reach Sharena. It would have let you fight alongside the Commander. Perhaps it would have even given you enough time to fire the bullet that would have killed the damnable goddess. You gave it your all as a human and that's understandable, but you didn't give it your all. Perhaps that's why you feel guilt towards surviving."
That hurt. He hadn't tried to use that power because he'd been afraid. It was tied to his emotions and his emotions were far too unstable then. Still, perhaps that would have been better than him ending up here, with most of his friends gone and his body no longer under his control. At the very least, he could have joined them.
"None of that. Get your bearings and watch." The voice practically growled as grey light flooded the dark place. It was bright and it took the spearman's eyes some time to adjust.
When he could see properly, Nicola could make out the ruined parts of Nomos. The ash covered city was more damaged than before, several buildings had collapsed in full as debris whipped around. A massive crater laid in what had once been the city's center, the great tower that had stood defiant to the damaged city now a smoking ruin. Two mages floated in the distance, one clad in golden lightning while the other was surrounded by howling winds and whirling saucers. Things had clearly taken a turn in however long he'd been unable to see.
What happened while I was out?
"Short version is there were three more things like the one that destroyed a decent chunk of the city. Destroyed the one that used Meteor and another that manipulated darkness, thrashed another but it's still alive. Last one's untouched and uses wind or pressure blades I can't see."
Do you need my help? Nicola was fine offering it, even if it was to the voic–
"It's Apollyon and not immediately I would think. Instead, I need you to watch and take note of what I'm doing. You're afraid of your power at its peak and that's understandable. Let me show you what a small portion can do if you have the will to keep it in check and learn how to use it."
Oh. There wasn't much else he could do. At the very least, he could see what the voice could do without his training from Zenith and magical instruction to back it up. If he didn't like what he saw, he could always just not use the power.
He wasn't expecting Apollyon to be nearly as aggressive as he was against a pair of monsters that looked like mages.
"Lady Maribelle, you need to recover," an attendant called to the noblewoman as she stomped out of the manse, covered in bandages and carrying a new parasol. She'd allowed herself to be treated to a degree and rested for a few moments before she got angry. She'd been called a burden, deadweight, by her partner—Er, comrade in arms. If that wasn't some form of grave offense to her dignity then nothing was.
Nomos was her home and she was going to be the one to protect it, not simply hand off its defense to a two sided spearman that was clearly some form of beast or dragonkin. To that end, she'd gotten her best parasol and borrowed her family heirloom: the Judgment Rod. Her father and a number of retainers tried to stop her of course, but the tri-colored staff allowed her to wield it and very few people could stand up to her burning gaze when she was incensed. She was a great deal past simply incensed at this point, but the flame of hatred that had been growing had been extinguished. She had no need for hatred, not if she was going to be an unbiased judge.
"Lady Maribelle, please wait," a guard, Samson, called, trying to stop her no doubt. She ignored him as she pushed open the manse's doors and watched the rapidly shifting sky. "It's dangerous to go out and you hardly had a few moments to rest."
"I will rest when the three monsters that remain in my home are gone," she retorted, her grip tightening on her parasol. "I'm not letting that oaf do all of the work if I can help it."
"But you could die, milady! Think of how the people would react then," the guard implored. That was a valid point, but she's always been willing to give her life for her home, her people and her beloved. In a way, she was glad that Lissa wasn't here. Lissa would have made her hesitate and reconsider where others would not have. Perhaps Nicola would have, but he was currently doing her job for her and she wouldn't stand for it. She would stand for it even less if he died. As much as he was annoying, snide, whiny and blunt, he was also a reliable companion and genuinely helpful. He just also had less preservation than her darling did and that was rather worrying. His turn after slaying the Fire Mage was just as worrying, he'd grown far more blunt and to the point and felt like an entirely different person.
The noblewoman wondered how correct that assessment was as she watched the sky darken and felt a harsh breeze blow by. When she saw a great cyclone touch down near the crater where Nomo's heart had been and the gathering lightning, she knew it was time to act.
With parasol and heirloom in hand she began to incant, eyes focused on the sky.
"Lady Naga, hear my call..."
Dodge. Twist. Deflect. Rush. Strike. Duck. Repeat.
Apollyon had brought the battle into a routine. Avoid the wind blade and lightning. Deflect the lightning sphere or Bolting. Rush and strike at Vajra, the weak link, then duck under the blade of pressure as it flies his way. It wasn't quite perfect and he took the occasional nick or cut, but he hadn't taken a direct hit yet and he would keep it that way. That was how he fought directly, his shadow blade alternating between spear, scythe and longsword. Indirectly, he had his ethereal blades and ash to assist him.
The blades kept vajra from casting the lightning cage from before and threw off Excalibur's aim with the pressure blades. The ash provided Apollyon with footholds, extended the range of his attacks and further harried Vajra by dampening the effects of the lightning spells they cast. Small things, but important things that detracted from the fact that he was gradually running out of energy and building up for a larger attack to end things. He was efficient about it and maintained his façade of being unaffected, but he could feel Nicola's body starting to ache and strain. That would have been less of an issue if he hadn't already deadened his pain receptors.
In the meantime, Vajra and Excalibur were pointedly attempting to stay out of his reach, realizing that a single strike from him would cleave through the semi-divine protection they had and likely them as well. If he had to describe it, it was like the scales of a dragon or a palisade wall that flared up when hit by an attack: strong and hard to damage normally, but enough force or cumulative strikes would cause the defense to crack and fail. When he'd killed Flamberge, he felt some resistance to his attacks when he smashed them to the ground then impaled them. He'd felt similar when he kicked Vajra and hooked them on his scythe both times. Balmung had a similar thing, but he'd figured it out by then and cleaved through the barrier with more ease than he imagined, leading to the present where the remaining mages tried their best to stymy his approach. They would have realized, had they not been furious, that he'd been gradually adjusting to them.
That was his great power beyond ash and shadow: adaptation. The longer a fight went on, the better acclimated Apollyon became to the battlefield and opposition. The stronger his opponent was, the faster he adapted, his own nature growing to create a solution to the threat they posed so long as he had enough time and energy. In the present, he wouldn't be able to fully adapt to both artificial beings before his stamina was fully depleted, but he could have accelerated the process at severe costs to his remaining stamina had he been in a better position—or rather if he had not still been recovering from being in the blast radius of a deadly siege magic. He didn't because it wasn't worth the risks of him slowing down and taking one of Excalibur's pressure blades or one of Vajra's lightning bolts. Neither would have been particularly good and he didn't want to risk his and Nicola's life more than he had to at this juncture.
"Die already," Vajra shouted, hurling a golden bolt of lightning his way. Those were particularly dangerous. He wasn't certain why, Vajra's wild aim brought them nowhere near him, but he had a feeling a direct hit would be dangerous.
They're up to something.
That was rather obvious, Apollyon mentally retorted. Both mages were being far less aggressive than they'd been just moments prior. The Bolting Mage in particular was throwing less lightning and leaving wide openings after each bolt thrown, as if inviting him to attack. The Storm Mage was similarly taking more deliberately slow shots with their pressure blades. If they didn't have the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, he might not have noticed that.
"They're gauging us," he said, hopping away from a pressure blade then vaulting over a lightning bolt.
Do you think they've noticed? Your fatigue, I mean.
"I don't think so. Vajra seems like the sort to press any advantage they see and Excalibur's acting too slowly if that's the case." Wind was slower than lightning and had less of a direct punch, but it was far more dangerous in more subtle ways. "Does the air feel off to you?"
Nothing I've noticed. Your breathing rate has increased slightly, though. It's a bit more shallow as well.
Odd. It was an unconscious thing he hadn't noticed, which meant it was small in scale but still enough for his other to notice. Apollyon would have noticed if the air had been poisoned, there was very little in the way of hiding that. Was he wearing himself out a bit more than he anticipated? No, that didn't feel correct.
Above you!
Apollyon's head snapped up as he saw the air distort. He managed to kick away from his position, only to see two bolts of lighting streak his way from one side. As he weaved between both bolts, one question came to mind: why hadn't he noticed them? And why was his vision blurring for that matter?
That Wind Mage is doing something to the air.
Was he?
Yes, your breathing's gotten shallower and even faster. Something's causing you to burn through your stamina more quickly and slowing you down at the same time.
What? That made no sense. That would have meant it was some form of poison or... Apollyon frowned.
"Cheeky bastards," he coughed, eyes blazing. The Storm Mage had been decreasing the breathable air around him ever so slightly. It was subtle enough for him to not notice with how pointedly obvious they'd been acting. Or rather he'd noticed before and had attributed it solely to his body straining when there was more to it. The mage had been trying to starve him of oxygen, then strike him with a pressure blade while he was dizzy and in some form of stupor. It almost worked too. He had to give them credit there: it was a good trick that wouldn't work on him again.
Eck, I can feel my everything changing ever so slightly. Is this how it feels when I get poisoned?
"Yes, except without the effects of the poison piling on top of it. Please, stop getting poisoned if you can help it."
Gross. He felt Nicola frown. Beyond that, is everything alright now? Do you have enough energy to finish this?
"Not quite and I do owe you for catching the air quality change before I did," he breathed as a burning blue aura sparked to life around him then gave way to what looked like midnight colored clouds that rolled around him. The air became far easier to take in with that, but it cost him a great deal of stamina in the process. He was going to end this now before the Storm Mage tried something else. The weapon he held twisted back into the form of a spear before the blade elongated and curved, taking the form of a great sickle. Nicola may have preferred his bladed spears, but if Apollyon was going to really use a polearm he was using a warscythe or poleaxe. A shield too, but maintaining a shield and scythe was a bit too much on his flagging reserves. He similarly had to decrease the number of blades he commanded: if he lost too much more energy his next attack wasn't going to form properly and would shatter before he could finish it.
He noticed the pink lightning cracking across the still darkening sky as the Storm Mage dropped all pretenses and he couldn't help the shark-like grin that spread across his face. Ah, she'd found the time to act despite needing to rest. That was unexpected given her condition, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Hopefully the noblewoman didn't hurt herself in the process.
He kicked off from his position as the rain of lightning and wind blades came, hopping between tiny ash plates as he raced towards Excalibur. It was slower than taking to the skies himself, but took far less stamina and wasn't going to get him ripped from the air by the wind magic user.
How is this less stamina intensive than near flying!?
Innate affinity and not needing to maintain the platforms for more than a step. It was the same as picking up and dropping something near immediately rather than picking the same thing up and holding it in place. Manipulating the ash, to Apollyon at least, was as simple as breathing and second nature. He knew that Nicola was far less proficient in doing so, his shoddy work when attempting to protect Maribelle showed as such, but the same innate affinity was there. The perks of being the same person split into two.
Regardless, Apollyon rapidly shortened the distance between himself and the Storm Mage. The wind whipped and tugged at him as he pulled his scythe behind him.
Compressed air blade incoming.
He knew that, it was expected when he was making a beeline towards his target. He summoned a series of platforms to the side then sprang to the side of a building as the blade passed, bolting across its surface as twin beams of lightning shot his way. Another blade sailed Apollyon's way, faster than the previous one, as he leapt from the building. The mage didn't expect him to accelerate towards what should have been rapidly approaching death as the follow up pressure blade was positioned to catch the scythe wielder far above where his head and torso ended up. Apollyon dove over the distortion in the air then twisted into a spiral beneath the second as he masterfully avoided both. Before a third could be released, he snagged the corner of a building with the crook of his scythe, flung himself high into the air then launched himself like a bullet towards the Storm Mage as he created another platform behind himself. He felt the air shriek around him as a deafening roar sounded and he cleared the remaining distance between himself and the mage.
He carved a deadly arc through the air, bringing his blade down on the mage as his scythe took on a far more grotesque, shadowy form. Hooked fangs extended from the blade as the weapon's head grew in size, scrapping loudly against a barrier of hardened air protecting Excalibur as they drew the thin blade at their side.
"Have at you then," they hissed, lunging towards the scythe wielder as he remained caught in the wind barrier. They weren't quite expecting Apollyon to release his grasp on the weapon and materialize it in hand as he spun past the lunge. He returned the favor, swatting the mage away with the back of the weapon before dashing towards them. He did not want the mage close to him when it wasn't on his terms, that was one of the fundamentals of polearms and scythes especially: one did not let their opponent get past the effective range of their weapon without a reason, not without gross negligence on their part or a scheme.
Excalibur recovered quickly and lashed out with their rapier as Apollyon's scythe came into view. Their weapons grated against one another, the two inexplicably tied when it came to raw strength, before the mage was forced to take a step back. Their strength didn't matter much when their foe had a size and weight advantage on them.
The mage quickly hopped back and called the air to push the scythe wielder forward, hoping to unbalance him. Instead they were forced to leap further away as their foe spun like a dervish and raced towards them. They were further forced to take to the air when the spinning slash ended and with a wide swing followed by long rows and rows of ethereal blades that sawed through the air. The wind barrier they crafted was torn apart like it had hardly been a nuisance, but the scythe wielder was left wide open from the wild attack and looked exhausted. The perfect time to stage a counter strike.
As they righted themselves and aimed their blade at the Summoner's throat, Excalibur realized they hadn't had support from Vajra through their brief duel. The Lightning Lord was still alive, but was quiet. That would have been a curious thing if they weren't mid strike when it came. It became concerning when the sky lit up and a massive bolt of pink lightning engulfed them as they rammed into a wall of invisible ethereal blades.
Their mind hardly had time to process what had happened. Had Vajra betrayed them? No, Vajra couldn't have done that. Not without–
The world went dark as Apollyon's scythe hooked behind their head and pulled forward, their body turning to ash and scattering on the dying wind.
"Maribelle really came through," the scythe wielder huffed, slumping over. The wind barrier hadn't been expected on top of whatever natural resilience the artificial beings had. Breaking through that mostly exhausted him and took the majority of his remaining stamina. He had enough for one more attack, but after that he was going to be fully spent and would need to rest or risk blacking out.
I'd rather that not happen.
"I... concur," Apollyon breathed, righting himself to scan the air for Vajra. The Bolting Mage was nowhere to be seen and their presence couldn't be felt. Had Maribelle managed to kill them with her... her... Actually what had she done? Something massive clearly. Still, he wasn't quite sure the lightning wielder was dead. Until he saw a body or a pile of ash where a body should have been, he wasn't convinced. Still, they were gone from the area as far as he could tell and he needed the rest more than the strain from searching.
Is that wise?
"Absolutely not, but we're pushing it as is."
To the manse then.
Maribelle sagged to the ground as her limbs turned to jelly. The Judgment Rod and her parasol rolled out of her hands as Samson rushed over to catch her.
"Lady Maribelle, are you alright?!"
"Do I look alright," she snapped tiredly, a wave of fatigue hitting her along with a myriad of other issues. She was far too hot and her skin itched. She could feel her pulse and hear her own heartbeat. Her breathing was labored, tired and short and a thick layer of sweat seeped through her bandages and travel clothes. She would be bedridden for at least a day, but she hadn't died.
Death had been a real risk of using the Judgment Rod, regardless of it allowing her to use it. The heirloom would judge its wielder when they called upon its power and if they were found wanting, it would condemn them in the same way it condemned those who it deemed guilty. That she hadn't been found wanting was an amazing thing, but that didn't mean the heirloom wasn't taxing to use. That was why she was in her current state after all.
Maribelle greatly misliked being carried back to her chambers. She wasn't a fan of being deadweight in anyone's hands, even those of a servant. She also wasn't looking forward to the tongue lashing her father would more than likely give her once his concern and panic cooled. She had been reckless, she wasn't going to deny that, but it had been in favor of saving her homeland. Was that so wrong?
Apparently it was and Maribelle felt half deafened after her father finished his ranting. She deserved that.
When Nicola returned half an hour later, flanked by guards and accompanied by another of Frederick's familiars, the dark day began to take a brighter turn. The Shepherds and Pegasus Knight Corp would be arriving soon and there would be much work to be done, but it was better to have work to do than to have absolutely nothing. She imagined many of her people would disagree with that sentiment, their lives and livelihoods ruined, but those could be gotten back if given time. The same couldn't be said for the numerous lives lost or the pain, horror and sorrow inflicted.
They would just need to rebuild. Step by step, day by day, until things were as mended as they could be.
A/N: Delays all around. Life became incredibly busy as I was getting the last thousand or so words of this chapter done and I honestly wasn't expecting to finish this by today. Unsure if the next chapter will be delayed, it's going to be very odd to write and I don't have the energy to start on it... at this time of today at least. Maybe as the sun sets and I feel a bit better.
That aside, thank you lot for all of the follows and favorites, they mean a lot to me when I get them.
In any case, if you like this story and want to find more stories by other authors for Fire Emblem and other fandoms alike(many more talented than myself by a decent margin), swing by the Fanfiction Treehouse Discord Server (Code: 9XG3U7a). There are plenty of brilliant writers there and the community is pretty chill. There's also a Podcast on Spotify called the Fanfiction Treehouse Podcast and a YouTube channel by the same name (Fanfiction Treehouse) if either interests you. Regardless, stop by if if you want and I'll see you in the next chapter.