In hindsight, Nicola thought, things had been going too well the past few weeks. Yes, Maribelle was still gone and there was no indication on if or when she would be returned, but things had been looking up. He'd finally started to accept his power, he'd made headway in his training, he'd even been ambushed by four people he hadn't expected to see again.
That had been an interesting development. Aversa, Henry, Olivia and Tharja weren't exactly a quartet he expected to meet, even more so when he learned that they hailed from nations on opposing sides of the continent. He'd been happy to see them. Confused and a bit concerned, but ultimately happy. Henry and Aversa had been great teachers when it came to learning about Dark Magic and Tharja had been a good teacher for the fundamentals of magic in general, as terse and reluctant as she had been. Olivia had just been a kind, if shy, person. That she was good with a sword and had a way of invigorating allies through dance was nice, but she'd also been good for morale in the Order of Heroes and close with Sharena. It was great to see all of them, so when the shoe ultimately dropped he'd been nearly caught off guard. Nearly.
Assassins decided today, when three leaders of three countries were present, would be a great day to stage an attack on the Exalt. He couldn't exactly fault them: if he'd been in the business of sowing chaos he would have chosen today to attack as well. He wasn't so instead he was defending the halidom alongside an assortment of odd allies. It was an odd day in the halidom when plegians and a foreigner were reinforcing a small battalion of soldiers against a large group of white clad assassins.
"Swarm my lovies," Henry crowed, his shadow deepening and extending from the ground as a murder of crows. The shadowy birds cawed cacophonously as they tore through an unfortunate group of would be thieves, picking them clean as they dissipated. The ylissean soldiers beside him paled as he giggled childishly. Remarkably tame of him, Nicola noted. Normally the diminutive mage would have caused their bodies to rupture or implode into showers of blood and gore rather than use his birds. His gleeful laugh was still mildly unsettling to the spearman, but he'd gotten used to it—perhaps unfortunately.
"Perish," Tharja sighed on the complete other side of the spectrum. With a flick of her wrist gates of dark magic opened along the walls and floor of the hallway. Soon shadowy hands snapped from them, pulling unfortunate enough assassins into them before they could even cry out. Those that were lucky enough to avoid the sinister spell were met with spears as the soldiers took their cue to strike. That was at least two dozen assassins in just as many minutes, but they showed no signs of stopping. Rather, as soon as those assassins died, another group swarmed down the paths the previous groups had taken.
"Defensive formation," Nicola called, surging past one group of soldiers to meet their opposition. He didn't look back as he careened into the would be killers with Demna, smashing through their ranks as two after images trailed behind him, two afterimages following behind him. One scraped across the ceiling before slashing down, losing some power as it shattered parts of the marble floor as it scattered the larger portion of the group. The other flicked its spear upwards then kicked the smaller blade, sending it hurtling like an arrow through others unfortunate enough to be in its spectral path. With a quick twirl, the spearman cleanly cut the throat of one assassin and with a jerk, he impaled another on the smaller blade. The impact felt far too hollow to have pierced bone, but he ignored that for a moment. "Hraaah!"
With a shout, he spun his spear and threw the impaled assassin into another, knocking both of them through a stained glass window and down to the garden below. An impulsive part of him wanted to jump down after them, but he knew most people wouldn't survive such a fall.
"Ser Apollonia, another group is coming," a soldier shouted from behind a shield wall. Turning, the spearman saw yet another group of killers approaching but their ranks looked different. Several men and women wearing robes stood among their ranks, some with ornate staves while others wielded red and purple tomes.
"Mages, fall back," he warned. The command was nearly too slow, the first salvo of mage fire arcing over his head as the soldiers retreated in unison. They'd kept their composure, which was good. That wasn't always the case and it led to far more casualties. Some of the front line soldiers weren't lucky and were caught with their shields too low or retreated a step too slowly and fell to the barrage of spells while the blade wielding assassins tried to swarm past Nicola towards the new openings in their ranks. He wasn't going to let them.
For just a moment, Nicola drew out his power. His eyes flashed blue as he drew back his spear, one afterimage mirroring his movement on either side. With a loud cry, he twisted forward into a lunge, sending forth invisible streams of force that spiraled around one another. The force hit the assassins like a tidal wave, tossing them around like dolls as it crashed into the mage line—barely protected by barriers from the staff wielders, who buckled but managed to hold. Still the damage was done as deep gouges and cracks spread across the ceiling. Barely a moment later, that part of the ceiling collapsed, putting a wall of debris between the mages and the soldiers.
"Fall back and try to regroup with the others," he ordered, watching the rubble like a hawk. No doubt the mages would try to break through and the moment they did he would crush them.
"Kiran, leave this to me," Henry chirped, missing the slight flinch from the dark haired man as he did. "I can take on that many mages with Bill here. You and Tharja go find Livie and make sure she's safe."
"You aren't staying by yourself, you fool," Tharja snapped. "Nicola..." She stressed the name, but it still sounded strange from her. "Allow me to assist this fool. We'll meet back up with you once this rabble is disposed of."
"You sure," he asked.
"Positive, now go before I change my mind," the dark haired mage bit out.
With a nod, he took off after the soldiers.
"He's exactly like I remember him," Henry said offhandedly, watching the debris. He was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. The clerics on the other side of the rubble had been competent enough to stave off a strike that would rend armor from a distance, rubble and falling debris wasn't going to take them down so easily. That was fine by him, now that the ylisseans were away, he could stop playing nice. "Nice and a bit bumbling outside of a fight, but..."
"A lion of war when a battle can't be avoided," Tharja finished, opening her tome. Henry was going to more than likely tear through the aegis of light the enemy clerics had, she needed to make sure he didn't get torn apart by their mages in short order before he could commit to doing so. "They come."
It was a slight shift in the rubble that gave it away. With a gesture, the taller mage conjured a rippling wall of shadow between herself and her partner. A flick of her wrist solidified the barrier, in time to shield them from the hail of stone that followed soon after. Both mages hugged the wall, avoiding another wave of spellfire before Henry acted.
It was a subtle gesture, a simple flick of his ring finger and twist of his wrist, but it was often the most subtle starting hexes that yielded the nastiest results. The assassins didn't know what hit them. In one moment they were warded from magic and physical strikes alike, but in the next their clerics dropped dead, black blood pouring from their eyes and ears as their flesh writhed and chests bulged. Tharja looked away before she heard the splintering of bone and wet pops that followed, knowing the outcome without looking. Dull impacts confirmed the deed, the black blood sprayed across the shadowy barrier preventing her from seeing the white haired man's grim handiwork.
There were many reasons Dark Mages were feared and Henry could use at least a half of them without batting an eye. He'd smile like his birthday had come early and laugh merrily instead.
"Now that they're taken care of... Hm." Henry paused for a moment then shook his head.
Tharja didn't want to ask what gave him pause, few that did were good. Still, if he had observed something of import it was best to find out what.
"Did you notice something?"
"It was probably my imagination," the white haired mage said. "That felt too easy, too fast."
A good thing in most circumstances, but not always. The greatest of traps were often the ones hidden in plain sight and neither mage was Interested in springing it.
"We should find the others," the dark haired mage mage said instead. With how scattered everyone had become at the onset of the attack that was easier said than done. Thankfully, anyone with anything resembling awareness of the unseen world could see the veritable sea of darkness that Kira- Nicola was, especially when he chose to flare the great abyss. It was a double edged sword, there were no doubt mages on the other side that could see him just as well, but it made finding him simple and he had a way of linking others to one another.
"At least we know where one is," Henry said agreeably. "And with his luck he'll have found some of the others by now."
Right. It was best that they get moving then.
Gaius wondered how everything had gotten so bad so quickly. Not the assassins or anything, he had a pretty good idea on how dozens, if not hundreds, of people garbed in white were swarming through the palace walls. That probably had to do with the five colored tear in the world that had been spewing out people in the middle of the palace courtyard. He didn't need to be a mage or scholar to know that was probably bad, especially with the undead monster twice his height with arms as thick as his torso padding around it. Something else that was probably bad. Thankfully both of those things had been resolved: the gate by Anna after she boldly asked him to distract the massive undead creature. He'd given her an incredulous look before demanding a month's worth of free maintenance on his tools and a two week supply of butterscotch balls from her hometown. She agreed and Gaius shot the creature in the eye before she could blink.
It took notable exception to that.
The monster started rampaging after him, alerting assassins in the area to his presence and making his life a whole lot harder. Then the bear sized armored rabbit appeared and tore the monster apart like it had been made of paper, not corded muscle that made stone look soft. Thankfully, it—she, he corrected himself after seeing the rabbit shift into a tall woman with long rabbit ears—saw that he wasn't with the assassins and brusquely helped him fend off the remaining assassins in the area while Anna performed some spell that made the tear unleashing the assassins shrink down onto itself and wink out.
That should have been the end of that right? From there he should have been able to find the Exalt and try to get her to safety with Anna and the gruff rabbit woman in tow, no? Instead, he found himself on his back with a silver sword at his throat. The blade belonged to the nation's tactician and, if not for Anna vouching for him, the ginger man was certain his head would be lying on the ground.
If not for the very clear intent to kill him if he moved more than a hair, Gaius was almost certain it would have been love at first sight. The way her silver hair fell in the night rain, practically shining as if it had been polished, and the way her cherry red eyes twinkled made his heart skip a beat. His brain snapped him out of it, reminding him that she had a blade at his throat and it was inching closer.
"You're certain he isn't going to make an attempt on the Exalt's life," the Silver Tactician asked the smith.
"Yep. He's firmly on the up and up," Anna nodded. The silver haired women didn't look remotely convinced.
"He's a thief," she said plainly.
"Only for the right price and only for sweets," he corrected. "I'm more of an informant and man of many talents."
"You'll be a man of none if you keep that up," the tactician replied in a heartbeat.
"His heart is in the right place," the red haired woman tried.
"Give him a chance, Robin." the white haired plegian woman beside the tactician purred. "At the very least his garb is in stark contrast to that of the assassins."
Fancy way of saying his garb blended in with the night and rain while the assassins stood out, wearing primarily white garbs with the heraldry of the halidom emblazoned on their cloaks or tabards.
"Is he one of yours," Robin asked with a scowl.
"He isn't. I'd remember someone like him," the plegian woman noted. "Still, a thief is always useful. Perhaps your prince could make use of him."
She had to be kidding.
"Are you serious," the silver haired woman asked, frowning.
"I gotta agree with Bubbles here, you serious there uh... Silver?"
"Bubbles?"
"Silver?"
He gave people nicknames when he was nervous, he explained. Being surrounded by three people that could kill him easily made him incredibly nervous, especially once he recognized the woman beside Robin. Anyone and everyone with a working set of ears had heard of the Dark Witch, a mage so prolific in the dark arts that uttering her name was like unto hexing yourself.
"I see, I expect a better nickname at a later time, should we remain allies, master thief," the witch replied, not inspiring any confidence in him. "Regardless, even the most austere of individuals needs a hidden hand and ear to the ground and it is rather rare for a thief to make themselves known early."
"Fine," Robin sighed, moving her sword as she glanced at him. "You're temporarily conscripted into the Shepherds as of this moment. Should we live through the night, Chrom will determine whether or not you remain employed or are thrown into the dungeons."
Better than having his throat cut then and there he supposed, but not by much.
"If you manspawn are done, do we not have an Exalt to save," the rabbit woman stated more than she asked. As if to punctuate her remark, something shattered overhead and two bodies fell into the garden with wet sounding crunches. Gaius was no expert on the matter, but falling bodies tended to sound a fair bit different... Not that he knew that from experience or anything. He kept that to himself, not quite trusting the silver haired woman to not gut him if he brought it up.
"Right, we need to protect Lady Emmeryn," Anna nodded, rather obviously ignoring the fallen bodies.
"Prince Chrom, Lady Lissa and the feroxi delegates as well," Robin added.
"And my liege," the white haired woman remarked.
"Shit, the Mad King's here as well?" Gaius was beginning to regret getting out of bed today, good intentions be damned.
"Indeed. Now let us go before he and your leader get too close with one another."
More like before an international incident in the making grew worse, the thief grumbled. At least he was still alive.
For now at least.
"Have I told you how much I hate you, your 'highness,'" Gangrel sighed as he pulled Emmeryn under a bolt of lightning. Were it any other day, he'd have gladly let it hit her. He knew that, she knew that and so did everyone else in the corridor.
"Only eight times in the past five minutes," the Exalt remarked, conjuring a barrier that deflected the blade that would have rammed into the Mad King's stomach. Were it any other day, she wouldn't have been as snarky or angry sounding. Today just happened to be the day people were after her entire family's head and, while she was thoroughly committed to doing as little harm as possible, she was having none of it. "Perhaps focus on our assailants rather than serenading me with your vitriol, Gangrel?"
The king scoffed as he wrenched the curved blade from his assailant and stabbed it through their skull in a single fluid motion. "If I knew assassins would bring this side out of you, I'd have sent some ages ago."
"And you wouldn't be here to see it." With a wave of her hand, another assassin collapsed to the ground, snoring lightly before the Gangrel plunged his weapon into their spine. Barbaric, but she wasn't going to advocate for sparing members of the group trying to kill them.
"True, but I'd also be in my palace, not being attacked by an army of would be assassins."
"Even as far as a year ago?"
"That's different," the king huffed, sheathing the curved weapon in the gut of one killer before spinning the Exalt out of the reach of another. She returned the favor by shielding him from a fireball aimed at his head with a ward, moments before he conjured a spear of crimson and blue lightning and hurled it through the mage pestering them. "Before then no one had the gall or balls to try and assassinate me in broad daylight. Usually they'd try the concubine trick or try to spike my coffee with Whispermere and have me cede the throne to whatever baying hound of a noble thought they were worthy."
"It's always Whispermere," Emmeryn sighed, pulling the Mad King close to avoid an axe swing.
"Forward of you," he smiled challengingly as he pulled the blonde woman off her feet, away from a jet of flame. "Unfortunately for you, the wife I'm after can't be a hypocrite or pacifist."
"And the husband I would take can't be susceptible to hexes or mind magic." Allegedly, that had been the reason for a great deal of his madness. The flamboyance and theatrics were his alone, but he wasn't the sort to flog or hurt his people without reason or so he claimed. Emmeryn wasn't so sure, but she wasn't going to call the king on that.
"Could the both of you stop flirting and keep killing," Basilio shouted, hurling an armor-clad warrior into a small group of mages before they could scatter. "I need to make sure my daughters are alright."
"If they're near Chrom they should be safe for the time being," Emmeryn responded, drawing a symbol into the air as a blade of air flew towards her. The blade unraveled, surprising the mage long enough for the Exalt to duck under the spear of lightning the Mad King threw back at them.
"May the gods have mercy on anyone stupid enough to attack Aversa's chosen," Gangrel added.
"Youngsters these days," Basilio huffed, wishing he had his axe. He'd left it outside of the audience chamber before the discussion began and it had been gone when he'd went to find it once the assassins poured in. He soon settled for a stone axe mounted on a wall. It wasn't his, but it would do for the time being. Meanwhile, Gangrel found himself a proper sword and Emmeryn chose to remove the gloves she wore. She would have allowed her eyes to take on their violet hue, but the drawbacks far outweighed the benefits.
"Let us regroup with our compatriots and form a better plan of action."
"As things are? We have bigger fish to fry, namely the whole army of assassins between us and any side of them!"
"Then we cut them down and move through them."
"Ruthless," the red haired man whistled, looking at the blonde woman with newfound respect. "I like it."
The short bout of planning was interrupted by a shout from the assassins.
"Lancer–!" The explosion of stone that followed was deafening as a silver and blue blur crashed into the wall of bodies outside the chamber.
"Men, charge," another voice roared as a wall of shields and spears followed the blur, shields raised and arms fresh for the endeavor. Ah, that was Frederick. He appeared well enough, fitted with a new shield after his previous one had been destroyed. A bit more reckless than usual, especially considering he hadn't simply led the charge, but his work and service were always appreciated.
"Rain death upon them, Waste," someone among the assassin's number called, cueing a wave of slow rolling violet and black fog to pour down the corridor.
"Sacred Shield formation," the Argent Vanguard barked, raising his shield. The small platoon behind him reformed its ranks in front of the Exalt and company before its members mirrored the blue clad knight. No sooner than they finished did silver mist swirl and gather around them. "Now hold."
The fog rolled over the group and hung over them unnaturally, but did not push past the last of their ranks. Were it any other group, Emmeryn would have already been working to unravel the spell, but Frederick knew what he was doing.
"Just wait," she said as Gangrel started to speak, watching the silver mist gather around the group and coalesce. The dark fog tried to cling and stick to the individual soldiers, but the mist ate away at it, soon encompassing the group as a whole in a shimmering wall of silver that faded after a few moments.
Emmeryn wasn't quite sure on the full details, but that was one of the powers granted to the Argent Vanguard when they assumed the role. So long as their goal was to protect the halidom and its people, they were a near impenetrable shield for their allies and a deadlier spear to their enemies.
"Impossible," the enemy mage spluttered. "Hit them again at full force."
"You will not," another voice called as heat erupted from the far end of the corridor. Emmeryn could see the waves in the air as Phila stepped into view, wing tipped spear in hand. The odds appeared to be against her, a lone woman on one side of an enemy group while her allies stood on the other side, but Phila was rarely one to make reckless moves without a plan. "Fire at will."
A hail of arrows fell from above, some far closer to spears than anything else, peppering the enemy lines as their mages attempted to create wards and barriers of shadow. That worked for some of them, a number of arrows bouncing off of the barriers harmlessly. Other, silver tipped arrows and the spear like projectiles had no such failings, piercing through the wards with no resistance. Truesilver arrows had been a rather costly, but well spent investment from her father then.
The metal was well known for taking well to magic and enchantment, but few knew that the closer the silver was to the source of the originating vein the stronger that property was. It had cost a small fortune to get enough silver to arm three companies worth of soldiers with them, with the metal needing to be both pure enough to drink in magic, but sturdy enough to withstand layers being scrapped away and not be useless as arrowheads. Only the most elite of archers were given such arrows, only those capable of being considered snipers. When Emmeryn had become the Exalt, when most of the country's archers and snipers had put down their bows or been lost to the war, she'd nearly sold the arrows to the Annas. Her father's tactician had advised against it before they vanished, but over a decade later their advice had proved itself useful. No doubt many of the original number of arrows had rotted or broken from age, but those that remained had proven their worth.
She would have preferred they never need to see use, but she wasn't going to complain when kept her loved ones safe. Better a tool to protect than a weapon of war.
"The hell is your military made of," Gangrel whistled, watching as Frederick and his soldiers advanced on the broken ranks of the assassins from one side while Phila and her ranged support tore into them from the other. "I thought you'd cut down on your forces, not trained a band of elites in secret."
"I did downsize our military," the Exalt nodded, "But I wasn't going to leave my halidom without some score of protectors. I may be a pacifist and I may detest bloodshed, but there is a difference between suing for peace at all costs, even to the detriment of the people you wish to keep away from conflict, and preferring to avoid combat but having some means of protecting yourself in the event conflict is the only path ahead."
Which was to say, the Ylissean army was a skeleton of its former self because it didn't actively recruit on a large scale, but knights and soldiers who wished to be stationed around the halidom hadn't fallen to similarly low numbers. If she'd completely dismantled the military and all similar organizations most of the Shepherds wouldn't be members and the Pegasus Knight Corp would have long been disbanded, leaving only the church elite and militias to defend her people. Chrom's agreement with the feroxi people would alleviate some of the issues that came with a smaller military force, but realistically she would need to reinstate the army in full and accept volunteers into its number to deal with a prolonged conflict—something she was opposed to doing even now.
Still... the number of enemies was too great to be anything ordinary. There were only so many bodies that could be thrown at a problem until they stopped falling or refused to move forward. Yet as soon as a group of assassins was fully cut down another would take its place. Odd and very convenient for their enemies.
"Gangrel, did the madness afflicted upon you work on a large scale," she asked as she and the king slowly moved to join Frederick. Basilio followed, trailing behind with an eye on the foes behind them.
"On a large scale? You'd need to ask Aversa, she was the one who broke that hex," the red haired man replied. "Why?"
"I don't believe our enemies are in their right minds—rather, I believe they've been robbed of any fear or self preservation they would have. No man would intentionally run through the halls their allies have fallen in with such little caution or care."
"Aye," the bald feroxi nodded, now sure their foes lay dead behind them. There was a short lull in the combat, no reinforcements to the last group of assassins had arrived yet, giving Emmeryn some time to breathe. She hadn't even realized she'd needed to take deep breaths, the fervor of the battle having infected her as much as it had others. There was no glee from the conflict, only wild restless energy that raced across her skin and through her heart. "These men are far too zealous and fearless to be in any ordinary state of mind. They also feel off."
Off? Emmeryn repeated the question, earning an answer from Gangrel before Frederick could speak.
"What he means is, they don't feel solid or physically present where it counts," the red haired king explained. "Sure, they look real and feel real for a moment, but the moment a blade enters them far enough, there's no resistance. Sure they bleed, but it's more like a dam bursting than a vein being cut."
"Humans and anything that bleeds or breathes doesn't bleed that way, even with force overwhelming," Basilio finished. "Something's not quite right here and I'm not keen on finding out."
"Milady, we need to get going," Frederick stated, joining the conversation as Phila approached. "The sooner you and our..." He glanced at Gangrel. "Esteemed guests are out of harm's way, the sooner we can reorganize and route the assassins with less worry."
"And miss out on the fun," Basilio asked incredulously. He gave a hearty laugh. "Lad, I've lived and fought through worse than this. This'll get my blood flowing and my heart racing, I'm not stepping down just yet." A serious look crossed his face. "Not while my daughters and champion are out there."
"Not happening, tin can," Gangrel joined in, sneering as the knight scowled. "You think I'm gonna sit out an assassination attempt aimed at yours truly? I'm far more interested in fighting these bastards off and seeing exactly what they're after, I'm not interested in sitting pretty in some holed off area until the fighting's done. Unlike a certain person, I'm not a coward, I wouldn't be here if I was."
Another barb thrown her way, one that made Emmeryn flush with embarrassment and hot anger. He would dare insinuate she would leave her people to die while she hid. How dare he. He knew nothing of her and yet he judged her so harshly. If he were anyone else she would have beheaded him where he stood.
Except she wouldn't have. A dizzy spell took her for a moment, but she righted herself before any could take notice. Another remark from the voice, the one she could not pinpoint. She pushed it away, knowing it was no part of her in the slightest.
"I will not hide, while Chrom and Lissa are still in danger, Frederick, Phila." Her words were defiant, angry. Hot headed and foolish, but she wasn't immune to such moments. Fiery blood and blistering tempers were as much a part of her family as tranquility and pacifism. She abhorred fighting, but she was no coward. She would not touch a blade unless the situation was so dire as to need it, but she would not remain idle when she could help others. She was kind and protective of others, not weak and fragile as most thought her to be. She did not have Chrom's strength in full or Lissa's affinity with the world around her, but magic came easily to her and she was far from out of practice.
"Milady," Phila began, but quieted when she saw the look in Emmeryn's eyes. Her eyes were like gems, emerald and hard. There would be no talking her out of her decision, only embarrassed or pained hindsight should she make it through the night.
"Lord Validar, our Invokers are flagging," a masked mage reported. "The gates they've made are being sealed or destroyed and the spirits they summon are cut down faster than anticipated."
"Then the Ylisseans and the rabble around them have much more backbone than anticipated," the tall mage replied. He glanced over to the thing masquerading as a human—there were few beings with as vile and warped a presence as her and none could be called human—leaning against the bare wall of the chamber. He did not like the being calling itself Loki and he trusted it less than he trusted the blonde haired monster ingratiating herself to the goddess he served. At the very least she held loyalty to their goddess even if she lacked respect, unlike the being at his side.
"Is something the matter, Validar," Loki purred. "Things do not appear to be going as planned. Should I step in?"
"And give the entire game away," the tall man hissed. "No, your presence is unnecessary until it is time to lure our lady's adversary into her hands. You will stay here."
"How droll," she replied in a way that told him she would soon do what she pleased. If not for the fact that she could resist his hexes and ignore his lesser spells, he would have shattered her mind or banished her months ago. There were few things Validar would tolerate and none of them were contempt of his orders or his daughter's—the vessel of his goddess—word. He'd made examples of people over less and the one thing keeping him from trying the same on her was another word from his lady. Should Loki choose to fan the flames and get herself killed, he was to allow it, only stopping her if she would jeopardize their plans. Her acting now would do just that.
"It is droll, but your role will come soon enough," the high priest finally said. He looked to the masked mage lazily. "Tell the invokers to give a final push, but not to deplete their reserves in full. Once they do so, they are to rest and we will send in our proper force."
"May your and the goddess' will be done," the masked mage saluted before scurrying off.
"That should be enough for you, no," Validar asked, venom in his voice. "Soon you'll be free to do as you–"
The tall mage and high priest of the Grimleal stopped. Loki was gone. He did not need to look at her to know she's left, her found and wretched presence had simply vanished. "Then she chooses to play with fire early. Unfortunate, but expected."
He would need to make himself known after all. Another unfortunate occurrence, he'd been told he would die if that came to pass.
If that was the case, he simply needed to resolve himself—not to return alive if such a thing was set in stone, but to burn and curse the Ylisseans for every bit of the lifeblood within him that would be spilled.
Lucina was beginning to hate coincidences. Her father and sister were in the same area as her, though all but she and her sister were unaware of that fact. Her uncle and aunt were not, the Ylissean princess was concerningly nowhere to be found while the one who would be her uncle was on the other side of the castle near the Exalt's chambers. She hoped. Emmeryn would need all the help she could get this night and the only thing that prevented Lucina from racing over there was the off chance her sister or father were seriously injured or killed. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but she rather liked the idea of being born and having her sister around. She had also, briefly, enjoyed her anonymity, but that was all but lost when her mask had been broken by a surprise attack.
"Marth, is everything alright," her father asked as she huffed and heaved. Her Falchion burned in her hand, hot as molten metal, as more and more of the Fell Dragon's servitors arrived. She could not see them or hear them, but the blessing upon her blade told her more were coming as it drew upon her strength. An unfortunate effect of the blessing upon the blade being incomplete, a fraction of what it should have been.
"I am fine, prince," she huffed, lying as easily as she breathed. Her pain and ailments meant nothing, not when she had a duty to fulfill. "My blade simply demands some of my stamina to maintain its current state."
She referred to the burning white glow the blade emanated in place of the blue tinted edge and the sapphire embers the sacred weapon normally had. That was the power of her Falchion, wreathed in the incomplete blessing of Naga, drawn forth. So long as she could withstand the pain, her blade could cut through servants of the Fell Dragon like a knife through butter, turning shields and armor into ash as their wearers evaporated. Mages were a bit of another story, but she was more than fast enough to reach most, even if her stamina waned as time passed. She would not allow anyone in her family to die on this night, even if it would kill her.
"You aren't," Aerie replied. "I'd recommend dropping your focus on that blade of yours, Marth. You look ready to collapse at any moment."
"I'll be fine," the future princess began.
"You will not," Lillisette, her sister, spoke from beneath her hood. Her father noticed the familiarity in her tone, turning to the cloaked woman but saying nothing. "Your blade was active well before our group found you, Marth. You're at the end of your stamina and I can feel it as much as I can see it."
"I'll be fine," she tried, but she could feel the equally stubborn look from beneath her sister's hood. With a reluctant sigh, she allowed the power to fade from her blade, the white glow going with it. "Are you satisfied?"
"Immensely." The edge of concern in her sister's voice faded, but didn't quite leave. "I would ask what you've been doing since we were last united, but it is not the time nor the place."
"The kid's right," Sully grumbled, cradling her arm. She hadn't been injured in the conflict, but midway through the battle her arm pulsed with black veins and lanced with pain. She hadn't been able to hold her spear since, her dominant arm shaking furiously. "We still have to clear out this rabble before we have any time to take a real breather."
Calm words, but the future princess could feel the thinly veiled rage roiling within the red haired woman. Sully was a proud warrior and the Argent Vanguard who succeeded Frederick in her future. She had still died, but not before holding back the army of Risen on her lonesome in the valley preceding Mount Prism. She hated feeling weak and despised feeling helpless, which whatever ailed her at the moment no doubt made her feel.
"Then we should get a move on, Chrom stated. "Sully, do you believe you can fight at the moment?"
"With my arm as it is? I wish," she gritted. "It doesn't hurt anymore, but I'm not gonna be able to hold a spear steady, let alone follow through on a strike as things are."
"Then we'll pair you with Aerie," the prince said. "I'll stick with Marth, if that's fine with her."
"I'd rather you stay with Lilisette," Lucina breathed. "I can hold my own pretty well and she'll be able to complement your style more than I could." Her sister didn't take to the Exalted Fencing technique as she had, opting to use a far larger blade than any the ancestral fighting style favored. She had also been Lucina's shadow in the future, her blade filling in the spaces Lucina's left and her steps flowing with the princess'.
"If that is the case, I'll stay by your side," Ricken spoke. Lucina wasn't sure how the prodigal mage had wound up in the same chamber with her and the others. He claimed that he had felt some form of magical resonance before appearing in the area, just as her father helped cut down the final assassin. The future princess didn't need to be magically inclined to recognize that as odd. If she remembered what Anna had told her, that generally signaled an Outrealm Gate or gateway being opened.
"So long as you can keep up," the princess sighed, knowing she would slow herself to match his pace.
"If we're all settled, let us move," the prince began before the air shuddered and the few torches flickered. Lucina felt her branded eye burn as Lilisette brought a hand to her forehead and the mark on her father's shoulder glowed a bright orange-gold. "What in the world?"
The air shuddered and the smell of rotting plants and flesh hit the group like a wall. Lucina found herself coughing as her lungs burned and a small part of her began to seize up. A tainted, foul power had just entered the palace, the thick waves of pointed malevolence rolling off of it reaching the group from here.
"Oh dear," Aerie hummed, a frown crossing the plum haired woman's face. "It appears we have very little time to dawdle."
Lucina grunted in response, earning a concerned look from Aerie. The feroxi woman approached and placed a too warm hand on her forehead. "You're burning up."
"I can still fight," she huffed, feeling sickness and exhaustion trying to take root. She'd pushed herself too hard too quickly, having fought off at least two dozen of the Fell Dragon's servitors as she'd rushed to find her father at the very start of the attack. She'd found the room he should have been in vacant until a tear formed in the air and more assassins fell from it. She had cut each of them down in a near maddened flurry then jammed her Falchion into the tear, filling it to the brim with her energy before the small gate tore itself apart. That had been when her father and sister had appeared with Aerie and Sully, another group of puppets on their tails.
"Not for much longer," Aerie said rather firmly, the heat from her hand spreading over the princess in moments. The sickness faded and the exhaustion lessened, but that was temporary. She felt her blood burn and her marked eye throb. "This should aid you for the time being, but you'll need to rest soon."
It took more strength than she would have liked to stand tall as she burned and her head ached, but the future princess managed to do so nonetheless. The pain soon faded, not leaving her but dulling to something more manageable. She hadn't had that reaction before, not when Aerie had shared her power in Regna Ferox in the same manner. It had to be her own weakness then: if she was at her best, she'd have been fine.
The princess muttered a short thanks. "I'm ready to move."
Rather than speak, her father began to move. Lilisette followed him, her steps silent. Aerie and Sully were next, the red haired woman pulling just ahead of her plum haired partner. The last to move were Lucina and Ricken, the young mage gawking at her as she glided forward. He averted his gaze when she glanced at him, but said nothing.
He had been odd in the future as well, so the future princess simply brushed it off.
"Are you alright, Olivia," Lon'qu asked, looking away from the pink haired dancer. Black blood ran down his twin swords and a deep gash in his side openly bled. At his feet rested several human shaped creatures, not quite Risen but nothing like the newly named Unbidden. Each had unnaturally waxy pale skin and blood as black as night. Just moments prior they had looked like real people, but their forms had changed shortly after Lissa used healing magic near them.
"I'm fine," the pink haired woman replied. "You didn't need to take that strike for me, I could have avoided it."
"I'd rather not risk your or the princess' safety," the gruff man breathed. He winced as Lissa gingerly probed his side, but did not pull away as she continued to examine the injury. It was a deep and jagged thing, oozing near black blood like syrup as the sides darkened. Odd. The wound wasn't necrotizing or decaying as blackened flesh usually indicated. There were no blisters or flaking skin, not that the source of the injury could have caused such things, so it wasn't severe burns either. That left poison or... she wasn't actually certain.
Being a healer meant you saw many things, a great deal grotesque and not for the faint of heart, but she hadn't seen anything like this before. Not even the odd blade that ate away at Robin's shoulder hadn't caused such a wound. If anything, that wound was tamer in the respect that she could heal it with some effort. This one, she wasn't so sure about. It wasn't often when an injury actively grew worse when healing magic touched it, that kind of reaction was reserved for severe infections and sickness left untreated, but this one did and the swordsman didn't appear to be ailing. A quick attempt to purify him of any illness and infection confirmed that, the cleansing magic catching nothing as it washed over him.
"Thankfully I have some wrappings with me," Lissa breathed, drawing a roll of bandages from her borrowed coat. Her hand brushed against another object, but she ignored it. She wasn't sure where the oddly shaped object had come from, but she didn't need it or want to know what it was at the moment. "Hold still for a moment."
Lon'qu grunted as the princess slowly and firmly bound his injury. She frowned as dark blood seeped through the bandages and added another layer, but this was the best she could do for the time being. She had already attempted to cast Heal and saw the blackened flesh around the injury spread. Similarly, Mend was right out: after her incident and her eighteenth birthday her attempts to cast the greater healing spell set her ablaze with burning light, much to her chagrin. She'd lost three dresses to that already and wasn't keen on losing a fourth, even if Nicola's coat would shift itself to make her look decent. She also didn't like how short the blazing aura made her temper, but that was less of an issue at the moment.
"I should be fine with this," Lon'qu rumbled. His side still hurt, but he wasn't going to bleed out. "We need to get moving."
"R-right," Olivia agreed. "Something evil is coming, something foul and dark."
The pink haired woman shivered as a grim look crossed Lissa's face. She'd felt the same, her heart had skipped in her chest as a dark presence made itself known and had been hammering since then. She was good at making herself look calm and collected on the outside, but she felt terrified and out of her depth.
Were her siblings alright? Was Maribelle alive? Was Nicola or Frederick or Phila coming? Could she– No, she didn't need to ask herself that question. She would keep her companions alive and well as best she could. Such a thing was not up for debate.
"Indeed it isn't," a smooth voice answered, as if reading her thoughts. Panic flashed across the princess' face as she looked around for the source. Lon'qu readied his swords and Olivia took a step back, the sword in her hands raising just slightly. She soon found the voice's owner, a woman with magenta eyes and matching magenta hair styled in an ornate ponytail. She wore a near diaphanous black dress that faded to purple near the hem with inky feathers along its shoulders. A silver and white healing staff rested in her hands and a mischievous smile graced her perfect face. If not for the suffocating aura of dread rolling off of her, Lissa would have given a stiff smile. "It has been a long while has it not, Lissa? I see that you've come across another rather foul injury."
Lissa didn't have the time to reply, Lon'qu surged forward with silent fury as Olivia grabbed the princess and pulled her back with surprising force. The princess stumbled, but that proved to be for the best. Oppressive pressure fell on her shoulders and nearly crushed her, but it abated the moment she fell back. Lon'qu wasn't as lucky, the force slowing the swordsman as his blade just missed the magenta haired woman's neck. The swordsman growled, blades glowing the color of fresh blood. With a roar, he forced himself forward, blades flashing across the odd woman's throat in deadly arcs.
The world dyed red and black, deep furrows spreading across the stone walls and marble floor as Lon'qu appeared behind the woman. Her neck should have been cut, her head severed from her body as the fatal strike connected. Instead, the swordsman's twin swords shattered as the woman hummed.
"Rather impolite of you, Lon'qu," she remarked, one part mocking another part oddly fond. "That could have killed me if your blades had been any sharp–"
She cut off as Olivia darted forward. A smile flashed across her face as the pink haired woman lunged, her blade aimed at the magenta haired woman's heart. She met the lunge with a simple motion of her staff, blocking the blow and pushing Olivia back in the same motion. That didn't deter the pink haired woman, instead it spurred her to strike faster. In an instant, the cloaked woman was in six places at once, striking six different ways from an equal number or angles. The magenta haired woman simply swayed out of the range of the strikes, then from another three as Olivia stepped into her guard.
The pink haired woman moved with the grace of a dancer, twisting to avoid the simple yet powerful strikes of her opponent and attacking in the same moment. Her steps couldn't be called light, that implied that her feet even made an impact as she twirled and hopped from floor to wall to ceiling in quick succession. Her opponent still managed to avoid or block each strike, but she was being pushed back from the blistering assault. Then Lon'qu rejoined the fray.
The swordsman's blades were shattered, but not fully broken as he joined Olivia. His range was barely longer than his fists, but he made expert use of it. As the magenta haired woman would try to avoid Olivia, Lon'qu would appear in her blind spot and strike. His attacks did very little, but they often left the dress-clad woman in Olivia's path, forcing her to block rather than avoid the hit. The moment she did, Lon'qu would follow up with a flurry of precise, distracting sword swipes or martial arts. That kept their opponent on the back foot, buying Lissa time. Time to do what, flee? She would not. Instead she followed behind her allies, feeling they would soon need her.
The feeling proved correct when the magenta haired woman yawned as Olivia's blade reached her throat and slid off. With snap, the pink haired woman and her partner were pressed into the ceiling, restraints of cracked stone sealing their limbs. Their adversary didn't look remotely bothered, let alone injured.
"That's quite enough, don't you think," the woman asked. "Besides, I'm not here to fight, only to offer some assistance in a certain endeavor free of charge."
Lissa didn't trust her one bit. Lokke had a soul that entranced her in a terrifying way and she wanted nothing to do with the more experienced healer. She didn't want to be pulled into the web the magenta haired woman wove, not when she could sense nothing good coming from it.
"Your assistance isn't needed,'' she said, hoping her voice didn't waver as much as she felt it had.
"Is that so?" The magenta haired healer smiled, some pure form of enjoyment reaching her eyes as the princess tried not to take a step back.
"It is. Leave and I will not have to strike you down," Lissa bluffed. If not even Lon'qu could reach her, whatever power the princess' aura had would be insignificant in comparison.
"You have grown since we last met," Lokke mused, closing her eyes. When they opened next Lissa found herself on the ground, pressure crushing the air from her lungs as she felt her bones creak. "But not enough to face me yet, little princess. Your sister and that flame of a friend of yours perhaps, but not you. Your heart is too pure, too soft and far too fragile to face me and your power, the sliver you've tapped into at least, is far too immature to mar even my clothing."
The pressure grew with each word, the princess' body creaking and slowly pulling every which way. Dark blots spotted her vision as her heart hammered erratically, frantic as panic flooded her. She was going to die. Her body would rip apart and burst when the pressure became too great for it to bear, but she would be long dead before then. She couldn't force air into her lungs or breath and the dark blots grew larger. She would suffocate before she tore apart in full or perhaps her heart would burst as it beat harder and harder against her chest, its frantic beats echoing like booming peals of thunder in her ears.
Then the pressure was gone, the magenta haired woman smiling kindly as if she hadn't been seconds from killing her.
"W-what do you w-want," Lissa gasped, gulping down precious mouthfuls of oxygen between words.
"To help you save your dear Maribelle, dear," Lokke smiled. The smile grew wider as Lissa froze. "I happen to know where she is being kept and how to reach her. I could even tell you if you're willing to listen."
"It's a trick," Lon'qu shouted, the loudest the princess had ever heard him be. "Lies are her tool of trade, do not let her–"
The swordsman cut off abruptly as rubble restraints wrapped around his throat.
"None of that, Lon'qu," Lokke tutted. "I offer only the truth on this day and not a word otherwise." She turned her attention back to Lissa. "I do know where your dear friend is being held and know that she yet lives, but not for much longer. You can save her, but it will cost you."
"What cost?"
"A life for a life, dear princess," the magenta haired woman said, expression grave. "The chamber that houses your dear Maribelle can only be opened if someone takes the place of its occupant and suffers in their stead. Any attempts to get past that will simply result in the chamber crushing them like one would crush a bug."
She let the image stew for a moment, watching the princess' reaction carefully. Conflict flashed across Lissa's face. To save Maribelle someone would need to give their life? Such a cost was too steep, the reasonable, pragmatic side of her said. The emotional side said otherwise, that saving her friend would be worth her own life. Ylisse could survive without her, unlike with Chrom or Emmeryn. The people saw her as a symbol, a small bridge between the royal family and the common folk, but they did not need her. Maribelle, conversely, was a symbol to the people of Themis and the heir to the nation when her father inevitably passed on. To lose her would mean to lose that duchy's future and that was simply unacceptable.
More than that Maribelle was her friend, her first friend, and she would not see her friends suffer if she could help them. If that meant using herself, her body and even her soul, to do so, she would. Nicola had told her her life was important long ago, but in reality it was small, insignificant. She could die and people would weep, but they could move on without her. She was a symbol, but a small one. Her life for the life of another was the fairest trade life anything had offered her. Such a deal she could take without question.
Do not. The words echoed in her head as her coat tightened just a bit. The spirit within the article didn't want her to sacrifice herself, but what choice did she have in the matter? Stay defiant and let Maribelle die? She would never, her heart would break irreparably.
"Where is she," the princess finally asked, even as the coat tugged at her more.
"Further past me there is a long corridor with a small gate in its center. Beyond the gate lies another that connects to Maribelle's prison and there lies your dilemma," Loki supplied, gesturing to the pitch black corridor behind her. "If you go now, you may be able to avoid the reinforcements soon to come from that direction."
Lissa nodded and made her way past the magenta haired woman. She tensed herself, ready to brace for an attack that came at her spine or throat, but nothing happened. Olivia began to protest, but restraints similar to those binding Lon'qu wrapped around her neck as well. "Can you let them go?"
"And have no hostages when the truly dangerous being makes themselves known?" Lokke feigned incredulity. "I cannot and will not, not when they are needed. Now go on ahead, little princess. Your dear friend awaits you."
The princess hesitated for a moment, but nodded. She would save Maribelle and Maribelle could help free Lon'qu and Olivia if she was fast enough. She would need to move as quickly as possible then. She would save Maribelle if it was the last thing she did.
Thus, with dread in her heart did the princess run, moving headlong into the unknown, missing the sadistic curve to her adversary's smile as she left.
Nicola felt the shift in the air as a heavy presence entered the palace. He didn't shutter or pale as Tharja, Henry and Emmeryn did. He'd found the Exalt and her entourage after cutting through several more scores of would-be assassins. A bit too effectively and brazenly, he thought as he examined Demna.
A thin crack ran through the spear's shaft, meaning another repair or a full replacement would be needed. Anna had warned him of that when she mended the spear, that he was better off fully replacing the spear when its blade had been partially melted and the shift damaged in Themis, but he had rather adamantly refused and asked if the weapon could be mended. The smith, despite a large amount of grumbling and demanding twice the gold he'd bought the spear for, had managed to mend the weapon to near perfect condition. He'd been warned it would eventually break again, sooner and worse than before, but this was far sooner than expected. He'd need to make the spear last as long as possible then, especially with what—or rather who—he sensed.
"I have to go," he said, already moving.
"We should stay together," Frederick tried to counter. There was strength in numbers, as much as there was greater attention.
"Not now, Frederick. You stay lot stay together and move as you please, I need to go and I needed to have been moving minutes ago."
"Why," Emmeryn asked. She wasn't trying to stop him, he recognized that much in her tone.
"Someone only I can face is here and I need to remove them before they can act." The feeling of something crawling along his neck and the faint tingling he felt racing across his skin told him all he needed to know: Loki was here.
"Kid," the red haired king, Gangrel, spoke. "That's exactly how you get yourself killed. I say—"
"I will not be dissua–"
"Go for it," the king finished smoothly. Emmeryn shot him an incredulous look as the spearman's mouth snapped shut. "You aren't my subject or one of my people, so I really couldn't care less for whatever task you feel you need to rush off for. One less threat to deal with in the future is fine by me and if I'm lucky, you might take care of another before you croak. So go for it."
"Nicola, that's dangerous," the Exalt countered. "At the very least allow Phila to accompany you."
"I will not leave your side, Lady Emmeryn." the Wing Commander stated matter of factly. "My job is to protect you and I will do so regardless of your whims in cases like these."
"Then Frederick–"
"Alas, I cannot. I must ensure you and your siblings remain safe, milady," the knight replied. Wordlessly, he handed Nicola his lance and wrested the damaged spear from the foreign warrior's hands. "My spear should serve you well for the time being. Yours is damaged beyond what is usable, no? This one is nothing special beyond being made of silver. So long as you protect the halidom with it, it will serve you well."
Nicola nodded, squinting at the knight carefully. He'd picked up on that? Then again, he hadn't been particularly subtle or discrete as he'd looked over the weapon gingerly. "You have my thanks."
"Think nothing of it, just return intact and among the living. There are several who would rather you not perish this night."
"Yup," Henry grinned. "The world would be a bit more boring without you. Who else is gonna give me the bloody end I want?"
"He didn't agree to that," Tharja grumbled at her partner. She gave Nicola a tired look. "Be careful. You know who you're dealing with, but not what she has prepared. Try not to stumble into her pacing. A certain other mage will become rather insufferable if you die."
Perhaps the closest thing Tharja could get to telling him to be safe. He nodded and looked to Phila. The blue haired woman gave a slight nod.
"Remember to run if you find yourself outmatched," she said simply, done with the matter.
"Right." He nodded once more. Without another word, Nicola sprinted from the group, eyes narrowed in focus. He rounded a corner and found four assassins lying in wait, blades drawn. They lasted a few seconds as he tore past them, Frederick's lance mowing through them as he spun the weapon around himself and lunged forth, one hand on the lance's haft as a violet and blue aura pulsed around him. The quartet turned to ash at the tip of the lance, flowing around the spearman as he tensed, cracking the marble floor beneath him. Stone and glass shattered as he accelerated, leaving cracks and deep footprints in the walls and floor as he raced towards the presence he felt. Part of him contemplated smashing through walls to take a more direct route, but he wasn't going to cause more destruction if he could avoid it... More than he'd already caused by breaking parts of the ceiling and floor, shattering tiles and hurling people through stained glass fixtures.
A familiar pulse flowed over him, telling Nicola that Loki was fighting. He had no idea who would face her, but he knew he needed to be faster if he would catch her unaware. His vision blurred for a moment, his sight needing a moment to catch up with him as skidded into a wall, crashing into it with a loud crack as stone shattered. His entire right side would have been in pain had he not deadened his sense of pain just before impact, but that didn't make the collision any less jarring.
He shook his head, pushing away the dizziness and disorientation he felt for the briefest of moments then continued down the final corridor, smashing down a door in time to see Loki conjure a sphere or violet light and push it towards a bound Lon'qu. A bound Olivia was imprisoned at his side, writhing against stone bindings with no avail. The swordsman tried to move against his stony restraints, but had no such luck as he struggled in vain. Just as the sphere reached his chest, burning away at the coat he wore, Nicola spoke.
More aptly, he roared.
"LOOOOKKKKKKIIIIIII!" The sound stopped the magenta haired woman in her tracks, a surprised smile playing across her face for a moment.
"Ah, Kiran. You're here far sooner than–" A loud crack rang out as her staff blocked his lance, the spearman having covered the distance faster than even she could blink. Half a beat of silence passed, both weapons disengaging for the briefest of moments before the duo devolved into blurs as they struck at each other and hopped back. Nicola lunged forward and spun, black chains tearing into the air around him as he pushed the magenta haired woman away from his allies in one motion and freed them with slashes in the next. Loki returned the favor, tapping the head of her staff against the wall before slinging sharpened bullets of stone at him. With a series of well timed spins and flicks, he deflected each stone before rushing the magenta haired woman once more.
"You seem upset," Loki remarked, her smile never leaving her face as she narrowly avoided a piercing beam of black and azure light aimed at her chest. Her staff found the back of his foot in the same exchange and with a simple tug, Loki pulled the spearman into the air, spinning him away from her—At least until he planted the borrowed lance into the ground mid rotation and slung himself back towards her. Surprise crossed her face as she was forced to block the strike, barely holding her ground as Nicola planted both feet onto what would have been her chest. He'd become far nimbler and much more acrobatic since they last fought, more certain in his motions and far calmer in his fury. An interesting development, but not one she particularly liked to say the least.
Loki's eyes narrowed, sparking red for a moment as the spearman was blown back. Her eyes became the color of blood as she magnified the weight of the air around him far more than what she'd done for Lissa moments prior. She wasn't surprised when the spearman was in her face once again, though the black and blue mass of shadows—nay, darkness—that engulfed the head of his weapon was very new. She elected to repel herself from him and increase the pressure on him further to keep that from reaching her. She wasn't sure where he'd gotten that power, but she knew it would be unpleasant to be touched by it. She also knew that he could only withstand so much gravity before he was forced to kneel, though his tolerance was far higher than that of an ordinary person. When he shattered into a mass of black mist from the pressure, she realized that she'd been had.
Frigid pain cut across her back in a thin line then erupted outwards as Nicola reappeared, shadows trailing off of him like tongues of black fire as his weapon made its mark. Loki retaliated by compacting the section of corridor he was in, turning it into a ball of rubble and stone shards as the walls and that section of the ceiling were compacted. That didn't stop her from unceremoniously skipping across the broken floor, but it gave her one less thing to focus on for the moment. With a grunt, she righted herself, somersaulting back onto her feet and pointing her staff at Lon'qu and Olivia.
"Move and I'll turn you into dust," she warned, a deadly edge entering her voice as her mind raced. She'd been hurt. She hadn't been dirtied or scraped superficially or singed, but actually cut. She could feel herself bleeding, yet she knew Nicola—Kiran—didn't have that sort of power. Then again, the last time she had actually fought him, he'd been conjuring blades of light and wind to supplement his strikes as opposed to shadows and darkness. Something in this land had changed him and that made him an unknown quantity. Unknown quantities were dangerous.
"You will not," Nicola replied, his spear pointed at her neck as he emerged from the shadows at her side. Being near the blade burned her Loki realized, understanding dawning on her. It wasn't necessarily Nicola who could hurt her, but the weapon he carried certainly could. That was problematic at this juncture. He wasn't yet supposed to wield any such power.
"Fine." The magenta haired woman raised her hands and dropped her staff without warning, spinning into a sweeping kick that should have knocked the spearman off balance. Instead, he vaulted from the spear for a second time, pulling it into the air with him as he lined himself up. The trickster made the snap decision to leap away from her position as he kicked the butt of the spear, sending it at her like a streak of silver and black. That would have impaled her, she realized, looking at the spear buried up to the center of its shaft in the marble floor. Two more echoes of him appeared at different angles, one mirroring the technique with a two headed spear of shadow while the other descended towards her like a comet. She narrowly avoided the first strike and had to push the second away from her before it hit her head on, leaving her open to the third as another echo of the spearman spun into an ascending kick as it vaulted upwards. She crushed that one under rubble before it could reach her, not keen on taking another blow. Her reward was having to twist through the air as a silvery lance pierced through the rubble, the real Nicola having evidently reacquired his weapon.
It was a rather fortunate thing that he wore a scarf then. With a glance Loki directed his scarf towards a wall with extreme speed, smashing the spearman into it as surprise crossed his face. With a simple gesture she bound him in violet threads of her power, playing a bit more of her hand than she had wanted to. It was a shame, but well worth the expense when she collapsed the opposite wall onto him. It wasn't going to kill him or keep him, the summoner had taken far worse without his coat allegedly. Sure enough, the rubble around him rumbled and burst into shards that hung in the air. A tempestuous violet and sapphire nexus whirled around the summoner, his eyes a deadly shade of lavender as they burned with power for a moment. Interesting indeed, that power felt far different from what should have been within him. Another thing to note down she thought, skirting away from something that looked like a spiraling lance of black and violet flames.
"I give up," Loki said, raising her hands once more as she landed. The place she'd been standing was molten, a deep hole bored deep into the earth where the spear had impacted. The look on the spearman's face, cold menace as his eyes flared an unusually bright blue, told her that another attempt at attacking upon surrendering would get her nowhere. Not that she wanted to, she'd gotten what she'd come to the palace for and finished her part of the plan. The only thing left to do was get the ball rolling. "As much as I enjoyed seeing you once more, dear Summoner, I must take my leave."
The silver spear rushed towards her throat, but she twisted out of the way in the nick of time. That was what some called luck and what others called fate. She knew it by another name: providence. It was a tool she knew well, having used it when things were far too much for her to handle with what measures she allowed herself to take. With a little bit of pulling the strings that wove the world together here and there, she could minutely affect the outcome of something happening around her or enact far greater works with the right amount of nudges and twists. A few more such nudges and she barely avoided the arc of chains that would have cut across her throat, but not the blades that erupted from them a moment later. She needed to properly block those as she made just enough space to... "Goodbye, Kiran. Hopefully you can save your princess in this world."
Delight flashed across her face as the former summoner's eyes flashed crimson then violet with unbridled fury, his cat-like pupils becoming serpentine as they flared orange. A burning mass of shadow shot towards her, but she was long gone before it could reach her.
"Nicola, Calm yourself," Lon'qu stated, watching his ally warily. His temper was short when Loki was involved, the same as most sane individuals, but his countenance was fiery when he lost himself. Rather poetic considering the summoner turned spearman hated fire.
The spearman wheeled around in response, eyes flashing before he recomposed himself. Then his eyes widened, horrified understanding dawning on him. He stumbled and had to brace himself against a blackened wall as he took several heaving breaths, not exhausted but tired nonetheless.
"My apologies. I... She... I have no excuses." He was shaking. Afraid. His temper was a fierce thing indeed, something worth a wary eye when it stirred. He wasn't in the wrong to fear it, not when it had rather tangible effects on his surroundings, but like all things related to one's own heart control was needed. Not that the swordsman could talk, his own demons still tore at him and held him back.
"You do not," the swordsman breathed, composed yet stern. He winced as his side and ribs flared with pain, but continued as if they hadn't. "You did not succumb to your anger in full this time, an improvement over the last time by far."
"Sorry," Nicola sighed.
"Rather than apologize, you need to get moving," Lon'qu stated. "The princess, Lissa, was here not long ago, but left to find your shared friend at the witch's behest."
"She did what!?" That pulled the spearman from his moping. Amber replaced silver as he pulled himself from the wall.
"Loki had the three of us at her mercy, but allowed the princess to go, giving her directions to go and find her friend," Olivia murmured. "You need to save her. The cost for saving the princess' friend is a life and she plans to use her own to pay that cost."
It was like the world skipped in the former summoner's eyes. His eyes lost all emotion, returning to the haunting blue as his expression became unreadable. "Where?"
The pink haired woman pointed down the corridor Loki mentioned. "You'll need to hurry. More of those dolls are supposed to arrive soon."
"Can either of you fight," he asked.
"Not as I am now," Lon'qu grunted. "My blades are shattered and several ribs are broken."
"It's taking most of my strength just to stand," Olivia admitted.
"Find a place to rest for now then," Nicola sighed. "Allies should arrive soon enough, especially with the noise and damage wrought. Stay out of sight until then, I'll take care of any reinforcements coming from that direction so you can rest easy."
"Right."
"Understood."
Once more Nicola found himself running, this time to save a dear friend rather than to face a dreaded foe. Would he make it in time?
The chamber Maribelle was being held in was a marvel of vanity and gaudiness. Mirrors and stained glass panels decorated each wall of the large circular chamber. A mismatch of gold, silver and copper roots spread across black marble tiles, coiling around a chair of electrum and fine velvet at the far side of the room. Crystal chandeliers large enough for a family to dine upon stretched from ceiling to floor like massive chimes in a still room, sending a multitude of misshapen reflections across the room. In the center of the room resided a gilded cage decorated with spikes and innumerable rubies. Within that cage sat Maribelle, Lissa could feel it. She just needed to reach it and switch with her friend and all things would be fine.
Just as she took her first step, a voice stopped her.
"I wouldn't. If you take a single step in there without my permission, the one sitting in there becomes a pincushion," a peppery voice said. The princess turned around to see a girl around her age leaning against a the wall. She had short blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders with wild looking bangs and a single braid on the left side. Her eyes were an odd mix of rosy pink and fiery orange, slowly shifting back and forth between the two colors as she watched the princess with a raised eyebrow. Her face was almost doll-like, too pretty and perfect to belong to a human, even with the thin silvery scar over her right eye. She wore a sleeveless black tunic of sorts made of thick wool-like fabric with a golden collar violet patterns on either side. The tunic ended just over her stomach, revealing porcelain pale skin that matched the woman's face, and was accompanied by a fine black vest that extended to her hips. Detached black sleeves adorned her arms, one further adorned by a gauntlet ending in wicked claws while the other ended in a fingerless glove. It was hard to call her black trousers trousers, the garment clung closely to her legs and barely reached the center of her thighs. A set of oddly armored thigh boots completed the outfit, the inwards portions were made of fine black leather while the outer sections were adorned with feather-like black armor with golden filigree.
"When did you get here," Lissa asked, immediately wary. She hadn't seen the girl during her approach or anyone else for that matter. The path through the corridor had been exactly as Lokke had described it and clear of potential foes. The multicolored gate and area after it were similarly empty, but not as much as the place beyond the second gate. The ornate white palace had been near devoid of life, but every room and corridor she passed through to reach the current one had the unsettling feeling of someone having been there an instant before she entered them. It was as if something had been living there just moments prior, then vanished into thin air. It was worse when she heard voices and footsteps in the rooms and hallways she's just passed through. That had been thoroughly creepy, but suddenly finding a person after she'd checked every other feasible location for one was jarring.
"Since the beginning," the oddly dressed woman remarked. "I'm surprised you didn't notice me."
Considering the contrast between her attire and the look of the surroundings, so was the princess.
"Who are you," she asked instead, trying to get a read on the woman before her.
"Me? You can call me Vajra."
A/N: First of three to four parts, excluding the aftermath. The next parts will be coming over the next few weeks and more context for the events leading up to the actual assassination attempt will be explained in those across different perspectives.
If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see things from other writers, consider visiting the Fanfiction Treehouse Discord Server (9XG3U7a). There are plenty of authors more talented than myself and you don't need to be a writer to join or anything like that. The community is also pretty active and comfy. Regardless of that, thank you for reading thus far and have a wonderful day or evening.