Chapter 10
The Battle of Whistler's Pass
It had been two days since his conversation with the princess, and once more Atris found himself at the edge of camp staring off into the distance. He looked over the earthworks that littered the soon to be battlefield, trenches and so forth meant to slow down the Risen or funnel them to specific points, anything to buy them enough time to hit them with everything they had. A great earthen platform had been erected for their heavier crossbows and worked just finished on a few field pieces meant to send swathes of stone penetrating into the enemy ranks.
These things hadn't been what preoccupied his mind though. They had been seeing a steady stream of reinforcements, be it from the regional fighters from the settlements or even more bull knights from nearby chapter houses, and they all came clutching that all too familiar despair and hopelessness. Still, whatever power shielded them from the outside continued to and soon these wayward souls geared for battle would find rest and what little relief their comrades could offer.
It was out there, whatever it was. What kind of creature by its very presence could usurp the feelings of people so readily and so easily? Regardless of what this thing was, or how it was capable of affecting them like it did, none of that mattered now. The only thing he could do now was fight and live beyond the upcoming battle. So buried in his thoughts was he, that Atris failed to notice Chrom's approach, the man's hand gave his elbow a slap to bring him back to the waking world.
"This is the second day you've come out here, something tells me you're not exactly out here admiring the trenches."
"Yea, you're right." Atris let out a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Something's out there, and I don't mean the Risen. Whatever it is far more... unnatural." Glancing over to Chrom, the prince's gaze staring out into the distance. The man's jaw clenched as if deliberating something before he finally relented and spoke.
"I've been having dreams since we left Bastion." Atris shifted his gaze from the horizon and focused solely on his friend. "Ever since we left, I would find myself trapped in a room made entirely of mirrors, yet I was not to be found in any of them. Every night I would find myself stuck in this room until I woke. That was until we reached Whistler's Pass. I found something else within the dream." Chrom suddenly went silent, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenched harder.
"What else was in the room?"
"I don't know... it was a creature of solid shadow the size of a large man. So far nothing has happened in the dream other than it's come closer with each passing day."
"I... I don't know what to say. I've had no such nightmares, just an intense feeling of dread and hopelessness. Even here I can still feel it, and I know you can too." The prince finally tore his gaze from the horizon and nodded to the tactician.
"Yea, I can. It almost reminds me of an old poem I read back in Ylisstol long ago. Before you ask, I've no intention of repeating it." A slight smile finally broke through the hardened face of the blue-haired man. "I don't remember the words properly, my erm bardic talents are hardly comparable to my bladework." Despite himself Atris let out a small chuckle and soon both men's posture relaxed slightly.
"I'll be honest, you always take things in stride. There are times when you just seem so... unbreakable. Like when I told you about the Risen back in that village." Chrom's eyes closed slightly and looked to the ground as if ashamed.
"If only I really was, I came close to breaking; it was the third night of the march the day before we found Nowi and Gregor. I don't know what it was, the dreams, the restlessness, the overwhelming sense of dread. Regardless, I came so close to just snapping..."
"Yet you didn't though." The prince's eyes opened and then focused on the tactician as the smile returned and slowly grew.
"No, I didn't because of something you told me. You told me back at the Longfort that bandits, Risen, the Feroxi, we've overcome them all. We can do the same here, and even if it's too much for just the two of us we got a lot of backup just in case." Chrom was now grinning at him.
Atris couldn't help but return his friend's grin, draping his arm around the man's neck he pulled him in playfully as Chrom caught off guard struggled to fight him off. The two almost got into a wrestling match right there on the future battlefield. It was only when they started drawing attention that they awkwardly declared a draw and went about their separate duties. Still, he found rest that night and perhaps even a small glimmer of peace in his sleep.
It was early when the camp got moving, their riders had returned many of their horses exhausted and some of them ridden to death just to escape the Risen. They reported that the opposing army would be on them before noon. The air felt thick after the news was delivered with more than just the expected tensions and anxieties to be found pre-battle. Something else lay in the air, and it made itself known with every breath one took.
The tactician was walking through the camp at a brisk pace trying his best to hide his panic from the others. The pegasus knights had delivered rather disturbing reports of movements to the west of them. The possibility of a two-pronged attack or even another battle so soon was the last thing they needed. He had briefly forgotten himself when he barged into the count's tent hoping the man was responsible for his latest bit of anxiety.
Count Sullivan looked back at him, the countess to his right and Sully to his left. They were knelt before a statuette about a foot tall of a beautiful, winged spear, its tip embedded within a cloud. Atris bit his lip fearing he had intruded on something when the count gave him a small smile and silently bid him to stay. Nodding back to the man who had returned to prayer, Atris attempted to make his presence as unintrusive as possible.
Five or so minutes passed before the three of them rose from their prayer. Sully was the first to turn back to him with what appeared to be a new sword on her hip. The cavalier's eyes no longer harbored conflict nor confusion but shined with clarity and certainty. As she walked to him, her form was tall and proud, yet completely relaxed at the same time. The woman stopped by his side briefly and smiled at him, wasn't long before Sully gave his shoulder a whack before she finally left, a soft chuckle trailing behind her.
There was no use even trying to hide the smile that came to his face as she gave her parting affections. Even if the battle of their lives was before them, seeing Sully having overcome the turmoil she faced. Well, it gave the tactician a brief respite before the fight. His eyes focused back on the count and countess as they shared a brief kiss before the woman left the tent giving him a confident nod.
"I'm sorry if I interrupted or intruded on something." The bull-lord simply shook his head and raised his hand as if to politely muffle their chuckle.
"Hardly, just praying to Saint Illyria." Count Sullivan's eyes looked toward the statuette, a small and unreadable glimmer in them. "It's more a formality than anything else but still, I remember some of the old traditions too fondly to end them. With that said, I know you're not here on the eve of battle to hear me reminisce. Go on Tactician Atris, I would hear the words you've brought to me."
"The pegasus knights have reported troop movements to the west, I'm hoping this is your doing."
"Yes, I've recalled my border forces to return to Bastion. I've no intention of losing today, but I've even less letting these pustules of putrefaction roam this land. Even if it means I lose my eyes over Plegia."
It took a moment before Atris finally saw it, the thing that initially bothered him about the man. Every Ylissian he had known held contempt, fear, anger, disgust some form of revulsion towards the Plegians, so much so that simply mentioning them caused it to come out. None of these were found within the man's speech, it both unsettled him and made him curious.
A disturbing thought came to him as he considered the count's seeming lack of hatred for Plegia. It had been that of Sully telling him she had no memories of her own parents, only ever remembering her brother raising her. Atris felt something growing in his throat when he considered just what that could mean. Sully had just turned nineteen last December and her brother, gods he couldn't be older than twenty-seven, twenty-eight?
"Are you okay, Tactician? If you have more come and say it, you've proven a good fellow so far."
"I'm... afraid it's a question of a personal nature." The count's brow arched as if entertained by the notion.
"Well now that is interesting. Go on though, I'm genuinely intrigued in what you wish to ask." Atris bit his lip and let out a shallow breath and steeled himself, he had to know why.
"Lord Sullivan, Sully told me you raised her, and your two younger brothers did... did your parents die in the war?" The count's initial amusement simply ceased to be. The man's posture wilted slightly as their eyes glanced downward to their feet. The man soon sat on the ground and shifted about as if trying to find a comfortable spot before he finally spoke again.
"Well... that is a rather personal question."
"I... know, and I'm sorry to ask you that, but you're the first Ylisian, I mean-." Atris was stumbling over his words knowing he had crossed the line. It was only when the man raised his hand with a speed that didn't match his demeanor that the tactician was silenced.
"This is about Plegia, isn't it?" Atris nodded as the count gestured for him to sit and shifted about once more. "Sully told me of your condition, must be unnerving to find yourself in all of this without context or comprehension."
"It's confusing at the very least. I don't know what to make of it, and it seems like no one wants to give me a straight answer." The man nodded to Atris in an almost absentminded manner before focusing his attention on the amnesiac his eyes glossed over.
"The war is much like a ghost; it haunts all of us in some form or another. Many people choose not to acknowledge it, fearful that they'll give it more power if they do. Funnily enough the reverse is also true, it roots deep within your heart and poisons it should you choose to ignore it. I nearly lost what remained of my family to learn that painful lesson."
"So, they were... I mean your parents...?"
"Yes, our parents were killed shortly before the war ended. The haldiom was left nearly in ruins at the close of the so called, 'Glorious March'. Open calls for revolution were springing up around the country, even in Gran many were openly questioning if my father had any right to lead the county or the order. The war with Plegia had brought us nothing but graves and left us a scarce few to dig them."
"Father had returned after years of being away, possibly to put a quick end to any possible rebellions. I can't even remember where we were going or why, only that I'm glad our brothers remained back in Bastion that day or they might have-. Our carriage and escort were waylaid by an insurgency group controlled by the Plegians. Amidst the bloody chaos I managed grab Sully and hide us away in a crevice along the hillside. I held my sister close so she wouldn't witness the things I did that day."
"D-did you ever tell Sully what happened that day?"
"No, I told neither her nor our brothers. It's not the kind of thing you can tell someone. The things that were done to our parents, it was cruel, and they languished in their death. There's no comfort or closure to be found, just pain and hate. There's enough of that as there is."
Atris looked at the man before him in disbelief. It just didn't make sense compared to everything he saw before. There still was no hatred, if anything the count seemed more sorrowful, ashamed? The man's emotions were hard to read. Still, why didn't he hate the Plegians if they had done something so heinous to his family, nearly killed him and his sister. The tactician just simply couldn't understand.
"Do you not bear any hate at all, Count Sullvian?" A hollow laugh rang out from the lord that unnerved him, it was such a horrid mimicry of something he had come to regard as an expression of warmth and affection. The man rose with a speed that startled him; the lord's eyes shining with a terrible madness.
"Of course, I bear hate! I bear enough to entomb myself within it...!" Atris flinched at the sudden expulsion of venomous words that seemed so unlike the man he had briefly come to know. The count's lips twitched agitatedly before he let out a sharp, whistling like breath and the man's posture wilted once more. "With that said, no, I don't hate the Plegians for what they did, I stopped doing so long ago and too late I fear."
I... I don't understand what you mean by that." The eyes of the lord were no longer glossed over, the man seemingly staring right through the tactician.
"You will soon, when the war begins anew. The Bulls were born from war, I was raised to understand what it's supposed to be, but this, this is something different. It's like there's a sickness in these lands, it turns people into feral beasts ruled by the most monstrous of desires and passions. With the dead now walking the land, I can't help but wonder if we're being punished for all that has been done."
Count Sullivan opened his mouth as if to continue but the man said no more. The silence that followed was dark and choking. It was too much for him and he wanted to break it but didn't know how. Thinking back on how the count had looked at the statuette he thought it the only option to end this ill muteness that had taken hold over them.
"You said that statuette is of Saint Illyria, would you tell me her story?" Atris finally said, shattering the silence. The man's form straightened itself slightly, that same glimmer appearing once more in the count's eyes alongside a small if peaceful smile. The tactician finally saw just what it was in the man's eyes, it was a glint of hope.
"When we meet on the morrow, good tactician. For now, I must prepare myself to see the end of this day. You should see my Lyra by the way; we've procured a gift for you. She should be retrieving it from Quartermaster Wyck as we speak."
Most of the Shepherd's gear was overseen directly by the bull knight's personal quartermaster, something most of the Shepherds were eager to take advantage of. With such a battle coming up they needed every advantage they could get, and being outfitted by the armorers of Bastion was a massive one. Some of the Shepherds eschewed this though, some like Lon'qu who preferred his agility and movement totally unhindered. Frederick meanwhile took a great deal of pride in his armor, claiming it had been forged personally by Master Smith Alrick of the great knights.
Atris and Miriel had been amongst the other Shepherds to decline the offer, there was a reason mages and arcanists forwent armor and donned simple robes or clothing into combat. Despite what many believed, armor itself didn't interfere with the casting abilities of magic users. It was the materials they were composed of that was the problem.
Brass, bronze, iron, steel, all common metals used for forging armor when worn in significant amounts hampered the ability to channel magic. While heavy cloth armors had been proposed in the past, the cost to make such a thing from the rare materials used in weaving mage robes was too great for what little protection was offered.
In the days long past during the time of Marth there was a special process to forge armor that not only didn't hamper one's ability to cast magic but protected the individual from it to a degree. However, such techniques were one of the many things lost during the Schism and Grima's rampage over the world. At least that was what he had initially believed until he saw it.
It lay there draped over a sturdy chest, at the quickest of glances it was a simple chain shirt. That was until one looked closer, the shirt was silver in color and glimmered in a multitude of colors in the sunlight. At the countess' gentle urgings, he took the mail into his hands; the metal may have looked like silver but felt nothing like it. There was a paradoxical warmth and coolness to the metal, like a warm embrace amongst a caressing breeze. This was nothing like he had ever heard of or seen.
Countess Lyra explained it was a recent creation of the Furnace, a special piece meant to be a recreation of the armors of old. Seeing the excitement building in the tactician's eyes the woman quickly clarified they had not rediscovered the technique, instead many of the shirt's unique properties came from the metal it had been forged from.
If his eyes were full of excitement before, now they were full of questions, his curiosity pleading for the answers. Before he could ask anything though, the woman raised a single finger to preemptively silence him, a warm and apperceptive smile lit up her face. Her request was simple, she simply asked that the tactician do everything in his power to see her foolhardy husband live to see the next day.
It was a request Atris had to turn down, while he didn't know who would live and who would die, those weren't the words he gave the woman. Atris told her that was already part of the plan to begin with. The countess folded her arms and looked at him for a bit before shaking her head, "You're a welcome thing in these times, Tactician Atris" were her words. Still, at least he managed to leave one of them in high spirits as he donned his new armor and marched to the fated field.
The Shepherds had taken their position, Atris stood next to Chrom as the prince gazed out into the distance. The air lay thicker than ever, the only sounds being the occasional snort or neigh of the army's steeds. The wind from behind them in the canyon picked up in pitch producing a sharp and painful whistle. The prince had chosen to wear a thickened cuirass of steel scale with mail underneath alongside a pair of plated gauntlets and a sturdy helm from which a curtain of chain flowed from.
As they both watched the horizon a man in full plate approached them and bowed cordially. The armor was largely plain except for the large brass head of a bellowing bull that proudly marked the chestpiece. They carried with them a round shield reinforced with gleaming steel and a familiar runed silver axe at their hip.
"Your Highness, I believe you should make a speech to the army." Chrom looked from Atris to the count bewildered at the request.
"I'm sorry, but isn't the army largely made of your people? Why would you have me speak to them?" A small sigh escaped from underneath the count's great helm.
"Despite the wishes of your sister, sooner or later the drums of war will come to Ylisse bearing the banners of a living foe instead of a dead one. These may be my people, but one day you might well end up leading them. Let them see you do such, your Highness." The count stepped back and returned to his position at the head of the center. It took a moment before Chrom marched to the head of the army.
"I am Prince Chrom of House Ylisse. I originally came to Gran for different matters, but when I heard that the Risen marched on your lands, I knew where I should be, and it was not in Ylisstol." Chrom looked at him, the color in his face draining slightly. Atris gave the man a reassuring nod. Steadying himself the prince nodded back and gripped Falchion's hilt tightly, his voice raised as he resumed speaking.
"I will not lie to you, the things we face today are not humans, they are fear in the shapes of people. But tell me people of Gran is facing down that which you fear not the mark of a hero!? When your lesser instincts tell you to run, you all still choose to stand and fight! Be it for your family, for your lands, for all you hold dear! Know that I stand beside each and every one of you heroes in destroying this foul fear!"
Chrom suddenly drew forth Falchion, the sunlight catching the blade in a way that seemed to make the blade appear to be glowing. Raising the sword high so that all could see the shining glory it projected, the prince's voice soon boomed across the battlefield so that all could hear his words.
"We do not fight alone either, we stand by resolute allies! The Knights of the Vine will shred the enemy apart with their sharpened thorns! Our guardians in the sky, the Rainbow Zephyr will strike down our dark foes from above! To the people of Gran, your ancestors have fought for hundreds of years to keep these lands, teaching an old lesson with each invasion they repelled! Today we shall teach even the dead this lesson as we run them back into the ground! We shall teach them to beware the bull!"
Falchion's glow radiated across the battlefield; its luminosity only matched by the intense roar of their army. The sounds of unified stamping and the clanging of shields to mimic a call to war. Chrom took his place back among the Shepherds, his face still drained of some color. Seems dramatic speeches weren't exactly the prince's forte. Thankfully he seemed to get that color back when he saw Atris' smile, the pride he had in his friend evident.
It wasn't long before it appeared as if summoned by the prince's speech, an obfuscating mist the color of midnight spawned along the horizon and vanished as quickly as it appeared. In its wake the abominable hordes of death were left in its place where they stood silent and unmoving. Atris clenched his fist as he observed the opposing army with a bit of confusion and curiosity.
Was this some attempt to parade their hideous parody of an army? The horses that made their cavalry started to position themselves, ruined husks of formerly majestic steeds, their bodies glistened in the light, slick with what appeared to be fluids of the dead. The rank and file of the dead wore tattered armor that reflected their own hideous visage. He had never seen the Risen look so corpse like before. Atris felt his breathing grow faster knowing what hid among them, but when and where would it show itself?
The two armies continued their stand-off. The silence broken up by the anxious mutterings of their own army and the sounds of rope being pulled taut. The dead maintained their soundless vigil over the living, like a legion of grisly gargoyles ready to descend upon them. Placing his hand upon his elthunder tome, Atris tried to keep his breathing under control.
The sounds of the rope finally gave way as their field pieces fired a swarm of projectiles that smashed into their enemy's front. Once the rain of stone ended, the Risen rushed forward like some dark tide to meet them. The sounds of a horn blared to signal their own cavalry a great unified bellow coming from the bull knights, the call for a great stampede to be brought forth. Bolts and arrows alike ripped through the air overhead as their infantry commenced their march forward to draw the Risen into their lines.
An elthunder spell charged within his palm as he heard various calls being shouted by their fellow soldiers, some for Chrom, some for Ylisse and Gran, others for the Great Bull. Their brief and valiant march was soon to end as they stared down the host of death charging them. Another volley loosed over them, the sound of whirling thuds from axes soon following. It was then Atris unleashed his spell destroying several Risen outright.
The tactician didn't know how to describe the sound that came next, a sound that drowned out every other noise he had ever heard. The deafening sound of thousands of bodies crashing into one another to signal the battles start. He was shaken from this battle-induced stupor by the sounds of Miriel's fire spells and the mighty strokes of Nowi's wings as she soared above and unleashed a ball of magical dragon fire upon the enemy only to be repaid in kind as enemy mages unleashed their spells upon the manakete.
Evading an incoming strike from one of the Risen, the same undead soldier soon found itself on the end of Chrom's sword as the prince cut it down. Calling out to his friend, they leapt out of the way as the bolts of power ripped forth piercing deep into the Risen's ranks destroying around half a dozen outright. Chrom parrying aside another strike slew another Risen as the chaos of battle had finally ignited in full.
Drawing his blade and rushing in, he parried a Risen's blade and ran it through where the heart lay. Kicking the corpse off his sword as it disintegrated, he noticed it an odd shine as if some amount of luster had been restored to the aging blade. Shaking the brief thought away he blocked a Risen's axe allowing Chrom to cut it down, the two men throwing up a wall of steel before them.
As the battle raged on Atris barely deflected a strike that cut jaggedly into his forehead, but still he managed to slay the creature. The warm red flowing down his face they were slowly being overwhelmed. Suddenly two streaming streaks of pink and red whipped through the air as they descended toward. Cordelia's glaive slashed apart several risen in a single glorious rush, while Sumia smashed her way through the Risen in a mighty charge, her lance outright destroying the corpse soldier Chrom dueled with.
The two pegasus knights once more readied to charge into the fray, they had given Atris enough time to conjure forth a wind spell that helped give them some breathing room. The tactician felt a soft and gentle caressing feeling as the wound above his forehead closed. Wiping the bulk of the blood from his face and leaving only a thin smear he called out a thanks to Lissa before once more charging in to fight alongside Chrom.
Just as before with each Risen that was felled by either the Shepherds or the army, a black miasma flowed forth. It wasn't long before the battlefield found itself slowly becoming ever wreathed in darkness. The remnants of the Risen flowed forth with such vastness that it had become like an ever-growing and malevolent shroud that threatened to blot out the sky and sought to strangle the sun. However, even as the light slowly began to die, they maintained an unwavering defiance in the face of their foe.
Atris could hear the bellowing of rage to his side, Count Sullivan's axe had become wreathed in fire giving light to the battlefield. The count and countess felled each of the dead that dared to challenge them, the two fighting like some storied couple of old. Atris' blade sliced deep into the flesh of another Risen outright cutting its arm off, Chrom followed up with a finishing strike on it, and the tactician covered the prince with a sidelong swipe that forced back an impeding attack.
They didn't know for how long they fought for, how long the screams of the dying were replaced by the roars of the courageous that charged forth to take their place. As the prince and the tactician repelled another assault upon them, a sudden gasp of pain came from the prince. A Risen had leapt through the erupting darkness of its kin and smashed its maul into the prince's side. Enraged, Atris unleashed a thunder spell with such force the creature was thrown into the air before it dissipated.
As the prince tried to stand recovering his breath, Atris saw something rushing them down. It was a ball of black energy that ripped through the Risen growing in size with each one it destroyed. Panicking, Atris conjured a fire spell and launched it at the ball only to see the dark orb warp and eventually devour the fire. With little else to do he shielded Chrom with his body and focused his power outward, hoping his resistance and his armor would protect them.
An explosion of dark energy erupted as both the living and the dead were thrown to the ground from the blast, except for Atris who bore the brunt of the attack and was launched into the air and thudded dully to the ground. He struggled to breathe as a languishing pain came over him that he couldn't rightly describe. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't catch his breath. It was like someone, or something was squeezing the air straight out of his lungs. Tilting his head down as he lay there, he saw them emerge from the dead host.
Two beings wrapped entirely in robes and some other material that obscured all but their eyes. Orbs ripped from the void itself from which only the barest specks of light seemed to claw through. A furious cry could be heard from above as Cordelia and Sumia descended once more, the red streak destroying one of the beings, while the blur of pink... missed? Atris blinked; Sumia should've run it through. What had happened?
The void-eyed conjurer having evaded the attack unleashed an elthunder spell, the bolts streaming towards the pegasus rider as one struck Lily, and the other struck Sumia. The woman's scream of panic and pain as she fell and only barely snatched onto the side of the saddle. Sumia desperately attempted to remount her steed as the pegasus maintained a controlled hover to give her that chance.
Trying and failing to get up, Atris saw a dark energy crackling within the creature's hand as it prepared to finish off both rider and pegasus. Falchion soon whistled through the air dismembering the creature's casting arm. With a weakened roar Chrom sought to deliver the final blow only for the void-eyed conjurer to once more seemingly flicker in and out evading the blow, an enraged Chrom attempting to strike down the creature once more.
Finally standing up as both the dead and the living slowly resumed their struggle to cast each other into the grave. Atris watched Chrom try to fight the creature, the prince's strikes slow and enfeebled from the previous attacks. The dark being conjured forth a dark barrier almost like the Risen's miasma that shielded it from Chrom's strikes, if he didn't do something his friend was likely to die. Atris reached into his coat and grasped his tome firmly a warmth flowing down his face from the reopened head wound.
As the spell charged within his hand, Chrom continued to batter at the creature's defenses. The tactician's breath hitched when a shadowed limb sprouted from the being's stump twisting itself around the prince's dominant arm and slithering up his body until it wrapped around his neck. The spell finally reaching its full charge, he watched as the thing fought to restrain his friend.
It was unimaginable how easy it came to him when he saw the dark being raise its claw-like hand to the prince's face. The pain and danger it put Sumia in, the way it threatened Chrom's life. Atris conjured something far more powerful than a simple elthunder spell, as panic and rage surged through him as he broke the energies under his will and formed the modified elthhunder spell from that day so long ago. He was going to utterly destroy this creature.
"Chrom!" His voice was hoarse, and the veins in his neck strained as he forced the words out. The prince looked at him and with a small gasp wrenched his arm back and flicked his wrist. Falchion flung free from the man's grip and twirled in the air cutting through the shadowed limb as Chrom fell away from the creature.
The void-eyed conjurer turned to him indifferent to its recent loss and let loose its spell, the same dark ball of energy as before. Light poured forth from his hand banishing the darkness as it utterly consumed the being's spell and soon the creature itself. With a crack that echoed the battlefield truest lightning had been released from his hand and rent apart the slowly roused ranks of the Risen.
Stumbling forth to Chrom he felt a new energy surge into him, the tactician was thankfully gaining his second wind. Helping the blue-haired prince to his feet, the man was noticeably also catching that same wind and thankfully so. The dying crack of his lightning was replaced by another noise, the deep bellow of a horn which signaled that the knights had destroyed the opposing cavalry and planned to charge soon.
At the sound of the horn a morbid grin spread across Chrom's face as he declared he had no intention of dying first. Despite himself he returned his friend's dark humor and prepared another casting of that modified elthunder spell. Something was off about the Risen though, they should've charged back into the fight. It was almost like they were dazed, could those two creatures have been the ones to command the horde? Something deep inside of him doubted it.
The spell ready and their opponents vulnerable, he locked eyes with the count who nodded, his axe burning brighter than ever. They both unleashed their trump cards against the army of the dead. Before he unleashed his ruinous bolt of lightning, Atris noticed the bull-lord slam their axe into the ground a trail of fire surging forth. As the light from his spell died out it was replaced by a great wellspring of fire that exploded forth from the earth, an overcharged elfire spell.
With a hole punched into their line their center rushed into the jaws of the Risen. The Shepherds, even as beaten and tired as they were, fell upon the dead like an unstoppable force. Kellam's spear had broken sometime during the fight and so he resorted to using solely his shield to smash and pulverize the enemy while Sully struck with a ferocity that broke the Risen upon her blade. The two were like the living embodiment of the anvil and the hammer.
Out of the corner of his eye as he and Chrom continued to fight out he saw Vaike and Lon'qu. The axman smashed apart the defenses of the corpse soldiers with a series of powerful strikes, the elusive Feroxi deftly dodging in between the man's blows cut down any Risen whose guard was broken. Gregor and Frederick were like cyclones of battle, their polearms whirled about slicing and hacking apart any foe that found itself in range.
Whirls of blurred colors swept down from the skies once more as Sumia and Cordelia broke through the ranks of the Risen slaying several each and disrupting their ability to fight back. Their charge had come just in time as it gave Stahl time to finish the two foes that threatened him and Miriel. Free to act without threat of retaliation, the mage unleashed a salvo fire spells that blasted through the Risen's ranks.
Despite their efforts the Risen counterattacked with a ferocity that only those devoid of any fear of death could possess. Throwing themselves unwavering at the center, the Shepherds fought valiantly but cracks started forming, injuries that had been recently healed by Lissa were soon reopened as the princess pushed herself to her limits to keep the Shepherds in the fight.
The skies had become a blanket of darkness, the sun consumed by the ever-flowing miasma from each Risen they slew. What rays that were strong enough to pierce the darkened veil poured forth to the earth in a wicked purple hue like some corrupted form of moonlight. This was all the light they had to guide themselves during their fight, the only other being the brief illuminations caused by Nowi wreathing the enemy in her dragon fire and the retaliation from any remaining enemy mages that lurked about.
In one of the brief instances where Nowi was struck with a spell and the manakete's distorted shriek of pain filled the sky, he saw it. There was something coming, some blackened mass like a storm cloud was rushing towards them. Blocking a Risen's strike, he hastily put the corpse back into the ground where it belonged. Panting he called back shouting as loud as he could.
"Something's in the sky, call back aerial units! Call back-!" It happened so fast, the sudden and concentrated force that smashed into his upper back. His senses seemed to fade in and out, he thought he heard screaming, perhaps the sound of a horn? Somewhere in his mind he hoped the horn was a call for retreat. Sound and sight simply ceased to make sense as his body crumpled to the ground.
His senses fired up instantly when his face hit the cold earth, a familiar set of mismatched boots were in his line of vision as the one wearing them cut down foe after foe. He felt his body dragged away and soon a pair of hands found themselves on his head alongside an insistent pleading for him to get back up as a gentle if weak energy filled him. Despite the energies that flowed within him to heal his body, it simply wouldn't rise no matter how much he wanted it to.
The tactician found himself flipped rather roughly onto his back. The faces of Chrom and Lissa staring down at him, the princess' eyes were completely unfocused and glossed over as if she was about to pass out from the constant strain of healing them. Meanwhile the prince's face was caked in filth, streaks of smeared blood across his lower face. Chrom shook his shoulders violently in an attempt to stir him.
"Atris, when I told you to pick a better place to die, I didn't mean here!" Anger filled the prince's voice as Lissa screamed out and Chrom instantly rose to briefly duel with another Risen before ultimately slaying it. "I need archers targeting the skies, something is coming!"
Even with his recent healing the tactician didn't know how he found the energy to stand, just as he didn't know if their ranged units could even hit the rushing mass that blended into the darkness around them. Readying a fire spell alongside Miriel both of them throttling the flames of the spell. It wasn't until the mysterious mass was nearly upon them that they could see just what they unleashed their spells upon.
A brief inferno lit up the sky as a swarm of what appeared to be hellish bat-like creatures descended from the sky at breakneck speeds. Their skin was a patchwork of unnatural and unnerving colors that was only matched by the frenzied braying and screeching the abominations emitted. Pushing down the fear in him, Atris drew his blade ready to strike every single one of them down.
The first to come he cut through completely bisecting it. The second came faster, but he cleaved it in two all the same. The third knocked him to the ground, where he could see the creature in all its gruesome nature. Its skin was a pale pinkish color that almost reminded him of a pig. The creature had no eyes, just two empty and fleshy pits within its skull, teeth that jutted forth more like tusks at broken angles. A thin membrane of skin acted as the creature's wings, and a set of tiny arms protruded from its chest ending with lethal looking claws.
The head lunged forward emitting a piercing screech, a thick and clinging drool seeped from its mouth. Gripping the monster by the throat as it lunged forth ceaselessly in its attempts to maul him, it was all he could do to hold it off. The sound of claws on metal as it attempted to disembowel him through his chain shirt. Struggling to force the creature back he simply couldn't fight the thing off.
Suddenly a familiar sword pierced through the creature's chest, the creature's cries were muffled by a series of sickening gags. His visage was blessed by a certain blue-haired prince who threw the creature off him as it flailed about uncontrollably. A milky fluid ran from the wound of the creature as it continued its death-throes. Utterly disgusted by the abomination before him, the tactician ended the creature with a thunder spell, its thrashing coming to a slow halt.
Atris was hoisted up to his feet by the prince as they started to say something, but his attention was solely focused on the creature they had just killed, something was wrong about it. It stood somewhere around three to four feet, its head rather oversized compared to its body. The limbs, the head, they almost seemed juvenile in size, in a way it reminded him of a-.
The tactician's eyes widened, and his breath quivered as the word ran through his mind. As he studied the creature a memory of Sully's report of the animal remains in the village followed the word. He soon found himself not staring at the creature, but a familiar looking bed, one which had a child's toys scattered about it. It wasn't until Chrom physically shook him that he was freed from the horrifying theory that gripped his mind.
"Look their retreating." Chrom pointed out how the Risen seemed to be engaged in a fighting withdrawal. The tactician looked at the creature at his side, they had been used as a distraction. It didn't make sense the Risen had never displayed any sense of self-preservation, why were they doing so now!? With his next breath he would soon understand why.
The air had been thick before, but now it had become almost suffocatingly so. Atris desperate to get air to his lungs, watched his friends and fellow soldiers struggle to breathe. They clawed at their throats and chests, desperate to rip their armor off and be offered some kind of reprieve. Stumbling forward, Atris fell to his knees, the sound of Chrom dropping to the ground soon followed.
Left and right soldiers fell around them to their knees, some collapsing hopelessly to the ground. A great weight and pressure fell upon the battlefield, it was like someone had dropped the ocean itself on them. Desperately as they tried the Shepherds couldn't fight off this debilitation as they soon joined their comrades and fell alongside them. Looking to the skies, even the pegasai were afflicted. Their panic-stricken neighs filling the skies as they appeared to be dragged down to the earth by the same invisible weight.
"Not... your... fault... forgive... me." Atris' breath hitched at the familiar voice. Looking at his friend beside him, the prince growled defiantly and struggled to a single knee using Falchion as a crutch. The words continued to repeat inside his head, the voice of the man beside him saying them
Suddenly a noise broke out amongst the ranks, it was so quiet he was surprised that he heard it at all. It was a pathetic and miserable sob that soon gave way to hundreds who joined in unison. Their army had become a great choir of wails and lamentation. So many voices cried out so many things, desperate calls for Naga, for the Saints to protect them, pleas to return the safety and warmth of their homes, others called out to the nameless dead and begged for their forgiveness. As Atris watched the army driven into a state of hysteria a terrible scream came from above.
The sound how come from Nowi, the manakete soared dangerously into the sky as she let loose another terrified scream and disappeared in a brief flash of light. Even in the darkness he could them, the falling forms of Nowi and Virion the latter screaming in panic. Gritting his teeth, he stood, the pressure only growing greater and the words in his mind intensifying as they painfully reverberated inside his skull. Staggering forth as the two continued to fall, Atris reached into his coat and conjured forth a wind spell to break their fall.
The tactician soon fell back to the ground as he watched in utter horror, the spell simply wasn't enough. Their fall had only been slowed briefly as the two soon resumed their plummet through the darkness racing to meet their untimely death below. Trembling, he once more reached into his coat only to feel nothing, his energy gone and time running out there was nothing he could do but watch his failure come to fruition.
A third figure rushed forth with such speed it took a moment for him to comprehend if it had truly existed or not. The faintest of light to piece the darkened veil above showed a glint of pink...Sumia. She had snatched the two from death at the last minute. Yet, they did not escape unscathed whatever resistance both rider and steed had mustered was disappearing quickly.
In a last attempt to protect her rider, as Lily continued to descend dangerously to the ground, the pegasus threw off her rider and the two she had saved. Two forms fell from the steed as they rolled along the ground in an attempt to break their fall. As Sumia tumbled across the ground clutching what appeared to be Nowi, the woman screamed the pegasus's name.
With her rider gone and the last of the pegasus' resistance stripped from it, Lily violently crashed to the ground. He could hear Sumia weakly call out to her steed only to receive nothing as her answer. The woman finally started to sob loudly as she once more called out to the creature with everything she had. Finally, she received her answer in the form of a weak and pitiful neigh.
"Not... your... fault... forgive... me." Again, the words rang inside his skull and with such intensity and frequency he thought he'd go insane.
Struggling to a single knee, Atris saw Virion crawl from his crash and uttered the name "Bernard" a desperate pleading for forgiveness followed the name. The archer whimpered the words, "I should've told them", and then bashed his head into the ground as if the pain would grant him some form of penance.
Even as the words of the ghost in his head continued to batter and hammer about inside his skull, he heard a pleading coming from Lon'qu. The Feroxi's words were an anguished terror that stood starkly to their usual stoic demeanor, "Don't... make me witness it again!". Stumbling to both of his feet and standing he saw the lowly state their army had been reduced to, a catatonic mess of whimpers and lowly sobs.
"B-brother... help... please..." It was Sully's voice, a strained whimper as the cavalier clawed her way to the count. "I... I can hear them... our parents. Is this what you saw? I don't want to see anymore... make it stop. Gods, make it stop!" The cavalier finally screamed out before collapsing unconsciously to the ground.
Count Sullivan was on his knees hunched over the sobbing form of the countess, his great helm since discarded to reveal a face that was bloodied and bruised. After hearing Sully's calls, the man seemingly whispered something to his wife before fighting to his feet and slowly limping over to the cavalier only to fall back to his knees once he made it to her. The man's hands flipped his sister onto her back and attempted to stir the woman from her unconsciousness state.
"Sister, look at me... please wake up. Whatever you're seeing isn't real, please Sully, open your eyes! You can fight this, don't let this charlatan's trick overcome you! Please... wake up Sully..." Count Sullivan pleaded as he continued to wrest the red-haired knight back to the waking world. The man held his sister's head close to his breastplate as he continued to plead for her to wake.
As the count continued to focus on his sister, Atris looked over to Chrom who had finally gotten to both of his feet and stood albeit shakingly. The prince weakly called his name as the tactician turned and saw that the Risen stood silent and still, utterly indifferent to them. Why had they not taken advantage of the situation? They were utterly at their mercy. Slowly the sea of the dead before him parted, a lone and familiar figure marching forth from the host.
The Figure was dressed in what had been once marvelous armor marred by splotches of blackened blood and the ruination of time. The shredded remains of a grey cape flowed lightly behind it and billowed opposite the wind. It bore a great and malformed helm upon its head; jagged edges aligned the helm as if to mock a crown. The right hand wielded a massive two-handed sword that must've radiated majesty at a time but had been warped into a device of cruelty and malice designed to draw out its victims scream as it took their life.
Atris' eyes focused intently on the Figure, the ghost who had been speaking within his head slowly returned to their grave. This thing, this monster before them, he had seen it before. This was the very same creature that the Silhouette had created in his dream. Atris called for the count who looked up at the Figure and uttered a deep growl as they fought to stand up.
The Figure made a sweeping gesture towards the army that ended with it crushing its fist, as if to take credit for wails and lowly cries it had been reduced to. It then placed a palm to where its heart should lie and held up three fingers. Slowly, it pointed first at Chrom, then to Count Sullivan and finally to Atris, lowering a finger with each person it selected. Soon another void-eyed conjurer stepped forth from the Risen as the Figure glanced at it.
The two stood there the Figure glancing occasionally at the conjurer that had stepped forward, the thing seeming to almost bristle with what seemed like agitation. Were the two having some kind of silent conversation? Instantly the Figure thrust its hand as it gripped conjurer's face. The void-eyed creature briefly struggled within its aggressor's grip before the Figure crushed its head as the all too familiar black mist seeped from its hand.
Dropping the dissipating body of its former ally to the ground, the Figure gestured for one of the Risen to search the robes that had been left behind. The corpse soldier produced a wooden box and presented it to the being. With another gesture from its leader the Risen threw the box into their direction, as a strange and almost incomprehensible noise emitted from the Figure and flooded the battlefield. The noise was the essence of agony, pain rendered into words and Atris understood them. Soon after the armored demon buried its blade into the earth and waited.
Turning his gaze over to the box, Atris staggered to it and opened it. Three vials of a translucent liquid which emitted an ethereal glow and pulsed with an incredible magic. Whatever dwelt within these vials contained powerful healing magic. Taking the vials, he threw each of them to his fellow allies and weakly stood.
"It says it wants a true fight; I'm guessing these are meant to heal us," Atris said holding the final bottle within his hands.
"A... true fight?" Count Sullivan's face was a mix of fury and bewilderment. Ripping the seal off with his teeth the bull-lord drank from the vial and threw it to the ground. "I'll give this damnable thing a true death!"
"A high and mighty Risen, huh...? I'm going to enjoy sending you crashing to the ground!" Chrom declared and drank from his vial. He could hear the prince grit their teeth, as they bore a look of grim determination.
Atris looked at the last bottle and bit his lip. He ripped the seal off of it and drank deep from it. He felt his wounds recover and even the reserves of his magic flourish again. It was unlike any form of healing he had ever experienced. There was no soreness, no stiffness, it was as if he hadn't even been fighting a battle. Joining the others, he had no threats or declarations for the creature before them, just the immense desire to see this thing pay for all the pain it had brought to his friends and his comrades.
The three stood there in silence, their breath and the occasional bout of broken weeping being the only things daring to break it. Soon enough the sound of their feet slamming into the ground shattered it entirely as they rushed the Figure down. As they came close to their confrontation, the Figure ripped its sword from the ground and bound forward like shadowed lightning, smashing full body into Chrom and sending him reeling back.
Next its blade jutted out to the left battering away the count's coming blow, the momentum carrying the armored demon as it spun and soon brought its sword down upon the tactician's. There was an instant ache in his arms from the incredible force exerted in the strike. The two binding their blades as Atris struggled for control. Quickly however, he found his sword forcibly led and his body repositioned as the monster knocked him into the path of the charging count.
That brief moment of chaos between the two had been all the advantage it needed. As the tactician refocused on their foe, the Figure was already mid-air, a dark malevolent bird of prey descending upon them. Count Sullivan shoved him away from the attack and raised his shield unable to escape the blow. As Atris hit the ground, he heard the cracking of wood and the rending of metal. The bull-lord was flung backward from the impact, his feet leaving trails in the ground, the count falling to his knees with a groan of pain escaping from him.
Gritting his teeth, Atris leapt to his feet and lunged toward the knelt Figure, Chrom soon meeting him as the two delivered blow upon blow on the monster. Yet, even in its disadvantageous position it deflected every single attempt. Catching both their blades, the monstrosity sprung up its crossguard smashing into the prince's jaw driving him back. Infuriated, the tactician dodged the upcoming retaliatory slash and sought to deliver his own blow.
The strike was blocked by the flat of the armored demon's sword and his next attack never came as it abruptly seized his wrist. A paralyzing pain shot through his body as the Figure's pommel slammed into his kidney. Before he could recover there was cold metal against him, the monstrosity's fist smashed into his face with such force it lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground. Blood pooling in his mouth, Atris reached out looking for his sword as the Figure soon resumed its duel with the prince.
Chrom battled the abomination with all his ferocity, throwing everything he had at it. Still, it wasn't enough the prince was continuously pushed, constantly forced onto the backfoot and struggling to survive each blow that came after the next. Suddenly a shield came from the darkness and smashed into the Figure's hand denying its next strike. Taking advantage of this brief window, Chrom brought Falchion down and finally struck the Figure as it slightly reeled back before launching forward to continue its assault from before.
Propping himself to one knee and spitting the blood out, Atris reached into his coat and channeled a thunder spell. Waiting for the right moment he cast it as both Chrom and Count Sullivan leapt out of the way of a vicious horizontal slash. The tactician's breath trembled, there was no way he had missed. Trying to resist the ever-growing dread in him, he channeled the spell once more and unleashed it. Still, it had been the same as the first time he had cast it, the Figure hadn't even given the spell a second thought.
The two warriors continued their desperate clash against their insurmountable foe, every blow the prince and the bull-lord could land battered away and deflected and brought back on them twice over. Finally finding his blade, Atris sprinted forward charging an elthunder spell, a massive overhead strike fell upon Count Sullivan's shield, the sounds of splintering wood and crumbling steel accompanying it as shield and armor alike was rent asunder. A scream of pain came from the man as blood slowly seeped from the broken gaps of armor that had once protected his shoulder.
Parrying aside the prince's next blow, the Figure turned onto him just as he unleashed his spell. Six bolts of energy tore through the air, each striking the monstrosity as it seemed to stagger if only slightly. Still, it wasn't enough as both he and Chrom were forced to retreat from a brutal countering slash, the air whipping against them from the sheer force of the attack. The prince recovering first charged back into the fray clashing unrelentingly, the tactician rushing to join him.
As the prince and the armored demon engaged in a bind, Chrom managed to force their blades down and stepped into their guard, smashing their elbow and then the back of their gauntlet into the monstrosity's helm. Completely unmoved by the attack, the Figure retaliated and drove its fist into the prince knocking them right off their feet as he let out a series of small desperate gasps and clutched at his chest. Atris brought his blade to bear, clashing again and again with the Figure, the pain in his arms from each strike growing.
Blocking another slash, he struggled to fend off the abomination. Leaping to the side and evading an attack, the tactician unleashed a wind spell that launched him away from the creature. Hopefully it would earn him some room to breathe and lure the thing away from Chrom. Grasping his tome, the only thing he could think to do was keep dancing around the thing until he could ready a modified elthunder spell and pray that would be enough.
It took a moment to truly realize how futile the attempt would be. Almost before he could even comprehend it the armored demon was upon him. Atris' eyes widened as a forearm clad in demonic metal came rushing towards him, how could it have moved so fast? The Figure's forearm viciously smashed into his chest and drove him straight to the ground.
Fighting through the pain, Atris scrambled to get up when a foot crashed down upon him forcing an agonized howl to escape from his lips. The Figure loomed over him as it watched his scream soon die and replaced by staggered and pained grunts and soon turned its attention towards the still prone Chrom who still clutched his chest, his breath only just starting to come back to him.
The Figure turned abruptly and brought up its weapon as a great blazing axe fell upon the flat of the blade. Two eyes that glowed like smoldering embers pierced through the darkness. Count Sullivan smashed the ruined remnants of his shield into the helm of the Figure staggering it backward and tearing the sword from its grasp. With a bellow of utter rage and defiance in the face of their foe an axe wreathed in a warped crimson fire plummeted into the breastplate of the armored demon.
It fell to a single knee, the ground splitting and cracking underneath the armored demon as it fell. For the first time it seemed they had actually managed to damage the creature. The bull-lord tore his axe from the abomination's breastplate and raised it high, as the count brought the axe down to deliver the final blow he screamed a battle cry, the names Sully, Lyra and finally someone named Rina were shouted out into the darkness as the axe came down burning like a vengeful sun.
It was for naught. The Figure's hand shot up at the last moment and caught the man's wrist. Slowly as if the initial strike had done nothing, the Figure rose as a new sound soon drifted onto the battlefield, the sound of plate and bone alike being crushed. Pain seeped in with the count's rage, but still the man refused to give up the fire that wreathed his axe twisting about as it danced wildly and hungrily. The Figure rose a balled fist that trembled in the twisting lights of the fire and smashed it right into the center of the count's breastplate.
The brass ornamentation of the bull shattered, the pieces scattering around the two. A red mist of blood and spit spewed from the count's mouth as Atris saw the man's breastplate cave in from the blow. Trying to find whatever strength lay within him, Atris desperately tried to get up as he heard a choking growl come from the still defiant bull-lord. The blows continued to rain upon the man until their growls were eventually snuffed out, and a cruel silence left in their place.
Atris soon found himself standing as Chrom helped him to his feet. The Figure finally let go of the count's wrist as it still hung rigid in the air, gripping the flaming axe as if still ready to strike down their foe. The prince and the tactician looked upon the count, even now he still stood a collapsing monument of resistance in the face of their enemy. The Figure sent the man crumbling to the ground with a strike to the right side of their face and slowly turned to them as it retrieved its blade.
As Atris watched the man fall, he felt his teeth involuntary grinding. He didn't know what to feel as he and Chrom charged forth. Once more the Figure waited for them, sword planted within the ground just as it had been at the start of their fight. Their blades clashed carrying a violent grief that was vented upon their foe, the body of their fallen ally in plain view.
There was grief, but little of anything else. Atris didn't understand it, he simply felt an overwhelming emptiness. Why couldn't he feel anything, had he simply given up, was Count Sullivan's last actions utterly meaningless? As the clash continued against the Figure, his mind continued to become more poisoned and unknown to him. The thoughts and feelings that violently whipped about him had distracted him and cost him.
He should've died, the monstrosity was upon him, and it was too late to escape. However, he felt himself shoved out of the way, Chrom having launched himself into the tactician to knock him out of the way. The blade caught the prince; their cuirass ripped apart by the blow as hundreds of scales fell to the ground. What should have been the small and quiet clinging of metal hitting the ground was deafening and drowned out all else around him until silence once more resumed its heartless dominance.
Chrom's body fell lifelessly to the cold earth. Atris stared at the prince's still form, his sight left him, his hearing failed him, all his senses seemed to vanish just as his friend's life had. Nothing seemed real and yet this was his reality. The moment was replayed again and again, an innumerable number of times, all of it accompanied by the ghostly words that rang inside of his skull from earlier. It was all too much, something deep inside of him exploded forth.
Bringing his sword parallel to his face he screamed at the monstrosity before him as his senses surged back. Despite the tears that flowed his sight had never been clearer than what it was now, his once age-worn sword restored to a thing of majesty. The golden half of the blade reflected the twisted hues of light that pierced the veil of darkness above into rays of gold and fiery strength reminiscent of their lost sun. Meanwhile the silver half cast something that shimmered and twinkled, a soft gentleness that reminded him of a loving if pale starlight.
Charging forward he opened with a thrust, and effortlessly evaded the retaliating slash only to charge back and fiercely launch a counterattack of his own. Atris continued to dodge his opponent's attacks with an almost acrobatic flair, his body moving in ways he didn't think it could. Each attack he made a swift and vicious riposte fueled by the great wellspring of emotions that flooded him and poured out in each strike.
As their duel continued, Atris came to realize something. The way he moved, his attacks, even the technique was not his own, it was like a stranger was fighting in his place. The trance like state he fought in was so surreal, almost dreamlike. Whatever questions or curiosities he had about his current state didn't matter. Be with his own skill or this odd trance that had come over him, he would grind the Figure into dust beneath his boots.
Leaping backward and parrying away a slash, he lunged forward baiting the Figure into its next strike. Atris dived and rolled underneath the blade as he drove his own through the back of the Figure's leg. The sword pierced through that damnable black devil armor and soon the Figure fell to a single knee, a distorted noise of what might've been pain came from it. In his great flurry of emotions he conjured forth a tomeless fire spell that blanketed the area in smoke.
Making his way out of the smoke, he began charging his first modified elthunder spell in one hand. The magic bent easily to his will with the first charge complete the spell was transferred to his other hand as he readied a second. There should've been pain as he attempted to contain the great energies he channeled, and yet he felt nothing. So consumed was he by a single desire, all he wanted was to destroy this damn thing! He wanted to wipe it from the face of the earth and erase any trace of its existence!
"Just come out, you bastard!" He shrieked, as his voice broke pitch and his tears continued to flow freely. With the second spell finally complete the energies attempted to wrest themselves from his control and began to lash out wildly. As if to rebel against his will, several arcs of energy struck his chest, the chain shirt reflecting the energy to the ground around him where it scorched the earth.
His wish was granted, The Figure leapt through the smoke clearing it entirely as it descended upon him poised to strike. Screaming, Atris unleashed both of the spells from his hands at point blank range. The combined blast from his hand threw up a great storm of debris around them that shot up into the sky. His body was blasted back from the recoil of the spell as he desperately dug his heels into the earth to maintain his balance. Eventually Atris lost his balance and tumbled to the ground below, his body battering against the ground until it came to a stop.
Through the great cloud of dust and debris flecks of true sunlight hit his face, a prolonged and hacking cough came from the tactician. All he heard was silence even from himself, with the exception of a small and distant ringing that only grew until his head became filled with its painful screech. Mercifully the ringing soon ceased as the tactician propped himself up on his elbow only for the pain to send him back to the ground.
Struggling to his knees in front of the obscuring cloud he had created. Atris lifted his arms, the pain surging forth fully and freely. Staring at his arms as they shook uncontrollably, it felt like they had been wreathed in liquid fire that yet clung to him and continued to burn ever so hotly. He couldn't feel or move his fingers, and his gloves had been burned away leaving only ashes and embers that continued to cling painfully to his hands.
Despite it all he rose to his feet and looked around the battlefield, their army remained within the lowly state that had been forced upon them. Shifting his gaze, the Risen stood motionless, waiting for some order that would never come to run him down. At one time he might've cared, but that time had long passed when his eyes set upon the still lying figures of Chrom and Count Sullivan.
The tears had stopped some time ago, all he could do now was utter a pitiful sniffle at the sight. The voice of a ghost, the voice of his friend once more spoke to him. Chrom... how could this not be his fault? What could've possibly possessed his friend to think they needed to beg him for forgiveness? If there was anyone who should've begged for forgiveness it should've been-.
His breath left him, a single armored arm jutted forth from the cloud, its hand tightening around his neck. His body was lifted and slammed into the ground, a quiet and choking cry of pain escaping his lips. The Figure loomed over him utterly untouched and pristine in all its horror. Once more his body was lifted and brought crashing to the ground, the impact forcing him to cough up blood that warmth of it soon splashing across his face.
The vice-like grip of Figure left him as the tactician attempted to make sense of the situation. A great and crushing pain flared up in his gut, the monstrosity planting its foot directly into his stomach with such force his body was lifted from the ground and kicked away. The pain was so great he nearly blacked out from the single strike. Disorientated and fighting to his hands and knees, Atris threw up a foul-tasting yellow bile that burned his throat and soon collapsed back to the ground.
His breathing was labored and weak as he watched The Figure drag its blade from the dust cloud and approach him. In his last act of rebellion, he spat on the thing's sabaton. Its response was merely to stare at him as if it was observing him. It then quickly raised its blade and the tactician awaited the strike that would ultimately end his life.
Yet, the blow never came. Instead, a great metallic sound rang forth and his heart leapt out of him. Chrom stood before him, his armor completely in tatters, his right arm streaked with blood. The two were properly deadlocked, the Figure's arms seemed to be shaking as it battled the prince for control. It was struggling, the abomination was actually struggling against Chrom and... Atris almost swore he could see some sort of illumination coming from the prince.
"Get. Away. From him!" Chrom strained to shout out as he battered aside his foes' blade and drove them back. Atris had thought it a mere trick of the mind before, but with Figure forced back he could see it plainly. Falchion was glowing a most brilliant blue, a beautiful memorial of their lost sky.
The two charged each other and clashed, the inhuman and nightmarish strength that had been displayed by the Figure once more faltered at the prince's blows. Even still, the skill of the thing was beyond anything they had seen and now was only matched by the sheer stubbornness and unyielding nature that the blue-haired swordsman now mustered to face his foe.
The prince's next strike came almost as a shock to both him and his opponent. The Figure's sword deflected away and in one clean and swift movement, Falchion came down and struck the creature. As Falchion buried itself deeper into the creature its luminosity only grew more intense as soon enough the Figure was blown back by the strike. The armored demon stabbed its sword within the earth to halt its forced flight and for the third time it fell to a single knee.
"Never... again. Never again will you hurt him!" The prince shouted out amidst his labored panting. The Figure rose to its feet and looked upon the man, its body shook almost as if to intimate a mocking laughter at the declaration.
Growling, the prince sprinted forward as their foe awaited him. As the two brought their weapons upon the other, it happened. Falchion struck the Figure's blade as the wicked instrument of malice was sundered by the strike and shattered into an innumerable number of pieces. With this latest advantage Chrom drove Falchion straight into the chest of the monstrosity as it pierced completely though the creature.
Smoke and an almost oily like ichor soon leaked from the wound. The Figure looked on at the prince and for the first time seemed to display genuine fear at what had been done to it. Still, even if the blow itself proved fatal, the demon would not simply allow itself to die without retribution. Suddenly and near instantaneously the creature smashed its fist into Chrom's face sending the man crashing to the ground.
The monster staggered about disoriented as an ever-increasing amount of smoke and liquid corruption flowed from its wound. Atris had fought his way back onto one knee, while Chrom struggled valiantly to get back up. Falchion's glow did not dim even as it remained plunged within the darkened creature, if anything its light continued to shine ever brighter. The tactician was reminded of that night in the forest, yet he had so little energy left.
Looking to Chrom, the Shepherds, the entirety of the army. Atris gritted his teeth and began channeling the last bits of his energy into another modified elthunder. As the spell charged it felt like a part of him was slowly ebbing away. His breathing became weaker, the beat of his heart slowed, slowly his body was failing him. A part of him wondered what would happen with this last spell, would his weakened body simply combust from the energies, or would he simply collapse into an eternal sleep? It didn't matter, he had to do this.
With one last attack he flung the spell not at The Figure, but at Falchion itself. The spell struck the sword as the two fused together into a blade of raging and chaotic energies, it almost looked like a lightning bolt had been run through the abomination. Despite the initial acceptance of his spell, Falchion soon began to react violently as the destructive arcane energies desperately sought to escape.
The Figure suddenly gripped the blade, the fear in it building as its arms trembled from its attempts to free itself. Light began to surge from it, first from the gaps and crevices in its armor and then soon enough its entire body was engulfed within a great and radiant pillar of light. A terrible noise emitted from the mighty pillar of light. The sound was a horrifying mixture that blended something both human and inhuman into something utterly alien. It was like listening to a scream from another world.
Suddenly several massive appendages of flesh shot out from the pillar and whipped about. What happened after he didn't see, as the pillar soon began to swell and waver unstably until it burst forward in an explosion of brilliant and blinding light. Even as Atris squeezed his eyes shut and threw up his hands to shield himself from it the light poured in painfully blinding him and shocking his senses until nothing made sense.
How long he remained stuck battling the penetrating and painful light he didn't know. It wasn't until he heard a faint muffled sound that he dared crack his eyes open to see around him. There was a soft warmth on his face, the shroud of darkness that hung above them had been torn in twain and quickly began to flee the sunlight. Looking over to Chrom, he saw his friend slowly starting to open their eyes as well.
The muffled sound once more made itself known. Shifting his head as far as it would go, he saw the noise was coming from the army. It wasn't the sounds of crying, pleading or lamentation. No, the sounds were more of weariness, disorientation, and confusion, like they had been woken from a terrible nightmare.
"Atris..." Chrom called out to him weakly as the tactician shifted his focus. Vast swathes of the Risen had been destroyed, those that remained writhed and seized upon the ground. Eventually though he saw why Chrom had been calling for him.
"You've got... to be... kidding me." Atris' breathing grew weaker upon seeing the knelt form of the Figure. The smoke and corruption that once flowed from its wound now merely oozed. Soon, it came to a stop altogether as it rose and gripped Falchion tightly.
"Damn it... just die already!" Chrom tried to rise only to fall to his knees. There was nothing left in either of them.
Atris bit his lip with whatever strength he could as he watched the thing pull Falchion from its chest. Immediately it sheathed the sword within the earth and looked over Chrom, who even in his state stared back rebellious, his eyes challenging the creature. A loud crack sounded across the battlefield, almost like the sound of snapping metal. Chrom's eyes widened, and the color drained from his face at whatever he saw.
Another crack sounded out as a part of the Figure's body broke off and fell to the ground where it slowly evaporated into the air. Eventually this was to be the fate of the creature as it slowly crumbled and melted away. Atris fell to the ground, as slowly he lost sense of the world around him. Whatever energy or strength he could muster was no more, soon there would only be the darkness that would engulf him.
In his last moments of consciousness, he saw the Risen rise as they rushed forward to swarm them. There had also been screaming, but he didn't know what the words were or who was saying them. There was also the sensation he was being dragged, but that could've just been a trick of his mind as it rapidly faded away. It wasn't long before there were no more thoughts or feelings to be had, only the darkness of the void and the nothingness that had been brought alongside it.
Author's Note.
So concludes the Battle of Whistler's Pass, at least from Atris' perspective. I really enjoyed writing this chapter for a number of reasons and I honestly think it's up there with Sumia's Interlude and Chapter 2 in terms of quality. Then again I might be wrong, still something about this chapter really does tickle a particular part of my brain. Needless to say I welcome what anyone else has to say be it a long detailed essay on what's wrong or even just a simple nice chapter.
With all that said I'll be gone for a time, the holidays are coming up which means my work and personal life is going to be swamped x.x. I should be back sometime mid January with Sully's interlude and hopefully more. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this latest chapter and I wish everyone a Happy Holiday and if you don't celebrate one, well just have a damn fine week! I'll see you all again soon!