A/R:

Jajo Camello: Well, thank you very much my man! That means a lot to hear that from people more and more these days! What is it about my story that stands out in your opinion?

Annoying POW marine: As for as Grom goes ask and you shall receive. I heard from other reviewers including you about how they wanted to see him in this story, and guess what? He appears in this chapter? And I actually had a lot off un fleshing him out! I had so much fun I'm tempted to expand further upon his impact in the story. Or maybe that's just because it's a fun challenge to write in the broken English cockney accents of the greenskins.

Also you can guarantee there's gonna be a war of words between Louen and Lyle. They both have their interpretations of honor, but the sticking point of course will be how they execute said honor. Thanks for the words on the chapter, and I hope I can continue to impress for

Destroyer78901: Yeah I've been holding off Karl Franz's insertion along with the Empire for a good while because I didn't want to oversaturate the story with too many plot points. But I guarantee that after the coming battle, they're going to have their say.

Zerkil: Oh yeah. A lot of things coming to ahead and I can't wait. I'm sure you can tell with how quick chapters are coming out.

And yeah I'm hear you with the reviews and whatnot. I have the opposite problem, I can't see the reviews on my gmail, and I have to look at them by looking at my story as if I were a guest viewer. Even more annoying is that I can't see the current influx of views I should be getting, which is mildly inconvenient since this happens from time to time. Oh and don't mention it about the story! I'm more than willing to lend some eyes on a fellow writer if they want some!

As for your last question it would depend on the human. If they were to spend an inordinate amount of time with those beastmen their corruption to become beastmen would be guaranteed. The only way this would be prevented is if the God that brought them to the Old-World prevented their corruption. It's all about circumstances and the individual.

dadg12346: I understand the fear my man. I've seen it happen to many such authors myself, but I promise you, I'll finish this story before it gets to that. You guys sending in these reviews and showing your appreciation has helped me get this far and I'll see it through to the end. Plus I need this experience so I can write my own book better.

Also that tidbit about the Winds of magic is quite on point considering what happens at the end of this chapter.

Iforgotmyname: LOL, you're pretty dead on the money my friend!

Haldir639: Heh, that tercio formation is actually a great idea. I'm kicking myself for not realizing it sooner, so thanks for that! And trust me I understand you're concern about the lack of Mogiana, but she'll be showing up a bit more frequently after this chapter, especially since she's bringing Repanse to Bretonnia itself

Also thanks for the insight and the review! I'm glad that I can entertain people with my story about Warhammer! And I appreciate you sticking through despite the errors I make. It's my first fic and I'm still learning, but I love the criticism all the same so I can be a better writer, so thanks for that!

…

When High Priestess Valentine heard that Ave had returned to the temple, she released a large sigh of relief. Though she and many within her temple knew there were dangers to helping the Band of Brigands, she knew that their cause was just and that they could not, in could mind, turn away their wounded when they assisted the common folk so hawkishly. Valentine herself had a soft spot for the band, not because she had strong leanings toward the Brigands, but because she'd known Ave since she was just a toddler. A little girl who had lost her parents and wandered toward her chapel after a terrible goblin raid assailed her village. Ever since then, she'd seen and personally watched as the red-haired, buck-toothed, lively, green-eyed girl became the warrior she felt she needed to be, even though Valentine herself thought it would be safer to become one of her new priestesses in this chapel.

Though the girl would not have it, she stubbornly set on helping her village against all threats she could manage. And truthfully, Valentine could hardly blame her. These were hard times they were all living through, and even now, she couldn't recall a time in her forty-six years on this earth being this…volatile.

Undead, beastmen, goblins, and norscans in the north. Rumors from traders and pilgrims swirled abound and maid many women in her temple chatter with unease. Valentine did her best to keep such chatter away from the orphans they tended or wounded and sick they healed, but it was growing harder to ignore when the injured and the orphans began to increase past the capacity they could handle.

Truthfully, having Ave here would be a breath of fresh air to the High priestess. Though it had been quite some time since she had seen the girl she'd seen grow into a woman, it would help to hear from her personally of the dangers that came toward her temple to see what could be done to weather them.

It was why, when she saw how pale that girl had become and how dull and lifeless her eyes now seemed, the Old World indeed appeared to have no justice.

Many of the priestesses were huddled behind her, fearful and horrified, yet unable to look away from the undead standing inside their temple, just before the door, with a remorseful look on its face.

"...Ave?"

The peasant girl winced as if trying and failing to marshall her emotions. Her pale skin almost seemed unnatural as her face processed the emotions going through her. "Hello…Mother Valentine."

"That…that is you…you…you are Ave, are you not?" The signs of undeath were clear, yet she hadn't heard of undead being able to mimic a person so well without acting like a mindless flesh-hungry zombie. "Ave are yo-

"You were always there for me n' the rest of the Brigands when we needed your help most. Like any good Shallyan, you never turned us away."

Though she heard gasps and stray hands trying to grab her clothes to pull her back, Valentine couldn't help but move forward. At first, she felt fear, as if it were a trap. After all, she'd heard of how the Barrow Legion had cemented control over Bastonne and other areas of Bretonnia…

…but she'd heard from peasants who had been spared or treated justly by their leader, Lyle Spoletta, who had come here to either make donations or seek treatment for their wounds. She would have scarcely believed such rumors had she not heard so many others say the same thing. That this Lichemaster had a heart where Kemmler had none.

So, with slow and deliberate footsteps, she reached out and touched the redhead and twitched at the contact. "You're so cold."

"I'm sorry." Ave whispered, making a choking noise. It dawned on Valentine that it was if she wanted to cry but couldn't. "I'm so, so sorry."

Valentine, against the judgment of her compatriots, then hugged the undead, feeling relief and sadness as Ave hugged back. "Oh my dear…my sweet, brave dear. How did this happen?"

"I can explain that later." Was Ave's soft reply. It was unusual for her to sound so quiet and despondent. Was that due to her being undead or something else? There was a haunted look beyond those green eyes. "I need your help, Mother Valentine. Someone I know is succumbing to chaos and corruption."

Valentine wanted to ask more questions. She wanted to know more about how Ave became undead, how she seemed to have her faculties, and why she seemed like a shell of her former self.

But there was still a flicker of Ave there; she could feel it. She always wanted to help others, even when worn ragged. And if Ave said someone was in trouble, she had to believe it, especially coming from her lips. "Are they…here with you?"

"Yes." Ave hesitated with her answer a bit, her eyes flickering to the door. "Mother Valentin-

"Please, Ave. Just call me Valentine, please."

"...Valentine…I know you have questions, and I know you want to know more, but the one who is afflicted doesn't have much time left. His corruption is acting fast. He'll be in a wagon just outside…just be wary, he has tentacles growing out of his body."

The High Priestess's eyes widened. For it to get that dire was genuinely alarming. Acting quickly, she turned to her priestesses, who still huddled behind her like frightened hens. "Get our most potent ointments and holy relics. We'll need them for what's to come…Now!" She made sure not to sound harsh, but her voice was firm nonetheless. A firmness that was needed to strike her cloister into a flurry as they moved to do as she bid with some lingering in case, Ave tried something. The wariness was still overabundant. She was about to ask Ave more when the undead girl was already opening the door, a sense of urgency and wariness on her face…Ave looked ready to say something but opened the door, revealing their patient outside.

When Valentine and a small cadre of her fellow priestesses saw that Ave had been telling the truth about someone who was chaos-afflicted, it relieved her to see that this was no deception. Ave hadn't lied to her. She was somehow still herself despite her new condition.

Yet, on the flip side, she couldn't help but balk at the state of the young man before her. Just in front of a carriage was a youth lying in a wheelbarrow with a black mass growing out of his stomach. Three sets of teeth with tiny tongues were starting to poke through with multiple tentacles also poking, writhing, and wiggling as the boy they were growing out of had a rictus of pain painted on his face. He twitched and spasmed, looking to talk but unable to do so.

What was also interesting about what she saw was a man pacing up and down the wheelbarrow, like a man possessed, with a look of worry on his face. What stood out about him was the blue streak that ran down his hair and the look of pure fear on his face until he eyed Valentine and her flock. "Oh, thank Christ! Please tell me if you ladies can help him!"

Valentine couldn't help but look at the young man critically, but again, like any good follower of Shallya, she focused on helping those who needed it. "It will be close, but it is not impossible. Tell me, how was he afflicted?" She asked as she carefully approached the corrupted young man, putting on gloves to limit her exposure to the corruption as much as possible in case she needed to get closer. "Was he a worshipper himse-

"No! No way!" The man refuted, almost offended. "He was stabbed by some weapon by a guy who does! The problem is that I had someone try to heal him before, and she couldn't do shit. Said this…was some kind of chaos corruption she'd never seen before or something like that."

She could interpret what he meant. Usually, when someone was afflicted with chaos, the corruption, more often than not, would take on the dominant color of one of the dark, ruinous Gods that liked to pervert the lands that her own Goddess tried to heal. Whether it Khorn's crimson, Tzeentch's blue, Slaneesh's pink or purple, or worst of all, that wretched Nurgle's sickly green, if you understood chaos, you could realize which form of chaos afflicted someone. Though there tended to be other colors that hinted that someone wasn't aligned with any specific God, this was different from what Valentine could feel. The dark gray mass seemed far too unique and fast-acting.

"How long ago was he afflicted."

"Just a few days ago. Like two or three days ago."

"And it's moved this quickly?"

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. "I guess so, look, you gonna help him, lady?"

"I need to know more-

"Well, he might not have that time after you're done playing twenty questions! W-

He calmed himself when Ave placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at him meaningfully. "Lyle…she knows what she's doing. Just stay calm and let her do Shallya's work."

For a moment, Valentine was grateful for Ave calming him, then her eyes shot up the moment she uttered the name 'Lyle.'

The same Lyle Spoletta who was the new Lichemaster of the Barrow Legion. The same Lyle who had reportedly beaten Bohemond Beastslayer.

With a horrified look, she turned to Ave and then back to Lyle, putting two and two together.

Before she could utter another word, more of her cloister came outside, carrying the many tools they would need to hopefully purge this young man of his affliction. Snapping out of her trance, she looked to guide her fellow sisters in the cloth, organizing them for what would undoubtedly be a brutal bout of cleansing. She had personally cleansed those of corruption before. It was expected when you were a survivor of a beastmen raid if it hadn't gone too far.

Sadly, she was beginning to wonder if this was one of the latter cases, as when she and her sisters approached, the tentacles lashed around like whips, frightening even the most experienced members of her cloister.

"W-we cannot get close with the corruption reacting like this." One of the sisters was supplied with tentativeness, holding a large bottle of water blessed by Shalya herself.

"We may need rope to restrain him." Another sister added, narrowing her eyes at the corruption like a pest as Rudy moaned in agony within the cart. "Though it will take time, I-

"I'll take care of it." Lyle grumbled. "I honestly should have taken care of it sooner. Truth be told, I just didn't wanna hurt the kid." Before he started, Lyle stopped himself, sucking in his lips as if finally realizing what he was about to do would turn heads. "So ugh…listen, I'm gonna cast a spell that's gonna keep my buddy here in place, and I'm gonna need you ladies not to…freak out, ya know? Please don't flip?"

When confused murmurs broke out, Valentine glared at the man, starting to grow confident in her assumptions, boldly stepping forward. "Is it because you'll restrain him using necromancy?"

"...Kinda."

Shocked gasps and realizations broke amongst the cloister, with women now backing up perceptively from not just the afflicted Rudy but Lyle as well, all coming to the same if not similar conclusions that Valentine did. The Lichemaster, for his part, just rolled his eyes, folding his arms.

"Okay, seriously, do we have time for this? My boy is literally on the verge of being overtaken by a living, breathing cancer!"

To her flock's horror, however, Valentine stormed toward Lyle, her eyes ablaze with indignation. "And that excuses you for desecrating a young girl who could do only do well against someone of your ill-gotten magic-

"Hey!" Lyle glared, not backing down. "Lady, I don't care for that kinda talk or what you're insinuatin', I came here for help, not to get a lecture!"

"We help those who need it, but those who would commit wicked acts like your-

"Mother Valentine!" Ave's voice cut like a knife as she got between the two before she glared up at Lyle. "Take a breath, would you? This isn't helping!"

"I know that, dammit!"

She then surprised him by smacking him up the head. "Then fookin' act like it that!"

"Ow!...got a mean right hand." Lyle muttered to himself, smarting after the errant strike.

Valentine and many priestesses had been taken aback by the action, not expecting an undead to attack their supposed necromancer. She was even more taken aback when Ave turned a fierce glare toward her. "And Mother Valentine! I appreciate your worry, and I understand it. But I can assure you with all my heart that Lyle has done nothing but help me. He is not the one that killed me and…" She looked as though she was going to say more but went in a completely different direction instead. "Listen! You know your vows and beliefs! Much like you, Lyle only wants to help people! We can go over the innards of the details later, but there is a young boy who is suffering and needs your tending, too! Yesterday!"

If Ave smacking Lyle didn't convince her that this was the girl she'd known for so long, her words most definitely had. She most certainly still had questions and concerns, but Ave was right. There was a life to save.

Acting quickly, albeit hesitantly, she turned back to Lyle. "You…mentioned you could restrain him?"

Catching on quick, Lyle got a quick nod. "Yeah. You all might wanna stand back a bit." When the sisters quickly acted on his advice, Lyle pulled at the winds of magic, making the dhar necessary to manipulate the bones from the earth. A series of horizontally shaped bones started erupting from the earth, each bone connected to another and so forth to the point where it was beginning to resemble a couple of different ropes. The sisters of the temple gasped, witnessing an act that blasphemed the very nature of Shalya and her father, Mors but stood still as Lyle manipulated the chains of bones to work their magic.

He did this by having the series of bones tie Rudy down into the wagon, snaring up even the tentacles and teeth of the chaos growth, sealing the many mouths shut, and restraining the poor boy's limbs. The tentacles thrashed but ultimately were forced to remain still as the bones were unyielding in how they bound their quarry.

Once Lyle was confident that Rudy and that nasty chaos growth would do anything to hamper the healers, he turned to the women. "Alright, ladies, you're up."

Valentine swallowed, not particularly caring for Lyle's method to restrain the boy, but she couldn't argue with the result. She turned to a couple within her cloister with a nod. "Osanna. Colette. Prepare some boiled holy water, just in case. Noelle. Dione. You're with me in casting the blessing. May our prayers remove this wretched corruption."

And with that, under the strict scrutiny of Lyle Spoletta, the priestess's of Shalya went to work.

…

To say the mood for Grom the Paunch was rather foul at this moment would be an understatement. What made it such a shame was that everything had been going so well lately. He'd managed to make a successful raid against Ulthuan that the elves had been too slow to respond against, too preoccupied with some chaos worshippers up north or something to that degree. It was there he'd acquired the finest ingredients, including their famed lions of Chrace and the lean meat they had, the even more lean legs of elves to add to his pot, and other delicacies that could only be found on their island. He even managed to snag some elves as slaves to personally see to his many needs and ingredients; much as the proud knife ears chafed under their collars, they knew better than to disobey lest they go into his pot like many of their compatriots. Even better was that some of the elves had unique ideas on meals that the goblin hadn't even considered before, with Grom considering making one of them his sous chef in exchange for more privileges and rewards in comparison to the other slaves. Sure, some of his fellow gobos would grumble, but he knew that's all they'd do, less they wanted to be part of the banquet!

He'd returned to the Bretonnian mainland after, sacking and raiding villages and adding to his pot and slave collection, even managing to snag some stray beastmen to spice up the variety for his pallet.

But then things started to nose dive just when it seemed Mork was taking a shine on him, and the rest of his Gobbo Boyz were eating heartily like him. Whatever had caused the Brettish Humies up north to be so distracted had ended and when they turned their attention toward him and his roving band of marauding boyz who were now on the run. What had been so disturbing about this pursuit was one particular grail knight who seemed to take great pleasure in not just killing his boyz but outright mutilating them. It had put such fear into his boyz that a portion of them had split off east, which only led to them getting harried by this blood-thirsty grail knight, giving Graum some breathing room.

The only problem was that now, according to his wolf-rider scouts, the main Bretonnian army was hurtling toward him with shroom-addicted determination, and even worse, apparently, that old grail knight was with his army, making rumors abound that the old group of splintered gobos that escaped was all decimated at this point.

"Crumpin' Horse Humies." Grom grumbled as his war cart surged forward in the middle of his Broken Axe Tribe, which was currently on the move. "Shoulda stayed raidin' the knife ear's I shoulda." He then turned to one of the goblin slaves, a female elf dressed in mere rags, tied to one of the banners, much like a trophy. "Then again, You thin n' spindly buggers barely got any meat on your bones. Not enough to nearly feed my boyz. Even your lions were pretty lean."

The elven woman just glared, any talk-back stripped away from her as she was forced into the upright position, tied to the banner of his tribe.

"Bah. You're no fun. I'd throw you in my pot, but I doubt even you're bones would fill anyone out." The morbidly fat Goblin grumbled, already thinking about what type of feast to cook up his boyz at the end of the day. It was better than thinking about their chances against the Royal Bretonnian army headed by the king himself. Seriously? What'd he do to get that kind of attention? Were they that offended by his presence here? So what if he was raiding around the Bretonnian countryside and only trying to sample the most sumptuous delicacies that the Old World had to offer?

With the present concerns muddling his culinary inspiration, Grom turned to the other side of his cart as it trudged forward, pulled by his favorite boars. "Zoz! You thinkin' we get to castle Bastonne by three days or four?"

"Four your fatness! Four more days at least till we get to the home castle…you sure it's a good idea though with how close those horse humies are gettin' to us?"

"Got no bloody choice!" Graum growled more aggressively than he intended, but the situation was getting to him. "Was gonna just gonna sack the countryside a bit more, maybe get more ingredients n' slave, but can't do that no more! Can't make the load anymore heavy or we got no chance of runnin'! Already butchered half the slaves we got for our pots, and they still nippin' on our Zoggin' heels! But, if we take the castle, their horsies ain't gonna be worth centaur's milk after a week of bein' in the sun!"

"Still gotta take the castle, though, boss. Heard that necromancers be holdin' it now."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard too. So we just kill the pale humies n' the rest of them' corpses will fall apart! Every gobbo with a brain in his head would know that!" Resting a fist on his chin, the goblin war boss started thinking like any good disciple of Mork would. "If the undead humies could take the castle, then it can't be that tough to take. If we just be brutally cunning like we ave' always been, we can just take the bloody th-Oi! Quit stirrin' the pot so fast, you damned thin-armed Knife ears n' Umies'! Stir it any faster than that, and I'll make ya part of the feast!"

Being pulled in a separate cart right next to Grom was his favorite pot. A large and imposing iron bowl of stew that required four boars to pull. What made the cart unique was that it was designed to give space for four people to stand on each side of the bowl and stir it with ease, which was needed since it was so large in the first place. Stirring the bowl were two female elves and two male humans who flinched at Grom's criticism, making sure to do as he requested, knowing full well he would follow through on his threat. It was challenging work since stirring on a moving cart was hardly easy, especially since their arms burned from all the extra work they had to do.

Grom scoffed and looked away, his beady red eyes glaring at the plains ahead. It was no accident that he had so many female elves as his slaves at this point, and it had nothing to do with how easy they were on the eyes. Goblins like him had little care about how particular other creatures looked. It had to do with the fact that so many of them knew how to remedy wounds and injuries, and they had more advanced knowledge than their human counterparts. It was something that Grom was coming to value more and more with their casualties racking up ever since that damned Blood-thirsty grail knight started harrying them with ruthless efficiency. Now it was to the point where Grom needed every goblin to spare for the castle that they were going to take, so even though Grom would threaten his elven slaves, he needed them now more than ever, especially since if he ever wanted to get more of the elves he had to remind himself that they were an ocean away and right now he was in no position to make a crossing like he did before.

He was about to reach into his knapsack for a snack to chew his stress away when he heard a familiar horn get his attention. Sure enough,, a group of his goblin wolf rider scouts were hurtling his way with a sense of urgency.

When the lead scout trotted up to his cart, he patiently waited for them to speak, letting his impatience show on his mean and pudgy face. Finally, the scout spoke. "T-trouble Boss! We lost contact with one of the scouts in a nearby forest and ran to check in on them'! It looks like the beast umies got em'!"

"Are you crumpin' me?" Grom muttered in disbelief. "We're already gettin' jumped by them horse humies in the north, now the goat-heads are nippin' at us? What'd we ever do them!"

"Well…" Zoz began, his lips thinning. "We did take some of their beast boyz n'-

"We don't have bloody time for this! Double the patrols! Make sure-

Graum wanted to spit blood as he heard yet another scout troop reporting in. Sure enough, another scout leader came up, head low and wincing for being what was sure to be more bad news. "Erm…just to let ya know, boss. It isn't my fault that-

"Get on with it! What happened, you git!?"

"A-a beast raid! At least it looks that way! We suddenly lost track of one of our convoys when it got separated. We saw reports of some flyin' beasts or somethin', and next thing we know, when we run back to meet up with the convoy, all the boyz are dead and…and the centaur milk they had was spilled. We saw some dead beast umies there, so-

"They destroyed the centaur milk!?" Any nearby goblins or slaves ducked their heads and tried not to make eye contact with their outraged boss. "Do those zoggin' beast umies' got any idea how hard it is to preserve it? How hard it is to get!? Zog it! Send an order to the other wolf rider packs! Send em' to the forests and any sign of those beasty umies it's kill on sight! If you get any piece of em, bring em' back so Oi can add em' to the pot!"

Some of the scouts looked like they wanted to argue, not really liking their chances with the beastmen, but the mean look they received from their leader was all it took to cow them into submission. "A-aye boss! We'll spread the word!" The wolf-rider scout leaders left to do just that, following their boss's instructions to the letter while ensuring not to draw his ire.

It was only the night goblin who was often in Grom's ear that made a token protest. "Boss…you eh…sure it's all too wise to spreadin' our scouts that thin to deal with the beast humies? I'm just-

"We do nothin', and they'll think I'm weak. They think I'm weak, the boyz n' the slaves start thinkin' I'm weak. And a weak boss don't last very long round' these parts." The obese goblin turned a mean, beady eye toward Zoz, who swallowed hard. "Don't they?"

"Y-you're right, your roundness! M-maybe any beastmen parts the boyz catch will make a good part of your cuisine!"

"Dey better. Or I'll find somethin'...or someone else who can."

And so the Broken Axe tribe continued forward, unaware of the trap they had set for themselves and others heading straight toward Castle Bastonne.

…

The cleansing of Rudy was getting mixed results, which was both encouraging and worrying to Lyle and all those present. He couldn't fault the effort of the women in the cloth. They were definitely putting in the effort, there was no questioning that. They had placed holy relics on his body and poured holy water, apparently blessed by their Goddess Shalya herself. Lyle would have been skeptical of this had he not seen literal smoke coming from the chaos mass that had stubbornly embedded itself in Rudy's body, often thrashing with horrific screams coming from the bound mouths of said mass. It was like the sisters were partaking in an exorcism, and the Lichemaster was getting a front-row seat to the process, admitting to himself that it was one of the most disturbing processions he had witnessed up until this point.

He was sure that they would be having a more challenging time of things had his chains of bones not been restraining Rudy, who was howling from the pain he was apparently undergoing. His creams had gotten so bad that Valentine had ordered some of her flock to gag Rudy, not so much because his screams were concerning, but because they were worried about him biting off his own tongue and choking on his blood. It was as grizzly as Lyle had ever seen since the massacre at Riffen.

There were times when he wanted nothing more than to call it off. The agony Rudy was going through was hard to watch, but to his relief, Ave gripped his hand, tightening her cold and deadened grip around him to keep him in place and center himself. He'd have to remember to thank her when all was said and done.

…if this was ever done. "Hey, Miss Valentine. I don't mean to rush you, but how long you think this will take? I mean, I'm just not sure how much of this Rudy can take."

"It depends on the affliction." Valentine replied shortly, taking a break from her prayers and incantations to Shallya and observing the work of her cloister, dabbing her forehead with a rag. "Some are removed easier than others, some can take days. If this young man is strong in spirit and mind, it can certainly help." Her eyes then shifted concerned towards the necromancer. "But, even the strongest of spirits can only do so much against the Dark Gods."

Lyle bit his lip. On one hand, he wanted to stick around and maybe see if there was anything else he could do to help things here besides keeping Rudy restrained while the women did their work. The problem was that he couldn't stay here indefinitely, not with three armies bearing down on caste Bastonne while only being three days away.

Sensing the stress that was building up within the necromancer, Valentine decided to test the man a bit to see if the rumors about him had any nugget of truth. "Tell me…what does this boy mean to you? Why are you so concerned about his survival?"

Looking at her as if she had a second head, Lyle balked. "The hell's that supposed to mean? Should I want him to die?"

"Normally, any necromancer would hardly care if the living perish or die. It would just be another corpse to your army."

"Yeah, and if all I needed was corpses, I wouldn't have bothered coming here now, would I?" Lyle replied testily as he looked back at the wagon.

"I see. Is he perhaps family?"

"Well, no." Came the terse response. "He's just…look, this kid has had some of the worst run of bad luck I've seen, but I guess you could say that about just any peasant that's unfortunate enough to live in this damned country." Shrugging his shoulders and looking down, Lyle sighed. "His family is dead, he was sent to fight against me at Castle Artois, and he took a sword to the face for daring to want to save himself. On top of all that, he actually got me out of a bad scrap or two; I got myself in, so it'd be a jerk-ass move on my part to just leave him out to dry."

Though his wording was crass, Valentine couldn't sense any doubt or deception in his words. She felt pleasantly surprised looking at the young man who barely seemed older than Ave. "You care for him?"

"Well, yeah, so? That a problem?"

"No. Simply unusual for someone of your profession." She tilted her head, became more inquisitive, and felt she needed to know more. "Why are you a necromancer to begin with? Are you perhaps a spellcaster who left a college or was seduced by more power-

"Oh please, sister, nobody seduced me into doin' nothin'." Lyle scoffed. "The necro-life chose me, not the other way around. The Barrow Legion summoned me to save their sorry bums after they got themselves into a bad situation. And I'd like to think I've done a good job of that…so far."

"I see. And you believe you are doing good with the work that you have done? With your assistance in expanding the Barrow Legion's goals?"

Again, Lyle snorted. "Better than whatever the hell the fancy lords around here have done."

The kernel of truth about Spoletta's leanings toward the peasantry seemed more true than she thought.

Before she could delve further into the Lichemaster's mind, hurried shouts and gasps broke out near the wagon, and Rudy's howling roar of pain killed the conversation between the two leaders as they witnessed the horror before them.

"High Priestess Katrine! W-we think that our treatments are working but the mass is trying to reject it!" One of the priestesses said with a fierce bravery that surprised even Lyle. "We need to put on the pressure! It's fighting Shallya's mercy as we speak!"

Not wasting another word, Katrine rushed forward and clasped her hands with a Shallyan icon between them, her brows furrowed and glare zealous.

"Oh, Shallya, daughter of Mors and Goddess of mercy. Goddess of peace against the trials and tribulations that plague our world. I beg you to grant your mercy once more on the poor soul laid bare before you. Rid him of the ruinous powers that torment his flesh, body, and mind so that he may know peace once more. I beg of you, Shallya, do not grant the dark gods this victory. Do not-

"Shallya can rot for all I care." All eyes were drawn toward Rudy, who had now stopped yelling and shouting in pain and was looking up from his bony restraints. There was no missing how his eyes were glowing an eerie and sickly yellow with jagged teeth poking out from his ribs. "She's not anywhere near this boy. My shadows ensure it and shall continue to do so." Many felt chills down their spines when Rudy smiled, horns starting to poke out from under his forehead. "Tell me, whores of the weakest Goddess of them all. Does it make your heart waver to know that as the days grow darker, your Goddess's reach fails you when you need her most?"

The sisters of the temple slowly backed away, feeling a cold chill from just being near Rudy as he lay in the wagon as he leared at them all with frightening gaze. Valentine gaped openly, never seeing something like this from someone afflicted, but having no doubt about what was happening before her. A demon had latched onto the boy and now acted as his puppeteer. It only made her wonder with shock as to what kind of Demon could possess someone so quickly shortly after they had been afflicted.

Lyle also started to connect to the dots as dread filled his guts at what happened before him. Glaring fiercely at Rudy's body, he reached for the staff strapped on his back. "You…you ain't Rudy, are ya?"

"Oh? If it isn't Kemmler's successor." Not Rudy said, turning a disdainful look toward the necromancer in question. "Thank you for the destruction and discord you have sewn in Bretonnia. It has made my work so much more…convenient for the days to come."

"Oh yeah? Well, compliment not accepted. I might change my mind if you let my boy Rudy go." Lyle's grip on his staff tightened. "Expeditiously, I might add."

"Bold of you to assume you're in any position to demand anything of me. Much like how bold it is to assume you'll be able to withstand the storm hurtling your way. A storm I had a hand in creating."

"Excuse me?"

"You have only succeeded thus far because of good fortune and being in the right place at the right time. And though you've thrived on such good fortune and given me room to maneuver, it is time for your little delusions of Grandeur to end. Though I admit. Giving crumbs to the Brayherd and good reason for them to head towards Bastonne was challenging, given that I had to make them BELIEVE that it was their damned Gods who gave them that sign…it was doable with their primitive and backward mindset. Herding the goblins toward you took more of a direct hand, but it sufficed all the same. And with it, your days are numbered, human boy."

Ave looked at Lyle jerkily the information hitting her like a freight train, with Lyle sharing a wide-eyed look as well. Valentine only looked confused, not quite following where this was going. "Goblins? Armies? What does this Demon speak of?"

Focusing on the Demon possessing Rudy, Lyle slowly stalked forward, ensuring the bones around his body still held him down. "So you're the reason we got all this trouble, huh? And what's your beef with me? Don't even know you."

"You will, boy. All of the world shall know of my return."

"Well, you can have your coming out party with all of your adoring fans for all I care, but right now, I'm really not diggin' how you're all up inside Rudy right now." Lyle leveled an even glare at the Demon. "Let him go, and you and I got no beef. Don't let him go, and you're gonna get so much beef, not even a deli's gonna be enough to hold it."

The Demon didn't immediately reply but instead grinned in a disturbing manner that sent alarm bells off in everyone's minds. Sure enough, Rudy's head began to turn in one direction. Once his neck began to reach resistance, it began to turn further and further until Lyle heard small audible cracks.

Horror filling his body at what was happening, Lyle summoned more bones from the ground only for the Demon to speak. "Wrap those bones around this boy's head, and they will be wrapping around a corpse. His own spine can only suffer so much after all."

Baring his teeth but standing still, Lyle glared heatedly at the Demon as it chuckled with Rudy's body. "Your mercy betrays you, necromancer. Had only you been as half as cold-hearted as your compatriots, you would not be in this position."

"MOTHA-FUCKA! What the hell do you want!?" Lyle roared, the winds of magic whipping around him violently. "You want me to give you a new asshole, cause I can do it! I don't give a damn who the hell you think you are! Demon, Angel, the second coming of Christ, I will-

"Do nothing, less you want him to perish because of your hastiness."

"Lyle Spoletta." Valentine muttered carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Tread carefully with this Demon. With how tight of a hold he now has over Rudy, should he perish in this state, I've no doubt that he would have possession of Rudy's soul afterward. It would be a fate worse than death."

"The whore of Shallya speaks true. But it need not be this way, boy. If you value this boy's life, you will bring to me a boon that I desire, and I may be tempted to release him since he holds no material value beyond his small and unremarkable soul and body."

"And how do I know I can trust you to hold up your end of the deal, eh?" Lyle replied hotly, trying to hide the fear at Rudy's position. "I'm no Bible thumper, but where I come from, Demon's aren't known for being the biggest truthers around!"

"And you would be foolish to trust a demon, much less one that shrouds himself in shadow." Valentine glared, showing no fear towards the beast that possessed the boy. "And what pray tell would you demand of Lyle to even have a chance for the boy's safety?"

"It's simple, Spoletta. You hold a damsel within the bowels of Castle Bastonne. Deliver her to an agent of mine…and I will have the boy spared."

"Yasmine?" Lyle blinked, his suspicion and unease growing by the second. "The hell do you want with her?"

"What I desire of one of the Lady's chosen is none of your concern. It is Rudy's well-being you should be more concerned with-

"Absolutely not!" Valentine suddenly interjected before turning pleadingly toward Lyle. "Lyle, you mustn't! Damsels are chosen and trained by the Fay Enchantress herself and are women who often hold significant ties to the Goddess of the Lake! Whatever this Demon has planned could have ruinous implications! I…I know you do not wish to lose this boy's life, but-

"Oh, come now, Spoletta. What is the life of a woman who has served as an agent of the Lady? The same Lady who perpetuates the very system that you're desperately clawing and fighting against?"

It was one of the rare times Lyle was plagued by indecision. Again, he tried to put up a furious front, but he was now in a position where he essentially had to choose between two lives. Two lives who most definitely didn't deserve to be in the clutches of a demon that has cancerous masses on your body and possesses you as if this were the Exorcism.

The Demon must have sensed his indecision and grinned slyly, going in for the kill. "If you go through with this deal…not only will I allow the boy to live, but I'll even have the Bretonnians go back North to Corroune. It will be a win-win."

This time, Ave was in stunned shock, glaring in disbelief. "How in the Lady's name could you possibly have that kind of pull? Surely you can't convince the King of Bretonnia to call off his army?"

"I have someone who most certainly can."

"The grail knight that wounded Rudy in the first place." Lyle said aloud, putting two and two together. "He's with you...the one whose getitn' into King Louie's good graces."

"Precisely. You would be surprised how close a knight's council can reach the heart and mind of a king, especially if it is a grail knight who has saved his life. Give me the damsel, and you'll only have to deal with two armies instead of one."

"So that's what this all is…is…what you planned for everything to go down this way?"

"Not precisely." The Demon admitted, not afraid to admit it. "It was fortunate…or unfortunate for you that my agent managed to maim your charge and leave my taint upon him. It's only now that I know how great of a boon this is…and so it is up to you now, Spoletta. What holds value to you the most? The survival of your goal and the boy to save his ilk from the yolk of Brettish nobility? Or the life of a woman who perpetuates that very system? Whether you accept or not is no great obstacle to my plans. You know you cannot survive three armies at once."

"Spoletta!" The high priestess nearly shrieked, her eyes wide with alarm. "The damage this Demon could wreak if he gains access to a damsel is too grave to ignore! The different types of rituals or spells he could wreak is-

"Not of your concern. You have more pressing concerns on your mind, do you not, necromancer? Choose quickly. After all, those armies are bearing down on your own even as we speak. Your little revolution will die in its infancy if you hesitate even now."

Lyle was sure he heard Valentine and even Ave speaking and saying something else, but he couldn't bring himself to listen to them. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to listen to the Demon at that moment. It was as if a great weight now hung on his shoulders and threatened to sink him into the ground, realizing just how out of his depth he was in a situation like this.

In the grand scheme of things, with his more immediate problems, it made perfect sense to give up Yasmine. Sure, she wasn't that bad of a person, but in the end, she was still with the enemy, so to speak. She still served the Lady, which he had grown to detest as time went on, and the nobility that allowed things to stagnate in Bretonnia for so long. And if her death could prevent his army from getting overwhelmed at Bastonne, then maybe it would all be worth it?

But wouldn't that make him a big raging hypocrite? Wouldn't that make him all too similar to the very slavers he had busted back at Rhione? He'd be trading a life for his own personal benefit, a life that didn't really deserve whatever this Demon was cooking up. Except it was for the benefit of the very peasants he was trying to save.

But what would he say to them if they found out how he'd acquired his ill-gotten reprieve. Sure, they didn't seem to care for the nobility, but they'd frustratingly still prayed to the Lady. Would they turn on him? Would they think less of him for sacrificing one of the Lady's chosen? Would Lyle think less of himself?

All of these thoughts bombarding his mind threatened to make him dizzy. His tongue, which was usually so quick with retorts, had been rendered silent by indecision. He thought he was starting to go mad when a pale white bird entered his field of view, landing on the branch of a nearby tree. The earth-native wasn't entirely sure why he found his attention so captivated by this creature except to try and stall while finding a way out of the mess he had stumbled into.

Then, the bird stared back at him. Its beady black eyes were too easy to get lost in as Lyle delved deeper and deeper, a vision of darkness passing over his eyes.

Just then, just when it seemed like a world of darkness threatened to swallow him whole, he saw it—a faint golden glow that seemed to be the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Utterly drawn to the light, Lyle half-stumbled toward it, unsure how or why he had gotten to this point but finding himself unable to question it too heavily. All that mattered was the darkness that weighed on him and the light that now seemed so close.

As the earth-native got closer, he finally reached his destination. To his surprise and annoyance, it turned out to be a grail. A big golden grail that was the size of a bath for birds. As he approached it, Lyle couldn't help but stare at it, wondering what any of this meant. Eventually, he had gotten so close that he was peering into the large grail, looking into his reflection.

Drink….

"Oh, you have gotta be kidding me." Lyle rolled his eyes. It was bad enough that he didn't know what kind of bad trip he was on. Maybe the smokey fumes from that chaos tumor had reached his brain to the point where he was far past high to recognize reality. There was no way he imagined himself drinking the bog witch's bath water.

Drink…

"Lady, how about you smoke my pole?" Lyle grumbled, glaring at his reflection.

Drink iiiiiit…

"I-

Lyle was about to mouth off again when he heard the familiar flapping of wings. Nearly making him jump was that same white bird, which he was sure was a crow. Regardless of what kind of bird this was, it landed in the body of water, once again staring right into Lyle's soul with those beady black eyes of his.

Just as he opened his mouth to comment on the utter strangeness of this all, the bird flapped its wing rapidly, cawing so loudly that it made the necromancer's eardrums ring. What was even worse is that with the rapid flapping of its wings, the water inside the grail was sent flying out in splashes, with some landing in Lyle's mouth and, to his irritation, his eyes as well.

Coughing and sputtering at the water, entering uninvited places he would have preferred not to have, Lyle tried to stop the coughing and get some semblance of control over his lungs, only to fail and start coughing harder. All the while, the crow continued to caw over and over again to a maddening degree.

Even more frustrating was that Lyle now rubbed his eyes as they started to burn from the water. He'd had liquid in his eyes before, but he couldn't recall it hurting him this much, even as he was coughing his lungs out.

Finally, after the coughing had ceased, his lungs filled with air, and the pain in his eyes receded, Lyle looked up, and gone was the grail. Gone was the darkness, and gone was the crow. In its place now was the familiar sight of the Demon wearing Rudy's skin, with that sure grin on his face, restrained in the wheelbarrow.

Yet something was different this time. Something that it took Lyle a moment to realize until images flooded his mind. It was almost like when he would first learn about a new necromantic spell, but it was different.

He acted on instinct, his hand reaching forward, not realizing that his eyes were starting to glow a furious dark blue to the point that his sockets seemed on fire.

The Demon, who was the first to realize, stopped smiling, a look of alarm crossing his features. "Wh-what are you doing, boy? Wh-what is-Halt! Halt yourself! If you bring your hand any closer, I will twist this boy's neck until-

The Demon found his words haunted when two hands suddenly rose out from underneath the wheelbarrow and snatched Rudy's possessed head, holding it tightly on either side without allowing so much as a twitch. These hands, however, were not hands made of bones but spectral, ghastly hands that were dark blue and slightly see-through.

"Hmmm… don't think that's happenin'." Lyle's almost lazy response echoed as if he were in a deep cavern. "Afraid there's been a ChANGe to the deal. I'll be taking Rudy back, whether ya like it or not."

If the Demon had any outrage to sputter, the necromancer didn't give him the chance. Walking briskly alongside the left part of the Wagon, Lyle angled himself to personally reach Rudy's hand and pressed a hand to his forehead, clearing the horns growing out of his head. The Demon's glowing yellow eyes glared at the offending hand and were about to curse Lyle, only for the palm of said hand to suddenly catch alight with the very blue flame coming out of the necromancer's eyes.

The Demon screamed and thrashed, trying to move away from the fire that was searing itself into his head, but with the spectral hands holding on tightly on either side and Lyle himself pressing down hard, there was no give or room to maneuver.

"Wh-what is happening!?" Ave asked, her dull and lifeless eyes wide and disbelieving as the many sisters of the Shallyan temple watched the necromancer manhandle the Demon. Turning to Valentine, who could only watch, stunned as well, Ave looked for answers. "M-mother Valentine, what in-

"I…I do not know. This…this doesn't quite seem like necromancy."

The Demon himself found out about this first-hand as Lyle suddenly clenched his hand closed and pulled. The Demon howled in pain and shock as its ghostly apparition was quite literally being ripped from Rudy's body with that sudden tug. The almost see-through grayish-dark embodiment of chaos howled as Lyle stepped backward, pulling not just the being itself but all of the chaos festering on Rudy. Quickly and noticeably, the gray masses began to shrink and dissipate, the jaws disappearing and the eyes turning to smoke. It looked as though this writhing mass of chaos was howling and suffering just as Rudy had not long ago, but eventually, only the screams of the Demon himself could be heard when Lyle fully yanked him out of the peasant boy with a sharp tug.

"Huh…funny…so demons like you don't have souls." Lyle said in a curious revelation as he gripped the Demon. "And it seems like this is just a part of you, not the whole. Fascinating to learn about." The dark blue flames eventually began to burn the Demon, its howls turning to screams as the dark smoke that came from it turned into a blue hue, fading into the winds of magic as Lyle's flames traveled up and down its ghostly form.

Eventually, the Demon, or rather the shard of the Demon, was no more, scattered into the winds from whence a part of it was made.

Once all was said and done, Lyle stared at his hands, observing as the flames that coated them eventually flickered away. Carefully, he pressed one of his now cool hands toward Rudy's forehead, giving a sigh of relief as the boy still lived, breathing softly as if he had just experienced one of the worst night terrors.

Satisfied that the boy was fine, not looking close enough to see a faint blue glow under Rudy's eyelids, Lyle turned back to all the women who were staring at him, utterly at a loss.

And if Lyle were being honest with himself, even though he did what came naturally to him at that moment, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of all the new info that had assaulted his brain.

…

Be'lakor huffed and wheezed inside his safe haven, his yellow eyes wide with shock and pain as a literal piece of his already diminished existence had been purged and cast into the winds of magic. It wasn't a matter of his form even being damaged or wounded. This was a case of it no longer existing.

When the Gods saw fit to punish him may their forms be cursed, even they could not wholly destroy him. Utterly weaken his power, yes, but even they could not completely destroy what they themselves made. It was why he had to bide his time for so many years to eventually gain enough power to put his plans into motion, to use the power of a God to not only return to a semblance of his former power but become something more than that. To become a God himself.

And if he had put all his form into possessing that damned ill-bred peasant, that would have been the end. All that would be left to his memory would be the winds of magic that some random mage would wind up using for a spell or another.

The fallen Everchosen clutched a hand to his chest, feeling a part of him missing like a hole in one's chest. He needed to contact Alvin NOW!

Lyle Spoletta was too dangerous to let live. Someone with that kind of power had to be wiped off the face of the Old-World-NO! He had to be wiped off the face of existence!

Contacting Alvin wouldn't be enough. He needed to ensure that the brayherd he was leading along had their priorities straight. And Be'lakor was certain he had enough bate to have Malagor go on the hunt.

…

A/N:

So, I'm just gonna throw this out there, don't expect every chapter to come out this quick from now on, Lol. I had some extra time to spare and a bolt of inspiration after finishing the latest chapter of my book which spawned this chapter into faster existence. It's also in this chapter that I drop a major hint into the true nature of Lyle's magic. Major props to those who predicted this or come to the realization as to how Lyle's magic works the way it does.

For those that don't, I don't hold it against you. The hints have been pretty subtle up to now but there will be more to come. Other than that thanks for reviewing my story as usual, but if there are those who I haven't responded to in my Authors Notes I may not see your review. Fanfic is going through one of those times where I can't see my viewership numbers or the reviews sent to me. I had to actually see the reviews most of you guys sent through another account. It's pretty annoying especially since this happens more than I care to stand.

Other than that, thanks for reading my story up to this point as always, please keep leaving those reviews as always to fuel my all consuming void, and have a good summer vacation if you've been given one of those.