*The Mind of Izuka (FE10 OST)

**Stragagem in Black Armor (FE9 OST)

As far back in his life as he could remember, there was nothing Hans despised more than others failing to show him the respect that he felt due. As a boy, he'd beaten another boy bloody for composing an insulting rhyme about him. At twelve, he took his first life when a petty, but well-to-do merchant decided to get a smart mouth. But being subordinate to this old buzzard was probably the greatest insult of all. This old buzzard who would be dead, should be dead had he his way. This is the same old goat I threw into a motherfucking canyon, for gods' sake, he told himself irritably. The serious, borderline fatal wounds he'd taken in battle with the dragon brat's army were nothing compared to the damage to his pride.

"How much longer is it to wherever the hell we're going?" the berserker barked savagely, his foul mood only contributed to by his unease on horseback. "I swear, if I don't get off this thing soon-"

"Why don't you calm yourself, boy?" sneered Gunter calmly. "Besides, our destination is just over the horizon, so if you'd stop behaving like a child for five minutes, the journey would be over sooner."

"Who are you calling 'boy?!' Do I need to remind you who threw your wrinkled arse into the Bottomless Canyon to begin with?!"

"And do I need to remind you who found you on the brink of death from your magic burns, gave you first aid, and told you exactly which crevice in Shirasagi to hide lest you join the other Nohrian casualties? Not to mention who it was that absconded from the throne room after the battle to retrieve your sorry carcass? So yes, I do believe you owe me at least a sliver of respect."

Now Hans was not exactly the sharpest blade on the rack by any means, but he had not come as far as he had in life without a sharp, well-attuned, animalistic instinct for his own survival and self-preservation. While he would have liked very much to continue this exchange, his instincts made it clear to him that he was in no physical condition whatsoever for a rematch with the old knight with the unusually-sharp silver blade on his hip and an eerie sort of calmness to his words and wisely decided to change the subject.

"So wait, if pretty much everyone who went into the savages' throne room bit it, how'd you walk out?" he asked, his tone betraying a genuine, uncharacteristic curiosity.

The old knight gave an expression halfway between a genuinely-amused smile and a smirk. "Oh, I have my ways." he assured. "You needn't worry about that. What you would do well to focus on however, is the new world our future king is about to usher in; where men like you will be acknowledged and given their due respect. Coincidentally, that cart your steed is pulling is intimately related to that new order."

"So, wait, what IS in this cart I've been pulling behind me for the past four days anyway?"

"Trust me, my friend. All will be made clear very shortly."

Every inch of his body sore, Keaton finally awoke in a dark, isolated chamber in a certain temple in the Hoshidan capital. He was not exactly certain how long he had been unconscious (although given that his stomach was growling absolute murder at him, he could surmise it had been three days or so), but he did have quite a clear recollection of the chaotic, bloodstained frenzy that was the battle in Shirasagi's throne room before he blacked out himself. Yep, pretty sure of one thing, he told himself. While it did not move like it at all, the mysterious enemy that had come to Princess Sakura's rescue was in fact, a human being. Or at the very least, so human-shaped and sized to the point where discerning any difference was simply splitting hairs. Not that his wolf-like senses of sight, hearing, and smell did much good as far as hitting Sakura's protector; she (or it) moved so quickly and gracefully compared to his wild, powerful, but ultimately slow swings, that even his wolf form could do little in the way of relieving Prince Leo and his embattled surviving retainer before he was ultimately overpowered and the fact that he had awoken in what amounted to a morgue for many of his old companions did not say much good about the battle's outcome.

His stomach and body as a whole still quite sore, Keaton was still able to walk and stand much to his relief. As he closed his eyes for a wolfish yawn, he was abruptly interrupted by the very distinct and uncomfortable sensation of a length of twine fastened around his neck from behind, struggling against the pressure on his windpipe in an attempt to fight against, growl and curse at the assailant.

"If you wish to live, you'll not make a sound." threatened the unseen assailant. "Even if you do, this lance of mine by my feet will make short work of you. Nod your head once if you understand."

No, the sounds and scents of the man gave away his identity quite easily to the wolfskin, Keaton registering his identity with no small degree of shock. Cognizant of the knight's long-time ties both to the Nohrian royal family and Corrine, Keaton nodded his head once compliantly, hoping to negotiate with him (or failing that, rip out his throat) once he felt less threatened. But the old knight was not keen on allowing such a possibility; as Gunter drove a syringe of some sort into his not-quite lupine neck, Keaton felt his strength and will to resist drain away as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Just over the horizon lay an abandoned Hoshidan fortress commandeered by a Nohrian detachment. But Hans noticed a couple of extremely odd things for a Nohrian outpost, namely the skeleton force (as if no more than a security detachment) on duty and the state of complete and utter disrepair. Dismounting his own steed, Gunter was greeted by a short, squat, middle-aged man with greasy black hair and an expression of perpetual paranoia. "Hans, I would like you to meet Sir Konrad." introduced the knight. "One of Iago's finest chemists and right-hands before his untimely demise."

*"Please, please, relax sir." implored Konrad in his nasally, inexplicably untoward-sounding voice. "We shall relieve you of your cargo now. Yes, Sir Gunter was quite specific about the lovely specimen he'd encountered."

Finally dismounting the horse (to the relief of both parties), the brute merely scoffed at the despicable little reed of a man as his guards wheeled off the cart and cage into one of the side entrances of the fort.

"Wait, you've got me moving livestock?!" Hans demanded indignantly. "You really are just trying to humiliate me, aren't you old man?"

"Once again, Hans; patience." implored Gunter. "Sir Konrad's chefs have prepared us, at his own expense mind you, some of the finest imported Nohrian delicacies. I believe the show after supper will be one to remember."

"Well, alright. I haven't had a decent meal in months; I can't stand this crap the savages eat morning, noon, and night."

After several more days unconscious, Keaton finally dragged himself to his feet, shielding his still quite-sensitive eyes from the dungeon's dim light. In said dim light however, he was able to make out two quite unpleasant individuals gawking at him as though he were some sort of freak show. However, the familiarity of the third individual was arguably even less so.

"You! I knew it!" he growled accusatorially. "What's your angle, old man?! What will Corrine say when she learns what you've done?!"

"Oh, stuff it, you great mangy furball." replied Gunter, the extremely harsh tone new to the wolfskin's ears. "And for your information, it won't matter a damn what that naive, blue-blooded brat thinks, because you'll never be leaving this place. You've got such an important part to play, after all."

The old knight stepping forward into the light to meet him wearing an equally-new expression of sheer condescension and contempt, Keaton ineffectually snapped and clawed at him in absolute rage.

"I ought to rip your black heart out for this." the wolfskin threatened. "Go on! Let me out of this cage! I dare you!"

"So you want to kill?" inquired Gunter facetiously. "To maim and rend? Then by all means, we shall release you. But first-"

Taking the cue for his own part in the twisted drama, with an expression of maniac glee, Konrad drove a syringe into one of Keaton's exposed veins, withdrawing as to avoid being strangled in retaliation.

"What is this?!" demanded Keaton angrily. "What did this little runt do to me?!"

"Yeah, what DID the runt do to him anyway?" inquired Hans. "It better be entertaining though."

"Oh, I do believe you'll be entertained, Sir Hans." the old knight answered, listlessly tossing a stolen Beaststone in his left hand.

This particular dungeon overlooked a depression in the structure which as of late, had been enclosed with stone, circular seating and the floor coated with a not-significant layer of sand. Heart racing, sweating profusely, and his mind becoming increasingly blank with rage and hatred at this betrayal, as the crane and pulley carefully lowered his enclosure into the makeshift arena, Keaton was ready, willing and able to tear the bars from their base should the opportunity arise, yet in the back of his mind, feared greatly what would happen in the event he somehow managed to transform. Then again, he wondered if he would even get a say in the matter.

Ringing a large bell repeatedly, the mad scientist smirked. "Anyone who wishes to audition for that promotion and raise," simpered Konrad. "Here is your test..."

The gates to his front and rear being raised, the absolute last straw for Keaton was the Nohrian soldiers flanking him, their expressions and body language ranging from those of youthful bravado and confidence to abject terror. His werewolf form weakening the cage greatly, the wolfskin burst forth, furiously and mindlessly charging, clawing and biting into the mass of flesh and steel before him.

While Gunter watched the ensuing carnage with a detached expression and Konrad furiously scribbled notes, Hans observed Keaton's rage with the joy and awe of a child treated to a shopping spree in the most expensive toy store to ever exist. The blades, lances, and axes glancing off the wolfskin and the arrows even shattering, Keaton clawed and rent through the Nohrian regulars, dealing all sorts of gruesome and generally-fatal wounds to them. While his charge was too enraptured by the butchery to notice or care either way, the old knight recognized none of his former comrade's sarcastic wit which took no holiday during battle, noting only feral roars, growls, and howling as he made increasingly short work of the conscripts brave, foolish, or unfortunate enough to challenge him.

The survivors breaking into a disorganized, blood-soaked retreat, Keaton pounced upon a wounded, terrified archer attempting to escape his wrath, relieving him of several of his organs in the space of a couple of seconds. Still, such carnage did little to prevent the guests of honor from voicing their thoughts.

"This..." began Hans at last. "is fucking awesome! The best thing I've seen since I've been in this hellhole of a country!"

"So, what state should his mind be in after this?" inquired Gunter, feigning his ignorance of the answer. "And what of his transformation ability?"

"Oh, no, his mind is gone." replied Konrad, tone somewhere between awe, pride, and fear. "He is remaining as such for the rest of his days...Of course, his lifespan will be shortened considerably, but for that sort of power at our disposal..."*

With Keaton disemboweling the last of the soldiers on the arena's western side, he spontaneously turned to pursue the few, terrified survivors on the other end of the coliseum. Gunter simply scoffed at this lackluster display. "Amateurs." he said dismissively, leaping over the railing into the arena, much to Konrad's confusion and terror. The wolfskin had already started on the rest of his cornered prey once his unusually sensitive ears picked up the knight's landing, abruptly turning around to find the man responsible for his plight.

Apparently, the foul potion had not dulled the wolfskin's instinct for avenging injury, one of his torturers standing before him defiantly, almost arrogantly. Starting off into an enraged dash on all fours, at five or so meters, Keaton, claws and what remained of his mind ready for more bloodshed, sprang towards the old knight. Gunter, showing no sign of distress or even flinching as the massive, airborne beast closed in, simply drew the brilliant, golden-hilted blade from its sheath, slashing the wolfskin at a forty-five degree angle, sending him tumbling harmlessly off to the knight's side.

Keaton's breathing having become hurried and shallow at the grievous wounds inflicted by the blade, he could only offer some defiant, ineffective growls and attempts to raise his right claw once more before Gunter closed in, driving the sword through his heart with a downward stab. "So sorry, my friend." thought the knight mockingly, sweeping the blood from his weapon with a flourish. "But it simply would not do to leave even the possibility of loose ends open."

While his specimen had been disposed of and the young, ambitious casualties put to shame by the veteran and his mysterious new blade, Konrad remained quite pleased with himself, scribbling more notes about the test subjects' performance and muttering to himself about the need for "more specimens." Meanwhile, Hans was absolutely ecstatic at the bloodshed and the mettle shown by the old knight. "So you're one of us after all!" he shouted congratulatorily. "I admit, I misjudged you, old man!"

"You'd not be the first, boy." thought Gunter darkly. "Nor will you be the last."

**"And we proud sons of Nohr will let the savages know once and for all." regaled Duke Matteo of Toscana. "That we will not stand for this treachery, this perfidy that they have shown towards our brave soldiers! All their heathen talk of 'honor' has been exposed as nothing more than fig leaf for their kind's inscrutable duplicity! Let it be known that under the wise guidance of our king-to-be, we will avenge the murders most foul of valiant King Garon, our dashing crown prince, and beloved princess!"

Departing from one of Castle Krakenburg's many balconies to rapturous cheers and applause, Duke Toscana had found he'd grown into the role of the head of the regency council quite nicely in the space of a couple of weeks. Of course, he'd been as shocked as any of the other nobles to learn the news, what with the war against the Hoshidan barbarians proceeding so well to the point of their capital falling and having done away with most of their royal brats. According to reports from the officers deployed to the city, the youngest, a girl really, had apparently made use of some sort of their sorcery to call a demon of some sort from the underworld to slaughter Prince Xander's vanguard. Was it true or simply a case of unwashed, superstitious rubes letting their tiny little minds play tricks on them? It was honestly little matter as far as the duke was concerned, as the immediate threat of a power vacuum or even rebellion outright from those uppity eastern nobles, was dealt with.

However, it was far from an everyday occurrence to have a realm's line of succession almost gutted entirely and while they and their own vassals made up the most powerful noble faction in the kingdom, none of them were exactly powerful, influential, or beloved enough to keep the situation stable in the long term. To this end, the four dukes met in their fallen king's war room, actually having been absent its master for sometime now.

"Godsdammit, Matteo!" scolded Duke Guillaume of Lorraine. "Must you rile the commoners so?"

"Does he really have a choice?" asked Duke Albrecht of Bayern rhetorically. "Or perhaps you'd care to explain to them how and why exactly we defeated the savages in the war they'd been assured victory against for decades, but managed to suffer the single worst, most one-sided defeat in Nohrian military history? Oh, and that the survival of their wretched princess is still inciting their rabble against us? They would storm the castle and hang him, and hang us from the nearest tree! Now maybe, if Princess Camilla was in a position of power and broke the news, we could-"

Duke Durante of Carinthia sighed longingly. "Oh, Lady Camilla!" he began dreamily. "Surely you could calm this unruly lot with your melodious voice, your kind heart, and your luscious, supple-"

The three remaining men groaned disapprovingly at the dandy's flights of fancy, Duke Lorraine rolling his eyes.

"Head on your shoulders, Durante!" scolded Guillaume. "The. Head. On. Your. Shoulders! Think with it for once in your life instead of the alternative!"

"Enough of this prattle, you feckless idiots!" screeched Duke Matteo, pacing the room lengthwise as he tried to collect his thoughts. "Now it's clear that this is not an ideal situation, but with some patience, foresight, and a little luck, we should be alright. We will receive Prince-Regent Leo and his entourage any day now, and if we make a good impression, we should be able to keep our own...interests secure in the meantime and for many years to come."

Many would naturally attribute Duke Toscana's position as head of the regency council due simply to an accident of birth, but this was only partially true. Matteo was no fool by any means, possessing a sharp, predatory mind and having an intimate knowledge of human nature and how to manipulate it. Of course, his hands were not exactly clean in this whole affair either, some choice farmland occupied by the heathens bordering his own lands had long caught his eye. But playing the right role at the right time could have its benefits, to be sure.

"What we need to do is show our support for the new king." remarked the duke seriously. "He's a formidable one of course, but even he can't do it all by himself. It would be best to prove our own indispensability to his reign early on. After all, we've already got a good friend in his inner circle."

"And what of the war?" inquired Duke Carinthia. "They may not be civilized, but they cannot possibly be this stupid or suicidal."

"Oh, the savages can hang for all I care!" spat Duke Toscana. "Actually, these anti-banditry operations could work out for us in the long run. My farms, your textile mills, Albrecht's mines... Hmm, yes...These savages and their prideful ways could benefit us all quite handsomely..."

Eckesachs:

Description: Gunter only. A regal blade of immense power from the Outrealm. Said to overflow with the despair and madness of its original master.