*Enter Ganondorf [Reorchestrated] (The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time OST)

**Ganondorf [Reorchestrated] (The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time OST)

***Deepest Woods (Tales of Symphonia OST)

****Premonition (FE14 OST)

*****Forest ambience

******Hidden Skill Training [Remix] (The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess OST)

Truth is, despite the sharp, shooting pain through his right leg- an poisoned arrow wound informing him it was in fact so- it still did not feel quite real to Grand Prince Micheal as he struggled to extract himself from the ruins of the grand temple, dragging his blade along with his leg. His beloved city and people crushed under hoof and heel by these desert barbarians. How it happened, he was not truly sure. He'd heard of this tribe- how they fought less like even the most disciplined of armies and more like demons and their wanton brutality meted out to the subjugated lands. Even when he sent his eldest son Roland to blunt their advance (for all the good it did, seeing as he'd not heard back from him or his retainers) on the capital.

But only when he managed to drag himself to by the ruins of the great fountain, did the reality of the situation become truly clear to the prince- the bodies of his three remaining sons impaled upon pikes surrounded by those of their fateful retainers- was the sheer hopelessness of the situation made clear for Micheal, the poisoned arrow may as well have been through his heart instead.

Even before he could process the horrific sight before him, let alone mourn for his butchered sons, there sounded a great clap of thunder- greater than he'd ever heard in all his fifty-five years, reflexively turning around at the whinnying of a giant black stallion.*If the beast was intimidating, his master was terrifying; a giant clad in black armor, his most striking features his oddly-blackened skin, the mane of flame red-hair trailing behind him, and beady, yellow eyes full of pride and malice. He'd heard tales from the refugees, common and noble alike, but this man truly did look like a demon.

"You...you did this..." Michael stammered blankly. "You...demon king!"

**The stallion's master chuckled viciously at the old man attempting to raise his blade in righteous fury. "I take it you enjoyed the little show my men put on for you?" he sneered. "This is truly all the greatest city in the world- this Cheve- could offer in the way of resistance? Pathetic! It almost makes me think the rest of your measly country isn't even worth crushing- almost!"

Whether from the poison, outrage, or both Michael was becoming increasingly belligerent. "You...bastard...!" he said weakly, advancing on the horseman weakly, shortly lowering his arms to catch his breath.

This display simply earned a bought of cruel laughter from the warlord. "Listen here, you pathetic, shriveled old wretch!" he demanded. "You've got moments left to live- you and all your people will quiver in awe and terror whenever they hear my name from this day forward! Soon, once I've destroyed that so-called 'sun temple' in the east, I will rule this continent- and the world!"

The man-demon was very pleased with himself, as evidenced by his deep, malicious laughter as he hurled his trident into one of the still-twitching victims. "And none of you insects can do a thing to stop me- none of you!"**

As the right hand of the grand prince, Lord Mayor Enrico of Trieste, as he was not technically a diplomat, had a good deal more freedom of action and speech, even where it would perhaps be unwise. In the confines of a rather comfortable carriage racing through the Nohrian countryside, was perhaps one of those places. "A nation of thieves, liars, and murderers." remarked the mayor. "They are now and always have been."

The prince winced, in no small part due to the sheer impropriety of the remark. Nestrans were known for their passion, but particularly for guests on a diplomatic mission, such language was uncalled for. "Oh, come now, Enrico!" exclaimed Grand Prince Nicolao. "Is that truly appropriate?"

"Because it's true! What, sire; are you afraid they're listening, is that it?"

Part of it was his training as a diplomat and his naturally-polite disposition, but another part of it was so- Mayor Enrico had known him too well for too many years not to see the apprehension in his expression. Even by the standards of nobles, the Nohrians consistently put on self-important airs and that one with the sallow, angular face- that duke was known to have eyes and ears in his employ across the country. "Even so, I still don't believe that kind of language is constructive." the prince said carefully, stroking his beard nervously. "After all, you've seen what happens to the nations that get on their bad side- the Chevois, the Hoshidans, the Flame Tribe-"

"Exactly my point!" retorted Enrico. "Their entire foreign policy consists of forcing us all to play pretend at the point of a blade! Occasionally stabbing or goring one of us to make a point. You say that this visit is essential to keep us on their good side, no? But what about when the day comes where we're suddenly not? What ensures that we're not next?"

Apart from the rumbling of the carriage, the galloping of the horses, and the chirping of the crickets, the environs remained largely silent. Truth be told, he had no answer for the very good, pointed questions asked by his old friend- no answers he liked, anyway. In spite of himself and his country's situation, the old prince managed a wry smile. "I remember your optimism when you first became my right hand." he remarked. "Now? Gods, you actually sound a bit like those Sagecios fellows!"

The mayor scoffed. "Yeah, if a creepy cult of assassins like that actually existed. It's just a myth and you know it, Nicolao."

"Assassins obsessed with death makes sense on some level, no?"

"Yeah, but their own deaths too? Come on!"

***As questionable-to-nonexistent as his moral fiber was, Duke Matteo did not see the fascination many of his fellow nobles had with the enslavement of the savages. He could understand why Guillaume would be fixated upon selling of them, since he'd go to any length to dirty his hands if he could make some gold off it, but why exactly there was a market escaped him. By nature, they'd only do the bare minimum amount of work to avoid being maimed and/or killed- being manipulative as he was, Matteo knew fully well that people worked best when they actually wanted something- or he was able to convince them that they wanted it. Nonetheless, his fellow ex-regent was unremarkable apart from his monumental avarice, to the point where it had caused him a number of headaches previously.

It was therefore appropriate that Matteo would accompany Guillaume out into the provinces on occasion- to keep him out of too much trouble. Then again, the thing about manipulation was that one's targets did not always behave as one wished, the duke rolling his eyes at the his counterpart's sordid transaction.

"And I'm assuring you, Duke Lucca!" implored Guillaume, gesturing as though he was actually taking offense. "This merchandise is among some of my finest! Each one of these bucks will do the work of seven farmhands or common laborers easily! Tell you what- I'll even throw in my newest catch's sisters, no extra charge. If anything, it's a bonus for you, if you get my meaning."

The twenty or so Hoshidans bound and manacled trailing behind the two nobles were not exactly pleased with their new occupation, seeing as they, by definition as slaves, had no say in their ultimate fates. Duke Roderico of Lucca, a older, portly gentleman, was rather tempted by the offer. "Hm, you drive a hard bargain, Guillaume- very well! If you've ever need of the extra men, send a bird to my man Ludvico and he should get you set up." he confirmed, placing a large sack of gold on the post of a nearby fence. "In the meantime, Andreas! Show these swine to the yard of the servants quarters- we'll figure something out."

Sighing resignedly, the knight Andreas, a man in his early thirties of above-average size, took the leash on the yoke of the slave at the head of the line, earning him a glare of intense enmity. "Fucking Nohrian bastard." he swore, punctuating his sentence by spitting at the knight's feet. "You even LOOK at one of my sisters-"

"It's just a job- it's nothing personal." he reiterated tiredly.

The vineyards and farms of Lucca's expansive noble estates, while outwardly beautiful, with many of its men abroad for the war effort, had taken on somewhat more of a sinister turn as of late. At least once every half hour, Matteo was sure he'd heard the very distinct cracking of whips, to the point where he was wondering if he was hallucinating. And civilized or savage, he had no real desire to see a man's back literally torn open from the flagellation he'd suffered, and finally, if he heard the word "boy" one more time, he felt liable to tear his hair out.

"I hope you're happy." Matteo remarked crossly. "This was a complete waste of time- we could have been doing something productive with this time."

Jingling the sack of gold, his counterpart was in fact, quite pleased with himself. "Maybe it wasn't productive for you." he retorted smugly. "Besides, we've got the bulk of the duke's levy at our disposal. Surely you can't tell me that's not useful!"

Matteo rubbed his chin in contemplation. "Hm, you've got a point there. But it still doesn't change the fact that you're a gold-grubbing reprobate who'd sell his own mother for coin."

Guillaume rolled his eyes. "Why must you be such a killjoy, my friend?"

"Hah, 'killjoy?!' I've been called worse by better men than you."

Guillaume chuckled. "Like what, a cuckold?"

Matteo's face twisted in humiliated rage. "Yes, like a cuckold." he informed through gritted teeth. "Now if you'll excuse me, once we reach the inn, I've a few letters to write." ***

She would not be home for at least tomorrow morning, the king knew damn well. Nonetheless, in the absence of his dear Corrine, King Leonard nonetheless, had a suitable replacement in his chambers for the time being, said substitute having a grand old time with herself moaning and writhing on top of him before she came once again, even a woman of the duchess' incredible stamina worn out, collapsing in his embrace momentarily before recoiling- neither of them were exactly affectionate lovers following the main event.

His luxurious, kingly bed becoming somewhat lighter with his partner going to the washbasin and smoothing her frazzled hair, the king was a firm believer in giving credit where credit was due- on the rare occasions where he saw it merited, anyway. "I must say," he remarked, stretching his arms with a yawn. "that was excellent as always, Lady Desdemona. I'll never understand what exactly is wrong with Matteo that he can keep his hands off you."

Sashaying back to the foot of her king's bed, the duchess gave a wry grin. "Well, everyone has their own theories." she remarked lightly. "I have a few myself, but no actual proof."

"So does he just prefer boys to women?"

"I couldn't tell you, milord; come to think of it, I've never actually seen him express interest in anyone, really- apart from his own 'brilliance' of course."

While not to the degree of another beauty of Krakenburg obviously, Desdemona was a taller, pale, curvaceous woman in her early-to-mid thirties, silver hair cascading down to the small of her back. Given his very interesting (and borderline-to-outright incestuous) tastes in women, it was little surprise that the duchess quickly became one of his favorite bedmates. Of course, she also had something else in common with Corrine.

"I'd still LOVE to bring Princess Camilla to one of our little romps." she remarked airily, lounging on the bed at her king's outstretched feet. "Gods, I'd kill for a chance to fuck her."

Leonard chuckled darkly, recalling his sister's right-hand woman and their shared, preexisting dislike. "Wouldn't we all, wouldn't we all?"

Desdemona craned her neck to look up at her king. "Something on your mind, milord?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with- the savages and whatnot. But I suppose one can no more fault them than one faults a beast for acting like...a beast. I can however, fault my gold-grubbing minions with more avarice than sense."

"Ah, I see."

Well, damn, thought the duchess. That wasn't really anything her husband-in-name-only was not aware of- however, the fact that their king was becoming rather annoyed by Duke Guillaume's greed, could be very useful to him. Or at least, knowing that the king and Duke Toscana were on the same page on the matter could be helpful. Then again, Desdemona had a very reliable method for prying information from otherwise tight-lipped individuals- mainly men, but one never really knew. Gods knew she could use some more relief.

Crawling coyly to her lord like some sort of sickly feline, Desdemona gave a wicked smirk. "I've just been such a naughty girl, my king! Won't you see fit to punish me?"

The king returned the expression. "Get over here, you slutty little minx and I'll punish you!"

The two-and-a-half weeks on the road to return to the castle had been trying on Corrine for a number of reasons, not least of which were the vile memories from Mount Haku assaulting her mind's eye whenever she'd closed her eyes. The pained, tortured screams and sounds of men, women, and children alike being dismembered and mutilated had largely become background noise by this point. However, nightmarish as the experience was, when she closed her eyes to sleep were the truly the most trying hours, the images being more vivid than she'd experienced. Honestly, Corrine could not decide which were more horrifying; the dream where she'd watched a group of her men having a grand old time burning a little boy and his sister alive as they begged her to save them or the ones were she was an active, enthusiastic participant in the massacres.

And this was only compounded upon by the hero's welcome she and her men received as they toured the towns en route to the castle, the rapturous, adoring cheers showered upon her by the men, women, and children alike. While Ira and most of her men enthusiastically received such praise from the masses, Corrine simply shirked guiltily away, the pleas for tales of how she'd slaughtered "savages" constantly ringing in her ears. Hell, she'd even vomited at the sight of a group of her own soldiers (rather successfully judging by their exhilarated expressions) attempting to pick up a group of village girls with their mutilated "trophies" and exaggerated tales of their masculine daring.

Yes, it was truly a relief to be out of the spotlight for her "heroism" which she knew damned well she did not deserve. And when the guards, after what seemed like ages, dragged those great doors open, it was even more of a relief to find the azure maiden throwing herself in Corrine's embrace. "I-I'm sorry." Azura remarked emotionally. "I just hadn't seen you in so long."

The princess managed a weary smile. "Don't mention it." she remarked, fatigue apparent in her voice. "I just want to go back to our room and sleep."

Azura gave one of her rare, heartfelt smiles. "Whatever you wish, my love."

Her girlfriend's sweet, soothing voice was, as always, music to Corrine's ears and, when she returned to her bed after what seemed like ages, falling asleep almost immediately as her head hit the pillow. And slept well she did- for the first time in weeks, Azura's dainty fingers massaging her scalp affectionately as she so did. Yes, Corrine slept quite well indeed, perhaps dreaming even more pleasantly...

Sunlight streaming in on her face, Corrine's system finally saw fit to rouse her from her sleep, stretching her arm with a yawn, unintentionally nudging the bed's other occupant.

"Ah, I see you slept well, Corrine, my darling." he remarked, stroking her snowy locks, one of his exceptionally-rare smiles on his face.

Corrine returned the expression. "Of course! How could I not?" she chirped, stroking his cheek in return. "My king- my kind, intelligent, sexy husband."

"Well, I've got nothing on you, my love."

Corrine chuckled in response, her lips meeting those very familiar ones in a light, chaste, gentle kiss- quite the contrast from their night together. Not surprisingly for a father-to-be, the king massaged his queen's midsection affectionately, giving an (even rarer) playful chuckle. "It still doesn't feel real to me." he remarked dreamily. "Gods, this is the best thing we've ever done, isn't it?"

"Well, it is real, and it's amazing." answered Corrine, just as dreamily. "Just like every moment of being your queen."

Perhaps in the expectation of going a second round, the royal couple's lips met once again, the gesture noticeably more intense, their hands wandering the contours of the other's body before the king pulled back. "You know, we should really think about our son's name before we practice making his little brother or sister."

Corrine smirked. "Or our daughter, Leo."

"Fair point, my treasure."

Whatever their immediate intent, it was interrupted by the royal guard rapping at their chamber's door. "Milord! Milord!" called the guard, his rapping seeming even more obnoxious at this early hour.

The king growled. "Fine, enter."

The door creaking behind him, the faceless, black-clad soldier bowed in apology. "So sorry, Your Majesties." he began contritely. "But there are certain matters which require your attention- Sir Pietro...is a bit of a prima donna concerning his accommodations in the dungeon. He insists that he need look presentable for his final appeals."

Leonard scowled. "He'll deal with what he's been given." he remarked coldly. "Times like this, I wish I could delegate this kind of thing to Duke Toscana- before his tragic balcony accident, anyway."

The soldier then turned to the queen. "Oh, Queen Corrine, the sav-"

The soldier audibly choked back the bile in his throat before resuming. "-Hoshidan delegation arrived earlier this morning. And their queen, something or another, sends her regards as well."

"Hinoka." Corrine corrected sternly.

The soldier shrugged. "With all due respect, milady, the sav- they kind of all look the same to me." he explained.

"Enough of this, you fool!" growled the king. "Send word to the maids to draw a bath and prepare my wife's finery. I shall deal with Pietro and his appeals in the meantime."

"At once, milord."

The king pecked his queen on the cheek as the guard scurried obediently away to relay his lord's directives. Yes, it had been a long, bloody road with much hardship and loss, but she could genuinely say her life was as close to perfect as she could have ever expected. It was almost too good to be true, in fact...

Corrine opened her eyes once more, only to turn her gaze guiltily away from the figure actually stroking her locks. "Good morning, Corrine." Azura said softly. "Did you sleep well, my treasure?"

"Oh, Azura." the princess remarked, sounding somehow disappointed."Y-yeah, I slept great."

Refreshed, but still rather unnerved, Corrine rose from the bed, stepping over to the wash basin to clean her face. Azura meanwhile, crocked her neck in confusion. "Something wrong?"

"Fine, everything's great." she lied, rubbing the wash cloth across her face. "Slept like a log, in fact!"

Confused, relieved, guilty, and sexually frustrated all at once, Corrine became increasingly annoyed at the rapping (so THAT's where it came from!) on the door to their chamber. "What?! Come in already!"

Curiously enough, precisely as in the dream, a soldier of the royal guard took this as his cue to enter. "Princess, His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room as soon as possible." he reported dutifully. "He's rather insistent that you come alone."

"Alright, thank you." answered Corrine neutrally.

As the guard took his leave, almost immediately, there was a distinct spring in the princess' step as she bounded over to the lovers' shared wardrobe. While keeping her feelings close to her figurative vest, Azura was far too observant not to notice her change in demeanor. "Well, you seem a bit more chipper." she observed, a strong hint of jealousy audible in her tone. "I wonder why that could be?"

"Oh, come on, Azura! He's the king!" Corrine insisted a bit too vigorously. "I mean, if he calls, I can't just tell him no, now can I? Besides, I never took you for the jealous type at all."

"I-I'm not, I'm really not, it's just-"

Azura sighed heavily as her girlfriend was apparently modeling a black evening gown against her own frame. "We tell each other everything, right?"

Corrine looked at her lover as though she'd been struck in the back of the head a second before. "O-oh, of course, Azura!" she fibbed. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. It's just- you would tell me if something was troubling you, right?"

"Naturally!"

Immediately, after the exchange concluded, the words you godsdamned liar flowed through her mind. Of course, she told her girlfriend everything that concerned her! Everything except the fact that her men celebrated their victory against the "savages" with a gratuitous orgy of mass slaughter, rape, and pillage- yet again. This time however, she lacked even the excuse of being a subordinate- these were her own troops she failed to keep in line! To say nothing of her semi-incestuous, unprofessional lust for the man she called her brother becoming overpowering.

It was not long before Corrine simply decided upon her regular armor as sufficient for her audience with the king; she had noticeably more leeway with him than most, and with the matter at hand and his demands, it also provided the opportunity for her to raise certain...issues with Leonard, particularly. The great throne room doors dragged open by the obviously-eastern slaves (she still could not believe he would approve of such things!), Corrine, upon taking several steps before her king and his throne, was mildly distracted by just how...commanding the king had become. Knowing him as an uptight, studious bookworm from her youth, he had truly taken to the role fate had forced on him- in fact, going down on one knee for him (having his measurements taken by a tailor before her arrival), momentarily sent her mind, among other things, racing with possibilities.

"Your Majesty." Corrine remarked, a forced neutrality in her tone. "You summoned me?"

The king's normally sullen face lit up considerably. "Ah, Corrine!" he answered. "Just the woman I wanted to see!"

Leonard scowled at the tailor and Hoshidan slaves in that order. "Away with you!" he demanded. "That goes doubly for you two vermin!"

Much like as though operated by some kind of switch, her adopted brother's demeanor switched immediately. "The men and court alike have been singing your praises for your heroism on the savages' mountain." he informed proudly. "Sir Armin, Lady Rose- to the extent she speaks at all, anyway- all praise your performance against that filth. Even Pietro sends his regards- grudgingly, no doubt, but still."

Corrine winced at the mention of the horrors for which she bore partial responsibility, to say nothing of what the approval of butchers like Pietro said about her. "Th-thank you, milord." she said.

The king gave one of his rare, genuine smiles. "Oh, Corrine, no need to be so formal when it's just us! 'Leo' is fine!"

Turning her head up to meet his gaze, Corrine smiled lightly as well. "Thank you, Leo."

"I have been quite impressed with your performance as well- even more so with your effect on the morale of the troops."

Truth be told, given her track record and the massacre(s) on Mount Haku, this endorsement, while somewhat soothing considering the source, did not exactly fill her with confidence. But there was more still.

"You'll not have to accept if you're opposed," resumed Leonard. "but in light of your proven heroism, I'd like to promote you as one of my generals."

****Corrine felt her heart skip a beat at this, the culmination of her misguided ambitions staring at her with its (very attractive) face. "T-thank you, Leo; you've already done so much to fuck me- done so much for me already." she remarked, face coloring slightly at the Freudian slip.

The king took several steps back to his throne, producing from behind it the ceremonial trident (now that she thought about it, Corrine scarcely noticed just how omnipresent the trident motif in Nohrian symbolism was), a weapon of still-immaculate condition. Tapping her shoulder with one of the blunt edges of the weapon, the monarch spoke. "For all your heroic deeds in the name of the Kingdom of Nohr and martial aptitude, I, Leonard the Thirteenth, solemnly elevate you, Lady Corrine, to the ranks of His Majesty's generals, with all the powers and privileges of that station. Please rise."

Complying with the command and rising to her feet, Corrine, as trying as the past year had been, felt some shred of optimism for the first time in many months now. No longer would the other commanders, noble or not, be allowed to simply dismiss her input concerning the treatment of the subjugated peoples as the ramblings of some naive blueblood. Even Matteo's bag of tricks would be weakened significantly. Of course, there were still other outstanding issues.

"By the by, Corrine." the king remarked. "in a month's time, I'm hosting an assortment of foreign dignitaries at a gala. I understand the punitive expedition was trying, but if you'd do me the honor, I'd love for you to accompany me."

"Yes, I'd love to!" the princess blurted out, her justification to Azura still ringing in her mind. "Go with you, I mean."

Leonard clasped his hand in anticipation. "Wonderful, just wonderful! Of course, your armor simply will not do for such an occasion; the seamstresses will fashion something worthy for you! That will be all, Corrine."

Taking her leave from the throne room, Corrine, almost as though intoxicated, found her mind swimming with the possibilities her new position had opened up. Indeed, in light all of the pain and suffering her choice on that fateful day had resulted in, there did genuinely seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel. So lost in fantasy was she, did Corrine scarcely notice that several minutes had actually passed until she literally bumped into Azura.

"Oh, Corrine!" she exclaimed. "What did the king want?"

Corrine felt her mood deflate slightly at being bought back to reality. "Oh, nothing." she lied reflexively. "Just work stuff. Leo actually was so impressed by me, he made me one of his generals."

Azura's face lit up. "Oh, that's wonderful, Corrine! You're really moving up in the world, aren't you?"

Corrine chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

As her lover spoke on, Corrine found herself arguing with that nagging little voice in the back of her mind. It wasn't really being unfaithful to Azura, she reassured herself. It was simply a work thing! A diplomatic event! What wrong could there be in that? She was a member of high society, after all!

Was it possible that she was letting her emotions run away with her? Being seduced by the pomp and power of the throne? It was possible, she conceded. But then again, as they passed the gallery of the country's previous queens and the full wall mirror, Corrine paused briefly, allowing herself to fantasize about herself in the queenly finery.

"Corrine?" Azura remarked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's nothing!"****

In a certain ancient temple in Notre Sagesse, well outside the relatively (for the chain of islands, anyway) bustling hub of the capital, gathered a rather unusual group of extremely devoted individuals. While gathering to discuss everything of import- politics, religion, the war on the mainland and their country's mortal enemy, while inconvenienced, was by no means defeated.

But for members of this unusual order, the true attraction was the wisdom of their captain and his mystic visions- increasingly powerful as of late. "I implore you, my brother." plead an awestruck young man of sixteen or so. "Tell the story again- of your first vision, I mean."

Seated at the northern end of the temple, Paul, the captain- a stern-faced man in his mid-30s with a piercing gaze, stood up and cleared his throat. "Very well." he remarked, his booming voice playing well off the temple's acoustics. "As you all know, I was something of a sickly child. By the time I was seventeen, my condition became even worse, to the point where my mother and father feared for my life. No doctor or medicine on the islands seemed to help. In fact, my condition seemed to deteriorate even more. In their desperation, Mother and Father gathered up every bit of gold they could muster- to send me away to a doctor on the mainland who could help. The physician said neither he nor his colleagues had ever seen anything like it. Not even the famed Nestran hotsprings helped. At a loss, that well-meaning soul directed Father and I to a healer in that wretched kingdom of night."

The ruined temple became absolutely, utterly silent as their leader approached the climax of the story- the most fascinating, captivating part. "When we set foot on Nohrian soil, my health began to decline even further." continued Paul. "When I would close my eyes to sleep at night, I would see and hear horrific visions- demons and monsters terrorizing the innocent, the foulest of foul, unholy beasts ravaging the land, draining what life remained from me, it seemed. Needless to say, these were quite taxing. In fact, by our second night, I expected fully to take my last breath that country."

A hint of a triumphant smirk crept over Paul's face. "By the third night, I dreaded sleeping- once I finally did however, I found myself surrounded by a horde of the wickedest, shadowy creatures laughing- taunting me as their very presence robbed me of what little life remained. The greatest and most terrible of them all towered over his fellows with a head of horns. I'd despaired of whatever fate these monsters had prepared for me when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a glint of light- a young man or an older boy- I couldn't exactly tell- appeared, hoisting a shimmering blade above his head. The demons fled in terror as this blade's light dissolved them and drove their master back to whatever foul pit he came. The light overwhelmed everything but the silhouette of the hero and his blade- and then I heard her voice- that's when I knew the Goddess had sent her messenger to save me- that I still had a mission in this world."

No matter how many times their captain spoke of it, the tale of his rescue from the demon horde by the Goddess and her messenger- the lad wielding the sword that drove darkness away and slew demons- it never failed to receive the same reaction of absolute awe. "When I awoke, it was as though the life had returned to me- I was healed." Paul concluded. "Of course, the very first thing I did was wake Father- I was not going to remain in that land of demons a second longer than necessary. And that kingdom is demonic, do not misunderstand that."

Despite hearing the tale of the Goddess and the shimmering warrior from his own hero, the lad's expression darkened somehow. "The only problem is the demon spawn bringing their evil to our country." he complained.

"Yeah!" concurred another youth. "And the sniveling old cowards- the council of so-called 'wise men' doing nothing!"

The Captain smiled darkly. "But that is why we are here, no? What our order is for?" he reminded. "Besides, the Goddess and her herald never leave the faithful without hope- in this world, I can feel his spirit- that very same one the diabolical king fears and hates above all else."

*****Prim, proper, and (ironically enough) cautious to a fault generally, Lord Kojuro of Sanuki could not help but curse profusely to himself at the situation he'd led his loyal retainers into- disarmed and into the hands of their hated enemy. Gentle and easygoing, even by Hoshidan standards, Lord Kojuro could neither abide the devastation strewn about his family's lands nor the Nohrians' murder of his beloved elder brother, the province's previous lord. Both his father and brother had lain down their lives to fight the enemy, so he felt it only right to aid his people in their hour of need.

"Well, well, well," remarked the Nohrian commander nastily, a burly axeman some twenty-five years of age. "looks like you've made a bit of a wrong turn, boy."

His twenty-five or so subordinates chuckled in unison, varying degrees of malice and/or fear in their given intonations. The new Lord of Sanuki merely spoke the truth. "No, we just seem to have gotten a bit off-track with our equipment." he remarked, still bristling at the Nohrian habit of referring to any Hoshidan male as "boy."

"Technically, milord is correct." remarked one of Kojuro's commanders, bound to his own spear.

The Nohrian mage to his left scowled at the man. "Hey, shut the fuck up, swine! If you stop giving us lip and accept your deaths like men, we won't make painful- maybe."

Meanwhile, one of the enemy's spearmen, quite obviously a green recruit from his disconcerted body language, finally vocalized his discomfort. "Hey g-guys." he began. "I-isn't this kinda th-that Black B-band's turf?"

As childish as it may have seemed, this was in fact, the ultimate goal of Lord Sanuki- to seek out the semi-legendary rural army that had sprung up in the Hoshidan countryside to combat the invaders- and add his resources to their own. While they obviously would not be victorious on their own, it would prove a mighty headache for their tormentors. Not to mention taking some of the heat off those tough, crazy bastards in the north.

The commander growled in frustration. "Come on, don't be stupid, Bauer!" he ordered. "That's just a myth the savages tell themselves to-"

Said commander was abruptly silenced with an arrow to the throat, as was his right-hand boredly holding the lantern. "The commander's down!" cried one of the pikemen. "We're under attack!"

"Someone light the signal fires before-"*****

In the flurry of arrow fire and the sounds of combat illuminated only by the moon's light in the forest clearing, Kojuro and his retainers were abruptly knocked to the ground in the chaos. Fully expecting to be finished off by the enemy, Kojuro was shocked that the figure that tackled him to the ground had a very familiar accent. "Get down and stay down!" he ordered.

Before the lord could inquire further, he felt the figure's weight leave his body, apparently taking off to do battle.

Now it was, of course, quite dark, but after a minute-and-a-half, the chaos had seemed to have largely died down, a couple of figures lighting lamps to survey the battlefield. Truth was, Kojuro had thought he was in the afterlife before the voices were revealed, by careful discernment, to be Hoshidan. "Hey, these guys are alright too!" called one of the combatants, untying the lord from his binds. "Your instincts were spot-on, ma'am!"

"Wait, what's going on here?" Kojuro inquired, both confused and relieved.

As the figure came closer into focus, Kojuro could scarcely believe his eyes at the commander- the woman gesturing to finish off the wounded enemy- and her identity. "Wait, you can't be-"

The commander crocked her head sideways. "Oh, hey there." Setsuna remarked vacantly. "Long time, no see, huh?"

"Setsuna?! Lady Setsuna of Tosa?!"

"Yup, the one and only."

Helping the lord to his feet, Setsuna swiped a bit of the dust from the dumbstruck lord's armor. It still boggled Kojuro's mind that his erstwhile fiance, the lazy, anxious, teenage noblewoman, had come to command this force terrorizing the occupier. "H-how?" he inquired. "I'd heard you were serving the p-princess-"

Setsuna shrugged, perhaps an unconscious response to the wounded Nohrians being dealt with. "Yeah, I am- but it's a real long story." she remarked. "But we gotta, you know, clear out of here before the Nohrians figure out anything and scavenge anything useful."

"A-a-and this 'Black Band?"

"I dunno. It started with me and it just kinda snowballed from there."

While their engagement may not have worked out, Kojuro genuinely wished the absentminded noblewoman well- recalling her as he knew her in her previous life, the lord managed a proud smile. "I must say, you've become quite a brave young lady, Setsuna." he remarked.

Setsuna chuckled. "Oh, no." she said modestly. "You think I'M brave? Believe me, you ain't seen nothing- I know people WAY braver. Worked with them too."

There was something truly hypnotic about the crackling and sparking of the fire in the nighttime air, especially when contrasting against the assorted sounds of the nighttime. Yatsunasa had known that from the very first time he'd watched his father create one. This only became more so once the chilly autumns which the northern principalities were famous; particularly in the winter where the flames could very well stand between one and an early, very unpleasant grave.

Perhaps this fascination was hereditary; as long as anyone could remember, the men in his family had been mystics in some way, shape, or form. And as far as the young man could tell (or could even conceive), they always would be. Truth be told, that suited him just fine. Let those soft southerners or plateau-dwelling easterners concern themselves with whatever new toys of theirs. Hell, or even the tribes out in the deserts of the far west and their constant warfare worked for this example; the people of the north truly were a different breed.

His elder brother and father having done their part for the harvest and exhausted as such, the responsibility fell upon Yatsunasa to see the flame die a natural death tonight; this was considered a prestigious position, particularly for someone as young as Yatsunasa's seventeen. Then again, it WAS an exceptionally-boring task and the lad DID like his sleep after all...

When Yatsunasa came to, he was understandably, very alarmed; his environment utterly still and silent, air heavy with mist and his visibility limited at best, bizarrely enough, the ground itself seemed to be enveloped in it. The only thing visible in the distance was an ornate castle- an ornate, yet very-familiar castle which he was sure did not exist in any of the eastern lands.

Most apparent of all however, was the very imminent presence of a spectral, skeletal figure, clad in armor from head to toe, silent, but apparently staring very intently at Yatsunasa. Naturally made very uncomfortable by this, the lad took several steps backwards before tripping over something, shortly revealed as a blade of some sort or another. While he was a mystic by training, Yatsunasa knew a bit more than the basics of using a sword; certainly enough to defend himself or others. It was almost as though the specter was beckoning him, challenging him to take up the blade.

Still scared out of his mind and not sure exactly what else to do to escape this weird realm, Yatsunasa got to his feet and raised the blade over his head, a bellow of belligerence masking his attempt at an overhead strike on the spirit. Of course, for his trouble, the entity promptly knocked him on his backside, nary a scratch on its form.

"Your technique was sloppy, your footwork was atrocious, and your spacing was laughable." the figure spoke at last. "Had this been an actual battle, your life would be forfeit. But that was not your worst mistake."

"Well, excuse me!" remarked Yatsunasa in response, some of the edge apparently taken off by the being finally speaking. "What would that be, Mister god-of-war?!"

******The entity's gaze seemed to grow even more intense. "I could sense the hesitation in your mind, body, and spirit alike; a sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage! Remember those words! Make them a part of your very being!"

"But why?! Where am I?! And most of all, who the hell are you?!"

"My name is of no import; what is important is that your world- and everyone in it, is in mortal danger."

"Wait, how?! And what are you talking about?!"

"My fated nemesis- a demon thief and sorcerer of great and terrible power- has absconded from the pages of history, I believe, to haunt this world and turn it into his domain. More than a few have the strength, but I've detected none- no man with both the sense and valor as well, to stand against him through the eons of your world."

"Okay, but where do I come into this?!"

"Milady requires me in my own world. To deal with an especially pernicious demon and the sect of fanatics it commands. Therefore, it is not possible for me to physically travel the worlds to end this demon thief."

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds as if you're not giving me much choice."

If it were at all possible for the skeletal champion to give any facial expression, Yatsunasa suspected it would have been a sly grin. "Precisely. I sense great power resting in you and your blood. But that alone is not sufficient. Take up the blade- practice as though your world's fate depended upon it, both in dreams and the waking world- grow wise as you live out your days- and most of all, recall what I said of the sword! It will be an arduous road, but at its end, my spirit will have a proper successor in this world- and give it hope against the dark lord."

Twirling some of his light-brown hair absentmindedly, Yatsunasa had to admit that this was quite a bit to take in. He would have liked to characterize it as a mere dream- or even a particularly vivid vision. But the sheer dignity- the sheer gravitas and valor radiating from the entity sparked some instinct of his, something he could not quite shake, beckoning him towards becoming the war god's apprentice. How could any man refuse giving his world hope against a demon king? "Very well." the lad said at last. "What do I have to do?"

The spirit gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Excellent! First of all, tell me; I am aware you come from a family of mystics, but who taught you the sword?"

"No one. I taught myself."

"Alright, I can work with this... Let us begin! I will learn you swordplay befitting of a hero!"