"Well? Are you just going to stand there?" Condescending, smug, and all around infuriating. That was what the voice that could be heard over the gurgling bodies sounded like. Byleth felt every bit of that condescension, and she was most definitely not the intended audience.
"You-! To think, Rhea would stoop to using a monster like you!" An old man on a horse, graying hair and all. A furious look on his face, mirrored by the recognition on Ashe's.
"Lonato!" Byleth had to grab at the gray haired boy as he lurched forward, his bow dropping to the ground in haste. She grimaced as he started struggling, prompting Sylvain to join her in holding him back.
There was no mistaking it now. The man on horseback, donned in much better armor than the militia they were fighting, was none other than the leader of the entire rebellion.
Ashe's shout went seemingly unheard, as Lonato continued to stare at the Archer. The Archer, for his part, stood with a smirk on his face.
Bodies upon bodies, more than thirty if Byleth had to count, were mutilated beyond recognition. Limbs were scattered, blood stained the ground, and the groans of pain from those unfortunate enough to still be alive echoed across the field.
"Monster, you say?" The smirk on the Archer's face grew as he stepped forward. The men with Lonato, readied their weapons, for all the good it would do. Lonato didn't so much as blink. Byleth had to give it to the man - he was brave.
Foolish, but brave.
As much as she hated the undue suffering that the Archer was causing, she could not deny that he was significantly stronger than just about everyone here, bar maybe Catherine. That Lonato could stand up and not even flinch, despite the death that the Archer had so obviously inflicted, was astonishing.
It would not do him any good.
For all that Lonato was a warrior, he was also old. Very old. Older than just about anyone that Byleth had seen. While age was usually followed by wisdom, it was also usually followed by a lessening of one's physical capabilities.
As far as Byleth knew, the man was well within the age that many would retire.
That he was standing, or sitting in his case, firmly against the Archer only put things into perspective.
That Lonato knew that he wasn't getting out of this. With the presence of both Catherine and the Archer, not to mention all of them, it didn't matter that Lonato's troops outnumbered them. More than that, even if the Archer decided to capture him, then he would inevitably be tried, with the usual punishment for rebellion being a lifetime of imprisonment.
Either way, Lonato would die. The only choice was between the battlefield and prison.
For someone like Lonato, the choice was already made.
Yet, it seemed that Ashe didn't see it that way. With a burst of surprising strength, he broke free from their hold, before running and interposing himself between the Archer and the remains of Lonato's retinue. More surprising than that was when the Archer actually stopped to listen as Ashe shouted once more.
"Lonato, please! Stop this!"
"Ashe." A grim sense of familiarity and a saddened frown, "Step aside. This has nothing to do with you."
"It has everything to do with me!" Byleth wouldn't have believed anyone had she been told that Ashe would've been able to shout that loud, "It took me a while to realize, but these soldiers of yours…They're the villagers, aren't they?!"
"It doesn't-"
"Answer me!" Ashe was crying now, and Byleth felt a pit in her stomach grow. She'd suspected, of course. The soldiers and militia that they had fought had done so with very little, if any, experience. She had held onto the hope that these were just fresh recruits, ones that had volunteered for this.
It was obvious now that they weren't.
She took a discreet look around, seeing the realization dawn on a lot of the Blue Lions. Some of them, Dimitri included, barely had an expression. Their suddenly tight grips on their weapons told another story.
"It matters not." The pause in his response was all the answer that Ashe needed, "Step aside, Ashe, this is your last warning."
"I will not." Ashe suddenly turned to glare at the Archer, who was watching the proceedings with a neutral look on his face, a far cry from his usual smirk, "I will not let you throw away your life like this. Please, we can still talk this out."
The tension on the battlefield was palpable. Byleth watched, her heart heavy, as Ashe stood resolute, tears streaming down his face. Lonato remained seated on his horse, his gaze fixed on the Archer.
The Archer, for his part, seemed unfazed by the emotional turmoil playing out before him. He looked at Ashe with a detached sort of curiosity, as though trying to understand the young man's conviction.
"It is far too late for that." Lonato closed his eyes and sighed, before his gaze turned to Catherine. Here, where his glare towards the Archer was filled with righteous fury, this glare was filled with utter loathing.
"Not when Rhea would hand me the reason for Christophe's death on a silver platter."
Ashe's breath caught in his throat. The mention of his brother's name, Christophe, hung in the air like a heavy shroud. Byleth could see the pain etched across his face, mingling with the anger and desperation.
Catherine, who had been silent until now, shifted uncomfortably under Lonato's accusing gaze. She was a woman of action, not words, and the weight of the accusation seemed to press on her heavily. It certainly didn't help that, from what Byleth knew of the situation, Catherine really was involved in the capture, and eventual execution, of Lonato's son.
"Christophe wouldn't want this! Dragging the townsfolk into this, it isn't right!"
"Enough, Ashe." Lonato didn't so much as raise his voice, but Ashe still flinched back. "I respect your choices in life, and I would ask you to do the same to me. Regardless of what may happen, I have no doubt in my heart that Rhea is nothing more than an infidel and pretender!"
His lance pointed once to Catherine, then to the Archer.
"Her employment of these two is proof enough! One, a cruel and barbaric monster, hellbent on the torture of my men, while the other, the cause of your brother, my son's, death! Do you not see the cruelty in that, Ashe?!"
As he spoke, Lonato's voice rose higher and higher. The conscripts readied their weapons. Byleth readied hers. Alongside her, she could recognize the telltale sounds of everyone getting into position. Her eyes locked with Dimitri, and she gave a subtle nod.
"It is clear to me what this means. That Rhea, false prophet that she is, has done nothing more than deceive the good people of this land, and in doing so, have desecrated the Goddess! Know now, that we fight, not for petty revenge, but for the very will of our Goddess!"
A resounding roar came from the enemy as they surged forward. Where they had been almost shy before, now, they rushed forward with no fear. Lonato's words had apparently stirred them into a frenzy, one that had overcome their hesitation.
With no other choice, Byleth breathed in. In the distance, she could hear Catherine command the bulk of their forces into a defensive formation. Ashe, in the meantime, was frozen stiff, still in between the entire thing.
"Form up, I'm going to go get him." She spoke to a tense Sylvain, Ingrid and Annette. The three of them nodded in response, turning around to join the others. With that taken care of, she all but sprinted towards the younger man.
She could understand him freezing up. It wasn't everyday that your adoptive father would go and stage a full scale rebellion. But that didn't matter now. Ashe could grieve the loss later. Now, she needed him out of the way.
Truthfully, she didn't know what exactly was coming, and she had the faintest hope that maybe it wouldn't come to pass. She just knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.
Byleth only started to realize what it was when she took a quick glance at the Archer.
He wasn't smirking. He wasn't even neutral. No, he had a decidedly annoyed look on his face. She doubled her pace. Byleth was already dragging the limp Ashe when she heard the Archer speak out loud, his gravelly voice being heard all around.
"Religious zealots. Pathetic."
She had seen the Archer fight. During their first meeting, back when they had found him injured. She had seen him with those strange weapons of his, pointing it at the bandit leader, and the bandit dying.
He didn't have either of them in his hand.
"Of all the damn things to get caught up in, it had to be religious fervor."
Blades of all make started appearing in blue wisps of light. Some were standard longswords and broadswords. Others, huge slabs of metal that no man should be able to wield. All of them were pointed at Lonato and his men.
All of them, above the Archer.
"No matter where the hell I go, it's always the same."
Normally, Byleth would have welcomed the more human aspect of complaining. It was perhaps the most down to earth that she had ever heard the dark-skinned man talk. It would've been comforting to know that, despite the ruthlessness that the man often displayed against bandits and whatnot, he was still human.
It would've been, had the swords not shot forward.
It was easy to say the word 'slaughter' and imagine what it would look like. Armies bloodying each other to the last man. Plague eating away at both side's forces. Wanton destruction. Suffering. Despair.
Byleth had seen it in her time. Both on the receiving end, and the one that dealt it.
This was well beyond any of that. The swords that fell, wielded by no one, did so like rain. Sword upon sword, many missing. It didn't matter. Those that hit did. They buried themselves hilt-deep into the bodies of Lonato's forces.
When the battle started, and when the fog cleared, Byleth and everyone else were outnumbered, almost four-to-one.
Now, They were watching that advantage wither into nothing.
Man after man ran forward, shouting with pain and anger, their bodies being pierced to the ground. Byleth couldn't tear her eyes away. She could feel her body slacken, similar to Ashe. Unlike her, though, Ashe was wailing.
He knew those people.
He knew those people, and he was now watching them all die horrible, brutal deaths.
As she took in the sight of one particularly large man getting his arm torn off, before another blade impacted through his eye, a small, shaken voice spoke up.
"Byleth…you need to get out of here." Sothis was right. Byleth needed to act, to do something. She couldn't let herself be paralyzed by the gruesome spectacle before her. With a determined resolve, she turned away from the carnage, still dragging the limp, near catatonic form of Ashe.
She glanced over her shoulder at the Archer, who continued to rain down swords with cold precision. His face was a mask of detached focus, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. It was as if he were a force of nature, untouchable and unstoppable.
"Professor!"
Byleth's attention snapped back to Ashe. He was looking at her with wide, tear-filled eyes, pleading for her to do something. She tightened her grip on him and nodded.
"We need to go, Ashe. We can't stay here." Her voice was firm, trying to break through the shock that held him in its grasp. She guided him away from the battlefield, towards the safety of their own lines.
As they moved, Byleth couldn't shake the images of the gruesome scene they left behind. The Archer's relentless onslaught, the bodies falling like ragdolls, the cries of pain and terror. It was a horrifying sight, one that would likely haunt the dreams of her students for a long time.
Once they reached the relative safety of their own forces, Byleth gently set Ashe down and knelt beside him. She looked into his eyes, seeing the pain and devastation reflected back at her. She bit her lip.
There wasn't anything she could do, other than pray that it would be over soon.
Her wish was answered when, not five minutes later, all that was left was a silent battlefield.
Commissioned by: Oliver vasquez
A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.
And a special thanks to: Oliver vazquez, brutalcrab, and Tassimo.