Cycle

by RoseWarden

Robin is a young woman who bakes cakes during the day, sleeps at night, and drinks on weekends. She does not wage wars, fight demons, or solve dating issues. Yet, somehow by divine mistake, she's found herself doing just that. Clearly, someone has her confused with another Robin...

53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer – I don't own Fire Emblem. All of its properties belong to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

Warnings for violence, blood, and one exceptionally hammy Grimleal

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Chapter 53

"It is about time." Panne is the first to speak. She rolls a stone between her palms, warming up the surface between the friction she generates. A glow burns up from the middle, pulsing outward into a blinding halo that overtakes her form. Like the manaketes, her body begins to morph in a bedazzling display of light. Dropping down on all four limbs, Panne's length grows rapidly to an outstanding size. The transformation erupts in a shattering of particles, exposing her beast form in full glory. "I tire of this role of defender. I wish to put this battle behind us once and for all."

"So we shall," Emmeryn murmurs. The grip on her staff tightens, the stones on each ring clanging together. "Our route will remain swift and true. Stay close."

The first step is tentative, almost as if she were afraid to make it. Emmeryn's toes scrape quietly over the stones. Her staff raises higher with the next. Momentum picks up as her third step grows wider in stride. Her shoulders set back and the edge of her staff glows hot white. A heavy influx of energy seeps into the ruby ball, an ebb that follows the full intake of air in her lungs. Pausing at the apex of her breath, Emmeryn teeters on the precipice of action. Her eyes close, faltering.

Then, the air around her plummets. Even Henry tilts his head in interest at the rush of raw magic that siphons into her. It's a vortex of power that washes over me causing goosebumps to rise up my arms.

Her eyelids snap open and a determination not seen before takes hold. An ethereal flash brightens them, a sign of her hallowed blood singing to life.

A hazy, mirage-like aura forms around her staff. It ripples with heat, the stone shining bright as Mars in the night sky. Digging her heels deep into the earth, Emmeryn grounds herself as she raises her staff for the cluster of Risen nearest to us.

"For my people," she whispers.

There's a sound like the snapping of tinder and then a rush of wind. Light dances of her staff handle and shoots outward forming flame runes of the most intricate sort, those even Miriel struggles with. Arcfire runes spread out, their long twisting pattern extending around the summoning circle to near completion. Like space in a vacuum, magic suctions in so quickly it pulls the very breath out of me. It gathers at the tip of her staff, infinite in the power she commands yet controlled in such a perfect state.

Then, the warbling grows. Light flashes so bright I turn my head away. The spell turns into a concussive shot, and the end of her staff knocks like a shotgun's kickback. Hot white flames, like Naga's own breath, shoot out in twin pillars spiraling around each other. Her aim is true, the blinding spell searing forward so quickly they reach their target in the blink of an eye.

The largest huddle of Risen in our way, twenty or more all engorged together on the others' goo, are engulfed in a wave of flames that wash over them. The transformation from solid form to ash, then ash to nothing is instantaneous. Whatever globs flew off the main bodies in the shock of such force roll off into smoldering embers. Even the grass itself evaporates so nothing natural is left living. The grass and very top soil are burned away to gray residue.

I feel an involuntarily tick that causes a familiar twitch in my face. I twist my head down and away, staving off the sickening memories of the past that creep in and continue to plague the back of my mind. Brief flashes triggered that still manage to cause me to freeze up and...regret? Rage? So much negativity that left a lasting scar. I dig my shaking fingers deep into the fleshy juncture of my elbow, the pain keeping my senses alive as I count to ten. Katarina's bond with me grows warm, a comforting kindness that absorbs the nagging burns of regret and loss.

"Robin?" Katarina's concern is clear. Though her hands continue to weave multiple runes, one for each of our group's weapons, she still is able to reach out to me through our connection. She's no doubt absorbed the memory for herself. I've done nothing to block it from her.

I plaster on a shaky grin, squinting at the ground. I'm glad to see color is coming back to the world. A cold, biting shiver runs up my spine. Repression has become easier, but never permanent. "I'll be okay."

Goddamn. Whoever said war was glorious and empowering can fuck right off. This shit is going to haunt me for the rest of my days.

By the time I focus wholly again, another crater has cleared the path for us. Emmeryn stares down the edge of her staff, the tip smoking thick black plumes. In seconds, she incinerates an entire blockade of Risen.

"Madame Einherjar," Libra says, staring past to the forest treeline where more red eyes bob through shadows toward us. "How much more are we to wait for those enchantments?"

Katarina's sad frown lingers a second more on me before she works her fingers through one more loop in the air. The hovering runes number as many as those of us who are in need of the enchantments. They hang from her like strings from her heart. The last one forms with a final flick. She waves her wrist and the runes hover around her hand in a rotating circle.

"I-I'm sorry. It took me a bit to remember the way to create them." She eyes the slow moving but continuously encroaching hoards. Her bond with me tugs harder, strengthening off the increased flow of magic between us. "I will work to adhere the runes to your weapon of choice. Quickly though, as you may only choose one."

Barring Henry and Emmeryn, the rest of us put forth our chosen tool. Panne also watches us from outside the circle, her large, dark eyes reflecting back the flickering of the runes.

"Please, hasten your work. The other creatures have been made aware of us by my spells. The distance will soon be closed," Emmeryn says, urging the ancient tactician on.

Katarina nods, then holds out her hand. Each rune floats to their intended target, my own being a sword. The enchantment folds horizontally and settles over the top of the blade like paper. It lights up on contact and sears itself like a blackened brand into the metal. The effect is immediate. Heat begins to flow off the blade, warming the underside of my chin. The metal turns the dulled, glowing red of a cooled blacksmith's forge. I feel another prick into my chest, miniscule compared to that of an Einherjar.

A lone rune drifts toward Panne, who rears back on her hind legs in surprise. Her nose twitches. "What do you aim to do, enchantress? I have no need of weapons."

Katarina taps at the top of her wrist. Panne raises her own front limb and the rune leaps toward her dominant paw. It infuses itself over the protective armor Emmeryn had made for Panne as thanks for her aid in the assassination attempt. Aside from the the curiss and leg guards meant to protect her more exposed areas, one of the blacksmiths got crafty and fashioned bracers for her. The metal pieces run over her fur and are fashioned with small, spiked edges. Such additions can often be found on the knuckles of gauntlets to add an extra pack to a knight's punch. In the same way, Panne's strikes could add more penetration against armor or leather. She's basically been upgraded her own set of brass knuckles. Thanks to Katarina, one is now flaming. The trick causes Panne to turn her paw in front of her, sniffing rapidly in curiosity.

"Each rune is tied to you. You will not be harmed should you accidentally touch it. H-however," Katarina looks over each of us, "it will do the damage to everything else around. Please be careful around your allies."

"Positively amazing," Libra says. He turns his battleax in awe, running a thumb over the flat edge of the head. Like Katarina explains, no harm befalls him. "A true miracle, by Naga's grace."

"While I would admit to offering praise for such handiwork, I believe that is best saved for later," Frederick says. He swings his sword once through the air to test the feel. His sweep is slower and the recovery lacking his usual finesse. Gertie stands close behind him, her flank a protective wall offering him support. I can tell he's hurting, albeit silently. "It is best we regroup now. The window of return is diminishing rapidly."

Emmeryn averts her face quickly, her eyes crinkling in worry over his display. "We must stay together, tight as can be. Watch for each other. As you have seen, those creatures are capable of pulling away their prey quickly. If one is ensnared, you must call immediately."

Sensing that perhaps someone may speak out, Emmeryn turns her back to us. There is no room left for argument in the finality she orders. "None will be left behind. Is that clear?"

A crowd of silent nods follow. No one would have it in their heart to argue. I doubt anyone here would not stop to attempt and save a fellow comrade, no matter the cost.

"Come then, let us make haste." Emmeryn stands at the forefront and beckons Henry toward her. Frederick stiffens as the dark mage passes, but remains quiet.

Henry looks to her in question, his typical morbid humor lacking aside from a thin, crooked smile. "You called?"

"You will stand with me, Henry. Our magic extends our reach much farther than the others. We shall be the first, and hopefully only, defense the others shall need. May I count on you?"

Frederick clears his throat loudly, causing Emmeryn's eyes to shift over to him. "Your Grace, Lady Katarina or Robin could very well-"

Emmeryn shakes her head, shushing him. "They will focus on the protection of the rear."

Panne's body hums in quiet contemplation. Libra is easier to read. He regards Emmeryn with a softened expression, his hands coming together and circling up to rest at his chin. He smiles behind the tips, a gesture that symbolizes gratitude toward the Exalt. While having Henry in front is a strong tactical choice, Katarina or I are just as capable. Her choice is intentional; it is meant to make a statement. Working side-by-side with a Plegian dark mage, placing the weight of her life in his hands, is a pretty big deal. I'm talking about shattering the barrier between to hated cultures.

Henry, however, is unfazed by any of it. He just tucks his thumb into the middle of his tome and lets it open to a random page. Nestling it snugly in the crook of his arm, he lets thin strands of red letters rise up from the pages to dance around his fingers. His irises brighten under the burning hue of the magic reflecting off them, shining dangerously over a tilted grin that's hiding eager malice. His attention is absorbed solely on the Risen. Each finger twitches with anticipation. "That's okay with me. My best subject in school was death and dismemberment."

"It is not death you shall be remembered for, but being a shield to protect life," Emmeryn encourages him. Sweeping her staff forward, it hums to life again. "It is time," the Exalt announces, her voice growing higher. "We rally now. To our allies!"

Her announcement is the gunshot to start the race. Everyone is primed and ready, sprinting off after her. It surprises me how quickly I manage to catch up, and even more so how well my stamina seems to be holding out. My physical condition has improved so much compared to my first days here. I hate to admit it, but "Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour" is actually a credible experience. Even the sugar gut I developed from years of snacking in the bakery has tightened up! I have to give him credit.

We pull together in a tight formation. Emmeryn's pin-point accuracy is matched by Henry's area scaling spells. She's able to wipe out the faster moving individuals while he trades off with repelling larger clusters. They make an impressive duo. I sort of miss Henry's cackling though. It's strange to see him so focused. He's a death dealing machine wielding a slasher smile.

Halfway across the clearing a goo Risen is able to break away and survive the incineration of its brethren. Sliding cleanly over the ground, it closes in on our left. Two arms whip out of its body and it makes grabby hands through the air for the closest figure it can. Frederick and Gertie once again deal with the unwelcome attention, but a quick act on both Libra and I's part allow us to jump in and simultaneously slice through the limbs. My sword and his ax flare up and slide through the slime like butter. The pair of limbs fall to the ground, shriveling up and turning ashen.

"Come forth. We must rejoin the others!" Emmeryn yells to rally us behind her. I certainly don't need any convincing.

Risen move around like a flash flood, sucking up the free space we have. The sprint is maddening, oxygen burning my lungs with every heave of breath and swing of my sword. The atmosphere burns my nose, ash and the scent of charred flesh overwhelming. The way forward is full of blinding flames that come from magic and our own weapons. Communication is limited to single words of direction. But, finally! After a seemingly never-ending sprint, I hear Captain Fen's great cry of relief as we close in. I can't help but laugh with joy.

It's quickly cut short when someone sounds the alarm. "The digging beast is free. Watch yourselves!"

There's a surge of voices and what sounds like the cracking of a magical construct. If our few mages had attempted to hold down the digging Risen, then it didn't work. Its triumphant shriek grows muffled under the rustling of earth torn up from the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a mound of disturbed soil rise and flow toward us.

Panne anchors her legs down, skidding around to face the advancing creature.

"Panne?" Libra halts in his path, gaze critical.

"Keep your concern for your fellow humans." Her left ear flops against her body as her nose pokes over her shoulder to look back at him. Both back paws tap the ground, tensing up. The smooth alto of her voice turns to dry chuckle of dismissal. "I have no intention of perishing today."

"Panne, what are you-" My words only get so far before her front legs dig up a spray of dirt. She's soon submerged at the arms, then shoulders, followed by the rest of her torso. The soil soon envelops her wholly and she becomes a distant rumble underfoot.

"That creature is not like others we have faced," Libra worries.

I tug at some loose cloth between his armor, urging him ahead. "She'll be fine. We have to look to the Exalt now."

"To Naga, I pray so." Libra's lingering hesitation is a clear sign of his attachment to the Taguel. The war priest typically follows command with no hesitation, personal relationships never slowing down his progress. I suppose even one trained to be impartial to attachment can bend.

The twang of bowstring sends a volley of arrows behind us, creating a temporary line of separation between the Risen and us. A nice sentiment despite doing little to hold back the monsters. Even so, being close to the living is much more preferred. The weak stream of magic by the remaining mages flares up to create a line of fire where the arrows land, creating a defensive wall to buy us time. We rush through parted shields to collapse amid our comrades. The way behind us closes in a rush of bodies. I can hear the splatter of goo on shields and someone shouts as it is ripped free from the soldier's grasp.

The mages quickly work forth more fuel to extend the power of the flames, but the numbers are growing too great and their spells much smaller. Light flickers in and out over their fingers, fatigue setting in.

"Hollin, get that perimeter secured. These shields don't grow off trees!" Fen orders, his gruff voice straining with the effort behind the piece he heaves toward the exposed guard. The stack of supplies we have is thin, most scattered or left in haste on the far side of camp during the attack.

"They will not last long," Katarina says beside me. She observes the faltering magic at the mages fingertips. The magic around them is weak, barely wisps of energy being pulled into their rune summons. Even their tomes look ready to burst, the control sigils over the book bindings unraveling rapidly. One way or another, those mages are about to be useless.

Fen flips his visor up and bumbles out a salute, his mood ecstatic at the sight of the Exalt. "Your Grace! Sir Frederick! Thank Naga!" Seeing so many of us still alive behind her brings a spark of light to his dampened spirits. I'm equally glad to see him alive, a relief he shares when he winks in my direction. "All your people have survived as well! Gotta give credit to the Shepherds. Not even these terrors can stop you."

Emmeryn's eyes dart about, a desperate search for something familiar. "Captain, where are-"

Emmeryn does not have to agonize long as Joyce breaks all protocol to embrace her. The other woman quickly takes Emmeryn's head in both of her hands and wipes away some dirt with the back of her glove. "Emmy! Oh, gods forgive me. I'm so sorry." Joyce hiccups in-between sobs, hands shaking as she wipes a smear of red off Emmeryn's nose. "Oh, look at you! Is that blood? Naga take me for failing you so."

Emmeryn places her hands over Joyce's and presses her forehead to the other woman's, a few tears running down her cheeks and leaving streaks in the dirt. The two share a few whispered words, broken bits of apologies making their way to my ears.

"Gods, we had expected the worst." Thomm limps up behind them, his arm firmly held in a sling made from someone's torn cape. He places a hand on Emmeryn's shoulder and lowers his head in gratitude. "I thought we would be groveling for Naga's forgiveness in losing our country's greatest hope for peace."

Emmeryn shakes her head, hair falling like a curtain over her face to obscure her tears. "It is I who must beg forgiveness. I have relied too long on others for protection and have caused you to suffer for it."

Thomm rips his hand back, horrified. "Speak not such words, Your Grace. It is our duty to protect you."

Emmeryn's head turns between them, assessing their wounds. Her lips quiver with tightly held in emotions. "Not at the expense of your lives. Some of the guard have served for years. I cannot..."

Her whispers between them disappear under the rattling of Frederick's armor as he walks by. The elder captain looks to the newcomer and returns Frederick's salute with equal respect.

"Captain."

"Sir Frederick," Fen responds gruffly. When he lowers his arms, I can see the stained, hastily wrapped bandages under his torn uniform. Whatever happened to the protective arm guard he had is long gone.

Frederick beckons toward Katarina. The Einherjar hugs her spell book up to her chest, peering over the cover at me with a hint of embarrassment. "We have discovered fire is the key weakness to these aberrations. We fall upon the good luck of having the Einherjar of Lady Katarina here to provide such a boon in our favor. With her rune magic, she is capable of enchanting our simple weapons with the arcane might of the famous battle mages."

To prove his word, Frederick draws up his sword for all to see. He flashes the blade about in a subdued set of movements that show off the enchantment under the sun's light. Those closest to us momentarily lose focus and look back to take in Katarina's handiwork. The blade glows hot with arcane energy, leaving the sharp sting of smoke and flame that accompanies freshly forged metal. I hear murmuring as more eager faces turn to us, searching for hope and relief.

Katarina lowers her tome to rest underneath her chin. Her eyes dance over the soldiers around us, counting the bodies in her head. "It will take time."

Fen stares at Frederick's outstretched blade. His hand hovers up and around the metal, getting too close at one point and snatching it right back. Fen holds it before him and sees the leather smoking lightly. "I'll be. That's something I only see at the hands of the College's best. Enchanters are few and far between." He shakes off the burn, smoke disappearing over his head. "However, I have to be realistic here. Time is not something we have."

"We're back together, aren't we? If we put our strength together, surely we may wait out the enemy for reinforcements," Joyce says. She tries to rally confidence, holding her sword up higher.

A man screams behind us and is followed by panicked shouts. Another soldier has fallen prey to the Risen outside of us. The monsters are bold now and attacking from further distances to avoid our weapons and spells. The poor soldier is clinging desperately to his fellow cohorts who hold him back by the loose material of his shirt. One arm is firm in a Risen's grip, the claws sunk deep to the bone in his forearm. The other has splattered on his shield and fights to pull it away from him grip to expose the rest of his body.

"Hold on!"

"Someone help!"

"Gods be damned, these monsters are impossible!" Fen roars in anger. He picks up a javelin from a supply barrel next to him. Veins pump and bulge from his neck, the stress and anger of our struggles pushing him to the brink. He runs forward and draws the javelin back. With a small leap, he launches the weapon forward. It sails overhead the struggling soldiers and sails right into the center of the assaulting Risen's forehead. The monster sinks backward into a puddle, eyes blinking. Another appendage stretches out from the pool of goo and shakes the javelin back and forth to loosen it. The weapon pulls with a long suctioning sound until is comes free with a wet popping sound. The javelin snaps in two between the Risen's grasp and is tossed behind its head.

The Risen's face rises back up, mouth extending in a mocking smile. The taunt lasts a mere second before the severed stump of one arm comes snapping back into its face like loose rubber band. A confused, pained shriek follows.

"Take that you bull-humping hellion!" One of the soldiers cheer. The woman's happy cry immediately dies as she cows away in embarrassment having yelled right in a priest's ear. Libra, who had come to the struggling man's aid, blinks and turns to stare neutrally at her. She slams her visor down and backs away with her wounded mate in her arms.

"Lost another shield! Randolph, pull in tighter to Aimie. Close that gap!" Fen orders.

Libra quickly shakes his ax free of lingering goo and steps back into the tightening circle, one that now seems like that of noose closing in around the throat. He sets aside his ax and pulls his staff out of the back holster it rests in. He kneels beside the groaning soldier. The wounded man's head has gone slack and he sweats profusely, the shock of the attack too much to handle. The first hints of Libra's healing magic begins to glow about the wound. Despite his concentration on the victim, Libra is still able to voice his concern. "The captain is right. Time, I am afraid, it not an option we have. If we are to do anything, it will be to act."

Another shout of warning erupts from behind me, this time one ordering for everyone to duck. The reaction is instant with many of us dropping totally to the ground. My first fear is of an attack, but the body flying toward us goes sailing overhead and crashes into the mountainside next to us. Rocks and other miscellaneous debris fall from the impact crater the digger Risen disappears into. Its cry cuts off abruptly under the collapse of the weight over it.

"Panne?" I hear Henry say.

Her Taguel form limps slowly toward us. She shakes her whole head, ears falling back into place around her face. It reveals a long jagged line running from her right temple down to her neck, the fur around it matted and crusted with blood. Her closed eye struggles to open. Her mouth parts and the echoing projection of her voice is a tired warning.

"There are more coming."

I place both hands around the hilt of my sword and squeeze them together to the point of aching, doing everything I can to hold back my scream of frustration. I bite down equally on my tongue. Libra's right, we don't have time. Katarina was fast, but not enough with the energy I'm giving currently. She's going to need more power to work faster, creating as many runes as she can at one time. I do a body count in my head. If we have this many people and she took so long to...Ah, screw it. I'm just going to give her everything I got.

I close my eyes and feel out for the thread that binds us. Already thick and pulsing with my magic, I draw up a deep breath. With it, I can feel the magic in the air around me stronger than before. It hums about, dancing up my skin and drawing up a shiver. I pull it in rapidly and flush it out just as fast. It's a terribly dangerous process. A mage can overexert too much and do damage to their own insides. Arcane exhaustion is a chronic sickness among young apprentices too eager when approaching their spells. I remember the nausea of my first experience very well. Even now, I can feel the light-headed pressure causing me to sway. I try to even my breathing and focus. This only works because I can keep drawing in energy and push it out continuously to Katarina. Had I continued to draw it in and hold it without release, that's when the real damage can be done. Hence why apprentices don't jump right into an arc level spell. They don't know how to gather energy and release properly.

Katarina's bond with me pushes back a fresh wave of concern. It reverberates in my mind. Her concern is touching. A warm, softness that reminds me of my mother's arms. That pleased, fuzzy feeling of someone who knows you. It's an old feeling I had forgotten. I've missed the sensation of familial expressions. Even with Julliet and her family being so close to mine, it wasn't the same. That's because...

Because...

Yeah, that's right. I remember now!

Her parents and my mom were close. Julliet's father was my mom's partner on the force. I called them uncle and aunt in the fond way kids do to adults close to them. Even so, what affection I got from them was not the same. The love they shared for Julliet was never to the same extent I got. She was their blood. I...It wasn't the same. I haven't felt that since coming here. But, with the Shepherds, it feels like...like being in a family again.

Ha. Ha, ha. Boy, I really am too deep into this, aren't I?

"Katarina, start working," I say. My teeth grind together, the focus and struggle an intermingling tango of desperation. "You know the numbers. Make as many runes as you can and apply them. We have to go on the offense. There's no time."

The line between us hangs empty, indecision plaguing her choice. Then, it snaps strongly as she pulls into the well of excess magic. A sad acceptance and a calculated risk that two tacticians must accept.

"I will do as you say."

Oh. My. God.

That is a punch to the gut! If I hadn't already sat down, I'd have keeled over right there into the fetal position. Feels like Grima punched a hole in my chest and is slowing crushing my heart. My hearing cuts out to gauzy sounds far off on the horizon. Infinity spans in the muted zen I've secluded myself to. I'm pretty sure Frederick is the one who notices me on the ground. My answer to his intrusion of questions is one forced grunt, followed by a more pissed off one to get my point across. There's a rhythm to the ebb and flow of this magic. Having become the conduit myself instead of a tome or staff, I have to be as perfectly balanced as the patterns burned into our implements. Man, I am glad I paid attention to Miriel's lessons instead of napping like I wanted to. Mental note to thank her after this for her informative, if not dry, teaching methods.

Frederick, or someone, helps move me to another location. I don't really care. With my eyes so tightly shut, I have no idea how much time passes. In broken words, I manage to fumble out an explanation. I think he's trying to protest, but I block him out and stop responding. All I focus on is the process and Katarina's reassurance guiding me through. I haven't concentrated this much since that one time I made a croquembouche for the wedding of the mayor's daughter. I never knew pressure until the most powerful man in town and his bridezilla of a daughter was breathing down my neck during that last three hours before the reception. All I could do to focus on the tedious process was blocking them and everything else out so the tower didn't fall.

This though, this takes the cake. Ha! Get it? Cause it's all desserts? Eh, eh?

Okay, Robin, time to stop. Even the jokes to myself to keep my spirits up are getting stale. Ugh! Is this over yet?

I feel a nudge at the back of my subconscious. An unbidden sense of puzzlement tickles the back of my mind, as if I'm trying to process what a croquembouche was despite having made plenty in my career as a baker. I'm confused over the subject of my own joke. Did I accidentally project on Katarina my sad attempt at humorous puns? I did it to Marth before so it's possible. A little snort slips out of my nose after I fail to swallow my laughter. I focus on that little niggling in the back of my mind and picture that godforsaken tower of doom I had to create.

My efforts are rewarded with what feels like a rubber band snap to the back of my brain. My head jerks forward and I wince at the abrupt departure of that little tickling feeling I had. Dread quickly fills my chest at the fear of my bond having somehow snapped from the Einherjar.

"Katarina?" I call out in alarm, grasping out for her. My fingers pull the front of my shirt, the invisible tug between us still there.

I mumble incoherently, eyes flickering open and shut in a dazed confusion. What just happened?

The pull between us drops to the comfortable string of energy that sits between an Einherjar and I when they're at rest. The full release of pressure is a blessing. The rush of fresh, bountiful air fills my lungs at full capacity, followed by the largest exhale of relief. My muscles relax and the blood pounding in my ears recedes. Relief from the worst mental hangover ever. My senses feels clear again.

Katarina draws in close, kneeling down beside me. She has both hands on my shoulders to keep me steady. She's worried about something. Me? I'm only just refocusing. My body feels heavy with fatigue. It's like there are weights tied to my eyelids as I try to open them. It will be nice to see something besides their darkened undersides.

"Sorry about the pun. I didn't think it was so bad you'd want to cut ties with me," I mutter weakly with a grin.

She cocks her head to the side. "What are you speaking of? Are-are you alright?"

I lift my head to look at her. "Didn't you feel that thing? The sharp-Whoa!"

My mouth hangs open, eyes widening at the vast expanse over her head. Holy...That wasn't there before.

Overhead, the vast afternoon sky has changed hues. The bright blue has dulled and gained an opalescent gleam that shimmers different hues depending on where the light bends. In fact, the scenery seems to stretch around me the further my gaze travels to the horizon, a concave arch that distorts the shape of things. Confused, both my eyes open. I grab at Katarina's arms for support. Oh God, has my brain cracked? What is that?

My nerves are still sensitive from the magic channeling. I can feel the calming warmth of a cleric's magic all around me. Could it be? Is this a barrier? If it is, this is the biggest I've ever seen! Tilting my head back, it's clear this is a complete and absolute shield that envelops the circle of survivors. Where on Earth did this come from?

"...bin, please focus."

"Huh?" I blather out stupidly, googly-eyes finally actually looking at the concerned Einherjar in front of me. She's slipped a vial in my hand during my daze. A liquid elixir or something to help restore my energy. I gratefully pop the cork, with some struggle, and down it in one swig. The chalky taste leaves that nasty film in my mouth causing me to sputter in distaste.

Katarina's face crumples up, head hanging down. "I heard you call. I-I had feared something terrible to have happened."

"B...barrier," I stammer, tongue moving as if through cotton.

Her eyes shoot skyward and then a she forms a tiny smile. "Yes, that is correct."

"How?" I say, the questions building. I rub my eyes and blink again. The sight of something so massive leaves me with so little to say. All I can do is stare in wonder. Katarina raises a hand and points over my shoulder. I rest on one arm and twist at the waist to follow her guidance.

Emmeryn stands in the middle of us all. Her staff has changed stones again to a barrier focus gem. In a way, she looks very much like I must have a few moments ago. She stands rigid, the only hint of movement from the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes are screwed shut, furrows deep in her brow from concentration. Both hands support the middle of her staff, the accessory parallel to her body. The staff vibrates with power, a blue-white light surrounding her hands and swirling up through the base to the stone. A thin stream of light, no more than the width of a coil of rope, shoots straight up through the air from the crystal up top. The beam feeds into the apex of the dome and then umbrellas out around us.

"I had seen Naga's power in the relics my lord Marth carried. Between the power of the Fire Emblem and Falchion, great evil was sealed. Those were but weapons," Katarina murmurs, voice low with reverence. "B-but this, this is power of humans blessed with Naga's own blood."

"Gods," I whisper, running a hand through my hair. My eyes run over the perfect form of the barrier, my breath held in awe. "Emm's got game."

The urgency of our situation floods my brain and I force my hand back to my side to prevent myself from slapping my own forehead. Instead, I grip a loose fold of Katarina's cloak to draw her closer. The energy between us is at minimum which means she is no longer casting. My hands are already starting to shake and warm from the restorative potion running through my body. "Katarina, what about your enchanting?"

She places a comforting hand over my own and looks over her shoulder. I sit up at the waist and follow the sweep of her gaze. The aftermath of her work is near completion. The runes float over every human here. Each one attached at the heart of their assigned warrior like a lit beacon. Those who can afford to drop their guard watch with a childlike wonder in their eyes as the runes float down toward them. Attaching to swords and spears alike, the line of warriors is soon a glow from the line of smoldering weapons. Someone starts a broken fit of laughs, hysteria and relief forming a strange sound out of their throat. Someone else mimics the same motion but breaks into a sob at the end.

The Exalt lives and the soldiers have been blessed with a means to fight. Hope and morale are back. That's all I could wish for. If I couldn't prevent this ambush, I should at least be able to provide the proper means to turn it around in our favor. If a strategist cannot prevent disaster, they should at least be able to outmaneuver the worst with their own counter-tactics.

"You did it," I whisper to Katarina, my eyes looking over and remembering every last expression of renewed hope on my fellow warriors' faces.

"We did it," the Einherjar reminds me. She takes my hand off her arm and places it over where her heart would be. Miniscule vibrations reach through the wool of my gloves, to the point where I hardly feel a thing at all. What little beats in her form is fueled by my essence. "I am but a tool under your advisement. My accomplishments are yours."

Nearby, Thomm and Joyce stare in awe at the sword in her hand. She holds the weapon out before her. Thomm bends down to look closer, the blade hovering close to his face. It shines white hot in the middle and orange around the edges. The heat simmering off it causes his nose to wrinkle.

"It's burning," he says, wide-eyes cast to the Einherjar, "yet there are no flames!"

"Which is good reason not to touch," Katarina says. Joyce quickly pulls away the searing metal. Katarina's firm, yet polite, demand comes as a surprise to her and causes Katarina to immediately rise and stammer a string of apologies.

Now with a moment to myself, it settles in. We have chance. We can survive this! I'm mentally spent, but it happened! I don't have much time to celebrate the fact though. Even if the barrier is up around us, Risen crowd around the whole perimeter, banging against the surface and leaving behind slimy hand prints. Emmeryn is doing well to save face, but she can't hide the slow trickle of sweat starting to dot her forehead. Her knuckles are colorless, matching the light radiating out of her staff. Her act is borderline a miracle, but she is no god. The effort is taxing. A brief solution to an overall problem. And while they can't get to us, neither can we get to them. That barrier blocks intrusion from both sides. If we go on the counter offensive, we have to be ready.

Luckily, I don't have to worry. Fen and Frederick are within earshot and already working that out. I wobble onto shaky knees and hobble up behind them. I guess the strategist in me can't keep from worming my influence into the decision making process.

"Robin."

I freeze. Placing my hands on my knees for balance, I lift my face in Emmeryn's direction. One eye is open, the light behind them dimmed but still present. The corner of her lips lifts upward. "You would not be attempting to rejoin battle in such a condition, would you?"

"Uh. Yes?"

She presses her eyelids tighter together, a sound of discomfort rising up from her chest as she straightens her back. Her palm slide apart under the slick trail of sweat left behind. Still, she manages to speak softly between us. "Sit."

That is an order I can't refuse.

"I would not go telling my brother I lost his prized tactician to another bout of her reckless bravado," Emmeryn explains to me. Somehow, it seems less chastising and more like teasing. "Truthfully, I have need of you."

"Of course," I say. I don't take a full seat beside her, electing to hover close behind. My hands remain partially raised at my sides for fear she may start to wobble and fall. Despite it all, she holds herself strong as a more seasoned practitioner of magic.

"This barrier will come down. In its entirety, I can only maintain it for so long. However, I can still produce such a spell in a significantly smaller area. Whilst you concentrated on producing the spells for our weapons, Fen was able to surmise how far his defenses can reach. The Risen are numerous and the line will have blind spots my guard cannot always watch."

She slips forward and her arms lock against her sides. Her palms twist against the staff's bar with a squeak. Emmeryn winces, the lights starting to weaken at the tip of her staff.

"I will protect that which they cannot see," she summarizes hastily in one shallow breath. "I need your map. You must watch the numbers around us. Tell me where the Risen gather. I will adjust protection to the densest of areas and attack that which is most threatening."

"Keep the number manageable against what offense we have. Got it." My words hitch between shallow bursts of air. I press a hand lightly around my throat, massaging it. Even breathing feels like a burden. Katarina's relief she offered is slow-acting. I truly just wish I could sleep.

"The guard cannot afford to be overwhelmed. You must become my eyes where I cannot see. Watch the tide of battle and deliver to me the shifts in movement."

"Your Grace?" Thomm, and all the guards closest to us for that matter, watch her struggling. They're just as tired, some wobbling more than I. Thomm lifts a hand toward her in a helpless gesture. He moves as if to support her, then pulls his hand back. "Can you-will you be able to handle this? If the stress is too much..."

"Thomm." Emmeryn tilts her head left, a blue eye shining defiantly through the dirt-splattered strands of her hair clumped together. "Is this truly a time to question the resolve of your Exalt?"

He salutes with his good arm, swiftly standing at attention. He bites on his lip, wincing through the embarrassment. "No ma'am. Your Grace."

Far beyond us, twin roars echo back against the tall mountain cliffs. Far deeper than a wyvern, the power of the calls makes the ground rumble beneath.

"Them the dragons?" Fen yells out over to us.

I scan the map. The battle north of us is a mess. Our army is split in two now. The bulk of the Feroxi and our vanguard are intermingled in the workings of the fort. Caught in between us is a hive of red markers creating a solid wall of defiance against the rear of our soldiers attempting to push through. Two dots move about them all in swift aerials no pegasi, wyvern, or gryphon could make. The Shepherds must have let the girls loose after claiming the fort. While the manaketes are demolishing the red specks steadily, probably from their own fires, its still not enough as number fill in.

"Nowi and Tiki are trying to help but the Risen are pushing them back. It's like they've given up on protecting the fort and are just making a blockade to us!"

"It will not be long. Stand strong. Trust in our General!" Emmeryn attempts to rally us, pulling forth some strength deep inside to project out to all around us. "Trust in our Feroxi allies! We are not forgotten!"

The culmination of Emmeryn's commitment to her guards' protection, as well as knowledge that help is coming, spurs the warriors around us on. A few bang their weapons, or even their empty fists, in a frenzied hurrah. Others give a warrior's cry or even praise their god. Either way, it refreshes the soldiers' spirits enough to face a final stand. Fen distributes the last of our extra weapons on hand and forms up a final angle of defense. When the barrier finally does come down, the air is electric. Alive with the stench of human determination. The mages use the bulk of the remaining power in their tomes for spells to protect our flank. They create one large wall of fire in a makeshift trench we barely managed to plow up. The very last of it, before the tomes succumb to overuse, is a grand deluge of lava that erupts out of their elfire tomes. The small spouts pool together under the hands of numerous mages to roll over the first rows of Risen banging at the barrier dome. I make sure to look away this time, but the smell of seared marrow and rotten flesh blows back at me. I suppress my gag reflex. I have bigger things to focus on. Emmeryn's demand for my attention is immediate. Exposed on both sides, it's up to her to focus on protection there.

Our partnership is a robotic storm of simple commands. I have little to do aside from think and respond on split second movements on the map. There's no time to even process that one slip of the tongue could be the end of us all. The mere thought would be enough to trip me up.

I trace the patterns with my map, watching where the mobs swell strongest. Emmeryn is a wonder of nature. Something beyond human abilities, I swear. The Exalt digs straight into the depths of her magical reserves. She is furnace of magical energy, pulsating like a beacon in the weave of life around us.

Colors dance around her in a spiraling rainbow. Her staff is outfitted to invoke whatever magic school she must call upon. The many grooves in her staff aren't just for show. Every swap of a ring causes another one of the currants in her staff to run a corresponding color, flowing up to the matching stone up top. She produces a barrier when necessary, then spins on her heel in the next direction I dictate with her staff primed. Before my sentences have left my lips, her staff clicks in place and arcane might flows.

And all the while I watch our allies pushing as hard as they can, working bit by bit closer to us. I wonder if they know, the Shepherds that is. I can't imagine that grief Chrom and Lissa must be feeling. I wonder...I wonder if Lucina is concerned for my welfare. I hope, I mean I wish that she does in some way. That I've...Never mind.

"Keep strong! Remember the Exalt!"

"In Naga's name we fight!"

The soldiers keep fighting, rallying behind the very foundations of their faith to persist against such nightmares. It's admirable, inspiring even. I find myself jealous they're able to believe so freely. If I weren't so use to Risen, one look in those things eyes would have sent me running.

A rattling cough causes me to jump, my head snapping up in the direction of the explosive outburst. Emmeryn's shoulders quiver, her head hanging between them as she pauses in her routine to regain her breath.

"Emmeryn?" Formality slips as I rush to her.

For a moment, she remains motionless at the touch. Emmeryn shivers, a ripple visible all the way up her body. Then, almost childlike in curiosity, she asks, "Where is Frederick?"

I pause and blink at her. Shaking off the bizarre change of focus, I look around. Despite every damn thing we asked of him, Frederick gallops about like a bloody moron slamming his flaming weapon in wide arcs at every Risen he sees. Gertie all but enjoys her new found freedom to trample anything underfoot. Slime goes flying in her wake every way she dashes. Not too far off, Libra hovers, his golden head turning nearly every few minutes to watch the knight.

"That idiot is fighting like a madman." Frederick pauses at the height of the turn into his next dash. His searching gaze falls into the middle and settles on us. A longing glance remains on Emmeryn, his face grim and covered in soot. Then, Frederick's features harden and he gives a resolute nod before he spurs Gertie forward with a booming yell. I swallow, a peculiar fuzzy feeling taking hold. I can't help but marvel at his dedication to her. I press a hand to my chest, the heavy thud against it fast and pounding.

"He's fighting for you," I whisper.

A soft, feathery laugh comes from Emmeryn's. She lifts her face, the damp strands parting to show her blue eyes filled with emotion so raw it steals my breath. Blood is starting to drip from her nose, the steady dribble a sure sign of the very thing I had fears of earlier. Magic exhaustion is setting in and bound to wreak havoc on her internals the longer she continues to function at such a high impact casting speed.

"Oh, Frederick. My stubborn, stubborn knight." Emmeryn sinks deep into her staff, pushing into it for enough strength to rise at her full height. A tear drops down her cheek. Her words drag in a slow daze, spoken to no one but herself. "You continue to fight for one even when my full strength is for the many. I wish I could be so selfish, just once, and do the same for you."

Emmeryn drinks in his image, a starving woman's source of inspiration. His dedication is her water and his love her bread. This single man is giving her the will to continue on beyond her limits. There's no doubt in my mind that Emmeryn would continue to fight for all here even if he weren't present. Emmeryn loves her people too much to not give her all. But Frederick does something for her spirit that no one else can. She can still smile amidst all the death and chaos because he's there for her. It's beautiful and raw and pure.

And then vertigo takes hold. A familiar, crushing feeling in my skull. A pressing bloom of memories that want to take hold and show me things I don't want to. It brings with it emotions of the deepest loss and unbearable emptiness. A hollow void of failures unending.

I feel sick. Not now. Please, go away. But it persists even as I press my eyes shut. I hold a hand to my head, willing the feeling to go. A pressing sense of doom prickles the skin from my toes all the way up my skin. The marrow of my bones jitter. Reality goes upside down as the air strikes me from behind. A coming ripple on an unseen current that pulls back before some large tsunami is about to strike.

Something feels wrong.

A warning. My intuition is never wrong.

My nose almost tears a hole through the map with how close I pull it to my face. I look for the large red markers of bosses or key enemies, but all that I see are typical grunt levels running amok. The numbers haven't changed. The bulk of the horde is still angled at the front aside from a small gathering trying to spill around to our left. Another is skulking around by the wall of fire.

I mumble something about the weight of Risen building on the left and Emmeryn attempts to steady herself while she builds up a new barrier to stop them from slipping up behind us. Even then, the warning bells in my mind persist. No threats seem immediate. The front is controlled. I don't know why a single one of these continues to linger behind us though. The flames protecting our rear rises to the lengths of a small house. There's no way they can get...over...

SHIT.

I had largely ignored the area behind us. It was supposed to be a surefire protection. I mean, hello, fire! This stuff is insta-bad for the Risen. Most of the little goo suckers had slunk off to try working into whatever little cracks in our defenses appeared on the sides. At one point, only one dot remained aside from the odd Risen that seemed to slink around our vicinity. I didn't think that a single dot lingering could be, well, that thing now. Gods, is there nothing these Risen can do?

Even with our protections, things had been going so well. At no point were we ever overwhelmed under the sheer weight of numbers. If these Risen are under the control of a handler, he or she should have tried to break our defenses in several ways. I mean, they could have been inexperienced or an idiot.

But, this stunt? I guess they aren't so stupid after all. They're going at us from a blind spot. A place even I took for granted in my desperation to focus as strongly as I could on a smaller area.

These little fuckers have been piling into each other this whole time. They've been building on the bodies of other Risen and have slowly created a gargantuan mountain of slime. The putrid mass is slowly working its way up to the full height of the wall. It remains some distance away, the sheer heat of the spell causing the ooze on the belly of the monster to bubble and pop. It sways with life, the girth made up of many bodies into one large mass rife with eyeballs blinking in every direction.

I watch a mass extend from main body, stretching out further and further. Beneath it, a digger Risen sits on a rock watching the monster try to works itself. Bright, intelligent eyes survey it with interest, but it does nothing more than observe. The stretching ooze wiggles from the base to the knotted glob at the end. Slime explodes on the grass as five human like digits erupt forth. Four fingers and a thumb. The hand flexes shut then open again.

"Oh no."

The freshly shaped appendage snaps at a ninety degree angle, hitting the grass in a stringy heap. The fingers spasm upright, clawing along the ground like legs as it slithers toward the fire wall. Even as the slime begins to blister and smoke from the heat, the arm snaps upward. Unearthly wails echo in unison, the sound cutting straight to the soul. At this point, the digger turns away and breaks into a sprint north toward the fight beyond us. It's like it doesn't need to stay to see the aftermath of whatever is to happen. It's cut in stone, absolute.

This all happens in seconds despite everything moving at an achingly slow rate. The arm slaps over the other side of the wall. The underside at the very apex of the wall starts to char and ember, but the ooze over the hardening underbelly moves smoothly with the combined bodies of Risen pooled together. I can tell even from here where its trajectory lies.

Rejection seizes up my limbs and breaks my thoughts. My mind aches. I look around, grabbing frantically at air for a tool or safeguard to stop what's about happen. My frantic, ragged gasps sound like I'm drowning, and perhaps I am. Losing my control in a haze of panic. I stare at my empty, shaking hands, a strange panic ceasing hold of me. The others are too far. I won't be able to sever it wholly. The width of the arm is too thick! There's...there's nothing. Nothing here but me. Only me, one sad promise, and the tug of fate laughing at its sought after victory.

I choke. Bile rising up in my throat. I've...I've known it before. Or, she has. My head spins, past freezing the present. I taste failure and fear. So familiar. I've failed again. Over and over.

Memories flash by, one after another. The Exalt, broken and cracked open on the tiles. Again. Contorted on the ground and bleeding from the holes of numerous arrows. Blue and bloated from poison the next, and pale from the blood that seeped out all night long in the cold mountain she was lost in. Mourned by different faces many times, and a few alone with only my observance to note her death.

It always wins.

Always. How can it be stopped? Can it be stopped? It never ends. All those fated to die. Again and again and I can't-

Stop it.

Anger flairs up. The cold tendrils of fear melt away. My fingers ball into fists, a cracked thumbnail digging into the skin and pulling up blood.

Fate always wins?

The old Robin never was able to stop it but I promised Lucina! I've already changed history so much! It's both my burden and my responsibility to see it through! You don't control us.

You don't control me.

The illusion of my past self shatters, splintering like stars in front of my eyes. The compressing weight on my chest is hot as a smith's hammer, throbbing and alive. That weaknesses gone, replaced by an rage I can't place. Just the thought that this poor woman, who wishes only for goodness, is scripted this unfair fate over and over is wrong! Who decided this was set in stone, that she needs to keep suffering for no other reason than 'fate says so?' I have to do something!

Then, the red haze over my eyes melts away. Someone's scream, Joyce's maybe, rips me away. It tears off the second skin of bravery and leaves my weakness exposed again. I'm strangely naked in my confusion. Did I just move? I wasn't here before?

The material of my shirt stretches against my chest and my heels scrape forward with the bulk of my weight tipping. What the hell?

Emmeryn's sharp inhale from behind clears away the rest of the smog. I look down and noxious fumes immediately cause my eyes to water. A cold, sticky substance is splattered across my chest and stretched out far forward. My left arm is bend forward before my face to protect it, straining against the pull of another goo like protrusion that drips down the sleeve and over my boots.

Realization is a bitch slap to the face. I did something alright. The stupidest, noblest thing I could. Lucina said Robin was the one who appeared to be the tool that kept influencing fate, and I physically just intervened. Staring at the wall of fire, one stupid little thought trickles in before the numbing terror settles: Chrom is going to kill me for this.

"Robin! No!"

Emmeryn's shrill cry of alarm stings my ears, my name an echo as the ground comes up to meet me. My nose smashes into the earth, followed by my teeth and forehead. Rocks and dirt glide underneath me as the Risen drags me back in its retracting grip. My single free arm digs down into the ground leaving furrows behind as I try to stop the advance of my death from coming. I turn my head to the side, trying to protect my face from the debris scratching through my clothes and skin. I feel the heat against the crown of my head, growing too hot to be safe. In my chest, Katarina's bond pulls like a vice, panic rippling from her to me. She knows. Too late, but they all know now.

My body lifts up into the air. A garbled shriek of alarm rips out of me as I rise vertically off the ground. The great spell wall is a column of death rising up past me, crackling with taunts of my demise if I sway even a little more forward. My legs tangle helplessly in the air leaving me paralyzed without a foothold. At the complete mercy of this Risen.

The Risen finally has me at level with what I think is its head. Numerous sets of eyes and partially opened mouths flow around the pulsating mass of bodies making up this super Risen. One pair sits specifically over them all. The arm bring my squirming body up and over toward it. The two glowing eyes squint together. Its maw hangs open in contemplation, goo strands stringing between its lip-less edges.

"Bodieeeesssss..."

"Huuumaaaan...whooooole again..."

"Kill her...and we...we live...again!"

"Nooo! Wroooong one!" One voice spears my mind, silencing the moans. It stops pulling me, keeping me a short distance from its face. The current pair of eyes rolls down the left side of the hump making its head. A new set rolls up from the back, narrowed in anger and howling with rage. "Looooook! Defiiiileer!"

The numerous souls inhabiting the mass all come together, dozens of Risen eyes blinking like a swarm of demonic fireflies. Once. Twice. On the third unanimous blink, the whole blob trembles. The shudders go right up to my body causing it to shake my insides right up. Oh gods! I'm gonna be sick. If that wasn't bad enough, I can feel the heels of my boots starting to bake from the heat behind me.

Numerous wails and threats sing in the air, burning my ears. The arm on me tightens, crushing my chest to near suffocation.

"NOOOOOOOOO! AWAAAAAAY!"

The arm holding me go rigid. What's-

Ohgodfallingnow!

Wind whistles in my ears. I close my eyes tight, my voice lost in a silent scream of fear as the Risen flings me back over its shoulder, the cacophony still burning into me. Please don't let me be too high. Please don't let this hurt. Moss, pond, anything soft to land on. Please, please-

My arms flail uselessly, empty palms grabbing nothing but air. The numerous voices ringing in my ears, a chorus of pure vitriol.

I don't...I can't...!

The air around me plummets. It's bone-chilling. It's not from the wind either! One moment I am free falling and then my body ceases the rag doll spin its in. Something large clamps down around me, a protective shell. My senses are in turmoil, but I can feel cold metal pressing in all around me. A shadow darkens the black behind me eyes as my head is tucked protectively between what I think are...arms? How can this be?

The temperature goes freezing cold, worse than the winters back home. The air seizes my lungs, the burn making it too hard to breathe. All light disappears and color dissipates. Then- a spark! Hot purple lightening and what looks like a tear in an all black canvas. On the other side of this light-less realm is blue sky and trees. Whatever had me drags me right through and- OH SHIT! LAND!

The sensation of pain becomes my entire world. Everything is black and muffled. The sting of every single nerve in my body ringing destroys all I know. It takes my breath away. I'm mute and lost. But, that only remains for a short time. Slowly, ever so much, those pain sensors shut down one by one. As it does, I dare to hope for the function of my limbs. The fear of paralyzation from a fall so high is only natural, but I manage to feel the twitch of a finger, then a foot. Though the remnants of impact remain as a dull reminder in the back of my head, I brave the torture of the truth and open eye.

I'm on the ground again. The Risen blob is far ahead of me, still towering by the spell wall. I gingerly move my head, my ear pressing against something cool and metallic when I do. I'm somewhere near the edge of the woods. The longest branches of the nearby pines hang overhead in the shadow of the mountain slope. Gods, I went far.

A mess of words, totally incomprehensible to the human ear, rolls off my tongue. I muster strength I never new I had and manage to roll my useless lump of a body onto my side. The earth moves under me causing my arms to wave out and support my shifting position. One hand catches hold of a rock and the flat of my left palm slaps against solid metal. The impact vibrates underneath me and up through my chest against my ribs. That's when I hear the raspy grunt right in my ear.

Pressing back in a panic, I whip my head to the side. I follow the armored body underneath me all the way up the head. The helmet obscures the man's face underneath. It's only when he blinks do the red hot irises give me any sort of idea who I landed on.

I roll off the Risen and scuttle back despite the screaming protest in my body. My mind pushes for calm, but survival instinct numbs it and allows me to backpedal. My back hits a tree and I scramble up the trunk. My hands sink into the bark, nails anchoring in for support.

The Risen shakes its head, a heavy cloud of dust blasting out between the vents in the helmet visor. Fixing the twisted angle of its headpiece, the Risen presses one hand to the ground and rises up on its feet. The ragged, purple dyed cloak slips off its shoulders and flutters behind it. The eyes of Grima stare defiantly at me in the glittering stitching.

Well, if it isn't my old pal, the Risen General.

The urge to run fades rapidly, confusion settling in its place. The need to speak hangs on the tip of my tongue though my voice fails me from exhaustion. The stress of everything is making my knees hobble. Now that the fear for my life is vanishing, the emergency juice keeping me moving has run dry. I slide down and land with a hard thump on my rear. My eyes fall to my hands. One glove is ripped free leaving the branded hand still covered. I turn them over from back to front.

I'm alive. Sweet chili peppers. I'm not dead! Not expired or deceased. The sweet, musky scent of pine resin reminds me of that with the large inhale in my lungs. On the exhale, a single question slips out.

"You saved me?"

The metal armor on the being before me rattles. It squeaks when the joints press together. From my time with other soldiers, it's obvious this suit of armor is in dire need of some proper maintenance. A good oiling at least. Frederick would be having a fit and Sully would be tearing out her hair. Two of the proudest warriors I ever knew when it came to their armor.

Boots come to rest before me. It, he breathes heavy. The constant inhale and exhale cycle sounds rough, but the Risen remains silent. His armor moves at the knees and he bends down to eye level with me. I open my mouth to speak again and find it lost into a weak sound of protest. The General plucks my arm up and grips me roughly around the wrist. His grasp is just loose enough to let the material of my remaining glove slide through. Before I can react to stop him, he has my right hand upright and the brand exposed to plain sight.

"Hey!" I try a feeble protest to his actions. The strange curiosity over my brand is puzzling. He pulls my forearm up and angled from the elbow so my sleeve rolls down. It exposes more of skin, now bleeding from cuts and marred equally by dirt and bruises. He continues to twist it around, the red of his eyes narrowed to thin slits. The tiny embers rove over my skin until they finally settle on my face. I mime silently at him like a goldfish, eyes large and mouth opening and closing to only air bubbles.

He lets go. My arm falls to my side, heavy and useless. Blood is smeared across my skin in heavy thumb marks, fresh little streams renewing old lines across the intersecting marks. I start to move in an effort to wipe it on the side of my coat but catch myself before I agitate the cuts even more than they already are. Instead, I snatch up my glove and return it to its place over my hand.

I roll onto my knees. My lips stretch back over clenched teeth as a sharp hiss of air sucks in between them. I shutter from the pain, clenching the material of my pant legs tightly. The sole ounce of comfort I find in the pain is the pressing warmth of Katarina's bond. It holds tightly to my core, dim but alert. Thank God.

Relief is short-lived. I choke over my next inhale from the force the General picks me up at. He rolls me up under his arm and dives to the side. A rush of wind sends hair flying around my face obscuring my view. Wood splinters spray around me and the tree trunk groans under a buckling weight. The release around me disappears and I end up rolling in a heap across the grass. My eyes spin in their sockets I grab my head in both hands and hunch deep into my shoulders willing away the dazed nausea.

Something behind, no wait, in front of me, rattles. Metal retracts from some sort of holder, whether it be a scabbard or holster, I don't know. The sound is unmistakable though. Someone is prepping for battle. Daring to crack an eye open, I find my mysterious protector a staunch obstacle between myself and some new danger. I press a hand into the loamy soil and lift onto my knees to peer around him. An eerie, too human growling meets me.

One of the digger Risen clutches deep into the overturned tree on all four limbs. The knotty bones of its spine run along the arch of its back. Its sunken red eyes glare at the General. Drool hangs down between his exposed teeth. A guttural moan from deep in its throat rises up. It steps a bit forward on it's knuckles and toes. The bald head twists sideways in a cautious assessment of the General. The dull burn in its eyes denotes it's no more than a feral. All the same, it has enough sense not to attack the other Risen on sight. Recognition between friend and foe is blessing Risen get when under control from a priest. How it will respond to this conundrum in its limited thinking capacity is unknown to me. That said, if it is gone feral, the priest is releasing some of the Risen from his grasp. Perhaps his control is waning from exhaustion?

The digger stalks down the tree and starts to sidestep the General. For his part, my ally does little more than watch the creature. A wicked lance rests in both palms. The spear point remains fixed on the head of the creature. His left leg remains rooted behind him, ready to press forward in a lunge at the first sign of attack. A gust of wind picks up his cape, unfurling the grand eyes of Grima to flutter on a field of the deepest purple. The golden threads still shine despite many having unraveled over time. The occasional sparkle and crease of cloth gives them an illusion of winking at me. Lovely.

With cape lifted away, I'm no longer completely protected from view. The sharp twitch in the digger's neck upon seeing me causes its breathing to hitch. The red pinpricks dilate and its voice starts to rise into a full bodied scream.

Even with the armored wall between us, I recoil with a yelp as I fall over myself in retreat. The General looks over his shoulder, one glowing orb watching me. A derisive snort echoes out of his faceplate. His helmet actually twists back and forth. Is he disapproving my actions? What the heck, guy? Who asked your opinion?

Incited by the vision of a human, the digger charges at me. On the bright side, the lack of distinction over my identity means there's none of Grima 's goonies at the helm here aside from the obvious standing with me. On the down side, I'm fair game for all these Risen. No excuses given. Damn.

The digger sprints at a speed faster than I think anyone could react. There's no way the General in front of me can one shot this thing with it moving so quickly. I involuntarily brace for impact with the digger as it skirts around the Risen before me. The jaw unhinges into a ghastly wail, a predatory scream of victory. I scrape my knees and palms to push up and away from the ground. I stall at the height of decision, torn between running and diving to the side. I look to the General with wide eyes, pleading for some help.

You know what he does? He steps back into the shadows of the treeline. What in the heck, dude?

"Are you kidding me?" I yell. I fumble for something at hand. Even with all that's happened, my sword somehow still remains in the scabbard at my side. It's one of the few things I still have, along with two tomes, after getting snatched up and leaving everything, including my map, behind. I fiddle desperately with freeing it out as it jerks and catches at the belt. The act might as well be futile at the rate of distance closing between us. I shrink back, squeaking a shriek behind my tightly closed lips as I place the point of my sword between myself and the monster. I doubt impaling it will do half the damage that middle claw will do to my head.

Midair in its launch, the space between us plummets. A frosty chill envelops me causing my breath to turn to smoke.

A seam in the ground between us opens up under foot. Like some chthonic beast rising from the earth, the smoky purple haze parts and a figure warps from the depths. The Risen's shrill scream cuts to nothing as the General's spear erupts from the bottom of its jaw straight up into its skull. The digger's body collides with his, wrapping around his torso. Its limbs twist and spasm. One eye still swivels in an undamaged socket, burning into me. A clawed arm stretches over his shoulder and swipes feebly at me just out of reach. The General allows one more gurgle to rise out of its windpipe before his armor locks up against his body. The plates groans and scrapes with the slow building momentum of his body. His arms carry the bulk of the monster's weight up and off him. He growls deeply, strength and speed winding up in a harsh twist as he leads the beast up and away from us both. He swings on both heels and launches the spear in a wide arc straight into the ground. The General buries the weight of the spear further down, grinding it deep against bone. The digger is only a tangle of limbs as it disappears into grass, going prone. Purple dust begins to rise shortly after.

The General rips the spear out of the ground, swinging it in a full circle between his fingers to let all the roots and grass strands slide off. The point slices cleanly through the lingering purple mist, scattering it to the wind.

"Oh man," I vocalize from no where. Why my voice chooses to come back is unknown to me. I can't help but keep gawking. My eyes remain glued to the far point of my sword, unable to move anything. Twice in a mere few minutes I stared death down. The realization is daunting. The weight of it finally begins to catch up. I've gone so numb I don't even realize my sword is still held out before me. It rattles loosely between my fingers, tremors running all the way up my arms.

I almost died. I just willingly sacrificed my own safety for someone else. But, was that really me? Or, was it her? The one who keeps haunting my shadow. A legacy I never asked for!

The General walks up beside me. I don't see him move until the finer points of his gauntlet settle on my arm and prick my skin through the cloth of my sleeves. My chin jerk up toward him, teeth practically chattering. We stand face to face, the edge of the sword frozen in place at the center of his chest. The grip around my arm tightens. He firmly pushes the offending weapon down. The tip scraps along his armor at an earsplitting whine until it falls through open air.

He raises his spear, jabbing it at the Risen blob beyond us. It looms angrily in the distance. Little arms have begun to erupt from the mass and claw all around the air for anything to grab and absorb. Those tiny eyes seem fixated on me. Pinching my arm for attention again, the General whips the spear forward and prods the tip toward the darkness of the woods beyond.

It clicks into place, each tiny piece.

"The handler in the woods," I whisper, following the line of the spear into the deep unknown.

I'm not sure I can confidently say he's pleased, but there's a satisfied warmth pressing the back of my skull, followed by a pressing urge of insistence that doesn't quite feel like my own doing. I rub the back of my skull, the feeling from earlier returning. Influenced emotions too intimate to ignore, yet too foreign to accept. Katarina wasn't aware of the sensation, so it wasn't her that did it. Was this...

"You." I punctuate the accusation, my eyes boring into his magic-fueled irises. "You aren't an Einherjar, yet this connection feels so similar. Are you doing this? These feelings I'm getting, it's happened before. Even not that long ago. Is it? And if so, how are you doing this?"

I can tell the General is hesitating. The glow under his helmet shifts to the side briefly, illuminating one side of the visor while leaving the other half dim. The light then extinguishes fully, his eyelids closing completely.

I, or he, feels confused. And...afraid? Of what? Me? This bond?

A splattering of material over my boots and his greaves causes us both to leap back. A puddle of bubbling ooze lies in a massive puddle. Apparently the greater Risen beyond us is pitching a fit at my survival and is throwing garbage bombs at us. Great. At least it's distracted for now. The second it no longer has any interest in me is when I begin to panic again.

I grab the General's cowl and pull him down to my level. "Tell me you know where the handler is."

To my absolute elation, he nods.

"Take me there."

He nods slower than before. His eyes flare up with intensity, searching my own for something. Honesty? Deception? I don't know. In a way, I'm doing the same. Looking for some sort of trickery still even after he's proven an ally, even if mysterious in his ways. I can't help but feel ready to see the others jump out to whisk me away.

"Don't get me wrong, this is weird as all hell but," I pause and take a deep breath. "I'm going to have to trust you. I just wish I knew why you were doing this beyond duty. Marc and Echo are understandable, but even they clearly lack compassion for Ylisseans, let alone any humans. You're an enigma."

He reels back. The General's chest plate rises and falls with a set of gruff sounding wheezes that sound suspiciously like laughter. Whatever private joke he finds funny cuts short when another splatter lands just shy of us. The hem of my coat is soaked in foul smelling debris. This is not going to come out in one washing, is it? He makes a break for the woods and I can only follow. The trees swallow us up and the sounds of battle fade away. I'm actually doing this. There's no backing away now. I project a warning to Katarina about the giant Risen's intent of making Emmeryn a target and pray it's enough to save her. If I can break the priest's control on the horde, then half the danger will be gone.

The forest proves to be an enemy in regards to the obstacles I face in running. While the General seems to glide through the underbrush, the heavy twisting of roots and vegetation continues to trip me up. Several times he has to stop and wait for me. During the fourth blockade we pause at, I take advantage of the moment to ask a pressing matter on my mind that's fueled by both concern and curiosity.

"I have to ask," I question as I climb over a large overturned tree trunk, "where are the twins?" It does seem weird to have not seen them yet. I'd think they'd be all over my position now to keep me safe. And if what they said is true, isn't this their father? Why wouldn't they be together?

In response, the General makes a quick jab at the north with his spear. Then, he drags the tip to the ground and he traces out a crude sketch of a building.

"The fortress?" I guess out loud. His acceptance to my answer leaves me with even more questions. Why are they there when I'm over here? But I have no chance to voice that. The General is clearly done waiting.

Not wasting anymore time, he moves straight into action. He hauls me up off the trunk under both arms and places me on my feet. Grasping my arm hard, he forcefully drags me into the stretch of trees. As we pass through them, I find myself emerging into something else entirely. The world melts away in a sizzle of purple sparks to a black void. Color and patterns wash away like dripping paint down invisible walls until it pools into the inky depths beneath our feet. My mind is grasping to put sense to this warped plane. Did we just enter the shadows themselves?

I squint as my pupils dilate in search of light. The adjustment allows me to now make out the physical aspects around us. The hazy smears of solid lines and blurs are the actual forest we move through. They pass us at an astounding rate. Devoid of all color save for muted grays and shades of black, this shadow realm is nowhere I would choose to be.

The cold slowly starts to work its way into my clothes. Little fingertips dance along my skin. The chill settles over the exposed skin of my neck and face. The burn is slow, but steady. I feel the color leaving my cheeks. Every breath stings. The silken mists that hang about and settle over my face reach into my throat and pull out the very warmth from my core.

Whether the Risen General is aware or not, he veers off suddenly and another strange transition between where I was and where I should be occurs. Colors explode, beautiful and vibrant! Before I can stop myself, I pulling off my glove with my teeth and catching the nearest flower bud in between my fingers. The bright yellow and pomegranate red of its center are a delicious sensation for my eyes that fill me like no food could. The craving to touch something so full of life is unbearable. As I roll my thumb over the edge of the soft petal, I find my skin near white. The nail is no longer a healthy pink but the pale blue-purple of incoming frostbite.

I rip my hand back and cradle it tight in the folds of my shirt. Finding no warmth there, I nearly trip over a root to stand in the pool of golden light shining through a hole in the canopy above. Gods, the warmth is sweet.

The General seems no worse for wear. Not even a shiver. He lets go of me and steps back. I glare up at him from under my bangs, teeth clenched as tightly as my hands tucked under each arm for any bit of heat I can muster. "Cool as that was, let's not make that a habit."

As usual, he does nothing. The one thing I have noticed about this guy is that he's all business. He's out to complete objectives.

We're deep in woods. The canopy overhead is thickly wound together, branches intertwined from centuries of overgrowth. Lower branches thread together to form an emerald quilt that blankets the lower brush from the sky above. The occasional leaf falls lazily from the canopy to disturb the otherwise pristine stillness. The occasional twitter of a bird or the lazy buzz of a cicada adds to the ambiance of the mountain breeze rustling through the ancient wood. We are somewhere very old, untouched by human hands.

The General stops his trail at a unique outcropping poking from the mountain's side. A ring of boulders, all grand in size, rest together in an seamless embrace. Moss peppers the sides of the off colored stones giving them the look of having endured an age or two of history. He gestures to the grouping as if inviting me to it.

I press my bare palm to the rock face. One would think it to be cool, protected from the sun's warmth due to the leaves above. However, a familiar feeling causes the sensitive underside of my skin to tickle. Arcane magic thrums across my senses. It encases the rock and spreads across it like a network of blood veins to the ground below. I follow the pulse of one major artery until I stop short. A large influx of energy builds just short of my thumb nail. One more move and the power would build enough to trip whatever hidden rune lies connected to the circle hidden underfoot. Ah, I get it.

The General skirts the edge of clearing across from me, moving awkwardly. He pauses and gestures to the blended shadows where two rocks fold together. I close my eyes and follow the dim trail of magic lines, stepping and turning to avoid the magic lacing the ground. A tiny smirk plays at my lips. I feel pretty bad ass right now, like some secret agent dodging the nefarious laser room. Sigils and traps are everywhere. This place is definitely a hideout.

Upon reaching it, I find my hand trailing off the rock surface into the open air of the darkness between. I lean in at the waist supporting myself along a safe part of the wall. The surface is slick with dew. A puff of smoky air wafts up my nose from beyond the mossy juncture. There's a passage beyond here. The way the stones lean and shadows play creates an optical illusion to the eye that obscures the opening from sight.

"Smart. I think I would have had issues even with my map." I'd waltz right through if it wouldn't leave me open to inhabitant inside. I could suggest scaling the sides, but that's a no go. I wipe my fingers together, the water creating smooth friction between them. "This thing is booby-trapped to hell. Every corner is covered. We don't have time to mess with all of it. This precipitation won't help scaling vertical walls for a more covert entrance either."

I look back at him. "I noticed you aren't moving forward beyond the grass line there. You know about the traps but you don't know where they are?"

He shakes his helmet. So he can sense the magic at least.

"Can't do that shadow thing either?"

A repeated action. Silent guy, isn't he? If I had to guess, I suppose his ability to transcend shadows is also magical which puts him in the same realms as the arcane. These rune traps exist just as strongly there as it does in reality. He'd run into them just as easily.

The General watches me step back and wipe my hands on my coat. Pressing them together again, I rub them to build up a little heat. "This here is all arcane. If I can undo the spells and try to rewire it, we can head straight through. Best I can do is mess with the entrance. I could twist it in our favor. We won't set it off, but the priest will."

Thank you Katarina for all those magic lessons in rune work!

This new, strange feeling thing comes as quick as it leaves. Acknowledgment to do what I please. This dude has definitely got some strange telepathy thing going on. Not sure I dig it, but whatever. We can worry about invasions of privacy after the others are saved. I try not to focus on the precious seconds ticking by through the painstaking process of redoing these runes. There are only three here, but it's still one too many for me. The urge to rush is so, so tempting. But I have to remind myself, more harm can come from a botched job for taking shortcuts. So I work at the best speed I can afford, eventually redoing all the work the priest had formerly done.

"Alright. This'll smoke that priest sky high if he slips through our hands somehow. Now you just have to follow my instructions. Easy. But, keep a steady pace toward me and the entrance. We've already wasted so much time."

I guide him through the criss-crossed lines that set up the trigger fields for the trap runes set about. The arcane work is a dim, colorless light so I can't tell if they are fire, thunder, or wind based. It's different if I'm actually interacting with a rune like before. Unless I'm actually touching it, I'm still a bit too new at magic to recognize pure arcane work by sight. I have to be careful since I'm not sure if the General has any resistance to magic, let alone fire like the ones I was fighting. He struggles a bit due to his size, but manages to come through in the end. My congratulations for him is ignored and lost in the swift move he makes for me. He grabs a handful of my hood and the air drops. I don't even have a breath to comment when he yanks me back into the void. No time is wasted with this man, not that I blame him. Katarina tugs in irritating pulses. She's still fighting and borrowing lots of energy for it. Without that quick boost from the potion my companion gave before, I'd be a stain on the floor unable to move.

I stumble forward back into the warmth of this plane. The trip was only a mere blink and I'm thankful for it. The less I'm in the spook realm, the better. Wherever we landed, it's behind the cover of a boulder nestled snugly against the inner walls of the grove. A curtain of moss and ivy hang down in a vegetative waterfall for reinforced camouflage.

"Nice work, big guy," I say. I pull back my arm to nudge him with my elbow, but find empty air. Turning, I find myself alone. "And, he's gone."

The chatter of voices so close behind me causes me to press up with my back to the stone. I shimmy against the boulder until I reach the edge. Ever so slightly, I peek around the side. Between the hanging fronds, I can make out a small gathering of bodies in the center. Wait, there's more than one?

The one that catches my eye is the priest sitting among glowing runs. Dark magic is burned into the summoning circle around the Grimleal sitting cross-legged in a meditative pose. His robes shimmer with a gleam only Chon'sin thread does. The ceremonial clothing spills around him in a pool. The headdress is even more ridiculous with exotic feathers spouting out around his head. The sour expression and curved beak of his nose makes him look like a constipated peacock.

The two wyvern riders and small group of foot soldiers across the glade are less extravagant. Garbed in typical Plegian gear, the white-haired elder on the left wyvern outranks the others from the honors he wears on his sleeve. He must be the acting officer. A lieutenant most likely. Strange to be acting without a captain present.

Both wyverns are muddy brown and speckled with gold spots across the hide. The larger of the two takes a bored snap at the other, causing it to rear back and hiss. The lieutenant slams the back of his fist into the bony part of his mount's head then pulls roughly on the reins. The leather is wound in an intricate system around the beast's neck that causes a painful constriction on its windpipe. What a brutal form of punishment. No wonder the wyverns don't do well in Plegia. This is no way to train a creature.

The aggressive behavior causes the grunts nearby to rustle closer together. Several give the wyverns a stink-eye before returning back to their game of cards. They're barely equipped with basic leathers or padding for protection. Even the discarded weapons that lay about bear pock marks and rust stains. I doubt these fellows are even properly trained given Gangrel's tactics for the quick mustering of his army. I'd barely consider them a challenge aside from the numbers they have.

What does worry me is that there's a digger here. This is one I don't want to mess with. The eyes are bright and intelligent. Words, malformed but whole, project from its damaged lips. I don't know who claims possession over this monster, but I want nothing to do with any of them!

"I thought you only said one was here," I whisper into the air. I feel confusion from the General, just enough to influence anxiety in my own heart, then nothing.

I nestle up to the outcropping with my back pressed flat to it. "Where are you?" I whisper as soft as I can. Just a meager tingle to the base of my neck is all I get in answer. I scratch at the sensation as it sparks across my skin to under my left ear lobe. I flip my gaze to the side. In the shadows and near perfectly blended with them, the General watches. At least he's nearby.

Alright, no point in standing around. I need to assess this quick and act. Lives are at stake every second.

I can't see the meditating priest's face from beneath his cowl, but smug satisfaction oozes through every word. "This battle will be over soon and any threats along with it. The push back they've accomplished is little more than a thorn in the side. The momentary setback in loss of control is over. Whatever distracted the Risen earlier has vanished allowing me to regain a hold over the masses."

The digger's eyes bore holes into the priest's head. The crossed arms before it uncurl and stretch before it. Each talon lazily scratches into the rock face chipping up debris and leaving light scars behind. I know that voice. Letum.

"A...simple thorn? They should...be...d...ead. Your lack of...control...hinders us. Arrogance is...hu...brice."

The lieutenant spits a peace of bone out of his mouth, waving the leg of meat he has at the same man. "Grimleal's got a point. Exalt should have been belly-up in her own blood right now. What's the issue?"

The splinter pokes into his mount's head and bounces off. The wyvern curls its neck around and hisses at the rider, tongue wiggling out between bared teeth. To appease the creature, the lieutenant throws the leg bone in a peace offering. The second wyvern watches the action and greedily snaps for the prize, beat only by the larger creature's neck size. The meat slithers down its gullet, bone and all a visible lump traveling down its impoverished neck. The loser growls in dissatisfaction and snaps at the other, causing the two riders to begin tugging at the reins in order to fight. They battle heavily with maintaining their grips, the lieutenant throwing cusses at his subordinate for the lack of discipline in his beast. What a hypocrite.

"The numbers are in our favor! Once I guide the Risen underground towards the Ylisseans, nothing will stop us. A barrier cannot work beneath their feet." The priest babbles faster as if doing so would somehow make up for his ineptitude. I have to wonder if the little gnat in his plan involving the Risen was myself. I drove that Risen monster insane. Was it the influence of the brand? If so, it's good to know the human control points are inferior to the dragons themselves if the priest couldn't keep total possession over it.

The lounging digger stretches off its legs and reaches a comfortable position on all four limbs. Letum sounds eager to be off. His toes dig over and over with impatience in the stone. "Make sure it...does...not. Do...not waste...my resources so...freely given, acolyte."

The priest's shoulders hunch up and he shrinks deep into his cloak, a slight quiver to the heightened pitch in his apology. "Of course not, high priest."

The lieutenant drags a leg over the side of his saddle and stands in the stirrups over the Risen slinking away. "Where's your twisted ass off to now? My scout ain't back and the battle not won."

The priest's head snaps up, allowing some of his dark beard to spill out. "Show respect, fool! This is no fledgling you speak to, but one of our highest order. Such disrespects are not just to the Grimleal, but our own god!"

"Then I'll deal with it in the afterlife. Until then, do us all a favor and shut that hole in your face. You've got a job to finish."

Letum stalks past the priest, craning the Risen's head in a full circular motion until it cracks and grinds back to the lieutenant. He's utterly disaffected by either men and their attitudes."I have...business elsewhere. I found...what I needed and...will return to collect it...in the...aftermath." The Risen pauses and creeps up to the priest leaning in until the priest recoils back from the rotten breath rolling over him. "Do...not...fail. The consequences of...failure...are grave."

"High priest," the lesser acolyte whines in farewell.

Wasting no more time lingering, Letum takes his time burrowing into the soil until even the sound of his digging fades away.

Letum's gone, at the very least. That means I can attack without fear of his intervention. That would be bad. If it didn't leave me outnumbered, it would compromise the General nearby if he came to my aid. For good measure, I wait a few breathes more to put distance between Letum and us. I don't want him catching wind of his priest under attack. Checking on my bond with the Einherjar, I find Katarina's still functioning and low on energy. If she can still feel me, at least someone can tell the others I'm alive. I hope she's strong enough to understand what I'm doing. They can't worry about me and should focus on themselves.

"Should all be dead right now," I hear the lieutenant grumbling. "Least we got the information Captain Vasto wanted. Can't believe they've got one of our dark mages."

"Explains a lot, don't it," another answers, I presume the other rider. His wyvern growls into a yawn as he continues. "Cap'n knew somethin' was up. Should 'ave known it was a mage. What else could it 'ave been 'sides from someone scyrin' out our positions."

The lieutenant scoffs. "Didn't think it was his own pet though. I told him that boy was twisted mess. Them types are cursed, but he had to go feelin' sorry for the kid. Orphan and all that. He's gonna be pissed when we tell him."

"Wonder why he turned tail on us? Think they got somethin' we don't," the other rider asks.

"Yeah." The lieutenant takes a long drink of something, his gulp audible from here. He lets out a heavy sigh of contentment. "Tits."

Several of the soldiers laugh, commenting among themselves about the lack of women about, though the rider protests. "Aw come on, the ones we got ain't that bad 'round 'ere. You see them dark mage girls and what they wear, am I right?"

A new voice joins the conversation and complains loudly. "They're also jack-shit crazy. Probably sacrifice your dick to Grima mid-way through fuckin' 'em."

"Hear, hear!" Several others cheer in chorus together.

Not taking any of the vulgarity, the priest slams his hands together and rattles off at them. "Need I remind you that I require concentration? Keep your depraved fascinations for the privacy of your own filthy barracks!"

For once, I agree with a Grimleal. I mean, is this conversation even real? Not that I'm going to claim that's wrong. The cult is pretty crazy. But, still!

They're suspicious of something? Shit. That means they're on to us. Not to the map quite yet, given that conversation. I'd normally be glad to hear their observations are misplaced, but are they talking about Henry? I don't know who else they would be referring to. And, worse yet, this group seems to know him. Vasto, they said? Is that the guy? Wasn't he a boss or something? The name is familiar, but I don't recall much about all the throwaway fights I battled in the game. I need to remember this. Henry might have a target on his back now.

Cripes. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. There are way too many people here for me to handle. Oddly enough, I get the feeling that it won't be a problem for the General. Actually, that's not me. That's really him I'm feeling again. He's brimming with confidence, so much so it almost makes me giddy with how easy it would be to charge in. This is small fry to the Risen. The foot soldiers are a joke. His worry is about the priest.

"The priest I can handle," I say to the open air, feeling silly for doing so. I'm fairly confident I can. Better off than he, anyway. But there's a third party here I hold the most concern for. "You work for their side. That's a problem if the wyverns and their riders get away to leak out your involvement."

The feeling withdraws, only to return. Now, I feel like there's lead in my stomach. A disturbed acceptance of the fact at hand. I guess that means he agrees with me. I peek around the rock and size the two wyverns up. They're wild in nature and not very loyal to their riders. If they can shake free in the chaos, the Plegians on their backs won't have a chance to reclaim control over them, leaving them unable to take to the air.

"We'll have to ground the wyverns first and prevent them from escaping. Then, we can take out the riders. Since you appear confident on the grunts over there, I'll let you take them if you want me to deal with the priest. Sound fair?"

He's partially materialized in the shadows. I can see the subtle tilt of acceptance from his helmet. His gauntlet is primed up at the handle of his weapon, each finger flexing open and shut. I'm glad he feels so at ease with his own skills. To me, I can't be so sure.

"Are you certain you can cover me? That's still a lot of guys and only one of you. Taking on these numbers should be suicide in my eyes," I say. I hope he can feel the pressure I'm exerting on him. I don't know if this emotional telepathy thing works both way or it's just his way of communicating with me, but he should feel this. All of my concern and anxiety over the idea of throwing myself out there with a stranger being the only thing standing between me and them.

I wince at the heavy pulse of pressure at the base of my neck. It swells up and threatens a migraine. I feel twitchy, like I need to move. He's anxious, something very important spurring him on. But what?

He cuts away and I'm left feeling more empty than full. The lack of his...presence should be a relief, yet somehow it does leave a hint of loneliness. I press a hand over my shirt, wondering. Can Katarina feel any of this as well?

With the General's thoughts now cut off, I get the clear picture that he's done with me. All he's waiting on is my first move. Either he can read all my thoughts and knows I'm willing to make the shot on the wyverns, or he simply expects me to since I'm closer in distance. Whatever the case, he's right.

"I am holding you to that confidence. I swear, if I die then me coming back to haunt you will be the least of you concerns!" I warn him. It's a final move to guarantee he's ready for this. No backing out now. Once I move, my life is in his hands. He better know the gamble I'm making and what's at stake here. Gods, this is crazy!

He folds into the shadows. Silence is my only answer. I guess that settles it.

I pull out my thunder tome. I can't do an advanced spell because the priest will sense it while I'm casting. There's plenty of small ones that can at least momentarily cripple a full adult wyvern. I trust Miriel's knowledge on that one though I'm scared to ask how she even knows it. The lieutenant has a better grip on his wyvern than the other, and the smaller does appear to be the more aggressive of the two. So that's my target. After that? Theoretically the two over-sized lizards should be able to cause enough damage to themselves and the environment around them. If not, I'll have to incapacitate the other just so the riders can be removed. After that, the General and I split to handle our two objectives. He's got the foot soldiers, I have the priest.

Why do I feel like I'm still getting the worse deal of the two despite him fighting higher numbers? Sheesh. I close my eyes and take one more breath before the leap. If I don't move now, I never will. So, with nothing but dread in my heart, I take the plunge.

"Ready, aim, fire."

Sparks crackle around my finger tips, ionizing the air. Unlike dragons, wyverns lack that natural resistance to magic. The effects of my magic hover just over my skin and crackles with the anticipation of explosion. I bend at the knees and dig down both heels into the earth. The brief respite was nice so I hope this is the last battle I have to work today. With nothing but the memories of my friends pushing my aching limbs ahead, I dive forth from cover.

Dried leaves crunch and scatter up around my rabid progress forward. The pounding steps coming straight at them causes no amount of confusion on behalf of the enemies ahead. The lesser of the riders ogles dumbly. "What in bloodiest of hells is that?"

Though stained b and shredded, the iconic blue of my coat and branding of the Exalt's sign is enough to make his lieutenant react quicker. He pulls at the reins of his wyvern even as it resists to his quick demands. "Ylisseans? Here?"

The sizzling orb slips through my fingers cleanly. A beautiful curve ball aimed dead on to the smaller of the two. The glade lights up abnormally bright at the small explosion of electricity on its skin. Forks of lightening erupt over the wyvern's body leaping over scales and slithering between the grooves to the skin below. An unholy shriek rips out of its maw. Its body falls to the side and its rider leaps away, ducking to avoid its convulsing limbs. Its eyes roll up in its head, short guttural shrieks piercing the air. Its head whips about in a frenzy, crashing into the wyvern beside it. Startled, the second bucks and rears back in panic.

"Son of a Naga loving whore!" the lieutenant roars. He digs his spurs into the wyvern and wrestles all he can with the reins, making no progress what so ever. Keeping the priest within view, I back up a few steps with a fresh, stronger spell working runes all around me. While the time may seem perfect for a snarky comment, I find myself too busy watching for my life to react. I continue to twist my forefinger in circles to wind up the spool of lighting in one tight coil. When enough charge has gathered, I launch the spell at the second wyvern.

I curse loudly when one of the foot soldiers leaps in front of it and takes the brunt of the spell with a large shield. He probably is realizing that was a terrible idea given the way he screams and releases the electrified steel. Still, I get the last laugh when the arching bolts lift off the metal and start bouncing outward. Tiny little sparks leap into the two nearest soldiers' chests and continue to bound back and forth in a chain lightening spell that leaves them, uh, well not very alive after all that voltage is done invading their bodies. Huh, I snared first kill. That's different.

"Stop gawking and do something! It's just one girl!" The lieutenant howls. He rips a spear out of the holster attached to the side of his saddle and hefts it up. Before the man can move, the thundering of footsteps and plate mail enters from the right. The General blurs like the shadows he leaps from, a dark smudge on the vivid green around us. He knocks over a standing Plegian in his haste to reach the wyvern. The obsidian of his suit catches on the bend of his armor, his arms crashing first into the wyvern hide and digging into the scales firmly. The wyvern tilts over in a fit from the force of his throw against it, limbs crisscrossing over each other as it stumbles sideways. The lieutenant steering the beast rises to a full stand in his saddle and gapes in disbelief at what he's seeing.

The General growls low, rising to frightening war cry. Even I'm taken back by it! He throws the rest of his weight up against the bulk of the creature's stomach and the wyvern shrieks in surprise. Unable to carry its balance anymore, it crashes onto its side in an explosion of leaves and dust. The lieutenant drops his reins and leaps off the toppling wyvern much like his cohort had done. He tucks and rolls when he hits the ground just missing the thrashing claws of the wyvern's leg. However, one of the other Plegians isn't so lucky. Unable to move out of the way in time, the beast ends up pinning his legs beneath its squirming body.

He shrieks in agony, arms pushing against the scaly hide with no more relief to be gained than if he were trying to move a mountain. "Pissing shit! Get this off me!"

The wyvern twists again and the audible snap of a bone is heard. The man howls in agony and rolls on his side to desperately pull at the trapped limbs. One of the other Plegians moves in to help the poor schmuck causing him to reach an arm out for help. Their fingers barely touch, hope painting the man's face.

The General vaults over the wyvern's neck and rushes between them. The metal of his blade hisses outward and flashes through a stray beam of sun from above. The brief sting of light blinds me, but no more than a second. Yet, it was long enough to paint the length of the General's sword red. Blood glides down the sharpened edge and drips in a steady stream off the tip, courtesy of the now dead Plegian beside him. The body drops to the ground, head and neck splitting apart midair and rolling apart on the ground.

"Goddamn," I whisper in awe. The visceral fluidity of his motions is absolutely frightening.

"Ya bastard!" Blinded by rage, a fellow solider raises his sword over his head and runs at him. If that isn't the most cliché way to die, then I don't know what is.

The General jerks his helmet to look back, eyes narrowed and dangerously hot. His wrists flex with the intent of bringing his sword back up for a renewed engagement, only to find them bound fast and dragged down. A bolas collides against his gauntlets causing the weighted balls to swing around and bind his arms together with thick cords. Air hisses out of his visor. He jams his sword into the ground and tilts his wrists so the ropes cuts against the blade. Even still, he doesn't have the seconds to spare with the oncoming pursuer making a beeline straight for him.

Breaking into a run, I swap tomes and thumb open the nearest bookmark. Green runes flash and twirl around me as I cast. The sigils shatter outward around into sparkling dust particles. They fill the air and give substance to the wind rushing with me. They coil and swirl like serpents until fully intertwined. Guiding the path forward with my outstretched fingers, the spells shoots forward and intercepts the combatant ahead.

The spell ensnares his leg and quickly circles up to his waist. The magic born ropes loop widely and pin one arm, then the other, to his sides. They continue to bind and constrict until the man is forced to stop and struggle. Losing feeling in his one leg, he's reduced to hopping on the other as his muscles bulge in an attempt to break free of his constraints.

The mechanical click of loading ammunition pulls away my attention. The Plegian who threw the bolas has now swapped to his sidearm, a wicked looking crossbow. Slow to load, they still pack a punch. Enough to pierce my ally's armor if the given target, let alone my own light protections.

I push the side of my foot into the ground and dig up a trail in my abrupt halt. Flipping rapidly through pages, I work up another spell that is simple and fast to match the speed of my opponent's. My sigils spin up as he cranks back the bolt and lifts it eye level. The finger on his trigger pulls in unison with the simple flourish of my own. Together, both his crossbow ejects and my spells pops. The tip of the bolt rushes forward toward the fierce gust I force back at him. The projectile survives the first inch or so before the rippling wall of wind overtakes it. The strength of the gusts send the horizontal bolt spinning in a full circle back the way it came.

The green aura pushes on and washes over the crossbowman, pinning him tight to the stone. His struggle to move ends abruptly with a strangled grunt of surprise. The weapon fall from his hands, body rigid from the shock of the bolt piercing into his chest. His fingers close over the wound and grow slick with the blood now dripping from it. He manages to make one feeble pull before his eyes slide up into his skull and he crumples downward.

I quickly wipe at my brow, sweat now plastering my bangs to my skin. The back of my hair sticks to my neck and my undershirt clings uncomfortably. Snapping my tome shut, I allow myself one breath of air before turning to finish off the second Plegian.

The warrior squirms on the ground, his whole body contorting in any possible way to snap the magic bonds holding him tight. He stops when my boots rest before his face. The Plegian rolls on his back giving me a clean area to work with. I raise my sword and align it with his heart, ready to give him a clean end. Stupid me, I allow my eyes to flit once to his face. Our eyes connect and that ruins everything.

His pupils are blown wide and he bears the clammy frozen look I've seen stamped on the faces of many dead men. Gods, I can see the fear in his eyes. Every regret and loss he's known and about to leave behind. My arm locks up. I can't look away.

Gods. What am I doing?

Urgency slams into my skull, a telepathic battering ram smashing my brain in and causing me to flinch. Anger that isn't mine makes me cower into myself from the guilt. My teeth grind together in the effort I make to push the unbidden urge out.

"Stop that already!" I snap at the General, but he's no longer where he once stood. Both sword and Risen are gone.

A whimper reaches me ears, so soft it's more of a release. My gaze snaps back to the man underfoot. Blood bubbles up between his teeth and slides down the side of his mouth. His eyes have fogged over, no sign of life within. Scanning further down, I catch the edge of the General's sword leaving the Plegian's body with a wet squelch. We lock eyes and I find mine narrowing. I can't explain this hesitation, nor the anger, besides my own humanity screaming out in horror.

Whatever he wishes to convey to me is lost when he breaks our staring contest. I see the flicker of his eyes over my shoulder and my body tenses in an immediate reaction. He's grabbing for my shoulder while my fingers tighten up over the pommel of my sword. The acute sharpness of the footfall behind me works faster than he, and I'm already twisting. My eyes swing over my arm to the figure behind me. My brain has already processed the threat and sends the signals throughout my muscles. My wrist snaps up sending the burning edge of my sword out in a searing arc.

I catch resistance, then nothing. My eyes close and my head jerks back from the spray of droplets that settle over my chin. Burnt flesh hits my nose and I know I've hit the mark. I wipe some of the blood off with the back of my hand and turn away, ignoring the gurgling and rustling behind me.

Damn it. Just, damn it all.

With three now dead, the surviving Plegians have grouped up together in a defensive huddle toward the corner of the glade. The foremost soldier grips his spear tightly out before him. " 'oly shit. Ain't that one o' ours?"

"That's a bleedin' Risen," another gasps.

The lieutenant, having survived the initial attack, spits a wad of bloody saliva out of his mouth and presses his sleeve against the gash in his lip. His voice cracks with rage. "Priest, these Risen are your responsibility! Control it for fuck's sake!"

With the accusing eyes of all his brethren on him, the priest's lips part and close numerous times, broken explanations sputtering forth.

"I don't want explanations, ya shit joke of a priest. Just control it!"

Grabbing fistfuls of his robe, the priest pulls them up around his ankles and stumbles forward. Unleashing a hand, he gestures to the General as if ensnaring his very soul in his grasp. The circle around him surges bright with power and whips up an unseen wind. His sleeves billow dramatically to the commands he ushers out. "Creature! As your master, I hereby order you to desist these actions at once! Serve and obey your masters! Destroy the woman before you."

The metal in the General's armor screeches from the way his head whips in the direction of the priest. Though the red of his eyes narrows dangerously, the light grows ever brighter under his visor. He snarls angrily, the low vibration coming up from his throat and out through the nose.

The priest emits a pitiful squeak of terror upon realizing his magic has no control over this Risen. The General takes a menacing step forward. His shadows seems to stretch across the grass and rises up over the priest, causing the man to cower back even more. However, the General stops himself. There's murder in his eyes, but common sense holds him back. Instead, he turns to face the group of men behind us. He tips the edge of his chin toward the priest in an obvious gesture to me.

The Einherjar's connection burns hot in my chest. While unpleasant, it's a reminder I'm still alive. An astounding fact in this madness. Manipulating the magic around me, I draw it in like a fine layer of ice settling over my skin. The coating is invisible to the eye, but present. Now that Miriel's taught me all there is in magic resistance, I can have some confidence is holding my own against a magic user. I'm lucky this is a sub-par priest.

"Ylissean witch! I recognize you! Yes, yes I do. Through their eyes I saw it! A simple strategist at the Exalt's table!" he squeals, voice hitching to shrill decibels. "How dare you attempt to lay hands on me! Grima's chosen! Did they send you to find me?"

I stop short of him, digesting the words. A wicked bark of laughter erupts out of me right after, enough to draw the toothiest, shit-eating grin I could muster. "Buddy. Pal," I say. "Grima doesn't give a flying fuck about you. Trust me."

His eyes bulge at my words. His chin quivers with pent-up frustration and his lip juts out and up so far it almost reaches his nose. The priest is practically shaking in rage. "You know nothing, imbecile!"

With confrontation facing him once more, the priest scrambles backward and stumbles over the hem of his robes. He presses up against the nearest tree, hands flailing through the folds for a tome. Extracting one, he rips open the text and throws clumps of paper back and forth. The priest's eyes twitch about wildly over the pages for some sort of protection.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a stray Plegian decide to throw himself between the priest and I. An inconvenient obstacle, for sure. I cluck my tongue in annoyance and move my aim toward him. An ax wobbles in his grasp and he lifts it over his shoulder. Cutting through the air with swift chops back and forth, he snarls menacingly at me.

My fingers flex out and the spell woven between them swirls up and out. I sorely underestimate the Plegian's agility. He ducks and weaves around the spell like a seasoned linebacker. From his spinning leap he resumes a quickened pace straight towards me. A taunting smile, one that draws out the full width of his teeth, sneers at me in closing distance.

I've already swapped my tome out and switched to a melee stance, pivoting with one foot ahead of the other. Grounding down deep, I wait until he gets closer to asses whether I should counter, dodge, or meet him straight on. Knowing my strength against his, the last option is probably the worst. Let's see if he's going for the instant KO or wants to jerk me around.

His strides are grand and the space between us quickly disappears. A war cry starts low and grows in crescendo with the throwback of his arm. That's a hefty swing, my friend. You better hope to make contact with a full powered blow like that cause otherwise you are going to be left wide open for the enemy's follow-up counter. Best to take a dodge and-

A projectile from an unseen source whistles overhead from somewhere off to my left. I drop to my knees on reflex and watch the thin streak go straight into the Plegian's path. There's a hollow thud and then my attacker goes feet up, the force of whatever hits him knocking him back. His limbs jerk about, scrabbling at his chest. The ax wielder manages to pull out what looks like a dagger from the center of his chest, albeit with a feeble grasp that seems to slacken every moment that passes.

I certainly didn't throw that so it must be from the Risen. I didn't take the General to be a knife-throwing kind of guy, but he's been full of surprises. Still, that came a little close. He didn't even warn me. I could have easily gotten hit by that! Ah, whatever. I'll have to thank him later. For now, I have to focus on that stupid pr-

My nose twitches. The ashy smell of fire magic sets off alarms everywhere. Cursing loudly, I leap back as far as my legs allow. A low-level fireball lands right to the side of the dying Plegian, exploding in a small cloud. Energy bursts outward with a hefty crackle that drowns out the warrior's cries. Weak and garbled as they were, his last moments were definitely in extreme agony. The worst case of friendly fire that could occur. If this Grimleal has no regard for his countrymen, it makes sense why the army looks on the cult in fear.

The priest is a fast caster. His runes spin out and around him in just two of the steps I take toward him. The spell work is red and emits the familiar ashy smell of fire magic. At least he's sticking with arcane magic for now. Probably easier than the energy sucking side effect of dark magic. If he's still maintaining an anchor with the Risen, he's most likely in the same boat as myself with the Einherjar. He's going to be just as careful with his tactics as I am.

He raises his palm and the magic erupts out of his summoning circle. The runes evaporate behind the simple fireball he throws my way. It's got volume, but that doesn't mean it has power. The spinning globe races at eye level. Throwing up my enchanted weapon, I cancel out the spell with the same effects. The sphere slams into the blade's edge. Smoke pours around me and I cough after getting a mouthful of it. The fireball splits under the strong push of the blade's surface, stretching oblong until the skin of it snaps and magma oozes out both ways. The bisected spell whizzes past both sides of my head. My ears burn hot as the tail edge of the halves brush the sensitive skin and whip up my hair in its wake. Magic slips over my resistance and rubs smoothly apart leaving me no worse for wear. At most, the stinging in my ears will result the same as a bad case of sunburn. A little peeling and some sensitivity, but not the charred remains they otherwise may have been!

The priest slams the arcane tome together with both hands and throws it over his shoulder. His bitter exclamations roll off his tongue in half uttered sentences. The new book he brings out his heftier, bound to a darkened leather that shows plenty of discolored spots from age. The cracked yellow pages look almost translucent as they part.

Chants flow through the air in a rapid string of syllables and poetry. Great, dark magic. Just what I needed. I guess he really doesn't care as much about his welfare as I initially thought.

The earth shakes and cracks split across its dirt-laden skin. A smokey haze rises up, followed by the putrid stench of rotten eggs. I recoil back onto my heels and bury my nose into my sleeve. The aroma makes my eyes water and threatens to punch my gut with its pungency. Amidst the gases, a vile green liquid rises up like pus from a wound. The surface churns and beckons, daring me to cross it.

The priest ends his chanting. He raises one hanging sleeve, bony fingers stretched out. With a snap of his fingers and a twirl of his wrist, they all come together in a raised fist. Bubbles rise up in synchronization with his movements, shifting through the air to follow where he guides. The magic inside them reflects neon green off the murky vapor shells.

While the initial casting was spooking, this part isn't so intimidating. He looks downright silly standing there with these giant peas just floating around his head. I'd let him know too, if I wasn't scared these things might melt my face off even with the resistance I have applied.

"Feel the might of Grima and despair!" the priest cackles. The hovering orbs stop rotating and bunch up together. Giving another yell, he thrusts his palm through the air.

Naga's ass, I am not going to die in a hail of boogers the size of bowling balls!

The foremost sludge bombs hurdle toward me in a predicable fashion. I lean down into my knees and throw my weight right just missing them by a hairsbreadth. I roll off my side and come onto my heels, one hand clenching the grass. I watch the orbs hit the ground and burst open. The liquid inside takes immediate effect to its surroundings. Green strands of grass curl downward and drain of their color until nothing remains but blackened husks. The slow burn of acid erosion destroys all the beauty this glade harbors. More follow in a quick change of course, splattering a line of decay all the way to my position.

I throw my weight back and press off my heels. The remaining orbs left fall from three, to two, then one. But the last is just fast enough to reach me. I do the only thing I can and lash out, hoping to knock it away. While the course of it varies slightly, the orb is too soft to withstand the sharpened edge of my sword. It erupts and sprays out in a cone with traces of it landing over the left sleeve of my coat.

The effect isn't immediate at first. I'm almost convinced the resistance has me fully immune. Then, I see the hiss of chemical smoke. The spell is strong, maybe too strong. It's overcoming the layer of magic protecting my skin. The itch that spreads over my forearm is growing from an irritating scratch to a uncomfortable burn. I can feel the magic eaten away under the acid leaving my exposed skin at the mercy of the priest's spell. I slam my sword into the ground wretch my arm free of the coat. My body comes free of it and I whisk the garment away. It crumples into a puddle of water that's formed under one of the rocky overhangs and disappears under the force of the falling water above.

The damp forest air on my afflicted skin does no favors, spiking the pain. I'm lucky in that my quick ejection of the clothing saved me from further damage. Still, three bright splotches of reddened skin pepper the length of my arm. Remembering the only useful bit of information I ever retained from chemistry, I thrust my arm under nature's universal solvent.

Words cannot even describe the needle like pincers poking and jabbing my skin. The sensation is so immense it steals whatever breath I can afford leaving ragged gasps of air to whistle between my clenched teeth. The lingering bits of slime are washed clear off. Raw magic flows back over the skin and reconnects the holes made from the acid leaving me protected once again.

In the time I've taken, the priest has recovered for a second round. Two-thirds of the hovering swarm remain. Beyond, the priest moves his hand again, yelling out his orders. My fingers tighten to a death grip on the weapon I still hold. Every dip and imperfection is molded to my mind. The enchanted edge of my sword is my one solid protection against this spell. A combination of reflexes and a keen eye are what manage to keep me alive. Frederick has his own brilliance when it comes to his martial talents. He's able to pick out your strengths and weaknesses perfectly. I have him to thank for the ability to read a fight and perform defensively. If I had a game stat to peg as my avatar weakness, it's strength. I'm tall and I have thin limbs. Even if I exercised like crazy, I would never physically overcome most soldiers, let alone the females like Sully. I've got to use my brain and my dexterity to survive.

The second volley rips toward me. I start to jog backwards into the middle of the glade so I have enough room to move. There's a small release gap between each orb component in the spell. Three second stagger between their flight patterns, enough for me to move and react as I need to without fear of growing overwhelmed. When the foremost approaches my zone of reach, I anchor down and move.

My sword bounces into the thin outer shell, staggering a mere second on the rubbery substance. The two mediums react on impact causing steam rise up between the blade and heavy crease it dents into the orb. I push deep into my sword and it flares up. The resistance gives way, knocking it off course to the left. A thin tear forms along the underside and spills acidic juice everywhere.

My eyes have already left the first and moved to the second. I follow the momentum of my swing into a low crouch and slide along the soles of my boots over the dew laden grass. As it streaks overhead, I've moved on to the next danger. On and on it goes, one to another. My two choices are to dodge or deflect. Even with the pain dulled by adrenaline, it's hard to focus. The single thought that I have to survive pushes me through. One lost second of concentration will break this pattern and then it's a for sure game over!

Every successful maneuver causes the priest no amount of frustration. Any confidence he may have scraped together is destroyed bit by bit the longer I live. When the last orb remains, his cry of rage is undeniable. He powers the final one at me with reckless abandon. I'm able to dodge and it flies wide, slamming into the ancient tree trunk behind. Already bogged down by the hanging ivy on its branches, the main body of the elm caves inward under the sizzling acid on its bark. Wood snaps and long dead branches fall around me. What I can't brush away with my hand is easily knocked back by my sword, the enchantment burning through and severing larger pieces in two. From the way the great trunk begins to groan and shudder, I expect the thing to fall. The roots hold deep and give way just enough to expose the base leaving the elm suspended dangerously overhead.

The priest's gleeful smirk is wiped off. He stamps his foot and grinds the heel into a few of the tome's pages he rips out and litters onto the ground. "You insufferable Ylisseans just will not die! Accept your fate!"

Another fistful of parchment he wretches back tears partially out of the binding. His chanting is a desperate keen mixed with short bursts of hysterics in-between breaths. Unlike the last spell, the buzzing that hits my ears reminds me of Letum's handiwork many moons ago.

Always adapting, magic once again becomes my primary weapon. Wind magic once more engulfs the summoning runes I form. His cloud of miasma races to completion beside my spinning vortex of green magic. It's not my intent to beat him at casting this time. I want him to finish, even if I have no intent on letting those horrible bugs near me.

I keep the tornado of magic suspended in front of me in wait for the perfect moment. It's not until he releases his swarm in full that I let mine go. The sickening hum of insects is mercifully drowned out under the howling of winds as the two spells smash together. The dark smoke and all the critters within are drawn into my spell's center. Try as the insects will, they cannot break free of the strong barrier keeping them within. The tornado zigzags about with the push and pull of the wings beating against it. The entanglement takes a harsh left and leaves a long furrow behind it. My heart leaps to my throat when I see the end of this collision course.

The two riderless wyverns have recovered to some extent. One clings to the top of a boulder and watches the chaos below with loathing in its slitted eyes. It's already mostly retreated. I think it's only sticking around to enjoy watching the Plegians getting their asses kicked. The other, still suffering from the electric coma I put it in, stumbles about drunkenly. Its head droops and the beast sways right in the path of the spell totally unaware of it. In a spectacular crash, green particles sparkle upward into the canopy among a bursting cloud of smoke. Free of their cage, the insects cast affliction on the victim closest to it. Initially confused by the tiny things beating into it, one lucky stinger under the wyvern's scale sets it into a new rampage. Teeth gnash and spittle mixed with blood fly while the wyvern claws at its face. It charges wildly into the center of the glade. Its tail and body become a living battering ram toppling both humans and the environment around it.

The wyvern slams up against the rock wall and drags its body along it smearing an ultraviolet stain of bugs. Its torso bumps the upper ledges and knocks out sizable chunks of rubble above. I crane my head up and see the shadow of boulder rolling precariously over me. Time to move!

Miniature rock slides all around the circular glade force us closer to the middle. From the shouts I hear cut so abruptly, I fathom a Plegian or two wasn't lucky enough to dodge the avalanche. Still, I wouldn't count myself too lucky. The proverbial rock has forced me into a harder place. The wyvern is still reeling and has even less space to move about, heightening its panic. Crashing up against the furthest wall, it scratches against the rock and wiggles back around to charge into the central area. Gods, is it fast!

Abandoning the fight in the name of survival, two Plegians run right past me in an attempt to outrun the rampage. The wyvern's one clear eye swivels about and locks onto us. Its bloodshot sclera appears frozen, the pupil shrunk so small its barely perceptible. This looks bad.

Something catches me by the side and I'm lifted off my feet. The scenery go sideways as I'm hefted up and away over the General's shoulder. He sprints across the wyvern's path and pulls us straight into the long shadows running up the rock face. The world fades out just as the beast collides into the men left behind, their screams swallowed up in the dark realm.

The lingering effects of resistance on my skin dissolve in the atmosphere of this oppressive space. The darkness peels away the last bits of it, swallowing the light until nothing remains. I really, really hate this place.

Relief is brief, if welcome, when the warmth of day greets us through the portal he emerges from. He exits across a small brook and through a curtain of foliage. I spit leaves out of my mouth, lips puckering up at the nasty taste of sap. He doesn't set me down immediately, choosing to scope the perimeter first. He twists around and gives me a clear look at the carnage he plucked me out of.

Huge gouges in the rock mark the trail the wyvern clawed its way up, along with the crumpled bodies below. The creature has actually managed to scale up the vertical siding with talons and pure strength. I catch the last wiggle of its leg climbing over the top followed by the snaking of its tail up and out of sight. The other wyvern observes the departure with a cool stare. Glancing down once more at the ruined grove, one snake-like tongue flicks out at us a final time before it too retreats.

"Hey! The wyverns are gone! That's-"

The General leaps back violently, knocking his shoulder pauldron up into my chin. I catch my tongue between my teeth and whine pitifully. I slam one of my knees into his chest plate in the only way I can to show my displeasure.

"What's the problem?" I lisp between thick syllables caused by the throbbing swell in my tongue.

His whole body shutters in the collision of force between he and some unseen force. Metal rasps on metal. Now what?

I grip hard into the protrusions of his armor and lift my head over my shoulder. Of course we had to exit out right in the path of the goddamned lieutenant! And boy, he's got the chip on his shoulder!

The General disengages their locked blades and pushes the other man back with as much force as he can muster. He tries to move away far enough to set me down, but the lieutenant presses on him with reckless abandon. I can't see a damn thing but I can hear every clash of their weapons! The General steps back and pivots to the side allowing the lieutenant to thrust into air. Quick on the exchange, the Plegian dives at a sharp angle and forces the Risen it head on. The General takes the blow and parries it back with a grunt of effort. I feel his body cave in and sway left and right to avoid repetitive stabs. He constantly shifts to keep his left side exposed and me out of harm's way. But even he can't dodge what neither of us can see.

An explosive blast of acid slaps into his lower back, pitching him forward. I hold on for dear life even as I press myself up and away from the splatter of bright green clinging to his gear. I'm surprised to see only the barest hints of corrosion making tiny pock marks in the obsidian armor. It does very little to slow him down, the initial force of being pushed behind more of an annoyance to him than the actual acid that's, you know, burning into the very pores of his being. His suit of armor shutters with the exhaustive release he emits. Stay strong, big guy! I got your back!

Twisting around under his grip, I wiggle onto my side and pull my heel in. The lieutenant we're currently engaged with recovers from the knock back he endured from their last share of blows. He primes up to attack again, only for his snarl to warp into surprise when the heel of my boot smashes in the bridge of his nose.

He reels back and draws a hand up to cover his face. He slices horizontally through the air between us to create space while he gains his senses. It grants us a few seconds of reprieve I also aim to make use of. I struggle enough to get the General's attention.

"Hurry! Put me down! I'll get the priest!"

The General's grip loosens enough to let me slide off his shoulder. He keeps support to my lower back until I drop to the ground with ease. The heat of his gaze lingers just long enough to make an impression. Then, with a whirl of his cape, I'm on my own again. I thread my fingers together and press the palms out to limber up my fingers. Shaking them loose, I make a mad dash for the western edge of the glade for my discarded weapons. The red thrum of energy is a welcome beacon. The wind tome beside it is a bit wet around the edges, but I'll make do. I've lost the other though. The electric tome was still in my coat and now lies water-logged in the stream within it. Speaking of...

"Hey asshole!" I taunt the priest in order to draw away his attention. It works, his bruised pride sending daggers in my direction with his eyes. "You owe me a new coat. That was my favorite one!"

His molting headdress slips far over his forehead to the point of obscuring his vision. The priest rips it off and throws it into the brush. The eyes of Grima are tattooed across the skull and gleam gold against the darkened tan of his skin. His burning glare deepens the lines of his forehead causing the eyes to crease and squint along with him.

"Use whatever little tricks you wish, Ylissean, but you shall not gain victory here. Even if I die, I have called reinforcements. Your army is being overwhelmed as we speak, just as you shall be soon enough."

"Ooo, scary." I continue to goad him in order to buy time. My mind is working behind the words, churning possibilities. Even if I were to counter his moves with magic of my own, he'll always beat me. His talent to pull magic from the arcane plane is more refined while his chanting is vastly superior. That also makes getting in close nigh impossible. That earlier barrage from his dark magic proved how hard, and dangerous, it was to do. So then, what do I do?

An indirect method of combat, of course! What were Katarina's words? Use the environment to my advantage? Ha! Time for a new tactic. In this case, the priest did most of the work for me.

"Speechless in the face of defeat, or are you simply as daft as this plan you hatched. A futile effort!" the priest chortles. He manages to catch up to my own casting and finishes another fire spell. The large flame builds behind him and splits out into five identical replicas of its former self. They hover behind and attack one after another on his command.

I'm forced to sacrifice power from my spell for my own protection. With a proper application of resistance, the effect is nothing but gauze over my skin. I reverse the work on my last rune and transform it into another. Offense becomes an extra layer of defense in the wind wall I put up. The first fireball slams into the screen in a glorious haze that forces me to clench my eyes shut. The black smoke that blows back is replaced by a second. The impact creates a crater in the center that splinters outward and pushes me back. The third that follows causes the spell to buckle inward.

By the fourth, the actual spell shatters. Green lights envelop me and force me to raise my arm to protect my face. The eruption of both spells blow past me in a mixture of freezing air and burning cinders. The combination sears the inside of my nose and brings a heat to my cheeks from the bluster. With the inevitable fifth coming, I rework all the raw magic I can to the front of my body.

I imagine that if anyone decided to gut punch me with a bowling ball tied to their fist, this sensation would be pretty similar. The force that impacts against my chest pushes all the oxygen out of me leaving me unable to do more then fold over in a soundless heave. Dry, volcanic heat washes over me from all directions drawing an instant sweat over my body. The mingling of my magic against his is a flux and a distortion all at once. My eyes water from the pain and the sting of thick smoke clogging the air around me. I refuse to breath in. All I can do is wrap both arms around my body, staggering two steps back to recover from the shock of it all.

"You still stand? Perhaps you do have a hint of strength in you. This will make your soul all the more appealing for Grima's consumption. Yes, you will make a fine sacrifice."

By now I've come to see the priest's irritating challenges as all false bravado to mask his own cowardice. It's irritating. This whole thing is! It's from this frustration that I find the will to power through the pain and stand again. Most of the smoke has blown past and the last bits of resistance I can muster falls away. My skin feels very exposed. The warm air that lingers settles uncomfortably on me. One arm rests on a knee to help me rise. I fall back and manage to catch myself, albeit with a poor stance that leaves me swaying. Remind me never to challenge Ricken or Miriel to a fight by magic. This dueling is too exhausting.

I stare him straight in the eye, a defiant challenge. My tome falls open with a thud across my palm. I smile mockingly at him, then top it off by sticking my tongue out at him. My next spell swirls toward him and splits into two. The dual bolts land with enough space between him to guide his steps further left, but without overstepping the boundary I've set up in my mind to keep him aligned with. My sloppy execution is merely a cover that will hopefully lull him into a false sense of security. My eyes flit from his position to the creaking trunk situated overhead. The very same one that threatened my own safety earlier. Too preoccupied with me, he's ignorant to the teetering danger above. It hangs by the threads of its own roots. Gnarled and laden with rot, it would only take one good spell to cut it loose.

That's it, just a little more...

The next gusts I send causes a magical shock back up my arms. The sting is a shiver that bunches up the internal organs and stretches up into my chest. The shock collides with my heart and my chest lurches from the sensation. My throat catches and I force out a heavy cough. It leaves a familiar rust taste over my tongue. Katarina vibrates in warning against me, a protest to her waning strength. I'm trying here!

"You continue to insult me with a novice tome? The gall! I will make your death as painful as possible so that our god will revel in your spirit's agony!" The priest's boisterous squawks are grating on me. Thankfully, that's about to end. I mean, gods! He talks way too much for a throwaway boss.

I refuse to even respond. There's no point. I draw up a new spell that's heftier than any I had used against him before this. Green lights gathers up in a long vertical strand before me. It's loud, the rush of wind gathered tightly in a thick stream to create a razor's bite to the edges of the spell. When it morphs in its entirety, the guillotine shape creates the perfect tool of execution for my intentions. The size is enough to bisect a grown man if I intended to do so, and the priest sees that. It's enough to muster a gleam of fear on the weathered lines of his face.

I guide it sideways and blast it forward at him in a feint. The priest takes the most obvious course of action and drops to the ground, rocking on his knees with his hands cradling his bowed head. My spell goes wide over his head and arches up into the treeline. It makes a swift curve toward the hanging tree and smashes into space between the overgrowth and rock wall. Each artery snaps with a satisfying crack on impact the further along the spell burrows.

Rising from his crouched position, the priest pokes his head in both directions before looking over his unharmed form. He guffaws triumphantly and rises to a stand. He spreads his arms out wide and his cloak billows out around him.

"Ha! It is no wonder Ylisse has lost so often to our schemes. If the ranks of your army are filled with useless mages such as yoursel-"

The trunk behind the priest unleashes its final death throes. The wood separates and the whine of its great berth falling under gravity's pull finally snaps up the priest's attention. He spins around and throws his head back. He stumbles backward two or three steps before attempting to break into a full run. His scream of denial is quickly overcome, along with the rest of him, under branches that umbrella the tree's canopy. The crack of wood shattering against stone echoes vibrantly through the small cove sending birds scattering out of the other trees nearby. A storm of leaves and shuttering branches create the epic fallout that occurs after. I bat a few leaves out of my face and wait to see if the priest emerges from the chaos. I hold my breath until I can no more, then brave checking the crash site for evidence of the priest's survival.

Branches spray out in a broken mess every way. I part them with the flat side of my blade looking for the priest below. It doesn't take long to find him. Or, part of him. I actually trip over what I initially think is part of the tree, only to find the obstruction to be an exposed ankle wrapped up in a leather sandal. I step back and nudge aside some leaves. The ancient's tree girth envelops most of the priest's body. All that remains visible is the length of both his legs from the knee down. Yeah, I don't think he's walking away from this one.

I'm nudging the soles of his feet with the tip of my boots when another hefty explosion goes off behind me. The fiery explosion brings a blast of heat up my back that causes my hair to stand on end. I vault over the trunk and duck behind it for cover until the ground stops rumbling. Peeking over the side of the trunk, I see a thick, dark cloud billowing out of the mouth of the glade's entrance. The black cloud funnels out and rises into the air. From the depths, the red light of a fire casts against the walls. I'm ready to call out to the General when I realize neither the lieutenant he fought nor the Risen are in the area with me.

Did the lieutenant make a break for it and actually set off the runes I reversed? I sink down the side of the trunk. I run a hair through my hair and whistle low between my teeth. "I didn't think that would actually work."

Shaking my head, I blow out some air and place my hands on the trunk. "You okay over there, big guy?"

No answer. Of course, why would he?

I get up onto my knees, then stand. I dig my fingernails into the bark and lift one leg. With a good hop, I'm able to slide up and over the trunk with one leg until I'm left straddling it. It was a lot easier running and leaping over this thing. Actually trying to climb back over is a lot harder. Catching my breath, I shimmy my weight over until I begin to fall over the other side.

Ker-thunk!

I reel back at the impact made from the object slamming into the wood before me a mere arm's length away. My hands rotate wildly in circles while I try to find balance. Unable to actual regain it, I tip further and further to the right until I go over the edge with an undignified shout. I wind up in a pile of limbs on the trunk's side. Groaning pitifully, I untangle the knot I've made of myself and throw an arm up to help hoist me up. My roaming fingers scrape along until they rest on something metal and foreign to the rest of surface beneath. Each digit tentative circles around the mystery object and find it sunk firmly into grooves of the bark.

Finally getting my legs back under me, I take a look at the unidentified object that sent me reeling. An ornate carved handle embossed in gold swirls pokes up over the wooden surface. Sunk deep into the trunk below is the blade it's attached to. The thickness and overall size mark it to be a dagger. Moreover, the make and shape are very familiar. The same one I found earlier that took out the Plegian in front of me during battle.

Wait, what?

As far as I see, I'm alone. So that begs to question, who threw it? And, why?

The snap of a branch, barely audible to the ear, echoes from the left. Shifting my heel just a bit to the side, I tilt my head to listen better. My muscles start to constrict in the numb dawning overtaking me. Pebbles and dirt scrape up under heel as I lean back.

There!

I leap in a zig-zag pattern, fingers dancing over a spell as I do so. Three more throwing knives erupt from the brush and plant themselves in a long line across the tree trunk, each creating a dull thud in rapid succession along the retreat I take.

Planting firmly into the grass, I throw out my hand and hurl a spell right into the launch point. Who on earth did I miss? I could have sworn we got everyone!

Leaves scatter on the breeze. A cloaked stranger rolls out of the bush and settles on bended knee with one hand firm into the ground. They bow their head and wait for the blast of debris from the spell to settle. A deep hood and high cowl prevent me from seeing their face even after it tips up to meet my gaze.

"Who-"

My words are choked off. The mystery figure dips a hand into their cloak and retracts it just as fast. A blur of steel slices and dashes through the air at me. I manage to weave out of the projectile's path but am forced to sacrifice the back end of my tome for the next. The follow-up punches straight through the thickness of my tome until the tip of it pokes through the back cover. Magic immediately begins to warp the afflicted tome and I'm forced to drop it.

I flinch at a sudden twinge against the side of my neck. It's an irritating itch on par with a bug bite. Pressing my hand up against it, I feel the material of my glove dampen. Pulling away my fingers, I see the dark liquid stain of blood on it. A dagger just clipped me without myself even realizing it. Damn it!

"Ylissean strategist." I freeze. The female voice, a deep alto, calls out to me from under the hood. She rises up and pulls another knife from her vest under the cloak. The stranger holds it flat in her palm and points it at me. "I must thank you for making my job easier. I would have killed you sooner had you not shown such promise."

Yeah, that woman and her friend are no ally of mine! Wait. Two? No, there's just one. I blink. The two figures ahead of me seem to shimmer and grow hazy the further down to the torso I go. I rub my eyes hard and the mirage fades away. Am I that tired my vision is already going?

"Who are you supposed to be?" I ask her. I'm finding it harder to push out the air between words. The effort is taxing. "You're a bit late. Party's already over."

"Indeed, you made quite the show. Such a selfless gambit. A reckless maneuver, yet you succeeded to an end." The woman withdraws her threatening stance and pulls the dagger in closer. She runs a thumb over the blade's edge. "I learned much from the Plegians, but you offered me something far more valuable. It was worth letting you live to play against them."

I open my mouth and shudder. The muscles in my neck spasms and the cut on its side becomes far more noticeable. The struggle for air is growing stronger as my windpipe constricts more with every inhale. I try to move forward but everything is sluggish, like moving through thick sludge. Don't tell me...I don't know how this telepathy thing works but I close my eyes and force every sort of SOS signal I can hoping the only ally I have nearby can sense it. Come on! Come on! This is not good!

"I know not how you can control this Risen, but it will help my Ladyship to know both sides can now manipulate these nightmarish beasts. It seems even Ylisse will stoop to the level of sinners and madmen to secure victory. Perhaps the Feroxi truly are alone in keeping their pride intact."

"Ladyship?" What in the seven hells is this about? This woman bears no formal markers to id her to a house. Is she an assassin? Yet, she was scouting the Plegians originally. If I was just a convenient-

She looks up, eyes hidden yet somehow still mocking. "Thank you for the intelligence. It has made my job easier having you take out the control point here. Your death will make this all a simple reconnaissance. Two major losses for both Plegia and Ylisse in one eve. Perfect."

Wrong. Something's wrong. So very, very wrong with me. I don't know what it is at first but it's all off. I'm trying to comprehend but something feels foreign. Extra. A space not supposed to be there. I-

Copper in my mouth. In my teeth. In the air. The lungs? I would scream for release but I just hear bubbles in my chest. Fire and severance all up my back. I can't-Hot. Hurts. My spine? Why...

Knees on the ground, then...then grass. It's cool on my cheek. Not enough to dull it. Everywhere! Oh God! What is this pain? Make it stop! Pain! So much I can barely think! A crimson haze blooms around edges of my vision, the veins in the back of my sockets pulsing in and out of view. Tall boots pass in the shade of sight. An...other one? He has a blade...long...stained..drips off the edge...

Mine?

"Why are such dramatics needed? Stop playing the goddess of death and move out. We have the information on the Risen power sources. Our job is done." Cloak is unmarked, like hers. But, the voice is male.

She laughs. "We earn no glory, so I earn myself satisfaction in the ways I see fit."

Mine.

The male sighs. "The Risen is still near. It will be feral at this point without its contractor now that she is dead. We must move cautiously. You saw the destruction it wrought."

Pain remains, yet different now. Cold. Shivers. Raw, frozen, void. Wrong. Everything is wrong! My throat lurches. Blood fills my mouth, choking out the last of the air I have.

"Are you so sure she's passed?" Hair is pulled. Dull, numbed sting to the roots. Sun lightens specks in my eyes. "I think she's still hanging on, even with the poison and the hole in the back."

Her hand pulls out of my hair. She smiles at the blood over it.

"Then we should leave!"

My. Blood.

No support. Head too heavy. Falls back and...and dark...miss the light...Why so red? Everything crimson. Blood. Fire. Pulsing. Pounding. Veins engorged and flooded out. Taste the blood.

Their blood. Their gore.

Need it. Desire it. Demand it!

"Behind you!" she cries. She backs out of sight.

A roar? Monster? Human?

The ground quakes. Yelling. Metal clashes. It clatters. Thunder and purple lightening. A rage contracted from a debt born of blood and obsession. He is here.

And I see clearly.

He is here, just as expected. He has thrown the human furthest from me into the wall beyond. Justice. For daring to touch me demands recompense.

His movements are erratic. Jagged steps and a twitch in his arms. He is barely in control while he advances on his prey. The contract renders him so. Mindless in the orders woven into the ancient magic that gives his puppet form life. The crest on his chest plate is alive, shimmering and electric in all six eyes. Purple veins bulge up under gray skin, enlarged and burning with fire. My protection is paramount. That is how it was made to be.

His eyes. So alive. So full of hate and fire. My fire.

"How are you-" Words turn to a gasp, then a gag. Rhetoric becomes broken wheezes lost between painful coughs that rack her body. I've found strength. Conviction. Revenge.

My hands are around her neck. My blood is thick between my fingers, so I did my nails in deep to keep a hold on her skin. Brittle like paper. She falls onto her back and I pin her down with my knee on her chest. She resists, then squirms to move from under me.

Her pulse beats under my thumbs. Rapid and striving for life. Her hood falls back. Already her face is turning an off shade. It will look so much prettier when it's blue. It will match the color of her irises, soon to be so glazed and empty. So perfect. I can see the yellow of my eyes so much clearer in them.

I squeeze tighter.

I watch her die.

I laugh.

I vomit. Black, thick slime all over. It splatters into my lap and over my arms. Thick black veins line my translucent skin, a spider's web of ichor.

I laugh again.

I start to fall apart.

I begin to fade.

I begin to die.

There is panic in the back of my mind. Desperation. Unbridled fear. A lack of understanding for something so much bigger than he is. How is this happening?

I collapse beside the still warm corpse of the woman beside me. The pain is gone. I'm just numb, sinking into a void like the shadowed realm from before. The red around my vision fades. I'm just...confused.

What...what happened? Why am I...

Sleep.

Oh. Alright then. I've been meaning to do that anyway.

Leaves crunch. Footsteps draw closer. A whisper of words tickles my hearing before everything closes off.

Blackness.

Peace.

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A/N: Well, short break my bum. If you want to rally the pitchforks and torches, by all means. I'll even open the door for you.

But in all seriousness, here's a long overdue chapter. I realized a few days into my break that I was in denial. The reason I struggled to keep updating lately was that I just got burnt out. I needed time to enjoy others hobbies, so I took a sabbatical from the internet. At least, things like social media and writing. It helped put things into perspective and refresh my desire to write again. I dabbled with some original ideas so maybe I'll do something beyond this fanfiction. You all have been a very supportive community with amazing feedback. You let me indulge this dream. So maybe I'll dare to go a bit bigger. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll keep working on this. The plot's been rewired and I cut a lot of content unfortunately to progress the pacing. While I'm sad to lose some ideas, I don't want this to remain in filler hell forever.

To those of you who left messages in these few months, I can't apologize enough. I opened up a whole mailbox of things. I'm truly sorry. I'll respond to those soon, even if I'm really, really late. I'm the worst.

Anyway, here's some review responses in the meantime.

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Reviews:

Guest: Thank you. I know this must be a pain waiting for updates but I'm happy you still hold an interest in the story. I hope this update didn't disappoint!

ImReallyShort - I wouldn't think too hard on the Risen this chapter then! There's some real body horror going on. Oddly enough, they're fun to come up with. My unfortunate preference for the horror genre allows me to binge way too hard on this aspect of the story.

Raging Berseker - Well, if she survives that long and the relationship flourishes enough to produce a child or children, I don't see why they wouldn't be just as able to follow the same rules as the other children. Wouldn't that be a shock for poor Lucina! I don't think they would initially appear sooner or later than any other children if they were to return. Laurent appeared three years before Lucina so there's no order to how the kids appear regardless of age (if and when such a thing were to occur). That part of the other childrens' fates is still unknown.

drmonicblood – Yeah, I'm trying my best with the planning aspect of a tactician's role. While I'm fairly comfortable with one-on-one fights, grand scale battles like this require more finesse. I try, but they might not be the most epic they could. I'm glad there's enough clarity to put across what I'm trying to do. Between the secret passages and their superior numbers thanks to Flavia, there's some trickery going on to lull Plegia into a false sense of security so they don't know what hits them from behind. Alas, someone in the Grimleal had the same idea it seems.

The failed experiments are both useless and helpful. They failed in their initial purposes, but the Grimleal managed to turn them into a decent tactic, mobbing by numbers. Tough to kill without magic and there's just so damn many of them, despite being a disorganized mob. It works to an extent.

The twins' father is indeed assessing all his options. Marc and Morgan noticed in the last interlude that he's off by himself a lot for long hours. They think he's scouting and he is, but for his own intentions. He's been keeping an eye on Robin's actions as well. But yeah, he harbors absolutely no love for Grima's crew!

Ragboy7 - While Emmeryn is definitely more about protecting than offense dealing spells, she did her fair share of incinerating this chapter. All the royal siblings, to some degree, specialize heavily in one strategy. Lissa included, though she has yet to have hers shown outright. But each sibling is or will be immensely OP is arcane, martial, and healing arts respectively. She is arc level magic, just hesitant to use it. If she weren't there, no one would have survived the initial wave of Risen pouring in on them.

UmiNight Angel Neko – Good question. I wonder if we'll find out soon ;)

White-Starcloud – That sounds exactly like my writing sessions! I drop everything when inspired, grab some tea (or Dr. Pepper), play my jams and go! Hope this one will provide another good sit-down session for you! Thanks!

CriticalPen – As painful as it is for her to admit, Emmeryn's realizing she has to be proactive. At least, she needs to be with her people. They draw inspiration from her and that's a powerful tool in the face of adversity. And hey, if she wants to help save the lives of her people so desperately, she has to actually be there to do it. A ceremonial figurehead miles away in the capital can do no good.

QuoteMyFoot – Names and unit statistics only pop up if Robin physically presses upon one of the "dots" on her map. The map essentially uses scrying magic to read the body she selects and feeds her information back. It basically looks like the UI from Awakening if you tap a unit yourself and their portrait appears with the attributes, skills, etc. Robin would be careful enough to avoid any unnecessary exposure in terms of the kids though. In my writer's mind, I figured she was just tapping through the portraits fast enough for Emmeryn that she would not have seen their names having been focused on just seeing their faces. I think I'll probably amend that statement though, just to be safe. Robin is smart enough not to expose the kids so carelessly, the author of this story however should convey that more accurately...

The digger Risen was described in broken chunks over several paragraphs as opposed to all at once like the goo Risen were, so it's easy to miss things. My bad if it wasn't conveyed enough. There's a description in there, I swear! Think of them like, uh, if a naked mole rat and a Licker zombie from the Resident Evil series had a baby (minus the tongue). Average humanoid size and shape but the skin is stretched so tight over the body you can see every muscle and vein. The face is sort of being pulled back against the scalp so eye sockets and the full mouth structure are visible. Considering they're fashioned by Letum, the earth dragon, they've got those claws and bulky thighs/triceps for powerful maneuvering underground. They drool a lot. It's as gross as it sounds.

Alas, poor birb. We hardly knew ye. As for fulfilling Panne's drop kick quota, she maxed it out this chapter. I figure her beast form is mostly about powerful kicks and quick maneuvers, so why wouldn't her fighting style in humanoid form be the same. She's built like an Amazon so she's all muscle and raw strength.

Emmeryn is an author's worst nightmare in that she is underdeveloped and walks this fine line of morality that is one part naivety and one part saintly. There's literally nothing to work with given she was a plot device and has no chance for growth beyond her martyr status in story. I'm trying my best with her. I'm not sure how positive or negative this may turn out for her yet. She's going to have to face some seriously harsh truths first before looking deep into herself and seeing if she can rebuild from it. It's baby steps with Emmeryn. The slow burn of recovery and adaptation.

Aw, no worries. I'm just happy to keep providing some readers a bit of entertainment beyond my own whimsy to write. I've got nothing to judge, especially when graced with such reviews. Whether it's midnight rambles, insightful character breakdowns, or even a quick word of criticism, it's nice to know someone cared enough to write it. So have no shame! And, accept these headphones I offer with the soothing sounds of kittens purring to help purge the sounds of Risen I put in your ears. I do love my horror bits.

lily – Frederick and Emmeryn's relationship feeds my unquenchable thirst for medieval romances. I ship it so hard. Feed the need for chivalrous knights and their courtly loves! As for the kids question, Lucina mentioned that Noire actually did reappear and disappear between instances when Tharja managed to find a partner in past cycles, so it is possible. Whether or not that's the case now, given Other Robin isn't around to create a new cycle and Tiki is missing, is the main question. Can the kids pop up without resetting? Who knows?

KP1234 – Tharja was kind of silly! "Hey, I know I'm part of the warring faction that's bitterly hated you for millenia, but I think your tactician is hot sooooo...can I stay?" Oh Tharja, never change. In the story she's...got a better way of joining. Sort of. We'll see. I'm still toying around with her character beyond the one-dimensional 'anime stalker with a crush' trope. I'm reading all of her supports and dlc conversations. She's gonna be a challenge. I can feel it in my bones.

Yeah that's a perfect analogy for the goo Risen. They're just broken eggs and fallen souffles. But hey, why waste them? They don't look pretty, but they're still sort of good!

Emmeryn's a tough character. She's evolving beyond plot device status and actually finding a role and voice in the story. Good gravy, it's tough! I just hope I can handle her with due credit to her character. If not, I'll let you reviewers tell me and then fix it best I can! No injustices are deserved on the characters!

I played Echoes and had a panic attack. Then I rewrote an entire chunk of back story. Then I panicked more. And now we have insect carapaces. Yes, that information is now relevant and assimilated into the story.

ArcherShirou – Considering there are other advanced forms of Risen, and the Generals have pseudo-bodies, Grima and the others did pretty well in their experiments.

Ha! Good little exchange. I imagine it would be quite true. That poor recruit could not imagine how many bad things are working against the human race at this moment in history. And speaking of Walhart, I wonder what he's up to right now...

RomanRambler – Ah yes, my goo Risen. Also known as recycled refuse. I may have had a little too much fun with creating their scenes last chapter.

At least some of the songs are French, given her history with her friend/roommate. I can also confirm one whole play list is composed solely of international meme-famous songs. Whether Robin does remember, or can, is a good question for another day.

I love reading theories. It's hard not to comment on them, but it's so awesome to see people still stewing over the plot and making their own ideas. Thanks for sharing. I'll be right here with you all grinning evily in the shadows while you all wait to see what may or may not be the truth!

Jdt1829 – Your profile picture is adorable, let me just say. I love all the sprites from Heroes.

Absolutely! They all suffer from a similar form of loneliness and abandonment that would be hard for others to understand. Libra and Panne both saw in Henry something they wanted to help. For Henry, he found people who wanted to know him not as a weapon but a human being. A strange little ragtag group that blends so well despite coming from such different origins.

Keeping Emmeryn alive is definitely a bold move. There's a risk in trying to develop her role in a plot gone off the rails. She's lost her initial role and needs to find a new one. I'll do my best with her. I think she deserves a chance at something better than her in-game outcomes. Glad the pairing grew on you though. I don't expect everyone to enjoy the finalized pairings since everyone has their favorites. Also, some of these are very original and not normal since the story is all about the unexpected happening. However, if someone can come to enjoy it, then I'm all the happier for it!

Xoroth – No errors! What madness is this? Watch there be a million errors in this chapter to make up for it! Ha! Thanks for leaving the review!

darthgamer – Thank you! The fact that this story can stand on its own without having to require total dedication to the original source is humbling. I appreciate you taking the time to read it and stick by it. I'll do my best to keep up the quality of the story!

Butternut Squash – Wow, seven times! I bow to you. All I can say is that I'm ecstatic I could provide you seven rereads worth of content in your downtime. That's build my confidence as a writer more than anything. Thank you. It's an honor! All I can do is apologize for my abysmal updating habits and work hard to provide a suitable end to this all.

King Keith – Emmeryn's a complex. I'm working with her. She has her father's legacy working against her, the weight of the crown, and her own ideals all conflicting in this war. She's got challenges to face. It will be hard for her, but war is never and easy thing. She'll have to adapt or succumb. One can only hope for the best.

Ha! I guess Frederick sort of is a type of tsundere. In the name of friendship, of course. He certainly has a hard time expressing himself outside of job related duties. He's been so focused on the care of others that he's not used to the idea of his own personal connections. The fact that someone actually is trying to interact with him throws him off, and he hates that feeling. He'll get used to it. Hopefully.

I'm all for Fred and Emm's pairing. Western AU sounds amazing. Emmeryn on her homestead raising her siblings after her parents' passing is such a classic start. Then the handsome stranger comes rolling into town and destiny is made. I love it :3

How's the Summer Event going for you in Grand Order? I got lucky for the first time in...forever? I got the servants I really wanted so I can't complain for once. It's nice to play since Gawain's been kicking my bum in the latest story chapter. I'll be sad when this ends.

alrickit – Congratulations! That's a lot of words in three days. Not sure even I could brave that. And I'm glad you enjoyed the journey! I'm still going, though I hope it won't take another three years to finish this! I'm sure you all want a proper ending before this century ends!

Hyung.Z – Thank you so much for sticking around so long. I appreciate the loyalty even after these last two hiatuses! I appreciate all the support and words from you readers and I'll do my best to keep up the content!

Forgotmylogin – Thank you so much! I can't believe the birthday came and went. So much work in such a few years. It feels longer! Here's to many more exciting chapters!

Red – Thanks much! Your reviewed is gratefully appreciated! One thousand reviews. I'm still shocked I have more than ten favorites. I must be doing something right! I'll do everything I can to honor those reviews, including yours! : )

3liManning – It's really amazing. I went back to look over the writings in the beginning to now. Content has doubled and I think I've really improved on the combat scenes from the very beginning. Even the character progression from beginning to now just moves smoother. I'm proud of the improvements, but there's plenty more to learn and a few lingering bad habits to break.

Not sure if this is good or bad new, but there's plenty of potential for new Risen types. : D

Guest – You're right, Emmeryn is not one who enjoys fighting, but she will if forced to. She won't sit back and watch her people die. As for her power, she's descended from the Exalted bloodline. All the siblings are a little OP when they tap their potential. Emmeryn reached hers while the other two are exploring it. So she's a magic-dealing powerhouse when provoked.

I love horror let's plays. They are my bread and butter. Half my youtube history is just that. I also play a ton of them in person, so I think my writing gets a more colorful flair around horror themes. Glad it gave you a good spook!

That's actually comforting to hear, thanks. I had some critiques earlier about chunky transitions between some scenes, so the fluidity

EmilykaFairy – I'm such a sucker for the horror genre. It's incredibly fun to write, surprisingly enough! I think it's sort of neat to see other people react to it and if they did in the same way I felt when writing it. Actually, the same can be said with the action scenes. I'm having a blast with them, though maybe I went a little overboard this chapter. I really, really enjoyed the dynamic between Robin and her Risen cohort.

Emmeryn is a Sage, so she can fight just as well as protect. Her cleric abilities take precedence in her martial tactics, but she's not below the use of arcane might to help achieve her goal of protecting what matters most to her now. Loss is becomes too personal and she can't ignore it anymore. She has a chance to find a new role since her original role is now gone. It's going to be an interesting journey to find out where she goes from here.

Nix98 – The story is called "Cycle" for good reasons. Character progression. Plot events. Karma. Everything comes around full circle at some point ;) That's the intent!

fleeting . white. feathers – Thanks so much! Sorry about Morgan. And Marc for that matter. Yeah, our babies are kind of broken )':

It seems you've enjoyed the story nonetheless and I thank you for the awesome reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy the future chapters as much as the old!

Guest – I have a feeling some people either know or have a very good idea of what's happening and maybe are not saying so to prevent spoilers. I have enough out there to paint the general picture of things. Lots of good theories and many good clues found that were pointed out of time but other readers. I'm confident there's a super sleuth out there, though I also sort of hope not since that means I kept the mystery to the ultimate reveal!

Titan127 – Thank you so much! I know it's been a while for everyone but I keep on going regardless! I've written much and plan to do more up until the very end! I can't wait!

DannyPhantom619 – Thank you! I put value in the little things as much as the big things. I try to give everything from interactions to action scenes are good flair!

Yeah, I agree. Lucina's Robin kind of went off the deep end in the worst possible way. I mean, super crazy. A lot of what she did was unforgivable despite her initial motives. I'm pretty sure she could have handled things waaaaay better than she did. Poor Lucina.

KingFishy – Awesome, I love hearing other reader's theories. I tried not to make the mystery too easy. Nothing is quite as it seems and some hints can be interpreted in more than one way. I hoped that it would provide a bit of fun in speculation while going along for the ride. We'll all see soon enough, but keep making idea in the meantime!

Thanks for the review!

Metroidvania – I clap in honor for your diligence. All in one sitting? You have my admiration. If this was on traditional paper it would getting to a size thick enough to give a person a concussion. You have the reading skills of a true master!

I actually hated writing the reveal scene. There's was no easy way to write that info dump in the way I wanted it perceived. I still squint at it with a discerning eyes wondering what could be done better. As for the map, time space continuum voodoo. Naga's protection to her original identity causes some elements of her lineage to cling to her, namely her original mother's "magic" genes. The map picks up on that, then also realizes that the physical aspect of her doesn't match. Lucina's a big temporal disaster. I suppose I could create some kind of magic thesis behind why is happens and such but I think it might be best if we hand wave it in the name of good drama. ; )

Anna was indeed in a relationship with a "Jake." Her sister found sea-faring gear in their house, a nod to his pirating days. Though whether it's the original or someone else entirely is unknown.

Tharja is...yeah. That will be interesting. I'm still on the fence with her role. We'll see.

I am still finalizing pairings actually. I've never been struck with such indecision. I have very few consistent pairings in the game and enjoy almost all of them so I'm taking my time deciding on them. I'll have to stay mum on the other children though.

exillion – Well, that would be an accurate summary. Robin is far from a real tactician and not the one the game is familiar with at the beginning of the story. She has a magic artifact that's a riff on the game mechanics the players use in game. I guess one can consider it cheating? But hey, not every story is someone's cup of tea and I respect that. I appreciate you giving the story a look. The Fire Emblem portal has a plethora of great tales to discover! I hope you find one to your liking!

Ramenforlunch – Your user name makes me so hungry, ha ha. When was the last time I had a good home-made ramen bowl? Maybe I'll remedy this during the weekend...

But I digress! Thank you so much for the inspiring words! Reading these reviews helps me persevere through the worst writing funks! I'll do my best to keep up the quality content : D And yeah, I must admit that the last pull in Fire Emblem Heroes that introduced Sumia, Maribelle, and Libra made me go back and play again. It's so easy to fall back into even a few months later. It'll always be a favorite of mine.

MechaKingGihdorah100 – (I did both your reviews in one)

I'm glad some of the readers are going back to peruse previous chapters. There's many things I wrote back in the beginning that I hoped people would stumble over later on and just flip out about. "That was such an obvious foreshadow!" "How did I miss that little detail? It all makes sense now!" I think little things like that make the planning and writing so much fun to experience!

Emmeryn is a difficult character with more layers than most characters, despite having very little to go on. If you really thing about her growth over the years and her early coronation as a child, the woman she's grown into suddenly takes on a new light. Events are going to make things interesting for the Exalt now that she's transcended her role in the story. I'm sure we're all wondering what path she'll choose in the end.

I feel you. There's only so much I can focus on with writing and I had some earlier critiques that said the plot was dragging. I had to cut some events all together and force others into the background. There's some lost opportunities I wish I could have taken hold of. Maybe when I find a rhythm again with my writing schedule I can do some interludes and add them to the side story I penned on whim many months ago. As for an updated interlude with Lucina in the future, I'll see where I can fit it in. I have thoughts on one that could occur soon, but I was debating whether having it from another POV not seen yet. We'll see.

Conflict will probably be inevitable with all parties. I suppose I should craft up at least one good sequence at a war table discussion. Flavia's been lacking screen time lately.

Can't comment on the latter portion of your review, but theory time is always the best time! We'll see what comes true or not in the future!

And holy cow, thanks for the reviews. I'll do everything I can to keep up an entertaining tale for you!

RyuuFuyuScarlet – Well, I hope you enjoyed reading along then! If not, thanks for giving it a go even if it isn't your jam! The review is appreciated all the same :)

Ghost Artemis – (I addressed both your reviews here)

Well, better late than never they say! Really, thanks for giving the story a try! I appreciate the kind words!

Nah, hat's just a turn of phrase I happen to be fond of, much in the same vein as calling something bad karma. I haven't played Destiny before, but I looked up the gun. Pretty sweet looking. The dragonsbane ornament is what I'd rock if I played. For sure!

Guest – Thank you! I appreciate the kind words!

Robin probably meme'd a lot when she first got there. There's a few instances in the story where she confuses the other Shepherds with modern terms, but she's forcibly stopped herself over time to adjust her speech. She still slips up every once and awhile, but she mostly just snarks to herself now since no one appreciates it. As for her lingo, it's too foreign even for Plegia. Chrom comments she has a different accent from all of them. Ylisse and Plegia share common borders and separated from the same mother country in the past. She's so foreign sounding that it would be easy to guess her to be from anywhere in the world.

If there is an equivalent to "Your Mom" jokes in Ylisse/Plegia, Gangrel and Robin would have the most epic of showdowns. They both have a coarse nature and bad humor. They would clash in the most amazing way.

I try to have fun with the Court when I have a free bit of story space since Awakening glossed over it, being a war epic. Plegia's inner power vacuum was so much fun to write. Lucina would snub Lord Penn, or any other social climber, just like Robin but with far more tact. Unlike Robin, Lucina actually has a filter on her thoughts and words. Hm, you think there's a bet? Maybe...I wouldn't say Sully is the one running it. I wouldn't say most of the Shepherds bet in the favor either. Nope, not at all...

Since I'm not sure if this will ever come up in the story, I'll bite. Robin's disappearance might have made local stations, but I'm not sure it would make national news. She lives in a remote area compared to a big city, but people did notice and report it. For the rest of your questions, you'll just have to wait and see!

SuperVegitoFAN – Ugh, I forgot I mentioned that dreadful cheese. Among the exotic dishes you can find in the world. Good luck if you try it.

Wow, I haven't watched Stargate Atlantis in forever. That line is just Miriel being Miriel, no relation to the show. But I appreciate you bringing it up because now I'm watching it all over again! I forgot how much I enjoyed it!

TheFrostZone – That's totally fair. I appreciate the review and I'll take that into consideration when I go back to revise past chapters. I'll actively go over her conversations and try to tweak them so she appears less whiny and aggressive. Those early chapters were written when my skills were much weaker and are in sore need of reworking. Thanks for giving the story a chance at least! I hope you find something else on the site. There's many more wonderful stories to discover!

Cdiz – Holy wow! Thanks for this awesome review! I appreciate all the time you took to write it! Truly!

I had an initial fear that Robin's rather helpless flailing in the beginning would rub people the wrong way. I know many stories prefer to start with protagonists that are already well adjusted or possess a strong personality. There's a risk in showcasing the "everyday man/woman" as your main point of view. Their strength is not in being the usual action hero one expects to immerse themselves in. And because Robin starts with nothing and earns it over time, some people might not stick around long enough to watch the transformation. But I'm rather proud of what's come about over time. It also makes action sequences easier to write since she can hold her own now, ha ha!

You make a very good point about Emmeryn. She's flawed, exceptionally so. You're very justified in your opinion. The game forced her into a one-dimensional role and, even worse, a cookie-cutter plot device. One of my reasons for wanting to keep her around originally was to see what could be explored with her.

In a sense, I've kept her true to her tragic image. At least with my interpretation, Emmeryn is a mixture of naivety and misplaced good intentions. She was raised on a pedestal at a young age and forced her juvenile mind to conform to a role that was vastly overwhelming in the scope of her understanding. Ylisse totes her as some heralded scion of peace. Somewhere along the way, she lost a lot of her own self autonomy and became an embodiment of an ideal that's impossible to achieve. In this capacity, her sacrifice in game is the truest course of action she could take. Martyrdom is the pinnacle of what she was taught she embodied and she completes that image in message she leaves behind. She's lost that right here. Emmeryn is no longer a "plot device" and has to face the human side of war. She's living with failure and the grim reality that's popped her bubble. Emmeryn is going to have to adapt and redefine herself as Exalt in her own image, not what others made her to be. That's the challenge I'm working with. And as the plot goes, she might not every fully come around. She might not even survive. But in the end, I want to give her some meaning. Some truth to her character, whether it be good or bad, that justifies her existence in world.

Thanks you again for all the reinforcing words. Both the small and grand details in a story can be equally memorable. That you found so many to enjoy is heartening to hear! I'll strive to keep doing my best. And, may I commend you writing! Even if English may not be your first language, it was perfectly cohesive! Now if I tried to write in French...boy what I mess. I envy the bilingual (or more) ability you have. Kudos to you!

J053D4N13L35C083D0 – Ha ha, nope. And, you're not alone in that regard. The twins would back you up on that! But, thanks! Pacing has been a struggle so I hoping the tweaks I've done to plot maintain a good balance. If not and it starts to drag/go to fast, do let me know!

Jesusspace – A bit of a brusque sense of honesty you have there, but honesty nonetheless. I have no problem with criticisms or critiques. I'll take your words to heart and use them to try and better the writing going forward. Thanks for giving the story a try even if it didn't turn out to be in your tastes.