Boy, do I love writing myself into a corner. And then out of the corner. And then back into a different corner.
Chapter XXVI
My– no, our grip tightened around the hilt of the double helix. We scanned our foes– twelve in number there were, all half-rotted and atrophied with the exception of the one in the middle. The first was a being clad from head to toe in dark armor, although the color was faded all the way to a dark gray, and the whole suit was overgrown with vines. Even their gender was unknown to me, much less the shape of their face. Trailing behind them was a tattered gold cape, moth-eaten and covered in moss. That body had been dead for a long time. The longsword in their grasp was in significantly better condition; it wasn't shining so much as being shone upon, but there was definitely some unnatural luster to it.
The second soldier was a titan of a man, all muscle and thin flesh clad in simple black and red plate armor. The biceps were left exposed, and his forearms were tightly wrapped in some kind of tough tape. Below his grayed hair was an exposed skull, but beyond that his skin was fairly intact. A short bow was slung over his back, and a mid-length sword was clutched in his off hand. He was nearly as tall as Katáktisi, and towered over the other walking dead.
Third was a man almost as wide as the second. His armor suggested that in life he was something akin to a Faerghus War Master, with a lot of revealing armor coupled with a wild down mane around his shoulders. Perhaps most striking, though, was the utterly incongruous tin pot draped atop his head, obscuring his eyes and his hair. We guessed there were worse choices for a makeshift helmet, but… well, I was more concerned with the massive tomahawk attached to his side.
The fourth one, by contrast, was fairly short. Her expression resembled more of a childish pout than anything like hatred, framed by long blonde hair as it was. Her weapon of choice appeared to be a staff– we didn't imagine there was going to be much healing done in a company of the dead. At best, she was just going to be a human shield for the other eleven zombies. At worst…well, we weren't sure. Probably best to play it safe.
The fifth was clearly a sniper, and didn't look particularly impressive in terms of physical bulk or musculature. To be fair, he was wearing baggy clothes covered in what I assumed was wolf's fur, implying an origin in Faerghus like Three. We decided we were just going to refer to them by number; it was easier and we didn't have any other easy signifiers to go off of, like a name tag or something. To be fair, we were more focused on the weird bow; it almost looked like a Hero's Relic, but less… twitchy. The last one had a similar make to her staff thingy. Weird.
Number six we did vaguely recognize. It was by far the least decayed of the rising dead. There was also a flicker of something in its incandescent orange eyes; while the other eleven had their attention utterly locked on us, Six had spared a glance towards Cyril for just a moment before refocusing on ourself. Was she somehow more sapient than the others? Thankfully, Cyril was already quietly slipping away towards the setting sun and nearly out of sight, and none of the undead made any move to intercept him. Thank the Goddesses.
Seven was seated on a horse, wearing black armor that seemed to be of a different make than One. Did– did his lance have a twitching eyeball? It sure did. We weren't sure how to feel about that, aside from being disgusted. He was almost Lorenz-like in a way despite the obvious palette differences. Same dismissive pose, same upturned nose. We couldn't wait to punch it in so hard we could use his skull as a bowl.
Eight was… different. Aside from Four and Five, he was the only one not wearing some kind of serious armor so far. He was definitely some kind of Dark Bishop, given the heavy tome clutched in his hands that was practically smoking with heat. If it was anything like Bolganone, we may have been in for some trouble. If we could describe Eight in two words, it would be 'Ginger Hubert'. Where had Caiaphas even found these guys, anyway? There was something off about each and every one of them, but all in ever-so-slightly different ways. It boggled the mind.
The ninth member of the horde was clearly built for swift movements as opposed to raw power. His garb was pretty simplistic– just some red robes with belts– but we were more concerned with the two Wo Daos hanging at either side of his waist. Those swords were particularly adept at dishing out brutal damage with just a couple of strikes. We would have to be extra careful. Not to say we weren't going to take all of them with the utmost seriousness, of course. We weren't an amateur.
Enemy number ten, by contrast to many of the others, almost appeared serene– well, as serene as a shambling corpse could possibly be. His body was completely covered in lilac robes, so we couldn't get a good look at his physique. He also had white pauldron things, although they were coated in mold and mildew. He felt like a dark mage, but distinctly different from Five and the Agarthans, which we supposed was a good thing. His stance, his walk did not reflect the comparatively spindly man; rather, it bespoke a king of demons.
Eleven had the distinction of being on horseback like Seven. She was definitely another mage, using a thunder tome. I had heard of the Valkyrie certification that was only accessible in Abyss but I had never seen it myself; if we had to guess, this was a pretty good match for it. She was all purples and golds, much like Ten but not quite as sinister about it. Her kneecaps appeared to have been smashed inwards– they jutted out at odd angles that must have been extremely painful, but because she was mounted that wouldn't affect her mobility.
Lastly, Twelve. She was the least recognizable out of all of them, with the exception of One. She had reddish hair, although whether that was natural or a result of bloodstains was anyone's guess. She had several star-shaped gouges in her flesh, or what remained of it. Much of her body was covered with a long black cloak, but there was the glint of steel within. There must have been something on the order of twenty or thirty daggers and throwing knives and the like stuffed in there.
I was going to have my work cut out for me. But I was not I; I was us. It was important to keep that in mind. The standoff continued.
It is Six, Katáktisi commented.
It could tell that Six was Lord Epimenides? That was all well and good, but why? And how?
Almost before we could react, Six… flickered. She was gone for a split second, but by the time it took for us to process that information, she had appeared mere inches from our face, red blades arcing towards our throat. It was all we could do to get the double helix in the way of the attack. But more chilling, we saw her marks. Two lines of flame on her cheekbones, an arrow upon her brow, and a three-pointed star on the bridge of her nose, not to mention the fact that her head was now wreathed in some kind of burning crown. I knew that fire– from the memory I had been shown from the War of Heroes, adorning the Harbinger of Progress himself.
That is how. This means–
That the others were fair game. Still– we could no more harm the vessel of Lord Epimenides than the wind could choose to blow. What option did we have? We were forced a step back as we continued to defend ourself from the onslaught. Worse, the other undead were springing into action, and the fastest among them had nearly reached me.
Left! The Crestwraith screamed, and I did not question it for even a moment. We threw ourself to the right as Seven's lance passed through the space where our spine had been mere moments ago. We unleashed a blade beam in his general direction as he galloped away, but Three intercepted the blast. Somehow his stupid tin pot hat wasn't dislodged in the slightest. Perhaps that idea had had more merit than we had initially given him credit for. I would have to keep that in mind for the future. We narrowly ducked under an arrow from Five before catching a thunderbolt to the chest courtesy of Eleven. This is why I used a shield, Katáktisi.
You will not demean this body by wasting an arm. Be better. You will not need a shield if you are never hit. True, arguably, but magic deflection would be really helpful right now! Besides, we weren't in a position to engage in the raw offensive domination that the Crestwraith enjoyed so much.
Two, Twelve, and One pounced, but a blast of Conquest-enhanced Din's Fire pushed them all back just long enough for me to slip out of the dogpile. Six was very much still on my heels, but we had just enough of an opening to gut Ten as he was casting what looked like a massive spell from that purple book of his. Good to know that our programming wouldn't stop us from cutting more than ninety percent of these guys down. Issue was that eight or so percent– she was a nightmare to deal with, and it was nigh impossible to focus down any of the other eleven while Six was giving us no quarter with those Epimenides-borne space-warping abilities. We were beginning to get very convinced that the situation with Ten was pure luck.
We ducked under an arrow of light shot from Five, missing us by mere centimeters. Deflecting two quick strikes from Nine, we rode a blast of wind flung at me by Eleven to escape Six's unrelenting assault for long enough to get my bearings. I swiftly unleashed a blade beam upon Eight, but he used that fire tome to create a thick smokescreen that allowed him to handily dodge the attack. Out of the smog charged One, their resplendent blade nearly lopping off a lock of my hair. We managed to get the double helix in the way of the strike and wrest the attack away, but before we could execute the coup de grace, we were quite literally backstabbed by none other than Twelve.
Where the hell was Four? Resurrecting Ten, of course. Because she could do that. Why hadn't we seen that coming? Was it really resurrecting if they were both already dead? Re-raising? It wasn't important! In retaliation, we managed to catch Twelve across her unreasonably exposed midsection, not quite downing her but forcing her to back off. In that moment of repose, we realized that the fight had carried us to the center of the destroyed town. Also, it was nighttime somehow? Had we really been fighting for this long?
Speaking of destroyed, it was about to be destroyed even harder by the massive fireballs Eight was throwing around. Whatever magic that was was on a whole other level. Was it possible that he had some kind of Crest augmenting his arcane abilities? At this point, we'd believe it in a heartbeat.
With a great thrust, we managed to properly decapitate Two, who had gotten just a bit too close to dodge a sweeping strike. Nine and Six immediately took his place, but we managed to catch both of them in an explosion of dark magic that Ten had most certainly intended for me. They were far from incapacitated, but it would spare us the effort of having to continue to defend myself from them for a couple of moments. Unfortunately, we weren't spared from Eleven or from Five. A spectral arrow impaled itself in my right shoulder, giving Three enough of an opportunity to catch our armored thigh with his axe.
We couldn't keep this up. We couldn't claim victory like this. Even with the might of Katáktisi augmenting my every movement, there were too many of them and they had the annoying property of not staying dead. We guessed that was par for the course, given that these were glorified Redeads, but still. It was mostly Four doing the resuscitating, and we couldn't easily take her out because One had taken to sticking to her like glue. While that did mean that One wasn't often directly attacking us with the others, it meant that I didn't have time to kill Four before the other eleven zombies could stop us. Four barely even needed it, honestly; she already had the ability to manipulate the elements and environment for no good reason. We stopped keeping track of how many times we had struck down our foes, excluding Six, a couple of days ago. Had it truly been weeks that we had been fighting? I hadn't eaten, drank, or slept all this time, or at least I didn't remember if we had. I supposed it was Katáktisi's power sustaining us. That, and adrenaline. Couldn't forget about adrenaline.
Point was that I had to stop the fight, or at least take down all of them but Six, as soon as humanly possible. And that meant, first and foremost, putting an end to Four. We threw Three at Seven, having to resort to redirecting Six's attacks instead of outright blocking them because of her sheer strength. We fired a blade beam at Eleven before throwing myself out of the way of one of Ten's blasts. Four was busy bringing Three back into the fight. We caught a dagger thrown by Twelve in one of the holes of our double helix greatsword and lobbed it at Five, driving it directly into his jugular. We made a break for the healer, One and Eight standing in my way with Six and Two hot on my heels. The battle had carried us southward, far out of the reach of the village, towards the mouth of the Airmid River. We scrambled over Nine's corpse and quickly used a beam to dispatch Eleven, but were caught in the radius of one of Eight's fireballs. We felt like we were being cooked in our armor, but we pressed the advance, breaking through One's guard and finally– finally– putting a sword between Four's eyes. I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
Obviously, Six heard that and decided to make all of that effort completely moot– by reviving Four. Just like that.
I was speechless.
You cannot kill them here, not like this, Katáktisi observed, the first words that had come from its metaphorical mouth that weren't commands to help us not die in what felt like years. It was probably only a couple of weeks, perhaps even a month or two. Although I would have been surprised if that were true. You will have to divide and conquer.
I can't, I rasped. They're too… together.
At present, yes. When you are the only fighter, the only variable.
I pieced together Katáktisi's meaning pretty quickly. We needed to lose them, isolate them. We needed to find some situation that would do that for me. And that meant luring them to an active battlefield. The Great Bridge of Myrddin was closest, and given how often skirmishes broke out between the Alliance and the Empire at that critical crossing point, there would most likely be a large fight there by the time we arrived. Hopefully it would be large enough to separate the legion of the dead. I hesitated– internally, at least; we didn't have the luxury of being able to be distracted for even a second. Doing so would be luring the zombies toward civilization. What would they do if they lost us? Would they take out their frustration on the surrounding population? We couldn't allow that!
It wasn't like we couldn't take the chance. I didn't have a choice if I valued my life. Would I even make it out of Ordelia? Then I realized– the Airmid River was a huge body of water that would take them a long time to cross. If I could use Farore's Wind to get to the other side, we could cut ourself off and then beeline west. They wouldn't have a choice but to do the same, and we would have a greater opportunity to recover my strength for when next we crossed each other on the field of battle. Provided they couldn't swim, which they probably could. Still, the current would push them downstream, buying me valuable time.
With that, we shoved Two off of us and booked it south, leaving a very obvious trail through the thick mud caused by the telltale storms of the Verdant Rain Moon. After days of evading my captors through the plains and thickets while avoiding populated areas, we eventually came to the shore of the great stream. We didn't have anywhere near enough range on Farore's Wind to get to the other side in one go, but we could get a solid five percent of the way across. If we chained multiple castings, we could probably stretch that up to just over a quarter with what remained of our magic. We had gotten more efficient with our mana uses, sure but not enough to cross this massive body of water.
So much for drawing them towards Fódlan's Throat like I had told Cyril all that time ago.
We dispelled the warp points just as Six burst onto the scene. She stared at us across the water with what we could only assume to be searing hatred as the rest of the undead piled up on the shoreline. We let out a sigh of relief, contemplating throwing on the Zora Mask to swim as far inland as we could. We shot down that idea– we had been in the form of the Fierce Deity for at least four months and had been fighting continuously that entire time. Cyril and I had left Abyss on my birthday, the 19th of the Pegasus Moon, and we had made it to Caiaphas' location in… I wanted to say early spring? By now, we were almost halfway through 1182. I wasn't sure if I could take off the Crestwraith now, if the crash from those months of nonstop brutal combat would simply kill me, or at least incapacitate me long enough for Caiaphas' vanguard to catch up and finish me off. I had become regrettably reliant on its body and its strength in order to keep myself alive during the months-long battle. How dependent was I on its strength right now?
Now is hardly the time for such musings, Katáktisi advised. You will recover later, I assure you. Fly.
And so we fled. With the strength only a Credtwraith could provide, we were more than able to make it to the other side. Whenever we turned back to look, we could see no signs of our pursuers.
Dusk was falling quickly like a Wolfos pouncing on its prey. We knew we were in Hrym somewhere; there was a small mountain range that would make following the river's edge difficult. We would have to sweep around through Gronder to get to Myrddin. No point in lingering here any longer than we had to.
Oh, what I wouldn't have given to have the Bunny Hood right now…
The Fierce Deity stepped into the tavern an hour after the sun fell below the horizon. It honestly looked a lot like the inn where I had convened with Odesse almost exactly two years ago now– a year and eleven months, give or take a couple of days or weeks. I vaguely wondered where he was now. I had always felt that there was something… off about that Agarthan in particular– something I didn't feel from Solon or Kronya. Not to mention the Six Sages. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
A great hush fell over the large room as we strode up to the bar. I supposed it wasn't every day that a neary seven and a half foot tall armored man with war paint splattered across his face barged into the local establishment. We took an empty seat at a stool, and a particularly timid bartender took the risk of speaking up.
"Wh-what'll it be, sir?" He kind of looked a bit like Barten, now that I thought about it. If I squinted. Maybe.
Before I could ask for Chateau Romani– Farore, would that hit the spot– Katáktisi cut me off with the low, rumbling harmony of our shared physical body. "Two whiskey sours. Straight down."
Are we… sure that this is a good idea? I couldn't help but ask.
Two shot glasses half-filled with some clear liquid were slid across the wooden surface. Whispering conversations began to snake up and down the tavern. My heightened hearing could pick them out– they were all 'what the hell is this guy' and 'I bet I could take him' and 'you think that's the guy the empress has the bounty up for' and 'wow, twenty thousand gold pieces sure is a lot but not enough to take on that'. Hopefully average conversation and nothing to preoccupy myself about.
I fail to see the problem.
I think there's a minimum drinking age in Fodra, I commented. And it's sure as hell older than fourteen.
Ah. Katáktisi sounded slightly miffed. Irrelevant. What they fail to know will not hurt them, I am sure.
I guess. The Crestwraith knocked back the liquor. It tasted, in a word, terrible. I could feel it burning our esophagus as it traveled down into… did we even have a digestive tract? Was unmasked me going to have to deal with the consequences of this later? I knew the crash that came after the effects of Chateau Romani wore off, and I had also heard vaguely of the dreaded so-called 'hang over' from Jeralt and his merc troupe before he was stabbed in the back. I wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest, especially considering I hadn't taken off the mask in all this time. That being said, if it was like Chateau Romani, it could ease the transition. I didn't know you had an appreciation for alcohol. The part of us that's still me hates the taste.
It is repugnant to the tongue, Katáktisi agreed. Or at least, this particular location's is. In truth, it is… something that I picked up from one of my previous hosts. For him, it was not consumed for the nutrients or for the pleasure of having drunk it. Instead, it is because he associated this specific order with… respite. With the in-between times between war and consumption. And that is a rare treat, not the slop in my fingers. Much like you with your… fishing… thing.
I was quiet for a moment, turning its words over and over in my mind. I felt I understood Katáktisi just a little better. That's downright poetic. Sometime, someday, I'm going to teach you how to fish. So that after I'm dead and gone and you've moved on to another champion, you can share fishing with them. And all the champions that come after. Like how you shared this with me.
The parasite hesitated. Was it… bashful? Embarrassed? I look forward to that day. It paused for a moment. And I am most certainly not.
We finished Katáktisi's drinks and moved to leave. Not Barten the bartender had the nerve to cough. The gall, even.
"Erm, sir… Excuse me… you need to pay for those… drinks…"
He trailed off as we stopped in our tracks.
No, I don't think we will, Katáktisi wanted to say.
I object, I snarled. We have plenty of money, we should pay.
"Right you are," I said through our lips, turning and planting a single Green Rupee before the astonished man. "I assume that will be all." Without another utterance, we stepped away from the bar and made for the door from whence we had come.
We were being followed.
Perhaps we should have paid more attention to the whisperings in the tavern, because the supposed 'bounty' that Edelgard had put on Conquest's head was high enough to tempt some of the stronger bargoers. Considering the living conditions of the Hrym people under Ludwig von Aegir, I could hardly blame them– even if they were far out of their league. We estimated that there were about twenty of them, probably intending to take a thousand gold each. Keeping their numbers in mind, it was somewhat remarkable that they managed to keep so orderly and stealthy. Hopefully we could simply ignore them, and by walking far enough dissuade them from further attacks.
That hope was dashed about twelve hours later, when they were still following– although their care had begun to wane. Myrddin was still far out of sight, and my undead pursuers had to also be gaining on me. We had barely hit the bottom of the mountain range whose name I did not know when we had had enough.
We paused in our paths. "Are we really committed to this course of action?"
My involuntary entourage stepped out from the shadows. "I hope there's no hard feelings, friend. Twenty thousand gold's a lot of money, after all. There's twenty-two of us and one of you. Come quietly and no harm will come to you."
Kill them, Katáktisi seethed. Kill them all.
Why? They're just people, driven desperate by terrible circumstances, I argued. We could send them along their way with a Rupee apiece and solve everyone's problem.
Why would you do such a thing? Such kindnesses will do nothing. Their paths are set. Giving them what they have not claimed in victory… you may as well pour sand into their hands.
They spent twelve restless hours chasing after us, didn't they? That's something. They could have backed out, they could have succumbed to fear and hopelessness. But they didn't. That's a victory against the self. Besides, I'm not just going to stand here and let others suffer when I have the means to help them.
And would that be a kindness? The Crestwraith quizzed. What if with that power, all you have wrought is more pain?
It couldn't claim to know that!
Charity leads to dependency. Dependency leads to weakness. Weakness leads to an inability to claim victory.
There is so much wrong with that sentiment that I don't even know where to start, I sighed.
Enlighten me.
Lord Epimenides could have unmade you. When you weren't what he had sought out to create. His charity is the only reason we're having this conversation.
I was of use to Agartha, Katáktisi argued. It is not weakness to see serendipity when it arises.
Solon could have gone back on his word to not share knowledge of our existence with Caiaphas. Thales could have forced you to consume me properly with the First Axiom. That. Was. Charity.
You are a fool, champion. There was also the truth that I was far too sick of fighting right now. But it is known to me that all fools have buried within them a nugget of wisdom. Perhaps I have as much to learn from you as you do from me.
You're only realizing this now?
The magical murder mask grumbled goodnaturedly. We faced those who had for a short time been following us, as opposed to the undead that had hounded me for significantly longer. "Have you forgotten? You speak to Lord Conquest, one who has never known defeat. Your lives are beneath my notice.
"I commend your efforts in making it this far, so I will leave you a gift– and a warning. Any who follow me further than this shall find themselves on the end of my blade. This, I promise." We dropped two green rupees and a red rupee on the ground. "Away with you." We turned away. None of them dared to follow me, instead taking the money like it was myrrh, and returning, presumably, home.
Meanwhile, we swiftly located the very inn at which I had met Odesse. Despite our appearance, we were able to check out a room relatively painlessly. We closed the door behind us and locked it. And with one final movement, we pulled off the–
To my knowledge, I had never slept more soundly in my entire life. I hadn't even used the bed– as soon as the Agarthan crest parasite had left my skull, I was out like a light. It was honestly kind of impressive considering my normal track record when it came to going to sleep. I mean, normally I slept like a rock if that rock was entered into a Goron race with gold dust on the line, with twists and turns and bumps and whumps galore. But this was taking it to a whole other level.
And it was a wood floor too. I was probably covered in splinters at this point. Oh well. I could deal with that pain were it to pass. Like my building headache. It was probably the months of unending fighting talking. Or the alcohol. Probably the former.
My stomach rumbled, and for just a moment I primed myself for another blast of Eight's fire magic. I forced myself to relax– I wasn't in any mortal danger, at least not at the moment. I was just hungry– and a couple of months overdue at that. I dug a hydromelon out of my pouch and greedily bit into it, careful not to swallow any seeds. What was today's date, anyway? I was sure I could figure it out on the road. There was hardly any time to waste as it was, and I wanted to make the most of my comparatively luxurious circumstances as I could.
And that meant a goddesses-forsaken bath.
Unfortunately, the hygiene situation at this inn was significantly less idyllic than at Garreg Mach, which probably made sense. There was still full privacy, of course, but there wasn't a tub of any kind– instead, there was a small faucet, a bar of soap that I didn't trust, and a bucket that one was presumably meant to upturn on themself. I would have to simply clean myself while in the process of drying off.
I took off my tunic and paused for a moment as I noticed the new, rather significant detail. I had never really thought about what the Fierce Deity looked like beneath the armor. To my surprise, Katáktisi's new markings had appeared not on the other side of my face, but lining my entire right side. The lowest was splashed along my waist and falling just shy of my abs. Every single one of them was the color of blood, same as the two on my cheek.
I tried to wrap up as quickly as possible after that.
I didn't have the time nor the makeup to cover Katáktisi's markings with particular care; Jeritza's mask it was, I supposed. At least my shirt would cover the new ones. I was very pleased to note that it fit a little better than the last time I had worn it. The passage of time was the strangest thing; it was the most predictable thing imaginable and yet I was consistently surprised by it.
New body, same mind. New journey, same soul. Just like the good old days. Well, they weren't particularly good, and they weren't particularly old either now that I thought about it. Still, half of feeling optimistic about the world and one's circumstances was framing things in positive ways. That was something I picked up from Seteth's book, and it had done wonders so far.
I kept moving northwest, towards the next inevitable confrontation with the marauding undead. If all went well, it would be the last.
Short chapter, I know. But I gotta stretch out the mid-timeskip somehow. Next chapter has a twist you're not expecting, I'll guarantee you that.
Review please!
Backpack Bandit (FF): I don't think anyone was expecting Deadlord Shez, in all honesty. Remember when I said mid-timeskip gets weird? This is what I was talking about.
Equilized Enigma (FF): The Salesman is nothing if not a slippery man. Thanks for your continued support!
Parkourse (AO3): What indeed, my friend, what indeed.
Hello_I_Exist (FF and AO3): I think it's a little bit of both. The Agarthans and the surface humans were once one and the same, as far as I'm aware. While I think a lot of the Agarthans are primed for evil actions through indoctrination, xenophobia, and dehumanization of the surface-dwellers, I doubt that's all they're able to be. I do intend to give some of them more nuance.
Luckysofia (AO3): Glad to hear it, and see you next week!
shouty (AO3): Undead, thank you. From what I understand of Three Houses / Three Hopes, Shez always encounters and is defeated by the Blade Breakers in 1179; the divergence comes from whether they survive or not. So I decided to throw in a third option.
quadjot (AO3): Ty!