Fairy's Blight

by ArchonOfStrings

Aelius, a cold and enigmatic mage, returns to Fairy Tail after four years on a century quest. With walls of isolation built around him, can the guild breakthrough? As dark trials loom on the horizon, Aelius's power and past may hold the key to their survival, or be their undoing. T for themes and gore.

8. Fight To Remember

AN: kinda went overboard, you could probably consider this a test of sorts for combat. but I do believe I made an engaging fight, and hopefully, it makes sense. Other than that Review and Enjoy

The storm still hadn't let up. If anything, it had only grown more insistent, the wind howling like some unseen beast clawing at the village with reckless fury. The rain hammered against the broken church's walls in a steady, ceaseless rhythm, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the uneasy faces of those seeking refuge within.

Aelius remained where he had been for hours, leaning casually against the shattered doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze swept over the storm as if he were expecting it to blink first in their unspoken staring contest. His cloak billowed slightly from the gusts that sneaked through the ruined entrance, but if the cold bothered him, he gave no sign.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him shift his head slightly. He didn't need to look to know someone was coming. The measured pace, light yet deliberate, wasn't one of the prince's guards.

"Master Mask," a voice called in a monotone, completely unbothered by the absurdity of the name. "The prince inquires if you require anything."

Aelius finally turned, raising an eyebrow as he took in the pink-haired maid standing before him. Dressed in the standard uniform of the castle staff, she stood at perfect attention, hands clasped before her, posture impeccable. Her expression remained neutral, though there was something oddly expectant about the way she looked at him like she was waiting for a command.

Aelius blinked, then let out a small snort. "Master Mask? Seriously?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "Would you prefer a different title?"

Aelius tilted his head, considering. "Grand Duke of Plague? Lord of Overdramatic Weather? Maybe just 'Aelius'?"

She nodded once. "Master Mask it is."

He let out a sigh, though amusement flickered behind his eyes. "Should've seen that coming."

"The prince has requested I check on you," she continued, her tone as flat as ever. "You have not moved from this spot in hours. Do you require sustenance? A drink? A shovel?"

Aelius, who had been nodding along until the last part, paused. "A shovel?"

"To dig a hole and lie in it," she answered, utterly serious. "You appear in need of rest."

A short bark of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. "That's an interesting way of offering a nap. What do you do if someone says yes?"

"Dig the hole for them," she replied smoothly.

Aelius shook his head, chuckling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'll pass. Hard to keep an eye on the ominous doom clouds from underground." He gestured toward the storm. "And I don't think it's done being dramatic just yet."

She followed his gaze for a brief moment before returning her attention to him. "Very well. I will inform the prince that you are continuing to glare at the weather."

"Be sure to tell him I'm winning," Aelius added.

"Of course." She gave a perfect curtsy before turning to leave, her posture never once slipping from flawless precision.

Aelius watched her go, shaking his head with a smirk. "Master Mask," he muttered under his breath, looking back toward the storm. "At least she's got a sense of humor."

The wind howled again, but Aelius barely noticed. His mood had lightened, just slightly. Whatever lurked beyond the storm could wait. For now, he had a title to begrudgingly accept.

The storm raged on, unrelenting in its fury, but within the broken church, the flickering glow of firelight finally fought back against the oppressive dark. It had taken hours, the damp conditions making even the simplest spark a frustrating ordeal, but at last, a small fire crackled in the center of the stone floor. Shadows danced along the crumbling walls, and the weary faces of the civilians were illuminated in its glow, pale, drawn, but no longer entirely consumed by fear.

The prince and his guards had worked tirelessly to gather what little food could be found, distributing it among the villagers in careful portions. Their efforts, while meager, had a noticeable effect. The hushed whispers of despair were giving way to quiet conversations, the occasional forced chuckle slipping through the tension like cracks in stone. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Aelius remained at his usual post, leaning against what was left of the doorway, his putrid eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. He saw everything, the way the prince's men subtly positioned themselves between the people and any remaining weak points in the structure, the way parents prioritized their children when offered food, and the way exhaustion clung to every movement like a second skin. It was survival at its most fragile.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him glance up. The prince himself was making his way over, his regal posture slightly dampened by fatigue but still present. He stopped just a few feet away, his expression as composed as ever despite the turmoil they faced.

"We finally have something warm to keep the night at bay," the prince said, motioning toward the fire. "Is there anything you require, Sir Mask?"

Aelius hummed, tapping a finger against his mask in thought before answering, "Got any alcohol?"

The prince blinked, his composed mask faltering for just a moment as he frowned. "Alcohol? Now?"

Aelius shrugged. "Figured I'd ask."

The prince exhaled sharply, his displeasure evident. "I hardly think now is the time for drinking. These people have suffered, our situation is dire, and you, " He hesitated, glancing at Aelius's relaxed stance as if debating whether he was being serious. "Are you always this flippant in the face of disaster?"

Aelius chuckled. "I'm not asking to drown my sorrows if that's what you're thinking." He turned slightly, resting one hand on his hip. "I don't get drunk. Can't, actually. My magic makes it so poison has the opposite effect on me. Strengthens me instead."

The prince's frown deepened. "Alcohol isn't exactly poison."

"To most people, sure," Aelius said, lazily gesturing with one hand. "But to me? It's about as healthy as a hot meal." His eyes glinted with amusement. "So if you happen to have a bottle lying around, I'd consider it a favor."

The prince seemed to consider this for a long moment before sighing, rubbing his temple. "You are a difficult man to understand."

"I try," Aelius smirked. "But hey, look at it this way, if something horrible comes crashing through that door in the next five minutes, wouldn't you rather have me at my best?"

The prince shook his head, muttering something under his breath before turning back towards Aelius. "I'll see what I can find. No promises."

Aelius gave him a mock salute, his voice carrying an easy amusement. "Much appreciated, Your Highness. Oh, and my name's Aelius."

The prince hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Aelius," he repeated, as if committing it to memory, before turning away and making his way back to the fire.

Left alone once more, Aelius exhaled, his breath misting slightly in the cold air. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in his muscles, but it was distant, secondary. His focus remained on the storm beyond the shattered doorway, its howling winds carrying something deeper than mere turbulence. A pulse, a presence. It wasn't natural. That much he was certain of.

His fingers flexed absently at his side, itching for action despite the temporary lull. Behind him, the villagers murmured softly, their voices weaving through the crackling firelight. A few children had huddled together, their exhaustion overriding their fear as they dozed against their parents' sides. The guards continued their quiet patrols, speaking in hushed tones as they planned for whatever the morning might bring if morning ever came at all.

Aelius turned his gaze upward. The storm blotted out the sky, its swirling darkness unfazed by the distant promise of dawn.

Something was still out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And if it thought it could outlast him, it had another thing coming.

Minutes later the storm still showed no signs of relenting, its furious winds hammering against the remnants of the chapel like the relentless heartbeat of something unseen. Aelius remained near the broken doorway, watching, waiting. The eerie pulse beneath the storm had not vanished, only quieted, as though biding its time. It was almost amusing, the way it lingered just out of reach, a predator unwilling to fully commit to its attack.

The fire at the center of the room crackled, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls and illuminating the weary faces of those gathered. The civilians sat in clusters, speaking in hushed tones or simply staring into the flames, lost in thought. The guards continued their quiet patrols, but there was an unmistakable tension in their movements, subtle, but present. They, too, felt it.

A soft scuff of boots against stone signaled the prince's return before he spoke.

"You really meant it, didn't you?" His voice held a mix of curiosity and restrained skepticism. "About poison making you stronger."

Aelius didn't immediately look at him, instead keeping his eyes trained on the storm as he responded, "Why would I lie about something like that?" His tone was casual, almost amused as if the idea of fabricating such a thing was ridiculous. "Believe me, Your Highness, I'd much rather be able to enjoy a strong drink like a normal person. Would certainly make nights like these a bit more entertaining."

The prince exhaled, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the concept. "That doesn't sound like much of a blessing."

Aelius finally turned his head, his expression obscured behind the everpresent mask, though there was a hint of humor in his voice when he replied, "It's not. But it has its perks." He patted the flask at his hip. "I wouldn't recommend taking a sip, though. Not unless you'd like to experience your last drink."

The prince shook his head, crossing his arms as he regarded Aelius with open curiosity. "You're different from the mages I've encountered before."

Aelius chuckled, leaning against the stone archway. "I get that a lot."

Before the prince could respond, a small voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation.

"Mister Mask?"

Aelius turned his head slightly and found himself looking down at a small group of children who had gathered near him. Their clothes were damp and muddied from the storm, their faces tired, but their eyes held something beyond fear, curiosity.

One of the braver ones, a boy who looked no older than seven, pointed at him with wide eyes. "Are you really a wizard?"

Aelius crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with the child's, though his mask concealed any readable expression. "Depends on who you ask," he mused. "Some folks like to call me a menace."

The boy blinked. "What's a menace?"

"It means people either like me or really, really don't."

The boy frowned, considering this. "I think I like you."

A chuckle rumbled from Aelius's chest. "Well, that's a good start."

One of the other children, a girl clutching a damp wool blanket, tilted her head. "Is your face scary?"

Aelius quirked a brow behind his mask. "I don't know. What do you think?" He tapped the side of his mask. "This is my face as far as you're concerned."

The girl giggled. "It looks funny."

"Funny, huh?" Aelius pretended to think for a moment before leaning in conspiratorially. "That's a first. Most people think it makes me look mysterious."

Another child, a younger boy who had been clutching the girl's sleeve, hesitated before speaking. "Are you gonna fight the storm?"

That gave Aelius pause. He glanced briefly at the prince, who watched the interaction with an unreadable expression, before shifting his attention back to the boy.

"I might," he said after a moment. "If it picks a fight with me first."

The boy's brows furrowed. "How do you fight a storm?"

Aelius exhaled through his nose, amused by the child's persistence. "Very dramatically."

That earned a few giggles from the group, and even the prince huffed out something that might have been a laugh. The tension in the air, though still present, had softened just a fraction.

The first boy, the one who had called him "Mister Mask," tilted his head. "Are you gonna stay with us?"

Aelius's expression sobered slightly beneath his mask. He wasn't sure how to answer that. He had no reason to linger once the storm passed. And yet…

He glanced once more at the villagers, the guards, and the prince.

For now, at least, he wasn't going anywhere.

"We'll see," he finally said, ruffling the boy's hair before standing back up. "Get some rest, kid. You're gonna need it."

The boy grinned before scampering back toward the fire, the others following close behind.

The prince, arms still crossed, gave Aelius an appraising look. "I never would've taken you for someone good with children."

Aelius smirked, tilting his head. "I wouldn't say 'good.' I just know how to keep 'em entertained."

The prince shook his head, muttering something about contradictions before glancing toward the storm outside.

"You can feel it too, I imagine," the prince asked suddenly, his voice just enough to cut through the wind.

Aelius's smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but he masked his surprise quickly. His sharp gaze flicked to the prince, scrutinizing him in a way he hadn't before. The casual ease he'd adopted slipped slightly, replaced by a calculating edge.

Most people wouldn't have noticed what lurked beneath the storm, not unless they were attuned to such things. The civilians certainly hadn't. The guards, though uneasy, had chalked up their discomfort to nerves. But this prince? He had felt it. And more than that, he had recognized that Aelius had felt it too.

Aelius folded his arms, tilting his head slightly. "Now, that's interesting," he mused. "Didn't take you for the type."

The prince met his gaze evenly. "And what type is that?"

"The type who knows what a real storm feels like," Aelius said. His voice was still laced with amusement, but his words were measured now, probing. "The type who doesn't just see wind and rain, but something else underneath."

The prince didn't answer right away. His expression remained composed, but there was a shift, subtle but unmistakable. He had been careful, Aelius realized. Careful not to reveal too much. But he had slipped, if only slightly.

Aelius took a step forward, his cloak shifting with the movement. "So," he continued his tone light but pointed, "that means one of two things. Either you've spent enough time around magic to recognize it, or…" He let the word hang between them, watching the way the prince's shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.

"Or?" the prince prompted, though Aelius could tell he already knew what was coming.

Aelius's smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Or you've got a little magic in you yourself, Your Highness."

The prince exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "That would be quite the scandal, wouldn't it?"

Aelius huffed out a laugh. "Oh, absolutely. Royals with magic? That's the kind of thing that gets people whispering." He studied the prince a moment longer before shaking his head. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Neither did anyone else," the prince admitted, lowering his voice slightly. His gaze drifted back toward the civilians, ensuring they were still occupied before he spoke again. "But you're not wrong. I can feel it. Something inside that storm… it's not natural."

Aelius nodded slightly, his amusement tempered by a hint of something more serious. "No. It's not."

A beat of silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the distant roar of the wind.

The prince sighed. "I assume you already have a theory."

Aelius tilted his head as if debating how much to say. Then, he shrugged. "A few. None of them good."

The prince grimaced. "Wonderful."

Aelius chuckled, shaking his head. "Welcome to my life, Your Highness."

For the first time since they met, the prince actually smirked. It was brief, barely there, but Aelius caught it.

Then, just as quickly, the moment was gone. The prince's expression hardened once more, his gaze shifting back to the storm. "If this isn't over…"

"It's not," Aelius confirmed easily.

The prince inhaled slowly as if bracing himself. "Then what do we do?"

Aelius cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "Well, if you're asking me…" He patted the flask at his hip. "I'd say we pour a drink, wait for whatever's out there to show itself, and then beat the hell out of it."

The prince sighed. "That's not a real plan."

Aelius grinned. "It's my plan."

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose. "I regret asking."

"Too late now," Aelius quipped, before turning back toward the storm. His fingers flexed slightly, sensing the magic lingering in the air. "You might want to get ready, Your Highness. Because whatever's waiting out there?"

His grin widened, though there was something sharper behind it now.

"It won't stay waiting for long."

"Well while we're waiting, care to tell me why you cover yourself?

Aelius arched a brow at the prince's question, his grin easing into something more neutral. He had expected the conversation to steer toward battle tactics, maybe more prodding about the storm's unnatural nature. But this?

This was personal.

He shifted his stance slightly, turning just enough to properly face the prince. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his mask, emphasizing its unsettling presence.

"Why I cover myself?" Aelius echoed as if tasting the words. He exhaled through his nose. "That's a bold question, Your Highness."

The prince shrugged. "We're in a broken church waiting for an unnatural storm to make its next move. Thought we had time for a little conversation." His gaze flickered across Aelius's cloak. "Unless it's some great secret."

Aelius chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Oh, it's definitely a secret." He let the words linger, letting the prince stew in his own curiosity for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he tapped a gloved finger against the smooth surface of his mask. "But I suppose I can humor you."

The prince crossed his arms, watching him expectantly.

Aelius tilted his head, considering his answer. "Why do I cover myself? Because it's comfortable. Keeps people guessing. Adds to my mystique." He made a vague motion with his hand. "It's all very dramatic, don't you think?"

The prince gave him a flat look. "You're avoiding the question."

Aelius grinned. "I am answering the question. Just not in the way you want."

The prince sighed. "Fine. Why do you need people guessing?"

Aelius tapped his fingers against his arm, pretending to think. "You ever met someone who looked at you and thought they had you figured out?" His voice was casual, but there was something weighty beneath it. "Thought they knew exactly what you were capable of, what you could do, what you couldn't do?"

The prince didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter. "Yes."

Aelius nodded. "Then you know how useful it is when people don't see everything." He spread his arms slightly. "A little mystery keeps people on their toes. And in my line of work, that's a necessity."

The prince studied him for a long moment. "That's part of it. But not all of it."

Aelius smirked. "No, it's not."

The prince frowned. "So what's the rest?"

Aelius exhaled, shaking his head. "You really don't let things go, do you?"

"Not when I think there's more to the story," the prince admitted.

Aelius was silent for a moment as if weighing his next words. Then, with a softer voice, he said, "Let's just say… some things aren't meant to be seen. Some things shouldn't be seen." He gestured vaguely to his mask. "This? It's for everyone else just as much as it's for me."

The prince's expression shifted slightly, understanding, maybe, or something close to it. He nodded once. "Fair enough."

Aelius watched him for a second longer before chuckling. "Didn't think you'd actually let it go."

The prince smirked. "I can be reasonable."

"Could've fooled me."

The prince rolled his eyes, but before he could reply, a soft shuffling interrupted their exchange.

Aelius turned just in time to see a few of the children approaching hesitantly, their wide eyes reflecting the fire's glow. They clung to each other, their tiny hands grasping at worn fabric and sleeves as they shuffled closer.

One of the braver ones, a girl with tangled curls, stepped forward. "M-Mister Mask?"

Aelius blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then, he snorted. "That's what we're going with, huh?"

The prince smirked. "I knew it would stick."

Aelius shot him a look before crouching slightly so he was closer to the children's height. "Alright, alright. What's up, kid?"

The little girl hesitated, glancing at the others before looking back at him. "You're really strong, right?"

Aelius tilted his head. "Some say that. Others say I'm just too stubborn to die."

The children looked at each other as if debating whether that was a good thing or not.

A different child, a boy with large, anxious eyes, clutched at the girl's sleeve. "C-Can you keep us safe?"

Aelius blinked. His posture relaxed slightly, but his expression softened in a way that wasn't quite visible behind his mask.

"Yeah," he said simply. "I can do that."

The children exhaled, relief washing over their small faces. Aelius barely had time to react before the little girl suddenly stepped forward and threw her arms around his waist in a quick, clumsy hug.

Aelius froze. What.

The prince coughed, clearly holding back a laugh.

The girl pulled back just as quickly, still looking nervous. "Th-Thank you, Mister Mask!"

Aelius exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, alright. Go on, get back to your parents before they think I've stolen you."

The children giggled and scampered off, their whispers fading as they rejoined the other civilians.

The prince, meanwhile, was smirking. "Touching moment."

Aelius groaned. "Not a word."

The prince chuckled. "Oh no, I will be remembering this."

Aelius groaned theatrically, dragging a gloved hand down his mask. "Great. Just what I needed, an enduring legacy of Mister Mask, the Babysitter." He shook his head, turning his gaze back toward the storm. "Real intimidating."

The prince chuckled, leaning against the makeshift seating they had arranged near the fire. "Oh no, I think it's got a nice ring to it. Mister Mask, Slayer of Beasts, Protector of the People, " He smirked. ", Champion of Small, Adorable Children."

Aelius shot him a flat look. "You really enjoy this, don't you?"

"A little," the prince admitted, his smirk widening. "But in all seriousness, these people need something, someone, to believe in. A protector. A symbol."

Aelius huffed, shifting his weight slightly. "That what you think I am?"

"Maybe not yet," the prince said, tilting his head. "But after tonight? After what you've done?" His gaze flickered to the civilians, some still frightened, some clutching their loved ones, but most calmer than they had been. The children who had approached Aelius sat huddled together, whispering and sneaking glances his way. "I think you're well on your way."

Aelius exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Hate to break it to you, Your Highness, but I'm not exactly the shining knight type."

The prince laughed. "No, I gathered that much." His expression turned thoughtful. "But you don't have to be a knight to be a legend. Just someone people remember."

Aelius was quiet for a moment, watching the fire flicker in the prince's eyes. The storm still howled outside, the winds rattling the stained glass above them. There was still something out there, watching, waiting, but for now, in this small pocket of firelight and warmth, the fear had lessened.

He sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. "You know, if I have to be a legend, I'd at least like a cooler name."

The prince grinned. "Too late. Mister Mask is already spreading through the ranks."

Aelius groaned again, but there was something lighter in the way he shook his head. "I swear if I hear that in another town, I will find a way to blame you."

The prince simply laughed, shaking his head as he stepped away from the fire. He moved to the other side of the ruined doorway, leaning against the weathered frame as the wind howled just beyond the threshold. His gaze shifted from the raging storm to the small figures huddled near the fire, their wide eyes occasionally flickering toward Aelius with a mix of curiosity and awe.

As if sensing his gaze, one of the children, a boy no older than eight, shuffled forward hesitantly, clutching a tattered blanket around his shoulders. He lingered a few feet away before clearing his throat. "Mister Mask?"

Aelius exhaled through his nose, tilting his head toward the prince with an I blame you look before glancing back down at the kid. "That's not my name."

The boy blinked up at him, unconvinced. "But everyone's calling you that."

Aelius crossed his arms, but there was no real frustration in his voice. "Then everyone is wrong."

Another child, a small girl with tangled curls, shuffled up beside the boy. "Are you a hero?" she asked, peering up at him with wide eyes.

Aelius let out a short laugh. "That's a strong word, kid. Let's not get carried away."

The boy frowned. "But you saved us."

"And you fight monsters," the girl added, gripping the edges of her blanket.

The prince, still leaning casually against the doorframe, gave Aelius a knowing smirk. "Sounds like hero material to me."

Aelius pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his mask. "You're not helping, Your Highness."

The boy shuffled his feet, looking determined. "I wanna be strong like you when I grow up."

Aelius raised a brow. "Oh yeah? You want to be covered in filth, drink poison, and scare villagers just by walking into town?"

The boy hesitated. "Well… maybe not all of that."

The prince chuckled, watching the exchange with amusement. "You are pretty terrifying. It's a strong selling point."

The girl frowned in thought before perking up. "Then… if you're not a hero, are you a knight?"

Aelius tilted his head slightly. "Do I look like a knight to you?"

The boy squinted at him, eyes scanning over the ragged cloak, the eerie mask, and the strange dark gloves on his arms. He hesitated before shaking his head. "No. Not really."

Aelius clapped his hands together. "Exactly. So let's go with something easier, like the mysterious wandering guy who happens to be in the right place at the right time."

The prince scoffed. "That doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

"Not my problem," Aelius deadpanned.

The children giggled, their earlier fear momentarily forgotten as they inched closer to the fire, now more comfortable in his presence.

The prince watched them for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time. "You don't have to be a hero, you know."

Aelius glanced at him.

The prince's expression was unreadable, the fire casting flickering shadows across his face. "Sometimes, just being here is enough."

Aelius held his gaze for a moment before exhaling, shaking his head. "Great. Now you're getting sentimental."

The prince smirked. "Can't help it. Comes with the title."

"Don't trust such a thing," Aelius said, his tone quieter now, edged with something unreadable. "Titles never tend to mean what people think they do."

The prince tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. "Oh? And what does your title mean, then?"

Aelius let out a short chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Which one?" He gestured vaguely. "Slayer? Wanderer? Monster? Babysitter?" He shot a glance toward the kids, who were still lingering nearby, hanging on to every word. "Or perhaps Mister Mask, slayer of beasts?"

The prince huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You forgot poison-drinking menace."

Aelius placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Ah, yes. My proudest achievement."

The children giggled again, but the prince's gaze was steady and thoughtful. "So which one do you believe in?"

Aelius fell silent for a moment, his eyes flickering back toward the storm outside. The wind roared through the ruined doorway, the cold seeping in like an unshakable presence.

"I don't," he finally said.

The prince studied him for a long moment before exhaling. "That sounds exhausting."

Aelius scoffed. "You get used to it."

The small girl suddenly tugged on his cloak, drawing his attention back down to her. "But if you don't believe in your own name, then what are you?"

Aelius blinked. Of all the questions she could have asked, that was the one that made him pause.

For once, he didn't have a quick answer.

The prince watched him, curious as to how he'd respond, but before Aelius could speak, one of the villagers called for the prince's attention. The moment broke, and with a sigh, the prince pushed off the doorframe.

"Think on that, Mister Mask," he said with a smirk before heading toward the villagers.

Aelius let out a dramatic groan. "I'm not calling myself that!"

The prince only chuckled over his shoulder.

Aelius shook his head, but his hand lingered near where the girl had tugged his cloak, the question lingering in his mind.

What are you?

For now, he had no answer. But he had a feeling the night wasn't over just yet.

Aelius exhaled slowly, tilting his head toward the fire as the familiar sound of small, shuffling footsteps approached once more. "They're back again…" he muttered under his breath, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Sure enough, the same group of children had returned, undeterred by his earlier dismissal. The little girl at the front, the one who had tugged at his cloak before, peered up at him with wide eyes.

"Mister Mask, do you really drink poison?" she asked again, tilting her head curiously.

Aelius let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms. "I could say no, but I feel like you'd just come back and ask again."

The children giggled at that, emboldened. A younger boy bounced slightly on his heels, clutching a half-eaten piece of bread. "But isn't poison bad? My mom says it's really dangerous!"

"For most people, yeah," Aelius admitted, his voice carrying a dry amusement. "For me? It just makes me stronger."

Their eyes widened in fascination, and another child, a boy with a mop of messy brown hair, frowned in deep thought. "Does that mean you're, like… invincible?"

Aelius let out a short chuckle. "Hardly. I just don't go down as easily as others."

The little girl tugged on the edge of his cloak again, drawing his attention back to her. "Then how do you know if something is too dangerous?"

Aelius smirked under his mask, crouching slightly so he was more at their level. "Well, that's the fun part, isn't it? You don't know until you find out."

The children gasped, some laughing, others whispering to each other about how "cool" that sounded.

A smaller boy, clearly trying to work up his courage, finally spoke up. "Mister Mask… are you a hero?"

Aelius hesitated for a fraction of a second; he couldn't snap at the kids for asking the question again, he responded, his tone softer. "Nah. Just someone who deals with problems when they show up."

The kids didn't seem disappointed by that. In fact, they only seemed more interested.

"Then what's the scariest thing you've ever fought?"

Aelius smirked at that, about to launch into some vaguely exaggerated retelling of a past battle, but,

Something shifted.

His entire body tensed as the feeling returned, sharper this time. It wasn't the storm, it was something inside it. A presence, subtle but deliberate, creeping through the air like a sickness waiting to be noticed.

His grin faded. His muscles coiled.

"Go back to the adults," he said suddenly, his voice firmer than before.

The children blinked, surprised by the sudden change in tone.

"Huh?" the little girl frowned.

Aelius turned fully to them now, his posture shifting. His voice remained steady but edged with something serious. "Now. Go to the prince and tell him to be on guard."

"But, "

"Now," Aelius repeated, sharper but not unkind.

Something in his tone made them listen. They hesitated only a second longer before nodding and hurrying off, whispering amongst themselves but obeying.

Aelius didn't waste another second. He pushed off the ruined doorway, straightening himself. The cold wind biting against him as he stared into the storm.

Something was out there.

And it had finally decided to move.

Behind him, Aelius could hear the murmuring voices of the children as they hurried away, their footsteps fading into the larger shuffle of movement from the guards. Armor clinked as they adjusted their stances, some shifting closer to the prince in quiet readiness, while others exchanged wary glances, sensing the same unspoken tension in the air.

Aelius, however, wasted no time. He raised his hands, pressing them together as his voice dropped into something guttural and commanding.

"Pox Make: Nurgling."

From the festering energy swirling in his palms, a grotesque, bloated little creature began to take shape. Its sickly green form pulsed with rot, beady eyes gleaming with malice as it gurgled excitedly, eager to serve. The stench of disease curled in the air, thick and vile, making the nearby flames flicker as if recoiling from its presence.

Aelius barely gave the thing a glance before gesturing outward. "Go."

The Nurgling let out a wet, chortling giggle before scampering forward into the storm, its hunched form disappearing into the howling winds. Aelius narrowed his eyes, focusing on the thread of connection between himself and his conjured minion, feeling through its senses as it moved ahead,

And then, without warning, that connection snapped.

His entire body jolted as a sickening crack echoed through the air. A split second later, the Nurglings corpse came flying out of the storm, its small, twisted body slamming into the wooden door frame with a wet, meaty thud.

The force alone was unnatural. Something had thrown it back, hard.

Aelius' eyes locked onto the motionless form as greenish ichor oozed from its ruptured flesh. The thing was utterly destroyed in an instant, no struggle, no resistance.

Silence fell over the entrance. Even the storm seemed to pause for a fraction of a second.

Then, slowly, the wind howled again, louder this time.

Aelius exhaled, his breath misting slightly in the cold air. His gaze lifted from the ruined corpse to the swirling abyss of the storm beyond, something unreadable flickering behind his mask.

"Well," he muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders. "That's new."

He wasn't sure what was out there yet.

But whatever it was, it had just made its first move.

A deep, guttural growl rolled through the air, a sound so unnatural that it seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the church. It wasn't carried by the wind, it cut through it, something primal, something ancient.

The civilians froze where they stood, every breath stolen by the sheer wrongness of the sound. Mothers clutched their children tighter, wide eyes darting toward the broken entrance as fear choked the air. The guards tensed, hands gripping the hilts of their weapons with white-knuckled force, shifting their stances instinctively toward the door. Even the prince, for all his composure, stood rigid, his gaze fixed on the swirling storm beyond.

Then, from the depths of that howling void, a voice emerged.

"Come."

It wasn't shouted. It wasn't whispered. It simply was. A singular command, not barked in challenge but delivered with the weight of inevitability. Like a spoken law, an expectation, an invitation from something that did not entertain the possibility of refusal.

The torches flickered wildly, their flames bending as if recoiling from the presence that had uttered it. The very foundation of the church seemed to groan in protest, the wooden beams creaking under the pressure of something unseen.

Aelius' fingers twitched at his sides, his muscles coiling instinctively. His head tilted slightly, the shadows from his mask obscuring his expression, but beneath it, his lips curled into something resembling a smirk, sharp, humorless.

"Well... that's not ominous at all."

His voice was calm, disturbingly so compared to the way the civilians were trembling. His gaze never left the storm, as if he could see something moving in the shifting dark beyond the broken doorway.

Behind him, one of the guards cursed under his breath. Another whispered a quiet prayer. The prince took a step forward, swallowing as he glanced at Aelius.

"…I assume that's not a friend of yours."

Aelius huffed a quiet chuckle, though there was no amusement in it. "Not yet."

A moment passed. Then another.

Aelius exhaled, stretching his shoulders with a lazy roll before stepping toward the door frame, his boots echoing against the stone. He barely glanced back at the prince as he spoke.

"Keep the people inside. No matter what happens, " his voice dropped slightly, something unreadable lurking beneath his words, "don't follow me."

The prince's expression hardened. "And if it's a trap?"

Aelius merely shrugged. "Then I spring it first."

And with that, he stepped out into the storm.

The wind struck him like a living thing the moment he stepped beyond the threshold, whipping his cloak and howling in his ears like the wails of the dead. Rain battered the ground in thick sheets, cold and heavy, yet the sensation barely registered. Aelius was focused elsewhere, on the unnatural weight pressing down on the air, thick with malice.

He moved forward slowly, his boots sinking slightly into the mud with each step. Behind him, he could feel the eyes of the prince and his guards watching, their collective breath held as he put distance between himself and the safety of the church.

Another growl rippled through the storm, deeper this time, more pronounced. Less an invitation and more a promise.

Aelius exhaled, rolling his shoulders before flexing his fingers. He could feel it now, really feel it. Something was out there, waiting. And it was close.

His voice was dry, bordering on amused. "Alright then… let's see that ugly mug of yours."

The storm answered.

Lightning split the sky in jagged veins of white, illuminating the rain-soaked village ruins in fleeting, flickering light. And there, at the very edge of visibility, a shape emerged from the darkness.

A towering figure, its form obscured by the torrential downpour, but unmistakably massive. Something hunched, something wrong. The air around it seemed to distort, as though the world itself was struggling to accept its presence.

Then, in a single, fluid motion, it stepped forward.

Aelius stilled.

The thing that emerged from the dark was not human.

Its body was twisted, its limbs unnaturally elongated, its fingers ending in wicked claws that carved furrows into the drenched earth. Its head… wrong, almost beastlike, but with no clear features beyond the glow of too many eyes, gleaming like embers in the night.

It exuded a presence unlike anything Aelius had encountered before. Not merely a monster, not simply another aberration of magic.

This was something ancient.

And it was smiling.

A voice like grinding stone echoed through the storm.

"God Slayer."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't an insult. It was an acknowledgment. A statement of fact. As if it had been expecting him.

Aelius didn't respond immediately. He simply lifted a hand, flexing his fingers once before cracking his knuckles, the motion casual, unbothered.

Finally, he spoke.

"And here I thought this night was getting dull."

The creature's presence loomed in the rain, its grotesque silhouette shifting unnaturally in the flickering light. Water dripped from its elongated limbs, its claws twitching as if eager, impatient.

Aelius held his ground, tilting his head slightly, observing. The way it moved, the way the very air seemed to bend around it, it wasn't simply a beast born of the wilds. No, this thing knew him. It had addressed him.

God Slayer

It hadn't roared in challenge or lunged immediately like some mindless horror. It had spoken. That meant it understood. That meant it had purpose.

Aelius exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. Alright, then. Let's see what we're dealing with.

"Do I at least get a name before we do this?" he called over the storm, his voice calm, casual.

The creature let out a rasping exhale, its many eyes narrowing in something akin to amusement. Its jaw, if it could even be called that, shifted unnaturally, distorting like melting wax.

"Names are for the living."

Aelius clicked his tongue. "How poetic." He let his hands slip from beneath his cloak, fingers flexing, the energy of his magic humming beneath his skin. "Alright then, Nameless. Guess I'll have to carve a title into you myself."

The creature moved.

Faster than something that size should be able to.

One moment it was a towering shadow in the rain, distant, looming, the next, it was lunging, its twisted limbs stretching unnaturally as its claws tore through the air.

Aelius reacted instantly, magic already flooding his limbs. His body moved before thought, instinct honed by years of battle.

"Plague Gods: Aegis."

A jagged, pulsating wall of toxic energy flared to life before him. The creature's claws slammed into it, and for a moment, the night flashed in sickly green light. Sparks of corrosive energy lashed out like venomous tendrils, the rain sizzling where it touched.

But the barrier didn't hold.

With a sickening crack, the creature's weight shattered through the defense, its grotesque form lunging forward, undeterred.

Aelius twisted, dodging just in time as claws raked through the space where his torso had been mere seconds ago. Mud and debris exploded from the impact, sending chunks of earth flying.

It's strong.

Stronger than most things he'd faced in recent memory.

He landed smoothly, boots sliding against the wet ground as he skidded back, already shifting his stance. The storm howled around them, rain hammering against his cloak. He felt something drip beneath his cloak, blood, the thing had actually scratched him.

The creature straightened, rolling its shoulders in a disturbingly human-like motion, tilting its malformed head as though studying him.

"You bleed the old poison," it mused, its voice crawling beneath the skin. "The rot of forgotten gods. But you are… young."

Aelius smirked, shaking out his hands as the sickly green glow of his magic flared between his fingers.

"Young? You wound me, Nameless," he drawled. "But if it makes you feel any better…"

He exhaled, shifting his weight, magic coiling, ready.

"I'll make sure they remember you when this is over."

The creature chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the very air feel heavier.

"Come then, Slayer. Let us see if the poison in your veins is worthy of its name."

And then, the storm itself erupted.

With a monstrous lunge, the battle began.

The world became a blur of rain, claws, and sickly green light.

Aelius moved with precision, his every motion calculated, every strike of his magic a deadly promise. But the creature, Nameless, was something beyond the usual horrors he'd faced. It didn't just endure his magic; it adapted to it.

Every time his Plague God Slayer magic struck, the beast flinched but never faltered. The miasma that would normally eat through flesh and bone only seemed to make it shift, its grotesque form twisting unnaturally before snapping back as if reshaping itself.

It's not just resisting. Aelius clenched his jaw as he narrowly avoided another swipe, rolling through the mud before springing to his feet. It's learning.

A deep, guttural laugh rumbled from the creature as it turned to face him once more, its towering form framed by the flashes of distant lightning.

"Tiring already, Slayer?" it crooned, its voice an amalgamation of whispers and growls.

Aelius wiped a smear of grime from his mask, exhaling sharply. "Please," he shot back, forcing a smirk. "I haven't even started drinking yet."

But truth be told, he was feeling it.

Not exhaustion, no, his body could keep going. It was something else. The way his magic wasn't sinking into the creature like it should, the way his blows weren't sticking. Even with his god-slaying power, it was like trying to carve into a storm itself.

And worst of all? The damn thing was enjoying this.

"Plague God Slayer: Pestilent Spear."

Aelius thrust his hand forward, and from the ground, a spear of necrotic energy erupted, jagged and pulsing with deadly rot. He grabbed it mid-air and launched it toward the beast's chest.

The projectile tore through the space between them in an instant, yet just before impact, Nameless shifted.

Not dodging.

Bending.

Its body warped, rippling like a mirage, and the spear passed through it as if striking smoke.

Aelius' eyes narrowed. Oh, that's some bullshit.

Before he could react, Nameless exploded forward.

Aelius barely got his arms up before a massive claw slammed into him, launching him backward with a force that sent shockwaves through the soaked earth.

He hit the mud hard, sliding through the dirt before flipping back to his feet. His boots dug trenches into the ground as he skidded to a stop, his breath coming faster now.

Pain flared up his side, even beneath his layered cloak. That hit had landed deep. If he'd been anyone else, it probably would've broken something.

The creature straightened once more, cocking its malformed head.

"Stronger than most," it admitted, its many eyes narrowing with something akin to approval. "But not enough."

Aelius spat to the side, adjusting his stance.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Yet."

The rain intensified, the wind howling through the broken remains of the village. Behind him, he could hear the distant, frantic murmurs of the civilians, of the prince, the guards, the children. They were watching.

Damn it.

He couldn't lose here.

Not in front of them.

Not like this.

A surge of magic burned in his chest, his god-slayer energy rising once more. His limbs ached, but he forced them steady.

If this thing wanted a fight, he'd give it one.

Even if he had to tear it apart with his bare hands.

"Round two, then?" he asked, cracking his neck.

Nameless chuckled.

"Come, Slayer."

As Aelius steadied himself, the storm's flickering light revealed the creature in all its grotesque, unnatural glory. Now that he was close, too close, he could see Nameless for what it truly was.

It was wrong.

Its form wasn't bound by logic or flesh as a living thing should be. Instead, its body was a twisting amalgamation of shifting sinew and pulsing darkness, constantly unraveling and re-forming in sickening waves. What should have been solid muscle and bone instead looked like coagulated void stuff, held together only by the will of something far older than mortal understanding.

Eyes, far too many, and in places they shouldn't be, opened and closed at random across its form, some black as tar, others glowing with a dull, hungry light. Its face, if it could even be called that, was the worst of all.

A mockery of humanoid features stretched into something almost canine but fractured, a snout that twitched and split apart with each breath, jagged, mismatched teeth clicking together in anticipation. Its elongated limbs ended in claws that dripped with something thicker than rainwater, something dark that hissed where it touched the ground.

And worst of all, the stench.

Even to someone like Aelius, whose magic thrived on rot and decay, the smell was overwhelming, not just death, but the absence of life itself. Like something that had crawled out of a grave before being buried, something unfinished.

He exhaled slowly. Time to stop holding back.

With a sharp motion, Aelius reached up and tore the clasp of his cloak free, letting the heavy, rain-soaked fabric slide from his shoulders and pool at his feet.

The moment his power was unrestrained, the air itself shifted.

A thick, sickly green mist rolled off his body like a living thing, seeping into the earth, and curling around his feet like hungry tendrils. The storm's wind carried the scent of rot and poison now, his rot, his plague. The raindrops that struck his exposed skin no longer hissed and sizzled against him; instead, they warped, taking on a heavier, oily consistency before falling uselessly to the ground.

Without his cloak to obscure him, Aelius stood tall, revealing the true extent of his corruption.

His body was lean but unnaturally tough, his skin marked with twisting scars that pulsed faintly with residual magic. His left arm, from elbow to fingertip, was entirely blackened, the veins beneath his skin swollen with dark energy that flickered in patches of sickly green light. It was the mark of his god-slaying power, a reminder of the poison that ran through his very being.

Jagged, rune-like scars traced his torso, remnants of battles long since fought, and yet, despite their appearance, his flesh did not look damaged. It was enduring, like something that had adapted to suffering, that had thrived in pain.

His mask remained, the eerie, featureless visage staring back at the creature, but now without the concealment of his cloak, it looked almost ceremonial, a grim reminder that whatever he was, he was something far removed from normal.

Aelius rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as Nameless let out a deep, reverberating growl.

"Ah... much better." The creature's many eyes narrowed, taking him in fully now. "You reek of old things, Slayer. Of things that should have faded."

Aelius smirked beneath his mask.

"Funny," he said, voice laced with amusement and something darker. "I was about to say the same thing about you."

He raised his left hand, the corrupted limb pulsing with sickly green energy.

"Now, let's see which one of us rots first."

And with that, he lunged.

Aelius surged forward, his corrupted arm crackling with raw, sickly energy, the very air around him warping under the weight of his magic. The mist that bled from his body clung to the ground like a living thing, eager, hungry, spreading toward Nameless like a disease searching for a host.

The creature reacted immediately. Its grotesque form convulsed, limbs twisting in unnatural directions as it pulsed, a sudden expansion of its mass that sent a shockwave through the air. The ground shuddered, cracks webbing outward from where it stood, the mere force of its presence distorting reality itself.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

Aelius barely had time to shift as Nameless lashed out with one of its elongated limbs, claws whistling through the air. He twisted, his unnatural reflexes saving him from being torn in half, but the force of the near miss sent him skidding backward, boots digging into the mud.

The moment his feet found purchase, he retaliated.

"Plague Make: Blight Chains."

From the mist at his feet, dozens of chains erupted, slick and writhing like the tendrils of some eldritch parasite. They shot toward Nameless, each one pulsing with dark energy, seeking to bind and infect. If he could just latch on, his magic would do the rest, rot, consume, break it down piece by piece,

But the creature laughed.

Not a sound made by any living thing, but a chorus of layered voices, overlapping and out of sync, as though a thousand things were mocking him at once.

And then the chains stopped.

Mid-air, mere inches from Nameless, his magic ceased. The chains shuddered, their form breaking apart, unraveling into useless tendrils of green mist before vanishing entirely.

Aelius' eyes narrowed beneath his mask. No. That wasn't, that wasn't possible.

Before he could react, pain exploded in his ribs as something massive struck him, sending him hurtling backward. His body slammed into the remains of a broken pillar, the impact cracking the stone and rattling through his bones.

His vision blurred for a fraction of a second.

When it cleared, Nameless was standing over him.

Not approaching. Not attacking.

Just watching.

Its many eyes flickered, studying him, calculating. Its mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile, revealing rows of jagged, interlocking teeth.

"You fight well, Slayer. You are… resilient."

The voices were layered, echoing within his mind as much as in the space around them.

"But you are not the first to try and rot me."

Aelius exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. Pain throbbed where he'd been hit, but his body was already adjusting. His magic seeped into his wounds, reinforcing him, and numbing the ache.

"You talk too much," he muttered, flexing his fingers as another wave of green mist bled from his form.

Nameless tilted its head, something amused glinting in those unnatural eyes.

"And you are far more interesting than the others who came before."

Then, in a movement too smooth for something so grotesque, it leaned forward, close enough that Aelius could feel the sheer wrongness of it radiating off its body.

"Do you know why your magic fails, Slayer?"

Aelius remained silent, but his mind was already racing, analyzing, adjusting.

"Because what I am… was never meant to decay."

The words sent a chill through his core, something instinctual, something primal.

"You wield the rot of gods." Nameless' voice deepened, becoming something more ancient. "But I am older than gods."

Aelius' fingers twitched. His magic, his Plague God Slayer Magic, was designed to consume, to break down anything, even the divine.

And yet, his chains had vanished.

This thing… was something else.

A slow grin curled beneath his mask.

"Well then," he muttered, cracking his neck. "Guess I'll just have to get creative."

And with that, he pushed off the ground and lunged once more.

Aelius moved first, his body a blur as he surged toward Nameless, his magic flaring violently around him. The storm outside howled, the ruined chapel shaking as the very air around them twisted under the weight of the combatants.

His right hand lashed forward, Plague gods: Ruinous Claw.

A blade of seething, toxic energy erupted from his fingertips, jagged and writhing like a serrated fang. He swung in a vicious arc, aiming to carve deep into the creature's mass. Nameless barely shifted, its amorphous form bending at an unnatural angle, the blade slicing through empty space.

Fast. It shouldn't have been this fast.

Before Aelius could recover, Nameless struck.

A limb shot forward, a twisted hybrid of claw and tendril, its surface writhing with shifting patterns that made Aelius' vision blur for a fraction of a second. He pivoted, dodging at the last moment, but another limb lashed out from his blind spot.

Impact.

Aelius gritted his teeth as his ribs cracked under the force, his body sent hurtling through the air before slamming into the chapel's crumbling stone wall. Debris rained down around him as dust choked the air.

He barely had a moment to react before Nameless followed through, closing the distance in an instant, its many eyes gleaming with mockery. Another strike came, but Aelius twisted, raising his arm,

Plague gods: Aegis!

A barrier of sickly green energy erupted between them, thick and pulsing with infectious magic. Nameless' clawed appendage collided with it, and for the briefest of moments, Aelius thought it had worked,

Until the shield shattered like brittle glass.

Aelius' instincts screamed, and he barely managed to roll aside as Nameless' limb smashed into the ground where he had been standing, the force of the impact splintering the stone floor.

He skidded back, boots digging into the rubble, his mind racing.

It's not just strong, it's adapting.

A laugh, deep and layered, filled the space between them.

"You resist well, Slayer." Nameless shifted, its form pulsating with something sickeningly alive. "But you still do not understand."

Aelius exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. His body ached, but pain was a distant thing to him. His magic was already working, tendrils of mist knitting his wounds closed.

His grin returned, sharp beneath his mask.

"Yeah? Then why don't you enlighten me?"

A second later, he was moving again.

This time, he didn't aim directly for Nameless, he circled, his hands weaving together as magic coiled around his fingertips, forming sigils in the air.

"Plague Make: Sporestorm."

The area was instantly filled with a wave of toxic mist, rolling outward in thick, spiraling tendrils, carrying the essence of decay itself. The moment it touched anything living, it would rot, erode, devour.

Aelius watched, waiting, observing.

And Nameless did not move.

The mist wrapped around its form, clinging, seeping into its flesh, but rather than breaking down, rather than withering under the God Slayer's magic, it simply… stood there.

The tendrils of mist vanished.

Not burned away. Not resisted.

Consumed.

Aelius' grin faltered for the first time.

Then Nameless spoke again, its voice like a thousand whispering mouths.

"Plague cannot take what has never lived."

And then it moved.

In a blur, Aelius barely had time to react.

A clawed limb slammed into his midsection, driving the air from his lungs. A second limb followed, striking across his back before he could stabilize himself. He felt the ground vanish beneath his feet, no, he was being thrown.

His body hit the far wall, the impact rattling his bones. The stone crumbled from the force.

But he was already moving again.

"Pox Make: Wretched Talons."

His fingers elongated into wicked, bladed claws, dripping with festering green venom. He lunged forward again, aiming to tear into Nameless with raw, unfiltered brutality.

But this time, Nameless didn't just dodge.

It caught him.

A massive, shifting appendage shot out, seizing him by the arm before he could fully connect. A second limb followed, wrapping around his torso.

And then it squeezed.

Aelius let out a snarl as pressure crushed into him, his ribs threatening to snap. His magic flared, but it was like fighting against a tidal wave, Nameless wasn't just strong, it was something else entirely.

It pulled him close, those endless, shifting eyes peering into him.

"You are strong, Slayer." The voices were almost gentle now, sickeningly amused. "But your fight is meaningless."

Aelius bared his teeth beneath his mask.

"Funny," he rasped. "I was about to say the same thing."

And then he let his magic explode.

A violent pulse of pure God Slayer energy detonated outward from his body, the force shattering Nameless' hold just long enough for him to break free.

He hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum before skidding to a stop, his breath coming fast.

The creature stood before him, unharmed, unchanged, its form shifting in the dim light.

Aelius exhaled sharply. His magic was holding, but he was burning through it fast.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn't sure if he could win.

But that only made him grin wider.

"Alright then," he muttered to himself, wiping a trickle of dark ichor from his mouth. "Guess I better start trying."

His eyes narrowed as he circled Nameless, watching the way it moved, the way it responded, or rather, the way it didn't. Every strike, every technique he had thrown at it barely registered. It wasn't just durable. It wasn't even truly alive in the way most creatures were. It was something else, something that defied the natural order.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

It wasn't reacting how it should.

Plague should rot the flesh. Blood should rebel. The body should fail under the weight of disease. That was the way the world worked, the way he had always known it to work.

But Nameless was not of this world.

Which meant… was he going about this all wrong?

His magic was the Plague God's will, disease-given form, pestilence turned into an extension of his being. But it had always needed something to infect. He had always wielded it as a force that corrupted others. It was a means of taking hold, of spreading, of seeping into the marrow of his enemies and ruining them from the inside.

But Nameless was not being ruined.

It was rejecting him, not resisting, not enduring, but outright refusing to obey the laws of corruption.

Because that was the key, wasn't it? Corruption could be undone. An infection could be cured.

But what if he didn't try to infect it?

What if, instead of trying to spread the Plague God's will, he became its core?

The realization struck him hard, so simple, yet so foreign to him. His whole life, his whole existence, had been about spreading his magic, making it something that took root in his enemies. But what if, for once, he stopped trying to pass it on?

What if instead of using his enemies' blood against them… he used his own?

Aelius let out a slow breath.

Fine.

If Nameless would not take his plague, then he would become it.

"Plague God's First Plague… Plague of Blood."

The world itself seemed to react to the invocation.

The air groaned under an unseen weight, warping as a crimson downpour materialized from nothing. It did not spread in tendrils or seek to control, instead, it simply was. It did not reach into the veins of his enemy, did not tear apart their lifeblood from within. This was before that. Older than that.

The blood of the Plague God was not merely a disease or a weapon. It was the source.

Where the Plague of Blood had worked by manipulating the physical form of his targets, forcing their own blood to turn against them, this was an entirely different concept. This was not blood as a bodily function. It was blood as a force of nature.

And Nameless, a creature that could seemingly adapt to decay, withstand corruption, and consume poison, had no answer for it.

The moment the first drop touched its shifting flesh, its entire body twitched. Not a convulsion of pain, not a wound that could be healed. It was something deeper.

A rejection.

Nameless's form pulsed erratically, its tendrils recoiling as though the very existence of this blood was anathema to it. The rain fell faster, and no matter how it moved, how it twisted or reformed, there was no escaping it. It did not cling to its body as a toxin would, nor did it force itself into the creature's being.

It simply touched it.

And that alone was enough to start breaking it apart.

Aelius grinned as realization dawned on him.

"Ah… I see."

Nameless snarled, its voice a discordant mix of whispers and howls.

"This… is different."

Aelius chuckled darkly. "Damn right, it is."

The creature had prepared for disease, for decay, for the ways lesser things crumbled under time's inevitable march. But this? This was something before rot.

Not poison. Not infection.

It was blood as the foundation of plague itself.

Nameless had no immune system to fight against this. No adaptation to counteract this.

It was not a sickness to survive.

It was a truth to be endured.

And for the first time, perhaps the first time in centuries, Aelius saw something in its endless shifting mass.

Hesitation.

The Plague God's blood did not need to kill it. It simply needed to exist.

And that was enough to send Nameless reeling.

Aelius flexed his fingers, the rain growing heavier around him.

"So… let's see how much of you is real, then."

And with that, he lunged again, his power, his blood, crashing down upon Nameless like the weight of a dying world.

With a sharp pivot, he lunged, closing the distance with a force that sent the warped blood beneath his feet splashing outward in spirals of deep red. His corrupted arm carved through the air like a blade, A tainted ichor trailing in thick, dripping arcs as he swung his claws toward the beast's twisting mass.

Nameless lashed out, but its movements were no longer untouchable. Its strikes were still inhumanly fast, but for the first time, there was a fraction of a second's hesitation. A glitch in its movements. A hitch in its existence.

Aelius exploited it.

His claws met its flesh, or what passed for flesh, and this time, instead of merely striking, something spread.

His own blood, still flowing from his wounds, sank into Nameless's body.

The beast jerked, its limbs convulsing as the sickly, writhing corruption burrowed into its form.

Aelius grinned wider.

"Not so untouchable now, are we?"

Nameless shuddered violently, its limbs spasming as the plague twisted into its core, leeching into every part of it that existed. It let out a deep, garbled howl, limbs flickering, the dark tendrils of its body seeming to unstitch themselves at the seams.

Aelius wasted no time.

He twisted his hand, dragging his still-bleeding claws through the beast's form, leaving behind a webwork of rotting veins that pulsed outward in jagged, splintering patterns.

Nameless let out a roaring screech.

Then, for the first time,

It staggered back.

Aelius staggered to his feet, his breath ragged, feeling the weight of his own blood as it ran in sluggish rivulets down his body. The air was thick with the stench of decay and ozone, the storm raging above like a celestial battle given form. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing dark crimson against pale, scarred skin. His bones ached, his muscles screamed, and yet… he grinned.

Nameless lurched, its form flickering between solidity and something else, a twisting mass of wrongness barely contained within its vaguely humanoid frame. The wound across its chest had deepened, the corruption spreading unevenly through its body, struggling against whatever unnatural force held it together.

It could bleed.

It could rot.

Aelius knew now. This thing wasn't as untouchable as it pretended to be.

But it still wasn't dying.

Nameless's remaining eye burned with something ancient, something patient. It tilted its head, its mouth stretching too wide, its jagged voice cutting through the rain.

"Not enough."

It moved.

Aelius barely had time to brace before Nameless vanished, its presence warping the air as it reappeared right in front of him, clawed hand plunging forward with inhuman speed.

He twisted, but not fast enough.

A sharp, burning pain lanced through his side as Nameless's talons tore through flesh, ripping through his ribs like they were paper. Blood sprayed across the ground in thick, blackened arcs, sizzling where it met the corrupted rain.

Aelius snarled, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to move with the blow instead of against it, spinning just enough to grab hold of the creature's outstretched limb. His fingers dug into the festering wound he had already inflicted, his corruptive energy surging from his hands like an open wound in reality itself.

Nameless jerked, its form shuddering violently as the decay within it was stoked, the plague-like rot gnawing deeper into its body.

It let out a sharp, guttural hiss, but instead of recoiling, it leaned in, pressing its mutilated face close to his.

"More."

Aelius reacted on instinct.

His bloodied hand shot forward, fingers curving like claws as he raked them across its face. The moment his tainted blood met its skin, a new reaction exploded through its form, black veins webbing out from the impact, spreading like wildfire across its body.

Nameless staggered back, its body convulsing, but before Aelius could take advantage, it snapped forward, moving with that same unnatural speed, and,

SLAM.

Aelius barely registered the force before he was lifted off the ground and hurled through the storm, his body colliding with a ruined pillar so hard the stone cracked around him. His vision blurred, his skull ringing from the impact, but he forced himself to focus, his blood boiling with something fierce.

He pushed off the debris, spitting blood onto the ground as he stared at the figure emerging from the darkness. Nameless was twitching, its body warped and twisted, its movements jerky like a dying marionette.

It was hurt.

And it was still coming.

Aelius inhaled slowly, his tainted blood pooling at his feet like a living entity, his energy surging despite the pain. His cloak was gone, his body laid bare, scars and sigils carved deep into his flesh, his ashen veins pulsating with something far worse than sickness.

He grinned, rolling his shoulders, feeling the weight of the fight thrumming through his bones.

"Fine." His voice was rough, but steady, eyes glinting with something cold and cruel.

"You want more?"

He spread his arms wide, letting the storm drink in his presence.

"Come and get it."

The night was a symphony of chaos, the storm raging overhead as Aelius and Nameless clashed again and again, their blows sending shockwaves through the ruined landscape. Each strike from the monster was brutal and unrelenting, its attacks carrying the weight of something far beyond mortal comprehension.

Aelius moved on instinct, his body screaming with every dodge, every parry, every brutal counterattack. His corrupted blood coated the shattered ground beneath him, sizzling against the rain as he tore into Nameless with clawed fingers and writhing, festering energy. Rot blossomed where he struck, eating away at its unnatural form. But for every wound he inflicted, Nameless barely seemed to slow down.

It was playing with him.

Aelius realized that when its next attack didn't aim to kill but to break.

Nameless vanished, no warning, no sound, just a sudden absence of presence before,

CRACK.

A blow to his ribs sent him reeling, his feet skidding across the fractured stone as pain exploded in his chest. The force nearly caved his torso in, his breath leaving him in a ragged gasp.

Before he could recover,

CRACK.

Nameless was behind him, slamming its knee into the base of his spine, sending him flying forward. His body twisted mid-air, instincts barely allowing him to throw his arm up to block,

CRUNCH.

A clawed fist met his forearm, and the impact sent a sickening shockwave through his bones. He hit the ground hard, rolling across the ruined stone before catching himself in a crouch. His left arm hung uselessly, bones fractured, the limb numb with pain.

Aelius gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. His vision swam, but he refused to give Nameless the satisfaction of staying down.

It was already there.

The moment he lifted his head, black claws filled his vision.

BOOM.

The impact sent him crashing into a crumbling pillar, stone exploding into dust around him. He barely had time to recover before Nameless was upon him again, relentless, unstoppable, terrifying.

Another strike, he barely dodged. A swipe to the throat, he leaned back, rolling away, only for,

SLAM.

A knee to the gut.

A blow to the side.

A fist hammering into his jaw.

Aelius staggered, coughing up dark blood, before a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Nameless lifted him, holding him there effortlessly, its grip tightening.

"Too slow."

Then,

The world shattered.

The force of the next blow sent Aelius flying through the air like a broken doll. He barely registered the moment his body collided with the stone walls of the church, his form tearing through layers of stone and wood before,

BOOM.

His body hit the ground hard, debris scattering around him as a fresh wave of agony tore through his form.

Aelius wasn't moving.

Pain was everything. It crawled through his broken body like a living thing, wrapping around his shattered bones and torn muscles, suffocating him with every strained breath. His vision swam, the edges of his world flickering between hazy darkness and blinding clarity.

His ribs were jagged ruins inside his chest, every shallow inhale a fresh agony. His leg was mangled beyond use, twisted at a grotesque angle. His arm hung limp, useless. His entire form was battered, bleeding, and on the brink of collapse.

But when Aelius forced his swollen, bloodshot eyes open,

He saw them.

The civilians.

The prince.

Their faces frozen in horror.

The children clung to whatever cover they could find, their little bodies trembling violently, eyes wide with terror. Some sobbed loudly, their cries piercing through the suffocating silence, their tiny hands covering their faces as if doing so would erase the nightmare unfolding before them.

The adults were no better. Some backed away, too stricken to speak, while others stood paralyzed, their breath caught in their throats. Their gazes flicked between Aelius's broken form and the monster approaching through the wreckage of the church wall.

Nameless.

It stepped forward, emerging from the dust and debris like a thing born from nightmares.

It shouldn't have been moving.

Its body was still twisted, parts of its form bent in ways that should have rendered it immobile, and yet, it moved perfectly. Effortlessly. It rolled its shoulders, slow and deliberate, like a warrior warming up.

"More."

A fresh wave of fear rippled through the crowd. A woman let out a strangled gasp, clutching a shaking child against her chest. A man prayed under his breath, his fingers tight around a charm that had long lost its power.

The prince was ashen-faced, his hands trembling at his sides.

And the children,

A little girl with wide, tear-streaked eyes clutched onto her brother, her small fingers digging into his arm. When she opened her mouth, the only sound that came out was a sharp, terrified wail.

The boy beside her tried to shield her, but he was shaking so violently he could barely move.

Another child screamed.

Then another.

And another.

The entire chapel erupted in cries of horror.

And still, Nameless advanced.

"More, Slayer." Its voice slithered through the church like a serpent, smooth, unbothered. It tilted its head, mockingly.

"Entertain me more."

Aelius lay there, listening to the sobs, the fearful whispers, the sound of his own blood dripping onto the ruined floor.

The weight of defeat pressed against his chest.

He could feel his own body failing him.

He could feel death's hand reaching out.

And yet,

Not now.

Not in front of them.

With a shuddering breath, Aelius forced his fingers into the dirt.

The blood pooling beneath him stained his hands, seeping into his skin as he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move.

Nameless's footsteps grew closer.

"More."

A pause.

Then, slowly,

Aelius grinned.

A twisted, bloodstained thing.

"Alright." His voice was hoarse, cracked, barely more than a growl. But there was something dangerous behind it.

"You want more?"

His fingers curled into fists.

His body shifted.

His blood boiled.

The fight wasn't over.

Aelius Stood.

It was wrong.

His body had been broken, reduced to little more than ruined flesh and splintered bone, and yet, he rose.

The wet crack of his ribs resetting sent a fresh wave of nausea through the watching civilians. His snapped leg twisted, the fractured remains of his bones momentarily jutting out before something squirmed beneath his skin, dragging the pieces back together. His shattered arm dangled uselessly for a brief moment, then it snapped back into place with a sickening, visceral pop.

The crowd screamed.

A child collapsed into terrified sobs.

The prince staggered backward. His expression, once calm and composed, was now stretched into something that barely hid the horror beneath it.

But Aelius was no longer looking at them.

His breath was ragged, his vision still dark around the edges, but his mind was clear.

Nameless was watching.

It wasn't laughing anymore.

Aelius grinned. It wasn't the smirk of a man in control. It wasn't even a smile of satisfaction. It was something more primal, a graveyard grin, filled with the knowledge that he was far beyond what any of them could understand.

"You're enjoying yourself." His voice was a hoarse rasp, something raw and jagged. His fingers twitched, curling into a spell sign. "Good. Then you won't mind if I return the favor."

His blood boiled.

Not in metaphor, literally.

The veins in his arms blackened as something thick and unnatural surged through them. His body trembled, but it wasn't from pain. It was something worse. His very essence, his lifeblood, had turned to something unholy.

A spell that despite its divine nature could be considered a sign of the devil himself, A spell that to most should never exist.

Aelius let it.

"Plague God's Benediction: Virulent Choir."

He opened his mouth, and the world screamed with him.

A wail of pure, festering disease tore through the air, an unholy chorus of writhing, suffering voices that should never have been born. The church walls quivered. The stained glass warped then melted, the images of saints and salvation distorting into grotesque, gaping maws. The ground itself shuddered, thickening into a pulsing, maggot-ridden sludge that hungrily devoured the space around them.

And Nameless,

It staggered once more.

The entity that had torn through Aelius like he was nothing. The monster that had shrugged off the first Plague like a mere nuisance.

Now, its form shuddered violently, jerking like a marionette whose strings had tangled.

Its limbs twitched. Its body rippled, its twisted mass unable to resist the infectious, malevolent harmony that crawled into its very essence.

For the first time,

Nameless roared.

Not in mockery. Not in arrogance.

In pain.

Aelius advanced.

Each step forward left rot in its wake.

He was more plague than man now. His body boiled with sickness, yet thrived in it. His blood, his magic, it was not meant to be wielded. Not like this. Not so freely.

But Aelius had never cared for limits.

Nameless snarled, regaining itself.

Aelius grinned wider.

He lunged.

Nameless met him head-on.

The creature's twisted form snapped back into motion, its body a blur of unnatural speed as it lunged with claws bared. Aelius didn't flinch. His footfalls squelched against the rotting earth, each step leaving deep, festering wounds in the ground itself. The very air warped around him, thick with disease and something far worse, something living.

Nameless swung first, its arm stretching unnaturally, joints bending at grotesque angles as it aimed to rip through Aelius's midsection. The attack should have been too fast to react to. It should have torn him in half, again.

But Aelius was ready.

He twisted at the last second, the talons grazing his ribs instead of eviscerating him. A wound bloomed, but his flesh pulsed and sealed itself almost instantly, thick with dark, writhing tendrils that bound him together. He barely seemed to notice as he countered, his fist slamming into Nameless's chest.

The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air.

Nameless reeled, its body convulsing as the lingering energy of the Virulent Choir burrowed deeper. The spell was still in effect, still resonating through the battlefield like a sickening, ever-growing symphony. Every moment that passed meant more decay, more corruption sinking into the creature's essence.

But it wasn't enough.

Nameless barely took a step back before retaliating, shifting its weight unnaturally and launching itself forward with monstrous force. Aelius braced, throwing up an arm to block, but the sheer impact of the strike sent him skidding backward, feet carving deep trenches into the ruined ground.

The civilians still watching from the shattered remains of the church gasped. Some couldn't even stand anymore, their bodies failing under the weight of the lingering, festering aura that Aelius had unleashed. The prince, still on his feet, had his sword drawn, but his knuckles were white around the hilt. He knew stepping in was pointless.

Aelius, breathing heavily, rolled his shoulders. His body was breaking down faster than it could repair, but it didn't matter.

He could feel it.

Nameless was slowing.

The thing might have been powerful beyond reason, but it wasn't immune. The plague was inside it now. Not just on its body, but within it. Its movements were just a fraction less fluid. Its form, though still shifting and unnatural, had lost the perfect control it once had.

Aelius grinned, wiping a smear of blackened blood from his lips.

"Still enjoying yourself?" he rasped.

Nameless's head snapped toward him. A second passed, then two. Then, impossibly, it smiled.

"Yes."

Then it moved.

Aelius barely had time to react before a clawed hand slammed into his chest. The impact was like a battering ram, his ribs audibly cracking as he was sent flying backward. He hit the remains of a stone pillar, shattering it completely before crumpling to the ground in a heap. His body screamed in agony, but he pushed through it, staggering to his feet once more.

Nameless was already upon him.

There was no time to think. Aelius ducked, narrowly avoiding another lethal swipe, then retaliated with an open palm strike infused with festering energy. The blow connected, sending a ripple of decay through Nameless's form. Flesh peeled. Something deep inside it rotted.

But it didn't fall.

Aelius clicked his tongue. He was running out of time.

The Choir would only hold for so long before its effects diminished, and his body wouldn't last through another drawn-out exchange. He needed to push forward.

Nameless lunged again, its movements erratic but still lethal. Aelius met it head-on, his cloak long since discarded, his body wreathed in the pulsing corruption of his own magic. Their blows clashed in a furious exchange, flesh tearing, bones breaking, the air thick with the stench of blood and rot.

One of them would fall soon.

Aelius just had to make sure it wasn't him.

Aelius ducked low, twisting his body to avoid another sweeping strike from Nameless. The wind from the attack howled past him, the force alone cracking the broken stone at his feet. He retaliated instantly, driving his fist upward into the creature's ribs.

Nameless barely reacted to the impact, but the true attack was already taking hold. The moment Aelius made contact, a writhing sickness burrowed deep into Nameless's flesh, spreading like wildfire. Veins blackened. The creature's form flickered, distorting for the briefest second before solidifying once more.

It was working.

But not fast enough.

Nameless slammed its knee into Aelius's stomach. A wet, sickening crunch echoed through the battlefield as his ribs caved in further. The pain was excruciating, even by his standards. His vision blurred, but he forced his body to move, stepping back just in time to avoid a follow-up strike that would have taken his head clean off.

He needed something stronger. Something final.

Aelius inhaled sharply, pushing past the pain. His blood, his essence, was already flowing, thick with the corruption of his magic. His body was a walking plague, a living manifestation of decay itself. And yet… he had been using it passively. Inflicting wounds through touch, through exposure.

That wasn't enough.

Not for this.

His lips curled in a grin, dark and knowing. Fine. If the usual methods wouldn't break this thing, then it was time to embrace something worse.

He took a step forward, lifting his arm despite the agony screaming through his nerves. His blood dripped freely from open wounds, sizzling as it touched the ground. With a slow, deliberate motion, he dragged his fingers across his own torn skin, smearing the black ichor against his palm.

Then he spoke.

"Plague God's Benediction: The Offering."

The reaction was instant.

The air trembled. The ground beneath them split, dark tendrils of something vile slithering out from the cracks. The blood on Aelius's palm pulsed, once, twice, before igniting in a sickly green blaze. It wasn't fire. It was something worse. Something alive.

And Nameless felt it.

For the first time, the creature hesitated. Its body tensed, its head tilting ever so slightly as if recognizing the shift in the battlefield.

Aelius didn't give it time to react.

He moved, faster than he should have been capable of in his broken state. The moment he closed the distance, he drove his palm straight into Nameless's chest. The burning corruption of his own blood surged forth, sinking deep into the creature's body, weaving through its very being.

Nameless jerked, its body convulsing violently.

The plague took hold instantly. Unlike before, unlike the passive decay that had been spreading throughout their fight, this was something different. It wasn't an affliction trying to infect an enemy. It was a gift. A direct, force-fed blessing of corruption itself.

Nameless let out a sound. Not a scream. Not a roar. Something raw and unnatural, like an entire chorus of voices wailing at once. Its form writhed, its flesh boiling and twisting as the plague carved through it from the inside out.

Aelius didn't let up. His fingers dug deeper, pressing against the burning wound, forcing more of his own essence into the thing. He could feel its resistance. The way it fought, the way it tried to push back against the infection consuming it.

But this was his domain. His power.

And for the first time, Nameless was losing.

The creature staggered, its body flickering, breaking apart at the seams. Blackened veins pulsed under its shifting flesh, its form no longer stable.

Aelius exhaled, steady despite the agony wracking his own body.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "More."

Nameless shuddered, its smile, its ever-present, taunting smile, warping into something else.

A snarl.

And then, without warning,

It moved again.

Faster than before. Faster than even Aelius expected.

Before he could react, Nameless's hand shot forward, claws sinking deep into his side. Aelius barely registered the pain before he was airborne, hurled across the battlefield like a ragdoll.

He crashed through the remnants of a ruined wall, stone crumbling around him as he skidded to a stop amidst the rubble. Blood spilled freely from the new wound, pooling beneath him.

His vision swam. His breathing was shallow.

But when he forced his eyes open, he saw it,

Nameless, still standing.

Still burning.

Its body was breaking, its form deteriorating before his eyes. But it refused to fall.

It locked eyes with him.

And then it grinned again.

This time, something darker lingered in its expression.

"You almost had me," it mused, voice distorted, layered. "Almost."

Aelius growled, fingers twitching against the broken stone beneath him.

Nameless took a step forward. Then another. Its body still shook, still pulsed with the plague festering inside it. But it wasn't done.

Not yet.

Aelius grit his teeth, forcing his battered body to move. He could feel his magic still flowing, still surging through the battlefield.

The fight wasn't over.

Not until one of them was dead.

Aelius pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. He spat blood onto the cracked ground, his breaths ragged, but his eyes never left Nameless. The creature was still burning from within, its flesh twisting under the relentless weight of his plague. Yet, it did not falter. It did not yield.

Fine.

If Nameless wanted more, then Aelius would give it to him.

His chest rose and fell as he took in a slow, shuddering breath. The air around him grew thick with something vile, an ancient, festering sickness that carried the weight of death itself. His blood boiled, his veins pulsing with rot, and then,

He roared.

The sound ripped through the battlefield, unnatural and deafening. It was no mere battle cry. It was a manifestation of his power-given voice, Plague God's Bellow.

The very air warped under the force of it. The ground cracked as waves of virulent energy erupted from Aelius, a cloud of toxic miasma rolling outward like a living storm. The remains of the church groaned under the sheer pressure of it, and the civilians watching from the distance screamed in terror, clutching at their throats as the very breath in their lungs turned foul.

Nameless staggered.

For the first time, it truly staggered.

Its form flickered, its body resisting the corruption spreading deeper within it. The smile never left its face, but there was a shift in its posture, a fraction of hesitation, a moment of weakness.

Aelius lunged.

His body was broken, but his magic was endless. He was upon Nameless in a flash, his fist wreathed in decay as he drove it into the creature's face. The impact sent Nameless skidding backward, stone exploding beneath its feet as it fought for balance.

Aelius did not let up. He followed with another strike, then another, his attacks fueled by raw, unrelenting fury. Every blow left behind a festering wound, his magic carving into Nameless's shifting form like rust through steel.

The creature fought back just as fiercely. Its movements remained precise, brutal. Claws met flesh, and Aelius felt another rib snap, another wound tear open. But he did not stop. He refused to stop.

The two clashed in a whirlwind of destruction, the world around them crumbling under the weight of their battle. The ground beneath them blackened, rotting away from the sheer force of Aelius's corruption. Nameless's body flickered erratically, its form unable to maintain cohesion under the relentless assault.

And then,

Nameless moved differently.

It didn't strike. It didn't retaliate.

It stepped back.

Aelius snarled, moving to pursue,

But the creature simply raised a hand.

"Enough."

The voice was calm. Amused. But layered with something else. Something Aelius did not trust.

Nameless tilted its head, that grin widening once more despite the decay crawling up its throat. Its form was trembling, its body on the verge of collapse, but it was still standing. Still smiling.

"You are… entertaining," it mused, rolling its shoulders. "It has been so very long since I've felt something like this."

Aelius didn't move, his breathing heavy, his fists still clenched.

Nameless chuckled. "But not yet. No, not yet." It took another step back, its body already beginning to dissipate, breaking apart into nothingness. "We will have our fun again, slayer. And when that time comes…"

It grinned wider.

"I do hope you'll be stronger."

And then,

It was gone.

The battlefield was silent. The air was thick with the lingering stench of rot and sickness, but the presence that had loomed over them all had vanished.

Aelius stood there, his body trembling, his blood still dripping from his wounds. He exhaled sharply, the tension in his frame slowly easing. His magic burned within him, still seething, still craving battle.

But the fight was over.

For now.

He turned his gaze toward the civilians, their faces pale, their bodies still frozen in terror. The prince stared at him, wide-eyed, as if truly seeing him for the first time. The children still cowered behind their parents, their gazes flicking between the ruined battlefield and the blood-soaked figure of Aelius.

He took a slow step forward, and they flinched.

Aelius paused.

Then, without a word, he collapsed into a sitting position, his body finally giving in to the toll of the battle. Every nerve screamed, his limbs trembling under the weight of his own exhaustion. The sharp stench of blood and decay clung to him, his wounds still raw, still oozing sickness, yet he could already feel them shifting.

It was not a pleasant sensation.

His body resisted at first, as if reluctant to mend what had been so thoroughly broken. But slowly, the rot within him stirred, his own corrupted magic setting to work. Flesh twisted unnaturally, knitting itself back together in ways that were more functional than natural. Bones creaked as they realigned, snapping into place with grotesque precision. Torn muscle stitched itself back together, sinew crawling like something alive beneath his skin.

It was slow. Painful. And far from perfect.

Aelius exhaled sharply, his hand digging into the dirt beneath him as a wave of nausea washed over him. This wasn't the clean, precise healing of a god's blessing, it was something far worse. His body didn't heal so much as reform, a grotesque mockery of what it had once been. There would be scars. Imperfections. A reminder that he had been broken and forced to rebuild himself in the only way he knew how.

The jagged remains of his mask scraped against his fingertips as he ran a hand over his face, feeling the deep grooves where it had splintered during the fight. His fingers came away wet with blood, his own, though at this point, it hardly mattered. It mixed with the filth of the battlefield, the remnants of sickness and rot still clinging to his skin like a second layer.

The civilians still stared.

Wide-eyed. Pale. Some still clutching at one another, the children pressed into the folds of their parents' clothes, as if they could hide from what they had just witnessed. Some trembled. Some looked at him as though he were something else entirely. A monster barely distinguishable from the one that had just left.

Aelius ignored them.

His breathing steadied, though his body still ached from the abuse it had taken. The wounds were gone, his flesh unbroken, but the phantom pain of battle remained, weighing heavy in his bones. He would move soon. He had to. But for now, he let the silence settle. Let them watch. Let them wonder.

And then, he spoke.

"So," his voice was hoarse, rasping through the still air. "Still think I'm a hero? A knight?"

The question hung in the space between them, bitter and sharp.

Before anyone could answer, a flash of pale, sickly green light flared around him, rippling outward in brief pulses. The remnants of his broken mask crumbled away, disintegrating into dust as a new one took its place, settling over his face like a second skin. His cloak followed suit, materializing in a slow, crawling wave, like decay in reverse.

When the light faded, Aelius was whole once more, cloaked in shadow, hidden behind his mask, just as he had been before.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, hanging over the ruined chapel like a lingering fog. The civilians remained frozen, their eyes darting between the gaping hole in the wall and the cloaked figure who had impossibly pieced himself back together.

Then, suddenly,

A scuffle of small feet.

Aelius barely had time to process the movement before one of the children, a boy no older than seven, broke free from the crowd, stumbling forward across the bloodstained floor. His tiny frame trembled, and his wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Aelius with something that was neither fear nor horror, but something far worse.

Hope.

The child hesitated only for a moment before picking up speed, bolstered by some unknowable force, as if the weight of everything he'd just seen meant nothing compared to what he was about to do.

Aelius didn't move.

Didn't react.

Didn't even flinch as the boy skidded to a stop just a few feet away, looking up at him with all the certainty in the world. And then, in a voice that was small yet unwavering,

"Thank you."

Aelius's mind stalled, his thoughts momentarily frozen in place. He had braced himself for terror, for disgust, for more of those hollow, disbelieving stares. He had been prepared to turn away, to disappear into the night without another word.

But not this.

The boy's expression was unreadable, somewhere between exhaustion and reverence, like he wasn't quite sure if he should be afraid or in awe. And yet, the words had left his mouth without hesitation.

Aelius exhaled slowly, tilting his head just slightly. "Why?" The word came out quieter than he expected.

The child swallowed, then glanced over his shoulder at the other civilians, at the broken remnants of the chapel. "You… you fought it. You made it leave. You saved us."

Aelius simply stared at the boy, his masked face unreadable, the dim glow of his eyes flickering behind the lenses.

You saved us.

The words felt foreign. Unfitting.

Had he?

Was that truly what they thought?

He had barely survived. Barely held his own. He had not defeated Nameless. That thing had left on its own terms, with its own twisted sense of satisfaction. And yet, here stood this child, this tiny, fragile being, offering gratitude like Aelius had done something worthy of it.

It was almost laughable.

Almost.

Aelius exhaled sharply, something like bitter amusement curling at the edge of his thoughts. He lowered his gaze to the boy, studying him for a long moment before finally answering, his voice low, quiet,

"Don't thank me, kid."

The boy blinked, his expression faltering.

"You're still alive," Aelius continued, rising to his feet with a slow, deliberate motion, his cloak shifting with the movement. "That was a mistake on its part, not something I did."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The gratitude in their expressions twisted, shifting into uncertainty, wariness. Some eyes held lingering traces of fear. Others, suspicion.

Then a voice cut through the tension.

"You're wrong."

Aelius turned his head slightly, just in time to see the prince step forward, his once-pristine attire now stained with dust and grime. His face was drawn, weary, but his eyes held no doubt. He looked at Aelius, not with fear, nor with hesitation, but with something closer to defiance.

"You did save us," the prince said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "It doesn't matter if you didn't kill it. It doesn't matter if you think it left on its own terms. What matters is that we're still here. And that's because of you."

The murmurs grew louder. Some of the civilians nodded. Others seemed unsure. But no one spoke against the prince.

Aelius studied him for a long, quiet moment.

Then, slowly, he let out a breath, shaking his head. "Foolish."

The prince didn't flinch. "Maybe. But I know what I saw. And so do they."

Aelius said nothing.

The air remained thick with tension, though its sharp edge had dulled. The civilians still stared, but the raw terror had shifted into something else, hesitation, uncertainty, something unspoken hanging heavy in the silence.

Aelius exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the last traces of his body's repair settled in, an uncomfortable, crawling sensation under his skin. He was still drained. Still aching. He needed time to recover, but more than that, he needed his flask.

His gaze flickered downward, searching the ground around him, but it was nowhere to be seen. A tired sigh left him as he muttered, "Someone mind fetching my flask? It got knocked off me during the fight. The faster I recover, the faster we get out of here, "

"Oh, this?"

Aelius blinked.

She was already there. The pink maid.

Standing just off to his side, close enough that she hadn't just retrieved the flask, she had been holding it all along. She lifted it between two delicate fingers, her expression unreadable but soft, her painted lips curling into something just shy of a smile.

Despite the carnage around them, she looked untouched. Her uniform was pristine, her posture composed, as if the fight had been nothing more than a passing disturbance.

Aelius hesitated for only a moment before reaching out. When his fingers brushed against hers, he noted absently how cool her touch was, not unpleasant, just… unexpected.

He took the flask with a quiet nod, rolling it between his hands. "Appreciate it," he said, his voice rough but genuine.

The pink maid tilted her head ever so slightly. "You really do make a mess of things, don't you?"

A short huff of laughter left him. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's told me that."

With a sharp flick of his fingers, he uncapped the flask, the familiar scent of poison greeting him as he took a deep drink. The burn spread through him instantly, curling through his veins like an old friend. The dull ache in his body faded, his mind clearing with every drop.

Better.

He lowered the flask, exhaling slowly. "Still," he added after a moment, "thanks."

The pink maid simply smiled. "Of course."

Aelius took another slow sip from his flask, letting the thick, venomous liquid course through his system. The familiar burn spread from his throat to his limbs, awakening his senses, forcing clarity back into his battered body. His bones no longer ached as much, the lingering discomfort from his regeneration starting to dull. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

With a quiet sigh, he capped the flask and pushed himself upward.

Pain flared through his legs as soon as he shifted his weight, a sharp reminder of just how much damage he had sustained. The healing had done its job, knitting together torn flesh and shattered bone, but his body was still adjusting. Still remembering what it was like to be whole again. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers before clenching them into fists, testing the responsiveness in his limbs.

First, his arms. No stiffness, no fractures left behind. His fingers obeyed, fluid and precise. Good.

Next, his legs. He shifted his stance slightly, distributing his weight, testing for any weak points. His right knee twinged, nothing serious, but noted.

Finally, his core. He took a slow breath in, feeling the stretch of his ribs as they expanded. No stabbing pain. No unnatural shifts. His body had pieced itself back together properly.

He exhaled, satisfied.

The quiet around him still held weight, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The civilians remained rooted in place, their eyes still locked onto him with that same mixture of fear and uncertainty. Some had shrunk back, their instinct to keep their distance overriding whatever gratitude they may have felt. Others simply stared, as if trying to piece together what, exactly, he was.

Aelius ignored it. He had been seen as worse.

Instead, he turned his attention to something far more pressing. He scanned the group, his gaze sharp beneath his mask. "Did anyone get touched by my magic?"

His voice was even, but there was a warning in it, something firm, something expectant. The Plague God's power was not kind to those who were unprepared for it. Even the smallest trace could fester, could rot, could linger where it was least wanted. And while he had contained it to Nameless, the battle had been chaotic.

Accidents happened.

The civilians stiffened at the question, some instinctively checking themselves as if they hadn't even considered it until now. Nervous glances were exchanged. A few shook their heads quickly, clearly eager to reassure themselves.

But he wasn't looking for words. He was looking for signs.

His gaze swept over them, sharp and assessing. No visible corruption. No darkening veins, no unnatural patches of decay, no telltale scent of rot creeping into the air. His magic was distinct, if someone had been affected, he would know.

Still, he waited.

"…No," an older man finally said, his voice wary but steady. "We're fine."

Aelius studied him for a moment longer before giving a short nod. "Good."

Another beat of silence.

Then, without another word, he stretched out his arms, rolling his shoulders as the last remnants of tension left his body. His magic had done its job. His body was functioning. The civilians were unharmed.

For now, that was enough.