That Which She Left Behind; An Origin Story

[Good for Nothing Captain]

OOC: This should be read after 'Honor, Glory, and Mercy.'

"It's been long enough. . ." Blonde hair blew in the wind.

Alder stood in a guard tower, his arm resting on the frame of a window. "This war... so much pain, so much suffering... I won't let it be for nothing. My friends are dying left and right, while those 'noble' bastards gets fat in their palaces. . . And what of the church? Those sanctimonious insects parade through the lands, spewing venomous dribble. Deluding the masses into bowing to their corrupt order. It's their fault, she's gone, and she can't be replaced. . . That tether which kept us grounded, kept us safe and pure. They tore my world asunder, and I'll never forgive them. . . Any of them. Even that senile fool can't see his sin. He deludes himself into thinking he can make up for his part in all this by looking after our group. I see the way Edward is around Victor."

The blonde man let out a long stream of smoke, lowering a long thin pipe, "I don't understand him... Raukorad... Why do you walk with that indifference, why aren't you angry, why aren't you gnashing your teeth. Why don't you want roar at the heavens and drag them into hell... Why aren't you like me? ... If there is any hope for redemption, I'm well beyond it. The black beast of retribution is the only thing left here. Before I'm done I will burn their order to the ground and rout out the useless scum that contaminates this land. I will-"

"Yo," A deep voice sailed in from the shadows of the stairwell.

"Hello Petey," Alder Whitemane sighed, emptying his smoking pipe. A long tubular piece of wood gleamed in the midnight light. Metallic clinks came from a gray metal bowl and mouthpiece that held the brown, elegantly carved wood.

"It's not Petey, it's Peter," came a practiced response from the dark-elf, sliding a black leather glove through his short, spiky, silver hair. The hair moved back then bounced forward to settle just above his brow, as it always did.

"I was just admiring the view. There's a beautiful moon out tonight," Alder sighed, holding his pipe out for the mage to light it after he finished packing it.

"I'm not a torch, I'm Peter," the dark-elf said calmly joining his friend by the window. Alder turned to a torch hanging from the wall beside him and lit the tobacco. "I have always wondered where you found that strange looking thing."

"Ah," Alder nodded, inhaling the smoke deep and blowing it out in a thin line, "one of my favorite places. A town called Akashima. It's called a Kiseru."

"I wonder if I might find time to go there," Peter thought, the bright moon reflected in his sky-blue eyes, "I wanted to get one for Commander Edward, on his birthday."

At that the blonde man let out a chuckle, "Yes, both you and Victor. . . No, all of us, even Asher and Leslie," both men winced slightly at the names, "we have all come to see that man as a father. It's disturbing."

"I disagree," Peter countered, "I think both he and Rose as cut from the same cloth, as the saying goes. Like soul-mates that never made it to each other."

"Do you really think such a thing exists?"

"What? The soul?" Peter turned to look at the green-eyed man, but sleek blonde locks covered the profile of his face.

"Yeah," Alder let out another cloud of smoke, blowing a few rings after it.

"I do," Peter turned, starting his walk towards the stairs, "it's the only way I can explain how he keeps going. That red devil." Peter chuckled, "him and that dirty, dim soul of his..."

"That's too bad.".. Alder sighed another puff of smoke, "I don't think I can do anything about it then, about this black soul of mine."

"If you talk like that," Peter walked to the stairs, stopping at their top, "you'll become nothing more than a beast."

"I think I would be okay with that... I don't want or need anything to protect... I just want to destroy everything I can. . . until this beast stops whining. . ."

"Alder. . . Just what are you-" Peter began, as the smoker turned.

"Here Petey," the green-eyed man began, taking out a bottle of milk, "fresh from some of the best cows this side of the world."

His sights seemed set on something far away as he handed over the bottle. But as the blonde man walked past, Peter felt uneasy; as though pressured by Alder's craving to kill. The sharp green eyes walked down the stairs, smoke running up the side of the wall before it vanished.

"Don't go where we can't follow. . . Comrade."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The rickety door of the outhouse slammed closed against its frame, before swinging back, half open. One hand on his stomach, the red-eyed man who emerged gave the world an unconcerned look. His jet-black hair fell over his eyes before he brushed it to the side. Spending time on the front lines gave each man practice cutting their own hair. Victor Valentine had picked up a knack for it, mastering the technique for preservation messy, medium-short hair style.

From the shadow of a tent several meters from the toilet, a pair of eyes stared intensely at the man. The form could sense the similarity, the fury bubbling under a thin layer of apathy. It could smell one of its own, a beast itching for a chance to cut loose and rage on the battlefield. A pair of dainty nostrils flared as a hand came up to guard a nose,"His dumps are revolting. . ."

It was two years since the young man had joined the Royalist forces in the war against the Church of the Ethereal Sway. Many battles took place over the years, not all victorious.

Victor lost two of his orphan brothers in two assaults, losses which still weigh heavily on his soul. Leslie, a massive Skavian barbarian fell protecting his men from mages. Before the two fireballs burned him alive, his weapons flew through the enemy ranks; killing at least a dozen troops.

Asher, the right hand of the Commander was slain in a raid on a Church base. His men were cornered, and the red haired Urdonin used himself as bait to draw the enemy away. He gave his life, setting fire to the enemy stronghold; taking a bulk of the enemy force as well as his own life. Both times Victor raged, plowing through the enemy and recovering the bodies of his friends. In the heat of battle and fire, Victor carried his friends while fighting his way out.

After the deaths of his precious friends the war seemed to drag. Months blurred together and it did not seem as though they were making any progress on the front. The twin brother and sister, Nadi and Nathan, were convinced to return home and help protect the small orphanage.

The struggle between life and death never ended for the red-eyed warrior; returning to camp meant returning to training under Edward Valerian, Commander of the eastern army. Only recently had their sessions taken a backseat to the war effort.

"I knew that milk was bad," Victor sighed, his breath visible. Cleaning his ear with a pinky finger, the man began to walk, "fucking Alder."

The air in the camp had become arid and cold as winter grew harsher once more. Victor had never disliked the cold, but fighting a war in frostbiting temperature was a different matter. Weapons flayed skin off bones if not cared for properly. Armor broke and limbs were amputated when men were careless. Victor stood in the cold afternoon air, his linen shirt, darkened by careless disregard, rustling in the wind.

"Lieutenant," a soldier nodded as the red-eyed man walked by. With outstanding achievements, it did not take long for Victor to ascend the military hierarchy. Unlike the rest, however, the red-eyed Lieutenant never took on a group of his own.

He made his way into the smithy, breathing out as the hot atmosphere warmed his bones.

"Just in time!" Torain Waraxe bellowed, before the sound of clanging metal filled the tent. The old dwarf seemed never to leave the tent, or change: his craft was his life. A long piece of metal glowed as the hammer pounded away at it. But once the tending stopped, and the metal cooled, the blade regained its dull luster.

"Tony!" the dwarf yelled, "cloth and sheath!" A young human boy, tall and lanky, approached the smith master holding a cloth and black scabbard. The two worked quickly together, cooling, wrapping and wiping the weapon. Tony approached the red-eyed man with the scabbard and wrapped blade, a long, guard-less grip and a pommel set with a dull silver gem stuck out.

"I do believe you've grown since I last saw you," Victor said, comparing his height to the boy's with his hand, moving from one's forehead to the other's.

"Master Torain says I will have to help from outside soon," the boy laughed, smiling, "or raise the roof myself."

"Not surprising, that old midget needs a ladder to reach the bar, after all-" Victor meant to continue before a black hammer slammed into his stomach.

"Slipped," the dwarf said, in a tone just above a whisper, "sorry."

"Why do you only whisper when you lie?!" Victor yelled, kicking the hammer, "shitty old dwarf!"

"The only shitty one here is you!" Torain bellowed in return, "if you keep treating 'The Bastard' with such abandon, I won't have the time or materials to fix it!"

Tony shrank into the distance, as the two men exchanged colorful insults in several languages; including dwarven. Victor sheathed the Bastard and hung it off his waist, to the left. The red-eyed man left after giving a tentative thanks.

It had been weeks since the last time Victor saw battle, and even longer for a lot of the soldiers. Tensions were high, anyone could tell.

"Yo," a deep voice called, "Victor. Did you have a bad reaction to the milk Alder got? Because I have been in the latrine all morning..."

"Hey Petey," Victor nodded, joining his friend in a nearby tent.

"It's not Petey, it's Peter." The dark-elf said with desperate finality.

"So any news from Edward or Boris?" Victor asked, propping himself up against a wooden support beam, in an imitation of Peter.

"They still have not returned from their trip to central command. The commander sends word however, 'I leave the men in your capable hands, be sure they don't kill each other from anxiety. -P.S. Victor, stop calling Peter, Petey.- Commander Valerian.'"

"Damn, Petey, looks like our work's cut out for us," Victor whistled.

"It's not Petey! It's Peter!" the dark elf yelled, turning to punch the red-eyed man. But Victor already stood behind him, arms crossed.

"I see the Commander's training has been paying off," Peter sighed, "that was pretty fast..."

"Or you're getting fat."

A vein pulsed on the smooth forehead of the silver-haired dark elf. "I knew it," he raised a trembling fist, "you wanna die, don't you. Just ask for it, go ahead. I'll send you straight to the top of the stairway to heaven!"

"Why does the Commander always give us the hard jobs," Victor moaned, walking away from the tent.

"What do you propose we do?" the dark-elf joined.

"It's simple," Victor said, picking up stick from the ground, "we play stickball."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Half the front gathered at the empty field not far from the encampment. They spread out far, knowing that some in the crowd could easily clear the whole field with their strength.

"Listen close!" Peter spoke, his voice was clear, and amplified by magic. He stood atop a watch tower with a box of papers, different names scribbled on each. "This is the only ball we could find! Since apparently, no one here can sew, we need to take extra care not to lose or break it. Now then, if you are all ready..." A dark hand disappeared into the box, "Richard Mc'Hartt!"

His scarred face and bald head stood out as they made their way through the crowd. "Hah," the old soldier scoffed, "just watch! I'm not going to lose out to you wet pups!"

Taking the stick in both hands, he readied his swing. When the ball was tossed, Richard stepped in, twisting his body to send that ball flying. Easily clearing half the field, the ball was finally caught before it could bounce into the forest. Cheers erupted and the men began shuffling about, anticipating the next name.

"Ninety Points!" the dark elf's hand disappear into the box and a small slip appeared, "Alder Whitemane!"

Cheers tore through the air as the blonde man made his way through the crowd. His green eyes were clear and focused. Resting the stick in the armpit of his black shirt, he wiped his hands on the dark brown leather pants he wore. Taking his position, the stick was cocked in the air, a wave of apprehension falling on the crowd.

It was rare to see the alder-eyed warrior in action, as his reputation for planning and killing in stealth had been widespread. His eyes surveyed the field filled with players, then the tree line. With a nod, he signaled his ready.

The pitcher hurled the ball with full speed, and the blonde man met it head on. The sphere beamed straight into the crowd, bouncing from face to face, burning a path of destruction across the field. The orb never lost speed, and after dozens of men lost consciousness and were dragged from the field, it disappeared into the forest.

An audible sigh resounded when the death-ball had passed, but it was cut short by a roar. A massive black bear charged from the woods and began chasing the men. Working together, eight men managed to subdue the beast.

"Fucking sadist," Victor murmured, standing behind Peter.

With serious eyes and a hard voice Peter announced, "Three Hundred Points!!"

"What the hell kind of scoring system are you using?!" Victor yelled as Alder re-joined them, smug as always. Cheers were yelled from all the men, while others checked on anyone injured.

Reaching in again, the dark-elf read the name mechanically, "Petey the Dark-elf!"

A silence befell the crowd, while Victor and Alder snickered in the background. Flames erupted from Peter's fingers and the two friends jumped to the sides. After Shooting more spells and being convinced the message got across, Peter took another name from the box, "Victor Valentine!" the dark-elf yelled with a scowl.

The charred red-eyed man made a slow trudge for the stick, cursing under his breath. His lazy glare bore into the pitcher. Sharp eyes eating away at his confidence.

Victor held the stick in one hand, letting it rest on his shoulder. The pitcher began to sweat, wiping his furrowed brow. He felt a suffocating killing intent, he found himself unable to move. With a smile, he thought of the wife he left at home. Closing his eyes, for a moment, the man made peace with his fate.

With a roar he threw the ball, putting more strength and intensity into this one movement than any other in all his life.

Without so much as a blink, without any change in his apathetic expression, the red-eyed man's arm moved with blurring speed. The stick he held shattered into a hundred little pieces. The ball flew into the air, higher, faster and farther than any eye, even Peter's elf eyes could see.

A gasped expression found its way to every person who stared into the sky, except one.

Victor stared, a hand on his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. He could feel the eyes digging into him as sweat began to flow freely from his head. More and more people turned to look at the nervous man who stood motionless at the batter's mound.

"Sure is a beautiful day," Victor laughed, before another stick hit him over the head.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The men played until the moon rose again, enjoying the escape from the everyday madness of this calm before a storm everyone knew was coming. Everyone banded together as brothers and sisters in arms, finally given the chance to blow off steam. Each man let the strain of a war, with no end in sight pour out of them like beads of sweat.

"So I figured I would use the opportunity to train," Victor explained to a group of soldiers.

"I see!" one cried, "that's the Lieutenant for you!"

"So that's what it takes!" another agreed, the whole group broke into awestruck admiration of the red-eyed soldier. The men slapped each other and the rowdy group set to laughing and sparring, off into the distance.

"Decided not to tell them about the group of huge bears chasing you?" the bartender asked, passing another glass of mead to Victor.

"They didn't need to know," he sighed.

A bright yellow moon rose over the main camp as various men sat under the massive tarp of the mess hall. Alder and Peter were busy entertaining groups of men with wild tales of battles, honor and glory. They encouraged anyone to join and share.

The tired red-eyed man sat over a mug of foaming mead, trying to relax at last. From the shadows, two orange eyes stared at the man, taking measure of his every movement.

The predator moved in silence, in a world all its own, outside the noise and commotion of the unruly soldiers. With careful, calculated steps the form approached. Keeping to the shadows as long as possible, it neared its unsuspecting prey. Victor raised his glass, letting the crisp liquid cool his throat.

One black leathered foot at a time, the figure stepped from the shadows. Trying to keeps its presence unnoticed, the body weaved in and out of crowds, keeping out of the red-eyed mans line of sight.

Hidden behind a balding oaf, just to the right of Victor, the shape waited. The moment the glass mug hit the table, liquor sloshing within, the balding oaf yelped. A blur went by and launched itself at the red-eyed Lieutenant. With movements of a well practiced machine, the from grabbed the mug flipping through the air and landed on its feet.

A triumphant laughter echoed in the tent as all conversations stopped. A young girl, no older than twelve laughed unabashed. Holding the mug in the air, she started to drink. Shock in her eyes, she looked through the bottom of the mug, its empty content reflecting her hollowed heart.

"You're a thousand years too young to steal my drink," Victor sighed, whipping the corners of his mouth.

The shock in her eyes multiplied and she took a step back ". . . such alcohol drinking prowess! And I was so close to tasting my first mead!".

Laughter bubbled, and an ear shattering cackle erupted from the young girl.

"Very good!" the girl laughed, "I accept!"

"Accept?" Victor began, looking curiously for the first time at the girl.

"To join your team!" she pointed.

The five foot tall girl's light brown hair fell down to her waist. The crowd watched tentatively as her flowing hair revealed the battery of small knives strapped all around her body. Fastened to her back was a short metal pole, brightly reflecting dim torchlight from a blade at its end. An orange handkerchief, tied around her neck, flared up as the girl chewed on it.

Clad in black clothes, every step shook her gear, metal clinking inharmoniously. Her striking orange eyes betrayed her youth, as men shuttered and shifted out of her way.

"I don't have a team," Victor sighed, turning away from the girl, a familiar uncaring expression finding its way to his face. The girl moved swiftly, jumping atop a stool beside the red-eyed man.

"Well DUH," The girl mocked, sticking her tongue out, as they both motioned for a drink, "I just got here. Now, what about our name?"

"Hey, kid," Victor snapped, as a beer and a glass of milk were placed in front of them, "I told you, I don't have and don't want a team. Just leave me alone and go bother someone else, or your parents."

"Who do you think you're talking to?!" the girl yelled, "I'm not just some brat suckling its mom's teat! My name is Elizabeth Day! (Eliza to my friends) And I'm a retired assassin!"

"Aren't you a little young to be retired?" Victor asked, drinking his beer, "Come to think of it, aren't you a little young to be an assassin? or in a war?"

"Bite me!" she yelled, as murmurs began to fly, followed by a burst of laughter. A man with piercings in his ears, nose and brow, laughed in the corner. A small looped earring in his nose bounced with each chortle.

In an instant, the orange-eyed girl turned, her hand moving with impressive speed. Two daggers flew through the packed bar, each finding its home on the wall, pinning an earrings to it. Both Victor and the pierced man turned in surprise, silence falling over the crowd once more.

"See! I'm the real deal! You and me can-" Eliza laughed, turning to the red-eyed man who was no longer there. "What?! Where'd he go?!" she yelled, turning to the bartender.

"Think he left," the barman said, unfazed by the girl, as he cleaned the glass.

Eliza gulped down the milk, giving chase to Victor through the hall which opened up to her charge. The cicada's song filled the night air while a light mist hid the road. Eliza's footsteps drowned out the indistinct chatter that still clung to the air. Catching up to the red-eyed man made her slow her pace.

"So, where are we going boss?" she asked, looking ahead, crossing her hands behind her head.

"I'm not your boss damn-it!" Victor yelled, turning an eye on her, "just go find a ball and play with it or something!"

"Hey!" Eliza yelled, cutting ahead and barring the red-eyed soldiers ways, "I may be a cute and innocent young maiden, but I've been trained by 'The Circle of Blades' since I was born!"

"That's all well and good," Victor groaned, "but why the hell would I want a violent girl like you around!?"

Before another word was muttered, six daggers found their home around the soldier's outline. Dread finding its way to Victor's expression a nervous smile teetered across his lips. Hair sailed to the ground from where the daggers cut it. Victor made to move when the girl took the pole from her back, spinning it around to point it's blade at the Lieutenant.

Holding it out in front of her, the tiny spear barely reached two feet. A whisper sent light shooting up the length of the javelin, making it grow until the blade pressed into Victor's throat.

"Whoa now little princess," Victor gasped, scratching his neck, "No need to act rashly."

The red-eyed man gripped the wall, pressing himself into it. The bright orange eyes of the little assassin burned into him.

The scene was broken by a whip of reigns and the whine of a horse. A supply cart bore down the misty path recklessly, rounding a corner just a few feet from where the altercation was taking place. Victor started to move, reaching for the young girl who stood staring at the horse.

Before he could grab her, Eliza lifted a hand, staring into the eyes of the charging mare. The horse could sense its death in the young girl. It neighed, writhed to avoid the small form the wagon flipped over and spilled its content. Victor stared, baffled at the young girl who displayed such impressive ability.

Eliza set the spear onto her back as it shrank, turning back to Victor.

"What kind of man does nothing while a little girl is in danger?" she asked, taking her daggers from the wall.

"Well I'm just a boy at heart. . . Besides," Victor scratched his neck, "around here we don't call a girl who can stop a charging horse with one hand a 'little girl.' We call her a mountain bear."

The icy stare returned, as Eliza pulled the last dagger from the wall. She pressed the flat of the blade to her cheek, staring into Victor's red eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow, boss."

"Right," Victor laughed nervously, "first thing in the morning."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

A tall woman was silhouetted by an enormous blue moon. Her white dress blew elegantly with the playful wind. She almost hovered on the ground, like an angel visiting the world from her heavenly throne. A soft smile parted her shadowy face like a shifting curtain. Her radiant eyes glowed blue, mirroring the moonlight. The young boy, no more than fourteen, stood mesmerized, his red eyes anxiously staring at his savior.

Victor's body felt heavy, like an immeasurable burden was weighing him down. As though the world was an ocean, the red-eyed boy inched forward. With every step the woman seemed to shift further away.

Her hand went up in an attempt to reach the boy. Victor raised his own hand but the distance only increased, like the world itself was pulling the two apart. The ground vanished and the boy began to fall. A muffled scream died in his throat and despair took hold of him.

A twenty year old boy hit the ground hard. Black hair fell over his eyes like vines covering his burning red eyes. Black forms, clad in bones pinned the boy down, driving his face into the muddy soil. The white angel walked away, grounded, hands bound in iron towards a demonic priest.

The unholy ceremony was devoid of sound, but defiance roared within the red-eyed man. He struggled free, racing towards the woman like an unleashed beast. He fought with his bare hands and feet against the unholy horde that rose from the muddy depths to defy him. The forms were ripped apart but still the distance between the woman and the boy grew.

The angel turned, blessing the red-eyed devil with another warm smile. Her face grew brighter, illuminated by a moon turning red. The color washed over the world like spilled ink on a page. Victor screamed but only soft echoes bubbled forth as the woman's smile hovered just out of reach.

The demonic minister unsheathed his blade, sharp needle-like teeth twisted into a wicked smile. His featureless black face mocked the red-eyed boy. The earth split between them, stopping the boy at the mouth of a hellish abyss. He could only stare with wrenching despair as the woman was dropped to her knees. She spoke to the child, but the words never reached his ears. The silence was torn asunder as the sound of a head hitting the dull earth echoed through the world.

Victor's screams woke him from the dreadful slumber. He rose quickly, tossing aside his covers like they were on fire. His sheets, soaked in sweat stuck to him and dropped to the floor when he swatted them away. The cold night air kept most men fully dressed, even in their sleep, but the red-eyed Lieutenant barely felt the nip. His breathing was rapid but his eyes were fixed on the full moon, high in the sky.

"Boss..." a hesitant voice sailed from the top of his tent. "You were-"

"I'm gonna take watch," Victor cut in, "make sure my tent is in order when I get back." Without another word, the man dressed and walked away. Eliza dropped down from her nest and stared anxiously at the departing soldier.

"Yo," a deep voice came from around the tent. The dark-elf emerged from the shadows in his usual black robes.

"What's 'yo?'" the blue eyed girl asked indifferently.

"It's a greeting I made up," Peter said with a hint of pride in his voice, "it's going to be a thing."

"Not likely, it's stupid." Eliza sighed uninterestedly.

"It has barely been a month, but you are like a smaller, scarier version of our Victor," Peter scolded while the orange-eyed girl picked her nose in defiance.

"I see his disgusting habits rub off on people like the snot you pick at," the dark-elf remarked, running his hand through his short silver hair.

"Can I help you with something," Eliza turned, flicking off a booger, "Peter?"

"It's not Peter, it's Petey-oh, wait, never mind" Peter corrected himself. "I see he is still having his nightmares."

Eliza stopped picking up the damp sheets and looked at the drow expectantly.

"Hey," Peter, answering her stare, began, "I'm not sure it's my place to say-"

A dagger whistled through the air, pinning the fabric of his shirt to a beam. "Who's Rose?" Eliza asked.

A pained look flashed in Peter's eyes for only an instant, but the orange-eyed girl caught it. Victor was nowhere to be seen, so with a reluctant sigh the dark-elf waved his hand, producing a plush velvet couch. He sat down, patting the spot next to his with a soft lavender hand. The girl ran energetically to his side and plopped into the seat like an excited toddler.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"It was. . . long ago," Peter spoke softly," that I met Victor. To us, Rose was, among other things, a teacher. . . and a savior. She saved children from broken homes, war- torn villages and even slavery. She gave anyone she could a warm bed and a safe home. She meant the world to me- to everyone. But she probably meant the most to Victor."

"You were an orphan too?" Eliza asked with a child-like innocence unbecoming of an assassin.

"Yes," Peter smiled, "we were a big family, but we took care of each other. Rose kept us strong, she held us together. We raised crops, tended livestock, it was a proud and noble life. . . a good life."

"So why the hell are you guys even here?!" Eliza protested, throwing her hands up, "why are you guys doing this? Why enter something where only death keeps you company?!"

Peter stopped at the sudden outburst, taking in the young spitfire with a curious gaze. "Are you sure you should not be the boss of your duo?" the drow chuckled.

"Just tell your story!" the orange eyed girl pouted.

"Yes, boss," Peter gave a slight bow, "we were a happy family. But good things come to ends. Seven years ago. . . The church found their way to our small backcountry. Tensions were high enough as it was, and they demanded refuge. Rose took them in, like anyone in need. And they ravaged our family. . ."

Anticipation filled the eyes of the young assassin. She waited like an elk, sensing the hunters arrow. But the strike never came. Peter took time collecting his thoughts, deciding how best to continue.

"It did not affect us all the same way. The eldest set their sights on vengeance, steeling themselves for war. A few younger ones stayed on the farm with some people to protect them. Most of the rest disappeared, going on to walk different paths. I came here to change this world, from a war-torn no-man's land into the safe home I once knew. But the rest have their own reasons."

"What about Victor?" the girl's sheepish voice asked.

"You're going to have to ask him that," Peter sighed, standing. Eliza rose to join him and the couch vanished in a puff of purple smoke. The cloud rose like the smolder of a dying flame, rising slowly into the sky before a cold winter wind stole it away.

The camp was quiet, nary a whisper filling the air. The dim glow of the moon and stars gave the roads a ghost-like shine. The pair watched for Victor, but the red-eyed man was still wandering the cold paths of the camp, lost in the labyrinth of his mind.

"I have work to do," Eliza said suddenly.

"Yes, I suppose you do," Peter confirmed, starting his own path into the dull luminous night.

"Hey," the orange-eyed girl called, "I don't plan on letting anymore of you die. So don't go running off without me."

"I suppose that will be up to your boss," the dark-elf chuckled.

The silence was shattered like glass by the feverous beating of wings. A small form burst from the tops of the tree tops like a bat out of hell. It flew frantic zigzags in the night sky like tracing the lines of a spider's web. Trapped in a seemingly endless dance as if driven by an unseen force.

Victor watched its dance from atop the highest watchtower. His unconcerned stare traced the haphazard trail the creature left. He leaned against the frame of a window, arms folded for warmth. White breath left his lips like light clouds of tobacco smoke. The lazy puff floated up like a rolling cloud, disappearing into nothing. The bat made a few more circles before diving back into the tree top, disappearing as though it was swallowed by a beast.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Edward sat in a passenger carriage, rocking with the road. The horses pounded the ground, pushing on, making their way through the dead forest. Under the yellow moonlight the forest look especially sinister, trees sticking from snow like tombstones. The knight Commander sat in the padded, plush interior, his head resting against a glass window on the door. He stared at the letter in his hands, still shaking in disbelief.

The road from the war council was long. Winding through dead forests and abandoned hills to avoid any enemies. The horses had been charging for most of the day, but still the driver forced them ahead. The news was urgent, the look in the man's steel-blue eyes said as much. The letter bobbed in his hands, ruffling with every bump.

"Those bastards... to keep such a thing secret..."

The note was crushed in a gray steel gauntlet. His other hand propped up his head as it turned to looked out of the carriage window. His hair had more gray then when he'd first met Victor. The years on the battlefront, loss of friends and stresses of military high command had begun to take their toll. The face reflected in the window no longer had the youthful glow it once did. Lines and creases multiplied, a stark contrast to the fire in his eyes.

Hours went by, as the blue-eyed knight went over everything in he'd heard at the meeting. The revelation shared at a table in the middle of the night. The dread that fell on the room as wide-eyed stares looked to each other for confirmation; that they were not the only ones thinking the truth crazier than fiction.

"Denebriel..." Edward sighed, "I can't believe it."

His eyes closed, letting the rocked and noise of the carriage put his mind to rest. He let the white noise wash over him like a wave, but the cold of Salvar's long winter kept him lucid. As the tired knight drifted to sleep, his thoughts turned to his red-eyed protégée, and the brothers of blood and iron who fought together for so long.

"I need to tell them," he thought, electing to place his hope and trust in the young men that have proven their strength and loyalty time and time again.

"We are close... The end is finally in sight." That thought opened the door to sleep, something Edward Valerian rarely got in the past few years.

An awful groan signaled the opening of the massive black gate. The carriage trampled the dirt road as the sun rose over the horizon, illuminating the driver's path. Soldiers stirred, going about the morning routine. No one paid any attention to the speeding cart, thinking it to be another supply run. Only towards the end of its journey to the middle of the encampment, the large blue tent where the commander held his quarters, did rumors begin to fly.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Victor stepped out of his tent with a yawn, stretching his body out. The red-eyed man twisted left and right, sending out a flurry of pops. A gurgling stomach broke his morning routine as the indifference in his gaze scanned the encampment.

"Did you at least bring the boss some food?" the drifter sighed, not meeting the orange gaze that came from above his tent.

"What kind of friend would I be if I hadn't?!" with a low flip, Eliza handled the plate of food masterfully, not letting a speck drop. With a proud laugh she handed the breakfast to her boss.

Victor swallowed the contents of the plate in moments, before giving the plate back to the girl. The soldier began to walk, Eliza in tow.

"Anything new while I was out?" the red-eyed man asked, nodding to a group of soldiers he passed.

"Tony ripped a hole in the top of the smithy tent, Torain put him to work raising the top. Peter was running his troop through a gauntlet of magical tests. Alder was brooding in a tower smoking that weird thin pipe of his. . . Oh, and Commander Valerian returned to the front hours ago, he's in his tent waiting for you," Eliza spoke with militaristic rigidity.

"What?!" Victor yelled, turning to face the girl, "start with that next time!" he yelled, running back to his tent to snatching a package and burst into motion towards Edward's tent.

Victor's pace through the encampment was reserved, but even still, he blurred past a multitude of startled soldiers.

Entering the large blue tent proved hazardous as the two guards attempted to halt the charging man. At first only reacting to a perceived threat, upon recognizing him, they moved their raised spears out of the way just in time for the Lieutenant to fly past. The inside of the tent was cluttered with tables, papers and bookshelves that Victor narrowly avoided crashing into. His momentum finally stopped at a gathering around a table.

"I see my absence has not improved your timing," a soft voice called, as the group parted. Victor's gaze met Edward's and at once the Lieutenant saw the stress and tension of the situation. But a disarming smile warmed the features, putting the red-eyed man at ease.

"My underling has a problem with priority," he shrugged. This provoked a look of shock from most of the people. Edward was the first to break the silence with a hearty laugh.

"I never thought you would be one to take on followers," Edward began, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"I wouldn't say' took on,' as much as 'was threatened into'," Victor sighed, handing the man a wrapped package, eliciting a confused look from the elder knight.

"Didn't you have like, a hundred birthday's already?" Victor asked defensively, "you should know about gifts."
Edward unraveled the packaging and removed a vibrant blue cloak. A look of overwhelming gratitude filled his expression. His eyes watered slightly, as though this had been the greatest gift he had ever received.

"I thought your armor was a little too dull for a Commander," Victor explained, looking away, "who wants to follow some shitty dull armor into battle?"

"I think we should get back to the topic at hand," Alder cut in, "we were just about to send for you. Now then, Commander Valerian, what is it that was so urgent you needed to leave the front?"

"Yes," Edward began, laying his cloak carefully atop his bed, tension returning to his face. "This concerns the Church of the Ethereal Sway. In fact, it concerns the entire war and us along with it..."

The Commander motioned for everyone to join him at the table. Victor, Peter, Boris and Alder stood scattered among a group of soldiers that held high rank. The map of Salvar Victor had seen on the day he joined the army, spread out on the surface.

"It would seem," Edward began, pouring himself a steaming cup of tea, "that we have all been deceived. Not just the Royalist forces, mind you, but the Church army as well... The leader of the church... This, 'Saint' Denebriel is none other than the wretched creature that brought this awful winter to all of Salvar during the War of the Tap." A shudder ran through the group, gazes of confusion and panic crossing everyone's faces.

"Yes," Edward continued, sipping from the porcelain cup, "the situation is much worse than we originally thought. Fret not, there is hope. A group of powerful mercenaries has banded together, their goal: destroying Denebriel and ending this war once and for all."

"Great," Peter began but was cut off by the boisterous dwarf.

"What's great?! We'll be miss'in all the fight'in then!" his powerful fist pounded the table.

"Now now, Boris," Edward assured, "there's plenty of fighting to be had here. I would seem, that the caravan we stopped two years ago, and many of the ones we have stopped since, were all going to the same place. Our spies tell us that there is a radical sect of the Sway that hold a fortress not too far from here. We have never seen it because it is shrouded by very powerful magic." the man explained, taking a sip of his tea.

"It would seem... That they are loyal only to Denebriel, as her elite guards. And chatter from the enemy suggests they are preparing something sinister. We don't have all of the details, in fact 'sinister' is pretty much the only thing we know. . ." Edward paused, then turned his eyes on the group, "that, and talk of 'Haidia.'"

At that, even Boris shivered. Haidia, the home plane of demons who ravaged the lands long ago was known by all.

"If Denebriel seeks to open the gates again," Edward continued, taking another sip, "the whole world might once more suffer the terrible blight of demons. Our orders are to infiltrate the enemy stronghold, ascertain their intentions and burn them to the ground..." The old knight waited for the troops to settle down, the men around Victor and Peter chattered anxiously.

"Our plan is simple. We have located the base from the routes of the supply caravans. We will take the bulk of our forces here. Petey," Edward called the dark-elf over after pointing to a place on the map surrounded by forest.

"It's not Petey, it's Peter," the dark-elf corrected mechanically.

"Yes yes," Edward replied dismissively, "you and your men will focus on taking down the shroud, but not all at once. First, we will need to send a splinter force in. I have been told it will take time to drop the entire barrier for the main force, but you should be able to send a small group in without raising too much attention. Can we count on you to do that?"

"I will need a moment to inspect the magic, but I do not think it will pose much problem," Peter nodded.

"This," Edward remembered, taking a piece of cloth from another desk and laying it atop the map, where the fortress had been marked, "is the insignia of their sect."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

A silence befell the four friends as they stared, un-blinking at the small rag set in front of them. All four recognized it instantly and a powerful killing intent fell on the tent.

"That's-" Peter began.

"Of all the-" Boris added while Alder stared, with beast like eyes, in silence.

"Damian," Victor snarled, his hair standing on ends.

Edward recoiled at the revelation, "The man who," he tried to say.

"Who took Rose from us." Peter acknowledged, the first to regain his composure.

"I volunteer to be the Vanguard," Victor called suddenly moving around the table.

"I think this will require more than your dry abilities," Alder countered, moving opposite Victor towards the table. "Send in me and my men, we know how to infiltrate and sabotage."

"You also know how to lose a fight against large numbers," Victor mocked, while Boris tried to interject his own rage-filled comment, but was once again stifled.

"If we must fall, for this plan to succeed, so be it," Alder answered without hesitation, "but we will definitely stop whatever magic they are intent to use."

Before the red-eyed man could respond a gentle hand from Edward restrained him.

"You will both go," Edward said with finality.

"What about me!?" Boris cried finally, unable to restrain himself.

"I need you to lead the assault with me. Look, we must prevent their plan, whatever it is, at all costs." Edward assured the group of soldiers, "but I am not prepared to lose good men when I don't have to. As long as it is possible, I would rather give my own life before I let my precious comrades fall."

Victor stared into the unflinching eyes of the gray knight, knowing full well the gravity of those foreboding words.

"You'll become a useless old man if you talk like that," Victor sighed, easing Edwards stare.

"Very well," Alder gave in, "try not to slow us down," sending a fierce look Victors way.

"Only if you can keep up," Victor responded with a look ferocious look of his own.

Hours went by as the camp prepared for battle. The red-eyed man sat in his tent, arming himself with Royalist steel armor and The Bastard on his waist.

"Boss!" the orange-eyed girl cried, "are you ready for the battle yet? Everyone will leave without you!"

Victor finished fastening his steel breastplate and began checking the rest of his armor. He said nothing to the young assassin.

"Boss?" Eliza said again, concern in her voice.

"I want you to stay Elizabeth." Victor used her full name, his tone implying no room for an argument. Eliza did not notice.

"What?!" she rebelled, "but this is our first mission together! I have to show my skill!" the girl argued, pulling out two dagger and jumping into a battle-ready stance.

Victor stood, walking past her without looking her way. His indifferent stare looking toward the gathering troops.

"This is not a fight for kids," he said, "just stay here and make sure no one takes my stuff. If anything is out of place there'll be the devil to pay."

"But-" Eliza made to argue, but the Lieutenant turned, baring his red gaze into her.

"That's an order," he said harshly, "... Please," his tone softening, putting a gauntleted hand on her brown hair, "please just do this for me."

Eliza stared into his sad eyes, an uncharacteristic smile formed on Victor's face. With a nod she conceded the futile argument, plopping down on the red-eyed man's bed.

"Make sure your dirty ass doesn't leave a mark on my sheets," he added, already turning onto the dirt road, "I hate sleeping in filthy sheets."

"You're ass is a million times dirtier than mine!" Eliza yelled out, "... Make sure it stays in one piece..." she whispered.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The red-eyed Lieutenant made his way through the rank and filed troops standing in front of the gate. Silent signs of acknowledgements shot out from the faces and nods of the men who had for so long fought alongside him. Indistinct chatter filled the air with an uneasy tension. The plan had already been passed out to the troops, but no one liked going into a situation like this. Most knew the strength of the church mages, few had seen it first hand, everyone feared them.

The sun hung hesitantly in the grey sky with dark clouds swallowing the horizon. The air weighed heavy with the taste of rain even the dirt began to soften in anticipation. Clouds of breath from hundreds of soldiers rose up in an asymmetrical rhythm while Victor joined his brothers and Edward atop a low stage.

Alder stood smoking his Kiseru off to the side, while Boris and Peter discussed something in whispered tones. The blonde-haired man wore a new sword off his waist; equal in length to the Bastard but with a slightly curved blade and an ebony stone set into the pommel.

The chatter ceased when the knight stepped forward. He stood for minutes, staring out at the crowd. His cool blue eyes scanned the faces of the men, letting their fear and anxiety sweep over him like a wave. His breath came out in a steady cloud that rose gradually until it vanished. His armor dull, from years of fighting and little care was a severe contradiction to the blue cloak which hung from his shoulders.

"I know you are all tired," the grey-haired knight began, using his thumb and forefinger to message the bridge of his nose, "Gods know, I'm tired as well. This war has been hard on us all. We have all paid a great cost to stand where we are. Those who call themselves your rulers, the noblemen who sit behind whilst you bleed and sweet, most of them will never know the depth of your sacrifice. We have all seen so many of our friends perish and so much blood spill before us."

"But today marks the end of an era," Edward's voice starting to climb in volume, "we march to battle today with the knowledge that the Ancient Evil, Denebriel will soon fall. We march together with those brave men and women who would take on the scourge of our existence! We march together, side by side with men and women who would lay down their lives for each and every one of you!" the crowd began to stir as each man and woman acknowledged each other.

"We may be separated by distance, but our cause is the same! Each of you has forged a bond of solidarity and brotherhood. You may be the foot-soldiers of this army, you might not think anything noble or knightly about that. But there is more to being a knight than shiny armor and a title! It takes heart! Loyalty! And a dedication to a code you have all lived by for as long as this war has raged! Fight not for the nobles! Fight not for this land! Fight for your own code of Chivalry! Fight for the soldier on you right! and the soldier on your left!"

And so the army marched. As one.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The ground thundered with the rhythmic steps of fighters marching to battle. Pebbles shook and fell out of their places on the ground. Forest critters scattered in the distance, knowing well not to get close to the force. The clouds marched as cover with the troops, sweeping over the lands like a dark army all its own.

Lightning raced to the ground on the horizon, but the thunder came as a muffle. The dirt was dry, crunching under the feet of each man who stepped on it. Twigs broke and rocks flew, wings fluttered, departing in the distance. The group at the head of the soldiers was clad in dark leather, black hoods drawn over their features. The first of them still smoked the long, straight pipe.

"I hate this," the red-eyed man moaned walking next to his dark-elf brother.

"Be patient," Peter reminded, "you will have you share of violence when we go loud. But until then, follow Alder's lead and-"

"I hate that too!" Victor cut in, his indifferent stare moving towards Alder, "I can't stand taking orders! Least of all from him..."

"Have you noticed...?" Peter began, looking at the Lieutenant, "he hasn't been the same. Well, none of us have, not since Rose. But now, in the last four years or so..."

"What?" the burly dwarf asked, knocking between the two friends.

"Just talking about personal space and how dwarves don't understand it," Victor sighed.

"Oh and who do ya think ya are?!" Boris laughed slapping the two on their backs, "don' ye be tellin' me yer gettin' nervous! With all of us together there's no force in this world that can stop us!"

The bulky dwarf laughed as he made his rounds through the ranks, keeping moral up was easy for a personality like his. Peter and Victor exchanged glances then started laughing themselves.

"Idiots," green eyes looked back through light smoke, "can they really not understand the significance? This is the moment we've been waiting for. There can be no doubts, these last eight years have led up to this. This is our chance to take the power into our hands. Our so called allies just sit back in their seats and let strangers take their retribution for them. . . I won't let anyone take that right from me. Not after the things I have had to do. . . A devil asks for a lot when he makes his deal. . ."

Edward watched from atop his horse, his gaze fixed on the four friends. He watched Victor speaking with Peter, Boris running through the crowd and Alder, lonely at the front. He recognized how similar all four men were. He could see that same spark inside them that could only have been fostered by their adoptive mother.

The tired eyes of the gray knight looked up into the heavens, trying to divine some guidance. Some assurance that he would not have to watch another one of them die. Flashes of cradling the cindered corpse of Asher made the old Commander cringe. He had seen enough of these children die; Edward steeled himself, his eyes regained their youthful fire.

"I don't care what it takes," he thought, letting a gauntleted hand slide to cradle the revolver holstered to his leg, "I won't let another one of them die."

"Hey! You still alive?" Victor's voice brought Edward back.

"Yes my boy," Edward smiled, "I'm still alive."

"Good, it's nowhere near time for you to go yet. I still plan to be bored by many-a lecture." Victor's red eyes stared ahead indifferently.

"Then how about one now?" Edward asked, taking the Lieutenant's silence as license to preach.

"My father, on his deathbed said a lot of things to me. . . I guess he had been trying to pack a lifetime of parenting into his last moments. . . Not all of it made sense to me at the time, some of it still doesn't. But just the other day, I worked out one of his many words of wisdom."

"It was one of the first things he said, when I told him of the war and my trip back home. He said to me, 'a person's life is like carrying an enormously heavy burden while walking a long road. It is best not to rush ahead too quickly. . . there's no need to rush." Edward smiled as Victor looked to him to continue, "he who accepts it as natural for life not to go exactly how he wants it to, will not feel dissatisfied. Rather than doing too much, it is fine to leave things undone. When managing others, give full reign to their good points and overlook their weak points. Those people whom are truly dear, who care for you, will pick up where you left off; as I hope you will pick up the slack of this tired old man and help him toward honor and glory."

"That's. . . Kinda lame. . ." Victor sighed, drawing out a hearty laugh from the Commander.

"I'm not surprised you think so," Edward admitted, "you haven't begun to look back just yet. But I assure you, us 'old men,' can certainly relate. I know it is asking a lot, but. . . When I pass-"

"You can tell me all about it back at camp," the red-eyed man interrupted determinedly, "and then you can lecture me all about how reckless and foolish my young ways are."

"Very well," Edward gave in, "let our minds focus on the task at hand then."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The song of the forest grew quiet under the invisible shadow of the Church barrier. All life shirked away from the oppressive magic that cloaked the fortress. In the gloom of twilight the Royalist army moved, magically prevented from making any noise. Subtle moonlight lit their path from between the heavy clouds. Tears fell from the sky, as though the world foresaw some great tragedy to come.

A rocky green cliff gave cover to an expansive force, who hid in its shadow, not far from the obstruction. Edward's ground force hugged the rock face while the archers set up on its peak. All sound and conversation halted in anticipation of Peter's magic, letting only the soft melody of the rain fill the void.

The dark-elf's eyes entered a thermal realm, discerning any heat source in the area. After hours passed and night fell, the time was upon them. Edward knew the guard's posts and routes from what Peter had seen. When the time was right he gave the order; Peter went to work quickly and elegantly weaving his spell. Alder and his nine men stood ready with Victor in the middle.

"The plan is simple," Alder whispered, his green eyes almost glowed under the moonlight. "There is only one guard with eyes on this spot, and in less than a minute he turns around. Take him out, break for the door and I'll get us inside. From then on we have until sunrise to find and sabotage the enemy strategy. By then Petey-"

"It's not Petey, it's Peter!" the dark-elf explained, before getting cut off by the red-eyed man.

"Keep your voice down!" Victor hissed.

"Peter, will have finished his preparations and along with his group of mages will tear this barrier down and fire-bomb the structure. This goes without saying. . . But if anything goes wrong, if you are caught, we acted alone and there is no plan." Alder said gravely.

"That's right," Victor confirmed, "if all this goes to hell, just go ahead and leave this shitty blonde bastard behind."

Nine chuckles broke out, letting the nonchalant attitude of the Lieutenant ease their angst.

As though an invisible curtain had been pulled apart, the barrier shifted. Alder and Victor were the first to move as a wind blew past them, daring them to cross behind enemy lines. Eleven blurred forms crossed the threshold before it shut in on itself. Leaving an intrigued Peter, a concerned Commander and a few terrified troops who saw what awaits.

Reports of a stronghold were severely understated as the colossal structure imposed itself on tiny vanguards. Within the magical barrier the rest of the world seemed surreal. Like looking through a body of water, the outside world blurred, a myriad of esoteric colors painted the landscapes.

Moonlight turned purple inside the barrier, swirling together with golden raindrops that did not pass through the barrier. A classic castle was the object of infiltration for the forerunners. A massive stone wall glowed with reflected purple and gold light, winding in a circle around the stronghold. Quivering wood towers stood uncertainly along the massive rock wall. Beyond the fortification and towers was the solid stone complex, connected to the massive wall by several sky-bridges. The mere sight of it might have filled the soldiers with a dreamlike dread: if they had seen it.

The race was on. Alder and his men brandished blades which reflected the surreal glow inside the dome.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Keeping watch in a tower seemed a redundant task to Andrei. If the barrier broke the whole complex would know about it. But getting an opportunity to stand at one of the highest points in the complex was rare for a new recruit. The unnatural light from the outside world was a constant reminder of the magnificence for which he signed up. The Church of the Ethereal Sway held dominion over the control of magic in the lands. Becoming a witch hunter was his goal; and Andrei would do anything to achieve it. When the war was over, and Saint Denebriel reigned as sole sovereign over the lands of Salvar, Andrei knew his time would come. This war was just training, nothing could happen at this holy ground while the true believers in Denebriel's cause were here.

"Father Damian asked to see me after this shift," Andrei remembered, "I will make him proud with the progress I've made. My mastery over the arcane arts and their suppression cannot be rivaled!" A smile broke unto his face as his eyes fastened upon the effervescent moon, "I will-"

An icy, metal knife finished the thought. Alder cut slowly, letting the blood flow freely from every inch of the cut. Muffled by Alder's hand, gurgled cries of dissent spoke for the dying watchman.

Taking the body with him, the green-eyed man disappeared from the guard tower. The initial breach took moments, and Alder acted with the sinister precision of a practiced executioner. His earnest odium pushed forward with inhumane speed killing anyone in its path.

In the cover of darkness a complex lock was picked. A feigned indifference remained stoic on Victor's face.

Purple and gold light made adjusting to the darkness of the compound difficult. The hallway seemed endless in the shadows with distant torchlight giving a hint to its dimension. The group of eleven hugged the wall, waiting for a call to action. Alder took small folded map out from the dead guards body, gotten after the group went through. The blonde man gave the command to move out, his men moving professionally low and stealthy under the cover of darkness. Their goal was the sky-bridge, the only covert way into the stronghold the map could show.

Uneven stones riddled the hallway, deformed further by the flicker of a far off torch. Alder raised a hand to halt the advance, bending low to inspect a thin wire. The light did not illuminate it, only the well trained eyes of the saboteur helped. His men eyed the work admiringly, his deft hands made quick work of the trap.

With another signal to advance the group took off once more into the darkness. A nervous sweat broke on Victor's brow while he smiled anxiously from the end of the group. Hugging the wall for dear life was the only thing the Lieutenant could think to do, trying to stay out of the way. Infiltration of the quiet kind was not his forte and getting the group caught or killed this early was a constant fear for him.

Heavy steps came from the soldier ahead of Victor. The man seemed less graceful than the rest, and with a careful eye Victor observed the crew.

There did not seem an abundance of cohesion between them, as each man checked and rechecked the same thing. The red-eyed man looked to Alder, who fell behind while the rest pressed forward slowly.

"So you guys have done this kind of thing before," he whispered, "right?"

"No, I've never seen them before in my life," Alder looked ahead, " my last team died in a mission three weeks ago. Edward assigned them to me a few days ago."

"You know," Victor sighed, "you have a remarkable way of inspiring confidence."

A few meters and many disarmed traps later the group paused around the corner of a stairwell. A dim orange light filtered in from beyond sight but the party paused momentarily to adjust to its light.

One man, a bald tattooed fellow, begin checking the steps for wires and pressure plates. Alder and Victor stood around the two corners with the rest of the group, waiting for confirmation. With a grin that revealed a chessboard of missing teeth the man gave the signal. His first step was heavy with confidence, which was antonymous to the confused look on his face as the rung sank into the ground. A dozen darts hissed out of an opening in the stair at chest level, dropping the man instantly.

Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth as a subtle spasm moved his form until he moved no longer. Victor's hand put pressure to his neck, confirming the stunned looks from the rest of the men with a soft shake of his head. The red-eyed Lieutenant closed the eyes of the dead man before shooting an angry look to his green-eyed friend.

Alder was busy checking the rest of the stairs for anymore traps, missing the glare. His indifference to the death was clear, the mission took priority. He stepped light, moving fluid up the stairs and motioned for the rest to follow. The group ascended in morbid silence.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Green eyes peered around the corner of the turning staircase for signs of life. Burning torches lit the expanse of another long hallway; but the threshold of the sky-bridge was just opposite the stairwell. Footsteps and whispered voices danced through the silence, while Alder attempted to discern an opportune time to move. A wave his hand set the group to action as they blurred past the corridor into the long bridge.

Several windows let in the eerie golden-purple light which seemed to flow from one to another like rivers. The group had no intention of stopping as they raced down the span of the stone bridge. One look out of a window showed many patrols spaced out along the blue-green grass making rounds.

But one look was all that was given as an unearthly sound ripped through the air. A roar shook the very foundation of the complex and a terrible red flame engulfed the threshold they passed. There was no time for the terrible realization to sink in. Red light filled the passageway, drowning out the golden-purple light.

"Dragon's breath!" Alder shouted, "make for the other side!!"

The heat was unbearable. Victor could feel his skin burning as if he'd spent hours, unprotected, under a harsh Fallien sun. He could see each man running with everything they had. There was no time to look back but the red-eyed man's curiosity got the better of him. With a sideways glance he saw the horrible flames rushing after them like a giant, hungry serpent.

"This is stupid!" Victor cried, picking up speed. He flew past the men running ahead of him.

"What the fuck does that matter?!" Alder yelled, "Just shut up and run!."

"No!" Victor barked, "this is stupid! This is so stupid! I hate clichés! I'll be damned if I get killed by a cliché!"

"It's okay boss!" one of the men cried, "I'm sure we'll just make it if we run fast enou-" but his words were broken by a horrible scream as the flames devoured him.

"Holy shit!" Victor protested "he didn't even finish! Fucking inconsiderate fire!" And as though on cue, the flames exploded forward, driving faster toward the group.

"I'm the main character, I can't die! Right?! Don't let me die!" Victor recited in his head.

"Hey! Don't be so selfish!" a long haired man cried. "We are all main characters in our own stories!"

"Don't read italicized words without permission!!" Victor yelled as the group neared the end of the road.

A long corridor spelled salvation for the sprinting men. One by one they rolled to the sides, missing the wall by inches without breaking their momentum. Victor watched as the last man missed the cue, falling short of the safe hallway. His hand went out before his head could think. A steel grip held the fallen soldiers collar as the flames drew near.

Red eyes glowed in defiance of the fire, daring it closer when a small hand pulled the Lieutenant aside. Orange waves of flame broke against the dark stone, singeing it to a charcoal black.

"Don't worry boss," chest puffed and grin spread, "I got your back!"

Eliza stood above Victor, whose red eyes were shut tight expecting death. One red eye opened and the Lieutenant rolled a terrified soldier to the side. He stood and eyed the girl menacingly.

"What?" the orange-eyed girl cried, "I just saved you! If I hadn't followed you there'd be a red-eyed splatter all across that black wall!"

"Thanks," Victor sighed, "you don't have to defend yourself."

"Did you see that look?! It said, 'defend yourself!'" Eliza yelled, but shouts from all around them cut the familiar chat short.

"There's no time," Alder cut in, running past the two. "We need to move, that trap will have woken the dead."

The group broke into another sprint, this time into the dimly lit halls of the main complex. Alder ran ahead, map in hands, turning a corner. The group ran up a narrow stairwell which came out into an identical dark hallway. Consulting the map proved impossible as a blade came down in front of the green-eyed man.

Alder deftly moved around the sword but another cut the map he held in two. The two guards moved in for another attack but a booted foot put a head into a wall and a fist, closed around The Bastard, knocked the other unconscious.

Victor stood before Alder, his back to the men coming up the stairs. "Go," the red-eyed man smiled, "I'll hold them off and lead them away."

"Hey! There's no time for heroics here!" Alder protested but Eliza's hand stopped him short.

"Don't worry youngster, we'll take care of these whelps," the orange-eyed girl scolded.

"I don't want to hear that from a child!" Alder yelled, but more shouts came from beyond a corner. Torches flickered and filled the corridor with amber light as the enemy approached.

"I'm no good at all that sneaking around," Victor sighed, scratching his head with a free hand, "But if there's anything I'm good at it's going wild."

Alder looked to the remaining seven men and a nod from each of them told him he was outvoted. Red and green eyes met for a moment and then the group was gone.

"You sure you can handle yourself?" Eliza asked.

"I don't wanna hear that from a child," Victor mocked as the two broke into a sprint down the hallway. A group of soldiers turned the corner to a dual roar that broke out as the charging pair terrified the unsuspecting men. Enemy blood spilled in a flurry of flying daggers, boots and blades.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Far-off battle sounds echoed through the halls behind the covert group. A descending staircase led the way deeper into the complex. Scores of guards passed by the shadows which hid the Royalist soldiers. With no map to guide them, Alder's intuition led the way. Once the men had gone the group moved to another shadow like serpents. Snaking through the castle proved simple enough, the red-eyed distraction did its job well.

Hushed voices made their way to Alder's ears. A hand from their leader stopped the Royalist group's advance as they all listened anxiously. Two robed figures moved through an empty hallway like ghosts, both wearing the insignia of Denebriel.

"So what will we do about the sacrifice then?" one man asked the other.

"It is not yet clear what high priest Damian has in mind," the second began, then added with a chuckle, "there arethose two intruders that made their way in. . ."

"Yes," the former agreed with glee, "our troops may not be very competent but surely even they can capture two people."

Their laughter broke off as another robed priest rushed to join them.

"They have taken out two battalions!" he cried.

"What?!" the first man exclaimed, "Just two people!?"

"Denebriel guide us!" the second man prayed, "is the 'father' calling us to action?"

"Yes," the third man confirmed, "we are to join in the ritual room and prepare the calling. That will surely draw them in and then we will have them."

"That's Damian for you," the second man remarked, "he may be the youngest high priest we've ever had but he is no less capable."

"That is indisputable, yes, but I was still surprised that high priest Haiten would abdicate so quickly," the third man added. "But I suppose when you get called to the side of St. Denebriel you don't ask questions. Come," he motioned, remembered his task, "let us go." He started around a corner, leading the other two into a bright passageway.

The brilliant light broke the usual darkness as Alder peered the corner, following the priests. The maze-like passageways seemed to converge at this central hall. Green eyes stared down the length of a heavy, plush carpet which stretched the length of the long passage. The lights no longer came from torches, but magical stones nestled in braziers of ornate metal. Two large and highly wrought, iron doors slammed shut as the three men disappeared.

"Damian. . ."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

A mounting yell echoed through torch-lit halls. Under the crescendo, indistinct shouts and orders sailed in all directions. A closed fist around a sword broke the nose of a church guard who came round a corner. His comrades drew their blades but it was too late; a horizontal slash cut down the first and a vertical slash silenced the second.

Victor moved with relentless force, cutting down any enemy who crossed his path. His roar did not yield as he sped down the hallways. Church troops chased the sound, in a scuttle to cut off the intruder. The red-eyed man passed into an intersection only to receive a booted kick to his head. Before the killing blow from a dagger struck, Victor instinctively threw up his own blade in defense. Two orange eyes burned in defiance before relenting their furious gaze.

"Oh, boss," Eliza raised an eyebrow, "what are you doing here?"

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Victor yelled, rubbing his wounded temple. "I told you to stay behind me! Where the hell did you go!?"

"I can't keep up with a devil like you!" Eliza protested. "It's your own fault!"

Before the red-eyed Lieutenant could respond a slew of voices and lights rushed towards the pair. Eliza drew blades, ready to fight, when a hand pulled the girl away by the neck of her clothes. The two flew down the expanse, running past corridors and soldiers alike. Blades swung down at the man who dodged deftly. From the ground, being dragged, Eliza launched daggers at their pursuers, hitting the vital area of anyone foolishly enough to step into her line of sight.

His blind sprint could only last so long, as a squadron of soldiers rounded a bend not too far away. Victor readied to spin on his heels and make for another corridor but the only thing he saw were more torches shifting their lights in his direction.

"Ready to fly?" Victor called out.

"As I'll ever be," the girl countered, an eager smile playing across her face.

Victor's pace did not slow, as the group approached. Without a sound, he launched the orange-eyed girl as far as he could, making sure not let her hit the ceiling. His own speed increased exponentially in order to use the distraction to its fullest. The red-eyed man's blade pierced the chest of its first victim as another group of soldiers closed the pincer from behind.

Three blades rained down from above, as Eliza continued to sail through the air. Her legs worked feverishly, kicking out and running along the faces of wide-eyed church soldiers.

"Out," she thought, pulling the short spear from the sheath on her back. With a whisper the weapon stretched, flying towards its target like a falcon after prey.

The last man of the group fell first, before Victor could land his strike. The spear ripped flesh from the socket of his eye as Eliza twisted to face the men she had just passed. As the Lieutenant claimed his victim, a unified howl broke out from either side of the group. While the three church soldiers contended with the knives sticking from their bodies, their blood spilled and their lives ended.

The two Royalist soldiers moved in opposite directions, cutting through the remaining fighters. With some of the church forces dying on the ground, and more approaching from various directions, Victor and Eliza held their ground. Back to back, the duo stood weapons in hands, ready to face their foes.

A battle-cry broke the silence as a soldier barreled around a corner, weapons in hand. Eliza moved quickly, stopping his advance with a rock shattering kick to that tender area between his legs. Her follow-up was swift, spinning on her heals and using the momentum to crash the butt of her spear into his jaw.

Victor charged past her, leaving the orange-eyed assassin to take care of any enemy that came from the other direction. Boundless fury welled in red eyes as Victor burst forward. His blade bounced off stone like a rhythmic gong, sending its reverberations throughout the hallway. The church soldiers fought futilely, in stark ignorance of the force they opposed.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

One man swung feverishly, no rhyme or reason behind his attacks, only a frantic instinct to put anything between himself and the beast that charged towards him. A similar fear took hold of those who held their ground. On hearing a rallying cry approach, the church soldiers moved with renewed unity; using their numbers to put up a defense.

Careful as he tried to be, Victor could not avoid killing the soldiers. After moments, three men laid dying in a pool of their own blood while the red-eyed man and his clothes were dyed in similar scarlet layers. A small form crashed into his back, the orange-eyed girl seeking an ally in her own mêlée. When one enemy fell, another obedient church soldier took his place.

Victor's raw power and Eliza's deft hands stood little chance against such overwhelming odds. As if attempting to kick a dog while it was down a terrible noise cut through the air. Eliza dropped to one knee, covering both ears in a futile attempt to muffle the sound. A blade was quick to exploit such an opportunity, and the church soldier wielding it foamed with bloodlust.

Eliza looked up in time to see blood spilling from Victor's side. The sword only nicked the flesh, but the bleeding had an effect. The red-eyed man clutched his ear with one hand and a the Bastard with another. He plunged the blade under the man's chin, letting the blood spill down upon him.

The deafening noise called out again, like a dying banshee. Victor grabbed his bleeding side and used his other hand to paint a frantic defense from an onslaught of attacks. Moving expertly, the Lieutenant worked himself between the enemy and Eliza, his body was a shield where his sword could not defend. Little cuts appeared all over his body, like mosquito bites.

The Bastard rang out, clashing against the steel of other blades. His sword was lifted in protection of someone else, but there was no fear behind it. The conviction to help his comrade fueled the Lieutenant's fire, letting him move with more speed and power than before.

With a growl he pushed forward, grabbing Eliza. A small ball fell from the orange-eyed girls hand, rolling along the floor. In an instant, an explosion of smoke filled the corridor. Victor thanked the fates again for the young girl's resourcefulness.

Raukorad burst into a new corridor passed two men, who fell like rag dolls. There was no time to observe his direction, only one thought fueled the Lieutenant; protecting the life of his friend. As though on cue, the terrible noise filled the warrior's head once more, as though calling him to its source.

His eyes were drawn to an unusual light from one of the many halls which riddled the labyrinth, unnatural and beckoning. The red-eyed man took a hard turn, followed closely by another, finding himself in a regal lobby. White stones hovered over ornate braziers like weightless flames with a single shape. Upon seeing the imposing door barring the end of the hall, Victor launched Eliza forward like she was a throwing a pillow.

"Get the door!" Victor yelled, spinning on his heels to face an advancing enemy. The trail of blood, he realized, led the enemy right to him. And the loss of blood did not do much to help his endurance.

Eliza went to work feverishly, her hands blurring like the wings of a hummingbird. Victor stood at the ready, blade in hand, to face any who came around the corner.

Three men rounded the corner punctually, the first of whom received a well placed kick to the crotch. Blades sang in the air as the red-eyed man moved under, around and above their attacks. With a measured pause, the Bastard took its victims. One man's chest was pierced and the other's torso was cut diagonally, blood painting the walls. On hearing the approaching forces Victor heaved the man clutching his unmentionables and tossed the man into the darkness of a hall. The clatter of blades filled the air coupled with the groans of writhing soldiers.

"I'm done!" Eliza cried, collecting her tools and propping herself against the entry. Within moments the Lieutenant slammed into the gate beside her. With a heavy heave the door groaned, against the force of Victor's push, like a dying animal.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The pair spilled out into the room, each ducking behind one of the thick stone columns that ranged the outer perimeter in a circle. Victor wanted to cross to the next column but the distance was too great. Whispers were exchanged from the center of the room and when Victor looked to Eliza he realized she had already vanished. Only now did Victor realize how much skill the young girl had, to not only shadow them but breach the walls with them without being noticed.

A red eye peeked from around a column, black hair falling around it like a tattered curtain. Two hooded figures stood at the outside of large chalk circle, traced into the ground and accessorized by various talismans and reagents.

In the center of the circle knelt a man, his hands bound by ropes and the hood on his head illuminated ominously by the multitude of flickering candles that lit the room. Drowning out the whispers of the two priests was the metallic groaning of a gaudy iron chandelier. Like a gothic pendulum, the candled tips cast shifting shadows all around the room.

Victor recognized the armor immediately; "Alder." The red-eyed Lieutenant started to move but stopped short at the sound of metal footsteps. An armored man descended slowly from a large staircase that opened up to the second floor. His scarlet chain mail was like a dark flame in the dim light of the chamber. Slick black hair fell down the sides of his head like thin serpents, laying on his shoulders. His booted steps clinked and thudded with his descent, drowning out all other noise. The two figures at the foot of the stairs hushed, turning to regard the imposing man.

His eyes were fixed on a large ornate mural which decorated the wall of the second floor above Victor. The pupil's of his eyes were white; Victor wondered just how far from humanity this twisted soul had strayed.

"Remove his hood," the armored man hissed, venom dripping from every word. He held his nose up, looking down on the world around him.

A beaten and bloodied face hung low, pressing Alder's bruised chin into his chest. Green eyes glared up in defiance burning fiercely at his mortal enemy. A growl started to form in Alder's chest and was muffled by a solid kick to his stomach. The blonde man rolled over moaning, blood spilling from his mouth onto a chalked line.

"A child of that woman," Damian began in a low voice, "is not fit to sully my boots with its blood. Bring that cur to his feet."

The two men moved to lift Alder but the green-eyed man shook them away. He rose slowly in rebellion and spit blood at the scarlet boot which had just made its home in his gut.

"Yes," a wicked smile danced unto Damian's sinister expression, "you were all dangerous. You and that woman who dared defy the authority of St. Denebriel. You cannot be allowed to do as you please, so I will make sure you won't."

"Before the night is through," Alder rasped, "your blood will decorate my blade."

A depraved laugh thundered throughout the room. Damian took a moment to fully enjoy the affair. After settling his jubilations, he walked from his prisoner toward one of the many towering bookcases which ornamented the walls. He let his fingers slide across the old leather, cleaning some dust from their old faces.

"There have been many men who tried to spill my blood," the devoted priest began, "I do not think I would be doing my duty if that were not the case. . . Our cause is a noble one, be sure; there is nothing holier than allegiance to St. Denebriel. Our goddess, the savior of the realm has no equal. All magics, foreign of the mighty Denebriel are sinuous in nature, all life unfaithful to her cause is insignificant."

Alder's teeth ground slowly against each other. His tight jaw and wide eyes were clear enough indicators of the impotent rage pent up inside.

"I have seen what lies beyond the rule of our goddess and such a life is aberrant. . . Witches walk among the pious, corrupting everything in their wake. So it was with you, and your friends. That woman was breeding seeds of odious rebellion. Her ways were wicked and her tongue most foul. My heart soared on the day her head was separated from her body," another laugh finished his thought.

Alder made to assault the scarlet knight but a mounting growl cut him off. Victor burst from behind the column, having heard all he could stand. The tips of his nails cut crimson crescents into his palms. The blade in his hand burning a path of fury behind him. Raukorad did not intend to give his adversary time to react, but Damian did not look surprised.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Damiaaan!!" Victor roared, the tip of his blade heading his charge.

Inches before the wicked man's face a wall of energy sparked against the Bastards bloodied steel. Victor wasted no time, unleashing a flurry of powerful swings capable of tearing down even the heaviest of columns. Blow after blow was met with the same feeble end, the barrier unrelenting.

Victor looked to Alder, whose emerald eyes reflected the Lieutenants surprise. Within moments the room was filled with a racket of Church soldiers descending the stairs, each brandishing a spear or a sword. The red-eyed warrior took a defensive stance, ready to fight to his last breath but a figure from the corner of his eyes dropped his guard.

"Sorry," Eliza whispered, dread filling her eyes as a blade nicked a pearl of blood from her throat.

Damian motioned to the dark corners of the room where more church forces hid; each emerging with a captured Royalist soldier at the tip of a sword. Victor scanned frantically, his head turning left and right begging for a glimmer of hope. But none came.

Finally, his red-eyes settled on Damian, whose contemptuous stare drowning Victor with despair. The bastard rattled on the floor, filling the silence with a terrible clatter.

"Let the girl go," Victor demanded, as though his situation were flipped, "she has nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary," Damian smiled, "she is the perfect offering; her death will stain your hands along with that woman's. . . I will tear her soul from her body and use it as kindling for a fire that will unravel this war and bring mankind to its knees. "

"Don't you touch her!!" Victor cried, making towards the crimson-armored high priest before being forced to the ground by five men.

". . . But not before you and your ilk are torn limb from limb by our holy works," Damian's laughter erupted once more like a terrible volcano. "The irony of this does not escape you, I hope. Assuming, of-course, that your feeble mind can comprehend what irony is. . . This time" Damian stalked closer to the floored soldier, "I will not be convinced to spare you. . . But first, I think I will have some fun with you. Take the men to the laboratory; but that cur with the red eyes is to be taken to my quarters."

All of the allies were separated, after a particularly savage beating. Victor remained awake, through all the pain, keeping his gaze fixed on his friends. With no strength to move his body, the red-eyed man was pulled away limp, his feet dragging behind him. Eliza and Alder remained, both unconscious and at the mercy of the twisted order. Their fates as desolate as the heart of the white-eyed demon.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Blood pooled around the ankles of Victor's bare feet. His whole body was one sore, bruised area; his bare skin grinding coarsely against the cold stone. Iron shackles tore skin from his wrists, leaving two red halos as reminders. His bare chest was a painting of torture.

Cuts and bruises riddled his torso like the branches of a tree. An odd, leech-like object stuck tight to his chest with sharp claws, black veins spreading out from it like rivers. The veins stretched out from the middle of his chest, all across his body from toes to fingertips. The room was silent as the grave; his chest did not heave, his lungs drew no breath and his heart did not beat.

"Aww," Damian sighed, putting down a terribly jagged knife, "I have not yet had my fill."

Victor Valentine was dead. . .

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________


Eliza heard terrible screams from the door to the dungeon. They had not ceased for hours, but she was still not sure which fate she preferred. With only rope to bind her, she had been waiting for a chance to escape, to save her boss and to turn the tides of battle. The young assassin hoped for support from the green-eyed man but he had been taken away too.

All at once, the many distinct cries of terror stopped. The orange-eyed girl had tried to distinguish her superior's voice but, even in her days as an assassin, she had never heard such anguish.

Scarlet boots ascended the dark dungeon steps, Damian cleaning blood from his armor with a dirty cloth. His smile seamed eternal in its malice. With a nod to the stairs, two robbed men exploded into action, one hastily chanting a spell and another reading from a book.

"Where's Victor?!" Eliza cried, struggling in her bindings.

"I believe he's with your pitiful gods," Damian chuckled.

Fury built up in her orange eyes as the little assassin set into action. Daggers tore the ropes asunder and the little form sailed through the air; disappearing into the darkness. Her spear vanished from the table by the imposing staircase, which housed the Royalist weapons. A blade burst from the darkness, bouncing off the priest's shield. Moments later, from the opposite direction another came, then another.

Despite his defense, the dark priest recoiled with surprise. His instincts taking control of his better judgment.

"I told you to remove all her weapons!" Damian cried, to the soldiers joining him.

Soldiers promptly ran into the room, weapons drawn, and fell just as suddenly. Eliza held nothing back, allowing her merciless skill as an assassin to overwhelm her. She flew vertically, rising above the mural on the second floor, her short spear in hand. The weapon spun in her hands and with a whispered word, the pole extended, glowing with magic. The spear plummeted towards Damian, the man's lack of concern returning. Before the priest could utter a phrase, the blade pierced his barrier and his arm; shattering his poise.

With a scream the man clutched his bleeding limb, setting off in a sprint toward the stairs. His frantic retreat was cut off by a well placed trip from the girls extending spear. Damian writhed, scrambling backwards up the stairs. The girl stepped with fury, walking with the conviction of a trained killer; her eyes devoid of compassion.

"Anti-magic enchantment," she growled, "after I'm through with you, me and the boss are gonna break outta here and-"

Her determined advance was halted by a blunt object crashing against her neck. She fell into unconsciousness immediately, collapsing against the stairs.

A wicked grin, more sinister than Damian's exposed itself to the world on the features of Alder Whitemane. The dark green eyes of a depraved beast were filled with bloodlust as the blonde man dropped a mace coated lightly with blood. Wide-eyed, he smiled forebodingly at Eliza's unconscious form.

"Yes," Alder confirmed, picking up Eliza's spear, poison dripping from each word, "she will make a most agreeable offering."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

After the bright light faded, Victor gasped for breath, greedily. Each breath was coarse as those from beyond the grave often were. The haze of the afterlife took moments to lift, like a fog rolling back from to reveal a landscape. The pain of life hit moments later as Victor let out a terrible groan.

"You died," one man sang.

"Seemed like the thing to do at the time," the red-eyed man gasped.

"how was it?" the second inquired.

"Only a little better than bedding your mother," Victor moaned.

"You insolent little," the priest laid a backhanded strike against Victor's cheek.

"Wow," the red-eyed man whistled, "she spanks harder than you too. Maybe you can ask her to come in and torture me for a while."

The Oedipal man raised a clenched fist, planting it into Victor's stomach, just below the clawed device. The chained man screamed as the device lit up again, sending waves of magical pain through into his body through his veins.

The second man laughed, lowering the book he read from, letting the magic relent. The two men both erupted in laughter, the pain washing over Victor like a terrible wave. Agony coursed through his body with the blood in his veins. The tip of a dagger cut into his flesh once more, letting his blood flee from his body.

"Just tell us," the dagger wielding man whispered, "what are the rest of your comrades up to?"

"I think they were looking for your mother," Victor groaned.

"What the hell is it with you and my mother?!" the man screamed, "did she upset you somehow?!"

"Anyone who lets a moron like you into this world upsets me," Victor sighed before another scream was ripped out of him.

"We have been at this all night," a new player entered the room. "That blonde one seemed pretty adamant not to tell us anything, I guess they're cut from the same cloth."

Victor smiled, "you'd have better luck tearing a tree from the ground with your bare hands than breaking Alder. He'd never give in to the likes of you."

At that all three men burst into a sardonic cackle. "As long as Alder and I hold out, I'm sure Edward and Petey will be able to get us the distraction we need. . . We just have to hold out."

"Well," the dagger-wielding man said when the laughter had finally settled, "dawn is to break soon. The twilight hour will be upon us. We will finally be able to start the ritual."

"What do you think St. Denebriel's ally will look like?" the Oedipal man asked.

"It doesn't matter," the third reminded, "it will assume the blonde one as a host. "

Victor listened carefully. The time for Edward's attack would be in unison with this 'ritual.' If he wanted to save Eliza and Alder that would be his only chance.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________


Standing over a half-dozen granite slabs Damian admired his handiwork. Alder's remaining men lay spread across the stones. His white eyes scanned the sleeping bodies, wondering what kind of marvelous effect his twisted magic would cause.

Alder's voice broke the silence.

"So this is your pet project," the green-eyed man sighed, smoke sailing from his lips like a thin grey cloud as he took another hit from his Kiseru. Alder leaned against the frame of the doorway.

"Indeed," Damian regarded his ally, "I wanted to thank you for the ingredients. But my curiosity dictate I ask; for all your betrayal, you and that red-haired knight. . . Asher, was it?" Alder nodded, "why hesitate now to give up your comrades. Why not give their location and plans to us? What could you possibly have to gain by withholding anything now?"

"I guess," Alder began after a moment of contemplation, "I don't want to be on a side who would lose against so pitiful an army."

"You're an amusing man," Damian chuckled, "truthfully the last one I expected to see at my door. And your acting earlier is certainly to be commended. That red-haired knight I understand; being the orphaned son of our last high priest. . ."
Damian considered the past and offered a hand to the Royalist traitor, "thank you for ridding me of that nuisance as well. But I suppose killing that red-haired friend and the burly barbarian makes us even. But truly, you have expedited my plans tenfold. . . Still I must ask, why?"

Alder chuckled, blowing another cloud of smoke and turning to leave, "I suppose it's more fun. . . dancing with an asinine bat-shit-crazy devil than a dull, old, and lazy one."

With that only a cloud of smoke remained of the green-eyed beast.

"Pretty soon the only devil that you will be concerned with is one darker than any evil you possibly imagine," Damian whispered.

An arm twitched on a stone slab, groans filling the room. The previously inert men stood obediently, awaiting orders. Damian's smile widened, darkness befalling his features like a shroud.

"Take to the hallway, no one is to disturbs us."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"I don't like this," Edward sighed, turning his back to the force field.

"They should have made contact by now," Peter agreed.

"I don't want to wait any longer," the blue-eyed knight confirmed, nodding to Peter and Boris, "prepare for the siege."

"Half my men have been readying a massive spell since we started," Peter announced, "the other half are prepared to bring down this field."

"An I've been itchin' for a fight all night!" Boris attempted a loud whisper, "just as soon as that barrier goes down, we will take that fortress without a problem!"

"Very well," Edward Valerian steeled himself for battle once more, "let loose the fires of war."

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________


Victors blood had crusted around his many wounds. Finally he was alone. The silence nursed the pain which threatened to split his head in two.

He had been fiddling with his shackles every chance he got, to no avail. He was no thief and Eliza's dexterity was sorely missed. Victor gave up on picking any locks hours ago and instead had been bloodying his fingers trying to twist the nails holding his shackles in place. The third nail he removed disappeared in Victor's hand as the door opened. The Oedipal man entered the room begrudgingly. Murmuring to himself the man set a large book on a small table.

"Well," he sighed, "I suppose all good things must come to an end."

"That's what you're mother said," Victor chuckled weakly.

"I am absolutely going to enjoy this," the priest smiled, "I'm going to kill you. . . Again. This time it will be a bit more permanent." Victor's executioner lifted the book and read the lines to himself. He raised his hand, pointing spread fingers at the chained man.

Victor let out a terrible scream as the device which dug its way into his chest pulsed. It pushed magic into his body like a heart pumped blood. All his veins slowly turned black while the man howled.

Letting the adrenalin push him, Victor ripped the shackle he had been working on for so long from the wall; he grabbed hold of the priest's arm and pulled him close. Victor used his still shackled hand to hold the wide-eyed priest, but before the torturer could scream the red-eyed man plunged a bloodied nail through his eye.

Victor let the body fall, giving himself a moment to rest before searching for a key. Removing the leech-like device from his chest came second to freeing his hands and feet. The pain of removal was brief but severe. The tired man was given little time to rest as the door opened for another church soldier.

The red-eyed man burst into action, taking the leeching device and shoving the fun end into the mouth of the second priest. An unyielding grip coiled the priest's throat like a pincer, chocking the life from his body.

"Haven't you killed me enough times for one day?" Raukorad growled.

The Lieutenant searched the room, his eyes widening when they stopped on a pitcher of water. Victor drained it in moments, letting some of it spill on his bare shoulders and chest. With renewed conviction the red-eyed man grasped a short blade from the body of a priest. He looked for his equipment but realized; if they meant to kill him it was unlikely that they would keep it nearby. Gloveless, barefoot and shirtless, the Lieutenant limped his way into the cool corridor which led back to the ritual room.

Victor moved carefully, unwilling to set off anymore traps. The red-eyed man kept against the wall but an unholy groan stopped his advance. A red eye peeked around a corner and recoiled in horror. His previous comrades filled the long corridor between him and the room where they had all been captured.

The men were no longer the same, their bodies desecrated. Scars covered their facial features, as if someone pulled and tied back their skin. The only discernible differences where their body weight, as the fat, or muscle, seemed to remain the same. Each of the six men stood inactive in the corridor, their eyes, or the patches of seared skin where their eyes used to be, fixed in random directions in space.

Victor made to hide, but his presence had already been revealed. The first thing burst into action with a horrible cry. Limbs flailed behind it as the form charged the red-eyed man.

It raked at the man with clawed hands, which moved in blurs. The Lieutenant tried to dodge nimbly, avoiding claws sharp enough to move through the corridor walls like lard. The red-eyed man used his opponents irate movements against him, the pommel of his sword went out to halt the thing's advance at every opportunity.

"Stop this!" Victor yelled, hoping his foes were not beyond reason, "it's me! I'm your friend! Don't make me do this! I don't want to lose anyone else!"

But the creature was beyond reason; more fury than human. Victor barely evaded slash after slash until the beast's arm elongated and cut into the tired man's arm. The sight of his blood spilling, once again, had a sobering effect on the man's sense of camaraderie.

Recognizing that the men he entered this hellish fortress with no longer existed, the Lieutenant split the closest one's chest in two.

The beast halted briefly, its featureless face holding Victor's gaze. Slowly, it lowered its expressionless head to look at its torn body. Within moments the flesh weaved itself closed, like a flurry of strings making a web. Another shriek tore through the air and the once human form lunged again. This time, it was joined by two of the previously still creatures.

Victor did not have time to formulate a plan, the relentless assault of just one was difficult enough. If all six joined the fray he would be torn apart. Victor cut and kicked at the beasts which moved like spiders through the corridor, as if gravity meant nothing to them. Their limbs moved with minds of their own, weaving around the Lieutenants attacks.

A serpent like hand, sharper than steel weaved towards Victor. The red-eyed man snatched it like an eagle capturing its prey. He tugged harshly, anticipating the creature, which found its home stuck to the wall, to fly forward. But his expectations were let down when the only thing that changed was the length of the creature's arm. Victor lazy stare found its home on his face once more. The creature and he paused, momentarily, until the second thing roared and lunged at the lone combatant.

Victor moved around the creatures assault, still holding the elongated hand of the creature sticking to the wall. When the two skins touched they melded together, stopping the attacking monster in their tracks.

Instantaneously the red-eyed man knew what he needed to do. Still holding the monster's hand, he ran forward, dragging the first two beasts behind him. The distinction between them grew smaller and smaller as Victor twisted around the remaining creatures.

The rest of the monsters stirred to action, cutting away at the red-eyed man, spraying blood in different directions. The little nicks were a small price to pay, Victor knew, as he snaked the first two creatures around and into the rest. Like a complicated knot, the stretching skin sealed the fate of Victor's previous comrades.

In moments, the task was done and Victor stood at the end of a hall filled by a writhing, pulsing, fleshy form. The now single entity emitted a low growl, replaced from time to time by an awful gurgle. Victor, still holding the hand stabbed it through with the short sword, pinning it to the floor.

"Sorry," Raukorad sighed, scratching his head. The man turned but lost his balance and stumbled as the entire structure shook violently. A quaking force loosened the stones, letting pebbles skitter down the walls and from the ceiling. Victor could only prop himself against the wall to keep from falling.

"What the fu-?" the red-eyed man began, interrupted by another quake.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Edward faced his troops just below the peak of a hill, not far from the edge of the barrier. The Royalist army stood under the cover of their own cloaking spell, brimming with anticipation like a jug filled to its top with water. The clouds had cleared and the rain subsided.

"Royalists. . ." the knight Commander began, "my brothers and sisters of the blade. I don't know what to say. . . " he chuckled. "We, together have been through so much already, it seems unfair to ask anymore. . . Today, we go into battle against uncertain odds. . . Our enemy has plunged this country into hell, make no mistake. We can retreat, letting them do as they please, or we can fight! For every inch! And claw our way back into the light!" Edwards voice, carried by magic, echoed through the ranks. Men and women stood together, making any noise they could with their weapons at every exclamation.

"We raise our blades for our country, for peace, for our family and for each other. . . Let no one among you forget, why we are here. This day, we free our country from the withering grip, of mysticism and cruelty! We fight against the terrors which fill the darkness and curse our lands. But hark! for there is no reason to fear! Just as sure as morning follows night, we fight with the sun on our side! Our cause is the dawn to the blight of the church! The Ethereal Sway is no longer the a force to be reckoned with! We stand here as the cure to a sickness! We here are the force by which this country can finally heal itself! This is the final showdown! No longer will we allow them to do as they please! Our will is the instrument of their destruction! and we will NOT be denied! Gather your courage! Summon your strength! Stand resolute against our long time foe! This battle ends today! Our victory is just beyond this line!" Edward made a line in the dirt behind him.
Peter motioned for his group to tear down the barrier.

"Let no man forget what happens here today! Let no man forget how menacing we are! We are dragons!" the noise from the soldier rose to a crescendo. "Victory is waiting! Right there, beyond those walls! TAKE IT!! IT'S YOURS!!"

The invisible wall shattered with ground shaking force, as though from the boom of Edwards voice, like glass; revealing the castle within. A roar resounded from the Royalist forces and Peter added his magic to the second group's spell.

A colossal fireball materialized in the sky above Edward, warming the cold land. As though it were the sun itself, the ball of fire tore down the outer wall and crashed into the central structure. The assault was relentless, as troops charged into battle, each man held in their hearts, hope for tomorrow, and a devotion to the men around them. No one wanted to lose anyone else; they fought for each other.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Not caught completely off guard, the church forces rallied. The Ethereal Sway hid its army in the dark corners of the castle, but on the barrier's fall, a tidal wave of soldiers rushed from underground. Banners flew from both directions, battle-cries roared, deafened by blasts of magic and thundering drums. It took moments for the first blood to spill but more spilled with every passing second.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________


Victor blazed a trail up the corridor, leaving a writhing mass of flesh behind. The door held fast against the red-eyed man's body slam. Rubbing his shoulder, he took hold of the handle and pulled the door open. Shaking off the embarrassment, and hoping no one had been audience to his failure he walked forward.

Victor looked for guards but none were there. His bare feet stuck to the cold floor, as a chill attacked his body from all sides. The tapping of Victor's feet on the wooden floor was like the frantic rhythm of an old clock, sped up to an unnatural pace.

The Lieutenant still hung in the shadows, looking for another trap. Whispers filled the darkness, as if the dark itself was trying to speak to the red-eyed man. He felt another presence in the shadows; something sinister, something fundamentally evil. Victor looked over his shoulder more times than seemed prudent, yet still the feeling remained. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a grey robe fade into black.

The soldier shuddered, running from the darkness into the uneasy light of the chamber. The gothic chandelier still groaning it's sad song.

The center of the expansive room remained the same; a complicated ritual circle, invoking the vilest of magic, drawn in chalk took up most of the floor within a perimeter of columns. In the center of the circle knelt Alder. His green eyes were shut, but his features were calm. The blonde man no longer wore his dark leather armor. Instead he dawned a flowing black robe with ornate red markings and a fiery eye on his chest.

Victor made a break for his friend but a whistle broke his advance. Red eyes shot to the side and stopped in despair. Damian stood, clad in his scarlet armor with a black cape hanging off his shoulders. He held a wicked blade at the throat of the young orange-eyed girl, whose breath was raspy as she snored.

"Just let her go," Victor whispered, his voice shaking. He took a step back, off the chalk circle, "she's just a child."

"You're right," Damian grinned and Victor's red eyes widened in horror. "This is no place for a child."

The dagger's terrible edge separated her skin, as though it was butter, horizontally along her neck. Blood spilled from her throat, like a slow, terrible stream. Time seamed to stop for the Lieutenant as he watched his subordinate twitch and cough, gurgling horribly. Victor stared helplessly as the color drained from her body like a retreating wave. When the blood slowed she stopped moving and Victor's heart skipped countless beats. His stomach churned and nausea gripped his body. He could almost feel his soul cracking. His body trembled, any strength he had fell away.

Victor could taste salty tears enter his open mouth, but his brain shut down. The red-eyed man could not even hear the awful, high-pitched cackling coming from Damian.

"What did you expect?" the scarlet fiend jeered, "did you think that if you just tried really, really hard you could get everything you wanted?!" Another horrible screech shook the air. "This is the only thing you have to look forward to now! Death and suffering unlike anything you can imagine!"

Darkness churned in the room like a terrible maelstrom. As though from within the shifting gloom bursts of energy shot in every direction like bolts of lightning. All the light from the room seemed to be swallowed by the encroaching oblivion.

Victor still could not move, his expression blank, his spirit almost as broken as the day his beloved teacher died. Evil filled every inch of the large room, making the chamber seem infinitesimally small.

Another explosion rocked the foundation of the fortress. The quake sent cracks zigzagging through the walls and floor, breaking the chalk circle in several places. The darkness groaned, as if it were an abyssal beast being dragged into a pit.

Raukorad stirred.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The red-eyed beast burst from the darkness, trembling with rage. His body moved on its own, his mind was unavailable. Damian did not have time to react, a fist like iron crashed into his face, breaking the white-eyed man's nose instantly. A follow up blow to the jaw dislodged a few teeth with a spray of blood.

Damian recoiled, spinning like a rag doll to his right and collapsing at the foot of the stairs. Raukorad stalked ominously, blood dripping from his balled fists. Nails dug into his palms like teeth cutting at flesh. A thin trail of blood blotched the floor like breadcrumbs as the red-eyed devil grew closer to the scarlet imp.

Damian unsheathed his blade, the sliding metal making a distinct cry. The white-eyed man stood to attack but a kick knocked the breath from his lungs. His blade clattered against the stairs, helpless. The red-eyed Lieutenant lifted Alder's curved sword from the table. It pierced Damian's other shoulder, blood decorating the blade as foretold.

Raukorad lifted his prey by the black cape in one hand and used the other with savage force. Every punch echoed throughout the room, reverberating and building with each blow. The bloody pulp of a face began to lose definition, his handsome features melted from the thrashing.

Damian coughed blood, spraying it into the red-eyed devil's face. Victor flinched momentarily, giving the white-eyed man his chance. A steel boot kicked a bare chest, tearing flesh apart. Ribs cracked in the silence as muffled cries came from the outside world.

Victor fell to his knees, eyes wide with pain, clutching his side. Another kick came from below, like a powerful wave, sending Raukorad sailing. A steel booted charge letting out a medley of metallic sounds. Victor raised his arms just in time to bruise them against a steel kick.

Damian stalked, removing the weapon from his shoulder with great strife. He let the curved blade fall by the table where it lay with the Bastard.

Regaining his balance, Raukorad burst forward catching a punch that would floor a lesser man. But rage kept the man moving, the blow knocking him slightly off balance. Victor delivered a bone crunching back-fist, using the spin he received to increase his momentum. Raukorad's fury put his enemy down once more.

Damian crashed into the flight of stairs, his blood spilling over a few steps. The castle shuddered, the ceiling began to crumble and glass shattered. A rock on an impact course with Victor's head was narrowly avoided. While the red-eyed man rolled, Damian chortled.

"Your path will be stained by evil!" the insane priest called out, "you will not escape the influence of Diad-" another explosion cut his rant short. The ceiling gave out with the boom, taking the wall behind Damian with it. Raukorad could not make out a definable expression, but the madness in those white eyes was not something he would soon forget.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Victor spun on his heels, having lost sight of Damian, he searched for his comrades. Eliza lay in a pool of blood much bigger than herself. Biting his lip till it bled did not make his decision any easier. The red-eyed man exploded into action, making for his blonde-haired friend.

"Alder is still alive," Victor hoped, repeating the phrase over and over.

Lifting the unconscious man unto his back proved more difficult than the red-eyed man thought. His body cried out as he ran for the rubble that used to be the stairs. Holding Alder over his shoulder with one hand, Victor scooped the bastard and Alder's curved blade. A violent blast rocked the foundation and a bright purple light filled the room.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________


Cries of death filled the once fantastic courtyard. The barrier had fallen and its surreal effect on light fell with it. The twilight hour was passing, as the sun shot a few lonely rays over a distant mountain. The bright light was itself an attack on the soldiers of the sway. The barrier had protected their eyes from light and dark, and in the heat of battle the sun blinded them.

The freezing Salvar air was an unwelcome last breath for the many men and women who died on the cold ground. Boris moved through the battleground possessed by dwarven rage. Church priests and witch-hunters fell around him by the dozen as he swung his wide sword.

Edward fought at the front of the battle with his blue cape ruffling in the wind, a flag for his troops to follow. He moved with conviction, adamant in his desire to reunite with his vanguard. He dodged blades, using his opponents attacks against them like only a veteran could.

Commander Valerian called a charge and the troops behind him answered. A contingent joined his assault and broke through the defense the Church forces set up. Enemies fell one by one and as Edward set foot into the doorway the building shook violently. Another explosion went off, sealing the corridor before the old knight, horror filling his eyes.

The entire fortress cried out with dread. Rocks gave way to flames and the fire of destruction ate greedily at the supports. The building caved in on itself and sent dust flying in huge clouds. The rocks began to sink unevenly revealing how deep underground the complex actually went.

Fear gripped the old man's heart, taking his attention from the battle. Edward stared, helplessly as the structure collapsed.

"Don't be dozin' off now!" a boisterous yell sounded, cutting an attack on Edward's life short.

The Commander turned to see a church soldier drop his spear and fall to his knees. With a nod, the old knight ran into the debris, moving over, through and under. The rest of the Royalist forces moved with their leader. Pressing the charge and pushing their enemy back in their final fight.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________

"Yo," a smooth voice greeted.

"Nice save Petey," Victor sighed, letting Alder rest at his feet. A bright purple dome was sprinkled with boulders and wreckage. Most of the walls had collapsed and the remaining few were cracked and crumbling. There was no floor to speak of, only mounds and heaps of rubble. What remained of the ritual room was buried, only the tops of bookshelves and scattered pieces of iron and wood were left under the clearing sky, like an ocean of devastation.

"Is Alder alright?" the drow asked.

"I think he's still alive," the red-eyed man stood, "he was in the middle of a ritual when the explosions interrupted it. Eliza. . ."

"Eliza?" Peter exclaimed, "I thought there was someone else who entered with you. . . where is she?"

Victor could only shake his head.

The barrier fell with the remaining wreckage as the sky opened up above the three. Victor let his sad gaze fall on the debris, tears mixed with dirt under his eyes. He scanned slowly, hoping to find a sign of life. Rubble shifted not far from where the Lieutenant stood, prompting him into a run. The red-eyed soldier kicked up a storm, tossing stone and wood alike in an attempt to find his friend.

A thin hand was caught under the weight of heavy stones. Victor stared momentarily before easing a tender touch toward the hand. The limb twitched and twisted, snatch the Lieutenants wrist.

"Damn. . ."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

The thin hand rose from the rubble, its scaly skin peeling back against the jagged stones. The limb holding Victor was only one of many which protruded from the fleshy monstrosity that had been in the cellar. Its bulking mass rose from beneath the rocks, lifting them and the red-eyed soldier with little effort. The deformed shape rippled with misplaced muscles and bones. Of the many heads scattered on its form, the largest twisted at the monster's top. The 'face' Victor looked into was like a skull with a layer of skin pulled over it. A thin cut opened forming a mouth with dozens of shuffled teeth from seven men.

Two arms were bigger than the rest, jutting symmetrically from the middle of its chest. Hanging limp, less than half the size of the mass, Victor kicked lackadaisically at the creatures body. In moments, the red-eyed man was flying towards his dark-elf friend.

Peter tried to catch his comrade but succeeded only in getting himself knocked back as well. The pair rolled through the debris, scratching at anything they could to slow their tumble. Stopping on their bellies the two looked to each other for confirmation.

"Are you sure you can fight?" Peter asked, "you look like you're about to die."

"No worse than you, Petey," Victor retorted, "I know you are frail like flower. . ." with a mocking accent.

The two stood, Victor praising luck they stopped near Alder. The red-eyed man took his and Alder's blades. Sheathes dropped at his sides, the dull steel reflecting what light they could find. The mage behind him began chanting, while Raukorad stepped forward.

"You know. . . My easy going nature is being sorely fucking tested today. . ." Victor hissed.

"This should help," Peter finished his spell.

A wave of magic swept over his form, warming his body. The red-eyed man shot a thankful look to Peter.

Both blades cut thin trails through the debris, on either side of Raukorad. A booming roar cut the air, as the six heads shrieked, twisting and writhing in place. The roar sent waves rippling through its body, muscles rearranging themselves to suit its preparing movement. The monster joined Victor in a walk, almost nonchalant in nature. At the cue of a falling stone, both combatants exploded into action, the red-eyed man's blades trailing behind him and the creature trailed its smaller appendages.

Raukorad tensed, anticipating the raw power it might wield, when a lumbering arm raised in the air, the man burst to the side to avoid it. The impact sent up a wall of dust and rubble, a shockwave so intense it sent Victor rolling for yards.

"At least it's not fast, too," Victor thought, brushing some rocks off his stomach as he lifted himself up. The beast was already behind him, readying another.

"Of course he's fast too! He has to be fast too!" Victor screamed as he jumped to the side. "It just wouldn't be my life if he wasn't super fast and super strong! Do you fly too?! Peter! See if you can let him fly too!"

On cue, the mage sent out a bust of energy, indeed lifting the monster into the air. The beast flew for a moment before it steadied and skidded to a halt, using its bare legs as breaks. Another roar was muffled by the beast as it plowed through debris, its new target was the mage.

Raukorad was in the air, both blades behind his back. The swords blurred as they cut into flesh. Instead of blood, the skin fell to the ground releasing a black sludge. The red-eyed Lieutenant worked furious lines sending straps of skin flying in every direction.

A heavy, deformed hand swatted the soldier like a fly. He crashed through rocks and walls, the injuries he sustained sending a crippling jolt of pain through his body. The beast was again behind the solider, swatting him in a different direction as the massive monster roared.

Peter readied a ball of fire in his palm and it hovered lightly in his hand. The ball took to the air like a hummingbird, speeding in one direction and altering course instantly. The large mindless mass swatted at the burning orb that danced around it.

Victor stood as an explosion blew his hair back. The wind from the blast sent dirt and pebbles smacking Victor cheek. The soldier raised his blades and set into motion, charging the monster. Two bulking arms swung down, but Victor moved too quickly.

He cut the hand off one arm and stabbed the other, splitting it down the middle. The creature bellowed horribly, using its other mangled arms to grab the man. Victor struggled in its grip like a child held by an adult.

The split arm weaved itself back together and planted a punch into Victors face. Peter cried in defiance, unleashing a flurry of spells each more powerful than the last. Electricity, acid, fire and magical blades cut the body apart. Victor fell, his face covered in blood at the feet of his monstrous foe. He did not allow himself to let up, his blades cut in powerful sweeps, shearing skin and bones, cutting the beast from the ground up.

When the magic stopped, the red-eyed man jumped, cutting the heads off one by one with blurring speed. In moments the creature was spread out over several meters, pieces of it in indiscernible clumps. Raspy breaths and a heaving chest filled the silence.

"Looks like that did it," Peter sighed, moving to help his friend up.

"I'd like to see it come back from that," Victor chuckled.

Rumbling from below and shifting rubble made the man eat his words.

"Fucking dammit!" Victor spat, moving with Peter to put distance between them and the beast.

"We need another strategy," Peter huffed.

"Why?!" Victor contested, "why can't our 'monster-killing' stratagem be used more than once?! Why can't we just refine it and try again!? Why do we have to start over with a completely different approach?!"

"That's the best way to build suspense!" Peter argued.

"I don't wanna!" Victor whined, turning to face the almost healed beast. "But I do have an idea, there's a book I saw in the dungeon. They used it on me, while they tortured me with magic. . . Maybe there's something on this thing too."

On putting itself back together, the monster used some of the debris, adding rock and steel to mix. Only two arms remained and the heads fused into one mound of five eyes and countless jagged teeth.

"Come on ugly!" Victor roared, "come face the protagonist!"

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Both beasts exploded into action, making a crisscrossed path towards each other. Victor rolled to the side, coming up in a spin and cutting at the side of the bulking mass. With a roar, the monster pummeled the ground around it, swiping at the moving soldier. Raukorad weaved between blows, using a blade as a shield when its flesh came too close.

With every passing moment, Victor's body was strained. He could feel the magic begin to lose its effect, and his movements began to lose their edge. The creature roared, lifting both arms with boldness, its speed was sacrificed for the power clearly welling inside the form of its shifting arms. Raukorad cut out at its torso, like swinging swords at the trunk of a huge tree. Skin flayed, falling to all side, but the beast bellowed in defiance slamming down with both arms.

Victor caught the attack atop crossed swords. The impact forced him to bend, his entire body straining under the blow. His teeth clenched, grinding slowly, his eyes wide with tension, every muscle in his body cried out.

"Holy-shit-holy-shit-holy-shit," Victor recited as sweat poured down his face. His injuries burned and ached, "if I let up, even for a second. . . I'll be crushed. . . Now would be the perfect time for help. . . Help!!"

"Need help?" a voice called out behind a flowing blue cloak.

A silver blade cut straight above Victor's two. The arm of the monster split in half along with its roaring skull, as Victor straightened. Silver armor glowed dull behind him as the blue-eyed knight pulled his sword back. With a kick, the monster doubled over backwards and was set into a roll. The two men acknowledged each other, Edward's eyes ablaze with indignation.

"What is that thing?" the elder knight asked, before noticing his disciple's appearance. 'What did they do to you?"

"We had a tea party and talked about our feelings," Victor scowled, " read the atmosphere! what does it matter now? Let's just take care of this thing and be done with it!"

The two took off, to opposite sides of the creature, cutting at its body any chance they got. The beast swung frantically at the two men who cut around its attacks like jackrabbits. While in the shadows of a still standing wall, Peter dug through rubble. His hands worked frantically, already bleeding from the jagged edges of debris.

His magic worked around him, like invisible hands of various sizes moving small and large wreckage. His eyes fell on chalked outlines on bits of cracked wood. He took note of the location and dug deeper. Using an enchantment to see through the rocks, he finally spotted a large leather-bound book.

Peter dug faster, he regretted that his barrier had such a short range, only things within arm's reach could be enveloped. He wished he could just reach into the debris and take it. Just as his thoughts fell on such words, his fingers began to meld into the stone.

In horror, Peter recoiled, staring absorbedly at his hand. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend the possible explanations for the strange event. The cries of his friends fighting for their lives brought him back to reality like a cold slap in the face. He leaned on the stone once more, calming his mind and concentrating on the book. His lavender hands turned grey, and the color spread up his body like a an army of ants.

Peter realized it was not the color that was spreading but he was sinking. His body sunk into the stone and he was inside the debris. He had to avoid the metal and wood but his movement was unobstructed in stone. Peter felt like he was submerged in water, but his movements were unhampered.

The dark-elf ran, weaving around the materials he couldn't meld with, getting to the book. He called a spell forth to surround the tome in a barrier, much like the one he used to save Victor and Alder.

The tome followed him in the barrier like a floating pup, keeping on his immaterial tail. With a thought, the barrier pushed through the wreckage around the mage and floated in front of him.

As he walked, he opened the book with an invisible hand. Peter read the purple hued pages frantically, finishing each page almost as fast as he opened them. Using magic to increase the speed at which he could read and comprehend, the church's depraved magic became clear to him.

The dark-elf stopped on a page with a drawing of a human, cluttered script told the tale. Trial and error, horrible experiment, Damian put innocent people through incalculable torture in order to achieve the twisted result which swatted at his friends like they were insects.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

A disfigured hand crashed into Edward's gut, sending the old knight rolling. Raukorad came in fast, cutting away the fingers on the other hand. An opened palmed thrust came from the soldiers left, the collision sent rocks flying in the same direction.

But Victor held firm, one sword crossing in front of him stabbing the beasts knuckles, the other came from under the hand, stabbing it from below. With a yell, the Lieutenant cut the blades out of the monsters hand, sending bones and flesh in two directions. The other hand came from the right, and the red-eyed man crossed both blades in defense.

The arm morphed again, muscles rippling, forming and reforming. The impact was deafening, sending Raukorad flying in the same direction as Edward. The gray knight was climbing from the wreckage when he and Victor collided, both of them crashing through a wall.

"Oh my," Edward gasped, "your head is certainly harder than this old armor. . ."

"Your shitty armor is plenty hard," Victor groaned, rubbing his head, "trust me. . ."

"Guys!" Peter yelled, climbing out of the rubble, "it has a weakness! There is a stone in its head!"

"Good thing it only has one, now," the red-eyed man sighed.

"What?" the elder knight asked, looking profoundly confused.

"Don't ask," Victor shuddered.

The bulking mass roared, stomping through rubble towards the pair. The two tired warriors readied their blades, Edward whispered a quick battle prayer. They stood their place, strength was in short supply. Peter began preparing a spell from the book of the Sway, gathering what little ingredients he needed.

"It's body seems to change and adapt," Victor moaned.

"We'd better not let this drag on then," Edward smiled.

In the blink of an eye the monster was in front of them. Victor barely had time to raise his guard before a massive hand knocked him through the top of a bookshelf. Edward was sent tumbling into a wall by a swift kick to the abdomen.

The monster moved with blurring speed, kicking up dirt and rubble as it charged at the red-eyed man. Victor rose from the wreckage of the bookcase only to receive a kick, sending him up. Two large arms caught him in a vicious vice-grip, and two blades clattered when they hit the ground. The Lieutenant's screams filled his friends with dread, motivating them to action.

Edward cut into one arm, but his blade stopping barely halfway in. Shock griped his features while the monster shifted its head to face the old knight. A disfigured expression appeared on its face, something possibly comparable to a wicked grin. Releasing Victor, the beast turned its attention to the gray knight.

Raukorad took his blades in hand, stabbing away at the beast. To no avail, with every attack its skin grew harder and harder, until a hue as dark as stone washed over it. Victor readied another flurry of attacks but two enlarged fingers took him by the throat, squeezing the breath out of the man.

"Crush. . . " a gurgled growl came from the beast. "Break, hurt, kiiiiiill," it droned, snarling.

"You can. . ." Victor gasped, "talk. . .?"


"I can kill," the monster spat.

"Release him!" Edward cried, raising his blade. "I said," the old knight roared, his arm blurred to take something off his leg, "RELEASE HIM!!"

The old knight held his revolver tight the sun reflecting from its sleek barrel. Six shots thundered in the open battleground within moments. The sound was deafening, shattering the monster's skin as well as bone. Its arm, from the shoulder down, fell, shattering on the gravel. The beast roared in pain, clutching its shoulder.

Victor and Edward readied blades, and a light enveloped the grey skinned horror. Searing volcanic heat came up from below, melting the thing at its base, into the rubble.

Peter stood behind it, hands and fingers spread, feverously chanting an incantation. The horror turned, its arm stretching, swatting Peter down into the ground. The dark-elf had a powerful mind, but a frail body, and the impact forced that body to stay down.

More of the castle's ruins merged and added to the creatures shifting form. The monster bellowed, its arm slithering up its body like a snake, fusing once again to its shoulder. Its grey skin still accented by an orange glow from the volcanic flames.

Victor stepped forward, and when his foot hit the ground a wave of intense pain coursed through his body. The Lieutenants chest began to throb, he felt the same pain from leech-like device. The monster held its arm out, manipulating the remnants of the vile Church magic that tortured Victor. The red-eyed man howled in pain, his entire body burning in writhing agony.

"Our magics. . . beats in you," the creature hissed, "it will crush your life." Its repaired arm twisted into a razor-sharp tip, aimed at Victor's heart.

The gray knight threw himself in front of his student. His cool blue eyes glared in hard defiance of the monster.

"I won't let anyone else die!" Edward growled, his blade held in defense, not even a glint of fear in his eye.

The monster's attack was fast, its speed still increasing.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"I didn't give you that cape," Victor yelled, dropping Alder's sword and grabbing the wafting blue cloak before him, "to have it stained with your blood!!"

Using one arm, Victor pulled hard, slamming the gray knight into the ground beside him. The Bastard pierced the monster's spear-like arm on its side but the attack push forward. Raukorad threw his feet up catching the thing just before it hit.

Veins throbbed throughout his body, every muscle tensed to stop the attack. A missile of magic shot through the air, exploding off the monster's back and shifting the trajectory of its attack. Victor ground his teeth, and with a yell twisted his body, letting the monster's arm hit the stone beside him. He kept turning his body, lifting Alder's blade, holding the Bastard tight.

Victor roared, stabbing one sharp edge into the monsters mouth and the Bastard through its forehead. Both swords slid to the base of the blade through the skull, partly from Victor's power and partly due to its heated skin.

The red-eyed man landed before it, raising his head to watch the beast die. Instead of a rotting corpse, the monster began to morph. Its body grew stronger, bones shifting and hardening.

Stones flew aside and crunched under his boots. Edward sprinted around the beast, launching himself into the air. The blue-eyed knight turned his blade upside down and, letting it's tip lead the way, slide his sword through the top of the monster's skull, .

A blinding light shot from the hole made by Edward. The behemoth shrieked in defiance, twisting and thrashing in anguish. Edward launched himself from the beasts back, Victor rolled frantically away.

An echoing howl drowned out all light and sound. Within the skull of the beast, a small crystal shattered into many shards, setting into motion a series of small explosions all throughout the flesh. Each explosion was bigger than the last, deforming the creature with every passing moment.

A final, terrible cry gurgled out, muffled by a cluster of bursts.

And then there was silence.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Victor sat against a broken wall, one arm wrapped around the Bastard, which rested on his shoulder, at an angle, tip on the floor and pommel against the wall. The Lieutenant's eyes were closed as the man napped after his battle. The clatter and crash of moving debris stirred the exhausted soldier.

His red eyes opened in his trademarked indifferent stare, to see Peter magically clearing rubble on the battlefield.

"Hey Petey," Victor called in a sing-song voice, "what'cha doin?"

"It's not Petey, it's Peter," the dark-elf countered mechanically. "I saw something here when I was looking for the book, some kind of chalk drawings."

"Yeah," Victor sighed, lifting himself from beside Alder, who still slept, "it was a part of their ritual."

"Can you. . . talk about it?" Peter asked carefully.

"Yeah," Victor paused momentarily, "Alder was in the center. . . Then Damian. . . Killed Eliza, and this black smoke filled the room. As far as I could tell it didn't work. . ."

"Hmn. . . Perhaps the circle will tell me more," Peter weaved his hands through the air in intricate circles.

Balls of magic hung from his fingertips like stick orbs of light, leaving trails of purple string. Magical tethers hung in the air for a moment then sprung like serpents, diving into the debris, burying themselves deep, and tightening at the bottom like a net. The dark-elf raised both hands and with them a mountain of rubble rose into the air. Moving with the mages hands the rocks flew, and revealed what remained of the chalk circle.

The magical language on the inside and outside of the ring was mostly worn away, but the foundation was still legible. Like the outlines of paragraphs in a book with the words worn away. Peter paced quickly, clockwise, counter-clockwise, over and back. His sky-blue eyes went darting in every direction like a fly over honey, his expression brighter than a child receiving a gift. For knowledge was the greatest gift the drow desired, and in puzzles he found his passion.

After minutes of silence, bending down to closely inspect the various symbols which remained visible, Peter turned to Victor and Alder. The dark-elf's lavender face went pale, yet his expression grew dark.

"The ritual was two part," Peter began, walking past his red-eyed friend to inspect his unconscious one. "It would appear. . . that," the drow knelt to inspect Alder's face, which was covered by the robe's black hood. "It was one part summoning and one part. . . maybe possession?"

"Possession?" Victor started, joining Peter by Alder, "so then, which part failed?"

"I don't know," sky-blue eyes drew closer to the unconscious man, "maybe both. . . Maybe neither. . ."

"You'll have to buy me dinner," Alder groaned through closed eyes, "if you want to get any closer."

"It's alive!!" Victor yelled, bringing his blade up before his face in defense.

"Yes, still alive," Alder confirmed, standing using the wall for support. "What happened?"

The green-eyed man lifted the out-of-place hood from his head and stunned looks and exclamations of shock greeted him.

"Alder!" Victor yelled.

"You're hair," Peter moved closer to examine.

The robed man moved his hands through his hair and the lockes which fell before his eyes were snow-white. His features, like a solid green tree under a layer of snow looked just as confused as his friends.

"Why is my hair white?" Alder asked, trying to keep his composure.

"Why is his hair white?!" Victor mimicked, throwing his composure to the wind.

"It may be the spell," the dark-elf reasoned, taking out the Church spell book.

"Is that?" Alder asked, reaching for the book.

"The spell book they used to torture me?" Victor finished, "why yes, it is. . ."

"Victor, I-" the white-haired man began but was cut off.

"We won," Victor said, turning away to hide his sad eyes, "people died, castles crumbled."

"What happened to Damian?"Alder probed frantically, unnerved, "to Eliza? to my men?"

"Alder," Peter began, trying to manage the situation, but was cut off by Victor's sudden turn.

"They're dead." Victor said with finality, a sharp edge to his stare.

"Victor," Alder began, his face playing the part of a concerned friend.

"I'm leaving," Victor sighed, moving past the two men. His shoulder brushing lightly against the white-haired man's shifting ruffling fabrics and making Alder twitched to grab hold of something.

Sky blue eyes caught a glimpse of a short metal pole.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Edward stood at the peak of the ruins. His steel-blue eyes scanning the aftermath. The elder knight stood by virtue of willpower alone, his strength all but abandoned. A blade served as his arm rest, planted firmly in the stone beneath.

The blue cape fluttered with a cold Salvarian wind, a banner yet waving after a long battle. Sunshine illuminated the field, warmer than it had been in many, many years. As though an evil cloud had passed over the lands, the powers of good began walking into the light from under the ruins of the old conflict.

Church soldiers and royalists alike, moved about in the shadow of the castle's skeleton. The forces of the Sway dropped their weapons in an enormous pile near a still standing wall. They trudged through the gates in orderly lines, chained and tired. The survivors of the battle were tightly controlled. But no man or woman could cling to animosity, they had no strength to hold on to it.

Victor approached his mentor, feet bruised and dirty, body bare, scarred and bleeding. The red-eyed man, holding the Bastard, stood next to its original owner. Edward turned to regard his protégé, a fragile smile worked its way to his lips.

Sad red eyes evoked a knowing condolence in Edward's expression. As the Lieutenant swayed by the elder knight, a gray gauntlet wrapped around injured shoulders.

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, "She was so young. . ."

"I know. . ." the old knight whispered.

Victor let out a long, uneven sigh. He rubbed his tear ducts with two fingers, taking a moment to compose himself.

"It's weird," the red-eyed man said at length, "I didn't even know her a month. . ."

"That's how friendship works," Edward acknowledged, "it does not matter how long you are together, or how brief. . . bonds formed in earnest with birds of a feather are of the strongest imaginable. When you meet someone who reflects the core of you, there's no choice but to feel strongly for them."

"She didn't deserve to die," Victor cursed, "all alone. . ."

"You're looking at it the wrong way," Edward consoled, "she did not suffer. . . And you were there, she was not alone. I am sure she knew you were fighting for her. . . But, you have a choice to make."

"What choice is that?" Victor inquired, harshly, the sharpness returning to his gaze.

"Will you let the anger I see in your eyes now, consume you? Or will you honor her memory by staying the man she chose to follow. The man she admired."

"Why shouldn't I?" Victor asked, his eyes ablaze with rage, "why not hunt the bastards that did this and burn'em all?! I'm sure revenge would feel better than this! Anything would!" the red-eyed man threw up his hands in frustration.

"If you let this darkness consume you, there is no going back. . . Don't lose yourself to the terrible tragedies you have had to face. Instead let the good memories shape you, let them be a reminder of the love that exists between you and those around you. . . Those forged bonds are something not even a reaper's scythe can cut." Edward sighed, seeing a lot of himself as a younger man.

"That path leads to one inevitable end; self-destruction. A path like that is a lonely one. . . you don't have to die alone Victor," Edward made to continue but was cut off.

"Everyone dies alone. . ." the red-eyed man sighed, walking past his mentor.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Descending the hill was like a descent into madness, slow yet unnoticed. Before the red-eyed man noticed he was in the forest, having walked for hours. Shadows had shifted, turned 180 degrees with the declining sun. Light bleeding left a trail from whence the man came, but no one seemed to follow. Victor took a moment to observe his surroundings, out of habit. The man was more instinct than reason, as he set off the road and into the brush.

A blood curdling roar erupted suddenly from the Raukorad. Like a rabid, raging beast the soldier attacked the nearest tree with his sheathed blade. Weak and beaten, all he could do was scream and flail. His arms pumped furiously, like cornered animal with no way out. He pummeled the tree until his hands bled, and longer still. It was only when he felt a strong hand on his arm that he stopped, flinching from surprise.

Edward stood beside the man, no pity in his eyes. There was no sorrow, no condolence or remorse; only understanding. He had watched his student during the fit, knowing full well what it was to lose precious a friend.

"That's enough," Edward whispered, , "we can start with patching you up. . . Then take it from there."

Victor nodded his arm going limp, dragging his sword behind him, the man walked next to the older knight. His body at its very limit, he could feel every muscle giving way, but there was still farther to go.

"Can you carry me?" Victor muttered in a half-whisper, moment before his legs gave out.

"Do you even have to ask?" Edward smiled, the same way he always did when things seemed their darkest. Victor wrapped his arms around the knight's neck from behind and was lifted up by his legs. "That is our maxim after all."

"Who came up with that lame saying anyway?" Victor asked, coarsely.

"I'm not sure," Edward admitted, "I had heard it somewhere in my travels, from another gunslinger I think. He captained a ship if I'm not mistaken. . . Tranquility, was it? Harmony? something to that effect. . ."

"If you can't run," the old knight began.

"Ye' crawl!" a boisterous dwarf called from a distance, catching up to the pair.

"And if you can't crawl?" a smooth, deep voice sailed as a dark-elf approached from the side.

"You find someone to carry you. . ." the red-eyed man finished, falling asleep, for the second time on the back of a loved one.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Epilogue...

Weeks went by like centuries as the orders finally trickled down to the Eastern Front.

The war was over.

The entire camp was buzzing with noise of peace like a cramped bar. There was nowhere to escape the jubilant talks of home and normality. Even the most bloodthirsty warrior could only talk of family cooking and loved ones that they would soon be seeing.

Victor stood alone in a dark corner of a high stone watchtower, abandoned with the rest of the strategic positions. A profound feeling of betrayal stuck to him like a sickness. This end was not the one he wanted; he wanted victory, not peace. He wanted to destroy the Church, not secure their survival and influence. Ancient evil goddess or not, the church remained a symbol of loathing.

As the sun rose on another day of anticipated relief for the rest of the troops, Victor spent it alone. Watching the sun rise was supposed to be cathartic, Victor knew. But the chains of the past were not so easily shattered.

So many questions left unanswered. So many debts left unsettled.

"Yo," a smooth voice sailed.

"You know that's never going to be a thing, right?" Victor answered without looking back.

"I never intended it to be," Alder replied joining his brother by the window.

"Oh," realizing his error, Raukorad turned, "good to see you out and about. I take it Peter and his mages finally gave you a clean bill of health."

"They could find nothing wrong," Alder nodded, lighting his Kiseru with a bit of magic.

"I didn't know you could do that," Victor mentioned, noting the green-eyed man's spell.

"I've been picking a thing or two up from Peter and his friends," Alder explained, "it's a lot simpler then I had thought."

"I've never liked magic very much," Victor shrugged, leaving his spot for Alder, "I think I'm gonna go pack. It looks like we're actually going to see the end of this war. . ."

"Are you happy with the way things ended?" the white-haired man asked, both men facing opposite directions. The smoke clouds rose around his white hair like storm clouds around a heavy nimbus.

"They ended, didn't they?" Victor replied, "we survived. . . That's enough for me. . ."

"I'm not satisfied, yet. . ." Alder whispered.

"What?" the red-eyed man asked.

"I can't wait to see this place for the last time," the white-haired man lied.

"You're not the only one," Victor's voice echoed from the descending staircase.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"I remember the last time I was here," Alder thought, "staring at that beautiful moon. . . It seemed like the Thaynes were just a rock's throw away. . . But why did they sit idle? Why have they so often done nothing? Maybe they can't help us. . . Maybe they don't want to help us. . . Maybe they hate us. . . Maybe they don't exist. . ."

"Oh they exist," a voice called out from nowhere, and everywhere, "they exist and they don't care. . ."

Green eyes went wide with shock, searching his vicinity for an intruder. When none was found the soldier attributed it to exhaustion. Until it called out again.

"Why do you pretended?" the voice asked, dripping with venom. Alder set to rubbing his eyes, hopping he had simply drank too much. . . or smoked something he shouldn't have.

"Pretend I do not exist. . ." the voice answered the unasked question.

"So then. . ." Alder began in his mind, "what are you?"

"I am you. . ." the voice called, its tone unearthly, "and I am nothing. . . I am everything and I hold your path in my right hand. The same way you hold mine. Maybe we are crows of a feather. . . Maybe you are the marble and I, the sculptor. Or maybe you are the vase and I the water. . ."

"I detest riddles," Alder growled at the voice.

"You know what I am. . . " the voice hissed, "You and I made a deal, the sacrifice was offered and you stood before me in the void. . . I regret I could not join you, but the link between us is set. You are mine and you will work with me. . ."

A terrible laughter filled the room and escaped out of the window.

"Who the hell do you think I am?" Alder snarled to the voice in his head. "You're a cuddly puppy compared to this black beast inside me. . . I have my own plans to achieve, and neither you, nor anyone else is going to stop me."

A wicked smile crossed his handsome face as Alder blew out another cloud of smoke. Eyes the color of summer leaves stared at horizon with ambition.

"These lands will know my pain," Alder thought, "if it's the last thing I do. . . A crimson tide will wash over the face of the earth. . . And I aim to tear down those floodgates."

Moments passed in silence, before the voice came again.

"I can work with that. . ."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Boris paced nervously in his tent, that was messier than a town after a tornado. The dwarf turned and stopped, made to lift something and instead threw something down, he was a rushing contradiction. His weapons were strewn across the floor, and bed, and armor rack and. . . everywhere else.

A terrible roar came from his tent as his bulky form burst out into the road.

"GET OUTTA THE WAY!!" his rowdy voice called, charging up the path towards his red-eyed comrade.

Men fled the sight of him, knowing better than to cross Boris' path. Thundering steps gave away his position and the red-eyed man had time to prepare. Most of his gear belonged to the army, but a map he had received from Edward was rolled up in his coat. A coat which had once been brown, darkened almost to black, peeked from the behind his bunk. Brown boots sat by his face while the Lieutenant hid under his bed. With any luck the dwarf would run right past, or if Victor was his target he would take the search elsewhere.

No such luck was Raukorad's. The bunk was tossed straight through the tent, ripping it's side like a knife through flesh. With two bulky, powerful hands, Boris lifted his red-eyed friend by the shoulders like a toddler. The two locked eyes, Boris' expression no less terrified than Victors.

"I DON' KNOW WHAT TO DO!!" the dwarf cried.

"ME EITHER!!" the red-eyed man yelled in response.

Letting the man go, the muscular mass paced at the mouth of Victor's tent.

"I knew what to do in battle! I knew what to do at the mess!" the dwarf continued to yell, "hell! I even knew what do in the brig! But now. . . without a battle. . . I don't know what to do. . . where to go. . ."

"You could always go back home," Victor recommended, brushing dirt off his leather pants.

The dwarf stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wider and filled with more fear than Victor had ever seen.

"And back under Nina's thumb?!" the short man blurted indignantly, "I'd rather take on that monster ye killed with an arm tied behind me back!!"

"Fair point. . ." the red-eyed man conceded, "but I mean, what about the other kids? They could use your protection."

"As if there's not enough protection from the soldiers she 'conscripted.' They set up base next to the farm!" the dwarf added, "'sides, most've the kids'll be grown and leavin' soon! And for the others, Nadi 'n Nathan are there! They're more than enough!."

"Well. . . I guess you could go with Torain and Tony," Victor offered, dropping on the floor where his bed used to be. "I hear they plan on traveling the road with Edward for a while before starting a smithy from their bonuses. Torain for excellence in his craft and Tony for bravery in that last battle."

"Oh, aye," Boris nodded, passing Victor a new, clean, shirt, "the boy fought with the savagery of a giant and nobility of a dragon! He even saved me once. . ." the added quickly, "just once. . ."

"I guess there's a first time for everything," Victor sighed, his disheveled hair poking out from the arm hole of his shirt. The red-eyed man struggled to fix his wardrobe and after several moments and a lot of growling he was putting an arm through his coat.

"What'll you be doin, then?" Boris eyed Victor curiously.

"Huh. . ." Victor sighed, cleaning out the inside of his nose, "I hadn't considered it. . ."

"Well yer welcome to join me if ya like!" Boris laughed, "it's always comforting to have company in uncertainty!"

"Thanks," Raukorad laughed, "but I think I want to. . . do things on my own for a while. . ."

Boris understood the weight behind those words. He understood that walking alone was easier than walking with friends, worried you could lose them at a moment's notice. An unusually weak smile crossed the dwarf's face, as he set off backwards, retreating to his own tent.

"If I don't see ya later," Boris called, but was cut off by Victor.

"True friends never say good bye," The man smiled, "they just take an extended leave of absence. Till I see you again, old friend."

The dwarf burst out laughing, holding his gut and turning away. "I never knew ye'r such a romantic!" the muscular dwarf laughed, waving his hand.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Yo," Alder greeted the approaching dark-elf.

Peter responded with a hearty, prideful laugh, "I knew it would catch on!"

Alder cursed under his breath, hating to give Peter the satisfaction. They met on the outskirts of the camp, at the base of the watchtower where they had held their last moonlit conversation. Alder walked out from the doorway and joined the silver-haired mage on the path into the heart of the camp. The pair walked in silence a short while, letting the merry shouts and conversations which sprang up around them fill the void.

"Is that dark beast of yours still whining?" the dark-elf was the first to speak.

"It's got a bone to gnaw on," Alder smiled, "for the time being."

"Would that bone happen to be a magically imbued spear?" Peter asked with no pause. Alder on the other hand was taken by surprise. The green-eyed man had thought his deception had gone unnoticed; was the elf on to him?

"It was Eliza's" Alder said at length, "I found it among the rubble. . ."

"You did not think Victor should have it?" Peter reasoned, "she hadn't said a word to anyone until him. And in the weeks they were together the two were like family."

"I know," Alder sighed, "I just. . . I just don't want to pour salt into the wound, so to speak."

Peter nodded, agreeing with the white-haired man's farce. "I understand, there may come a time when he is ready."

"Have you considered your plans for the future?" Alder asked quickly, eager to change the subject.

"I have," Peter smiled, "I am dark-elf, and I know nothing of my people. I wish to explore the world's magic, history and people, I want to learn more. I figured I would start with my ancestry, I have learned there are abilities that I have which are unique to my race."

"An admirable goal," Alder agreed, holding open the curtain to his tent, for the mage to enter.

"Yourself?" Peter asked, settling in a chair by a table.

"You know, I think I want to stop by Akashima again," the white-haired man smiled.

"Ah," Peter acknowledged, "your favorite place. I'm sure your associates will be in for a surprise," Peter smiled, meaning the man's hair color.

"Yes, I'm sure they will be. . ." Alder whispered, meaning something more sinister. "Do you still have that Church book?"

"Hoping to change your hair color?" Peter joked, "There are probably easier ways to do it than to dive into those profoundly wicked magics."

"Nothing like that," Alder assured, "I just wanted to get a look at it. . . It caused so much pain. . . I hoped to glean some information from it."

"Well I've been over it many times but, you're welcome to try," Peter shrugged. With a wave of his black-gloved hand a pocket to another dimension appeared beside the dark-elf. As his robed arm reached inside and rummaged, Alder turned his back to the mage.

A flame, swirling with darkness, lit his baleful features from his hand.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ______

"Edward?" a soft voice came from Victor, as the man walked past nodding guards.

"Victor," Edward greeted, his voice light, "come in my boy. I was just about to send for you."

"My timing is a thing of legend," the red-eyed man smiled, "I wanted to make sure you didn't leave before I saw you."

"And I you," the elder knight moved through the darker parts of his tent, packing his prized blue cloak into a large oaken chest. His clothes were neat, as usual, the normal garb a nobleman would wear. "Victor. . ." Edward began, unsure how to continue, then as though recalling something of pivotal importance he motioned for the black-haired man to join him at a table. "Our tea will cool, come, share a cup with an old man."

"You're not that old," Victor began to argue but in the light he saw the truth. Edward had lost most of the color in his hair to grey. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced, as though someone had drawn them on after the battle. But a smile below steel-blue eyes put his heart at ease.

"I am old enough," Edward began, his voice soft, but reassuring, "to know the battlefield is no longer my place. I have spent most of my life there, fighting the good fight, don't doubt. But I believe it is time for me to pass that place to someone more deserving."

"If you think I'm going to stay in this army," Victor began, frustrated, but a laugh cut him off.

"Nothing of the sort!" Edward exclaimed, taking a sip from his cup, "I have no doubts you would want nothing more to do with the Royalists."

"I still don't believe it. . . After everything. . ." Victor sighed, taking a sip by Edward's example, "after all our loss and pain. . . They sign a truce."

"It was for the good of the land, and the future," Edward countered. "But your feelings are also justifiable, no one can deny."

"I just want to wash my hands of it all," Victor scratched his head.

"I would like nothing more than just that," Edward smiled, "but something tells me your battles have only begun."

His tea was half finished as the grey haired man stood from the table. He walked towards an ornate wooden cabinet, sealed by a magical lock. Once opened it revealed a slew of weapons and armor. The elder knight moved with purpose, removing a weapon from within.

"This is 'Mal,'" Edward explained, laying his immaculate gun on the table. "My father told me it means 'bad' in another language, and 'complainer' in another. I thought you would be a good partner, as I don' think I will have much use for it for much longer. . ."

"Hey now," Victor broke the brief silence, "we're nowhere near this conversation. I don't wanna hear shit like that until you're on your death bed, decades from now!"

Edward stared for a moment, then set the gun in its holster with a smile. "You're right. . . I guess the end of this war marks an end of an era for me. . . When I leave here I will go back to my families estate."

Edward sat back down and took another drink, "these lands are in such sorry shape right now. . . I want to help. With my title I can be a voice for the people and help. . . Or so I hope."

Raukorad smiled, standing to join his mentor, "it would fill my heart with joy to have someone like you speaking for those unfortunates who have suffered in this cold land."

"And what of the great Raukorad?" Edward beamed, closing his cabinet and facing his pupil, "what of the 'Red Demon?'"

"I would like nothing more than to bury him," Victor replied somberly, "with all the other unmarked graves."

"As fine place to put a warrior to rest," the elder knight nodded, "as a protector among fallen allies."

"Well," Victor began "I can't believe there's a place in a civilized world for someone lik-" and explosion cut off the man's train of thought. Both men, still soldiers ran out of the tent to join their army. A black fire, highlighted by orange, soared up from another side of camp. Edward looked to Victor, worry filling his face like foul water, "Alder."

[Good for Nothing Captain]

Running through the camp seemed normal, but flames were not usually a part of the program. The black blaze riddled many tents Victor had passed on the day he joined the army. He retraced the steps he walked on his first day, this time exploding passed panicking men. Mountains of black flames like ravenous beasts tore through the camp.

Water flew in streams across the sky as those with and without magic fought valiantly against the blaze. Orders rang out as men shouted in cohesion, soldiers shooting volleys of water at the black flames.

The fires only seemed to grow against their natural enemy. Victor ran side by side with Edward, giving commands to the men they ran by. Any fear or confusion soldiers had fell away in the face of their leader's orders.

The two reached Alder's tent, of which, all that remained were scraps of fabric and pieces of furnishings. Oceans of scorched earth surrounded a small patch of untouched ground. A singed dark-elf lay on the ground, his clothes still flickered with orange life. Victor fell to the ground, patting away at the small flames.

The gray-haired knight ran past, "stay with him!" he yelled, before jumping through a wall of fire.

A frantic form forced its way through fire and flames. When he entered a clearing Edward stopped to search for a way out. A black wall of fire surrounded a large area, trapping any inside. Cries of pain called out from beside the elder knight, Edward turning to help. Two men lay pinned by a burning pillar and another two tried to help.

Steel-blue eyes darted around for a prop to lift the column, and, spotting a long metal staff, the knight rushed to assist. Edward plunged the stick under the cindered pillar and heaved. His muscles strained to lift the post from the soldiers.

Dust and cinder fell to the ground as the wood groaned. The two standing men moved swiftly to save their comrades from the blaze. In moments they were cleared and the pillar fell, sending lights of fire flying, like flies. Edward was pulled from the burning tent as it collapsed by the soldier he had just saved. With nods of appreciations exchanged, he stood telling the men to aid in the relief efforts.

The Commander moved back into the center of the clearing. He moved towards the flames, seeing the gate which led to the forest. The old knight watched as men ran to safety, but closer than any of them one man stood still. Edward started to run, getting closer to the man, only to recognize the hair blowing in the wind, whiter then clouds.

His brow was lowered, chin in chest, reading from a large leather book. White hair obscured his eyes, but as though he felt Edward's presence, slowly, he lifted his gaze. Two cruel, hungry green eyes filled with a hidden madness stared through the fire and smoke.

Edward made to call out, but something held back his voice; caution?. . . fear? The old knight shuddered as something like a sneer crossed Alder Whitemane's features before he turned.

Alder moved the black flames as though they were nothing but curtains, disappearing into a crowd of terrified soldiers.

Edward stared, unable to believe what he saw as the demonic flames closed in around him. A roar and red eyes woke him from his thoughts as Victor looked into his mentor's face. Shaking the concern, Raukorad helped the elder knight from the ground and made his way into a clearing the dark-elf mage had made.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Still no sign of him?" Victor sighed, kicking a burnt chair leg.

"None," Peter replied, moving more of the rubble that was Alder's tent.

"He probably just left!" Boris groaned, dropping a heavy wooden log.

"I agree," a soft voice called, as Edward approached. His elegant grey suit was cloaked in a lush black traveling fur. "I'm sure he's out there somewhere. . ."

"I think we should take after his example," Victor sighed, ignorant of the irony.

"We certainly should leave," Peter agreed, dropping the task.

All three men stopped what they were doing, taking in the wreckage that was their camp. The charred remains were a stark reminder of what the cruelty of Salvar was really like. Smoke still billowed up from the skeleton encampment.

"I'm going back to my family's home," Edward began, to no one in particular.

"I will venture out," Peter sighed, moving towards the dwarf, "perhaps the loveable dwarf will come with me?"

"Wha-" Boris began, but burst into a hearty laugh instead. "Ya know I love a good adventure! I'm on board!"

"What about you?" Edward asked the red-eyed man.

"Not sure," Victor said at length, turning towards the entrance he first walked through. It's giant black gates withstood the fire, as they did many before it. They withstood freezing cold and enemy attacks since the day they had been built, and yet now they were alone. No army to house, no walls to defend. But the gate still stood, a tombstone of sorts for all the nameless dead that would never again see home.

"I think I'll head to the woods," Raukorad picked his nose, staring at the dead forest he traversed the day he enlisted.

"You'll get lost," Peter warned, "we all know how sorry your sense of direction is. . ."

"We're all lost," Edward smiled, "the trick is, finding a clear path in those dark woods."

"I suppose you're right," Victor smiled. "Maybe I'll stop by that fancy estate of yours one day. . ."

"Until that day," Edward bowed low, passed his waist, "I will pray for you. For all of you. . . I am proud to have known you all. I have this war to thank, for that at least. . ."

"Until that day," Victor nodded confirmation and the group separated.

Edward moved towards a carriage waiting for him.

Peter and Boris moved towards the mountains and adventure.

Victor began his slow trudge to the woods. A place where all manner of beasts and men hid. Woods in Salvar were easy to get lost in, but the old knight had a point; "Just have to find a clear path," Victor repeated in his head.

A man sat at a worn out desk by the gates. Half of the sturdy wood had been burned, down to its center but still it stood. Like the black gates before it, the desk seemed timeless, a benchmark for those who wished to throw their lives away in war.

"Still alive I see," Victor called out to a bald, scarred head.

"And you as well," Richard Mc'Hartt's raspy voice answered. He closed the large leather book he cared for. Death's list, he would always call it, just names to be entered and crossed out. "I gotta say, I'm surprised to see you still kickin'. . ."

"I know the feeling," Victor replied as the two shook hands, "what are you now, eighty five? eighty six?"

"I suppose so," Richard remembered their first conversation. The old man took a flask from inside his coat and offered it to the red-eyed soldier. Raukorad took it with thanks and downed a quick swig. He sighed harshly as the warm liquor traveled through his system.

The two walked towards the mouth of the forest before the veteran soldier stopped. "Can I ask you something?" the man asked with strange formality.

"Shoot," the red-eyed man said without turning to face his friend.

"Was it worth it?" the man asked, a strange sentimentality falling over him, "joining the war, losing all that, and for what? nobles? honor and glory? your country?"

"I never fought for them. . ." Victor said at length, a cold Salvarian wind kicking up his coat. "I only fought to protect the things she left behind. . ." he whispered. "What'll an old man like you do now?"

"Sit on a frozen dick!" the old man yelled, starting to walk down the length of the old wall. "I'm heading to the capital. I have to report the losses. . .

Richard sighed, "then I don't know. . . maybe 'Lord' Valerian will let me work for him. . . What about you?" Richard asked, bundling his arms close against the cold.

Victor sighed, his indifferent gaze locked on the empty black of the forest. "Keep going," the man's footsteps echoed in the brush, as the dirt crunched beneath his boots. He removed the flask once again, and took a short swig.

"That'll have to be enough. . ."

[Lye]

Thread Title: Thread Link (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26303)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Solo



Plot: 21/30

Story- 8/10
The writing had a consistent flow to it. The continued repetition of certain "-eyed" or "-haired" designators proved to be a distraction throughout. During the first time meeting Eliza there was a transition of Blue-Eyed to Orange-Eyed. The plot weaved in and out with the two parties and various scenes. This allowed for important information and scenes to be played out while cutting back on the mundane details. Characters died off in this thread as well which was a major strength to the writing. Especially since there was enough build to grow attached to the characters. Repetition of certain banter also played a strength to the story and improved the reader-story relation. Each character effectively had a distinct personality and dialogue. The witty twist of the cast engaging the readers was also a refreshing addition to add humor in the right places.

Setting- 7/10
In the faster paced sections, the setting was held back at the expense of increasing the flow of the writing. This is can be considered a strength and a weakness. Some of the details of who went where were lost, but the lack of setting in comparison to the increase of action kept the suspense high. Characters also existed and acted within their surroundings. Foes climbed on walls, rubble crushed others, etc.

Pacing- 6/10
The beginning build lacked the ability to hook the reader. The characters were also presented in close succession to one another. Though the information presented at the beginning was vital for the overall build, it lacked substance independently. Once the battles began to take place, the pacing flowed exceptionally well. Action was indeed the strength of this story. The conclusion continued off the results of the action and held a strong sense of resolve to what had happened prior. The repetition of previously mentioned designators did detract from the flow throughout the story. Should that have been addressed, an additional point or two could have been earned here.



Character: 22/30

Communication- 7/10
The characters had very distinct relationships and the story was almost dominated by dialogue. It is often difficult to uphold character identity in dialogue as most writers tend to write as they were to be speaking it themselves. In the story, each character had a very distinct manner of speech. For certain characters, Eliza mainly, this was slightly exaggerated and thus gave her more attention. This extra uniqueness paid off when the character was killed later on. Although the witty banter with the reader played well to entertain, it did detract from certain conversations or moments. The mention of the main character not being able to die, yet he did in a manner of ways was one such example. It was amusing, but pulled the reader out of the action.

Action-7/10
The action was another strength of the story. A lot happened and it took undivided attention to follow the events. Certain elements were exceptionally exaggerated. The main character seemed like an unstoppable tank. Through the story, he killed an excess of 30 men, many of which were removed single handed. Fantasy writing is a flexible medium to where a character could slay a whole army, or follow closer to reality and struggle to slay more than ten in a single battle. Finding the balance is key for keeping the reader engaged in high suspense and making combat more suspenseful. Dispatching multiple foes in a swipe of a blade is simple, straightforward, and mundane. The drawn out battles are by far the most suspenseful and entertaining. The story held a mixture of both, but the amount of men slain seemed excessive to the described setting.

Persona- 8/10
By far one of the strongest and most impressive sections of the reading. Each character was their own and the main personalities did not mix. Adler, Boris, and Edward were weaker in their identities compared to Peter, Victor, and Eliza. The one weakness here was the struggle to identify who did what actions and speech. Some of the identifiers became difficult to follow and needed to be re-read to establish the scene.



Prose: 21/30

Mechanics- 8/10
There existed a few run-on sentences and few issues with punctuation here and there. Overall, the mechanics were solid.

Clarity- 6/10
The biggest detracting issue here was with the identifiers. Overuse of "-eyed" hurt the ability to follow the story and became mundane, especially with the red-eyed main hero. Use of other traits or simply adding more usage of names in character rich scenes would improve the clarity greatly.

Technique- 7/10
Use of colorful imagery, metaphors, and personification shone strongly in patches throughout the read. Other areas were straight forward as needed. The humor directed to the reader was a nice touch, yet became a conflict of interest during some of the more intense scenes. Overall, the writers ability to weave words is impressive. Use of less hyphened descriptors and more splotches of that beautiful imagery (such as when they are marching out to the fortress) would have increased the score greatly in this area.



Wildcard: 8/10

This is the first reading I've had of yours. I apologize that Breaker was not able to judge this as I feel there were more to appreciate from the inside jokes than what I received. I believe this was one of the first Althanas stories I have read where the characters engage the fact that they are in a story. It was off putting at first but grew on me as we went along. I learned to appreciate the banter and it played off my personal sense of humor. Everything also had a canonical importance which I was impressed with. I'm somewhat of a Salvar enthusiast and appreciate the insight into the Ethereal Sway. Once again, I am astonished from your ability to create independent character identities. It is something that I personally struggle with and see many others struggle with as well. I look forward to continued works, and hope that a thread with Breaker is in your future. I sense that your witty banter would prove an entertaining and unique read.



Final Score: 72/100

Good for Nothing Captain (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16932) receives:


4,118 EXP!
575 GP!

Congratulations!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!