The Dance of Chaos [IC-Fantasy-OPEN]

[Tracian Empire]

Citadel of Aurilly
Kingdom of Duivene
Under the control of the Ecclesiarchy

The battle continued to rage on in front of the walls, with the Faith Keepers and Scripture knights in the city fighting against Celio and his undead soldiers. It was actually a good think that Julie wasn't there to watch.. after all, the poor boy still thought that he was in the middle of the war.. a war so brutal that there was no wonder that Celio hated and envied his enemies at the same time.. so the fight in the front of the gate was certainly not going to be pretty. It wasn't like Celio was a bad person, deep inside.. but brutality changes people. And especially those who are afraid for their own lives would often to unspeakable things during fights..especially if they wanted to see their enemies dead.

The city itself was fairly quiet though, it was clear that the inhabitants had decided to stay inside of their homes rather than to risk being wounded and killed on the streets. For them, the war had ended long ago, so most of them probably believed that this was just a bandit raid or something - something that the strong garrison of the Faith's soldiers would be able to deal with. So Julie had absolutely no problems in reaching the Citadel, which seemed to be undefended. Most of the soldiers were probably gathered in the area of the gate, frightened by the burning symbol in the sky that was visible even here. The gate leading to the insides of the Citadel were open.. and according to her compass, that's where the older Celio was being held. But before she would able to enter.. a young girl emerged from the inside. The same girl that she had met in the forest not so long ago.

A beautiful girl, with a long, white hair and dark crimson eyes, wearing the simple white robes of the Faith's priesthood. As always, she had no visible weapons on her.. but as Julie had learned, she was an incredibly powerful mage. That suddenly explained the reaction of the Faith's soldiers a lot better - with someone like her in the Citadel, the city was better defended than with an entire squad of Scripture knights.

"Benevolentia.. what a surprise is to see you here..", Iustitia told her in the same soft and calm voice that she always had. "I'm sorry that our last meeting ended as it did.. you probably weren't in your right minds back then.. but you must understand that I was trying to save you from the corrupting power of your sinful archenemy.. I'm sure that you can understand that, as a servant of the Virtues, as a servant of the Faith.. and yet I don't understand why you are here.." The girl took a step forward, an innocent smile on her face. "The best explanation is that you are trying to save that Archbishop of Envy.. and yet that explanation is too horrible for me to believe it. Would you go as far as to ally yourself with the servants of darkness, as far as to attack your brothers and sisters in virtue and faith, just to save a slave of Invidia? Would you bring forth death, destruction, and sinful corruption just to save a single person who is beyond saving anyway? That is impossible.. because that would mean that the sins have already corrupted the Cult of Virtues up to its core.."

The girl sighed. "I understand that you are a young Archbishop.. but even kindness must have its limits. From the earliest days the Sins have tried to use the weakness inherent to our virtues in order to corrupt us. That's why I am here.. to bring justice to those who deserve it even if the world might perish in the result. You must understand that the Archbishop of Envy is your enemy. Your greatest rival and enemy. You can't believe anything that he has said.. their cult only exists in order to make normal people fall into their sins. You mustn't feel sorry for his mortal past either, for he is just an abomination, caught between life and death, enslaved and completely controlled by Invidia. Your attempt to save him has been admirable, and it proves that you are indeed trying to follow the tenets of Benevolentia.. but it ends here. There is nothing you can do. The Faith's Judgement will decide his fate, for he has betrayed the Faith twice, a crime that can not and will not be tolerated. So listen now, Archbishop of Kindness. As the Overseer of Justice, your direct superior, I order you to stop right now, before you'll do something that you will later regret.."

---

Voivoideship of Łówice
Northern Wyzkia

The harsh counterattack of the undead forces slowly but surely started to push the Wyzkians back, but they weren't a standing army for no reason at all. The Armia Księcia wasn't formed by conscripted peasants, but by veteran soldiers, and they managed to hold their ground and to prevent their lines from breaking even if the enemy attack was fierce. As the dark spheres of Bronn's attack were thrown at the archers, the mages among them quickly reacted with defending spells and shields - so while some of them had died, most of the archer corps managed to survive, and they continued to fire relentlessly at their enemies. This was one of the biggest disadvantages of such undead hordes - creating undead able to use magic was difficult, and the living side would almost always have more mages - this being one of the big reasons for why Achisia's combined armies had been so effective during the war. But if we are to mention the War, we also have to mention that the Wyzkians had gotten pretty good at fighting undead during the war, and this was soon to be seen.

The priests among their ranks, protected by other mages, quickly raised their metallic staffs - with stylized stars and suns at their top, they quickly started to emit a powerful, golden light, which fought against the necromancy spells made by Bronn. This stopped the Wyzkian dead soldiers around them from rising again, and the lines managed to resist, under the crimson and white The more heavily armored spearmen stepped in, blocking the attack of the armored Velikiyans with their tight formations, while on the flanks, roughly half of the heavy cavalry forces rushed forward, clashing with the Karaki boar riders and helping the lightly armored Yazgirian style cavalry. The light cavalry forces, certainly a lot more faster and mobile than huge Karaki on boars, continued to outmaneuver them while constantly firing their arrows. Faced with such a combined attack, the enemy forces were slowly but surely pushed back.

As the archers and mages continued to support the infantry in the middle, causing large losses to the enemy side, losses that could no longer be easily replenished, the Paladins noticed the filthy undead riding a griffin. A sacrilege that had to be punished. Closing in to him, around 50 Paladins started to quickly fire arrows of flame and spells at the undead commander. The sky could only belong to army, to one order.

---

Somewhere
The Archbishops of Superbia and Ira

Pride took a deep breath, desperately trying to remain calm. It wasn't only his fault - the smirking Archbishop of Ira next to him was certainly fully using her passive Authority of Wrath whenever she could, and especially in front of such a person like the boy in front of them, it was difficult not to get angry. He hated them.. these so called heroes. Always acting like good people. always wanting to save others, without knowing what to do. Even just the word hero left a bitter taste in his mouth.. it was disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

"If I'd rather just give up? I haven't given up, little boy. But I know when to stop in front of things that we simply can not do. For the time being, me and Wrath both are the slaves of the Sins we represent, and the Katia you once knew is death. She died long ago, you can be sure of that. So don't twist the knife in my would with your pathetic words. That you're going to save everyone, you're going to be the good guy that everyone will love, the hero that will defeat all evil in this world. Life doesn't work like that, you can be damn sure. Even if it should be the right thing, good people suffer all the time. Innocent people die. The people you love die and you can do nothing about it - the world is all cruel and twisted. Remember that the next time when your heroic dreams take over you."

The silver eyed boy gripped his invisible weapon even tighter, as if he was about to use it to the stab the hell out of Leide. .while next to him, Wrath was laughing, clearly enjoying the scene.. even if it was about her. But if she didn't remember anything.. why would it matter? She wouldn't believe it anyway, and she had long ago dropped any hope of ever escaping the chains of wrath. She was happy with her current position.. being angry was just.. such a pleasure..

"And for the last time.. stop with your Teacher. She isn't us, and we aren't her.. she got lucky. Trust me, nothing you can find our bring to help won't help us.. for the time being, we are and will be the Archbishops of Pride and Wrath until the day we die.."

---

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

"No.. I can't.. I can't cry... and I won't cry..", Pride told her, in a voice stained by pain. "I am the Archbishop of Pride.. the leader of the Cult of the Sins. Even if we are alone, even if there is no one around.. I can't cry. It can't be weak, and I can't show any weakness, no matter what, no matter when, no matter where. I have to be strong.. I have to be strong if I want to do my duty, I have to be strong if I want to follow the orders of my Lady, and I have to be strong if I hope that I will ever be able to help those who need my help.." The white haired boy took a few deep breaths, as if what he had just said had taken much more effort and energy than he could manage. Maybe, in the past, in another time.. he would have cried in front of her. He trusted her after all, and he desperately wanted to able to be himself in front of someone, in front of anyone.. to no longer have to keep up this prideful facade. To cry because of all the pain he was feeling, to cry because most of his hope was lost, to cry because he felt the sinful part of him growing every day, to cry because the idea of him managing to save the people he cared about from the fate in which they had fallen seemed more and more unlikely by the day.

But he had long lost any hope of saving himself.. and he felt as if he truly deserved this cursed fate. And Meta was wrong here.. they were never truly alone. They were each enslaved to the sin they represented.. as their souls were sinful and corrupted, their masters were always somewhere, around. There was no escaping from that. "Thank you.. for that..for telling me.. that you won't leave me.. it means.. it means a lot..." The boy once again closed his eyes, even if of course, it made no difference. Absolutely none.. and in the darkness that surrounded him, feeling Meta next to him, having her playing around with his hair.. it calmed him down. "Could I... could I try to feel.. how you look like?", he asked hesitatingly, raising his hand. "It's so difficult.. to remember everything.. and I've... I've forgotten it.."

[Zapatha]

As the paladins closed in on Bronn mid-air, he had already realized that contnuing to cast necromantic spells was fruitless due to the light magic being casted by the mages and priests of Wzykia. Bronn then focused on using his magic for himself, and managed to dodge a few of the flaming arrows fired at him though he was hit by 3. As the arrows were flaming and holy, they did more damage to Bronn then most arrows normally would however Bronn used his cursed gauntlets to desecrate the magic imbued in the arrows and pulled them out.

Yet 50 paladins proved too much, as the next barrage of arrows hit his undead griffin directly and Bronn fell from the sky, landing in the lines of his undead. Bronn's armor was buckled in most places, however he hadn't fallen from too far of a height and managed to walk away somewhat unscathed. Bronn now was on the ground, where he was used to commanding from in his mortal life in the wars with Achisia. It really is ironic, how Bronn had become the thing he had fought against for 10 years. As he walked to the frontlines, Bronn cut a swathe through the Wzykians lines and rallied his undead to follow him into the Wzykian lines. With every man he struck down, his powers once more grew more potent and he soon stepped back from the frontline and cast a spell.

As Bronn raised his arms in the air, the smell of black magic could soon be detected as Bronn cast his spell, and soon enough the spell took effect. Using his unique magic which allowed him to literally suck the life out of someone, Bronn used an amplified version of this spell and cast it over the Wzykian army. The Wzykian soldiers first felt a sudden fatigue, and soon a pain within their chests and eventually the pain would become unbearable and possibly deadly.....if the Wzykian commanders couldn't take out the source of the spell....

[Charlia]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

"No.. I can't.. I can't cry... and I won't cry..", Pride told her, in a voice stained by pain. "I am the Archbishop of Pride.. the leader of the Cult of the Sins. Even if we are alone, even if there is no one around.. I can't cry. It can't be weak, and I can't show any weakness, no matter what, no matter when, no matter where. I have to be strong.. I have to be strong if I want to do my duty, I have to be strong if I want to follow the orders of my Lady, and I have to be strong if I hope that I will ever be able to help those who need my help.." The white haired boy took a few deep breaths, as if what he had just said had taken much more effort and energy than he could manage. Maybe, in the past, in another time.. he would have cried in front of her. He trusted her after all, and he desperately wanted to able to be himself in front of someone, in front of anyone.. to no longer have to keep up this prideful facade. To cry because of all the pain he was feeling, to cry because most of his hope was lost, to cry because he felt the sinful part of him growing every day, to cry because the idea of him managing to save the people he cared about from the fate in which they had fallen seemed more and more unlikely by the day.

But he had long lost any hope of saving himself.. and he felt as if he truly deserved this cursed fate. And Meta was wrong here.. they were never truly alone. They were each enslaved to the sin they represented.. as their souls were sinful and corrupted, their masters were always somewhere, around. There was no escaping from that. "Thank you.. for that..for telling me.. that you won't leave me.. it means.. it means a lot..." The boy once again closed his eyes, even if of course, it made no difference. Absolutely none.. and in the darkness that surrounded him, feeling Meta next to him, having her playing around with his hair.. it calmed him down. "Could I... could I try to feel.. how you look like?", he asked hesitatingly, raising his hand. "It's so difficult.. to remember everything.. and I've... I've forgotten it.."

"I meant every word of it," she whispered, trying to sound reassuring. She wished he could be happier. Wasn't she the one who was supposed to be sad? Wasn't she the slave of Acedia, after all? One would expect Superbia to be satisfied with themselves, but he was always so miserable. She wished she could take that from him... but the only way to give him permanent happiness was the same way she gave it to others.

Just the thought of that sparked a burning pain in her chest, the idea of losing him. She couldn't.

He lifted his hand, asking if he could try to feel what she looked like--saying he'd forgotten--and she smiled. He wanted to remember her face, then... there were spells that could allow him to see through the eyes of another, if only for a little while, but they would exhaust him and drain his mana. In the end, she supposed he'd never truly know her face, but to come close would be all right, wouldn't it?

She took his hand gently, placing it against her cheek and shivering a little bit--not because his hand was cold, though it was; her own flesh had the same icy temperature, so she barely felt any difference.

His touch was gentle, and for some reason she felt as though that was unusual. She found herself leaning into it, wanting more--wanting reciprocation of the affection she showed so often.

Why did it hurt so much to think about that?

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

A Risky Wager,
A Clearing, A Forest,
Voivodom of Kroikoy, Grand Duchy of Wyzkia,
Professor Morgan the Mad, as Confused Wyzkian Peasant

Well, Morgan was certainly in a pickle of a situation now. He hadn't even noticed the wall of vegetation that suddenly erupted from the ground, separating the two frozen boys as one became mobile and started threatening the other with a knife. Of course, that lack of perception had been caused by him turning away and then accidentally tumbling down a hill. The ensuing tumble also obscured the voice of the strange skeleton-like child, the one that was obviously exuding the massively negative aura. Though, through some strange magic, the voice seemed to break through Morgan's mental barriers and make itself heard. That disheartening and frightening tinkle of a child's voice talking about dominance, strength, and social order would have caused a shiver to travel down Morgan's spine if it wasn't for the fact that rocks had currently been assaulting it.

What did send a shiver down the man's spine was the obvious temperature drop as the child's eyes leveled themselves at him. Apparently, this little beast did not appreciate being asked about his day. The shadowy stake suddenly appearing at his throat certainly emphasized the fact that he did not want to be asked about the weather. "A-... Ah..." the professor pretending to be a peasant muttered, "N-Not a fine day, then?" Morgan's attempted smile turned quickly into a grimace as he moved slightly and the stake stuck into his Adam's apple, causing a drop of blood to glide down his neck. That certainly motivated the poor mage to stop talking, for once.

The next words out of the boy's mouth were incredibly strange sounding, mainly because the voice speaking in his brain stayed and acted as a strange echo to the physical voice of the... whatever this boy was. The being was still on the tip of his tongue but just refused to drop into the air. His current given attributes were nothing like any recorded monster in the bestiaries, nor was he just a spirit of the dead simply because he was too powerful. Morgan would have hazarded a guess that this was one of the Gods, except for the fact that none of them had ever been described as manifesting in such a macabre form. Perhaps it could be Zyraxes, but He would not take such interest in only three children. Perhaps Scelus? But would he truly attack three children when there were so many better places for crime? Where he could be seen?

And those were only options in a world were the Gods actually cared to interfere with mortal beings. Any actual manifestation of the Gods had not been recorded in centuries... Though, perhaps that was simply because none remembered or survived their encounters with the Gods nowadays. Either way, this was certainly a situation that Morgan was not prepared to handle. Magic was not an option, as the mage was working off the assumption that, at least within this well of fear, the Being's influence was nigh omnipotent. Indeed, it was possible that this Thing already knew that Morgan was a mage, knew who he actually was even, and was prepared for anything that the man might try. In that case, things need to get... interesting if Morgan was to survive this, least of all get these kids out of there.

Morgan's next act, having worked through possible identities for the Being in a few seconds yet still finding the answer eluding him, was to analyze his enemy. It took the form of a child, it would seem, most likely to scare and disturb Its victims. The form of the stake implied a predilection to shadow, of which followed all the typical attributes associated with shadows. Assassination, crime, death, night, darkness, and secrets. A shadow child, a good plan to distract a stereotypical being like that would b-

"Tell me, traveler... Which of these two boys deserve to die?"

That was a massive hint. It's cruel, evil, murderous, but by the very fact that it offered up the decision of first victim to an interloper that suddenly dropped in, a stranger to all three... that implied a hidden trait. To be completely honest, Morgan cursed himself for being an idiot and not recognizing it. The real reason the Being manifested as a child. It was playful. It liked games. It wanted to make this... interesting.

It was bored.

Time to liven up It's day, then... Morgan thought, gulping slightly.

"Uh, oh... That's a, uh, big decision there, sir..." he muttered, his eyes fixated on the stake convincingly. His peasant accent while speaking in Wyzkian would not have convinced a Wyzkian peasant, but if was probably enough to fool a noble... or this Being, hopefully. "If I, ah, am to be completely honest with, uh... your Lordship? I would prefer that neither died."

Morgan did not allow a pause in between this next sentence and the last, simply because he knew the Deity would almost certainly jump on the opportunity to kill him first instead.

"Do not get me wrong, my Lord!" he protested, gulping and feeling the stake press into his neck painfully. "I do not mean to take away your fun! I simply offer... a different solution... You see, if they simply die, then you lose current entertainment and possible entertainment in the future! What I suggest... is a bit of a deal." Morgan's eyes glinted at the Being, revealing intelligence that might have been hidden before. "How about a game? Of skill, I mean. If you win... not only are the children's bodies yours, but their souls will be your slaves until the end of time. And... mine as well, if you wish it."

He paused to let that sink.

"But if I win, your Lordship, then we all go free. With a promise from you to never interfere with us again." Morgan continued, straightening his back and causing the dirt to fall of his tunic, almost revealing the quality of his clothes. "Does that sound... interesting enough for you, my Lord?"

[Aellex]

???
?
???

There was nothing around It, neither ground, nor wind nor even light; nothing but the cold, dark and empty void through which it had been falling for what felt like an eternity. It knew why It was there and It knew It could stop itself from this continuous tumble through nothingness but far from wanting to do so, It only craved for it for It had remembered the weight of its Sins at long last.
Was it because It had recited the Duivenian Oath again after so very long? Or was it because of the presence of that dastardly scion of his old companion Jan, Rafal? Or mayhap it had just been the agents of the cursed false gods attacking them that triggered it.
Whatever it had been, however, It didn't care about it because the deed had been done and he had heard Her voice calling him and pleading him to atone himself.
It had reflexively plunged itself in the deepest of the void, hoping to become one with nothingness again for utter erasure was the kindest fate he could hope for in the light of Its crimes. It just closed its eyes and tried to make one with the void around It as It continued to fall through oblivion for ever.
And ever...
...
And ever...

...

And ever...

...

...

...


"You really thought it would be that easy?" a mocking voice said, breaking the absolute silence "You really thought we would let go of one of our toys, no matter how broken it was, just because it wished to end it?"
All around it, Darkness was cast back as fiery flames seemed to appear from nowhere and countless ethereal hands materialised, grabbing It. "You offered yourself to us, most fallen of the Paladins, and we granted you your wish. You BELONG to us and we shan't let you decide of your own end, no matter how many time you try to end yourself."
It felt itself pulled from everywhere but there was no pain, only despair : "If the depth of your Sins is too much for you to handle, then we shall take that memory from you like we did every time before. You will probably remember it some time in the future but then we shall just repeat this little play when you come back here.
Again."
There was neither despair, fear nor anger when It responded at last, only a saddened resignation "What a fool I was to think there could be such a thing as Salvation for me..."
The voice bursted in malevolent laughter before continuing "What a fool indeed! But let's get rid of that old persona of your, our failed champion of old, while your suffering is satiating, it is way less amusing than that one born from your and that girl's despair way more hindering to our goals."
A crimson arm pierced It as its world went red.
"Now forget about these pesky memories and go back to the service of our agents, fool. Until next time."


Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City


...

...

...

...

"Frederica" opened its eyes. It didn't knew where it was nor what had happened exactly. The last clear memory it had was of swearing fealty to the Archbishop of Pride. Frederica paused its wondering for some time and listened within itself but only found emptiness. "Hum, so that means that She must have managed to drag me down there again. What a shame, if only she could learn to enjoy Sin like I do, she could have so much more fun instead of trying to ruin my pleasure every time... Oh well, I suppose it will get her to shut-up for some time, at least."
Frederica frowned and concentrated on the magic around her "Now, what's left is to figure out where I am..." A smile appeared on her face when she noticed a strong pull from nearby. So it seemed her new "master" had managed to survive, after all...
Hovering slightly over the ground, she started to advance in that direction tho the sight she was welcomed by made her stop for a second, leaving her quite dumbfounded; Pride's head was being hold by an unknown woman and from the emotion flowing through her face, she could already guess about her feelings for him.
Surprise was almost immediately replaced on her face by a twisted, impish grin "Oh my..." she said jeerfully "It hasn't been that long since I took your first kiss and yet yoou're already in the hands of another woman, my Master? I know I disappeared for a little bit, but still... What a playboy you are!"

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

As Meta gently took his hand, placing it against her cheek, the white haired boy also slightly shivered. They were both cold and caught somewhere between life and death..but it was the feeling that mattered. The idea of being in contact with someone, of touching them and of feeling their existence. And for Pride, that was a bit more than for others. He was blind, always surrounded by an eternal darkness, so his other senses were a lot more important. And while he was normally able to feel the magic presence of others around him.. touching them gave him a much stronger insight. And just how all humans were different in their appearance, so were they in their magic and mana.

As he slowly moved his hand around her face, trying to imagine how she actually looked like, the silver eyed boy blushed a little.. but there was nothing weird or strange in this. His touch was calm and gentle, as if she was made out of porcelain and he was trying not to break her. He cared about her, there was no question there... but he just couldn't say anything. His memories were a constant mess, forgetting and remembering things each day, always gripped by the fear that one day, one day, he would wake up without remembering anything about himself, just like what had happened to the others. But for now, he remembered it, he remembered it all too well.. and he was sure that what happened to her was his fault. That both her and his younger sister had ended up with the Cult of Sins, without any memories.. he was guilty for it. And that guilt ate him away on the inside, poisoning his soul. How could he tell her anything, about the past, about what he could remember? When he was the reason for why she was like that? What if she would hate him after that? The thought of that alone was enough to made him shiver in fear. He had no heart anymore, just an empty scar.. so he had decided long ago that he had to act like that. He had to be a heartless Archbishop of Pride.. but then.. if he was so sure about it.. why was it so difficult? Why was it so impossible to shun her, to protect her from him?

After he felt the outline of her face, Pride stopped for a moment, with his hand on her cheek.. just..as ridiculous as it was, trying to just...tell her everything that he couldn't actually say through that simple touch. All the affection that he couldn't share because they were never alone...

And as always, Pride had been right just a couple minutes of that. They were indeed never alone.. as the white haired boy quickly felt another form of magic around them.. and he tried to ignore it, for a few more moments..but then, he recognized that type of magic. It was one that he had felt just a couple days before..

Of course, Pride was unable to see the way in which Frederica's expression had changed, and he also made no effort to move - the pain that he was feeling was still there after all. But of course, Frederica's comments made him blush even more noticeably than before and well. For a boy as pale as Pride, and if you were to also take into account his white robes-- it was pretty obvious when he was blushing. Not that he could realize it.

"F-frederica..", the boy said in a low voice, acknowledging her presence and stammering at the same time. It was rather obvious that he was feeling embarrassed - not only because the was still vividly remembering the way in which Frederica had kissed him while they had made their contract, but also because of how she described the relationship between him and Meta. Even if he was an Archbishop of Pride and all of that, it's not like he had much experience in dealing with girls. And even if Frederica was a void elemental and all of that.. she looked and acted like a normal girl for most of the time.

"What are you.. what are you doing here? You just.. disappeared after all.. right when we needed you the most, of course. So I was sure.. that you had forgotten about our contract.. and yet.. you are.. you are still calling me Master..why should I.. why should I trust you?" , the boy asked, his voice becoming increasingly strained by main as he talked. And then of course, the pride that he was normally to keep away had to mess with him a little. "And.. what's wrong.. with me .acting like a playboy? I am the.. Archbishop of Pride.. after all..doesn't being a playboy.. involve quite a bit of pride?"

[Charlia]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City

As Meta gently took his hand, placing it against her cheek, the white haired boy also slightly shivered. They were both cold and caught somewhere between life and death..but it was the feeling that mattered. The idea of being in contact with someone, of touching them and of feeling their existence. And for Pride, that was a bit more than for others. He was blind, always surrounded by an eternal darkness, so his other senses were a lot more important. And while he was normally able to feel the magic presence of others around him.. touching them gave him a much stronger insight. And just how all humans were different in their appearance, so were they in their magic and mana.

As he slowly moved his hand around her face, trying to imagine how she actually looked like, the silver eyed boy blushed a little.. but there was nothing weird or strange in this. His touch was calm and gentle, as if she was made out of porcelain and he was trying not to break her. He cared about her, there was no question there... but he just couldn't say anything. His memories were a constant mess, forgetting and remembering things each day, always gripped by the fear that one day, one day, he would wake up without remembering anything about himself, just like what had happened to the others. But for now, he remembered it, he remembered it all too well.. and he was sure that what happened to her was his fault. That both her and his younger sister had ended up with the Cult of Sins, without any memories.. he was guilty for it. And that guilt ate him away on the inside, poisoning his soul. How could he tell her anything, about the past, about what he could remember? When he was the reason for why she was like that? What if she would hate him after that? The thought of that alone was enough to made him shiver in fear. He had no heart anymore, just an empty scar.. so he had decided long ago that he had to act like that. He had to be a heartless Archbishop of Pride.. but then.. if he was so sure about it.. why was it so difficult? Why was it so impossible to shun her, to protect her from him?

After he felt the outline of her face, Pride stopped for a moment, with his hand on her cheek.. just..as ridiculous as it was, trying to just...tell her everything that he couldn't actually say through that simple touch. All the affection that he couldn't share because they were never alone...

And as always, Pride had been right just a couple minutes of that. They were indeed never alone.. as the white haired boy quickly felt another form of magic around them.. and he tried to ignore it, for a few more moments..but then, he recognized that type of magic. It was one that he had felt just a couple days before..

Of course, Pride was unable to see the way in which Frederica's expression had changed, and he also made no effort to move - the pain that he was feeling was still there after all. But of course, Frederica's comments made him blush even more noticeably than before and well. For a boy as pale as Pride, and if you were to also take into account his white robes-- it was pretty obvious when he was blushing. Not that he could realize it.

"F-frederica..", the boy said in a low voice, acknowledging her presence and stammering at the same time. It was rather obvious that he was feeling embarrassed - not only because the was still vividly remembering the way in which Frederica had kissed him while they had made their contract, but also because of how she described the relationship between him and Meta. Even if he was an Archbishop of Pride and all of that, it's not like he had much experience in dealing with girls. And even if Frederica was a void elemental and all of that.. she looked and acted like a normal girl for most of the time.

"What are you.. what are you doing here? You just.. disappeared after all.. right when we needed you the most, of course. So I was sure.. that you had forgotten about our contract.. and yet.. you are.. you are still calling me Master..why should I.. why should I trust you?" , the boy asked, his voice becoming increasingly strained by main as he talked. And then of course, the pride that he was normally to keep away had to mess with him a little. "And.. what's wrong.. with me .acting like a playboy? I am the.. Archbishop of Pride.. after all..doesn't being a playboy.. involve quite a bit of pride?"

Meta's own face colored slightly as Pride moved his hand across it, though, of course, he wouldn't know. His hands were soft and gentle, and his fingertips brushed over her face as if trying to memorize the placement of every cell, trying to map out her visage in his mind, a black-and-white reproduction of her features.

It felt... caring. He cared enough about her to want to try and know what she looked like, even though it was impossible for him to see her face. And he was being so careful, treating her as if she were a fragile doll that might shatter if he pressed too hard.

She held as still as she could, trying to make it as easy as possible for him to visualize her appearance, though she couldn't suppress a slight shudder when his fingers brushed against her lips. She wanted to say it--she wanted to--she would, plainly this time, she would say it so that he couldn't misunderstand--

The voice of a young girl cut through the air, and had Meta's heart been able to beat, the words the girl spoke would have made it freeze.

Taking his first kiss? 'Master'? 'Playboy'? 'Another woman'? She wasn't just--she wasn't--right?

She pulled away from Pride's touch, shaking, as he began to respond. Yet instead of speaking in the way she had hoped, instead of contradicting this strange girl, he... agreed.

He agreed.

He'd made a contract with this girl, when he knew, he knew that she was always there to help. Wasn't she good enough?

And then--the worst part. Practically outright stating that the girl was correct, that he was exactly what she'd stated him to be.

"...I see," she whispered, her voice low. So I really am the same as everyone else, to you? You were just using me, after all...

She didn't understand why that thought was so painful. She was shaking even more, now.

Didn't you expect that? She stiffened slightly at the return of the familiar voice, one that had whispered into her mind for almost as long as she could remember--ever since she'd sworn her loyalty to Acedia. You thought anyone would truly care for you, much less Superbia? How stupid can you be? You're still trying, after so long...

The same despair that came so easily swept over her mind again. It was true, of course. Even after so long, she had kept trying, only receiving the bare minimum of affection in response--but she was just foolish enough to keep going.

Yet, now she had proof in front of her, didn't she? She was just another tool. That was all. But if she was, then she'd be the best of the lot, better than any of the others so that he'd use her most of all.

Could that be enough?

...It was going to have to be.

[Aellex]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City


Frederica had took quite the pleasure at embarassing the young man but it had been his friend's reaction of incredulity swiftly replaced by sadness that had been the most enjoyable. At Pride's final words, however, genuine surprise filled Frederica's face for the second time in only a couple of minutes.
She hadn't expected the boy who had been stammering just to pronounce her name to become so bold, so quickly; and the fact that he hadn't even noticed how this final bravado had hurt the feelings of the girl had made it even tastier.

A small giggle escaped her lips, it looked like she wouldn't be bored any time soon after all! "Kihihihihihi, interesting! So very interesting! I had been a little afraid you were too soft-hearted because of your actions when we first met but now you're showing behavior fitting for One blessed by Sin! You do are right however my master, such would be your right, nay, duty even! I do not mind it, worry not, I was just a little surprised by you taking a mistress so soon after we began our relationship..."
Frederica let the purposefully ambiguous words linger for a moment, giving a devious stare at the young girl who had pushed Pride back after his tirade and was now standing a little away as if hoping for a violent response, without waiting for such a thing to happen, however, she continued : "... I still have to serve you for 33 years as by our contract, after all. Given the circumstances, I understand perfectly your actions, tho, it's easier to replace a missing tool than to try and find it back when its missing or repair it when its broken. Such is, again, behavior fitting of one of your rank, my Master, and now my expectations for you have only grown."

She paused for a second before continuing, the slight jeer in her voice being replaced by a certain gravity : "As for my disappearance, it was due to factors outside of my control. I hope you can understand that a being such as I is bound by different laws than you mortals. It has been much to my displeasure too, for it seems that during my absence you lost the two toys who you granted to me in exchange of my service; given I'm the one at fault to begin with for vanishing, I won't break the oath of fealty as long as you can promise me that they shall go back within my possession in due time. Such seem to be fair for the both of us, is it not?"

Not leaving him time to respond, she clapped her hands girlishly and said "Now that the terms of our reaffirmed agreement have been taken care of, the only thing left is that whole "trust" issue you mentioned. I'm quite surprised you're fearful of that, after all, an Agent of Sin doesn't have to concern himself with such petty things as "trust", "confidence" or "faith"; he orders and his men obey. It's not like you are in a position where you can afford to turn back the service of an Unholy One like me, anyway..."

Frederica put a finger to her mouth and frowned comically, as if trying to mock a deep internal reflexion "Oh well, if you're that bothered by it, I suppose I shall as your vassal proceed to the rite of reconciliation. It was usually limited for graver acts but well, if it can makes you feel better..."
As she said those last words, she knelt and started to recite a litany in an antediluvian form of Duivenian, ponctuated by hand gestures and signs. This strange ceremony ended as abruptly as it had started as Frederica warped in front of Pride and took his head in her hands in much the same fashion as he had the woman next to him before.

She closed her face to his until their noses were almost touching and in a soft, amused tone whispered to him "Feeling some déjà-vu, Master?" As his cheeks went from slightly hot to burning and his whole face took a crimson color, she closed in even more before swiftly pulling her face away and, taking a deep breath, blowing air on his face in a sudden motion.
Not leaving the time to Pride to react, she warped back to her original position as she erupted in laughter and he stood there, dumbfounded. "Kihihihihi, are you disappointed my Lord? I'm sorry but sharing breath is proper to the Rite of Fealty, for the one of Reconciliation, a mere exchange of breath is sufficient. Now only your part of it is left, it isn't as long as mine, worry not. You just have to say that you welcome me back as a vassal and blow on me like I did on you. With that done, our mutual oath shall be renewed. Doubt my character as much as you want but you can believe in one thing, it is my respect of the contracts I make."
With an impish grin and a dirty look at the girl whose voice she still hadn't heard, she added in a mocking tone "Be careful when you do that tho, you were drooling so much, I don't want you to splutter on me~..."

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere
Northern Wyzkia

When Morgan dared to say that no one of them should die, the little deity there felt as if he was messing around with him.. as if he had something against his little wonderful game here.. and that was annoying. He hated annoying beings, so the shadowy stake moved forward a little bit, pressing into his neck just enough to scratch his skin and cause some blood to fall from there in small drops..but luckily for the Achisian mage, he continued to speak just in time. The deity hesitated a little, and that saved him from a really painful and horrible death..and as Morgan proposed the deal, the game..even if of course, none of them were able to see it, as always.. they would all have the feeling that the black eyed boy was smiling, behind his mask of bone and death.

"A deal.. a game?", the young boy said, with his excitement clearly present in his voice. "If I win, your bodies and souls would belong to me..and if I lose, you want me to let you all walk away, unharmed, and to never interfere with you again..." A few moments of silence passed, as the being seemed to be considering the offer. "Well, I could actually take over all your bodies and souls and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it.. but unfortunately, I think that not many would appreciate the way in which I am dealing with this mortal world." The little deity sighed. "But let's play a game then!", he said, returning to his initial excitement.

Once again, without him saying anything or using an obvious form of magic, the shadowy stake quickly turned into a board of keis, with all the pieces including, floating above the ground between the deity and Morgan. "Mortals get the first move.."

[Charlia]

Somewhere
Northern Wyzkia

When Morgan dared to say that no one of them should die, the little deity there felt as if he was messing around with him.. as if he had something against his little wonderful game here.. and that was annoying. He hated annoying beings, so the shadowy stake moved forward a little bit, pressing into his neck just enough to scratch his skin and cause some blood to fall from there in small drops..but luckily for the Achisian mage, he continued to speak just in time. The deity hesitated a little, and that saved him from a really painful and horrible death..and as Morgan proposed the deal, the game..even if of course, none of them were able to see it, as always.. they would all have the feeling that the black eyed boy was smiling, behind his mask of bone and death.

"A deal.. a game?", the young boy said, with his excitement clearly present in his voice. "If I win, your bodies and souls would belong to me..and if I lose, you want me to let you all walk away, unharmed, and to never interfere with you again..." A few moments of silence passed, as the being seemed to be considering the offer. "Well, I could actually take over all your bodies and souls and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it.. but unfortunately, I think that not many would appreciate the way in which I am dealing with this mortal world." The little deity sighed. "But let's play a game then!", he said, returning to his initial excitement.

Once again, without him saying anything or using an obvious form of magic, the shadowy stake quickly turned into a board of keis, with all the pieces including, floating above the ground between the deity and Morgan. "Mortals get the first move.."

As the situation had escalated, with her magic useless to stop the little boy god from doing whatever he wished, Alina had simply watched, shaking slightly. What use was whatever that boy had granted her, if she couldn't do anything with it when she needed to?

When Morgan made his counteroffer, though, she froze, staring at him with glassy, horrified eyes. No... no...

Those words, especially as repeated by the young god, were horribly familiar.

"Your body belongs to Luxuria, now. And soon enough, your soul will, too."

She turned away to try and hide the look of terror on her face, closing her eyes tightly and wanting only to scream. Rafal, please... please, you promised...

Make it stop...

---

As Frederica continued to speak, Meta began to feel a growing pressure building behind her eyes, and closed them tightly. I'll take care of it. I will. Let me have this.

The pressure eased, slightly, and she opened her eyes again, a soft smile crossing her face.

"All that talking seems like it must take a lot of energy... Aren't you getting tired? Maybe you should sleep for a while..."

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere
The Fallen Achisia
A Forgotten City


While at the time, that short outburst of pride had seemed.. to be nothing bad, the white haired boy quickly realize what it had been.. feeling Meta's sadness as she pulled away from his touch, and then hearing what she said, it felt as if a wooden spike had pierced his heart.. if he would have had one in the first place...but even if he lacked one, he felt his heart sink. He was normally so good at suppressing his inner pride.. but with all this pain and exhaustion and especially with the Night of the Bloody Moons drawing near he felt the influence of his Lady stronger and stronger every day.. what could he do? He had no intention to make Meta sad, and it made him feel horrible..but it hurt so much.. and it was so difficult to focus.. on what was happening around him.

But Frederica seemed to be really enjoying this. Even if of course, Pride was unable to properly see her, she continued to mess around with Meta, being ambiguous on purpose and trying to make her believe things that were not necessarily true..by suggesting that they had a relationship, by considering both herself and Meta to be tools, and so on.. and of course, the silver eyed boy immediately tried to think of ways in which he could explain all of this to Meta.. he had to make her believe him after all, he had to make her realize that this little and vaguely annoying void being was lying... but he knew how Meta was now all too well. Tristitia was after all, a big aspect of the sin of Acedia.. so it was clear that Frederica's words were going to hurt her. But before the boy was even able to say anything, Frederica moved on, and Pride's thoughts suddenly changed to the two humans that he had left behind not all that long ago..but the being in the form of a little girl gave him no time to say anything as she moved on yet again, speaking about trust..

It was true that a true servant of the evil would have nothing to do with trust.. but Pride had been so successful in leading the Cult partially because he had deviated from the brutal rule of his predecessors. Following Achisia's defeat during the War of the Seven Realms, if the Cult would have fought internally, without a leader (since the authority of the Archbishop of Superbia was mostly just ceremonial), they would have been pushed into hiding long ago. Pride despised magic that forced others to do your will..but the world was a cruel place, after all. And while had no way of seeing Frederica's comical frown, she moved on to something she called a "rite of reconciliation", quickly speaking in something that vaguely sounded like Duivenian - but a former Velikiyan such as Pride was certainly not able to understand it. And her void magic was just so unpredictable.. that by the time he had felt her magic, the girl was already in front of him, taking his head into her hands. Had Pride been prepared, Frederica would have probably been blasted away by a spell or something.. but like this, he wasn't able to do anything.

Even if he was unable to see her, he certainly felt that her face was so close.. and of course, he blushed. In the end, evil Archbishop of Sin or not, Pride was a boy who had been a lone warrior mage for most of his life, and while he had no idea how Frederica exactly looked like, he knew that she was, or at the very, that she seemed to be a girl. And when she indirectly mentioned their kiss from back then during the contract's ritual, of course that he blushed even harder. And then.. she just suddenly blew air on his face before she pulled away, leaving the poor Pride even more confused than he had been.

And of course, the void girl found this to be extremely amusing and she started to laugh, and then she started to talk again.. something about an oath.. that he had to blow air on her like that..his head hurt.

Slowly, the boy tried to stand up, trying to ignore the pain. "It's not like that..", he tried to tell Meta, his voice strained. "We need every help that we can get for the next war..I had to enter a contract with her..for the Cult.. for the objective given to me by my Lady.. but don't believe.. don't believe everything that she is saying. She is just trying to mess with you.. to mess with us all.." Pride remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes closed. "I'm sorry.. that we couldn't spend much time together, alone... and I'm sorry.. that I can't tell you.. all that I should.." Another moment of silence passed....and drops of a black, opaque liquid started to roll down the boy's cheeks, as if he was crying.. and Pride took a deep breath..but as he exhaled, all that air looked like a black smoke. And as he opened his eyes again, they were just as hollow as usual.. but with their black sclerae.. they looked a lot more.. aggressive, and alive, than they had ever been.

"As for you..", he said, looking in the vague direction of where he felt Frederica to be, "You are a servant of the Cult of Sins now. You shouldn't try to create infighting among your fellow brothers and sisters in sin.. or do I have to remind you of who you are and what position you are in, you familiar from the nothingness?"

[Charlia]

As Pride spoke, Meta's face began to soften slightly, and she turned away from Frederica--only to feel a burning pain wrapping around her throat, as if a red-hot chain had been looped around her neck and was slowly strangling her. It hurt--it hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt so much and she couldn't breathe--

You don't actually believe that, do you? That you're anything more than a tool. Don't be an idiot... if that's even possible. Those 'tears' are from pain. Those words are to buy your loyalty. Those touches are to trap you. All he's after is to use you, of course. Submit everything you have, the way She thinks She deserves. You are not loyal to Superbia. You are loyal to me. Forget that, and you will no longer be of use to me.

And if that happens, I'll have no further reason to keep you alive.

"...Of course," she said quietly, tilting her head a little bit and looking at Pride with a small, false smile. "I understand. You don't need to explain anything."

I'll remember.

[Zapatha]

Castle Schmidt, Velikiya

Arthur's group had traveled back for many days now to his home in Velikiya with with the business of his Scripture being taken care of, in that he assured that the order backed his claim to Velikiya's throne. Now, Arthur set his sights on consolidating his forces for the push forward to reunify Velikiya under his rightful rule as the last remaining relative of Krai Wilhelm. Presently, Arthur had the support of around a dozen prinzes and their forces including his own army and the remnants of his cousin's and in total Arthur commanded 100,000 men. The other prinzes all either backed Prinz Alexander's claim to the title of Krai, had their own agendas, or were remaining neutral in the civil war. The major advantage that Prinz Alexander had over Arthur was the backing of the Knights of the Black Sun, which were a major player in Velikiya ever since its founding several centuries ago. Arthur had the backing of the Scripture of the Morning Star, which while in most every other human realm would be an advantage, the scripture didn't carry as much political weight as Velikiya's native knightly order does.

Looking at a map of the entire country, Arthur focused on the regions that were either completely wiped out by either the Karaki, undead, the Cult of Sins, or a combination of the three. Fortunately, the large undead host from Arzalask had moved south to trouble the Wzykians and the Karaki were scattered back up north to the steppe after their defeat. Ohridia still laid in ruin from the attack from the Cult, which Arthur knew Prinz Alexander was involved in somehow yet couldn't prove without evidence. It seemed the only way to gain the throne of Velikiya was to face Alexander in the open field and defeat him there or die trying. It wouldn't be easy, as Alexander's forces outnumbered Arthur's by almost 20,000 troops total let alone if he had the backing of the Cult's countless legions of undead. Arthur decided now was the time to act, and called upon his vassals and troops to make ready to march to battle once again.

[Zapatha]

Jacquesville, Duivene
Hero's Hill, Seat of House Clermont

Another sighting of bandits in the nearby woods, a marriage proposal from some distant noble house in the capital, a request for the hiring of witch hunters to root out some "fell beast" in a remote village under House Clermont's protection. Peter sat back in his chair, and put his hands on his temples, attempting to rub out a recurring headache. His steward never told him how many headaches there would be, running one of Duivene's most powerful families and being an economic advisor to the Roi.

Of course I take a vacation back home and still end up having to work. Peter thought to himself as he sorted the papers back in a pile for his servants, as unlike the rest of his family he appreciated the work his servants did even if he did so discreetly. In the months he had been away, his brother Jean had left most of the affairs of the family to their steward, Loras, who had helped Peter in his early years as patriarch of the Clermonts. In the last few years, many of Duivene's noble houses have become irrevocably corrupt and like a pack of hungry wolves waiting to take advantage of the young Roi to further their own agendas than that of Duivene itself. As economic advisor, Peter held no tangible power in court, however it did help him further his own family's position in Duivene. Sure, House Clermont was always a well respected and decently wealthy house, however with Peter as patriarch its power has expanded quickly due to his high position in court.

Thinking back to the papers, Peter decided to act upon the report of bandits nearby as it surprisingly was the easiest--and cheapest-- matter to deal with.

"Servant, summon Jean here immediately." said Peter

"Yes m'lord." and the servant left the room, going to summon Jean Clermont to the chamber. Jean was a true knight, only a year younger than Peter was and had actually fought near the end of the war three years ago. Jean was the only person other than his father to beat Peter in swordsmanship and had apparently led a charge of a contingent of Duivenian knights into the Achisian ranks in the war's final battle. Jean was very much a typical knight however, their only useful thing about them being their ability to kill others which in this instance actually proved useful for Peter's interests.

[Zapatha]

Jacquesville, Duivene

As Peter stood on the balcony outside of his office chambers, he looked out from the walls to his family's city, Jacquesville. The city itself was one of Duivene's largest and oldest, with Hero's Hill being older than the city itself. Legend has it that the Clermont's legendary ancestor, Jacque Clermont fought a cyclops singlehandedly and slew it, building his castle where the battle supposedly took place. Peter didn't believe any silly stories like that, as he was a practical man and didn't seek to dwell on stories of the past when work could be done today. Jacquesville also holds an ornate cathedral to the Sixteen, built by one of Peter's more "pious" ancestors who reportedly blew his own personal wealth on the building. Sure, the gods deserved everyone's respect but Peter didn't believe in using secular means to show one's religious devotion.

"Peter, you really have nothing else better to do than look at the city you've grown up next to?" Jean, Peter's younger brother, said as he entered the office. Jean was of much slighter build than Peter was, being around 5'9 and not as thickly muscled. However this didn't affect his combat prowess as he is renowned as an excellent knight and warrior, as he proved to be a capable battlefield commander and warrior during the last battle in the war against Achisia at only 16 which made him the best choice to kill the bandits.

"I really didn't miss your humor brother." Peter said smiling, walking back into the room. "I've gotten reports of several bandits in the lands nearby and I need you to take 100 men and kill them all. To the last."

"That's easy Peter, why not give the job to Jacques?" Jacques was the youngest Clermont at only 16, and was still in training to become a knight but was more like Peter in attitude, not really liking martial training but liking more of the political training.

"Jean we both know Jacques isn't the best choice to lead 100 men out there. If you weren't such a dick in training sometimes, I think he would actually do better than he is." Peter said with a smug smirk, and waving his hand to dismiss his brother.

[Castle Crashers]

Dax could only really grumble disapprovingly as Dante took the bandages from his hands, watching with cold eyes as he smiled and wrapped the gauze around his injured head. He could tell the man was fairly dexterous, quickly and tightly wrapping the bandages, and was, atleast a little less of an idiot than Dax had originally assumed. Even that revelation was hard to come across through his foggy mind. He listened foggily as Dante spoke of not having something to cut the bandage with, and as he searched for a sharp object, Dax scoffed. "Just rip it with your hands, you idiot." He slurred as Dante searched, and had he been even a little less leaking of blood, he probably would've felt prideful in knowing Dante hadn't found the rest of his knives in his jacket.

His mind finally decided to tune clearly in when Dante spoke of luckily bringing his old trusty knife, and as his hand surfaced...sure enough, it was, in fact, Dante's blade of choice. Bent, scratched, scuffed, far beyond useful condition, Dax could feel a ball of distaste and disgust in his chest. He frowned, his eyes still dull, clearly unfocused, but he seemed dissatisfied. It was okay, for now, as Dante had the knowledge that he would likely use that same blade to peel the skin from that blonde boys face as he screamed in fear. Yes...that thought, perhaps, made it almost okay. So, he sat in silence as Dante cut and tied the bandage to his head, but was mildly alarmed as Dante spoke of getting him something to eat, as well as a bed. He knew that wouldn't end well; worse than it was already.

He grimaced as he watched the idiot tap his chin with his knife, his precious tool through blurring vision. He was not in optimal condition. If he hadn't hit his head, he already knew he likely would've killed and skinned the boy by now. It was...frustrating, almost. As he thought out loud, saying he had an idea (nearly giving the serial killer a bad feeling), and then introduced the idea of taking him home with him... "No...I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't need any help." He slurred, but his words were only becoming more unintelligible. He frowned, frustrated with his own body, unable to communicate what he needed as his ears began to ring. And as Dante lifted him and began walking, he tried to struggle, but his body didn't listen. "I don't need...your help..." He barely slurred before his vision blurred and the world went dark.

Patient Turned Prisoner... Maybe On Accident,
Dante's Apartment, A Coastal City, Arghyo,
Ser Dante d'Aquila

Suddenly having to carry, at the very least, a hundred pounds of unconscious flesh would not have seemed like a fun time to most people. But Dante was, strangely, having somewhat of a ball with this task. The almost murderer, which Dante did know that this man had been trying to murder that girl earlier, was in fact not that ugly nor disheveled. Indeed, he looked more noble than savage or peasant, which struck the young knight as interesting, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Dante knew himself that nobles tended to have a bit of a predilection toward apathy and the fixation on death. Either way, the attractiveness of the criminal now near death in his arms certainly gave the now kidnapper a better thing to look at than the dark surroundings of a city at night.

Dante would soon be admiring a corpse instead of a near corpse if he didn't hurry up, though, so the crushing knight picked up his pace while making sure that his patient's head did not move too much. Any further jostling would probably cause further damage. Something about swelling of the brain, but Dante didn't anything farther than a more interested than usual battlefield medic. Eventually, both men were saved from the cold darkness of the night... though one may have preferred the term stolen rather than saved.

The apartment, which was on the third floor of a building owned by a rather crotchety old Calarian couple, was incredibly small by noble standards or by the standards of well-off merchants. Even farmers might have called it a little bit less than what the average human should live in. Most of the peasants in the world, though, would have considered it the lap of luxury. It consisted of two rooms, the first being an entryway, living room, and kitchen all at once, containing a cooking stove for warming the room and for the act it was named after, a couch, a chair, and a singular table. Against the wall opposite the couch and perpendicular to the stove, which was opposite to the door itself, was a bookshelf filled with random literature. Everything from the raunchiest of Anselmian tales to the Holy Book of the Ecclesiarchy was on those shelves. Languages ranged from the Archyan dialect to Calarian to even some Old Thyrian.

Adjoining the first room was a small bedroom, containing only a bed and a cabinet for clothes. Dante brought his victim here, quickly laying the injured psychopath on the bed before kneeling next to the bedside gently. "Now then...", the knight muttered to himself, "It's been a while since I've had to heal someone... but... let's just..."

Air flowed out of Dante's nose slowly as he took his gauntlets off and laid his hands on Dax's bandaged scalp. His mind reached out slowly, connecting to the place where he learned mana came from. It always felt strange, like there was a pool of fire that suddenly opened up behind his stomach. It burned, but it wasn't painful. It felt more like suddenly downing an entire bottle of Wyzkian whyzki or Duivene bourbon. Silently, Dante's mouth moved in it's familiar way and the mana poured out of his stomach, up past his sternum, into his shoulders, down his arms, buzzing in his fingertips for a moment before eventually jumping into Dax's broken skull. Opening his eyes, Dante knew that he had succeeded in his task and quickly cut the bandages off of the young man's newly healed head.

"Well... another successful surgery, doctor! Well done!" Dante whispered to himself, smiling as he stood. Quickly, the young knight made his way around the room, taking any sharp things that could be used as weapons and locking the window firmly. It's not as if the prisoner would be able to survive leaving out the window; it was a three story drop to a cobblestone alley. "You get a good night's rest and we'll figure this out in the morning, hmm?"

With that, Dante left and locked the door behind him.

It was a long, long period of darkness before Dax could open his eyes. No dreams, nothing; just silent, inky black. More often than not, Dax didn't dream. He couldn't remember the last time he had, and he was sure being forcibly put into unconsciousness didn't help. But when he opened his eyes, he expected pain. Dull, throbbing, ugly pain in his skull...but...it was all gone. He sighed, sitting up from the...bed..? A bed? He couldn't recall how he got here, but he felt fairly displeased by what he was certain the answer would be. It didn't look like a hospital or anything similar, after all. He sat up and scratched his head, noticing the dried blood on his forehead and in his hair with mild distaste. But...it was interesting to see that someone had, in fact, healed his wounds. Did the thick-skulled, idiotic knight really know how to heal? Interesting.

The situation was not ideal. He was pleased to see that Dante had not gotten curious enough to search his jacket either, finding most of his knives in absolute perfect condition; he made sure to keep them hidden, and the remembrance of his prized knife either being somewhere else in this odd home or out on the street somewhere filled him with a distant sense of displeasure. He stood, curiously looking around the small room a moment, heading for the door and--no surprise--the door was locked. As he had begun to suspect, this must've been Dante's home. The idiot had thought to lock him in the bedroom, but hadn't considered if Dax could use magic...however...Dax was no idiot. Now was not the time to utilize his escape. Dante knew more about Dax than he would've preferred, and the killer simply couldn't let that be. He had to know more about his captor, though, before he could do anything...and if he knew he could use magic, well...he might just try to restrain Dax more.

So, with a sigh and a deadpan look, he gave a knock on the bedroom door, expecting Dante to hear...if he was home, that is.

Citadel of Aurilly
Kingdom of Duivene
Under the control of the Ecclesiarchy

The battle continued to rage on in front of the walls, with the Faith Keepers and Scripture knights in the city fighting against Celio and his undead soldiers. It was actually a good think that Julie wasn't there to watch.. after all, the poor boy still thought that he was in the middle of the war.. a war so brutal that there was no wonder that Celio hated and envied his enemies at the same time.. so the fight in the front of the gate was certainly not going to be pretty. It wasn't like Celio was a bad person, deep inside.. but brutality changes people. And especially those who are afraid for their own lives would often to unspeakable things during fights..especially if they wanted to see their enemies dead.

The city itself was fairly quiet though, it was clear that the inhabitants had decided to stay inside of their homes rather than to risk being wounded and killed on the streets. For them, the war had ended long ago, so most of them probably believed that this was just a bandit raid or something - something that the strong garrison of the Faith's soldiers would be able to deal with. So Julie had absolutely no problems in reaching the Citadel, which seemed to be undefended. Most of the soldiers were probably gathered in the area of the gate, frightened by the burning symbol in the sky that was visible even here. The gate leading to the insides of the Citadel were open.. and according to her compass, that's where the older Celio was being held. But before she would able to enter.. a young girl emerged from the inside. The same girl that she had met in the forest not so long ago.

A beautiful girl, with a long, white hair and dark crimson eyes, wearing the simple white robes of the Faith's priesthood. As always, she had no visible weapons on her.. but as Julie had learned, she was an incredibly powerful mage. That suddenly explained the reaction of the Faith's soldiers a lot better - with someone like her in the Citadel, the city was better defended than with an entire squad of Scripture knights.

"Benevolentia.. what a surprise is to see you here..", Iustitia told her in the same soft and calm voice that she always had. "I'm sorry that our last meeting ended as it did.. you probably weren't in your right minds back then.. but you must understand that I was trying to save you from the corrupting power of your sinful archenemy.. I'm sure that you can understand that, as a servant of the Virtues, as a servant of the Faith.. and yet I don't understand why you are here.." The girl took a step forward, an innocent smile on her face. "The best explanation is that you are trying to save that Archbishop of Envy.. and yet that explanation is too horrible for me to believe it. Would you go as far as to ally yourself with the servants of darkness, as far as to attack your brothers and sisters in virtue and faith, just to save a slave of Invidia? Would you bring forth death, destruction, and sinful corruption just to save a single person who is beyond saving anyway? That is impossible.. because that would mean that the sins have already corrupted the Cult of Virtues up to its core.."

The girl sighed. "I understand that you are a young Archbishop.. but even kindness must have its limits. From the earliest days the Sins have tried to use the weakness inherent to our virtues in order to corrupt us. That's why I am here.. to bring justice to those who deserve it even if the world might perish in the result. You must understand that the Archbishop of Envy is your enemy. Your greatest rival and enemy. You can't believe anything that he has said.. their cult only exists in order to make normal people fall into their sins. You mustn't feel sorry for his mortal past either, for he is just an abomination, caught between life and death, enslaved and completely controlled by Invidia. Your attempt to save him has been admirable, and it proves that you are indeed trying to follow the tenets of Benevolentia.. but it ends here. There is nothing you can do. The Faith's Judgement will decide his fate, for he has betrayed the Faith twice, a crime that can not and will not be tolerated. So listen now, Archbishop of Kindness. As the Overseer of Justice, your direct superior, I order you to stop right now, before you'll do something that you will later regret.."

Julie took a step back as Lustitia emerged from the building, alone, unattended, seeming unnaturally stone-faced and calm. She looked so pure, so harmless, so...predictable. But even Julie knew better than to trust her facade now. She spoke of what a surprise it was to see Julie, but the brunette doubted that was the truth. She spoke that she was sorry about how their last meeting had ended, of how she was trying to save her from the power of Celio, that Julie should understand that, and that she didn't understand why she was there. She continued, taking a step forward, explaining that she'd already guessed Julie was there to save Celio, but said it was too horrible to believe. She seemed to question with disbelief as to if she would ally with servants of darkness, to attack the faith, simply to save an archbishop of Invidia...that she would bring death and destruction just to save one person...that it was impossible. That it would mean the Cult of Virtues was entirely corrupted...

She continued with a sigh, explaining that Julie was a young Archbishop, that kindness must have limits, that the Sins have used the equal sins of the virtues to corrupt them, that the reason she was there was to bring justice to those who deserve it, and that Julie had to realize Celio was her enemy. That she couldn't believe anything he said, that she shouldn't feel sorry for his mortal past; that he was just an abomination...and Julie began to feel angry. Lustitia continued, explaining that her attempts of rescue were admirable, that her track of following Benevolentia ended there. That the Faith's Judgement would decide his fate, that, as her direct superior, she was ordering her to stop before she did something she would regret...

Julie was silent for a moment, but...her brow was furrowed, and her fists were clenched. She was angry. "...I won't." She said softly yet firmly, turning her fiery blue eyes up to Lustitia's. "...you don't get to decide the fate of my enemy. This is my job, this is what I've been sent to do, this is my purpose!" She said, her voice rising as she lifted her head, looking defiant. "He is no abomination, he's lost, taken advantage of by the horrible Invidia...she used his fear against him! She turned him into this zombie-like man because she knew he was afraid to die...and the fact that you...insult him for that...a decision you yourself would likely make...that makes you the horrible one." She growled, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "Kindness has no limits, whether the sacrifice is for one or the many! If he has corrupted me, then I would not have hesitated in attacking you at first sight, or hurting any guards as I made my way here, or killing the knights who tried to kill Celio when I first fought him!" She yelled, "I would go to the end of the world if it meant I could save a soul, even one as corrupted and horrible as his might seem! Everyone deserves a chance at saving! I believe I am changing him for the better, I know I am! It is my job and my moral to save anyone and everyone I can from sin, and it is a Virtues job to try and save their enemies just as the Sins must try and corrupt theirs! You cannot condemn me from doing what I've been sent to do!"

Julie scowled, determined, her hand ready and itching for a magic spell, her other hand on the hilt of her blade. "You think of him as less than a man, but he is so much more than that...I know that I can save him. I can change him. Our duty is to try and rid of the Sins, is it not? How could cleansing one not count as such? If our enemies decide to change and fight for us instead, does that not solve our issues? Does that not rid of our enemies? Killing is not always the answer, Lustitia. I understand you are my superior, but if I don't agree with your rule, I'll only be forced to challenge it, Archbishop or not. I will not bow as one of your loyal dogs any longer...and I won't let you get in the way of my duty a moment longer!"

[Free Empire of the Low Isles]

Somewhere
Northern Wyzkia

When Morgan dared to say that no one of them should die, the little deity there felt as if he was messing around with him.. as if he had something against his little wonderful game here.. and that was annoying. He hated annoying beings, so the shadowy stake moved forward a little bit, pressing into his neck just enough to scratch his skin and cause some blood to fall from there in small drops..but luckily for the Achisian mage, he continued to speak just in time. The deity hesitated a little, and that saved him from a really painful and horrible death..and as Morgan proposed the deal, the game..even if of course, none of them were able to see it, as always.. they would all have the feeling that the black eyed boy was smiling, behind his mask of bone and death.

"A deal.. a game?", the young boy said, with his excitement clearly present in his voice. "If I win, your bodies and souls would belong to me..and if I lose, you want me to let you all walk away, unharmed, and to never interfere with you again..." A few moments of silence passed, as the being seemed to be considering the offer. "Well, I could actually take over all your bodies and souls and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it.. but unfortunately, I think that not many would appreciate the way in which I am dealing with this mortal world." The little deity sighed. "But let's play a game then!", he said, returning to his initial excitement.

Once again, without him saying anything or using an obvious form of magic, the shadowy stake quickly turned into a board of keis, with all the pieces including, floating above the ground between the deity and Morgan. "Mortals get the first move.."

A Friendly Game for a Few Souls,
The Clearing, A Forest,
Voivodom of Kroikoy, Grand Duchy of Wyzkia,
Professor Morgan the Mad, as the Wyzkian Peasant Gamer

A sigh of relief nearly escaped from the poor mage's mouth, but he was able to catch the slip before it happened. It was probably best not to let the... thing know how nervous he was, even though it could probably tell just by being on the same continent as Morgan. Instead, a slow smile worked its way onto his face, before he crossed his legs and sat on the ground. "Ah... keis... a bit of a hard game and I'm only iffy with the rules, it being a noble's game after all. But I'll try my best!" he said, take the first move lightly and with certainty, the accent he had adopted slowly becoming more natural to him. Almost immediately, a response came from opposite side of the board, the young looking god moving pieces without even touching them. Of course, that sort of ability had been expected, but Morgan did put on a bit of an act in order to keep up his peasant facade.

Not that the facade was particularly effective in the first place. The deity almost certainly already knew exactly who Morgan was and his abilities and the children, if they were anything close to semi-intelligent, would be able to tell that his clothes were far too foreign and well-made for him to be a peasant. Nobody ever said that Morgan was the best at making deceptive plans... but there was one thing he was certainly master at in this situation. And that thing was keis.

But even that seemed iffy when it came to this spirit. Morgan would spend minutes at a time in silence, contemplating his next move, while the thing sat there with its placid smile of benevolent interest, as if this was nothing more than a happy game between equals. And, after Morgan had finally made his move and sat back with a feeling of satisfaction, a piece would move of its own accord nearly instantly, countering Morgan perfectly. The simplicity of how he was being beaten infuriated Morgan, but he had to keep a similar placid smile, never letting the thing see how it affected him. Control was part of the game. This was obviously just a diversion from the nothingness of its usual life, the deity found this interesting not for the game but for the peril. Morgan was also at an even greater handicap, considering the fact that while half of his mind considered the game itself, the other half was preoccupied with the chaotic recall of what the hell his opponent could be.

It was bored. It liked games, but most likely only if it won. It mimicked childhood in a cruel mockery, equal parts innocent in its selfish pursuit of diversion yet evil in its detachment from humanity. Seemingly omnipotent but with a focus on the shadows. Death related from the skull? Wait. The Skull, look at the mask. Were there carvings? Markings? Any language? Something! There had to be something to give Morgan the hint he needed! He couldn't just die like this! Away from home, with his goals so far out of reach! How dare he even consider dying as an outca-!

There it was.

Morgan completed another turn, the deity immediately answering it, of course, but instead of leaning forward into another bout of contemplation, the fake peasant leaned back against his arms and unfolded his legs. His eyes lingered for a moment on the board, before they swung upwards and locked with those hollows where eyes should have been. That placid smile caused a fire to ignite briefly in Morgan's chest, but he fought it down as his own smile finally gained some teeth to it. It would have been an attractive look if it wasn't for the coldness in his blood red eyes.

"So... This is an interesting game and all, but I do believe we're ignoring a significant portion of keis's appeal." Morgan began, his tongue chopping the Wyzkian at first. "Conversation. Not only can it give the players a distraction to take advantage of or an insight into their opponent's strategies, but it also makes friends from enemies. And while we may be playing for my soul and the souls of those children, it does not mean we can't be pleasant... So, tell me..."

Perhaps the deity would not have noticed, but those watching certainly would have. Halfway through the statement, Morgan had changed languages. No longer was he speaking Wyzkian with that strange accent... now he was speaking Thyrian, with perfect pronunciation and, possibly, the accent of a native speaker.

"What exactly have you been doing all this time, Outcast?"

Patient Turned Prisoner... Maybe On Accident,
Dante's Apartment, A Coastal City, Arghyo,
Ser Dante d'Aquila

Suddenly having to carry, at the very least, a hundred pounds of unconscious flesh would not have seemed like a fun time to most people. But Dante was, strangely, having somewhat of a ball with this task. The almost murderer, which Dante did know that this man had been trying to murder that girl earlier, was in fact not that ugly nor disheveled. Indeed, he looked more noble than savage or peasant, which struck the young knight as interesting, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Dante knew himself that nobles tended to have a bit of a predilection toward apathy and the fixation on death. Either way, the attractiveness of the criminal now near death in his arms certainly gave the now kidnapper a better thing to look at than the dark surroundings of a city at night.

Dante would soon be admiring a corpse instead of a near corpse if he didn't hurry up, though, so the crushing knight picked up his pace while making sure that his patient's head did not move too much. Any further jostling would probably cause further damage. Something about swelling of the brain, but Dante didn't anything farther than a more interested than usual battlefield medic. Eventually, both men were saved from the cold darkness of the night... though one may have preferred the term stolen rather than saved.

The apartment, which was on the third floor of a building owned by a rather crotchety old Calarian couple, was incredibly small by noble standards or by the standards of well-off merchants. Even farmers might have called it a little bit less than what the average human should live in. Most of the peasants in the world, though, would have considered it the lap of luxury. It consisted of two rooms, the first being an entryway, living room, and kitchen all at once, containing a cooking stove for warming the room and for the act it was named after, a couch, a chair, and a singular table. Against the wall opposite the couch and perpendicular to the stove, which was opposite to the door itself, was a bookshelf filled with random literature. Everything from the raunchiest of Anselmian tales to the Holy Book of the Ecclesiarchy was on those shelves. Languages ranged from the Archyan dialect to Calarian to even some Old Thyrian.

Adjoining the first room was a small bedroom, containing only a bed and a cabinet for clothes. Dante brought his victim here, quickly laying the injured psychopath on the bed before kneeling next to the bedside gently. "Now then...", the knight muttered to himself, "It's been a while since I've had to heal someone... but... let's just..."

Air flowed out of Dante's nose slowly as he took his gauntlets off and laid his hands on Dax's bandaged scalp. His mind reached out slowly, connecting to the place where he learned mana came from. It always felt strange, like there was a pool of fire that suddenly opened up behind his stomach. It burned, but it wasn't painful. It felt more like suddenly downing an entire bottle of Wyzkian whyzki or Duivene bourbon. Silently, Dante's mouth moved in it's familiar way and the mana poured out of his stomach, up past his sternum, into his shoulders, down his arms, buzzing in his fingertips for a moment before eventually jumping into Dax's broken skull. Opening his eyes, Dante knew that he had succeeded in his task and quickly cut the bandages off of the young man's newly healed head.

"Well... another successful surgery, doctor! Well done!" Dante whispered to himself, smiling as he stood. Quickly, the young knight made his way around the room, taking any sharp things that could be used as weapons and locking the window firmly. It's not as if the prisoner would be able to survive leaving out the window; it was a three story drop to a cobblestone alley. "You get a good night's rest and we'll figure this out in the morning, hmm?"

With that, Dante left and locked the door behind him.

It was a long, long period of darkness before Dax could open his eyes. No dreams, nothing; just silent, inky black. More often than not, Dax didn't dream. He couldn't remember the last time he had, and he was sure being forcibly put into unconsciousness didn't help. But when he opened his eyes, he expected pain. Dull, throbbing, ugly pain in his skull...but...it was all gone. He sighed, sitting up from the...bed..? A bed? He couldn't recall how he got here, but he felt fairly displeased by what he was certain the answer would be. It didn't look like a hospital or anything similar, after all. He sat up and scratched his head, noticing the dried blood on his forehead and in his hair with mild distaste. But...it was interesting to see that someone had, in fact, healed his wounds. Did the thick-skulled, idiotic knight really know how to heal? Interesting.

The situation was not ideal. He was pleased to see that Dante had not gotten curious enough to search his jacket either, finding most of his knives in absolute perfect condition; he made sure to keep them hidden, and the remembrance of his prized knife either being somewhere else in this odd home or out on the street somewhere filled him with a distant sense of displeasure. He stood, curiously looking around the small room a moment, heading for the door and--no surprise--the door was locked. As he had begun to suspect, this must've been Dante's home. The idiot had thought to lock him in the bedroom, but hadn't considered if Dax could use magic...however...Dax was no idiot. Now was not the time to utilize his escape. Dante knew more about Dax than he would've preferred, and the killer simply couldn't let that be. He had to know more about his captor, though, before he could do anything...and if he knew he could use magic, well...he might just try to restrain Dax more.

So, with a sigh and a deadpan look, he gave a knock on the bedroom door, expecting Dante to hear...if he was home, that is.

He Might Have Forgotten About His Guest...,
The Streets In General and the Apartment, The Coastal City of Terrohl,
The Grand Principality of Arghyo, Protectorate of the League of Anslem,
Ser Dante d'Aquila, the Stumbling Blade

"Morning, Signora di Falco!" the knight announced, his metal covered form clanking into the front of a cafe quite noisily. The old lady behind the counter, a Calarian of some culinary renown in the city, smiled at him and tilted her one good ear in his direction. "What was that, Dante dear!?" she practically screamed back, cupping her hand over the ear in order to seemingly hear better as well as startling several of the patrons that had already settled in for breakfast. Most of them either shrugged further into their meals or glared unappreciatively at the two Calarians for their morning vigor. "Oh... Right, sorry!" Dante whispered, smiling apologetically before walking back out the door. He returned literally a second afterwards and then, with a slight bow, said in his inside voice, "Buongiorno, Signora di Falco. How are you this morning?"

The woman's smile shifted from her previously caustic grin into a genuine smirk filled with warmth. "Much better, Dante, now that a certain swallow has decided to stop chirping so loudly." she responded, raising an eyebrow as she was already putting together his order. A blush somehow found its way onto the knight's cheeks as he meandered to the humble counter. Calarian cafes had never really taken off in Anselm nor any of the other countries that Dante had visited, so one could imagine his surprise and joy when he had wandered into one such cafe one day during his patrols of Terrohl. And it was even just a block from his apartment! Since then, he'd made it part of his daily routine to break his fast with a little Calarian delicacy known as espresso and a rather hefty sausage filled crepe. That was one of the top things he loved about his culture; they knew how to feed someone. And real, good, lovingly prepared food. Not the watered down shit-still or crap in a sausage skein that the Anselmians hawk as some sort of sustenance. A Calarian knew how to eat; everyone else were just amateurs acting like barely civilized barbarians.

Just before taking his breakfast, the knight suddenly remember the difference that he had going on right now. "Oh, Signora, I apologize, but I do have to bother you fo-"

"Dante, you bother me every fucking day when you walk in. What's a little more on top of the heaping helping I already have?" Regina di Falco, owner and proprietor of the Archon's Delight Cafe, interrupted, handing her customer a wax parchment wrapped crepe and a small mug full of espresso. The blush on Dante's face grew brighter as he grabbed the mug and crepe and looked another direction. "I, uhm..." he began, not knowing exactly how to continue but knowing he'd have to jump into it soon. "I, uh, have a visi-... a gue-... I have a person in my residence in dire need of some sustenance right now and I would so like it if you would be kind enough to make hi-he- that individual an extra hearty crepe!" the embarrassed knight spluttered out, bowing almost to the counter top.

Regina sighed put a hand over her face, concealing the genuine smile that was threatening to bloom across her face. "Dante, it's my goddamn job to make people food. I'd bring a fucking banquet to your house for this 'person' as long as you paid me enough... You are going to pay me, right?" Her eyes flashed like a bolt of lightning before a storm.

"Of course, Signora, of course!"

"Good... Now, you go sit in the kitchen while you eat your food so you can tell me all about your new boyfriend while I cook his breakfast." she said, motioning for her waiter, who happened to be her son, to take over the counter for now.

If Dante was blushing before, he was about to die of some sort of blockage in the heart, now. It seemed as if all the blood in his body had migrated into his face, causing the normally rather tan Calarian to become a rather peculiar shade of slightly sun dried tomato. "Signora!" he hissed, leaning forward. "H-He's not my boyfriend... I, uh, I-"

"With the way you talk about him already, you should probably work on that. Or he should, if he's already staying at your home."

And with that, they both wandered into the kitchen whispering at each other, Dante looking absolutely distressed while Regina barely held back her mischievous smile. Just because she was a seventy year old pastry chef didn't mean she could throw her weight around in the mischief category.

After a quick hour of conversation and general humor, the knight finally made his way out of the cafe with a rather large crepe wrapped in wax parchment and stuff in his shoulder bag. Now, all he had left to do, was to get back to his apartment and check up on his little guest. A smile slowly spread across his face as he started almost skipping down the road. It was a beautiful day on the coast, with the wind whipping through the streets, carrying the smell of the salt air. There was the perfect amount of cloud cover and everyone seemed to be walking around with a smile on their faces. Dante was included, of course, and he nodded to several other individuals he knew from his various deeds in the city. Absolutely, positively, certainly the perfect day to make that little murderer back in his flat into his boyfriend. He just needed a good meal and a few smack across the ears and then his delightfully melancholy face will be all 'Oh, thank you Dante! How can I ever repay you?' and he'll get that glimmer in his eye that says 'Yes, I totally mean it that way' and he'll slowly inch toward Dante's che-

"Listen here, you little Achisian bitch-bred, if I ever see you on my street again, you'll get more than a fist in the mouth, you hear me!?"

The voice, despite its message, seemed to tinkle with the sounds of innocence. It was definitely a child saying all of that and that fact just made Dante's shoulders rise and tense even more. His smile soured into a sneer as his eyes closed and his head tilted toward the sound. When his lids finally lifted, he was looking down an alleyway at a rather mature scene, if it wasn't for that fact that all of the actors were around the age of ten. Three Anselmian looking kids, mainly because the main one spoke Anselmian with a Northern accent, were huddled over a starved orphan who's brand on his face clearly marked him as Achisian. Dante gritted his teeth, straightened his spine, and did his best impression of an actually intimidating knight. As quietly as possible, which was strangely silent, the Calarian stalked right into the alley. The bullies didn't even notice him until his shadow had fully eclipsed the leader and, by proxy, the beaten Achisian on the ground. "I wouldn't happen to be seeing three children beat up another for no reason, would I? Because last time I checked, unprovoked assault was a three month sentence in jail... and a death sentence if you resist..." the knight whispered in his best danger filled tone and then punctuated it with a quick half tug on his sword, clashing the metal against his armor and causing a harsh rasp to ring out. All three bullies started to scatter, but sadly for the leader, Dante caught him just in time. "And if I see you doing it again, you'll get more than just a fist in the mouth, you hear me?" The squeeze of his harsh metal gauntlet was enough to make the bully piss himself and run away even harder than before. Looking down at the orphan, Dante smiled. "Sorry about that. You okay?"

All he received in response was a whimper.

Frowning, the knight stared at the helpless orphan for a moment, before sighing and mentally chastising himself for being wrathful. That was certainly not what a good, patient, temperate, and otherwise virtuous knight would have done. In order to make up for his sin, the man knelt down in front of the child, reached into his sack, and presented the crepe. Holding up a finger to represent one second, he carved the crepe in half and gave one to the child. "Go find the Archon's Delight Cafe on the Black Twins' Avenue, off the Main Road. Ask for, and this is important so remember it, Signora di Falco. Say that Dante sent you and that you're an orphan. She'll help you... I'm pretty certain." Waiting until the boy nodded, Dante smiled and continued on his way.

Literally a minute later, he helped stop a mugging, nearly got mugged himself, accidentally tripped up a thief running away from the guard, and, right outside his apartment, prevented the potential murder of a husband by his wife by helping carry a sofa up to their apartment. All in a day's work for Dante and it wasn't even noon yet! As soon as the young man had opened his door and set the crepe on the small table in the room, he heard a knock on the bedroom door. "Oh, you're awake already!" Dante said loudly, hopefully loudly enough to make it through the door. He reached into himself again, pointed at the door, and muttered something. It unlocked. "Come on out, then! The door should be unlocked... I was just starting up a fire to make some coffee!"

[Zapatha]

In the woods near Fayetteville, Duivene

Jean and his contingent of house soldiers had been patrolling for near half a day now, with no results other than the occasional bear and deer. Jean was still enthusiastic to find and kill the bandit raiders, however his troops were soon lagging behind and were more sluggish by the hour. In the distant woods, a great crash was heard followed by the felling of several trees and cries coming from within the wood. These cries harkened back to Jean's memories of dying men in Achisia, and Jean drew his sword and rode off into the woods to confront what was making the commotion, followed closely by his house soldiers....

---------------------

Fayetteville, Duivene

The village was a madhouse. Over 200 House Clermont soldiers were swarming the village and the woods surrounding them, searching for Sir Jean Clermont's patrol and the knight himself, who all had gone missing a day earlier. Peter himself was in the village, overseeing the search for his brother's whereabouts as he dearly loved his brother. Sure, they butted heads on most subjects but this was why he loved him, as he was never afraid to stand up for his own beliefs--no matter how radical--which he respected. The villagers that Peter had a chance to talk to told him they heard cries of fear and pain coming from the distant woods as well as the sound of a "monster". Though Peter would normally consider such claims a falsehood, the coincidence between the other reports of a monster nearby correlating with this was too much to ignore.

As Peter overlooked the village, he heard a great crash in the nearby forests, followed by an unsettling crack of bone. Approaching the village was a 20 foot tall cyclops, holding the corpse of a cow it had just broken in two. Frozen with fear for a moment, the young lord watched as the cyclops fell upon soldier and peasant alike, killing them with a brutality he had never seen before with his own two eyes. He watched as men were thrown around much like a child's dolls, and listened to the screams of the dismembered and crippled at the cyclops' feet. He snapped out of it however, and ordered for his small contingent of archers to fire on the gargantuan creature while spearmen stabbed the cyclops repeatedly. Even so, the cyclops wreaked havoc upon the Clermont soldiers and soon set its sights on Peter and his shiny golden armor and ornate sword. As the creature lumbered towards him, Peter equipped his unicorn adorned helmet and unsheathed his sword readying himself or its attack.

As the cyclops swung its club, Peter dodged the swings relatively easily and approached the creature. As the cyclops became frustrated, its swings became more manic and unpredictable and one swing clipped Peter's right shoulder which dented his armor but left him unharmed. Peter then approached the creature's legs, where he sank his sword into the cyclop's right kneecap which brought the beast to one knee. Before Peter could land a killing blow however, the beast picked him up and threw him 50 feet into a tree trunk which broke several of his ribs. As Peter looked out to where the cyclops sat on one knee, Peter saw his brother Jean emerge from the woods with his famous rune-inscribed longsword Honneur charging the crippled beast. Jean lept atop the creature's back and sank his sword into its head, killing it almost immediately. It was then that Peter blacked out into unconsciousness....

[Kingdom of Irhk]

---

A village
Somewhere in the Kingdom of Duivene

It was night in a small village on the border of the Kingdom of Duivene with Calaria, but the small settlement was filled with life, light, and laughter. A few children had been born earlier that day, and the entire community had gathered to celebrate it, with a small feast (at least compared to what they were usually eating), with dancing, praying, and of course, even some music. A small group of troubadours and trobairises were singing some traditional songsfrom their area, and the villagers were actually having fun. The years of the War had been rough, and they hadn't managed to fully recover ever since. Many of the village's men had died, and those who had returned home had either been wounded of traumatized.. so nights like this reminded them that life could be happy. That life still deserved to be lived, no matter of how harsh it as.

And that was something that angered someone.. it angered her a lot. A girl, or well, a young woman, was standing at the edge of the village, in the darkness, but the light coming from the village revealed at least part of her appearance. She was wearing a dark armor dress with purple accents, but the emblems that had marked it had been scrapped off. She was gripping the handle of a dark purple lance in her right hand, and the similarly dark purple handle of a sword in her left hand - with a dark pink crystal as its pommel and with a clean, metallic, black blade. Behind her, a small group of what seemed to be people wearing black armors were completely hidden in the dark, waiting. And not before long, one of the dogs in the village started to bark - and one of the peasants turned around, looking towards the darkness, and seeing her. A couple moments later, the silver tip of the lance pierced the poor man's chest, having been thrown from afar. The music stopped, a woman screamed, and another man, armed with a pitchfork, started to run towards her, only to have his head cut off by her sword. The girl removed her spear from the first guy's dead body, and she murmured a few words, as a sphere of fire was suddenly thrown towards the wooden houses. Screams. Death, and the smell of ashes, burned wood and flesh...

In the morning, nearly everyone was dead, while.some of the wounded villagers who were still alive were to weak to even call for help..and their village was just a smoking ruin..

---

[/quote]

Eric de Villegagnon

The notice of the destroyed village came through a soldier that rushed in the Palace of Chovers. Usually those attacks were dealt with by the local captain or sergeant, but the survivors told the story a village destroyed by an uncommon group of people, lead by someone with a figure that somewhat resembled a woman, followed by a small group of knights in "armors that were darker than the night that engulfed the village". The survivors were traumatized, as the village became a haunted place that no one wanted to return.

Under a request of the Princess herself, Eric decided to investigate what happened in the site of the massacre. He certainly had the skill to do it, and even if some of the soldiers looked at him with suspicious eyes, he departed to the border between Duivene and Calaria, where the village was located.

Some time later...

The village was surrounded by soldiers that seemed to tighten their grips on their swords every time a sound was heard. They were obviously trained to fight, yet they could sense the true terror in the voices of those who saw what happened: Trembling hands, eyes that constantly looked around in the corners of their vision to see if that silhouette would appear again with the deadly marksmanship and terrifying contingent of warriors following the trail. The standard of the unicorn, symbol of the country and as extension of the Princess gave them a sense of security... before they saw the weird man that lead the group of soldiers: He clearly had a noble upbringing, evidenced by the way he rode the horse and knew how to keep himself in formation, even if he wasn't a known face for much of the soldiers there: It was Eric.

The man that was once a Brother in one of the Orders dismounted, feeling the sad nostalgic feeling of his days serving the Scripture, delving deep into those terrifying cases: sometimes the danger was real, while in other cases it was a simple confusion. But this... it felt different. Eric wasn't young anymore. He passed the mark of forty winters, and could be considered a veteran. As he hopped out of his horse, he briefly stopped before the start of his investigation.

Everything is destroyed... Broken instruments, burnt houses... food is spread all over the place. They ran away desperately to interrupt a feast like the one they were organizing, even the table is destroyed. Doors are damaged not only by the fire, one of them is even out of its hinges. But the attack came from only one direction.

Heavy boot steps coming from the same direction that soldier said he found the body with the piercing. Bodies are already buried, but there's a heavy stench of death here. The fires are magical, there are marks of impact in the walls of the houses that don't come from torches or fuel.

A group of mages and warriors capable to destroy a village just for the thrill of it, not even looting the valuables, leaving it in ruins and keep going on? They just happened to meet this village and decided to attack it. However, the same soldier who warned us about it just told me that they saw what looked like a woman, that threw the spear with impressive strength and was able to decapitate a villager with not effort. Who is she? I need to talk with the Princess.

He walked back to his horse in hurried steps, looking around as if he expected something to happen. His instinct - same instinct that he insisted on following since the night that changed his life - made him uncomfortable as if there was a purpose in his return to Duivene. Turning to the same soldier who went to the capital to inform the Princess of what happened, Eric decided to inform him of his suspicion: There was a chance of another attack soon enough. And with that information, Eric galloped back to Chovers, to talk with the Princess.

Royal Palace of Duivene

Again, the figure of Eric was present in the Royal halls of Duivene, but instead of the relaxed look Eric always had, he displayed the behavior of a soldier once more, with one hand resting on the grip of his sword. He stopped near a room that was used to hold certain private conversations, and gestured for a soldier to come near him.

"Tell Princess Alexis I need to talk with her immediately. It is about the village attack."

[Tracian Empire]

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene

The soldier silently nodded, turning around and disappearing in another hallway. Less than a minute later, he returned in a hurry. "Her Highness is waiting for you, sir.", the royal guard answered, speaking, quite ironically, in the same accent as the people of the region where the village that had been devastated was located. Since he had been informed about how this worked before he left, Eric knew that he had to enter in that secret room - where he was going to be able to talk with the princess in private.

And of course, as soon as he entered, the noticed Alexis opening a door on the other side and entering the room at roughly the same time as he. Unlike her usual armored attire, Alexis looked a lot more like.. a normal princess. She was wearing a long and frilly white and blue dress, one worthy of a Princess of Duivene, and she was even wearing some golden bracelets. Her blonde hair, that was normally neatly arranged in a long ponytail as not to bother her during combat was now let loose, giving her a much more relaxed and royal appearance. Her former tired appearance was now gone, but there was still a hint of exhaustion in her pure, amethyst colored eyes. She didn't have the precise and molded beauty of the Loroi, but she had a wondrous beauty that scarcely felt real, that had just served to strengthen her near supernatural reputation, and that was even more obvious now, when her usual battle-hardened attitude seemed to be gone. But even if her lance was nowhere in sight - she was certainly still an incredibly powerful mage.

"What did you find, Eric?", she asked in her usual calm voice. "What happened to that village?"

---

Citadel of Aurilly
Kingdom of Duivene
Under the control of the Ecclesiarchy

"Oh my, little girl.. just how determined you are to take the first step on the way that will lead to your doom..", Justitia told her in a voice that sounded just as if the red eyed girl was really, and honestly feeling bad for her.."Of course I get to decide the fate of your enemy, Archbishop of Kindness, if you are so weak.. justice will be done, even if the world will perish. Your enemy has sinned, and he must pay and repent for those sins. You feel bad for him, and you say that you want to save him, even if you do not know the whole truth, even if you do not know what he has really done.. how naive you are, little girl." And Justitia smiled. "He is an abomination! Invidia was able to take advantage of him because envy was present in his heart and soul from the very beginning, because he betrayed what was good again and again."He did things that should never be mentioned, and even so, he refused to die and to be punished like he deserved to. His soul is broken and corrupted, sinful and envious, and he has manipulated you so much.. how can you be so blind? How can't you notice it? All those who have tried to help that boy in the past have suffered for their decision..

And the girl took a step forward. "Kindness has its limits, it must have its limits, when it turns into weakness. Your purpose isn't to save his soul, but to destroy the sin within it! Of course that he hasn't made you directly turn against us, that would have been suicidal.. but look where he has led you. You are rebelling against your Faith, against your Cult, against your Church, you are doing something unthinkable and you are ready to hurt your brothers and sisters in faith in order to liberate a servant of the sins, a servant of the darkness? That is worse than heresy.. and if you do it, if you continue to try to save him, you will fall into darkness and sin too.. and your soul will be lost." Justitia sighed. "You should realize that when a soul is beyond salvation, that when it can not be cleansed or freed from sin.. if you try too hard, you will fall on the other side, like so many others before you. You are far too innocent, little girl.. and if I will have to save you by force, I will.."

As soon as she finished speaking, the white haired girl snapped her fingers, and she quickly whispered a word that Julie would have been unable to hear.. just as hundreds of spears of light, like the fiery rays of the sun, appeared above Justitia, shining brightly in the darkness of the night. And not a moment sooner, all of them were thrown against the blue eyed girl at full speed..

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Royal Palace of Chovers
Kingdom of Duivene

The soldier silently nodded, turning around and disappearing in another hallway. Less than a minute later, he returned in a hurry. "Her Highness is waiting for you, sir.", the royal guard answered, speaking, quite ironically, in the same accent as the people of the region where the village that had been devastated was located. Since he had been informed about how this worked before he left, Eric knew that he had to enter in that secret room - where he was going to be able to talk with the princess in private.

And of course, as soon as he entered, the noticed Alexis opening a door on the other side and entering the room at roughly the same time as he. Unlike her usual armored attire, Alexis looked a lot more like.. a normal princess. She was wearing a long and frilly white and blue dress, one worthy of a Princess of Duivene, and she was even wearing some golden bracelets. Her blonde hair, that was normally neatly arranged in a long ponytail as not to bother her during combat was now let loose, giving her a much more relaxed and royal appearance. Her former tired appearance was now gone, but there was still a hint of exhaustion in her pure, amethyst colored eyes. She didn't have the precise and molded beauty of the Loroi, but she had a wondrous beauty that scarcely felt real, that had just served to strengthen her near supernatural reputation, and that was even more obvious now, when her usual battle-hardened attitude seemed to be gone. But even if her lance was nowhere in sight - she was certainly still an incredibly powerful mage.

"What did you find, Eric?", she asked in her usual calm voice. "What happened to that village?"

---

Eric de Villegagnon

With a gesture of greeting that reminded Eric of his noble days, he waited for the door to be closed before he started to speak. He knew how certain news had a tendency to spread chaos around the country, and it was with the best of intentions that he hid the information from more curious ears around the palace. That, and he knew he was a person that raised suspicions around the royal court, which made every information a little bit harder to give.

"A massacre. Almost everyone is dead, and the village is burned and stomped to the ground. The few survivors are being treated at a nearby military post, but they don't want to come back there. However... nothing was looted. A group simply marched through it setting fire to the village, killing everyone but the valuables were felt behind.

I talked with a soldier, and the report was certainly worrying. Apparently it is a small group of warriors lead by a womanly figure who probably is quite skilled with a sword. One of the few survivors described her wielding a distinguished sword, a blade black as the armor she wore. The sword also had a dark pink crystal as its pommel, while her armor had purple accents, but no emblems or identifying elements were visible. We don't have a description of her face as well, but already giving my opinion before you ask for it... You might be dealing with a serious trouble. I've been out of the continent for too long, so... I don't know about anyone like that. Was hoping that you might have an idea about this group."

[Tracian Empire]

Somewhere in a forest
Northern Wyzkia

The little deity seemed to find the game really exciting, just like a little child who had finally escaped the torment of boredom..but the little boy wasn't even looking at the board, as for all that time, the boy simply looked at Morgan with his hollow, seemingly endless dark eyes.. and as always, even if the deity's expressions were mostly hidden by the skull mask that he was wearing, everyone around him would have been pretty certain that the boy was smiling, beneath that cover of bone. But no matter of how much Morgan was trying, the deity was always there to counter his moves, so not before long, the game slowly but surely turned in the deity's favor.. the little boy was just so good at it.. as if he had spent a few good thousands of years playing it. And the boy was obviously taking pleasure in the direction that the game was taking - as if he had known that he was going to win from the start. As if he enjoyed the simple act of winning a bit more than playing..but his withdrawn attitude also indicated that this entire game was just a distraction for him. And it certainly was. If this would have bored him, the deity could have just enslaved them at once, without them having a chance to resist or to fight back. He could just kill them in an instant, just by snapping his fingers.. how could they even hope to stop him? He had never actually promised anything, anyway.. and while most gods certainly preferred to stay away from the mortal world.. this weird being certainly had no qualms about it.

The deity was certainly intrigued to hear Morgan speaking like that, as it happened just as he was pondering over his next move.. but just as soon as Morgan started speaking in Throne Thyrian.. the boy stopped. A few tense moments passed.. before he suddenly started to laugh, in a clearly childish way. "Now this is certainly interesting.. no one has called me like that in a long way.. in fact, no one has called me anything in a really long time.. you humans are very interesting, but it's sad to see how you keep forgetting about me..the others do have their temples and statues, don't they? But they can't do what I can do.. so I guess that it's fair.." The dark eyed boy giggled. "Still, recognizing me like that.. that's not something that a poor Wyzkian peasant would do.. neither is talking in pure Throne Thyrian... but that is something that the great dark mage Morgan would.. right? The good old Mage still had Throne Thyrian spoken around in his palace.. probably for the nostalgia." The being was also taking in Throne Thyrian, that is, the high and literary form of Thyrian that used to be spoken by the nobles of the Silver Throne. Morgan was probably speaking it in the same, vaguely artificial accent that the nobles tried to have, and not in the clear accent of those who were used to Faith's Thyrian, the language spoken by those of the Faith. The deity on the other hand, while he was also speaking in Throne Thyrian, a language that both Alina and Rafal probably vaguely understood from their position as noble children.. had a different accent than Morgan. A natural one, as if he was a native speaker.. but it wasn't the native accent of Throne Thyrian that Morgan was trying to imitate. It was the accent of the Thyrians of the poor masses. Muddy Thyrian, as it was often ridiculed by writers.

"As for what I have been doing.. nothing much, actually. The world has become such a boring and predictable place..what happened to the interesting ages of the past? Even their so called Great War isn't as fun as what I remember..so I'm just trying to make things more interesting.. I'm sure that you can understand that. And I could really use the help of some human slaves in that..a broken girl with nature powers, and a brave knight trying to save her.. isn't that really... exciting?"

After saying that, the deity remained quiet for a moment.. but he didn't have the chance to continue... as an old, jagged sword was slashed at him, cutting his back. A dark, murky liquid started to flow out, falling on the ground in large drops from the little boy's back, and behind him was Rafal, breathing heavily, tightly gripping the handle of his sword with his right hand. Weird, grayish vines coming from inside the sword seemed to surround the handle, with their thorns piercing the boy's hand, and of course, a few drops of the boy's red blood were also falling on the ground beneath him, one, by one.

And the deity sighed. "When I said that it's exciting, I wasn't talking about the pain that the knight's sword could provoke.. you humans and your creations.. you never learn.", he said in a calm but slightly irritated voice, having not even flinched when the sword's jagged blade had hurt him. Turning around, the little deity grasped Rafal's right wrist, so hard that the boy winced, pushing the blade away from him. "Now, now, since you're such a smooth talker, mage Morgan... give me one reason not to send this little knight straight to the river of the Underworld.. I'm sure that Zyraxes would be grateful for such a gift.."

[Charlia]

As the game continued, Alina found it harder and harder to support herself, and finally just let gravity take over, pulling her to her knees. He was winning. That little boy-creature was winning, and that meant--

She covered her mouth, trying to suppress the frightened whimpering that threatened to escape, the reactions that had become almost second nature to her--to freeze, and cry, and wait, because nothing else she might have tried would do any good.

They spoke in Thyrian, the two players, words she vaguely, distantly understood, something she'd learned--a long, long time ago, lifetimes ago, before the endless cycle of horror she'd been caught up in. Everything from before that had become a blur, really. There had been times, even, where she'd believed that she'd had no prior life, no existence as anything but Luxuria's slave.

She didn't know what this strange boy would want her for, beyond that or her magic. She didn't know how strong it could really be, not yet. Would that be it? To be little more than a weapon, that wouldn't be so bad. It was better, better than the only other possibility, the only other thing she was good for. The nightmare.

She felt so sick, thinking about it. The lingering nausea she'd already been feeling multiplied with the memories, even as she tried to push them back--gods, they were disgusting, horrible. After some of the things she'd done--

Her thoughts were rather mercifully interrupted by some of the further words of the small boy. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he meant by 'interesting' or 'exciting'--but at the very least it was a distraction from the memories.

Broken, he called her. She supposed he was right. Broken and ruined, to the point that she'd allowed so many depraved things--

And then again, she was distracted--this time, by Rafal stabbing the little boy in the back.

For a moment, she thought there might be some hope--but he didn't even flinch, and just turned around, grabbing Rafal by the wrist and pushing the blade away, speaking as if he were about to--

"No!" she shrieked, and pushed herself between them as much as she could--the little boy was still holding Rafal's wrist, but she could mostly separate them, could put her own body between theirs. A human shield, much like the cultist had attempted to use her as before... but this time, done of her own free will.

"Don't kill him," she begged, yet again--how many times had she asked that, now? How many times had she--it didn't matter. He'd saved her, so she'd do whatever it took, she'd ask again and again in order to try and keep him alive. "That won't--that won't be exciting at all, will it? You should j-just let him go, right? It'd be... more fun for you that way... Please, just don't kill him... If you have to kill someone, if you have to, then you can kill me, instead... or, or hurt me, or whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want. I don't care. I'll scream or cry or do whatever you want. Even if you want me to not react at all, I don't--I don't know how I'll do it but I'll figure something out, I promise. I promise I'll do it. Whatever you tell me to. I can be--I can be interesting, as interesting as you want me to be. Just don't hurt him. Okay? Please. Please."

[Granis]

"So, Pride, you aren't gonna introduce me to your friends?" A voice said, somehow seeming to come from all around the sins and the artefact. "That's shitty, it really is. And after everything we've been through too... It's difficult to express how hurt I am. Well at least, it is from up here. Lemme come down."

And then Leide jumped down from the roof, a series of semi-corporeal barriers forming beneath him to slow his descent. Around his shoulders was a large cloak, which was seemingly formed from little more than black, floating runes, and floated around him as if he were underwater. Two 'horns' of a similar form sprouted from his forehead. However, despite being probably the least noticeable change, quite possibly the most important difference was his eyes, which were now glowed a burning orange.

"Hey there gang..." He said, a smirk on his face. "I'm Leide. The smart one, not the "have to save everyone" idiot from before. I'm sure this is the start of a beautiful friendship. But I've gotta say before it's too late, there is one thing you're both wrong about."

And then he wandered over to Pride, casually slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"Pride has already declared his undying love for me. Now, I'd be happy to step aside, but you two'll need to show him that you love him more than I ever could. So, you know, go nuts, I'll be cheering you both on."

And then he brought his hand to his forehead, smacking it in mock frustration.

"Oh, but how could I get so ahead of myself! I don't even know your names yet! Can't build a good friendship without that... Why, the team dynamic would be awful! So, let's all introduce ourselves properly. Like I said before, I'm Leide, and I'll be here... Oh, probably until we leave the city and this whole negative aura thing fades enough for the idiot to take his body back again. I hope this love triangle continues far into the future, as it is very, very funny..."

---

Iris just took the damage. She knew it would take a while for her body to break. Hopefully either the girl would get tired of slamming her into a wall or the Vanpire would intervene. After a minute of being slammed into a wall, Iris couldn’t even feel the pain. She didn’t want to try and fight their girl. That would drain more mana than she had already used, and no matter how sadistic, Mirielle was still a little girl. Then Iris came up with an idea. She began casting various sleep spells on the girl, none of them very strong, but combined increasing each ones effectiveness. Maybe I can make the little girl take a nap... She knew it was a stretch but it was either this or more slamming into a wall.

Anselm
Merkburger Fen
Unsterb Manor

Lisbeth had returned to her seat before the two had gone at each other's throats since there was really no reason for her to stand during this entire ordeal. Besides, one of the disadvantages of being a vampire was that you were always thirsty, always craved for the sweet red liquid that pulsed through the bodies of Mireille and Jeremy, hence why she returned to her seat to pour herself a new cup and sip from it to keep drinking from it as long as possible. She then attentively observed the fight between Mireille and Iris, which started off surprisingly hot with a fireball. Lisbeth worried about the remaining furniture potentually catching fire and then setting the whole place on fire. She definitely didn't want to spend the rest of the night as well as the coming days outside because Mireille had burned down her home.

Now Iris's defense against Mireille was much more interesting. Lisbeth saw how one of her arms transformed into something pointy...something that didn't look like flesh at all. She had already made a small list in her mind, to see what kind of creature Iris was. And right now she could definitely strike a few of them out. As Mireille, enraged by Iris' lack of motivation to play with her properly, intensified her attacks by using the good old furniture, Iris transformed into a sword and flew straight at Jeremy. Alright, that cleared it up. She was a relic, a sword in her true form. Now, about finding out what she could do...

The problem was, that Mireille went out of control, so Lisbeth figured that she'd have to end the fight and end it quickly if she didn't want this to actually escalate and end with serious structural damage to her house or the death or second death of someone present right now. Threaten to kill Jeremy if she didn't calm down? Looking at how fervously Mireille smacked Iris against the wall, that sounded like one of the worst ideas to pursue. Though if Jeremy's death was something she felt so strongly about, then it was best to use his life as leverage. So Lisbeth set down her cup and cleared her throat before raising her voice so that Mireille could still hear her despite all the ruckus she caused:

"Mireille, I don't really appreciate it when somebody uses lent toys to damage my property. And I am sure that Jeremy too wouldn't be very happy if the loss in structural integrity caused by you would result in his premature death due to a collapse of the building or anything like that.

I know you like to play rough but this is very rough and, just like everyone else around your age, you should go outside when they play like that. There's a lot of free space and not much you can break other than your toys...oh wait, Iris isn't actually your toy. I gave her to you temporarily and since you seem to be incapable of playing nice inside my house, I guess I'll have to take that toy away from you again."

It was in this moment that Lisbeth, who sat closest to the windows, heard the pained neighing of a horse outside. Strange, the next delivery was scheduled to arrive in a week at the earliest and not now. Standing up to take a glance out of the window, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Despite his best efforts, Jeremy found he could only stand there, face blank, as the world around him erupted.

"Barbatos, what's happening?" He asked, looking in the direction of the weapon that had flung itself into his hands, been flung back out, and was currently being smashed against the wall by Miri's telekinesis.

"She's an relic, partner." Barbatos said, and Jeremy was surprised to find that as the sword spoke, his mind seemed to feel clearer. "An ancient magic weapon. She probably won't die from this, but you should probably step in anyway. It's entirely possible that Miri will keep going no matter what the vampire says."

"Wowthatssocool..." Jeremy whispered, before shaking his head and running over to Miri. "Miri, stop! Look, I'm fine, see? She didn't hurt me."

He put a hand on the girls shoulder, trying to at least make her look away from the poor weapon girl, maybe even calm her down!

"Please Miri, just calm down. It'd take more than a weapon flying at my face to hurt me. Besides, I honestly feel like we can all be friends here, but that means we can't fight each other, ok?"

He only partially noticed Liz leaving, but he decided that whatever she'd left for might be enough to help solve this whole mess. He spent a few seconds to build up his plan, nodding to himself and hoping to god that it would work.

"Hey, how about we all go and see what Lizzy's up to, yeah? I bet whatever she's doing must be pretty cool, especially if she didn't tell us about it. That means she wants to keep it a secret!"

[Nuridia]

Iris just took the damage. She knew it would take a while for her body to break. Hopefully either the girl would get tired of slamming her into a wall or the Vanpire would intervene. After a minute of being slammed into a wall, Iris couldn’t even feel the pain. She didn’t want to try and fight their girl. That would drain more mana than she had already used, and no matter how sadistic, Mirielle was still a little girl. Then Iris came up with an idea. She began casting various sleep spells on the girl, none of them very strong, but combined increasing each ones effectiveness. Maybe I can make the little girl take a nap... She knew it was a stretch but it was either this or more slamming into a wall.

Anselm
Merkburger Fen
Unsterb Manor

Lisbeth had returned to her seat before the two had gone at each other's throats since there was really no reason for her to stand during this entire ordeal. Besides, one of the disadvantages of being a vampire was that you were always thirsty, always craved for the sweet red liquid that pulsed through the bodies of Mireille and Jeremy, hence why she returned to her seat to pour herself a new cup and sip from it to keep drinking from it as long as possible. She then attentively observed the fight between Mireille and Iris, which started off surprisingly hot with a fireball. Lisbeth worried about the remaining furniture potentually catching fire and then setting the whole place on fire. She definitely didn't want to spend the rest of the night as well as the coming days outside because Mireille had burned down her home.

Now Iris's defense against Mireille was much more interesting. Lisbeth saw how one of her arms transformed into something pointy...something that didn't look like flesh at all. She had already made a small list in her mind, to see what kind of creature Iris was. And right now she could definitely strike a few of them out. As Mireille, enraged by Iris' lack of motivation to play with her properly, intensified her attacks by using the good old furniture, Iris transformed into a sword and flew straight at Jeremy. Alright, that cleared it up. She was a relic, a sword in her true form. Now, about finding out what she could do...

The problem was, that Mireille went out of control, so Lisbeth figured that she'd have to end the fight and end it quickly if she didn't want this to actually escalate and end with serious structural damage to her house or the death or second death of someone present right now. Threaten to kill Jeremy if she didn't calm down? Looking at how fervously Mireille smacked Iris against the wall, that sounded like one of the worst ideas to pursue. Though if Jeremy's death was something she felt so strongly about, then it was best to use his life as leverage. So Lisbeth set down her cup and cleared her throat before raising her voice so that Mireille could still hear her despite all the ruckus she caused:

"Mireille, I don't really appreciate it when somebody uses lent toys to damage my property. And I am sure that Jeremy too wouldn't be very happy if the loss in structural integrity caused by you would result in his premature death due to a collapse of the building or anything like that.

I know you like to play rough but this is very rough and, just like everyone else around your age, you should go outside when they play like that. There's a lot of free space and not much you can break other than your toys...oh wait, Iris isn't actually your toy. I gave her to you temporarily and since you seem to be incapable of playing nice inside my house, I guess I'll have to take that toy away from you again."

It was in this moment that Lisbeth, who sat closest to the windows, heard the pained neighing of a horse outside. Strange, the next delivery was scheduled to arrive in a week at the earliest and not now. Standing up to take a glance out of the window, she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Melanie Trebond
Anselm
Black Knight

Mellie didn't even remember what had happened to her at first...it was all so quick that she didn't even have time to defend herself from this hulking metalhead before he had dared to attack her. The one brief time she got her bearings and the whole world went black.
The first thing she remembered was the throbbing pain in her face when she woke up..her first instinct was to reach up and feel her face because she took great pride in her beauty and would slaughter this walking tin-can if he had disfigured her in any way. But any injuries probably should have healed by now...she would have known had she only been able to touch her face. When she tried however, she couldn't lift her hand. Another tug and she felt the links of chain digging into her wrists. Chains...absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. If it were rope, she would have been able to snap it like paper but no, it had to be gods-damned fucking chain. Just great...I should've brought backup, how am I supposed to contact my sisters and brother? Now how do I get out of this?

She had no time to stew in her own misery or plan a grand escape however, for this barbarian was coming toward her again and she couldn't punch him. Ripping into her gag with her fangs, she managed to shred it and spit it out just before he came and raised his fist to her. The only thing she could think to do, she sunk her teeth into the nearest spot of the horse that she could reach and the pain made the animal raise a loud cry as if it were being flayed alive. It bucked wildly, throwing her off and kicking out its hind legs at the knight...its hooves slamming into his armored torso. Mellie struggled to move around but she managed to get herself into a sitting position, and with a great deal of effort and rocking forward she managed to stand, even if she couldn't run or really walk. I guess I have to hop out of here then...here goes nothing.

Meanwhile Outside

The Knight, despite being hit square in the chest and being knocked back by a bit, seemed largely unaffected by that horsekick. Two dents in his armour showed where the horse had hit him and it must've hurt immensely yet no sound had escaped his helmet and he walked towards her again, his towering figure blotting out the pale white manor behind him as he approached Melanie. He grabbed her by the shoulder and raised his armoured fist again to slam it right into her face again.

"Halt!"

The fist didn't come. The knight froze before looking over his shoulder, his figure still making Melanie incapable of seeing who was standing behind him. From the sound of the voice before, Melanie could probably guess that the speaker was young, very young and female.

"You got something for me dog? Then show me instead of hoarding it like a bone."

The knight folowed the instructions, grabbing Melanie roughly with both hands and then lifting her from the ground before turning around and holding her before her 'saviour'. The saviour was a small girl of approximately 10 years of age, clothed in a nice dress. But probably the most interesting thing about her for Melanie were her eyes. Such familiar red eyes with such a familiar unsatiable hunger within them. These were eyes that Melanie must've seen countless times over and over again by now, making it easy to identify the child as a vampire. Now, the child cocked her head slightly as she looked Melanie up and down and despite attempting to hide it, it was clear that the child too noticed her true nature. Still, she kept mer composure and asked:

"Well, what do we have here? A fellow relative? Maybe not in blood but in race no less. I am sorry for the rather brutal handling of you but my brother's dog does not know how to behave. But, may I inquire who you are and what you were looking for before this brute kidnapped you?"

“My name is Mélanie Trebond, head of Clan Trebond. And I was on my way here before this man set upon me...I have no idea why he did it or what his purpose was, but he attacked me then. Not here per se, I was on my way to another part of town.” Mellie explained, why she was talking to the girl whose brother happened to be the employer of that savage she had no idea...but it felt good to tell the story anyway. And another vampire, it was rare to see another vampire especially where she was stationed.
“So...may I ask you your name?” she asked Lizbeth.