A table was brought down from upstairs. Just about anything that could be considered a blade was rounded up from the castle’s bedchambers and dining hall. Cultists toiled in the stocked but disorganised alchemy labs to synthesise balms in preparation for the worst-case scenario.
Alistair was roused from unconsciousness with the aid of a dagger and coaxed upstairs. His complaints fell on deaf ears. Stripped of his powers as a Scion, he was very much the weak and elderly skeleton Lieze had always imagined him to be. The mention of her imminent surgery brought a cruel smile to his face.
“You would trust me to keep you safe from excruciating pain?” He asked, “You certainly do like to push your luck, don’t you?”
“I’m not trusting you with anything.” She answered, “Lüngen will be keeping a close eye on you during the procedure. If you so much as twitch in a manner that displeases him, your coward’s blood will coat every inch of this castle.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” He turned up his nose, “You will kill me either way. I would rather die with a clear conscience than lower myself to aiding a necromancer.”
“So you say, but I’ve never known someone to value their ideals over their own life.” Lieze asked, “Drayya has a talent for endurance, you see. She knows exactly where to poke and prod to guarantee the maximum amount of pain. Morgan came to understand that talent well - a fate you will share unless you lend your aid to a single, insignificant procedure.”
She understood Alistair’s type well. He was outwardly a just and indomitable man, but a lifetime of spreading despair across Fanrae had enlightened Lieze to the potential of human fear. There was uncertainty in the ancient priest’s glare.
“Enjoy your last remaining years of agony, then.” She said, “I’ll find a way to make do without your help. When my cult moves on from the remains of your beloved city, we will march with standards woven from your wrinkled flesh.”
Her secret was conviction. Lieze would have loved nothing more than the opportunity to torture Alistair for the rest of his days, and that want was proven by the carelessness of her glare. Idle threats could be overcome by the likes of Alistair’s stubbornness, but there was a vicious sincerity to Lieze’s words that could not be ignored.
“May the Lord deliver us from those who have been touched by the darkness…” Alistair uttered a prayer, “You would have me choose between torture and death? In what profane world would I ever submit myself to this disgrace?”
“It is not death that you fear, but pain.” Lieze assured, “You fear the expectation of blades pushing into your flesh, the agony of your skin tearing; you fear the approach of oblivion, and the thought of your resignation to death as the pain dulls. These fears cannot be extinguished with willpower alone, for we have been implanted with an instinctual desire to resist death in all of its forms. That is the imperfection of our mortal vessels.”
“Drivel.” Alistair would have spat in her direction, if he wasn’t already pushing his luck, “You will say anything to excuse plain murder.”
“I do not excuse myself from anything.” Lieze placed a hand on her chest, “This is who I am. This is the destiny I was born to carry out. And with the power of the Scions, nothing can stand in the way of that goal.”
Alistair understood it then - that the young woman standing in front of him was not truly human. She was a beast wearing the face of an innocent girl. There was no humanity in her eyes. Nothing he could say would ever convince her of the Order’s malice, for she had been melded from the day of her birth to fit the mold of exactly the type of monster who could spell the end of their world.
He resigned. There was no hope - for himself or for Fanrae. The most he could hope for was a swift death that would bring no pleasure to the girl. Between Lieze and Sokalar, there was no choice to be made. Alistair would rather die than witness either of them for a second longer.
“...Do you honestly believe that you are doing the right thing?” He asked that question out of reserved desperation. He had to know. He had to understand even a suggestion of Lieze’s madness.
“When all is said and done, there will be no more of this.” She began, “Conflict, warring, famine, pain, death - these are the curses inflicted on us by the Gods. In the realm of spirits, far above our lowly material plane, we will be truly free.”
“Will we?” He asked, “-Or are we destined to remain servile to the Gods no matter the forms we take?”
“Then the Gods, too, will perish.” Lieze declared, “The heavens will burn for the sake of our immortal enlightenment. The scope of my dream will grow to eclipse the celestial sphere - and even further, if necessary.”
There was something to be respected in that ridiculous statement. Lieze truly believed herself capable of such feats, no matter how exaggerated they were. Alistair allowed himself the defeat of relief, content knowing that in some twisted, murderous fashion, Lieze desired more than simple destruction.
“One of the cultists will give you a mana potion.” She looked over the throne room, “Do not entertain the idea of killing me when I am vulnerable, or your screams will be heard from here to Akzhem for months. Accomplish this task, and you will earn an honourable death.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
It was a ridiculous proposition. Simply ridiculous. But Alistair was old and tired, and he feared the agony of torture, for he was only human. He would do as Lieze demanded, but no more than that. The thought that his efforts could lead to Sokalar’s ruin was just about the only thing keeping his sanity intact.
There was a single spell that suited Lieze’s standards to the letter - [Spare]. It was specifically designed for use on the terminally ill and gravely injured, and nullified one’s sensation of pain for as long as the caster maintained their concentration. It would prevent Lieze from going into shock while Drayya operated on her.
She counted on her manipulative hold over Alistair to guarantee his cooperation, but she was resigned to the very real possibility of his betrayal. To put it mildly, she wasn’t looking forward to the experience.
“We had better turn up something useful with this.” When Lieze wandered over to the table she’d be laying on, Marché made his disapproval quite clear, “It’s too risky of a plan otherwise.”
“What’s the problem?” Lieze shrugged, “If I die, just convince Alistair to resurrect me.”
“Convince one of our worst enemies to bring you back to life?” He rubbed his temples, “I would call you a fool, but what would be the point? You already know.”
“Just keep an eye on him.” She replied, “I’ve some hope that he won’t try anything. And I expect to honour my end of the bargain if he follows my instructions to the letter.”
“Death, you mean.”
“You make it sound so evil.” Lieze smirked, “A quick death is an auspicious one. It’s certainly more than he deserves.”
“Alright, you two!” Drayya’s voice would have echoed if the ceiling hadn’t caved in, “I’m never going to be any more prepared for this, so let’s get it over with before I start to have second thoughts!”
Most of the thralls were evacuated from the throne room to provide a smidge of sterilisation as Lieze worked her way onto the splintered wooden table. The clouds above Tonberg were liable to split with rain at any moment. She wondered why she hadn’t considered setting the table up somewhere with a roof, but it was too late to reconsider.
“Bring the priest up.” Drayya waved over an end-table carried by two cultists, “Marché, Lüngen - keep an eye on him. He won’t have time to catch us off-guard with a spell as long as neither of you fall asleep at the reins.”
She grabbed a tiny kitchen knife from the end-table - the closest thing to a scalpel she could scrounge up - before standing over Lieze and examining where best to begin her incision.
“If you secretly have no idea what you’re about to do, then please say so now.” Lieze requested, “There is a difference between torture and surgery, if you didn’t already know.”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Drayya didn’t break her gaze, “I can’t split you open from head to toe, so I’m deciding where a phylactery would most likely be - if there really is one in there.”
“It must be small. Infinitesimally small.” She replied, “Small enough to have been implanted when I was a newborn, but sturdy enough to have survived everything I’ve been through up to this point.”
“It might be inside one of your organs.” Drayya suggested, tracing a line around Lieze’s abdomen with the tip of her knife, “What then? Healing or no, I can’t cut open your heart. Do you know what, this is suddenly sounding far too risky, so why don’t we-”
“Your transmutation spells.” Lieze interrupted, “You can meld through stone, can’t you? Why not flesh as well?”
Drayya sighed, “...That would work, yes. Of course it would.”
“There’s no problem, then.” Lieze said, “I’m in your capable hands. Dig around as you please.”
She smirked, “It’s been a while since I last heard that from you.”
“Shut up and get to work.”
Alistair carried out his duty silently, extending both arms forward and closing his eyes before muttering an incoherent prayer under his breath. Soon, Lieze’s body was enveloped in golden light, and the headache she’d had since that morning was replaced with a pleasant numbness.
“Not the most appropriate tool for the job, but it will have to do…” Drayya twirled the knife in one hand and untucked Lieze’s blouse with another, exposing the corrupted Godflesh beneath, “Excuse the interruption.”
Lieze wrinkled her nose at the sensation of her skin being pared. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but she knew that without Alistair’s spell, it would have been excruciatingly painful. Drayya, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more at home plumbing the depths of someone’s body like a macabre labyrinth.
“Gods, it’s like peeling bark from a tree…” She frowned, “I hope this phylactery isn’t black, or else there’s no chance I’m going to find it.”
“Amazing… the Blackbriar’s influence has completely infested her body.” Marché remained at Alistair’s side, but watched the operation with morbid interest, “It’s no wonder her blood is such a coveted rarity. Just imagine the sorts of things this ‘Mercuria’ could accomplish if it was applied to the science of alchemy.”
“Hey! Eyes off!” Drayya protested, “You think it’s acceptable to be staring into a lady’s guts like that?”
“With all due respect, I think we’re well past the point of ‘acceptable’...” He replied, “But, I must admit that I’m impressed. I never knew you were such an experienced surgeon, Drayya.”
“Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve had my fingers-”
“Shut up, the two of you!” Lieze exclaimed, “Drayya - get back to work!”
The operation lasted longer than expected. Drayya was forced to take her time with the knife or risk disembowelling her impatient patient. When it seemed that the entire affair was about to turn out fruitless, however, a discovery was made.
“...There.” Drayya prodded her finger against something smooth, “Is that it?”
Lüngen stepped up to the table, “...It’s not natural, whatever it is.”
“It’s loose… it must have been detached from a part of her body that was replaced by the Blackbriar.” She continued, “Let’s have a look…”
With her thumb and index finger, she pinched the glossy dome of the object and lifted it from the cavity in Lieze’s abdomen. What little sunlight managed to filter through the clouds illuminated veins of crystalline smoke below the glass surface.
“If this isn’t it, then I don’t know what else it could possibly be.” Drayya said, “-And more to the point, it doesn’t seem like I’m going to find anything else. Let’s get Lieze sewn back up.”