Tyr cut the class early. To be frank, he felt like a lot of the professors he'd had in the past just liked to listen to themselves speak. It wasn't that hard. Almost all of this information, at least for the 'syllabus' period, could be put into short, concise bullets. Rafael gave him a positive review in the form of saying nothing whatsoever to him as he stalked off elsewhere, and the class was smiling and giddy.
The chance to learn from a 'real' adventurer. Two of them, actually. One platinum, now, and one gold, both very high ranks. Young people at their age tended to lean towards the violent, and even when they didn't – they wanted to dive deeper into practical magic. Most classes were all theory with odd practical's in between, and magic was magic whatever the school or discipline. They had come here, and succeeded, because they loved it – magic that was unique between every single mage that wielded that etheric force known as mana.
He had turned their fears over a 'combat' course, which is what it was, to dreaming of a practical magic workshop. An hour and a half of sharing their personal spells with others and showing off their various abilities. Quite a lot of them found it to be fun, because it wasn't much different than a gym period allowing them to play around.
If only they knew exactly how brutally he was going to beat that out of them. Alexandros wanted him to shine, to glow and attract, but Tyr was given a task and completing said objective in the most effective way was a test to himself.
“I don't know what you're doing.” Alex said. She remained, as did all the others. Sigi had posted herself just behind Tyr with a clenching of her jaw that typically ran in tandem with bad fortune for someone else. Astrid just looked happy to be there, but Brenn seemed to be the most furious of all. Tythas greeted him quietly before leaving with Micah in tow, managing to convince the scowling Brenn to depart with them. “And I don't like it. You have no right to teach at this academy. By what qualifications do you claim to be an appropriate educator? I had to work my ass off just for the chance of shadowing as a TA in my last year. What did you do to deserve this?”
Tyr smiled. He patted her head, and she slapped his arm away. But he kept smiling, as best he could, not entirely sure how it looked. There was no point to any of this if he lost his composure, forcing him into this new personality. The academy was watched and observed, Alexandros had been sure of that. But inside... He wanted...
“I lost one of my closest friends, a sworn brother who sacrificed himself to save me, a nation beyond that. Perhaps even the world. That is not an exaggeration. I watched him, and two other good friends die to save us while I was too injured to prevent this thing from happening. I have completed hundreds of guild contracts with a 100% completion rating, fighting against eighty three individual species of monster, seven humanoid species, and a few others besides. I have suffered a great deal, and I was called to help train others to fight and prevent themselves from suffering... It took some convincing, but I was willing to do it. I understand how you feel, completely, but I'd like to ask what you think would be a superior set of qualifications to teach a combat practical?”
“I don't buy it.” Alex said this, but her expression softened and she almost looked ready to reach out to him, but of course she didn't. Too proud. “You have my condolences for the loss of Benny and whoever else fell that day, we all heard about it. Had to hear about it. Tyr this, Tyr that, all the underclassmen harassing us for information about you for months after. But the Tyr I know doesn't smile at people like that. Don't lie to me, we all deserve to know the truth of why you're here. This is just another game in your lunatic mind.”
“I didn't lie to you.” Tyr replied, flat faced, and he hadn't – not technically. His mannerisms might be false, but he... He'd lied to Cirdan, so saying he didn't lie was, well, a lie. But he wouldn't lie to Alex. That was a slippery slope, to lie to his friends, even if they still didn't quite see him that way. “I was offered a job, and I took it. There is more to it, the fact that I am to serve as an acting adventurer alongside Rafael in this city. Something I hope that you don't share with other people, beyond that I can't say. You'll just have to trust me, my presence here could only benefit you.”
“I don't like it when you say that.” Alex replied, the resident speaker for the three – apparently. Tyr wondered where Jura and Ayla were in this moment, much more level headed women. “I've always had faith in you, always. Whether I communicated that or not, I always let you do whatever you wanted and never infringed on your freedom. And don't tell me that a good punch or two beyond that was overstepping my bounds. None of us has forgiven you yet, and we're not going to 'just trust you'.”
“I trust you.” Astrid beamed.
“Astrid...”
“What? We already had this talk and I forgave him. I truly do not understand what your problem is, absence makes the heart grow fonder. My mother and father did not speak for months or years at a time while she was still with us, it's normal for people with responsibilities.”
“I appreciate that Astrid.” Tyr nodded. “But let's go back to the 'good punch or two'. You stabbed me in the leg with a paring knife when we were ten because I refused to give you a kiss in public. It was one of the only times my father ever laughed and it was very embarrassing.”
“You should have kissed me, then.” Alex huffed, though she couldn't manage to hide the blush of shame kissing her cheeks. She was constantly kept up at night thinking about that wild girl she'd been once upon a time. “Now you'll never know what that's like. Well... It's not happening again, I promise you that!”
“Alright, well, as amusing as this is – I have better things to do... I said I was sorry about leaving. To all of you, except for Sigi.” Tyr faced her. He wasn't mad, or accusatory, but he hadn't been back at the trials either. There was nothing but respect in his eyes, speaking directly to her – like a person, rather than at her. Alex had always thought there was a difference, and Tyr had a predilection for talking at people in a way that didn't communicate any sort of respect. “And I am sorry. I was a coward and I discounted your feelings when I left. I considered only my own, and I did you wrong. There is nothing more that needs to be said. Being angry with me is... No, I'm not doing this. No more. Accept it, or ignore me – I don't really care. I did what I had to do and I'm glad I did it, because I needed it to begin the process of piecing myself back together. Your struggles are no more significant than mine, and thinking they are is narcissism distilled. Whine all you'd like, growl at me, strike me – I no longer care.”
He left after that, turning his back and marching off without a glance in their direction, fine black linens and knee length cardigan fluttering behind him.
“He really is the worst.” Alex sighed.
“I don't know.” Sigi shrugged. She wasn't like Astrid, she didn't feel love for Tyr, but she could easily relate to what he was saying. “What he said made perfect sense to me. I also don't think it's fair to hold him to a higher standard than I'd hold myself. If you tried to corner me like that I wouldn't be happy about it, would you?”
“Of course not.” Alex sighed, she was tired. Worn down by too many nights staying awake while her fathers men tried to track Tyr. But the imbecile was like a ghost, too fast and random to keep an eye on for long. It wasn't only out of concern, she swore, but it ensured men were there to prevent him from embarrassing their House. Which, whatever he motivations, had happened a great many times already. “But he said it himself – he owes you an apology.”
“He owes me a reckoning.” Sigi frowned. Alex seemed intent on making a mountain out of a molehill even though she'd had her 'talk' with Tyr already. Nagging and complaining after the point was already made was just childish, and it had begun to irritate the other woman. “As for an apology, it's already come. He obviously doesn't remember it, but he was quite delirious at the time. Even cried, begging me to stay with him. It was satisfactory, and I am willing to wait on the former. But it will come, treating him poorly beyond this point is unnecessary. He is, and has only ever been a tool to me – my expectations are tempered by that – and I suggest you view him in the same way.”
It wasn't all for her, either, but she wouldn't say that. It was for Micah who would obsessively prowl the various news sources, even spending his pocket change at information brokers. Happily exclaiming this or that scuffle Tyr had been in, what contracts he'd completed, about his promotion to a gold ranked adventurer. But there was sadness there, and Sigi would not stand for it.
They were supposed to be a team, at least friends, and Tyr had – as perception dictated – left them behind to pursue personal glory. If he'd done that with a word, she could've accepted that. But leaving without one and ignoring them after was not a thing she was willing to forgive just yet. Alex was being a child, but Sigi could agree with her in some ways. Leaving twice had been a sort of nail in his coffin, gifts even so fine as their armor and offensive artifacts couldn't fix that.
–
“Have you ever been tortured before?” Tyr asked the man. He was a mess of snot and saliva, and he'd clearly soiled himself. The smell of it communicating that he was in dire need of a change in diet. Not enough fiber, greens were good for a man and kept them regular – legumes and the like. Food was cheap, nobody had any excuse for a gut that rife in odor causing bacteria.
“Tyr.” Rafael cursed himself for agreeing to come along. This plan was ridiculous in the first place, but Alexandros had left his command open to interpretation. Ultimately, that was the problem. Letting Tyr run loose like this was an error Rafael would've never expected a primus capable of. What had Alexandros thought would happen? “There is no need for this. This dishonors both of us.”
“I asked if you've ever been tortured before?” Tyr slapped the man full in the face, ignoring Rafael. This was the 'job'. Calling Hastur out, a man who had fled into the underground after the events in the republic. Letting him and the whole world know that he was being hunted. Not by Tyr specifically. Nobody could know it was him, that would ruin the other component of plan. He could have let Rafael do it, or any of the blackguard – all of them were more than a match for these rats. But part of his promise to them was to never make them servants.
If Tyr commanded something, it was because he was willing to do it himself – so he would. But he didn't enjoy it, not this, once they stopped struggling it ceased to be of interest to him – but he needed things that they would not give freely – which made it their fault, not his. “It usually starts with the fingernails. Pry them up with a nice sharp knife, or tug them free with a pair of pliers. Did you know in the eastern kingdom the arbiters take little needles and push them all the way back to your cuticles? I heard it's one of the most painful sensations a man can feel, you've got fingernails. And I think I've got some needles here somewhere...”
There were camps all along the periphery of Amistad's border. To station their military there, that of the Baccian's and the Brotherhood mercenaries, wasn't necessarily odd. They were in the midst of a cold war of sorts, and had been since Hastur had attacked unprovoked.
Both sides were watching the border, but the forces of Amistad maintained their civility and had never struck back at either of them. These places were well hidden, but Okami could find any of them with little effort. In that span of 'demilitarized' land between the city state and the countries to its north and west. Hastur had built compounds where common soldiers were stationed, force reconnaissance, outriders, and a quick reaction force.
There had been nearly three hundred soldiers in this camp. Now... There was only one. One in particular that Tyr had sniffed out of his hiding hole and dragged out by his ankle. It felt good, in a way, but also the opposite. How strong he'd become, it was becoming more difficult to get excited when everyone before him cracked like an egg.
“P-Please...” The man was babbling madly, eyeing the stains of blood, charred bone. Chunks of flesh hung from hooks and the walls of the camouflaged structures splashed with red. It was rather stupid, honestly. Hastur's compounds could not be seen by the enemy, they were hidden from both sides though, even their own. Ergo, no help was coming. Not for them. “My family is very wealthy! You could ransom me, they will pay!”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Honestly, man. Ransom?” Tyr stared down at the rat derisively. It was so very odd, using the adjective of ratlike to describe his face almost sounded offensive to rats themselves. Rats were intelligent, noble creatures, albeit a little on the swarmy side. Reminding Tyr of an experiment performed by a less than scrupulous scientist involving ensuring all the needs of said rats were met, allowing them to understand the concept of complacency. And how they'd all fallen into degeneracy and turned on one another in a true parallel to human society. As the days went on, as he saw more of these 'people' – the less appropriate that word seemed to become. 'People'. “You know who I am, right?”
Rats survived, they struggled to survive in their place on the food chain, whereas humans had stopped doing that long ago. All they did was corrupt everything around them, and the disgust welling up in Tyr's gut at the cowardice and inequity ate away at him something fierce.
The man squinted before nodding. Tyr was known in this region. He couldn't call himself some kind of continental celebrity, many didn't care for the games, but the white hair and dramatic entrance was conspicuous if nothing else. “One eyed ba... No, One Eyed King! I am a big fan!”
“Do you know what that means?” Tyr asked. “Calling me one eye, that is?”
The man shook his head.
“One eye is a sacred component of the Oresundian mythos, dead gods and the Allfather sacrificing a part of himself to see beyond the world. To gain forbidden knowledge, matching this aspect of him is to call me insane, to denote the fact that I sacrificed my sanity for you as Wotan did. One eye is both a blessing and a curse, a great responsibility, to name me the equal to a god.”
“I... I didn't know this...”
“Well, in any case. King, that's great to hear, I've officially leveled up to ruling sovereign. One Eyed Prince sounded better, though.” Tyr nodded with a smile, abruptly shifting gears with no lag whatsoever. Enough to startle a man into feeling some hope, most times. Just like Baron Regis had, it brought him back to darker days, a regression in character after years of trying to become something else. Back at it again. “I don't want to torture you. I really don't, I just want your help.”
“Help with what?” The man asked, his eyes lighting up. Just like the others, he had barely an ounce of nationalism in him. That was the problem when Hastur refused direct control of the country and began paying for loyalty rather than earning it. “Anything!”
“Confess your crimes, and I'll let you live. All of them. You don't have to talk much. I'll do the talking, okay? I knew you were the one we should let live the first moment I saw you, your family is so notable – after all.” Tyr put a hand on the mans shoulder and smiled again. “Just don't lie to me, understand?”
“Okay!”
“Have you ever stolen?” Tyr asked, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply of the rank air. All that meat was starting to rot already, Baccian soil had some strange properties he didn't quite understand just yet.
“No!” Was the answer, and that was the truth.
“Have you ever lied to someone you care about?” Tyr asked.
“I have.” Was the answer, and that was the truth.
“Taken or sold slaves?”
“Never.” The man shook his head, and that was the truth.
“Have you ever taken a woman by force?”
“I'm not sure what you mean, sire.” The man frowned.
“I'm not your father, nor your lord.” Tyr's smile faltered for but a moment before he recovered. Keeping his voice high pitched and soft, almost friendly. Almost. “I'm asking if you've ever raped a woman.”
“No. Of course not!” Was the answer, and that...
Was a lie.
Tyr's knife buried itself in the mans throat before he'd been given a chance to react, leaving him squirming and bubbling on the ground. That old knife, his grandfathers knife, nice and sharp and perfect for skinning a pig. One of two legs, one of four – didn't matter. Opened him up like a moldy wineskin and ended his life less than a second.
He hoisted the dying man by the harness of his enchanted armor and nailed him to a nearby wall with a stake. Bare handed, punching it into place, Tyr's skin split and his bones shattered, but it struck true into the mortar and suspended the man, a limp and bloody scarecrow. Tyr took the opportunity to skin half of him with practiced strokes of the knife to make it all look nice. It was too bad there'd be nobody to spread news of what had happened, but someone would find it eventually.
“...Why?” Rafael asked with a sigh. “He answered all of your questions. I'm assuming based on context that you killed him because you thought he lied, but what made you so sure?”
Tyr didn't answer. Shaking his head slowly before marching off to 'decorate' the place further. Burning some of the buildings and dragging an overlarge pail of blood through the narrow alleys, scrawling mysterious and 'spooky' phrases on the adobe.
“Man knows.” Mikhail pointed at his left eye for some reason, Rafael understood it as some northern legend that he'd never heard of. Nobu, one eye, Odyn – something about knowledge that drove men mad. “Never quite figured out how, but he always knows. That man was a raper. No need to let scum like that live.”
“Then there was no need to give them a quick death, in that case. He'd have hung in the gibbet for that.” Rafael frowned. He wasn't upset Tyr had killed a criminal, not in the slightest. They were both deputized to do so, this was lawful and followed the Krieg Accords to the letter – technically.
A knight was not a paladin, Rafael was more than happy to do the same. Granted, he wouldn't butcher, skin, or torture them. But Tyr's way seemed roundabout and... It was just strange. It didn't make him question his significance or his vows as Lina had done, it just concerned him. Every time he tried to understand Tyr's deeper character, he was shown another side of him. Either the man was completely insane and split in the head, or he was faking it most of them time. Nothing about his movements nor the look on his face communicated enjoyment of what they were doing, and yet never once did he stop. Everything had to be perfect, all of the details in their proper place.
“Nothing painless about bein' dead.” Fennic said with a shrug. “Black will have him and he'll get his due.”
“How do you know?” Rafael asked, genuinely curious.
“I don't.” Fennic said, pointing at his left eye again as if that answered the question. “Man knows.”
They left behind a charred, gouged, bloody mess of a military compound. Thanks to Okami and his preternatural senses, everything living within had been sniffed out and handled in Tyr's unique way.
“No more.” Rafael's voice rose, but he wasn't quite yelling. Wasn't quite angry, just saying his piece, Tyr had lined the outer wall with crosses and left bodies hanging on them, opened at the gut with 'Cortus' carved into their foreheads. “I'm not doing that again. This is not the way this should be handled.”
“I understand.” Tyr said in response. His voice was quiet and he wasn't argumentative, showing his back to Rafael instead of turning to address him properly. Something few men could have gotten away with.
But Rafael too had a soft spot for children, and Tyr had been one. Now he was something broken, but he was far more cunning in deed than the mask he wore to fool the masses. A man who claimed ignorance over every little thing but would obsess over minor details for days. Who 'knew', as his criminal subordinates often repeated, many things. Pretending to be lazy when he was one of the hardest working adventurers Rafael had ever seen.
Tyr spoke again. “I didn't think it would be that hard on you. But I'm still going to do this, and you can remain behind for support should I ask for it. It's... Messier than I expected, but it'll serve our purposes. It's better this way, necessary, and you'll see that. Man knows.” He winked, left alone by the others at Tyr's own request to sit and stare at what he'd done to that compound alongside Okami.
As always, nobody had any inkling of Tyr's true feelings for the matter.
–
These meetings were rare, once every few decades at most and Abaddon still felt as if they happened far too often. He wasn't alone, still asleep and projecting his consciousness into the vast chamber at the core of Amistad, where the 'reactor' that powered their city rested. That's what they called it, a reactor, if only they knew what it really was.
A god, or at least the corpse of one, the desiccated husk of Noru the Destroyer, all that was left of the last divine entity to descend physically onto their realm. That's what they said, at least, Abaddon still wasn't sure if that was the case – or if this god of theirs was as dead as was claimed. A thirty meter tall titan of a mummy, nailed to the wall with innumerable stakes, eyeless skull grinning back at the comparatively tiny figure of the Guardians standing beneath it in a ring.
39 of them in attendance, more than had ever gathered into the chamber in recent memory – which was saying something considering 'recent' to someone like Abaddon could stretch into the centuries if not the millennia. Their 'order', if that's what one wanted to call it, was defunct – an organization of the far flung past that no longer did much of anything. As humanity grew, the world shrank, their territory was transient at best and they'd been pushed to the last remaining wild reaches of the continent and those beyond.
Abaddon hummed, standing beside the 'White Lady' – an awakened gryphon and one of the few who could name herself his peer or contemporary. Each and every one of them, Abaddon and his kin excluded, could be termed as 'nature spirits'. Wildly powerful products of the world itself, beings who had stepped far beyond what 'nature' had ever intended for them. But not a single one would dare call themselves a god.
With that being said, it was a gathering of titans, monuments of great power that could wipe cities from a map or cast islands into the sea. Some of them, at least. Others were younger, lesser things, but they were all equals here, the Guardians had no leader – not on this continent. Amistad was their last official bastion, one of the few places they could reside without changing the world irrevocably from nothing more than the steps they took on it's surface.
Their purpose? Abaddon would say they no longer had one, once it had been to protect the world from unnatural creatures. Mana constructs and elementals with no ego, leviathans of the deep corrupted by the great dream, what humans called 'the fog'. Now, they only existed to govern themselves and ensure those of their number didn't run wild. It was a boring job.
So boring that Abaddon had begun to seek entertainment elsewhere, transiting his spirit through the spira to battle on a thousand worlds and a thousand times that number. Always fighting – war was endless and the corruption spread far beyond this petty ball of dust and rock in the midst of its death throes.
“What do you think?” She had many names, carried through the eras – but unlike Abaddon, Thrace, the White Lady, was stuck here like the others. They'd all die, soon, the way nature intended – nothing lasted forever. From a human aesthetic, she was most assuredly the most beautiful creature that had ever existed, white from head to toe but not pallid. Seeming to glow with her own inner light, with a familiar white to the hue of her hair, sapphire blue eyes and a pair of full lips painted black to add contrast to her smooth features.
“It's high time that we reminded them what we're capable of.” Darius posited, a brute of a man, bronze of skin with baleful crimson flames where his eyes should be. Thrace, the mother of all gryphons, Darius, the efreeti of fire – a sentient elemental. All of them powerful enough to take on human forms and even walk among the nim if they'd wanted to. “The primus' have grown overly bold of late. To think that there is one who has been committing taboo beneath our very noses, how is it that we didn't notice this?”
“Because I have been protected him.” Abaddon wasn't like them, his kind were far older, and very few of them cared for the politicking of awakened ones.
“Protecting him?” Thrace raised an immaculate eyebrow, her aura in and of itself enough to still the argument that was sure to come as result of the claim. Sanguinar snorted wryly, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. Darius' fire stoked, scorching the granite throne he seated himself on, he was one who'd have the boy killed – and quite a few seemed to share the sentiment. “Explain yourself.”
“Or what?” Abaddon matched her gaze, letting the challenge rest – and that was where any thought of argument died. Alpha, the great wolf now in a form no different from the canid derivative beastkin chuckled.
“There's no need for that.” The wolf grunted, receiving nods in agreement from Nala and the few other chimera who were permitted to attend. Creatures once created by the nim mage Solomon to serve as the greatest army under the command of the primus'. Their membership was... Questionable, at best, but they were natural things now – cursed, but natural. After all, many undead were Guardians – it wasn't too big a stretch.
“Indeed.” Thrace frowned, and even that seemed to be so angelic. “It was not a threat, Red. We deserve to know, whatever the case – so that we can decide for ourselves.”
“He is my kin.” Abaddon shrugged. “Any who wish to remove him from play will have to go through me and mine. Half blood or not, only the colors can judge him – or those who'd claim similar kinship among the primus'.”
“Can we not simply stop it?” Sanguinar asked, recently freed of his prison and returning to the world – the 'god' of blood and sacrifice. A vampyr of immense power himself, though just a gnat in Abaddon's opinion.
“Stop it?” Abaddon's smug grin was reflected back at all observers. “Why would I want to do that?”
“The boy very nearly transcended to lichdom, and has made no effort to find an Ark – what if his shard awakens outside of their holy sites?” Thrace asked. Never before had a primus fully realized their dao outside of an Ark, the nexus towers dotting the landscape, the same devices that had brought their kind to this planet.
“He can't utilize the Ark's.” Abaddon mused. “At least not in the traditional way, it might even kill him should he be forced to enter. As for his shards, and I do mean plural, they are already risen. I will see this act to its climax, the boy will challenge Cortus – and win or lose our problem will be resolved. Becoming more involved in the games of man will only quicken the process of your eventual demise.”