Tiber was the first through, seeing how shaken Tyr was, it was clear something was very wrong. And from his perspective the boy looked like he'd run into an enemy that he couldn't handle on his own. Places had things in them, and Tyr had found a god that was less than pleased to see him 'again' and had been punished for it.
Some protective instinct, even though the old man knew he himself was still a lesser thing. There was supposed to be a pitched battle happening in this region some 115 miles to the south. But contrary to expectations...
There was nothing, and it was deathly silent. Not nothing, there were undead milling about, and not of the sort belonging to them. Lesser creatures birthed from a battlefield left unclean by the hurried crusade. A swathe of dead men and slain horses that stank as one might imagine, perhaps one greenish gray body for every ten to twenty of theirs. A good toll, the orcs had done well for themselves, and by the body count they hadn't been routed. Choosing to retreat instead, that was the plan all along, to make for a fighting retreat and whittle down converging forces.
Sigi arrived, then Samson, Tyr, Alex, Mikhail, Rafael, Fennic, Tythas, Magnus, Lina and Brenn. A nice long list of folks.
The others had all returned, and the majority of them had seen no fighting at all in the central regions, Lernin himself had thrashes thousands of men with the aid of a handful of their fighters. Again, because Hastur wanted these men to die, and had not sent mana engines with them to defend against the cataclysmic mana emissions of an Archmage. The idea was to keep them as fresh as possible, so they could close out this area and head north to ambush the army traversing the span from an elevated position.
Throw rocks down on them, that would certainly work.
It was getting dark, the only movements their turning heads and the odd raven or buzzard in the background come for a late meal. Flies buzzed all around in the dry heat to add appropriate ambiance to the scene of a great slaughter. Ten thousand butchered, easily, and the groaning remains of their turned comrades shambled about in a mockery of life. Grim, that, all the killing. Even if Sigi knew it was necessary – she'd have preferred otherwise, watching on as Tythas lay a hand on Brenn's shoulder, to comfort his ghastly faced friend.
It was a hard thing to be confronted with the horrors of war, a real war, and all a man was capable of doing to another.
“Jura!” Alex cried out, running to the half-orc Tyr was now standing over. Sigi glared around, a stormy expression on her face, it was nice to see they'd adopted Jura into their own little tribe so easily. “It's alright, you're going to be fine.”
“She's asleep.” Someone wheezed. Micah, obscured by a filthy cloak and looking no different than the dead all around him. “I protected her. Ha... Not so...” He was so weak he couldn't move his arms, hacking blood down his shirt and groaning. From head to toe he was cut, beaten and bashed.
A single teardrop raced down Tyr's cheek, turning to Alex with a shallow shaking of his head, and the latter joined in his weeping, though far fiercer, slumping down to her knees.
“Micah...” Sigi spoke, kneeling down to assess his condition. He'd taken a lance clean through the gut, and in some great attempt at cosmic jest it had come out at just the perfect angle to tear his spine near in half. Crippled, again, but at least it'd help with the pain.
“Yo, Sigi,” He tried to adopt a brave face, but he was mere inches from death, laid atop an unfamiliar white haired man breathing unsteadily, beaten half to pieces but he seemed alright, rather than the ruined remains of his right arm. Whoever he was, the fact that they both were still alive at all was miraculous, for now... “I did... I did it. But I'm s-sorry. I'm so sorry, I tried... I really tried so hard, we both tried so hard S-... S--...”
His eyes were fluttering, the light dimming in them until there was barely any left. It was as good a place as any to die, but the guilt and look of dawning realization on Sigi's face weighed on what was left in him. He'd tried as hard as he could, both of them had. Struggling, but the Fingers just kept coming back. Until finally the crusader reinforcements had arrived and they'd put a lance through Micah, and beat Okami until he'd stopped moving.
Leaving them for the crows, couldn't even give them a clean and humane death.
There were just too many, this army was far more prepared than the others had been.
“Micah...” Alex choked, holding his hand. Sigi wept for her friend and her sister both. Tyr just stared, holding Micah by the shoulder, face inscrutable beneath the helmet. “Please don't die. You can fix this, right? You're a healer, and this was your plan! He's our friend! What about the blood?”
“He's our family,” Tyr said, but he slowly shook his head again. He couldn't do everything, he had a wide toolkit but it wasn't the answer to all questions – only Astrid could've fixed this, and it was still no guarantee. Healing potions and spells weren't magical 'get out of death free cards', he was only left with one option. The blood, but all that'd do was exacerbate the agony Micah would feel as he passed on – perhaps worse than that. It was no blessing.
Resurrection magic was off the table, Micah's entire abdomen was cracked open and he'd only come back to life only to die again. Not that anyone here could resurrect, not willfully, Andre was far too afield to reach in time to repeat what they'd done with Huron. And even so, Tyr refused to make Frankenstein's monster out of an old friend. Nor would he rise him in undeath, there were limits to how far he was willing to go to mete ambition.
Micah gurgled in amusement. His face was starting to relax and he was losing that look of consternation, eyes dimming and flickering again. Acceptance, there was a lot of that from Micah, and Tyr felt that light within him wither, all he felt was denial.
“A man should stand for something,” Micah joked, winking up at Brenn. The massive man weeping freely at the sight of one of his oldest friends, watching him die and there was nothing he could do about it. “Isn't that right, Brennjamin?”
“The blood...? Why won't it work?” Sigi turned back to Tyr, her face twisted up in mourning.
“It would kill him,” Tyr replied, his voice was no longer panicked. There was something else there, an edge to it, like he was all coiled up and forcefully bottling up anything even remotely similar to what a human would feel in this situation. Preparing for something. Astrid was dead, Eve was still alive but her status was unknown. Micah was dying right in front of him and there wasn't a damn thing he could do. “Only Brenn could help ease his passage,” He said dispassionately, standing up and shuddering for a bit to get himself under control. “I can still smell them.”
“How, Tyr? If you know a way, please tell me!” Brenn called out to his rapidly retreating back, he had no idea what he was supposed to do in this scenario, he wasn't a healer.
“Micah will live, I've decided that today is not the day he'll pass,” Tyr asserted, turning back to them sidelong, armor sitting comfortable about his frame, one eye visible shining with wispy blue threads of mana flame. “Pray to your goddess, she knows your name,” He mused, “And mine.”
Miracles existed, or there'd be no name at all for those sorts of things.
“Vestia isn't a goddess of healers!” Brenn called out, panicking. Sigi was trying to steady the writhing body of Micah as a seizure overtook him, shock finally setting in to seal the deal. Alex was frantically pouring whatever alchemical concoctions she had into his spitting mouth with an anxious wail, regardless of the negative effects when so many were used at once. “Where are you going!? Don't turn your back on us!”
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“Micah will live because I deny an eventuality where he died,” Tyr repeated cryptically and in complete deadpan, “Pray for a miracle, or inform your Lady that I will add her to my list once I find my wings.”
“What the hell are you talking about!?” Brenn cried, but Tyr had no more words for him.
“And you?” Tiber asked, appearing by his side in preparation to leave. He liked Micah well enough, all of them, but people died. That was war, as fel as it was. Now was the time for the newly christened Dawnguard to avenge their queen and princess. “What is your plan?”
Tyr turned back to him with a soft rustling, eyes still burning with baleful flame. He didn't look angry, happy, sad, just still. In that moment he felt as serene as a lake taken by the winter's freeze. “Return to Amistad as quickly as you possibly can. After Micah is stabilized, he cannot possibly die.”
“How can you be so sure?” Tythas hadn't followed the others, unlike the rest of his compatriots by he still dressed in those edgy black trappings of his. Limited to a single tear compared to the panicked and aggrieved wails of the women, and Brenn's panicked pleas to Vestia. His body glowing like a golden torch, the hand of a goddess on him while he begged her to save this man.
Brenn knew that Micah could not be saved, but he asked in anycase. He did not beg, did not truly plead. And then he knew otherwise, speaking confidently, feeling her eye and knowing she would save this man even when common convention said she wouldn't. Gods didn't arrive to resurrect the dead, actively tampering with the fates of mortals was generally frowned upon.
“Because I have faith that at the end of all this he will still be standing with me.”
In that moment Tyr understood the concept more intimately than ever before. To say that he would not care overmuch if his friends, even his 'pawns' were hurt... That had been a lie. Tyr was filled with anguish, as if he'd been forced to watch his mother be 'killed' a second time in his life. Micah was everything to him in the present. He felt so real, so heavy, a mass of doom settling in Tyr's gut. But faith wasn't unconscious belief of all things at all times, faith waxed and waned.
Faith was just as easily seeing something and saying 'no'. Denying it, whether it be a person, a place, a thing, a fel fate. Tyr denied it. Denied it with all his spirit, and it found him. Faith, and a very bedraggled Ayla, too. Followed by Nala, both of them pulled here through these gates of his that viciously ravaged his insides, rendering him blind for minutes at a time, or worse...
He had faith.
“And what will we do next, Ooni?” Samson asked, patient and steadfast, he could empathize with what was happening. To see a companion fallen and broken in battle was a foul thing.
“To the reaping,” Tyr said ambiguously, staring up at the sky, “Forward unto to war eternal, for I am the ceaseless soldier.”
“...” Tiber coughed, even the faithful servant that he was, he couldn't hide the cringe, he just didn't understand.
“It is okay to mourn, Ooni,” Samson placed a heavy and reassuring hand on Tyr's back. Followed by Mikhail, Fennic, and Tiber – all of them connected in the moment. “Tell us what to do.”
“Have faith,” Tyr replied, looking at them through the slits in his helmet despite being blind to their faces. He could feel them, feel that faith they'd always had in him though he'd never deserved it. “This world does not need for another angel, and so I ask if you will allow me to take from you.”
“We will,” Samson nodded.
The world did not need another angel, nor a hero. He would become the demon it truly needed, if only for a little while. Disappearing into that hole in reality and leaving them all standing there with a profound sense of emptiness settling over them. They saw something flash in that place beyond the dark, black tendrils of a world devouring swarm grown fat from the carnage. A fecund fellowship of gnawing maws and mewling mouths, an endless hunt to find the Father.
Something haunting and old. And yet something familiar.
And it asked of them for one simple things.
And one by one, the newly re-christened Dawnguard knelt. Praying. Not to their gods either old or new, but to Tyr himself, a mortal man exalted.
Only Tythas remained standing among their number, stalking back to the unconscious friend of his and joining the others in their attempt to save him, though this was the antithesis of any talent he'd ever had.
–
“Must've been some fight here,” Tyr found her folded like a set of bedding some hour or so away from the battle site. Her spine was bent almost completed in two, left groaning and out of any sort of energy by which to repair herself. There wasn't much else to see, a few splattered remains of the people she'd fought, divots and shattered ground. But they hadn't killed her for some reason, perhaps fearing reprisal from Aelas? It was quite obvious these alfen weren't human, they made no attempt to hide it, only avoiding men where possible. And those Tyr had gifted with the blood seemed resistant to whatever effect they had on man, which helped things a bit. In any event, he had spoken no lie, the ground was reaved as though by some titanic hurricane. “I need your help.”
“That human, the blood mage, he is very strong, my eye would not work on him,” She said. Tyr removed two vials of his blood and poured them into her mouth. More than a healing potion, it was a suitable supplement for the energy she'd need, although she didn't seem able to metabolize it as humans would. Crackling like a bonfire full of pine boughs, she rolled every limb in her body around in one of the most disturbing exhibitions of contortionism he'd ever seen. “Many thanks. What's next?”
“You're alright, just like that?” He asked, he was in no particular hurry. Astrid would be avenged but he'd already confirmed her death via the belated realization that her contact had vanished from his amulet. Her messages were still there, but she was not available for contact, bound artifacts were released when one perished. It hung heavy on his heart but he would have it, that revenge of his, and this time it would be indiscriminate. A city would burn, he'd cut the head from the bull and hoist it for all the world to see – and then he'd end the Faith once and for all. Consequences be damned, they needed to learn an unforgettable lesson, and pay the iron price.
They had done many evil things, Tyr did not often seek to lord himself or consider his life more worthy than anyone else's. However, Astrid was an Imperial Princess of Haran, and a Princess of Oresund too, even ignoring the 'Amistad Royal Family', even in war royals were not supposed to be killed.
“It was a good battle,” Eve sighed wistfully, looking off into the distance. “The world is a big place, my people were almost certainly unaware that mages like that existed. Adept's are known to us but that was a very strange ability, we were caught in a stalemate for hours, he completely invalidated the use of my eye by himself.”
“I don't think they do,” Tyr replied. “Exist, that is. I think Pattoli is a special case, along with the rest of them, and I'm not totally sure that he's Hastur's 'grandson'. I think he was the true son of Cortus before his death, and when his line was broken his unawakened aspect was damaged somehow. It would stand to reason that he had the aspect of envy, I've been thinking about that for some time now. Once Cortus lost his, Pattoli followed – and now he is propped up by forbidden magic, but his vessel will always be larger, as mine is even if not fully actualized as Primus.”
“That would make some sense,” Eve rose to her feet, coughing up wads of blood and spitting them without a care in the world. Completely relaxed after what must've been a pretty close call, even for her people. “I will join you in this next fight, it was foolish for me to fight alone and I see that now, I was arrogant.”
Tyr shook his head. He'd do it alone, what he was about to do was foulness beyond anything a rational human would conscience. Not genocide, he'd take a step beyond that and release the mycelians on the world if he needed to. Strangely, she saw it in him, must have, and didn't even flinch at it, nor did she force him to accept her as companion on his mission. Tyr was going to kill everyone in the Baccian capital city of Taur, and put their country to death with his own two hands.
“Your mind is cluttered,” Eve the alfen remarked, “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to spit in my mouth.”
An eyebrow raising moment, to be sure, until one considered that alfen bodily fluids were wildly narcotic, even enough to influence Tyr.
“You're sure about this? It won't be comfortable, even for you and your apparent resistance.”
He nodded. They couldn't kiss, nor touch, it was a loveless 'marriage' and that suited both of them just fine. No idea what would happen, but it'd give him a boon – to give him full access to each and every shred of his latent power as he was in the moment.
“Understood,” She sighed, “And if you don't come out the other end mentally intact, it was nice knowing you.”