Harkon merely observed for the time being. Unlike his brother and Eve, he had not come here to win a fight for these humans. Naturally, that would be the best play, but they were so foolhardy and headstrong. Not unlike his people in that way, how they normally acted. Throwing themselves into the fight foolishly and taking no time to inventory and properly study the enemy. Harkon was a scientist by vocation, and when that calculating mind was bent towards a fight, it became that of a cold blooded predator.

For whatever reason, the great spirit and chimera known as Nala had not moved, seemingly frozen in space by some anima borne reaction Harkon could not pluck free. The arachne in human form was performing adequately against the man they called Ryker, but was clearly being toyed with. By all observations this was a game, and more of the humans were falling by the second, one of them taking a grisly beating to the face courtesy of bladed claws, laced with poisons that would make it difficult to heal.

Hmm... He'd say he was impressed, in any case. Humans had devolved in many ways but this collection of talents on both sides was beyond expectations. His eye, as most were, was capable of directing his spira as either a shield or weapon, but it was unable to tear their magic apart. It was strange, he didn't have the born talent for it that Eve did, but he should be a match for most human mages. Despite it only being mana, it seemed their lack of diversity in skillset gave them a unique mastery on the energy they wielded. Something personal and slippery, half arcanums and the like by all estimates. Grabbing at mana was a simple thing, but when the soul was involved it become considerably less so. He'd tried to offset what spells he could, but hadn't succeeded a single time thus far.

Interesting, he reckoned, very much so, these 'adepts'.

Alfen grew arrogant in their isolated nation, rarely interacting with others not of their people at the behest of the great ones. It was their purpose in this land to observe more intimately what many prophesied as a turning of an era. All over the world strange things were happening, and it wasn't just the rapidly escalating mana pollution. Dungeons were manifesting at an unnatural rate, new races being born, and there were stirrings in the deep places of the earth. Two nature spirits descending on the world in a few short years, one only days ago, before it had abruptly vanished, this interested the peoples of Aelas greatly.

There were always signs. Signs one became perceptive to when they'd lived as long as Harkon had.

“You're wide open, elf!”

Alfen grew arrogant, that much was unequivocally true. Humans, however, seemed uniquely born to it. He looked, the gold light of his eye boring into a man thinking himself possessive of some great talent for the clandestine.

“It could be considered of the utmost pertinence to keep your sneak attacks just that. What is the use in announcing yourself 1.314 seconds before your blow could've connected?” The man froze, shuddering and wilting under the force. It was really too bad that Eve was sequestered and recovering her energy, the one weakness alfen had, if there was one. She was too wild and wasteful with it, and wouldn't be at full capacity for some hours. No inferior to humans in recovery, but it took a unique meditation to see it done, and this could be seen as a disadvantage, he supposed. She would've gotten much more enjoyment out of this fight than he, Harkon did not particularly enjoy violence. “Hmm... Let us see.”

Harkon's eye was that of 'knowledge'. Ambiguous, it had taken him over a century to become skilled enough in its use to make it his own. He could look at a thing and understand how they worked if given time to observe its internal mechanics. Machines had always interested him, men... Not so much. It was, however, equally potent against both.

“William Crosby. Nineteen cycles. Vocation, junior paladin in the faithful of the Lady of Lies. Thief, criminal, murderer. So many achievements, and at so young an age,” Harkon observed these facts flatly, without emotion, “I suppose we found that great gift you always believed yourself in possession of, young man. The lowest intellectual quotient I've ever seen in a speaking being, congratulations.”

Dispassionately, Harkon let the man fall to the ground in a loose and drooling heap. Not dead, not yet, but eventually he'd forget how to breathe. The eye of knowledge was the ability to see and reflect the same unto things. Things of metal had no ego to damage, he could only ever learn from them.

Biological creatures capable of agency in thought were not so pleasant to look upon. They were so loud, their spira serving as a gateway to a mind that was constantly babbling. Their 'inner monologue', something alfen trained since childhood to quiet into a hushed whisper compared to the maddened filth at the core of all mankind. Harkon had only met a handful of silent men, and this one was loud.

Now, that William Crosby was forced to experience all of his worst moments in a compressed burst of conflicting sensations. The loss of his mother and father, the flaying he'd been subjected to in order to become a proper paladin of the Liar, every memorable injury or breaking of bones. All of his crimes, too, in a manner of speaking. As one might imagine, being forcibly subjected to watch one's entire life play through the mind in a span of less than a second had... Unfortunate consequences, for the fine biological machine that composed the psyche of a thinking thing.

It only worked on the truly weak and unguarded, the man was simply too frail to handle it. Another tried, significantly quieter than the last, and Harkon merely swung his orichalcum limb – tearing him in half. The eye of knowledge was obviously powerful but it had even more obvious detriments. It only disabled lesser things and it made him sick to his stomach to be forced to see through human eyes, even for that short period. They were a uniquely vile race, and their representative egos were near universally black in his opinion. Eve loved them, most of their kind were intrigued by man and cherished their existence... Harkon did not.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

All he saw were the tainted and decrepit.

Killing for a purpose was fine, but many men would do anything simply to get the briefest amount of enjoyment. Betraying friends and family for a coin by which to do any manner of things. They even enslaved their own kind...

With his more fleshy limb, he caught the body of a young human with dark skin and curly hair. A talented one, unburdened of soul, a 'good man' if such a thing were possible. His mind was just as loud as the rest but it was far more pleasant to be in proximity to. Sounds of nature rather than the screaming entitlement so common in humans.

“Thanks...” Magnus coughed, blood leaking from his lips. That auramancer was an absolute beast, clearly having trained for some time. Her mind was pleasantly silent, just the barest hum of the enjoyment she'd get out of harming people. Not killing, she had no overbearing compulsion to kill, but that Shine was a sadistic one. Her only ask from Hastur had been a permanent and irrefutable position as an arena gladiator by which to never cease in her fighting. And below all of that was an insane urge to find a 'toy' she couldn't break, an urge she'd never satisfied.

Psychotic, no doubt.

Harkon merely stared at the third that attempted to disturb them, turning the man viscerally inside out with but a glance. There were mighty humans here, but those who had opted to attack him were nothing of the sort.

“Don't mention it,” Harkon set him down gently. Forcing him onto his knees a bit harder than he'd intended, but the boy was near unconscious from his wild use of mana. That, and the fact that his body was hemorrhaging internally at such a rate that he was quite likely to lose consciousness via exsanguination.

“W-what are you doing...?”

“You'll have to forgive me, youngling,” Harkon said softly, his arm whirring about into a form less human and more like a jackhammer set with the barrel of a cannon. Time to enact his component of their plan, simply because it interested him. “This is going to hurt, but I'll make sure it's quick.”

Magnus felt his mind go black as a metallic spike erupted from the device around Harkon's hand and pierced him clean through the skull.

–

Brenn had frozen for a brief moment, caught between his urge to attack Aurelius, defend the children, or attempt to aid in healing Alex. But once he saw Magnus getting blown away and Okami going down, his decision was made. That woman, Shine, she was an exceptionally skilled opponent and he doubted he'd be a match for her – but he should be able to tie her up while Samson and Sigi endeavored to figure out what was rooting the children in place. Reinforcements on the side of the Inquisition were arriving from all directions to hem them in, urgency was needed.

“Ah!” Shine smiled, pointing a bladed finger at him, “This one has worn a helmet! I thought you paladins were supposed to be on our side, though? Are you sure about this? You're quite pretty, I'd love to fight you but despite all my interest in doing so, I am quite loyal to the will of my master. No friendlies, he said.”

Brenn frowned beneath his bascinet. He'd initially refused Tyr's gift of armor. Not because it wasn't phenomenal in craftsmanship, but because he was not permitted to wear anything not sanctified by someone in the churches. That could only be the smiths of Kothar and Mako, tanners of Aran or 'speakers' of Bumi, not all pillars actively participated in things artisanal so they often commissioned things from their fellow faithful.

And then, out of nowhere, Tyr had given him another suit of armor blessed by Aotrom of all gods. Aotrom the Sunhammer, god of men and righteousness, slayer of evil things. How Tyr had managed to find such a thing, or rather receive the benedictions of a god with no forge priests was beyond him.

Brenn had happily accepted it though, wearing it now. A suit of plate not unlike Tyr's own again, he had a very specific sense of aesthetics, but the lines were much smoother and the decoration more bold. A Wenzel bascinet rather than Tyr's one horned and overly wrought nasal helm. Subdued, the sigil of Vestia stamped into its chest in a pale gold. Segmented and fine in make, forged of mithril with an adamant sheet in the chest, more costly than all the wealth he'd ever seen in his life. Even the gloves were foci, leaving him a bit confused how it all worked and why his suit was so impressive compared to so many others – but he'd never been much for making anything with his hands besides wooden figurines. Leave it to the masters, he'd say, and Tyr was coming to that point of craftsmanship where he could claim to be one of those.

“Very unnecessary dialogue when we both are in preparation to try and kill one another,” Brenn commented, observing her calmly. She was relaxed in demeanor, but her body was all coiled up like a panther and he could see the excitement in her eyes. A lust to maim, she disgusted him more than he'd like to admit for so elegant a woman, her appearance and behavior didn't match in the slightest. Shine had sharp features and the dusky skin of an Assyrian, crystal clear green eyes and perfect teeth, not a gap between them. Tall for a woman, muscular, with her lack of armor serving to showcase the 'goods' to all observers.

Brenn was a man of drive and commitment, but he had eyes, and he loved women.

She shrugged casually, languidly stalking around his larger frame as the battle continued to rage on all around them. Brenn did not see himself as one of their heavy hitters, occupying her attention was his goal while the others could be healed or brought to safety. He absolutely hated monologues, didn't much like dialogue at all and didn't understand why they seemed so common. In the middle of a bloody clash, no less. “I live for thrills and always have. I don't see much point in fighting silently. I am Shine, by the way.”

“Brennwulf of Kriegstad, knight paladin of Vestia,” He said, removing his helmet and nodding to her respectfully, offering a warrior the respect they deserved, and he'd do the same when he caved her skull in with his warhammer. Expecting her to pounce and attempt to take advantage of his unprotected face, so as to catch her with the seal of retribution he'd summoned. But all she did is twitch slightly, blushing violently back at him in the oddest way. “Our faith has not thrown in with the genocidal, the abductors of children, the black hearted. Regardless, it is an honor to meet you, I know your name and have seen you in the arena, though I am not a fan myself.”

“A-ah... Y-yes, it's nice to you meat... I mean it's nice to meet you too, not like the food – but like... Meeting people...” What was wrong with this woman? “So, are we going to fight or not!? I don't want to talk to you!” Like a switch had been flipped, she returned to her more characteristic sadism and unabashed interest for all things stabbing people.

Women are very strange...

“I suppose that would be the entire point of this experience for us,” He sighed, returning his helmet to his head and pulling the hammer from the loop at his waist. “Begin when ready, I will give you first strike.”

My hammer is cold, but my heart is gold. Brenn matched her eyes, and prepared for combat.