There was something so satisfying about killing a living thing. About dominating them, breaking them, leaving them food for the crows. Aurelius would be given no such satisfaction today. He didn't like fighting, it was all just a conduit. A means to an end, something to do to make the time pass otherwise, simply the most efficient process to bring him to that end where he buckled them. The Raven wasn't bad, for a human. Might've let him live.
Might've.
Aurelius stood over the man with that shit eating grin on his face. As sadistic as ever, enjoying the view of Tiberius Scarr clutching at his gut in an attempt to dam the flowing scarlet warmth. He was almost jealous of that, Heroes didn't feel those kinds of sensations anymore. That fear that made them human grew duller by the year, and soon he wouldn't be able to enjoy much of anything at all, until the only 'woman' he'd ever loved allowed him to. Perhaps if she were in a better mood, and she so rarely was – Indura was a wrathful one.
If Aurelius were to be succinct, he'd say 'fuck the Inquisition'. Another means to an end, an endless source of means in all honesty. Giving him whatever he'd wanted, but Hastur would always be able to give him more. Loyalty? Hardly, it was a business transaction and that was all. Indura didn't care for any of them and had not questioned his decision to move in this direction, and all his life she'd been there at his back, whispering in his ear. Even before he'd become a Hero, he'd been chosen. Special, unique, born for greatness. That same destiny seemed to pain him worse every year he walked his path, wondering what point it was supposed to come to. Sainthood, he'd been promised that, but as beautiful as Indura was she was also a liar. To lie and never trust was her mein, always preparing for a betrayal.
'Relief forces', as if Aurelius needed even a single hand to help him handle Daelin and these... Remarkable, perhaps, but these people were still human. There was no Hero stronger than he, he was sure of it, but he'd never cared much about strength. It, too, was a means to an end. All he cared about was being on top, how he got and stayed there was wholly irrelevant. In any case...
One of their relief crusaders had tried to stab Tiberius in the back. Aurelius watched on lazily, yawning as the Raven didn't even bother looking behind him. Hopping forward while still on his knees and waiting for the man to sail by, unbalanced after the unexpected movement. Catching the crusader by the back of his neck and decorating the inside of his helm with all manner of filth as it was made a feature of the landscape. There were layers to everything, and Tiberius Scarr was strong enough to impress even Aurelius. If the latter hadn't been a Hero, it would've been a good match. If his goddess' aspect hadn't been on the wax for so long... Perhaps that, too. As gods grew stronger, so did their chosen, and corruption had never been so rife amongst humanity as it was now.
“The last man standing... Well, sort of.” Aurelius clucked his tongue, not bothering to listen to the rabble crying out for their now very deceased companion. Cattle should stay in the pasture where they belonged, it was quite obvious he was having a conversation. But all the pigs and sheep wanted to show him how fine and pearly their teeth were. So often he'd look inside and find them rotten and decrepit. All others were listless, except for the girl who had unfortunately had her face cut off... By magic, the kind of thing that wasn't so easy to heal. He'd killed the woman who'd done it, but found no satisfaction in the fact that she'd come back endlessly like some kind of undead...
Regardless, these brave fools were broken, all of the light in their eyes had gone out all of a sudden and the 'Fingers' had bludgeoned them all into submission. “I suppose as the 'Lord Inquisitor' of this dalliance of ours I should say something more... Regal? Ah, yes. By my right as blah, blah, blah – I sentence you to death and ask if you have any last words... Or something like that. Is that how it all goes?” Aurelius cackled, kicking one of the downed men with a boot and tossing it away.
'It', because these 'people' were not people in his eyes.
Samson looked up at him, all glares and anger. He was a strong one. If not in body, then certainly in will – hadn't buckled in the slightest. “My ancestors are smiling down on me, rat, can you--”
Aurelius almost choked on the laugh suddenly spilling out of his throat, slapping both the Raven and his companion to the ground. Looming over them in his golden plate, radiant features twisted up in disgust at all he saw around him. “Let's avoid the derivative, blackskin, shall we? You.” He pointed to... Was there any use in remembering their names?
“It is Ivarr, my lord,” Ivarr bowed, a hunter of the Inquisition and faithful of Vanator. Daelin's protege, and that hero lay gasping for breath on the ground with deuritium cuffs on him, same as the rest. “Ivarr Regis, once of Haran.”
Aurelius arched a brow, feeling a bit of an itch to punish the young man for assuming he gave a single shit about who he was. Or perhaps assuming he'd ever remember it. He wouldn't, and since that were the case, perhaps he should reward the boy. “Bind and gag them, this show of ours is over and we'll...”
He didn't have any idea what Hastur had planned, but it was what it was. Lots more death would follow, more plans and schemes to please his Lady. Perhaps if he played along with it she'd reward him for his toils. Let him feel again, if only for a little while. Hastur had changed his mind abruptly, requesting they all be kept alive, which was unfortunately not possible given the fact that the order had come too late and some of them bore injuries beyond fixing. Something about their blood being valuable, he'd said.
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Well... Aurelius sighed, turning away from it all. Who really cared?
“He'll come for you,” A groan came from the rear, the Raven still very conscious through sheer force of will. Impressive. “The one eyed wolf who cannot die.”
“Yes, yes,” Aurelius laughed loudly and mockingly. Steepling his fingers over his face dramatically and bending backwards. The moon looked nice that night, nice and full but not the customary silver. Red, the blood moon. Red as all things should be. “Soliloquy. Prose. Ah, the romance! I don't care what the little man does, or your promises of revenge. I also don't care for northmen literature, and for a Milanese man to be paraphrasing it to me is quite odd.”
Aurelius struck him again. Twice for good measure, ensuring he stayed silent this time, realizing he'd gone a little too far and frowning. Not once had he used his Arcanum, that which made a Hero a Hero. Commanded not to by his lady, but that restriction was over. If not even Daelin could stand against him, what use was a boy Primus who hadn't yet awakened his own?
–
“You enjoy doing this?” Astrid turned toward Tyr with an expression of disbelief. She didn't hate fishing, it was a very common vocation in Oresund, though she'd never gone herself. A new experience, something worth trying if only once. But the calm and patience required of it were an odd fit for Tyr's character. And yet he sat, placid and still, fishing on and on and on. Wandering all the way to the Krieg border in the wrong direction to look for 'fun things to do'.
“It's alright,” Tyr was practically whispering so as not to disturb the waters. “I had a friend who dreamed of becoming a fisherman and while this is not the wide open sea, I owe it to him to give it a go. I get it, it's probably the least appropriate hobby for my personality – but it's not bad. Once I learned how to think and how to act, something that's still a work in progress... I could do this forever.”
“Hmm...” She gave him a gentle smile and turned back to the water. “I heard.”
“About...?” Tyr turned to her with his interest piqued, how ambiguous it was and almost annoying that she sometimes would bait him into a line of dialogue that seemed... Artificial. One she was in control of. He hadn't seen much direct manipulation in her character, if he hadn't been so close to her now he might've suspected it. As it would appear, Astrid simply liked to talk for the sake of talking, which irked him a bit.
“About your friends.” Astrid pursed her lips. “How they gave you practically all of the credit for their deeds and you still went out and forced them to name a national celebration after them. Very noble of you. What were they like?”
Tyr snorted, shaking his head. He'd done his best to remember them in the only ways he knew how, compartmentalizing his grief in the same vein. People died, it was what it was, but he remembered his promises always and would see them again. Always would. “Xavier was naive, very trustworthy, like a little brother to everyone. Abe was old, wise, and experienced. A kind and patient teacher, always smiling and commenting on my behavior, trying his best to reform me, I think. Benny was a silver tongued clown with a penchant for womanizing, but he was a good man. One of the only people I think that ever accepted me for all that I was even after he'd seen it. Perhaps the first person that ever had real faith in me. No doubt in him whatsoever. Called me his best friend.”
“Do you miss them?” Astrid felt a tug on her line but let it go. It wasn't like finding fish was very hard and she wasn't much interesting in catching them. Just something to do.
“Every day.” Tyr replied softly. “But I will see them again. We are all destined to be together.”
“That... Sounds nice?”
“That included you.” Tyr said. “I have seen you in my dreams and so many times we've stood side by side.”
“I'm not sure if I should comment on how romantic that sounds, or how incredibly odd you are.”
“I am who I am.”
“That is certainly true... Tyr?”
“Hmm?” The evening sun felt pleasant on his face, a gentle warmth rather than the scorching heat of Baccia. Though neither taxed him overmuch, he could still feel it. Feel. That was nice, as long as he was close to them. Perhaps he wouldn't have turned out this way if he'd done the smart thing and stayed with them, or perhaps that's why they hadn't wanted him to.
“I think I want to have a daughter.” Astrid looked a little conflicted and her inflection matched her expression. “I know that Sigi has a claim to first son. But if you're alright with me, I--”
“It is time.” A droning voice came from behind them, and with it – an honest frown from Tyr. It would've been nice if this could last, just for a little while longer. Quiet contentment and companionship, that's all he wanted.
“Welcome back, Micah.”
“I was always here. And now it is time.”
“...Micah?” Astrid looked back at the man. Their friend, but she felt no familiarity with the figure effortlessly hovering in the air behind them. His eyes like portals to a night sky despite the evening sun overhead, skin pale and hair billowing. “That's a good look for you...?”
“I'll be back.” Tyr said, rising to his feet and taking long strides towards their old friend. Relaxing his wide shoulders, allowing the armor to cover his flesh. “Or you can come with me, if you'd like.”
“I've no hand for this fishing thing, so I guess I shall. And then?”
“If it all turns out alright I'll put octuplets in you. Just remember to avoid getting too close to me, things are going to get a little wild.” Tyr replied back, tilting a vial of clear viscous liquid into his mouth and staring off into the disc shaped gate suddenly splitting the air before them. She had no idea what lay through that gate, but she supposed it would be fun. And knowing him, wise to let the weight of her armor settle around her body and pull the spear and shield from her ring.