They'd met on the water, Aurelius had been confident of stopping him out there when there was no recorded use of any water walking or strider spells in Tyr's repertoire. And there wasn't, but the force by which the man had thrown Tiberius Scarr's body was incredible, and that man seemed to have absolutely no trouble recovering in midair and sprinting across the water himself.
Aurelius felt the hull of an entire barge groan and shriek as Tyr pummeled him into it, screaming with... Laughter.
He was howling with it, and frankly, it was throwing Aurelius for a loop. Cackling madly to punctuate every strike of his fists, and the woman with the lute behind him simply stood and watched. Levitating on light construct discs, must've been Astrid Stalvarg. Aurelius liked women, in the way that he did, and Tyr seemed to share that preference if not for what he eventually did to them. Alexis Goldmane had been incredible, high backed, prim and proper. All business. Someone who would've been fun to break.
Astrid, a dead woman by all accounts, was a looker, nice and docile too which wasn't so bad. But Aurelius had seen right through that mask of hers to the psychotic woman beneath. Someone who terrified him, staring at him through the slits in her helmet like he was some kind of bug.
And Tyr Faeron, he was not quite the Primus Hastur believed him to be, not yet, but he was getting there. In his infancy, he had grasped something, communed with something, and become incomparably different to the impotent boy he was before. Crossing that final veil and opening himself up to progression through bloodshed, a tyrant and a monolith.
And Tyr... Aurelius had to admit, he'd grown incredibly strong. But... That 'but' again... Almost and the lack of that word in any repertoire of any competent man.
Aurelius pushed back, leaping directly into the path of the next hammer blow, ducking to get into Tyr's center of gravity. He grabbed him, and in a mind addled state the boy could not have expected it. With his powers as a Hero Aurelius could weather storms, break citadels, crush armies, and he used all that now to pull him into a brutal skyward arc as the young man's cackles suddenly, and blissfully ceased.
Aurelius was self aware of his own hubris, but he felt as though he had earned it, he had the eye of a goddess that gave few her direct attention, and so he was worthy. This boy, while strong, was not his equal.
He squeezed with all of his might until the kid cracked like a boiled lobster, spitting blood. Jumping up and using the next closest barge as a platform by which to suplex him, nearly cracking it in twain. Each of these barges carried about six hundred or so, and there was a veritable city of them out here on the water. Men and women in their crusade armor intent to watch the 'valorous' feats of a Hero were flattened or flayed by twisted shrapnel spraying all around. Ironoak was strong, but it was brittle and became even more so unless enchanted to flex, like steel it was when it sloughed through them, leaving those men yet alive bloody and screaming for aid, and those of the more wiser disposition hurled themselves over the gunwales.
“Are you done?” Aurelius left the boy in the crater he'd sent him in, rising and sneering.
He was not.
Tyr spun like a top, kicking Aurelius back and spraying crimson radiance in all directions to finish the job. A few of the paladins managed to survived the initial bombardment and dive over the gunwale, but those were few and far between. Most of the crusade forces were humans with the odd beastkin or telurian in between. But most of those had been picked off along the way by anti-demi fanatics. Stabbed to death in the camps, though nobody seemed to mind.
“Honestly, kid,” Aurelius sighed, relaxing his posture, hands flicking about the blow the baleful flames away, wiping the blood from his mouth. He'd not bled in such quantity for so long. “I'm so incredibly fucking bored of all of this. I thought maybe it'd give me a good outlet, but all I am is so dreadfully bored. There are no slave markets or brothels out here, all we do is march and ride on boats for weeks. Fighting weaklings or the odd monster that shows up, both of which require little more than a flick. I'm not in the mood to play with you, there is no fun is breaking weaklings.”
Not bothering to respond, drawing a disgusted glare from Aurelius once he saw the drool leaking from Tyr's lips, the latter charged. There was also no fun in killing madmen, they felt too little and Aurelius could get no enjoyment of it.
Tyr kept coming at him, rabidly, no matter how many times he was batted away. Slightly amused, but not quite enough to really get into it, the passion was rarely there for Aurelius anymore and it was no fun abusing someone who patently couldn't be abused. In that way, Tyr was like him. Both of them dead to the conflict that made men strong, warming their hearts in passionate struggle. Riding the line between life and death didn't excite them anymore, because there was no possibility of the latter.
Aurelius could die, but it'd take a higher awakened monster to make that happen, and those weren't very common unless he grew a sudden and powerful urge to throw himself into the deep sea or travel the Taboo Lands beyond Sun's End. He even tried threatening that girl still hovering in the air playing music and staring at him, but no matter what barbs he offered her she would not lower herself.
Aurelius hissed, losing focus in the boredom he caught a lancing blow from a suddenly appearing sword to the cheek, rolling out of the way of the berserk lunatic before him. Their clash of swords rang out into the idyllic sunset, silver on silver, twin blurs and not at all alike in their approach. Tyr kicked him, his boot was titanic, a word of artifice, pummeling Aurelius into the deck as their fated duel continued. 'Fated', but only for one, Aurelius grimaced as they clashed and did not feel party to that need to do anything, this boy was just a tool, a puppet, and he hurled him off with a vengeance.
And yet that boy just kept coming, again and again and again, he was... invincible. Quick, talented. "I've known many swordsmen in my time," Aurelius grimaced, "You..." He said, "I think you might be the greatest of them all."
And Tyr, ever the raging berserker, a boy owned by emotion, only salivated more and kept coming at him.
It was not enough, even though Aurelius had spoken truly, honestly for once, it just wasn't enough. What was 'swordsmanship' before the Chosen of a goddess...? He, in turn, was invulnerable too.
“Looks like he's outmatched you in terms of swordplay, Aurelius,” Ryker hummed, sitting on the helm of the barge and kicking his feet back and forth playfully. Tyr was like a blur, his wild motions quick enough to step beyond mundane talent. Fighting with raw instinct and completely dominating Aurelius, so long as the latter wasn't able to land a direct strike. In a lot of ways it was like watching that event they had in Taur where they ran with the bulls. Well, they used to have an event like that, Ryker guessed that custom was probably dead along with their capital. Aurelius seemed to be the matador in the equation while Tyr whipped around on belting fire to rattle him with blows from his sword, axe, maul, glaive, his weapon changing as fast as his direction did. Exactly how the Raven of Milano had earned his fame. “Need a hand?”
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"Shut up," Aurelius cursed, rolling away from a thunderclap and flash of a riposte and grunting, "I do not need help, just shut your mouth and watch, or you shall be next."
"So touchy." Ryker laughed.
There was a real problem with how Tyr fought and acted, always in emulation, never with much creativity, he was a product of other people but never himself – and thus he could not win. Because Tyr Faeron was the expert of so many things but the truest master of nothing. The greatest swordsman Aurelius had ever seen? Yes. He was a machine, of such grace and skill even in his madness that sure gods would weep and damsels would cry out his name, but there it was again... 'swordsmanship'. As though in a world of magic that vocation and level of skill was--
He was fast, that Tyr Faeron, while Aurelius though, his boot rose up at the toe to catch him in the chin, sending him skyward. There were many problems presented, most of all the fact that Tyr was not alone, and that Aurelius... Well, as ashamed as he was, he felt tested, and had he not already been tested enough?
"Enough!" Aurelius clucked his tongue, plucking a javelin from of his dimensional ring and lofting it with his full might at the woman, cleaving straight into her breastplate and dropping her like a swatted gnat. Enough to get the boy's attention, and ensure he stopped moving, at least for the time being.
Tyr settled, having been under the control of Astrid that entire time, frowning at the alien sensation of her mind dominating his own finally fleeing, though he'd asked for it. Imbibing Eve's fluids, namely her saliva, turned him into a furnace of mana – but he lost all control, opting to try to give her the wheel. His power, his skill, but her hand. Unfortunately, he still wasn't strong enough to kill a Hero, not yet, he needed more. This, in all ways, was a... it was him, as he was, trying to kill the son of a god, surely it could not be that easy, all a test. He had failed.
Tyr did not spare Astrid another glance, he paused in his flurry and blinked slow to throw off the control. Turning to Aurelius, he asked a question, the influence on his mind fleeing almost immediately. This was all a field test, and for all intent and purpose he had failed, but that didn't mean it was over.
“Why are the men in your crusade army so weak?”
“...?” Aurelius arched a brow at that, pausing. “Well, as you might've observed, they are just men. Of course they are weak, they aren't like us. We might as well not belong to the same race, calling them 'men' is almost an insult to your forebears.”
Like us...?
“No, I mean--” Only then did he realize who he was speaking to properly. Aurelius. A rapist, murderer, sadistic fuck of a man with the most irritating mixture of black heart and red hand he'd ever seen. All combined with that mug of his that was so elegant and refined, calm in the face now for whatever reason given his normal imperious personality. Something of a flicker in his eyes, a bit of recognition perhaps. But it was more than that, these puppets they called Heroes, all of them were slaves dominated by the parasitic entities known as gods. “Your goddess is watching, isn't she?”
“I always am,” Aurelius smiled. “Watching you. I must admit, I was... Vexed, for some time, as you picked away at my faithful, refused to die like a good lad should. Not that I mind, all of them except this single host before you are so dreadfully worthless, but all men are. You've gotten my attention, whatever your motivations – perhaps we can come to a bargain?”
Tyr frowned, tilting his head in that way he did and nodding, “What would the Lady of Lies want with me? Why have you been tracking me all the time?”
Just like Astrid had been, Aurelius was possessed, but Indura was far weaker than the Lady of Black and White. Like a spark before a raging sun, so insignificant. Perhaps it was only in the shred of consciousness granted, and not the full manifestation of a real god in the abstract. He did not know, but he studied her.
He need to see to know, and he needed to know to kill, the more time he spent here, the more he would benefit when his plans concluded and he rose. He'd been holding it back for so long, letting the pressure build up because he wasn't quite ready yet. And in this Tyr could very much hear 'the call', all that he'd ever been blamed for, his 'psychosis', lay in that simple buzzing scream in his head.
“Hmm...” 'Indura' glared at him for a moment at the mention of that sobriquet, but the look faded just as fast as it had come. “So often the more earthly think are are playing by their own tune, but you are a creature of duplicity yourself, Tyr Faeron. Your poorly thought out schemes and revelries to convince others you've a dull and simple mind – but I know you for anything but. Strategy goes beyond battle, I am not like my brother and father, I care little for war beyond its means to an end. But you... Little Wolf, you've always been a trickster yourself, haven't you?”
“I could kill near all of the men in this army.” Tyr replied. “Break their boats and drown them. Aurelius couldn't stop me, I am immortal. And your lot...” He shrugged, no need for elaboration, he could not kill Aurelius, because Aurelius was too 'important' in the way the spira reckoned things, but he could disable him, and go about slaying the rest.
“No, I will not let you fight here,” She blurred through the air to appear seated on the shattered remains of the central mast. Ryker remained where he was, simply watching in amusement. “You see, we've big plans for this conflict of men and I've a great deal of interest in watching how it concludes. Aurelius is not a swordsman, Tyr Faeron, and never was. Keep that in mind when next you fight, his aspect is my own and you'll learn he is quite your opposite.”
Micah appeared beside Tyr, with Astrid hopping over the gunwale on their side of the abused ship with her breastplate and punctured torso beneath knitting together much akin to Tyr's. The spira was in significance, in fate, and in the Wyrd that governed all events, things of such great import were not allowed to die until their destined time. That was the truest root of all 'magic', a thing and a construct that did not exist.
She had a bemused expression on her face but didn't say much of anything, aware that whatever fight they were about to have had already come to an end. In the distance, many of the barges were burning, Tiber still about his grim work and making more than good with the force that had taken him captive, and Tyr let him be so as to allow his most trusted to rise again through the tiers that only conflict could bring a man to. Not so powerful now, those paladins, after their gods seemed intent to abandon them. All of a sudden...
“Liar.” Micah said, staring placidly at the possessed form of Aurelius. Not an accusation, but a greeting, perhaps both.
“Reader,” Indura replied with a smile. “It has been a long time since I've seen a manifestation of yours, and what an interesting one it is. Always so charming, with your completely absent character, always looking...”
“Let's not get off on a tangent,” Tyr interjected with the finger of his gauntlet raised, of a rational mind and knowing this was already over, he had saved the others and that was the prime objective he'd been made to follow. By and large, this was an information gathering exercise now. “You know that I'm going to come for them, right? All of your faithful, and then you. I will kill them all, do not mistake my calmness and willingness to engage in dialogue with you as forgiveness. I will come. I will always come, and I will tear you down until I am the only one left.”
“And that,” Indura smiled back at him, toothy and far too wide for a pair of human lips. “Is all part of the plan, little puppet. You'll see.”
With a flick of her fingers, Tyr was gone. The Reader knew as well as she did, these plans of mice and men. The gods decided, nobody else, even if it was a pale imitation of a single fragment of one. Or so they wanted to believe.
“Laki doesn't do that to us,” Ryker said from above, having sat and watched the bizarre exchange with no small amount of disappointment. “Why are you urging the boy forwards and yet simultaneously denying his ascent?”
The second question would go perpetually unanswered. Without her intervention, contrary to belief, Tyr would have eventually smited Aurelius, torn him apart, and Ryker wasn't quite sure he'd have been able to run either, not with an Astral entity at the helm and allowing Tyr to break several earthly laws all in a single breath.
“And that is precisely why the Fox is insignificant, as you are – spineless wretch.” Indura replied, stepping away to do whatever it is gods did in their brief periods in possession of a human body.