Bart was the first to notice that Epim had woken up and stood from his incapacitation. Duncire was still stunned by the loss of his father and the full bodied transformation he had just gone through, the newfound sensations he felt overcame him. The pain that he had long considered part of life was no longer there, instead it was replaced by a warmth that radiated from his Fathers heart within him.

“Epim, you’re back! But how?” Bart’s eyes quickly scan his side. The clothes Epim wore had a torn hole in them at the area the arrow hit, but the skin underneath was completely healed, not even a blemish remained. Even the other areas of his body that had taken damage over time had completely disappeared.

“I’m not sure, Bart.” Epim turns to Bart, and Bart instantly notices a change in his demeanor. A reserved smile covered the face of Epim, his eyes seemed softer. “But, I think I’ve begun to understand there’s more to things then I can understand right now.”

“Oh?” Bart wanted to question what he meant, but his newly heightened senses gave him notice of someone quickly approaching from where they just came from. The footsteps were rapid. “Someone’s coming, we need to-”

Epim interrupted him, turning to Duncire. “You both need to go up,” He knocks his head upwards, looking at the ceiling above them. “Something’s happening in the ballroom. The Shade’s hurt, and your mother too.” He looked into Duncire’s eyes, and Duncire looked back, regaining his composure.

Duncire's change seemed to not be exclusively physical, his eyes carried more intelligence, and he nodded in response. “You’re right.” He replied, his voice deeper and calmer. “I need to take care of that vile man.”

Bart interjected. “Epim, you don’t intend to fight off the man who’s approaching alone, do you? You just got healed, let me help!”

Epim shook his head. “You’ll be of much more help up there, Bart. You need to take care of the Shade, it’s hurt right now and it might get worse if you’re not there. I’m counting on you to keep my friends safe. You’re the only man for the job.” Epim takes a pause for a moment, turning his head to Duncire. “Duncire needs to know he can fight without reserve, he’s a gentle guy. He needs to know that he’s only hurting someone who deserves it.”

Duncire nods. “I don’t want to hurt the fairy, or the walking tree. And especially not mama.!” Although he had changed, he still carried the same innocence as before.

Bart opened his mouth to object, but closed it in acceptance. “Why do you have to act so calm? It makes it hard to refuse.”

Epim smiles wider. “Because I know you’re a smart guy!” Epim’s smile was warm, and the trust he had in Bart was clear. It touched Bart’s heart, they had met only days ago but they now had an unbreakable bond of trust between the two of them.

Now, Duncire rose to his full height. The ground threatened to break under his full weight. The wings on his back began to unfurl from his back, spreading out in an impressive display of wingspan. They flapped with force capable of producing gusts of wind that rebounded off the dungeon walls.

Bart’s wings were still vestigial, the skill of flight had been a sacrifice their race had undertaken when they drank from their progenitors blood and while Bart had now drunk directly from the source, it was still not enough to return the ability to him..

It mattered not, for the increased strength of Bart allowed him to easily push his claws into the walls of stone brick. He climbed up the wall quickly, as Duncire lifted off from the ground and crashed through the ceiling above them, entering another layer of the bottom of the castle, shooting towards the now exposed floor of the ballroom.

Epim turns his head down as he hears the ceiling crash above him. He has not a hint of worry for the Shade or Prose, his trust in Bart is absolute.

He extends his right hand far out to his side, he opens his palm, and his scythe radiates its way out of his palm. Upwards and downwards the shaft extends, the blade of the scythe appearing away from him. He clenches his hand, the snaith of the scythe feeling cool against his hands.

He looks out towards the entrance of Duncire’s former abode, and see’s the approaching figure.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Walking slowly, it was Arch. His red robe hung on his body, his brown hair with the streak of black running through it is lit by the torchlight. His face gives away his current analytical process, he’s taking in every detail of the surrounding area. Epim waits, allowing the man who wished to kill him to gather his bearings.

“You seem to be doing better.” Arch’s voice was sharp, the hatred he had for Epim was evident. “Did your monstrous friends heal you, or are you just a monster yourself?”

Epim turned his head up at the remark. “I can’t say. Why don’t you introduce yourself.” Epim’s tone was also sharp, he seemed to mock Arch with each word.

“Arch.” He spit out. His eyes were concentrated on the scythe in Epim’s hands. (“That must be what he used to cut off my brother’s head.”)

Epim responded in kind. “I’m Epim. Now before we get started, I have to ask. What was your brother's name?” Epim had heard the confrontation earlier, in which Arch had attempted to dissuade Alucire from any action. He said he was the man who killed his brother.

Arch clicked his tongue. “Aiga, my brother’s name was Aiga.” Before he could continue and throw another insult, he felt all the blood in his body rush to his head. Epim had let out a slight laugh at the name. “What’s so funny, bastard!?”

Epim kept the same smile on his face from before. “Nothing. It’s just… It really doesn’t mean much coming from you.”

The obvious disregard for his brother’s life drove him near mad, but he composed himself. He would not act recklessly, he would not throw himself into a situation he did not understand. Arch, like his brother, was a martial artist.

Unlike his brother, Arch teetered at the level of excellence in his craft. He had studied for a long time, and he had trained for a longer time at his craft. Each blow, each action had to be meticulous. During his fight earlier with the Shade he had attempted to practice such a methodology, but the Shade’s overpowering physical strength and defense made it so that he had no choice but to resort to pure force in his interactions with it.

Epim was different, he was a man. He was the kind of foe Arch had fought many times over his life, he knew the process and the steps he had to take to fundamentally break him down.

(He has a knife at his side. He’s not overly muscular. The scythe has a limited range of effectiveness. The scythe seems odd, it’s best to play it safe. He’s too calm. He survived the arrow with no wound. He has allies around the castle. He’s just a man. He’s just a man. He’s just a man!”) Thoughts ran through his head neatly, and each thread, each path of his thought process led to the same result.

“Get in close, and the scythe doesn’t matter. His knife won’t be strong enough, or quick enough. I’ll break his arms. I’ll incapacitate him, and then I’ll kill him.”)

Epim slowly lowered the scythe until the blade was in front of his face. It was not completely transparent, but through the twilight light Arch could make out the brown of his eyes. “And one more question, before you burst.Do you have somebody to remember you, and your brother? I didn’t leave him enough time to answer me, before I cut off his head.”

Arch went silent. The seeming provocations from Epim no longer affected him, he focused on the core of his art and prepared to strike.

Arch and his brother Aiga practiced a technique that was not common in the place they lived. It could only be taught by masters, making the passing down of the technique difficult in the land where people were self centered, and often working for their own ends instead of the goals of others.

The peculiars of the techniques involved focusing an energy in oneself, a martial might. The technique strengthened the body beyond normal limits, it refined muscle to be as strong as steel and flexible as silk. Beyond the body, the technique was composed of a central idea.

Convert the perceptions of our life, the tools we use, the nature we see, into a fundamental force that the body is capable of exhibiting.

This technique is broken down into several layers. Mimicry of Objects, Mimicry of Sight, Mimicry of Action, Mimicry of Phenomenon, and finally Mimicry of Concept.

Aiga was at the very first stage of mimicking the tools people use. Needle for a focused attack that cut through enemies, hammer for a blow that bludgeoned enemies. The technique consisted of countless other examples, but each who practiced it found their own way in the form of understanding and practicing it, there was no set path to improvement beyond the meaning of the layers.

Arch currently stood in the second layer, his own technique had matured from the simple copying of familiarity, it was now honed and focused on what he had perceived to be the essence of strength.

Epim’s eyes watched with focus, as Arch’s muscles seemed to contract. He seemed to move slowly, before releasing all at once.

“Shoot” Arch whispered slowly, and threw his forwards even with the great distance between the two of them. Air seemed to carve out of the way of his fist, and a veritable vacuum was formed that shot towards Epim’s head.

Quickly, Epim maneuvered the blade of his scythe in front of the air vacuum shooting towards him. The vacuum hit the blade of his scythe with a bang that rattled throughout the dungeon. To his shock the blade of the scythe dispersed, fragments of twilight scattering to his left and right. He looked on in shock as his trustworthy weapon broke for the first time, and before he could will the blade to reform, Arch had already begun to make his way towards him with footwork akin to a boxer.

Epim felt fear, anxiety, and an overwhelming sense of awe. The man in front of him was nothing like Aiga who had been slain before, he was a man who was used to the unnatural and acted in such a way. He knew that he would now be tested to his physical and mental limit.

While the battle with Epim was going on, and Duncire broke his way into the ballroom, Yi stood at the entrance of the castle gates, his heart beating quickly. He heard an explosion from within, he sensed something amiss in the air. Although he was uninjured, the spell Miede had cast on him left him quite shambled. He was powerless and unable to move in the face of a potential predator at the time. As a hunter, how could that not strike him to his core?

He relied on his strong senses, and his ability to move quickly into action. Having been deprived of them, even if momentarily, struck his senses into disarray. (“Arch, please make it out quickly. I want to get as far away from Heacrim as possible, as fast as we possibly can.”)

His attention was focused to an absurd extent on the entrance to the castle, to the extent that he drowned out anything else. Even to the extent that he did not hear, or sense, the shadowy figures that made their way out of the forest and approached behind him.