Plummeting towards a painful, incredibly flat end was not exactly how Joan imagined herself one day dying and, frankly, she wanted to do everything she could to avoid that end. As much as she desperately wanted to know who Penthe was and why her memories were so fragmented of them, the quickly approaching ground was a far more pressing concern.
Joan held out her right hand and cast a quick spell, whispering the words and trying to make herself rise back up. Unfortunately, once more she found her current limitations nowhere near capable of what she needed. A small breeze emanated from her fingertips, nowhere near the powerful gusts she had been trying to make. “Come on, come on!” she yelled, trying desperately to get the spell to work.
She didn’t know what was more frustrating. Knowing dozens of spells that COULD save her if she could cast them or knowing that if she had prepared for this situation beforehand she might have been able to come up with something. As it was, she struggled to think of something she could do to slow her fall just enough to survive. Maybe if she tried using the key, but the dangers of that were incredible and might kill her. Then again, the fall would definitely kill her, so maybe if she was just careful she could survive.
Suddenly an arm wrapped around her from behind. Joan would have felt more relief, except she recognized it as the gauntlet covered arm of Penthe. “Hey, now’s not the time to be fighting!” Joan yelled.
Penthe seemed to ignore her, jerking them both back and casting a spell of her own, sending them at the cliff. With one arm around Joan, the other hand lashed out, the gauntlet digging into the wall. Stone and earth gave way, slowing their descent and pelting them with dirt. Joan lifted her arms over her face, trying to keep it from hitting her head, but even so she could feel bits of debris striking her arms when then fell slower and slower.
Then the cliff reached its end and the ground connected with them. Joan and Penthe hit it hard, both toppling and rolling across the ground for a few moments before coming to a stop. Joan laid there face down for a long while, doing a quick mental inventory of her body. Nothing felt broken, nothing felt destroyed. All things considered she actually felt, well, good wasn’t the correct word.
But considering she had just fallen far enough to kill her four times over and as far as she could tell all she had were some bruises and covering of dirt, she felt pretty good. Maybe today was her lucky day.
That thought left her when she felt a foot on her back, driving her harder into the ground and knocking the air out of her. “Who are you?” the armored figure asked.
Joan gave a light gasp, closing her eyes and whimpering. “Careful. I need those bones.”
“I asked you a question,” Penthe said.
“Joan,” she said before looking up. The canyon itself wasn’t anything impressive, just dirt and stones. However, one thing did catch her eye. Penthe’s sword. It was lodged in the ground, the blade dug deep where it had fallen just a little bit away.
“I didn’t ask for your name. I asked who you are. Why did you call me that?” Penthe asked again. The boot lifted for a moment, only to crash down hard enough that Joan was worried her spine might snap from the blow. “Now tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Joan said. “I just knew! I do that! I know names and I know things I shouldn’t and I don’t know why! I just know you! You’re Penthe! You’re a girl! Your sword is named Dynasty Devourer and I can’t tell you why I know any of that because I’m still trying to figure that out!”
The foot moved off and Joan tried to roll away before it could come down again, but she barely made it a few inches before the boot struck once more, kicking her in the stomach and sending her rolling and skidding along the ground, before finally being stopped when she hit one of the larger rocks. Penthe stared at her for a moment, before she began to walk towards her.
“Ow ow ow ow ow,” Joan said before she tried to sit up. Her arms didn’t want to help, giving up after a few seconds and she dropped right back to the ground.
“Nobody has called me that in… I cannot even remember when,” Penthe said. “You can’t know that name. Who told you?”
“Nobody told me. Or you did,” Joan said before thrusting her right hand at the woman, sending shards of ice at her. The glanced off the armor without leaving so much as a dent. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to remember, memory issues and all that. I--” The figure was on her and knelt down, picking her up in one hand and lifting her into the air.
“One more chance, kid. Who are you? Tell me or I’ll snap your little neck,” Penthe said, her other hand reaching out to grab her by the neck.
Joan whimpered. This person killed her once, she couldn’t tell her who she was. She had to come up with an answer, quickly.
“You have until I count to three. One.”
She was a subject of the Demon Lord, an enemy of hers. So she had to come up with something related to that.
“Two.”
“I’m the Demon Lord’s illegitimate daughter!” Joan yelled.
Penthe paused for a moment, not moving. Finally she began to laugh before dropping her on the ground. “That has to be one of the worst lies I’ve ever heard. Did you really think I would believe that?”
Joan shook her head, a hand moving up to her, mercifully, unsnapped neck. “Not really.”
“You don’t want to tell me who you are, though. But you know who I am. About my sword. But you don’t know how. That’s it, correct?” Penthe asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Joan said before leaning back against the rock.
Penthe then knelt down and a gauntlet reached out, gripping her chin and making her look up. “Then I suppose that means only one thing. Hello, hero.”
Joan’s eyes widened and she tried to pull away from her, but the hand didn’t let her face go.
“Now now, what’s the rush? You knocked us both down here, didn’t you? No chosen to get in the way. Now I’m going to have to hunt the chosen’s sister all over again, thanks to you. So let’s have a nice, long talk.”
“You killed me,” Joan whispered softly.
“Oh, you remember that? Well, I suppose it’s only fair. After all, you’ve killed me a few dozen times by now,” Penthe said. She then pushed Joan’s head back, hitting it against the rock. “Tore out my heart. Fed me to rabid chimeras. Burned me and my home to the ground. Tore my head off. Choked the very life from my lungs. Even burned me at the stake as a heathen. You remember me, so tell me. Do you remember any of that?”
Joan gave a soft whimper. “No. I don’t. I didn’t do that. I swear I didn’t. I never burned anyone at the stake.”
Penthe sighed and let her go. She tried to get away, but a hand on her shoulder shoved her right back down. “No. Of course not. Another game of the gods, isn’t it? Though, I must admit.” The gauntlet reached up and gripped her hair, tugging her head back. “You’ve never been a girl. You’re kind of adorable. Weak too. You’re not supposed to be weak. I killed you, so you shouldn’t be here. Unless…” A gauntlet gently rubbed against Joan’s exposed throat. She could feel just how sharp the fingertips of the gauntlets were and couldn’t help but imagine how easily it would slash through her throat. “Unless it’s finally over. Did I win?”
“Maybe,” Joan said softly before giving a nervous gulp. “I don’t know. I just did as I was told, I never—”
“Did as you were told? When has the ‘great hero’ ever done what they were told?” Penthe asked before she just began to laugh. The echoes through the suit of armor only made Joan shiver more, the voice merciless and cold. “You know who I am. Or, at least somewhat. So I guess this only means the rules have changed again. In your favor, no doubt. They always are. By the gods I hate you. Joan, was it? It won’t matter soon enough. Nobody will remember you. This time, I win. No more gifts of the gods. No more fate’s favorite child. No more stupid speeches or heartfelt pleas or stupid contrivances.” Penthe got to her feet and started to walk away, dragging Joan by her hair.
Joan shrieked, gripping the hand dragging her and trying to pull it back, but the woman didn’t even seem to notice.
“Come on then. Let’s hear it,” Penthe said, continuing her walk. Joan finally realized where they were going. To her sword. “’You can’t defeat me, I am the hero!’ or ‘As long as I stand, the world won’t fall to the darkness!’ or, my personal favorite. Do you remember this one? ‘I will die a hundred times to protect those who can’t protect themselves.’ That one was my favorite. That one showed me exactly what it means to be a hero. A pathetic, egotistical hypocrite.”
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“I didn’t do any of that!” Joan screamed, tugging desperately on the hand.
“Of course you didn’t,” Penthe said. “After all, you’re the Hero. The Hero never does anything wrong. Never makes any mistakes. But there isn’t any hero now, is there?” she asked before stopping in front of her sword. She reached out and grabbed it, pulling it from the ground with a light chuckle. “No. No there is not… You don’t have the Star now, do you?”
“You said that then too,” Joan said softly.
To her surprise, Penthe stopped for a moment. “If I kill you, will you come back?”
“What?”
“Every time I kill you. Every time you kill me. We just come back. This endless cycle. Will it finally end?” Penthe asked before turning to look down at her. “Will you finally disappear? How many times do I have to kill you before you just stop coming back?”
Joan whimpered and shook her head. “I don’t know. But if I die, this world is doomed. It--”
“Of course it is,” Penthe said before letting her hair go, only to drive the pommel of her sword down on Joan’s head and drive her into the ground. “That’s always the answer, isn’t it? ‘I’m soooo important, if I die, the world dies!’ You can’t just beg for your life, can you? No. There has to be a reason why you living is the most important thing.” She nudged her over with her foot, making her lay on her back. She then held the top of her sword over Joan’s throat. “Beg.”
“What?” Joan asked.
“Beg. I want to hear you beg. You’re a hero, aren’t you? Just once I want to hear you beg. Beg for mercy. Beg for your life. Beg to it to end quickly. I don’t care. Just beg,” Penthe said.
Joan stared up at her, unable to be anything but confused. “What did I do to you?”
“The world needs you, doesn’t it? That’s what you said,” Penthe said. “So beg. For once in your pathetic, miserable existence, beg for mercy you egotistical bastard.”
Joan gave a whimper and closed her eyes. “Please…”
“Beyond recollection,” Penthe said. The sword came alive once more, runes forming across the blade.
“Please don’t! Please, the world needs me, please don’t do this,” Joan begged.
“Of course it does,” Penthe said. “Goodbye, Hero.”
“Please don’t kill me I don’t want to die!” Joan screamed, lifting her hands up and over her, trying to shield herself from the blade. “Please, please, I don’t want to die again. I want to live. I want to fix everything I ruined. I want to make up for everything I did wrong. I’m sorry. I know I’ve failed. I know I’ve been egotistical in the past. I know I keep screwing up. I know I’m not worthy to be a hero, I know I’m not worth it. But I want to try. Please. Please, please don’t do this, Penthe. Please.”
Penthe starred down at her and, for a moment, Joan thought the woman had decided to show mercy. “May you never come back.” She plunged the sword down.
Joan reached out with both hands, trying to catch the blade, to deflect it, to do something with it. It slashed open her right palm before piercing her left. However, it stopped then, the blade pierced through her hand and out the other side. Joan stared up at it, her eyes wide. Despite the pain, she was mesmerized by the runes of the blade that were now glowing bright red.
“DAMN IT!” Penthe yelled. Joan felt the foot come crashing down on her stomach and the woman kicked off her, pulling her sword back and out of her hand. Through the hole in Joan’s palm she could now see a strange, black thing where her bones were supposed to be. Only for a few seconds, though, before the wound began to quickly reseal itself. “What is that? What did you do?”
Joan would have loved to answer her, but unfortunately she had to spend the time clutching her stomach from the kick, her hands burning, the air knocked from her and her very existence agonized. She rolled over onto her stomach and tried to, shakily, get to her feet.
The runes across Penthe’s sword were flickering between red and white, occasionally disappearing entirely. The woman then turned to her and ran straight at her. Joan reached for her own sword this time, drawing it with her right hand though the gash across it made the pommel slick with blood and her grip felt weak.
But the movements were ones she’d seen before, she knew them. Just like she had in the woods, she let her instincts take over. The black blade narrowly missed her and she kept moving, sticking to Penthe’s left side, her sword tip slashing out and striking the other woman’s arm just below the wrist.
The blade bounced off the armor with a light clang of metal against metal. Joan realized a moment too late that the blade she had grabbed had been the one that Searle had given her. She should have realized that to fight her, she’d need the demonic blade.
She barely turned in time, interposing her sword between her and Penthe, catching the woman’s counter strike with the flat of her sword. She pushed her other hand out, using it to help hold the sword between the two. Even using both hands, the strike was so powerful it sent her tumbling back and her sword flying off through the air.
Joan let out another groan and stared up at Penthe, the woman quickly approaching. “What did you do?”
“You don’t know?” Joan asked. Her eyes widened when she saw the shadows on the wall behind Penthe begin to writhe and shift. After a moment, they formed a swirling black vortex. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile.
“Huh?” Penthe asked before turning around. She was still for a moment before she turned and sprinted at her, sword raised.
She just had to survive a few more seconds. That was all. Help was coming.
Penthe was almost upon her, the sword raised up, only for the ground between the two of them to raise in a protective barrier of stone. The woman moved around it, only for the barrier to expand and wrap around her entirely, shrouding her in darkness.
Joan felt herself sink into the void itself before, after a moment, she seemed to pop out from the swirling portal that had been on the wall. Right into the waiting arms of Searle. The chosen caught her and pulled her close, his shield over her. “Joan are you okay?”
“Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow,” Joan said.
“Bauteut, she’s hurt,” Searle said.
“What else is new?” Bauteut asked. “Keep us safe, Andreas and Korgron should have Gil handled.”
“Korgron?” Joan asked. “She’s here?”
“Yes, she-- Joan, stop!” Searle said, trying to keep her held in his arms, but she struggled to get free. She had to see. If Korgron was here, she had to see.
She managed to stumble out of his arms to land on the ground, shoving him aside to see her. True to his word, Korgron and Andreas were standing between them and Penthe.
Atop Korgron’s head the crown rested, nestled around her three small horns. Penthe didn’t move, holding her flickering sword but not moving to strike yet. Joan couldn’t blame her, though. Even without the crown Korgron was one of the most powerful mages in the world. Even though it was years before she had ever received the crown in the past, with it there would be almost no limits to the magic she could weave. The sheer power she now held could, in many ways, rival a gods.
Penthe knelt down on the ground, placing a palm against the ground. Joan cocked her head to the side, something wasn’t right. Her eyes widened. “Korgron, Andreas, look out! It’s--”
But it was too late. The ground underneath the pair suddenly rose up, forming a grappling tentacle of rock and stone. Penthe then ran forward, straight towards them. No. Towards her.
Korgron flicked her left hand and the stone around her turned to dust. Penthe had only a second to move before flame rose up from under her feet. The flames seared her armor, but she managed to keep running at them.
Only for Andreas to suddenly be behind her, sweeping her legs out from under her with his spear, then spinning and striking her with the shaft of the spear, sending her bouncing and skidding across the ground, only stopping when she slammed into a large rock. Having experienced such a blow recently, Joan almost felt a bit of pity for the woman. Except, unlike her, Penthe at least had armor.
Penthe laid there for a few moments and, for a moment, Joan wondered if it was over. The runes over the sword finally disappeared entirely and, she didn’t know if it was her imagination, but the shimmering of her armor seemed to be fading out as well.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Penthe said, her voice filled with fury.
“You tried to kill my sister,” Korgron said before flicking her right hand and casting her incantation. Three shards of ice formed from the air, each nearly as big as her, before sailing through the air at the armored woman.
Penthe slammed her hands down and a wall of rock rose up in front of her. The ice pierced through it with ease, destroying the wall after only a few moments. However, Penthe was gone.
Joan watched for a moment, wondering if it was over. It couldn’t really be over, could it? It wasn’t that easy. Right? It wasn’t--
Oh. Oh dear. She didn’t feel so good. “Searle, keep her up,” Bauteut said, her hand on Joan’s shoulder.
Joan’s legs gave out right before a pair of hands caught her, holding her up in the air. She chuckled none the less, shaking her head. “We won.”
“Of course we did,” Bauteut said. “Come on, let’s take a look at you, Joan. Please, for the sake of my heart, don’t jump off any more cliffs?”
“I did not jump,” Joan said firmly, giving a cheeky grin. “I tackled someone off one.”
“Fine. No more tackling people off cliffs,” Bauteut said, her hand holding Joan’s wrist. Despite the scolding tone, Joan couldn’t help but notice the smile on Bauteut’s lips. Or the way Searle was holding her so tight as if he was afraid if he let her go she’d fall off another cliff.
“I can’t make any promises. But I will try, I promise,” Joan said firmly. “And hey, no broken bones this time.”
“Actually, there’s at least three fractures. And a lot of… Oh dear. Joan, I’m going to knock you out for a little bit,” Bauteut said, a frown on her lips.
“What? Nooooo. I feel fine. Really,” Joan said. “Barely even hurt. Really.” Sure, she hurt all over, but mostly she felt pretty good. Another chosen was here. One more step closer to saving the world.
“Yeah, that’s not a good sign. Joan, just count down from ten. Ten, nine, eight…”
“Wait, don’t, I’m not…” Joan tried to resist, but she could only last so long before the world was enraptured in darkness. A happy, strange darkness. She had so many more questions, so many more mysteries to solve. But she felt like she was one more step closer.