The person with two bodies followed the instructions of their enslaved soul. In a dusty cellar, they found a Princess. Bound and gagged with metal. Cloth or twine were bad choices to imprison a fire mage. The kidnapped princess struggled when she heard a sound. She feared a lot for her life. She feared a lot for her friends. She found that she feared not for her station or title.
"Pearl, it is us!" Aidan shouted before lifting the trapdoor.
The princess looked up, blinked and allowed the tears to flow. Soon there was light in that cellar, and she was in her champion's arms.
They removed the restraints. The hastily thrown metal dug into her flesh. There was a second princess in the cellar. She used healing magic.
"Healing Light."
Pearl tried to speak, but she could only cry. Words failed her. They took the kidnapped princess out of that place. The champion took the rescued princess through the streets, carrying the petite girl in his arms. She wanted to protest, to say she could walk, but she couldn't speak. The other princess by her side, a facet of her champion, whispered reassuring words without the conviction behind them.
Pearl knew something was wrong. Their mood was too somber. The sadness was palpable. The three bodies of two people walked until a street where a carriage was waiting for them. Inside, the silence continued. They crossed the moat and entered the castle. it was no moat actually. Just two branches of the river wrapped around the castle.
The carriage stopped, but not at the castle front doors as custom would have it. Instead, it stopped at the training complex for the knights. They got off the carriage.
Rows upon rows of knights were assembled. Shining polished armor reflecting the light of several spells hovering over the courtyard. Faceplates lowered. The friend, male on one side, female on the other, held both arms of the princess and they walked forward. The sea of plate armor parted to give them wide berth.
And the princess saw the reason all these soldiers were assembled.
Five pyres.
Five ceremonial pyres. Four with the Yutis flag, another with the Gohar flag. Flags covering bodies.
A last honor for the departed.
The Yutis flags were low. The body underneath one of them was small, thin, lean. curvaceous.
The Gohar flag was stretched. A massive, huge body underneath.
The princess could not speak. Her chest rose and fell with her suppressed sobs. Before the pyres on a platform, a King. A Prince. A Princess that lived most of her life as a maid. And a maid that lived most of her life as a village girl that the crying princess knew very well.
She wanted to run, but it was not adequate. She brought this upon these people. She wanted to vanish. Her body slumped, but her friend gave her a reassuring squeeze on both sides. They drove her. They kept her safe. They ushered her forward.
Steps. She climbed them. The platform resembled a gallows. Maybe it was one once. The princess felt she deserved to be on a gallows though there was no pole to hang people. The princess looked up and met the King's gaze. The King nodded. She met the prince's gaze. The prince tried to smile but it came as a bitter smile. She met the maid-turned-princess' gaze. She was crying.
And she met the niece-turned-maid's gaze. It was icy cold.
The princess shook her shoulders, signaling the friend to let go. The friend released her arms.
And the princess knelt. She fell on both knees.
The princess knelt before the maid. She grabbed the young woman's skirt and finally found words.
"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
The ice broke. Her sorrow for the loss of her uncle, her last living kin burst like a dam. The maid's knees faltered and she also knelt. The two girls hugged one another and shared their pain.
There was a speech given by the King. It might have been a nice speech. One that spoke of duty, of valor, of honor, of sacrifice. None of the two girls on the former gallows wooden floor picked any word of that speech.
But the ceremony had to be followed. The friend came back. He helped the princess get back on her feet. A torch was handed to her. Another torch was on the prince's hand. At the same time, they touched the torch to the pyre.
And the fire ushered the five protectors from two nations, the warriors' souls into the afterlife. Into the halls of Mars where the worthy will earn their reward.
To the living, the pain. The sorrow.
A drum rang. A bugle blew. Solemn music to guide the departed. Swords were drawn. Salutes were given. Faceplates down. In duty and in dying, they had no face.
But in the hearts of those that loved them.
The pyres burned.
And the princess cried.
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Another carriage, another place, the same city, the same night. There was no singing, no shouting, no drunks out tonight. Inside, a girl held a blanket with another smaller girl inside. The carriage took a turn and stopped next to a closed gate.
A burst of flame and the gate rose. The carriage went through. An academy. A place for learning. The girl, a student, got down from the carriage and ran inside a stone building with the other girl in the blanket. An old man. Older than he seemed. Older than the Kingdom came to meet them.
The old man's eyes burned with eldritch power. But his gaze was tender, fatherly. He took the blanket with the little girl and moved his mouth. Uttered words of power. Centuries of experience. Of magical expertise. Power to level a city at his hands.
And when he stopped, his face showed dismay. he opened the blanket. Two small hands, attached to two small stumps of forearms, dirt with blood and he used magic to preserve the flesh. He took one of the unconscious girl's arms and looked at it with his eldritch sight.
The friend, the girl that brought her to the old man allowed a glimmer of hope to settle on her face, but the old man raised his head and shook it. He was sad. He felt powerless. He waved his hand and a crystal box came. He placed the severed hands inside and as if an invisible servant was there, the box went up the stairs and disappeared.
The old man did what he could. He wrapped the blanket around the little girl, hugged her, sat on a couch and sung songs of the girl's people in an ancient language. Like a grandfather, he lulled the girl in her sleep.
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In that long night, almost nobody slept.
Morning came, and the Kingdom knew it was a day for mourning. A day where princesses had swollen faces, where would-be-heroes punched walls. Where the real heroes were nothing but ash. Or were crippled.
The maid didn't sleep. She kept the princess company, to stop her from doing something stupid. The princess slept, on the lap of the maid. She was not even angry at the princess. What she really wanted, what she really desired was recognition for her uncle. She didn't want coin that much. What she really wanted was respect for her burnt uncle. She looked up and asked. Were you happy, uncle?
The maid ran her hand tenderly on the princess' hair. In the end, her uncle was praised by a King. In the end, hundreds of Knights saluted him. Her uncle died for this princess sleeping on her lap. Did he see worth in her? A princess of all people cried for her uncle. She took a wild man, a forgotten hunter- living in a hovel in the wild and made him a knight. If this princess was her uncle last gift for the world, the former village girl swore to protect this legacy. To follow and protect, to guide and counsel this princess.
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Morning came and the old man brought the two girls back to the castle. The little one, with the long pointy ears, was awake but still wrapped in the blanket. And despite her fate, happy. The other, with fur and a long tail, was shocked. She was fighting to keep her heart from jumping up through her throat.
They met the person with two bodies in the courtyard. They didn't sleep. They ran and grabbed the small girl in the blanket. The boy side hugged her. He apologized. He cried. He even wanted to promise her to find a way to make her whole again, but he couldn't do such a cruel thing. He didn't let go of her. But he promised himself to try. He would use anything he could to try and restore her. The old man reached for his shoulder. The boy turned and made eye contact with his mentor. The old man shook his head and the boy knew. He knew hope was fleeting. He knew the old man tried all he could.
Waving goodbye, the old man went to talk to the King and the Prince.
The young man took the little girl inside. He didn't let go of the blanket and she didn't complain. The fact she was smiling hurt him even more. He took her to his room. Along came his female half and the other girl, his mate. They sat on the big bed and just remained there, hugging each other. Sharing their pain.
The girls slept. The young man rose from the bed, taking care to not wake up any of them. He reached for the pendant around his neck. A borrowed pendant. A shelter that could double as a prison. He looked inside the pendant and found the prisoner.
"You have no place in this world," He told the prisoner. "It is better if you just disappear. But I will make sure you understand the pain of being incomplete before you go."
The young man willed the pendant to release its prisoner. The prisoner, a wisp of an existence fluttered out, invisible. If the young man's eyes were not enchanted he would not see it. But he did. And he was angry. He lashed at that wisp.
"Soul Slash."
"Soul Slash."
"Soul Shredder."
The wisp was vaguely humanoid. But now it was lacking arms and it was almost torn to ribbons. It fluttered out, away from that reality. Into an afterlife, maybe.
The young man returned to the bed. He sat beside the three sleeping girls. He leaned on a pillow and allowed himself to sleep, finally.
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The wisp fluttered and left reality, but he didn't go to the afterlife. Kazuya found himself floating in a black void. He looked around, but there was nothing to look at. And he felt something floating above him. He focused on that. Words in a floating box.
You have died. Please wait for your summoner to respawn you.
'I can't believe it. She could respawn us? She could respawn Shinji?' Kazuya thought.
Time passed. Or not. There was no way to know. All Kazuya could perceive were those floating words in a box.
"I know what you are thinking, Kazuya." Came a familiar voice from behind him. No, from outside his perception. He focused and he could perceive Shinji.
"You look awful, my friend," Kazuya replied. Shinji had a bloated head, a broken neck. His head was dangling to the side.
"She can't respawn us, because she doesn't know that she can and they never taught her how to. We are trapped here." Shinji told him.
"What will happen now?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing. We will wait. All of us will wait. They fooled us, Kazuya." Shinji answered in a creepy tone. A sorrowful tone. A vengeful tone.
"All of us?" Kazuya was confused.
"Yes. Expand your perceptions, Kazuya. It is not just the two of us here."
It was hard, but Kazuya did as Shinji told him. And suddenly he could perceive them. A hundred. Two hundred. More and more. They had shiny armor. They had sailor uniforms. They had robes. Stealthy clothes like his.
Most of them were Japanese. All of them from Earth. All of them summoned just like him. All of them dead.
They were burned. Maimed. Crippled like him. Stabbed. Beheaded. Eaten. Dissolved. Crushed. Frozen. And several others he could discern what.
"Welcome, Kazuya. We are just waiting. Shinji is right. We were fooled." A girl dressed in a shrine maiden uniform spoke.
"Used." A boy with a hole in his stomach.
"Discarded." Another one, with a mechanical arm and half of the face covered by metal plates.
"Sent to die." A girl with broken legs and a huge bite mark in her head.
"So we wait, Kazuya." The shrine maiden spoke softly.
"We are waiting, Kazuya," Shinji told him.
"What are we waiting for?" Kazuya dared to ask.
"We are waiting for the day we will all respawn," Shinji answered.
"The day of our freedom." The boy with a hole answered.
"The day of our vengeance." The shrine maiden answered.