The sheaf of paper settled across the rough, wooden desk with a dispirited flop as Elena leaned back with a sigh. This was not the first time it had happened. That she had found reading through the list too sad to bear. Maybe it was crude, but maybe her soldiers had the right idea, giving it a name other than ‘the list of the dead’. Then again, calling it the ‘butchers bill’ served only to distract from what it truly was – every name she and her fellows had failed. Every man who was torn to shreds by rats while they still breathed well enough to feel every bit of it. Every woman who was unfortunate enough to stand before the warband of demons that somehow managed to sneak into the city, something that was once thought of as impossible. The only fact that allowed her the resources to piece together what had happened was that the monstrosity - made of rats! - had decided it wasn't the time to pick a fight with the newly summoned heroes.
But what she pieced together was absurd. A single villager without any magic had managed to orchestrate the deaths of two experienced heroes, wound a third, and drop a fucking Lovecraftian monster on a major city out of fucking nowhere. It was a serious breach of, well, everything. Elena massaged her eyes to relieve the stress that came from just thinking about it. The idiot government informants failed to realize that it was all premeditated and that the guard had been infiltrated. Kevin had… been Kevin and therefore didn’t think that anything could give him serious harm. Both Kevin and herself had failed to realize the gravity of the situation and kept Adrian out of it so they wouldn’t have to deal with a trail of bodies. She had… she had failed to defend the Bastille. She had failed to properly work with Kevin to fight the demon.
Who, by the way, apparently had a name. And a grudge.
Elena’s headache rapidly developed into a migraine, her one constant companion since that boy had almost physically dragged her out of the remains of her own house a few days ago.
“Come ‘on, where is it…” She muttered as her remaining hand scrabbled around one of the deep, dark drawers of the desk. A few minutes passed, and yet the feel of the cool glass bottle she had stored in there yesterday was still absent.
From her side a small cough rang out and Elena withdrew her hand like she had been stung.
“Ma’am. You know we talked about this, right?” A thin soldier commented from his station near the door. “You’ve been drinking far too much. There are limits, even for heroes.”
Elena glanced backwards, hiding the shock in her eyes nearly instantly as for a second the face of the thin soldier seemed to be that of an older one. One she knew so well.
Until it her eyes snapped back in place and it only seemed to be a passing resemblance.
Bill Clarkson let out a soft, long-suffering sigh, another action that made Elena almost jump in surprise whenever she heard it. He was just too similar.
“Really. Don’t even bother looking at me with those eyes, Ma’am. You know dad left me a list of all your hiding places. I found the bottle just an hour after you left it there yesterday.”
Like I thought earlier. Too similar. Elena clicked her tongue in annoyance and turned around towards the documents on her desk before her face could betray anything else. The sheaf of paper flitted back into her hand with a soft scraping sound, revealing yet another line of names, each corresponded to a body that was found, or more frequently to a body that was never found. The real issue she couldn’t get out of her head was just what to do next, and a much shorter list of names drifted through her thoughts in response.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Who. Just who is left? That half-elf Tim is dead. Adrian reported that he had found a group of men who seemed to be linked to Tim and disposed of every last one. Were there more groups, or just the one? Was it some sort of terrorist cell purpose-made for this? Elena began to tick through the list of events that the government agents had managed to link together one by one in her mind. We know he came from a village that was destroyed at some point in time, but no more than a year ago. There are no reported survivors other than him, but in all honesty the census is a joke and it wouldn’t be the first time the officials missed anyone. Hell, at one point they had the village listed as a ‘no survivors’ situation. Then a week or two later he pops up in Drassington, tries to file what was listed as a false report with the guard, and gets a short-lived job at the library. Not long after that, he stops showing up for work, no one cares enough to fire him or find him, and he shows up at the Bastille.
Elena knew the next part well herself. Memories of a demon assault. Of the mocking laughter of a pack of giants as they tore her men apart. Of the sickening pain that still sometimes visited her at night of her shield arm being eaten. And of a fleeting memory, one of a raggedy half-elf running past her with a demon looking on in bemusement. In other words, the start to one of the worst years of her life.
Including the year she was summoned.
Then he either met up with that Mavier sometime after or before, or the joint strike was completely coincidental. Not like I’d believe something like that. They were never seen together… but also it would have had to be a massive coincidence for Tim to be waiting in those woods with explosives and fucking chemical weapons at the same time the demon showed up.
At this point Elena looked away from the paper and stopped her musings. It was still a subject she was loathe to approach without the kind assistance of the whiskey she had hidden under her table at home. Hopefully Clarks-
Hopefully Bill hadn’t found it yet.
A rapping noise at the door shook Elena from the rabbit hole her thoughts were leading her down, her head snapping towards it as Bill strode towards it to answer. The door opened with an almost unbearable creak and as Bill stuck his head through a crack, a furiously whispered conversation took place.
Bill turned towards her with a shrug of his slim shoulders.
“Sorry Ma’am, but you’re needed in the main hall. The heroes want an explanation and want it from you.” He said clearly as he closed the door.
Elena hesitated, but stood up regardless as Bill waved at the window and approached her.
“Miss, you might want to be careful on this one.” He muttered as he leaned towards her ear. “My guess is that the governor said something that seemed off to them. Either that or the new heroes are the cautious type. Nevertheless it will help seeing one of their countrymen. In any case, I’ve told the messenger to leave, he’s one of those government leeches that you shouldn't trust. I’ve signaled one of our men outside, he’ll arrange for the new heroes to be led to one of the rooms that don’t have ears in the walls. Meanwhile I will run interference after I guide you there to keep the meeting… discreet.”
Elena nodded in response. Truly. Like father, lik-. Elena suppressed shudders as a wave of images flooded her mind, of an older soldier screaming as the rats ate his legs away while he still breathed, spurts of arterial blood leaping from his mangled body as his eyes locked on to hers.
Breathe!
Breathe.
Elena followed Bill through the main hallway into a smaller, less busy side hallway. As their muffled footsteps sunk into the thick carpet, she found she could think again.
Only for her mind to be completely taken over by a single sentence, as she came into sight of the room and caught a glimpse of a young and an old man sitting together.
A single sentence accompanied by the memory of a lone half-elf bleeding out on the floor.
Elena, just… just promise me. That this lot will be better. Please.
Even in the face of all that he had done, she still couldn’t bring herself to forget that last wish. The last wish of a dead man.