Seren dragged a clawed finger of his gauntlet across stone, leaving a thin but deep gash in the marble wall of the cathedral. Somehow the walls had managed to be relatively undamaged despite the Pyromancer and Svarog’s fight breaking out just upstairs. It had been almost a week since the fight had started, and Seren had been enjoying every second of it. The ground shook violently, and rubble from above toppled dangerously around him. The building swayed and groaned as more wooden beams from above toppled down, cracking against the floor and sending up puffs of dust that Seren didn’t bother to wave away as he walked to the entrance to meet with the scout he had sent to deal with the Prophet.
Cedric the scout’s hunched form hobbled into view and a smile spread across Seren’s face as he did. Cedric wasn’t particularly strong or intimidating, but he was loyal to a fault and incredibly smart if you ignored his rose tinted glasses. That made him more than valuable to Seren. Strength Seren already had in droves, the same with smarts in all fairness, but he couldn’t point to any of the newer Cultists and confidently say they wouldn’t stab him in the back given the chance. Cedric, on the other hand? Seren doubted Cedric could even form a halfhearted thought of betrayal. Cedric’s eyes lit up as he noticed Seren and his choppy pace quickened, eventually leading him to stumble over the hem of his robe.
Seren appeared beside him in an instant, catching him before he could hit the ground. Cedric heaved a few terrified breaths before his gaze turned upward towards Seren. Seren smiled down at Cedric, his jaw-length black hair hanging just low enough to isolate Cedric’s view from the crumbling church, only leaving Seren’s vermillion eyes shining through the darkness. His pale complexion accentuated their unusual color.
Cedric let out a drunken sounding giggle, to which Seren’s smile only widened as he pulled back, steadying the scout. “Show it to me,” Seren commanded in a polite yet stern voice. Cedric nodded quickly and undid his robe at the chest, revealing a complex scar pattern with a small section on the right side glowing faintly. Seren touched the Divine Rune and the glow left Cedric’s chest, trailing up Seren’s arm looking almost like threads of light before dispersing across his body. The glow flickered and died as Seren took in a deep breath. Granting and maintaining Divine Runes on those who normally couldn’t sustain them was taxing, so he could only afford to do it on rare occasions. This was important enough, he thought.
As the Divine Rune left him, Cedric’s appearance shifted as well. His back straightened and the wrinkles of his face faded slowly. His beard shrank until there was nothing left, leaving his face smooth, and his thinning white hair became full and shorter while still remaining silver in color. His body continued changing until he stood at roughly five-foot eight with a thin but athletic build. His facial features were well-defined, but soft at the same time.
He looked up at Seren with beaming eyes filled with admiration, his light-red irises almost glowing. Seren smiled back before turning to face the altar that stood behind them. It had mostly crumbled, but the gold and ruby plating still radiated beauty. Beauty that made Seren want to vomit. Beauty directed to the wrong god.
He brushed those thoughts aside, thinking back on his plan. He had granted Cedric a rune that allowed him to sink into shadows. He could pass under doors, through cracks in walls, anything so long as it was dark. Changing Cedric’s appearance wasn’t entirely necessary, but Seren thought that a decaying old man would disturb the Prophet more than a thin boy hardly into his twenties. If all went according to plan, then Seren and Cedric would set out soon to retrieve the Prophet.
Seren’s eyes flickered over to Cedric, and almost like the scout could read his mind, he stiffened. Cedric averted his gaze and fidgeted, his eyes darting from Seren to the floor repeatedly. He looked like a puppy that had been caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to. The mental image made Seren smirk. If he could put a pin on exactly what Cedric was to him, it was that. An obedient dog with not even half the mind to question him. “Well?” Seren inquired, letting his question hang in the air.
“I-I apologize, m’lord. The Prophet declined your offer,” Cedric said, bowing so deep that he lost balance, requiring Seren to catch him again. His light, soft voice usually helped keep Seren calm even when hearing the worst of news, but it did little this time. Seren stepped back after steadying him, his teeth grinding together in anger. Cedric took a tentative step forward “If I may offer my opinion, m’lord-”
“You may not,” Seren snapped. He felt his arms twitching at his sides. After everything Seren had given to him, the Prophet refused? Seren’s hand subconsciously wrapped around the handle of a knife on his belt. His vision was blurring as he drew it, making Cedric step back in concern. With a sudden lunge, Seren stabbed the knife into his own hand. The pain jolted him back to reality; his vision became clear and his breathing slowed. He pulled the knife from his hand and wiped it off on his deceptively plain black cloak before putting it back in its sheath.
He ran the bloodied hand over his face and through his hair, but the blood didn’t cling to him like it should’ve. He breathed out slowly and scoffed at himself. His anger had started to get the better of him. He wasn’t all too easy to anger, but this was too important. He couldn’t let this one go wrong, not while they were this close. All he needed to do was break the Prophet, something he was an expert in already. Then it would all be done. His lifelong ambition realized.
“M-m’lord?” Cedric asked quietly, moving towards Seren. Seren met his eye and smiled. “We talked about this, Cedric. Drop the formalities. Seren is more than fine for when it’s just the two of us.” Cedric sighed in relief as Seren spoke, realizing his anger had fled with the blood from the wound on his hand which, as Cedric looked for it, seemed to have disappeared entirely. Seren followed his gaze and looked at his hand, a frown spreading across his face as he realized he had put a hole through his gauntlet.
He shook his head, leaving that issue for a later date. Right now, there was something more important at hand. He gestured for Cedric to follow him as he moved to leave the cathedral. “We’re going to go have a little chat with the moths. Try and convince them that suicide isn’t the best course of action yet,” Seren said, answering the question Cedric had just opened his mouth to ask. He stepped out into the downpour outside as he pulled up the hood of his cloak, and a Divine Rune on the back of his neck tingled. Hushed whispers surrounded Seren, whispers only audible to him. Whispers of fear, agony, hatred, and most importantly, reverence. A Divine Rune with power he himself had created using the souls of the millions of sacrifices the Cult had made in his time.
“Suicide?” Cedric echoed, falling into step beside Seren and leaning his head forward to get a look at his leader’s expression. Seren shot him a wry smile and tousled Cedric’s soaked hair. “Quite. Going against me is as good as being slated for execution,” he said, crossing his arms behind his back as he continued to walk. Cedric's mouth opened in awe, practically bouncing from foot to foot as he followed Seren through the rain and darkness as if he was a beacon.
° ° °
“Astrid, with me,” Lynn barked, startling the Elven woman from her sleep. She jolted upright, banging her head on the low ceiling of the attic where she had chosen to sleep. It was a bit stuffy, but it was private, and that’s what counted for her. She mumbled a few expletives to herself as she rolled out of bed.
“Wazth’ma’er,” she grumbled sleepily, her eyes locking onto Lynn who was staring at the adjacent wall, his face exuding bitterness as he was presumably absorbed in thought. Astrid’s barely coherent English caught his attention, however, and he tilted his head to the side and cocked a brow at her with a bemused expression on his face. She cleared her throat and spoke again. “What’s the matter?”
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“We have a visitor. Get your armor on and meet me outside,” he said before descending the ladder, leaving Astrid with more questions than answers. She removed her nightwear, and before she could put on her under-armor clothing, a mark on her abdomen caught her eye. Her finger traced the faint scar the Prophet’s sword had left. It hadn’t been a strong attack, but if he had put enough force behind it he easily could’ve killed her. It left her with doubts. Doubts if the Prophet was exactly who Lynn said he was. She knew he had been injured, but she doubted it was enough to prevent him from killing her if he had wanted. She pushed those thoughts aside, deciding to deal with those questions when there wasn’t something seemingly so important at hand.
She threw on her leather clothing before squeezing into her steel armor. It wasn’t armor she’d use in an all out battle, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. It prioritized appearance and function in equal measure, the same set she had worn when talking to the Prophet. She made her way down the ladder and out of the front door, meeting Lynn under the overhang. Lynn nodded at her before stepping out into the rain and walking down the road with his hands balled into fists at his side.
“So what’s this all about,” Astrid asked. Lynn was wearing a jade shawl over thin silver armor that looked similar to Astrid’s: angular but ethereal and exuding authority. Lynn took a deep breath, fog puffing up in front of his face as he exhaled. “I don’t know everything just yet. All I know is you should be on guard, our visitor’s one of them,” he said through gritted teeth. Astrid nodded, moving her gaze back to the road ahead just as two figures appeared from the rain, silhouetted by an unseen light source.
“My my! Look how you’ve grown,” a smooth baritone voice rang out. Astrid could hear the voice in perfect clarity despite the rain; it didn’t even sound like they had raised their voice. They sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't place where she had heard them. Lynn’s jaw clenched upon hearing the voice, his hand darting up to grip the rapier that hung at his waist. “Last I saw you, you were just starting your career with the Moths. I wonder; do you still cry the same, Lynn?” the Silhouette continued, spreading their arms wide. Lynn felt bile bubble up in his throat as that taunting tone made memories of the False Moon rush into his head.
“Seeing you hold those bloodied bodies, tears in your eyes as you begged for a reason why I had done it, is a memory I’ll cherish forever,” they said wistfully, stepping closer and letting the two elves get a proper look at him. Lynn’s whole body began to shake in repressed anger, and Astrid’s breath caught in her throat expectantly only for it to release soon after in confused disappointment. She expected something extravagant from their visitor, but all he wore was a thick black cloak that bunched around the shoulders, giving him a broader appearance, and a crimson hood. From what she had seen of other Cultists, she expected ornate gold inlays or something to really make him stand out. But this was underwhelming.
“What’s your game, Seren,” Lynn snapped. Astrid’s eyes widened as she recognized the name. Seren laughed as he took off his hood, the sound almost enthralling as it reverberated around the edge of the town, again unhindered by the downpour. His hair was unkempt and swept back with a few loose strands hanging in front of his face, but otherwise framing it nicely. A smirk settled across his stubble-graced face as he continued walking towards the two. Seren came to a stop in front of Lynn, standing only slightly shorter than the elf. Astrid noted the person accompanying him had hung back, and she couldn’t make out any of their features.
“Like a fine wine you’ve aged, eh?” Seren said, reaching his clawed gauntlet up and holding Lynn by his chin. Astrid grabbed the hilt of one of her swords and prepared to draw, but Lynn raised his hand to stop her. Astrid looked at him incredulously as Seren ignored her still. Seren moved Lynn’s head from side to side, looking at it from all angles and smiling all the while. Lynn’s hand snapped up subconsciously and firmly gripped Seren’s wrist.
“What’s. Your. Game. Seren.” Lynn spat as he forced Seren’s hand away from his face. Seren’s smile broadened; you could almost see fire flaring behind his eyes as he responded. “One you're better off not playing, Vancrest.” Seren twisted his hand from Lynn’s grasp with little effort and took a few steps back before his eyes settled on Astrid.
“Oh?” he chuckled, grabbing his chin as if in deep thought as he looked Astrid up and down. He laughed once more, a sound low and rough like rumbling thunder. “You must be the Princess, Astrid, no? Strange, though. With Royalty I don’t expect that much… fire in the eyes,” he said, drawing out the word fire in a way that made Astrid tense up.
Seren spun suddenly, his cloak flowing around him wildly. “Now!” he started, crossing his arms behind his back as he began pacing. “I’ve got a few terms I’m going to lay out, and I sincerely hope you adhere to them. Or, well, to lean into what you keep calling this; I’ll set the rules of our game, and for your health, you’re going to follow them.” Seren stopped pacing and turned to look at Lynn, shooting him a cocky smirk. “Is that clear?”
“Just tell me what you want,” Lynn spat. He gave off an air of focused confidence, but his hand refused to leave the handle of his rapier. That and the twitching of his right eyebrow betrayed the tension he felt flowing through his body. Seren smiled once more. “The Prophet,” he answered
“Absolutely not!” Lynn roared, taking a step forward. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. “The years I’ve spent hoping one day I’d get my revenge won’t be spoiled by you!” Seren held up his hands placatingly and turned his gaze downwards so as to not make eye contact, but didn’t move from his spot even as Lynn came to stand in front of him. “If I could cut you down here and now, I would,” Lynn growled, his face only a few inches from Seren’s. “We are taking the Prophet back to Yenneth to face trial tomorrow, and once the Pyromancer’s fight stops, we’re taking that flaming knight, too,” Lynn said, finality heavy in his tone.
Seren looked up at Lynn, and for the first time his composure broke. Surprise was plastered across his face. “You mean to-” Seren stopped halfway through his sentence, and his expression returned to a confident smirk. Without a word, he turned around and began walking back the way he came. He waved his hand above his head in a circular motion, and the other figure turned and began walking down the road with him. Lynn scoffed and turned as well, walking past Astrid and back towards the slums. She followed suit.
“Why didn’t you let me attack him? He was completely open that entire time, I could’ve gotten him,” Astrid pried. Lynn looked at her with an expression that made her brow knit in concern. It was fear. “Did you notice anything strange about the way he looked, Astrid?” Lynn asked as they walked. “What-” she started, but a crack of thunder from overhead interrupted her as the rain got worse. The rain, she thought.
“He was dry,” she mumbled in realization. Lynn nodded.
“I don’t know how and I certainly don’t know why, but Seren cannot be touched if he doesn’t want to be. Fighting him is pointless. The most we can do is hope to out-smart him.”
Lynn’s words left Astrid with dread, but her feelings were short lived as she began to hear a loud, rumbling roar that sounded as if it was getting closer. Astrid and Lynn both turned to see what looked like a massive fireball hurtling towards them, and they both dove out of the way as it crashed into the street, carving a trench into the ground as it slid across the earth. Astrid pushed herself back to her feet, turning to look where Lynn was to see him doing the same. Her eyes darted to where the fireball had come to stop, only to see two figures in its place. One was on the ground, and the other was standing over them with hunched, heaving shoulders. Smoke billowed from the two, but Astrid could tell from the feeling of his flame who the figure still standing was.
She scrambled to her feet and ran over, coming to a stop beside them. They were covered in a thick layer of soot and charred blood, making every bit of them pitch black save for a few splotches of their skin peeking out. That and the flame billowing from their right eye were the only discernible colors on their person.
Woden stood over Svarog’s unconscious body, exhausted and beaten half to death. But he was still standing. He had won.
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