Iscariot stood at the edge of the gate, eyes closed and completely tuned out to the world. His sole focus was on the gate and attacking the Elder One from an alternate plane of existence. A feat in itself, yet he let out a sigh, breaking the gate and his attack. Unable to continue the task, he assumed that Scott, Lou, and Elysif had already killed or apprehended the Elder One. He was not greeted with such a sight. Before him, lied Scott, barely alive at best, with no sign of Lou, the masked figure of the Elder One menacingly approaching, and each of Elysif’s familiars charging at him with a vengeful fury. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered with a distraught but stoic expression, for he was too mentally exhausted to do anything magical for the time being.

Elysif’s familiars rushed the Elder One, ethereal knights in blue light. Each of the thirteen held their halberts for different swinging and stabbing motions in order to completely cut him off. Only to have every last one of them impaled by the Elder One's pikes, summoned from the dirt and cobblestone street. For only a second, there was silence. Followed by a guttural scream of pain erupting from Elysif atop a nearby building. With one hand she grabbed her forehead, scratching and tearing at her scalp and skin. Her other hand felt around her bag desperately for a potion, prepared in advance for this exact situation. Popping out the cork, she downed the contents and began slamming her fist into the roof as the pain increased and then vanished near entirely. Getting up, she began to climb down from the building.

***

The Elder One strode slowly towards Iscariot, past the incapacitated Scott. Iscariot, having accepted his defeat, began to formulate a way for him to escape with Scott and Elysif, leaving Lou to his fate. However, he noticed that the masked figure had stopped. Slowly turning around to look back at the bridge, a faint echo of metallic footsteps softly rang through the area. These steps carried with them an aura of impending doom, one which terrified the Elder One. Within the shadow of the alleyway across the bridge, he saw it emerge, a rough mask in the fog, dirty white, and cut by a single black streak from the top left down to the right jawline. From each of the eye slits were red lines, mimicking an endless stream of bloody tears. The most off-putting part of the mask was the large horrifying smile that acted as a mouth slit, yet, there was no mouth beneath it, just the hollow darkness. His body was covered with a dirt-covered grey coat, whose torn and tattered coattails hung down just past his knees. On his forearms and lower legs were dark purple ethereal platemail that covered his shoes and hands. Adorning his side was a sword with a simple wooden hilt. To match his outfit, Sir Micheal’s mud-stained silver hair hung just below his shoulders.

Seeing Sir Micheal approaching him, the Elder One shifted his attention away from Iscariot and began to yell angrily. “So… Sir Micheal reveals himself. Are you mad that I had been pretending to be you? Everyone swears you’re dead. Have you come back from the dead, or were you just hiding? What is the answer, Micheal?”

Sir Micheal did not respond and continued to march forward, only stopping upon reaching the middle of the bridge. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he revealed that it was the same purple colour as his armor. Out of respect, he did a formal knight's salute without a word. This only angered the Elder One, much to Iscariot’s amusement, as he summoned several blades to impale Sir Micheal in response. The knight cut through the Elder One’s blades like butter, which fell to the ground with a loud series of cracks and clangs.

Raising his arms in ecstatic eagerness, the Elder One tapped his feat for joy. “So it is you! Only you wield that blade. Arthur did entrust it to you, after all!” Regaining his composure, he shifted back to being threatening. “Even if that blade can kill an Elder One, it will be as useless as I am,” he declared, before charging at Sir Micheal. Rapidly closing the distance, the Elder One gave a flurry of blows to Sir Micheal. Instinctively, Sir Micheal deflected the blows, returning the Elder One with a stab of his blade. Unlike before, where he would have just absorbed the attack, the Elder One jumped out of the way of the sword before sucker-punching him in the jaw. As a result, Sir Micheal’s mask began morphing. The dark pit that made up the mask's terrifying smile opened up, revealing several layers of sharp teeth similar to jagged rocks. With quick vigor, the Elder One jumped back to avoid the mask, which was itself attempting to bite him.

In both curiosity and intrigue, the Elder One observed the mask, as it nearly separated from Sir Micheal’s body. “Well, that’s a new trick. Did your mask come to life as part of its curse?” he asked in a somewhat taunting manner, despite being in too poor a position to defend against the possible repercussions. Sir Micheal said nothing, all he did was stride closer to the masked man without any signs of defense. He didn’t seem to care about the possibility of being attacked.

“Still not going to talk to me? Fine then, die!” The masked Elder One yelled in a fit of determined fury before several hundred crimson strings surrounded him, enclosing around his body like a net. Noticing his predicament, the Elder One spoke with a criticizing tone. “Blood magic? This seems a little low, even for you.”

“...” Still, Sir Micheal said nothing.

“Oh, I know about these. A witch can sacrifice their own blood or someone else's in order to create weapons and traps for them to use. Strangely, I have no clue where these came from. The only people that I know of who can use such an ability are the Avian coven,” the masked man said. His words obviously angered Sir Micheal, because the crimson net around the Elder One’s body tightened ever so slightly.

Closing the gap between them, Sir Micheal held out his blade and stabbed the masked man in the shoulder. Crying out in pain, he fell to the ground. The blood wrappings that bound him dissipated into seemingly thin air as he did, revealing that he was bleeding from his wound.

Sir Micheal stood over him like an executioner, sword in hand. Looking up, the masked man stared in stupefaction. “It won’t work. It’s too late to save her,” Sir Micheal finally spoke. Strangely, his battle-hardened deep voice sounded less like an enemy and more like an old friend.

“What do you know? The first thing out of your mouth since we started this fight and that’s what you have to say, you ass,” the Elder One muttered angrily.

“...” Sir Micheal returned to saying nothing. Instead of speaking, he simply held his blade out toward him to signify that he was ready to continue fighting.

“Fine, have it your way,” the Elder One exclaimed in a hate-filled roar as he lunged at Sir Micheal with the speed of an old man. Without any hesitation or mercy, Sir Micheal swung his blade, making a deep cut to his torso. The masked imitator collapsed to his knees against the cold stone bridge, like a sack of wet potatoes.

“I-Inconceivable…” he sputtered out before he gave an overly dramatic last breath before Sir Micheal swung his blade again, beheading the masked figure. Blood pooled off from his wound and out onto the bridge in a trail, weaving its path between the cobblestone, leading into the now darkened canal below.

Without a word, Sir Micheal returned his sword to its sheath, spun, and began sauntering back over the bridge from where he came. Iscariot, not wanting to miss the chance to speak, ran after Sir Micheal. “Micheal, is that really you?” he asked with a hopeful expression, contrasted by his scratchy voice.

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Sir Micheal stopped immediately and turned back to face the old sorcerer. His mask shifted to create a set of normal lips. “Been a while, Iscariot. How are you doing, old friend?” his voice sounded sad, but also overjoyed, as if he were on the verge of breaking down. The mask he wore, bore each word kindly, moving perfectly to his will.

“Fairly well myself. You look great, though,” he replied with a comforting and kind voice, that of an old friend. Then returning to his usual mannerisms, he looked over at Scott, and then back at Sir Micheal. “Say… Would you mind healing the two idiots before you disappear again?”

“Of course I would mind. You have a perfectly good witch with plenty of skill to do that. I don’t need to do that for her,” Sir Micheal said with a slight chuckle. Reaching out his hand, he took Iscariot’s hand and gave him a slight nod.

With a similar chuckle, Iscariot squeezed his hand tight. “You’re an absolute bastard.” Letting go of the old sorcerer's hand, Sir Micheal turned around and continued over the bridge. The clanking of his metal shoes echoed throughout the streets in the same manner as when he entered, before coming to an abrupt silence, vanishing into the dense fog.

Turning back to Scott, Iscariot rushed over to examine the state of his injuries since he was just lying face down on the cobblestone. Rolling him over onto his back, Iscariot checked to see if his heart was still beating. Thankfully, it was, so he gave a sigh of relief. Though, despite his relief, he wished that Elysif would get over here and heal him already. Then, he could go look for Lou. He couldn’t have gone that far, could he?

Finally laying on his back, Scott groaned in pain. The act of which gave Iscariot some more room to breathe. Scott opened his eyes to view the old man and the cloudy night sky above him. “So you know Sir Micheal personally?” he asked. Each slight motion, along with every utterance, gave him a harsh stinging, burning pain in his chest and arms.

With a quite reluctant and smug look, Iscariot smiled at Scott. Sitting beside him, there was a calmness that neither of them expected to feel after such a fight. Scott was still in a lot of pain, though. “You would be surprised at how many people I know, as well as who I know.”

“So, what is he? That man can’t be human. I noticed at least two different forms of magic being utilized at once and without preparation,” Scott asked between gritted teeth. He knew that it was gonna hurt to ask, but he felt like he needed some kind of answer. It didn’t make any sense, and not knowing hurt worse than the broken bones and internal bleeding.

Iscariot thought for a moment. It was strange for him to have to ponder such a simple question for so long. That said, he was getting up there in age. His memory could just be fleeting. Then his expression changed to a fairly disconcerting look. “I have no idea. All I can say is that he is powerful.”

“I saw him. It was impressive,” Scott said with a loud groan. Following his groan was a series of pained coughs. “Oh, it hurts to cough,” he mumbled with an elongated groan.

“How could you see any of that when you were face down in the dirt?” Iscariot asked curiously. He knew that Scott was facing away from the bridge when he was knocked down. At least, he seemed to be when he opened his eyes.

“I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Now, where is Lou?” Scott crassly said. Between each word came a groan and wheeze. Despite his pain, Scott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his flask. Quickly taking it from him, Iscariot opened it and put it to his lips.

With a thankful nod, Scott began to sip the contents. As he drank, Iscariot looked around with a dumbfounded look. Coming to a conclusion, he answered cautiously. “I think… he may have… floated down the canal. I haven’t seen him.”

“Well, is he okay?” Scott asked with a worried expression, as he took the flask away from Iscariot. Drinking the contents a bit faster than any doctor would recommend, Scott tried to relax as his belly warmed and his pain lessened ever so slightly.

“Maybe. I was too busy keeping the barrier up to see. Who knows how far he was carried, and in what condition... Hell, he may have just run away. Elysif may know. Damn… where is that girl?” Iscariot stated with an annoyed huff, blowing off all the responsibility.

“I have my flask, so I’ll be fine. You go find Lou. Elysif can heal me up once she gets over here,” Scott said with a slightly less painful groan than before.

Standing up, Iscariot gave Scott an accepting nod, before jogging down the side of the canal as well as the old man could. Leaving Scott alone, with no ability to move, and only his now half-empty flask. All he could do was close his eyes and rest as much as possible. With his eyes shut, a wave of relief was cast over him, only to be interrupted as Elysif ran up to him.

Stopping over top of Scott, Elysif pulled out a vial and dumped the contents all over his body. Scott clenched his teeth as the liquid sizzled like hot oil upon his doused clothing touching his skin. A salty aroma wafted off of him, like steam that burned both their nostrils. As the liquid soaked into his body, he felt the pain subside from his skin. All the bruises and fresh cuts on his body began fading as a result.

Between clenched teeth, Scott hissed and cursed at everything in sight, writhing like a fish out of water. “Damnit Elysif, give me a little warning next time!” Scott yelled angrily once the pain completely subsided. He would gesture around for emphasis, but moving still hurt his insides too much.

“A thank you would be appreciated. Now that the external stuff is dealt with, let me see what the internal damage is,” Elysif replied sassily, before feeling around his body. He winced in pain every time she touched him, and in almost every location that she felt, Elysif, realizing how badly injured he was, let out a frustrated sigh.

With a pissed glare, Scott tried to sit up, only to seize up and lay back down from the pain. The only thing he could do was give Elysif a spiteful look and say “You suck,” with a pissy attitude.

Ignoring his unnecessary attitude, Elysif gave a soft but reluctant sigh, as she began looking through her bag. “Well, you have several broken ribs and a broken arm. There may be muscle and organ damage, but I will have to do a more thorough examination at the apartment. Until then, take this,” she said, before pulling a vial filled with dirty brown liquid from her bag and handing it to him.

Taking the vial with a pained expression, he eyed the contents warily. “What is it?” Scott normally never questioned it when Elysif handed him something to drink after getting hurt, but the colour, as well as the consistency, made him question its safety and potability.

“Same thing I just poured on you. It won’t heal your bones, but it should take care of the organ and muscle damage,” Elysif said as if the idea of drinking something that painful wasn’t awful.

“Then why would I drink it? It burned like hell,” Scott retorted as he eyed the vial with intense fear and disgust. Yet, he didn’t throw it as a part of him knew he needed to drink it to stay alive.

Putting her hands on her hips, Elysif raised an eyebrow and frowned at him. “Do you want to repair your damaged organs or not?” she asked with an overly sassy tone, which annoyed Scott to no end, and she knew it. It was the same way that Silva would act toward him when he wasn’t listening or being overly stubborn.

“Fine,” Scott gave in with a disgusted groan, before popping the cork off the vial. In one large gulp, he drank the contents and instantly cried out in pain. His yell was similar to that of a deep Wilhelm scream, combined with a coughing fit. It could even be compared to a dying moose.

“Well, that’s what you get for fighting someone that powerful,” Elysif said with a shake of her head, as if she had told him that it was a bad idea earlier. Though she hadn’t said anything before, so it just made her sound like an ass.

Finishing his yell with a loud cough, Scott turned to Elysif with tears streaming down his face. “No, it hasn’t kicked in yet. It just tasted like absolute ass,” he stated, as he desperately tried to get the contents of the vial off his taste buds. Downing a few more sips from his flask in the process.

“Just wait,” she said right as Scott curled up in a ball and shrieked at an unhinged and inhuman level. The sound of which could only be described as a warcry from death itself. Hearing and seeing his state in horror, Elysif clicked her tongue with a bemused look. “There it is.”