James awoke in the waters of his mindscape, his eyes staring up toward the endless oblivion. He sat up in the water, his hand moving to his head. It hurt like hell, a pain all too familiar and annoying to the young man. The last time he felt a pain like this was when he had faced off against the abomination months ago.
“Ugh,” James groaned aloud. He moved to stand, trying to keep his footing straight.
“How curious.”
A female voice sounded out in the mindscape, catching James off guard. He quickly spun around, his eyes searching for the source.
“What the…?”
Nothing. Just oblivion. James didn’t sense the presence of another. Not even Faust’s presence was around, which worried James even more.
“What is happening? How did I end up here?” This wasn’t the first time James was in the mindscape, as he had visited many times before. Still, those were under special circumstances, such as clashing with another spirit. This wasn’t an ordinary clash.
“Perhaps there is a reason you are here.”
There it was again, the same female voice. It sounded eerily familiar. James tried to sense a source once again. No luck.
“Who is talking? Why are you talking?” he called out to the endless oblivion.
The voice came back, a small chuckle leaking into the mindscape. “Good question. However, it would ruin the fun if you were to know the answer.”
James frowned. What fun was she talking about? Why could she talk to James in this place? And why was she here?
“Again, an answer for another time. I cannot wait till then,” the voice chuckled once more.
James could feel his frustrations grow. He was tired of this ominous bullshit.
“What the hell is happening?! Where is Faust?! Who are you?!” No answer this time. James was about to shout again, to force that annoying voice to talk once more. He wouldn’t get the chance.
Pain suddenly flared through the young man’s head, his hands moving to clutch at it. He gritted his teeth, trying his best to push through the agony. The pain coursed through his head again, forcing James to his knees. He felt the water splash around him, his hand moving to support himself on the ground. His fingers suddenly brushed against what felt like soft blades of grass.
“What the hell?” James opened his eyes, seeing that there was lush green grass growing all around him, the visage enough to make him blink in surprise. Pain shot through his head again, making him reel back in shock.
“Agh! Fuck!” James cursed. “Wait a second.” James realized that his voice was doubling with another.
“No…”
It was Faust’s voice. It was there, doubling with his own words. James opened his eyes again, seeing that the grass was growing even more, the sky slowly brightening into a blue canvas.
“Not again. No no no!” James looked all around him. With every sharp pang of pain, the world was changing around him, his thoughts and voice drastically morphing into that of a certain Centurion. “Not another memory! Goddamn it!”
James clenched his jaw, trying to force his mind out of the memory recreation. The last thing he wanted was another reliving of the war-happy Centurion’s past days. Unfortunately, his will would soon become overpowered.
“No,” he croaked out, feeling how his eyelids grew heavier.
Despite James’ determination, Faust’s memories took over the young man’s mind once more.
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“Desimir! Move!”
Faust opened his eyes, his lungs gasping for breath. He raised his head, blinking rapidly as he tried to see what was happening.
“Shit!” Faust rolled to the side, avoiding the strike of a nasty war hammer. The heavy head of the hammer smashed against the wet grass, sending specks of mud everywhere. Faust wiped his face, gritting his teeth as he focused on the attacker. The hammer wielder scowled at the Centurion, his hands pulling the bludgeon out of the muddy grass.
“Stay still and die!” he roared, his exposed arms raising his hammer once more. Faust reached for his side, looking for his trusty gladius. Nothing. Faust felt his heart drop, his feet quickly moving away from the incoming hammer strike.
The Centurion watched as the war hammer struck the tree nearby, sending splinters of wood everywhere. He turned his focus to the grass he had just been laying in before he regained consciousness.
‘There you are.’
Faust spotted the familiar glint of steel among the green blades. All he needed to do now was to retrieve the weapon and kill this brute.
‘If only if it was so simple.’
Faust dodged another attack, feeling the air of the strike whip against his hair. The attacker was getting closer with every swing, his imposing figure getting closer to Faust. The Centurion wasn’t worried, his hand moving to the small handle on his belt.
“Is that all you got? Ha! I guess Delphine’s people aren’t as strong as the Lumen kingdom makes it seem!” Faust’s words seem to hit a nerve within the brute, whose reaction was more than volatile.
“You bastard heathen! I will show you Delphine’s might!” The attacking soldier shouted in anger. He swung his war hammer again, this time aiming for Faust’s head. The Centurion grinned, his eyes following the bludgeon.
Then, as quickly as the hammer had struck, Faust was already below its swing. The Centurion brought his spare dagger up, shifting his center-of-gravity forward as he made his move. The hammer wielder’s eyes widened at the view of Faust, his arms desperately trying to swing his hammer back at the Centurion. Unfortunately, he would be too late. Faust’s dagger sank into the man’s thigh, drawing out a scream of pain from the hammer wielder. The Centurion then ditched the dagger, leaving the other man behind. Faust sprinted his way to his gladius, which was poking out of the grass.
Faust grabbed at its familiar hilt before he brought the weapon up against the attacker. The hammer-wielder was limping, his right hand carrying the bloodied dagger Faust had on his person. He was now defenseless, which was more than an incentive for Faust to attack once more. He rushed at the injured man, his gladius’ tip aimed at the bastard’s exposed jugular. However, the Centurion’s advance was stopped by a whizzing arrow, which buried itself in a nearby tree. Faust instantly backed off from the marked tree, his eyes moving to the source of the arrow.
“Shit. Just what I needed,” he muttered. He focused on the nearby archer, who had her bow aimed at Faust. The Centurion prepared himself to dodge another of her arrows before a shout came out from his left.
“Desimir! To your right!”
Faust blinked at that, his gaze moving to his right. “Oh fu–!” He quickly sidestepped the incoming war hammer, watching with wide eyes as it hit empty air.
Faust quickly created distance between himself and the two enemies, the surrounding trees doing little to comfort his safety. He risked a glance to the source of the shouting voice, wondering who it was that was shouting at him.
“It’s you.” Faust clicked his tongue at the sight of Legionnaire Dasius. The soldier was currently resting against a bloody tree, his helmet gone and his armor mangled.
Dasius scowled at Faust. “Keep your focus on the battle, Desmir! I’ll keep watch for any more surprises.” Faust raised an eyebrow at that. Dasius was the type to charge into battle headfirst, with no tactics involved. Now it seemed as if his recent injury had knocked some sense into him.
Faust didn’t have time to poke fun at the young legionnaire with a snide remark, so he changed his focus to the two enemy soldiers in front of him. The brute had found his resolve and was currently wielding his hammer, despite his limp. The archer already had another arrow nocked on her bow, her eyes focused on Faust. Faust took in his situation, weighing his options.
‘She’ll shoot me dead if I move a muscle. I will have to wait for a chance to catch her off guard. The big guy will be easier to deal with, once the archer is dealt with, of course. I cannot risk a confrontation with her taking over watch.’
Faust could feel the sweat run down his temple, his hand gripping tightly onto the gladius’ hilt.
‘All I need is an opening.’
The world was at a standstill, with both sides waiting for a chance to attack. Faust swallowed his nerve, his eyes focusing on the archer. He smiled.
“Mind surrendering? Make this all a little less complicated?” His words caught the sharpshooter by surprise.
Her eyes narrowed as she scowled. “Surrender? You Legion bastards don’t get to make the negotiations. Not since this war has begun!” She was getting agitated, her hands shaking as she shouted at Faust.
The Centurion’s grin grew an extra inch. “Come on now. We can all be civil here.”
“Civil?!” The woman’s anger visibly grew. “Were you civil when you burned Argen to the ground?! When you bastards slaughtered the scholars trying to escape?!”
“Now now. Tone,” Faust taunted with a condescending voice.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Go fuck yourself!” The archer loosed her arrow with little thought behind it. Faust was expecting the arrow, so it took little for him to dodge the misguided projectile. He quickly advanced upon the nearby hammer wielder, his gladius moving to strike at the brute. The other man was smart enough to raise his hammer in defense, deflecting the bronze blade. Faust watched as the brute tried for a counterstrike, the war hammer’s head moving in for a strike at the Centurion’s chest.
Unfortunately for the Lumen soldier, Faust had expected it. The Centurion quickly backed away from the hammer strike. He turned his focus back on the archer, who was currently trying to nock another arrow on her bow. Faust charged at the archer, who soon realized her situation. She quickly ditched the bow, her hand bringing out a sizable dagger. The archer prepared a stab at the Centurion, her eyes burning with rage. However, Faust was not aiming to strike at her.
“Desimir! Behind you!” Dasius’ shout was Faust’s cue. The Centurion quickly dropped to the ground, feeling the air of the hammer strike whip against his sweat-matted hair.
‘And here we go…’
Faust watched with satisfaction as the war hammer’s blunt end struck against the surprised archer’s chest, sounding out a loud ‘unf!’ from the woman as her chest caved in. Her chainmail did little to protect her. As the archer’s corpse fell to the grassy ground, Faust himself rose from it. He sprung up from his low squat, his gladius aimed at the hammer wielder.
The sharp tip sank into the brute’s exposed neck with ease, the result being blood gushing from the wound. The loud gurgle of blood drowned the brute’s half shout out, the viscous substance filling his mouth. It was a sight that the Centurion was all too familiar with. Faust forced the blade deeper and watched as the Lumen soldier’s life was swept away from his eyes. It was like watching a candle being snuffed.
Faust caught his breath, using his free hand to wipe the blood away from his face. He then grunted with effort as he pulled his blade out of the dead man’s throat.
“Crazy bastard,” Dasius’ voice sounded out. Faust chuckled, his gaze moving to the legionnaire. Dasius was resting on the ground now, his armor still mangled and his eyes still weighed with heavy bags.
“Couldn’t you be more careful?” Faust asked with a raised eyebrow. He sheathed his trusty gladius, his gaze glancing at his surroundings. The surrounding woods didn’t seem to hold any more threats, which relieved the exhausted Centurion.
“Coming from the man who, just a few seconds ago, almost had his head lopped off,” Dasius spat.
Faust chuckled as he made a grand gesture. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. It seems as if Caelus favors me.” The Centurion approached Dasius’ side, kneeling to examine the legionnaire’s wounds. The young man’s armor was crushed inwards, a wound that resulted from that bastard’s war hammer. Blood was running down his arms too, this one being the fault of the arrowhead stuck in the legionnaire’s shoulder. While not much of a fatal wound, the amount of blood loss was staggering now that the Centurion had a good look at it. Not only that, but Dasius’ breaths seem to grow weaker, his eyelids half closed.
Faust frowned. “Your wounds have been unchecked for too long. You’re dying,” he breathed out.
Dasius laughed dryly. “How kind of you to break such news to me.” He breathed in another breath that made it sound as if he had crushed glass in his lungs. “I know I’m dying. Why do you think I cared so much as to warn you during your scuffle?” The legionnaire’s carefree approach to his demise was surprising to Faust.
‘Idiot.’
Faust scowled. Dasius was dying, and the idiot was acting as if he had a mere flesh wound.
“I should have a potion here for you. Stay put,” Faust said. Granted, he only had a small health potion. It wouldn’t do much in healing Dasius, but it would give the young man enough strength and time to hold out until Faust could get him back to camp. Faust felt how his fingers searched through his satchel, pushing past his many items in search of the glass vial that held the potion. His eyes widened at the sharp stab of pain and the cold sensation of spilled liquid.
“No…” Faust fingers pull out a broken vial, its wax seal burst open and its contents all but soaked in his hand. “When I fell back onto the ground. Dammit!” Faust cursed himself for not being so careful with his satchel, knowing full well that the glass vials weren’t all that sturdy when it came to a fight.
‘Then again, who would’ve expected a simple recon mission to go south this fast?’
Faust clenched his fist, feeling the sharp edges of the vial dig into his palm. Of course, it wouldn’t matter much, since the spilled potion was already healing the cuts the glass made.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Faust muttered. Dasius didn’t seem all too affected.
“Are you going to make this much of a fuss over me?” he asked. “Faust Desimir, Cyrus’ Beckoning Sword. The man who sent Lumen troops running and inspired the front line of the Legion. Now fallen to the level of worrying for a simple soldier such as I…” Dasius laughed. “What a joke.”
Faust blinked, unsure if he had heard Dasius right. “Are you joking?! You idiot!” Faust threw away the broken remains of the potion.
“You’re dying and all you can do with your strength is belittle me?! Are you this stupid?!” Faust spat. He was beyond angry at the dying man. This idiot was willing to spend his last breaths being snide at the Centurion for showing some humanity.
Dasius chuckled at Faust’s outburst, his head resting against the tree’s rough bark. “You’re the idiot,” he breathed out. “You choose to show humanity to make me feel better, but we both know that you’re lying. That you’re only just guilty.” Dasius coughed out specks of blood, groaning as he wiped his mouth. “There’s nothing we can do other than talk. So let’s do that,” the young man suggested. “And be honest with me. Else I will curse you forever in Dremor’s domain.”
Faust sighed softly, his cleaner hand rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Dasius wheezed out in what Faust could assume was an attempt at a laugh. The legionnaire’s grin was still there, and it didn’t seem like it was going to falter soon.
“Actually,” Dasius furrowed his brow, his hand moving up to rub at his chin in thought. “What do you think of Legate Seran?”
“Do you want to know?” Faust asked.
“I’m dying here. It’s the least you could do. I want to know the true Faust and his thoughts,” Dasius pressed.
Faust sighed, his gaze moving to the clear blue sky. “He’s a bit of an asshole. Uptight and sometimes thinks too much of himself. His son is worse since the little dung head sees everyone as a statistic more than an actual person. At least the Legate tries to connect with the men, despite his rough nature,” Faust muttered.
Dasius’ laugh sounded out loudly, followed quickly by his wheezing. “Good to know we grunts aren’t the only ones who think so. You’re also spot on. The Legate’s son is much worse. Fucking Avide. I hope he gets sent to the front lines. Little bastard child.”
Faust couldn’t help but grin at that. “What a sight that would be, eh?” he joked.
Dasius chuckled, his head shaking as he tried to sit upright. “All right. Next question. What do you think of Cyrus?”
Faust raised an eyebrow. “Really? Do you want to know?” He added cautiously. Cyrus was the current ruler of the Legion. The man himself was responsible for reforming an old dead civilization from the times before the first wish. He had brought many villages and cities out of poverty, giving many a second chance at life. He revolutionized military tactics and formed a powerful fist over this region of Azurvale, all of which imitated the likes of the Lumen Kingdom itself. From the view of his people, and even some of his foes, Cyrus was seen as a deity in the Legion. This was why Faust was hesitant to tell his honest opinion to a young man who had joined the Legion Army at the ripe age of sixteen.
“Just tell me,” Dasius pushed. Faust frowned but complied anyway. Dasius had little time.
“He’s an honest man with good intentions. Cyrus had gotten me out of my rough life in the streets of Serine. He’s the entire reason I have a life. Why I’m alive. Still, he’s not a perfect person. Cyrus has a problem with establishing his authority everywhere. To this day I am not even sure he even cares fully for the wellbeing of his people, as he pushes to conquer most of Azurvale,” the Centurion ranted on, his thoughts going to the Legion’s figurehead himself. “He thrives on conflict, war itself. If it wasn’t for Bartholomew’s Shrine and the hundred-year war it had brought, the foundation for his empire would have never existed. It is why he continues to push. To fight the Lumen Kingdom.”
Faust watched as Dasius’s face faltered, his eyes watching the sky above. Still, his lips formed a soft smile. “Funny, I thought your view of him would be worse. Good to know I was wrong.” The young man took another breath, this one sounding even more painful. His voice was weaker now, almost as if he was on the edge of sleep itself. “Do you have someone back home? Family? Friends?”
“I have someone,” Faust answered. “Her name is Diane. I plan to marry her once I get back from this.”
Dasius raised an eyebrow. “What about your other family? Siblings? Parents?”
“None that I know of. My mother died birthing me and I have no known father to speak of,” Faust explained.
“I see,” Dasius muttered. “I only have my parents waiting for me back home. The only others close to me are either dead or far distant from me. No friends nor siblings.”
Faust frowned. “You have the Legion as your family. Thousands of brothers and sisters in arms.” Faust grabbed Dasius’ hand. “Even when your soul enters Dremor’s domain, you will have us in your memories. In your heart. You will never be alone. Not before, nor after death,” he assured the young man.
Dasius grinned. “That…that sounds nice,” he muttered. “I think… I think I’ll close my eyes a bit. Get some rest. I’m so tired…” Dasius swallowed hard, more sweat appearing on his forehead. He looked deathly pale now, his eyelids visibly struggling to stay open. “Please… keep going.”
Faust grinned, his head nodding slightly. “You will be hailed as a hero, a man worthy of being looked up to. Dasius Phin, the man who saved Centurion Desimir. Your grave will be covered in the finest of flower buds, with a chorus of beautiful women singing out your tale. Your name shall be immortalized in the form of these woodlands, as to preserve its beauty and history.” Faust chuckled. “Cyrus himself will bless your body, and… and…” Faust’s words trailed off as he felt Dasius’ hand go limp.
The Centurion was silent for a long time, his gaze focused on the ground as he held the hand of the soldier who had saved his life. Surrounded by bodies and peaceful woods, he sat there, silent as he brewed in his thoughts. Only once the sun set would he go back to the base camp, carrying the body of Dasius Phin.
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“He’s coming to!”
James could hear a familiar voice in the distance. It sounded quiet, hushed almost. ‘Where am I?’ He mentally groaned. No response. He moved to open his heavy eyelids, a light groan escaping his lips as he was greeted with candlelight. James blinked once, frowning as his eyes grew adjusted to the flickering light of Dahlia’s fireplace. He was in his bed, covered in blankets. Three figures were by his bed, their faces obscured by the lighting of the shaman’s hut.
“What the…? What happened?” James started, his body shifting to sit upright in his bed.
“You passed out screaming,” Dahlia’s voice sounded out. James blinked once more, his vision finally growing clearer. Dahlia was standing the nearest to him, her golden irises filled with worry. Seamus was at the far end of the bed, his eyes marred with exhaustion. The third person was none other than the town doctor who had treated James before.
“It’s good to see you alive and well. What do you remember before passing out?” The question sounded off as if the doctor himself wasn’t sure what had happened.
“I was bleeding,” James muttered. He was trying his best to piece his memories back together again, not to confuse Faust’s with his own. “My chest…it hurt like hell.”
“As it should. You suffered a terrible chest wound mere minutes after your meeting with that emissary,” the town doctor spoke up. “I’m not sure how your friends got it stitched together, but Dahlia and Seamus kept you stable by the time I arrived.” He shook his head. “As of the moment, you are strangely healthy. No visible side effects nor injuries.” The doctor frowned. “It’s as if the wound was never there.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” James asked. His hand moved to grab at his chest, which ached like hell.
“Dahlia knows what has happened,” Seamus spoke up. “At least she thinks she knows.” Seamus gave the shaman a side glance, who focused her attention on James. She took a deep sigh, almost as if she wasn’t sure how to break the news.
“James. Back when you and Faust first fused, it was because of the ritual I had performed on you. Your ley lines fused with that of Faust’s spirit and because of that, they had grown to lengths thought impossible. To put it into words you can understand, Faust’s abilities as a spirit were enough to heal your wound from Deimos. Not only that, but he could enhance your own abilities, including your quick reflexes and healing factor.”
Dahlia paused, her eyes averting. “But back when you fought Gryff. When you and Faust overloaded his ley lines. Gryff’s resistance to your attempts, the same attempts that gave you your cryomancy and disfigured arm. It had weakened the bond between you and Faust. At first, I had calculated the bond to last for at least a decade, but now…”
James could feel how the room grew cold, everyone’s gazes now focused on the ground or wall.
‘No…’
“James. Judging from how weak your bond with Faust is growing, you won’t make it to the next Frost solstice.”