Lilith remembered the forests of Aldren. She recalled the bountiful creatures and plants that inhabited them. The young woman had scoured berries and small animals in her initial years of survival. She ate what she knew was safe and drank water that was clear enough to see through. At some point, she had come across a certain piece of food. A mushroom with red spots.
Lilith had eaten mushrooms before, mainly the ones her mother used to pick from the woods. Yet this was one she had never seen. The young woman had taken her chances and had only taken a small bite from it. The next thing she knew, she was tearing through a bear’s guts with only an ax and knife. Since then, she had sworn not to take them, as the mushroom’s effects scarred her and had turned her into something else.
However, now it was different. Lilith had recognized the red spotted cap once it fell from Lars’ mangled hand. She ate it whole this time, not caring if she died from it. This was her last stand, one that needed to end with Lars dead and Helen alive.
‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’
Lilith could feel her body burning as she screamed. Her muscles were heating to an extreme, despite the icy rain that showered her. She couldn’t feel her injuries anymore, her rage numbing everything. The young woman felt nothing but killer instinct, something that reminded her of her days back in Aldren.
“You’re just like me, eh?!” Lars shouted.
Lilith ignored him, her teeth clamping down on the ax handle she had picked up earlier. Her arms were too injured to fight, forcing her to use her ax like this. It wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she could still fight.
Lilith rushed towards Lars, her neck whipping around like lightning. The ax made contact with Lars’ warhammer, which blocked the strike aimed for his neck.
“You’re a berserker! A being fueled by their rage and strength!” Lars grinned as he pulled back, his left arm struggling to swing his hammer.
Lilith dodged it, her legs crouching as the hammer’s head swung past her. She leapt from the ground, her ax swinging once more. Lars quickly used the end of his weapon’s staff to deflect the ax head, making it so it only nicked him. Before she knew it, Lilith felt the man’s knee plant itself in her gut. The young woman stumbled back, her body responding with a cough that almost made her drop her weapon.
“Only difference is that I’m stronger!” Lars shouted before he kicked her back once more. Lilith fell back onto the ground, splashing rainwater. She could feel every fiber of her body burning with heat as she attempted to get up, her every breath coming out in a cloud of steam.
‘Nothing. Like. YOU.’
Lilith tried to stand up straight, yet her left ankle refused to work. She struggled harder, her eyes welling up with tears from the sharp pain.
“Just admit it,” Lars muttered as he hefted his warhammer. “You’re like me.”
Lilith stopped. As much as she hated to agree with him, he was right. The young woman was just like this monster. For the past year, Lilith had been trying to avoid losing control and letting herself loose. Seamus had taught her to be civil, to act normal. Yet that never worked. Every fight she’d been in, Lilith had tried to mimic a proper fighting style. No matter what, however, she had always reverted to her old self, in one way or another.
Berserker. Savage. Butcher. Lilith had been called these things most of her life. Either by the citizens of Aldren or the orcs that had invaded her island. Even some of the townsfolk had called her such. No matter what she did to shed her old self, the young woman always went back to that life. To when she had to survive.
‘Survive! You must survive!’
Lilith gritted her teeth as she stood up. She put all her weight onto her right foot, using her left foot to navigate and balance herself.
“Coming for another round?” Lars laughed.
“Kill… you,” Lilith grunted out forcibly. She clenched her jaw tightly before she rushed.
Lars swung forward with his hammer, aiming to counter her attack. Yet it never came. Lilith quickly stepped back, feinting her initial strike. Lars noticed this too late, as his hammer was already in full swing. It struck the ground, the impact enough to crack the platform and send water everywhere. Lilith leapt towards Lars, her good foot stomping on the hammer’s staff.
Her ax flashed and struck against flesh, drawing out a shout of pain from Lars. She had missed his neck and struck behind his left shoulder instead.
“You bitch!” Lars dropped his grip on the hammer and smacked Lilith with his left hand. The young berserker stumbled back, her jaw loosening to let go of the buried ax. She regained her footing quickly and rushed again.
Lars tried to grab the ax buried in his shoulder, but his right hand was too mangled to grab at it. His left simply couldn’t reach it. Lilith screamed as she tackled the marauder to the ground, her teeth latching onto Lars’ soft throat. She bit down hard, her legs wrapping around Lars to keep him from prying her off. The berserker felt her teeth sink into his jugular, the taste of blood filling her mouth.
She could feel blows land on her body, every punch bruising and breaking her body even more. Lars pushed and punched, doing his absolute damndest to get Lilith off of him. Unfortunately for him, her grip was like a vise.
The berserker shook her head like a wolf with prey, her teeth soon tearing through flesh and muscle. Blood filled her mouth as she began to pull. With every fiber of her being, the berserker tore out the piece of flesh, splattering hot crimson all over both fighters.
Lars’ eyes widened at the sight, his lips moving as he tried to say something. He only managed to gargle. Lilith watched as the man below her tried to stem the bleeding, to no avail. Their gazes locked for a moment, both of their eyes unblinking. Lilith could see how Lars’ life weakly flickered in his irises before he finally succumbed to the fatal wound.
Lilith spat out the flesh in her mouth, her body slowly cooling off in the rain. She looked off to her left, where Helen and Gustus were earlier. The blonde woman was currently resting on a knee, her spear bloodied and her opponent on the ground. Lilith tried to move, but only fell onto the ground next to Lars.
The young woman looked up at the sky, her eyelids slowly getting heavier.
‘So tired…’
Before she knew it, her world had gone dark once more.
----------------------------------------
Seamus felt frustration build up inside him. He was useless once again. The young man could only watch as the Wizards before him clashed with Eli’s spells. Nathan’s clones were disappearing by droves, making it harder for the young Wizard to avoid getting hit. Falrick was much more careful with his attacks, since his body was already at its limit. Eli looked to be slowing down, but his spells were still as deadly as before.
The spellcaster whipped his head to Nathan once more, this time summoning two Arcane Bolts from his eyes. They flew at high speeds towards the Wizard, but were quickly blocked.
“Barrier!” Nathan’s voice boomed as he summoned a blue shield. The Arcane Bolts struck the barrier, resulting in both castings shattering.
“You must be overheating, no?” Eli called out, “Here! Let me help!”
The beholder user clasped his hands together, his eyes brightening. Falrick tried to interrupt, but the black mist had already covered Eli. The chamber shook and Seamus could only watch as the floor beneath them splintered. Suddenly, spikes of ice shot out towards Nathan, taking out more of his clones. One specific spike aimed right for the main Wizard, its jagged tip speeding through the air.
“Golden Carapace!” Falrick shouted.
The ice spike hit Nathan the minute Falrick’s spell took hold. There was a loud shatter and a bright flash of magical feedback. Seamus blinked and watched as Nathan fell back. His chest was bleeding, but the Wizard wasn’t dead. At least, not yet. Nathan used his staff to prop himself up, his legs struggling to keep him standing. Without a word, the Wizard planted his feet and aimed his staff once more at the marauder. Flames were summoned to the tip of the wooden tool, all of it gathering around the red stone tip.
“You think I’ll let you cast that again?!” Eli moved to finish him off, but was quickly interfered.
“Thunder Bolt!”
A bolt of lightning cracked down on the spellcaster, the spell tearing another hole through the ceiling. As a result, more rain seeped into the chamber, soaking everything around Eli and Falrick. Black mist shifted and Eli stepped out of his bubble, unscathed. Both men faced each other off, with Falrick summoning even more spells as Eli tried to finish him and Nathan off. The younger Wizard was currently summoning his spell, which was taking longer than expected.
“Dammit!” Seamus cursed. He clenched his fists tightly, angry that he couldn’t do anything. “I’m fucking useless! I–” Seamus was interrupted by someone grabbing at his collar. He suddenly came face to face with Haggard, who just regained consciousness. The drifter looked like shit, his skin pale and his eyes devoid of the joy they once held.
“Are you going to keep cursing yourself? Or are you going to fight?” He asked.
“I… I can’t. I can’t fight Eli,” Seamus admitted. “I can’t cast spells and I’m not able to–”
“Listen to me,” Haggard managed with a grimace, “You are more than capable of killing him. That Eli is nothing compared to you…”
Seamus blinked, “What? He’s stronger than me! He’s–”
“He’s an idiot. Look at him… He’s at his limit already. With something as powerful as beholder eyes, he’s having trouble with you lot, no?” Haggard pointed out, “He’s lazy. That idiot never had the audacity to train his ability. You, on the other hand. You trained since you were able to walk, no?”
“I- I….” Seamus trailed off. He looked down at his hands, which were still calloused from all those times he trained.
“You took on a Lumen Knight, Seamus. You can sure as hel take on a bastard who has never trained in his life,” Haggard reached into his belt, his hand producing a vial, “This is vitality… It’ll probably speed up the poison in you but… it’ll give you a boost.”
Seamus carefully accepted the vial, his fingers grasping at the copper material. He tucked it into his armor. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“Give him hel, Seamus. I know you will,” Haggard grinned.
The young man nodded before he stood up. He focused on the battle in front of him. Falrick was still trying to protect Nathan, who was still gathering flames around his staff. They had grown to an extraordinary amount, doubling in size of what Seamus thought a spell could get. Eli was trying to use his mist to attack Nathan whilst also keeping Falrick at bay. This conundrum had left the spellcaster open at a certain angle.
Seamus took a couple of breaths, trying his best to keep his lungs from coughing more blood. His legs were still wobbly, but he forced them to be still. With little prep time, Seamus ran forward, his sword in hand. It was like running through pudding, his legs on the verge of giving out with every step. Yet he pushed on, his hands shifting his sword to point at Eli. The spellcaster was still oblivious, his gaze focused on Falrick as the Wizard tried for an Arcane Bolt.
Seamus grew closer, his jaw clenching as he neared Eli. Before he knew it, he had stepped past the black mist that was surrounding him. It was then that Eli had finally noticed him. Black mist shifted and shot straight to Seamus, but it was already too late. His sword was already inbound, its tip reaching one of Eli’s eyes.
Steel met with flesh, and everything turned bright. Seamus was surprised at how much the eye resisted, but he pushed on regardless. With effort and a scream of anger, his sword pierced through, taking out the eye with a shower of purple sparks.
The magical feedback was enough to throw Seamus back. He stumbled but kept his footing. Eli screamed and grabbed at his bloody socket, the black mist around him going crazy. Seamus readied for another strike but was pulled back suddenly, avoiding getting skewered by spears that had come from nowhere.
“Get away!” Falrick shouted as he forced Seamus away.
Before he could ask, Seamus was reminded of Nathan. The Wizard’s Fireball had grown bigger, its heat melting the ice spikes around him. The flames soon shrunk in size, their color immediately changing from orange to a bright blue. Nathan’s spell sounded out in the chamber, his voice dripping with malice.
“Fireball.”
The ball of flame rushed forward, sizzling through the air as they headed towards Eli. Before he knew it, the Fireball had collided with the spellcaster. Heat and smoke rushed everywhere, blinding Seamus and Falrick and kicking them down. The sound of the inferno only lasted for a few seconds. Then, silence. Seamus coughed as he got up again, his eyes scanning the fog.
“Falrick? Are you–?”
Seamus was interrupted when blackened spears rushed out of the smoke. Instincts kicked in and Seamus barely dodged them. Falrick, however, was not so lucky. The spears effortlessly cut through the Wizard’s left arm, tearing it off in a shower of crimson.
“Falrick!” Seamus shouted. He tried to tend to the old man, but more spears came towards the young man. Seamus quickly reacted, his sword deflecting a couple before one got through. The black mist grazed his shoulder and neck, cutting through armor and burning through flesh.
Seamus winced and faltered, costing him another wound, this one grazing his leg. More pain. “Gah!” Seamus stumbled back. He stepped forward and tried to raise his sword. He couldn’t. His arms were too weak. His legs were even giving out on him. Seamus coughed out blood, the crimson liquid now staining his lips and chin. He couldn’t breathe right anymore. The poison had finally gotten to him.
“F-Fuck! Not… Not like this!” Seamus stumbled forward and fell to the ground. He could only watch as the smoke slowly cleared to reveal Eli. The spellcaster looked enraged, his lone eye burning with hatred as he stared at Seamus.
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“I will rip your body apart and use it as feed for my raven,” Eli scowled as he stepped closer to Seamus, “That is all you shall be remembered for. The last son of Yorn, reduced to nothing but a useless corpse.”
Seamus tried to speak but his lungs and closing throat wouldn’t allow for it. He could only gasp for air as Eli raised his fingers towards him.
‘James. Dahlia. Kate, I’m sorry. I failed you all.’
Seamus gritted his teeth, waiting for the spears to come and finish him.
“Berserker Stomp!”
The ground shook and splintered at the casting. Eli stumbled and turned to the source, his eye widening at the sight. Before Seamus could turn to see who it was, Haggard jumped into view. The drifter was staggering and bleeding, but he was still fighting. His hammer flew at Eli, its speed still enough to catch the spellcaster off guard. Black mist barely blocked it, but the drifter was not done yet. Haggard continued to advance to Eli, his castings keeping the marauder at bay.
“Burn!” Even Nathan was joining in, his staff glowing weakly as he cast spells towards the beholder user.
Seamus turned to his sword, which laid nearby. He attempted to grab it, but his body failed to respond. He was already at his rope’s end. His body was too weak. Seamus turned onto his back, his lungs coughing out once more. The taste of blood was overwhelming, but the young man could do nothing about it.
‘Is this what death feels like?’
Seamus thought back to when he saw James die. The sight of the bloodied man had always stuck with him, reminding him what happened to those who tried to be a hero. He had sworn to himself he wouldn’t be as dumb as the otherworlder. That he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Yet here he was, dying as his friends fought for their lives. He would laugh if it didn’t hurt.
Seamus felt everything go cold as he succumbed to the darkness that came for him.
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Sounds of battle filled the air, followed by screams and shouts. Marauders and Lumen soldiers were fighting for their lives in the courtyard, their struggle not helped at all by the inclusion of the Draugr. Yet for Deimos, this was exactly what he was looking forward to. After fighting through the southern districts of Vindis, he had finally reached the center. Had it not been for the herald and those Lumen Knights slowing him down, the chieftain would have already captured the courtyard. Still, he did not complain. A challenge was always welcomed.
Even with his wounds and damaged armor, the Red Death was more than capable of tearing through guardsmen and soldiers alike. He pushed through the courtyard, his ax and great sword cutting down anyone who got in his way. He only stopped when someone shot an Arcane Bolt towards him. The bolt grazed his helmet, nearly taking the helm off. Thankfully, Deimos had Carapace cast onto himself. He looked to where the spell came from, his gaze soon focusing on an injured spellcaster. The bastard was Lumen, judging from the sun embroidered on his robes.
“You have some balls attacking me,” Deimos called out.
“Die you bastard!” The Lumen spellcaster shouted before he formed another rune with his fingers. “Arcane–”
His spell was interrupted when a sword was driven through his chest. Deimos blinked at the sudden death. He watched as the spellcaster was forced to the side, his corpse becoming one of many in the courtyard. Standing in his place was an armored marauder, one whose features were covered by their steel face-guard. Still, Deimos could never forget Ivana’s unique steel armor, as the left side of her helmet and arm were painted in red war-paint.
“You shouldn’t be so reckless,” Ivana called out before she turned to meet a thief’s advancing dagger.
“Where’s the joy in sitting on the sidelines?” Deimos chuckled as he used his ax to block a guard’s attempted strike. He dispatched the city guard with his sword, piercing the man’s neck and granting him a quick death.
“Commanders rarely jump into the fray like this!” Ivana grunted as she stabbed through the thief who had tried to sneak attack her. “You are already injured, no?”
“This?” Deimos gestured to himself. “Light wounds. They won’t slow me—” He was interrupted when an orc rushed in, the brutish creature swinging its mace at Deimos. Deimos quickly raised his left arm in defense, taking the strike head on. The orc’s mace struck his gauntlet, the attack enough to strain Deimos’ Carapace spell. The chieftain gritted his teeth as the smell of berries overpowered his nostrils. He retaliated with his own strike, his ax swinging over at the brute.
The bearded ax head struck the orc’s shoulder flesh, hooking the brute in. Deimos pulled hard, bringing the savage down onto its knees. With a quick thrust, his left hand shoved the longsword it held into the orc’s exposed face.
“Damn orcs!” Ivana cursed as she backed up. The marauder was facing off another of the creatures, this one brandishing a cleaver of sorts. “Out of all the things, I never expected him to lead these brutes!” Ivana sidestepped and plunged her enchanted blade into the orc’s gut, drawing a loud yell of pain from the creature.
“Power Strike!” With a shout, the marauder’s blade was forced out of the orc’s body, disemboweling its guts and finally killing it.
Deimos turned to where the orcs came from. Right near the center, across from the tower, was him. Despite not seeing him since the last Frost solstice, Deimos knew he was looking at James Holter. The young man still emanated that aura of uneasiness and danger. His eyes burned with a fury that surprised even Deimos. He had not seen such a vicious look since Yorn. James was currently fighting against Lumen soldiers, his sword cutting through them whilst his shield deflected any and all attacks.
“Be it a battlefield or raid, we will meet again,” Deimos muttered to himself with a smile on his face.
“Ivana, push through to the north of the courtyard. I shall take care of Holter and capture the center,” Deimos ordered. Ivana’s body tensed up, and she seemed to hesitate. Regardless, she moved to the north side, obeying his orders. With that, the Red Death pushed through towards the center.
He cut down Lumen soldiers who tried to get in his way, his sword and ax tasting blood and ripping through flesh as he tore through. Orcs and thieves tried to get to him, but Deimos handled them just fine. After all, they were just fodder.
Soon enough, he would begin to close in on the Draugr himself. James was currently finishing a marauder who had attempted to kill him. Once the young man was done with his fight, his focus turned to the incoming chieftain. Deimos stopped where he was, his ax rising to point towards his opponent. James went still, his body visibly tensing up. Deimos stared back, his grin growing as the young man began to walk forward. The chieftain himself also started to walk, his weapons swaying at his side. Right now, it felt like they were the only ones on that battlefield. The sounds of battle were even drowned out in the focus. This was their fated duel, one that was bound to happen.
At least, that was what he had hoped for. Deimos soon saw something that caught his attention. There was someone coming up behind James, his Shadow Step spell dissipating once he got close enough. This man was another who also radiated the strange aura the blond man had. The stranger wore steel armor, one that looked close to Lumen, but without that damned wax symbol. Deimos’ eyes soon focused on the man’s blade, which burned with active runes.
The Red Death could only watch as the stranger raised his sword and struck down at Holter. James quickly reacted, his body swiveling to meet the other man’s strike. While he blocked the sword, the stranger wasn’t finished. Both men fought, their weapons clashing as Deimos watched on. The chieftain clenched his jaw in anger.
“If anyone is going to kill him, it’s going to be me.”
He attempted to intervene, but was interrupted by another asshole with armor.
“Deimos of the North!” It was a younger man, one who wore the damned symbol of Delphine.
“A Lumen Knight? I thought I killed you all!” Deimos shouted as he swung his blades towards the knight. The bastard blocked it with his shield, his sword flashing at the chieftain.
“By Delphine’s will, I’ll gut you and force your soul to repent!” The knight screamed as he rushed.
“Snipe!”
He wasn’t alone either, as an empowered arrow struck Deimos’ shoulder. The steel tip pierced the marauder’s enchanted armor and embedded itself into his flesh. The one responsible was another Lumen bastard, this one armed with a bow. Behind her were more soldiers, their weapons enchanted and their gazes fixed on Deimos. The chieftain clenched his jaw in frustration at the sight of them all. His fated duel was going to have to wait.
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James was struggling. Faust had barely protected him from a deadly strike to the spine. Both of them didn’t even see Arthur coming. James stumbled back from the older man, his shield raising.
“Wait! Arthur–!” The apostle struck the round shield with such strength that it caused James to lose his balance. Arthur used this chance to attempt a stab at the clan leader again. James felt his body burn with effort as Faust took control for a moment. The spirit quickly rolled away from Arthur’s strike, avoiding getting gutted.
“Hiding behind that spirit, are we?!” Arthur shouted as he pressed on. The apostle raised his left hand, forming his fingers into a rune. “Holy Light!”
A flash of light blinded everything and forced James to snap back in control. Bewildered, James swung his sword quickly, unintentionally clashing against Arthur’s.
‘What the hell was that?!’ James thought in surprise.
‘That spell burned! I couldn’t hold on to your body for long…’ Faust sounded exhausted, his voice strained. ‘You’re on your own.’
“Shit!” James cursed. He deflected another strike with his shield, Arthur’s sword sticking to the wood. He attempted to pull back, to rip the weapon out of the apostle’s hand. Yet Arthur was faster and stronger. The older man used this chance to rip the shield away from James, leaving him defenseless.
‘James!’ Faust’s warning fell flat, as it was already too late. James flinched as he felt burning steel enter his body. He coughed out in response, his mouth filling with the taste of copper.
James staggered back, his eyes moving to his torso. Arthur’s blade had left a sizable wound in his gut, the wound bleeding excessively as a result. James held back another cough, both his hands gripping onto his sword.
‘Faust!’ he called for the spirit. No answer.
‘Faust?! Don’t fuck around, man! We need to–’
James coughed again, his body buckling as he fell to the ground. His chest was now in horrible pain, the agony of it enough to make him gasp in shock.
“Faust!” James shouted aloud, spittle and blood flying out of his lips.
“He won’t help,” Arthur suddenly spoke.
“What?” James looked up at the apostle, who looked down at him in pity. “What… What are you talking about?”
“He’s gone. Exorcised,” Arthur stepped forward, his sword’s runes burning to an extraordinary amount, “If you have any dignity left, you’ll let me finish this. Once and for all.”
“Shut… up!” James shouted. He swung his sword again, trying to hit the apostle. Arthur simply avoided it, his boot kicking the sword away. It clattered and spun on the ground, out of reach. James was still not out of options.
He quickly unsheathed his backup ax to fight Arthur. He stopped short once he swung his first attack, as his chest pains proved to be too much. As a result, his ax missed its intended target. James tried to attack again but another wave of pain hit him, the agony of it enough for him to lose his balance. He fell back to the ground, dropping his weapon in the process. He could feel the blood leak from his body, the coldness of the rain numbing everything.
“Are you finished?” Arthur muttered.
“No, not yet!” James slammed his left hand onto the wet ground before swiping the water towards Arthur. Using whatever energy he had left, he froze the rainwater. The desperate act created a shoddy ice wall that blinded the apostle. In spite of this, Arthur quickly got through the improvised barrier, his boot and sword tearing it down. However, that was only a distraction.
James’ ley lines burned with effort as he formed a rune with his bandaged hand, his other hand holding his left arm still.
“Ice Lance!”
He could feel the last of his reserves run dry, leaving him with no more castings. The Ice Lance flew towards Arthur, who was caught off guard. The lance was shoddy, made out of pure desperation. James only knew it thanks to Gryff, but even then, he was merely mimicking what he had seen. Thankfully, his spell was enough to catch Arthur off guard and pierce through his shoulder.
The older man stumbled back, his hand quickly moving to rip the lance out of his shoulder. James did his best to create some distance, his legs kicking him away from the incoming threat.
“Running away?” Arthur asked. “I’d at least expect you to accept your death like a man.”
“I… I’m not ready to die,” James spat out. His hand slipped underneath his armor. “Not now. Not when I have to finish what I started.”
“So why crawl away?” Arthur humored.
James chuckled as he brought out a small gray stone, its face smooth like glass. It was a precautionary gift from Falrick, given to him before the raid.
“Fireball spells need a three meter clearing before firing,” James revealed. Arthur’s expression dropped at the sight of the rune. He quickly rushed forward, just as James aimed it.
“Fireball!”
“Snipe!”
A bright flash of flame and magical feedback flared from the casting, nearly blinding James. Yet the spell did not fire in the direction he was aiming for. Instead, an arrow came out of nowhere and struck his hand, shifting his right arm and forcibly redirecting the Fireball to the left of James. A sudden burst of heat washed over him, along with splintered wood and smoldering embers. It would’ve cooked him alive had it not been for his Carapace, which didn’t hold on for long. A sound like glass shattering soon followed the shockwave, signifying to James that his physical casting had given in to the Fireball’s impact.
Shink!
Right after the magical explosion, he felt the telltale feeling of something piercing his chest.
James blinked, and his vision was clear once more. The Fireball had destroyed the ground next to him, creating a smoldering hole that showed the black waters underneath. Arthur was above him, his hands holding the sword that ran through James’ chest. The golden blade had runes that burned a hot white, enchantments shimmering as they assisted the weapon in piercing the steel breastplate.
James turned to where the arrow had come from. To the right of both the Outlanders, was an archer that bore the Lumen Knight seal on their chest piece. James realized then that they had broken away from their fight with Deimos to interrupt the Fireball.
The dying Jarl tried to speak, to say something biting. Yet he only regurgitated blood.
“This is where your path ends, Holter,” Arthur muttered.
‘It hurts so much…’
James hadn’t been in so much pain before. He could feel the cold grasp of death overcoming him, the feeling all too familiar. It came with a sense of fear that blossomed in his chest. The same fear he had felt back when he laid on that cold stone courtyard. It was haunting.
James grabbed at Arthur’s breastplate, gripping onto it as he tried to get up.
‘I can’t die… I don’t want to die… I don’t want to–’
James coughed again, sending more specks of blood onto the apostle.
“It ends here. Tonight,” Arthur repeated. With no empathy, the apostle wrenched the blade out of James. The younger man winced in pain, his body collapsing to the ground. He tried to get up again, this time grabbing Arthur’s arm.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” James managed out.
“It has to be this way,” Arthur muttered. He shoved James to the ground, kicking him away right after. “When you see Thien, tell him I’ll be coming for his favorite summon.”
“Summon…?” James looked up at Arthur.
“Naomi Miller. Once I’m done here, I’ll be finishing her off as well. Tell that to Thien and his cursed sister when you see them,” Arthur revealed.
“You’re going to kill her?” James asked in disbelief. He gestured to the seven pointed sun on Arthur’s chest. “Delphine ordered you, didn’t she? You’re really going to hunt your own? Be her fucking pawn?” He grunted. He was doing his best not to cough again.
“We’re both pawns,” Arthur answered. “Summoned here by uncaring gods who see us as nothing more than fodder and pieces in their game. Both you and Naomi by that mad god and his cursed offspring,” the apostle pointed a thumb to his chest, “and me from that damned goddess Delphine. We don’t belong here. From the start, we were nothing more than outworlders. Fracturing this world and knocking everything off balance. Getting rid of our influence is for the best.”
With little ceremony, the Outlander placed his boot onto James’ back.
“I’m sorry you were roped into this. You had an unlucky hand from the start.” With that, Arthur kicked James Holter into the smoldering hole created earlier, sending the blond man into the depths of the black sea.