Nashandra…
As more time passed, with Marcus continuing to spar with Camilla, though he was still being tossed aside, he has now started to adapt to the rhythm.
With every attempt Camilla made to disarm him, Marcus has learned to position himself so that when her blade connected with his own, he used that force against her to step into her line of attack and redirect it back at her.
Nashandra remained sitting on the ground, watching them spar as she waited patiently for Marcus to address her when he needed her help.
As the sound of their blades connecting echoed off the empty plains, ringing in her ears, Frosk walked over and sat down next to her.
“Careful now… Its not wise to get too close to a Lich,” she said to him in a mildly joking manner.
“Yeah, okay…,” he said sarcastically as he did not budge from where he sat.
Her eyes lingered on his own for a moment as she felt an unusually warm feeling of longing swell up within her.
Frosk’s eyes, which she had only ever seen as blood red, were now a light brown color.
Noticing that she was staring at him, Frosk turned to look at her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking about what Marcus did for us. With him changing the nature of his blessing...I had not expected this kind of behavior from ‘The God of Wrath’. He’s far kinder than his title suggests he would be,” she mused.
Of course, she had also given it some thought about how Jonas might think of her after seeing her with red eyes.
“The word ‘Wrath’ does not simply does not simply mean anger alone. While that is the main definition, it has other meanings attributed to it, such as divine judgment. Maybe...maybe the very act of changing his nature was an act of affirmation that there is more to him than just his anger,” Frosk said, thinking it over.
“That’s certainly an interesting way to look at it. From what I’ve heard, there are many people out there who view the Forrosans as the second coming of Amaskia. That the worship they have shown to their lord was akin to how my people worshiped Dagon. A culture steeped in nothing but war, bloodshed, and barbarism. In truth, it is far from that.”
Hearing that brought out a look of intrigue from Frosk as he turned to face her and asked, “Truly…? I haven’t thought to read into Amaskia’s history, but…would you be troubled to educate me on the true nature of the kingdom and its ruler?”
“I’m glad you asked,” she said with a hint of cheerfulness at being asked to speak of her once great kingdom.
She took in a deep breath as she pondered how to approach the subject, but then came to a decision.
“For starters, the title that my lord King Dagon held as the ‘God of Blood’, was largely incorrect. Many people only gave him that title because of the blade he often used. The very same sword that bastard Kayron now owns. It is because of that sword that his enemies gave him such a title, but he did not shun it. He embraced it, and for a long time I could not understand why. However, the longer I served him, the more I began to understand his motives and actions,” she said before looking at Frosk to see if he was following along.
She then continued as she said, “Before he rose to power and renamed the land into the Kingdom of Amaskia, Dagon was born and raised into an era of stagnation and meaningless war. Futile battles took place between kingdoms over political issues that made little sense or the smallest conflicts. It was an age that had been plaguing the world for as long as recorded history, even at that point in time. Many scrolls and books depicting history before the Amaskian Kingdom had been lost for untold thousands of years in that era of stagnation. Dagon looked at the nature of the world and felt disgusted with it. It gave him no purpose, no meaning, and no goals to work for. As a child, he was a blank slate looking for something to define who he was. On his journey for meaning, he left his home and joined his kingdom’s army, hoping it would mold him into something greater. As time passed, he was later sent to war and it changed him. Through battle, Dagon learned that fighting for one’s life is what drives a person to adapt, to change, to evolve. That alone was deeply impactful for his psyche, but as he continued to fight, he learned of something else in the nature of the world.”
During that moment of pause, she turned to look at Frosk and said, “Dagon learned about the power of what it means to be a hero in the eyes of the people.”
His face changed into visible confusion as his eyes darted back and forth, trying and failing to figure out the meaning of her words.
“C-Can you elaborate on that?”
She nodded and said, “You understand well enough the concept of manifestation as a result of the belief of the people? When enough people look upon a single person, place, or thing with a certain train of thought, whether that thought is true or not, it would eventually become the truth?”
“Are you talking about how those who were initially born as normal humans sometimes become gods through great feats of strength and valor and become so in the eyes of the people, and that affects reality? Like Sir Charles?”
She nodded in confirmation and said, “Exactly so. Dagon discovered that phenomenon early in his career as a soldier. As his blades cut through soldiers with ease, and his body broke down walls and toppled kingdoms with sheer physical might alone, the people of his kingdom looked upon him as a hero, while his victims viewed him as a living calamity. Dagon saw this affect in real life and weaponized it. This was before the study of the soul and soul self in regards to how magic is used. Dagon realized that the perception of the masses could affect reality, and wanted to use it to change the world so that we could move past the age of stagnation and into something greater. Although the people saw him as The God of Blood, his true nature became that of ‘The God of Change’. His power could alter the nature of people’s souls, and even that of his own to adapt to something far more powerful than himself.”
She then went silent as she thought back to the past and eventually said, “The only thing I have concern for, is that King Dagon had been hiding something.”
Frosk blinked and asked, “What makes you believe that?”
“Well...if his goal was to change the world to move past the era of stagnation, he managed to succeed to some extent. Of course, there have been other wars just as meaningless and futile as ages past, but there is little doubt that real significant change has been made. My fear is that Dagon had wanted to change something that was deeply ingrained in the nature of creation itself yet could not manage it, but I do not have the faintest idea as to what that very thing was.”
Frosk then looked at Marcus while he was continued to clash blades with Camilla and pondered, “If Marcus is ‘Dagon’s Successor’ as the God of Wrath, then could that mean he will be the one to change the very nature of creation that Dagon fighting for?”
“I have had that thought myself…, but then I think about what the God of Wrath said to me. One of the conditions of my fealty was that I would have the opportunity to serve my King once again. If Marcus is the successor, then why would he speak of Dagon’s return?”
They both went silent as the thought held more questions then they could be bothered to try and answer.
But then Frosk’s attention was drawn to Marcus and Camilla’s sparring as he said, “I think he’s about to overpower her. Watch!”
Marcus…
He had been repeating these drills and techniques over and over until he could forcibly ingrain them into his very being.
Every deflection, every swipe of his sword, every parry, and even every sound of their blades clashing together were made a part of himself.
The sword style he had originally created, though it might have started out as a bit of a childish endeavor, it has turned into something truly terrifying in Moyako’s hands.
It confused its opponents on what was the right time to attack or defend, it could manipulate people’s own attacks against them through deflecting strikes and warping leverage.
To make matters even worse, imbuing one’s body and sword with spiritual energy served to make it many times more dangerous.
A swipe of one’s sword could send a wave of air pressure strong enough to split stone and steel.
Of course, there were also other secret techniques that Moyako herself had developed that Camilla warned him about. Ones that even she was not fully aware of, but knew existed.
When fighting her, he would need to prepare for anything and expect the worse.
Based on how the feel of their sparring match was going, he could tell it was nearing its end as he was matching her ability well enough that even she was struggling to keep up with him.
Yet he could tell that she was getting fired up enough that she didn’t want to admit defeat to him until she could say for certain he was good and ready to fight Moyako.
As he struck her blade, pushing her back and breaking her stance, he then raised his sword above his head to bring it down upon her.
Taking this opportunity, she used her magic to compress the air around her sword to serve as a makeshift sheathe and deliver a counter.
He knew right away what she was doing, but thought to use this moment to experiment.
He continued to press his attack, but loosened the grip his left hand had on his sword so that all of the power would come from his right.
With this attack, he would bait her to try and counter him so that it might lead into his next strike.
Sure enough, when she unsheathed her sword and it struck his own, only his right arm flew back along with his sword, while his left fell across his chest and pulled back.
He snapped the fingers of his left hand to switch his sword to it and swung his blade at Camilla’s neck before she could deliver her counter swing.
She froze in place as his sword stopped right at her neck while both of her arms were raised before she could finish him off.
She smiled and said, “I do believe that I am thoroughly dead now. Congratulations. You’ve mastered your own style enough to defeat the least skilled user of it.”
Hearing that, Marcus chuckled as he lowered his sword and said, “I just hope it will be enough to fight on par with her. Also, I kind of cheated at the last minute.”
Camilla shook her head and said, “I don’t see it that way. Anything you add to further your repertoire of techniques is valid in my eyes. For someone like me who can manipulate vectors, I would have no place to judge you on what you add. I hadn’t even thought that you could bait a counter to create an opening like that. Giving your enemy a false opportunity to attack is one of the main tenants of the Shura style from what Moyako taught us.”
He nodded as it sounded right to him before looking at Nashandra and Frosk, who had been watching them patiently the whole time.
“Nashandra! Your turn!” he said.
“Huh? For what?” she asked.
“I said earlier that I needed Camilla’s help and yours to prepare for my fight tomorrow. Come on!” he said and she got to her feet to walk up to him.
“What do you need from me?” she asked, ready to to help.
Marcus then snapped his fingers and Light Taker appeared in his hands.
“First, I want you to hold this for a moment and tell me what you think of it,” he said as he held it out to her.
She looked down at his blade cautiously, as if unsure if it was really okay for her to hold it, and gingerly wrapped her hands around it.
She then seemed confused as she asked him, “What is it you want me to inquire about this sword?”
“I want you to feel its very nature. It is not a normal weapon. Try to think of it the same way you might think of Frosk’s two swords Hoffnung and Gurthang,” he said and she seemed to understand.
She closed her eyes and her eyebrows creased so that she could focus, but only a few seconds passed before her eyes flew open and a look of terror flashed across her face.
She quickly tossed the blade aside out of fear, likely in instinct, before looking up at Marcus and saying, “Oh uh...I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
“No, its fine. I reacted the same way when I learned about its true nature,” he said as he reached out his hand and the sword flew back into his grip before he sheathed it.
“W-What is that...thing? That blade is unnatural,” she said.
“According to Ruvick, this sword is the manifested concept of Death in physical form. The reason I wanted your help is because as a Lich, you have a strong connection with Death. I want you to teach me how to properly control it,” he explained.
She appeared confused as she asked, “But I thought you already knew how to. In your fight with Ares and Julian, you displayed such ability to manipulate Death.”
“I can manipulate it, sure, but I can’t figure out how to draw it into myself through my own power. Malthael does that for me. He accumulates Arcanence for me, and I add it to my own power. I need to learn how to do that on my own. Also...I want you to show me how you were able to merge with Death in the manner to merge with everything around you. I can do something similar with Light Taker, making an area around me that I can freely manipulate, but I don’t know how to make myself a part of that field like you can.”
“I can...try my best, but is there any specific reason why you want to learn this?”
“I saw how Moyako was able to manipulate Death to bring back the dead. I want to learn how to control Death and use Light Taker to dominate her ability to do so so it can’t be used against me. There are people that I’ve killed in the past that I don’t want her to use against me like she did to you,” he said and Nashandra’s eyes widened as she understood.
“I see. Very well. Let us get started then,” she said as she clapped her hands together and put on a cheerful face.
Thalia…
Now that her brother’s fight with Julian was finally over, a part of her felt guilty for being there to see it and cheer him on.
Now that it was certain that Marcus would fight against Moyako, who Thalia was certain she had heard was his own daughter, she knew she couldn’t be there to witness that.
She knew the kinds of brutality that her brother was capable of and wouldn’t be able to stomach watching that happen to her.
Every time she thought about it, she felt like she should try to tell Marcus about it but was too scared to do so.
Did he have his reasons for shunning his own daughter or pretending like she wasn’t his?
Why would he act like this towards her?
Should she tell Selene…?
Or maybe Ruvick…?
Thalia was pacing around in her room as she thought about it and came to the conclusion that if she were going to tell anyone about this in the hopes that they could stop Marcus from fighting his own daughter, it would be Ruvick.
But how would she get in contact with him…?
She remembered her brother talking about going to a cafe on a regular basis to meet him, but was that because they planned their meetings there, or was it because Ruvick was a regular there?
Either way, it was a start.
Thalia then left her room and rushed upstairs to grab Alta.
She knocked on the door and after a moment passed, the door opened to him bickering with his sister again.
“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked.
“Can you come with me somewhere? I need to meet with someone,” she asked.
“Uh...sure. Who are you meeting with?”
“Uh…its a secret, but I don’t want to go if you aren’t there with me,” she said and he let out a sigh.
“Alright. Give me a minute,” he said before he shut the door.
She then sat on the top of the stairway as she waited for five minutes before the door opened again and he said, “Alright, lets go…uh, where are we going by the way?”
“There is a cafe called Aurum Celia. I need to meet this person there,” she explained honestly while not saying Ruvick’s own name.
She felt worried that telling Alta who he was would somehow remind him of how Julian had approached her. She felt guilty for being so secretive, but she needed to find this out without letting Marcus know.
Not caring enough to question her, Alta said, “Alright. Lets go.”
When they left the house, they went on their way to the cafe.
For some reason, even though the trip to the cafe would have otherwise been peaceful and hardly a matter to worry over, Thalia felt a sense of dread coming over her that she couldn’t explain.
She then reached out her hand to grab Alta’s coat so as to make herself feel safer, but something about it felt off.
She turned her head to look at Alta, but to her shock, he was no longer walking by her side.
In his place stood a much taller man wearing jeans and a dark red button up shirt.
The man had long, choppy blonde hair, red eyes, and a face that felt uncomfortably familiar, yet she couldn’t seem to understand why.
“Is there something wrong little girl?” he asked and she took her hand away from him.
“I...uh, I’m sorry. I thought you were...there was someone else walking with me. I must have lost track of where he went,” she said as she started looking around for Alta but couldn’t spot him as the people around them made it difficult for her to try and find him.
“Do you mean the Dark Elf you were with?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I see. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Would you like me to accompany you until he does?” he asked with a polite tone, but something about his face bothered her.
There was nothing about his expression itself that alarmed her, or indicated that he wanted to do her harm.
It was something else about him that scared her.
It was a sense of deep familiarity that she could not seem to place, but should be able to.
“I...I don’t want to take up your time-,” she tried to say to decline his offer as nicely as possible.
“Oh, it is really no issue Thalia. I have all the time in the world,” he replied with a smile.
Upon hearing that, she froze in place as she was certain she hadn’t told him her name.
With trembling lips, she asked, “I-I never told you my name. W-Who are you?”
He then knelt on one knee so as to look her properly in the eyes, and with a kindly look, he said, “My name is Lucien Wright.”