by Kell Inkston
From the portal that leads between the royal magerium and the pocket dimension comes Pitch, eyes reddened from tears. The guards move aside for their king, and they watch curiously as he leans over the restraint cell. He attempts to speak for a moment, but has trouble holding breath. He waits a moment and then tries again:
“I know you cannot speak. With fears most black it has led to this, and I wished to make my love for you once more known, so that you will never question, even in death. Verily, I am unable to stop the events in motion, as should I resist ... the chill on my side tells me Gallin would approach for the crown himself, speaking of me as a traitor to the fair kind of fairies. To retain the royal line, to gain the great words earned at the Highest of Teas, your death is necessary, my dear, old friend. He would not tolerate, and I would not bear, having to see you destroyed. He will see to your proceedings, and I shall sit at the Tea. I have thought for many moons on what I would ask, and now I know. Before you see our sad moon in the sky tonight, know that I will have gained the answer to your suffering. I will ask about your nemesis, and your most secret of musings of him. I will tell the world, and you can then rest assured, that you will be the one tree in Liefland’s garden of execution that died for the love of others ‘stead of the love of self. Tylvania and I have divulged our feelings to one the other, and we will call our next child after you. You will always be remembered in my mind as the greatest, and goodest of heroes, dear Ranalie. Sleep softly, and dream of finer days,” Pitch says before he gently kisses Order on the forehead before turning away. Her expression does not change even as he turns to leave. Her gaze remains iron, as she knows the real struggle is yet to come, and it won’t be an execution.
Chapter Twenty Four: Contact and Receive (AKA: Chapter Twenty Four: Dresmond Ulveroth Edition)
The three knights embark on their mission, going down to the first floor, exchanging a set of permitting glances and then splitting up to complete their various tasks.
Dresmond floats cautiously down the east halls, footsteps on the edge of perfect silence. He passes a few inattentive guards and keep workers, straight into the official’s working chambers. Dresmond rounds a corner, ducks into the pitch of a door frame, and looks over the working chambers.
Four guards split into groups of two, casually chatting as they guard the communications room and the logs room. It is only now that Dresmond realizes the three of them lacked to discuss what their policy on covert engagement would be. Regardless, the only way he’ll be able to get by will be to procure and use an effective disguise, which is unlikely considering he is a human, or else to win a fight against four guards at once. He thinks it over, sighs, and is about to make his move when he hears several deep, metallic crashes from behind.
“HEY YOU FAIRY F****! GET YOUR WEAK ASSES OVER HERE! IF I DON’T SEE A WHOLE F****** CREW OF FAIRIES RUNNING TO STOP ME RIGHT NOW, I’M GOING TO LEVEL THIS ENTIRE F****** KEEP!” a very-familiar voice yells, using a sort of language Dresmond is all too familiar with.
Dresmond quickly ducks deeper into the frame as the four guards rush to the source of the dragon-kin’s voice, not noting the rather suspicious shadow pressed into the corner of their eyes. Dresmond waits a few seconds more and exhales in relief; he quite admires Rayull’s way of getting attention.
Dresmond presses on into the empty hallway and right into the communications room. There is a single elf sitting in the middle of the room, jotting out notes with several inactive chat-stones laying on the table. He sneaks up behind him, draws his knife, and in a visceral instant presses the point against the elf’s back while constraining him using his free arm. The elf jolts in his grasp, and begins quivering as he does his best to display that he is unarmed.
Dresmond takes a deep breath, and begins in the deepest, scariest voice he can muster.
“You,” he begins, quickly causing the elf to jolt again in sheer horror.
“M-m-me?!”
“Where’s the stone to the R.K. Offices?” Dresmond asks, making sure to exhale on the back of the elf’s neck as he speaks, as per commonly-accepted “creepy assassin/nasty criminal” etiquette. The trembling elf points over to a vast array of shelves, and directs Dresmond’s gaze straight to the one labeled “Righty-Mighty Royal Knighty”.
“Sweet dreams,” Dresmond says right before he forces the side of his hand into the elf’s neck, knocking him unconscious.
Dresmond goes up to the shelves, opens the box for the chat stone to the Royal Knight offices, and sends a spark of his mana into it; the way most would activate a magical device that runs directly off of the user’s magic power.
“Hey, Hollen, what do you need?” a young, feminine voice says from the stone. Dresmond guesses Hollen is the elf he just KOed.
“Knight Vanguard Dresmond Ulveroth here. You need to put me on to Redemption ASAP,” Dresmond says to the point.
“Oh, on what grounds?”
“International emergency.”
“Wow, uh, okay. Got it. One second,” the voice says before she goes off a moment.
Dresmond waits at the desk for Redemption to get on, but is cut short as a gnome walks up to the door.
“Higgity hey, Hollen. I was tiggity told we should evac- hell’re you?” Grumpsy the gnome asks in the usual Liefland gnome dialect; considered just slightly less infamous than the Liefland elven dialect. Before Dresmond can react, Grumpsy spots the unconscious Hollen, presumes him to be dead, and emits the most blood-curdling scream Dresmond has ever heard, comparable only to the conjoined screams of death and bloody-injuries he was assailed with every minute while on the battlefield. He has no proper term for it, but were he asked to describe it, he would liken it a cross between a drowning cat, a lightning strike, and a pre-pubescent girl being thrown off a cliff- an unbearable, unfathomable sound. Grumpsy rushes off to get help, but is tackled down by Dresmond before he can escape. Dresmond knocks out the gnome with more speed than he’s done anything else previous in his short life; he had to stop the noise. The gnome goes limp as he drifts off to enjoy peculiar gnome-dreams, leaving Dresmond to his peace of mind, and the chat stone. At the edge of his hearing now emerging from the ringing screech of the gnome, Dresmond hears the scramble of a wave of guards rushing to his position. He quickly stuffs the gnome in a hiding spot, pulls out his wiring, and ties up the elf into his chair to look as though he were just resting. In the last few wintery seconds Dresmond finds his own spot and silences his breath.
A group of eight fairy folk soldiers rush by, only one sparing a glance into the room to spot Hollen, seemingly sound asleep even amidst the chaos unfolding, and a very inconspicuous, very normal bump sticking just over the various piles of small chat-stone boxes in the corner of the room. The group passes by just when Dresmond hears Redemption’s voice ringing from the stone on Hollen’s desk. Dresmond gets up from his hiding place and picks up the stone.
“Hello?” Redemption, thousands of miles away, asks with his own stone.
“Sir, Knight Vanguard Dresmond Ulveroth here.”
“The one I sent on the Liefland mission.”
“Yes, sir. The operation has taken a turn for the worse, Necromancers were involved in the killings, and now the fairies are certain we have been working with them to overtake the royals and steal the seat at the High Tea.”
“... How did that happen?”
“Apparently my superior, Knight Love, made some ... interesting tactical decisions tha-”
“Short, please.”
“They think we’re terrorists because Love exchanged a necromancer for the other two lower knights in our group.” There is a short silence.
“A prisoner exchange, with necromancers?” Redemption says.
“Y-yes sir. We have absolutely no time and we need reinforcements immediately.”
“Even though there hasn’t been a single documented event of necromancers exchanging prisoners. Just let Order handle this; she’s good friends with Pitch and Tylvania. I don’t think this will be a bi-”
“She’s scheduled for execution tonight, sir.” There’s another silence, this one a bit longer.
“... What?” Redemption asks, his tone instantly sharping in seriousness.
“Pitch’s hand was forced by his advisors. He thinks the people will rebel if they don’t pin it on someone tonight.”
“... for fu- ... really?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Caliburn unfold these damn necromancers.”
“We’re doing our best out here sir, but I don’t know how long we can—Oh, shi-” Dresmond stops short, feeling a dark, angry presence behind him.
On the other side of the stone, Redemption can hear a short scuffle, and then a lasting silence.
Chapter Twenty Four: Prove your Strength (AKA: Chapter Twenty Four: Hos’Rayull Edition)
The three knights embark on their mission, going down to the first floor, exchanging a set of permitting glances and then splitting up to complete their various tasks.
Law moves forward into a good, central intersection in the keep. He takes a deep breath, bows his head, and says a short prayer to both Omniverse the Allbeing and his draconic ancestors. He opens his eyes anew, reasserted in his goal to both prove his worth as a knight to the Allbeing, and to prove his worthiness as a dragonkin to his estranged ancestors. He withdraws his enormous great mace and pauses in silence. If one were listening, they could hear a slight breeze as Law takes in a slow, deep, stoic breath before the battle.
A few seconds pass, and Law abruptly joins his hands to the shaft of the mace and throws all of its weight into the ground several times, obliterating the marble tiles underneath. He slams his mace down a few more times, making sure he has the entire keep’s attention before he delivers his message.
“HEY YOU FAIRY F****! GET YOUR WEAK ASSES OVER HERE! IF I DON’T SEE A WHOLE F****** CREW OF FAIRIES RUNNING TO STOP ME RIGHT NOW, I’M GOING TO LEVEL THIS ENTIRE F****** KEEP!” He boasts mockingly with the intensity of a dragon’s blazing breath. He draws in a deep gust of wind through his ivory-white barricade of teeth as he hears doors open from far off.
There is a short silence, and then Law hears the frantic rush of fairy feet closing in from all directions. Elves, dwarves, gnomes, fairies both high and low, spooks, ghosts, ghouls, ents and even a few talking animals meet the angry dragon-kin’s challenge, weapons, claws, fists and teeth at the ready. There is a part of Law that dislikes, that he’ll have to avoid killing them on purpose, but it’s necessary to get the point across once all this is over. Should he not hold back, it would only add another layer of controversy to fairy-knight relations.
He readies his weapon, and meets the first in the group with a mace to the face.
A group of higher, middle, and lower fairies make up the bulk of the approaching force, and already Law sees a glint of fear in their eyes. Deep in the cold-blooded ore of his core, he feels a hot spark reignite; he knows he was designed by the dragon gods to fight, and fight he will.
He sweeps across the first wave of spears, knocking either the spears from the guards, or the guards themselves into the air and into the wall. Unlike Love, the guards are quickly deterred back into the entirety of the force, now forming ranks. A new front line is established, this time of the larger, stronger fairy-folk, and they approach again. Law sees that he has them precisely where he wants them; if they continue this level of caution he can buy an hour of time if need be.
“Yes, come here, fairies, I’m hungry,” he says with a wide, rocky grin. The fairies, most of which have been raised on stories of villainous dragons breaking into homes at night to feast on disobedient little fairy children, quickly flinch at the remembrance of their childhood nightmares. The officer calls out to press on, and at that the phalanx returns to the task at hand.
With a crazed glare, Law removes his gauntlet and bites into his hand, drawing a rapid stream of blood that he promptly smears across his face.
“C-captain, hark! This foe is so maddened with spirits of his ancient agonists, what chance have we, decent folk, to best such a demon!” one of the fairies calls nervously to the officer.
“Indeed!”
“Forcert.”
“Harken to these words, our dear captain!” three other voices ring out as the approaching force comes to a halt.
Law’s breath picks up in volume as he points his head up high to stare at the spear-wall out of the corner of his eye. He can now hear the badly-concealed shudders and gasps of terror from the fairies.
“Breathe, winged armlings! He is but one death-lusting foe cursed with the blood of the dark-” the officer’s encouragement is muted by the cackle Rayull lets loose.
“P-please, captain!”
“Spare us our graves!” two of the fairies again complain, eyes all focused on the maverick dragon-kin howling out smoke.
“Bah! Cowardlies of no use! The ones of the ground be a heartier flesh. Dwarf-kind, come forward and re-” The officer’s voice is again overpowered, this time from the immense, conjoined scream from the fairies at the sight of Law abruptly rushing forward, his mace poised to smash them into oblivion. The ranks break as the mass of spear-fairies are smashed into the warm air of the eternal summer realm, weapons scattering about and hitting a few of the others in the farther ranks.
Amidst the screaming insanity of the fairy folk breaking their guards and turning to run, Law draws back for another swing, and throws his weight into the retreating soldiers. The mace that weighs a fourth of the force slams into their backs, sending another array of fairies into the air, breaking their bones, smashing their wings, and imprinting securely in their minds that the stories their parents told them at night are undoubtedly true. The officer draws back, as afraid as the others, but better at seeming collected; he turns to run or fly along with the others but is grasped by the wings.
“Going somewhere?” Law asks as he snaps the officer’s insectly wings in a single instant. The officer squeals in pain as Law pulls him back, throws him into the floor, and stomps into one of his shins, breaking it like a twig.
“PLEASE! I BEG OF THEE! SHOULD ANY SPARK OF MERCY BE IN THAT HEART OF TAR, METAL, AND FIRE, I BEG, LET ME FREE!” the officer screams, flailing like a child before punishment. Law hates their pompous, high-pitched voices. The dragon-kin laughs and then, as if he had heard bad news, sobers up. As the other guards clear out of the hall to get distance, Law looms down over the officer, and looks him right in the eyes.
“Did your people give my great grand-parents the same choice?” The question is painfully rhetorical, as no known dragon-kin was spared by fairy forces during the Extermination Wars. They were slaughtered without mercy.
The officer begins crying in equal parts pain and fear. “Please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“Are you?”
“Yes! Please! I didn’t make those decisions! I never even fought in the Extermination Wars! I-I love your kind!”
“My kind? Oh yes, what was it? ‘Those death-lusting foes cursed with the blood of the dark ...’ would you care to finish that sentence?” Law asks as he grinds his boot into the fairies shin. The fairy begins writhing uncontrollably, in denial that he’s about to be smashed to death by one of those horrible dragon-men. The officer has seen his fair share of action, but never alone, and never against something so invincible. What’s worse is that, among the more popular of the dragon-kin rumors in Liefland, is that they devour the souls of their victims, sending them into a hellfire of eternal torment.
“I can’t! Please! I can’t! Pl-pl-pleleeese!” the officer cries in sheer horror.
There is a slight pause, and Law lifts his mace again. Would he strike the fairy, he would be nothing else but unknowable, splattered remnants of a corpse; a corpse among corpses he would be so unrecognizable.
“Well I have something to tell you,” Law says calmly, mace lifted high. The fairy braces to receive his ultimate end.
“He ... heh ... heh!” he mutters, unable t
o speak amidst the terror strangling his heart and clouding his mind.
“As a superior creature, I know when to spare a life that cannot possibly take my own; simply part of being a god in comparison to something like you. I forgive you, you piece of shit- it was your ancestors that killed mine, and as the new generation we’re given the opportunity to move away from that. Tell them that I let you live, and maybe we’ll have a new future for our kinds. Now go, crawl back to your sniveling hive like a good insect,” Law says, releasing his foot-hold on the officer’s leg. The fairy stares in shock a moment, unbelieving that one of the horrible beasts of his childhood, told to have an unquenchable thirst for murder and innocent flesh, has just allowed him the rest of his life in front of his men; watching from afar.
The wide-eyed, wing-and-leg-broken officer crawls away as quickly as he can.
Some of the on looking guards go out halfway to pull the officer back into the ranks, now a dozen meters away. Law listens to the commotion of relief and warning passing between the fairies, and then sees the officer send out a messenger to elsewhere in the castle.
Law continues to stare with stoic silence; only a lifeless body would be more still.
In the next minute, there in one over confident dwarf that approaches and attempts to use magic, and a few other fairy folk using ranged attacks to get at Law. Law promptly kicks the dwarf in his face, sending him rushing back into the group, and every arrow that hits Law only barely taps into his armor, either natural or artificial.
Having foiled every attempt that the Liefland royal guard has thrown at him, Law cannot help but crack a genuine smile. It’s such a rush for him, fighting fairies just like his ancestors- displaying his superiority to all who behold him. His smile fades only a moment after its birth when he spots something incredibly strange down the hall.
