(Fairy Tail/ Warhammer Fantasy) The Fairy Queen of Tilea

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 19

Standing at the edges of the lavish property, located where else but the most well maintained and isolated district of Miragliano, Emanuello groaned under his breath. The current resident of this property was his destination, but he was of two minds on the matter; he desperately needed his help, but there was also everything else about him.

High Elves, Asur during the uncommon periods he did business with them, were… prideful. As a Tilean merchant prince Emanuello knew the value of his pride, how it could affect his standing among his rivals and allies. But Elves took things far beyond reasonable; one wrong gesture, one uncouth comment, and a trader would be lucky to avoid a duel to the death, if not threatened to be killed on the spot. Oftentimes it wasn't clear exactly what Elves defined as rude, they rarely bothered to explain things to 'lesser' races.

In some ways Elves were similar to Dwarfs, they were both intensely dignified, long lived, and rarely forgiving transgressions. Not to mention they both looked down on Man. But while Dawi had their pride, they tended to be upfront when dealing with outsiders; not always fair, but strict and to the point. Whenever they weren't, dwarfs sequestered themselves in their Holds and left matters be. Elves acted as if the world owed them its very existence, which was made worse by an unpleasant habit of sailing close to shore and landing war parties.

Emanuello rubbed his brow. He was delaying the inevitable, he had to take the next step. With Erza busy helping Goric (oh he was in for an earful when the dawi heard about this) at the caravan and the market, he had plenty of time to get this done. So with reluctance he started walking, heading down the paved stone path towards the house.

Though house was underselling the property; it wasn't the largest even in this district, the neighbors a safe distance away were nicer to look at. It was still a large domicile with plenty of delicately tended foliage, he saw some scattered statues around as well which looked expensive to his appraising gaze. Its most unusual detail however was the roof, or lack thereof.

Instead of tiles or wood, there was a gaping hole in the top floor, big enough to drive a wagon through if it were ground level. If he didn't know the rumors he would wonder what it was for.

Going up to the front door, one festooned in weird script, he raised a hand to knock, only for a bellowing voice to shout, "Enter!"

Emanuello found the latch, hissing under his breath as he complied. The second he was in he saw the new owner had been busy with internal decoration; everything that wasn't a load bearing support was ripped away, clearing up room for a small alcove with a bed, and a huge clean nest in the center of the home. In the corner of his eye he saw both a lip over the roof hole to block rain, and oddly several carvings in the corner that looked like buildings.

Of course, his attention was occupied by the massive green dragon that lifted its head from its claws. Emanuello went still, shivering at the monster that growled at him; large teeth, narrowed slits of eyes that eyed a prospective meal, thick scaly hide which tall tales claimed could shrug off a cannonball, a long slender tounge that licked its chops, and did he mention the teeth? Its wings ruffled dismissively, its tail swishing in the air behind it, though at this distance it could reach out like a cat to a hapless mouse.

"Cease your staring human." A voice dripping with contempt made him snap over, discovering the master of this beast.

Narrow, angular features were a hallmark of Elves everywhere, and this one was no exception. Showing a couple scars on his slender yet muscular frame, Asarnil the Dragonlord rose from a crouch by the dragon's claws, setting down a brush and rag on a nearby table. Though he wore simple robes and tied his black hair behind him, he projected an air of haughtiness the most successful merchant princes could struggle to rival.

"I said, cease your staring." Asarnil warned, halting a couple body's lengths away, as if he was a leper.

Emanuello composed himself. "Mighty Asarnil of Ulthuan, I come before you requesting your services."

"Yes, why else would humans visit?" He dismissed his greeting with a contemptuous wave. "Get on with it, my time is not your plaything."

Bringing around the sack he carried on a strap, Emanuello waited for Asarnil to gesture at an open table. Using the care he reserved for impressing especially important guests, he laid out a selection of goods in orderly rows, as much for their value as for the Elf. Painstakingly crafted dishes with rare (and expensive!) food, a couple bottles of rare wine, and a double handful of the best jewels in his collection, sorted twice over for the finest stones he owned. A couple were even from the dwarfs, though if they knew where he was taking them, they would've never sold him them.

The goods he backed away from were worth a small fortune, he could pay for an entire caravan with this. All of it was for this man, who approached the table with equal levels of grace and disdain.

"Gifts for my services." He stated, picking up the wine first.

"Of course. There is also a large reward of gold waiting, I did not bring it with me. I am aware of your reputation." Emanuello said with as much respect as he could muster; for all of Asarnil's traits, the elf was strangely not keen on monetary reward. Hearsay gave him the impression he was after renown more than wealth, which this time played to Emanuello's favor.

Asarnil made a big show of inspecting each and every item, from the wine to each jewel. Despite his impatience earlier he sure took his sweet time; Emanuello had no choice but to stand and wait. Even if things were less dire a low growl from the dragon, staring at him with unmistakable interest, would keep him rooted in place.

Finishing with the food, Asarnil showed some surprise when he turned around. "This is Caledorian lobster, mixed with herbs from Saphery. How did you get this?"

"With great difficulty." Emanuello smiled, leaving out the exorbitant cost.

Popping a cork, Asarnil took a whiff of the wine, and then a small drink. "This is an old vintage, genuine Ulthuan. From the Empire, I presume?"

"That was actually acquired directly from here in Miragliano." He stifled a wince upon remembering the price.

"And these jewels, quite well made." He held up one to the light, taking a bite out of the food. "This is… this is better than anything I've had in this city after I helped conquer it. The taste of home is so sweet." For a second, Asarnil showed a genuine smile.

Emanuello flinched when Asarnil dropped the plate without warning, the precious ceramic shattering on the floor.

"Back in Ulthuan, this food wouldn't be fit for the lowest beggar. It might be suitable for dog food." Whatever goodwill he showed had vanished; Emanuello felt a stab of fear at his narrowing brow.

"The wine is awful as well, fit for the lowest of commoners. As expected of traders selling directly to humans. And these jewels." He swept them away, Emanuello barely stopping himself from trying to catch any. All save one, a large ruby he pinched between two fingers. "This here. You thought I wouldn't recognize the cuts? Dawi craftsmanship is far better than any human, you should know better than to try to bribe me with those bearded drunkard's trash." He concluded with a toss towards the door.

Emanuello hissed through gritted teeth. "I meant no disrespect-"

"Yet you disrespected me anyway. The quality of these gifts is far worse than the other fools vying for my attention, and the quantity is downright insulting." Asarnil huffed, crossing his arms. "Others want my help for this spat of a civil war. What side are you trying to bribe me into joining?"

His tone was mocking, jeering even, yet he phrased it as a question; Emanuello's hopes flared, he still had a chance to salvage the situation. His only option was to prey on his curious aspect for a sellsword.

"None actually. I wished to hire you for a dangerous mission." He started.

The dragon growled, stopping when Asarnil raised a hand. "Dangerous for you."

"And yourself." Discarding his speech, Emanuello got to the point. "I want you to join a rescue mission to the Black Crag."

For a long minute, Asarnil was silent. He didn't move save for a slight rise and fall of his breathing, staring at him as if he was peering into his soul. Even the dragon glanced at him askance, its nostrils flaring.

A thin, vicious grin cracked his expression. "Ah, hah. Rescuing dawi royalty. I almost want to accept just out of spite, to see those stunted folk have to give up half their precious wealth to an Asur. It would be the most hilarious thing I've seen this century."

"The reward would be-"

"I refuse." Asarnil interrupted him, the smile gone. "Spite isn't enough motivation to go into an orc infested tunnel. Much less bring Deathfang there. Congratulations human, you got me to laugh. Now get out."

"But-" Emanuello raised a hand, and in the time he needed to blink there was a drawn dagger in Asarnil's hand.

"Out." He growled.

Fists clenching, Emanuello turned to leave. He was kicking himself for believing Asarnil would actually do it, costing him a lot of money and some important favors for nothing. His last hope were the Maneaters, ogres were as likely to eat him as agree, but a good fight and all the bodies would be enough to sway the brutes-

A scaly tail slammed into the floor right in front of Emanuello, jerking him back with a cry. Whipping around, he backed away in terror as the dragon leaned its maw closer to him; he hit the monster's tail, left with nowhere to run. The dragon came close enough to touch, its circular eyes on his quaking form.

"Deathfang, what are you doing?" Asarnil demanded.

The dragon widened its nostrils, taking several loud whiffs of Emanuello as he broke out in a cold sweat. Whatever it was after, it drew back to level a very humanlike look of surprise.

"What is it?" Asarnil said in confusion; the dragon said nothing, just flicked its ears, and nodded its snout towards him. Whatever that meant, the elf's eyes widened. "What? Another dragon? You met another dragon."

"I did?" Emanuello stared blankly, right as his brow twitched; he was no expert on magic, but with whatever strange magic she wielded-

The dragon brought its claws down on the floor, startling him. He was wide open for Asarnil to stride up to him, impossibly fast and with a steely grip snatching his shirt.

"Take us to the dragon."

"Us?" Emanuello flicked his terror stricken eyes to the monster glaring at him.

"I will not repeat myself." Asarnil brought up the dagger, not pressing it against his skin. Yet.

A minute later and Emanuello was shoved out the door, Asarnil grabbing some armor and a sword to push him along; overhead Deathfang crawled out of its roost to land on the lawn, crushing some flowers underfoot. Emanuello had an elbow driven into his back, pushing him along.

"I should warn you-" he cringed at the townsfolk screaming and running away, he doubted the armed Elf had anything to do with it.

"Dragon, now." Asarnil was quite insistent, shoving him whenever he thought Emanuello wasn't moving fast enough. He didn't have to do that much, the lumbering dragon a few paces behind him was motivation enough.

His luck diminished, because Emanuello had a long walk to the market district where he left his caravan. A long, long trek with an impatient Elf and a dragon, who apparently didn't want to fly. Not that it would keep people from panicking, but it would cut down on time.

When he saw his wagons, there were shouts of his guards, and he spotted them immediately going into defensive positions. They and the dwarfs, grabbing weapons at the monster at his back. Amending that to the Miragliano guards took a glance, spotting a lot of armed pikemen moving up to fight.

Groaning, Emanuello waved an arm overhead. "Its alright!" He lied, yet waved anyway. "Its, ah, business!"

Behind him Asarnil growled, but that hardly mattered when Deathfang tromped past them, rattling the ground underfoot towards the caravan. Shouts rose in spite of his call, he couldn't imagine why.

"If they hurt him, all of you will die." Asarnil said. It didn't sound so much as a warning or threat as a statement of fact.

The dragon halted, almost bowling them over when it's tail swished. The reason was the same as how he got into this mess, ended up in this powder keg of a city; hopping on top of a wagon with a sword in hand, Erza took up a defensive stance in response to the creature, who itself raised its head.

Emanuello and Asarnil stopped, the former anxiously watching as Deathfang slowly approached Erza, non threateningly leaning towards her; like him it sniffed her, taking deep gulps of her scent. Conflict was a hairsbreadth from erupting when it lurched back, growling almost like it grunted in surprise.

The grip on him loosened, Asarnil jogging over as Erza hopped off the wagon, Emanuello in hot pursuit. He caught a glimpse of Goric and his expression of shock, but ignored him for a moment; Asarnil halted to gape at Erza, and she raised a brow. He glanced at Deathfang, who nodded its snout at her.

"But, how? You're not a dragon. Who are you human?" Asarnil snapped.

"I am Erza Scarlet, a wizard of Fairy Tail." Her prompt answer caused Emanuello to groan, catching the elf doing a double take.

"Why do you smell like a dragon?" He frowned, Deathfang arching lower as if to hear better.

Erza's expression flickered. "My mother was a dragon. I spent over three hundred years in her womb, before I was born. She was a vile woman."

Asarnil and Deathfang exchanged a confused look. "You… your mother was a dragon."

Emanuello cleared his throat. "You see, Lady Scarlet-"

A rather large claw blocked his path, making him slump.

Asarnil frowned, but instead of jeering or trying to stab her, the Elf unexpectedly sheathed his dagger. "I… I apologize. I had assumed you were lying."

Blinking, Emanuello rubbed his eyes. This wasn't happening, was it?

"About what? Your companion must be keen to detect that part of me though." She spared a glance at Deathfang, putting away her own sword.

"Dragons recognize each other, no matter the land or time. You… don't know how to shapeshift?" Asarnil asked carefully.

"No. A friend of mine is proficient, but I could never get it to work." Erza shook her head with some regret.

"That is…" unless Emanuello was hallucinating, a tear was actually running down the High Elf's cheek, his voice suddenly shaking. "To never know your heritage, to never be able to fly, its… this has to be the most tragic thing I've ever heard. Ulthuan's dragons are already rare, there's less every decade, the dwindling of magic affecting them more than any other race." He reached to lay a hand on Deathfang's scales, rubbing them with gentleness he didn't bother to show Emanuello. "I had hoped I could one day return to my homeland, not just for my sake, but so my friend could see his home as well."

"Perhaps I could help you." Erza offered, ignoring Emanuello's face twisting up.

"No, this is my journey." Asarnil shook his head. "Perhaps we-"

"Lady Scarlet is going to the Black Crag." Emanuello interrupted, seizing the opportunity.

He did a double take again, turning his wide eyes towards her, glossing over his move. "You?"

"Yes. Goric Thunderpeak is fulfilling his clan's oath, I have to help him and his ancestral home." Erza replied, sending the elderly dwarf a soft look he didn't acknowledge, being too busy glaring at Asarnil.

"Then…" he stopped when Deathfang approached Erza again, laying down so its jaw scraped off the ground; to the surprise of everyone present, Emanuello noting Asarnil especially, the dragon let Erza lay a hand on its snout. It didn't bite off her limb, in fact it almost seemed to nuzzle at her hold.

There was a curious tingle in the air, lasting seconds. Whatever it was, Erza flashed something across her expression.

"Lady Scarlet, I will accompany you on your quest." Asarnil did something Emanuello had never seen a High Elf do to an outsider: he bowed to her.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sent Deathfang a smile, which the dragon seemed to appreciate.

AN:
Thank you @Hapless Anon. All the credit goes to him, he did most of this

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 20

Erza took in a final sip of tea as she observed who was sitting before her. Well "sitting" might be the wrong word. Laying down and not trying to crush her surroundings was a better one.

She sipped again, careful that she never looked away from these large pupils staring directly into her eyes, each easily as large as her hand. The tea was good. Emanuello had put an entire spoon of sugar in it. It was very calming.

Still, for some reason her heart would not stop pounding? Oh what could be the reason for it? She looked at the eyes in front of her and for a moment she imagined another creature being there. A dark monste sweeping away all the magic, all the channeled camaraderie of her family, her guild, Fairy Tail.

Or seven titans of flesh, scale and magic might, rampaging through Crocus, all the magic and martial power of the continent arrayed against them, and yet not even doing so much as to scratch them.

Or one with a voice and body so terribly similar to her own, a cruel clint in her eyes, with claws that threw her around like a toy. That shattered her body with a single swipe of her claws, with the ease one might break a stick over one's knees.

She took another sip, numbly noting the liquid was bubbling within her cup. Strange, it wasn't even all that hot. It took her a couple moments to find the reason: Scarlet red light was emanating from her every pore, rending the ground and the air around her in its potency.

Oh dear, that was embarrassing. It had been a very long while since she hadn´t been able to properly control her own magic power any more. She quickly tried to control herself again but it was unusually difficult. Also her breathing was weirdly accelerated, coming and going in fast gulps that didn't seem to take in enough air.

Yeah, this entire situation was truly strange.

"You do not need to be afraid of me."

Erza did not yell out an "Eepp!" and she didn't jump away, slipping on the ground and falling on her butt in the process when the Dragon suddenly spoke. Somehow, for some reason that was not quite clear to Erza however, she found that she had drenched herself in tea and the cup was broken on the ground.

She also didn't frown and glare at the big reptile beforehand, very clearly chuckling as she did not stand up again and dust the dirt off her rump.

Faintly noticed at the side was some mule screaming, and she could hear Grimaldi curse. How the Priest had managed to get the animal he was always running around with to remain this close - meaning on the other end of the clearing- to a dragon, she didn't know.

"I do not intend to harm you." The voice of the dragon was rough, hard but still had somewhat of a melodic accent to it. Deathfang was probably unused to talking in Tilean, but still, it sounded ill-fitting to come out of that immense, fang-filled maw. He almost sounded gentle. After a couple moments -which involved her sending a glance over to Grimaldi, Goric, Emanuello and his surprisingly emotionless guards- he snarled and shook his head. "Neither will I lay a claw on your companions. Much too small and thin! Too much bone, too little flesh and fat." He let out a little spurt of flame out of his nostrils, itself hot and bright enough to lighten the park up as if it was the middle of the day and not sunrise. "Especially the dwarf. Would be like licking scraps out of a can!"

She couldn't help but think that the Dragon found the entire situation mightily amusing, and for a moment she considered decking it in the snout before discarding the thought. No sense to start a fight she might very lose no matter how …. vexing he was being.

Deathfang for his part only chuckled again - a terrifying noise that came out as a rumble, not unlike an earthquake- not seemingly intimidated in the least by the Titania's death stares.

"So, what exactly was so important that required you to stare at me for an hour?" She began, glancing again at her companions, or more precisely, to Goric who was loudly grumbling at Arsanil, undoubtedly having heard Deathfang's joke. Even from here she could see the Dragonlord's smirk.

"I was evaluating the effect the winds of magic had on you." He shook his immense head in apparent disgust. "Poor term that it is."

The winds of magic? Was that the local ethernano equivalent? She had certainly noticed her body trying to make use of it like it would regular magic particles, but for some reason she found it to be less than effective.

Not to mention that at points it would leave her fine and at others it made her feel sick or give her a headache. She had been meaning to find a mage of this world to talk about this oddity, but so far didn't have the opportunity for that. Unfortunately it seemed that mages were far rarer in these lands than they were home.

The dragon just laughed more when she told him this. "You don't need to search for any of these fools to tell you what you know."

He rose up to flex his wings a little, the resulting mini tornado tearing off leaves from all the surrounding trees, and stripping many nearby buildings of their roof tiles. The dragon didn't seem to care as he sat himself down in front of her, resting his bulk on his front legs, not unlike a cat now that she thought about it.

"My kin has taught the Asur on all matters of magic long before the humans around here had even crawled out of their caves. You will find myself a more knowledgeable teacher than any of them." There was an audible pride under his words. "Of course in return, you will allow me the answers to some of my very own questions."

It was not a request, that was clear even to her. Slowly she thought about, evaluating if the Dragon might attempt to trick her before rejecting that assumption. It had no need to. For that reason she sat down after stretching her legs, getting to a comfortable spot.

"Very Well."

"Magic is not native to this world. It flows from a dark realm, adjacent to this plane of existence. That place is known as the Realm of Chaos, that is all I will tell you for now." Deathfang evaded the explanation despite her raised brow. "From that place magic flows over this world, affecting all that it touches. There are many smaller rents in existence, but I know of only two permanent places: the polar gates. One is far to the north, beyond the Empire lands, touching the place known as Norsca."

"Have you ever been there?" Erza asked. The dragon shook its head, rather quickly she noted.

"No. Never shall I visit that land, those who go there will be corrupted by its influence. We dragons may be resistant, but once it has a hold on your soul… I am getting ahead of myself." Deathfang composed himself, ruffling his wings. "From there magic flows into the world, becoming more stable the further it gets from the poles. Relatively speaking." He made a growl strongly reminiscent of a cleared throat

"What does that mean?" Erza didn't like that sound, not one bit.

Deathfang shot her a bemused look, she assumed it was with the way he peered down at her. "Have you ever seen a wizard draw so much power that they explode? Literally go up like a broken cannon? Or transform into a sack of mutated meat screaming in pain to the point of insanity?"

Erza grimaced, idly aware of Goric muttering something to Asarnil that had him scowl. "I know of wizards who can inflict things like that back home, typically dark wizards. Many tend to simply kill outright."

She thought of the ones who didn't. Wizards who had other ideas of what to do to their foes, or captives, or their own comrades if the need arose. Her fists clenched; in their mindless lust for power those fools damned themselves, taking so many innocent lives with them.

"So even from your home, magic can be misused. Unfortunate." Deathfang nodded in sympathy.

"Unfortunate indeed. Though I am not aware of regular magic users suffering such drawbacks." Erza said, crossing her legs, deep in thought. The existence of Gods were nothing unusual, she knew of similar beings back in earthland, but even Chronos hadn´t been anywhere as terrible as these beings. It… made sense that she had trouble making use of the local magic compared to home.

"Still, your magic lacks the touch, the taint of them." Fascination was blazing in his eyes. "Young hatchling, may I have the honor of tasting said power? I… know only the stories of the oldest of my kin on how the Aethyr used to be before their arrival." There was a sense of trepidation in his voice. Of respect, excitement and awe but also hesitancy and even a little fear. For a moment the immense creature looked less like the force of nature it was and more like a young boy, discovering fire for the first time, seeking it´s warmth but also fearing it´s burn.

"How do I-?" "Just put your hand on my snout and release your magic, like you have done before."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she stood up and walked forward, closer to the monster that could swallow a human with just a single bite. Deathfang for his part remained perfectly still, doing his best to not scare her, though it was obvious how much he was looking forward to this.

The first thing she noticed when she put her hand on it´s scales was that it was hot. She had felt the same thing the first time she had touched him, but now it was far more intense and more than that…. she could sense the reason behind it.

Through his vines and bones, through his every cell, magic flowed, like a torrent of grand and great might. Every of his movements, every of his acts, was fuelled by it, power harnessed and concentrated to such an absurd degree, she could hardly imagine the devastation the old drake could cause if he released it. Simultaneously she could feel just how easy that release would be with just a single exhalation.

It would be not much unlike a blast of a jupiter cannon. She knew she could survive it, but how many or her companions could? How much of this city would be destroyed?

Truly, it was no wonder everyone sought his and arsanils assistance in the fights to come.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on her magic for a moment, feeling the huge well of ethernano inside her, powering not unlike the Dragon before her. She had heard and seen how super powerful mages like Gildarts could simply push out their ethernano, creating a tornado of light that covered all their surroundings, pressing all that were not them to the ground, even the strongest of opponents barely being able to stand.

Would she be able to do the same? Breathing in once she grabbed after her internal reserves, an imaginary hand pushing in the blazing sun that was her core. And then, after one last moment of hesitation, she pushed.

From her eyes, her mouth, her ears, from her skin, from every single hole and opening in her body red light burst, no detonated out. With the force of a magic bomb going off. The place, the ground, the dirt, the surrounding trees, all where she and Deathfang had been standing, it ceased to exist.

From the edge of her eyes, through the ultra dense red orb that engulfed the two of them now, she could see how Arsanil, his superhuman reflexes exploding into action, kicking Goring behind a small ridge of earth and trees, while Grabbing Emanuello and Grimaldi and pushing them to the ground, his body and some kind of hot glowing magic artifact shielding them from the shockwave that reached them.
The body guards that had accompanied Emanullo weren't as lucky, being hurdled against nearby trees and rocks, only their heavy armor preventing the worst.

Deathfang forever didn´t shrug off the devastation as if it was nothing more than mere rain. On the contrary he closed his eyes and breathed in, inhaling large enough amounts of the ethernano to fuel a magic car for half a week. The red light was hugging his body and with every time his chest pulled inwards to inhale again it rushed into him. Not just through his nostrils and maw, but through his whole body. And the longer he did it, she felt a sense of exhaustion fill her. As if Erza had just finished a 100 Mile run.

She quickly stopped pushing ethernano out, but what was done was done. She could see how Deathfang swelled up, his eyes, his muscles, the hundreds of tiny to fist thick vines in his wings pulsing, their light bathing the now wasted park in which they were in their light.

His body regained long lost strength, his muscles and nerves, partially atrophic from the lack of magic, forced to work to accompany and aid his friend into banishment, were restored and more. It seemed as if his already large bulk grew even more and with a sudden roar he swung his maw into the air, a ball of power, of not only Ethernano, but blazing Quaysh crafted in perfect balance.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze before it vanished into blinding light, a pillar as thick as a tower bursting out of Deathfangs mouth, it´s brilliance so intense that it outshone all the other colors and lights of the day.

It razed half a dozen miles into the sky before detonating, forming what seemed like a new star, so intense and so bright in it´s heat that even the partial cloud cover that obstructed the sun that day simply evaporated, covering the city below it in sunlight.

It took erza, shaken from the exhaustion and the blinding light, to realize that Deathfang was laughing. He was laughing, almost maniacally, jumping in the air, swiping his wings and tail, not in rage but in joy.

Realizing that he was talking to hear was an even slower process.

".... uld want to see Glaurung do that! Hah! Oh young Hatchling, I feel this is the start of a wonderful partnership."


AN
Hah, all this talk about Erza finding some high elf or imperial mage teacher! I bet non of you guessed that her magic mentor would turn out to be a dragon!
As always, Credit goes to my brilliant beta and friend @Hapless Anon . Thank you for your continued support, you are a light of joy in my life.

For all of you, hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, I´m open for all critique as long as it is reasonable

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 21

"We'll have to fly." It was an easy sentence for Asarnil to say, but it shocked those surrounding him nonetheless. The dawi, Goric, moved to protest but he interrupted him before he could start to grumble.

"Flight will allow us to reach Karak Azul in mere days. Any other route will take months. Not to mention the dangers either a direct landpath or taking a detour over the sea gate would mean." He coughed. "Not that anything should be a danger there with us having two Dragons on our side, but any such distraction will mean the family of the king of Karak Azul will have to suffer their Orc captivity longer. Are you really willing to take that shame on yourself, Master Goric?"

The Longbeard, equipped in full body armor, a mighty -if damaged- gromril Hammer in his hands, stumbled like he had been physically struck in the face. He was so easy to manipulate, just like all the Dawi Asarnil had worked with so far; one only needed to word things in a manner that would shame them further if they denied a plan, and the most stubborn people in the world became as soft and manageable as putty. The oaths they were so keen were a weakness to be exploited.

"..... How will I then fit on its back?" Goric began, a slight tremble in his voice. Oh dear, he probably was suffering from some malaise with heights or flight. Not unusual with the shortfolk in Asarnil's experience. And it was easy to see other problems in this equation; for all the strength in his short legs, that would help him little to hold on to Deathfang's back, especially if they were engaged in aerial combat.

Asarnil didn't expect anything truly threatening, even the wildest and maddest of wyverns and manticores would never dare challenge Deathfang's rule over the sky, but it didn't hurt to be careful. Without Goric vouching for them, it was unlikely that the sentries of Karak Azul would allow a "human," Asur and a Dragon to meet with their King to discuss the liberation of his kin. He didn't particularly care, but if the short impression he had gotten from Lady Erza's personality was anything to go by, she would still march against Black Crag and perish in the process.

His eyes wandered to Deathfang, rolling around with the grace and boundless energy of a Dragon freshly hatched. Asarnil well remembered how sluggish he had become in the past decades. How the pauses between their missions had become longer and longer… all the money and treasure he had gained, hoping to use it for influence to force a glorious return to Caledor as was his right, instead were expended on food and endless magic trinkets to keep his companion awake, starved as he was of the might of the vortex this far from Ulthuan.

Any ordinary man or even Elf, one who hadn't spent almost every waking hour with him, would not be able to see the difference, but he did: His flanks, once fallen in, were now swollen with strength, his chest, once a thick carpet of scars and old green scales, having grown brittle and colorless without the constant reinforcement of magic as would be natural, glowed like glorious emerald, the measure of his majestic brother's chizeled musculature clear to see even for the most foolish of lays.

And that was only on this plane. A quick glance with the true sight made clear that, where Deathfang had once been an erupting volcano of magic might, now he was a blazing star, a coat of both quayish and something else completely enveloping his essence, breaking open and refueling every dried shut magic core and nerve. Even as they spoke, his companion still was growing, centuries of atrophied development being rushed by this most wondrous of energies. He was so brilliant that even for someone such as an Asur, looking at him was extraordinarily painful. Not that that stopped him from appreciating such a beautiful sight.

Just for a moment he tried to shift his sight to the woman in question, and again he had to force his face down, tears of blood running down his cracking eyeballs as they rather seared themselves than look at her, before he could so much as catch a glimpse. It felt as if his face had been stricken by a mace, it's spikes driving themselves through his pupils up into his brainstem.

With a snarl he uttered a word of power and the amulet of Isha, blessed by the Everqueen herself on the Island of rebirth sprang into action, fixing the ruptured organs and removing whatever damage the true sight of the supposed dragon in human flesh had done to his senses. A waste perhaps, but a needed one. He had received the artifact from the Caledorian court as thanks for his actions during the invasion of the cursed ones. For a moment he felt how his fist clenched in anger at the injustice their fool of a Phoenix King had done to him.

No, this woman, Lady Erza, she had to live, whatever the price. Not only as payback for the rejuvenation of his brother, but also what she could mean for his inevitable return to caledor and the dragons there.

Speaking of her, the redhead had apparently noted the dwarfs' poorly concealed distress and moved to calm him, despite his mumbled grumbling that he wasn't afraid at all.

"Don't worry, even if you were to fall down I'd catch you long before you'd ever hit the ground! Look!" Light engulfed and he felt himself take a step as an enormous wave of bloodlust hit him, almost like a physical wave, freezing him almost in place. He had felt that radiated impulse before, with Khainite cultists and the mortal berserkers of the blood god.

But none of them compared to this. This rage, the sheer desire for blood and carnage, was easily a match for many of the demons he had the unfortunate luck of meeting. And if he hadn't known who Lady Erza was beforehand, he very well might have mistaken the person before him for a daemon.

Long, leathery black wings sprouted from her back, pulsing with a dark magic magic. Her arms, shoulders, legs as well as various other parts of her body were covered in black metal, which wouldn't look out of place on a Norscan barbarian. The only unarmored areas were her six pack sprouting belly and her immense bust, where the metal only covered the direct front of her boobs. Her neck was protected by a neck guard with several shining diamonds in them, while her long scarlet hair, formerly carried free, had suddenly been bound into a high ponytail with two bangs covering a part of her face.

Her left arm held an intricate wicked sword about the length of his arm, with a number of gemstones crafted into the guard, while her left hand carried a waraxe, largely made out of black steel.

All that was complimented by a red glow surrounding her form, like a far less intense of her magic outburst before, only now it seemed more sinister.

Asarnil gulped as he felt a shudder run down his back. She made for a mesmerizing sight, if not more than a little intimidating. Still that tremble just now….

You felt that too, right?

His eyes wandered to Deathfang, who sent him a silent stare, his exaltation cut short.

Indeed.

His large eyes, formerly gleaming with joy, were now filled by worry. This sensation…. it had been entirely similar to the foul blood red light of the blood god. Her aura had lacked it's sheer malice, but still. It was definitely cause for some alarm.

She had mentioned that people back in her world also practiced black magic. Might it be possible that this winged armor was created using such? I can detect no corruption in herself and felt nothing when she gave me part of her power.

Could she be hiding it from you? I can't detect any, but I can't even look at her with the true sight without my eye bursting and burning from the intensity of her might.

Deathfang waited a couple seconds, closing his eyes as he reached for his deeper senses. Unlike the Dragon Prince, he had no need for his eyeballs to see and he wasn't blinded by Erza.

She has been touched by warp beings, but I see no corruption in her.

Should we ask her?

No, for now we let that particular sleeping dragon lie and wait, while keeping our eyes open.

Deathfang rose up, staring into the sky, before wandering the surrounding city, his eyes blazing with anger for a moment.

It seems that I have made a folly. My prior burst has alerted the vermin…. and they move to eliminate the perceived threat. We need to leave, for it is unlikely that they will allow us to gather our resources in this city unmolested and routing them out will see far too much destruction to the landscape and to great an expenditure of our ti- they are here!

Deathfang had barely stopped talking, Asarnil already springing into action, jumping forward as he did so.

Not a second too late as a green bullet raced through where he had just stood. Twisting himself midair, Asarnil tore out a knife from his belt and tossed it into the air, sparing just a moment to witness it pierce through the jezzail gun of a skaven sniper, just as they were about to fire another shot. The muzzle flash abruptly turned into a green fireball as the warpstone within the weapon detonated, killing all five of the rats instantly.

But they weren't the only ones of their kin. The skull of a bodyguard who had accompanied Emanuello exploded into a shower of splintered bones and gore, indicating another sniper team found themselves considerably more lucky in their aim.

The only reason why Emanuello and the other guard didn't share a similar fate was Erza appearing before them in sudden flash of speed, swiping two more jezzails out of the air with the flat side of her axe, ignoring the bullets fruitlessly pouncing of her armor and flesh all the while.

Not that they were the main target. It had to be dozens of jezzail teams who opened up on Deathfang, using the very best of warpstone munitions available to them. Which in skaven terms meant that they were a miniscule amount less likely to blow up into the gunner's face than actually firing.

Not that it mattered, even from here he could see the bullets impacting his brother did nothing more than shatter against his scales, not even leaving a scratch, much less an injury on him. Deathfang for his part only grunted in anger and clenched one of his massive green clawed fists, and a moment later some fiftyish skaven burst apart in fire, their bodies liquified and their weaponry molten in seconds.

For a moment there was nothing but silence as the burned remains tumbled down the roofs and windows they had occupied, the cloaks of fire that had long since choked any scream their pathetic lungs might have been capable of mustering not even as much as blackening the space around them, much less spread the flames.

For a moment it seemed it was over, as if the city, normally so chaotic and loud, itself was holding its breath. Then the canal around them, one of the countless lanes making up much of this city's transportation network, exploded. The couple of boat drivers mulling around this particular island, including the one that had brought Emanuello and Erza back to the park after Deathfang had discovered the redhead dragon, screamed before their vessels were shattered and sunk. The men themselves fell and were quickly torn to shreds and consumed by the masses of the skavens, who in their numbers seemed as if the canal around them was boiling.

The first of them to enter the island proper wore strange metallic facial masks covering most of their skulls, which Asarnil quickly recognized as diving gear. Their drenched paws clutched crude swords, clubs and spears which made a sharp contrast to the technology allowing them to move below the deep canals of the city.

This many skaven in the middle of the city? This quickly after Deathfang had roared? That has very worrying implications for the state of Miragliano's subterranean defenses, have these morons really abandoned their caution towards the underground over their pathetic internal squabbles?

Instead of answering Deathfang simply opened his mouth and spat out an ancient word of power that even Asarnil couldn't understand, and for a moment the world took on a yellow whitish colour as the Emperor Dragon called a forth a lightning strike thick as a tree and glowing with ethernano from the heavens and onto the water, causing a cacophony of shrieks and screams that quickly ended. The next moment the stench of burned rat flesh and fur laid itself over them like a thick cloak.

Less talking, more rat killing.

#########################################################################

Erza wasn't unfamiliar with flying, she herself had numerous winged armors after all. Still, flying on a Dragon's back…. it was something else. The way the muscles and scales writhed under her body, the way that with every flap of his wings, Deathfang weaved spells to plunge him to ever greater depths of speed, it was truly amazing. He did it as naturally as breathing. Even in this strange, dangerous world, dragons were amazing creatures.

Besides her she could see Asarnil, who was riding on the saddle just below the dragon's neck, eyes closed and body utterly unmoving. If it hadn't been for periodic adjustments in his stature, she could have thought that he was sleeping.

Just below them, bound around Deathfang's chest was Goric. He had insisted on them taking the fastest possible way to Karak Azul… which happened to be on the back of an Emperor Dragon. He had become decidedly less boisterous when he found out that there was no more space on the dragon's back, and he himself had to have been bound around his lower half.

Despite all her assurances that she would catch him -even going so far as transforming into the Black Wing armor in front of him and showing him just how fast she was in it by tossing some man sized rocks a couple hundred meters into the air and catching them midflight- he was still extremely distressed.

"Damn magic." He had grumbled, no doubt trying to sound as dignified as any elder. His shaking fists and fast breathing made him seem more like a scared child pretending to be brave.

Nevertheless she had convinced Goric that she could catch him if he fell, as much as he disagreed. If she had to compare him to someone else, she'd say that he looked a lot like Natsu whenever he entered a train. At least he didn't vomit, something about a dwarf's stone constitution, or at least so he said.

Just as a security precaution she still had her Black Wing armor on, convincing Goric enough to agree to the trip. Every few minutes she checked on him, each time finding him either wide eyed and heaving or looking like he was sucking on a lemon. Still, he looked well enough that she didn't have to worry too much.

Not like with her armor. The jolt from before hadn't happened again, but instead there was an itch in the back of her head. Like there was someone watching her; when Erza glanced behind her, she saw nothing but her streaming hair and Deathfang's tail in the empty sky.

Oh, and Emanuello.

"Myrmidia have mercy, please, I'll repent for all my sins." He was whimpering, the same as when they left this morning. He wrapped his arms around her torso, ignoring any spikes poking his own thin armor or his skin, hanging on for dear life in spite of wrapping a rope around them both. His eyes were clenched shut and he let out a cry every time they dropped altitude, which happened often.

A growl was silenced by a semi-rare movement from Asarnil, laying a steadying hand on the dragon's neck. The extra weight was no issue as Deathfang explained, but that wasn't the real issue.

Erza shifted, feeling Emanuello hug her even tighter. His second bodyguard had sadly passed away, stabbed by one of the few skaven who had made it onto the island. Most of those had been easily cut to pieces by her and Asarnil, but the skaven that had stabbed Rica had been different, wearing some black clothes and some green daggers, one in each paw and it's tail. It had tried to kill Emanuello next, but Goric had managed to deflect its attacks and killed him together with the Merchant prince, who shot the rat in the snout with some small pistol.

That was overall a wild moment, yet Emanuello insisted the skaven wasn't the reason he was coming along. He said it was in the interest of his family to be in the good graces of one of the major dawi Kingdoms. When she and Asarnil reminded him of their destination he had laughed; Emanuello wasn't going to the Black Crag, he planned on waiting at Karak Azul. For business opportunities he claimed, going on a long winded spiel while Goric gave him a funny look.

Thinking about the skaven, she needed to have a talk with Goric and Emanuello about them. She had thought they simply were creatures that lived in that large swamp, but the raid in Miragliano painted a different picture. They were well organized, well equipped, and were amazingly persistent. Cowardly or not, they drove themselves into a fury in each encounter. And there were always so many of them.

Erza hadn't missed the fact she was present in both major attacks, when she had displayed her power. Could the skaven be following her, chasing her the same way those Fimir or beastmen did? Although she considered a second option: there were simply so many skaven she had tripped over them without any focus on their part. That possibility disquieted her; if there was just that many skaven in two random locations, then how many more were there elsewhere in the world?

Ahead Goric shouted something indignant, his stubby arm waving at the sun getting low in the sky. He probably wanted to make camp; Erza could have kept going, a rolled shiver from Deathfang indicated he wanted to stay on the move. Still, her stomach was growling, and she was sure Emanuello's grip was loosening without him wanting to. Time was of the essence, but arriving at Karak Azul exhausted would delay the rescue mission. Besides, she wanted answers.

Not just about the skaven; before they left Erza had told Deathfang about her reason to visit Miragliano, seeking the mages there to return to her world. Erza didn't mind delaying that meeting too long, the mages weren't going anywhere. She couldn't ignore Goric's request in good conscience, not when she was his only option.

Deathfang had chuckled. "Since we're coming with you anyway, I will have time to teach you a few things about magic those mages don't know. Things even the elves don't know. I don't know if it can help you get home, but it can't hurt."

Authors Note:
As always i hope you enjoyed this and many thanks to @Hapless Anon for being a great beta

 

[AllenWalker]

The knight and the Demon

Mira was behaving strangely.

It wasn't what Erza would normally think about while enjoying her heavenly strawberry cake, so sweet and moist and melting on her tongue. But now, Mirajane's oddness was ruining what could have been a good day.

Taking a seat in the corner of the Guild Hall, sixteen year old Erza observed the usual goings on: Elfman was being quiet and meek while Lisanna chatted with Cana, Macao was laughing about something with Wakaba, Master Makarov was nursing a beer at the far wall, and others were doing their own things. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Natsu and Gray running past, quietly relieved the latter remembered his shorts this time. Gray was yelling something about a rematch while Natsu was talking about a race, Happy flying beside him as he typically did. They weren't fighting or making a scene, thus Erza allowed them to pass unharmed. A quick glare made both boys flinch and run faster.

Taking another bite, Erza's gaze drifted back to the source of her unease. Leaning against a pillar nearby her table, Mirajane had her arms crossed and a leg off the floor, wearing her usual black top and skirt, as well as a scowl. One that unexpectedly grew worse when she spared a peek at Erza, turning away with a scoff.

Mira had been like that all morning. The usual threats and challenges were absent, leaving Elfman and Lisanna alone without any trouble. She didn't even try to interrupt Erza when she scolded Natsu and Gray earlier, sending the two running before they made another scene. All Mira did was lean against that same pillar nearby her table, her eyes continually falling on Erza before snorting and looking away.

Very strange.

Sooner or later Erza would have to confront Mira, figure out what her deal was. She doubted she was still sore about their last brawl; Erza won that fight fair and square, she only pulled on her hair after Mira did it first. So what if they broke through a wall in the process? Mira started it. Upon reconsidering, Erza wondered if that was her issue after all. Another bite filled with whipped cream didn't offer an answer, neither did the strawberry on top.

Scraping up the last few crumbs, Erza finished her cake in preparation for having another. She had no more set her fork down when Mira left her spot; tensing up, Erza immediately reached for her dull practice sword, little more than a metal stick but plenty strong enough to beat her black and blue. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt as Mira strode to her side, staying out of arms reach.

Expecting a mocking laugh or an insult, Erza felt confusion when Mirajane simply scowled.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" She demanded with a scoff.

"I don't have anything planned, why?" Erza raised a brow, her guard raised. What was she after?

Mirajane bared her teeth, and turned away. "Tomorrow is… I wanna race you. I need flying practice and beating you helps."

She got the request out quickly, refusing to meet her gaze. Now Erza was puzzled, that sounded like an excuse the boys made when she caught them doing something they shouldn't. All the while her strange attitude hadn't vanished, not only was she still standoffish but she refused to look at her for more than a split second at a time, hissing out a breath through clenched teeth.

Still, Erza wasn't one to turn down a challenge.

"Fine, where will I beat you? And what do I get once I win?" She gave her a smug grin, confident in her own victory. There was no way that she'd let Mira beat her in a race!

"You can try!" Mirajane snapped before unexpectedly withdrawing, averting her gaze while her fists clenched. "The guild women's dorm, tomorrow at noon. The loser has to do whatever the winner wants! For the whole day. Don't be late." Whirling around, she stomped off without waiting for confirmation, mid stride catching Natsu in a headlock when he and Gray ran past her, wailing on him much more aggressively than normal.

Left with an empty plate, Erza frowned. Just what was that all about? Oh well, she had more important things to care about. Turning around she served herself another slice of strawberry cake, warding off a fleeing Natsu before he knocked her over.

The next day…

It was a bright summer day, low wind and with barely a cloud in sight. Birds were chirping, leaves were billowing, children were laughing in Magnolia's park. Perfect weather for training, or for this case, beating a rival.

Shortly before noon Erza strode up the dirt path to the women's dorms, taking it slow and easy to conserve her power; not that she had doubts about emerging victorious, but due diligence never hurt. Though she still considered going all out for an introduction, her new armor practically demanded to be shown off. It was so shiny, she felt bad for hiding it.

Shaking her head, Erza spotted Mirajane leaning against a tree like yesterday, this time doing a double take upon spotting her. She picked herself up and scoffed when she was in earshot, this time settling for a glare. Just as Erza feared she was just as strange as yesterday, showing a light flush to her cheeks; she couldn't be embarrassed about being early, she definitely couldn't mock Erza for being late.

"Good, you showed up." Mirajane huffed, crossing her arms.

"Of course. I won't run from a fight, especially one I'll win." Erza grinned. However, her eyes drifted to a small basket by the tree: it looked like a fancy picnic case. Mirajane loudly cleared her throat when she tracked her gaze.

"Its a snack. I… I got some chocolates and some candy, to celebrate my victory." She thumped her chest for emphasis, the redness in her cheeks growing brighter. "What, you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, I hope my winnings taste good." Erza rolled her shoulders, limbering up for the race. "Now that I'm here, tell me the terms. Where are we racing to?"

Cracking her neck, some of Mira's usual cockiness returned to the forefront, letting her stab a finger at a decrepit watchtower some distance away. "First one to fly to the top there and back wins."

"That's all?" Erza chuckled, only for Mira to grit her teeth.

"There's some rare flowers blooming up there. You have to grab a bundle and bring them back intact." Although Mira spoke with confidence, she had a look in her eyes that Erza couldn't identify, whatever she had on her mind caused her to chew a lip.

Erza raised a brow. Now that her suspicions were stoked, she wondered what her real goal was: she hadn't seen Natsu or Grey acting differently than usual, so she doubted Mira enlisted their help to prank her. Were Elfman or Lisanna waiting there? For a moment she wondered if this wasn't a secret training test by Macano or Master Makarov, perhaps even Gildarts.

Whatever it could be, Erza was on her guard now.

Rolling her shoulders to loosen up, bright light enveloped Mirajane's form, though Erza noticed an unusual flinch mid transformation. Not one of pain, like she tried to hide herself; she was never shy about unleashing her magic before, why now? When it dissipated Mirajane was far more fearsome in appearance, her hair standing up alongside two horns, her hands and feet ending in vicious claws, and two leathery wings sprouting from her back.

"Well?" Mira's voice was huskier, but she still carried that expectant tone. That, and her cat-like eyes still had that look Erza couldn't identify.

Nevertheless Erza followed suit, a flash of her own equipping her newest armor: huge metal wings, a snug top held by a jewel, clanking skirt over flared boots, and a circlet with twin ears making a low key crown. Heaven's Wheel emptied her savings and left her with a hefty debt towards Makarov, yet she hadn't spent a second regretting acquiring it.

Sporting a grin as she adjusted to its new weight, Erza's revelry hit a snag when she saw Mirajane staring at her, flashing something before she gritted her teeth. Erza cocked her head to the side, utterly confused.

"What is wrong with you?" She had to ask.

"It's nothing. Nothing." Mirajane turned away, crossing her arms and gritting her teeth. "…do you know what day it is?"

"No?" Erza raised a brow, she was sure she heard something about today but she couldn't remember what.

After a second Mira huffed. "Its… it's Valentine's."

"Oh." Erza blinked, only to be even more confused. Why would that matter?

"Anyway, cmon." Mirajane insistently waved. Using a heel she dragged a line in the grass, looking like she wanted to say something before reconsidering. "Are you ready to race or wanna rest some more, slowpoke?" The challenge lacked Mirajane's usual bite.

While that was confusing to Erza, she understood this part well enough. Setting herself on the line, she sent Mira a confident smirk while pouring magic into her armor in preparation, seeing her wings ripple in anticipation. They didn't need anything so obvious as a go signal, a nod did the trick.

Like a bolt of lightning they were off, Mira's Satan's Soul versus Erza's Heaven's Wheel. The wind whipped her hair back, threatening to bring tears to her eyes from the sheer velocity. But seeing her rival's beating wings pulling ahead of her, Erza didn't slow down at all, instead she coaxed more power to her armor for extra speed. Grass flew by just out of reach, the target growing larger the closer they got.

However, Erza made a serious mistake: she kept checking on Mira instead of watching where she was going. She glanced from side to side, but she hadn't yet fully grasped that flyers needed to think in three directions. Thus, she didn't realize there was a boulder in her path until she abruptly skidded off it, a screech of the armor's plate yanking her attention away, just in time to slam into the old stone tower.

As the stone cracked from her landing Erza went limp, gasping in pain as she momentarily dropped. The impact from the fall down drove the air out of her lungs as she coughed for a moment, cursing her carelessness. So invested had she been at outpacing the Demon teen that she had not at all considered what was before her.

Despite its looks, the tower was surprisingly robust and had sent her tumbling down after her face planted against the stone wall. The headache she got from this was secondary to the damned sight she had received while going down: Mirajane, glowing in dark energy, reaching the top.

For a moment she considered flying up there and contesting her victory, her head did after all make contact first with the rock. But no, they said who would reach the top first. Mira had won, fair and square, even if that vexed her to no end. She gritted her teeth when her wings crumpled under her weight, softening her landing from spine breaking to merely painful.

What was she even doing for so long up there? She had expected her to come down and gloat about her having to do what she wanted for the rest of the day? She felt a small shudder go over her. She'd probably try something incredibly shameful.

Slowly she rose up again, glaring at Mira who was slowly descending. Her claws were by her sides, but she immediately spotted her tail curled behind her, as if clutching something. Probably the flowers she mentioned, hiding them in case Erza was spiteful enough to destroy them. A thought that did cross her mind after such a humiliating defeat.

Mirajane's feet landed on the grass, her expression narrowed as she stared at Erza. In the middle of stumbling to her feet Erza did a double take; she expected a mocking laugh and a jeer, not a chewed lip and… concern? Erza tapped the side of her head, not feeling any warning signs of a concussion. She wasn't imagining it, Mirajane actually looked worried.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly.

Groaning after putting weight on her feet, Erza cringed at a crumpled wing over her shoulder, never mind the numerous smaller dents and scuffs on her armor. A quick guess at repair costs left her blanching, with how expensive it was…

Letting out a breath, Erza put on a strong facade. "I'm fine. Just a couple scratches." Testing her arms located a bruise on her shoulder, the worst of her injuries. "Okay, you won. What do you want me to do?"

Mirajane inhaled sharply, baring her teeth in what was unmistakably a cringe. Behind her the tail reached around, a rustle confirming she had a large bundle of roses in hand; roses, thick and crimson red, and to Erza's confusion all the little thorns were gone. She wasn't up there that long.

"I… lied earlier. There aren't any special flowers growing here, I… I put these here this morning." Mirajane confessed, taking another breath.

"Why?" Erza let her mouth hang open. A couple days of strangeness weren't enough, Mirajane had to fake that? Something had definitely gotten to her.

Unexpectedly Mirajane let a thin smile onto her face. "You were supposed to find them dummy, they're for you."

"Wha-!" The rest of her sentence was mumbled as Mirajane grabbed her head and pressed her against her, face to face, lips to lips.

Blinking was the extent of Erza's response, her eyes as wide as saucers. She definitely hit her head, she was hallucinating; there was no way this was happening! Mirajane couldn't be kissing her, her tongue wasn't sticking inside her mouth to wrestle with hers, that was, was- she simply couldn't process it. This had to be the concussion at work, it was too shocking to admit.

Erza was still stunned when Mirajane withdrew, cupping her cheeks while quick breaths came and went from her gawking face. A nervous exhale left Mirajane blushing, quickly shoving the roses into Erza's numb hands.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Erza." Mirajane tittered, caressing her face. Erza just squeaked in shock.

AN:
And this is my happy valentine´s to all of you. Thank you so much for reading my story and enjoying it. It makes my day whenever I say a comment on one of my stories or when someone likes them. I hope that you are spending your day with your significant other or at least a very good friend. I´m gonna be spending it with @Hapless Anon to whom goes massive credit for writing a bunch of this chapter.

I wish you all a truly wonderfull time.

 

[AllenWalker]

Skaven 2

The skaven alliance to finally topple the damned man-thing city of Miragliano was a grand one. Besides dozens of "minor" skaven clans, all of whom had promised to lend tens of thousands of slaves and thousands of actual warriors, there were four of the great clans who had promised aid, each producing hosts whose size and quality rivaled the combined size of all the minor clans.

Clan Mors had declared that, besides the usual cannon fodder, it would commit over 400 Rat-Ogres, intended to act as shocktroopers to break through the great pike blocks the man-things of Tilea were known for. Furthermore, multiple great worms and squids, modified to carry bombs produced by Clan Skyre to rupture open the cities sea gates and landside walls.

Supposedly once their creatures had torn holes into the great defences, the hundreds of thousands of skaven slaves and clan rats belonging to the lesser clans would swell through the holes to distract the enemy forces in the city, shortly before packs of Storm Vermin, provided by Clan Rictus, would push through the cities inner sewers, to be supported by diver teams and a navy of Clan skyre.

Long had the Skaven wished to destroy the man-thing city, vengeance for all those years of defiance against the superior race. Now with the clans enjoying a period of relative unity, where backstabs occurred only infrequently instead of commonly, when fights between the competing clans were broken up before the casualties grew inconvenient, they were preparing to finish them off at last. No longer would this thorn to Skavenblight exist to threaten the capital of the true rulers of this world.

So assumed Scrak, one of the venerated and feared Grey Seers in these lands, before his scheme met an abrupt halt.

Sucking in a breath, Scrak thrashed against the chains holding him to the floor. The pale fur that marked him as a voice of the Horned Rat was tattered and bloody, the rusty chains digging into his hide. One of his horns was broken off, aching his skull beyond tolerable levels. His robes were stripped away when the rival storm vermin dragged him into this chamber, an insult worthy of a thousand painful deaths.

Hearing the cell door creak, Scrak squeezed his eyes shut in response to a pounding headache, his stiff joints acting up everywhere. His last warpstone nugget was days ago, withdrawal was setting in. This was an agony reserved for slaves, not for one of his exalted position.

"How… dare you…" Scrak growled at his captor leisurely strolling in front of him. His blurred vision kept him from seeing who he was, though his scent marked him as an upper ranked battle leader.

How dare they treat Scrak this way, him! Scrak was a Gray Seer, chosen emissary of the god of all Skaven! By his word the will of the Horned Rat was passed to all these scurrying wastes of meat, for the benefit of their entire race. Who was this sniveling coward who dared to harm Scrak this way!?

A pas grabbed his remaining horn to jerk Scrak's head up, putting him face to face with a scarred yet grinning snout, his armor marking him as a Mors clan war leader. Scrak struggled to remember his name, he was sure this one had opposed a plot to steal that magic source that one Skyre underling had pursued.

"You are in trouble-trouble, blessed one." He chuckled, whiskers bristling with excitement.

"Scum-thing, you will die!" Scrak thrashed against his chains, digging new cuts into his abused skin. He didn't care, he just wanted this grinning fool to die.

Instead of obeying his will the war leader poked a sharp claw at his chest, digging the tip enough to draw blood. Scrak accidentally helped him by attempting to lunge, straining against his chains with a snarl. But he didn't even flinch; not only had he invaded his chambers and injured him, but he was also a welp who didn't have enough respect beaten into him. Yet another reason to torture him.

Chuckling to himself, the rat backed up and waited. He smirked at Scrak tiring himself out, rattling the chains more than a man-thing or dwarf-thing would, spittle hitting the stone floor from his gnashing teeth.

"Gray Seer-prophet Scrak." The voice suddenly filling the air lacked much of the usual reverence any skaven usually held for the blessed servants of the Horned Rat. Scrak froze, slowly turning his head to the second newcomer; unlike the Mors welp, he recognized who this rat was.

Trinkeel Mournclaw, leader of the hosts of Clan Skyre for this invasion, one of the potential candidates for warlord of the entire grand endeavor looked down on him, his black eye burying itself into his with a glance that utterly lacked even the very concept of understanding or mercy.

Despite his previous arrogance, Scrak felt an inadvertent squirt of fear musk and he could just barely suppress an instinctively panicked squeak.

"Please tell-say why you chose to send a group-host of our best-greatest stormvermin, equipped-armed with the latest of Clan Skyre's unrivaled-unmatched technology to attack the great lizard-dragon thing? You endangered-threatened the secrecy of the great masterful scheme! Now the man things will be more careful!" Trinkeel snarled, foul spittle hitting his open wounds.

Smack. Scrak had no more opened his mouth before Trinkeel backhanded him, barbed knuckle guards of his gauntlet tearing wide gashes across his cheek, cutting off one of his whisker buds from the blow. Screeching in the cold cell, Scrak was cut off by a punch to the stomach that drove out what little air remained in his lungs. Blood splattered the floor, a few drops landing on Trinkeel's feet.

Heaving for breath, Scrak gasped at a grip on his broken horn yanking his head up. His eyes squeezed shut with a heave, gazing fearfully into Trinkeel's rage filled eyes.

"Not poisoned, you don't escape-die fast. Tell me why-why you risked the great plan." Trinkeel dug a claw into his horn stump right where the nerves were, Scrak hissing then gasping in raw agony. "Before I lose my temper!"

"The magic! The magic-power!" Scrak screamed, thrashing against his chains. The withdrawal, the hunger, his wounds, combined they eroded his normally indomitable will; he just wanted it to be over.

Lo and behold, the claw in his stump withdrew.

"Magic-sorcery?" Mournclaw looked at him with clear skepticism in his eyes and voice. How dare he doubt a prophet of the horned Rat? For that alone he was going to boil his flesh off once he was free. While he was still alive! Scrak just needed to get out of this damn cell…

The claw dug in again when he didn't answer, eliciting a hiss. "Yes-yes! Skyre's sub-leader sent troops to capture magic-sorcery source days ago. It…. was brilliant! I felt the magic-power. It was like a gift-present of the great horned Rat! It would've been great treason-heresy to not seize it! If that fool-idiot Rattenson hadn´t been so incompetent-weak I could´ve torn down-destroyed the defences and armies-troops of mannling city myself with that gift, yes-yes!" It wasn't his fault no! And he could still be use-

Scrak never managed to finish that thought as a moment later, Mournclaw swung his halberd, a fearsome weapon made out of steel and warpstone, infused with numerous sorcerous technologies of clan Skyre, decapitating the Gray Seer in an instant. The moment the warpstone blade touched the skaven´s fur so did green lightning explode from the weapon, boiling and torching Scrak's body in a half liquified mess before the corpse even hit the ground.

"This is troubling-problematic. A new magic-power source? It does fit to what the other seer-prophet said." The Mors war clan leader, Xak Deepflayer, said, scratching his snout. Trinkeel wasn't foolish enough to trust Deepflayer, but he was willing to admit he had a cool head.

"It matters not. Miragliano will fall-die." Trinkeel gave the liquified mess a contemptuous snort. Scrak was an idiot undeserving of Grey Seer status, he felt zero unease for executing him. A chortle from Xak showed his own mocking grin.

Of course the both of them were already contemplating how to use this new magic for their own merits, as was only proper for skaven.

AN:
So, a sidestory chapter behind the skaven assault of last chapter that got wrecked by deathfang, also as an apology for being so inactive in these last days. I hope you all are safe in these trying times and till next time

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 22

"So what are orcs like?" Erza asked while slicing through a tree with her ax, catching the falling trunk with her arm while dispelling her weapon. Looking around she observed her surroundings, seeing if she had roused anything from their sleep, before flapping her wings to gain altitude, just in case a monster tumbling out of some cave decided she looked like a morning snack.

"They are moderately big- for humans or Asur at least- and pretty brutish, all things considered." Deathfang answered, gurgling down another piece of flesh from the wyvern that had decided to protest the big reptile's entrance in its territory. Deathfang for his part was simply happy about the meat and carried the bits not stowed away by Asarnil around with him.

He smote it out of the sky with a singular spell, sloughing it´s hide and flesh clean of it´s skeleton, killing it pretty much instantly.

Erza didn't know the Dragon for very long, but she'd say that he enjoyed using spells now, after she had given him parts of her reserves. In fact, he reveled in it like a fish who had been stranded but found its way back into water shortly before it's demise.

After the Wyvern had crashed into the forest below, they had landed. Partially to eat the kill and partially because evening was approaching, and in Asarnil's opinion Emanuello would freeze to death if they crossed the Vaults - the name of the local mountain range- at night.

Goric had immediately begun hacking the big skeleton apart, using a spare ax instead of his hammer, something he still refused to give up, despite her lopping off the left half of its head. In fact, Erza has seen him train with it, trying to use it more like a one bladed ax.

He intended to use the bones as an opening gift to King Kazador, as was apparently custom. Karak Azul had an exceptionally capable Runelord -some kind of archmage, though Goric had insisted that it was not magic what the Runesmiths and Runelords were doing- by the name of Thorek Ironbrow- who could make good use of them as ingredients.

"Are they strong? Do they use magic and how many can we expect?" This was going to be a rescue mission, every bit of knowledge helped. Erza expected of course to get more details once they reached this Karak Azul, but it helped to not come into it like a complete buffoon.

"Relative to me and you? Very few of the greenskins are truly strong." The dragon flapped his own wings and flew up with her, aiming for the mountain platoon where the others were. "Their magic is like their race, primitive and crude. Instead of using any big invocations or the like, they instead beseech their gods for aid and materialize their "magic" that way."

He made a retching noise and sent a superheated blast of flame into a nearby hill, the resulting detonation leaving nothing but a crater. "Just calling it magic comes close to an insult. For numbers…" He is silent for a moment. "We can expect many. Hundreds of thousands at least, maybe millions in Black Crag. Even the both of us can not combat such a horde and hope for victory."

Erza had expected Deathfang to sound bitter about the last part, but he wasn't, or at least it couldn´t be heard out of his voice. He said it like it was merely some fact of life, nothing more, nothing less.

Within moments his far larger wings had ascended towards her level, giving the far smaller wings of the fire empress armor an amused look. Tzzch, if he was closer, she would kick him into his side for that.

Her wings were perfectly adequate for her size!

She was going to kick him later. For now she was content to simply fly up to the plateau her new comrades were at. She could ask them more about orcs, maybe they knew more or had a different perspective on things than a literal dragon.

Arriving at the spot, she found them putting the finishing touches on an evening camp. Emanuello found logs to join a small pile, while Asarnil worked on lining a fire pit. Meanwhile Goric was building several small traps, swinging his head when she approached.

"For grobi, this'll get 'em before they slit our throats." He gestured at a small spike pit, one of several he carefully hid.

"What do you know about how Orcs fight?" She joined him walking back to the center, where Emanuello set down a large hunk of wood at Asarnil's direction. He pulled a couple bits of flint from his pocket, but when Deathfang stomped up he froze, suddenly drooping with a sigh.

One small buff created a burst of flames the size of Emanuello's torso, lasting only a couple seconds. Yet the result easily ignited the dry wood, bringing a large evening fire that would last until morning with some tending.

Plopping on the ground without bothering with a bedroll, Goric curled a bushy lip as she had come to expect.

"Dumb brutes, each one. But they have some cleverness to them. They can suss out tunnels, make some traps, basic stuff but they can. Not as well as grobi, those-" he clenched his fists before loosening them. "Don't ever think the ones in front of you are all of them, and don't ever believe they give up. You can send the greenskins running but they'll be back for more, they always do. You can kill a million and the next batch will be just as eager."

"How are there so many?" Erza was curious where their cities or villages were, if they had any.

"They come from spores in the ground." Asarnil chimed in, using a stick to poke the fire as Deathfang curled up nearby, and Emanuello walked over to hand Erza a sleeping roll; she nodded in thanks but focused a raised brow on the elf. "Ulthuan scholars discovered this millennia ago-"

"After the Dawi confirmed it for ourselves." Goric interjected. The stick froze for a couple seconds before pushing over a burning log.

"Anyway, they emerge from fungus growths in places like caves or swamps, places like a Karak with a little remodeling." Asarnil's expression didn't change, but she heard Goric grumbling. "As such, clearing an infestation is difficult. Miss one area and they can rebuild their numbers at an astonishing speed. It is why the Dawi struggle to retake any of their fallen holds, whether it be the Black Crag or Karak Eight Peaks far to the north. They don't fear death because for them death means nothing."

"I have heard stories of the Empire lending help to their efforts, unsurprising given their history." Emanuello spoke for the first time in a while, though he still sounded a little hoarse from the ride earlier. Whatever his state he was well off enough to start cooking a pot of stew, using scraps of wyvern for meat. Erza's stomach rumbled, she needed some food after a long day.

"In its prime Karaz Ankor wouldn't need help, we would've wiped out the greenskins and thagoraki in short order." There was a note of bitterness in Goric's tone, answering her unspoken question. "Long ago the Dawi were united in a vast empire across the place humans call the World's Edge Mountains. It was a time of prosperity, of power. Then came the Time of Woes. The land was torn asunder so instead of one vast kingdom, we were scattered into countless small holds. Thagoraki and Grobi assailed our lands everywhere. After we lost so much to the elgi-"

"Don't dismiss your role in the War of the Beard dwarf." Asarnil had turned unexpectedly cold, Emanuello snapped up and even Deathfang flicked his ears. Erza tensed, feeling the air suddenly grow tense.

"My role? Your people attacked us." Goric stabbed a finger at him. "Raiders hit our trade caravans and towns, leading to your colonies to the west. Many Dawi were killed, their bodies defiled, and their beards shaved because of it. The grudges of Zakbar Varf stood for centuries. And what did your Phoenix King do? He laughed at our outrage!"

Erza was about to ask why shaving was listed too, but Asarnil tossed aside his stick. "Those raiders were Druchii, who were recognizable with basic observation skills. We had just survived a devastating civil war, we knew nothing of what your people suffered. Had you bothered to search for yourselves instead of demanding recompse, your kinsmen wouldn't have died."

"Searching!?" Goric bolted to his feet, hammer in hand. In the time Erza needed to blink, Asarnil was upright with a sword in hand. For his part Emanuello only hesitated a second, putting a short distance from the fray. "High King Starbteaker did everything he could to avoid conflict! He told his own Kings to cool their tempers when they brayed for retribution. He sent his best ambassador when your phoenix king told him they answer pleas, not requests. And your king still laughed in his face before dishonoring him!"

"Your king blamed everything that happened on all Elves, instead of that fool Caledor II or the true culprits. You played right into your hands." Asarnil held his sword to his side. "Coming along was a mistake. I apologize my friend, but we should not have followed her after these dwarfs-"

Erza heard enough. In all the talk she hadn't taken off her armor; Asarnil found a gauntlet around his head, his sword yanked out of his hand in an eyeblink, and before he could do more than twitch he was yanked towards Goric. The dwarf was halfway towards raising his hammer when she slapped the weapon aside, snatching a grip on his helmet.

With practiced ease (and a flash of nostalgia), Erza dealt with their squabble the best way she knew how: she swung her hands, crashing the two men's skulls together.

THUNK.

Both men dropped like sacks, Asarnil twitching slightly as Goric groaned, flopping a hand to roll over. Erza judged it sufficient, planting her hands on her hips with a nod.

A chortling growl turned her head, finding Deathfang curling his lips back in an imitation of a smile. "That was entertaining, and deserved."

"I, uh, wouldn't think that's the smartest decision." Emanuello risked, without taking a step closer. "

"Perhaps not. My friend means well, but he still carries the pride of his kingdom. As such he has struggled to see his own faults, although to his credit he is much more mellow than he was when we were first exiled." Deathfang reached his tail to lightly tap on Asarnil's head, his groan keeping it in place so he could help him stand.

"Deathfang…" Asarnil moaned with equal parts pain and betrayal.

"I'm sorry my friend, but its true. The dwarfs aren't blameless but your kingdom bears more responsibility." Deathfang sounded moderately apologetic, helping him stay upright until his feet could hold him.

"He, hehe." Goric breathlessly chuckled, having not even attempted to stand yet. But in response Deathfang dropped his tail beside him, making a hefty thunk.

"That doesn't allow your sass. So drop it."

"He's right, we have a job to do." Erza proclaimed, snatching Goric's wrist to dangle his stout body off the ground, releasing him when she saw his eyes bulging. "Now then, instead of arguing we need to learn teamwork. The best way to do that is to get started right away."

"Ahem-"

"You've been behaved Lord Emanuello, thanks." Erza smiled at the slumping man, then turned her stern gaze to the others. "Goric, you said there were grobi in this area. Before we sleep we should deal with stragglers. Asarnil, you should work off your frustrations."

The dwarf and the elf balked.

"You can't be serious, after all that?" Goric sputtered.

"I am not taking one more step towards that hold, you hear me?" Asarnil snapped.

"You will work together." Erza glared, and to her pleasure her old trick worked; they shrank back, showing submission like her old friends. Good, they were behaving, and they could learn. "Good. Now come, it'll be totally dark soon."

Grabbing their arms before they could escape, Erza dragged them away from their encampment. Avoiding the traps Goric made, she twisted to see Deathfang curling up by the fire, Emanuello slumping awkwardly beside him.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure he's still breathing." The dragon waved his tail as Emanuello simply dropped to tend his meal.

Skidding towards the woods, Erza tossed Goric to one side and Asarnil to the other, summoning a sword and an axe to keep her hands full. "Clear these woods."

Without waiting for them, Erza launched herself into the treeline, hacking through foliage in her way. While she dashed at high speeds, she quickly whirled around to track the men: Goric and Asarnil glared at each other, risking a fight that may very well turn serious. Narrowing her eyes, Erza backhanded a tree with the ax.

They flinched at the tremendous crash, and spared one more glare at each other before tromping into the gloom. Flying above the forest floor, Erza watched them for a moment to make sure they did as she commanded. Asarnil was adept at hopping over obstacles, though he was still whacked in the face by a tree branch. Goric simply smashed whatever was in the way, only halting to repeatedly pound at a twisted root.

"Elgi-" Erza recognized that word, but whatever else was in a stream of grumbled curses she didn't know. What was important was that he kept moving, doing a good job of tracking his progress; during the trip Emanuello did mention dwarfs had good night vision, having spent so long underground.

Asarnil was quieter and faster, pausing to listen every thirty seconds or so. Not in fear, she was sure despite his strange body language compared to regular people. She assumed he was alert instead of terrified anyway; he was faster yet more composed, like a ninja with alteration magic. Watching him vault over obstacles felt off for reasons she couldn't explain. He was too fluid, too controlled to what she was used to seeing.

Rolling her shoulders, Erza swiveled back to the forest for enemies. She didn't have to wait long.

A few minutes walk from the camp was where she found the first of them: a party of ten to fifteen short people in rags and tattered leather, surrounding one who rode a scarred wolf like a horse. On an apparent patrol they chattered amongst themselves in a weird jabber, she didn't understand a word of it.

Perching on a tree branch over the party, Erza raised a brow at their appearance; hunched over, dark green skin, large noses and long pointy ears like Asarnil, and suspicious glances at each other. She assumed these creatures were grobi, gobbos, goblins, or whatever they were called. They weren't tall enough to match Deathfang's description of orcs. Whatever these things were they didn't have much for weapons, mostly crude spears and rusty knives that looked stolen.

Seeing them, Erza frowned. It… was weird. From the descriptions she had gotten so far, the greenskins had been said to be some scourge desiring nothing but death and battle. Yet she couldn't really look at those and seriously think of them as a threat. They were barely larger than children!

Were they really going to be fighting and killing kids?

Hearing tromping through the woods, Erza felt her guts clench at the halting party, going silent to swivel towards the source of the sounds. That deft movement, those stomps, mumbled curses, they could only be Asarnil and Goric. Although the men kept a buffer between them, they were closing in on the goblin party.

The wolf leader turned his mount towards them with a couple others at his flanks, though these ones looked nervous clutching their makeshift spears. The rest however dispersed, going to bushes or trees or other places out of sight. Their ragged appearance aside, these things blended in well; she had to keep tracking them after losing one after another.

Snarling after crashing through a bush, Goric emerged with lots of scuffs as Asarnil hopped out onto the clearing. For a second they again glared at each other, but that changed upon spotting the wolf.

"Oi! Youz tink yu kun come te 'ar wuds!" The rider's gibberish was barely understandable, he sounded like Natsu or Mirajane when they were badly drunk. Were they drunk? She couldn't ask, for a kick caused the wolf to snarl, and Goric to beat his fist against his chest.

"Come and get some grobi!" He roared, rushing at the goblins with Asarnil purposely holding back, his widening eyes seeing the makeshift trap.

Erza dropped between the goblins and Goric, startling the creatures so suddenly they yelped, especially the semi-hidden ones. The dwarf's battlecry came to an abrupt halt, his feet scuffing on the dirt.

"Lady Scarlet, what are you doing?" Asarnil spoke before Goric could, bringing his sword to a ready position.

"Neither of you saw fit to tell me you're fighting children?" Erza's tone was dangerously low, matching his earlier hostility without effort.

"Eh?" The wolf leader gawked, but she ignored him.

Goric growled. "You don't know what you're doing Scarlet, those grobi aren't kidlings. They're as dangerous as thagoraki."

"I'll decide that." Erza swung, deflecting a thrown dart from one goblin via her sword. But before she rushed in she swung the axe into the ground, blocking Asarnil's path mid sprint. He took the hint and halted, sword raised defensively.

Ignoring Goric's sputters, Erza dashed into the goblin patrol, willingly letting herself be surrounded by the scampering creatures. The wolf lunged at her, its jaws clamping over her gauntlet; she wanted to cringe at the foul smelling slobber while it yanked and chewed on her hand, but she had more important things to focus on. Namely the rider.

The goblin screeched when she snatched its little arm to yank it off the wolf's back, throwing the little creature into the air. Feeling jabs of blunt stone tipped spears on her flanks, in one extended motion Erza backhanded a leaping goblin with a knife and brought her sword down on the wolf. Another little part winced at its canine yelp before she lopped its head off, throwing her now freed arm to knock the skull off onto another attacker.

That was the only death she allowed; snatching another who leapt onto her shoulders to start stabbing with a hunk of glass, she bashed her fist against its little skull, using very little force; a jabbering snarl went quiet, the thing lolled in her grip with a dazed look. Another slightly harder look, punctuated by one jabbing its spear against her leg again and again, knocked it out. Child or not, she wasn't going to hold back that much.

Now that she had a good benchmark, the rest followed. A sweep of her gauntlets shattered several spears, knocking aside a knife that had a stomach churning stink to the blade. One after another she smacked on the head, front or back was irrelevant so long as they went down yet stayed breathing. Sprawled out on the ground with blood on their heads, seeing them still breathing she judged it good enough.

Alas, the goblins were small and fast enough that she couldn't get them all. Four or five turned and ran, showing visible panic that stayed her blade. Greenskins didn't fear death, which was what the dragon claimed, but these ones looked plenty afraid.

Lowering her arms, she swiveled to send a glare at Goric, standing over an unconscious goblin with his hammer raised. This time he rebuffed her warning gaze.

"These aren't kidlings lass, grobi will repay your mercy by slitting your throat." His hammer didn't lower at all.

"Lady Scarlet, as much as it irks me he is correct." Asarnil raised a placating hand. "Consider that he has fought against greenskins for a long time. I myself have fought numerous battles against orcs and goblins. This is your first encounter with them, correct?"

"I don't want to be part of a group who kills children, regardless of what they are." Erza glared, nudging one groaning goblin. "Tie them up."

"Before you commit to this path, I suggest following the fleeing ones. No doubt they ran back to their burrow." Asarnil pointed to where the remaining goblins ran.

Tracking his gaze, Erza grimaced. Goric only just now lowered his weapon, without taking a step away from his victim. She saw how fast Asarnil could run when he wanted to. If she left, these goblins were done for.

But she considered his words. She remembered Goric's rant on the road, what kind of hardship his people endured at these creature's hands, how absolutely furious he was against the skaven. Looking at the closest goblin, she spotted a large scar on its head; they were used to violence.

Baring her teeth in a hiss, Erza turned and flew off. She did so with a heavy heart, knowing she was consigning those goblins to death. Laying on the speed, she rushed to get there before the men could finish off all of the goblins, surely…

Her thoughts slowed with her flight, landing to start running. A weird, very unpleasant stench reached her nose, something that was a strange mix of mushrooms and rotting meat. Bumping into a rattling pole, Erza raised a brow at the effigy of a large toothed shape surrounded by sticks and small bones. Another was nearby, and another. All leading to a shallow cave that was full of chattering goblins.

A goblin landed on her shoulders and tried bashing her skull in with a rock, she slapped it away on her approach. More swarmed her, some had the sense to throw stuff like rocks oher. lobs of foul smelling goop. Barely half of the thrown stuff hit her, even though she marched in a straight line. When one rock finally bounced off her forehead she stopped, not gazing into the gloom.

There were two new effigies set up by the cave entrance. Both freshly made, that was obvious by looking at the wet blood on the stick lattice. Strung up with vines and sharp wooden stakes, the two humans were slumped and unmoving, covered in sickly discolored wounds, their flesh ripped open all over but their open guts drew her horrified gaze. One was a man who may have been in his early twenties, she couldn't tell because only the lower half of his face was present, the goblins scalped everything from his eyes upwards. The other was shorter, showing a great many more cuts on his bare torso, and though he lacked his scalp as well, she could see he was younger by far.

A goblin latched ahold of her free arm, stabbing and yanking. Another stabbed her sword arm with a dented carving knife. Still others mustered the bravery to advance with spears, perhaps because of a spider the size of a small horse advancing behind them, a jeering rider yelling gibberish to get the rowdy mob to swarm her.

Erza's fist clenched.

The goblins on her snarled and jabbered, not realizing how much danger they were in. They never found out, the closest either one came was a flash of confusion as their heads went flying. As they dropped Erza slowly turned around, an axe reforming in her hand; the goblin horde had swelled remarkably fast, dozens turning into hundreds. The front ranks had vicious snarls on their misshapen faces, which immediately twisted into terror.

Using one fist to crack her neck, Erza requipped Purgatory Armor. She needed to be extra thorough for this.

"I owe them an apology." Erza muttered, launching herself at the goblin horde.

Thirty to forty goblins died in a second, turned to mush from her sheer impact. As she barreled forward, overpressure ruptured the eardrums of another fifty, leaving them helpless against being thrown into the air, many splattering against the cave roof or trees or wherever they landed. Her sweeping blades claimed the luckiest victims, slicing goblins in half or beheading them in two enormous sweeps, cracking the walls from her sheer power.

"Gah! Wa-" the spider rider screeched instead of running, not that doing so would save it. Erza's downward slash took off the chittering spider's legs, her fists crushed it's abdomen, and she snatched the goblin's legs to yank it apart like a wishbone. It's blood hit the ground before the spider's body, the remains flung into another gaggle of goblins who just started to run.

One got into the forest itself. It dropped its weapon while its comrades died in droves, making a straight run into the underbrush. Roughly jerking, its little legs kept kicking as it was lifted into the air, panting for breath past a constricted throat; it didn't need any air after Erza ripped its head from its body.

Sucking in mouthfuls of iron tasting air, Erza turned her eyes to the forest. The red tinge in her vision was annoying, yet somehow she could see more goblins nearby, ones rushing to the commotion. She heard more too, goblins and spiders and boars and larger creatures, such as a mob of taller brutes crashing through the brush.

Good, they saved her the trouble of hunting them down.

Another tremendous crash obliterated a pack of wolf riders, grinding them into the dirt where they belonged. One lived just long enough for the axe to cleave its head off, continuing to swing until she chopped a tree down in one blow, letting the trunk fall into another pack. The survivors had barely stopped flinching before she twisted one's arms off then crushed its back with her boot.

So it went. A goblin duo trying to wrangle a boar, a large group of up to a hundred well armed creatures, dozens of smaller bands. Spears broke against her armor, knives and daggers shattered upon impact, pots of foul smelling goop were thrown too slowly, arrows by the bushel went nowhere or broke, wolves and spiders and boars were goaded into attacking. Nothing stopped Erza.

Heads went flying. Blood coated the soil. Screams filled the air. One yelping goblin crawled on hands and knees, her boot pressing against its back making it squeal until she stomped.

The only thing to break through her haze was a group of larger creatures, similar to the goblins but taller albeit hunched, sporting upwards facing tusks on their bestial visages. These ones were armed with cleavers or clubs, clad in makeshift armor that might have posed a hindrance to Emanuello's men. Orcs, she assumed.

"Oi! Dere'z da-" One taller than her bellowed, jabbing its mace in her direction. Its hand went flying still clutching the weapon. Then its shoulder had its weight taken off. Seeing the imbalance Erza corrected the problem via twin slashes that hit its waist and neck simultaneously. Her sword was plunged into the ground, allowing her to snatch the falling head by a tusk.

The others blinked numbly, watching her lift the severed head. Too stupid to grasp what she had done it seemed. Erza scoffed, dropping the skull to add to her collection; carving through a swung mace, she bisected its wielder to lunch through its viscera towards the next, her snarling mouth catching the filthy blade of a rusty cleaver, a chomp shattering the metal and letting her hands find the offender's neck, ripping him apart.

Tasting blood that wasn't hers, Erza grabbed the final one just as it bellowed, "WAAAGH!"

This one, she needed to do something special with it. Something to warn these monsters who these woods belonged to, something to teach them fear. So with that thought, she lopped off the hands of the last orc, grabbing it by the jaw and ankle, and lifting its thrashing body overhead. Then, she pulled.

Its incoherent snarls vanished after its life, both halves thrown apart. The legs were smacked against a tree, the head landed on dirt. She didn't want to damage the skull, she needed it for her-

Twitching, Erza dropped to her knees with a gasp. She gulped lungfuls of iron tainted air, the red haze in her eyes receding and advancing with her heartbeat. Something was wrong, she-

Cracking sticks whipped her around, snatching up her axe and sword. The lithe figure had her tense, preparing to lunge at the thing, dismissing its bleats and cries… wait.

"…arlet, Scarlet!" Blinking, Erza suddenly realized Asarnil was before her. Sort of, he halted a couple dozen paces away and backed up, his sword quivering in hand.

Rising to her feet, Erza took a second to scoff at the blood on her armor. And it was so clean too.

"It seems I owe you an apology lord Asarnil." Erza marched past the orc bodies, detecting more goblins nearby. She tapped the side of her head upon feeling a weird ache.

"Scarlet, Erza… what happened here?" Asarnil gaped at the carnage, and her.

She saw how Arsanil slowly approached her, looking visibly exhausted and run down, a strong contrast to his usually perfect physique. What had upset him so much?

Still, it was good that he was here.

"Collect their skulls, of all of them. They will make for a good gift to the dwarven king." Looking at the path of carnage she had carved through this forest and the goblins, collecting all their skulls would take some time. Still, she could transport a hundred or even a thousand skulls with her requip.

For some reason Asarnil quickly followed her command without complaint, practically stumbling over his own legs, so eager was he.

How nice.

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 23

She didn't like these lands, Erza decided, as she bent her upper body to avoid a large, if crude ax from crashing into her collar. With almost contemptuous ease she raised Benizakura and sliced through her opponent, bisecting him from head to crotch, his organs and innards spilling out of the horrendous wound. The green flesh, muscles and crude armor offered no protection against the demon blade. And yet despite that, the orc refused to die, instead bringing his axe down in yet another futile attempt to take her with him in death.

He ripped open his maw to spew another litany of the garbled nonsense that she had grown so accustomed to hearing in these last couple days and weeks.

The Orc boss, as she had been so helpfully told by her companions, was the leader of the local tribe of greenskins, which could explain the sudden collapse of cohesion among what was left of said tribe.

A couple dozen goblins and a handful of orcs were all that was left of the two hundred or so that had ambushed them at first. Deathfang had barely landed and started to make for a camp when they came out of the woods and surrounding hills, riding on oversized wolves, spiders and boars, screaming obscene war cries. A good fourth to third of them had perished before they even reached their lines, a single breath of Deathfang annihilating the first couple ranks of the beasts, not that fiery doom had perturbed them in particular.

On the contrary, the sheer ferocity of resistance greeting them had just emboldened the pests, the prospect of a 'gud foight' driving them, as Goric had explained to her. The leader of this particular attack had been considerably taller and wider than the specimen they encountered in the vast reaches of the vaults, being almost twice as tall as she was. Its 'armor' had been a mess of smashed armor and steel plates, taken of it's previous victims and stitched together in a poor mockery of smithery. In many places brown patches of dried up blood still covered spots where it's original owners had been struck down.

Even worse to the his shoulders had been strapped a banner of leather and skin, various green orc skulls and words painted on it. Given the nature of the boss' "armor" it had been obvious what the source for the leather of this thing had been.

The very sight had invoked a deep, burning anger in her and she had crossed the distance between them in an instant.

Most of the leader's bodyguard had perished in a deluge of magically fueled fire, courtesy of Deathfang, but the orc boss himself had almost miraculously survived the onslaught, green light originating from the banner covering his whole form and canceling out even the emperor dragons white hot flames.

Her own 'normal' blades had barely fared better, the steel blades being magically halted just centimeters from it's chest and crotch and an unseen force driving her back, diverting her killing strikes away, inadvertently gutting two of the last members of it's bodyguard.

It had roared something about her being a 'git' before attempting to smash her with an axe, that was more an oversized piece of metal strapped to a ripped tree branch than something approaching a respectable weapon. It had been trivially easy to dodge and deflect it's blows, though it's magic shield remained inviolable, even when she had sent it flying with a well placed chest kick through a group of goblin archers that had opened up on her, uncaring if their foul arrows hit their leader or not.

This had vexed her and she had discarded her less effective weapons, summoning benizakura with a single flash of magic all the while more and more of the horde was burned to ash, death fang easily warping the flames he spat out into long snakes of fire that chased and surrounded the desperately dispersing greenskins.

The magic of the boss's banner was potent but it was nothing to the things that Benizakura had faced before. A single thrust was enough to pierce through it, the demon blades red effortlessly searing the protective green light, the whole disgusting banner shredding itself in its attempt to halt her.

With a sigh she stepped back from the dying monster that still tried to strike. It attempted to say something, but the orc never came to spew his latest nonsense as Benizakura cut through it's thick neck with the same ease with that it cut through everything else. As the now headless carcass dropped to the ground Erza stepped back, manifesting a couple swords and spears to send after the few still living orcs more as a motion of habit at this point than anything else really.

This was the fifth time in a week that they had been attacked by orcs. The. Fifth. Time.

She picked up the orc boss's skull up and sent it a glare before disappearing it into her pocket dimension, careful with it to land into an area where her other weapons and armor were not. Erza wouldn't want them to get smeared in blood after all, at least not before the start of a fight.

Behind her, Goric, Asarnil and even Emanuello had begun the grisly work of separating the heads of the greenskin's whose bodies had in some form survived Deathfang. Emanuello in particular cringed at the grissly work, but in the end his appreciation of a good first impression and the promised reward of the Dawi King seemingly overpowered his concern that some of them were just pretending to be dead -something that had occurred more that once in the past- even if he made sure to stab them before coming too close.

Erza for her part remained where she was, looking if any new hordes of beasts or orcs would appear from between the many hills and small forests making out the landscape around them.

The Border Prince principalities, so had Goric and Emanuello told her, was a land with little civilization, teeming with monsters and bandits alike. She had seen little of either in the week since, when they had passed the vaults and into the plains beyond them.

Neither monster nor bandit had troubled them, all respecting at the very least the implied threat of a large dragon flying overhead.

Well almost everyone. Where man and beast had seen an emperor dragon and then decided that maybe it would be the best idea to not be seen, the orcs had appearently seen something else.

Namely a good fight.

And by the gods, there were a lot of orcs in these lands, who wanted a good fight, not that she couldn't understand the sentiment. Erza had battled her comrades in Fairy Tail many a time just for the sheer joy of proving who was the stronger, most of all Natsu.

Erza had crushed a number of their tribes in the mountains, mostly to gain experience in fighting them as well as skulls to for the promised reward by King Kazador. Not to mention that the dwarves of Karak Azul would most likely take the chance of them saving their family a lot more seriously if they brought proof of their combat prowess.

So, in a sense, she should be happy.

She wasn't.

There was a limit to things. A limit to how often one could beat up Natsu in a month before it stopped being fun. A limit to how often one could eat strawberry cake before one got a stomachache. A limit to how often one could tolerate a horde of screaming, excrement reeking green barbarians storming out of the woods to bash their heads in before one had enough of it.

Even worse, unlike the goblins in the mountains, the orcs here were not pushovers. The goblins had had nothing that could hurt her, not really. Their spears, knives and arrows were covered in filth and poison that could make even the smallest cuts dangerous for a person like Emanuello. To her however, such weapons were little more than toys, breaking on her skin like brittle glass.

Their large numbers were easy to scare off, especially once she had cast down a couple hundred with the likes of Heaven's wheel or flame empress armor and once they had routed, she and Deathfang could easily wipe them out from the air.

The orcs were different.

They had met groups of the tall green brutes amongst the goblins, but those had never been many, easy collateral whenever Deathfang hit some of the goblin 'formations' with his breath or massively destructive magic.

Not a single of the attacks she had witnessed so far had less than at least a hundred orcs among them and their leaders had proven themselves opponents that could not simply be swept away.

Worst of all, some of them had had magic support. While she had yet to see a true mage among the greenskins more than once had she come across orcs who had worn various equipment that was simply to strong for what it was. Banners that protected and strengthen them, enough that they could wound even her, if she was not carefull.

They wouldn't be able to inflict actual serious injuries on her, but it was a concerning upgrade to the total inability of the goblins from before to harm her at all.

In total they had to have killed close to a thousand orcs and goblins by now, going from the sheer pile of heads that began to form inside of her pocket dimension, and yet from the continuous ambushes and attacks, it didn't look like they had made even a dent in the greenskin numbers.

Stabbing one last Orc who reached for his axe, Erza inadvertently slumped onto her hilt. The past week's nonstop fights were starting to grate, she was getting tired of spending almost every waking minute killing idiotic greenskins, now that her patience was exhausted her stamina was getting chewed on. Yanking the blade free, she decided that the skull wasn't worth the effort and trudged to their overnight camp.

While she was finishing off yet another batch, the others had made a tiny encampment on top of a hill, giving a tiny bit of defense to goblins overnight. If the usual stakes and pit traps Goric tidied up weren't enough, which so far they worked more often than not. While Asarnil cleaned his sword Emanuello worked on a stew overtop of a small fire.

Erza was handed a bowl, then had to give it a long look at the meager amount inside. Emanuello groaned when she looked, dropping onto a log with an equally lacking meal, he and the men alike when she checked.

"Yes I know, I'm trying to stretch things out. And don't-" Emanuello groaned at Asarnil turning up his nose, cringing and scowling at the same time. "Last of the black pepper spice and soon to be the last of the salt. Your alternative is the hardtack." He nodded towards the crate holding the tasteless bricks, giving it a kick; the box rattled ominously.

"Ach, hardtack. A poor umgi´s version of stonebread." Goric muttered, poking at the mess inside the soup before reaching for the 'bread'. "You make for one poor cook, umgi. Why, the valayan matrons back at my throng could have made us a feast out of nothing more than sawdust, ale and dry meat." He broke up the bit of hardtack that he got, crunching it together with his thick muscular hand before raining it down into the bowl. With a grunt he reached into his beard and pulled a flask out from somewhere.

Not for the first time did Erza wonder if the stout dwarf practiced some form of requip magic, since, no matter how often she deemed to think that he had finally run out of alcohol.

"Ah yes, stonebread. Rocks and mushrooms are all dwarfs need." Asarnil muttered himself, listlessly poking at his meal. "For the rest of us, we need something a bit more substantial to live on, such as, oh say, taste? I trust that this isn't just a bit of an Asur mindset at work."

"Elgi, if your kind knew even the meaning of the word taste, you'd know that all you need for that is fine dwarven ale." Almost nonchalantly did Goric tear the cork of the flash with his teeth before letting a steady stream of the brown-golden liquid fall into his meal, shaking the bowl all the while.

Emanuello for his part simply sighed and went to eat his portion, obviously trying to ignore the insults at his cooking skills. But not without an envious glance at the flask, the last time Erza saw him drinking wine was the day after leaving. He had been responsible for the cooking, ever since he had told them that -as a measure to avoid poisoning- he had learned and used to cook himself relatively often. Of course, as he assured her it was the reason, he usually had far better ingredients available.

Asarnil groaned. "At this point I'd even be willing to try squig. So long as it isn't this edible wood."

The question of food had become an urgent one after they had left Miragliano. Not one of the four really regretted the decision to leave so quickly, the presence of an entire army of skaven gunning for them especially in a city where so many people would inevitably land in the crossfire (not to mention the outright volcanic political situation thanks to the murder of Borger) had made it undoubtedly the correct decision.

Yet still, they had been unable to pick up much food as they did and the beasts and wildstock they hunted down on their travels mostly disappeared down Deathfangs maw. In fact, whenever they made camp and didn't have to fight off an orc tribe did Asarnil melt away in the night, only to return with some felled deer, boar and -in one particular case- the carcass of a horse sized spider, just to feed all of it to his companion.

Erza didn't think that the Elf had spent more than a handful of hours of sleep in the last week, not that he seemed very bothered by that. Almost like Goric in that respect, able to keep up activity longer than the human; she wasn't about to note that aloud, she went through too much effort to stop their fighting the first time. With her patience at an all time low she had even less reason now.

Morning came with only one attack in the night, a handful of goblins who evaded their larger kin tried to raid their camp. Between Goric's traps and Deathfang's night watch, they didn't do much, not even taking the edge off of the dragon's hunger. Smoke plumes approaching their position was good enough cause to pack up and leave, before yet another orc war party could die against her blade.

It was getting close to nightfall when Asarnil picked up from his saddle, Deathfang making a grunt sound over his beating wings. That cued the rest of them to take a look, Erza putting her face in the wind by leaning sideways; past her watering eyes she saw several more plumes of smoke, thinner than a typical war party's signal. And below… she saw a hamlet.

It was a small one to be sure, a few dozen houses surrounded by a wall atop of a hill. Standard for this region as Emanuello and Asarnil explained before. Nonetheless she saw none of the usual signs of attackers, no horde outside the defenses, no burning buildings, just a tiny village.

"What do you think!?" Emanuello shouted over the wind. His answer was Deathfang coasting to the ground, heading for an adjacent hill some distance away. He bleed altitude until he flared his wings, coasting to a bumpy landing atop of the grass coated soil, lurching the riders when he came to a complete halt.

Erza was the first to hop off, hitting the rocky ground with its stiff, hardy grass, and stretched her legs. Despite the odd feeling she got when using magic now she played with the idea of flying herself next time, these long trips were making her sore. As she groaned, Goric untied himself to hit the dirt, shaking with a customary grumble while Emanuello clambered off on shaky limbs, stumbling a moment before catching himself. Asarnil was the sole rider to show no signs of stiffness, merely cracking his neck while Deathfang drew in his wings.

"I can assume you will want to see what that village has to sell, if they have anything worth buying." As expected, Asarnil huffed at the tiny hamlet a small hike away from them. "It may be wise if Deathfang and I wait here, lest the peasants go into a panic."

"Mm, yeah, not a bad idea." Emanuello grunted while stretching the stiffness out of his limbs, snatching up the coin purse. He had claimed Miragliano currency wouldn't be accepted out here, but gold was still gold, and if that wouldn't do, he had a few precious stones hidden away.

Erza's stomach rumbled, much to her reddening embarrassment. Luckily for her dignity Emanuello followed suit a second later, earning a scoff from Goric while he hitched his broken hammer.

"I'll be coming along too. Someone needs to keep you two out of trouble." He marched off, only dangling a stubby leg for a second to deal with his own stiffness. As she went after him she saw Goric pawn yet another flask, but this one he gave a frown to before reluctantly putting it back. "Plus I need to get some extra ale reserves. Grugni willing, they have something that at least resembles beer down there."

"Great." Emanuello stretched himself a little. "Then let's get moving. What's the worst that can happen?"

AN:
I´m back. My finals are over and went relatively well, meaning i have time for my stories again.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I´ll be happy to read and answer your feedback. Until the next chapter, I wish you all a fantastic day.


slava ukraini

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 24

At this distance the hamlet looked reasonably well defended, Erza thought. On the walk towards the village she overlooked the place, Emanuello hiking to her left and Goric marching to her right, grimacing at trekking over the uneven ground. His short legs ensured they had to slow down on his account, filling the air with his grumbles.

"I should introduce ourselves." Emanuello hiked in front of them, crossing the rocky landscape until a stone caught his foot, hobbling him a second before he composed himself. It only lasted a second and he showed no signs of losing his calm.

Neither Goric nor Erza stopped him, the latter examining the wall instead. She saw signs of repair on the wood palisade, places that looked freshly dug in compared to the rest, patching up sections of stone fortifications. Here and there were eroded spots that looked burned, and glancing left she saw a broken spear buried in the wood. Sniffing the air brought no unusual scents to her nose, in fact the place smelled better than Miragliano in many respects.

"Hrmph, shoddy." Goric muttered beside her.

"Is there anything human built that's not shoddy to you, master dwarf?" The merchant prince's retort was relatively dull, just a part of the regular bickering that occurred so regularly between her companions. Not that she wasn't used to such things between Natsu and Gray whenever they butted heads, or Juvia and Lucy's adorable struggle for Gray's attention.

The memory of the latter saw a blush appear on her face. Juvia was obviously trying to get into their resident stripper's pants and it could be no coincidence that Lucy kept getting naked around them, all the while Gray and Natsu kept fighting for dominance as Lucy was obviously also attracted to Natsu, or, could it be? Had Lucy been trying to get Erza's attention with her constant hedonism? She slapped her burning cheeks at the sheer thought. It was so much like one of her novels. Of course she was respectful about the complicated web of her comrades' relationships and didn't interfere as well as giving them space but still…

She shook her head trying to get her head out of the gutter. This was not the time for her daydreaming! Erza clenched her fist, fighting back a wash of raw homesickness. She would see her friends again, once this Black Crag affair was dealt with.

Meanwhile Emanuello halted a short walk from the main gate, Erza pausing when she saw figures darting behind covering walls, with some arrows poking through small holes. They were out in the open, but Erza was confident in her chances of making it to them before Emanuello was hurt.

Luckily what came out was not a hail of arrows or bullets, but a man in badly fitting armor looking down the improvised parapet. "hello? Who cahmes zere?"

The man spoke with a terrible accent, clearly unused towards speaking Tilean and he eyed them suspiciously, though for some reason his eyes hung longer on her than the others. Maybe it was the dress that she wore?

Emanuello had reasoned that a woman like her walking around in battle armor would raise many unnecessary questions for them. Also that such obvious signs of wealth like her equipment would see them being prized three to four times more than a commoner, and while they had orc skulls in surplus, the same was sadly not true for actual coinage.

As such she had deigned to equip some peasant clothing in her storage, that she possessed in case it was ever required to play a peasant girl in a stage play. It was a brown tunic that covered her from neck to just above her ankles, with the only real complaints she had being that it would offer remarkably little protection against any form of attack, and that it was pretty tight around her chest.

"Well met! We are just a couple of travelers! I'm Emanuello Luga and these are my dear companions Erza Scarlet and the Venerable Dwarf Goric Thunderpeak!" He gestured towards them and Erza made a polite bow while Goric simply grunted, staring at the guard in question, no doubt criticizing the poor state of his arms, the ill-fitting ganbesom armor or his casual stance in his mind.

For his part the Guard chewed on his plumb lips for a moment, his eyes once against passing over them before answering. "Ahnd whaht ees zat you hahve cahme to hahnfleur to do?"

His accent was even worse than before and Erza wondered for a moment if he was doing that on purpose. Emanuello seemed to have gotten the same thought as he frowned, before quickly returning to his empty smile that had put up from before. It looked surprisingly convincing and had Erza not spent so long with him before, it would most likely have fooled even her.

"Well, we-" Before her friend could even really start a second figure appeared on the 'wall' batting him over the head with a pan, glaring at him.

"Enough Betrand, stopp just pestering the travelers. You can see that they are just to third after all." "But sweetie, we-" "Enough, you'll let them in right now. It's Dankfest eve and you are here shaming all Hahnfleur with this theater!"

Erza heard a faint laughter behind one of the shooting holes and after a couple moments of awkward silence did the gate swing open, revealing a group of villagers, holding rudimentary spears, mallets and pitchforks. They did their best to look threatening, even if that effect was undercut by the cheery blonde that came down from the palisade, after she had finished scolding her presumed husband.

She looked like she was in her early twenties, with a round face, brown eyes and straw blonde freckles, showcasing a huge warm smile in her dingy tunic. "Welcome travelers, welcome to Hahnfleur!"

Without ado she came up to snatch Emanuello's hand, giving it several hearty shakes before switching to Goric. She got halfway to him then stopped, the dwarf resting a hand on his hammer as well as glaring, causing her to sigh and back away.

Her eyes lit up when she reached Erza, practically sparkling as she briefly circled with a stunned face. "Wow, your hair is so lovely!"

"Ahem, so this is the village of Hahnfleur?" Emanuello stepped in as the guard, Betrand, tramped towards them, waving off villagers so they lowered their makeshift weapons.

"That's right Mister Luga, or should it be Sir? You have the air of a noble about you." Betrand noted.

"Technically yes. Bretonnian right?" He checked, casting a displeased look as Betrand did a double take at Erza, cautiously approaching her like he was meeting a wild deer.

"Aye, though we're a generation removed from King Charlen's crusade we uphold the ways of chivalry." He spoke without looking, giving Erza a surprisingly formal curtsy. "Lady Scarlet was it? Allow me to personally welcome you to our humble village."

"Well thank you." Erza curtsied back. In the corner of her eye she saw several men and women mumbled excitedly, going a little louder when she brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"For such esteemed guests we're happy to welcome you." The woman spoke up, flashing a huge smile as she suddenly blinked. "Ah, my manners. My name is Elise, I help look after the village's welfare, especially on the eve of Dankfest. Please, you must be famished!"

Elise grabbed Erza's wrist, showing some care in dragging her off on the path to snagging Emanuello, behind them Goric stomped after the party while warding off the excited villagers. Erza let herself be led around, picking up speed after Elise grunted from effort.

"We, uh, don't wish to be a bother on a festival's eve…" Emanuello was trying to watch where he was going, with his frequent stumbling Erza wondered how he could look ahead and still misstep so much. The blonde wasn't pulling him that hard.

"Oh nonsense, Dankfest is an open celebration." Elise led them to a larger building, going past several small plots of stubby crops. Erza slowed to overlook them, noting they didn't appear to be that large for as many people as she saw. Still they were definitely productive little fields, she didn't see a single bony figure along the way.

In fact, Erza glanced around again; nobody looked underfed, malnourished, or sick. Quite the opposite, as a couple of eighteen year olds jogging up to her provided, they practically glowed with life. These two were good looking in her opinion, not to Sorcerer Weekly standards but not lacking either. Not surprising then that they wished to thank whatever deity they worshiped here.

"Hi there, Lady Scarlet!" The girl beamed, bowing with her presumed boyfriend before craning their necks back. Whatever the cause of the odd cultural quirk of Tilieans, the one that kept their gazes lowered when they spoke to her, was pointedly absent from this pair to her relief. Though after they veered around another attractive man she saw they still didn't look her in the eye.

The boy lit up when she brushed her hair aside, smiling despite her displeased frown; she needed a wash. "You, uh, you're so pretty."

"Thank you, how kind." Erza bowed along the way, apparently the cue to banish the pair. They ran off like excited kids, going to spread the word to whomever was willing to hear them out.

Erza swept her head; now that she thought that, she suddenly noticed she didn't see any children around, though that was not too surprising.

Given the initial response of the small town -sending one guy up to play the over arrogant fool as target while the adults prepared for a fight- they had most likely sent them away in the basements and cellars. Still, they seemed to have changed their attitudes quite fast, perhaps they wanted to be extra sure? Whatever the case, the building loomed.

"Ah, Lady Elise? About this, ah, festival, we'd like to see about purchasing supplies first." Emanuello shook his head, smoothing out his tone. Erza was sure Goric grunted something but she couldn't be sure.

"Oh, of course. Its right over here anyway." Elise halted in a few paces, whirling to jab her arms at a row of several wooden stalls.

While Emanuello kept staring at her like she was pulling his leg, Erza overlooked the offerings; sadly there were no sweets that she could see, but plenty of food. And, after a testing sniff, she smelled spices. Badly needed spices so their food would have some real flavor.

"How much?" Erza stopped at the first, making the man turned away from carving a little wooden figure, what looked like a woman with huge oval hands, before he hurriedly set it under a table.

"Same as… oh my." This man craned back to gawk at her, just like everyone else in this village it seemed. "For you Lady? Free… so I'd love to say. But I do need some coin so…"

"Very well… do you have cake?" Erza suddenly asked.

"Sorry my lady, whatever sweets in Hahnfleur are earmarked for Dankfest. Special occasion yanno?" The man shrugged without taking his eyes off her face, though he did spare a few peeks at her lower body. "I can tell you we have a special local pastry, we call it the Red Bun. It tastes exquisite."

Her mouth reflexively watered. "Thank you for telling me."

Whirling around, Erza swept her eyes for Emanuello to find him at a loaded wagon, speaking to its resting owner. She marched over, seeing Elise chatting away wearing a smile, along with another couple pretty ladies who looked interested. She assumed they wanted to know what city life was like, she remembered plenty of times where townsfolk were curious about Magnolia.

While Emanuello was continually glancing at his new giggling friends, he managed to keep a level tone when speaking. Possibly due to Goric standing nearby, arms crossed and sending everyone, especially the merchant prince, a dirty look. As he reached for a flask she rushed to Emanuello's side.

"Ordinarily ten silvers for two crates seems rather excessive in my opinion. I do understand that life out here is hard of course, and your festival makes for a buyer's market." He prattled as Erza brushed aside a woman, making him look over. "Ah, Scarlet. I'm currently haggling with this gentleman regarding his prices."

"Weez gots to make a livin toos." He spoke in that same ridiculous accent Bertrand put on, but he didn't seem as fake.

"That's true, but all the same. Ten coins for two boxes of hardtack? At the least you could add, say, a wineskin or two." He pressed, ignoring Erza clearing her throat.

"Or any kind of booze." Goric spoke up, rattling his empty flask; there was a crestfallen expression on his bearded face, hidden behind a glare too slowly to keep them from seeing his despair. "I'm almost dry here. And we still have a long road ahead of us before we reach Karak Azul."

"I have heard of that dwarf stronghold, it is many leagues from here." Elise chimed in, showing a confused frown.

"Aye." Goric drew in on himself.

"Hence our need for provisions. Though hardtack is… the amount you're selling would run out in a few days." Emanuello refocused.

"Ahem." Erza cleared her throat, making him flash a scowl before clearing things up. "They're selling sweets. I need you to loan me some money."

"Sweets? But-" Emanuello looked to start a tirade, but the freckled blonde swept between them.

"Now now, there's no reason to get upset. Dankfest is a time of celebration, where we can eat, drink, and be merry. We embrace the color of our ancient lands heraldry of red and we give thanks to the harvest. So then, I propose an alternative." She beamed at the both of them. "You've come such a long way, how about you rest overnight? You're welcome to join us for Dankfest, I promise you won't get charged an arm and a leg for the food."

"That's generous of you, but-" Emanuello suddenly gulped at her wink.

"And there'll be sweets at the feast." She alluded.

Erza planted a hand on her chest with a huge smile. "I for one would be honored to attend Dankfest."

"Splendid! And yes there will be alcohol." She swept towards Goric.

The dwarf huffed, but he started to caress his empty flask before nodding. "Alright."

"Perfect! Please, come with me!" Elise bounded off, Emanuello's gaze followed her but Erza sent a wince at the stalls, desiring a strawberry flavored sugar fix. It had been so long since that Corno feast… she gave chase to the blonde, seeking something warm and moist.

Striding through thick wooden doors that looked to double as emergency fortifications, Erza joined the start of what was definitely a merry festival in progress. The interior of what had to be the local pub was large and stuffed with candles, so much the air immediately grew stuffy, as if the dozens of laughing and singing villagers didn't do enough. Passing a table showed her three men huddling close to two women, chanting a slurred tune as they slammed stone mugs as a steady beat. She couldn't follow the words but she found herself humming along, it was a catchy little tune.

Elise laughed and chattered with every passerby in the way, she was super popular it seemed. She reminded her of Lucy in a sense, being easy going and able to start a talk with anyone on a short basis.

"Oi! Get my pals here something to drink!" Elise called to a busy tavern keeper; unlike Lucy she got what she wanted promptly, for in the time to take a breath after plopping onto a stool a mug was slid in front of her. A large, frothy mug, smelling fresh and delicious.

Beside her Emanuello got a similar drink, but his was much smaller. But when he took a sip he still shook his head, features widening. "This is good stuff."

"You know it!" The tavern keeper cheered.

"I shouldn't… ah well." Whatever doubts of having alcohol, such as when Emanuello offered her some wine, faded away. Erza snatched up the mug and gulped. And gulped, and gulped…

Distantly she was aware of the nearby revelers chanting 'drink! Drink!' Over and over, or Goric shuffling inside and pointedly ignoring several people trying to party. Erza paid little attention to them, she was busy gulping down this strange concoction. It was beer but weirdly sweet, leaving a strange, not unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth.

Erza slammed the mug and gasped, wobbling in her seat. All of a sudden she was so lightheaded; her friends always said she was a lightweight, not that Erza ever believed them, she could hold her liquor fine damnit. And yet she felt woozy enough that she couldn't tilt. Even trying made the floor loom, if not for a helping hand grabbed her arm she'd kiss the ground.

"Oi, you alright Lady Scarlet?" Elise held her, why her? Where was Emanuello? Or Goric, weren't they right by her?

As she was dragged to her feet so her arm was slung around the blonde's shoulders, manhandled very easily for someone who clearly wasn't as bulked up as she was, Erza spotted Emanuello's backside heading into some back rooms. Two barmaids had each arm, laughing at something while he vanished behind a closed door. Her rolling head dropped to the floor, her vision growing blurry. She could see a weird little tattoo on Elise' writs, a spiked circle that had what looked like a sword handle embedded in the right side, with a crescent moon at the handle. It was weird, as she blinked the symbol seemed to be glowing.

Around her the villagers chanted, singing something else as Erza was dragged to a large table, placed by the firepit. A shift of weight let her see Bertrand striding with an apron on, sharpening a cleaver in grinning anticipation.

"Let the Dankfest feast begin!" He called to roaring applause.

 

[AllenWalker]

TRIGGERWARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF NEAR SEXUAL ASSAULT AND THE USE OF DATE RAPE DRUGS. IF YOU HAVE MADE BAD EXPERIENCES IN THE PAST OR COULD OTHERWISE BE TRIGGERED BY THIS; THEN DO NOT READ THE CHAPTER. I WILL SUMMARIZE THE CHAPTERS EVENT`S IN A SPOILER INSTEAD

Spoiler

Emanuello get´s drugged by two slanneshi cultists, get´s nearly raped and killed by them, has a near death flashback of his brother saving him from an assasination attempt when he was five, get´s saved by goric who kills the cultists before they can kill or rape him

Titania 25

Emanuello was proud to say that he was an active man. He had participated in more than one love affair, engaged in more than one hot and ecstatic tango, with many a noble lady or lascivious maid.

Yes, he knew the joys in life well and he had indulged in them often.

That was, until recently. Until he had met that goddess of a woman. The sheer thought of her beautiful face, shining red hair, immensely bountiful curves and those abs. A shudder ran down his back and it was not because of the hand that caressed his spine.

Ever since he traveled in the company of that vixen of a woman, he had forgone the company of any female, courtesy of being mostly in various mountain regions and or busy cutting of orc skulls. Or just standing back and looking in more than a little awe and fear at how Erza tore through entire hordes of greenskins, devastating everything in her path, leaving nothing but body parts and gore in her wake.

Strangely enough that fear of her brutality had done little to stem the burning desire in him, on the contrary. She could tear him apart with just her very legs and why was that thought so appealing to him?

Things had only gotten worse once they had entered the village. It was almost like the very air itself was alive and filled to the blistering brim with life and desire. Everyone was as excited as a parade in Miragliano with a fraction of the booze, and there were no damned Skaven running about assassinating people to put a damper on their mood.

He poured the tankard's contents down his throat, feeling the buzz hit right away. The beer they had around here was strange, tasting sweet and honey like. It was bubbly and it only made the desire in him burn worse.

By all the gods, Erza was so different from any woman he had ever interacted with before, it drove him crazy!

"Tehe, are you alright Sir?" A voluptuous blonde in a barely modest barmaid's dress slithered to his left, pressing herself against his arm.

"You're looking a little feverish Sir." An equally stunning brunette pressed against his right, just as beautiful and smiling in the same way.

Emanuello hiccuped, starting to stagger before the helpful ladies steadied him. "I, ah, well-"

Normally he would have to shell out a bag of shiny coins for these circumstances, which a tiny part of his brain reminded was still a distinct possibility. That part was silenced by twin giggles, the ladies pressing themselves closer, putting two grinning faces right by his.

"Well, ah-" they mashed their blouses against him, two giggling beauties hovering just a finger's length away. He gulped, which only made their snickers grow louder.

The barmaids may have helped Emanuello stand, he was feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, but he didn't need more than a nudge to start walking. Or rather stumble, given that his feet seemed to have gotten lost. But with the help of the two barmaids cozying into his arms, he was able to move reasonably well. And they seemed to be good at reading people, because they were leading him towards the backrooms.


"Hehe, this way."

"Trust us."

Peeking over his shoulder, Emanuello spotted Erza stumbling and being helped up by that pretty wench, what was her name? He didn't remember. There was something important he was supposed to do, what was it, he drew a blank. Seeing a fire being stoked made him think of food, deciding that was a reason. Surely that had to be it, all men had basic needs and a hot meal was one of them.

His head was swimming, he couldn't think. Emanuello was feeling so warm, it was as hot as a blistering summer yet he found himself liking it, liking how this tiny room felt. Soft flesh met his, plump lips crashed against Emanuello and each other. Hands strayed everywhere and anywhere they felt like, his own paws finding lots of things he liked very much. All to the tune of wet kisses and giggles.

Oh it had been so long, so much happened since that witch dropped into his life. Emanuello let himself cut loose; no constant backstabbings, no prideful displays, no feuding politics, no skaven, just hands, giggles, and excitement. It was all draining away, all his worries, all his fears, he could sit back and enjoy these wenches giving him their full attention.

Despite all the new sensations filtering through him, of their delicate hands digging through his skin on his back, pulling lines of pure fire more intense than anything he had ever experienced in his life with them, of the blonde pushing her tongue ever deeper into his mouth, effortlessly wrestling his down, even as his hands nestled with their last bits of clothing, for some reason struggling more and ever more with even just simple knots, he couldn't help to feel something strange.

His chest…. was feeling weird. A strange sensation, itching his way up to his mind, past the pink clouds of sensations that embraced it. He was hurting.

His chest, his lungs, they were in pain. Worse than after the most exhausting of runs. Worse than that one time Annabelle, his old favorite maid, had pressed that pillow on his face that he had helped knit with her, his five year old body far too weak to push the old woman off him at the time.

That day, he had managed to push a vase of the table causing his older brother to come in to chastise him for it.

He still could see all the red directly before him, clear as day, as if it had happened just yesterday.

Their uncle had been a cruel man, having many a lover and yet caring for no one truly. Not even for the children of his dead brother. It had been an idea of Tibaldus, after a particularly vicious beating they had received of the man.

Luigi de Vela had been a great lover of imperial technology and arts, unlike many of his peers who had had nothing but disdain for the northern barbarians. He liked to acquire and create many pieces of imperial 'treasures' with a specifically for him commissioned handgun, barely larger than a child's hand, being the crown jewel of that collection.

How two boys, one five and the other ten years old managed to steal it, Emanuello did not know to this day. Luigi had raged terribly and threw many servants out of the house, literally in some cases, but he never found out that it had been them responsible, despite the fact that Tibaldus had made it a sport to flaunt the stolen treasure before their uncle whenever he could, never putting it away.

That his big brother always had it with him was a joke just between the two of them, a quiet mockery that made the torment they had to endure just that bit more bearable.

Tibaldus, despite being just ten at the time, had not hesitated a moment at the sight, he shot Annabelle, sweet old Annabelle, who had taught them how to write, had sung them to sleep with stories about myrmidias´s brilliance and beauty, who had comforted the boys after Luigi beat them, right in the head, the bullet entering her just above the ear and bursting out a fingerbreadth below her left eye, having relented the pressure on him when the door had opened.

Tibaldus had to have been training himself in secret to make that shot, that he knew now. Even back then the reason for it had been clear to him after just a couple hours of shock.

There was no Tibaldus, no big brother to barge in now, as his hand motions and movements grew ever weaker and ever more confused as he slowly was pushed back on the sole bed in the room, a single shove enough to tumble him over, the blonde never letting go of his mouth, while the other began to straddle his lower half.

They…. they looked different now, to before but he couldn´t quite put his finger on how. Something was wrong….. but this darkness that began to seep in from the edges of his vision and the sudden onslaught of a terrible tiredness made it just so hard to think. It was as if he had to pry ever thought of his out of solid stone and drag through a deep morass to reach his mind. And with every passing moment that horrible swamp became deeper and deeper.

Huh, he had never figured out why Annabelle did try to kill him that night…..

The sound of the reinforced wood door being violently kicked inwards, accompanied by the noise of relentless grumbling and mumbled curses was enough for the weight on his stomach to disappear, as the brunette jumped up to screech. He tried to follow her with his eyes but the blonde haired lady kept him captured in her dread kiss, suddenly becoming frantic.

Emanuello could see her retracted one of her hands, smeared in shiny crimson, from his back and rose it above his face…. and then the world was filled with red and finally the weight on his chest ceased to be, as the woman was slacked off him, a warhammer, particularly the side that had been bisected by something, having been tossed with such strength that it had embedded itself into her skull.

It felt like moving a mountain but after a couple seconds he managed to push himself up, trying to see what was before him through shrouded vision: Goric and the brunette were struggling with one another, clawed hands attempting to gouge out the dwarf's eyes, while burly fingers closed around a thin neck.

In the end it was dwarfen muscle who succeeded, as Goric managed to seize her face in a stubby hand before bashing her into the floor, again and again, until the wood began to splinter and her skull started to give way.

"No-oo!" This new source of red caused Emanuello to stumble forward, flailing his arms in a pathetic attempt to get him to stop.

For his part Goric slapped his strikes away with ease, before slamming a single balled fist into his guts, sending a new spike of pain through him and forcing him to his knees. Something that sounded like bone cracked, a very tiny noise somewhere in his chest.

Just like the barmaid, he was powerless to stop the furious dwarfs' rampage as he grabbed his face, but unlike her, his head didn't make intimate contact with the ground. Instead the same burly fingers, which had slain two of the most charming women he had ever met, forced open his mouth and pushed in, reaching for something inside. Grease tasting, dirty fingers wormed along his tongue, biting only shook his head from a jerk, zooming in on the back of his throat-

"Glrg!" The hand whipped free, just in time for a wad of foul vomit to spill out from his lips. Emanuello dropped to his knees, gagging from tasting his stomach contents again in a much worse state. Inhaling made things worse the first time, but the second gulp got through to his burning chest. His tongue recoiled from a gut wrenching taste, his torso screamed in pain, and his head felt like it was being split apart all of a sudden. All before the stench wafted to his nostrils, the mess he made on the floor feeling like he waltzed into a dingy stable.

By the gods, he was going to hurl again!

The same stubby hand dug into his hair, yanking his head with no regard to his poor condition. At least the stench was out of his face for a second, swiftly returning to haunt him and most likely this entire room for a long while. Emanuello could only heave, his head spinning madly from the sheet whiplash of everything that just happened, unable to piece together a single coherent thought no matter how much he struggled. Wait, didn't he know this dwarf? He was… his name was…

"G-Goric?" Emanuello reflexively winced at how terrible that whimper sounded. Why, his uncle would have beat him black and blue for making such a weak noise-

Emanuello's head yanked sideways, blinding pain exploding from his cheek. He couldn't move, so busy sucking in air that a second blow on his opposite cheek was met only by a gasp. Being yanked up by his arm, he dangled limply in a daze, not until a bushy face shoving itself by his was he even partly aware.

Screaming, frothing, spittle filled screams right in his face slowly brought his mind into focus. Details started to enter his thoughts, his sharp mind awakening from whatever had bespelled him; right now all he could think was recognizing Khalazid when he heard it. Only, normally his understanding of the dwarfen tongue was limited to a couple phrases, mostly concerning battle cries or insults, certainly nothing related to trade. Here he picked out a couple words in the screaming tirade: 'idiot' and something concerning his mother.

"Are you even listening!?" Goric roared in tilean at last, giving him a hearty shake which felt like he was trying to rattle his head clean off.

"Uh, wah?" Emanuello's erudite reply was apparently the signal to drop him to the floor. Somehow that helped get his thoughts in order, enough to look sideways.

A twisted, fanged visage greeted his eyes. Emanuello sputtered, starting to flail until he saw that it wasn't moving; although badly twisted, the figure lying in a pool of her own blood was the same brunette who led him into the room.

"Damn fool. Knew something was wrong the moment I smelled that pond water they called alcohol. Now get up." Goric tugged on his arm, bringing Emanuello back onto his unsteady feet. If only the ground would stay still… "come on!"

Lurching to the door, Emanuello saw Goric smash aside whatever was left into a cacophony of noise beyond. He was way too wasted for a brawl, but the alternative was to stay in this awful smelling room with the monster corpses, bemoaning that his favorite shirt was a tattered mess and generally feeling sorry for himself. Whatever was awaiting couldn't be worse.

 

[AllenWalker]

Chapter 26

Crashing through the door with such tremendous force that it was blown off its hinges, smashing against the far wall in a pile of splinters, Goric sped off with Emanuello staggering after him. He held few illusions of how much he could contribute, even if he wasn't coming down from whatever concoction they fed him, his only weapon on hand was a dagger.

Quickly looking back, he picked up his sword and pulled out of the sheath, giving one look to the other of his cast of clothes. There would be splendidly little time to get fully dressed again. Groaning in mixed pain and self reproach, he stuffed everything he could into his pack and began to don a jacket, only to drop it when he felt the fabric touch his still burning back, unable to suppress a scream as another blazingly hot lance of pain thrust through his body, almost bringing him to his knees.

He didn't want to know what his back actually looked like. The memories from his… time with the tainted women was in shambles. Had they even been humans? His knowledge on the topic came purely from some theater plays and the outrageous stories from men of the empire.

Had they come along a whole town of demons, just waiting for careless travelers like them, to devour and rape as they pleased? He felt his breath begin to accelerate as he remembered how the women had seen to defile him, how close they had been….

He felt like he was about to vomit.

"Stop wasting time Umgi!" It was Goric's harsh voice that snapped him out of his thoughts, if only for a moment. He stomped towards Emanuello with his blood soaked hammer in hand, the pungent odor reeking off its metal surface making his head spin.

Emanuello was sure he was about to apply that hammer to him, with luck just lightly enough that he could still walk. Goric certainly looked furious enough to whack him upside the skull, red-faced under his beard and huffing from more than just exertion, said effort likely owing to the mess behind him, a nondescript term for a pile of pulped bodies that looked like they had their clothes ripped up. For what reason Emanuello didn't know, he struggled to even string together a proper thought for himself, thanks to his back and head both screaming in their own ways.

Beady eyes glared at him, tearing Emanuello's gaze off the bodies towards him. "Move. Can you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Goric dug into his beard to draw out a small flask, this one covered in leather instead of being bare metal and barely being larger than a vial.

He gave it a look, so mournful one might think it was his firstborn, before handing it to him. "Here. Drink this. It's strong, so gulp it down at once. All of it. I swear, by grungi, if you spit it out I will make you eat your teeth."

The sentences were short and cut off, sounding like he had to literally force himself to say it, his meaty and thick fingers shaking as Emanuello carefully took it, before opening it and giving the content a look and a sniff.

It smelt like the healing beer he had received all those months ago, just much much stronger.

"Well?"

Inhaling first, Emanuello slammed the flask as fast as he could manage. Which turned out to not be enough, not by far. The thick liquid poured down his throat, barely above chunky and certainly having next to no water in the mixture, nothing that could dilute the sheer incineration his mouth was subjected to. Every spot inside his mouth was set ablaze in a screaming haze of pain which was worse than the strongest of peppers, he got a vague taste of rotten eggs before he started gagging.

There was no mercy from the burn. When he tried to hack up the molten lava a powerful hand gripped the flask and tipped it up, ensuring the concoction had nowhere to go but to his gullet, set just low enough that he didn't have to fear choking. From the liquid itself anyway, Emanuello was too busy scalding his jaw to notice the 'care' Goric offered.

It didn't, simply couldn't end fast enough. When the flask was empty Goric pulled it away, allowing Emanuello to drop to his hands and knees, coughing until he sputtered, needing to clutch his mouth despite nearly dropping into a tangle of limbs, it was the only way he could keep a wad of bile from coming up.

Then he felt how the feeling began. His flesh, his skin, his muscles, even his bones they all began to cripple and equally grow numb, like a limb he had kept still in the same spot for hours. While he dropped to his knees and just grunted and groaned, he heard Goric speak.

"This… was a brew of grounding and strength. Made by the greatest runesmith of my hold. It will make your skin and flesh tougher, denser. More dawi-like." He grunted. "It should help you not bleed out from your back. It is also worth your weight in gold many times over."

There was no hiding a pained cringe, not with a defensive beard or Emanuello's current state. As much as he wanted to know why Goric would use something so valuable on him, they had bigger issues at play. Groaning again, Emanuello succeeded in putting on his jacket, gingerly laying the leather over his scabbing back, simultaneously relieved yet uneasy that he didn't have some mail to wear under it. If leather rubbed his skin raw this quickly he didn't want to know what metal would do. His eyes caught on the cooling bodies once more, freezing him in place until he forced himself to pick up his sword. Now he felt like he was in a decent physical state to fight, regardless of being in a shoddy condition. Mentally however… no, they had too much to do. Starting with-

"Erza." Emanuello suddenly widened his eyes. "We have to get to Erza!"

"This way." Sparing one more look at him he began to move. "Though be careful of the windows, the ones outside haven't noticed yet that we are still alive." He grunted. "Foolish of them, but our luck."

"Yeah…." The Tilean carefully stepped over an older man with a shaved head that had had his legs shattered from attempting to scale the staircase, with a second strike to the back of the skull finishing the job. Had the demons inside been really so focused on his defilement that they had not heard this?

He hadn't either. A result of the drugs? Some vile spell to ensure that Goric wouldn't notice if he had begun to scream? Was maybe every room in this building designed to capture the sound? He couldn't even begin to guess and to be honest, he didn't want to spend another minute in this house of horrors.

He would not ever complain about sleeping on rocks again.

Emanuello tottered to the base of the stairs, needing to clutch his nose. The place reeked of blood and other things he couldn't begin to identify, the pleasant flowery smell from before being almost gone. In fact, the entire building seemed to warp and shift, showing things that weren't there before.

Twisted faces in the wood, showing agony in the same mark as pleasure. The table legs no longer being made from simple oak but instead of a terrible marrowy white that he all too easily recognized as bone. That and more, so much more.

Just how many travelers had these people, this cult brought into this tavern, given shelter to, only to enact unspeakable things on them? Turned their very remains into twisted pieces of the building, carved their final moments into the walls like demented art?

And why was it changing now? Why could he see this? Was it because of the vial? No, no, it couldn´t be. This was something greater than that. He could feel it, by hell, he could taste it.

Something terrible was happening and they had to stop it. No matter the cost.

Stumbling over a broken table leg then a human one, Emanuello halted when he heard chanting outside. The sounds those tainted people made, they made his skin crawl, it was like an evil parody of Myrmidia praises. He gripped his sword, every facet of his being railing against that awful noise. Whatever it was, that chanting was nothing good.

For his part Goric raised his hammer, frowning yet approaching the window. When Emanuello had to steady his nerves he growled, hurrying him to the side, peering out from the lower half as he peeked from the side.

Emanuello recoiled from the sight; where the market stands were a short while ago, a massive ritual circle was set up, he recognized it as such despite his unfamiliarity. Totems of twisted crab clawed beings with horrible stretched visages were erected, some man sized and some much larger. As he looked at the statues he inhaled sharply, seeing that the wood or stone constructs were slathered in viscera. Blood, offal, other things he couldn't identify, he vividly wondered if that was what became of the village livestock, before gulping at his recent memory. It might very well not have been animals.

The villagers were arrayed around the circle, so he assumed. Most wore leather of some kind, thinly covering outfits more suitable for prostitutes than commoners, only these had extra additions. Things such as hooks dug into people's hides like ogres, spikes put through ears or biceps, or belts that leaked blood underneath where they lay. As he watched a gaggle of men and women in skivvies used nine tailed whips on themselves, splashing blood on the dirt and laughing maniacally. Emanuello knew about imperial flagellants, punishing themselves for their god's punishment, but these people looked like they were having a party.

And everywhere, truly everywhere, there was this damned symbol. An orb with a crescent hilt buried on the right, itself connected to an opposite facing half circle. Just looking at it hurt his eyes, and these monsters painted it everywhere.

What should they do?

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the center of the circle: lying on a table made of bones and fresh meat, was none other than Erza. The one part of this terrible view that didn't turn his stomach was still in her dress from earlier, unconscious when he saw her faint breathing. Until he saw that guard from earlier approaching the table, in his hand was a serrated knife decorated with all kinds of profane symbols.

"We have to stop them!" Emanuello blurted out.

"Bit outnumbered manling." Goric muttered.

Even he held his breath when the dagger raised, before either man could speak he plunged it to her chest… and watched it scrape off.

The chanting became off kilter, several cultists exchanged odd glances. Even the demented flagellents slowed their whipping, sending the now flustered man frowns as he tried digging in the knife into her skin, unable to do more than draw scratches. Over their unholy sermon he heard a faint growl, resorting to grabbing a handful of her hair, succeeding in lopping off a handful. A cheer rose from the cultists, but it seemed weaker and more forced than it should.

Goric scoffed, but Emanuello gripped his hilt. "I'm not waiting for them to get their act together. We're going out there then we're getting the hell out of this town."

"Great idea, but how? Need I remind you that your lady friend there is out cold?" Goric growled.

Emanuello hissed, there had to be a way… out…

Dashing back to the fireplace, Emanuello grabbed alcohol bottles and started pouring, not bothering with the beer but going for the potent stuff. He splashed some everywhere as far as the supply lasted, then kicked over a wooden stand, grabbing whatever cloth was on hand and wrapping the end. That he stuck into the smouldering fireplace, under his breath cursing as much as praying, until it finally caught.

"Yes!" He ran back, dragging it across any surface that didn't look treated. Doing so took way too long, but fires started to lick at the wood, creating smoke that was swiftly eating available air.

"Great idea, but bad time." Goric admonished, but Emanuello didn't listen. Kicking the door rattled him, but he needed out as fast as possible, a sword in one hand and a makeshift torch in the other.

Swinging at the first cultist knocked away several more, taking them down and alerting the whole lot. Chanting ceased as he charged into the fray, fighting instincts that demanded he get away from those terrible statues. Several cries behind him turned into meaty thunks, so he knew Goric hadn't wasted time, but there was still so far to go, and those effigies-

"Myrmidia damn you!" Emanuello snarled, swinging the torch into the statue to shatter it into a pile of debris.

For just a second that terrible queasiness lessened, then a rising scream made him stagger.