Shade Emblem: Hunger Eternal Part Twelve [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
Blood. Blood was everywhere. Burned bodies. Cracking arms of charred flesh. Screams. Shrieks. Burning within my twisted guts, a scream that refused to dwindle down and disappear.
The day of the Goddess' Rebirth had arrived. It was as if Fodlan itself had decided to come render grace to the harbinger of my nation's destruction. Were the deaths of countless thousands, millions, nothing more than faded echoes destined to pass? With each whispered prayer, each show of devotion, they merely tightened the bondage of falsehood around their necks.
Nothing but fat animals, performing tricks to be fed scraps of knowledge by their decadent Goddess. We are Agarthans, we do not get fed like household pets. We have sharp fangs; we will bite into the flesh of the very Gods, if they dare stand on our path!
Those weren't my thoughts. Those were old words, spoken by another which I could not forget. It was the spear in my hand which whispered them to me. The grip I had on it was tight, but something tighter still clutched on to me.
The top brass wants you and the spears of Agarth to kill the Fell Star? We've never managed to get close to her to begin with, but as you are, it wouldn't even be enough. She's clearly the most powerful of them all. We're going to need a powerful weapon, and a powerful soldier. Commander Night, this may require... Are you sure?
It was quiet in the mausoleum. The crowd of people had started to diminish. It was getting late.
Some lingered longer. A couple dozen. The Mausoleum was enormous. It was sized for Nabateans, not for humans. Rows upon rows of columns. Statues. Murals depicting scenes of idyllic nature that were perhaps fond memories of the Nabateans with their Progenitor.
It has to be me, Anacharsis. Someone else might get it wrong.
My eyes remained on the nearest pilgrims. They had been lingering for far longer than others. Wearing the armor of the knights of Seiros, holding a lance made by their church, there was little that would distinguish me from any other random knight. The rest of Jeralt's company was spread across the monastery, helping out where needed.
Though this was the potential target, it didn't mean the plan would go through all the same. With Lord Lonato having given the names of his contacts, chances were high nothing would come to pass. Even so, I could see that every now and then a student from Byleth's House would swing by to check on the proceedings before reporting back that everything was in order.
Soon, it would be time to close the mausoleum for the night.
The pilgrims would finish their prayers.
They would walk out slowly, heads bowed in penitence.
And then, once near the large gates, slam them shut-wait, what?
I tensed, hearing the sound of the gates slamming to a close. On one hand yes, the gates were supposed to be closed anyhow, but on the other we were still inside, as were quite a few pilgrims. I felt the tingling sensation and heard the words of dark magic being spoken, and within mere seconds a concussive blast tried to slam into me.
I ducked the blast, crouching down on one knee as I gazed up at the source of the attack. A bunch of pilgrims in robes stared back at me, one of them looking shocked I had dodged, whereas many others of my 'ilk' had not.
"Guess I'm getting a head start," I muttered. The pavement cracked as I lunged forward, a startled scream soon becoming a choked gurgle as a neck snapped. I spun out of the way, throwing the dead body with enough strength to smash to a pulp a second caster against a nearby column, the spear of my lance cleaving through the gut and the spine of a third one.
It wasn't the strength I usually held.
It was difficult to keep the mind on the present.
It slipped away, like tendrils grasping at the edges of a dark chasm, wondering why it had taken me so long to remember.
By the time my surroundings came into focus again, there were dead bodies in various, misshapen forms around me. Some had their faces visible, the cowls of their vests ripped off, and their expressions of horror were merely bringing back an even starker reminder of my past.
"Where are you?" I whispered. "Fell Star-Where are you?"
I shook my head. The Fell Star was dead. Her bones, her flesh, her blood-all of it had gone to use. There was nothing of her. There was no reason to keep fighting. Everyone I had lost was gone forever; those that remained deserved a chance. That was why I was doing this. For those that remained. For those that hoped to see the sun.
It was the one thing I could grasp on to. The one sentiment that would keep my tethering sanity ongoing.
The blood I walked on didn't belong to my comrades. The bodies weren't those of my allies, or of my enemies alike. They were those of misguided, Western Church believers. They weren't evil per se. They weren't kind. They simply were.
They were dead, and did not even realize that.
More had died in the meantime; the few knights of Seiros that weren't traitors were still too few to stop those of the Western Church from taking over the mausoleum. The main gate into the place was closed with heavy looking and toppled statues. Even so, a determined force would break through with ease.
I was alone against a near-army, but that didn't worry me. I was used to it. I was used to watching those close to me die, hear their gurgled last moans, their whimpers and their prayers-and then still stand up to keep on fighting.
I walked towards the large center hall of the Mausoleum. There were more than a few who had noticed me, and they were starting to chant -those that could- while others were tensing their arrows, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Even so, that still did not worry me.
There was even a man on a horse, wearing a mask-a mask? Like ours-no, not like ours-a mask of some kind, and wielding a scythe. A scythe, of all things. What did he think he could achieve, with a scythe?
The first blast of fire missed me, slamming against a column nearby as I lunged forward, closing the distance between them and I. A volley of arrows plummeted on the ground and rippled against the pavement, as I wasn't there any longer.
It always ends the same way. The Undying Wraith survives, the enemy army waits until High Command calls them back. Some say he's immortal, others that he's too angry to die. It's only the very few that know the truth of the matter, of course.
By the twelfth dead body, the knight on the horse made a stance with his scythe. "You-" he spoke, "Who are you?"
I was still wearing the Seiros' knight helmet. I pointed my spear at him. "Come closer," I answered. "Let me whisper my name to your corpse."
He chuckled.
"Very well-" and then he charged.
The horse was a mighty, well-armored beast. The knight's own charge was valiant, and powerful. He was upon me in seconds, and I was ready for his own attack. Our spears crossed, and my feet ended up losing the purchase on the slippery, bloody ground as I was pushed backwards, forced to pull myself slightly away to avoid a counter-swing of the scythe's blade, which missed my face, but sliced easily through the helmet and sent it to shatter on the ground.
Such sharpness. Such strength.
"I see your face now," the knight spoke. "It is a good face."
He still had his mask on.
I no longer had my helmet.
But I recognized the scythe.
No, rather, I recognized what the scythe had been made from. I recognized where it had come from. I recognized whom could have made it. How could I not? The staff of it-the sharpened tip-that was a spear of Agarth, that someone had added a scythe's blade to.
"Who gave you that weapon?" I asked. "What is your name? What is your rank? Tell me!"
"Rank?" the masked knight muttered, "I do not know-but I will kill you! That much...I have decided."
From the dead, they've taken our weapons-see now, they will desecrate our bodies-burn them away, destroy our very culture and make it theirs! We fought to conquer them, but now, we fight to keep what is ours! It is no longer a war of salvation for humankind, but one of survival for Agarth!
"If you are not of Agarth," I whispered softly, "Then I will have you return the weapon." I twirled my spear. "It serves you not, where you'll be going."
I lunged, and his horse rushed for me once more. Our spears met in combat, sparks sailed in the air; I roundhouse-kicked against the flank of his beast, the armor rippling under the blow as he twisted out of the way, jumping off his horse as the beast's shattered flank brought it down.
Nearby, the Western Church survivors were unable to render him aid. A few tried, but those which didn't die by my spear, were somehow sliced if they got in the way of the masked knight's attacks.
"Why... won't... you... die..." he hissed out, both of his hands swinging his scythe down.
"You, Agarthan-surrender! You just won't die, but at least know when you're outsmarted and outmatched!"
"You killed all those close to me, Fell Star. To surrender would be to spit on them. To yield would be to forget the bonds I forged with them. You are a monster, no more, no less. I could not care less for Agarth today. Your death is mine, not because I am right, or wrong. But because I am all that remains of those you killed!"
"You child-Your people started this war! If reason had worked to bring your weapons down, you think that would not have been attempted? Your people didn't die because of me; they died because of their own arrogance! Your spear shouldn't be turned against the likes of us, but of your own!"
"My children had no place on a battlefield; your intervention forced them to join. My wife had no place in a graveyard. Your allies killed her during our last retreat. You are guilty, Fell Star. Everyone that stands on your side is guilty. Until my loss equals yours; until the balance is even again, I will not yield, and forever, I will haunt the likes of you! This isn't about justice! This isn't about righteousness! I just want vengeance! I just want to hear your people scream in fear! In loss! In grief! Until nothing of yours remains-until nothing of your people remains-until you are forgotten, erased, crushed and spat upon! Until then, I refuse to yield, I refuse to die, I REFUSE YOU!"
"Then goodbye, Undying Wraith of Agarth. Eventually, even your rage will fade. Whatever remains afterwards, I hope it may one day find peace."
"You monster, not even bothering to defend your allies' actions? Their heinous crimes, under your watch, under your gaze?"
"Why would I bother to speak to someone who clearly refuses to listen? There is nothing but blind rage in you. Nothing I say, nothing I do, could ever possibly bring you to understand reason. I wouldn't trust you if you said so, and you would never lay down your weapons. I will not lie and claim to understand the depths of your loss, though I know those must be great indeed, but look at the misery your own have wrought! What did you expect? This cycle of hatred-you humans never seem capable of breaking free of it."
"Easy to speak, when you stand at the cusp of the cycle, rather than at its bottom."
"A pity...you sound like someone I would have loved to talk to more, had we met in different circumstances."
"Let us see then what you will say, when your turn to be bested shall come about. What pitiful pleads you'll make, what hate-filled words you'll speak. I wonder-will you reveal your ugly self then? Will you be stoic?"
"Truly! Your arrogance knows no limits! You may be called Undying, but even so you are finally surrounded, by Nabateans and men alike! You will die here, today, and the only reason I chose to come talk to the likes of you was because of my curiosity, not because I worried for your fate."
"Tell me, Nabatean. Do you ever wonder, how long till this begins anew? How long till the humans that stand by the Nabatean side once more realize that they are but fancy dogs, meant for show rather than true allies? How long till they grab the knowledge from your hands, and once more fight for their right and their freedom? How long till a new Agarth is born?"
"Such error won't happen again. We have talked enough. You have caught your breath, so if you have any last words, now would be the time to speak them."
"What last words could I ever possibly speak, that they would not be taken, and violated by your kind and your allies? Were I to claim that we fought for humanity's freedom, you would rebuke them as silly. Were I to say that we fought for our people, you would insult them as false. You have won, nothing of Agarth remains. No city of ours stays standing. None of our scientists, artists, farmers or even roads remains as it was in origin. You have taken everything from us. Thus, here I stand. And here I tell you this...the reason I won't die..."
My left hand grabbed hold of the handle an inch away from the sharpened edge, and then I kept it still. The sharp blade stopped from digging into my own face. The masked man screamed, his muscles trying to push the scythe further down. He brought his whole body weight to bear. He pushed, and then tried to pull.
The scythe he wielded did not move.
"Is because I have people I wish to spite with my life!"
"What-"
Then I pulled. He flew towards me, his armored body moving as my right hand let go of my spear, my fingers cusped together.
"A Spear of Agarth wields two spears-" I whispered. "One to hold his enemy at bay, and one to pierce into the heart of his foes."
The masked knight groaned. His voice was uneven through the mask.
"I have fought the very Goddess," I hissed into his ear, "What made you think that you ever had a chance?"
I pulled my right hand out from his chest, and crushed his heart with my own fingers.
The masked knight stared at it, and then fell down on his knees. "To kill...to die...to know one without the other would be maddening," he spoke as if in reverie. "If only I could return...to those days once more."
He collapsed on the ground, a pool of blood below his body forming. I crouched to pull his mask off, but then thought better of it.
If that was how he wished to be remembered, then who was I to take it away from him? I gripped his scythe, lifted it up and felt the strength of the metal meant to forge it. I smelled and breathed in the oils to keep it sharp, and my eyes half-closed as I clutched it firmly.
Then I slammed with both of my hands the blade against the hard ground, shattering the Scythe part and sending the metal in all directions.
As if awoken from the nightmare they were in, those nearby of the Western Church started taking steps backwards.
Whatever they planned on doing, someone from Agarth could be pulling the strings; if not, then it was just fate that had an Agarthian-technology weapon land in my hands. It could be either. Yet, if it was the former, I would need to investigate it. Whatever they wanted from the Tomb, whatever reason they might have to steal Seiros' bones...perhaps, to forge a new Relic?
Could that be it? But then...indeed, the Agarthian must have been involved. My own people. I would have to let them take me to their leader...which, hopefully, wasn't the one I had just killed. And whoever it was, they might come to investigate me, and we might meet.
Then...Then I would see.
"Is this the extent of your courage?" I asked of them. "Then run! Run and don't look back! If you surrender, the Church will execute you! So retreat! Escape! Hide yourselves! I will let you go-so...run!"
They scrambled. There had to have been a hidden passage taken to step inside, for many left through corners I didn't think there were entrances of. Some still chose to fight, and those died as they had made their decision; perhaps they reckoned that death by my hand would be easier than execution by the church.
None surrendered. They knew my words were true. The church would execute them. Perhaps they feared me, for I had defeated their champion. Perhaps they realized they were hopefully outmatched.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was that the mausoleum was large. It was so large, that by the time I actually understood some were still around, the main doors were finally broken through enough with the combined ax-swinging of Edelgard and Byleth, that I had little choice but to resume my part as Captain Shade, cook extraordinaire.
It was a good feeling, slipping back into a mask that I honestly enjoyed. The spear, I hid by slamming it into the ceiling. I could get it later, and few were the people who'd look up without a reason for it.
Byleth holding on to an ax and peeking through the large doors was a scene of a lifetime, I had to admit. She just needed to say 'Here's Byleth' and then it would all be set.
"You're late," I said, flatly. I made a show of pushing one of the large statues away, a laborious inch at a time. "I think whatever they're planning is further in, where Seiros' tomb is. I cleared the way a bit."
"Captain Shade, thank the Goddess you live!" I heard Leonie's voice from beyond the doors, "Come on Caspar, put your back into it!"
Wait, who was she talking to?
With a raucous roar, someone slammed harder against the doors and they finally rippled and shattered in a big enough shower of splinters that a teal-haired boy emerged through, axe in hand. Uh, so apparently Byleth using an Ax was because she had to teach a few of her students how to properly wield them.
"See what I did?! This is how you smash a door!"
"Because we already broke most of it," Edelgard pointed out. "I am glad to see you are all right. Are there others we can rescue?"
I shook my head. "I went with the better part of valor. There was a masked knight who went gung-ho on blood and violence, he killed a few of his own and gave me the perfect opportunity to hide. When I heard you lot knocking, I came to see what was going on. I'm the only one who made it alive."
"Are you wounded, Captain?" Leonie asked. "You're covered in blood-"
"You'll see the carnage up ahead-this masked knight, he was particularly gory. Let's say that I made some questionable decisions to live to fight another day," I said amiably, "But there's little time to waste-some remain further into the mausoleum."
The rest of the Black Eagle house filtered in after Caspar had valiantly broken the doors open.
The students moved through the scene of carnage with a peculiar expression on their faces. They saw the carnage, they noticed some of the dead had the Death Knight's wounds, and the troubled expression on Edelgard's face was probably due to her worriers that whoever had killed the knight was still around.
I reckoned I had avoided the line of inquiry, if nothing else because I honestly wasn't that strong now, was I? Also, I had mentioned the gore-fest. Why would I lie about it? And a masked knight didn't have to be powerful, or strong.
Now that I thought about it, a masked knight was just that; a masked knight. Unless one saw them fight, there wouldn't be a reason to be worried about their strength. This meant that I could have just said that indeed, I was the one who had handled him. But then, some of the bodies were in the wrong shape, so perhaps to claim to have not participated in the fighting at all was a better option.
"It's too late!" one of the Western Church priests spoke valorously, clutching on to a blade made of bones and which lacked its own crest stone. I knew what it was.
The moment I saw it, I realized that I had made a mistake. Sure, the Sword of the Creator wasn't as powerful in the wrong hands as it could be in the right ones, but it was still a Relic of the Fell Star. If it took over someone, the monster that would be born of it would be powerful indeed.
"Easy now!" I yelled, "The last one who wielded that blade had the right to do so-You're gonna regret activating it!"
Byleth, capitalizing on the moment of distraction that my words had brought out in the leader, lunged forward ax in hand.
The rest of her students followed, as the soldiers and priests that accompanied the Western Priesthood fought back, one final skirmish in a tomb honestly too big for anyone. Why couldn't they make it a small, nifty crypt? A small thing, really!
Still, I was without weapons, and that wouldn't do. I dodged a swing from a blade, slammed my fist through the man's face, and watched as he collapsed on the ground. It was just a normal punch. I was just a normal human.
I grabbed his sword, and then proceeded to ponder where the rest of the monastery's forces were. Had they not be warned? Had nobody decided to call the reinforcements? There was Devourer-Byllie, fighting with an ax someone who had never wielded a sword their whole life. One back-swing was all that it took to get it out of the enemy's hands, flying up in the air in a twirling motion that really, had one wonder for the safety of those beneath.
Byleth, absolutely not listening to my words grabbed on to it. I winced as I watched a fireball head for her, my own blade crossed with that of a nearby soldier.
She'd dodge it.
She knew she had to dodge-
As she sliced through it, and the sword answered to her...
...the man in front me died, never knowing how merciful I had been towards him, even at my darkest moment.
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