A Tale Of Brethren And Beyond

"Binding is never greater than the act of severing, for what has been can't be restored."

~Kagetsu no Ji'Yeon

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"Spit it out. Spit it out before I do it for you."

Before Malos Fergunnson, the young recruit can only swallow hard in a show of nerves. Jon Evans may be one of the very few blue-eyed boys in the Mancher division, but it also means a higher standard demanded. Just one cycle ago, the testy gaffer threw out a flying boot. Dave Becker, another favourite recruit of his, angered him by questioning the sanity behind his order.

Well, at least I wasn’t around to get that boot in the face. Becks must have been absolutely shattered before his sweet dainty Vicky.

"Well, just promise you won’t flare up, Sir."

Jon is definitely treading on dangerous ground. Days after entering the finest Leonum division, a senior had warned him what to expect. Malos is never someone who appreciates others just because there are people brown-nosing those higher up. Instead, he shows his favour to those displaying the merit of deed rather than name. As a result, Malos Fergunnson has earned a reputation for being hard to please and harder to placate.

"You want to know how I flare up, lad?" snaps the testy gaffer, "Wake up, soldier. Unless you want to tell me that you’re just entering my office for fun."

Damn you, Cristean Ronal. Why must I be the one breaking the news? Why always me?

"Gaffer, I’m glad to say we’re screwed."

A booming voice reminding Malos of his younger days pierces his ears, the shock it causes reverberating throughout his innermost being. When he was younger, the grizzled veteran prided himself on being heard. More oft than not, he was more correct than his superiors. Hence, a fierce pride in his own booming roar. That was until he became a trainer and Royas Kent greeted him as a recruit. Back then, both were at Mersey. Now, one is the leader and the other his second in command.

"Screwed? What do you mean we’re screwed?"

Before Malos’ question, Royas shoots a glance towards young Jon. Knowing what it means, Malos dismisses the lad with a telling wave of his hand.

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"Gael Kodr, you have a visitor! So get your arse out of the bed and stop dreaming about shafting your fair lady Alestrial Eliaden!"

If there is anything about Catterm Leen which Elys has failed to change, it’d be the constant ridicule directing towards his best friend. However, there is something in that most average lad piquing the redhead’s curiosity. Elys always comments that girls prefer men who carry themselves in a reassuring manner, her statement apparently hinting not at the bed. While Catterm has never tried imagining Gael having sex with Adine, let alone any other girl, he's forced to admit that the sole daughter of Crocker Tayne isn’t the only one infatuated with that idiotic buddy of his.

"As the daughter of Graniar Calig Tenias, I bind you to silence over this matter between the adopted son of Garyth Parkins and myself."

"Yeah, right, Karen Tenias," snorts Catterm as he waited at the door, "Just because…"

"HEY, CATTS!"

Before he can shout out the next sentence, Gael Kodr promptly catches a punch in the face as a shocked Catterm Leen let fly a fist tightly clenched.

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"What happened?"

"Catts gave me a black eye. And to think I’m the only fast one here."

Before Gael’s griping, Palliste Scholl can only chortle loudly. The ginger-haired officer already knew the duo since their days at Mersey together with Lukas Brun before the latter chose to drop out. Contrary to the popular belief, Gael was actually the better fighter while Lukas boasted a superior mind. Which made Catterm somewhere in the middle. A pity only two chose to stay instead of all the three. Given enough time and effort, Lukas Brun would have what it takes to soar up the ranks.

"Soak a cloth with cold water and press it lightly on the bruise, Gael. Otherwise, poor Adine will be ridiculed for marrying an idiot."

"Yes, Sir,” grins Gael with a cheeky salute, memories from years gone by returning once again,
So… you’re here to congratulate me?"

"I’d like to, but not now," his mirth turning into a frown, Palliste crouches his posture like a wary feline, "Bad news."

"Uh… did something happen to Ales?"

"This has got nothing to do with her," Palliste abruptly snaps, a flustered visage betraying a dire situation at hand, "You know someone called Weisslynn?"

"Erm… yes? She’s currently on Uncle Crock’s payroll."

"Listen up. I’m not gonna repeat myself here," replies Palliste, his index finger tapping on the wooden table, "The authorities are now after her. Citias was recently sacked. Always the same old story when we talk about bandits and slavers. Kill the men, loot their homes, take their bitches. That girl happened to be in the last category."

"But they should go after the bandits and slavers. Why should they go after the victim?" frowns Gael as he clasps his hands in front of him, his shoulders tensing up.

"Nice posture, Gael. This shows you’re finally getting serious," taking a swig from his tankard, there is no sarcasm in Palliste’s sombre compliment, "Long story short, everyone got slaughtered. Bastards and victims alike. Not a pretty sight to put it in a polite way. There’s one more survivor, though. One of those horny bastards to be exact. I don’t care whether he’s now dead or still alive in some sanatorium, but his gibberish sounds coherent. At least for someone who lost his mind."

"There’s a crazy killer somewhere?"

"Spot on, my disciple. There’s another problem. The Leonum Flammeus have always played a part in security. Either we boss it or we aid those who boss it. In Citias’ case, it’s the latter."

"One of us died?"

"Fortunately, no. Unfortunately, one entire squadron of full mounties took the shit for us. Already, we the Leonum hate the mounties just like how they hate us for our guts. Either this case must be closed as soon as possible or the Senate will risk having a tavern brawl in their own backyard. Senator Levy got our back, but it also means Senator Muddock got theirs. So, anything more to say, Gael Kodr?"

Before Palliste’s briefing, the only thing on Gael’s mind is that of a severed horse’s head lying beside a particular mounty whom he still detests. That plus a stupefied answer.

"Oh shit, Palliste. Bloody oh shit."

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The atmosphere is clearly a far cry from the brawling and whoring so commonly seen in the Empire's nether regions. This is Crocker Tayne’s business, a place of ale and food. During dawn, patrons would always share the latest gossip over a simple hot meal. Come dusk, children and adults gathered before a massive hearth to hear a minstrel’s songs. Years of sincere hospitality paid off for the owner of Caledon’s Hold, for old Crock boasts a reputation of acceptance to any minstrel entering the door. Named after the most famous skald in the history of Causacea, this is a place where no questions are asked from any person carrying a lute.

"I find it surprising that Adine has yet to sing before the patrons," quips a relaxed Lukas Brun as Catterm Leen emptied his tankard, "Be careful not to get yourself drunk, Catts."

"Elys knows how much I can hold it, Luk," shrugs the fiery-haired lad, "Trust me, she won’t be kicking a drunk off the bed."

"At least not anytime soon."

Before the androgynous youth’s reply, Catterm Leen can only laugh in resignation. Despite unable to fit into the Mersey Academy, the brunette remains one-third of a troublemaking trio. Commonly known as The Triad, they would always run the risk of punching people and starting fights during their younger days. Although they tend to pick on the affluent and arrogant, never once did they make a single excuse for their actions. That was before they arrived at Mersey, an event caused by Gael shoving an old Cinha seated in a wheelchair. No matter what, certain things would never change. Once a troublemaker, forever one. Let alone three.

"You’ve yet to explain why you’re winding down the safest place in the Empire, Lukas Brun," asks Adine as she takes a seat between the two, her distrust towards men of legerdemain never abating. Though she knows Lukas Brun is no swindler by trade, the spectre known as her cousin’s death continues mocking her.

"Trust me, there’s a reason for everything. Even the most heinous deeds," with a sigh and sombre look, Lukas’ reply catches Catterm and Adine off their guard like a rider unhorsed by an arrow loosed.

An abrupt urge in Adine attempts to ask questions about that mysterious elf, but something warns her not make a rash move. They say a woman’s instinct is sharper than even the keenest blade and Adine isn’t interested in baiting fate itself.

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Dusk is nearing, two individuals make their stand. One is the epitome of darkness and nightmares, the other cutting the figure of a wounded man even though a watching Tanee doesn’t know why. The battlefield is a meadow, the cause none other than herself.

"I shouldn’t have let you be, Aera. Tae really messed you up badly, huh?"

Before an apology made, Aeravor merely growls like the animal he is now.

It shouldn’t have come to this. Such a moment should be reserved for another day, another situation. While Lars had suspected something amiss, now is not the time to seek answers. He has to stop this monster in his tracks. How many lives have been lost so far, this is a question the demon hunter dreads most. A damning question Lars Alterfate has never tried answering lest his determination waver.

I'll save him, Ji. I'll save Aera so that he won't continue being the twisted person he's currently now. Even though I'll surely die, I'm going to make sure he won't become the next Anchor of the World.

This is a promise waiting to be fulfilled, an oath sworn before the only woman he has ever loved. Even though he had a hand in her death, even though Aeravor has every right to hate him and call out his treachery.

Once a Vánagandr, forever a wolf.

Such is the realisation of what defines his only friend alive in this world, Ji'Yeon could have been the one to tame this savage beast. Alas, she failed miserably, the ending a harshest taunt against a wounded soul. Why Aera? Why Ji? Why him and why Tae? No one has ever said life is fair, no one should ever call reality a loving god. Yet, his anger has never been sated once. His rage declares war against a mocking hand dealt. His fury bellows forth rebellion, the promise of reprisal sworn. Nothing has changed, neither will anything be changed as well. That is why Lars Alterfate can never forgive the wrongs done. Not to himself, but against his loved ones.

"It has been quite a while since we last fought," smiles Lars, his visage that of a man scarred with regrets. Despite being Aeravor's opponent, it is never Lars’ intention to fight a duel unto death. At least not now. Currently, chaining a monstrous wolf let loose is good enough. As Tanee looks on like a stupefied child, she can’t help but feel sorry for the man who saved her from a demise certain and brutal.

The start arrives suddenly, Aeravor warping behind Lars. More than half-expecting the end, Tanee closes her eyes. The ending called death never arrived. Her ears greet the clashing ring of steel versus steel, an awesome sight supplanting her greatest fear.

It is a portrait both beautiful and cruel at the same time. It is a battle between two entities beyond a mortal’s scope. Every swing from the crazed monster is halted before it can land a hit, chains of silver with blades at the tip firing from every direction. The chains are fired in the most straightforward manner like how there is nothing refined in a volley of arrows fired. The insane monster executes strokes fast and deadly, yet they are nevertheless born from finesse. It is never a back and forth between brawn and refined accuracy. Rather, it feels more like a race between two swift predators after a common prize. Despite not knowing who her father is, Tanee recalls fondly a kindly elf teaching her the theory aspect of combat. She once asked whether she could call him "daddy" despite the apparent absurdity, this was seven years ago when she was only nine. The well-built fighter laughed and waved his hand, saying that he has no right to be any child's father.

Lars knows much better the nature of Aeravor’s berserk state than the rest, every usage of his Grail driving him nearer to fatigue. Unlike his adversary, he never has the advantage of an otherworldly fortitude. The Chains of Judgement is nothing less than a dual-edged sword. It has the ability to immobilise and annihilate with just a single strike. Alas, every manner of power has its price. The greater the reward promised, the steeper the price. Absolute power may not corrupt absolutely, but it surely demands an absolute payment. For him, it is his life force being mortgaged with no hope of paying back.

Who is worse off? Me with this or Aera with the Edge of Answerer? Sucks to be us either way.

The Vánagandr are renowned fighters among the Homm’Nua, their technique a union between a beauty and the beast. Unlike the elves who keep a distance from them, they do not believe in fancy footwork and beguiling strokes. Going for the kill is their dogma with the jugular a symbol of their doctrine. Yet, every stroke is never about blind force. Precision and power are dictated by delicate control, the nature of their footwork ensuring every prey would be killed in a matter of moments.

As for Aeravor, there is something setting him apart from his brethren. Not only is he more unstable than his fellow Vánagandr, there is a distinct difference between his ability and what the rest are capable of. It is like comparing mere mortals with Hati and Sköll, a silent compliment towards one whom he knows to be the Enemy of the World. At those thoughts, the demon hunter betrays a wistful smile.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Before the bald old man’s leer, Lars felt like skewering him on the spot. This was a brothel owner fairly known, his twisted pleasure in making life miserable for others a common knowledge among the goers. For his own profit, he sought to acquire the plot of land Ji'Yeon inherited from her grandfather, the old man passing away last autumn. Even though they were unrelated by blood, both old and young remained bonded by something worth so much more.

Then there was this hired sellsword who inexplicably betrayed the object of his loyalty. Not the payer, but the pay. It was only yesterday that those thugs nearly raped the woman he loved on the spot. Had he been there, there’d no need for that dark swordsman to play hero. As it turned out, the lure of a beautiful girl proved to be greater than money. Yet, choosing one instead of both was an absurdity. It was like a sane man trying to understand someone insane. Then again, absurdity has always been part and parcel of a world no different from a fiery crucible. 

The grinning executioner took a single stride, the repulsive old man started trembling. He knew the rules have been changed for the worse. Instead of dictating, he’s now being dictated. As the mercenary continued forward, the hunter let out a leer more monstrous than the prey.

"NO!"

That very word came out not from the old man, but Ji'Yeon. In spite of that perverted man’s luridness, the foolish girl still believed that no life deserved to be snuffed out like a flickering flame. At the same time, the deplorable man is standing in front of the cherry blossom tree, that one thing which Ji'Yeon would rather die than to see it scratched. The fat bastard did his homework on that plot of land, Lars has to give it to him. But the same fellow failed to do his homework on who should be hired.

One step… two steps… then came the third. With a single arc wide and forceful, the sellsword severed his quarry’s head cleanly. The dead man’s eyes remained opened in horror as Ji'Yeon fainted in shock, the repulsive thing halting its gruesome roll before Lars' feet.

A part of the demon hunter wanted retaliation for a tree scarred like that, a narrowed pair of golden eyes soon noticing something truly odd. The tree did not seem to suffer even the slightest scratch. As he ran towards the tree, the dark swordsman strode past him. Keeping a watchful eye in case that monster has any twisted design on Ji'Yeon, Lars ran a finger over the trunk.

"Not even a line on the bark?"

"I wish you’re a mute," retorted Lars, realisation dawning upon him the insane technique behind a seemingly simple slash, "Elvish accuracy combined with the force of a Tamurian's swing... Dessail de Morte... I hope you never heard of an elf by this name."

The mercenary erupted into laughter, his voice eerily resembling the howl of a wolf. As his mirth died down, his visage assumed a cold hard stance.

"You reminded me of something I don’t like, arsehole. Dessail is still alive. He taught me how to use it correctly."

"More correctly than anyone alive. There’s a reason why he is feared as the Executioner of Excellos," replied Lars, the implication behind such a revelation not lost on him.

"Those bastards deserved to die anyway. At least that bitch Ineis would tell you that," shrugged the swordsman with rugged elven looks, a complexion touched by darkness a contrast to his hair of wintry white.

"You’re some big shot, huh? Seems that you also know who is currently ruling the Homm’Nua. Let me guess. You’re a Vánagandr?"

Lars’ question abruptly prompted a snarl out of the stranger, his eyes of azure blue flashing with murderous intent. There was no way out now, only a duel unto the death. Given that Ji'Yeon was still unconscious, Lars Alterfate could more than afford to end this drama in the most comfortable way possible. A decision he definitely relished.

"Name’s Aeravor. And I’m gonna say the same to your whore once I’m done with you."

As the memory of their first meeting continues haunting him, Lars keeps pushing his focus to its brink. Like back then, the two of them are duelling till death announces its verdict. Unlike that time, one of the two is insane in every sense of the word. Aeravor has upped the ante a few moments ago, his flitting form seemingly appearing everywhere at once. Like using the Chains of Judgement, the aggressive style adopted by the Vánagandr demands a certain payment. If Lars has to use his own life as remuneration bit by bit, then sanity is the currency Aeravor has already paid in full. In this sense, the only person he still calls a friend is a monster amongst monsters, the wolf of wolves.

Bloody Seven Hells, Ji… if only you’re still alive like a Norn after all those years.

There is no jest in this silent statement. Lars understands only too well the nature of his gripe. He can’t die. Not in this way, not at this point. An oath was sworn, the deed was done before a cherry blossom tree. This was where he buried Kagetsu no Ji'Yeon, that very same tree she always loved. The promise was to redeem Aeravor from his intended end, to convince a wanderer lost that redemption has never been far away. Or maybe... just maybe... he's only doing it for himself.

Then he detects a disturbing change in the surroundings. He hears a girl screaming, his worst fear turning his back against that berserk monster of a ranger. A being of crackling energy swirling with a kaleidoscope of colours has ripped off her clothes, its massive frame ravaging her into submission. Its body is like a man twice his height, its face and elongated arms the shape of a crocodile. Even though he is a whoremonger like Aeravor, Lars is never able to stand firm before such a scene. Ji'Yeon was right. He has been wearing a mask all the while, a façade intended only to deceive and delude. A wall he has always erected before whores and chaste maidens alike.

The end never comes for him, death has to wait for another day. Instead of having the Edge of Answerer stuck between his shoulder blades, Lars instead witnesses something far worse than that. As if such a sight has goaded him like a ravenous beast picking up the scent of blood, Aeravor appears behind the monster. The poor lass is as a good as dead. Lars decides to play the rebel against reality, a hero like the unattainable ones in every boy's dream.

Out of nowhere, an ambush is set off. Multiple beings materialise abruptly, all of them resembling a cross between mortals and beasts like their unholy brethren. Fire and earth, water and ice, air and lightning... their bodies are made from the various elements of nature. Demons, all of them. Entities formed from the darkness of every individual walking on two legs. They do not have a soul, therefore trying to predict their course of action is nothing bar a fool's errand. Although they always rape, kill, and destroy indiscriminately, not all lives are necessarily snuffed out like that. Lars allows something to click in his mind. Surely this girl is a lost cause, but only because he has yet to play his strongest card. Hopefully, she won't be ripped apart before then.

"You lose again, my pupil."

"That’s not fair! I used my best hand!"

"Only because I knew you’d do that. Remember, Lars. Having the better hand today doesn’t mean you’re meant to be that lucky tomorrow. Eventually, you have to learn when to use 'that thing' and not just how. A simple game of cards is merely my way to prepare you. Now per stated beforehand, go cook our dinner and wash the dishes afterwards."

"This better work like all the while, you looney old man," whispers Lars as he closes his eyes for a single prayer.

Seven chains for a hell sevenfold.

Heavens be pierced for judgement come.

In a single moment, chains appear abruptly out of thin air. One for each demon, a stroke of judgement for each of them. The scene slows itself down before Lars’ now opened eyes, irises of gold containing pupils narrowed to a slit. Before Aeravor can deliver the most merciful death, a scythe is formed in Lars' hands. With a single swing of the weapon, all the demons impaled are shattered into blinding shards, the pieces making their way into Lars' body like a vortex of turquoise lights. A single stride and a graceful leap, Lars manages to reach the victim as Aeravor prepares to thrust the Edge of Answerer with both hands in a reverse grip.

With a diagonal blow, Lars Alterfate cut his friend from shoulder to hip. Chains of silver not unlike the previous ones impale the owner, a river of power yet to finish its course. Searing pain burning inside him, Lars' body is soon numbed unto the very core.

His mind blacks out. Then it is all over. The chains are no more, the girl’s breathing now resembling that of a maiden peacefully asleep. Like his last name had implied, Lars knows her fate has been effectively altered in a certain way. Instead of death in ways more than one, the girl is saved. Yet, it is no different from binding a severed rope. It can never be made whole again, the parts tied together revealing that which cannot be restored.

"Wonderful. You saved a whore after killing Ji'Yeon."

The girl is not the only one receiving deliverance at Lars' expense, a growling tone whispering memories bitter and sweet. Understanding the impact of forcing such power beyond its rightful limit, Lars ends up mocking his own lot in life. There he is, waiting to be killed. And to think a life saved is the reason why. Forever one used to self-deprecation, the irony isn’t lost on him. Always doing the wrong things unto himself for the sake of doing the right things unto others. If only his foolhardiness was enough to alter Ji'Yeon’s imminent fate.

Both of them are at their limits as they stare at each other from a distance, their bodies akin to two towers teetering towards collapse. There is no way Lars can escape despite the impact of his Grail's power knocking Aeravor away by more than just a few feet. As for Aeravor, he is not in the condition to drive the Edge of Answerer into the man whom he swore to kill.

"Men will always be boys. I’m glad ah’na is always right even after all those years."

With a massive flash of crimson red, an alluring maiden greets the two men utterly spent. Eyes widen in shock, Lars and Aeravor soon adopt different stances. The demon hunter retains his haunted look, the ranger narrowing his eyes of azure blue. With nary a doubt, however, they know the true nature of the white-haired beauty dressed in nothing bar a robe of red.

Nanaya no Tae'Jin.

"The Grand Damsel of Holy Quintet Church sends her regards personally," smirks the bewitching seductress with a deep bow, the top half of her breasts beckoning, "Sarel Aphros at your service."

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Glossary:

Mounty: A paramilitary unit mainly tasked with punitive/preemptive attacks on outlaws. This is due to the large extent of the Kalaran territory which makes law enforcement either into a chore or a logistic nightmare. While they are better trained than the Leonum Flammeus, they are fewer in numbers. At the same time, they are also in charge of liberating any settlements occupied by outlaws.

In reality (however)-The mounty is real. No, I'm not joking. Just ask this guy. Or any other Canuck.

Full mounty: Not to be confused with the full monty python, a full mounty refers to any mounty battalion/squadron/soldier wearing heavy armour (note: the standard mounty is geared in medium armour).

Skald: A minstrel who is both artistically and martially proficient due to the demands of adventuring.

In reality (however)-Skalds were the poets of Scandinavian and Icelandic leaders during the Viking Age and Middle Ages.

Hati and Sköll: Hati refers to the moon while Sköll refers to the sun. These terms are used by elves and dwarves exclusively due to unstated links to the Age of Renown.

In reality (however)-It seems that the ancient angmohs have an interesting obsession with their wolves. Wait... does that mean my elves are Frankish since my dwarves are inspired by Vikings?

Ah'na: Basically the Cinha term for older sister.

In reality (however)-It's inspired by the word ane. Now before the likes of Xiaxue start accusing me of being hypocritical, let me inform the likes of Shrey Bhargava that the racial brethren of Aragaki Yui have no racist sentiments towards Indians. Erm... at least I hope not given what happened in Okinawa will never stay in Okinawa. Anyway, ane means older sister. I'm not lying to get a Greek bailout here.

Additional note:

The Executioner of Excellos is my own way of playing with the title Excellency of Execution.

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