Chapter 36:
Together, Then
(Vincent's POV, Cont.)
The Academy Grounds. Vincent didn't really know a lot about it. His time at the Academy wasn't spent like most of the other children. He was kept confined to specific places where he could be watched constantly. The only time he was ever "alone" was when he was allowed to sit by the large pond of the Academy Commons.
It was there that Vanessa first caught a glimpse of him, and it was there that she became obsessed. Honestly, Vincent wasn't sure what she was doing there that day, for she has no magical talent of any kind. It could only be theorized that the Noble Faction had known of her fascination for beautiful things, making Vincent the perfect lure.
Seeing him sitting by that pond so tranquil and at peace...it was all a facade. He was melancholic. Unable to remember what he had lost, or why he felt the way that he did. He only knew that to show emotion was to be punished, and he did not want to be punished.
It was convenient that he was allowed there at all, let alone by himself. The more he thought about it, the more his theory continued to make sense. Invite the Saville Family to tour the Academy under the guise of raising funds for the school. Then, during the tour, they just so happen to pass by the Academy Commons near to where Vincent was sitting.
That day, he recalled they had ensured he was clean. He also recalled that it was a day that he had not been punished. In fact, he had been praised. From the day on, however, his training grew more rigorous and intense. They wanted him to be perfect, and he became the epitome of it.
Of course, no one and nothing was truly perfect, but for the right person...they could be. Vincent didn't quite know why his gaze lingered towards Gwen when he thought about this, nor why he felt ashamed. He had thought he was done feeling shame, but it seems that some still lingered.
He was in unfamiliar territory, both with his feelings and with the place they found themselves in. Having entered the now destroyed gate of the Academy, Vincent saw a large plaza spread out before him with a beautiful fountain in its center. It was made of marble and trimmed in gold. In its center was three robed women back-to-back.
They were made of the same marble with their arms outstretched as if in welcome. From their hands poured the water which flowed gracefully into the basin of the fountain. Vincent marveled at it for a moment, taking it in for the first time. Was this what everyone saw upon their first visit here? Vincent had seen no such thing.
His earliest memories of arriving at the Academy were not so grand. He recalled riding in a covered carriage. The people who rode with him acted nice, luring him into a false sense of security. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he awoke in a small room on a single bed no more than a cot. The rest of the room was bare and unfurnished.
He was scared. Alone. He didn't know how he had gotten there. All he knew was what came next. Training. He shivered at the thought. Headmaster Markus had greeted him personally.
~"Hello, Vincent," his sly, sickly-sweet voice that the young Vincent didn't know held venom, "I'm the Headmaster of this Academy, and you, dear boy, are of quite the special interest. I'll be keeping a very close eye on your progress."~
Little did Vincent know, he meant that literally. From that day on, he would check in on his progress periodically with a discerning, often condescending and disapproving eye. Vincent soon traded that dull room for the only home he knew for the next couple of years. That of the cell he memorized every single inch of.
To this day, Vincent could close his eyes and recount every single mark upon the stone. There were thirty-three, each of various sizes and depth, not including the two-hundred and sixty-four pock marks. Every bar and all the scuffs they held. Five scoring marks, seventy-six scratches, and eight places where the metal had become worn down from use.
He knew how often and when the ceiling would drip. In the summer it was worse. Condensation would build, making it even harder to sleep. The floor was already uncomfortable, and in the beginning the constant dripping would startle him awake.
Soon, however, it became like a lullaby for him. One, two. Drip. Three, four. Drop. One, Two. Drip. Three, four. Drop. Over and over again. It wore a small indent into the stone floor, creating a puddle of stagnant water which eventually soaked into it. Moss would often grow in its place, and the sound would sometimes get softer, gentle. It became a strange comfort during his stay.
He remembered all the stains, most of which were caused by his own blood. Three in particular stayed around. Though, they were most often courteous enough to take him to another room for his "training" sessions. It wasn't easy to give the proper education in such a small cell, after all.
Compared to his cell, and a few other places he often frequented, all of this was unfamiliar. Most of the buildings surrounding the plaza or lining the roads that diverged from the plaza looked like shops. Smaller courtyards lined with planters could be seen further off with sitting areas. He could just imagine it now. All the students, and possibly even teachers and guards, walking around with not a care in the world. Laughing, talking...enjoying their day.
Each building was made of pristine stone and wood, flying the colors of the Academy in tapestries that hung from their eaves. It may have, at one point, looked breathtaking, but now it was filled with soldiers, men and women in armor as they pressed their way into the Academy Grounds. Everything was chaotic yet strangely ordered.
The Academy Knights began to clash with Gwen's Wisteria Knights at several chokepoints. The sounds and noises of fighting arose as magic began to be cast from both sides. The chaos came from how desperate the struggle was, while the order came from how clean and swiftly the Wisteria Knights moved. It was easy to see just how the battle would go, but still they fought on.
"...Stubborn fools," Vincent muttered, clenching his jaw, "They'll still fight for someone who abandoned them..."
"Sometimes, that's all people can do," Gwen's voice was like a gentle breeze come to calm his aching heart, "When you're afraid. Lost. You revert to the only thing you know."
Her words hit close to home, for he knew exactly what that was like. He felt her hand upon his shoulder as she motioned towards the fighting.
"Look closely, Vincent," she focused his attention and he saw something that was of some relief, "We'll capture most of them, but death and injury will be inevitable. Not all are lost and afraid. Some know exactly what they are doing."
Vincent's eyes followed the flow of scared Academy Knights desperately trying to avoid capture, and at the far back was someone barking orders. He could tell immediately that they were different from the others. Though they wore fear upon their face, there was an anger to their eyes. A desperate determination.
They commanded the Academy Knights on that side of the plaza, ordering them to push back against the Wisteria Knights, but it was a futile effort. Vincent saw in the faces of the Academy Knights some that were barely adults. This struck a cord deep in Vincent's chest.
"How...dare they," Vincent's hands crackled with mana as his arm came up quickly.
Snapping like a whip, his arm moved as his fingers tingled with power. Five silvery-blue runic circles like rings upon his hand came to form a singular ring before his palm. Electricity sparked to life as a bolt of lightning shot forth. It whizzed through the air in a streak of light, striking the one commanding the Academy Knights in the chest.
They had barely a moment to realize what was happening before they were struck, and a hole had been made where their heart had been. Vincent's gaze was cold, angry as he watched the man fall, dead to the ground. Those around them stared in shock before their heads turned towards Vincent.
"Hear me!" Vincent roared, for the first time ever, raising his voice above the din of the fighting, "I see you. Your fear. You uncertainty. Do not lay your lives down for those who hide behind you. Who order you to your deaths. Surrender. You. Are. Free."
He had never raised his voice before, and as his words lingered upon the air, falling upon their ears, Vincent felt something resonate within him. Those words were not just for them, but for himself. He was free, and he would ensure that all those who were forced to fight would make the right choice.
For a brief moment, the fighting paused. Everyone was silent, and many of the Wister Knights looked quite proud. The Academy Knights still looked uncertain, but one by one, they began to drop their weapons. Both Mages and Knights alike.
That was until a booming voice echoed across the plaza.
"Anyone who lays their weapons down are traitors!" it was feminine in nature, though a bit deep, "Do you have no pride? Do you-"
It was a familiar voice, and one that awoke something in Vincent. Something...murderous. Turning faster than he had ever moved before. He felt his entire body twist and flow as he came to face the one who spoke. Energy welling up in his arm. His eyes sparked with magic.
She was Knight-Captain of the Academy Guard, Erin McIntyre. Her face came into full view within his mind before he saw it in the present day. It was another face from the past. One who stood in the shadows, watching and guarding those who tortured him. Sometimes, she would be one who administered these...lessons.
A middle-aged woman with a strong jaw and cream-like complexion. There was a scar across her right eye...one that Vincent had given her during an outburst. She had not been kind to him after that. He could never forget those orbs of hazel, like a field of wheat.
Her hair like flaxen silk itself, she stood resplendent in gleaming armor and bore a spear and shield with the symbol of the Academy upon it. That of a full moon and stars. Behind her, a small platoon of Academy Shield-Guard stood. However, this was of no consequence for him.
Vincent did not let her finish the sentence she had upon her tongue, for another bolt of lightning shot out towards her. She reacted quickly enough, blocking the blast with her shield. It shimmered as if enhanced by a special enchantment, which it most definitely was.
"Heh, did you think that would work?" Erin taunted, gazing coolly from behind her shield, "You should have known...better?"
Her words were confused, for Vincent was no longer in her line of sight. A Mages body was weaker than that of an Aura User, this was true in the physical sense, but Magic, if used right...could supplement that difference, and in Vincent case, he was built for speed. His muscles amplified and streamlined by the mana coursing through his veins, he had learned much during his time here. Mainly...how to kill.
He knew that Gwen would have done the honors, but he also knew that in the moment he acted, he had caught her eye. She saw in his gaze that this was something he had to do, and so she gave a brief nod and a small smile. She understood, even if she did not want him to fight, she would not prevent him from doing what he had to do, and so as he moved, Gwen watched on with full trust.
"Don't know why you're looking over here," Gwen stated wryly, motioning with her hand half-heartedly behind Erin, "You shouldn't take your eyes off your opponent."
"I should have killed you back then," Vincent's words startled Erin, who turned too slowly, and reacted too late, "Allow me to remedy that."
A chill pierced her body as several icy-blue circles erupted into spears of ice, impaling her from multiple angles. Her shield and spear clattered to the ground as she gripped the icicles protruding from her body. Blood coughed up from her lungs, pooling out of her mouth. There was a look of fear, understanding that her death was near.
As Vincent stood over her, he looked down with cold eyes, and an even colder heart. Franchesca Albinne was not the only one who had trained him. In order to better fight against melee combatants, Erin was in charge. The scar she got was when Vincent's magic had gone out of control. He had been punished for that, but ever since...his control had gotten much better.
"Don't blame me," Vincent stated emotionlessly, "Remember. You made me."
He watched as the life left her eyes, his words the last thing she heard before slumping over, dead. He turned to the platoon behind her, his gaze piercing every single one of them. He heard Gwen's footsteps approach and her blade unsheathe. Standing next to him, her presence was most welcome.
"Now, I believe he told you...Drop your weapons," Gwen's words caused a shiver to run through Vincent's body, for they were said in solidarity with him.
He was grateful that she was supporting him, and in turn, that he was supporting her. He had never felt so at peace than in that moment. There had never been a stronger bond of trust formed within his heart than when she reinforced his own words with her own. To hear someone stand up with him, especially her, it was...euphoric.
He found his gaze lingered on her in admiration. The sound of weapons falling to the ground sounded like something so far off as his gaze focused on her. She stood proud, regal next to him. Her strong visage glaring down those that would defy her...and defy him. He only turned away out of embarrassment when he saw her turn a gentle gaze towards him.
"Are you still doing okay?" her concern was touching, for she knew what fighting could do to him, but he was okay.
"Yes," he nodded, chancing a glance at her, "I am. In fact...I feel better than ever, but I also think that the hardest fight is ahead."
Her expression softened in pained understanding. Markus and Franchesca were somewhere in the Academy. Facing them would prove a challenge. Not because they were strong, which they were, but because...even has he collected himself, he could feel his hands shaking.
"Vincent..." Gwen called his name gently, "I'll be right there. Together."
Vincent clenched his hands into fists, forcing himself to stop shaking. She was right. She would be right there by his side. He had nothing to fear. Even if he did relapse again, she would be there. This thought alone was enough to steady his heart.
"You're right," he nodded, looking up at her with renewed resolve, "Together."
-----
(Gwen's POV)
The plaza was secured with the death of only two individuals. Many were injured, but the rest had surrendered relatively peacefully. The number of injuries on her side were minimal and they were making good progress.
She was worried about Vincent, but couldn't bring herself to stop him. This was as much his fight as it was hers, if not more so. Her heart went out to him, unable to truly fathom just what he was feeling or going through right now. All she could do was help as best as she could, in the only way that she knew how.
"Remember," Gwen cautioned, glancing towards Vincent, "Let me handle things here. Safe your strength."
Vincent nodded, albeit a little sheepishly. He was a little reluctant to let her take charge, but only because just like she didn't want to see him exert himself or get hurt, he didn't want to see that happen to her. However, as they both often realize, such worries were unneeded as both were quite capable. Even so, it didn't stop them from doing so.
It was this bond, this concern for each other, that allowed them to make their way easily through the Academy Grounds towards the looming structure of the school itself. It was a compound shaped like a wheel. A large central building occupied its center while six different branches, or wings, spread out like the spokes of a wheel. They connected to an outer building which wrapped around the entire school.
It was several stories tall with spires and towers protruding up into the sky...or at least, they had. Within the center, the largest tower and its surrounding infrastructure had been completely obliterated by Vincent's bombardment. The outer building acted as dorms, and a few extracurricular classrooms. The main lessons took place in the six different wings and the plazas which lay between them.
It was an impressive structure, but Gwen couldn't help but feel disgust as she approached it. This had been Vincent's prison many years before that bitch Vanessa got her claws into him. Right now, Gwen couldn't see it as anything else. Gritting her teach, she looked towards Vincent to check on him.
For now, he seemed to be doing okay. His face was as impassive as ever, and for a moment she grew distracted. Despite the circumstances, Gwen couldn't help but see him as beautiful, and for more than just his looks. He was persevering. That strength, that determination...no matter how much they broke him, the Vincent she knew was still there. Waiting to be set free.
There was a beauty in how he strove to break free. How he had not lost that side of himself despite everything, and for that reason, she vowed to protect him and everything that was left of him, with everything she had. Of course, he was of the same mind, and together they watched each other's backs, ensuring that neither did too much, all while insisting that the other take it easy.
Gwen could only imagine what Cassandra and Miranda would say if they saw the two of them now. It was a little embarrassing, but a part of herself was pleased to be able to share such moments with Vincent. They bickered, but in a way that was playful. It almost reminded her of when they were children, chasing after one another.
Gwen's blade moved masterfully in her hand, as if it was a natural extension of her arm. As she focused on the front, Vincent covered her sides and back. Magic danced to his tune like a musician playing their instrument perfectly. They were completely in sync, though there wasn't much resistance.
As they reached the main entrance of the school, they slowed down to get their bearings. Looking around, Gwen saw her knights rounding up those who had surrendered and the ones they had captured. There were many students among them, rounded together on the lawn before the school.
They were being watched carefully, and for the most part were being amicable. This was going smoothly. It looked as if the outer building of the school, or at least the main entrance, was under their control by the time Gwen and Vincent arrived. Sector by sector, Gwen's army was efficiently taking control.
"Your Highness!" a runner shouted, catching her attention.
They were a young woman with blonde hair tied back in a small ponytail. Bright green eyes and a freckled, light brown complexion. They wore leather armor with Gwen's crest upon the upper left. They came to a halt, saluting before Gwen nodded to them.
"At ease," she told her, looking her over carefully, "You have a message?"
"Yes," the woman nodded, motioning towards the school itself, "Dame Cassandra and Lady Miranda have spotted Markus and a few others fleeing through the halls."
Gwen's eyes flicked to Vincent, worried that he may have another episode, but instead, she saw a fierce fire ignited within his eyes. This eased her heart and was honestly quite the pleasant thing to see.
"They were able to corner them," the woman continued, "Apparently, it's some kind of great hall. It's behind two large, thick wooden doors."
"...The feast hall," Vincent muttered, almost sad in tone, "I've heard of it, but never seen it."
"Vincent?" Gwen inquired, but he simply shook his head.
"It's nothing, Gwen," he sighed, taking a deep breath, "Just a place they hold celebrations, as well as the main cafeteria. Of course, I was never invited."
He chuckled dryly and Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, shall we go eat, then," she teased, earning her an unamused side-eye from him before he cracked a small smile.
"I don't think they'll taste that good," Vincent replied, rolling his eyes, "Though, I am a little famished. Should we go have our fill?"
"I could eat," Gwen nodded, a wicked smile on her lips.
The messenger looked between them, a little disconcerted, but otherwise said nothing.
-----
(Vincent's POV)
The halls of the Academy were strangely nostalgic. Though he had spent most of his time below these halls, he had memories of walking through here when he was younger. He had been in awe of the grandeur this place held.
Tiled floors of blue and gold. Walls of marble sectioned by wooden columns. Windows looked out into the large courtyards, more plazas than anything. Some were training halls with sparring rings and training dummies. Vincent's eye was sharp, noticing that these sparring rings were not stained in blood.
"...How precious," Vincent mused to himself, "How coddled they must have been..." There was a sense of bitterness to his thoughts, but it soon disappeared as he remembered that not everyone had the same struggles, but they were still struggles. Even so, seeing such spotless patches of ground was...a little unfair.
He could feel his blood tingling. Itching as he walked these halls. It made his skin crawl being back here. Memories that he'd rather not recall surfaced to the top. How ostracized he had been. The other students avoided him, and those that didn't learned quickly that they should.
The ones that watched over him didn't like anyone interfering, and so Vincent was left well enough alone. None of the students really knew why, but most assumed he was receiving special treatment. They grew resentful, bitter. Thankfully, it was only scornful looks.
Those looks were almost a relief to the pain he endured under these hallowed halls. There was a resentment he himself felt towards those who had given him such looks, but he knew that it was not their fault. They had been fed lies and led to believe them. Their naivety had been conditioned, much as his obedience had been.
"Gwen...hold up," Vincent felt his head begin to spin, placing a hand upon one of the walls.
Its surface was cool to the touch. He took a deep breath as he felt Gwen's hand upon his back. It was gentle and comforting, as it always was.
"Take your time," she spoke soothingly.
This place...it had to be destroyed, but there was something he wanted to do. No, he had to do, but before he could, they had to take care of the bastards who had defiled this place.
"Alright," Vincent straightened, "I'm good. Just a bit dizzy."
Gwen gave a terse smile. It was brief, but filled with compassion. Once they got moving again, they had to go through the center of the school. It was also known as Administration. It was where all new students, those who came through normal means anyway, were inducted into the Hall of Records. It was also where the schools library was located.
Above Administration were the offices of the teachers, and above them, that of the Headmaster's Tower. Of course, Vincent had destroyed the upper floors. They were currently inaccessible, and as they came into the main section of Administration, Vincent looked up at the familiar spiral staircases leading to the upper floors. It was an atrium-styled room with three balconies above with rows of books on shelves. The Library and Hall of Records.
Not all sections were able to be accessed by everyone. You had to have a pass to reach each level. The only reason Vincent knew this, is because he had overheard students talking. Most of his information he had heard secondhand. Of course, he had also paid attention to whenever he was escorted through the Academy. He saw people using what looked like cards to show the monitors, people who guarded the stairs, in order to access the higher floors.
A circular desk was situated in the center of the room, which was currently being used as a forward command post. Wisteria Knights moved about in an organized fashion. Many were deployed with orders from none other than Lady Miranda and Lady Cassandra who stood over a table that had been brought into the middle of the circular desk.
"Your Highness," Lady Cassandra called over when she saw them approach, "Vincent, you're both here. Are you...alright?"
It was nice of her to ask. He knew that she cared about him, and was grateful for her concern.
"Yeah, for now," he nodded, giving her a half-hearted smile, "Being back here...seeing things I've never seen. It just makes me think. This place, however...I've moved through it a lot on my way to the upper floors above the ceiling."
"...Understood," she gave him a short nod and a kind smile, "Well, thanks to you, the upper floors are gone. No one will use them again."
"Good," Vincent nodded, closing his eyes to center himself, "So, you said that Markus barricaded himself in the feast hall?"
Opening his eyes, he walked with Gwen up to the table and looked at the piece of paper upon it. A map of the Academy. It showed each wing of the dorms on the outer edges, every department of teaching, and the courtyards between with their various buildings. Vincent also made note of one particular spot on the map. The Academy Commons.
It was a location set up outside of the school on the East side. It was a large park with winding paths and a large pond. It was where many students would go to relax if they didn't, or couldn't, go into town or the plaza by the gates. It was there that he ever felt any sense of peace, even though he knew that he was always being watched. It was...strangely comforting.
"Yes," Lady Cassandra indicated, pointing towards the West side of campus, "The Northwest courtyard holds the building. Three hallways lead to it from the North, South, and West. We've cornered them, but...we don't know what's happening inside."
"We...tried breaking in, but..." Lady Miranda spoke up a little nervously, "There were safeguards that I didn't know about. It's protecting the building."
"What matters is they have nowhere to go," Gwen told them, placing a hand on the map, "Vincent...we won't let them escape."
"No, we won't," Vincent's gaze was distant, as if seeing through the map.
Indeed, he wondered why they would barricade themselves in a place that had no escape route...unless there was one. He recalled his time in the tunnels beneath the school. Besides his cell, he was taken to other rooms. Some for training, others for torture. A few for both.
There was one in particular that he found...strange. He was taught to ignore outside stimuli in order to focus, but when he was starved for days sometimes...the smell of food permeated his nostrils. He attributed it to hallucination, but what if...what if there was a reason for it?
His eyes came back into focus as he took the map and examined it. His eyes found what he wanted. It didn't appear on the map, but he knew it was there. Looking around, he oriented himself in the right direction.
"There is one possibility," Vincent explained as everyone looked towards him, "The feast hall isn't a dead end. It's only a hunch, but...do you trust me?"
He looked towards Gwen who met his gaze with an unwavering solidarity.
"Always," she responded with no hesitation, "What have you realized?"
Taking a deep breath, Vincent was not keen on going back down there. Those stone corridors were suffocating. He could already feel its cold embrace. It wasn't pleasant, but he had to face it. He was going to anyways, once those bastards were dead, but now...it was as if they were leading him there. Taunting him. Daring him to chase them.
"There may be a passage to the tunnels below from the feast hall," Vincent pointed to what looked like a wall on the map, "I don't know how many entrances there are, but I do know this one and a couple others."
He was often blindfolded when transferred from place to place, but not all of them. He showed them each one that he knew of and told them they should spread out over the entire campus. They may try to sneak out, if they don't try and make their way to the northern gate.
"You don't have to worry about that," Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance, "The Fengard are outside of it, and I'm sure by now the knights have taken it."
"I can confirm that," Lady Cassandra chimed in, "I received a report just before you came. Most of the campus is under our control. There was a bit of fierce resistance, but not a lot. Most realized the futility of it, and others had even turned in the teachers and older students who were pushing them to attack. We've got the Academy Grounds mostly under our control."
"Effective as always, Cass," Gwen praised, "Now...let's get these vermin."
-----
(Markus POV, Under the Academy)
It was inconceivable. How dare that little whelp bite back against the hand that raised it. Was it not grateful? It knew better to attack them, and yet here Markus was, hiding like a rat. How dare they.
"Markus..." Franchesca called to him in that lilting sweet voice of hers, "Why are we hiding? That thing could never raise a hand against us."
He looked up to meet her eye. She was beautiful, and she was his. Markus smirked, scoffing as he raised a hand to her awaiting face. She shivered at his touch. He had her wrapped around his little finger. How easily it was to mold her into what he wanted. Nothing was out of reach for him. Nothing. Yet...
"You did not see it, my sweet," Markus's words were sickly sweet, yet to Francescha, they were just right, "Those eyes...they held defiance. It is no longer the tool we raised. That bitch changed it. Made it think for itself."
Franchesca clicked her tongue as she pressed his hand further against her face.
"Then, we'll simply remind it," Franchesca smiled wickedly, "Once we get out of here, we'll-"
"Get out?" one of the people with then spoke up, "And how the hell do you expect us to do that?"
"We're surrounded," another added, crossing their arms, "Do we wait until they leave and then scamper out like a dog with its tail between our legs? We should be fighting."
Markus glanced towards the group that had gathered around him above, and had followed him below. Most of them were loyal, but some among them were not quite up to speed on the state of the world. They still believed in that whole "equal under education" mindset. Fools.
"If you wish to fight," Markus addressed them, venom lacing his tongue, "Then by all means. The way up is right there."
Markus motioned towards the stone staircase leading up. Right now, they were in a room about fifty feet long and about just as wide. It had been used to train tools. With the smell of the food from above, it often acted as a distraction, which was precisely why they used this room. Starve them, then bring them here.
They would smell the food, but they would have to focus. Meditate on the indicated spots on the floor. Then, they would learn to focus their mana at the targets, which many lay shattered on the floor. Failure meant punishment. The ground stained with blood.
Markus reveled in the memories. The muffled screams as they tried to resist the temptation of shouting out when struck. None were as impressive as them. That thing by that bitch's side. Of all the tools they had created, it had been the best.
There was a deep fear within Markus that he did not let show. If that thing was not within their control...there was no way they would escape. He could only hope to outlast them down here. A place that they would fear to tread.
"That's..." one of them spoke up, recoiling a bit from the idea, "You want us to just commit suicide?"
"No," Markus shook his head, "Why do you think we're hiding down here? Even combined, we cannot go against an army like that. We have to wait. They won't find us down here."
"What even is this place?" another of them asked, "I've never heard of such things beneath the school..."
They were one of the few teachers who had not been privy to what was going on in Markus's Academy, and it was his Academy. He had earned his spot, and now...he fumed at remembering the destruction of his tower and that of the infrastructure around it. How dare that creature bite back...
"Old training tunnels," Markus dismissed off-handedly, "They were used in the past when teaching had yet to advance. It was a...cruel place. I only chanced upon them in an old archive."
Markus was lying through his teeth. Weaving lies with half-truths.
"I've never heard of them..." one of the other teachers who was completely ignorant said as they looked around, "It's a good thing you knew about them, but...I don't like it."
There was a murmur of agreement, and while outwardly Markus showed sympathy, inwardly he was sneering. "What weak-minded fools..." he taunted, looking down upon them all. There was a reason not everyone was privy to what they did down here. They weren't strong enough. They didn't have what it takes to do anything for success.
The commonfolk were simply tools to be used. Sculpted into what they, the Noble Blood, desired. Of course, there were some among the nobles who had some ridiculous idea that they were not above the commonfolk, and in fact had a duty to them. They had it backwards. The commonfolk had a duty to them. It was the Nobles who kept them safe. The least they could do is provide good entertainment.
"Deal with it," Franchesca snapped, her shrewd, cold attitude she is known for coming out, "My dear Markus is doing his best to keep all of you ungrateful lot safe. So, if you want to complain, you're more than welcome to leave."
She gave them all a sharp glare, which cowed most of them. Some stood in defiance, yet said nothing. Markus marveled at his attack dog. He had crafted her wonderfully. She would do anything for him. Even die for him. How easy it had been, for just a few sweet words, to have stolen her heart.
As he marveled at his handiwork, a shiver ran up his spine as he felt it. His gaze turned towards one of the hallways leading from the room. A dread fell upon his as he refused to believe what he was feeling. As the teachers argued and talked amongst themselves, only Franchesca noticed where his gaze had wondered to.
"Markus, what is it? What are you..." her worlds trailed off she felt it too.
Throwing their hands up, both of them threw up a shield as a spear of ice shattered upon it. It had come from the darkened hallway. Everyone became silent as they turned with horror towards those who stepped from the shadows into the light of the room.
"You," Markus scowled, "It returns. Come to pay your respects? Beg our forgiveness?"
Hair like silk made from the very rays of the sun and skin as fair as they come. A beautiful tool, Markus always thought, despite never going for such things. He once marveled at those wisteria eyes, so docile and compliant. Now, however, there was no such indication.
Locked in a cold, deadly glare, the tool stepped forward with an inferno by its side. The bitch that had taken his tool from him. Undone years of work. The very flames of the Sun stood by the tools side. The great Prince of their nation, Gwenevere Vossen-Stone.
"No," it said coolly, "You deserve none."
Markus fumed internally. How dare it. After everything he had given the thing, they dare to say such things to him? Before he could say anything, however, several of those gathered with Markus rushed into an offensive formation, mana beginning to channel.
The tool simply tilted its head, unbothered as the Prince took their sword from the sheath.
"I wouldn't recommend this," it said in monotone, "I'm here only for them. Stand aside."
"No," one of them refused, "I don't know who you are, or why you're doing this, but as a Mage you should be ashamed!"
"...Ashamed?" it replied, inquiring with a slight smirk, "Should I feel shame? No, being back here...I only feel anger. Pain. Fear. You do not know who you defend."
Those that did not know what this place was, or who the tool was, looked at each other with confusion. Those that did know, however, glanced at Markus. Secretly, he gave them a nod. Better them than him. If anyone was to die, their deaths would be insignificant.
Before another word could be said, those that remained loyal to Markus cast their magic. Ozone filled the air as several spells were cast. Dust and dirt filled the air as the ground exploded before the Prince and the tool. A direct hit.
"W-What the hell are you doing!?" part of the group exclaimed, completely taken aback by the sudden attack, "We could have negotiated!"
Fools. Useless. Locking eyes with Franchesca, he gave her a nod. A cruel smile crossed her lips as she began channeling a blade of mana into the tips of her fingers. She moved quickly, slicing into the neck of the one who spoke up. They clutched their throat as it began to slowly heal, only for Franchesca to finish them with a mana blade through the heart.
"L-Lady Albinne!" one of them exclaimed, completely taken by surprise, "What is the meaning of...ah!"
They were also cut down as Franchesca became covered in blood. Her eyes dead, cold.
"Any who refuse to fight will die," she told them, "We have no need of useless fools like you."
"I couldn't have said that better myself," a voice not unfamiliar to Markus spoke from cloud of dust and dirty, "Useless vermin have no place in my Empire."
A blade of crimson cut through the smoke as a streak of fire came from within. No, it wasn't a flame, but...the Prince themselves. They rushed those that had cast their spells first. Markus watched in horror as their hands were detached from their bodies, followed almost immediately by their bodies themselves. They had cut deep, too deep for most to recover, and via the use of Aura, it would have already been difficult to heal.
Fear welled up in Markus's heart, yet outwardly he simply scowled. Everything was falling apart. Everything was being ruined. Markus's eyes darted to where the smoke was settling to see t hat the tool itself was also unharmed. They were walking casually forward, and its eyes...they were locked with Markus's.
As soon as they met, Markus felt a shiver run through his body. "What have we made..." Markus wondered before Franchesca leapt to his side.
"Stay back, child," Franchesca's voice gave the tool pause as it tilted its head, eyes glazing over slightly, "You know better than to raise your hand against us. We taught you everything."
The Prince turned towards the tool, having just slaughtered a handful of Mages in the blink of an eye. They walked towards them and placed a hand on the tools shoulder.
"Vincent..." she whispered, "I can finish this, if you want. You don't have to-"
"No," the tool shook its head, its eyes regaining focus, "We'll finish this. Together."
"...Together, then," the Prince smiled, turning towards the group that Franchesca had just attacked.
This was a complete shit show. Markus was cornered. Trapped.
"I suggest you stay put," the Prince said, motioning her blade towards them, "As you can see, they do not value you. You're just a means to an end, and that end only leads to your death. Surrender."
Markus glared at them, but in their gazes, he saw it. They weren't going to fight. Did Markus act too soon? Did he send Franchesca after them before...Franchesca! That was it. Markus smiled wickedly.
"You're a failure," Franchesca snapped at the tool, "Just because you have a pretty new master, you think you can stand against us? We'll show you what it means to fight together. Isn't that right...Markus?"
Her voice turned to confusion as Markus pushed her forward. Her eyes widened in betrayal as he gathered the mana inside of himself and cast a barrier wall between them.
"Nothing personal, my sweet," Markus told her, waving goodbye, "My life is just a bit more important. So, do me a favor and buy me some time."
Franchesca's face darkened, but Markus didn't wait for a reply. He immediately turned and began fleeing. From behind, he heard the sound of a guttural scream before the piercing of flesh could be heard. Markus didn't look back until he found himself reeling to the ground. A great concussion force pushed him away from the tunnel he had been running towards.
His vision saw a woman with dark curly hair and amber eyes walk wearing robes walked from the corridor with another woman, clad in armor. Her silvery-yellow eyes looked down on him in contempt. It took him a moment to realize...his legs were missing. The pain was almost immediate as an ungodly scream tore from his lungs.
His eyes flicked towards Franchesca, horror filling them as he saw the tool had pierced her chest with the ice blade that was attached to his arm. Her face was locked in a mix of confusion, pain, and anger.
"What was it...you two always taught me?" the tool inquired, tilting his head, "Oh, right...Never let your enemy have the chance to react."
Pulling his blade from Franchesca's chest, she stumbled backwards, through the barrier that was no longer there. Markus had lost concentration upon it. He couldn't die here. He had to live.
"Franchesca, my sweet..." Markus called to her, "Help me...come to me...give me your energy. I can...Franchesca?"
Her eyes were completely dead as they beheld him, blood pooling from her wound. It was barely stitching itself back together. Little bits of frost were forming around its edges. A smile that never reached her eyes curled her lips. It...terrified him.
"Of course, Markus..." Franchesca staggered towards him, falling to her knees before him, "I'll help you..."
She reached towards his face and pulled him into an embrace. His blood stumps for legs trailing behind him. He smiled, hugging her in return.
"Thank you," he whispered, holding her close, "I always knew you would take care of me. I love you. Always have, always will."
"Yes...love," Franchesca's words rang hollow as she caressed the back of his head, "I loved you, and you...were going to sacrifice me."
Her hold on him tightened painfully. She was much stronger than she looked, even as she was half-dead.
"Fr-Franchesca, what are you..." Markus couldn't get the words out as the breath from his lungs were squeezed from him.
He tried fighting back, but he couldn't. He had no strength, even as he tried to gather his mana.
"Till death, you said," Franchesca whispered menacingly, "Did you see it? The tool we raised? How glorious. I was wrong. He wasn't a failure, but you...my love. You are."
He felt it then, the welling of mana. His eyes widened in fear as he began to struggle even harder now. He saw the tool and its companions all begin to gather together. It was warning them. It knew what was about to happen.
"Y-You! Spare me! Save me!" he shouted, "I'll give you anything! Please! I'm sorry! Vincent!"
The call of its name drew its attention, yet all he saw in those eyes was a void.
"You made your bed, Markus," it said, "Its only fitting you sleep in it. I've only ever been a tool to you. Saying my name now won't change that. It's fitting...you two dying together."
"Yes...together," Franchesca began chuckling hysterically, "You've left me no choice, Markus. Die to them...or die with you. Together forever."
"Nooo!" Markus shouted, extending his arm towards the tool, "I don't want to die!"
There was no response. He saw the tool usher everyone down one of the hallways, along with the traitors who had surrendered. He was left alone in the embrace of the woman he had fooled into loving him. In that moment, as her body began to glow with an unfathomable amount of energy as she paid the ultimate price, he held regret.
Perhaps he should have been a better person. He would not have been so alone in this moment. Perhaps...this moment would not have come to pass at all. Resigning himself to his fate. He wrapped his arms around Franchesca's neck, embracing her fully, truly.
"Together, then..." he whispered, this time, full of sincerity as he said, "I should have loved you better..."
"Another life...together," Franchesca's words were the last he heard as oblivion took the both of them.
-----
He watched as the life left her eyes, his words the last thing she heard before slumping over, dead. He turned to the platoon behind her, his gaze piercing every single one of them. He heard Gwen's footsteps approach and her blade unsheathe. Standing next to him, her presence was most welcome.
damn, shouldve made her scream and suffer
alot of trash has died. shame that their deaths couldnt be more slow and agonizing