“Let me go! I can still save him!” Dahlia shouted.
She struggled against Elaine’s and Rockford’s hold, their grip barely enough to hold her back. The shaman needed to break free, to save James. There was still time to revive him. She could always redo the ritual from a year back. If she managed the first time, she could certainly do it again, right?
“He’s gone!” Elaine shouted. “There’s no way he can survive that!”
“Let go!” Dahlia desperately protested. She could feel hot tears run down her cheeks, her voice cracking as she screamed, “I can do my ritual again! I’m better now! I’ve improved enough!”
“You’re out of castings!” Elaine reminded her. “What are you going to do with just one hand and no reserves?”
Dahlia clenched her teeth tightly, enough to send sharp pains through her jaw. The bard was right. She was out of castings. Most of them were spent on that damned fogcloud and fighting those fucking marauders and soldiers. The shaman couldn’t even fight properly, as her left hand was too injured to be used effectively.
“Dammit!” Dahlia cursed to herself. She had trained so much, learned new spells, unlocked an entire branch of magic. Yet she was powerless to save the one person who had pushed her to be her best. The one person she cared about more than anything.
“We’re going to have to retreat,” Rockford muttered. The dwarf was also right. With James gone from the front, everyone would be without hope. Not only that, but the alarm totem was still without the ley line connection. It was clear that Seamus’ group was either dead or worse.
“Where will we go?” A surviving guardsman asked. “If those marauders take the city, they’ll be coming for Yorktown next…”
“We’ll have to keep moving,” Dahlia finally spoke up. “Hold out on other islands. Whether it be Aldren or anywhere near Azurvale, we have to keep moving.” She took a deep breath, sucking up her tears and grief. “We can’t let the white raven die. Not tonight.”
“Is that even a plan?” Elaine asked.
“It’s the only one we have.”
James sank through the freezing sea, his eyes watching the only source of light fade by the second. He could feel his body shut down slowly, every part of him numb and void of any weight.
‘Second chance at life and you blew it.’
He wanted to chuckle at his misfortune, yet not even that part of his body wanted to work.
‘It’s only fair, honestly. Second chances are rare. My luck was bound to turn at some point. I just wish it didn’t end like this…’
Dahlia, Seamus, Harald. They had all counted on him. They all fought and bled for him. James had hoped that maybe he could lead them to an actual victory one last time before his time ran out.
‘At least fate balanced itself out. If Iendis’ explanation was any comfort, it means my friends have a better chance of coming out alive,’
James recalled the goddess’ example with the scales. His death will reset the scales, balancing itself out for the better. With some luck, his allies could get out of this.
‘I hope they get to safety. God knows what will happen if Deimos gets his hands on them.’
He half expected a response. One that would comfort his fears and pressure. Instead, he got silence as an answer.
‘Oh… right. You’re already gone, huh?’
Faust was gone as well. The spirit’s bond was broken from him, the act possibly sending him to Helheim or whatever this world’s afterlife was called.
‘I’m sorry I never got to show my appreciation to you. You were the best wingman I had. Not that it meant you were any good at pickup lines, but…’
James forced himself to give a half smile.
‘Thank you, Faust. For everything.’
James felt his eyelids slowly close, the darkness of the sea surrounding him.
The man from another world fully accepted his fate then and here, submitting his body to the cold once again.
“Seamus?”
A soft voice stirred the world around the young man.
“Seamus, dear… are you alright?”
Seamus shifted, his eyes slowly opening.
“You’re awake.”
Mother was there, her soft smile comforting the child as he awoke. Little Seamus groaned as he looked around. He was lying on his mother’s lap, his body covered with a soft blanket. They were both in the library, right next to the fireplace. Seamus turned to his mother, his eyes settling on the small rose shaped locket she always wore around her neck.
“Another nightmare?” His mother’s voice called out once more.
The young child nodded as he sat up. He rested his head against her shoulder, his hands pulling the warm blanket up to his chin.
“Everyone was dying this time,” Seamus muttered. “I couldn’t do anything. Just like…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.
“Just like when you lost us,” his mother finished.
“Y-Yeah. Just like that night,” the child stammered.
“I can’t imagine what kind of weight that is for you.” Seamus’ mother nodded, her hand gently brushing through Seamus’ black hair. “But, as scary as it might be, push through it.”
“What do you mean?” Seamus asked.
“You can’t give up, my son.” His mother gently raised his chin, her soft blue eyes comforting Seamus. “Everyone is counting on you.”
“I… I’m not sure if I can,” Seamus admitted shamefully.
“You need to stop doubting yourself,” the red-haired woman comforted. “You cannot simply allow yourself to give out at a time like this.”
“What if… What if I fail?”
“All that matters is that you did your best. That you gave it your all.” His mother moved to take off her necklace, the golden rose attached to it swinging side to side before she lifted it off. She gently placed it in the child’s hand, her fingers closing over it. “I come from a long line of fighters. Warriors and queens. They all pushed through and gave everything for their beliefs.” She looked at Seamus. “You are my son. You have my blood in you. Show them you are not just your father’s son. That your rage is not your only weapon.”
Seamus blinked and saw how his world shifted for a moment. He was an adult now, his dirty and bloodied self sitting across from his mother. She smiled at him, her hand moving to brush some of the soot from his cheek.
“My poor son. These past months have not been so kind to you, have they?”
“You have no idea,” Seamus choked out. He remembered everything he had been through this last year. His capture, his fights, his near-death experiences. It was all so much, so painful. He held back his tears, his right hand moving to cover his eyes. His mother simply brought him into an embrace, her hands caressing his hair.
Seamus gritted his teeth as tears fell down his cheeks, doing his best not to outright sob. As he embraced his mother, she gently grabbed at his hand.
“It is almost time for you to go back,” his mother whispered. “Your friends are counting on you.”
“Will… Will I ever see you again?” Seamus asked as he pulled away.
“Seamus…” His mother sighed softly, her eyes welling up with tears as she pressed her left hand onto his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
Before the young man could ask what she meant, he felt something skin to electricity jolt throughout his body; the act blurring the world around him. With no word or knowledge of what happened, the young man was flung out of his dream.
Seamus gasped awake, his hand grabbing at his chest. He coughed violently in the real world, his lungs feeling like minced meat. Yet his body felt as if he was overflowing with adrenaline. Memories once lost filled his head. Stances, maneuvers, killing blows. It all came back to him somehow. Seamus quickly turned over onto his hands and knees, spitting out any blood that had collected in his mouth. Sounds of fighting soon caught his attention, prompting the young man to turn his head to the action.
Haggard was struggling to avoid death, his hammer swinging to break any mist formed spear that came his way. Nathan was currently holding onto several golden threads, all of them connected to Eli’s left arm. The beholder user was trying to take both of them out, but his single eye was clearly straining to its limit. The mist was growing weaker and slower, every attack from the marauder only scraped or graze against Haggard.
Still, it didn’t mean that the drifter was any closer to winning. Haggard was bleeding profusely, his chest stained in red while his beard dripped with blood. Every swing of the hammer, every sidestep he took, it all contributed to speeding up his demise. He wasn’t going to last long.
‘They won’t be able to win. I need to finish this!’
Seamus struggled to stand, his teeth clenching tightly as he forced his legs to move. “Fucking work will you!” He cursed at them. Once he was finally topside, Seamus took a glance at where he had last seen Falrick. To his surprise, the old wizard was still alive, even if only barely. Falrick was resting nearby, his left hand tying up a makeshift tourniquet around his severed arm. The wizard had just finished tightening it when he noticed Seamus.
“Seamus? You’re alive!” Falrick sounded relieved and joyous, despite the grim situation.
“Can you still cast carapace?” Seamus asked in return, ignoring the wizard’s worries. They had bigger problems.
Falrick blinked, but did not protest. “As long as all five fingers are working, I can cast anything.”
“Good! Cast it on me now!” Seamus wanted to waste as little time as possible. He reached into his armor, his hand pulling out the vitality potion Haggard gave to him. Despite his current rush of adrenaline, Seamus could still feel the poison run its course in his body. His chest felt like it was being crushed, and his muscles were already failing. While the potion helped to restore muscle control and strength, it would also speed up his decay.
He hesitated for a moment. Was it worth it? Killing himself just for a chance to restore the ley lines? The young man shook his head and threw those cowardly thoughts away. He wasn’t the terrified coward from last year. He would not hide and wait for his instincts to save him. Eli was going to kill his friends and doom this city to the same fate as his clan.
‘I have to kill him. To save Vindis. To save my friends! No matter what!’
Seamus tore the wax seal off the potion with his teeth before finally downing it all in one go. His muscles tensed up and the surge of adrenaline from before doubled in strength.
“Carapace!” Falrick’s casting was his cue.
Just as the taste of berries accented his tongue, Seamus rushed ahead. He gripped onto his sword’s hilt tightly, his gaze focused on Eli. The marauder seemed to notice Seamus coming for the killing blow, his beholder eye widening with rage. Spears flew at the young man, whizzing through the air as they aimed for his chest. They all moved considerably slower than last time, whether from Eli’s exhaustion or the result of his only eye.
Regardless of reason, Seamus saw it all coming, his legs pushing him even faster. Just like before, he dodged them one by one, jumping and sidestepping each of them. In no time, Seamus was closing in on the marauder.
“I’m not giving you another eye!” Eli shouted. He suddenly stomped on the ground, his casting sending a shockwave through the chamber. It knocked everyone back, including Nathan and Haggard. Seamus himself was sent flying. Yet he never fell back down.
‘This… This is impossible,’
Seamus was floating now, his body rising into the air, along with pieces of destroyed roof and debris. Even Nathan and Haggard were floating, their bodies much closer to the ground. Eli had cast some kind of gravity spell to keep everyone suspended. The cursed spellcaster was still on the ground, his gaze glowing brightly as he sent more spears to Seamus. The young man held himself together, his thoughts going back to certain memories.
‘Breathe. Control your balance.’
Seamus took a deep breath and shifted his body around in time, barely avoiding the spears. The sudden movements were enough to strain his body, making him cough up more blood. His body was growing weaker and his adrenaline was fading.
‘Hurry and finish this.’
Seamus quickly looked for any way to move. He got his answer in the form of the floating debris around. Without wasting time, Seamus pressed his weight against the large pieces of wreckage, his legs propelling him to Eli. He hopped on each piece of roof and furniture, gaining speed.
“Damn you! Why can’t you fucking die!?” Eli sent more spears, all of them missing Seamus, who dodged most of them. A few still grazed and struck at his shoulders and legs, injuring him even more and impeding his movements.
One mist spear managed to strike Seamus at the left side of his head, slicing through his scalp and forehead. Blood speckled and partially tinted his vision red as a result. Still, despite the pain and hindrance, Seamus didn’t stop. He needed to keep his focus on the threat. He couldn’t afford to slow down. Not here.
“Let’s see if you can still dodge while falling!” Eli screamed as he slammed both his hands on the ground, dispelling the gravity spell he had put in place. Seamus felt his weight return just as he pushed off a piece of debris. He was falling now, his position right above Eli. The beholder user was propped up on his mist, his hands swiping to send more spears towards the young man.
The world around Seamus slowed to a crawl then and there. He was falling towards the barrage of spears, all of them forming a spiral as they closed in on him.
‘Focus. Find the opening, Seamus.’
He could hear his mother’s voice call out to him from a distant memory. A memory that had him training to hit weak points.
‘Thread the needle and find the point.’
Seamus held his breath as he prepared himself. He was close enough to see how the spellcaster’s lone eye burned with constraint, its pupil bleeding as it formed spell runes. The young man focused in past the small opening between the spears, his eyes spotting the weak point.
“Flash Strike.”
Seamus felt his body use up the last of its energy, his ley lines burning as they enhanced his body. One moment, he was about to be stabbed by multiple spears. The next, Seamus had rushed past all the mist, his gaze locked with Eli. Both men stared at each other, the world around them stopping right then and there.
Seamus saw what his expression was at that moment. Eli’s single eye displayed his reflection, showing the young man a side of himself he had never seen before. Seamus looked like hell, dark blood staining most of his body, his left eye even tinted with red. He was visibly angry, his expression filled with contempt and determination. His teeth were clenched and his brow was narrowed and furrowed. It was a primal emotion, one that had come out unexpectedly.
Eli was different, however. The marauder had a distinct expression to him, one that Seamus had never seen from him. Yet the young Halvorson was very familiar with the emotion Eli was conveying. His lone eye was wide, his mouth agape with despair. His hands looked as if he was attempting to guide the mist to him, their erratic positions suggesting that he was getting desperate.
Seamus could see that Eli was afraid.
His sword flashed in that moment of clarity, its edge slicing through the marauder’s exposed neck like a hot iron through butter. The surrounding mist dispersed immediately following the strike, sending both men to the ground. Seamus’ body collided with the floor hard, every muscle of his refusing to move anymore. He had reached his end.
Nathan and Haggard hurried to wobble over to him, their voices inaudible. Seamus couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to them. His gaze instead moved to the sky, which thundered and poured. The rain felt good on his skin. Much better than he expected.
‘I did it. Huh.’
Seamus Halvorson felt some bit of pride in himself, the feeling lasting up until he finally lost consciousness.
Faust awoke on the grass, each verdant blade ticking his back as he laid upon the ground. The centurion sat up slowly, his gaze moving to his surroundings. Just a moment ago, he had been in James’ mind, watching as the young man fought against Arthur. It was only after the man had struck him with that sword that Faust was ripped away into this world.
“Faust!” a distant voice called out.
Faust turned around, only to see Dasius alive and well. Not just him, but Diane as well. Behind both of them were more people. Soldiers, comrades, shield brothers, good friends. They were all part of the centurion’s life, right before the man had died.
“What… What are you all doing here?” Faust asked as he stood.
“Waiting for you.” The legionnaire smiled. “Come on, let us go.”
“Go? Go where?” Faust would get no answer, as they all moved to walk off to the distance, to the green hills of their homeland. The centurion took a step forward, only to find his feet stuck for some reason. He looked down, his eyes widening in horror as a black essence consumed his feet. He tried to get free, but the oily substance seemed to pull him further back.
“Faust Desimir,” a cacophony of voices called out to him. They sounded desperate, yet void of any actual emotion. Faust could only attribute it to one source.
“No! Get away!” Faust shouted. He had no desire to be consumed by that hivemind. No, he’d rather be forced into an eternity in Helheim rather than live in a rotting corpse with that abomination. Faust tried his hardest to fight back, only to have more of the black essence grab at his hands and neck.
“You have much to do before you rest, Desimir,” the voices called out. “James needs you… and so do we.”
Faust stopped his struggle, his eyes widening.
“James…? What are you…?”
“As of now, we are not your enemy. For the moment, we are all brothers. Desperate to survive.”
The centurion was stunned speechless. He couldn’t even fight back anymore. Not when his body was being consumed by the black essence that surrounded him. Faust could only watch as it all dragged him back, away from the image of his family. The only family he had ever known.
James blinked. He was standing in his mindscape. At least, that’s what it reminded him of. Instead of the creeping oblivion and mist, he was instead in a blank white void, the water around his ankles crystal clear compared to the black waters he was used to.
“Is this Helheim?” He asked aloud. He had heard about this world’s afterlife, which was supposed to be freezing cold and described as a greenish cauldron of souls. It looked much more heavenly than he expected. The young man took a couple of steps around, his gaze scanning it all.
“Not exactly,” a familiar voice called out.
James turned to the source in confusion. His heart dropped at the sight of Gryff. The knight was still in the armor he had on the day he died. Yet there were no visible dents or scratches on it. He looked untouched, exactly the way he was before that fateful battle. Yet James could sense animosity coming from the knight, his aura almost bordering on resentfulness.
“You,” James muttered. He could feel his stomach twisting with anxiety and guilt. He even looked around the mindscape, almost expecting to see more people show up.
“Relax, this isn’t that kind of intervention,” Gryff laughed dryly. “It’s not like the gods of this world care enough to force you to face your sins. Not even Delphine is so caring.”
“What is this?” James asked.
Gryff shrugged. “I’m not even sure myself,” he admitted. The knight’s smile dropped slowly, his piercing blue eyes burning their gaze into James. “All I know is that you and I are here now. Alone in this empty hell.”
James took a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. His fingers brushed against nothing, and James realized he had nothing to defend himself with. Neither did Gryff, but James doubted that would stop the knight.
There was an air of silence and intensity in the mindscape, with both men staring at each other. With the way Gryff was staring at James, it felt as if the knight was pondering when to pounce. James felt far from in control.
“Heh,” the knight scoffed. “It looks as if your time’s not up. At least, not yet.”
“What are–?” James was interrupted when what looked like black ink invaded the surrounding waters. Black mist wrapped itself around his legs and arms, pulling him away from the knight before him.
“Shame, really. I was looking forward to making you suffer,” Gryff sighed disappointedly. “Regardless, do not expect this to be the last time we see each other.”
“What do you mean?” James asked, his chest tightening at the implication. He tried to pull away from the mist but only made himself trip onto the ground. The mist wrapped around his chest and neck, wrenching him away.
“Gryff?! What are you talking about?!”
Gryff watched with a smile, his hand giving a small wave.
“I’ll see you later, kvitravn.”
James felt his heart drop at the last word, his mouth opening to say something. Yet the black tendrils pulled him far from the blank white mindscape. Gryff disappeared from sight soon after, the darkness being the only thing James could see. He tried to break free from it all, to no avail.
“What is happening?! Where am I?!” James shouted out.
“This is not your end, James Holter,” a sinister, familiar collection of voices called out. James felt dread fill him as he instantly recognized the collective hive mind of the abominations.
“Do not fret. We are simply restoring the bond between you and Faust Desimir. You are what remains of our influence. If you die… We all do.”
“Let me go!” James called out. “I don’t want any part of you!”
“Quit struggling and accept our gift,” the voices muttered in anger. Their black tendrils caressed at James’ body, almost sensually, before they viscerally pierced his torso. “Revel in the raw strength of this world’s ley lines.”
With no warning, James was hit with some kind of electrical current, its power enough to make him seize up. It flowed throughout his own ley lines, filling him with a magic he did not know existed. Piercing pain soon followed, stabbing his body with what felt like a thousand hot needles. James couldn’t help but let out an agonizing scream, his body becoming one with whatever dark magic was coursing through him.
