Siris' grip tightens on his dagger as the scene unfolds in front of him, completely ignoring Makeen's comment.

Balathu—tough as ever—cuts down the horseman in a single brutal stroke, sending the armored rider crumpling to the ground. The man had barely hit the dirt before the crossbow bolt came.

There's a sharp whistle as it flies through the air.

Balathu stiffens, staggering slightly. For a moment, Siris thinks the bastard might just walk it off. He’s seen him fight through worse. But then Balathu falls, the blood spilling from the bridge and into the river below.

Siris doesn’t need to look to know where the shot came from—he already felt it. Felt the smugness radiating from the bastard standing right next to him.



"Stupid mercs, stupid BASTARD mercs! You always get in the way!!!"

Kurgazu doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him.

Not an insult. Not a challenge. Not even a glance. He killed Balathu in front of him, ignoring Siris as if he was a wandering ant.

Siris’ heartbeat slows. A strange, quiet fury takes hold of him. He tells himself there's no point in getting angry at Balathu's death. After all he's seen men die dishonorably, shot in the back, butchered like cattle, insulted as they died, but never like this. Never where the enemy didn’t even bother looking at him. This lowly bandit killed and insulted his comrade right in front of him and wasn't even worried. A myriad of emotions swells in Siris, all of it, focused on one man.

Kurgazu turned his back to him. To him.

A mistake.

Siris sheathes his dagger and rips his sword from its scabbard in a single, fluid motion. His shield comes up, bracing against his still burned arm, the leather straps pressing against raw skin. The pain is distant, drowned out beneath the weight of cold rage.

His first attack is not theatrical. It’s not graceful. It’s fast, ruthless, and direct.

He lunges, slamming the edge of his shield into Kurgazu’s ribs with bone-cracking force. The bandit stumbles, his cocky smirk vanishing as the air is knocked out of him. Siris however doesn’t give him the chance to recover.

His sword carves into Kurgazu’s side, slicing through the bandit’s leather armor with brutal precision. A howl of pain erupts from his throat as he staggers backward, crimson soaking his tunic.

Kurgazu, panicked and desperate, jerks his crossbow up. There’s no space to aim, no time to think—just a frantic shot.

The bolt slams into Siris’ side. Siris barely flinches.

He steps forward, ignoring the blood from his wound starting to flow down towards his leg.

Kurgazu’s eyes widen. He tries to raise his crossbow again, but Siris is already moving, swinging his blade in a savage arc with a yell.

The sword tears across Kurgazu’s chest, splitting through cloth and flesh. The bandit cries out, stumbling back, barely clinging to his weapon.

Siris exhales through gritted teeth. He should have cut him down then and there. Should have left him bleeding in the dirt like the coward he was. But surprisingly the bastard still stands. He was tougher than Siris thought.



"You're looking at me now," Siris says, his voice low, but a smirk slowly appears on his face. "Too damn late for that, isn’t it?"

His sword drips with Kurgazu’s blood. His shield is raised. He’s ready to finish this.

Iddin's eyes widen as Balathu falls, the loss of a stalwart ally clearly shaking him. He then sees Sheev bearing down and decides to keep his long mercenary career long.

Siris looks at Kurgazu load his crossbow, prepared to take the next bolt in exchange for ending his opponent's life. But before he can strike, heat surges from behind.

A roaring fireball hurtles past him, illuminating the battlefield in a sudden blaze of orange and red. It slams into Kurgazu with a violent whoomph. The bandit's screams tear through the air, his desperate curses swallowed by the crackling inferno. He flails, stumbles—burns.



"Damn it! DAMN IT!"

The fire consumes him before he can beg or curse again. His charred body collapses, smoke rising in thick plumes.



Siris doesn't flinch, but his jaw clenches. His sword lowers slightly.

He doesn’t turn to Ashür. He doesn’t say anything. On the battlefield it's first come first served, but still, a flicker of irritation lingers in Siris’ chest. He wanted to end Kurgazu himself. The bastard deserved to see his fate coming.

But it’s done.

With a slow breath, Siris sheathes his sword and turns away, trying to walk seemingly lighthearted as he walks toward Balathu’s body.

The bridge is slick with blood. The river below carries it away in thin crimson streaks, indifferent as ever.

Siris kneels beside Balathu, checking for any sign of life, but the man lies still. Siris’ gaze lingers on Balathu’s bloodied form before instinctively glancing down at himself—cuts on his leg and chest, burnt upper body, a crossbow bolt still buried in his side.

Siris: "I guess we both got a pretty brutal treatment in this fight huh Balathu" he says with a small laugh.

Siris crouches beside him, resting one hand lightly on Balathu’s bloodied armor.

They had fought together many times. More importantly held the frontline side by side, covered each other's backs in situations too dangerous for others. Siris was definitely closer to him than many other Hellions, despite the lack of communication from the latter.

And now?

Siris figured he'd have to just do that by himself from now on.

He forms a fist with his hand and light taps Balathu's chest with a slight smile.

Siris: "You're a strong warrior Balathu, I'll remember that strength, rest now" he says in a quite enough voice to try not to be heard by others.

He then picks up Balathu's spear and lays it across Balathu’s chest. A small gesture, maybe, but it felt right for a warrior he personally respected.

After one last look at his comrade, Siris exhales, straightens his back, and rolls his shoulders as if shaking off the moment. His fingers twitch slightly before he forces them to relax.

He turns, stepping away from Balathu with a lightness that doesn't quite reach his chest, contrary to the small smile still on his lips. As he nears the others, he cracks his neck and stretches, like just another mercenary shaking off the dust of battle.

Like it doesn’t bother him.

Like it never did.

With little else to focus on, Siris turns his attention to the loudest voice nearby.

He exhales through his nose as he approaches, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The woman’s frantic efforts grow more desperate with every passing second.

The blood pooling beneath the bodies is thick, dark. Too much of it. Their faces were pale, Siris doesn’t even need to check for breath—he’s seen enough men die to recognize the stillness.

A glance to the side catches Iddin approaching from the distance, he must've retreated from the earlier fight. The thought of him running away pulls a small chuckle from Siris, potentially seen even by the healer himself as he got closer.

The sound isn’t lost on Ia. She snaps her tear-filled gaze up at him, anger twisting her features. Siris meets her glare without much thought or concern. Whether she misunderstood the chuckle or not doesn’t concern him, he still maintains his usual attitude.

"They look like good fighters, however, I'm sorry to say girl but unless our Iddin" Siris says with a headnod in the shaman's direction "found a way to resurrect the dead, this was their last battle."

The priest comes back into the field with careful steps, holding his own life over saving any others. He shrugs off Siris' comments -- not the first man to mock him. Maybe the next man to be left in his own blood. Iddin is evidently the only one to remember Zuzu is not always benevolent to the reckless.

He sets his focus on the fallen Balathu. Unfortunately, the same stupid sellsword called Iddin to Ia's attention. Tend to that first.

Iddin: Call upon Zuzu, the great preserver! He freezes the breath, holds the blood, captures the soul! Pray he gives you his mercy!

He suddenly jerks his whole body in a horrible clamor. The topsoil churns at the two bodies to capture them, and their handler, in a choking storm of earth and blood. She is knocked aside as Akmaan and Gao-Lubaan's corpses are puppeted upright and a layer of glass melts onto their flesh. The priest takes a moment to comment on the two temporary statues.

Iddin: Zuzu's faithful, I should hope. If there is anything left to preserve in this world... well, faithful, yes? I have other matters -- keep them upright.

He casually turns back towards Balathu and sets off. His hands glimmers a bit more like glass than flesh as he points forward and calls to the band's remaining members.

Iddin: Knowing Balathu, he would be standing if alive. Do we have a corpse bearer?

Iddin jerks as hears a shatter and an axe tears a bead off his robes. The priest stares fiercely at the rescuee and begins to raise his staff. But the thought of reputation comes a moment before the words leave his lips. Lyun is a valuable asset to the band -- and the priest hardly thinks two angry infidels would be easy to put down while wounds were licked. Maybe even more of his allies would be stupid enough to even defend the heresy.

The moment ends and he looks back away, scoffing. He stomps the glass Ia tore from him, and his enchantment is torn from the two corpses. They fall limp as their unnatural props turn back to dust. Whatever chance at life Iddin thought they had gave way to the last spurts of blood and newly burnt flesh.

Siris sees something strange in the woman's eyes, he couldn't understand what but it caught his attention. Although slightly irritated from seeing her attack his comrade after they helped her, she did also earned his respect by showing her resolution by attacking Iddin.

Siris: "Look, uhhh, woman. Your friend's deaths are unfortunate. However keep in mind one of ours died too. Balathu’s not coming back, and I'm sure Iddin and the others are suffering too. And yet he went out of his way to heal your friends before our own. "

With his usual irritating smile, he holds his sword tighter while speaking "If I was you, I'd make up for their deaths by becoming stronger. That way the next time you try to hit something, you can make sure you actually hit."

He looks up to see Iddin next to Balathu's lifeless corpse, the blood seeping from his corpse decreasing as time passes. Siris looks lost in thought for a moment before turning towards his other comrades

Siris: "See ya"

As he walks over to his other friend's melancholic faces, he notices a new nearby body on the ground.

Siris: "Hold up!? I see two bolts in him? No way, Zarif you bastard was it you again!!?"