Dubosque was interrupted by the scholar of the group, Taleja, prompting him to lower the vial he appeared keen on consuming. His green eyes leered at the cold Kressian, at first he felt disdain for her, but his features softened as her string of questions continued.
“I owe you explanations. It is, after all, my own shortcomings that have led to this.”"If you wanted to defend your village, why work with outsiders such as the smugglers?"
“The smugglers. They work for the spider that instigated all of this. You've met him. There is a good chance he will try to finish the job, should I fail.” he looked down for a moment.
“Mandelein was essentially a hostage, and our only safe link to the outside was through them. Food, supplies, medicine ... They brought it all, so long as I kept the town in check.”"Did Dragon skeleton in the dungeon belonged to the Graf?"
“One of them is. A few others are part of the Lord's family, from various generations. They have 'succumbed to the beast', as they say.”"Why did Herr Müller work with Kazau-Dessef, and why you continue this work?"
“I do not know for sure. Herr Müller was known to be ambitious, and had very deep ties with Varennes.” he scowled.
“I worked to undo the thirty years of misery that followed his leadership.”"Is this the joint venture with Comte Mirabeau?"
“Mirabeau.” he scoffed.
“His mother knew Müller. He has many stakes in the commercial activities of Dami's Eye. I've no doubt he knows about the bigger operation.”"Why did you effectively cause a genocide of the people you were meant to protect?"
“I did not. And I will protect them even now.”Laska had nothing to ask except,
"Do you have a preference for which hell you go to?"“Dami's.”“I've made my peace, Sister. I hope you are able to after those doubts.” he eyed both her and his brother, the latter devastated by what he had heard. He wanted to say something but the truth before him was too much to bear. He would have to kill his own brother, lest he be killed along with all these people that came to help.
“And now, you will either join us among the accursed.” he raised his hand, telegraphing the inevitable drinking of the strange elixir. It'd be so easy to stop, if it hadn't already shattered in his palm.
“Or perish, freed of this nightmare once and for all!” the substance was absorbed into his body via advanced chemical drawing. It did its work and nullified the plushtail mix made specifically to dampen his affliction. Then, he began to transform.
Gashes burst out of his body and blood gushed about. His bones crack and ripped through his flesh as he underwent a rapid transformation. The screams, at first, were disturbingly human, but they quickly distorted into a bestial shriek that shattered nearby lanterns and windows. The mangled body of Jacques Dubosque was covered in blood, and soon the absence of skin became patches of fur that aggressively enveloped his growing body. When he reached his peak, he was about as tall as Leonhardt, albeit a tad shorter and leaner. He looked much like the others, except that he stood upright much like a human, and his eyes were unchanged. They were eerily human, by their shape but also by the way he looked at others: The exact, same stern look her shot them as a human.
“Kneel before Herr Jacques Dubosque.” a distorted voice called from the excessive steam that erupted from such an abrupt transformation.
“And receive the curse that has protected this land for centuries.” he marched toward the group, each stomp of his massive, semi-canine feet reverberating through the castle.
“Or die.”For the first time, they had encountered a beast with the mind of a man. His eyes gave it away, they were never tunnel-visioned onto a singular source of stimulation, or shifted about to find the next target for its aggression. Each time he locked eyes with someone, there was visible scrutiny given to their form, an attention to detail that only a human mind could formulate. Whatever this thing was, it had a whole lot more Jacques Dubosque than they would have initially thought.
“Surrender yourselves, and you shall be spared Eshiran’s judgement. Your fate will be Mandelein’s.”Immense strength, overwhelming mana capacity and expertise in many schools made this monster near-unstoppable, had it not been for the blessing of the Twin Birds. Kaspar, Ashon and even the moon-blessed Ymiico were the frontrunners of this race to victory, with the others serving as fragile support. Although the paradigms of the fight shifted quickly when they were once again afflicted with a mana-constructing echo from the beast itself. A sensation that was undeniably the forbidden school of the Church, and yet it felt more raw - far less refined as there lacked any sort of true ‘command’ verbally expressed.
“Behold the true power, Sister! The voice that conducts all the power in this world, in its purest form!”The battle of attrition was hardly stable, and with one slip-up leading to the capture of one of their heavy-hitters: Ymiico. Desperate attempts were made to save her, but they were not swift enough to prevent her from getting impaled by a row of claws. Her abdomen was pierced with considerable blood loss from the start.
“May you find peace, young Yasoi.”The ninja’s body was tossed aside like it was nothing, and the battle continued. If it weren’t for Casii’s intervention, she would have been a goner, but Ymiico made it against all odds.
“It is time we finish this. It will be quick.” Dubosque gathered an immense amount of energy and matter, compromising the castle as a whole, in order to prepare a devastating finisher. Just as he was about to unleash an explosion of power, he’d come to the realisation that he had been duped by none other than Sister Laska. The flames inside the castle had made for an easy source to create a light-based illusion just long enough to conceal the final attack from the beefed-up duo. Right as the priest moved to counter, it was already too late. His entire left arm and a portion of his chest were gone from an implosion, while his right leg was consumed by a wall of darkness.
A loud shriek escaped the beast as he tumbled back. The scream had caused all the other beasts to fall and curl up in what looked to be pain. If any of them had the range, they could sense them all essentially ‘shutting down’. They didn’t die, but they had stopped moving for the most part. The energy he had gathered unleashed all of a sudden, taking the form of burst sequences that laid waste to the foundations of the castle. And, inevitably, it’d come crashing down onto him while the students made their escape. Castle Mandelein had been left as nothing more than a massive pile of burning rubble with only the extremities and the tower barely surviving.
Outside, in the rain, Brother Dubosque, the wolf’s brother, did not stop to mourn. His duty took precedence, and he tended to the critically injured Ymiico. But the flames didn’t stop - they actually grew. And he noticed that increasingly disconcerting fact.
“No …” he turned around and shouted.
“GO!” but it was too late. Bursting out of the hill of stone and wood was the Alpha Wildblood, his arm partially restored with the skin and fur still missing, while his leg had mostly grown back.
“There will be NO remission for your SINS!”He was on fire, but the fur never withered away and the skin consistently healed even at his peak. Both damaged arms slammed into the earth below, causing the courtyard to fissure and shatter into a massive hole beneath their feet. Those that could fly were met with overwhelming gravitational force and excessive smoke coming from the pyre that was the basement. Everything was on fire in the dungeon, with the old Graf’s skeleton blackening into nothing soon enough, and the massive wooden hourglass symbol behind the burning beast slowly turning to ash as well.
“Die! DIE! You WILL die!”His eyes were no longer the same. They were indistinguishable from all the village fodder. Dubosque’s voice had become far more distorted too, as if he was a beast trying to mimic speech. With the basement slowly turning into an oven where the walls were becoming molten, the group had little time to put an end to this nightmare.
Ymiico, Casii and Cristophe would sacrifice the most out of the group to offer a chance to the power-duo to finally back the seething creature to a corner. But no matter how hard they hit, it just kept coming, faster and faster with even more violence. That was until Taleja delivered the final blow, with the accursed blood that ran through her veins serving as the perfect disruptors to the magical aberration this man had become. Finally, he could not heal to an obscene degree, nor could he even stand anymore. The explosion of hyper-stimulated manas in his body caused various parts to downright burst like bubbles of blood.
Father Dubosque had finally been put down, and with his rage silenced, the flames began to die down. But the struggle wasn’t over. Cristophe had ribs that pierced his lungs and his eyes had been seared completely. Casii had her arm torn off by the beast’s maw, leaving her with very little blood left in her system. And Ymiico, who had barely hung on in the first place, had been struck hard enough to have multiple internal bleeds, and eventually catastrophic organ failure. They were all in trouble, with only Sister Laska and Brother Baudile capable of emergency aid during the few precious seconds they had left.
There was another heavily wounded party - Father Jacques Dubosque. Burnt to a crisp, his leg sliced clean off and his breathing was nothing more than an agonising wheeze. Baudile, upon healing the outcasted Yasoi’s stump and restoring some of her blood reserves, turned to his fallen brother. The battle was finished and Venomhand had very much blocked off magic use, if only briefly. He eyed his comrades, and made the split decision to dash to the dying beast, serving both as a barrier to any intervention from the others, but also a means to keep the monster out cold. He placed his palm onto the heaving chest and dosed Jacques with enough drugs to make a Begemot sleep.
“It is over.” he said, barely hurt compared to his peers, though his Stresian outfit had been completely burnt to nearly nothing.
“This night has seen enough death.” he looked to Laska in particular, his eyes pleading for a mercy that would likely never come to be.
“Move.” said Cristophe, limping over to the near-dead Priest with his flamethrower in one hand. Baudile didn’t move and actually stood before the man, glaring right back at his one remaining eyes in full confrontation.
“No.”Kaspar sat back on his heels, sweat dripping from his face as he stared at Ymiico.
The one they couldn’t save.
Well… That no one
else could save.
He was exhausted, and at the same time, exhilarated. The boy knew it was possible—he had studied the theory on it more extensively than many other things—but had not expected to
practice it for… years, at least.
Not for the first time he put into consideration,
What a fucked up school this is. Might’ve slaughtered my parents and resurrected a mangled classmate in the same few hours. If he’d been alone, if he’d had the time for it, Kaspar would’ve laughed himself into his grave. He simply didn’t know how else to process it.
But… Processing it would have to wait. He’d been half-paying attention to Baudile’s swift movement and Christophe’s demands, but it seemed they would require a more rapt audience.
The boy stood, his singed and bloodied fur cloak settling heavily around his body, seeming to move in nearly the same way he sighed. He picked his way across the rubble-strewn ground, sharp eyes taking in both men before him.
He didn’t know Baudile well, but he certainly knew Baudile better. Still… Christophe’s solution would undoubtedly be the cleaner, easier route—as oxymoronic as it sounded. The logistics of leaving Father Dubosque alive gave him a headache to even
consider as an option.
And yet.
He understood, from a raw-edged place inside his own chest, Baudile’s feelings. Rage nearly boiled over at the simple thought of Lyra, crushed beneath the charred rubble of a church. An uncertain fate, and a child he had only
just met. He didn’t know anything about her. She had tried to
kill him. But he was willing to destroy the lives of those who hurt her. Just like he’d threatened a Marquis of Helbahn for a sleeping baby boy that Kaspar couldn’t even claim by
bloodHand moving slowly, he stashed his cherrywood wand back into his vest pocket. Baudile almost certainly knew what he was capable of without it, but… That was the most passive, non-threatening gesture he could offer at the moment. His crimson eyes landed to Brother Dubosque’s face, wondering briefly what depths he would fall to for his brother.
Taking a steady breath, just loud enough for the others to hear and hopefully follow the lead of, Kaspar drew calm openness into his voice and posed to Baudile,
“What would be your plan for making sure this—or something like it—does not happen again?”"Humph."Casii uttered weakly through the concussive fog. She was down, the image of the beast tearing her arm from her bicep playing over through her head. The image slowed as she was finally felled. Her arm gored in the maw of the beast and tossed across the room, the Living Staff tumbling to the ground out of the grip of her severed arm. It felt strange to be departed from that extension of her. With it came her feeling of the green and living around her as the world grew around her grew dark. Like life was being snuffed around her, but the beast still snarled, her allies still fought. It wasn't them dying, not yet, but her.
[color]"That gonna... be... it...?"[/color]
So much of life went unexplored. She wasn't going to feel a thing, no more in this dark, dark.....
...
...
Casii gasped, the stirring of life flooding back as if small flame grew outward from her. It wasn't just her life that she felt but the others, the survivors, around her as her life came back. Her eyes opened and her sensory feelings came flooding back. She was in a room, no longer dying. Her ability reached out to feel the others, dying, dead, and some still living. The beast was...
She leaned up, her body sore and trembling from anemic starvation that she could only manage to lift her neck for now. She caught Baudile scurrying away from her and towards the collapsed yanii priest. The monster that put her down. Tried to.
Her gaze drifted to the Living Staff, reaching out with her right hand for it... only nothing came forth. There was no right arm of Casii anymore, with only but a stump around her shoulder remaining. How long had she held that staff in her right hand? A year now? It had felt like a lifetime, becoming a part of her. The very same hand that went missing entangled inside, so they could feel each other's blossoming life.
Co-Existential Bliss.
How could they separate now?
There was no feeling, no high, no thrill comparable to the strange bond she had formed with the God Tree's Sliver. She struggled, writhing on the ground, to turn over and crawl towards it. Her pained labor going unnoticed by the rising tension of the room, settling on the fate of Father Dubosque's fate.
A yearning, something beyond her normal addictions, drove her on, crawling and gasping towards her staff. She reached out with the stump of her arm and her Greengrowth mana, those that endured so much flared channeling their energy outward to the staff, encouraging it. The Living Staff trembled, recalling that touch like a faint memory reinvigorated by the touch. Tendrils reached out like live roots, crawling and searching for what it wanted. One managed to touch Casii's extended amputated limb, finding a sense of relief. The other tendrils closed around, and the Staff pulled itself in.
They could feel one another again and subconsciously, perhaps, Casii's mind thought of her missing arm and the Living Staff, eager to repay its bountiful host latched onto this feeling and molded into the form of an arm, mirroring that of Casii's missing limb.
Casii couldn't feel it at first, first tendrils that had gripped the remnants of the arm had dug into the stump of her right arm and embedded itself, so it could be more connected with her. It wasn't until Casii's curious and bewilderment lead to her thinking of closing her right fist that the Staff's roots in her arm tingled, obeying and letting the arboreal hand close in a fist.
The Yasoi sat, watching her new arm move and react to her thoughts. It felt so right. She braced that arm down on the ground, pushing herself up to her feet. She staggered, shoulder slamming into the remnants of a burnt wall, burnt ash falling like flakes on her. She looked over at the argument.
"Don't go'n lose yer own life, Baudii. Not fer him." Casii muttered, hunched over, requiring the wall to lean against.
Cristophe lingered for a dozen or so seconds before capitulating. He would have finished the job had he not been in such a pitiful state. He turned whist still glaring at the monk, and slowly paced his way to a piece of a stone he could sit upon with difficulty. The man was at the brink of collapsing, with only the drive to finally end this nightmare keeping him running.
Baudile raised a leg from his initially kneeling position, but only kept that one knee raised as he looked to Kaspar. His long hair, now wet from the falling rain coming from the hole above, hid a good third of his face, but failed to hide the anguish he couldn't bottle up.
“I-I can't. I can't guarantee anything, Alaric.” he peered at his wounded, but healing, brother.
“But all I know is that with him gone, the town may as well be considered a goner too.” a pleading look, one quite pathetic, was shot at the dark mage.
“If not for him, or even Mandelein, consider those that matter to you.” and with these words, he address the wounded Cristophe as well.
“You too. You have close friends and comrades. We can't just condemn them! This outbreak cannot be contained without him!”Then came Casii's soft words. Far less intense than Cristophe's gaze or Kaspar's question. She was just sitting there, still in terrible shape and recently transformed into something not entire Yasoi.
“I'm not giving up on my brother. Or these people. I stayed in this town knowing the risk. I'm not going to take the easy route now.”Taleja surveyed the aftermath left by the Father Wolf and his pack of Wildbloods. The devastation was unjustifiable, a stark reminder of how this once thriving town had fallen into ruin over the years. The stagnant air carried the stench of decay, a tangible reflection of the corruption that had taken hold. Now, it was overrun with diseased creatures, former humans twisted into grotesque abominations, mere pawns in the dark schemes of the Perrence Nobles who sought to unleash unknown terror upon the world.
They had come to this town seeking answers, striving to uncover the truth, yet they were met with hostility at every turn. They had even dealt with the smugglers, a problem that the townsfolk had failed to resolve repeatedly. But instead of gratitude, they found themselves under constant attack, forced to fight for their lives time and time again.
There was only one choice to make, and it was a simple one.
"These monsters must be eliminated. We must purge this infestation before they inflict any more harm."Ashon's expression turned solemn as he scratched his head, contemplating the gravity of the situation. The idea of purging the town of Mandelein with holy fire was not something he expected to hear from the alchemist instead of the sister.
"Let's approach this from a different perspective," Ashon began, his voice filled with empathy.
"Think of it like this: Father Wolf, as you so eloquently put it, is the shepherd, and these people are his flock." His words hung in the air, their impact slightly diminished by the mangled corpses of the wildbloods surrounding them.
"Now, let your imagination guide you. Imagine being a town that has been through hell and back, facing constant harassment from smugglers, and attempts to hire mercenaries to get rid of them failed. Your people are transformed into wolves, forced to kill each other by sick individuals who find pleasure in such twisted acts. You find yourselves held hostage, oppressed, and left with no options, knowing the world outside hates you for what you are."He painted a bleak picture of the town's plight, highlighting the despair and hopelessness they faced. Ashon continued, his voice filled with conviction,
"Now, imagine strangers appearing on your doorstep. They are outsiders, and they are also the ones who fought and defeated the mercenaries you hired to protect yourselves. They came into your lives because they wanted to stick their nose into other people's businesses, to air out your dirty laundry, and throw the baby out with the bath water."Moving toward the father’s injured body, Ashon gently lifted the wolf's head, his gaze reflecting a mix of compassion and determination.
"So, why not take a different approach? Show Father Jacques that he was completely wrong about us. Let's demonstrate our mercy and prove him and others like him that they were mistaken. Besides, I don't fancy the idea of resorting to murder and violence, even though Taleja seems eager to add another wolf pelt to her winter clothes collection."Taleja turned her gaze towards the Yasoi, who argued for sparing the creatures and maintaining a hopeful outlook.
"These creatures are not just a threat, they are carriers of an infectious disease. We cannot afford to ignore the risks and hope for a harmonious outcome," she retorted firmly. Her piercing green eyes locked onto his, conveying a sense of determination.
"We need to approach this situation with pragmatism, not naive idealism. Burying our heads in the sand and relying on blind faith in the Pentad will not solve the problem. We must take action and eliminate the carriers."She gestured towards the motionless Father Wolf.
"Do you honestly believe he will appreciate our mercy or commend the Yasoi for defending him? No, he will see us as fools, a grave mistake on our part. He and his pack will not be satisfied with what has happened. They will hold us responsible and seek revenge. They will learn from this experience, and the next time outsiders come here, they won't bother with accommodations. They will simply slaughter them. We have inadvertently shown them how much of a threat outsiders can be to this place. The death and destruction will persist until those of us who understand the severity of the situation finish the job we started."Taleja turned to Baudile, gazing toward him.
“The one who used to be your brother is no more. You know this to be true. We need to get rid of this abomination who once wore his skin, and now gnashing like a rabid dog.”Kaspar’s eyes closed as Baudile addressed him. There was pain clear across his features, though only the Brother would know the root of it. His head tilted up, eyes opening narrowly as rain pattered against his skin, slicking back his own hair.
There was a past here, something stabbing and volatile, for Kaspar. Something that had haunted him since childhood, dogging his every step and crawling through the back of his mind. Something he could purge with flames, if he’d just let himself. If they weren’t already, the people who had known him could be vanquished, nothing left but ash. Memories heaped to a sacrificial pyre, freeing him from who Alaric Weber had been. For one moment, he let himself dream that it could vanish.
But it couldn’t. Not until Kaspar himself was within the ground. The memories would always plague him, with or without Lark and Ehren somewhere in the world to remember. He’d dreamed of that blood he’d spilt far too often to ever forget. To ever be free. Spilling more could not erase the stains behind his eyelids.
He swallowed thickly and took several strides forward, not far behind Ashon. He reached a hand out, hesitating for a moment, before settling it softly on Baudile’s shoulder. He turned towards the others, listening to Ashon’s opinion, and aligned himself with mercy.
“I will not harm a citizen of Mandelein. Not again,” he said, voice so hoarse it was nearly a whisper, soft enough that the others may not even hear. He took another breath, trying to force back the emotions he’d been keeping at bay this whole gods-forsaken trip, hoping Baudile didn’t notice the way the hand on his shoulder shook.
Louder, clearer, he spoke,
“Wildbloods are not just abominations.” He thought of Zarina, of the night she was almost put down, and wondered if Laska was thinking of it too. He thought of Lyra, trapped somewhere in a ruined church, fate unknown. Of taking her home with him, wildblood or not, and trying to give her the kind of loving life he’d never had.
“They are people. If we can save these people, we should do it.” He glanced down at Brother Dubosque, and then turned a harder gaze to the others.
“And if Baudile says Jacques is the key to that, I believe him.”Casii's head wearily dipped, turning away from the survivors and onto her arm. Why did it have to be like this? They were outsiders, through and through, coming through and causing chaos. They lost but so did this town. What was the point of Ersand'Enise sending them here to meddle? Her hands balled tightly into wrathful fists and her teeth gnashed. That school had given and then taken and she was done playing their game.
"Cud'al'broa'soi'suuthi..." She cursed in her native tongue loud enough for the room to hear her muttering. Jambii was right. They didn't belong here but were sent all the same by that damn school. She turned, glaring at the yanii'abost. They were all right and wrong. Abost'soi had to be contained and they were until all these students started poking around and causing grief. But they weren't going to be the last ones to ever arrive here. Others will come, Casii even knew a few yasoi who ventured out this way. What if they got infected and went back to the their homes?
"Baudii." Her eyes shifted to meet his.
"Jambii's right'n all. We ain't never should have come but we ain't gonna be the last ones. Others gonna come stumblin' in'n risk gettin' bit. They go'n head home'n then someone else gets bit." She paused, catching her breath and to let the sequence Casii was implying to sink in. Other towns could become infected if they weren't careful.
"Yer sure yer not goin' to let it spread even with yer brother?"She shook her head as she spoke.
"Can't go'n let any outsiders in. Can't let it git out. Yer all livin' I know'n ain't right to kill but I ain't likin' leavin' the rest of world to chance on you'n yers openin' to outsiders one bit."Edyta Laska said nothing. This... thing should not have existed. Perhaps it had once been a good man, but not
so good, in fact. He had blasphemed horribly. Given the chance to ask for help from people who'd have helped him, he'd lied and denied before lashing out and trying to destroy them. He'd crossed not one, but
many moral event horizons and she had been given no good reason to believe that he would not do so again.
These people hadn't asked for their curse. They hadn't asked to be made inhuman, but now they were and that was that. It was unfair. It was bitter. Some she'd known and respected some. Baudile, she'd... felt close to. A few locks of reddish-blonde hair spilled out of her habit and, absently, she tucked them back in. All of these townsfolk, in a place not so different from her home of long ago: it made her sick to do what she knew she had to.
Most of her fellow biros spoke naively of mercy. Not that she was against mother Eshiran's mercy, but this man who they seemed willing to place their unquestioning trust in had fallen once, and
how!. The Rezaindian's experience taught her that he would almost surely do so again, and the consequences could be...
disastrous. Kaspar and Ashon were shortsighted: eyes only on this singular place. How about the surrounding villages and towns? How about the city of Harmoln? The yasoi lands, broken in governance? How would they mount a coordinated defence when these people-turned-beasts rampaged? How about, even worse, if the Dubosque that they'd seen here - not the one that they remembered from before - was all that remained and he
led them?
Kaspar and Ashon did not think of that, at least not seriously. They considered only best-case scenarios and they trusted in a man who had demonstrated himself
utterly unworthy of it. Should they prove right, of course they would gloat at her moralistically. They would either mock her or try to 'reach out' to correct her 'misguided' views. They would glare in the hallways of Ersand'Enise and point out that "shouldn't a nun be trying to
save lives?" She was. That was what she told herself.
Yet, Edyta could not bring herself to openly oppose them. For all that she held up stoically, it
hurt. It hurt to be the one to always have to say 'no'. It hurt to be the one to always choose 'death' instead of 'life', but such was the path of the Rezaindian, and she had chosen to walk it. For a moment, something stuck inside of the nun. Had she truly
chosen? She shook her head to clear it. Now was not the moment for that. She would stand apart from these other people her own age who could see only good while there was undoubtedly evil in the world. They would not listen to her. They never would, and those who did had their own reasons - often self-serving or reprehensible - for doing so. The yasoi was a coward and a murderer, the kressian a venomhand who dabbled in foul alchemy. Besides, she could sense a fight brewing if they were to oppose Kaspar and Ashon, who were a good deal stronger than her anyhow.
So it was that Edyta Laska took the only course of action remaining to her. Before they could go on all that much more, before they could stop her, she slipped into grayspace and was gone. This was a job for her superiors and she wasn't so proud as to deny it. She would counsel mercy. She would pray that Mother Eshiran might stay her dread hand here and that there may yet be a way to save these monsters who had once been people. She commended that choice to the wisdom of the Quentic Church, however, and to the Gods themselves.
The fate of Father Jacques Dubosque, and consequently all of Mandelein, was to be decided by the survivors of this long night. The beast’s chests kept on heaving loudly, with only excessive numbing agents keeping the now healed monster from rising again to finish the job. This meant Baudile could not break off from his brother, as any distraction could allow his brother to break free of his shackles. He could only stare at the others and give his piece.
Taleja was the most dangerous of the group. A soulless witch with nothing but a gaping abyss inside her green pupils. The monk had met people like her - they were disturbingly common among Stresians and Rezaindians, often driven by personal gain or seeking out experiences they could not elsewhere. Luckily, the Yasoi commonly called Jamboi and Kaspar pushed back with fervour.
“Thank you, Alaric. Thank you.” his head dropped in humble recognition.
The other Yasoi, Casii, and a social pariah among the group, was beginning to flip too.
“I-” he hesitated as he looked up to the maimed girl’s visage.
“I can’t promise anything, Casii. Maybe it will become worse. I will not lie, there is a good chance this gets out of control.” he confessed.
“But I will die before I let it corrupt anything else. And I will make the men and women responsible pay.” he clenched his teeth, grimacing in anger.
“We’re so close to getting to them too.”Dawn began to break. It was easier to see despite the clouds above still pouring mild amounts of rain. The Stresian Philosopher sought out the one he believed to be the greatest proponent to his own stance - Sister Laska - in fear of what she would have to say. But she was gone. For a moment he raised his guard, but he soon realised had she tried to do anything, she’d have done it before anyone noticed her disappearance.
“Shit.” he muttered to himself. Baudile slammed his idle hand onto the stone pavement.
“It won’t matter, however. The Church is going to find out. They’ll be gone in a matter of days, and this whole place torched.” again, she slammed his fist to the ground, causing some skin tears.
“FUCK! I should have kept my eyes on her!”
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