Completed A Monster They Became

[Livia Quinnick]

She was still on the hunt.

Weeks had turned into months, and the only way Livia knew it had been several by now was the turning of the leaves indicating that they were headed into autumn. That meant two months ago she had celebrated her birthday, and... two months since...

Liv did not finish that thought. The anger, the hurt, it only drove her emotions so strongly it began to cloud her actions. She took in a deep breath and turned the corner to peek around at the bustling street. Yet another backwater town, this time it was not filled with many Dreadlords. She had thought the Falwood would be littered with them, that the Falwood was yet another stronghold, but she came to learn that there were other beings here that were just as dangerous to a Dreadlord. Gods, that is what she was now. Dreadlord Quinnick. A quick ceremony hastened after graduation, a special pardon for a year to continue this mission on behalf of the Republic.

Months now, she had been working with Cenric in searching, searching, searching, and her frustrations were beginning to tip over. What they sought was taunting her. It would call to her in the quiet moments, knowing that Liv needed a rest, but as soon as that directional pull caught her attention, Livia was moving.

Where was Cenric?

She had been pacing two minutes ago, waiting for his arrival or his signal at least. Had instructed she stay here, hidden, while he scoped out the place to determine whether or not it was safe to stick around a couple of hours. These precautions were being taken ever since Harrowsport, but most of all there was an oath made to protect Livia at all costs. A condition from the Republic, and one that could put a target on her back if it became known who was on the other side of that bond, who had made that oath.

Erodin.

They had not heard from him in some time, but Cenric kept telling her things were all well whenever she inquired. Even her magic sung to him and Amelie, had told her that Cenric was right.

Where was Cenric?

Despite the seasons changing, this town held dry heat that only came from the Savannah up north. Her mouth was beginning to dry, the top of her dark head, all dyed to be a horrible shade of black to hide her telltale silver hair, had begun to heat and she had nothing to protect herself from the elements of the day.

And still, she waited. She was not about to break Cenric's trust of her this far in to their mission. Leaning against the wooden wall of the home she hid behind, Liv pulled her thin scarf from her neck and fashioned it into a makeshift hood to shield her eyes from the brightness of the early morning. Waiting... she will just have to wait until he found her again.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Livia Quinnick was found.

Not by the comfort of familiarity, expected by impatient footfalls that paced back and forth, but by the tempered hatred of eyes that had followed her every movement since she had arrived at the afterthought of a town.

Jaster had once again proven to be a deceptive man of means, his dishevelled veneer easy to brush off as the eccentricity of a man with little marbles left to spill. A network of eyes on the road across Vel Anir proved an invaluable asset, former guardsmen stripped of their ability to fight by crippling injuries and absent limbs ready and willing for the cause to be helpful where they could. Perhaps it was time to stop doubting the pauper at the end of the bottle, but her gut was a breeding ground for doubt, especially around others.

On a practical level, it was a refreshing change of pace. While hunting rogue mages in the past, Syele Wilhart had become accustomed to doing every part of the hunt by herself. It was a laborious process, often full of disappointment and with more waiting than blowhard bounty hunters would be willing to divulge.

Unlike them, she wasn't in it for the glory or the thrill of the hunt.

No, justice demanded measured patience, and the protection of the common man from arcane-glutted monsters was not an objective to be loudly paraded with all the subtlety of a crimson peacock.

She wore what could only be described as plain. Brown britches and a beige tunic, as scratchy as it was simple but loose enough to conceal the gambeson beneath, inscribed with a small measure of runic protection as to prevent total obliteration by the men and women who would play god with their lives. It had been a worthwhile expedition to break into Elbion College for the cause's sake, even if the resulting consequence had given her cause to feel regret.

The climate was advantageous, allowing her to wear a thin black scarf around her head to protect her face and eyes from the heat and light, allowing for much-needed concealment. Although mottled flesh still peeked forth from where her skin was exposed, perhaps memorable, Wilhart found that people often averted their gaze with sad eyes as if staring was a sin.

Tucked under one arm was a large wicker basket filled with stolen clothing that hid a shortsword and buckler beneath. The other arm supported the base, the hand obscured, clutching a knife that would hopefully do the job quickly.

It was time.

"Nathalie!" Wilhart cried out amidst the people going about their day, her feet carrying her towards the home where a Dreadlord lurked behind. "Nathalie! Darling! Where have you gone?"

An unorthodox method, perhaps, to announce one's self so loudly.

She sighed, rounding the corner to where her target was waiting, back stooped like a woman burdened by years of thankless manual labour—a poor, exhausted mother needing a long bath and a longer drink. Surprised was feigned momentarily, as if Livia might have been mistaken for the lost child.

"Nat- oh. I'm sorry," Syele started, her voice raw and weary due to purposefully dehydrating herself for the task. "I don't mean to bother you, miss, but have you seen my little girl? She's blonde, with a green ribbon in her plaits and... kress, she's always bloody running off..."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Livia frowned, tensing at the sudden presence of another chancing upon her and her hiding place.

"Sorry, no." She answered quickly, flashing a strained smile but kept her irk in check when she noticed the lady was not leaving anytime soon. Her mind was too preoccupied to change course, to simply uproot it's searching and focus on a young girl named Nathalie, but perhaps a lie could aide the woman with some relief. "Have you looked around the fountain? If I was still a girl, I would be cooling off by that water..."

Even with her magic focused on something else, Livia knew signs of strangeness.

The way the lady clung to the basket, not at all adjusting her grip on it told her it was not all that heavy with linen despite it's appearance. Livia then noted her footwork, and as a dancer herself, she knew how to pick a balanced placement. They were trained, honed, and although she could not make out much of a physique with the clothes adorning the woman, Livia knew she was poised for anything.

"I am sorry..." Livia began to back away, a hand falling to her side where a knife hung covertly in her skirts. "I must go find my..."

But she did not give a proper answer as to what Cenric, whom she was waiting on, was to her. Admitting she had someone waiting on her could alert the woman, but Livia was sure her running away was a perfect excuse for someone to be in pursuit. Her magic faltered, stuttering as she summoned it to direct her on a course between the hastily thrown up homes of this town. The area was prone to flooding, and those without coin had to make do with what they could find to build up a new shelter. This provided a good maze to get lost into.

Without looking back, Livia banked right, shooting towards what she hoped would be solace from being found.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

The most difficult part of it wasn't all the preparation it took to get them to this moment, nor was it the patience required to wait for the opportunity. No, it was having to look into the face of a Dreadlord without a single crack showing.

Hatred formed like bile in Syele's throat, threatening to rise and spew forth through grit teeth. The hand beneath the basket tightened around the knife's hilt, knuckles white and trembling. She could barely hear the Dreadlord's response, drowned out by a rush of blood to the head. It was the first time she had stood face to face with one of these monsters without actively ramming a blade into its ribs. All Wilhart could see looking back at her was the face of death, and it almost stripped the air from her lungs.

No amount of preparation would have steadied her soul.

Only as the Dreadlord began to inch away did the former sergeant even come to her senses. She was spooked by a twitching betrayal of her countenance or something else altogether. Jast was better for this. Better at pretending.

The girl was on the move. At least they had prepared for this eventuality, which did not make it any less irritating. The basket was quickly discarded onto the ground, her backup weapon no longer an option as the hunt began. The setting was even less ideal; with people around, Syele could only hope she would flee somewhere quiet and perhaps try to hide.

With her knife's blade held up the sleeve of her tunic, she chose not to chase the Dreadlord at full pelt but instead walked briskly, eyes scanning for locals with turned heads, staring as somebody ran through their oft-forgotten streets.

Syele wasn't the only one here.

Their eyes, those wounded former guardsmen blended in as destitute, clutching bottles to their chests like limbless leering drunks with little left to live for. There were three in total, away from the main thoroughfare and dotted around alleys and the shanty town.

She ran past one, and there was a whistle. On the surface, it was a catcall, the standard unwanted attention drunken wretches gave to hurried young women, but in reality, it was a signal that told Syele the right place to go.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Where the fuck was Cenric?

Livia leaped over belongings, dodged around anyone that was in her path, and only when she had to scale over a drawn cart to keep momentum did she realise she was glad for her Dreadlord training. She did not stop until her magic settled, telling her that she was safe and that she could afford a moment to catch her breath.

She ran into wall made from stone, catching herself to stop running.

There was no obvious way to identify who had been that woman, but Livia knew they were trouble. Anyone that seemed to know their way around a fight was trouble... at least that was what she and Cenric were running on.

Fuck. What if they got to Cenric, whoever they were?

She bit down on her lip. Thoughts clearing and settling to something more tangible.

Not Dreadlord. With her running away, they had not given chase or resorted to whatever magical well they possessed. So... not Gilram. Unless... he still had a hand in this?

Livia sighed and began to walk, shedding the top layers of her attire and stealing replacements as she walked past homes and their washing. She was glad for this dry air, drying the washed clothes easily that she did not feel a patch of dampness as she tucked her dyed black hair behind a scarf covering her head. The smart move would be to find a way out of this town, then find Cenric and get moving. They could spend another day or two on the road. She was more than willing to put distance between herself and that woman.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Another whistle.

Syele kept pace, not following but merely attempting to stay adjacent to the fleeing Dreadlord's location. Her jaw was pulled taut, gritted teeth hidden behind closed lips that scowled in what was known to be the woman's default expression.

As well-worked as they thought it was, the location of their ambush was a frustration. Wilhart would have instead caught the woman on the road, where there was less chance of being interrupted by civilians, therefore minimising the risk. There were too many people here. Too many innocents could get caught in the crossfire and deemed as worthwhile collateral damage, at least by the standards of Dreadlords.

There had been disagreements on the matter, and while Syele's goal was solely focused on the blade's end of justice, other voices spoke of sending a message.

Let them know. Let the word spread. Let them feel fear.

She'd rather they were dead.

Unbeknownst to Syele, one of her eyes, Eryl had taken it upon himself to be the one to make the statement, having begun to actively follow the Dreadlord as she stole the clothes of the townspeople to make better her escape. He was a wretch with one arm, not even his good one, who had lost everything after his injuries—collateral damage, they had called it. His remaining left hand clutched a dagger, not concealed and open in his hatred, before he called out to the young woman.

"Typical fuckin' Dreadies," he spat at her back, hoping to get her attention. "Could be their best clothes, but you don't give a shit. All you do is fuckin' take."

He brandished the blade, pointing it in the woman's direction as he stalked towards her.

"Better put it back, or I'll cut you from arsehole to breakfast."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Fuck.

Eyes were on her, staring and looking between her and the man yelling at her.

She slowed her steps, gritting her teeth as the threat held up a blade. Hatred. It almost made her flinch to see it directed at her, but a word struck her, made her begin to put pieces together.

Dreadies. Again, pursuers, but not affiliated with Gilram.

Anirian accent, hatred spilling from his lips and eyes.... the only sort Livia could think of to hate Dreadlords were disgruntled Guards.

"I can give them coin." She knew the words would ask for backlash, but she did not make a move to cower before this man. Her gaze hardened, and her stance shifted to one that stood her ground. Her hand went to her pocket, fishing for the small pouch of gold coins. Holding it up, she shook it. "Who am I to ask pardons from and give this in exchange for this scarf?"

A woman, cleared her throat and took a step forward. "That'd be me, m'lady."

Livia cut a quick glance to the woman who stood near the home that Livia had taken from. She had another coin purse on her, one filled with foreign coin, but she would be willing to part with that too. "Then this is your's." The woman approached slowly, hesitating.

And then Liv realised it was fear that made her do so.

"I am not going to hurt you." She promised, lowly. She did not deny she was not a Dreadlord, but she thought that admitting it would only incite more fear, and she did not want that.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Eryl's response to the Dreadlord's generous turn in the face of confrontation was found in the seethe of saliva, a vicious spit at his feet that summed up loathing more than his words ever could.

Not that he would spare her from them either.

"Yeah, yeah, give us fuckin' coin now 'cus you got caught," the former Guard drawled, taking a step forward with the knife still brandished, further causing a scene. "You lot don't give a shit about us, never have, never will."

The gathering crowd, caught between nervousness and curiosity, was not of one mind on the matter. Some nodded along with Eryl, soft affirmations leaving their lips in agreement with his condemnation of the Dreadlords. A few others, not so much, the odd murmur suggesting that she had paid for the scarf, which was enough, although they did not go so far as to step forth and speak up.

Perhaps curiously, the hesitant woman who was owed coin found the bravery to approach and take what was offered, although her fear did not wane, and a bowed head that avoided eyes spoke of that.

"You can't trust 'em, you can never trus-"

His words were cut short by a firm, scarred hand touching his wrist. Syele finally caught up, only to find a very public catastrophe in the making.

"That's enough," she spoke softly, the calm of her words only betrayed by the tautness of her jaw. With the notion of being discreet long since dead and buried, Wilhart took to removing her own scarf, pulling it down from her head to reveal her face to all. That mottled flesh that occupied almost half of her face drew familiar, sad glances. "The matter is settled. You should all return to the safety of your homes."

She shot Eryl a look that resembled a Sergeant's firm orders. "Get them out of here," the command came under harsh breath before her attention was firmly set upon the reason they were here in the first place.

"Dreadlord Quinnick!" Syele declared with authority, the stoicism of her voice betrayed by the disdain in her eyes and the dagger still up her tunic sleeve. "There is a mandate for your head. I suggest that you surrender peacefully."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Livia tensed seeing the woman again, but her reaction was visible as old wounds were revealed. She was horrified, unsure if it was the sight that was unsettling to her or the fact she held pity for the woman that was pursuing her.

Somewhere, she had wished her friend Ivan Skender were here. They faced an old god in the Empire once before... she could do with some of his courage. Perhaps even Houri and her storms, or even Zinnia and her support... hells, she would even call upon Rhidian or Zephyrine, or Larkin...

Being so far from home for months had weighed on her. Had made her miss one boy above all else despite the way they left things last, and yet, even now she wished that Silas was here, standing tall beside her.

Livia focused on the woman, who now commanded with her voice. Different to the pretense she had used earlier, searching for a lost daughter.

There is a mandate for your head. I suggest that you surrender peacefully.

She scoffed, brows furrowing a touch as doubt laced between her words. "A mandate? On what charges?"

Not the Republic. She was their representative on this endeavour. The times she met covertly with them gave away that they still trusted her on this mission, to utilise her magic to Vel Anir.

She earned the title of Dreadlord.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

She scoffed.

Syele's jawline flexed as teeth grit together, a barrier sealed shut to prevent the madness of hatred from erupting for all to witness. That scream instead travelled up and dissipated in slight twitches of the woman's nose and brow, eyes narrowing in that poisoned loathing that called for the death of every Dreadlord.

Oblivious. They didn't care. They never cared. These abominations were tasked with protecting Aniria's people, yet to them, they were little more than errant scarves on washing lines. I can't breathe. Disposable. An afterthought. Collateral damage. I can't breathe. How many innocents had died at the hands of these monstrous aberrations? Innocents that they were trained to protect?! How many more?!

Not now. She felt the weight on her chest, invisible talons gripping her lungs as to squeeze the air out, and her hand, trained by trauma, unconsciously squeezed the knife's hilt in a counted rhythm to ground her.

We don't break.

"You are a threat," Wilhart finally replied, her voice low and laced with that hatred on the back of quickened, trumbling breath. "A threat to all of the Anirian territories." Syele began to walk towards the Dreadlord, the monster, the tyrant, the freak. The knife blade slipped out from her sleeve, showing intent that there would be no peaceful resolution. "It is clear that revolution has failed the people, and they will not be safe until the Dreadlords are eradicated."

Every last one.

As Eryl worked to usher the onlookers away from the scene, Syele stopped, pointing the blade at her foe with all the conviction that only justice and vengeance could offer.

"I will allow you one more chance to surrender. I hope you have even a shred of humanity that will allow you to take it."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

If she had still been Initiate Quinnick, she would have laughed at the idea of her being considered a threat. A burden, perhaps, but not a threat.

Then the turning point in her magicks came, had consumed her all and which turned her hair a silver white that told her friends and peers something had changed. She had been afraid of it, had ignored it best she could, until it almost consumed her again but only this time, it had not been an awakening.
It had been a claiming.

Yes, she was a threat...

But not to them. Not to the people living here.

She was a threat to Gilram for what her mission asked of her, to have artifacts he sought in the custody of the Republic.

The glint of the knife was enough to bring Livia back to her reality. "You are full of shit if you think I would yield to you. Any of you." Her jawe tightened, teeth grinding that slight pressure as she began to think quickly. She called on her magic, looking for openings that she may escape through and find Cenric.

No, she could not surrender, not when her life was tied to Erodin. If she died, he died, and who knows what Amelie would do to Cenric for letting Livia out of his sight. There was more than her own life at stake this moment.

She had no real weapon, nothing more than a dagger. Livia seethed, realising that the only way to get past these opponents was through the use of magic.

It is as if they want to make me an example, she thought to herself. Show the people why the Dreadlords are weapons made monster...

 

[Syele Wilhart]

"Very well."

A lot of her compatriots would have preferred this eventuality, the chance to do harm to all Dreadlords who afforded them the opportunity. It was the nature of vengeance, capable of overwhelming logic, to sate the thirst for suffering. Wilhart knew the temptation well, her feet not far from the precipice of cathartic brutality.

She cast a glance at Eryl, who had managed to usher more of the bystanders away from the street, although the prominence of both women's blades had aided the call for evacuation.

That was the reason for restraint against outright violence—the people. The moment civilians became collateral damage, could she say that she was better than them? Was it any less monstrous because she could not wield magic? No.

Syele closed the gap, cautiously walking towards the Dreadlord. She regretted discarding the sword and buckler that had forced her into a knife fight, feeling more open to whatever devilry this creature was capable of; at least the gambeson beneath her tunic could absorb some of that damage where it needed.

So far, the former Guard had presented as slow and methodical, but at the last moment, she sprang forward, thrusting the blade towards her enemy's midsection.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Livia danced out of harm's way. She had been slow, enough to throw her balance off that little bit that she needed to crouch to ground herself.

She was on her feet and running in the next heartbeat, but her exit was blocked, innocents still beyond even that.

With gritted teeth, Livia turned back to the woman with retribution burned to her face.

"I did not do anything." She seethed, palming her dagger and preparing herself to fend off this woman. Guard, she had to be have served with the Anirian Guard to speak with such vitriol that those serving even to this day felt. Hells, Livia had heard her cousins complain about the Dreadlords on the very few occassions she had sat for dinner with the Adelsteins, her mother's family, and kept her distance from them whenever Initiate and Guard crossed paths.

Their hatred ran deep, she just never thought any of them would be so vengeful as they were to eradicate the Dreadlords.

The very beings that created the might of Vel Anir.

"If you wish me to answer to crimes, then by all means, go back to Vel Anir and make your case. You, all of you, are disrupting an official mission on behalf of the Republic."

But one of the men roared, had made to move against her, and Livia fell to her instincts. The air around her crackled, an energy most unnerving. Wild and whipping as if it were ready to lash out, this minor display of what harbored inside of her made the man keep his distance.

"Fuckin' end her now!" He seethed, as if the display of magic was so sickening, the young girl deserved to be put down.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

As the blade met air instead of flesh, Syele pivoted to follow, although she avoided a secondary lunge, given the civilians who continued to watch. This made her hesitant to be overzealous with the blade; the expectation that Dreadlord Qunnick would use the people as a shield was very much present.

Damn it, she needed Eryl to work faster.

"Yet," Wilhart replied with conviction, spinning her blade around so that the blunt end of the handle was being used instead. "You will, in time."

Before she could step forward again, another interrupted, causing Syele's teeth to grit in frustration at the thought of collateral damage because, unlike the Dreadlords, she could feel responsible for the loss of life. The abberation's little show of her monstrous talents kept him at bay as a combatant but not an observer. It would have to do for now.

"The complacent voice of the Republic does not speak for us, nor do your corrupt noble houses," Wilhart barked, poised on the balls of her feet to strike at any moment. "This is the will of the people!"

Syele came at her again, this time throwing a right hook at the Dreadlord's head, hoping to crack her temple with the hilt of the knife while staggering her.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

She was struck.

Like a fool, Livia had been rooted to the spot a moment too long before the bluntness of the blade's hilt caught her. The movement of her head saved an injury to the tender spot by her brow, but pain shot all through her jaw, jarring it and causing yet more pain as she cried out. Warmth trickled from her cheekbone, the skin split and raining crimson.

Pain. Livia knew pain, especially when it came to head wounds. Before she felt the bottom of the cavernous corruption magic, aches plagued her, throbbing behind her eyes or debilitating her entirely. She had learned to live like this for near three years, and trained her body to move without thought.

But there were too many faces about them. The buildings too close together, all looking entirely the same that the trained dancer could not find a fixed place to act as a spot to keep her bearings.

She moved, but not in the way she had hoped.

Fuck.

The woman's hand had struck hard.

Livia expelled all breath from her lungs as she staggered to the ground, and rolled onto her back. She was dazed, her eyesight slow and blurring.

No no no....

Where is Cenric?

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Spilling blood fed the beast, who, in bared teeth, craved more. Another strike, harder. Let them know what it means to be small and scared.

But she paused.

Syele had no intention of offering the Dreadlord any respite, but the spectators lurking at her peripheral gave her pause. Was it not the people's right to see justice done? To see those who would treat them like idle playthings be humbled in the dirt?

"Please, return to your homes," she stopped to command, turning her head to look over her shoulder at the citizens. "She may use you to save herself, and I cannot guarantee your safety."

It helped usher a few of the onlookers back to their homes, although not all, the curiosity and drive to watch a Dreadlord suffer compelling enough to take the risk. Ultimately, they could only be warned so much, and the risk was entirely on their shoulders.

Returning to the task at hand, Wilhart feared that she had granted her target too much of a breather and so, to keep her down, came around to her side and aimed a hard boot into the woman's ribs.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Livia gasped, the air forced from her lungs as it filled with pain. She was unsure if she had heard a crack, if the kick had broken bone. Agony did not let up, it seemed to pulse with every beat of her heart. Livia saw her vision blur, and blinking did not help make it any clearer...

She had to move.

Broken bones and pain, that was nothing new for Livia.

Training, she had been trained for this. Henk had taught her the beauty of a Dreadlord's magic, and how the strongest of them could still fight even with a limb missing. Magic was fuel, it was a driving force. Above all odds, Livia had graduated to Third Rank. That had to give her confidence that she could work through it.

She had done it before, with a disjointed arm and fired with her bow.

She had been close to death, broken and bleeding, and still she left the temple ruins with her life.

Livia could survive this. She had to. It was not only her own life at stake.

"Kick me again and I will show you what it feels like to feel your heart give out."

 

[Syele Wilhart]

That caged beast that lived inside every living thing smelled the blood of temptation as the Dreadlord threatened her not to kick her again. It rattled the bars, screeching, demanding that she let loose another, more brutal kick in defiance of that threat.

Syele wanted to do it swiftly, with a quick execution by the blade and move on. Less of a mess, less likely to allow the vengeance to spiral into cruelty. She knew that barbarity was within her. That first Dreadlord kill had seen the beast emerge when the knife didn't stop, even when that monster had long since breathed his last. Were Jaster not there to intervene, who knows how long she would have kept stabbing that carcass.

"Interesting that those are the words of a Dreadlord who hasn't done anything," Wilhart challenged callously, seemingly obliging her target by not releasing her boot into the woman's ribs again. "Tell me, how many have you shown that feeling to?"

To the former Guard's credit, she did not kick her a second time.

Instead, Syele aimed a wicked stomp at the Dreadlord's left knee instead, hoping to prevent any more notions of running were she to get up again.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Her olive eyes fell onto the boot once again, rage ready to ignite within her as she prepared herself for another blow to her middle, but the pain did not blossom there. Instead agony, angry and white and blinding, it tore at her leg and shot up to the rest of her body. Livia had been calling her magic, had been ready to unleash it but the crunch of her knee made her disoriented.

Livia screamed. She had not felt something so searing in a long while, and that hold on her magic burst out from her.

It was merely force, enough to throw back any within her distance.

And yet, it had been enough to remind Livia she could draw on her power to get up and move. She used this chance, willing her magic to fuel her, to help her to her feet and put all thoughts and feelings of pain to a numbing sensation. At first, she could only manage a crawl before clumsily pushing herself to her feet and stumbling on the spot.

But the people still lingered, still watched, and Livia did not want to go anywhere near them.

The Dreadlord turned, adjusting her stance as she would stand and fight.

"Is that all you have?" Baiting words, but the crackling energy was back. The loose portions of her dyed hair began to lift with the static being created about her person, a threat all on it's own as Livia stared down several of her opponents. It felt good to feel this level of magic, to feel it not waver, and it would not for a while. She needed to survive, and the only thing keeping her alive in this moment was her magic.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

There was no time to savour the damage dealt, the shockwave that burst from the Dreadlord staggering Syele as the runes inscribed upon her armour absorbed some of the burst. They didn't have the same gear as the Blackguard, which could completely nullify certain magics, but it was enough to dampen attacks. The spectators who did not heed her warning were not so lucky, being knocked off their feet in what was luckily a non-lethal show of force from the creature.

Wilhart managed to pull away from her streak of cruelty to look to the spectators, and the woman noticed more of her compatriots in attendance. "Get them out of here!" She commanded, the urgency in her tone no longer willing to tolerate the endangerment of bystanders. "Now!"

Eryl and the others changed tact, from ushering the villagers to actively escorting them from the scene.

With her attention back to the Dreadlord, Syele sneered as she was goaded, her features twisting with a hatred that warped the burnt flesh of her face. She did not fear the magic that surrounded her target; no, she loathed it, and if the former Sergeant had her way, she would have eradicated magic from all the realms.

"Your resistance is prolonging the inevitable," Wilhart responded, fearless in her approach as she began to stride towards the aberration to engage once more. "Had you yielded, I would have spared you this suffering."

At the last moment, Syele changed strategy, suddenly throwing her dagger at the centre of her target's mass. Her posture that had indicated hand-to-hand combat, a feint.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

She was too injured to move too quickly to evade the dagger, catching it at her stomach. Livia froze, looking down at the hilt that protruded from her and moved a hand gingerly to touch it. As if she could pull it out and...

The world...

Began...

To slow...

Her vision blurred, pain erupting all over her that she was sure she had been lit on fire. That her crackling energy of corruption had finally turned against her and pulled her into the darkness brimming at the edges of her sight.

Livia had thought she said something, had made to move forward, but the motion brought her to her knees.

She did not remember hitting the ground.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Dreadlord Quinnick did not hit the ground.

Syele advanced as the blade hit its target, rushing to take advantage of the opportunity to finish the kill and catch the creature before she fully hit the ground, further driving the blade into her abdomen. She kneeled in a crouch, the mage-killer instinct of her hand grabbing the protruding hilt and longing for nothing more than to gut her.

A glance over her shoulder dissuaded her as Wilhart spotted the face of one of the villagers still watching. The woman whose scarf was stolen may have feared the Dreadlord, but her face was laced with concern at the thought of watching her die.

Not here.

Instead of finishing the job, she heaved her mark onto her shoulder with a soft grunt, the knife still protruding from her flesh, and moved on to find somewhere more secluded. The Anirian people had witnessed more than their fair share of bloodshed and loss of life, and it would not be Syele who would add to those horrors built on the foundation of Dreadlords and nobility.

"Clear up," she called out to the rest of her squad, "we're finished here."

With that, she carried away the unconscious woman on her shoulder, seeking somewhere quiet on the outskirts of the village where she could peacefully slit her throat. It was no favour to the Dreadlord but to the people whose lives knew death far more than they should. A world where Anirian citizens knew peace was one where executions were not a commonplace occurrence.

Having found solitude where the wilderness of the Falwood met humble civilisation, Wilhart placed her target down on the ground.

And then she looked.

In a face relaxed by oblivion, she did not see her idea of the Dreadlord abomination, a world eater trained to forgo compassion in the name of destruction. Instead, Syele saw a human—a young woman, likely not long removed from her graduation. She saw Livia Quinnick.

Wrapping her hand around the hilt of the dagger, the woman grimaced as she found hesitation in the act of removing the blade from her gut. It had been easy before with Jaster, frenzied even, but it was kill or be killed in a town where their quarry had tormented the people for pleasure. Could she say the same for this one?

No. She had to. What if it was just a matter of time before Dreadlord Quinnick realised that the purpose of her power was to do as she desired at the cost of those they were meant to protect?

Kneeling next to her, Syele managed to pull out the knife and gingerly placed the edge at the girl's throat.

The longer she looked at Livia's face, the more it lost its shape, shifting and sagging until Erich's death mask was staring back at her in silent judgment, his rotten eyes never leaving her. She pressed the blade into the meat of the Dreadlord's neck, enough to draw blood but nothing meaningful as death continued to look back.

Wilhart saw him often, the face of the once carefree young man from her unit who had fallen from the siege ladder on top of her. Crushing her, protecting her, watching her. For two days, she had been trapped beneath him, half-crippled by her injuries, and with no choice but to watch him rot. He'd never left her that day. She saw him in her peripheral, in the crowds that frayed her nerves. He was the eyes in the darkness of confined spaces. Even when she looked at another for too long, Syele would see him instead.

It always took her breath away, as the weight of his body had in the massacre of Isbrand's siege.

"I'm doing... this for all of us," she whispered in a gasp, pleading with the vision as if he was stopping her from making the final cut. "Please... I have to."

He didn't reply. He never did. Erich Calvart just stared.

A strangled, frustrated sound left Syele's throat as her hesitating hand, shaking as it pressed the knife into Quinnick's throat, was finally withdrawn. She folded backwards onto her legs; her head tilted up at the sky as if the morning would have an answer for her faltering will and failure to pursue justice in murder.

Was she a coward? Was it virtue? The blade, smeared with crimson, remained ready, hungering as the steel glinted through gaps in blood.

But she couldn't do it, not to one so young who had only tried to run and barely fought back. Perhaps the knife wound would be enough, the damage already done, but ultimately, Wilhart would not be there to find out as she got to her feet and walked away.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

There was pain and a sense of being lost by the time consciousness began to seep back within her. In those moments of darkness between dream and reality, Livia had thought she were in her bed back at the Academy, and that graduation was still to come. She dreamt her freedom was near, that she could celebrate with her friends and return home to begin the preparations of a party in time for her birthday, and no doubt a party to celebrate Dreadlord Quinnick.

But as the reality began to come to her senses, the smell, the sounds, the touch, Livia's vividness of her dreams began to disappear and linger at the edges of her mind. Soon to be forgotten.

She had been placed into a plush bed, and the gentle rocking of a ship familiar to her in these moments that it brought an initial peacefulness to her.

Then the pains hit, as if her entire body had been under a stress so severe, she was still recovering. Slow movements, her hands shifted to gingerly check her person, until she felt the bandages wrapped around her torso. Livia whimpered, the pain so intense and overwhelming that a gasp was pulled from between her lips.

"Rest, Quinnick. Orders from Master Cenric..."

A a cold glass was brought to her lips, the temptation of citrus clouding the underlying elixir that would put her back to sleep.

But before the darkness could embrace her once again, Livia had remembered a thought.

Alive. She was alive.