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Fic: Totality Recital

Endgame spoilers ahead.

Scratching an itch for more Wight!Adrius, the first meeting/training/banter between the Elite Three (or Terrible Trio), and an explanation as to what the heck happened to Akrisae (because I am legit salty about him just being forgotten). I’ll put a warning here for graphic descriptions and some implications of abuse.

Also I casually namedrop my new favorite track in the game. It had to be done.

There was an odd bustle around the Necropolis.

It was always crowded, to be sure, but today - or tonight, Adrius couldn’t tell - brought a certain energy to the place that he hadn’t witnessed in a while. The last time this had happened, he remembered, was the day that Akrisae was brought into their ranks.

So, who’s the newcomer this time? he thought, tearing his gaze away from the assembling wights and skeletons to take one last prolonged look over the battlefield. Nothing was amiss, he decided, and so he stood, slung his bow over his shoulders, and made his way into the formation.

A welcoming formation, he noticed.

Soldiers ranked from lowest to highest stood in parallel lines, a path cut between them that created a funnel to the general’s quarters.

Their master was due to arrive any minute, no doubt.

Adrius marched to his place at the head of his ingression force, coming to a stop next to Akrisae and the connecting bridge. Only two other wights stood likewise at his rank: a mage and a foot soldier who commanded their own ingression forces. Adrius knew nothing about who they used to be. Yet, that was hardly important, now that they were just part of the collection.

Suddenly, a rattle of bones and a loud rustle of flaking skin and rotting fabric cascaded down the line as the Necropolis’ guard snapped to attention.

A quick burst of shadow followed, carrying with it a figure garbed in silk robes and a palpable air of mischief.

“Well, well! You all never fail to disappoint me when it comes to rolling out the red carpet,” their master called, voice carrying farther than it probably should have. “Perhaps I should actually give you a red carpet to roll out next time.”

Nothing but a slight giggle answered him, originating from the petite, gray-skinned woman at his elbow that Adrius had never seen before.

Sliske made his way silently through the ranks, hands steepled elegantly in front of him despite the lopsided hunch to his shoulders and the hungry set of his face. As he approached, Adrius’ head was turned - almost yanked - to the front, and his shoulders were squared and forced back by what felt like clawed hands. He was able to see the same thing happen to the other two commanders just before the weedy pile of snickering trash...no, his glorious master, radiant and clever...blocked his view.

“Ah, Commanders Thomsson, Noctis, and DeSilva. Or,” he turned to Adrius directly, bending down to look him in the eye, “is it ‘Sheturth?’ I’d say it’s ‘Bannbreker,’ but you know how the saying goes: ‘til death do you part.’ And, well, death, among other, camel-loving things, has certainly parted you…”

Adrius remained silent and still - it was the only thing he could do at the moment. Whatever flared up in his mind, be it anger, fear, regret, or that nasty, pesky deja vu he seemed to be constantly plagued with, it was quickly dulled and swept away, as it always was.

“I prefer whichever name pleases you,” he said tonelessly. Sliske merely grinned and nodded, patting him twice on the head.

“Good boy, Adrius.”

Sliske left him behind to address Akrisae next, yet the woman at his side dawdled. Blood-red eyes, at first disconcerting yet holding no malice upon closer examination, rimmed with odd, whisker-like scars made her look almost feline; if Adrius could laugh, he would’ve at least chuckled quietly.

“Hello! Is your name Adrius? I’m Relomia, Emissary of the Great and Wonderful Sliske!”

Adrius nodded in greeting, yet said nothing. It was as if his mouth was sewn shut.

“I’ve heard your name before, I think,” she continued. “Oh yes! Sliske mentioned you! You were the World Guardian’s husb-”

“RELOMIA! My dear…” An arm slipped around her shoulder and yanked her against Sliske’s side. “What did I tell you about addressing my soldiers?”

“You...you said not to do it-”

“I did. Now, be a good girl and be quiet.”

“Yes, Sliske.”

“Actually…” Sliske trailed off, scratching his chin. “Adrius, my boy. You should come along with Relomia and I. Akrisae, you too. Yes, this is a momentous occasion - what would I be if I didn’t have my two best men and my oh so lovely and loving Emissary there to bear witness?”

With a snap of Sliske’s fingers, Adrius and Akrisae fell in line behind him to the tune of Relomia’s giggles of glee, and the four marched across the bridge.

As they neared the general’s quarters, Adrius heard a familiar cackle.

No, two familiar cackles.

“HAhahahaYAyYAYAYaaa Carol, my love, my heart!” There was a crunching of bone and a distinct slurp of innards. “My life! I would be dead...no, WORSE than undead without you!”

“Aheheheheee! Oh, Greggie, you know I’d do anything for my dear hubby! Now keep eating!”

“In a minute, dear...we have a GUEST!”

“Who could it be at this hour?”

“Hahahayayaa...Carol...I think we have several guests.”

Sliske finally strode into the arena-like room, arms thrown wide.

“Gregorovic, my friend. And his delinquent Chosen, Caroline Ivanov... Am I interrupting something?” Adrius knew that voice - though on the surface, it was as slimy and spine-tingling...no, jovial and lilting, be polite Adrius...as it always was, there was that slight growl underneath that so very much said ‘you have disobeyed me and I might make you ‘worse than undead’ as punishment.’

It wasn’t like Sliske hadn’t leveled several punishments on Gregorovic’s shoulders already: the many regimens of starvation (or ‘caloric restriction,’ as Sliske called it), the countless complete lockdowns of the Necropolis that prevented Carol from visiting and providing her particular brand of moral support, and occasionally, the times that Adrius would report to Gregorovic and find that his joints had been suspiciously loosened or gunked up with congealed blood magic.

Sliske’s implicit threat did not go unnoticed by Gregorovic either, Adrius noted. As he and Akrisae took their places at Sliske’s right, he saw Gregorovic stand, release the remains of a half-eaten Cywir elf, and take a swaying step in front of his Chosen, shielding her with a clawed hand.

“Calm yourself, Gregorovic,” Sliske purred, shaking his head. “Your wife, disobedient as she is, was right to bring you a snack. Keep eating, by all means, keep eating. You need to be at full strength for what’s to come.”

Gregorovic relaxed his stance slightly before stooping back over the elf and finishing his meal as quickly as he could, occasionally glancing up at Sliske and back at Carol before swallowing another chunk of blood-splattered green.

“Now, I know all of you have questions. ‘Oh, Sliske, what’s this big event you keep referring to? What do we need to be ready for? When will we ever get to finish the jobs we all started?!?’ Well, gather round, children, gather round, because all your questions are going to be answered. Right here, right now!”

He snapped his fingers again, and Adrius felt his legs maneuver him across the platform over to where Gregorovic still crouched and feasted. Akrisae followed. Relomia, however, stayed firmly by Sliske’s elbow, practically swooning up at the Mahjarrat.

“As most of you wouldn’t - and couldn’t - know, the eclipse is upon us. And that means it’s time for the big show! My endgame. There will be blood, there will be tears, there will be even more blood, and someone will walk away with the Stone of Jas in the end. What will happen next, nobody knows…” He waved his hands in a showman’s flourish before he steepled them in front of his chest once again and continued. “I’m going to need all of you to be at the top of your game that day. Gregorovic, you especially.”

The massive puppet-monster swayed again, and Adrius caught a glimpse of those horrid teeth before his attention was drawn back to Sliske.

“But, luckily for you, I’ve arranged for a bit of backup so that the attendees, especially the dear World Guardian who managed to mangle your limbs the last time you two met, will have a significantly more entertaining time during the festivities. So entertaining, in fact, that they might all be eviscerated, devoured, and crushed to dust from the excitement!”

‘World Guardian.’

He’s talking about Finley.

Well, of course. That’s most of what he talks about lately. How much contempt he holds for her, how good it felt to snap her spine, how much work it was to break a bit off of her soul, how much pain she’s caused him, how much...how much he loves her?

What kind of sick, twisted, obsessed...wait, you’re not going to argue with me? You agree with me that you’re sick, twisted, and obsessed?

Okay then…

“I’ve taken the liberty of not only promoting another of my Barrow’s wights to a position here in the Heart, but forging an entirely new wight from certain scraps I’ve collected over this past year.” Sliske clapped his hands twice - an empty gesture, considering every eye in the room was already plastered on him - and, with another flourish, summoned two massive, shadowy portals that hung and spun in mid-air.

Immediately, Adrius tensed - two new presences had popped into existence within the twin torrents of shadow, and he didn’t particularly like the feel of either of them.

The first to emerge was a woman clad in dull, yet very sturdy-looking armor. Adrius thought he might’ve recognized her as one of those adventures he and Finley would sometimes run into and work with from time to time. Yet, the memories were dull, little more than sparks of images and sounds that didn’t add up to anything, and any sense of recognition was quickly extinguished. He thought he remembered something about a sea monster and an over-designed harpoon, however.

“Behold: the Barrow’s Sister, Linza the Disgraced!”

Gathering up enough free thought to turn his head, which, oddly, felt like less work than it usually took to wrench control away from Sliske’s fog that weighed down on his mind, he caught Akrisae’s attention.

“Do you remember her?” he mumbled.

“No,” Akrisae mumbled back. “She must have been made after I was brought here.”

“Eyes forward, gentlemen! I’m not finished yet!” A particularly hard yank on those unseeable strings forced Adrius’ attention back to the center of the congregation, where the second portal still spewed it’s shadows.

The second to emerge was a man that, unlike the woman who came before, sparked no memories for Adrius.

At first.

Bent, hooded, and adorned with spikes, he stalked out from the portal and stood beside Linza, his stark blue eyes scanning the rest of the assembled Sliskeans.

Those eyes…

They’re a bit too much like Finley’s, aren’t they?

In fact, the eyes weren’t the only similarity Adrius noticed. There was a certain off-balance stumbling to his steps - oddly similar to Gregorovic’s own affection - that occasionally broke out into a familiar springy swagger.

“And,” Sliske began, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’d like to introduce my latest creation. Behold: Nomad, the World Guardian!”

What???

The entire line seemed to balk - Adrius swore he heard a snarl from Gregorovic, a dramatic gasp from Carol, and a low hiss from Akrisae.

Sliske’s endemic grin widened, and he let loose a low chuckle.

“Nomad, say hello to your new co-workers, won’t you?” At Sliske’s request - or order, to be fair - Nomad twitched and coughed up what sounded like a spit of static.

“Aye, hello, ye lot,” he mumbled finally, the words seemingly painful to speak. “Right pleasure to be workin’ with ye…”

If Adrius’ heart was still in prime working condition, it would’ve clenched painfully in his chest.

That was Finley’s voice.

An octave too low and a hundred times raspier, but still her voice.

Her lilt, her tone, her words.

How???

As if reading Adrius’ mind, and he probably was, Sliske went on to explain.

“You see, I acquired a nearly-dead Nomad from the pits of Iccy’s little pillow fort in the Underworld. He’d broken his neck in his fall, poor thing, and he was just about to give up on it all. But then, glorious serendipity! I managed to snag a bit of that wondrous thing he’d been searching for ever since his first master condemned him to his fate: dear Finley’s soul. Oh, but that wasn’t all! A spark of Guthix’s gift clung to that fragment! What luck. So, in a flash of brilliant inspiration, if I do say so myself, I grafted the fragment onto Nomad’s soul!

“I had to be careful, you see. She and Nomad are a pair of animae sanitatis, as the old Magister of Charron theorized. Soulmates, you might say.” Sliske caught Adrius’ gaze and winked. “If their souls were to combine...well…”

Another chuckle, this one darker.

“See for yourself.”

Images bored their way into Adrius’ mind.

A madman, his entire being crackling with ethereal lightning.

Or, was it a warrior woman wreathed in flame?

Radiating boundless energy and sheer power.

Commanding an army of crystalline soldiers, a mountainous, four-armed god looming behind.

Leading a charge against an unknowable force of shadows, tendrils, stony hands, and teeth.

Cutting down anything that dared rear its head in challenge.

Twin points of fluorescent blue, piercing the darkness and sparking with either madness or determination.

It awed and frightened him, and he felt his hand come to a rest on the quiver of arrows at his hip.

“So,” Sliske clapped his hands sharply, pulling Adrius out from his funk. “I grafted them together with a little barrier stuck in between. Enough to let Nomad here share in Finley’s protection from godly powers - and a few other things, if his new accent is anything to go off of - but not enough to let him grow too strong from constructive interference and break away from my control.”

Adrius fidgeted in his boots, opposite urges warring in his mind, ebbing and flowing with the shadows that blanketed it like patchy clouds.

On one hand, he wanted to raise his bow and loose an arrow into Nomad...Finley?...no, Nomad...that’s NOT Finley...but she’s there...he feels like her...he talks like her...but he’s not her...I have my orders; I am to kill the World Guardian on sight. And, he is ‘the World Guardian.’

On the other hand, he wanted to...run to the man. Embrace him. Comfort him...comfort Finley like she used to do to him. Well, then, do it! Do it! Your wife is right there! Well, just a part of her, and it’s stuck in some old codger who can’t seem to stand up straight, but still! Sliske’s hold on you has weakened, just do what you’ve been wanting to do since she set foot in the Citadel.

The two thoughts cancelled each other out, and Adrius just fidgeted.

“Oh dear. Adrius? Are you alright?”

Sliske’s voice was close. Very close.

A hand squeezed his shoulder, another tilting his head back to meet sulfuric yellow eyes.

“Hm...well, of course you’re not. Your little wife broke something of mine, and now you’re feeling the side effects. Extra feelings, free will...well, fixing that will have to wait until later. We’ve got work to do - all of us!”

With that, he clapped once again, and strings tugged everyone in attendance into different positions.

“Caroline! Back to the platform, please! Relomia, my dear, leave us and...track down the World Guardian, will you? The rest of you have training to do. I want each and every one of you to be ready for the eclipse!”

***

Arrows flew, bolstered by prayers.

Glaives spun.

Blade and shield flashed.

Magic seared the air.

‘Training’ had begun.

Adrius dodged a trick knife before loosing an arrow in Linza’s direction

She batted the arrow away, it somehow flying straight back at him.

It snagged his arm, nearly piercing his armor, but only broke some scales off.

No harm done.

He spun around, the momentum from the glancing blow doing most of the work, and he loosed two arrows at Finley...no, Nomad.

The arrows went up in flames, the ashes scattering in the wake of a magic missile. The missile struck the ground near Adrius’ feet, and he stumbled.

Akrisae was there to catch him - a prayer made solid the rolled him back to his feet in time to bat away another strike from Gregorovic with the body of his bow.

The three, Linza, Nomad, and Gregorovic, were getting better at working together. Much better.

At first, though, it had been chaos.

Glaives bouncing off shields, missiles ricocheting off glaives, and swords carving through missiles. Arrows loosed into the mix like sharp seasoning in a jumbled stew.

Now, however, it was almost poetry how the three moved together, attacked together.

Gregorovic’s laughter echoed around the makeshift battlefield, disheartening and intimidating. He sprung and danced around his fellow combatants, filling in the gaps in their attacks with a flash of his glaives that stunk of foul poison. Quick on his feet and as resistant to pain as he was, he needed no defense beyond that he was capable of by himself.

Linza, therefore, protected Nomad’s flank, her shield easily deflecting anything that came near them. If Adrius or Akrisae ever got too close, which wasn’t often, she would swing threateningly with her mace, an attack that, if it ever hit, would no doubt incapacitate an opponent completely.

Nomad darted out from behind Linza’s shield to deliver his devastating thaumaturgical attacks - Adrius’ chestplate still smoldered from the last direct hit. Occasionally, he would summon explosives from nowhere, forcing Adrius to watch his footing like a hawk, lest he be blown off his feet, and possibly putting him at the mercy of Gregorovic’s agility.

It was getting harder by the minute for Adrius and Akrisae to put up any sort of challenge against the three.

No, the Three.

They were very much a team, now.

An elite force.

One to be reckoned with.

The Champions of Sliske.

As soon as the name entered Adrius’ mind, Linza’s mace crashed into the small of his back, sending him tumbling.

“ADRIUS!”

He felt Akrisae’s prayers jolt through his veins for a moment before the battle-priest was likewise thrown to the ground by a particularly potent bolus of magic.

Howling, Akrisae writhed on the stone. Adrius sprung back to his feet, swinging his bow as hard as he could into the side of Nomad’s head.

There was a moment that he regretted that.

A moment where, instead of striking the pale, scarred face mostly obscured by hood and scarf, he had struck that face he had so cherished for years. The warm, open face framed by that thick, golden brown hair that always smelled so good-

A whirling blade caught his shoulder, carving easily through his armor, and he felt suddenly dizzy.

Poison.

Gregorovic loomed over him, teeth bared in an unnaturally ecstatic rictus.

“AHEheheheheEAAAYAYAYAYYAYAYYYAYA! End of the line, boys!”

He heard Akrisae cry out again as his vision blurred - the battle-priest must have been clipped by Gregorovic’s poisoned glaive as well.

“BACK OFF!” he bellowed, nocking three arrows and aiming for Gregorovic’s chest. Suddenly, shadows flickered, and-

-there were four Gregorovics.

FOUR???

Each of them cackling, smiling, and swinging glaives. Three of them were shadowed, eye holes shining a sickly green.

Ignoring the shadows, Adrius loosed his arrows at the real, material Gregorovic.

They missed.

It was as if the mannequin monster sublimed into thin air around the arrows, reforming in the place of the shadow to the far right. The shadow that took his place shrieked before scattering into a thousand impossibly dark motes that…

Adrius’ head spun, along with his body.

A torrent of color.

Reality breaking apart and reforming around him.

Suddenly, he was no longer standing in the Necropolis, but on a field of green. White walls to the south, dark stone to the north.

“Adrius!” A figure in gleaming white armor astride a unicorn destrier approached, drawn lance sparking with pure light.

“Alexander!” A second figure, this one in dulled and dented armor as black as night, skull-decked sword drawn and held high, charged forward, meeting the first warrior and mount in the center of the field.

Adrius...Alexander?...found his bow nocked again. A single arrow. The last arrow.

One shot.

Make it count, my boy.

His bow drifted between the two warriors.

Make a choice.

The Temple Knight and the Kinshra Captain.

The comforting lie and the detestable truth.

Sword and lance flashed. Faster and faster.

Do it.

NOW!

He loosed the arrow-

-and Akrisae screamed.

Blinking hard, Adrius’ vision cleared, and he saw Akrisae clutching at his chest, where an arrow was stuck deep.

The fog was blasted from his mind at the sight, and, for a moment, Adrius felt in full control of himself.

It was a sickening feeling, and it forced a cry from his throat.

“NO! AKRISAE-”

The prayers, the words that sharpened his eyes and guided his arrows to their mark, fell away.

A mass of metal plowed into him, and he was sent flying again.

As he found himself on the stone, Linza’s mace crashed just inches from his head. He kicked up at her, but found himself frozen by thaumaturgical ice that crept over his limbs and chest, holding him firmly in place.

Soul-rending lighting crackled above him, channeled by Nomad...no, Finley...no, Nomad, and he was struck with a force that cracked the stone floor around him.

He felt his ribs splinter, then reform instantly.

He felt his undead heart stop, then jolt back into its normal halting rhythm.

He felt what was left of his soul shatter, then melt agonizingly back together.

He felt himself die. Again.

And then, he felt himself be brought back to life. Again.

“Well done, well done, everyone!”

Sliske’s voice, ringing out like some morbid gnomeball announcer’s, wiped the last bits of delusion from Adrius’ mind, and Gregorovic’s clawed hand guided him back to his feet.

“You certainly are a force to be reckoned with - I cannot wait for the World Guardian to see you three standing side by side. Of course, if she has any trouble with the rest of my wights and the Barrow’s Brothers,” he gestured to Adrius and Akrisae in turn, “she might not get to see you. And that would truly be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

There was no answer from anyone besides another pained groan from Akrisae. Adrius moved to help him back to his feet, but the strings stopped him in his tracks.

“Ah ah ah, Adrius. I’m not done talking yet. Don’t interrupt, it’s very rude.

“Anyway, I’m off to continue...preparing. By all means, keep training if you wish. In fact, I encourage it! Ta ta!”

A flurry of shadows and a dry crack later, and the five were left alone.

Immediately, Adrius went to Akrisae’s side and plucked the arrow out, the wound closing and Akrisae jolting upright once the offending object was removed.

“Brother,” Linza began, kneeling next to Akrisae. “Are you alright?”

“Ah...I’m fine.” Akrisae pushed himself into a sitting position and placed a hand over the wound, sealing it up further. “Adrius’ arrows hurt, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” The arrows in Adrius’ quiver, cored with bloodwood and tipped with a barbed, undefinable dark metal, were specifically designed for incapacitation, no matter where they struck. A regular wight would not have been able to stand again after its removal. “It’s Linza, correct? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” Linza said as she and Adrius pulled Akrisae back to his feet, the latter holding the still shaky battle-priest up. She turned to each of them in turn, her gaze resting on Adrius for a bit longer than the rest, as if recognition had dawned in her mind as well. “In fact, I haven’t met any of you before...I think.”

“We can fight together. Perhaps that’s enough, aye?” Finley...Nomad grumbled. “We don’t need to waste time yapping about ourselves like that makes any sort of difference.”

“AAhehehehahahayayayaaa...yapping,” Gregorovic cackled, sheathing his collapsed glaives. He stumbled and swayed - his version of a stomach growl, Adrius supposed. “Can you ‘yap’ without lips, I wonder?”

“Aye, I think ye bloody well can, given yer penchant for never shutting that needle-lined trap of yers.”

“‘Needle-lined trap,’ hahaahahayayayaaAAAA! It is a trap indeed!” Gregorovic waltzed over and leaned down, placing his masked face very close to Nomad’s. “A trap for elves! Dragons! Adventurers! And even little bald men with mismatched souls!”

“Back off, ye great cackler.” Nomad raised his staff, the blade tapping against the odd, spiked wreath-collar protruding from Gregorovic’s chest. “Or I’ll cut that glackit tongue from yer mouth.”

“OoohahahayAyayayAYYAaaa! You are welcome to TRY!”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Linza grumbled, pushing Gregorovic back with her mace. “We have enough challenges ahead of us without you two threatening each other every other minute.”

“AHEHeheheee, apologies, friends. I’m just a bit peckish is all.” That long, writhing tongue that had continued to unnerve Adrius ever since he had seen it during Carol’s dinner date struck out from Gregorovic’s mask-mouth, running along the teeth with an audible slip. “Even with my love’s delivery earlier, I still...must…”

“Munch on something or someone, yes - our master told me all about you before he brought me here,” Linza said, belting her mace and slinging her shield onto her back.

“It’s right funny,” Nomad nearly snarled. “He told me nothing about the lot of ye before he dragged me out of the ground. But even so, I get the picture, so please. Save yer rotten breath and yer shrieking voice.”

“Do you have to be so belligerent...whatever your name is? We are a team now - the least we can do is try to tolerate each other. It might make fighting alongside each other easier.”

Nomad seemed to roll his eyes as if the notion of tolerance was distasteful. Perhaps the fragment of Finley’s soul that had been stuffed into his own held none of her kindness or patience.

Perhaps it had, though, and it had just been hammered out by Sliske.

Adrius watched as the mage stalked off to be alone, once again noticing that occasional Finley-like gait and the way he swung his staff over his shoulder, just like Finley used to do with her halberd.

Soon enough, however, his attention was caught again by Linza and Gregorovic. The former had drawn her mace and shield again and was-

-attempting to knock the snarling and drooling latter off his feet.

“Gregorovic! Contain yourself!”

“I...I can’t…aheheheee….”

“Contain yourself for a moment, and we’ll get you some food from the battlefield!”

“I...must...CONSUME! NOW!”

His howls stung the air, and Akrisae wrenched out of Adrius’ hold with a cry, covering his ears as he stumbled away.

The motion caught Gregorovic’s eyes, and, with a particularly stomach-churning screech, he barreled toward Akrisae on all fours, mouth agape.

“AKRISAE! LOOK OUT!”

Too late.

By the time Adrius had nocked an arrow and Linza had closed the gap between her and Gregorovic, the mannequin had pounced upon Akrisae, tearing into him with tooth and claw.

Screams, soon stifled.

Crunching and chewing, soon wet with the slurping of innards and what passed for undead blood.

Shouts of surprise, soon turning angry and anguished at the sight of an ally...a friend...being devoured alive.

Forgetting his bow entirely, Adrius barreled forward, leaping onto Gregorovic’s back. A great heave later, and the two tumbled away from Akrisae, a mess of claws and sharp voices.

Adrius latched his arms around Gregorovic’s neck, squeezing with all his might.

Gregorovic’s own arms twisted around, talons shredding and piercing Adrius’ armor easily.

Strangled, manic laughter.

Tremulous war cries.

A mace crashed into Adrius’ back, and his arms were torn from Gregorovic’s neck.

Someone held him, pinned him, as Linza-

-helped Gregorovic back to his feet and back towards what was left of Akrisae.

“N...no! What are you doing?!? He..he…”

“We saw what he did,” Linza said. “And it’s a regrettable loss. But, like our Master said, he needs to be at full strength.”

“Aye,” Nomad added, not shifting his hold on Adrius in the slightest. “Akrisae’s a goner anyway. The cackling haverer might as well finish his meal.”

And Gregorovic did just that.

Adrius bowed his head and waited for Sliske’s fog to wipe the emotion from him, just as it always did. And, even though it was delayed, sluggish, and hardly as potent as it used to be, the dulling sensation eventually crept over him, and he no longer cared.

***

Another flash of shadow.

Another dry crack.

“Oh my. What happened here?”

Sliske had returned.

The four snapped to attention, any rogue emotions left by the earlier mishap soon squashed by the Mahjarrat’s presence.

“Akrisae,” Adrius began, compelled to speak. “He got in Gregorovic’s way and was eaten.”

“Hmph. Shame. Oh well, I’ll just have to make do with what’s left. You three, my elites, my champions, are nearly ready.”

Sliske walked down the line, pausing at each of the wights and mannequin momentarily.

“Yes, you are very nearly ready. A bit more polish on your teamwork, and you might as well be one giant, monstrous warrior instead of three separate entities. Oh, but I’d rather have you separate. We all know how...inefficient giant, monstrous things are, don’t we?” He patted Nomad on the head to the tune of his sneer, yet the mage offered no response. “Anyway, Adrius and I shall leave you three to continue your little workout. Oh, but just one final note. If you do end up facing the World Guardian, I have a surefire tip to taking her down.

“Aim for the legs.”

With that, Sliske led Adrius back across the wooden bridge to the Necropolis.

“I am truly sorry about Akrisae, you know. Even though he was a bit of an accident, I did find him genuinely useful in some aspects. Oh, but that’s in the past, and in Gregorovic’s stomach, so there’s no point in weeping over it, is there?”

Even in his controlled, dulled state, Adrius could think of several reasons to ‘weep over it.’ Reasons that came to him in those annoying stabs of deja vu that had plagued him since the day he died.

White stone walls.

Warriors in gleaming armor.

A young priest, just joining the order.

A similarly young archer, rising the ranks.

Hands shaken, a promise to look out for each other in the brutal world of service to the Temple Knights.

Sliske’s voice cut through the flashes, banishing them to the back of Adrius’ stolen mind. Just as always.

“Now, we move on to more important matters. Even though I don’t count you among my elites, you still have a substantial part to play in my endgame.”

“I will do whatever you ask of me,” he replied automatically, voice toneless and sluggish from what might have once been a potent, yet carefully hidden mix of grief, anger, and defiance.

“Of course you will, Adrius. Of course you will.”

They continued across the Necropolis, Adrius’ eyes drawn back over the battlefield and drinking in the sight of faction banners being raised and lowered as if it was the last time he would see such a sight.

“I have a special assignment for you!” Sliske place a hand on his shoulder once again, patting it reassuringly. “It’s going to be your last assignment, isn’t that wonderful? You’re going to retire after this…”

Perhaps it was.

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