"This isn't a battle for what's good or what's evil."

Lukas looked over the newly conquered town of Iree, his men dragging corpses and prisoners to the docks. The blizzard that had consumed their initial fight had now lessened in intensity, allowing the Jarl and his men to move through the town more easily.

"Not much of a fight, if you ask me," Malik said as he stepped up to Lukas' side. The necromancer was clad in a black cloak that enveloped his entire body. Despite his role, the thick wool of his clothing was already stained with dark crimson.

"It wasn't supposed to be," Lukas said. He watched as his men began to search the town, swords and spears ready for any resistance. "Ivan sent most of his force to Yorktown a few weeks ago. He was never going to stand a chance against us."

Malik nodded at that, his gaunt gaze moving to the chaos cultist that stood around the bodies that littered the bloodied snow. Despite James vouching for him, Lukas still didn't trust Miles. Anyone who associated themselves with chaos was a danger, no matter how righteous they believed themselves to be.

"My Jarl," a soldier called to him, the man bowing as he approached. Lukas turned to the man, a captain judging from the gold pin on his scarf, half of his face covered in an attempt to protect himself from the blizzard. "We have located the island's shipyard, south of the town."

"Is the White Raven ship amongst the docked?" Lukas asked.

"We're not certain yet," the captain answered. "When the storm dies down, we can get a proper look. For now, our men are securing the town and clearing any threats."

"Well done, then," Lukas said with a dismissive wave, his head craning to Malik. "Go with the others. I shall go myself to the shipyard."

"With all due respect, my Jarl," the captain started, but was interrupted by a raised hand from Lukas.

"I appreciate your concerns, Captain," the Jarl spoke with authority, his tone changing in an instant. "But I am in no need of your protection for now."

The other man hesitated but gave in to the order. He saluted with a fist over his heart before bowing out and heading over to where the rest of the Boar's contingent converged.

"Let us be on our way, necromancer," Lukas said suddenly, not looking at Malik for confirmation.

"Trust me already to be your bodyguard?" the strange man asked, more amused than surprised.

"Please," Lukas grunted. He stomped off toward where the shipyard lay. He didn't check to see if Malik had joined him.

Finn's deformed corpse curled into the eldritch flames, the frostbitten skin crackling like wet paper as it hissed and popped. James watched with a grimace, a feeling of satisfaction accompanying disgust. Despite his buried hatred of the other man, he couldn't help but feel relieved that his suffering had ended. The abomination's touch was a fate worse than death, that he knew very well.

"How did you know?" Naomi asked. "That'd I come back?"

"The dagger you left behind still had the enchantment," James answered in a mutter.

"That don't exactly answer my question," Naomi said.

"Call it faith then," James said with a shrug. "Either you came back, or you didn't. I would've found a way to deal with Finn regardless." He looked back at the burning corpse. "He'll stay dead, right?"

Naomi sighed, her arms crossing. "Yes, he'll stay dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me, nothin will be left once the flames die out," she murmured. The Outlander turned to him with a look of concern. "Just don't touch 'em while they purify the remains. Trust me on this."

James looked back at the burning corpse, which had slowly started to disintegrate into ash and embers. He took a tentative step back from it, still cautious.

'I can't believe he chose this,' Faust thought. James nodded at the spirit's words, his throat going dry at the memory of Finn's words. He had wanted the power to kill the Jarl, to enact the revenge he craved. The abomination had taken advantage of that desire, twisting Finn's body and transforming him into a deformed creature that could rival James.

The problem with that, however, was that Finn didn't expect to be facing a second Outlander, one who could use the power of a Beholder. It had been that power that brought his end, for he knew nothing of Naomi and her affliction. James rubbed at his chest, where the deformed man's kick had struck him twice.

Finn had been just as strong as Frederick, the abomination's patient zero. That version of the creature, newborn as it was, had killed a score of men and nearly taken the lives of many more had it not been for James and Dahlia.

James still wasn't sure how the fight with Finn would've gone, should he have faced him alone. With all his new castings and added strength, maybe he would've managed to kill the damn thing, albeit, not unscathed.

'Maybe that was the point,' James thought, his head swiveling to the darker part of the longhouse. He had forgotten about Ivan, the crazed man slipping from his mind completely after Finn made himself known.

"Shit!" he cursed, his eyes bursting with power as anger filled his soul. Ivan was gone, the only remnant of him being the trail of ripped flesh and black blood.

"He shouldn't have gotten too far," Naomi said. "I'll accompany you. Spread around and—"

"No," James muttered. He waved the other Outlander away, his eyes blazing as he strode toward the trail Ivan had left behind. There were weak traces of leftover magic, their spotty trail leading to the rear of the building.

'He's weakening,' Faust said, the spirit's tone analytical. 'Could it be that his connection with the abominable voices is falling apart?'

James nodded absentmindedly, just as Naomi voiced her protests.

"Don't be an idiot," she hissed. "We can—"

"He's mine," James snapped, his voice gaining an ethereal tone if only for a moment. Naomi went silent, watching as James headed toward the rear of the building. "Go find Lukas. I'll join you two when I'm done."

With that said, the Outlander headed off.

"No one truly knows when the pieces started to fall, when Valenfrost began to tear itself apart. Some argue that Kjor's own rampage was the true beginning of the end, whilst others believe that his father, Halvor the Great, was the last bit of a bygone era for Valenfrost.

Scholars in Lumen City would come to claim that Yorn Halvorson's fall started Valenfrost's descent, that his death at Deimos' hand was the flame that ignited the following chaos.

Those are all correct, in their own ways. However, in hindsight, those specific events can be seen more as inevitable outcomes of decades of strife. Kingdoms rising and falling, their dynasties doomed to fall apart in the face of time.

In other words, they were always destined to happen. To use them to explain the absolute chaos Valenfrost would be plunged in would be equivalent to saying that a deadly plague is the fault of the unfeeling ship that brought the disease-ridden rats.

Nowadays, it is believed that Valenfrost's fall came not from the death of its greatest Jarl nor the rise of Deimos and his marauders.

No, most Archivists and Scribes agree that the moment the flames were stoked was the moment James Holter killed Ivan Falk on the Jarl's homeland, not because of the outrage that came from the other clans, but because Holter's convictions were set in stone that day.

It is important to note this event, for the Outlander's path onward brought forth the wrath of not just Chaos, but Order itself."

- "The Valenfrost Saga: A Study Into a Shattered and Reformed Nation," pg. 16, by Archivist Eris Roriksdater, College of Havengard.

The snow ahead of him was stained with a viscous black fluid, visible even through the blizzard that swept across the landscape. James followed it, his right eye growing more in heat as he focused on the trail Ivan had left behind.

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Sleet peppered against the Jarl's armor and vestments, almost as if in defiance of his methodical walk through the knee-deep snow. It did nothing to slow him down, as the runes on his armor and the soft hum of his Carapace indicated that he was well protected against the elements. James trudged through the blanket-white scenery, his right eye growing hotter as he invested his sight with power.

Something was different in the way he saw the world. Not only could he now trace the remnants of magical energies, but he could sense the ley line below. Hundreds of miles deep into the dirt and rock, yet James could feel the sensation of extraordinary power rushing within Azura's crust.

He couldn't summon from that well of power, but he didn't really care about that. Just the fact that he could sense them was proof enough that something within him had changed. He had grown. Both in strength and in ability.

James stopped his walk after a few minutes of trudging through a thick field of whiteness, his burning gaze set upon a man who tried desperately to hide within the growing banks of snow.

"I can see you," James said in the cacophony of the violent tempest that blew all around him.

In the snow, whipped by frigid winds, Ivan Falk looked up at the White Raven's Jarl with a look of dismay and primal fear. He kicked away the snow at his feet, his hands desperately throwing lumps of slushy ice at the unmoving figure.

"It's not fair!" he shouted, voice cracking. "It's not fair! You're the heathen! The Outlander! You're supposed to be dead, and I'm supposed to be alive! It's just not fair!"

James grimaced underneath his helmet, watching as Ivan threw what he assumed was a tantrum. The other Jarl spat and kicked, his voice shrill against the wind as he cursed James in everything but name. The insults died when James took a step forward, sword in hand.

Ivan faltered at the sight, scrambling to try and get away. He clawed at the snow bank in an attempt to find purchase to stand. He only managed to stumble and fall deeper into the snow. James watched the pathetic attempt at escape, his gaze softening as he took pity upon the man.

Ivan was clearly infested with the abomination's influence, his left arm shriveled and deformed, bits of crystal already growing on the side of his face and neck. His eyes shimmered with a dull blue, a sign that the creature within had probably abandoned him.

As of now, he was as human as a summoned zombie.

Ivan would eventually give up escaping, his sunken eyes looking at James in clear fear.

"I… I surrender!" he called to the Jarl, his hands raised as he lay against the growing snow bank. "You take prisoners, right? I've heard of your offers before, back when you took down bandits."

James took a silent step forward.

"I-I yield!" Ivan called again, probably unsure if James had heard him.

The thing was, he had. He just didn't care. He only took another step.

"W-Wait!" the fallen Jarl stammered, his hands raised as James approached. "Wait! I can offer you so much more! I can help you take over the South! I have friends in the North! Men who can elevate your position within Valenfrost!"

James stopped at that, his right eye blazing hot as he looked down at Ivan. He could sense the man's own ley lines, their natural limit, and the inflictions the abomination had caused. With a slow, deliberate movement, James sheathed his sword, silent as he took in the sight of Ivan. The other Jarl seemed to relax at that, his breathing growing calmer as he watched the blade slide into the scabbard.

"You… You see reason," he muttered, a manic smile growing on his lips. "You see—"

James fell upon Ivan in one smooth motion, his hands grabbing the man by the collar. Ivan tried to resist, his hand producing a small knife in retaliation. James expected the dagger, his left hand enclosing around the man's wrist. He squeezed, his cyromancy flaring as it formed ice upon the flesh.

Ivan exclaimed a curse, his hand opening as it dropped the dagger. James muttered a small casting, the ice from his hand growing exponentially as it froze the Jarl's right hand. The skin turned into a pale blue before quickly blackening into frostbite and finally shattering with a quick motion from James.

"Agh!" Ivan screamed in agony. "I yield!" he shouted once more. "I yie—"

"I heard you the first time," James growled as he slammed the man onto the snow beneath them. Ivan's head whipped back against the compacted ice, his breath coming out in a whoosh of air. James positioned himself above him, his hands wrapping around the man's throat. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to press his thumbs against the trachea. Ivan resisted, his hands flailing uselessly as it struck weakly at the Draugr's empowered armor.

James just pressed and squeezed, his left hand automatically draining whatever energy it could from the other Jarl. He kept squeezing, his right eye flaring as it gazed into Ivan's fearful gaze. There was an awful choking sound coming from his lips, his body desperately thrashing about and squirming. Yet James held firm, his knee pressing against Ivan's stomach.

He just kept squeezing, his grip growing tighter and tighter. He must have empowered his strength at some point, for he could feel as if his thumbs crushed something within the soft flesh, their tips sinking in further as Ivan's thrashing grew more violent. Black blood flowed from the older man's lips, his gagging and sputtering sending specks of it everywhere. James ignored him, his hands forcing the man's windpipe to press against the spine.

Ivan's movements slowly died, not even a minute into the strangulation, his eyes rolling back as his tongue lolled out, pitch black and bloated. James kept squeezing. The snow around them began to stain with both viscous blood and sour urine, their appearance accompanied by the smell of shit.

James kept squeezing, his left hand draining whatever was left of Ivan's 'Life', as Malik had called it. It came in trickles, empowering James and filling him with adrenaline. Even after it stopped draining, James continued to squeeze, his eyes flaring with heat.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, James slowly stopped. It took all his will and strength to part his fingers from the dead man's throat, which were bruised a dark purple and raw red. He pulled back, looking down at the sight of Ivan Falk. Something deep within James wanted him to turn away, to vomit and shudder. He pushed that feeling away and forced himself to look at what he had done.

A year ago, he would've found the sight deplorable and the act inconceivable. A year ago, he would've accepted the surrender. Now, James didn't even blink when he crushed Ivan's trachea. Had he done this? The same man who once tried to be a better person?

"Still… weak," a soft, but damning voice called out. James blinked and focused on the dead man below. His lips were moving, the black tongue slithering as words came out in an echo.

"You're still weak," the abominable creature said, the eyes of the corpses pulsing blue before it faded to nothingness. The body went still. James stared at the twisted corpse beneath him, the blizzard around him dying bit by bit as he processed the event.

He needed to burn the body. If only so that the thing wouldn't return. Even if it 'abandoned' Ivan.

James moved for his satchel but stopped when a thought crossed his mind. With a trembling hand, he reached down to the corpse, the fingers on his left hand tingling with what he could assume was recognition. He touched the frostbitten skin on Ivan's left side, sensing nothing. He had drained all he could.

Regardless, James focused. His right eye started to grow warm in the frigid cold, his left hand tingling once more as he reached out. After a moment, he sensed it. Something deep within the dead man, something thin and fragile. His ley lines, James assumed at first, since they felt familiar to the ones he sensed in Gryff's body the year prior.

'No… Not his ley lines,' James thought, remembering what Malik had told him.

"You drain Life, James. You take what makes up someone's soul.

His soul then. Or whatever remnants of it were left within Ivan's dead body. James furrowed his brow at the thought. Pieces of a puzzle slowly began to click together. Not entirely, but close enough for him to get an idea. With a deep breath, James focused on the cadaver's inner workings, his right eye flaring something fierce.

With a deliberate thought, intention behind his will, James broke whatever remained inside. He wasn't sure how he did it. He couldn't really explain the feeling, no matter how hard he tried to put it into words. The closest comparison he could come up with was the feeling one got when they snapped a piece of twine in half.

He knew it succeeded when the corpse reacted to his action. It heaved once, and those cold, dead eyes flared bright before burning out into ashy husks. It reminded the Jarl of when he had killed Gryff, overflowing the knight's own soul with his and Faust's essence.

If he was right in his assumption, then it meant that Ivan would no longer be able to be raised. Either by an abomination or as a necromancer's zombie.

'It's done then,' Faust said, speaking up for the first time in a while. He had been quiet during James' horrific, albeit necessary, act. 'The Jarl is dead. His lands, his people, are now at your mercy.'

'Mine and Lukas, ' James thought back.

'Yes, but I have a feeling that Lukas won't fight you for it,' Faust muttered. 'Revenge feels hollow now, doesn't it?'

James was silent for a moment, his gaze still set upon the carcass before him. He swallowed hard and wiped his hands against his cloak.

'When does it go away?'

'The greasiness of blood? Or the weight that drags upon your soul?' the Centurion asked softly.

'Both. All of it,' James responded in his thoughts. He hesitated for a second and rephrased his response. 'I… I thought that maybe killing him would do something for me. I thought the rage, the pain, all of that would ease if I knew he paid for it.'

'Revenge won't heal those wounds,' Faust said.

'I know that!' James snapped internally. 'But… I don't know… Shouldn't I at least feel something? Some kind of satisfaction? Catharsis? What the fuck is the normal response to this?!'

'There is nothing normal about this,' Faust stated. 'You are a young man, faced with horrors and awful choices none should ever encounter. This… This entire situation is the result of something that should have never happened.'

'Something that could've been prevented, had I killed him the first chance I got,' James thought bitterly. Faust did not respond to that.

James stood there for a long time, his sight fixed on his sins as the snowfall struck him in a tempest of angry wind. For those minutes, he could only watch as, bit by bit, snow buried the corpse underneath a blanket of pure whiteness.

It was only after it was completely buried that his spell crystal hummed with the magical properties of a Communicate casting.

"James," Naomi's voice called once he answered it. "There is something we need to talk about."

His world fell apart not long after that.

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