"Protect Valenfrost from itself."

Marion crawled through the snow with one working arm, her skewed vision barely making out the bodies that surrounded her. Her throat let out a guttural noise, the open wound from that bastard's dagger making it all the more difficult to breathe. Not that she needed air to stay alive. No, Marion was an undead. Lungs didn't matter for living. They only mattered for one thing. Casting spells. And right now, forming even the simplest of words was an arduous task.

Voices called out in a panic around the undead woman as everyone hurried to tend their wounded. Helen was shouting about something regarding the man who was fighting James, and another called for potions for the Frue.

Dahlia came into focus not a second into Marion's crawl, the young woman's body limp in the snow. Her throat was slit open, blood running down the wound as someone tried to press bandages onto it. None seemed to notice as Marion inched closer.

Marion had no admiration nor affection toward Dahlia. She never really liked the woman. Too damn controlling and a moralist at that. Still, Malik had told her clearly. Protect the Frue at all costs, even at the expense of Marion herself.

Her hand outstretched toward Dahlia, her pale fingers shaking slightly as they reached for the dying woman. Dahlia's eyes, already growing dull, locked onto Marion's. Confusion reflected in those amber irises of hers as if she didn't know what the undead woman was doing.

'Isn't it obvious, you idiot?' Marion thought, her lips curling into what she knew was an unnatural smile. She grabbed Dahlia's hand just as the other Ravens noticed her. Before they could even think to pull her away, Marion let out a gargled whisper.

"Warmth to you…. Bestow Life."

Marion's world went dark, as her soul no longer had a viable vessel to hold onto.

Faust felt alive. Blood pulsed through veins while a heart beat deep behind ribs. Sweat dribbled, and the familiar sensation of pain burned across his nerves. This was not his body. But damn, did it feel like it. For a small moment, as his short sword clashed against the dagger of the Immortal, Faust felt like he was back in the days of his youth, fighting against Lumen soldiers and barbarian raiders.

'But I'm not,' he reminded himself as Eilif parried the strike, somehow reading into the Centurion's movements. Before Faust could even attempt to recover, James—the real owner of this body—came in crashing against Eilif. The undead corpse shouted something guttural as it shoved the Immortal back, his rusted blade stabbing into the man's chest.

It seemed unreal, James possessing the body of a raised corpse. Faust wasn't even sure what had happened. One moment, the Jarl had made a connection with the fallen undead. The next, his soul had warped, transporting itself into the corpse. Still, despite what had happened, Faust could feel a remnant of James deep within his original body.

'He's still connected. He's not permanently gone.'

With that in mind, Faust took care not to risk too much. Even if James could heal to some degree, he was certain that a missing limb would be far beyond their ability.

Eilif rammed his dagger into the eye socket of the possessed zombie, which jolted in shock from the sudden attack. Faust blinked and rushed forward, sword swinging. He managed to drive Eilif back before the man could cause lasting damage to James' current vessel. The Immortal turned his attention to the Centurion, his cracked goggles somehow conveying an anger that Faust could feel.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. Faust went on the offensive, sword stabbing forth. Eilif blocked the attempt, his dagger redirecting the thrust to the side. Faust used this chance to step in, left hand forming into a fist that jabbed at the man. Eilif caught the attack with his free hand, almost as if he expected it.

There was a moment when the two men locked gazes, their weapons shoved aside in a brief lock of blades.

'What are you?' Faust thought.

Eilif's own gaze, emotionless as it was, seemed to say: Wouldn't you like to know?

A kick interrupted their staring match, shoving Eilif back. James staggered forth, eyes flickering with rage. Faust could sense it, the young man's real heart thumping with a fury that somehow transcended souls. Eilif snapped his focus on the undead corpse, pronged dagger flashing forward.

Faust countered it, his longsword striking the weapon askew. James went in for the opening, withered hands grabbing at the rusted blade that was embedded inside the Immortal's chest. He twisted and ripped it out, spattering more foul black liquid everywhere. Faust came in after that, taking advantage.

Both of them, man and undead, went for a joint attack, each aiming to tear the Immortal apart. If he truly couldn't die, then perhaps reducing him to pieces would be their aim. However, Eilif had recovered faster than they anticipated. Faust's sword slash was parried in an echo of steel against steel, Eilif's movements too fast to react in time. James' own thrust was promptly ignored, even as it stabbed into where the man's heart should've been.

"Push."

Faust felt something force him back, his sword slipping from numb fingers. James shouted something but was interrupted when Eilif shoved his dagger between the undead man's teeth, the prongs of his strange weapon opening within his mouth. There was a gurgling sound, and Eilif's dagger ripped out in a shower of foul blood. James staggered back from the sudden movement, his torn jaw sagging below his neck.

"NO!" Faust shouted, pain echoing within his mind. He could feel the pain that James was experiencing, which only worsened as Eilif began to dismember the undead vessel. Pain blinded Faust as he tried to get to the Immortal, his body shuddering as it tried to process it all.

In the end, he could only manage a weak limp as he watched James' undead vessel fall to the floorboards, the corpse beyond recognizable. Eilif looked toward Faust, a soft panting echoing from behind his malformed mask.

Both of them stared at each other, the silence palpable. Eilif took one step toward the Centurion. Faust flinched, his hand reaching for a sword that was not there. He had neglected to grab his fallen weapon, the pain of James' agony blinding him to that fact. He was now at the mercy of this creature in front of him.

"If it's any consolation," Eilif muttered. "You've put up quite a fight, Centurion."

Faust stared at Eilif, whose crackled goggles revealed a harsh gaze that glinted with a dark blue. Hatred burned within them, hatred toward the Centurion before him.

James tackled the immortal man, his undead body somehow managing to keep moving. Eilif tried to stab and slash, tearing into the possessed zombie-like it was some stuck pig. James kept going, a scream dying in his open maw. Eventually, he would lose the confrontation, Eilif's dagger slamming into James' forehead. The light within the zombie's eyes flickered weakly, dying, but not before James thrust his broken arm bone into Eilif's collar, the shattered end sharp as a knife. There was a gurgling sound before James stabbed his other broken elbow into Eilif's chest, forcing the man into a temporary hold.

"Faust!" James screamed. The words sounded as if they were coming from within the man's mind. "Finish him! NOW!"

Faust didn't even question it. He grabbed at the rusted sword, the closest weapon, and prepared himself. He swung it at Eilif like a mace, the malformed weapon cracking over the bound man's head. The sound of something wet cracking filled the room. That was either his skull or mask breaking. Faust didn't care. He brought it down again, and this time, it was enough to knock Eilif off of the possessed corpse, which fell to the ground in a heap.

A portion of the mask fell down to the floor, alongside a fountain of black blood that spilled from the torn jaw of the immortal man. Faust panted as he looked down at Eilif, whose face mask was shattered and broken to reveal the left side of his face and lower jaw. His scalp was shaven, pale skin contrasting with light scars from past wounds. Yet, there was one scar in particular, one that was much more pronounced than the rest. As if it didn't ever get the chance to heal properly.

Faust stared at the scar that ran through Eilif's eyebrow, its point stopping at his shaved hairline. The immortal man's dark blue eyes stared at Faust, his hatred burning with a fury that did not suit them. Faust stared at the man before him. And it all clicked. The dagger, the strange way Eilif had countered him, hel, even the way he moved.

This was no mere bounty hunter. But a man he once met before. Back before the times of abominations and Beholder Eyes. A man he once saw as the closest thing to a father.

"No…" Faust said, mouth going dry as he recognized his Emperor.

"Despite its importance, accurate information about the fall of Cyrus' Legion is scarce. Even before the fall of the Lumen Empire and its restoration, it was well-known that the entire war had little in terms of documentation.

The recovered tomes and scrolls we do have only detail the twilight years of the conflict. It describes them as a short heroic campaign set upon by Eobard Kord, a Lumen Knight who was given the task of burning the budding Empire down to its ashes. These texts describe the Legion's fall as a divine order given by Delphine herself, despite no evidence of her priests ever declaring such a thing.

If anything, it is heavily implied in the journal entries of Jenis Kord that Delphine's Church had actually denounced the war between the two Empires. Despite being the daughter of the man who burned the Legion to ash, Jenis had been noted to criticize the actions of her kinsmen. Especially against the treatment of prisoners of war and conquered cities.

Regardless, outside of Jenis Kord's written words, there is little to back up her claims of brutality and injustice. Especially since her service as a Lumen Knight started years after the war's end. Still, there is some hope of accurate testimony. Other kingdoms at the time, such as Steryos and even the dwarves of Horus Mountains, have confirmed to have described the tail end of the war in their archives.

Traveling bards such as myself, however, have had little luck in recovering much from those societies, given how secretive the Steryos Kingdom is and how isolated the dwarves are. The only thing that was confirmed, through all reports outside the Lumen Archives, was the matter of Cyrus and his final moments.

It was witnessed by several through the power of scrying, the event painted scarlet by the blood moons that hung high above Arendton. Cyrus was the last man standing; spears and swords ran through him as if he were nothing more than a straw doll. Suffering wounds that would've killed a man thrice over. And he was fighting against Lumen Knights, their swords alight with a holy flame that did nothing.

I have checked over the archives myself. I have seen the written words scribed within Jenis Kord's entries, upon the scrawled text of the scrolls of the Horus Mountains, and even in the pages of the tomes in the Royal Steryos Archives. Even through variation, they all say the same thing. An impossible feat, one that begs more questions than answers.

The one detail that does get me more curious than ever is the Emperor's last words before he was eventually ripped apart. In all the retellings, he screams the name of Caelus' last Champion. Faust Desimir. A name that is excluded from the Lumen Archives and hidden within the lore of Caelus' church.

Truly, something that implies more than it should."

- "The Azure Chronicles: An Account of Lumen History," pg. 55, by George Loon, Royal Chronicler.

Faust couldn't speak. He couldn't even form a coherent thought, his mind a mess as he tried to draw conclusions and make excuses. Yet, as the man before him healed, his flesh mending together in wisps of steam, the truth became even clearer.

"Cyrus…" Faust muttered, finally managing to say the man's name. Yet it felt all kinds of wrong. Like it didn't fit anymore. The Emperor himself, standing before the Centurion, donned in dark clothes and wearing a mask of death and chaos. His dark eyes, which once held compassion, now glinted with hatred. Faust watched as the man's jaw knitted itself back into place, teeth clacking together as the rest of him healed.

"I never thought," Faust continued, forcing the words out. "That'd we would see each other again. Let alone like this. Cyrus, I–"

"Cyrus is dead," the other man interrupted. Now that his voice was clearer without that mask filter, it sounded even more like the former Emperor. "I am Eilif."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Faust!" James' shout reached him in an ethereal echo. "What are you doing?"

"I…" How could he even begin to explain what he was experiencing? Just hearing the man speak brought him back to his days of being a Centurion. Back when he was just a simple soldier.

'Maybe…' Faust thought as Cyrus struggled to stand, hand grabbing something from the corpse below him. 'Maybe there's another way. Perhaps—'

His body jerked back instantly as Cyrus pounced forward, dagger failing to stab into Faust's helmet slits. The Centurion side stepped another slash, this one nearly cutting into a gap in his armor. His hand moved to grab a weapon that wasn't there, a sense of panic filling Faust's chest.

"Cyrus!" Faust said as he avoided another attack. He stooped and grabbed the fallen longsword. He barely managed to block the Immortal's follow-up stab.

"Snap out of this!" he yelled, contesting blades with the man who was once his Emperor. "It's me, Faust!!"

Cyrus seemed to falter at that, his blue eyes glinting with brief recollection. For a split moment, Faust thought he had finally reached the other man. That thought was brushed aside when Cyrus' gaze darkened. Hatred now flared within those irises, which brought upon a shock in the Centurion's spine.

'Faust!' James' voice reached him at that moment, calling from deep within his mind. 'You need to fight back!'

Faust redirected another sword strike, his hands shaking as he tried to properly get ahold of himself. He failed miserably, his fighting stance coming out weak and rigid. Cyrus took advantage, striking at Faust's arms and torso to probe for any weak points.

'I… I can't!'

Faust forced himself to parry one of the dagger slashes. It didn't go so well. His sluggish attempt at a counterattack barely had any weight behind it, which allowed Cyrus to catch it within that three-pronged dagger of his. The immortal man forced both blades to lock into each other, leaving them at a brief standstill.

'There has to be another way! Maybe we can—'

Cyrus twisted his blade, the sudden action breaking the Centurion's sword. Faust watched with dumb surprise as the Immortal man flung the remains of the broken weapon aside. He froze at the sight, watching as Cyrus stepped forward, hand raising that strange three-pronged dagger….

…and Faust was pulled back into the dark mists of the mindscape realm, his vision cutting as another soul took control.

James barely had time to block the incoming stab, his right gauntlet catching the dagger. He thanked whatever god had decided to listen to him, for Eilif's dagger didn't snap close around his fingers when he pushed it away. The Jarl stepped in closer after the quick maneuver, his left hand clenched into a tight fist.

Eilif stared at him with abject surprise, unable to defend himself in time as James punched him. James gritted his teeth as pain flared from the strike, his knuckles screaming as they made contact with the broken mask that was still somehow fuzed to the immortal's face. He drew in a breath as Eilif staggered back, more confused than hurt. That didn't matter for James.

"Carapace," James recast his buff, another slot burned away from within. Four spells left. He rushed forward, hand picking up what remained of his broken sword. Eilif saw him coming, his body tensing as he tried to meet the advance.

"Back in control?" the Immortal called as he redirected the stab James threw at him. "Did the Centurion really break that quickly?"

James caught the next strike from Eilif with his sword's guard, the broken blade struggling to contest with the strange three-pointed dagger. He managed it regardless, his right eye flaring with a newfound energy.

He gritted his teeth as he locked eyes with Eilif, with the man Faust recognized as Cyrus. James couldn't help but falter at the sight of the former Emperor. The Centurion's feelings resurfaced then, and the Outlander could recognize them clear as day. These feelings, these emotions, were no different than what James held toward his own father.

Something stirred deep within James, a caustic mix of rage and grief that only fueled him. His eyes grew to an intense heat, their glow reflecting off the broken mask Eilif wore. Eilif raised a curious eyebrow at that, his dagger pulling away.

'Faust, you there?' James asked as he watched the immortal man. Both men were silent, their gazes locked onto each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. No answer came from Faust, the Centurion's presence faint within James' body.

'Must've extended himself too far,' James thought as he and Eilif circled each other in the small space of the hut. No matter. Faust probably wouldn't want to be around for what was next.

"Already thinking of the ways to kill me?" Eilif called out, dagger pointed at the Jarl.

"No," James muttered, his skull growing with heat. He could sense the pulses and the rhythms of the ley lines beneath him. Even cracked, they flowed with a power that could be felt even from where he stood. Added to that, James could feel similar pulses coming from the man before him. They were weaker, but they were there regardless. Like a pathetic recreation.

"I already figured out a way," James half-lied. Before Eilif could even process the words, the Outlander rushed him. His broken sword clashed against the immortal man's dagger, the metal sparking as he pushed. Eilif held his ground, shoving back James's weapon before he went for a retaliating attack. James dodged it as he readied his half-sword for a stab.

It never happened. James' world spun as something smashed into the right side of his head, his Carapace shattering into magical blue shards. The strike was enough to send his helmet flying, chainmail clinking as it bounced on the floor. The familiar pains of a concussion rang inside his skull, the world around him spinning for a moment. He managed to keep standing regardless, his eyes blinking as he tried to get his bearings.

Something flashed, and James barely managed to catch Eilif's stab. His broken sword trembled as it held back the Immortal's dagger, the steel scraping against twisted iron. James felt his body jerk back unnaturally, his feet nearly losing their footing. He blinked as something else came out from his right side, nearly hitting his head.

Eilif clicked his tongue at that, the immortal man tilting his head as he rested his small rounded mace on his shoulder. James stared at the weapon's blunt end, which was a smooth round shape made of iron.

'He must've equipped it at some point…'

James didn't even notice it until it was too late. His helmet's obscured visor wasn't the only thing to blame since, even without it, he didn't see the second attack. Which begged the question.

'Faust? Was that you just now?'

No answer from the Centurion. Instead, James got a faint sense of a scolding insult made by someone who was as faint as the wind itself.

'Gryff then,' James thought as he straightened himself, his vision slowly returning to normal. A cold breeze ran through the hut then, ruffling through his short hair and aching head. James took in a deep breath of it, his lungs stinging at the cold.

'Thank you, Gryff. Even if you're still a fucking psycho.'

With that, a soft voice echoed within his ear, like it was delivered from a soft breeze.

Again, Faust. Focus on your form.

James blinked, the voice sounding eerily similar to Eilif's own. Yet there was no indication that the immortal man had spoken. He was just standing there, his dark blue eyes matching the Outlander's own. Before James could even question it, the world around him changed in hue, the hut replaced by an open field of emerald green and distant hills.

"Now," Eilif, Cyrus now, spoke as he held up his dummy dagger, the wooden knife sporting a familiar three-pronged shape. "Try again, Faust. And this time, don't hopelessly rush in like some idiot."

James could hear a voice echo from within him, foreign but all too familiar.

"Yes, my Emperor," Faust said, his voice younger by a sum of ten years.

"And drop the formalities," Cyrus called, a grin appearing on his lips. "I am not your Emperor today. But your enemy."

The world around James changed back to the interior of the hut, cold blue light radiating from his right eye. Eilif was there, staring at James with a look of confusion. James slowly straightened himself, almost half-mindedly, his half-sword pointing toward Eilif. It was shorter than the blades he was used to, James mused. It was still enough.

Eilif watched the Jarl with a confused look, his feet slowly stepping around the center of the room. James echoed his movements, his hands holding the broken weapon as if it were a long dagger. For some reason, it felt right to hold it that way.

Both men stopped after circling each other for half a minute, their gazes locked onto each other. The air grew thick with tension, the cold breeze that ran through the hut bringing flakes of snow.

James took in a deep breath, his right hand bringing up his broken sword forth. Eilif took his stance as well, dagger pointed forward, its tip aimed at James' upper chest and neck. His mace swung slightly in his left hand.

James breathed out. Eilif was in front of him now, the immortal man fast as a nightmare. The scenery flashed for a split second, flickering between bright day and cold gloom. The Outlander parried the attempted stab, his head pulling back to avoid the mace that came a second later. The scene flickered again, and James found himself facing Cyrus once more.

Instincts took over, and James advanced, wooden short sword thrusting toward Cyrus' chest. The grinning man parried the attack, the sound of thwacking wood echoing for a moment before it was replaced by the ringing of metal. James gasped, breathless, as the scene before him returned to the hut, Eilif's hate-filled eyes watching him with scrutiny. The Immortal slashed, and James sidestepped to the right to avoid it. He struck at Eilif's left hand, hoping to make him drop the bludgeon. He didn't.

Eilif pulled away and brought the round mace down in a blur of iron, nearly caving in the Outlander's skull had he not dodged at the last second. The mace struck the floor hard, the boards below breaking in a shower of splinters. James stomped on the weapon right after, pinning Eilif's hand there for a moment.

Not wasting time, the Outlander spun his broken sword into a reverse grip like it was a dagger, its jagged end thrusting toward Eilif's skull. Something popped loudly, and James nearly recoiled as Eilif's arm unnaturally extended, allowing him to pull back just enough. The half-sword sank into the man's chest instead of his head, leaving James face-to-face with Eilif.

He pulled his sword out in a spatter of dark blood, barely avoiding getting his throat slashed open by Eilif's dagger. James stumbled back as he watched the Immortal stand straight, his arm popping back into place by itself.

The scene changed one last time, Eilif's caustic expression replaced with Cyrus' calm grin, and the coldness of the hut brushed away by the warm sun and evergreen scenery.

"I'll give you that one, Faust," he called to James, who now held a chipped wooden sword. "But I'm the Legion's Emperor for a reason. Now, again. Hit me with your best."

The Emperor took his stance again, a wooden weapon beckoning for James to make the first move. James took in a deep breath, letting his body move on its own. He could feel Faust's instincts deep within, the Centurion's skill influencing James' own. It was as if he was letting the spirit take over.

The scene flashed back to reality, and James found himself rushing toward Eilif with newfound vigor. The immortal man tensed, and his mace swung at James. The Jarl dodged the attack, his feet skidding against the floorboards as he ducked under it. His half-sword raised in defense right after, blocking the attempted stab that came from his throat.

James forced the blade aside and finally managed to rip it out of the man's grip. The three-pronged dagger landed on the floor in a clatter, and James pulled back in time to avoid the next mace swing.

"Instant Reflex," James whispered as the mace missed him. His body grew hot with power as time slowed to a crawl. He shifted his weight forward, sword already thrusting forth into a stab. Eilif's eyes moved to him in that brief moment of slowness, the pupils dilating as he realized what he had done. James locked gazes with him.

"Power Strike!"

Strength exploded from James' core in a flash of heat that threatened to cook him inside out. He damn near passed out from the sudden stress, his body straining to its very limits. Still, he managed to keep his Instant Reflex on, even as his arms screamed with effort. His broken sword gained a reddish hue as it cut through the air, the jagged blade gaining speed.

Time resumed its normal pace when James' sword struck Eilif's lower jaw. Whatever remained of that respirator was crushed when the Power Strike carved its way through flesh, bone, and metal. Eilif shuddered in place as James' broken weapon buried itself within his skull. The blade's guard struck the Immortal's chin in a splatter of black arterial liquid, a guttural noise echoing from within the gruesome wound.

James twisted the pommel, trying to deal as much damage as he could to the man's brain. He failed as Eilif's boot met with his chest, the sudden kick sending him stumbling back without his sword. Eilif slumped forward after that, the broken blade still embedded with his twitching skull. Black blood poured from what remained of his mouth and nose, the jagged end of the sword poking out from near one of his eyes.

With a trembling hand, the Immortal dropped his mace and grabbed at the half-sword. James just watched with slow horror as the man effortlessly tore the iron blade from his face, the withdrawal arguably causing more damage to the flesh than the stab itself.

Steam faceted from the gruesome wound, and Eilif's head twitched as he stood up straight. He stepped forward, voice gargled as he spoke.

"Ish…always the same… with people like you," he managed with a split tongue and shattered jaw. "Thinking… that they'll be the one to kill me… To end me."

James backed away slowly, his hand reaching a weapon on his belt. He had no more.

"You think you're the first?" Eilif called. His voice was slowly returning to normal. He bent down to pick up his fallen dagger. "To push me like this?" The steam that clouded his features cleared then, revealing a face that could have belonged to a man in his early thirties. The mask was still there, but it only obscured the right side of his face. The respirator that had covered his mouth was gone now, revealing a strong jaw with no scars and pink lips that were fresh from healing.

'This guy's un-fucking-killable,' James mentally cursed. Whatever doubts he had about this man's immortality were now gone for good. There was no way to win this by just killing the bastard. James took another step and found himself backed against a wall. Eilif approached him, closing the distance slowly.

'No, there's still the other option,' James thought as he flexed his left hand. It would be a long shot, but it was the last ace he had left. Whatever happened after that, well, he didn't want to think about it.

Eilif raised both his dagger and newly acquired half-sword, ready to descend upon the unarmed Outlander. James stared at him, his teeth clenched tightly. One chance. There was no more room for error.

"Shadow Bind!"

Tendrils of black rushed into the hut before any killing blow was delivered. James almost flinched, preparing himself to move out of the way. Yet they didn't go for him. Instead, the black mist sprang for Eilif, who couldn't react in time as they wrapped around his torso and limbs, constricting the Immortal in a tight hold.

'It can't be….'

James turned to the doorway of the hut, where a figure stood slumped against the entrance. Dark blood ran down her fingers as she formed the shaky runes. Her amber eyes were fierce with a plethora of emotions, a sign that she truly was alive.

"We might not be the first," Dahlia Astera called to Eilif, her voice ragged and wet. "But we sure as hell are going to be the ones to finish it!"

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