The sea looked like it stretched out forever. Where the sky met the waterline the earth and sky blurred together, the horizon remaining as nothing more than a shining golden band that stretched from one end of Edana to the other.

Vergil had trouble deciding how to feel about the sight.

On one hand, the sea fascinated him. This was exactly what he'd wanted on the Gloria Nostra. Staring at that blue sphere that was Athos III, he'd always tried to imagine how the sea would feel. Salt on the air and on his lips. A gentle breeze on his face. The scent of seaweed in his nose. Sand in his hair, fine and gritty.

Reality was wonderful and it terrified him.

The first day they'd landed there, he went into the water and promptly sunk to the very bottom, the shoreline falling off aggressively after barely a few steps. Bront dove in after him, grabbed and swam him to shore. Of all he'd endured so far, the embrace of the deep ranked high on the list of horrors he never wished to revisit.

Sil had a whole hissy fit about going into deep water dressed in bloody armour.

Tallah had laughed. "Don't worry. I can't swim either," she admitted. "No shame in it."

Three days had passed since.

Vergil sat on the edge of the water, two steps away from the waves lapping at the shore, watched the golden horizon and tried to figure out if what he remembered of the Gloria was real or not. It boggled the imagination how little faith he put in his own mind nowadays.

Without threat of death, without daemons braying at the walls, or a mystery to solve, or fresh tragedy to occupy himself with, all he could do was think and wonder and spiral slowly out of his mind.

As much as the sea fascinated him, were those really his thoughts? The Gloria Nostra was real, that much he understood, since Panacea had confirmed it through Argia's existence. But what about everything he knew about himself?

All those thoughts he'd pushed aside in the madness of the Cauldron now came back with a vengeance and a will to drive him mad.

There was no one to turn to.

Tallah was meditating up on a hill, in the comfortable shade of a huge oak tree.

Sil had gone out in the surrounding forest, looking for only she knew what herbs. Vergil had offered to help, but the healer refused him entirely.

"You're likely to step on something useful, and I don't feel like screaming at you today."

Licia slept like a cat in a tree, draped over a branch several metres off the ground, utterly unbothered by the danger of a fall. Not that she could have even an inkling of all that Vergil struggled with.

And Bront and Cram were fishing farther up the shore, aiming to catch the day's lunch. They'd been doing nothing but fishing for the past two days, seemingly all too happy to just sit with their feet in the water and watch a line tied to a stick.

That left Vergil and Horvath. And even the dwarf was quiet these days, content with offering nothing but random, unintelligible rumblings.

It all felt wrong.

The sea glittered peacefully while the world burned! How could it be any more wrong?

How could he sit there, listen to whatever bird was making that stupid screaming above, and relax, while there were monsters massing over the mountains. And walking corpses led by flying maggot-men. And an empress that really wanted Tallah dead.

How could Tallah just sit there and demand they all waste their time here, in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing?!

'Yer bein' daft,' Horvath growled in his ear, the first words the dwarf offered in days. He didn't bother with the visual interface.

"Fuck off," Vergil answered in kind. "I'm allowed to worry."

'Bah! Frettin' o'er naught. No man alone ever won a war, an' no witch neither. Dragon at 'er back or nah.'

Tallah had said something similar, about how she couldn't fight a whole war on her own. He understood that.

But he couldn't understand how they were to sit on their asses and do absolutely nothing for days on end. Their enemies were definitely not sitting on their asses and waiting. That had been clear enough when that Ryder creature had invaded his mind.

Even now, Vergil could swear he felt that thing inside him growing, gorging on illum for that promised nuclear explosion. If he had any sense, he'd get a boat somewhere and sail off towards the glittering horizon, and wait for the boom somewhere out there.

"This isn't right."

He was whining. He knew he was whining. Tallah had said that she had no patience for his whining, but he still wanted to go to her and demand they do something, anything except wait around.

'War's mostly sittin' on yer arse an' waitin', sprig,' Horvath said and his voice was no longer as rough. He even sounded wistful. 'Ye wait, then ye fight, bleed, an' die. Then ye wait again. War's ne'er different, sprig, no matter th' monster ye're facin'.'

"This isn't war. It's the end of the fucking world."

'Had yer eyes shut up 'ere on th' dragon? The world don't end fer a few dead.'

Vergil growled, picked up a rock and threw it into the water. It landed with a loud splash some thirty metres away.

Bront cursed at him.

"Ye're scaring the fish," the big man complained.

Cram leaned over and slapped him over the back of the head.

"So 're ye, ya daft bugger," the bald man cursed.

"Silver for a thought, soldier?"

Vergil jumped as Licia walked next to him, barefoot through the sand, wearing just a loose white tunic and a pair of trousers rolled up to her knees. She sat next to him and extended her legs, stretching while she yawned.

"I could hear you fretting from all the way up in the tree," the elendine complained. She leaned towards him and bumped her shoulder against his. "I like my naps, soldier. And I get cranky when I'm woken up. What's eating ya?"

"Everything." He sighed and pressed both hands to his face, trying not to let go of everything that was on his mind. "I can't relax with so many people in danger. Feels dirty."

Licia looked over her shoulder to where Tallah floated off the ground, eyes closed, arms crossed at her chest. She hadn't moved from that position since the crack of dawn, just anchored in place by some ability of her ghost's.

"Lady Cinder seems to be relaxing," the elendine said. Her shoulders rose in a halfhearted shrug. "If she's relaxed, I don't see why we'd need to worry."

Vergil scowled at Tallah. "She's plotting something. She always is when she does the floating bit." He very much wanted to throw a rock at the sorceress, but Bianca would probably make him eat it. Besides, were something to worry Tallah, the rest of them would be as good as dead.

Licia shrugged again and laid on her back in the sand, hands under her head, tunic flapping softly in the wind. It revealed all the curves Vergil knew were on a woman but had never seen up-close. A furious blush crept up from underneath his armour, up his neck, to burn the lobes of his ears.

'Ay, sprig, that be—'

"Shut up!" Vergil cut the old dwarf off.

"Pardon?" Licia asked, turning her head towards him. Her hair was a tangled mess of locks that fell over her face and wrapped around her horns. "I didn't say anything."

"Not you." The blush was on his cheeks now and he struggled to look at her face rather than anywhere else, finally opting to close his eyes altogether. He tapped a finger against his forehead. "I have a dwarf ghost in my head. He makes inappropriate comments."

"Oooh," Licia said, her words twisted cruelly. "And I take it the dwarf fancies lil' ol' me?"

"Please don't say it like you think I'm mad. And don't encourage him." Vergil had half a mind to get up and walk away, but that felt rude to her. "He fancies anything with two legs and two breasts."

"What if it has more than two breasts? Double the nipples, double the fun?"

Vergil's mouth dropped open and Horvath roared with laughter behind his eyes. Licia poked out her tongue at him.

"I saw some of those goat things who were very clearly female. They walked upright, and one had six tits." Her eyebrows waggled.

Well, this was entirely too much. Vergil did try and get up this time, but Licia grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down. Or rather, he almost yanked her up with him. It was still difficult, coming to terms with his new strength, and he hadn't even tried it with Horvath's helmet yet.

He stopped and allowed himself to be dragged back down. It had to be a conscious effort and decision on his part, which was still something he had to learn and control.

"Stay a while, soldier. Relax." Licia climbed to her knees and as he sat down in the sand, and her hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers digging into the hard knot of muscles there. "You need to get out of this armour. Weather's warm. You're boiling under here."

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She gave his half plate a ringing flick, then another flick over his ear.

"Hey!" Vergil squirmed as Licia returned her fingers to his neck and squeezed again, thumb going over thumb along the top of his spine.

"Relax, soldier," she said. "You're all rope and knots. Really, get out of this."

Without even waiting for him to react, her nimble fingers had his clasps undone and the belts loosened on his half-cuirass. It came apart at his shoulders with a sound almost like escaping steam. He hadn't realised how badly he sweated underneath the armour until the cool sea air hit his damp clothes and a shiver ran up his spine.

"Thank you," he said, more for need of something to say than an actual reaction.

Tallah and Sil didn't much lay hands on him. Not like Licia was doing now.

A cold stab of dread shut between his ribs at the thought of Tallah putting her hands on his shoulders to work out the kinks as Licia was doing now. Another at the twin image of Sil doing that.

But Licia's touch was… oh, he could melt to putty in her hands. Once his armour was off, padding and all, and she had access to his shoulders, her hands felt absolutely magical.

And alien. Deeply and painfully alien. The more she worked his shoulders with skilled fingers and firm palms, the more his stomach tightened into a ball of panic and his breath grew shallow.

Vergil tried to watch the sea and listen to the waves sizzling on the sandy shore. It all made him even more aware of Licia's warm, quiet presence behind him, of his discarded armour, of her fingers pressing on muscles he didn't even knew existed.

Horvath said something that Vergil didn't quite understand. The waves' whispers were overtaken by the roar of his heart thundering in his ears.

Licia said something, and he didn't even hear that.

Her touch felt so good, but it sent all of him into mortal dread. No matter how he tried to relax, the anxiety just got worse, his stomach tightening to a fist in his abdomen, then tighter and more painful still.

With a gasp, Vergil pushed himself on his feet and nearly knocked the elendine on her back.

"S-sorry," he stammered.

A shiver wracked him, starting from his tail bone and going like lightning up to his neck, and back down again. It was all he could do not to cringe outwardly. Even his jaw clenched and his teeth chattered.

Licia stared up at him, her expression amused, eyes still twinkling. "Easier ways to tell an elendine she doesn't give a good massage. Been a while since I had practice." She shook her hands while Vergil fought to find the words to deny that. "I should get Bront to do it. Your back's hard as stone and knotted like an aelir's Olden tree. I'm surprised you can stand upright."

Vergil shook his head. "Sorry. Not your fault." That was a lie, but easier to say than the truth.

"Oy, Bront!" Licia yelled from where she sat and waved at the large man. "Get over here, will ya?"

"I don't—He doesn't—"

Vergil doubted a massage from Bront was going to have any different a result. He didn't like being touched. Not that way.

Licia sat back down on her elbows, looking up at him, the midday sun reflected in those black eyes. Her smile remained whimsical and soft, as if nothing in the world could upset her.

"Soldier, you either need a good tumble to set yer head straight, your need a fight to get the blood moving back to your head," she said with mock gravity. "And there's no chance of the former around here, much as you'd like."

Vergil blushed as he understood where Licia eyes were aimed. He turned from her and felt every bit a mouse faced with the claws of the cat. The fucking elendine had an uncanny way of getting under his skin.

"What?" Bront asked as he trudged through the water, stick and line held up on his shoulder. "Any more interruptions and we'll be eating sand for lunch and diner."

"Soldier boy here needs to work off some steam," Licia said. "Give him a wack or five, will ya? He can't relax if he doesn't fight something before lunch."

"You got the jitters, boy?" Bront asked, his scarred face splitting into a grin, great big eyebrows crowding up his forehead. "Lemme grab a sword and we'll dance a little. 'Aight?"

"Sure." Vergil went along with the idea. At least a spar he could understand. And could take his mind off all the fretting and worrying.

Tallah still didn't move on her hill, but Vergil could spy Sil just behind the tree line. She had her tunic hiked up over her bare stomach, forming a makeshift pouch filled with an assortment of herbs of all shapes, sizes, and colours.

The healer had a rare smile on her scarred face.

"'Ere!" Bront called out and threw Vergil his Promise. "To first blood?"

Vergil unsheathed the black blade and tested the edge with a thumb. Still as sharp as a razor, and twice as deadly, the sword's enchantments flared to life with a dull, red light when it tasted his blood.

At least with blade in hand the tightness in his guts abated and his head cleared up. Yeah, a spar was just what he needed. No more thinking of the lost fortress, of the walking dead, or of the missing Luna. None were in his control and he could do nothing about any of them.

If Luna still lived, Vergil trusted the spider would care for itself. Its absence had weighed on his mind all this time. Tallah would, at some point, deal with whatever brewed at the Cauldron, and then Vergil would see about learning of Luna's fate. He'd vowed it to himself, and renewed the vow every time he missed the invisible weight on his back.

For now, he had control over his sword and that was all that mattered. He stepped closer to Bront, rolling his shoulders and his neck, feeling the stiffness abated. Whatever Licia had done, it had

Bront kicked some sand towards Licia. "Get," the big man scowled. "Yer in th' way."

Licia made a rude gesture with her hand, then ushered the two men away. "You get, you big oxen. There's a whole beach for the two of you to bloody." She raised her tunic over her midriff and settled better on the sand, one arm covering her face, the other beneath her head.

Grumbling, Bront led Vergil about twenty paces away. "You ever fought on sand before?" the big man asked.

"Never, to my knowledge."

"Good. Because it's a pain in the arse. Good practice, though."

'He ain't wrong,' Horvath agreed.

Bront had at least half an arm's extra reach compared to Vergil, and his sword was longer and broader than Promise. He walked on the strip of sand as if he'd been born to it, while Vergil lumbered behind him.

He felt Horvath's attention behind his eyes, but the dwarf offered no more advice and made no comment. Just watched the big man as he limbered before the spar.

Vergil followed suit, going through the exercises and the form, feeling his muscles warming and his heart rate climbing. It felt like ages since he'd had so much peace for so long.

It felt like he'd rusted to red ruin.

Their first clash happened fast, vicious and far too messily. Blades met in the air and sparks flew, both their blows carrying too much force. Vergil got spun around on the sand, his sword knocked aside, his feet slipping out from under him. Bront's blow hadn't been elegant, but the big man had sureness of foot where Vergil's feet dug into the powdery sand and tripped him.

He scrabbled away in a near panic, narrowly avoiding impalement on Bront's sword.

He slipped again as he tried to close back in, lost his footing, and had to drop to his stomach as Bront followed up a wide slash with a diagonal one. Sand got in Vergil's mouth, then in his nose and eyes. His balance completely evaporated.

This had the making of a disaster for Vergil. Each strike from Bront was a near fatal blow, all his newfound strength amounting to nothing without the balance to actually stand up. The sand was a worse enemy than any creature of the Cauldron.

'Ye cannae strong-arm the sand, sprig,' Horvath warned. 'Ye lose this one.'

Thanks for no advice. Saying it aloud was impossible through a mouthful of gritty dust.

Sure enough, it was only a matter of a few moments of scrabbling, rolling, and crab walking before Vergil felt the first hot kiss of Bront's blade. He earned a gash across his arm and hot blood spurted into the near-white sand. The cut had gone deep enough that it scored the bone.

Bront did not hold back at all. First blood was, indeed, first blood.

"Fuck," he cursed as the pain registered and his whole arm went numb and heavy. "How do you move like that?"

Bront offered him his hand. "Practice," the big man said.

"Fuck that." Vergil dusted himself off and winced at the pain. This barely counted as a warm-up. "Teach me." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Please."

Being around Tallah made him forget how to talk properly to people.

"'Aight," Bront said. "Get healed. I'll show ye."

An objection sat right on Vergil's tongue, but he swallowed it when he realised he couldn't move his arm to dismiss the idea of healing. Instead, he trudged up the beach, past dunes of dried sea weed and the bones of some bird, all the way to where Sil sat and catalogued her haul of herbs.

"Could I trouble you for healing?" he asked, showing his bleeding arm. "It looks worse than it is."

Sil didn't even look at him as she pointed a finger in his direction and intoned the prayer by rote.

"I require this one be mended."

Her eyes were glued to the various leaves, fruits and mushrooms she'd collected.

Nothing happened for a while, but that was becoming normal. Vergil's stomach growled at the sight of all those mushrooms, though their bright-red and sun-yellow colours did not promise a good experience if he ate them.

When the light materialised, Vergil turned around to head back to where Bront waited on the sand. The wound would close. It would sting. He'd been healed enough times to know what to expect.

Except that the wound did not close. Pain lanced up Vergil's back, like burning coals on his skin. Invisible knives stabbed into him. He screamed, fell, and writhed on the ground. The agony lasted at most ten heartbeats, but it felt much longer.

When it ebbed, Sil was above him, watching with wide, horrified eyes. Licia was there too, and soon Bront arrived.

He hated this moment, of everyone crowding around him, so bloody much.

Vergil blinked the stars from his eyes and spat out blood. He'd bitten his tongue, bad enough that it bled, not terrible enough that it'd fall out.

Something else felt odd. It hurt to move. Not his arm. The rest of him.

"What happened?" Sil asked as she knelt by his side.

"Your healing…" Vergil winced and forced himself to get up. "It hurt like hell."

And now the pain was localised. It washed off his back in waves of agony.

"You're bleeding, soldier." Licia knelt on the other side of Sil. "Lady healer, he's bleeding."

Vergil felt his tunic stuck to his back and the warmth of blood bathing him. Gently, Licia lifted the cloth. He helped. Tried to, at least. It hurt too much to try and lift his arms.

They cut the tunic off him and, for an absurd moment, Vergil was sad to lose his first piece of fresh clothing since the spiders.

"There's something written on his skin," Licia said, her fingers touching the top of his back gently.

Sil circled him. "Out of the light," she demanded. A moment's pause. Then she cursed. "Bloody bitch. Tallah!"

"I got another message carved into me, didn't I?" Vergil groaned, head still woozy with blood loss and pain. Once Sil's eyes had gone to his back, the pain already began receding.

"It's all over your back," Licia said. She swallowed thickly. "From neck to belt."

Vergil groaned and sagged forward, head in his palms. "Lovely. What does it say, Sil?"

Sil cleared her throat. Tallah landed next to then and gave Vergil a pointed look.

"You all right?" she asked.

He waved a hand, still wincing with the pain. The cuts were healing. "I'll live. Not the worst I got so far."

"Good. Sil, what does your bitch goddess want."

Sil began to read, "Dearest clever daughter. Make apologies in my name to whoever you've inflicted this message on..."

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