Cry For War

Chapter Nine

The rest of the march was relatively wordless, as stealth was no less than a necessity if the four of them wished to survive. Though, perhaps, the stakes were not as high as one would have been led to believe. There were no soldiers in sight, not even the three generals of Múspell and their tactician. Despite the immense heat all around them, it was still a feeling that was chilling. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Soon enough, the heart of the country of flame was in view, giving motivation to keep pushing. This mission could be completed quickly, it was all a matter of how easily the keep would be surrendered. The Rite of Flames could not proceed any longer, lest the lives of many be swallowed whole. Upon arrival, the feeling of disturbance deepened, only evidenced by the disarray occurring within the hall.

"This isn't you! Please, on Alfaðör's name! Rethink this madness!" hissed the mauve haired woman, clutching the limp general in her arms. Laevatein. Her pleas were visceral, as though she was choking on the heat. "I know you, Surtr, I know-"

"I do not answer to your god! The soul you once knew is no more, now, begone!" returned the king, thrusting his arm outward and knocking his tactician and youngest daughter to the cracked stone floor. "You are a fool to think there is anything left. All will be consumed by these flames, first I, now her, then you." He approached slowly, kneeling down to Loki's side and brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "And I was a fool to ever let you stay."

"That is quite enough!" Celica finally interjected, taking her stance as she drew her royal sword. She couldn't merely stand by in silence, allowing the tactician to suffer at the hand of the king. "Unhand her or you will force my hand!" She stood firm, pointing the tip of her blade at the king, who soon released his injured tactician. She lifted her gaze in turn as he rose to his feet, eyes narrowed and posture poised, as though she were ready for combat.

"This is what Askr sent to stop me? This is the best those fools could do?" he retorted, cocking a brow and revealing the nature of his form, his eyes practically ablaze as the flames consumed his very core. "Two fools, a priest, and- ... What are you doing out of your cell? That matters not, I will see to it that you burn!" With that, he drew his scythe, Sinmara, and readied his first blow, opting to wait for the enemy to step into range rather than charge headfirst. Surtr may have been hotheaded, but he was no fool. With two armored knights, he had no doubts that there would be at least some difficulty in handling the four of them.

"You're a real gutsy guy, aren't ya'?" Hector returned, brandishing the lance, Maltet in an attempt to fend him off. It was no Armads, but it would suffice for what he needed it for. He seized his moment, using the king's opening to land his first blow, jabbing forth with as much force as the heavy armor he wore would allow. It was so different from his riding armor, but he could manage. However, despite the intensity of this blow, it didn't seem to do much, his disadvantage against the "axe" wielder.

  The king took no time in making his next swing, only to have the strike deflected by the priestess's blade, metal glinting against blazing steel. It was a diversion, buying her allies time to take back the field. Despite this, her footwork still had to be fast, landing four swift slashes to her enemy's armor, each creating a louder impact than the previous. Her swings were quick, precise, as was to be expected. As her strikes lay into his front, time had been bought for the axe wielder to the flanks, allowing Garm to come down hard against his back, slicing the cape and tearing a few plates from the armor.

"You fools!" he growled, swinging the blunted end of his scythe back at the other king, who failed to deflect the hit, taking a nasty blow to his shoulder, causing him to stumble back into the stone floor. "You think that you can defeat me? Then you will all perish! Starting with you, princeling!" Surtr raised his blade, again having to turn his back to a foe to land a proper strike. This proved to be effective, allowing the sharp tip of the blade to dig into the shoulder pad of his armor. Ephraim wouldn't allow himself to be taken so easily, forcing himself up in an attempt to make a move, the motion being enough to deflect a second hit to his already injured shoulder and redirect it. His axe hadn't handled this move the same way that his lance would have, redirecting the landing to his chest, making his diaphragm feel as though it had seized up. He coughed in response, but before he could riposte, the princess, who had stood by most of the duration of the battle rushed headfirst into combat.

Her mare collided directly into the side of the king of Múspell, taking advantage of the top heavy nature of his armor to send him to the floor, freeing the man who had been mostly pinned to the ground, buying him time to get up and recuperate. Her skills with weapons were admittedly subpar, but with the magic she possessed, she could take full advantage of their position. As the hooves of her steed slid across the floor, she raised her staff, doing more than enough damage to make an opening for her three colleagues, which seemed to take full advantage of this, coordinating a triangle attack on their enemy.

  With that, the king finally stopped fighting, leaving the warrior priestess to point the tip of her blade at their shared foe. "Lay down your weapon," Celica demanded, narrowing her eyes as she placed the tip of her shoe atop the hilt of Sinmara. Before she could even speak another word, her back was struck by a deep purple magic, causing her to lose her footing.

"Have you not had your fill of torment? Stay away!" demanded the tactician, having left the wounded general in favor of the king. "Do you not see the gravity of what you have done? What you have made him do?" Loki wasted no time in kneeling at his side, just as he had done for her. "It's alright now, I'm here... Look at me," she tried to verbalize, her voice straining under pressure. "I cannot bear to lose another, not to the bitter end like this." She was no fool, nor was she blind. The fire in his eyes, the very same that had eaten away his soul, had begun to dim. "Hel is not-" The mauve haired tactician could no longer manage her words, her staff clenched tightly in her hand as she did the best that she could. The golden gleam of Thökk was not enough, the life she had fought her own creator to protect dwindling away.

"Loki..?" replied the enemy king weakly, the flame dying out as his larger hand rested atop of hers. Their time together was limited, and now, without the clouded judgement of this heat, he knew how blind that he had been. "I-"

"Shhh," hushed the tactician, brushing her hand mindlessly over her superior's cheek. "Save your strength. I'll be here, I can assure you." As little as the chaotic woman wanted to admit this, she knew what was coming, her voice faltering more often than not, no matter how much she tried to mask it with falsified strength. Briefly, their foreheads met, allowing her gentle touches to fade away as his hot breaths against her skin to come to a halt.

  All the while, Veronica worked tirelessly to heal Celica's injured back and Ephraim's shoulder. Hliðskjálf had worked with ease on these non-fatal wounds, even serving as a distraction for the time being. 

  If only they had known what dangers this would bring.