Ten corpses hung by the neck from a tall tree, like a grotesque homage, their bodies swaying in the breeze. Malaka stood next to the rickety palisade, numbly staring at one of the corpses, hanging from a bottom branch.
He had spent most of the morning gathering dried wood, piling it around the base of the corpse tree. Malakai still hadn't quite come to terms with what happened.
He was incredibly thankful to have earned the right to wear the mask, as no one could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.
His older brother, the last of his family, hung from the tree, his face locked in a rictus of pain and anger.
Malakai hadn't wanted to believe Estacia, to believe his brother could commit such vileness.
In his mind, it didn't make sense how his brother could have fallen so far in only a few years. He had wanted to reunite with Archviuald, to learn the truth of why he was kicked out. He had refused to see reality, to admit his brother had fallen from grace.
Despite how far Archivuald had fallen, Malakai would never forget the times his elder brother gave him food, starving because there wasn't enough to go around.
The times they spent on the streets before the church were blurry, but some moments were so clear. The haunting image of burned out carriages interposed those moments of kindness and sacrifice. People slaughtered like sheep replaced those images of his brother.
The vile monster who hung in front of him, someone who helped slaughter an entire caravan was not his brother. His brother had died two years ago, after being kicked out of the Order.
Or at least that is what he told himself. Where had he gone wrong? Was it getting kicked out that created this monster, or had the monster always been there.
Malakais mind raced as he stared numbly at his brother's dead face, the eyes picked out by crows.
A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and Verdan's deep voice echoed from beside him.
"I'm sorry for your loss. Noone should have to see their family reduced to this state," Verdan said.
Malakai let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you for your condolences, lord Verdan. I know he was an evil rotten bastard, but he wasn't always that way. He deserved to die, but still, he was the last of my family," Malakai said, a hitch in his voice.
Verdan nodded slowly. "The others might throw some of their anger at you, as you are related to one of the bandits, but fret not. I understand your plight," Verdan said.
"How so lord Verdan?" Malakai asked, numbly.
Verdan let out a long tired sigh, his face worn.
"About a decade ago, there was a killer, one who was taking kids in the middle of the night. The kids were being dissected, experimented upon, usually dumped into the river. It took us months to catch the sick bastard who was doing it. Turns out, it was an old colleague of mine, someone I had known for most of my life. Though having left, he was a renowned healer of the Order, wizened and old, a beacon for the younger generation.
Yet, he fell into darkness. The last time i talked to him, he babbled about how he was so close, just a few more years of study and he could figure out a cure to his old age. The old man had gone insane, so desperate to extend his life in his waning years that he started butchering kids and cutting them open to experiment on," Verdan said grimly.
"Are you saying my brother snapped, like the old man?" Malakai asked softly.
"Hard to say. The way you have talked about him, your brother sounds like he was a good man pushed into an unpleasant situation. Perhaps he only fell this far because of Nervin's poor decision to kick him out, or perhaps he had this darkness in him the whole time. In either case, do not blame yourself. You cannot control the actions of others, only your own," Verdan said.
"Thank you, lord Verdan, your words mean more than you know," Malakai said, his breath unsteady.
There was a long pause, the silence broken by Verdan. "Would you like to light the pyre?" Verdan asked, offering a lit torch..
Malakai nodded, the torch seeming to hold the weight of the world. His palm was sweaty as he gripped the wooden haft, the small fire burning at the top crackling softly.
As he walked forward, he felt the eyes of everyone else, from the inquisitors to the soldiers of house Ivalian. Their gazes bore into his back some of them, like Estacia, and Jervony accusing. As if he were partly responsible for the crimes his brother and these bandits had committed.
For the first few days of their travel here, he had almost formed a friendship with the two having been introduced to them by lord Verdan.
The short-lived friendship was mostly shattered when they learned he was the brother of one of the dead bandits.
Turned out that Archivuald and Parcival, the one who escaped, were responsible for burning the carts with living people inside.
The soldiers he could ignore, but the accusing gazes of Estacia, and Jervony hurt the worst.
Pushing down the well of emotion that flooded through him, Malakai trudged forward, each step feeling like he just ran a mile. His legs were heavy, his breathing ragged as he paused under the lone tree piled high with wood.
It hadn't been a long walk, yet it felt like it took forever. The sweet smell of strong liquor filled the air, having been used to douse all the wood and corpses. All it would take was a touch of fire, and the entire tree with all the dead would go up in a blaze.
Malakai hesitated for only a moment, giving one final glance to his brother.
"Goodbye Archivuald. I'm not sure what brought you to this, but you're free now," with a heavy heart, he threw the torch onto the pyre.
A loud whoosh filled the air, and an intense wave of heat slammed into him. Having said his piece, Malakai turned and walked back towards the palisade, and the gathered soldiers.
He ignored everyone's gazes, stopping right beside Verdan. Some might seek to get him kicked out of the Order due to his association with such a disreputable bandit, but as long as Verdan was his master, things would work out.
And so what if people despised him? Malakai was going to become the greatest Templar the Order had ever seen, his own deeds far outshining any disgrace put on his name. He was blessed with seven divine gifts, an astounding number, something Verdan was adamant he kept secret. According to Verdan, no one had awakened a full halo since the time of the cataclysm.
Malakai wasn't sure what that meant for him, but he knew one thing for certain.
When his time came, and he went into the holy mothers embrace, he would be able to hold his chin high, knowing he had done his best to do the right thing. The world was full of evil, rotten people and savage monsters.
The world needed some good, a shining beacon to fend off all this darkness. This wasn't even the first tragedy he had run into in the last few months since entering the inner expanse. There was that small town that had been slaughtered to the last, dozens of bodies thrown into a grotesque pile. They still hadn't brought those culprits to justice, but he would, even if it killed him.
Malakai slowly nodded to himself, his resolve steadying his racing mind. What did it matter what others thought of him? One day, he would be the greatest templar the world had ever seen…..
Archivuald jumped through the shuddering rift, collapsing onto his hands and knees in the dirt, gasping for breath. The warm summer was a comfort after the burning heat of the volcanic crater on the other side.
Only seconds after he had escaped, the rift collapsed, the burst of unstable essence making his skin tingle. He was absolutely exhausted, and judging by her labored breathing, Foxy wasn't much better off. She was lying on the dirt, her tongue lolled out, her chest heaving as she panted for breath.
Seven days. Seven hard days of pushing themselves to the limit, going from rift to rift, killing everything inside. With Foxy as his backup, they hadn't run into any monsters they couldn't handle.
Things had gone quite smoothly, at least until the last rift.
Foxy let out a high-pitched bark, the tone reproachful.
"Okay, I admit, that got out of hand," Archivuald panted, falling on his ass in the dirt, tucking a strand of his long grey hair behind one ear
Foxy's expressive face spoke louder than any words as she glared accusingly at him.
"Your insinuation is just insulting. How can you blame me for this? It wasn't my fault," Archviauld said defensively.
She let out a soft growl, clearly doubtful of his words. He raised his hands in defeat.
"Okay, it might be somewhat my fault. But in all fairness, I didn't mean to break the nexus. How was I supposed to know my newly awakened divine curse would cause so much collateral damage?" Archivuald said.
Foxy gave him a dirty look.
Archivuald raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine, I'm sorry alright. I will be more careful with my true darkness in the future,"
Foxy did not seem convinced, but at least she dropped it, for now anyway.. Archivuald was getting pretty good at reading her expressions, body language and the series of barks and growls she used to communicate..
It was like a language all by itself, though not quite. Despite her monstrous appearance, Foxy often seemed just as smart as a person. She knew when to attack, when to flee, and seemingly could understand his words perfectly. Though sometimes he could swear she purposely took his words the wrong way, as if playing dumb.
That could be because she was a wild monster, or perhaps because she was still technically a juvenile. Only two tails, and her smaller size, were a dead giveaway. Fully grown nightingales usually had around six tails, and grew several hands taller than Foxy's current size, acquiring more innate powers as they grew. The few studies that had been conducted on these monsters were inconclusive. Nightingales were just too reclusive, and incredibly dangerous, not appreciating being seen.
This gave the vaunted scholars of the Order no certainty on what kinds of powers Nightingale would awaken, as the few they had come across seemed to have slightly different variances. Archivuald was curious to see how Foxy would develop as she grew, though he was uncertain if she would even stay with him.
Asking her hadn't accomplished anything, with her just giving him a dismissive bark.
It seemed she would stick around for the time being at least, though he still wasn't sure why. She was more than capable of catching her own food and was by far the scariest monster had run into.
Granted, they were on the outer edge of the inner expanse, but still. Perhaps she was just lonely? He got the impression she just hung around because she had nowhere else to be.
Whatever the case, Archivauld wasn't going to complain. The pros of having her around, far outweighed the cons. Exhausted, lay on his back, looking up at the sky.
Despite pushing himself ragged, and that last rift almost collapsing on him, mostly due to his own folly, it had been a pretty good week. All three of his divine curses were knight tier now, with his holy orb and wind cutter emblems reaching knight tier as well.
He hadn't found a single emblem in all five rifts which was annoying, but the abundance of copper tier essence was nice.
Archivauld still had a couple essence stones remaining after dumping over a hundred and fifty into his True Darkness emblem.
Given all of his Emblems had reached knight tier, there wasn't a lot he could do with four copper tier essences. Funneling that little of essence would be like throwing a cup of water down a well, accomplishing very little.
He still had three unawakened divine curses, but did he dare awaken a fourth so soon after the third? Having another ace up his sleeve would be nice, but pushing yourself too thin was also unwise.
Having twenty copper tier emblems couldn't defeat one person with a single emblem at Saint tier.
This was an issue most ran into, a lack of easily acquired Essence. To make things worse, quantity couldn't outweigh quality. He was already feeling like he was torn in multiple ways, gnawing over where to use his precious essence.
Each one represented a monster he had to kill, and said monsters would only get stronger. Choosing incorrectly, and wasting his essence on a useless emblem could be his death.
Then again, all three of his divine curses were incredibly powerful, though they had some drawbacks. Nothing insurmountable thus far, but he had heard of some with crippling downsides. One in particular he had heard of where the Holder could see what was happening in Stronghold from the city of Hope over five hundred miles away.
The downside was that for however long she looked, she would go blind for afterward. Though extremely useful, going blind for a while sounded quite inconvenient.
There was also one, from a holder with the nickname the Inferno. It gave him the ability to turn monsters to ash with a wave of his hand, but even at lord tier, the guy couldn't even enter a city.
His body radiated fire, similar to Archivuald's, though instead of a constant chill, everything burned around him. Unlike Archviuald, the domain didn't come when he activated the emblem, it was a passive domain, constantly active. Powerful, but not ideal.
Archivuald let out a sharp exhale. Despite already having decided, he couldn't help anxiously fretting over the decision. This was why he hated gambling. It was all up to chance.
He would get what he got, and there was no changing that. So far, his first three had been incredibly useful for combat, so he was banking on the fourth, being just as good..
Another emblem geared towards battle would be nice, but he wouldn't be to upset about one with more utility. They all seemed to be dark themed, which made sense given the deity that bestowed them. Even so, he was hoping for something with a little more utility than an explosion of darkness.
Taking a deep breath, he crushed two Essence at the same time. There was the familiar stab of pain as essence flooded into the fourth, yet unawakened eye of the dark god. His chest burned as the node awakened, the divine emblem coming to life as its network was flooded with essence.
An immense sense of freedom came over him as his vision changed, suddenly high up in the sky, the wind buffeting his feathers. The ground passed far below, the trees like a blanket beneath him. To fly was freedom, to chase the night.
Unlike the last three he awakened, there was no voice that entered his mind, just a sense of freedom, and the wind under his wings. It was incredibly disorienting, going from the vast open skies to return to his body locked to the ground.
It felt like worms were crawling under his skin as he activated the emblem. Archivuald's head spun as his body shifted, rapidly shifting form. It was extremely unpleasant, but thankfully it was over quickly. After a few seconds, he slowly pushed himself back to his feet.
He looked down, passed a long black beak, to his feathered chest. Archivuald stretched his arms, or in this case, long feathery black wings. The discomfort was quickly forgotten, replaced by excitement.
Well, now. Another transformation! Unlike his Nether champion form, he was some sort of bird, a big one too.
He even had talons that put his other forms claws to shame, looking like curved daggers. He caught movement, turning as Foxy sauntered over, circling him, eying his new form curiously.
Given his new size in relation to foxy, his head was about as tall as the shoulder of an average human, large for a bird.
Archivuald tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a loud caw, kind of like a raven.
Well, that was inconvenient. Not being able to speak was annoying. But then again, he might be able to fly. He actually had wings, big wings, each longer than his body was tall, his feathers fanning out with dark black plumage.
The thought of flying was exhilarating. An hour later, he was coming to the realization that flying was hard work. Archivauld hadn't even known birds could sweat, but his feathers were drenched from flapping his wings so hard.
As it turned out, flying was not as easy as it looked. Birds made it look effortless, but it was anything but. Foxy let out an amused bark as he tumbled to the ground yet again, having just leapt off a branch, falling not much better than a sack of potatoes thrown off a porch..
Archivuald let out an annoyed caw, deciding to scrap his dream of flying for the time being. The sun was already in the sky was already high in the sky and he really should get going. Flying could wait.
He could mess around with his new form later. Archivuald had been hoping to fly back to Stronghold, and cut the trip much shorter, but that just wasn't possible. He was going to need a lot of practice before he could glide, much less fly.
Right now he had the flying skills of a rock, and needed some practice. Learning wings and to control his tail feathers just wasn't that intuitive.
It took human children years to figure out how to walk, to use all their limbs. Birds didn't take quite as long, but he was learning to use a whole new set of limbs, from the tail feathers and talons to the wings. His failure hadn't dampened his excitement at all. Baby steps. In due time, he would be soaring in the skies.
Being able to fly should open up a whole host of possibilities. In the meantime, he adopted his usual method of transportation, running through the forest in his Nether champion form.
Sure, he wasn't as fast as a horse, but he didn't have a horse after Foxy scared it away over a week ago. Explaining to Tanner how he lost one of the guild's horses was going to be a pain.
Archivuald shook off the thought. Even putting up a solid pace; it took him two and a half days to return to stronghold. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he was forced to return to his human form.
A wave of dizziness hit him like a shovel to the face, his head spinning as he tried to readjust to his smaller, weaker human body.
He held up a smaller, pinker hand without claws. Given how much he used his other form these days, his human body actually felt strange. Archivauld let out a long suffering sigh as he glanced down at his body. Well, back to the city.
He was already four days late on his return, though that was mostly due to his detour to exterminate the bandits.
For a moment, he wondered if Estacia made it back to the city alright? Given their escort when he left, they should be fine.
He shook aside the distracting thoughts. There was much to do. He needed to check in with Pelas, and a long awaited date with a tall mug of ale, preferable cold. Slinging his now much heavier pack over one shoulder, Archivuald stepped from the trees out onto the road, heading for the towering gates of Stronghold. It was late evening, and the cue was long.
Archivuald had to wait nearly a half hour before it was his turn. The inquisitor in charge of overseeing the gates, scanned his documents. The man gave Archivauld a dismissive once over, clearly finding him lacking. Archivuald couldn't exactly blame the man, considering his clothing was torn, tattered, cut and stained with all sorts of bodily fluids, from blood to guts.
Little was said, but a lot could be conveyed with that look. It was just another day in paradise. Thankfully, this guy was less of an asshole than the other guy the last time he entered the city.
After only a bit of hassle, his papers were stamped, and he was let inside. With a pep in his step, he headed for the Black Heart guild hall, his pack full of Nexus shards and his purse weighed down by silvers.