Day 230 – (A Paladin is a Guiding Light)

Day 230 – (A Paladin is a Guiding Light)

“I won't get sick.  That's a myth, spread by monsters alone.  You tell each other what you want to hear, and then in that disgusting echo chamber no one ever corrects you.”

It stares at me, mouth open.  “You're definitely going to get sick.”
“It's been about half a year now, and I haven't gotten sick yet.”
“But,” it starts, and shakes its head.  “Isn't it uncomfortable?”
“No.  It is vastly more comfortable than the alternative.”  I reach up and flick the collar with a fingernail.  “I barely even notice the thing anymore.”
“No, I mean not getting rid of all of your excess-”
“It doesn't,” I state, with all the finality I can put into my words.

I swear, if I don't get the topic off of masturbation they'll never get off ei-
I hate talking to monsters, I think to myself so as to end that other train of thought.

“How did we even get here from talking about the lethal chamber?”
There's a moment of silence as they both pause for a moment.  “Well, they're both wrong,” the succubus states.
“As nuanced a position as I'd expect.”
“There's no nuance needed,” it insists.  “We shouldn't kill people.”
“Letting someone die is not the same thing as murder.”
“They need help.”
“And what if they still want to die after they get it?”
It leans forward and stares me in the eyes.  “Then they need more.”

“And that's why people don't trust monsters.  That right there.”  I point my fork at it for emphasis.  “You can say you believe in our values all you want, but when it comes right down to it you fight them every step of the way.”
“Values?”  Its face was already starting to scrunch up in confusion before it said that, and has almost completely imploded before it begins “What possible-”
“Self-determination.  You say you're fine with people having it, but when it comes to the most fundamental aspect of it, you can't accept it.”

It just stares at me after that.  Not angry, but frustrated and unhappy.  That's fine.  Let it be.  I don't come here to make anyone happy.  I came here to read.

Throughout the meal I somehow never got further than the first page of the paper, and the knowledge that Caithness hasn't opened its gates in three weeks.

---

“Calling all horses, attack on the FERAL Center.”

An attack.  An actual attack on a Megalan holding.  I've heard it's happened a couple of times before, usually by upset kin of imprisoned or injured monsters, but this is the first to happen during my time as paladin.  I'm out of the town walls as quickly as I can move.

I stop when I reach the FERAL Center.  The doors have been torn open, and the walls to either side have imploded.  A handful of shredded metal is all the remains of what should have been automated turrets.  I don't stop for any of that, though.

In front of the door is the body of a woman cut cleanly in two.  Viscera spill out, cooling on the stone.

I've never actually seen one before.  The thought wanders into my awareness subtly, at first.  Now it's the only thing I can think about.  I've never actually seen someone dead, let alone someone killed.  I didn't know that bodies looked like that.  I clutch my gut, because it hurts.  My teeth hurt, too.  I force my jaw open, slightly, to relieve the pressure on them.

There's a distant scream inside the building, jerking my attention away from the person.  My work isn't done.

I head inside, into the clean building.  It feels like it shouldn't be clean – like there should be rubble and flames, but this wasn't a siege.  In the distance, beneath the image of an angelic figure, rests a crumbled werewolf.  It's breathing, though weakly.  As I advance, it lifts its head, and I recognize it.  The white hair, and a single ear twisted so that it hangs at a wrong angle.  It takes a small, painful breath to say “I tried to stop him.”
“Who.”  I don't know why I asked.  I already know.  I don't want to know.
“James.”

I turn down one of the two halls.  “Please, don't let him hurt anyone else,” it adds quietly.

Shattered glass lines the floors.  The walls are rent open in odd, uneven lines.  One of the doors looks like it was launched into its room by an explosion.
Chicken feathers are strewn along the floor.
Blood pools in a meter-wide dent in the floor.
Shattered glass opens up into an atrium that is slowly burning to the ground, filling the dome above with smoke.

I think that I should be thinking about this.  About what to do.  About what this means.

I turn, following a smear of blood into a stairwell and begin my ascent.

I saw that cockatrice before, didn't I?  It was in the atrium.  It had those chicken feathers.

I step through a doorway that has had its door seemingly blasted open, as before.  I hear noise down the hallway, and continue toward it.  I step over a hand.

Something is wrong with me, but I don't have time to figure out what.

I can hear his voice now, from further ahead.  I recognize it's him as soon as I recognize I'm hearing speech.  I'm his friend, after all.  I've been his friend for half of my life.  I speed up my pace, still trying to figure out why my chest hurts.  A strange, off-tone clang fills the air as I get closer, punctuating the words.
“My, how noble of you, protecting the stuff you eat.”  Clang.
“Wait, no, that's the wrong word, isn't it?”  Clang.
“It isn't nobility.”  Clang.
“It's self-interest.”  Clang.

I turn the corner to face the scene.  A woman – no, that witch, stands with a man inside of a dome of transparent force.  The room's nothing but debris from shattered hospital beds and healers' equipment.
Before them is James.  His armor is twisted on his sword arm, curled around him like muscle around the bone, and decorated with spikes.  It almost seems to flow directly into a chunk of volcanic rock that he wields like a sword.

He lifts the thing high and brings it down onto the dome once more, before slowly pulling back.  He turns, and he looks at me.
“Victor, buddy,” he says, smiling like nothing had happened.  “How've you been?”
“Why?”  I'm not thinking things through.  I'm not thinking at all.
“Come on, Vic,” he says, turning to face me directly.  “Nothing here but monsters and monster sympathizers.  We should've killed them all sooner.  But hey, I'm lucky – I'm not bound by the laws of Megalos.  I can act freely, for the sake of humanity.”

“You've killed people, James.  Humans.”
“What's the difference?”  I just stare at him as he smiles back at me.  “Come on, man, you've thought the same thing, haven't you?  If you're working against humanity, does it matter what you are?  All of these people are ruining the world for their own self-satisfaction – how is that any different from what the monsters have been doing for a thousand years?”

“He won't learn, you know.”  It's that woman's voice.  I haven't heard it in months.
“I know,” James says.  “But that's Victor for you.  Too much honor in there for good sense to fit.”
“You can hear that?”
He refocuses his attention on me, before laughing.  “Ilnostreon, you tried him?”
“He could never be convinced of anything” it answers.
“Well yeah, I could've told you that.”

“Well, no matter,” James says as he turns to look back at the field of force, which has begun to hum slightly.  “You could never have taken back up the old mantles.  After all, we were always supposed to be on opposite sides.  Paladins and Blackguards,” he says, looking back to me.  “We're just too different not to fight.  We could only work as one order with monsters around to be the common enemy.  It seems that they aren't enough now, though.”

“The Hells are you saying, man?”

“I'm saying that the ends justify the means, Victor.  Something that you wanted to believe, but never quite could.”  There's a flicker, as the dome begins to fade.  The witch behind James hisses audibly under some unseen strain.  “But hey, we can continue our talk once I'm done,” he says, turning and lifting his blade high as the dome disappears.

His face is a foot away from mine.  He's surprised.  I'm surprised.  My sword scrapes against his as I press harder, but don't advance.
“Oh, Victor.”  He pushes the blade out, and my boots slide on the marble floor.  “I always did want to finally beat you, but not like this.”  He advances, and I barely raise my blade in time to reach his.  The tinny crack and the numbing vibration in my hand reaches me before I see his blade move, shattering my own.  He didn't pivot or strain – he just moved his arm and destroyed tempered steel.

I lift the makeshift, unbalanced dagger.  I don't have time to think, and even if I did nothing is coming to mind.
He smiles, and lets out another brief laugh.  “You're such a paladin,” he says dismissively.
I open my mouth, and I speak the word to protect myself.

(WARDING)

I almost reach up to my throat in confusion.  It isn't sore at all.  It was no different than speaking any other word.

James steps back, his eyes pressed tightly shut, his empty hand pressed to his ear.  He half-curses, half-grunts before taking a deeper breath.  There's blood running from the other ear.
“What- what in the-?”
“That's enough, my knight.  Your work here is done.”  A shadow grows behind him as the voice – Ilnostreon – speaks.  A claw the size of his chest reaches out from it, and the voice slowly shifts deeper and harsher as it adds “This one will die, but not today.”

It pulls, and both arm and James are gone into the rapidly vanishing darkness.

I am alone in this mess with a monster and a man.  It pants, holding itself up off the floor with trembling arms.  He stares at me from the floor, his expression still frightened.  He's in his late thirties, balding, pale, brown hair – average.  An average man.
He isn't dressed in healer's robes.  “What are you doing here?”
“What,” the witch starts.
“Not you.  Him.”

I advance, and the look of fear grows.  Something in my gut begins to churn as I do.  Innocent men do not fear paladins.  “I, I-”
“He was a hostage,” the witch answers quickly.
“Why?  Why did he need a hostage?”
“He wanted to know about the layout.  Exits and cells, mostly,” the man says.
“And you told him.”
“He threatened to kill me!”

“I see.”  My gut is sore.  My arms are sore.  My legs are sore.  I don't think there's a part of me that doesn't ache, but somehow I only noticed it just now.  “Stand up.”
“Why-”
“Stand up.”  I lift the remnants of my sword to him, to emphasize my order.  He complies.  Good.  “My name is Victor.  I don't know what your name is, and I don't care.  You have sacrificed the lives of innocent citizens of Megalos to save your own, and for that you will share their fate.  I am issuing a summary execution.  Walk.”  I point my sword toward the path from which I came.
“You're just going to kill him?”  I look back to the witch, but I don't feel like answering.  He isn't walking, though, and that bothers me.
“Walk.”
“Why?  Why not just kill me here, then?”  There is no desperation.  Defeat has taken him already.
“And let you die on Megalan soil, next to the people you betrayed?”  I point the jagged edge of my sword at him again.  “Walk,” I repeat, louder.

---

We walk.  We walk over rubble and through pools of blood.  We walk past a single, remaining harpy.  We walk out the front doors of the building as a half dozen other paladins arrive and begin filtering inside.  “Sweep the building.  The perpetrator is James – he has escaped.”
“Sir?”
“Go.  My work isn't done.”
We walk out down the dirt path leading away from the gates, and into the untamed forests.  The underbrush is naught but wiry, leafless brown.  The trees are barren and the grass is gone.  Were there still snow it would be beautiful, but as it stands it is simply dead.

“Stop.”
“Please sir.  I didn't know what he was planning to do.”
“Kneel.”
He stands for a moment, shivering, before he falls to his knees.  With a great, shuddering breath he begs “Mercy.”
“Justice comes first.”

I grip what's left of my blade.  This is going to be an ugly death.  It's fitting.  I hold it with a reverse grip, and raise it.
“Stop,” a feminine voice calls out from deeper inside the forest.  Underbrush cracks and breaks as I see the figure emerge from a thicker copse of trees ahead.  It must be eight feet tall, at minimum, with the unpleasant tattoos that some monsters favor, visible for the usual absence of dignity.  It lifts its empty hands “Please, just let him go.”
I reach out to grip his shoulder, before either of them decides to do something else.  “He is facing execution for his crimes.  Turn around and go back to your hovel.”
“He's a coward,” it calls out.  “It's plain to see.  What crime could he have commit?”
“His cowardice was his crime.”

“Then,” it starts, before its voice gives out.  Its tail becomes visible behind it as it slowly lowers to the ground.  It lifts its head up higher, fills its lungs, and then calls out again “Then take me instead.”

Right of substitution.  The thought comes unbidden to my mind.  There's precedent.
And let this bastard run away to some life of empty hedonism after selling out those people?  I should kill him here and now, and I should make this monster watch for having the gall to imply that his existence has any worth.
It's legal, what the thing is asking for.
But is it right?

That isn't my decision to make.  “Advance.”  It does so, stopping a few feet away from me.  It's holding itself well, for the tension apparent in its movements.  I release my grip on the man.  “You stand exiled.  Do not ever let me see you again.”  He looks back at me for only a moment, surprised, before hastily standing and jogging off down the path.  With luck, the woods will take him.

I look back to the amazon.  “What is your name?”
“Myria.”
I don't want to kill it.  I didn't want to kill him, either.  Today has seen too much blood.  Is it weakness, what I'm feeling?  Yes.  Of course it is, and I'm an idiot for asking myself.
But I suppose that I am weak.
“Myria, you are to travel to the north gate of Min.  There will be a building there.  Inside you will watch a video.  You will take a test.  If you are unable to read Aenglish script then you will request a spoken word test.  You will speak an oath, and then you will abide by it for the rest of your days.”
It slowly exhales.  “Is that all?”
“Yes.”

I turn, and I depart.  I have work to do.  The bodies will need catalogued, and the monsters guarded before they can be relocated.

And I will need to write a report about what has become of my oldest friend.