Day 291 – A Paladin is Unconquered

Day 291 – A Paladin is Unconquered

“You're going soft.”
“I wonder, is it uncomfortable saying that as a succubus?”

“You haven't done any killing lately,” it notes, ignoring my mockery.
“I know.  It's terrible when my training takes place on the full moon.”
“You're wearing your armor again, too.”
“The best defense is a good defense.  You'd think that'd be obvious, but,” I trail off.
“So why the change?”
“Suffice it to say that the situation is different.”
It leans back in its chair, smiling down at me.  “For you?”
“You're right – I won't be going into battle and watching scores of young men die.  Like you.”

“No arguing over breakfast,” the elven girl calls out.  I chastise myself for thinking of her as a girl again, but it's not my fault that she looks to be no older than twelve.
“We aren't arguing, are we,” I ask the succubus.  It simply turns away.

I smile and return to my meal.  Whatever strange combination of fruit and nut paste went into it gives it a profoundly light and fluffy quality, and I can only guess that an unreasonable amount of whipping went into it.

“What's your name,” the succubus asks.
I look up from my food to find it looking away from me, its expression somewhere between amused and embarrassed.  “Why do you ask?”
“Does it matter?  Just tell me your name.”
“Paladins don't have names.  We're given numbers at the end of our training that serve us for the rest of our lives.”
“I'm serious.”
“Oh, same here.  Any paladin that says they have a name is lying.”
It fixes me with a stare that should, by all rights, carry a curse behind it.

“It would mean a lot to me,” it finally says.
I fix it with the full depth and breadth of incredulity I can muster.  “Why?  We've gone this far without names; why start caring now?”
“I told a few friends that I spend time with a paladin and they were curious.”

“Victor.”
“Victor what?”
“Just Victor.”
It looks straight at me, frustrated – I think.  “You really aren't going to tell me your family name?”
“I don't have one.”
“A family name?”
“No family, no name.”
“Then, byname?  Epithet?”
“Nope.  I'm just Victor.”

“Fine,” it says, leaning back again.  “Be that way.”
I suppose I will.  “Then, you are?”
“Cathyn.”
“Just Cathyn?”
“As long as you're 'just Victor.”
Fine, I suppose.  Not that it really matters.

“Lilianwe Siriadlara,” the little elf pipes up, suddenly standing less than a foot from the table.
“Gesundheit.”
The succubus cracks up before the elf realizes what's happening, and gives me a particularly pointed look of indignance.  “That's my name!  We're doing introductions!”
“A little late for that, I think.”
“It's never too late for a new beginning,” it declares, like some sort of story protagonist.  “So then, what's say we all be friends?”

“I'll have an order of that honey bread.”
“More tea,” the succubus adds.

Customer service is being called a “meanie” with every meal.

---

The day had gone so smoothly.  Quiet patrols all the way through the evening, and then no sooner than I pull the sheets off my bed does the call come in.

“Victor, your baphomet's been spotted again.”
I hear the words, and they settle into my gut like a rock that I'd swallowed.  We've been over this, I think to myself.  Why come back here?  What do you have to gain?
“Understood.”
“More information to follow.  Maintain patrols.”
“Sir.”

I put my armor back on and look between the two swords next to my bed.  Not tonight, I think to the pitted, magical one.  I need to know that I can cut whatever it is I find tonight.  Regulation blade in hand, I set out into the night.

I could start with the handful of locations it's been before, but it would be the first time it'd returned to one of them.  Instead I simply march down the road, staring at houses and feeling useless.  It feels like that night, waiting to see if just maybe I'd find that girl before it was too late.  I didn't, and an innocent suffered for it.

I don't have a choice.  I need the words to make sure that they're safe. I brace for the pain, and I begin my chant.

---

"Four are the shields that guard against darkness, and five are the blades that we bring to bear."

“Many are the men and monsters that trembled at the call of a legion of paladins marching forward upon our holy quest.  Each thought themselves to operate unseen and unknown, but they could not escape the sight that this Litany gave us.  By whispering this holy litany as you make your rounds, you shall know of all the injustices that take place within your ward, and none shall escape your judgment.”

---

No pain comes.  The syllables fall from my lips as though it were easier than the alternative.

And I'm aware, somehow, that the kitsune in my apartment is trying to get a hold of illegal demon realm fruits.
I'm aware that two blocks down a cyclops is looking for someone to sell weapons to in exchange for sex.
I'm aware that a djinni has teleported through our defenses into a clay pot in the merchant district.
I'm aware that a danuki is intent on performing tax fraud when she gets home.
I'm aware that three succubi are stalking a young man to see where he lives.
I'm aware that a flow kelp has washed up on the beach and is hoping that a man will wander too close.
I'm aware that a dark priestess has taken up residence in an abandoned home.
I'm aware that a human child is looking to steal some of the wax paper candies in a little store on the north side of town.

I'm aware that a baphomet is within city grounds without a permit, and is located not three blocks away.
I'm aware that that is her only crime at current.

It's all intuitive, as though it would be stranger if I weren't aware of those things.  As though I'd known them all along, and I was only just now letting myself be aware of it.  Biting back the feeling that I just let some unknown force root around in my mind, I focus my awareness on the baphomet.

I set feet to pavement, whispering the litany as I go.

---

As I stop before the house, it strikes me that we need to do something about the unoccupied buildings in this city.  I'm assuming the previous owners left when monsters began flooding in, which unfortunately only left potential hideaways for monsters.

I stare at the building, wondering and doubting.  It's small – not enough for a family of any size.  Maybe five rooms, with one of them large enough for guests.
Why are you in here, I don't ask.
I cease my chant, advance, and open the unlocked door.

The place is all the worse for the clutter.  Bookshelves take up most of the walls, with a pair of large, ornate clocks squeezed in haphazardly between.  The floor, too, is taken up with piles of books that didn't have room on the shelves, and even rest on the pair of chairs that otherwise would have counted toward living space.  A quick glance is all it takes to know that the thing isn't in the kitchenette.  I set myself down the cleared path of floor leading inward.

I open the bedroom door, and there it sits, staring at me.  It waits on the edge of a small bed, holding its scythe, expression complicated and pained.
“I felt you coming,” it says.
“You don't have the proper papers for entry into a city of Megalos.  I'm here to escort you out of the city.”
“How did you find me?”
“Irrelevant.  Will you come willingly?”
“And if I don't, what happens then?  Will you kill me?  Will you kill others?”
“For trespassing?  No.  But you aren't here just to trespass, and I'm not opposed to dying, myself.”

It lifts its scythe slightly, and its expression shifts.  “It means a lot to hear you say that.”  Its form floats barely off of the edge of the bed, to a standing position.  “I hadn't believed it at first when that voice came to me and told me all that you'd done.  I couldn't believe that you'd been willing to do it, or had gotten away with it.”
“That voice?'  What did you mean by that?”
There's a deep, strange sadness in its voice as it continues, “I remembered, though, your face when you killed that poor witch.  I remembered your words.  You truly are willing to kill anyone to get your way, aren't you?”

“Someone has to save them.  No matter the cost.”  With that, it is calm.  Composed.  I know the expression too well.
I draw my blade as it readies its own.

(WARDING)

No sooner is the word out of my lungs than I lift my blade to parry a blow and, just as soon, realize my error.  Human arms cannot match that strength.  It bats my blade aside as easily as I'd turn away the blade of a rank novice.  Easier, as it carries through too hard and cuts cleanly through part of the wall next to us.  It lifts it back up, and for an instant I'm hopeful that I will at least have the advantage of speed.

Speed is a result of strength.

Blow after blow follows me as I retreat, stepping back into the hallway and only barely getting any sort of reprieve as it lessens its blows to avoid tearing out chunks of the narrow walls.  Another downward swing takes a chip off of my blade a half-inch deep, and numbs my arm with the reverberations.

As I step out of the hallway I almost topple over a stack of books and the thing takes the advantage.  It pulls the blade of the scythe back and behind it, and, swinging the haft, slams my cuirass.

My vision slowly returns as my lungs take in air once more.  As though from a distance I can see the thing crossing the room toward me.

“If you had told me that this day would come, I would never have believed you.”

“But you are an abomination.”

It lifts its blade high as the two clocks strike midnight.