Rory

"…You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious. Does this look like the face of someone who's not serious?" Aoife said with a wry smile. Rory couldn't tell anymore if he was being messed with. All he knew with certainty was that his half-sister had lost her mind.

"Have you done this before?"

"Nope. This will be a first. Can't be that hard," Aoife declared nonchalantly. Her playful expression suddenly steeled. "Look, if you have a better plan, please do tell. I have no problems hearing other ideas. Otherwise, we're just wasting time arguing hypotheticals.

"People are dying, Rory."

She's not wrong. He winced. He had no counterargument to present. But are we seriously going to—

"I have no objections, Your Highness," Boris interjected, "We can proceed as soon as you're ready."

"Then let's start now."

Don't I get a say in this?!

He was the crux of this plan and yet they were moving forward like his opinions didn't matter. Rory sighed, dropping his shoulders in resignation as Aoife moved behind him. Truth be told, while her plan was absurd and borderline insane, he didn't see another viable solution that could give them a clear path to eliminate Blighted Artist. But he had expected more resistance from Boris. The Lionheart warden, however, was shockingly blasé. Rory wondered if the man would accept everything proposed by Aoife at this point.

I'm surprised he trusts her this much.

Evidently, a lot had changed about his half-sister over the past month. Not only did she become Exalted, it seemed her reputation had also rose significantly. The Lionheart's implicit respect towards her spoke volumes. Aoife's personality had also changed. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that she had finally shown who she really was.

A person's status can rise and drop in an instant, huh. He smiled sadly. While his half-sister ascended, he had fallen to disgrace. Surprisingly, he found himself rather content with this thought. Just a month ago, he would have probably been burning with jealousy.

Boris clasped his hands in prayer. As he closed his eyes, he intoned with a reverent drawl.

"Endora, please grant me your blessing to dispel evil."

Mana surged from the cross dangling from his necklace. The Azurite accessory glowed in response to his benediction. The chime of a church bell suddenly blared. Radiant light bloomed from Boris's hands. Once the light appeared, he wasted no time and drew an array of sigils on the ground with the golden ink. After he was done, a partition of light materialized from the inscription. Rory watched as Blighted Artist's pestilence was repelled from the newly formed barrier.

"They selected me to be warden because of this Gift. But it pales in comparison to yours, Your Highness. You have twenty minutes before I reach my limit," Boris said solemnly, "I pray you a successful hunt."

"There's no need for that. If we fail, then it simply meant that we were lacking," Aoife said as she wrapped her arms around Rory's waist. Her wings spread, spanning the length of her body. "Right, little brother?"

L-Little?!

Before Rory could even complain, Aoife launched them skyward. The ascent was violent. Rory clenched his teeth as the air blasted against his face. Just as abruptly, their climb suddenly stopped. Rory felt his body jerk laterally as Aoife spread her wings and went into a glide. The ruins of the Black Shoal were beneath them, crawling with ghouls and rats and dense with miasma. The legion appeared endless like a turbulent black tide threatening to devour everything in its wake.

Rory was suddenly very aware that he was soaring through the skies. His feet dangled in the air. His body held up only by the arms of his sister. He had no agency. No control. No way to prevent himself from falling. An instinctual panic crawled up his throat. He wanted to scream.

"Stop squirming, little brother! Or do you want to be dropped onto the ground and splatter like Thanatos?"

"T-Too soon, dammit!" Rory cursed, barely holding onto his composure, "And who the hell said I was the little brother?! I'm pretty sure we were born in the same year and my birthday happens before yours!"

"It's a matter of mentality! Once the youngest sibling, always the youngest sibling! Or would you rather be the older brother who's being carried like a child by his dearest little sister?" Aoife teased, "Honestly, I think that's more humiliating!"

"Screw you!"

Rory bit into his lips, trying to focus on the humiliation of being carried instead of the fact that his life was literally in his sister's hands. She wouldn't do anything crazy, right? He suddenly went through his memories to search for any grievances and misdeeds that he might have committed against her.

"Get ready, my cute little brother!"

Rory looked down as he prepared mana. They were approaching the rear of the legion. A pair of Exalted stood at the back. One of them trudged forward like the mindless ghouls, while the other followed closely with a raised hand. Mana welled from both of their bodies in a violent spiral.

"The one in the front is Blighted Artist!"

"I know!" Rory yelled back as he activated Sword Rain. His Azurite brooch gleamed to produce clusters of mana pockets in the air. "Stay still! I can't control the phenomenon while moving like this!"

Aoife skidded to an abrupt stop. Rory winced as his head snapped forward from the whiplash.

"Slower! You almost ripped off my neck!"

"Stop whining like a woman and fire your damn spell!"

The comment got to him more than he liked to admit. Rory locked his jaws, drawing on his anger and indignity. Swords materialized from the mana pockets. He snapped his fingers. The swords plunged towards Blighted Artist's position.

The Thanatos inmate barely reacted, seemingly unaware of the lethal barrage. Deathstrider, however, immediately took notice. For a flick of his hand, dozens of ghouls rose from the ruined ground. They gathered together, clustering and stacking rapidly to create a makeshift barricade built out of flesh and bones. Rory's swords smashed into the abominable construct, but none of them seemed to be able to pierce through.

"I can't reach! That meat shield is tougher than it looks!"

"Why the hell am I carrying you then if you're useless?! There's no way Sir Boris would have lied to me?!"

"Shut up! I'll try again!" Rory exclaimed.

"Hold the attack! I'm going to move us closer so I can help with my flames!"

Aoife's wings flapped with strength to carry them higher. After ascending for a brief second, she dropped into another glide. Rory prepared mana for the next iteration of Sword Rain.

Deathstrider's attention was fully drawn towards them now. The Thanatos inmate suddenly pressed his palms into the earth. An unfathomable amount of mana erupted out of his vessel. In response to violent vortex of energy, the flesh construct that he created earlier suddenly started to grow. Individual ghouls began to mend together into a disturbing goblet of flesh. The mass formed arms and legs, and a vague protrusion resembling a human head popped out of the top of its torso.

By the time Deathstrider had finished channeling, the abomination was nearly the size of a building. Rory stared at the innumerable bulging eyes sticking out on the surface of the grotesque being. They flickered back and forth with apparent intelligence as they trailed their flight path.

Rory's mind blanked. He had no words to describe the sense of disgust brewing in his guts. This cruel agglomeration defied everything he knew.

Aoife's arms suddenly tightened around him.

"A-Aoife?" he stammered, feeling the strength of her sister's empowered arms slowly crush his ribs. He tried to resist, but he had no leverage in his compromised position.

"…Sorry," she soon muttered. He shuddered at the sound of the single word. There was no frivolousness in her tone. The mischievous, conniving sibling from earlier had disappeared as though it had been an act. Malice radiated from her presence.

Blighted Artist's miasma was just below them when Aoife intoned.

"Tan lei lankot et harikabon haza!"

The ambient temperature climbed rapidly. Rory grimaced as his sight was suddenly saturated in azure flames. The attack streamed towards the abomination in a thin line. Once it made contact, the ray blossomed into a cerulean conflagration. The flames latched onto the flesh golem, spreading along its massive body as though bathing it in divinity. The pungent stench of burnt meat soon perforated the air. Rory kept his eyes peeled, looking for a gap in the golem's defenses for Sword Rain to reach Blighted Artist.

The abomination suddenly wailed.

The ear-splitting bellow nearly broke Rory's concentration. Aoife faltered as well as their height suddenly dipped dangerously close to the miasma. She radiated her healing aura out of precaution. The abomination started to flail mindlessly in apparent agony. Inexplicably, it began to claw at its own flesh.

What the hell is it doing?

Rory didn't need to wait long to see the answer. With a thunderous roar, the abomination tore off a portion of its guts. The foul lump of flesh was still pulsating with vitality despite being separated from the body. Bones protruded outwards at random. With its own flesh in its hands, the abomination's innumerable eyes suddenly latched onto Aoife and Rory.

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Oh shit.

"Incoming!" Rory warned right as the abomination cocked back its massive arms and swung. The lump of flesh, size of a small boulder, hurled through the air at an alarming speed. It was disturbingly accurate as it flew directly at them. Rory felt his body jerk to the left as Aoife desperately tried to steer them out of the way. The lump got closer and closer—until it whirled past them. Rory swore he felt blood from the spray on his shoulder. He swallowed his disgust. They narrowly dodged the attack. But when he turned back to face the enemy, the golem was already armed for next attempt.

"Climb, climb!" he said, more of a plead than a suggestion. Air rushed against his face as Aoife flapped her wings to ascend. They had to get out of the abomination's throwing range.

The ground thundered as the golem stomp forward with his swing. Multiple threats came their way.

We're not going to make it. Rory realized as the flesh boulders were rapidly gaining on their position. His added weight had slowed Aoife's ascent considerably. He snapped his fingers to unleash the mana he had prepared. Energy crackled as swords crowded in the airspace. It was impossible for him to control their flight path while moving through the air. Instead of aiming to strike down the abomination's attacks, he hoped that the sheer number of swords could slow down or alter the trajectory of the projectiles.

He was wrong.

The flesh boulder's momentum was unstoppable. The abomination's attack barreled through his array of swords like paper. They were useless without being properly strengthened by mana. A metallic whine screamed as the blades were shattered in bulk. He hadn't done anything to delay the inevitable.

"Incoming!" Rory cried, still fruitlessly trying to counteract the oncoming projectiles.

"Don't bite your tongue!" Aoife suddenly replied.

The warning didn't make sense. Rory was about to ask for clarification when the entire world suddenly turned upside down. Panic surged to his throat as his senses screamed out in confusion. What's going on? Air blasted against his head. His stomach lunged in distress. He could feel the drag against his body, pulling and tugging on his limbs in every direction. Meanwhile, the flesh boulders stormed past them. The sound of their flight was nauseating. If they had gotten hit—

Rory's eyes widened once he finally adjusted to the vertigo. Several boulders were rushing straight for them. There was no time to react. No time to dodge. No time for him to use his Gift to try and deflect the blow.

He tried anyways if just to protest against this inevitability.

He raised his hands. Mana crackled from his brooch. Aoife was screaming something to his ears. But—

Squelch!

***

Everything suddenly went dark. Rory felt himself adrift as though he had been knocked out of his own physical body. He was aware of his apparent unconsciousness, but he had no means to do anything about it. It was bizarre. The strange, out-of-body experience was oddly comforting. As the seconds passed, he felt a psychic buzz echo from the back of his head.

The buzz grew stronger with every passing second. Even the darkness seemed to bent and blend into different shades, fizzling like a web of static.

There were stars in his vision as he pried his eyes open. His view was shaky. Objects blurred in and out of focus. What happened? His confusion was answered by the touch of a soothing veil. The gentle presence pressed on his body like a soft embrace. He relaxed. His eyesight gradually cleared.

And then the pain arrived.

"N-Ngh!"

Rory groaned as agony erupted from every inch and crevice of his body. His limbs were on fire. His muscles convulsed, squeezing tight in an unnatural knot that had him screaming. His insides throbbed—the pain seemed to burrow down straight to his bones and innards. His chest in particular was struggling. Painful reverberations shuddered down his torso with every pulse of his raging heart. He grasped for air, spitting out dirt and ash, suddenly conscious of the warm, sickly blood trailing down the side of his head.

His survival instincts kicked in once he realized the state of his battered body. Rory's head spun in a panic as he tried to get his bearings. He was lying on the ground. Rubble and ruins covered his view. What's going on? Hadn't he been in the air carried by Aoife?

The memories hit him. They had been struck down by the projectiles launched by the abomination. Aoife and him had crashed into the ground. That explained the pain.

Wait, but aren't I—

He should have been dead. Blighted Artist's pestilence should have consumed him. It was only then did he recognize Aoife's healing aura shrouding the vicinity. The sickly miasma remained at the edge of the radiant light, unable to break through. The gentle veil did little, however, to alleviate his suffering.

Aoife's alive. But that means we're also in the middle of enemy territory.

As his mind caught up, his ears overheard the stampede of the legion. Malice choked the air. The earth rumbled. Their footsteps grew louder like a rising crescendo. Soon, Rory could hear the legion's incessant clatters. He was surrounded by ghouls and rats from every direction. Low-droning grunts and bloodthirsty squeals filled his ears. His mind blanked as the reality of his situation settled in.

I'm going to die.

The inevitability was clear. What could he possibly do? Death's maws awaited him from every direction, beckoning to swallow him whole. It was just a matter of time before the legion arrived. He was suddenly overwhelmed with regret. His view shimmered as despair seized his throat.

"Rory!"

The sound of his name forced him to raise his head.

His sister stomped towards him. Her helmet was missing. Her argent armor was stained in soot and grime. Her angelic wings were crumpled and disfigured. Her blonde hair, characteristic of her royal lineage, had lost its radiance. Her strides had a slight limp and she dragged her sword along the ground lazily.

Despite her haggard appearance, she approached him with the presence of an army.

Rory never felt more relieved. Her sister could still fight. Even if the chance was infinitesimally slim, they might still be able to get out of this alive with her abilities.

"Get up!" Aoife suddenly yelled at him with the viciousness of a lioness, "Get up, dammit! You pathetic piece of shit!"

Rory quickly picked himself up. Aoife's anger startled him. Why was she mad? Did he do something wrong? That can't be, he was the one with the least amount of control in this situation—

Aoife walked up and grabbed him by the collars. A murderous glint shone in her verdant eyes. "Are you awake yet? Do you understand our situation? We're in the middle of legion territory. Just you and I. There's no one coming to save us. We're on our own. We're fucked. So that means I need you to not be a sniveling little boy. I need a man. I need a warrior. Can you do that? Or is the Astrea name wasted on you?"

The howls of the legion raged on in the background. Rory stared at his sister, trying to fix his composure. As he got a closer look at her face, he noticed her trembling eyes. The shakiness in her voice. The unsteadiness of her legs. She was scared too, he realized. And yet, she still stood before him with the defiant look of a rebel, ready to claw her way out of this mess.

"…I'll fight," he managed to say without stuttering.

"Good. You finally don't have the look a coward who's waiting to be saved," Aoife said as she dropped his collars, "We're surrounded at all sides. The legion is closing in. But Deathstrider and Blighted Artist aren't too far away."

She pointed forward. The abomination that struck them down was just a block away. Aoife's azure flames continued to feast on its body. But the flesh that was burnt away soon regenerated with Deathstrider's aid. Locked in a battle of attrition, the abomination remained as the Thanatos inmates' guardian.

"Our way out of this is simple—kill Deathstrider and Blighted Artist. Nothing has changed," she declared with all the confidence in the world.

Rory shook his head. "But what do we do about that abomination? We can't kill it."

Aoife raised an eye. The dried blood partially coating her eyes gave her a ferocious glare. "I can't. But you can. Excalibur should do the job."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely not. But I think it's our best chance. And if I'm wrong, the worse thing that'll happen is that we'll die," she said with a wry grin as she lifted her broad sword from the ground, "I will clear a path for you. Conserve your mana until you get into range. Then start channeling immediately. I'll do my best to keep you safe. Got it?"

"Y-Yeah. Sounds great."

"Then let's go!"

With barely a warning, Aoife broke into a mad dash. Rory nearly stumbled as he tried to follow after her. Her speed was ridiculous as she glided across the ruined wreckage of the Black Shoal effortlessly. Healing aura pulsated from her damaged wings, pushing away Blighted Artist's miasma. Rory strained himself to stay close lest he accidentally left the healing aura's range.

How is she so fast?

He could barely keep up. Meanwhile, Aoife was swinging her broad sword like a toy while wearing a full suit of armor. Azure flames flared with every slash, sending carnage rippling down the column of ghouls and rats. She was the embodiment of a one-man army. Rory watched her in awe, wondering how she wasn't on the verge of Overclock. She had expending mana this entire time to maintain the healing aura while also conjuring flames. If fatigue hadn't slowed her down, then the poisonous effects of extended mana use should definitely have.

What a monster.

He didn't think there was anyone in their generation who could contend against Liesel, but now he wasn't so sure. Even Aoife sword skills were nothing to scoff at. They looked brutish and cruel, lacking the refinement and elegance of a proper school of swordsmanship, but her techniques were practical and efficient. Optimized for killing. For a moment, Rory wondered where she learned this from.

The number of ghouls and rats only increased as they got closer. Aoife's advance into the black tide was beginning to slow. More enemies were closing in on their flanks. Rory activated Sword Rain. Metal screeched through the air, tearing through flesh and bone. His efforts brought Aoife a momentarily reprieve. She charged through the last bits of resistance.

The abomination was in sight.

The monstrosity lorded over them, its massive shadows snuffing out the faint vestiges of light leaking out of the grim skies. Rory shuddered. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run.

"Tan lei miklat!"

Aoife opened her arms as she chanted with authority. Mana swelled from her vessel and then stormed out violently. The surroundings were soon drenched in Valkyerie's cleansing flames. For a few seconds, everything in their vicinity had been vanquished.

Rory planted his sword into the ground. "En garde!"

Like droplets of rain upon a puddle, the ripples of mana spread across the small area cleansed by Aoife. Swords materialized, implanted into the earth. When an enemy got close, the blades lashed out on their own, reacting to any semblance of malicious intent.

The abomination bellowed at their intrusion. The massive flesh golem stomped forward. The earth shook at its step. Rory suddenly felt very small. This was ridiculous. There's no way he could—

"Stop staring! Start preparing the attack!" Aoife shouted over the chaos, "You have to do this! There's no room for second chances!"

Rory grimaced. His heart raged against the roof of his chest. He breathed in and closed his eyes. Mana spiraled violently from his mana brooch as he tried to invoke his imagining of this legendary attack. His concentration was weak, however.

The low-grunt of the ghouls. The loud squeals of the rats. The whirl and screech of his swords flying through the air. The splatter of flesh being eviscerated. The shaking of the earth. The fleshly noises of the abomination's movements.

It was all too much. Too distracting. Each sound was a preview of his potential death. He tried to drown out the noises. He needed to focus, but his instincts forced him to stay alert. He hadn't used Excalibur once since his defeat by Emil. The imagery was vague. The feeling of its invocation felt distant. Foreign. Like it wasn't his.

Hadn't he always just been a farce?

"Rory! You don't want your cute sister to die, do you?!" Aoife suddenly yelled. Her thunderous voice overwhelmed all other sounds in the area. "Think about everyone who's relying on us! Think about the Ordinaries that were killed! Think about those who are still struggling to survive! Get angry! Get mad! Who are these villains to trample over the lives of our people?! They are counting on you! Boris is counting on you! I'm counting on you!"

It was a clumsy speech. A flimsy peptalk that was more desperate than inspiring.

But it did the job.

For a moment, Rory felt his mind calm. The image of Excalibur flickered in his subconscious. It burned bright, ignited by his lifelong admiration for the sword.

People are relying on me.

Others might have crumbled under the weight of expectation, but Rory relished in it. All he ever wanted was to be needed. To have his existence as the "backup" prince justified. It was humiliating to always be in the shadows of his superior elder brother and his prodigious ex-fiancée. He always felt small. Feeble. Unnecessary.

I just don't want to be worthless.

Hesitation disappeared. Doubts vanished. He discarded everything and fixated on a singular desire. For the first time in his life, he was being counted upon for his abilities. His only choice was to rise to the occasion.

His hands were cupped as though he was gripping a hilt. Mana surged upwards, materializing into the form of a colossal blade. The mana construct gleamed with an otherworldly sharpness.

"Excalibur!"

The majestic sword of his imagination took form. He swung down as precise as he had always practiced. The blade arced through the grim skies. Momentum carried it forward as it crashed down upon the abomination.

Rory felt no resistance as the abomination cried its dying breath.

One by one, the ghouls in their vicinity began to collapse. The pungent miasma started to fade.

Deathstrider and Blighted Artist had also fallen.

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