(Un)dying Devotion

There was a necromancer in their camp.

And the reaction had been not fear, not defensive fury, but righteous indignation.

Something that was becoming all too familiar on that battlefield.

"You're fucking kidding me." Adantia's left eyebrow lifted with skepticism of such magnitude that Atlas himself would have buckled. "After three days?!"

Three days since the last attack. Three days since the line had held. And now a young messenger was delivering — on behalf of Sevitus — the news that a necromancer had not only been found by the alliance's soldiers, but had been captured and detained.

"The war council gave us strict orders for secrecy, ma'am. They said that it would be unwise to share custody of this captive until we had obtained all the information that they required for—"

"I'm done with you. Leave. Now."

The man was gone on the second word, turning and fleeing as though another squadron of resurrected mages were on the horizon. The weight of whatever message he had left to deliver had been firmly overruled by the cold steel in Adantia's voice. In the silence he left, their own council turned to one another with looks that carried both a profound disbelief and an understanding that this was the only way things ever could have gone.

"I'm actually going to strangle him," Adantia declared, blinking out of pure muscle memory. "I'm going to wrap my fingers around Gerry's neck, and I'm going to squeeze until the light goes out of his eyes."

"How will you know when that happens?" John's comment drew ire, but only the mildest variety. The GPA's actions had garnered enough fury that his provocations were little more than a thorn in the thumb of a woman who had just been stabbed. Adantia's brows furrowed precisely one degree more than they already were.

"Well, one of you is gonna have to tell me when it happens!" Adantia crossed her arms and huffed with the exclamation. "Because I'm throttling him, one way or another! Whatever. I know a few spells that might pry at his mind, if it's not too guarded. Bring him over once you think you've got whatever you're going to get. I'm gonna go find something to break. I'll let you know if I decide it's gonna be Gerry or not."

Adantia marched off after that, phone already in hand. The shift in topic brought with it a moment of contemplation before Lord Brighton stepped into the silence.

"Let us handle the necromancer when they deliver him to us." Lord Brighton's voice was level, as it often was, but there was a weight beneath the water's calm surface. "We will extract what we can. You should contact Sevitus and Gerry, see what they've already learned. I doubt they will share much, but whatever they do is one more thing we need not waste time on extracting."

John heard the words, but his mind had stopped processing somewhere around "extract," because for all that had happened in the growing number of months since, John had never let himself forget that he had learned his Cruciare spell — perhaps the least used spell in his entire arsenal, even including its evolution into Lifetime of Penance — from the Order. And he had never forgotten what that implied about the things that went on in those dungeons.

"Must we really 'extract' information from him?" John knew the answer, but he had to voice the question all the same, and the implication was enough. Lord Brighton and Moira shifted slightly. Moira's movement was a fidget, and her eyes darted away. Lord Brighton rotated, and his eyes met John's with a somber steel.

"Anything that might protect further lives is our duty. No more, no less." His voice was as level and certain as his gaze. "Any decision we make to hold back must be squared against that. And we must accept the cost of that inaction before it is made, not after. To do otherwise would be disrespectful to those who must pay the price of our choice."

John didn't argue against it. He couldn't. The logic was sound, and he had done worse for less benefit. Vallya shifted beside him. Her tails flicked back and forth with an agitation that John couldn't quite read — and she was keeping her expression carefully neutral. Lerianna did not share her restraint.

"My last attempt at playing therapist was pretty embarrassing, but being a shitty practitioner doesn't mean I don't understand the concepts." Lerianna coiled, her posture tight, arms crossed. She huffed, and the look on her face was sterner than the one she usually gave him, without any of the warmth. "If we're seriously talking about ****, it's not just bad, it's ineffective. People will say anything to get the pain to stop, once it gets bad enough. Anything they say is unreliable."

"The fundamentals of psychology are important, but more malleable with magic," Lord Brighton acquiesced. "Magic can be made to detect a lie the same way a properly trained evaluator can. There are countermeasures, and countermeasures for those countermeasures in turn, as with most any field of magic, but... suffice to say, we are not operating out of ignorance. Nor will we go further than we need to."

"Assuming they haven't already broken him." Moira's voice was low, heated. The anger smoldered too dully to tell whether it was directed at the situation or the GPA's likely treatment of the prisoner. Perhaps both.

"We'll find out soon," Etriyya noted. She stiffened and swayed on her heels, glancing between the lines of soldiers in the distance. "They're bringing him over now."

The necromancer in question was not what John had expected. Perhaps because he wasn't sure what to expect at all. The man who was dragged to the perimeter of the campfire that had become their unofficial council room was young in appearance, for what little it mattered in the Abyss. He bore no signs of decomposition or necrotic sacrifice — none of the half-dead pallor that had marked Bella's face while she still walked the earth. A ragged scrap of black cloth hung from a clasp at his neck, a few square feet of fabric clinging to the dull metal, the rest either destroyed in the battle or torn off forcefully by a vengeful soldier, exposing the ragged outfit beneath. His hands were bound, and there was a collar around his neck.

Alex Pravil
Level 63
<Northern Ashes>
6,170 / 6,170 HP
Relationship: 123
Alignment: +92
Status Effects: Manalock [Masterwork Collar of Manalock]

Masterwork Collar of Manalock
Description: The wearer's mana is drained at a rate of 25 Mana/second until reaching zero. No mana may be regenerated by the wearer. All enchantments, wards, and auras affecting the wearer are nullified. The wearer may not remove this collar willingly. Effective against wearers, enchantments, and auras of level 75 and below.

The same messenger from before had returned along with the prisoner, walking behind the escorts with his blade drawn. When the two guards came to a halt, the messenger took one more step forward and planted the heel of his boot against the man's left knee and sent him toppling to the ground.

"Sector seventeen was able to clean up their area early, and they sent out skirmish teams to comb the enemy's lines." The GPA soldier gave the necromancer another kick. This time the guards released him, allowing Alex to fall face-first into the dirt, where he remained. "This fellow was found a half-mile outside the boundaries, inside a Barrier. The men were able to eradicate his minions and were fortunate enough to capture him before he could take his own life or flee the Barrier."

"And what exactly did you learn from him? Assuming you were able to learn anything useful at all." Kim's tongue was the quickest, as usual, and the sharpest, as always.

"Commander Gerry will relay any relevant information to you. We have already obtained all the information we were able to which our commanders deemed relevant." The line was delivered too smoothly to be anything but a precise reading of very specific instructions. It was accompanied by a salute that mocked rather than respected. "If your methods are any more successful, please relay the intelligence through him."

The three turned before waiting for a response. Judging by the expressions surrounding him, at least three had been readied, but they died as the GPA soldiers left the bound necromancer wriggling in the dirt.

"...job to tell them anything. Be lucky if... the blind woman's charity case, not ours."

John heard the words and his eyes snapped to the source. "The one on the right." The taller one, the dirty brown hair with the scar across the back of his neck. He'd—

"John." Moira's words didn't stop him, but the hand laid over his shoulder did. "It's not worth it."

A brief uncertainty coursed through him. John looked down and was mildly surprised to find that his foot had lifted before he'd realized it, before he'd even finished processing the man's words.

"I beg to disagree." The words were hissed with as much contempt as the casual backhand had been, but with the dignity of being properly whispered. "Kim is right."

"Adantia will press Gerry for what he knows."

"If they even tell him. They didn't tell him the line was buckling until it was almost too late." John stepped back despite the annoyance that refused to be subdued. His eyes remained trained on the departing soldiers and the messenger that had accompanied them, his hand stiff over the hilt of his sheathed blade.

A few feet away, they seemed to sense his glare. One of the men — the scruffy brown one, the one who had mocked them so dismissively — turned as he walked. When he saw John staring after them, a sneer started to form, disrespect fully loaded behind the twirl of his lips. When he looked a moment longer and saw the coiled readiness in John's stance, the remark died without fanfare. The soldier's strides grew hasty, and his friends found themselves struggling to keep pace.

"W-wait. That voice, that— yes! Yes, it's you!"

John's half-step forward had carried him so that he was nearly standing atop the fallen necromancer. His eyes snapped to the prone man as he registered a tone that could only be described as exuberant. What he saw shining behind those bloodshot eyes made even the heat in his chest diminish under a sudden chill.

It was not the look that an enemy should be giving. There was no hatred, no opposition, no sense of fear or even the broken stare that had rested on his face as he was escorted to them. What John saw now was a bone-deep exuberance that he could only classify as intense admiration — or perhaps worship. He had seen that look before, and the recognition brought a chill of its own.

This necromancer was looking at John the same way Yvara did.

"Excuse me?" John let the revulsion soak through each word. The necromancer didn't notice the disgust, or perhaps didn't care.

"You're the one that Lady Bella has spoken of so often," he whispered, eyes bursting with reverential joy. "The one who can create life! And that must mean those strange creatures are—"

Alex tried to lift his head to look back toward where Vallya and Shishun were seated. John caught the man's skull with the heel of his boot before Alex could crane his neck more than a few degrees, driving his temple into the dirt and locking him in place.

"Don't look at them. You don't deserve to look at any of us, let alone them," John growled. The necromancer attempted a nod; there was no movement, but John could feel the shift in pressure against his foot.

"O-of course, sir! Anything. Anything for you."

"He seems quite fond of you," Kim noted. There was a note of something resembling suspicion in it, though it lacked any real conviction. "You've met this one?"

"No. I've never met any of them. Except 'Lady Bella'." John half-spat the word, and for the first time since Alex had acknowledged him, a flicker of rage crossed the necromancer's face. "She ambushed me back in Springfield. Seemed convinced I was the key to accomplishing their goals. Looks like she passed that belief along to some of her disciples."

"Of course she did! Our greatest goal is nearly in reach. With your help, we can breach the barrier at last!" The words erupted from Alex with the fervor of a prayer; John's boot appeared to be doing very little to dampen his spirits. Even the bruises and scars the GPA had given him no longer seemed to trouble the young man. "Please, John Newman, you must help us."

"Help you slaughter innocents?" John resisted the urge to grind his heel down. "I think not."

"No, help us with the resurrections!" Alex wriggled with enough **** to jostle his whole body, though his head remained firmly trapped in place. "We will dedicate our lives to bringing back all who we have harmed, I swear it! That will be our duty, our debt to repay. With your abilities we can do it, Lady Bella is sure of it, we only—"

"My abilities can't bring anyone back!" This time the urge was stronger than his restraint. The ground cracked as John's leg flexed, the dirt weaker than the mage's reinforced skull. Alex groaned as the pressure built, silencing his jubilation. "I told Bella that, and I'll tell you the same. It can't be done!"

"You have been given gifts by Gaia! Abilities that—"

"Gaia is the one who built this system, isn't she?!" John's foot twisted, and the groan became a squeal. "If she wanted people to return, she'd have given me that, instead! If she wanted that, she'd have brought back—"

"Seras."

The whisper came from behind, and despite the volume, the name brought John to an absolute stillness the moment it was breathed against his neck. John was so taken aback that he didn't fully process who had spoken it until the hand on his shoulder was accompanied by the briefest flick of a tail over the nape of his neck.

"...Sorry."

John lifted his foot and stepped back before he could think better of it. That put him in line with Vallya, revealing her expression to him in full. Her eyes were sharp, pupils contracted, flickering between John and Alex too quickly for the distinct emotions she was holding for each to fully settle before snapping back to the other.

"Please, sir." There was no hesitation in the battered man. John was still within striking range, yet desperation reigned over self-preservation, a fact that should not have been as surprising as it felt in that moment. "I'm sorry. I just— Lady Bella seems so certain, and I just— I just want my sister back!"

"We don't get everything we want. Learn to live with it. Or die with it. I don't care which."

"Please, I know you must be as devoted as we are!" Devotion crossed into madness. Alex crawled toward John's feet, his knees scrabbling against the dirt. "Lady Bella said she felt your soul there, too, beyond the veil! And I can sense it in you! There is an aura of **** around you, John Newman. We can—"

337 DMG!

No name would've stopped the blow that came then. The point of John's armored boot caught Alex on the right side of his lifted jaw. John felt the dislocation with a mixture of discomfort and raw satisfaction. When Alex's head fell to the ground, his eyes mercifully blank, the regret was hardly a flicker against the overwhelming delight that silence brought in its wake.

"John—"

"I'm sorry." The apology held less weight this time. John turned to Moira with a repentant grimace all the same. "Do whatever you want to him. There's nothing human left there anyway."

The silence this time was not so delightful. It hung over them until Lord Brighton stepped forward, kneeling just long enough to grip Alex's enchanted bindings and haul the man up with effortless grace.

"We'll do what we can. Keep up the watch." The words were simple. The look that Lord Brighton gave to his daughter as he turned away was not. John didn't look too deeply into it. He watched Alex for a moment longer, then turned his gaze to the ground, finding the dirt better company for his thoughts. Feet shuffled around him with a delicate hesitation until only Moira and John's own creations remained.

"You seem like you're getting more..."

Lerianna didn't finish the sentence, but the implications lingered. Not only from her. Even staring at the ground as he was, John could feel the weight of four sets of eyes on his back, all of them concerned. Vallya's hand rested between his shoulders with a deeper sort of understanding, but it was no less worried for the empathy.

"I'm fine. Really. I just—" Just what? John didn't have the answers for himself, let alone the people around him. "I think all this defensive fighting is making me restless. It's getting harder to just let the little things slide."

"Restless? Perhaps we should consider releasing the Barrier." Moira's voice was filled with a familiar sort of caution. The kind John had used himself often enough, and found directed at himself more and more lately. The kind he had grown to hate, not for the delicacy of the tone, but for the delicacy it implied about him.

"I'm not— I don't feel like I did back then," John finished after a rapid shift in his wording. "I'm fine most of the time. I don't feel restless, I just— I want to fix things, Moira, and I don't know how."

"Did kicking him make things feel more 'fixed'?" John glanced to Vallya as she spoke. She was fighting hard to keep the question neutral. He could see the venom she'd **** herself to swallow. "I mean— did it help?"

"...No," John admitted.

"What would help?" Lerianna added from behind. "You need a run? A rest? Meal break?"

"He needs the Barrier down." Moira crossed her arms. John caught the moment her ire fixated on the GPA's camp.

"Perhaps Adantia will be able to convince them. She seemed quite agitated," Sophia noted.

"Maybe. If not, we can always..."

John's eyes fell back to the dirt. He let them continue talking, let Tricia's drone scan over him when it arrived, let them try to figure out what he needed. Let himself try to figure out what he needed. It wasn't rest. He had a sinking feeling it wasn't that simple.