Chronicles of Metal: Chapter 12 – A Shadowy Intervention

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The Viscount watched the far gatehouse from high up in his manor. He gritted his teeth as the fires in the east gatehouse slowly died out, the thick black smoke replaced by white bellows of steam. "There should be enough oil there to keep it burning all week..." He growled to himself, pounding his fist on the window. "How the hell could it have been put out so fast?" He spun towards the others present, a quartet of guards waiting at the door. "Well? Does anyone have an explanation?!"

The four of them all exchanged a glance, but silently decided it best not to answer. "Lord Roth, we really should get going." One of them said, stepping forward. "Someone in the city is fighting back. We've lost a full platoon already, and we've filled three of your five carriages. This might be as good as it gets."

"Bullshit!" The Viscount roared. "I'm not going anywhere until Anders gets here with that damn elf's head on a pike!" He stopped, grabbing a slightly dented jug of wine and taking a long swing. "So, why don't you four incompetent failures get out there..." He paused to finish the jug, then lobbed it at them. "And find him!"

A quick yelp followed the jug clanging against the hard tile floor. Both the Viscount and guards looked confused, but the Viscount's eyes made their way to the bed, and the odd shape bundled beneath the sheets. He and the one guard he's been speaking with slowly approached, then grabbed the covers and ripped them away, eliciting another, louder yelp. "My Lord, I'm sorry!" One of the prostitutes from earlier lay cowered in the bed, curling up into a ball and trying to shield her face. "I promise I wasn't eavesdropping, I... I just..." She trailed off, unable to think of a better excuse. "I'm sorry, Lord Roth!"

Both he and the guard backed up, clearly surprised by her presence. The Viscount rubbed his chin, while the guards all began muttering to themselves. "Lord...?" The guard said, creeping closer. "What do we do with 'er?"

A tired look fell over the Viscount's face. All at once, his anger had turned to indifference. "Kill her." He said with a shrug. The woman's jaw dropped open, her face turning white as the sheets she lay on. "She's heard way too much."

"No!" The woman screamed. She tried to scramble away, but the guard grabbed her by the arm and drew his sword, "Please my lord! I promise I won't tell a soul!" Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was dragged into the center of the room. "I'll leave Hashigin and never come back. I swear! I'll take it to the grave!"

The guard looked to the Viscount for approval. He, meanwhile, just smirked at her. "I know you will." He slicked back his golden hair, retrieving yet another jug of wine and looking to the guard. "Do it. There are a hundred others like her."

"No!" She cried as the guard lifted his sword. "Mercy, please!"

"You know. I heard you where a real piece of shit..." A new voice echoed throughout the room, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. "But damn. Really didn't do you justice."

The Viscount spun around, spying a figure standing in the shadowed corner. "Who the hell are you to speak to me that way!?" He spat, the three other guards all drawing weapons and forming a line between them. "Some thief who snuck in during the chaos?"

"Yeah, sure numb-nuts." The figure said, stepping into the light. "I'm here to steal your shit. It has nothing at all to do with the girl you where about to murder."

His racing heart began to calm. "What, do you want her?" He grabbed the woman by the arm, tossing her forwards with a yelp. "Go ahead, take her. Neither one of you is leaving this room alive."

"I don't think that prediction is going to age very well." The figured reached to his back, producing a pair of ornate hatchets. He seemed to stop through, eyeing the weapons curiously. "Huh... Guess I should apologise..."

The Viscount raise an eyebrow, his cocky grin returning once more. "Trying to beg for your life?" He took another sip of his wine, brushing his hair back once more. "I'm afraid it's to late to try and make amends. I'm afraid your fate is-."

"Not you, dumbass." The figure snapped. "Guy who made this get-up gave me these things too, but I never through I'd need 'em." He whirled the weapons around in his hands, before catching them again and taking a fighting stance. "Now if you're done whining... Come at me, bro!"

Come at me bro? That was his battel cry? What the hell was he thinking?

Beard had been watching this moron fume for the better part of the last hour, hiding as a shadow on the wall. Yet another boon of being some sort of ghostly assassin, he was practically undetectable. Unfortunately, it didn't make listening to this Roth guy any easier. Watching him drink, curse, and bitch the night away had gotten old real fast. And a message from Solomon all but confirmed that he was responsible for this whole affair. He was contemplating the best way to handle this when they discovered the woman hiding under the sheets. He didn't know why he chose then to emerge, but he had. Despite the strange detachment from humanity he now felt, he didn't want to see someone be killed for just being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You really want to do this?" He asked the guards. "You'll risk dying, over that asshole?"

"A lordship to the one who brings me that man's head!" The Viscount announced.

Well shit... So much for negotiating.

One of the guards charged at him. Beard blocked with one of his hatchets, and swiped at the hilt with the other. His intention was to disarm him, and he did. The blade shattered like glass, and the guard fell to his knees clutching an obviously broken wrist.

That was new. He knew he was more powerful than any of these guards, but not by that much. When the next guard charged at him, he tried to be more careful. Again, the guard went for an overhead swing, and again Beard caught it with the head of his hatchet. The blade flew from his hands, and Beard tripped the man as he past. He stumbled a step, then landed face first into the hard stone wall.

Looking back, the third guard decided to try his luck as well. "You really sure you want to do this?" He asked, stepping around the guards attempted shield bash. "You're not going to walk away from this." The guard ignored his warning, attempting a wide swing with his mace. And again, Beard backed out of the way. If this where the game, these guys where around level five or six. Really nothing to be worried about, but their persistence was becoming a little irritating.

"Aaaahhh!" He looked back to see the last guard had taken the woman by the hand, and had raised his sword for the kill again.

Something about that set a fire in Beard's stomach. He placed a foot on the tower shield, stopping the guard's charge cold, and lobbed one of his hatchets at the other across the room. Everything from his chest to the elbow of his raised arm vanished, painting the floor, wall, and ceiling behind him with blood, and the manner shook with the axe imbedded itself in the wall. Pushing back on the shield, he lifted the other weapon over his hand and swung downwards. A pained cry filled the room as he cleaved two thirds of the way through it, and the guard's severed hand dropped to the floor at their feet.

With a grunt, Beard flung the sundered shield aside, shattering the window overlooking the town. The cold night air rushed in to meet them, blowing out the candles and plunging the room into darkness. "Ok, now I'm pissed." He growled, looking at the three guards. One cradled his broken arm, the other held a handful of teeth and blood, the last, clutching the stump of his hand. None of them looking like they wanted to continue the fight. "Get the hell out."

They didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled for the door, stepping over their dead comrade in the process. "W-wait, where are you going?" The Viscount barked; the confidence having vanished from his face. "Get back here and-."

"**Shadow Walk**." Beard muttered, vanishing in a whisp of smoke. He reappeared in front of Roth, tightly clutching the scruff of his cloths. "You might want to leave too." He said, glancing at the woman still sobbing on the floor. She was slow to respond, but sure enough she fled the scene regardless. "You and I are going to have a little chat." He growled. "Now sit down."

He shoved the Viscount into the couch, stowing one hatchet while turning around to retrieve the other. "S-so, is it money you want?" He asked in a shaky voice. "Just name your price and I'll-."

"I'm not here for your damn money." Beard ripped his other weapon from the wall, stashing it on his back with it's twin. "I want to know why you'd set your own city on fire."

It was clear by the look on his face he knew what Beard was talking about, but he denied it none the less. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Roth said, putting on a small grin. "Whatever rumors you may have heard-."

"It's not a rumor, dumbass." He was getting pissed of. Moreso now than before. "I saw it. Half a dozen of your guards riding down some girl and a kid before we stepped in. Looks to me like you're rounding up all the chicks in this town, and using the fire to cover for it."

Shit, that was too much. If few lazy afternoons worth of criminal interrogation videos taught him anything, it was to let the accused dig their own grave. Just dumping all the accusations at their feet was an easy way to let them lie their way out of anything. Something he realised straight away when Roth relaxed. "So, you're just a mercenary then?" Beard gritted his teeth. Just listening to this guy speak was irritating. Had he forgotten he'd just effortlessly overpowered four of his guards a minute ago? His calmness was almost infuriating. "It's unfortunate, but a few traitorous guards are nothing special. And they'll say anything to get away with their crimes. Without any proof-."

"Do I look like someone who needs proof to you?" Was this guy seriously playing the, I don't know/not my problem, card? Did he really think he was dumb enough to buy that? "Give me one reason why I shouldn't go out there and tell everyone what you did." For once, Roth kept his mouth shut. He just glared, as if the act of being challenged was offensive to his very being. At that moment Beard realised he was wasting his time. He could walk anyone in here to back up his accusations, even one of the women that'd been taken. He'd deny it all the same. This guy was just some spoiled punk who thought he could get away with anything. Honestly, it was people like him that Beard hated dealing with the most. "If you have even half a brain in your skull, you'll be long gone before me or my friends track down the girls you kidnapped."

Beard turned to face the door, wanting to be done with this brat. There where literally fires to put out, and he somehow had to track down where he'd taken the women. However, when he heard Roth rise from the couch, it was accompanied by the sound of a blade scraping against its sheath.

This. Mother. Fu-.

"**Spirit Fog**!" Beard's body dissolved into a thick plume of smoke just as Roth dove at him, slashing and swiping with a small ornate knife. It was a flurry of attacks, no real skill behind it. He began to reform; his first act being catching Roth's wrist. Not while disguised through, he was done playing human for this prick. "Ya see..." He growled, seeing the reflection of his bright, red eyes reflecting off of the broken glass scatter about the floor. "That was a fucking stupid move."

Roth looked stunned, but Beard couldn't really blame him there. Inky black skin, clawed hands, a toothy maw and eyes that burned like fire beneath a hood. All towering over the relatively short Viscount. "W-what are you?" He gasped, franticly trying to pull his arm free.

"**Touch of Undeath**." With a dull hiss, Roth's skin began to burn under his grasp. Screaming loud enough to wake the dead, Beard let him fall to the ground. A sickly black mark on Roth's wrist bubbled and oozed, and the knife he'd been holding began to rust away. "You should go get that looked at." Beard spat. "Or don't. I don't care either way. But I give it about a week before it's spread to your organs. Then you'll wish I'd just killed ya." Roth was whimpering by now, looking like a wounded puppy. And somehow, that only annoyed Beard further. "Now get lost!"

His firry eyes flared, his mouth opening farther than he thought it could. Roth lost all coherence, scrambling desperately across the glass covered floor. The moment he has out of sight, Beard felt the calming wave wash over him. That was the first time it'd had such a delayed reaction. He'd been steadily growing more annoyed since appearing, but only now did it affect him. And what's more, he'd just crippled someone. Tough of Undeath was a skill that inflicted corrosion and rot damage. That wound would continue to spread as time went on. But... He didn't even care. Sure, the guy was a complete piece of shit. But... Feeling nothing over it couldn't be normal, right? He had the thought before, but this was the first time he'd been able to confirm it. He really wasn't human anymore.

"Very impressive." Beard whirled around, finding another woman standing next to the bed. She wore a knee length gown, with caramel skin, white hair, and red eyes. She backed into a small door, closing herself in with him with her hands behind her back. "You're quite the unusual one."

In that moment, Beard realised he was still in avatar form. Shit, she'd seen him. In a whisp of smoke he donned his disguise again, but instantly realized what a mistake that was. She may not know what he was, but his reflex to disguise himself just blew his cover. "Who are you?" He demanded.

The woman... Or girl... Slowly curtsied. "My name is Astra. Astra Arbias. The Lady of this manor, and wife of the Viscount."

"His wife?" Beard repeated, feeling the burning anger bubbling up again. Roth looked like he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirty's. Worryingly, Astra was not. "How old are you again?"

Despite the growling anger in his tone, she simply tilted her head. "What does that matter?"

"It matters weather I go after that piece of shit and finish him off." He growled.

As the wave of calm hit him again, Astra gently shrugged her shoulders. "I've been alive for nineteen years." That was... An odd way of phrasing that. Something that left Beard stumped. "And I've been waiting for an opportunity like this the whole time." She spoke slowly, sounding almost half asleep. "I need your help."

Again, Beard was stumped. But warning flags where beginning to go off. He had no idea how long she'd been here, but at the very least she'd seen his monster form. At worse she'd seen him maim her husband. Even before all that, at it's base he was an intruder in her home. Yet she hadn't even tried to raise the alarm. All of this felt very wrong to Beard.

"With what?" He asked, trying to relax himself.

"I want to live." She said simply. Beard wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, so he waited for her to explain. "There is an evil in this country. Something that I am powerless to fight against. And the longer it's out there, the more powerful it'll get." This was starting to sound like a game quest now. What's more, Astra had yet to lose her smile. For something as dire as she was making it out to be, she sure as hell looked happy about something. "And I want to be ready for it."

Beard smirked. This definitely sounded like a game quest now. "So, what? You want me to save your country for ya?" He crossed his arms as she began to giggle into her hand. "Sorry, I'm not really looking for work right now."

Astra slowly lowered her hand from her mouth and tilted her head again. "No." She said, gently shaking her head. "I want you to destroy it."

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