It wasn't shouted. It wasn't whispered. It simply was. A singular command, not barked in challenge but delivered with the weight of inevitability. Like a spoken law, an expectation, an invitation from something that did not entertain the possibility of refusal.
The torches flickered wildly, their flames bending as if recoiling from the presence that had uttered it. The very foundation of the church seemed to groan in protest, the wooden beams creaking under the pressure of something unseen.
Aelius' fingers twitched at his sides, his muscles coiling instinctively. His head tilted slightly, the shadows from his mask obscuring his expression, but beneath it, his lips curled into something resembling a smirk, sharp, humorless.
"Well... that's not ominous at all."
His voice was calm, disturbingly so compared to the way the civilians were trembling. His gaze never left the storm, as if he could see something moving in the shifting dark beyond the broken doorway.
Behind him, one of the guards cursed under his breath. Another whispered a quiet prayer. The prince took a step forward, swallowing as he glanced at Aelius.
"…I assume that's not a friend of yours."
Aelius huffed a quiet chuckle, though there was no amusement in it. "Not yet."
A moment passed. Then another.
Aelius exhaled, stretching his shoulders with a lazy roll before stepping toward the door frame, his boots echoing against the stone. He barely glanced back at the prince as he spoke.
"Keep the people inside. No matter what happens, " his voice dropped slightly, something unreadable lurking beneath his words, "don't follow me."
The prince's expression hardened. "And if it's a trap?"
Aelius merely shrugged. "Then I spring it first."
And with that, he stepped out into the storm.
The wind struck him like a living thing the moment he stepped beyond the threshold, whipping his cloak and howling in his ears like the wails of the dead. Rain battered the ground in thick sheets, cold and heavy, yet the sensation barely registered. Aelius was focused elsewhere, on the unnatural weight pressing down on the air, thick with malice.
He moved forward slowly, his boots sinking slightly into the mud with each step. Behind him, he could feel the eyes of the prince and his guards watching, their collective breath held as he put distance between himself and the safety of the church.
Another growl rippled through the storm, deeper this time, more pronounced. Less an invitation and more a promise.
Aelius exhaled, rolling his shoulders before flexing his fingers. He could feel it now, really feel it. Something was out there, waiting. And it was close.
His voice was dry, bordering on amused. "Alright then… let's see that ugly mug of yours."
The storm answered.
Lightning split the sky in jagged veins of white, illuminating the rain-soaked village ruins in fleeting, flickering light. And there, at the very edge of visibility, a shape emerged from the darkness.
A towering figure, its form obscured by the torrential downpour, but unmistakably massive. Something hunched, something wrong. The air around it seemed to distort, as though the world itself was struggling to accept its presence.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, it stepped forward.
Aelius stilled.
The thing that emerged from the dark was not human.
Its body was twisted, its limbs unnaturally elongated, its fingers ending in wicked claws that carved furrows into the drenched earth. Its head… wrong, almost beastlike, but with no clear features beyond the glow of too many eyes, gleaming like embers in the night.
It exuded a presence unlike anything Aelius had encountered before. Not merely a monster, not simply another aberration of magic.
This was something ancient.
And it was smiling.
A voice like grinding stone echoed through the storm.
"God Slayer."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't an insult. It was an acknowledgment. A statement of fact. As if it had been expecting him.
Aelius didn't respond immediately. He simply lifted a hand, flexing his fingers once before cracking his knuckles, the motion casual, unbothered.
Finally, he spoke.
"And here I thought this night was getting dull."
The creature's presence loomed in the rain, its grotesque silhouette shifting unnaturally in the flickering light. Water dripped from its elongated limbs, its claws twitching as if eager, impatient.
Aelius held his ground, tilting his head slightly, observing. The way it moved, the way the very air seemed to bend around it, it wasn't simply a beast born of the wilds. No, this thing knew him. It had addressed him.
God Slayer
It hadn't roared in challenge or lunged immediately like some mindless horror. It had spoken. That meant it understood. That meant it had purpose.
Aelius exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. Alright, then. Let's see what we're dealing with.
"Do I at least get a name before we do this?" he called over the storm, his voice calm, casual.
The creature let out a rasping exhale, its many eyes narrowing in something akin to amusement. Its jaw, if it could even be called that, shifted unnaturally, distorting like melting wax.
"Names are for the living."
Aelius clicked his tongue. "How poetic." He let his hands slip from beneath his cloak, fingers flexing, the energy of his magic humming beneath his skin. "Alright then, Nameless. Guess I'll have to carve a title into you myself."
The creature moved.
Faster than something that size should be able to.
One moment it was a towering shadow in the rain, distant, looming, the next, it was lunging, its twisted limbs stretching unnaturally as its claws tore through the air.
Aelius reacted instantly, magic already flooding his limbs. His body moved before thought, instinct honed by years of battle.
"Plague Gods: Aegis."
A jagged, pulsating wall of toxic energy flared to life before him. The creature's claws slammed into it, and for a moment, the night flashed in sickly green light. Sparks of corrosive energy lashed out like venomous tendrils, the rain sizzling where it touched.
But the barrier didn't hold.
With a sickening crack, the creature's weight shattered through the defense, its grotesque form lunging forward, undeterred.
Aelius twisted, dodging just in time as claws raked through the space where his torso had been mere seconds ago. Mud and debris exploded from the impact, sending chunks of earth flying.
It's strong.
Stronger than most things he'd faced in recent memory.
He landed smoothly, boots sliding against the wet ground as he skidded back, already shifting his stance. The storm howled around them, rain hammering against his cloak. He felt something drip beneath his cloak, blood, the thing had actually scratched him.
The creature straightened, rolling its shoulders in a disturbingly human-like motion, tilting its malformed head as though studying him.
"You bleed the old poison," it mused, its voice crawling beneath the skin. "The rot of forgotten gods. But you are… young."
Aelius smirked, shaking out his hands as the sickly green glow of his magic flared between his fingers.
"Young? You wound me, Nameless," he drawled. "But if it makes you feel any better…"
He exhaled, shifting his weight, magic coiling, ready.
"I'll make sure they remember you when this is over."
The creature chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the very air feel heavier.
"Come then, Slayer. Let us see if the poison in your veins is worthy of its name."
And then, the storm itself erupted.
With a monstrous lunge, the battle began.
The world became a blur of rain, claws, and sickly green light.
Aelius moved with precision, his every motion calculated, every strike of his magic a deadly promise. But the creature, Nameless, was something beyond the usual horrors he'd faced. It didn't just endure his magic; it adapted to it.
Every time his Plague God Slayer magic struck, the beast flinched but never faltered. The miasma that would normally eat through flesh and bone only seemed to make it shift, its grotesque form twisting unnaturally before snapping back as if reshaping itself.
It's not just resisting. Aelius clenched his jaw as he narrowly avoided another swipe, rolling through the mud before springing to his feet. It's learning.
A deep, guttural laugh rumbled from the creature as it turned to face him once more, its towering form framed by the flashes of distant lightning.
"Tiring already, Slayer?" it crooned, its voice an amalgamation of whispers and growls.
Aelius wiped a smear of grime from his mask, exhaling sharply. "Please," he shot back, forcing a smirk. "I haven't even started drinking yet."
But truth be told, he was feeling it.
Not exhaustion, no, his body could keep going. It was something else. The way his magic wasn't sinking into the creature like it should, the way his blows weren't sticking. Even with his god-slaying power, it was like trying to carve into a storm itself.
And worst of all? The damn thing was enjoying this.
"Plague God Slayer: Pestilent Spear."
Aelius thrust his hand forward, and from the ground, a spear of necrotic energy erupted, jagged and pulsing with deadly rot. He grabbed it mid-air and launched it toward the beast's chest.
The projectile tore through the space between them in an instant, yet just before impact, Nameless shifted.
Not dodging.
Bending.
Its body warped, rippling like a mirage, and the spear passed through it as if striking smoke.
Aelius' eyes narrowed. Oh, that's some bullshit.
Before he could react, Nameless exploded forward.
Aelius barely got his arms up before a massive claw slammed into him, launching him backward with a force that sent shockwaves through the soaked earth.
He hit the mud hard, sliding through the dirt before flipping back to his feet. His boots dug trenches into the ground as he skidded to a stop, his breath coming faster now.
Pain flared up his side, even beneath his layered cloak. That hit had landed deep. If he'd been anyone else, it probably would've broken something.
The creature straightened once more, cocking its malformed head.
"Stronger than most," it admitted, its many eyes narrowing with something akin to approval. "But not enough."
Aelius spat to the side, adjusting his stance.
"Yeah, well," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Yet."
The rain intensified, the wind howling through the broken remains of the village. Behind him, he could hear the distant, frantic murmurs of the civilians, of the prince, the guards, the children. They were watching.
Damn it.
He couldn't lose here.
Not in front of them.
Not like this.
A surge of magic burned in his chest, his god-slayer energy rising once more. His limbs ached, but he forced them steady.
If this thing wanted a fight, he'd give it one.
Even if he had to tear it apart with his bare hands.
"Round two, then?" he asked, cracking his neck.
Nameless chuckled.
"Come, Slayer."
As Aelius steadied himself, the storm's flickering light revealed the creature in all its grotesque, unnatural glory. Now that he was close, too close, he could see Nameless for what it truly was.
It was wrong.
Its form wasn't bound by logic or flesh as a living thing should be. Instead, its body was a twisting amalgamation of shifting sinew and pulsing darkness, constantly unraveling and re-forming in sickening waves. What should have been solid muscle and bone instead looked like coagulated void stuff, held together only by the will of something far older than mortal understanding.
Eyes, far too many, and in places they shouldn't be, opened and closed at random across its form, some black as tar, others glowing with a dull, hungry light. Its face, if it could even be called that, was the worst of all.
A mockery of humanoid features stretched into something almost canine but fractured, a snout that twitched and split apart with each breath, jagged, mismatched teeth clicking together in anticipation. Its elongated limbs ended in claws that dripped with something thicker than rainwater, something dark that hissed where it touched the ground.
And worst of all, the stench.
Even to someone like Aelius, whose magic thrived on rot and decay, the smell was overwhelming, not just death, but the absence of life itself. Like something that had crawled out of a grave before being buried, something unfinished.
He exhaled slowly. Time to stop holding back.
With a sharp motion, Aelius reached up and tore the clasp of his cloak free, letting the heavy, rain-soaked fabric slide from his shoulders and pool at his feet.
The moment his power was unrestrained, the air itself shifted.
A thick, sickly green mist rolled off his body like a living thing, seeping into the earth, and curling around his feet like hungry tendrils. The storm's wind carried the scent of rot and poison now, his rot, his plague. The raindrops that struck his exposed skin no longer hissed and sizzled against him; instead, they warped, taking on a heavier, oily consistency before falling uselessly to the ground.
Without his cloak to obscure him, Aelius stood tall, revealing the true extent of his corruption.
His body was lean but unnaturally tough, his skin marked with twisting scars that pulsed faintly with residual magic. His left arm, from elbow to fingertip, was entirely blackened, the veins beneath his skin swollen with dark energy that flickered in patches of sickly green light. It was the mark of his god-slaying power, a reminder of the poison that ran through his very being.
Jagged, rune-like scars traced his torso, remnants of battles long since fought, and yet, despite their appearance, his flesh did not look damaged. It was enduring, like something that had adapted to suffering, that had thrived in pain.
His mask remained, the eerie, featureless visage staring back at the creature, but now without the concealment of his cloak, it looked almost ceremonial, a grim reminder that whatever he was, he was something far removed from normal.
Aelius rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as Nameless let out a deep, reverberating growl.
"Ah... much better." The creature's many eyes narrowed, taking him in fully now. "You reek of old things, Slayer. Of things that should have faded."
Aelius smirked beneath his mask.
"Funny," he said, voice laced with amusement and something darker. "I was about to say the same thing about you."
He raised his left hand, the corrupted limb pulsing with sickly green energy.
"Now, let's see which one of us rots first."
And with that, he lunged.
Aelius surged forward, his corrupted arm crackling with raw, sickly energy, the very air around him warping under the weight of his magic. The mist that bled from his body clung to the ground like a living thing, eager, hungry, spreading toward Nameless like a disease searching for a host.
The creature reacted immediately. Its grotesque form convulsed, limbs twisting in unnatural directions as it pulsed, a sudden expansion of its mass that sent a shockwave through the air. The ground shuddered, cracks webbing outward from where it stood, the mere force of its presence distorting reality itself.
Then it moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Aelius barely had time to shift as Nameless lashed out with one of its elongated limbs, claws whistling through the air. He twisted, his unnatural reflexes saving him from being torn in half, but the force of the near miss sent him skidding backward, boots digging into the mud.
The moment his feet found purchase, he retaliated.
"Plague Make: Blight Chains."
From the mist at his feet, dozens of chains erupted, slick and writhing like the tendrils of some eldritch parasite. They shot toward Nameless, each one pulsing with dark energy, seeking to bind and infect. If he could just latch on, his magic would do the rest, rot, consume, break it down piece by piece,
But the creature laughed.
Not a sound made by any living thing, but a chorus of layered voices, overlapping and out of sync, as though a thousand things were mocking him at once.
And then the chains stopped.
Mid-air, mere inches from Nameless, his magic ceased. The chains shuddered, their form breaking apart, unraveling into useless tendrils of green mist before vanishing entirely.
Aelius' eyes narrowed beneath his mask. No. That wasn't, that wasn't possible.
Before he could react, pain exploded in his ribs as something massive struck him, sending him hurtling backward. His body slammed into the remains of a broken pillar, the impact cracking the stone and rattling through his bones.
His vision blurred for a fraction of a second.
When it cleared, Nameless was standing over him.
Not approaching. Not attacking.
Just watching.
Its many eyes flickered, studying him, calculating. Its mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile, revealing rows of jagged, interlocking teeth.
"You fight well, Slayer. You are… resilient."
The voices were layered, echoing within his mind as much as in the space around them.
"But you are not the first to try and rot me."
Aelius exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. Pain throbbed where he'd been hit, but his body was already adjusting. His magic seeped into his wounds, reinforcing him, and numbing the ache.
"You talk too much," he muttered, flexing his fingers as another wave of green mist bled from his form.
Nameless tilted its head, something amused glinting in those unnatural eyes.
"And you are far more interesting than the others who came before."
Then, in a movement too smooth for something so grotesque, it leaned forward, close enough that Aelius could feel the sheer wrongness of it radiating off its body.
"Do you know why your magic fails, Slayer?"
Aelius remained silent, but his mind was already racing, analyzing, adjusting.
"Because what I am… was never meant to decay."
The words sent a chill through his core, something instinctual, something primal.
"You wield the rot of gods." Nameless' voice deepened, becoming something more ancient. "But I am older than gods."
Aelius' fingers twitched. His magic, his Plague God Slayer Magic, was designed to consume, to break down anything, even the divine.
And yet, his chains had vanished.
This thing… was something else.
A slow grin curled beneath his mask.
"Well then," he muttered, cracking his neck. "Guess I'll just have to get creative."
And with that, he pushed off the ground and lunged once more.
Aelius moved first, his body a blur as he surged toward Nameless, his magic flaring violently around him. The storm outside howled, the ruined chapel shaking as the very air around them twisted under the weight of the combatants.
His right hand lashed forward, Plague gods: Ruinous Claw.
A blade of seething, toxic energy erupted from his fingertips, jagged and writhing like a serrated fang. He swung in a vicious arc, aiming to carve deep into the creature's mass. Nameless barely shifted, its amorphous form bending at an unnatural angle, the blade slicing through empty space.
Fast. It shouldn't have been this fast.
Before Aelius could recover, Nameless struck.
A limb shot forward, a twisted hybrid of claw and tendril, its surface writhing with shifting patterns that made Aelius' vision blur for a fraction of a second. He pivoted, dodging at the last moment, but another limb lashed out from his blind spot.
Impact.
Aelius gritted his teeth as his ribs cracked under the force, his body sent hurtling through the air before slamming into the chapel's crumbling stone wall. Debris rained down around him as dust choked the air.
He barely had a moment to react before Nameless followed through, closing the distance in an instant, its many eyes gleaming with mockery. Another strike came, but Aelius twisted, raising his arm,
Plague gods: Aegis!
A barrier of sickly green energy erupted between them, thick and pulsing with infectious magic. Nameless' clawed appendage collided with it, and for the briefest of moments, Aelius thought it had worked,
Until the shield shattered like brittle glass.
Aelius' instincts screamed, and he barely managed to roll aside as Nameless' limb smashed into the ground where he had been standing, the force of the impact splintering the stone floor.
He skidded back, boots digging into the rubble, his mind racing.
It's not just strong, it's adapting.
A laugh, deep and layered, filled the space between them.
"You resist well, Slayer." Nameless shifted, its form pulsating with something sickeningly alive. "But you still do not understand."
Aelius exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. His body ached, but pain was a distant thing to him. His magic was already working, tendrils of mist knitting his wounds closed.
His grin returned, sharp beneath his mask.
"Yeah? Then why don't you enlighten me?"
A second later, he was moving again.
This time, he didn't aim directly for Nameless, he circled, his hands weaving together as magic coiled around his fingertips, forming sigils in the air.
"Plague Make: Sporestorm."
The area was instantly filled with a wave of toxic mist, rolling outward in thick, spiraling tendrils, carrying the essence of decay itself. The moment it touched anything living, it would rot, erode, devour.
Aelius watched, waiting, observing.
And Nameless did not move.
The mist wrapped around its form, clinging, seeping into its flesh, but rather than breaking down, rather than withering under the God Slayer's magic, it simply… stood there.
The tendrils of mist vanished.
Not burned away. Not resisted.
Consumed.
Aelius' grin faltered for the first time.
Then Nameless spoke again, its voice like a thousand whispering mouths.
"Plague cannot take what has never lived."
And then it moved.
In a blur, Aelius barely had time to react.
A clawed limb slammed into his midsection, driving the air from his lungs. A second limb followed, striking across his back before he could stabilize himself. He felt the ground vanish beneath his feet, no, he was being thrown.
His body hit the far wall, the impact rattling his bones. The stone crumbled from the force.
But he was already moving again.
"Pox Make: Wretched Talons."
His fingers elongated into wicked, bladed claws, dripping with festering green venom. He lunged forward again, aiming to tear into Nameless with raw, unfiltered brutality.
But this time, Nameless didn't just dodge.
It caught him.
A massive, shifting appendage shot out, seizing him by the arm before he could fully connect. A second limb followed, wrapping around his torso.
And then it squeezed.
Aelius let out a snarl as pressure crushed into him, his ribs threatening to snap. His magic flared, but it was like fighting against a tidal wave, Nameless wasn't just strong, it was something else entirely.
It pulled him close, those endless, shifting eyes peering into him.
"You are strong, Slayer." The voices were almost gentle now, sickeningly amused. "But your fight is meaningless."
Aelius bared his teeth beneath his mask.
"Funny," he rasped. "I was about to say the same thing."
And then he let his magic explode.
A violent pulse of pure God Slayer energy detonated outward from his body, the force shattering Nameless' hold just long enough for him to break free.
He hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum before skidding to a stop, his breath coming fast.
The creature stood before him, unharmed, unchanged, its form shifting in the dim light.
Aelius exhaled sharply. His magic was holding, but he was burning through it fast.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't sure if he could win.
But that only made him grin wider.
"Alright then," he muttered to himself, wiping a trickle of dark ichor from his mouth. "Guess I better start trying."
His eyes narrowed as he circled Nameless, watching the way it moved, the way it responded, or rather, the way it didn't. Every strike, every technique he had thrown at it barely registered. It wasn't just durable. It wasn't even truly alive in the way most creatures were. It was something else, something that defied the natural order.
That was the problem, wasn't it?
It wasn't reacting how it should.
Plague should rot the flesh. Blood should rebel. The body should fail under the weight of disease. That was the way the world worked, the way he had always known it to work.
But Nameless was not of this world.
Which meant… was he going about this all wrong?
His magic was the Plague God's will, disease-given form, pestilence turned into an extension of his being. But it had always needed something to infect. He had always wielded it as a force that corrupted others. It was a means of taking hold, of spreading, of seeping into the marrow of his enemies and ruining them from the inside.
But Nameless was not being ruined.
It was rejecting him, not resisting, not enduring, but outright refusing to obey the laws of corruption.
Because that was the key, wasn't it? Corruption could be undone. An infection could be cured.
But what if he didn't try to infect it?
What if, instead of trying to spread the Plague God's will, he became its core?
The realization struck him hard, so simple, yet so foreign to him. His whole life, his whole existence, had been about spreading his magic, making it something that took root in his enemies. But what if, for once, he stopped trying to pass it on?
What if instead of using his enemies' blood against them… he used his own?
Aelius let out a slow breath.
Fine.
If Nameless would not take his plague, then he would become it.
"Plague God's First Plague… Plague of Blood."
The world itself seemed to react to the invocation.
The air groaned under an unseen weight, warping as a crimson downpour materialized from nothing. It did not spread in tendrils or seek to control, instead, it simply was. It did not reach into the veins of his enemy, did not tear apart their lifeblood from within. This was before that. Older than that.
The blood of the Plague God was not merely a disease or a weapon. It was the source.
Where the Plague of Blood had worked by manipulating the physical form of his targets, forcing their own blood to turn against them, this was an entirely different concept. This was not blood as a bodily function. It was blood as a force of nature.
And Nameless, a creature that could seemingly adapt to decay, withstand corruption, and consume poison, had no answer for it.
The moment the first drop touched its shifting flesh, its entire body twitched. Not a convulsion of pain, not a wound that could be healed. It was something deeper.
A rejection.
Nameless's form pulsed erratically, its tendrils recoiling as though the very existence of this blood was anathema to it. The rain fell faster, and no matter how it moved, how it twisted or reformed, there was no escaping it. It did not cling to its body as a toxin would, nor did it force itself into the creature's being.
It simply touched it.
And that alone was enough to start breaking it apart.
Aelius grinned as realization dawned on him.
"Ah… I see."
Nameless snarled, its voice a discordant mix of whispers and howls.
"This… is different."
Aelius chuckled darkly. "Damn right, it is."
The creature had prepared for disease, for decay, for the ways lesser things crumbled under time's inevitable march. But this? This was something before rot.
Not poison. Not infection.
It was blood as the foundation of plague itself.
Nameless had no immune system to fight against this. No adaptation to counteract this.
It was not a sickness to survive.
It was a truth to be endured.
And for the first time, perhaps the first time in centuries, Aelius saw something in its endless shifting mass.
Hesitation.
The Plague God's blood did not need to kill it. It simply needed to exist.
And that was enough to send Nameless reeling.
Aelius flexed his fingers, the rain growing heavier around him.
"So… let's see how much of you is real, then."
And with that, he lunged again, his power, his blood, crashing down upon Nameless like the weight of a dying world.
With a sharp pivot, he lunged, closing the distance with a force that sent the warped blood beneath his feet splashing outward in spirals of deep red. His corrupted arm carved through the air like a blade, A tainted ichor trailing in thick, dripping arcs as he swung his claws toward the beast's twisting mass.
Nameless lashed out, but its movements were no longer untouchable. Its strikes were still inhumanly fast, but for the first time, there was a fraction of a second's hesitation. A glitch in its movements. A hitch in its existence.
Aelius exploited it.
His claws met its flesh, or what passed for flesh, and this time, instead of merely striking, something spread.
His own blood, still flowing from his wounds, sank into Nameless's body.
The beast jerked, its limbs convulsing as the sickly, writhing corruption burrowed into its form.
Aelius grinned wider.
"Not so untouchable now, are we?"
Nameless shuddered violently, its limbs spasming as the plague twisted into its core, leeching into every part of it that existed. It let out a deep, garbled howl, limbs flickering, the dark tendrils of its body seeming to unstitch themselves at the seams.
Aelius wasted no time.
He twisted his hand, dragging his still-bleeding claws through the beast's form, leaving behind a webwork of rotting veins that pulsed outward in jagged, splintering patterns.
Nameless let out a roaring screech.
Then, for the first time,
It staggered back.
Aelius staggered to his feet, his breath ragged, feeling the weight of his own blood as it ran in sluggish rivulets down his body. The air was thick with the stench of decay and ozone, the storm raging above like a celestial battle given form. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing dark crimson against pale, scarred skin. His bones ached, his muscles screamed, and yet… he grinned.
Nameless lurched, its form flickering between solidity and something else, a twisting mass of wrongness barely contained within its vaguely humanoid frame. The wound across its chest had deepened, the corruption spreading unevenly through its body, struggling against whatever unnatural force held it together.
It could bleed.
It could rot.
Aelius knew now. This thing wasn't as untouchable as it pretended to be.
But it still wasn't dying.
Nameless's remaining eye burned with something ancient, something patient. It tilted its head, its mouth stretching too wide, its jagged voice cutting through the rain.
"Not enough."
It moved.
Aelius barely had time to brace before Nameless vanished, its presence warping the air as it reappeared right in front of him, clawed hand plunging forward with inhuman speed.
He twisted, but not fast enough.
A sharp, burning pain lanced through his side as Nameless's talons tore through flesh, ripping through his ribs like they were paper. Blood sprayed across the ground in thick, blackened arcs, sizzling where it met the corrupted rain.
Aelius snarled, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to move with the blow instead of against it, spinning just enough to grab hold of the creature's outstretched limb. His fingers dug into the festering wound he had already inflicted, his corruptive energy surging from his hands like an open wound in reality itself.
Nameless jerked, its form shuddering violently as the decay within it was stoked, the plague-like rot gnawing deeper into its body.
It let out a sharp, guttural hiss, but instead of recoiling, it leaned in, pressing its mutilated face close to his.
"More."
Aelius reacted on instinct.
His bloodied hand shot forward, fingers curving like claws as he raked them across its face. The moment his tainted blood met its skin, a new reaction exploded through its form, black veins webbing out from the impact, spreading like wildfire across its body.
Nameless staggered back, its body convulsing, but before Aelius could take advantage, it snapped forward, moving with that same unnatural speed, and,
SLAM.
Aelius barely registered the force before he was lifted off the ground and hurled through the storm, his body colliding with a ruined pillar so hard the stone cracked around him. His vision blurred, his skull ringing from the impact, but he forced himself to focus, his blood boiling with something fierce.
He pushed off the debris, spitting blood onto the ground as he stared at the figure emerging from the darkness. Nameless was twitching, its body warped and twisted, its movements jerky like a dying marionette.
It was hurt.
And it was still coming.
Aelius inhaled slowly, his tainted blood pooling at his feet like a living entity, his energy surging despite the pain. His cloak was gone, his body laid bare, scars and sigils carved deep into his flesh, his ashen veins pulsating with something far worse than sickness.
He grinned, rolling his shoulders, feeling the weight of the fight thrumming through his bones.
"Fine." His voice was rough, but steady, eyes glinting with something cold and cruel.
"You want more?"
He spread his arms wide, letting the storm drink in his presence.
"Come and get it."
The night was a symphony of chaos, the storm raging overhead as Aelius and Nameless clashed again and again, their blows sending shockwaves through the ruined landscape. Each strike from the monster was brutal and unrelenting, its attacks carrying the weight of something far beyond mortal comprehension.
Aelius moved on instinct, his body screaming with every dodge, every parry, every brutal counterattack. His corrupted blood coated the shattered ground beneath him, sizzling against the rain as he tore into Nameless with clawed fingers and writhing, festering energy. Rot blossomed where he struck, eating away at its unnatural form. But for every wound he inflicted, Nameless barely seemed to slow down.
It was playing with him.
Aelius realized that when its next attack didn't aim to kill but to break.
Nameless vanished, no warning, no sound, just a sudden absence of presence before,
CRACK.
A blow to his ribs sent him reeling, his feet skidding across the fractured stone as pain exploded in his chest. The force nearly caved his torso in, his breath leaving him in a ragged gasp.
Before he could recover,
CRACK.
Nameless was behind him, slamming its knee into the base of his spine, sending him flying forward. His body twisted mid-air, instincts barely allowing him to throw his arm up to block,
CRUNCH.
A clawed fist met his forearm, and the impact sent a sickening shockwave through his bones. He hit the ground hard, rolling across the ruined stone before catching himself in a crouch. His left arm hung uselessly, bones fractured, the limb numb with pain.
Aelius gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. His vision swam, but he refused to give Nameless the satisfaction of staying down.
It was already there.
The moment he lifted his head, black claws filled his vision.
BOOM.
The impact sent him crashing into a crumbling pillar, stone exploding into dust around him. He barely had time to recover before Nameless was upon him again, relentless, unstoppable, terrifying.
Another strike, he barely dodged. A swipe to the throat, he leaned back, rolling away, only for,
SLAM.
A knee to the gut.
A blow to the side.
A fist hammering into his jaw.
Aelius staggered, coughing up dark blood, before a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Nameless lifted him, holding him there effortlessly, its grip tightening.
"Too slow."
Then,
The world shattered.
The force of the next blow sent Aelius flying through the air like a broken doll. He barely registered the moment his body collided with the stone walls of the church, his form tearing through layers of stone and wood before,
BOOM.
His body hit the ground hard, debris scattering around him as a fresh wave of agony tore through his form.
Aelius wasn't moving.
Pain was everything. It crawled through his broken body like a living thing, wrapping around his shattered bones and torn muscles, suffocating him with every strained breath. His vision swam, the edges of his world flickering between hazy darkness and blinding clarity.
His ribs were jagged ruins inside his chest, every shallow inhale a fresh agony. His leg was mangled beyond use, twisted at a grotesque angle. His arm hung limp, useless. His entire form was battered, bleeding, and on the brink of collapse.
But when Aelius forced his swollen, bloodshot eyes open,
He saw them.
The civilians.
The prince.
Their faces frozen in horror.
The children clung to whatever cover they could find, their little bodies trembling violently, eyes wide with terror. Some sobbed loudly, their cries piercing through the suffocating silence, their tiny hands covering their faces as if doing so would erase the nightmare unfolding before them.
The adults were no better. Some backed away, too stricken to speak, while others stood paralyzed, their breath caught in their throats. Their gazes flicked between Aelius's broken form and the monster approaching through the wreckage of the church wall.
Nameless.
It stepped forward, emerging from the dust and debris like a thing born from nightmares.
It shouldn't have been moving.
Its body was still twisted, parts of its form bent in ways that should have rendered it immobile, and yet, it moved perfectly. Effortlessly. It rolled its shoulders, slow and deliberate, like a warrior warming up.
"More."
A fresh wave of fear rippled through the crowd. A woman let out a strangled gasp, clutching a shaking child against her chest. A man prayed under his breath, his fingers tight around a charm that had long lost its power.
The prince was ashen-faced, his hands trembling at his sides.
And the children,
A little girl with wide, tear-streaked eyes clutched onto her brother, her small fingers digging into his arm. When she opened her mouth, the only sound that came out was a sharp, terrified wail.
The boy beside her tried to shield her, but he was shaking so violently he could barely move.
Another child screamed.
Then another.
And another.
The entire chapel erupted in cries of horror.
And still, Nameless advanced.
"More, Slayer." Its voice slithered through the church like a serpent, smooth, unbothered. It tilted its head, mockingly.
"Entertain me more."
Aelius lay there, listening to the sobs, the fearful whispers, the sound of his own blood dripping onto the ruined floor.
The weight of defeat pressed against his chest.
He could feel his own body failing him.
He could feel death's hand reaching out.
And yet,
Not now.
Not in front of them.
With a shuddering breath, Aelius forced his fingers into the dirt.
The blood pooling beneath him stained his hands, seeping into his skin as he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move.
Nameless's footsteps grew closer.
"More."
A pause.
Then, slowly,
Aelius grinned.
A twisted, bloodstained thing.
"Alright." His voice was hoarse, cracked, barely more than a growl. But there was something dangerous behind it.
"You want more?"
His fingers curled into fists.
His body shifted.
His blood boiled.
The fight wasn't over.
Aelius Stood.
It was wrong.
His body had been broken, reduced to little more than ruined flesh and splintered bone, and yet, he rose.
The wet crack of his ribs resetting sent a fresh wave of nausea through the watching civilians. His snapped leg twisted, the fractured remains of his bones momentarily jutting out before something squirmed beneath his skin, dragging the pieces back together. His shattered arm dangled uselessly for a brief moment, then it snapped back into place with a sickening, visceral pop.
The crowd screamed.
A child collapsed into terrified sobs.
The prince staggered backward. His expression, once calm and composed, was now stretched into something that barely hid the horror beneath it.
But Aelius was no longer looking at them.
His breath was ragged, his vision still dark around the edges, but his mind was clear.
Nameless was watching.
It wasn't laughing anymore.
Aelius grinned. It wasn't the smirk of a man in control. It wasn't even a smile of satisfaction. It was something more primal, a graveyard grin, filled with the knowledge that he was far beyond what any of them could understand.
"You're enjoying yourself." His voice was a hoarse rasp, something raw and jagged. His fingers twitched, curling into a spell sign. "Good. Then you won't mind if I return the favor."
His blood boiled.
Not in metaphor, literally.
The veins in his arms blackened as something thick and unnatural surged through them. His body trembled, but it wasn't from pain. It was something worse. His very essence, his lifeblood, had turned to something unholy.
A spell that despite its divine nature could be considered a sign of the devil himself, A spell that to most should never exist.
Aelius let it.
"Plague God's Benediction: Virulent Choir."
He opened his mouth, and the world screamed with him.
A wail of pure, festering disease tore through the air, an unholy chorus of writhing, suffering voices that should never have been born. The church walls quivered. The stained glass warped then melted, the images of saints and salvation distorting into grotesque, gaping maws. The ground itself shuddered, thickening into a pulsing, maggot-ridden sludge that hungrily devoured the space around them.
And Nameless,
It staggered once more.
The entity that had torn through Aelius like he was nothing. The monster that had shrugged off the first Plague like a mere nuisance.
Now, its form shuddered violently, jerking like a marionette whose strings had tangled.
Its limbs twitched. Its body rippled, its twisted mass unable to resist the infectious, malevolent harmony that crawled into its very essence.
For the first time,
Nameless roared.
Not in mockery. Not in arrogance.
In pain.
Aelius advanced.
Each step forward left rot in its wake.
He was more plague than man now. His body boiled with sickness, yet thrived in it. His blood, his magic, it was not meant to be wielded. Not like this. Not so freely.
But Aelius had never cared for limits.
Nameless snarled, regaining itself.
Aelius grinned wider.
He lunged.
Nameless met him head-on.
The creature's twisted form snapped back into motion, its body a blur of unnatural speed as it lunged with claws bared. Aelius didn't flinch. His footfalls squelched against the rotting earth, each step leaving deep, festering wounds in the ground itself. The very air warped around him, thick with disease and something far worse, something living.
Nameless swung first, its arm stretching unnaturally, joints bending at grotesque angles as it aimed to rip through Aelius's midsection. The attack should have been too fast to react to. It should have torn him in half, again.
But Aelius was ready.
He twisted at the last second, the talons grazing his ribs instead of eviscerating him. A wound bloomed, but his flesh pulsed and sealed itself almost instantly, thick with dark, writhing tendrils that bound him together. He barely seemed to notice as he countered, his fist slamming into Nameless's chest.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air.
Nameless reeled, its body convulsing as the lingering energy of the Virulent Choir burrowed deeper. The spell was still in effect, still resonating through the battlefield like a sickening, ever-growing symphony. Every moment that passed meant more decay, more corruption sinking into the creature's essence.
But it wasn't enough.
Nameless barely took a step back before retaliating, shifting its weight unnaturally and launching itself forward with monstrous force. Aelius braced, throwing up an arm to block, but the sheer impact of the strike sent him skidding backward, feet carving deep trenches into the ruined ground.
The civilians still watching from the shattered remains of the church gasped. Some couldn't even stand anymore, their bodies failing under the weight of the lingering, festering aura that Aelius had unleashed. The prince, still on his feet, had his sword drawn, but his knuckles were white around the hilt. He knew stepping in was pointless.
Aelius, breathing heavily, rolled his shoulders. His body was breaking down faster than it could repair, but it didn't matter.
He could feel it.
Nameless was slowing.
The thing might have been powerful beyond reason, but it wasn't immune. The plague was inside it now. Not just on its body, but within it. Its movements were just a fraction less fluid. Its form, though still shifting and unnatural, had lost the perfect control it once had.
Aelius grinned, wiping a smear of blackened blood from his lips.
"Still enjoying yourself?" he rasped.
Nameless's head snapped toward him. A second passed, then two. Then, impossibly, it smiled.
"Yes."
Then it moved.
Aelius barely had time to react before a clawed hand slammed into his chest. The impact was like a battering ram, his ribs audibly cracking as he was sent flying backward. He hit the remains of a stone pillar, shattering it completely before crumpling to the ground in a heap. His body screamed in agony, but he pushed through it, staggering to his feet once more.
Nameless was already upon him.
There was no time to think. Aelius ducked, narrowly avoiding another lethal swipe, then retaliated with an open palm strike infused with festering energy. The blow connected, sending a ripple of decay through Nameless's form. Flesh peeled. Something deep inside it rotted.
But it didn't fall.
Aelius clicked his tongue. He was running out of time.
The Choir would only hold for so long before its effects diminished, and his body wouldn't last through another drawn-out exchange. He needed to push forward.
Nameless lunged again, its movements erratic but still lethal. Aelius met it head-on, his cloak long since discarded, his body wreathed in the pulsing corruption of his own magic. Their blows clashed in a furious exchange, flesh tearing, bones breaking, the air thick with the stench of blood and rot.
One of them would fall soon.
Aelius just had to make sure it wasn't him.
Aelius ducked low, twisting his body to avoid another sweeping strike from Nameless. The wind from the attack howled past him, the force alone cracking the broken stone at his feet. He retaliated instantly, driving his fist upward into the creature's ribs.
Nameless barely reacted to the impact, but the true attack was already taking hold. The moment Aelius made contact, a writhing sickness burrowed deep into Nameless's flesh, spreading like wildfire. Veins blackened. The creature's form flickered, distorting for the briefest second before solidifying once more.
It was working.
But not fast enough.
Nameless slammed its knee into Aelius's stomach. A wet, sickening crunch echoed through the battlefield as his ribs caved in further. The pain was excruciating, even by his standards. His vision blurred, but he forced his body to move, stepping back just in time to avoid a follow-up strike that would have taken his head clean off.
He needed something stronger. Something final.
Aelius inhaled sharply, pushing past the pain. His blood, his essence, was already flowing, thick with the corruption of his magic. His body was a walking plague, a living manifestation of decay itself. And yet… he had been using it passively. Inflicting wounds through touch, through exposure.
That wasn't enough.
Not for this.
His lips curled in a grin, dark and knowing. Fine. If the usual methods wouldn't break this thing, then it was time to embrace something worse.
He took a step forward, lifting his arm despite the agony screaming through his nerves. His blood dripped freely from open wounds, sizzling as it touched the ground. With a slow, deliberate motion, he dragged his fingers across his own torn skin, smearing the black ichor against his palm.
Then he spoke.
"Plague God's Benediction: The Offering."
The reaction was instant.
The air trembled. The ground beneath them split, dark tendrils of something vile slithering out from the cracks. The blood on Aelius's palm pulsed, once, twice, before igniting in a sickly green blaze. It wasn't fire. It was something worse. Something alive.
And Nameless felt it.
For the first time, the creature hesitated. Its body tensed, its head tilting ever so slightly as if recognizing the shift in the battlefield.
Aelius didn't give it time to react.
He moved, faster than he should have been capable of in his broken state. The moment he closed the distance, he drove his palm straight into Nameless's chest. The burning corruption of his own blood surged forth, sinking deep into the creature's body, weaving through its very being.
Nameless jerked, its body convulsing violently.
The plague took hold instantly. Unlike before, unlike the passive decay that had been spreading throughout their fight, this was something different. It wasn't an affliction trying to infect an enemy. It was a gift. A direct, force-fed blessing of corruption itself.
Nameless let out a sound. Not a scream. Not a roar. Something raw and unnatural, like an entire chorus of voices wailing at once. Its form writhed, its flesh boiling and twisting as the plague carved through it from the inside out.
Aelius didn't let up. His fingers dug deeper, pressing against the burning wound, forcing more of his own essence into the thing. He could feel its resistance. The way it fought, the way it tried to push back against the infection consuming it.
But this was his domain. His power.
And for the first time, Nameless was losing.
The creature staggered, its body flickering, breaking apart at the seams. Blackened veins pulsed under its shifting flesh, its form no longer stable.
Aelius exhaled, steady despite the agony wracking his own body.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "More."
Nameless shuddered, its smile, its ever-present, taunting smile, warping into something else.
A snarl.
And then, without warning,
It moved again.
Faster than before. Faster than even Aelius expected.
Before he could react, Nameless's hand shot forward, claws sinking deep into his side. Aelius barely registered the pain before he was airborne, hurled across the battlefield like a ragdoll.
He crashed through the remnants of a ruined wall, stone crumbling around him as he skidded to a stop amidst the rubble. Blood spilled freely from the new wound, pooling beneath him.
His vision swam. His breathing was shallow.
But when he forced his eyes open, he saw it,
Nameless, still standing.
Still burning.
Its body was breaking, its form deteriorating before his eyes. But it refused to fall.
It locked eyes with him.
And then it grinned again.
This time, something darker lingered in its expression.
"You almost had me," it mused, voice distorted, layered. "Almost."
Aelius growled, fingers twitching against the broken stone beneath him.
Nameless took a step forward. Then another. Its body still shook, still pulsed with the plague festering inside it. But it wasn't done.
Not yet.
Aelius grit his teeth, forcing his battered body to move. He could feel his magic still flowing, still surging through the battlefield.
The fight wasn't over.
Not until one of them was dead.
Aelius pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. He spat blood onto the cracked ground, his breaths ragged, but his eyes never left Nameless. The creature was still burning from within, its flesh twisting under the relentless weight of his plague. Yet, it did not falter. It did not yield.
Fine.
If Nameless wanted more, then Aelius would give it to him.
His chest rose and fell as he took in a slow, shuddering breath. The air around him grew thick with something vile, an ancient, festering sickness that carried the weight of death itself. His blood boiled, his veins pulsing with rot, and then,
He roared.
The sound ripped through the battlefield, unnatural and deafening. It was no mere battle cry. It was a manifestation of his power-given voice, Plague God's Bellow.
The very air warped under the force of it. The ground cracked as waves of virulent energy erupted from Aelius, a cloud of toxic miasma rolling outward like a living storm. The remains of the church groaned under the sheer pressure of it, and the civilians watching from the distance screamed in terror, clutching at their throats as the very breath in their lungs turned foul.
Nameless staggered.
For the first time, it truly staggered.
Its form flickered, its body resisting the corruption spreading deeper within it. The smile never left its face, but there was a shift in its posture, a fraction of hesitation, a moment of weakness.
Aelius lunged.
His body was broken, but his magic was endless. He was upon Nameless in a flash, his fist wreathed in decay as he drove it into the creature's face. The impact sent Nameless skidding backward, stone exploding beneath its feet as it fought for balance.
Aelius did not let up. He followed with another strike, then another, his attacks fueled by raw, unrelenting fury. Every blow left behind a festering wound, his magic carving into Nameless's shifting form like rust through steel.
The creature fought back just as fiercely. Its movements remained precise, brutal. Claws met flesh, and Aelius felt another rib snap, another wound tear open. But he did not stop. He refused to stop.
The two clashed in a whirlwind of destruction, the world around them crumbling under the weight of their battle. The ground beneath them blackened, rotting away from the sheer force of Aelius's corruption. Nameless's body flickered erratically, its form unable to maintain cohesion under the relentless assault.
And then,
Nameless moved differently.
It didn't strike. It didn't retaliate.
It stepped back.
Aelius snarled, moving to pursue,
But the creature simply raised a hand.
"Enough."
The voice was calm. Amused. But layered with something else. Something Aelius did not trust.
Nameless tilted its head, that grin widening once more despite the decay crawling up its throat. Its form was trembling, its body on the verge of collapse, but it was still standing. Still smiling.
"You are… entertaining," it mused, rolling its shoulders. "It has been so very long since I've felt something like this."
Aelius didn't move, his breathing heavy, his fists still clenched.
Nameless chuckled. "But not yet. No, not yet." It took another step back, its body already beginning to dissipate, breaking apart into nothingness. "We will have our fun again, slayer. And when that time comes…"
It grinned wider.
"I do hope you'll be stronger."
And then,
It was gone.
The battlefield was silent. The air was thick with the lingering stench of rot and sickness, but the presence that had loomed over them all had vanished.
Aelius stood there, his body trembling, his blood still dripping from his wounds. He exhaled sharply, the tension in his frame slowly easing. His magic burned within him, still seething, still craving battle.
But the fight was over.
For now.
He turned his gaze toward the civilians, their faces pale, their bodies still frozen in terror. The prince stared at him, wide-eyed, as if truly seeing him for the first time. The children still cowered behind their parents, their gazes flicking between the ruined battlefield and the blood-soaked figure of Aelius.
He took a slow step forward, and they flinched.
Aelius paused.
Then, without a word, he collapsed into a sitting position, his body finally giving in to the toll of the battle. Every nerve screamed, his limbs trembling under the weight of his own exhaustion. The sharp stench of blood and decay clung to him, his wounds still raw, still oozing sickness, yet he could already feel them shifting.
It was not a pleasant sensation.
His body resisted at first, as if reluctant to mend what had been so thoroughly broken. But slowly, the rot within him stirred, his own corrupted magic setting to work. Flesh twisted unnaturally, knitting itself back together in ways that were more functional than natural. Bones creaked as they realigned, snapping into place with grotesque precision. Torn muscle stitched itself back together, sinew crawling like something alive beneath his skin.
It was slow. Painful. And far from perfect.
Aelius exhaled sharply, his hand digging into the dirt beneath him as a wave of nausea washed over him. This wasn't the clean, precise healing of a god's blessing, it was something far worse. His body didn't heal so much as reform, a grotesque mockery of what it had once been. There would be scars. Imperfections. A reminder that he had been broken and forced to rebuild himself in the only way he knew how.
The jagged remains of his mask scraped against his fingertips as he ran a hand over his face, feeling the deep grooves where it had splintered during the fight. His fingers came away wet with blood, his own, though at this point, it hardly mattered. It mixed with the filth of the battlefield, the remnants of sickness and rot still clinging to his skin like a second layer.
The civilians still stared.
Wide-eyed. Pale. Some still clutching at one another, the children pressed into the folds of their parents' clothes, as if they could hide from what they had just witnessed. Some trembled. Some looked at him as though he were something else entirely. A monster barely distinguishable from the one that had just left.
Aelius ignored them.
His breathing steadied, though his body still ached from the abuse it had taken. The wounds were gone, his flesh unbroken, but the phantom pain of battle remained, weighing heavy in his bones. He would move soon. He had to. But for now, he let the silence settle. Let them watch. Let them wonder.
And then, he spoke.
"So," his voice was hoarse, rasping through the still air. "Still think I'm a hero? A knight?"
The question hung in the space between them, bitter and sharp.
Before anyone could answer, a flash of pale, sickly green light flared around him, rippling outward in brief pulses. The remnants of his broken mask crumbled away, disintegrating into dust as a new one took its place, settling over his face like a second skin. His cloak followed suit, materializing in a slow, crawling wave, like decay in reverse.
When the light faded, Aelius was whole once more, cloaked in shadow, hidden behind his mask, just as he had been before.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, hanging over the ruined chapel like a lingering fog. The civilians remained frozen, their eyes darting between the gaping hole in the wall and the cloaked figure who had impossibly pieced himself back together.
Then, suddenly,
A scuffle of small feet.
Aelius barely had time to process the movement before one of the children, a boy no older than seven, broke free from the crowd, stumbling forward across the bloodstained floor. His tiny frame trembled, and his wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Aelius with something that was neither fear nor horror, but something far worse.
Hope.
The child hesitated only for a moment before picking up speed, bolstered by some unknowable force, as if the weight of everything he'd just seen meant nothing compared to what he was about to do.
Aelius didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't even flinch as the boy skidded to a stop just a few feet away, looking up at him with all the certainty in the world. And then, in a voice that was small yet unwavering,
"Thank you."
Aelius's mind stalled, his thoughts momentarily frozen in place. He had braced himself for terror, for disgust, for more of those hollow, disbelieving stares. He had been prepared to turn away, to disappear into the night without another word.
But not this.
The boy's expression was unreadable, somewhere between exhaustion and reverence, like he wasn't quite sure if he should be afraid or in awe. And yet, the words had left his mouth without hesitation.
Aelius exhaled slowly, tilting his head just slightly. "Why?" The word came out quieter than he expected.
The child swallowed, then glanced over his shoulder at the other civilians, at the broken remnants of the chapel. "You… you fought it. You made it leave. You saved us."
Aelius simply stared at the boy, his masked face unreadable, the dim glow of his eyes flickering behind the lenses.
You saved us.
The words felt foreign. Unfitting.
Had he?
Was that truly what they thought?
He had barely survived. Barely held his own. He had not defeated Nameless. That thing had left on its own terms, with its own twisted sense of satisfaction. And yet, here stood this child, this tiny, fragile being, offering gratitude like Aelius had done something worthy of it.
It was almost laughable.
Almost.
Aelius exhaled sharply, something like bitter amusement curling at the edge of his thoughts. He lowered his gaze to the boy, studying him for a long moment before finally answering, his voice low, quiet,
"Don't thank me, kid."
The boy blinked, his expression faltering.
"You're still alive," Aelius continued, rising to his feet with a slow, deliberate motion, his cloak shifting with the movement. "That was a mistake on its part, not something I did."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The gratitude in their expressions twisted, shifting into uncertainty, wariness. Some eyes held lingering traces of fear. Others, suspicion.
Then a voice cut through the tension.
"You're wrong."
Aelius turned his head slightly, just in time to see the prince step forward, his once-pristine attire now stained with dust and grime. His face was drawn, weary, but his eyes held no doubt. He looked at Aelius, not with fear, nor with hesitation, but with something closer to defiance.
"You did save us," the prince said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "It doesn't matter if you didn't kill it. It doesn't matter if you think it left on its own terms. What matters is that we're still here. And that's because of you."
The murmurs grew louder. Some of the civilians nodded. Others seemed unsure. But no one spoke against the prince.
Aelius studied him for a long, quiet moment.
Then, slowly, he let out a breath, shaking his head. "Foolish."
The prince didn't flinch. "Maybe. But I know what I saw. And so do they."
Aelius said nothing.
The air remained thick with tension, though its sharp edge had dulled. The civilians still stared, but the raw terror had shifted into something else, hesitation, uncertainty, something unspoken hanging heavy in the silence.
Aelius exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the last traces of his body's repair settled in, an uncomfortable, crawling sensation under his skin. He was still drained. Still aching. He needed time to recover, but more than that, he needed his flask.
His gaze flickered downward, searching the ground around him, but it was nowhere to be seen. A tired sigh left him as he muttered, "Someone mind fetching my flask? It got knocked off me during the fight. The faster I recover, the faster we get out of here, "
"Oh, this?"
Aelius blinked.
She was already there. The pink maid.
Standing just off to his side, close enough that she hadn't just retrieved the flask, she had been holding it all along. She lifted it between two delicate fingers, her expression unreadable but soft, her painted lips curling into something just shy of a smile.
Despite the carnage around them, she looked untouched. Her uniform was pristine, her posture composed, as if the fight had been nothing more than a passing disturbance.
Aelius hesitated for only a moment before reaching out. When his fingers brushed against hers, he noted absently how cool her touch was, not unpleasant, just… unexpected.
He took the flask with a quiet nod, rolling it between his hands. "Appreciate it," he said, his voice rough but genuine.
The pink maid tilted her head ever so slightly. "You really do make a mess of things, don't you?"
A short huff of laughter left him. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's told me that."
With a sharp flick of his fingers, he uncapped the flask, the familiar scent of poison greeting him as he took a deep drink. The burn spread through him instantly, curling through his veins like an old friend. The dull ache in his body faded, his mind clearing with every drop.
Better.
He lowered the flask, exhaling slowly. "Still," he added after a moment, "thanks."
The pink maid simply smiled. "Of course."
Aelius took another slow sip from his flask, letting the thick, venomous liquid course through his system. The familiar burn spread from his throat to his limbs, awakening his senses, forcing clarity back into his battered body. His bones no longer ached as much, the lingering discomfort from his regeneration starting to dull. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
With a quiet sigh, he capped the flask and pushed himself upward.
Pain flared through his legs as soon as he shifted his weight, a sharp reminder of just how much damage he had sustained. The healing had done its job, knitting together torn flesh and shattered bone, but his body was still adjusting. Still remembering what it was like to be whole again. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers before clenching them into fists, testing the responsiveness in his limbs.
First, his arms. No stiffness, no fractures left behind. His fingers obeyed, fluid and precise. Good.
Next, his legs. He shifted his stance slightly, distributing his weight, testing for any weak points. His right knee twinged, nothing serious, but noted.
Finally, his core. He took a slow breath in, feeling the stretch of his ribs as they expanded. No stabbing pain. No unnatural shifts. His body had pieced itself back together properly.
He exhaled, satisfied.
The quiet around him still held weight, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The civilians remained rooted in place, their eyes still locked onto him with that same mixture of fear and uncertainty. Some had shrunk back, their instinct to keep their distance overriding whatever gratitude they may have felt. Others simply stared, as if trying to piece together what, exactly, he was.
Aelius ignored it. He had been seen as worse.
Instead, he turned his attention to something far more pressing. He scanned the group, his gaze sharp beneath his mask. "Did anyone get touched by my magic?"
His voice was even, but there was a warning in it, something firm, something expectant. The Plague God's power was not kind to those who were unprepared for it. Even the smallest trace could fester, could rot, could linger where it was least wanted. And while he had contained it to Nameless, the battle had been chaotic.
Accidents happened.
The civilians stiffened at the question, some instinctively checking themselves as if they hadn't even considered it until now. Nervous glances were exchanged. A few shook their heads quickly, clearly eager to reassure themselves.
But he wasn't looking for words. He was looking for signs.
His gaze swept over them, sharp and assessing. No visible corruption. No darkening veins, no unnatural patches of decay, no telltale scent of rot creeping into the air. His magic was distinct, if someone had been affected, he would know.
Still, he waited.
"…No," an older man finally said, his voice wary but steady. "We're fine."
Aelius studied him for a moment longer before giving a short nod. "Good."
Another beat of silence.
Then, without another word, he stretched out his arms, rolling his shoulders as the last remnants of tension left his body. His magic had done its job. His body was functioning. The civilians were unharmed.
For now, that was enough.