Chapter Text
A flash of light, ozone sizzling, as mana slices through the air and bursts into five flaming arrows careening towards the target at the end of the range. Exploding on impact in a shock of heat, the scorch mark and smoking crater is all that’s left of the target. There’s a triumphant laugh, fists pumping in the air as the Highlander points to the blackened earth.
“How about that? Circlework for that spell’s getting faster; worked out a way to connect some of the runes to the same mana thread more efficiently. Bigger boom than your standard flame spell.”
Soap crosses his arms, waiting for his lover to speak from where he’s leaning against the wall. Even though it was high noon, Ghost was covered from crown to sole. Compared to Soap’s own stripped down appearance with his sleeves rolled up and veins pulsing gently with the arcane.
There’s a beat of silence, Ghost mimicking Soap’s stance. The two mages locked in a barely vicious staring contest that Soap is itching to win–
“Not bad, seen better though.”
Soap’s face scrunches to a scowl, blinking before remembering the self-imagined contest. There’s a hint of jest in Ghost’s voice, barely perceptible, but Soap knows Ghost like the back of his grimoire. They’ve spent countless missions together, countless nights too. Surely if he didn’t know the particular pitch and emphasis Ghost uses to indicate he’s joking, he would be loathed to call himself Ghost’s partner. Gaz says it’s weird, Soap disagrees.
“Yeah, yeah. Yourself. I know, my love.”
Soap does try his hardest to not roll his eyes at how smug Ghost looks. Of course, tales of his exploits were renowned within the Queensguard and beyond the castle walls. There was the peculiar way that Ghost cast his magic, a way that left their enemies second-guessing what was being cast due to the absence of a visible circle.
No doubt a circle had been drawn, but Soap’s never been witness to it being done in the entire time he’s been by Ghost’s side. Ghost simply waves a hand and things happen. It is unnerving to see, but it makes him a deadly mage. The man’s armour doesn’t help the rumour mill, absolutely ghoulish as it is, and Soap knows that in other nations there are whispers about Ghost and his abilities.
A familiar mana signature enters the training range, both mages turning to face their Captain as he enters the training range. Price raises his hand in greeting and before they can stand at attention, he waves them off. The firestarter sigil on the side of his curved dragontooth pipe glows red as fire ignites the tobacco inside.
“Ghost, Soap. Got a job for you. You know that dungeon portal that popped up at Kunstenaar District? That private guild KorTac laid claim to it since it was near their usual area of operations. They registered it as a private guild dungeon, thinking that they could manage it. We let them since they seemed so confident. Well, the group submitted a petition for assistance,” Price huffs, plumes of smoke spilling from his mouth as he continues.
“Seems like their own mages aren’t able to handle it. It’s a handful of raids from breaking. Coordinates have been sent to the warp portal guards, all the intel will be given on-site by the support squad before you enter."
Soap gives a salute to Price, while Ghost nods. With Price’s tone, there’s a good chance this type of mission would go sideways.
“Healing and mana potions, emergency warp orb, the works?”
“Yep. Don’t pester the quartermaster for anything unnecessary.”
The taller man goes off to the military alchemist to stock up on potions, while Soap beelines towards the quartermaster. A mage could never be too prepared, neither Soap or Ghost have any strong healing spells in their arsenal, only surface level ones for scratches and bruises, and spare parchment in the case they have to cast spells that need tactile application.
Truthfully, the parchment is there so there is not a repeat of the incident that earned Soap his moniker. There does not need to be another incident of an explosion in a bathhouse started by a panicked spell circle carved into a bar of soap. When Soap told him about the incident, Ghost had laughed so hard he nearly toppled off their bed. He’d then baptised Soap with a new nickname which Gaz had immediately picked up on, quickly followed by the rest of the military.
And thus, John became Soap.
It doesn’t take long for them to meet up and make their way to the castle’s warp station, Soap keeping pace with Ghost’s long strides. The swish of burgundy cloaks, adorned with the heraldry of the military, draws the eyes of the many nobles that were in the castle.
Ghost cuts a nightmarish figure with the dark plating of his armour. The significance of the emblem moulded onto his cuirass was still a mystery to Soap. In between his collarbones, just under where the bevor had connected with the chestpiece, was an image of an eye dripping liquid. Soap had poured through the archives for a symbol, finding very little, and there weren’t any images even similar to it.
The tasset, greaves, spiked pauldron, and clawed gauntlets are all made of similar metal as the chestpiece, plain save for the head of a wolf; the symbol of their order. Dark tunics, polished leather, and metal buckles encompass the rest of his kit. His hood is fixed to the undertunic, a charcoal-coloured wolf pelt lining his shoulders and the top of his cuirass. Weighed down with pouches filled with equipment for trickery, knives hidden between leather and fabric, and a single spiked spaulder on his right arm, Ghost evokes a harrowing silhouette. All this without even mentioning the skull mask, one that many an apprentice mage likes to say is made from a real skull, stolen from a necromage Ghost has killed himself.
Soap suspects that there may be both an ice and heat spell carved into the internal part of the plate that allows him to remain cool in all types of weather. It was not the standard uniform that made up most of the queendom’s forces, but there were exceptions made for battlemages of their level.
Soap has his own custom gear, made by their military’s forgemaster. Similar to Ghost, Soap bears a single wolf’s head spaulder, on his left shoulder and gloves, much less stylishly morbid than his partner’s. He wore a grey shirt under a navy coat, the heavy fabric woven with silver dragonscale. The material, which protected him from the fire of his own spells, had been a courting gift from Ghost. The scales themselves had come from the first and only dragon Ghost had ever slain.
Quite romantic for a courting gift, really.
His clothes are buffed by further enchantments, able to withstand a direwolf’s jaws but falling short of a nibble from a juvenile dragon. His own cuirass is moulded with the queendom’s coat of arms, an owl and sword, strapped tight to ensure that he was well protected. He isn’t quite as armed to the teeth as Ghost, but Soap has a knack for alchemy that reflects on his chosen kit. His application of magic is more physical compared to Ghost, so his bandoleer was stuffed full of potion vials and flasks containing whatever homebrew he’d created the night before.
A hush falls the moment they enter the main courtyard, where other soldiers and mages were milling about between training, study, and various tasks. Of course, seeing two of the military’s top mages decked in their full armour departing for a mission was always a treat, bets being made on what sort of assignment they had been tasked by Queen Kate and how long it would take for them to complete it.
The words “ Queen’s Warhounds ” reach Soap’s ears, followed by a hiss and a yelp. Soap spies a pair of recruits who have been watching them since their arrival to the courtyard. He snorts when they turn tail and run as Ghost fixes them with a glare. The moniker, Warhounds , is something only a handful of people in the entirety of the Queensguard and Her Majesty’s Forces don, worn as a badge of honour rather than the derogatory way nobles use it.
The two guards at the entrance of the warp station salute them both, though Soap is the only one who reciprocates, giving them a friendly wave. Ghost simply walks past with a nod, stopping short of the platform’s steps before his arm extends in a grand sweeping gesture, ushering Soap ahead of him like a real gentlemage.
“After you, good sir.”
Soap feels something inside him wither, certainly not his love for Ghost, but something. Perhaps the last shred of hope that Ghost could go one day without being a right cunt, either way, Soap stomps by with pursed lips, narrowing his eyes at Ghost.
“Perish.”
“No thank you.”
The attendant on duty coughs, cheeks pink from the effort of holding her laughter. She verifies the location of their warp before touching the orb that sits at the main console of the portal. A bright white glow emits from the orb before the portal pulses and morphs into an array of blues and pinks.
“Safe travels, sirs, may the Spirits light your path.”
The two step through and there’s the familiar rush of time and space distorting that leaves Soap dizzy..He feels his stomach drop as the tension of the mana snaps. Eternity and instantaneity overlap and when he can breathe again, the scent of water hits him as his feet touch land. There’s always a little bit of whiplash when it comes to warp travel and Soap takes a good few seconds to make sure he wasn’t seeing double of everything and his stomach isn’t at risk of chucking up breakfast. He sees Ghost pass through the warp portal, looking absolutely put together with not a knife out of place. Soap could see the barest squint behind the mask and eye black where the other was smirking at him.
Absolute bastard.
He loves him though.
As the two walk out of the warp station, the cityview opens up. Vondel has always been a city of brick-red and blue, clear skies. Water spirits, Larusines, he recalls, peek out of the many canals and streams that run between the buildings of the ancient city, showing how the land is blessed by Lady Larunda, Spirit of springs and light. It’s one of Soap’s favourite places to visit on his time off, weaving between buildings to see what the city has to offer. He finds the Larusine intriguing and lovely, watching as they chitter when he offers a bow to them.
The dungeon’s portal is situated near the main square of the district, hovering over the canal but close enough to the dock’s edge that they could step into it. The portal crackles with energy, arcs of electricity hitting the dock and water. Soap lets out a low whistle, hands on his hips.
“Spirits above, look at the size of that thing.”
Ghost hums, tilting his head to the side slightly and closing his eyes. Soap feels the mana circulating at Ghost’s feet, slowly creeping along the ground and inspecting the open portal. There’s a brief moment where the spell reverberates against his bones, a chill that touches his nerves before the mana retreats. There’s a wave of energy from the portal that has everyone flinching, save for Ghost. Soap shakes it off, scrunching his nose while Ghost waits patiently for him to collect himself.
“Captain was right about it being a few raids from breaking, best we sort it out quick.”
“Too right. I’ll have a chat with the support team.”
Soap jogs off towards the tent where the support team had set up their base. It’s a precautionary measure in the event that he and Ghost come out in tatters, but he’s confident that wouldn’t be the case. As he approaches, a familiar face in the medical team has him grinning. The healer spots him and rolls their eyes as he waves to them.
“MacTavish, keeping out of trouble?”
“Ach, you know me, Levi. Can’t seem to stay away from it.”
Levi snorts and Soap knows that they're recalling their initial meeting; the previously mentioned “Soap Spell Incident”. Since then, the two of them had been steady friends, though Soap still reckons that Levi and Gaz are horrible gossips out to get him.
He senses Ghost’s mana signature moving closer, knows that the other mage is doing everything he can to appear intimidating and befitting of his position as a Lieutenant of the Queen’s Hunters. Soap looks over his shoulder at Ghost who is glowering at the healer, spine straight as he assumes his authority over the two of them.
“Healer Park, status report?”
Soap rolls his eyes at the curt way Ghost addresses Levi, almost looking down his nose at them. Levi- bless them- looks back up, unafraid, and starts their rundown of the dungeon.
“Yes, Sir Ghost. The dungeon has been reported as a shifting-type where the surroundings and requirements to complete the dungeon change with every entry. Three parties have attempted to conquer the dungeon and reported that the order of scenarios would change, however there seems to be short-term memory loss associated with the entry, so we couldn’t get the full details on what you will face inside. We believe it is a dungeon-shock symptom unique to this particular dungeon.” Levi pushes their spectacles further up their nose, sighing deeply. “KorTac would usually be able to handle S-class dungeons. However, as said before, this dungeon does not follow the usual template or rules. Please be careful. If I have to charm a fucking rope to hold you down, MacTavish, I will.”
Soap laughs, then realises Levi will actually do it, and nods instead. Ghost lets out a huff behind his mask, one that has Levi quirking a brow and smirking. Soap notes the newfound camaraderie between the pair, before having an awful moment of clarity; this is at his expense and, knowing Ghost, he’ll elicit the help of his newfound ally in future endeavours.
Lovely. Just what he needs.
“Didn’t know you were chummy with the support team,” Ghost quips, eyes trailing after the departing healer. The air of controlled casualness palpable as Soap realises the man is fishing for information. Soap attempts to hold down a chuckle; it's almost adorable, watching Ghost try and maintain a façade of disinterest.
“Am not really; Levi’s just someone I wasn’t able to charm into letting me go early. They damn near wrestled me back into the hospital bed and trussed me up. Didn’t realise they’d be taking point for this portal.”
Soap can guess that Ghost’s eyebrows are raised in curiosity behind the mask and waits a beat before continuing.
“They’ve got family in KorTac. Nikto’s their spouse. He was in the first party with that tall fella König and Horangi. Came out in shambles. Heard through the fairyvine that Nikto didn’t fare too well in there; he’s always excelled more in dungeons where fighting’s the game. This one plays tricks on ya, and you know he’s never been the most… stable. At any rate, Levi and I meet whenever we’re not busy, to chat and they have a lot of things they need off their chest.”
Soap notices the tight look in Ghost’s eye and gently pats him on the arm, attempting to quell the other’s cynicism.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know you’re the only one for me.”
That seems to put Ghost in a better mood and he gives a contented nod before he wanders back to the portal. Soap runs through the post-dungeon checklist with the team, so they’re prepared in the event Soap and Ghost come out in several pieces or with minds addled from an unknown curse. Once satisfied, he heads back to Ghost’s side, standing in front of the portal. A crowd had formed while he was busy with the support team and he flashes the children a smile… and perhaps shows off a bit of their heraldry. To let the public know that they’re taken care of. Obviously.
Well wishes echo behind them as the crowd sees them off and Soap gives them one last flourishing bow as Ghost rolls his eyes. The masked mage flicks his wrist, snickering when Soap trips over his feet over thin air.
“Keep up, Soap,” is all he says before stepping through, leaving Soap fuming in his wake.
“Ghost, ye bastard! Had I known you’d be this terrible when I wooed ye, I would’ve g–”
The two Hunters push through the portal and words are cut off by the roaring of the wind as the arcane pulses and crackles. It glows a brilliant white, almost blinding, before the portal pulses once more and transforms into an inky black pool.
The crowd that had been cheering the Hunters now stood in stunned silence, glancing at one another. Those who regularly watch dungeon-raids know that an occupied dungeon will turn into a contained storm, muted in colour compared to the vibrant blue of an open dungeon. A black dungeon is unheard of, speaking of ill fortunes rather than a successful subjugation.
Anxious whispering crescendos into suspicious murmurs as they watch the support team running towards the portal. Sharp gazes turn towards the healer standing in front of the black squall, watching as they begin to bark out orders.
“I need an ocularum device dispatched to Kunstenaar to monitor the portal and detect any abnormalities. Contact the seers as well, the Chief Augur will want to participate in a top-priority scry. We will stand vigil until Lieutenant Ghost and Sergeant MacTavish return home. Prepare for all scenarios.”
The support team snaps to action, bumping into each other as they scramble to follow the given orders. Levi pinches the bridge of their nose at the chaos, breathing out slowly.
“And get me the Captain, now .”