Chapter Text
Chilchuck's casket was terribly small. The flowers covering his body are probably heavier, Marcille thought as she carefully touched his hand, no longer radiating his signature warmth that Izutsumi loved so much. She laid her small bouquet of white and yellow flowers on his chest, the flowers tied with string that was twisted with a thin lock of her hair. She sniffled.
"We'll meet again in the next life, Chil," she promised, pressing her forehead onto his. She could hardly see his face through the tears, only barely making out his now fully gray hair and liver spots on his cheeks. She turned and walked off the pedestal, passing guests and friends who had lined up to pay their respect. She barely caught the eyes of Chilchuck's daughters and quickly gave them her condolences, but she needed to leave.
Marcille found herself sitting in front of the maw of the now dead dungeon, cross legged, her mouth limply ajar. This is only the first death, she thought. Is this going to get any easier? The hollow hole only stared back, refusing to answer. Her hand grazed over the ground as she locked eyes with the void. Feeling a small rock, she immediately clutched it and threw it at the entrance. The rock hit the shrouded stone floor, echoing once, twice, thrice, rolled, then stopped. The lack of response was pissing her off as she patted around for another rock to throw.
"Marcille." She flinched as a soft voice came from behind. She shot up and frantically dusted off her gown.
"Falin! Wha, what are you doing here?"
"I could ask the same thing." She had her gentle smile, but her cheeks were blushing harder than usual, her lashes glistening with residual tears. "Everyone's looking for you."
"Can't I mourn alone in peace for a bit?" Marcille bit back, trying not to sound too snappy.
"You've been gone for hours and we were getting worried."
"Hours? It's only been---" Marcille looked at the sky. Chilchuck's funeral was in the late morning. The sky was now painted in a hazy hue of pink and evening blue, the stars following close by. "...Oh," she let out a strained cough, "um, I guess I must've lost track of time."
"Apparently," Falin took her hand, "let's go eat." Like on cue, Marcille's stomach let out a long and loud protest. Falin giggled in her sleeve as Marcille blushed with a weak chuckle.
The two walked toward the town square, passing a lamp lighting Gnome and Tallmen children weaving past them in dark mourning gowns, oblivious to who the feast in the center was for, or caring to know. Marcille breathed in the evening summer air, a bit heavy with smoke and dust from the bustling day, carrying a hint of the salty ocean, and the ever-growing flavor of spiced meat pies and Senshi's stew as they approached.
The women walked in silence, their hands still together, and Marcille glanced down to look at Falin's. Her skin was still firm and youthful, her chimera feathers tickling her wrist. It seemed a little bigger though, and her nails were growing curved. Marcille wondered if this was something she just missed, but before she could ponder, Falin jogged ahead so that she was eagerly pulling Marcille to the center.
"I'm getting pretty hungry!" She said, giggling childishly, the bounce of her hair hiding her face. Marcille followed, trying her best not to trip on her gown on the stone steps.
The feast was crowded by the townspeople and then some, perhaps Chilchuck and his extended family and friends, Marcille figured, as there were many unfamiliar Half-foot faces. Some gathered around Senshi and his food stall to admire his cooking (and seemingly Senshi himself), while others mingled with each other and townsfolk like old friends. Unlike the funerals Marcille had attended (which was, admittedly, not very many), this seemed lively and...fun. A large bonfire was going in the center with Half-foot folk music and dance. The stalls were serving rows of Chilchuck's favorite ale. Many sat around large communal tables talking about their favorite stories about Chil, while others talked about completely unrelated tales and topics.
Chilchuck's daughters were handing out ale to passerbys, thanking every one of them for attending. They were smiling and laughing with the guests, clinking their cups together and gulping down the golden liquid like water. Like father, like daughters, huh, Marcille thought as Meijack caught her eye and raised a cup towards her. Marcille took her up on the offer, asking for two ales.
"Ms. Donato."
"Marcille, please."
"Ms. Toud...Falin," she corrected herself as she handed Falin her cup.
Falin raised her ale, "To Chilchuck, our dearest friend and hero to the workers."
"He was just a stickler for rules and fairness," Meijack grinned, raising hers. Marcille nodded in agreement.
"To the stickler of justice," she announced, raising her cup. The three of them clinked loudly, then downed the bitter but refreshingly cold ale. Marcille couldn't hold back scrunching her face at the lingering flavor. "Man, I forgot he actually liked this stuff."
Meijack chuckled, "Never said my dad had great taste." The more Marcille looked at Meijack, the more she was impressed at how similar she and Chil really are. The rusty hair, their large, black eyes, her demeanor, the way she carries herself, even her voice to an extent. She imagined how it would feel looking in the mirror every day, seeing the reflection of the ones you loved looking back at you, reminding you that they're gone, like being forced to wear their death mask that you can never take off. She wondered if she would also see her mother in the mirror once she passed.
"Am I too painful of a reminder?" Marcille snapped out of her thoughts, facing Meijack with darkened eyes and a small, hollow smile. Like the maw. She felt cold sweat burst from her skin.
"What?"
"Hm?" The two stared at each other, exchanging confused looks. Meijack's face was normal again, the light of the flame tracing the bags under her tired, droopy eyes. Ashamed that she even equated her face to the void of the dungeon, Marcille handed her cup back apologetically.
"Thank you for the ale," she said, averting her gaze. She wanted to add something else, but words fell from her mind like beads on a loose string. She closed her mouth, bowed quickly, and pushed her way through the lively crowd. Falin followed suit, still holding her cup, almost tripping over a dancing Half-foot as she waved to Meijack as she, too, became a part of the sea of drunks and happy mourners.
Marcille ignored Falin's calls to wait for her. She marched to the center table piled with miscellaneous food stalls and guests brought; meat glistening oil like precious jewels, bread and pies trailing hot steam and herby aroma, preserved nuts and fruits haphazardly decorated the wooden table like they've burst out of a brimming bag. Marcille, without a word, snatched several stuffed flatbreads, handfuls of nuts and berries, laid them in her dress and held them in with one hand while the other grabbed a thigh bone of probably some big bird monster with the most meat on it she could reach. Collecting all the food she could carry, she ducked and weaved between Tallmen and Dwarves, aiming for an alleyway.
She took a large bite of a cheesy bread as she dove into the shadows, tapping her heels concentrating a swirl of wind magic beneath her feet. She leapt lightly over the roof like she bounced on an invisible trampoline, focusing the magic so that she would gently land on the layered red shingles.
I shouldn't have come, she thought, gnawing at the unknown bird meat. It was tougher than it looked, but the flavor was Orcish with its intense spices and heat. She took another bite of the cheese bread to tone down the spiciness. She felt her eyes well up. Gods, these are delicious.
She watched the party from the rooftop, her eyes not particularly searching for anything or anyone, although she did catch a glimpse of Falin who was now talking to Laios (probably asking if he'd seen Marcille) who was shaking his head to the side. Next to him was Namari calling someone over, swinging her arm over her head. In her other hand was a large pint of alcohol, probably the Chilchuck special she had earlier. Toshiro walked leisurely over, holding a plate of food and greeting them with hugs and shy smile. Marcille observed the four, their maturing faces and aging hands, their dark mourning wear, and just their general air seemingly calmer, somehow refined. The Touden siblings were aging slower compared to Toshiro; his sleek black hair was now peppered with white streaks, and his smile lines were prominent compared to Laios. Either the political stress of his homeland was wearing the Easterner down, or this was another part of the Winged Lion's curse on the current Dungeon Master. If it was the latter, then why was Falin so youthful? Is it because she's a chimera? Marcille took another bite of the spicy thigh. Man, this thing is addictive.
Her eyes wandered, searching for familiar faces when they fell on Kabru who surrounded himself with Mickbell and Kuro. She could only see the back of the Half-foot and Kobold, but she could tell that Kuro wasn't going to be able to stand on his own for long. His tail swung weakly as he spoke to Kabru, his thin, nearly boney arms around Mickbell who seemed to be looking up and checking on him constantly. Kuro's black fur was now fully gray and frizzy, his back permanently bent achingly forward. Marcille dropped her gaze down to her dress full of fruits and bread, slowly chewing on a gummy raisin.
She then felt a familiar tinge on her skin. A fellow mage, which wasn't unusual around here, but she knew this one somehow. She scanned the crowd, slowly and carefully, not really looking at the faces, but focusing on the source of the magic. There.
Fionil. She stood by her partner Doni, who looked visibly older than her, his age starkly showing around his eyes and mouth whenever he laughed at other guests' jokes, and when he brought ale up to his mouth, his hands now veiny and knobby. Marcille knew the two of them were traveling the world on adventures of their own, and it showed on Doni while Fionil was...unchanged. It was like time was stagnant for her. She was exactly the same as the first time Marcille encountered her with Laios' party during the cockatrice attack. Her fluffy blonde hair, her blue cloak and sheer white dress, her drooping long ears, her young, tearful face...as if nothing's changed.
And that scared her.
Marcille touched her face, feeling how smooth and young she must look. She combed her fingers through her hair, soft and smooth. She looked at her hands, shaking, not a vein in sight. She looked back at Fionil. The other Half-Elf was staring up at her with a blank expression, her ice blue eyes staring with an unknown emotion. Marcille looked away, crawling to the other side of the roof where she couldn't be seen, dropping berries and half-eaten flatbread behind.
---
The last Laios heard about the war in the Eastern Appalachia was the news that Toshiro Nakamoto and his retainers dying on the battlefield. A package was sent to the Kingdom with parts of his armor, tanto, and the twin bell to Laios' that he kept close to his heart. This came soon after Mickbell's funeral, burying his tiny casket next to his best friend.
"The Nakamoto family had no known successor in place," Kabru bit his lip. Laios' head was in his hand, rubbing his temple with furrowed brows. "The war is only going to intensify at this pace."
"I told him to adopt, or at least let one of us be a stand-in until they find someone suitable to take over," Laios gritted his teeth. Kabru shook his head.
"His brothers were assassinated. I don't think he wanted to risk any more lives for the sake of his family, or his country."
"We could have helped him."
"You know we're in a risky position if we assisted ---"
"So we just let him die?!"
"Laios."
Laios covered his face with both his palms, letting out a short, frustrated muffled yell. Kabru stood by his side, hands to his back, patiently waiting for him to let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Laios," he repeated, "your friend's life cannot be a burden to your people." Laios' hands grabbed a handful of his unkempt bangs as if threatening to rip them out of their roots.
"I know," he gritted. Kabru let out a sigh and continued.
"The Nakamoto Alliance was the last line of defense. The Eastern Appalachia will be under the enemy's control within a few weeks unless the Dwarves decide to assist, which is unlikely as they're dealing with both the enemy and internal squabbles. It won't be long before the enemy starts regrouping and moving to the Eastern Continent." Kabru's words were even and monotone, as if he was reading off a script. "The Elves are willing to send out their Canaries once more, but no more than that. It isn't nothing, but to them, this battle is just another excuse to kill off their criminals and nothing more."
"And our Kingdom, having no true affiliation with others, nor a legal army, can only sit and watch."
"...Or risk retaliation and more political pressure."
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
The enemy had been gaining ground like locusts, their armies comprised of all known races, all strong, all magical, all wrong, all hungry. They were first observed making their way south from the northwest shores of the Southern Continent, crushing all surface villages and towns on sight, leaving not a shard of bone at their wake. According to survivors, the enemies crumbled like dry mud when attacked, but could flatten a wooden house with just their fists when attacking. The magic they've cast was both known and unknown, some believing it was black and some darker magic that was not meant for them to know.
The enemy was rumored to have come from the darkest depths of the Kingdom's dungeon, making their way to the surface, destroying, killing, consuming everything in its path. Because of this rumor, all continents forced the Kingdom to not interfere with any conflict involving the enemy in an abundance of caution. This treaty, Kabru thought, is possibly backfiring badly. Not to mention that each continent sent their own retainers to keep watch of the Kingdom, and Laios was now under constant surveillance along with his friends and subordinates. The entrance of the dead dungeon was heavily guarded with soldiers, mages, and magical alarms.
The logical thought was to investigate the depths of the dungeon to check if the enemies were actually spawning from below. If so, try and stop them, close whatever gates of Hell they came from, or make some kind of plan to do either. If not, then the treaty could be annulled and the Kingdom could assist others somehow, perhaps by being some refuge to displaced citizens or providing food supplies to allies in need. At least that's something their tiny Kingdom could do.
Unfortunately, as tensions were high and everybody seems to want to strangle anyone who even looked at them wrong, a complete lock down was forced upon the tiny young island Kingdom.
King Laios, the Devourer of All Things Horrible and the Cursed One of the Demon Winged Lion, was not exactly favored in the political sphere as a former commoner and, later found out, a deserter of his country. He could not leave his island as his presence kept the monsters at bay, allowing his Kingdom to have a natural barrier from enemies both creature and man. Advantageous as this was for him and his people, this was an annoyance especially to his eastern neighbors.
"King Laios," a woman's voice echoed behind the two. Laios silently groaned into his palms while Kabru's blue eyes sharply glared at the Tallman striding towards them, her large hand brushing away a lock of wavy burgundy hair behind her velvety purple mage cape.
"Yes...S...sal…"
"Santu Meccini," Kabru whispered.
"Santu, yeah, what do you want."
"Your majesty, you know exactly what we want. Have you thought it over?"
"How many times do we have to go over this Ms. Meccini?" Kabru scowled. "You are out of line. Ask again and I shall banish you from the island."
"You don't have that kind of authority, boy," she grinned. "Be grateful we still allow your King to have some autonomy over himself. At least we ask nicely." She snakily crossed her arms and strode closer to Laios' seat. Kabru continued to glare at her, but knew better than to piss off the retainer from the East Continent. He could sense from beneath her calm demeanor that she was probably getting pressure from her higher-ups as the enemy creeps closer to their far eastern shores. She leaned on the table next to Laios, her manicured Gnomish fingers tracing the carved patterns on the edge. "Sir, we're not asking without an exchange," Santu purred, "you and your people have been dying to go dungeon diving again anyway, what's there to think about? Don't you want this war to end?"
"There's no guarantee that the source is even down there," Kabru snarled. "Why don't you people go down instead? It's under your jurisdiction."
"If we go, then what's the point of this negotiation?"
"You...!"
"Besides, you know this dungeon better than us outsiders," she replied snidely, "I didn't come here to get dungeon dirt stuck in my nails." Kabru scoffed.
"But painting them with royal blood is fine, hm?" At that, her eyes made a crescent smile.
"Peasants playing pretend in a sandbox doesn't mean anything, Kabru of Utaya." She grabbed Laios' hand and yanked it in front of Kabru's furious face. "One. Finger." She emphasized through her teeth, her silver eyes burrowing into Kabru. "And you get to make your little team to investigate the dungeon."
Laios snatched back his hand and ordered both Santu and Kabru to give him some alone time, leaving the two to silently scowl at each other as he slowly made his way to his private quarters. The halls of his castle were sparse with servants and observers, each giving him a quick glance and a curt bow as if they were in a hurry. Laios wasn't one to pressure etiquette onto his people, but he had been noticing that people had been putting some distance between him and them. He pushed open his door and welcomed the shrouded darkness of his room, the thick curtains blocking the afternoon light with only slivers of yellow-white of the sun peeking through. He pulled off his signature cape and threw it on top of his desk piled high with documents he still had to go over. He toppled into his mattress face first, groaning into the bedding for a long, long time.
There's too much to think about, he moaned, burying his head deeper into the bed, too much to do. He felt around his chest and pulled out the twin bells from his pocket. He rolled them around the palm of his hands, noting that Toshiro's bell was blackened on one side. He rang it, and his bell replied with a light ring. It was hard to breathe suddenly as he heaved, letting out a stifled cry, clutching the bells close to his chest.
**
The theory of using parts of Laios' body as a monster warding talisman was not a new one. Falin and Marcille had tested his hair and nails with inconclusive results, Marcille suggesting perhaps how concentrated his separated part would change results. However, that would also mean sacrificing his actual flesh for testing. Laios wasn't particularly against the idea, partially because he wanted to satiate a long-standing curiosity and the possibility that he could leave the island as long as he left a part of him behind was more than appealing. But Falin and Marcille, although curious, didn't want conclusive evidence of their hypothesis being true.
What bad actors would do once they know how much Laios' body is worth separated from the host. Kabru agreed with the two, and forbade the experiment indefinitely (to Laios' dismay). But now, Marcille and Falin were at an impasse.
"I'll give him my finger as a replacement."
"It's not just about his comfort now, Falin. You know this isn't just about his body."
"I do, you know I do. And so does Laios." Falin opened her slitted golden eyes. "This is more than just about our Kingdom too, Marcille." Marcille looked away.
"There's no proof that the rumors are even true. The dungeon may be dormant, but there hasn't been any maintenance or anything done for decades now. Even if monsters don't kill us, the weakened platforms surely will." Marcille swallowed. "Resurrection magic isn't an option anymore. The risk is too high."
"I'm going."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you have to stay by Laios' side."
"We haven't spoken face to face in months. I would be more useful to my brother if I go rather than staying cooped up in this basement."
"That self-sacrificing trait is what really ticks me off, the both of you...!"
"Marcille." Falin's soft voice pleaded, tugging at Marcille's heartstrings. "Look at me." Hesitantly, slowly, she did.
Falin's body was substantially larger than what she was supposed to be, her feathered legs and torso now accompanied by patches of ruby red scales. Her hands were still of her own, but her nails grew sharp and curved like onyx talons, and a second pair draped lazily to her sides, fully scaled and birdlike. Her wings were smaller than what it was decades ago, folded neatly on her back, a natural line from the end of the tip tracing a long, whip-like tail. Laios' curse had deemed her too monstrous in the last few months, and the siblings had not been able to see one another, her claiming that whenever she tried to get close to him, "It was like a wall of bad feelings and sickness crushing my mind and chest." They frequently sent each other hand-written notes and doodles through Marcille and Kabru (and others that came to visit), but there was a sadness each time they read each other's messages and thanked their messengers.
Falin carefully took Marcille's hand. "I would rather try to help my brother and everyone else and fail than to just stay here doing nothing, getting farther and farther away from my brother and all of you, and just...living, regretting it." She squeezed her hand, mindful of her unretractable talons. "Marcille, you'd do the same, wouldn't you?"
I wouldn't, she thought. You'd be alive, Laios would be alive, I would cage and feed and take care of both of you till the end of days. I'll bring everyone to this island and entrap them, they can hate me but I don't care. I'll figure out how to stop time. Nobody will leave me. You won't leave me. You'll all die after me, I'll make sure of that. It won't be long, I promise. You'll hate me anyway, so you won't mourn long. Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me.
"I...," Marcille choked on her words, "...would." Falin smiled, tiny fangs peeking from both corners of her mouth.
When Marcille relayed this to Laios, he had a moment of hesitation, but sighed, as if he had already accepted this result a while ago. He jokingly asked which finger would be the best to give Santu Meccini, and she replied his left middle finger, so he did. Kabru later scolded the three individually, but after the deed was done, he happily placed Laios' finger upright on the best ring cushion he could find and presented it to the retainer, whose eyes visibly twitched at the sight. King Laios, on the other hand, was quite pleased with his new ruby-scaled, black-taloned middle finger, clicking it often on wooden surfaces to Kabru’s and several servants’ annoyance.
**
Namari had decided to join the front line defense on the eastern shoreline, so had declined Marcille's request to come back to the island. Senshi had also declined, but gave Falin a few months worth of supplies, a large cooking pot, his cooking and monster notes, and a Dwarven knife made of Adamantite.
Laios handed Marcille his twin bell, keeping the blackened half. She tested and shook the bell with a satisfying ring, and Laios' rang back. He handed her the return scroll he was given by Maizuru, emphasizing if they want to come back for any reason whatsoever, whether they were in danger or not, he will welcome them all back whether it was a success or failure, no questions asked. Marcille smiled and lightly punched him on the shoulder.
Seemingly, it was just going to be Marcille and Falin on this expedition as they reviewed their supplies, maps and books. Marcille tested Ambrosia's magic output speed in quick succession and precision, shooting down falling leaves with fire, water, and earth magic. Falin ooh-ed and ahh-ed with claps, her two pair of hands making a small audience for Marcille and her ego. Then, they noticed a third set of claps coming from behind close by. The two whirled around, back to back, holding their respective wands in front of them.
“We have permission from the Eastern Alliance!” Marcille announced, the tip of Ambrosia glowing with lightning magic. “We’re gonna go whether you like it or not!”
"I, I'm sorry!" A weepy voice cried from the cluster of trees. "I didn't mean to scare you two like that." Marcille recognized the tinge on her skin, the presence of a familiar mage. Her green eyes widened as a fluffy blonde hair emerged from behind a tree, a blue cape, white sheer dress, droopy long ears, and saddened, ice blue eyes.
Fionil, the other Half-Elf.