Chapter Text
Shuraig woke up with a sword at his throat.
“Where is Ecclesia?” Fleur demanded. Her eyes were now blood red, and her pupils were diamond-shaped. Her corrupted armor was gone, though she still had her old sword. Her grip on her weapon was trembling. She needed both hands just to hold up the blade.
“Let’s not do this,” Shuraig sighed. He used an armored hand to lightly push the sword aside. “I know just as much as you do. You’ve still recovering from…a possession, right? Don’t hurt yourself. Put the weapon down.”
“You first,” Fleur said, gesturing to Bucephalus II, which was still attached to Shuraig’s arm.
Shuraig rolled his eyes but detached Bucephalus, lettings its parts fall onto the sand. He held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
Fleur put down the sword, though she kept glaring daggers at him.
Shuraig sat up to find that they were, yet again, in the giant desert of Golgonda. They were surrounded by nothing but endless dunes and the occasional set of bones. He stood and began shaking sand out of his hair and clothes.
“Do you know how we got here?” he asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Fleur said. “The last thing I remember is killing Maximus, or whatever it is he became. And even then it’s murky, considering I was…not myself.”
“How are you feeling?” Shuraig asked.
“Don’t pretend to care about my well-being.”
“God forbid I be polite to the only other person stranded with me in this gigantic desert,” Shuraig said. “We literally killed, like, weird fucked up pope god together. I'm not going to stab you in the back as soon as you turn around.”
“Don’t use the lord’s…” Fleur stopped mid-sentence. “Conflicted opinions on my past religion aside, we fought together very temporarily because of a common enemy. I still have not forgotten my friends in arms that you and your bandits murdered.”
“Murdered?” Shuraig shouted. “It was self-defense! They were going to kill us!”
“You could’ve just run away!”
“And live as cowards for the rest of our life? Just for being who we are? Fuck that. Fuck that and fuck you.” Shuraig picked up Bucephalis II and flicked off its safety. It whirred to life and crackled with Spright-fueled energy.
Fleurdelis reacted quickly, picking up her sword and stepping into a combat stance.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her weapon slowly fell out of her hands as she collapsed face-down onto the sand.
For a few moments, Shuraig silently stared down the sights of Bucephalus II. There was nothing around them but the hot desert wind. All he needed to do was pull the trigger. He’d tell Ecclesia that Fleur was already dead when he woke up. Nobody would ever know.
Shuraig’s grip wavered. He sighed and set the gun down.
“I better go to heaven for this…” he muttered.
Shuraig flipped over Fleur’s body and brushed the sand off of her face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that she was gorgeous.
He detached his own armor and accessories to find his water canteen was still there. He unscrewed the cap and gently trickled water over Fleur’s face until her eyes fluttered open.
“Hydrate,” he said, offering the canteen to her.
Fleur looked at the canteen with suspicion. Shuraig presumed she was mentally weighing her options, or the lack thereof. She snatched it from him and began gulping down water.
“Hey, we need to ration that shit!” Shuraig shouted. “We’re in the middle of a fucking desert!” He stole back the canteen and hastily capped it.
“Consider it a toast,” Fleur said as she wiped her mouth, “to killing, quote-unquote, ‘weird fucked up pope god.’”
“Did the priest’s daughter learn her first curse word?” Shuraig said as he re-equipped his accessories.
“I’d argue ‘six-hundred-and-sixty-forth saint of Dogmatika’ is a few steps above ‘priest’s daughter,’” Fleur said. “The swordsouls cursed like maniacs. My pure, saintly vocabulary has been fucked.”
Shuraig smirked. “Do you wanna tell me how you’re actually feeling? Considering we have to make it out of this desert with only each other.”
“I feel like someone’s been tenderizing me with a mallet,” Fleur muttered. “And my head hurts something awful. I really wanna just lie here and fall asleep."
“Hold that thought,” Shuraig said. He tapped something on his wrist, and a holographic display appeared. “It’s still morning. Let's get to some shade by noon so we don’t get fried.”
“Does your fancy hologram also have a map, by any chance?” Fleur asked.
“It does.” Shuraig pressed another button, and a rotating diorama appeared. A blinking dot was set in the center of the area labelled GOLGONDA.
“How close are we to Dogmatika?” Fleur asked. “Or what used to be Dogmatika, at least.”
“Pretty far. Even by aircraft, it would take a day or so at the very least.”
“Wonderful. How did we even get here?”
“Some bullshit involving the holes, maybe. The map does say there is a town nearby. We could find an inn for the night.”
“Do you have enough money for a room?”
“I think I’ve got a few gold coins in my pouch still. I could pawn some of my equipment if it comes to that.”
“Maybe we’ll get a hero’s discount.”
“I doubt news has reached this far, this fast. And besides, even if it did, they would have no way of knowing who we are. You might have to pawn some of those fancy trinkets.”
“You’ve got nothing on you? If I’m dragging dead weight around, I don’t wanna do it for free.”
“Nothing in my pockets, unfortunately. My corrupted armor disappeared somehow after Maximus died, and you can pry my sword from my cold, dead hands.”
Shuraig groaned. “I’m renting one room, then.”
“Only one bed? How scandalous,” Fleur deadpanned.
Shuraig glared at Fleur. “The assumption was that you’d sleep on the floor.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just joking. Hey, Mr. ‘Ominous Omen,’ would you mind lifting me off the sand before I turn into barbecued saint?”
Shuraig muttered some very rude complaints under his breath as he helped Fleur to her feet.
They began walking through the desert. Fleur limped behind Shuraig, eventually looping her arm around his neck for support. Shuraig said nothing about the sudden contact.
“You smell,” she said.
“I don’t recall the Bystials offering us convenient breaks to shower.” he replied.
“Yeah, but you have, like…a long-term smell. Like, I can tell you’ve smelled this way for a while.”
“Are you sure you’re in your right mind?” Shuraig asked.
“No,” Fleur said. She giggled.
Shuraig sighed. “I cannot wait for you to lie down and go to sleep.”