"Come catch us, Father! We know you want to kill us!" the Crimson Mist yelled, just beyond Marcus' sight. They cut back and whispered in his ear, "You know you want our blood." Marcus covered his ear, trying to block them out, but their voices spoke to him from inside his head.
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"Yes, Daddy, why don’t you kill them… you let them die once already, what is a second time?" Conner’s voice said.
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Marcus opened his eyes and saw his son standing before him. "Begone, Conner, leave me in peace, please," Marcus said. He longed to reach out and hold his child once again, but deep down, he knew that this was not his son.
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The Crimson Mist attacked Conner from behind, and his body exploded in front of Marcus. "No!" Marcus screamed. Tears began to form in his eyes. "Am I to spend the rest of my time in Damnation?" he asked as he looked to the sky.
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"What are you looking at, Father?" the children in the mist said in a solemn voice. "You are not going in that direction," they added with glee. "Don’t you want to hurt us for killing your precious little Conner? We know you love him more than us!"
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"Well Marcus, I hope this is everything you hoped for." Lorna’s voice echoed back.
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"Not you too..." Marcus said with a deep sigh. "What do you want me to do?" he pleaded with his wife.
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"I want you to be with us…" Lorna said with sorrow in her voice. "But that will never be. Will it?" she said angrily.
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Marcus couldn’t respond. The despair of the situation drove him to darker thoughts—personal, terrible thoughts. He drew his sword from its sheath. His hand trembled, lost in the void of his feelings. The blade shimmered, turning to Vapor. The voices finally faded. The air became still.
He had thought of this before, more than once… but something about this time—it felt like home. The thought of ending it all offered the final warmth or cold he could still feel. He had reached his limit. So he turned the Vapor Blade onto himself. He plunged it deep into his chest. So many lives had been taken by him and this weapon. He wanted himself to be its last.
But instead of harming him... it passed right through.
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"You can't harm yourself with your own Soul, Marcus!" Lorna’s voice rang out as an invisible force knocked the weapon from his hand.
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Confused, Marcus gasped, "What?... My Soul?" His voice cracked with disbelief.
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The Crimson Mist swooped in and snatched the sword. "Isn't that funny, Father?" the children cackled, laughter echoing from every corner. "You've been killing everyone with what's left of your soul!"
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Marcus staggered back, numb. "Is there no bottom to this? Is there no end?" he lamented. And yet… he stood. Whatever darkness had come over him, whatever madness clawed at the edges of his mind, it eased for a moment. Among all of it, the corruption, the whispers, the Crimson Mist.. there was one thing he wanted more than anything: another carriage ride with his wife and son.
But he knew the truth. Those memories, those people, were gone buried in ash and ruin.
So he walked. Not toward redemption, nor some promised land. He walked only to put distance between himself and everything he had done.
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That evening in River Hallow carried an unnatural stillness. The air sat heavy, unmoving—thick with the weight of what had transpired. The night moved like a shadow with too many eyes, curling through the trees and clinging to the windows.
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Inside the Command Center, Rhaine sat alone at her desk. No soldiers. No advisors. Just her…and her guilt. The flicker of a single candle lit the map in front of her, but it may as well have illuminated her every mistake. The once-unshakable holy knight lowered her guard at last.
And wept. At first, it was just a tremble in her chest. But once it started, there was no stopping it. Her body shook with every suppressed grief, every fear she had buried for the sake of duty.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she whispered, eyes locked on the candlelit map.
“All we had to do was wait. Just wait until word of the Harbinger…” With a sharp, sudden movement, she swiped the map off the desk. It crumpled and tumbled across the floor, joining the wreckage of her plans. “Then Melissa and Orion..” She choked, unable to finish the thought. Her fist clenched.
She slammed it against the desk. The wood groaned under the weight of her fury.
“Then Douglas, that self-righteous cur…” Her voice cracked.
“And Father Lucas…” The name landed like a blade to her chest. His mangled body still haunted her, as if every time she closed her eyes, she found him there. That moment, that single, horrifying image—summed up her failure in full. No loss. No enemy had ever cut deeper than this.
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The front door creaked open, and a figure stood framed in the doorway. "I swear by all that is sacred—if that’s you, Alex, I’ll send you to Trendell in that cart as well!" Rhaine yelled, scrambling to regain her composure.
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"Sorry to disappoint," the figure replied, stepping into the light, "but my brother’s back at the Tired Boar, drowning himself in a keg of ale." It was Jirjin. He strolled inside uninvited. His gaze dropped to the floor, where the map lay scattered. "Wind must've knocked this over when I came in… sorry." He bent down, picked it up, and gently laid it back on the desk.
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"Can I help you, Jirjin?" Rhaine asked, her voice still tremulous, her eyes moist from emotion.
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Without answering, Jirjin grabbed a chair and sat across from her. "No," he said, placing the map back in place. "I don’t think you can."
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Rhaine narrowed her eyes. She wondered if all the Nightsides had the same aggravating charm.
"Then why are you here, Jirjin? You’ve never been particularly kind to the Church. I assume that started long before we arrived?"
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A crooked smile crept across his face. "No truer words have been spoken, lass… Oh, pardon me.. Lady Rhaine." He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Alex told us you weren’t fond of nicknames."
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"Jirjin!" Rhaine snapped, emotion slipping through again. She still couldn’t quite rein it in.
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Jirjin leaned back, stretching his hands out in front of him. "Okay, okay… peace," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could see now why Alex enjoyed her company. "I'm here because I wanted you to know something. Alex is too wasted to tell you himself. The people of River Hallow… they want to give you something."
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"Playing twenty questions must be this one's annoying trick," Rhaine muttered under her breath—except it didn’t stay in her head. The words slipped out aloud before she could stop them.
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"Alex is right," Jirjin said with a laugh. "You are crass for a priestess."
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The daggers in Rhaine’s glare told him to cut the humor and get to the point.
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He cleared his throat. "The people want to give you their respect."
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"What do you mean?" Rhaine asked, not fully grasping his intent.
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"When Father Lucas came here, raiders had moved in and destroyed everything," Jirjin explained, watching her lean back slightly in her chair a silent sign to continue. "Lucas rallied the good people and they drove most of the bandits out. The ones who stayed… they were arrested and dealt with."
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Rhaine tilted her head, curious. "You said they drove them out, not we. Where were you in all this, if you know so much?"
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Jirjin nodded. "I was here—but more on that later. When it came time to repay Lucas for what he did, all he asked for was... respect. Respect became a form of currency here. Coin never flowed freely in this place." He nodded again, slower this time.
"So yes, the people want you to know—Lady Rhaine… not the Church, and not because they were forced to, you have our respect."
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Rhaine froze, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected that. Especially not from him. "Our?" she asked, needing to be sure she heard right.
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Jirjin rose from his chair and made his way to the door. "You would've saved Lucas," he said quietly. "That, I have no doubt. So… yeah. Our."
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As he opened the door to leave, Rhaine called out, "Jirjin… thank you. I never got to thank you for stopping Douglas."
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"You can thank me by getting Alex out of my bar," he said with a grin, then stepped outside.
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"Wait!" she shouted after him.
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"You didn’t tell me—where were you and Alex?"
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Jirjin paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder.
"We were the bandits."
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