Iris | Anything

Iris grabbed the steel wool out of the bucket and began scouring the bloodstained breastplate. It was another hot day made barely tolerable by the plentiful shade of the forest and canopies draped about the camp.

The young draelic had stopped counting her days in captivity and pushed the thoughts of escape from her head. The dark red engraving on her lower belly, made any chance of that impossible. She wondered about its appearance. A heart? Some kind of horned animal’s skull? Or something else entirely?

Judging from what she overheard from the bandits, her master planned to sell her in the Union. A fancy place in Sorcis where rich collectors would pay a king’s ransom, and then some, to be her new master. It wouldn’t be long until they started packing up the tents, loading the horses and wagons, and then making their way to the northern coast to meet the ship that would take them all to Sorcis.

At least there was little pain these days. Her master was a much more reasonable man than that muscle-headed brute, Jacob. Now that she called Iskorn her master and obeyed his commands, he hadn’t physically disciplined her any further. He was even forgiving of the occasional mistake, although he paid too much attention to her body and hygiene. She had never had to shave her body before and was still uncomfortable with the practice.

“Iris,” a cold, feminine voice whispered behind her.

It was Alicia, the knight sister-turned-slave who had once wielded a sword and shield to butcher a handful of Jacob’s men. “I need you on meal prep.” The rose-haired half-elf bit her bottom lip. “Jacob’s getting hungry. And he’s drunk.”

Iris nodded, then took an extra moment of hard scrubbing until the bloodstain she was working on had vanished. She wiped off the breastplate before setting it down and followed Alicia to the cook’s clearing.

She held back her drool as she saw the array of ingredients spread out on one of the prep tables. Mushrooms, cabbages, bread, shanks of some type of meat, and a bubbling pot of bone stock. Iris and Alicia’s stomachs growled in unison as the smell of the broth reached them. The half-elf let out a sigh and picked up the butchering knife by the meat.

There was a large crowd under a nearby canopy where they had set up barrels and boxes into a makeshift banquet table. The men were all quite drunk, made evident by their loud cackling and occasional bad attempts at singing.

Iris eyed Alicia’s knife. She had no doubt in her mind that the first thing Alicia would do, if freed of her crest, was bury that knife as deep in Jacob’s neck as she could. Iris was afraid she might do it anyway, an act that amounted to suicide, courtesy of her crest being bound to Jacob.

“Slice the bread and shred the lettuce.” Alicia had not warmed to Iris despite their shared bondage. Before slavery, she seemed distant, but not cold. Now her tone was full of scorn. Perhaps she resented Iris for the simple fact that Jacob was far more cruel a master than Iskorn. Or perhaps it was simply the curved horns on her head.

Iris grabbed a serrated knife and started sawing away at the bread. It was hard—most likely quite stale—and was very difficult to slice. She looked around cautiously, then stuffed a piece in her mouth—small enough for her to chew without moving her jaw much. It was definitely stale, but she was hungry. She tossed a similar-sized piece to Alicia, receiving only an icy glare in return.

“Stick it in your cheek pocket if you need to talk, no-one will notice,” whispered Iris.

Alicia stared at the piece of bread for a moment before stealthily stuffing it into her mouth. Iris smiled and returned to her chore. Perhaps she might get through to the knight sister with time.

Iris’s smile froze and turned to panic as the slow plodding and whistling of a drunk Jacob grew closer and louder. As the brute approached Alicia’s prep table, the half-elf had begun chopping the meat with greater haste and volume.

“’Licia my love,” the brute burped out, “slow down or you might chop a finger off. I won’t ‘ave that!”

Alicia’s cold voice had turned softer, higher pitched, and more submissive. “Yes, Master Jacob. I am sorry, I just don’t want to keep you and the others waiting.”

Iris was relieved. He was being a nice drunk, for now. One might as well flip a coin every minute to see whether he’d get nasty.

“Me an’ the boys have been talkin’,” he continued, shooting a brief side-eye at Iris. “Dependin’ on how we make out with that devil girl, might be buyin’ myself an estate up in the Union.”

Iris didn’t like where this was going. She suspected Alicia felt the same way as her chopping speed had increased even further.

“An’ considerin’ what a beaut’ you are, I think I’ll ‘ave you stay there with me.”

Iris stopped her work and turned to look at the exchange in horror. Alicia had stopped chopping—her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handle of the knife tightly.

She wouldn’t… not now, would she?

Alicia released the knife and turned to Jacob with a stony look. “As it please you, Master Jacob.” Her voice was cold, as if talking to Iris.

She suddenly bent over, crying out in pain as she clutched her lower belly. Iris ran and knelt by Alicia’s side as she fell to all fours, strings of saliva falling from her gaping mouth. A golden pattern had begun glowing on the back of Jacob’s left hand, his fingers arched as if crushing an invisible organ linked to Alicia’s body.

“Stop it, please!” Iris yelled at Jacob, staring up at the brute, her ruby eyes alight with both fear and fury. “She didn’t do anything, you brute!”

“You best watch your place, runt!” yelled the bruiser as he grabbed Iris by a horn, lifted her into the air, and launched her over Alicia’s back.

Iris crashed into the side of her prep table, then fell face down into the dirt. She let out a coughing wheeze from the impact. Tears blurred her vision, but she managed to make out that Jacob had formed a vice grip around Alicia’s lower face with two hands, squeezing her cheeks together and forcing her lips to protrude outwards. Alicia’s hands weakly clutched at the sadist’s grip while her legs hung limply, twitching in pain as Jacob raised her into the air.

“Master… Iskorn…” Iris could barely force out the words, let alone cry for help.

“You ungrateful bitch!” Jacob spat in Alicia’s face. “If that’s how you’ll repay my kindness, then I’ll treat you like the toi—”

“Jacob! Enough!” The commanding voice of Iskorn reverberated throughout the camp. Even the raucous bandits in the dining area went quiet as the mage stormed up behind Jacob. “You despicable drunk, unhand the girl before you do something irreversible!”

The brute paused for a moment, then dropped Alicia onto the ground. She immediately sunk to her knees, then fell backwards as Iris managed to run up and catch her mid-collapse. The half-elf gasped for air, her eyes fixed on Jacob as she continued to writhe in pain.

“You keep that going and you will cripple her,” Iskorn snarled at Jacob. “You would do well to remember how much that crest cost you, fool!”

The brute turned towards Iskorn, his right hand shaking as he formed a tight fist and raised it over his shoulder.

Iskorn eyed the fist and cocked his head, unintimidated. His glowering face seemed to grow darker, as if he commanded the very shadows upon his form. “Once more, Jacob. Don’t do something irreversible.”

Jacob let out a large belch and relaxed his stance, straightening his left hand’s fingers as the golden glow began to fade. Alicia’s breathing suddenly slowed as she pulled herself out of Iris’s cradling. The brute pushed his way past Iskorn, bumping against the mage’s smaller frame with a sharp elbow as he returned to the revelry under the canopy.

Iskorn turned towards Jacob with tightly curled fists. “Touch the draelic again, and I’ll drop your cut a percent.”

Jacob paused, let out another loud belch, then continued on his way.

Iris looked towards Alicia who lay panting in the dirt on her hands and knees. Half-elves looked no different from humans, save for their pointed ears. Why did people like Jacob and the bronze masks treat them like animals?

She reached out for Alicia’s shoulder, but the half-elf slapped her hand away and shot her a harsh stare, her eyes wet with fear and hatred. “Spare me your feigned pity, demon.”

After the bandit company feasted, Iris was allowed to take a small bowl of bread scraps and meat as she went back to where she was polishing armor. It was starting to get dark and most were making ready for bed. Luckily for Alicia, Jacob had gotten too drunk and full to stay awake and had to be carried back to his tent. The half-elf wouldn’t have to attend to him tonight and had disappeared to another part of the camp—most likely to pray. Iris decided she wouldn’t approach Alicia for a while.

She began to dig into her bowl of food. Contrary to the stale bread, the meat was a rare sort of delicious. It had an earthen musk to it, but Iris felt she could taste honeyed fruit mixed into the buttery fat. Each bite seemed to melt in her mouth, releasing a small flood of sweet and savory across her tongue. She had heard Iskorn refer to the flavor as gamey, but it was the most delicious thing Iris had eaten in months.

There was a soft rustle from the bushes at the edge of the camp. Sitting on its rump, two legs planted firmly in front, was a pitch-black cat with big golden eyes. It sat motionless, staring up at Iris.

“Hello,” Iris whispered to the cat, cautious as to not alert any others. “It’s not safe here, fluffy one. The men in this camp might try to hurt you!”

The cat responded with a slow, gentle blink as the faint sound of its purring soothed Iris’s ears. The two locked eyes with each other as the sun began its descent into the tree line of the surrounding forest, each studying the other. A cloud began to blot out the sun, causing the cat’s form to gradually grow imperceivable—lost to the shadows of the forest, save for its eyes that continued to glow through the darkness.

“Are you hungry?” Iris tossed a scrap of cooked meat that landed a headslength in front of the cat.

It appeared to briefly look down at the piece of meat, but then brought its eyes back up to meet Iris’s again.

Not hungry or just nervous?

“Maybe you’re here to rescue me?” Iris smiled painfully at the futile wish.

She wanted to edge closer to the fuzzy creature and pet it, but the booming summons from Master Iskorn interrupted her. “Iris, to me! My quarters!”

It had only been a second for Iris to turn towards her master’s voice and then back to the cat, but it had vanished. Or perhaps it was still there, eyes now shut, completely concealing its presence.

Iris set down the unfinished bowl, in case the cat wanted some of the meat, and walked towards her master’s tent. It was best to hurry, lest he grow impatient.

As she entered the tent, Master Iskorn was already dressed for bed and was reading over a leatherbound journal he kept.

“You can complete your chores tomorrow. I need you well-rested as we will be running a few experiments in the morning. Nothing too painful, I assure you. I simply want to test the limits of the compulsion.”

“Yes, Master,” Iris bowed and turned towards her bed on the far side of the tent. She slipped out of her work clothes and felt Iskorn’s eyes studying her naked form.

“Your tail. Will it fully grow back?”

Iris slipped on her nightgown and felt her tail behind her. “Yes, Master. I mean, I think so?” She could move her tail a little, but it still felt numb and was barely a headslength: longer than when she first met Iskorn, but much shorter than her full-grown tail. She certainly hoped it would grow back.

“Well, make sure you use the pumice stone when you wash it. I suspect dead scales must be shed occasionally, especially near your waist, where the scales give way to skin.”

“Yes, Master.”

Iskorn returned his gaze to his journal as Iris spread out the sheet on her bed.

“Master?” Iris looked at him over her shoulder.

“What is it, Iris?” The mage took his eyes off of his journal to look at her once more.

“I was told humans enslave others because they believe themselves superior to the other races.”

The mage laid his book on his bed, open but face down to preserve his place. “I believe that is the most commonly held belief among my kind.”

“You sound like you disagree.”

Iskorn let out a sarcastic huff. “Not every human is as superior as they believe themselves to be.”

“Do you believe that you are superior to my kind?”

Iskorn did not respond. Iris half-expected a painful shock for saying such a thing. She turned to face her master and saw him studying her as he pressed his fingers into his chin, his hands in a prayer-like gesture.

“I am not sure, Iris. The Draelic are not known to grace civilization and the Payl Illumina has little to say on them.”

“And you enslaved me still?”

“I did.” Master Iskorn’s tone of voice seemed intrigued, begging her to continue the conversation.

“Is it because you are superior to me?”

“You are a child. It is only natural.” The mage gave out a long-winded sigh. “You are weak, Iris. Weak enough to be captured by those knight sisters. Alicia is much stronger than you, but she is weaker than Jacob and far weaker than me. The natural order is for the strong to protect the weak, but there does come a price...”

“Obedience?”

“Taxes!” the mage chuckled then sighed. “There is always slavery in civilization, Iris, we simply call it something else when we are unwilling to admit its existence.” Iskorn paused for a moment, contemplating. “In the Sancrésant Empire, they have outlawed slavery. But one is not free of obligation. The layman serves a more powerful household that pays wages in exchange for his service. Those wages cannot be spent freely. Even after room and board, ultimately, he must pay taxes to his lord. The lord, in turn, provides protection and maintains an orderly community. The man who does not pay his taxes is criminalized and must either flee the country or serve a sentence in prison, which isn’t much different from the cruelest punishments slaves endure.”

“But he has a choice.”

Iskorn gave a wincing smile before responding. “He has to choose between different degrees of suffering.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “The masses are ill-equipped to navigate the plethora of decisions that come with this illusory freedom. They are foolish in matters of coin, ever jealous of their peers, and ever unsatisfied with their lot in life. They regularly fail to choose the best outcomes, dulling their potential and society’s progress. They need firm guidance.”

“And slavery is guidance?”

“Categorically! And often far more humane. The empire is driven by greed. Workers are offered beggarly salaries and lords demand higher and higher taxes. And, if you don’t pay… Pray you never see the inside of an imperial prison.” Iskorn shook his head as he closed his eyes, pursing his lips. “Tell me, Iris, what is the worst I have done to you? Once you are in an imperial prison, you are subjected to brutal workloads, torture, and sometimes disfigurement. This continues for at least a year until your sentence is completed. Longer if you are a repeat offender. So, tell me Iris, what is worse? The occasional lash of a whip or jolt from your crest to correct your course? Or years of torture for failing to meet a payment deadline in a system stacked against you?”

Iris scanned Iskorn’s arrogant face with a frown. “Is that not a flaw of the empire? Are there no better kingdoms to compare to?”

“You are quite the treasure, aren’t you?” he grinned. “Alas, it comes down to the nature of the powerful. The most powerful in our world always seek to dominate. To impose their will. A united society under a single will shall always outpace a society consisting of a myriad. Thus do the latter always fall to the former.” Iskorn’s grin turned into a vicious smile. “The Temple of Sophia in Zyrdia is a case in point, no? Such idealistic societies are transient at best.”

Iris ground her teeth as she clenched her fists, the pain of the pogrom in Selkura flooding her thoughts once more. Mother Trine had instructed her to seek refuge among the elves of Osinjolu, but now she wasn’t sure if it would have fared any better than Zyrdia. She had no chance to escape to Osinjolu anymore—not with her master’s crest carved into her flesh.

The draelic had grown tired of Iskorn’s twisted philosophy. She also feared that he was right about the endless cycle of exploitation perpetuated by the powerful. Instead, she turned her mind to something she might have agency in.

“Jacob seems worse than an imperial prison,” she whispered under her breath, loud enough for Iskorn to hear.

He responded with a resigned sigh. “Not every master proves… capable… of command. In the long run, rightful masters shall rise above such men. But perfection is ever a work in progress.”

“Especially if we do nothing.”

“Oh, you are proposing something?” growled Iskorn, stroking his chin.

Iris took a nervous gulp and nodded.

The mage gazed deep into her ruby eyes and slowly rubbed his fingertips together. “Alicia is part of my payment to Jacob for his services. Why do you concern yourself with the half-elf? She shows you no kindness.”

Iris recalled Mother Trine’s embrace and Sister Amisa’s gentle smile. They were ever willing to tend to the injured, regardless of race or belief. “Because I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Iskorn gave her a mournful look. Pity and disgust filled his face in equal measure. “This world does not deserve you, child.” He sighed once more. “If I purchase Alicia back from Jacob, I shall have to take a loss. In exchange, I will ask more of you. Do you agree?”

Iris nodded, not even questioning what more Iskorn would ask of her.

“Done! I shall speak to Jacob tomorrow. And, before I forget…”

“Yes, Master?”

“That was bold of you, Iris. But I enjoyed our talk.” Iskorn paused for a moment as he rubbed his tired eyes. “In the Union, there are masters who treat their slaves comparably to beloved family. Not for sex or other types of debauchery. They seek a different kind of companionship. One who can dedicate themselves to studying the arts, philosophy, or sciences. We call them patrons: lonely masters who seek a kindred spirit to converse and work with. Not terribly uncommon when most freemen are consumed by the daily toils of survival and service. I will be sure to find one of those for you.”

月

Iris was wide awake. Usually, the patter of rain and distant rumbling of thunder lulled her to sleep, but she had both her master’s promise and the upcoming experiments on her mind. Master’s tests typically guaranteed no pain if she complied swiftly and completely, but one of the tests he previously mentioned involved determining whether the compulsion could override muscular exhaustion.

Iris turned over in her bed as a cool breeze forced its way through the entry flap of the tent, allowing Iris to see the outside for a moment. She saw the forest at the edge of the camp, the moon shining faintly through the clouds overhead, and one of the torches moving through the camp, held by a member of the night’s vigil.

The flap closed and the outside world vanished. She wasn’t sure if she believed Iskorn’s earlier words, but it didn’t matter, the agreement had lifted her spirits.

As another breeze pushed its way into the tent, Iris thought about how quickly her life had changed. How long had it been? Just a few months? Or had it been closer to a year? After the old king… Saragos, was it? After he passed away, things had gotten very tense. Mother Trine had been appealing to the new king regarding continued protection of the Temple District.

What had gone wrong? Mother Trine said the new king had agreed, but the guard posts slowly emptied and the royal guards left. And then it started: fires set across houses in the district and armored men with bronze masks pulling people from their homes, killing them in the street, dragging orphaned children and widowed women to be carted off while laughing at the horror they inflicted. Bronze masks stained with blood and engraved with monstrous expressions.

The breeze stopped, followed by the rumble of thunder.

Mother Trine, Sister Amisa… Where are you now?

Another breeze pushed its way into the tent, allowing Iris to once more stare at the clouded moon. Two glowing dots sat in the distance among the trees.

Maybe an owl. Too high up for a cat.

They were a cool blue, like sapphires. There was a brief flash of lightning, but Iris sat up in a panic as the thunder slowly arrived. She could’ve sworn she saw the silhouette of a person behind that sapphire glow.

The breeze ceased, causing the flap to fall closed once more. The shape of that person: it resembled a tall human but was much too skinny, like a person on the precipice of death from starvation. The arms though, they were all wrong. Far too long. Iris’s skin began to crawl as she pictured the entity in her mind’s eye.

“Master!” Iris whispered. “Master!” she shouted.

“What is it, Iris?” the groggy voice of Iskorn responded with a tinge of annoyance.

“Master, there is something watching us from the trees. It’s not a guard.”

Iskorn sat up from his bed and ignited his oil lamp. He beheld Iris’s pale face with a furrowed brow, but his face softened as he took in her genuine expression of fear.

“Very good, Iris. I will check with the vigil.”

The mage threw on his coat, boots, and sword belt, then grabbed an umbrella and gestured at Iris to follow him. She quickly fastened on her boots and shawl, then walked up behind Iskorn, taking hold of the hem of his coat for guidance.

As the two stepped outside of the tent, the rain had begun to intensify. Iskorn opened the umbrella, sheltering Iris as rain drops battered his opposite shoulder. He looked around for signs of a wandering torch, finally getting the attention of one of them.

“Iskorn, everythin’ all right?” the bandit asked.

One-Ear.

“There are reports of someone sneaking around camp. Have you—” a flash of lightning interrupted Iskorn, but he left his sentence unfinished. “There is a body hanging in the woods, right there!” The mage unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards the dark forest beyond the edge of the camp. Iris had also seen the hanging body during the flash of lightning and was clinging even tighter to Iskorn’s coat.

One-Ear turned towards the darkness but saw nothing. He pulled a whistle out of his pocket and placed it between his lips as he edged closer to the forest with his torch. Eventually, the darkness gave way to a pair of dangling boots, then legs. As he raised the torch, he blew his whistle—its blaring screech echoing through the encampment. Iris and her master both stared at the body, now fully caught in the light of the torch. It was one of the bandits hanging from his head, his jaw and body swaying loosely as a sword had been forced through the man’s mouth, pinning his skull to the tree.

A half-dozen armed bandits had come running to the center of camp, looking around for the source of the alarm.

One-Ear turned to run back towards Iskorn. “Fuck, it was An—” He didn’t manage to finish whatever he had to say, but his body ran forward a couple of steps before it collapsed and fell forward, his head rolling off into the grass.

Iskorn dropped the umbrella as the other bandits readied their weapons. Iris stared into the darkness where the bandit had lost his head, but couldn’t see a thing. Her heart was racing, pounding in her ears.

“Get back to the tent!” Iskorn commanded Iris before raising his voice for the entire camp. “We are under attack!” he roared at the top of his lungs.

Iris had backed up to the flap of Iskorn’s tent, looking around cautiously. A shrill scream could be heard from a distant part of the camp before it was suddenly cut short.

“Stick to the light!” yelled Iskorn, “And someone wake that drunk up! Alicia, Jacob, now!”

Iris could hear Alicia trying to rouse Jacob when a wet thud to her left caught her attention. In the muck, barely within the light, was a filled pair of trousers, complete with boots sticking out of the bottom. The waist of the trousers was all bloody—flesh, innards, and what looked like the cross-section of a spine. She screamed and turned away, covering her mouth as she realized she might draw unwanted attention. Iskorn and the other men also noticed the half-body and formed a defensive circle facing outward from the center of the lit clearing.

Out of the darkness, Jacob stumbled onto the scene with his warhammer and hide armor on. Alicia was carrying a crude shortsword and a metal buckler. She was in a tattered nightgown that barely covered her thighs and laid her modest cleavage bare. Her naked feet splashed in the wet grass.

“Fuck’s goin’ on, Dual?” Jacob’s eyes wandered the scene, noticing One-Ear’s headless body and the newly arrived half-body. “Alicia, guard the runt with your life!”

The knight sister nodded as she moved to Iris’s side, her eyes darting around the darkness surrounding the central clearing. She was shivering from the cold rain, but held her shield arm back to cover Iris from the downpour.

Iris ducked into the tent for a moment, unnoticed by Alicia, and returned with a cloth cloak. She hoisted it over Alicia’s shoulders, causing the half-elf to kneel down so Iris could fasten the tie around her neck. As she stood back up, she uttered not a word to Iris nor met her gaze, but now she was covered from her neck down to her knees and no longer shivering.

“Show yourself, cowards!” boomed the brute, wringing the handle of his massive warhammer with both hands.

There was a flash of lightning that revealed more bodies piled up in the darkness. How many of them had fallen unnoticed? Iris saw at least a dozen new ones.

Everyone turned to an unlit tent as the groan of folding metal resounded from its interior. There was a loud rustling of metal links followed by a heavy thud, then another.

“I said show yourselves!” screamed the brute, a furious scowl on his face. “Or I will fuck you bloody with this ‘ammer!”

There was a screech, like the sound of a blade grinding against a hard-forged breastplate. Something slim and fast shot out of the darkness. It was bigger than an arrow—perhaps a spear? It caught one of the bandits between the ribs as the pointy end burst through him, sending him flying into the darkness. Everyone’s eyes turned to source of the projectile as a tall figure, clad in full armor from head to toe, strode into the light.

Iris recognized some of the armor pieces, even in the dark. She had been polishing that tarnished breastplate earlier. The man wielded a massive greatsword, its blade resting on an armored shoulder as he held the grip with one hand. Chainmail links filled the gaps between the plate armor, the only conceivable unarmored point being the slim visor on the helm.

Alicia, who had been tense throughout the whole ordeal, relaxed her posture slightly and began to lower her sword. “Brother! They—we are enslaved! If you kill the big one with the warhammer, I will die too. The mage over there,” she pointed at Iskorn with her shield hand, “is similarly bound to the draelic.”

“It is as she says, paladin!” shouted Iskorn. “You are at a great disadvantage!”

Iris thought she saw a faint blue glow from the paladin’s visor.

“It is as she says, paladin.” A man’s voice boomed from the armor, eerily similar to Iskorn’s voice. “You are at a great disadvantage.” The voice sounded like it was echoing from the depths of a long tunnel, its hollowness causing goosebumps to form on Iris’s skin.

Iskorn’s blade began to glow a hot red as blue vein-like traces began to glow on his sword hand and forearm.

Jacob snorted and spat on the ground in the direction of the interloper. “I ain’t fuckin’ restin’ easy ‘til I crush ‘is head like a fuckin’ melon!”

Jacob charged as his men followed, the brute raising his warhammer high in the air before bringing it down in a vicious arc. The paladin stepped back as the head of the weapon scraped past his breastplate. Jacob adapted to the miss and swiftly pivoted to a defensive guard.

Instead of swinging with his greatsword, the paladin stepped forward with shocking speed and launched a vicious kick aimed at Jacob’s stomach. The brute managed to move his hammer to block the kick, but he was launched backwards like a toy doll, plowing into a wide-eyed Iskorn. The mage barely maneuvered his sword away from his ally as his legs were swept out from under him, causing him to fall sideways.

As two of Jacob’s allies lunged simultaneously, Iris heard the wet rip of leather and meat. A nearby campfire crackled as blood and guts sprinkled the flame. The two bandits fell, bifurcated as their innards began to spill out, causing the other bandits to back up in panic.

One of the bandits turned to run. The paladin kicked one of the fallen bandit’s swords up into the air, caught it dexterously with his free hand, and launched it between the shoulders of the fleeing bandit. The coward fell into the mud, dead like all the others.

“The fuck!” screamed Jacob, struggling to get to his feet along with Iskorn. “Alicia! Defend me!”

“I can’t do that.” Alicia fell to one knee, propping herself up with her sword. Iris saw Jacob invoking Alicia’s crest.

“This vow,” she wheezed out, “I cannot…”

“Bitch!” screeched Jacob, his engraved hand forming a tight fist.

The half-elf collapsed backwards as Iris caught her, cradling her shoulders and head. Their eyes met for a moment, Alicia’s wet with tears and rain looked up at Iris before she let out a ragged cough, blood dribbling from her lips.

Iris held Alicia tight. “Stop it!” she screamed tearfully. “Stop it!” Her voice grew hoarse. The knight sister was now unconscious, although she was still shivering from the torment.

“Stop it.” A near-perfect mimicry of Iris’s voice echoed from within the paladin’s armor.

She looked up at the creature in terror.

It seemed to be staring at Jacob through its armored helm, its visor glowing blue once more. “Stop it.” The voice was masculine and deep this time.

With a face painted in fear, Jacob relaxed his hold over Alicia. “The fuck is it, Dual? Is it a fuckin’ devil?”

The half-elf had stopped trembling, but remained unconscious. At least she was still breathing.

“Any chance we can resolve this peacefully?” Iskorn said to the creature, as he skulked forward.

“This vow… I cannot.” Two voices echoed from behind the visor in perfect synchronicity: a man’s voice and Alicia’s.

It pointed its greatsword towards Iskorn, holding the massive blade perfectly horizontal and still with a single outstretched arm. Iris doubted Jacob was even half that strong.

“You are at a great disadvantage,” it said, mimicking Iskorn’s voice once more.

“I—I think it’s learning how we speak,” uttered Iskorn to Jacob, Iris barely catching his low growl.

“Last time I take a job in Tal-bloody-Qora,” grumbled Jacob.

“We need to attack all at once! On my signal!” Iskorn shouted.

“Are you barmy?” screamed Jacob. “He cut through—you saw that, right? He cut through them like—like they were fuckin’ cake!”

“I saw, but I have a similar trick.” Iskorn’s face darkened.

“I have a similar trick.” The mage’s voice resonated from the creature, followed by Jacob’s. “Fuckin’ cake.”

Jacob let out a panicked chuckle. “Hah! Is it—is it bloody mockin’ us?” He spat out a wad of bloody saliva. “All right, Dual.” The brute’s breathing grew fiercer by the moment as he shook his head like a maniac, slapping his cheeks with a free hand. “Men! Get ready!”

The three remaining bandits had fanned out around the creature.

“Attack!” bellowed Iskorn.

The bandits and Jacob charged together as Iskorn followed tightly behind the bruiser with his molten blade.

The creature spun in an arc, cutting through the three bandits. One of the bandits tried to block the greatsword with a shield, but it quickly folded as it was sheared through its center, the blade continuing through the bandit’s midsection.

Jacob ducked under the whirl and came up with a rising blow. The creature dodged it as Jacob switched to a backpedal and raised his hammer over his head.

Iskorn came whipping around Jacob’s side, thrusting his sword forward with both hands. The blade’s tip burrowed into the armored chest as Iskorn drew his left hand back before slamming his palm into the butt of his weapon’s handle. The point of the blade burst through the back of the creature’s armor with a metallic shriek as white smoke poured from the tear.

The brute’s hammer came down like a meteor, slamming into the creature’s shoulder and causing it to drop to one knee, its greatsword falling into the mud.

Iskorn jumped back with his blade, his face dripping with sweat as Jacob, with a frenzied cry, raised his warhammer once more.

“Jacob, wait!” screamed Iskorn.

The weapon descended furiously once more, aimed at the helm. There was a loud crack as the creature backhanded the hammer’s head, causing the weapon’s handle to snap as the head sailed off into the distance. A stunned Jacob tried to pull back, but the rising creature grabbed him by the throat, lifting him a headslength off the ground. The brute struggled with the vice grip around his neck while kicking against the creature’s plate.

Soon, his struggle grew faint and his limbs hung limply as the creature lowered him to the ground. It laid him carefully on his back and stood upright once more. Iskorn dropped his blade and raised both hands to his shoulders, his palms facing forward and fingers spread apart in a gesture of surrender.

It spared Jacob… Because of the crest?

Iris continued to feel Alicia’s breathing through the cloak. She stared deeply into the paladin’s visor as the blue glow spilled forth once more.

Its helmeted gaze slowly turned to meet Iris and its hollow voice rang out again—two voices once more in perfect unison: a mimicry of Iris’s childish voice layered over the deep growl of a man. “Please, save... Anyone. Anything.”