Chapter 50: True-Self

Somehow, Illia had the sense to leave her quarrel with Wallace and stand in front of Maritza.

Alfred’s bullet went right into the back of Illia’s neck, and she choked on her blood as she fell to her knees. Maritza then noticed Alfred and put up her sword to his next shot, as if that might protect her.

But Ike, grabbing his dominant and bloody arm, hurled his lance at Alfred. The lance’s impact on Alfred’s shoulder took his arm clean off, and his arm holding the gun fell in front of him. Blood gushed from the socket and Alfred hyperventilated.

Scindo went to Illia’s side, trying to put pressure on her bleeding, but in turn only taking precious seconds of air out from her lungs.

“No, no, no,” Scindo repeated. “Illia, please.”

Wallace started to laugh, and he went for Scindo next, but Maritza stopped the strike with her own sword.

Ike hovered over Clove, who was twitching in a pool of her own blood.

“Even if you defeat me,” Wallace chuckled playfully, “none of you will have anything left.”

Alfred hollered like a little boy, and his face went white. Illia, still coughing blood, crawled over to Alfred as he dropped to his knees. Scindo kept trying to speak to her, but she clawed on, and eventually touched her hand to Alfred’s leg.

At her touch, his whole body was encased in ice.

Scindo knew that even down to her last second, Illia was a warrior who wanted to complete her objective.

She looked at Scindo and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Illia,” he yelled. “I love you and please don’t go.”

Maritza continued to clash with Wallace, and Ike checked Clove for a pulse, but her neck was frigid and her blood hot.

Ronan gasped back awake, then patted his stomach.

There was no hole, but his ribs ached and his chest completely purple and black with bruises. He looked at the Hellblade. In the middle of the cracked sword was the crushed bullet. He must’ve blocked the bullet with the sword, but then the sword’s flat end had wacked against him and crushed his chest.

“Help us!” Ike shouted at Ronan. “Clove isn’t breathing!”

Ronan gasped a few more strained breaths as he watched in horror at Scindo mourning Illia, and in confusion at Maritza fight Wallace. He didn’t know who to help, Clove or Maritza, or otherwise what he could really do in his current shape.

“The Black Butterfly,” The Shroud whispered. “Lend your aid while Scindo mourns.”

Ronan huffed and dragged his feet towards Wallace.

“Ronan!” Ike called out. “Ronan! Clove needs your help!”

Ike cupped her head in his hands and whispered, “It’s okay, Clove. You’re going to be okay.” But his words came with a heavy heart, as he felt completely abandoned by Ronan, who trudged along towards Alfred’s frozen body.

Ronan bent down, retrieved the gun, and aimed it at the unsuspecting Wallace. But he couldn’t keep up with his and Maritza’s movements, not while so weak and tired and unable to properly breath.

“Give me that damn thing,” Clove said, tearing the gun from Ronan’s hand. “Maritza, get down!”

Maritza dodged a sword strike, then slashed Wallace at his back. While he reached outwards and sprawled out in pain, Maritza dove to the ground, and her large black butterfly wings enveloped her like a shield.

Clove fired the gun and hit Wallace right in the chest.

“This can’t be,” Wallace muttered with wide eyes. “This isn’t The Shroud told me would happen.”

He collapsed backwards, and Scindo ran to him and froze his body. Like a wild animal, Scindo slammed his lance down on Wallace’s frozen body, shattering it to bloody pieces. Scindo stood slamming again and again, even after there was no more ice, and nothing but Wallace’s blood had seeped into the dirt.

Even then, Scindo pounded the dirt, yelling manically. He cried out loudly, and it chilled all of those who had survived to the bone. The few remaining Seahorses came to his side, and he wept on their shoulders.

“We need to get you to the healing hot springs before you bleed out,” one said.

“I’d like to get myself there, too,” Clove murmured. She gripped the side of her neck. She was bleeding profusely, but the bullet had only clipped a bit of her flesh off. “Are you alright, Ike, Ronan?”

“I’ll live,” Ike said, clutching his arm. He couldn’t hide his glare or disdain for Ronan.

“I’m fine,” Ronan wheezed.

Maritza ran to his side, and her markings retreated. For once, she felt fine after The Shroud had released her, and she was standing strong among her friends.

But they were all so weakened and hurt, and although they had won the fight, defeat was riddled into the corners of their eyes. Maritza led them and the others to the hot springs, where at the very least those injured were able to recover from their superficial injuries.

The next day was a solemn one.

As Seahorse tradition permitted, their fallen warriors were burned in the fire pit, their bodies covered in pleasant smelling forget-me-not flowers. Speeches were held. Arrangements were made, and Illia was the last to be burned.

“She kept us all together,” Scindo said. He wore no trenchcoat or tricorn hat, and from his sleeveless shirt one could see the many fresh scars he wore along his shoulders, face, and back. “And the last thing I will do is see Illia fall in vain.”

“What do you propose?” Ike asked.

Scindo held up Alfred’s gun. “The Temple of the Falcon gave this to The Order of the Butterfly. Look what just one of these did to us.”

Ronan observed his bruised stomach, and Ike’s wounded arm.

“We need to stop the Falcons,” Ronan said, answering Ike’s question before Scindo could.

Maritza rose beside Ronan and said, “We can study what that weapon does, how it works, and convert it into something that The Shroud can use.”

“Exactly right,” Scindo said with a nod. He pointed out to the sea behind him. “This isn’t all of our ranks. There are many more at sea now that we await the return of. They’ve been out hunting monsters, and when they return, we will rest with them, train with them, and fight beside them.”

Clove rested her head on Ike’s shoulder, and the fact that she had survived gave him hope. With a clear head, he couldn’t possibly remain angry at Ronan, so he reached his hand to Ronan’s shoulder.

“I will fight beside you no matter what,” Ike said.

“And I to you,” Ronan confirmed, offering a faint smile.

Maritza took Ronan’s other hand and held it tightly.

“This is only the beginning of a much bigger battle,” she said to him.

Ronan watched the sea’s waves ripple.

“You’re right,” he said to her.

He had many questions about The Shroud, questions about what had happened on the battlefield, and questions about the Falcon’s motivations.

He even questioned what he was still fighting for after such a devastating loss.

Still, he tried to remain strong in front of the woman he loved. He looked Maritza in her sparkling green eyes and said, almost possessed with a gruesomeness, “Whatever lies ahead at The Temple of the Falcon, you and I will destroy it, together.”

Maritza caught a chill from Ronan’s words, as if The Shroud was speaking for him. His eyes were so dark and empty, but his hands so warm and welcoming against her shoulders.

“Then we won’t stop,” she said, “until there’s nothing left in our way.”

There was a good bit of drinking that evening, though nothing was done in celebration. When everybody was drunk and tired, and after they had all fallen asleep, even Ronan, Maritza creeped outside the gate to where the battle had been held. She held her hands out above her head, and felt a tremendous power.

“That’s right!” The Shroud whispered excitedly. “ABSORB THEM ALL.”

Dark Essence travelled into the palms of Maritza’s hands, and her Mark of the Butterfly glowed a powerful black.

She breathed heavily and closed her fists, feeling a surge of strength and rush of adrenaline. With this sort of power, she was confident she could defeat anyone or anything. Not even Ronan could stop her.

But why would he? And why would she have such a thought?

Maritza shook herself from her power hungry trip. It was dark and cold, and she was alone. She missed Ronan already and wanted to return to bed beside him.

As she walked back to their room, she shook a lot of nasty thoughts from her head: the violence, Wallace, finding her father when she was young. Yet, the hardest thought for her to shake was, what would happen if she absorbed Ronan’s Essence too? Or Scindo’s?

She exhaled at the door to her and Ronan’s room, feeling like a lunatic. She would never bring harm to her friends, and she fought to protect Ronan, not to prove that she was stronger.

She crept back into bed and Ronan turned around.

Sleepily, he asked, “Everything alright?”

Maritza leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

“I just needed some fresh air,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

With a smile on his face, Ronan tucked himself back into the pillows. “Okay. Sleep well, Maritza.”

He didn't hear her respond, but what was too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. There were too many thoughts racing through his mind, and as much as he wanted to yell out for the people he had lost, or for the image of Farrier's face or Illia's corpse burned into his mind, he was simply too depleted to do anything except lay beside Maritza. Eventually, he felt her head rest next to his arm, then felt her press an ear to his chest.

Despite all that had gone wrong, with her beside him, things felt right, at least for the moment, and he was able to drift peacefully to sleep.